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September 28, 2006

“If I had a million dollars…”

Or, better yet, 57.5 million dollars

I just watched a show on E! called The Curse of the Lottery, which documents the rise and fall of 10 recent real-life Powerball winners. These people all initially thought that hitting the jackpot would solve all their problems, but in fact, 9 out of 10 wound up wretched and bankrupt. They developed dangerous substance addictions, their marriages imploded, they lost friends and family over financial disputes. Yes, dear readers (I’m putting on my very somber E!: True Hollywood Story announcer voice here), the dream became a nightmare.

Since I don’t watch My Name Is Earl, the first thing I thought of while watching The Curse of the Lottery was a short story by Dorothy Parker called "The Standard of Living." (You can find it in The Best of Dorothy Parker, which I highly recommend to anyone who loves good writing and a good laugh.) In the story, two young girls fantasize about what they’d buy if they inherited one million dollars. The inheritance came with many stipulations, one of which was that they must spend all the money on themselves. No charities, no lavish gifts; nothing but pure, unadulterated self-indulgence.

Of course, Dorothy Parker was writing in the 1920’s, and what with inflation and all, a million bucks doesn’t go nearly as far as it used to. Luckily, lotto windfalls can climb into the 50 million range and beyond. Which brings us to today's question: if you won $57.5 million dollars (tax free—shut it, you LC lawyers, I don’t want to hear it!), what would you buy?

Here is a little sample of the conversation that ensued at Chez Kendrick:

Me: First thing I’d do is remodel the master bathroom to look just like Gabrielle’s in Desperate Housewives. With the huge, free-standing tub in the middle. Oh, how I covet that bathroom. And lots of high-end vintage handbags. And my dream car: the new Volvo XC70.

Mr. Tall: You dream car is a glorified station wagon? For real?

Me: Yeah! It’s safe, super cute and has lots of room for the dogs.

Mr. Tall: My dream car’s a 1964 Valiant convertible. Powder blue. I’d restore it myself, then drive it all over town.

Me: But there’s no room for the dogs in a convertible.

Mr. Tall: Exactly. Then, let’s see, I’d get a golf cart, of course, and a thirty-foot sailboat

Me: But…you realize we live in Arizona, right? Completely landlocked?

Mr. Tall: Yeah, but I’d keep the sailboat in the Marina del Rey [near Los Angeles] yacht club. If we had $57.5 mil, we could afford the slip fee.

Me: But you’re a total workaholic. When are you going to have time to get all the way out to L.A. to go sailing?

Mr. Tall: I’ll have our pilot standing by on all my days off.

Me: "Our pilot?"

Mr. Tall: Yeah, for our private jet that we’ll buy.

Me: Whoa, there, buddy, we are NOT buying a private jet!

Mr. Tall: Sure, we are. We have $57.5 million dollars.

Me: That’s not enough to buy a private jet. Do you have any idea what the upkeep costs are for a private jet? Fuel, crew salaries, airport storage, FAA fees?

Mr. Tall: Oh my God.

Me: You have to be, like, a billionaire to afford a private jet. Like Bill Gates or the Sultan of Brunei. $57.5 million is below the poverty line for private jet owners.

Mr. Tall: Tom Cruise has a private jet, and he’s not a billionaire.

Me: I’m sure his studio underwrites part of his jet expenses. Besides, how do you know he’s not a billionaire? He makes a ton of cash from producing. He gets a percentage of his film’s net earnings, you know. DVDs, global merchandising…

Mr. Tall: Why are we talking about Tom Cruise?

Me: We’re not. I’m just saying, how is it fair that I’m driving a Volvo and you have a damn private jet?

Mr. Tall: You WANTED that Volvo!

Me: Yeah, well, the repo man came and took it back. We’re gonna be bankrupt, thanks to you. All those millions of dollars down the toilet of your precious jet. Now we’re broke and a cautionary tale on E! I hope you’re happy.

Mr. Tall: …

Me: …

I am sorry to report that things only went downhill from there, because we got back into the infamous nose job debate, which, come to think of it, was also E!'s fault. But don't let us rain on your $57.5 million parade. What would you spoil yourself with? A chef? A diamond tiara? Trip around the world? Dream big!

Posted by Beth at 1:37 AM | Comments (12)

September 27, 2006

Losing It

Sunglasses, Sippy Cups, My Mind.

I’m not the sort of person who randomly loses things. I manage to keep track of my wallet and keys and assorted personal belongings. If something in the house does go missing, I usually just blame my three-year-old, Sam. (I used to blame George, but he gives me crap, so now I blame the resident who hasn’t been trained in the art of litigation).

And it’s not like I don’t have some basis for accusing my son. Sam went through a period of time where he’d steal random things and hide them around the house, like my plastic egg beater (used for scrambling eggs in a non-stick pan) and the spiral notebooks where I make notes on the books I’m working on. The egg beater was always stashed under the cushion of our leather club chair. The notebooks he liked to stick under his bed.

But there are two items that keep going missing that I don’t think Sam’s responsible for. Or, at least, I certainly haven’t found them in any of his usual hidey-holes.

The first are sippy cups. For those of you who haven’t gone through the boot camp of toddler rearing, sippy cups are ingenious cups with caps that keep kids from being able to spill liquid. Or, at least, that’s what they are in theory. My experience with sippy cups is that they’re really only about fifty percent effective, and that any small child really worth his salt who is intent on covering your new sofa in apple juice will find a way to do so.

However, I like the concept of sippy cups, and appreciate them when they do work. I have a friend who insists that by the time a child turns three, they should be weaned off of them. Yeah, well, that’s not going to happen here. I like my furniture too much. So sippy cups are still very much in use in this house. That is, when I can find one.

Because here’s the weird thing: although I have bought dozens – literally, dozens – of sippy cups over the past three years, at four dollars a pop. . . I never seem to have any. It’s like I buy them, Sam uses them once or twice . . . and then they disappear.

I know it seems like Sam’s the logical culprit, and that somewhere in the house or car, there’s probably a whole stash of them, now black with mold. But I don’t think so. I’ve looked everywhere, and I swear – the damn things have just disappeared.

And, also: sunglasses. Another item I acquire in bulk. I never buy expensive sunglasses, because I don’t have an expensive sunglasses life. I have a toss-the-sunglasses-in-my-purse-along-with-the-keys-that-inevitably-scratch-them-up sort of life. Since I know this about myself, once or twice a year, I go to T.J. Maxx, and pick out three or four pairs, that I put into rotation. And then, six months later, when the last of these sunglasses have disappeared, and I’m getting headaches from squinting into the sun while I drive around, I go back and buy more.

Which is fine – I’m not going to get upset about a missing ten dollar pair of sunglasses. But I have to wonder – where are they going?

Is there an actual black hole in my house, where all of the sippy cups and sunglasses and receipts for items I want to return disappear into? And if so, why are these the only items that go missing?

So what goes missing in your house . . . and where does it go?

Posted by Whitney at 6:00 AM | Comments (13)

September 26, 2006

Drive Me Crazy

Cars, cars, cars

My van is about to bite it. How do I know? First of all, it's a Ford and it has almost 100,000 miles on it. The minivan would be my third Ford and I am pretty sure that that's the limit for Fords. They're not meant to go past that kind of mileage.

Second, it's possessed.

No, I don't mean that I missed a payment and that somebody's knocking on the door trying to take it back. I mean that it's acting like there is some kind of spirit in there and, oh, by the way, the spirit isn't entirely happy.

It started with the sound system. One speaker would stop working and then suddenly come on again, but way louder than the other ones and then it would settle down and act normal for a while. If there is some sort of precipitating event that causes it to do this, I can't figure out what it is. Neither can Things One or Two. Cowboy just mutters stuff about the electrical system and doesn't even try.

Then, every once in a while, the interior lights would flash off and one a few times. Again, nothing in particular seems to cause it or to make it stop. Cowboy continues to mutter about the electrical system.

Now it also periodically decides that the passenger door is open when it is clearly and decidedly closed and sometimes won't allow one of the back slidey doors to open or sometimes it won't allow it to close. Sometimes it makes a really loud ticking noise inside the dashboard.

Have I mentioned that it behaves perfectly the second I take it to the auto mechanic? It makes me feel like that movie with Rex Harrison and Doris Day where Doris thinks someone is trying to kill her and everyone else thinks she's making it up.

I suppose I should just be grateful that it hasn't shoved me in front of a bus. Yet.

Posted by Eileen at 8:35 AM | Comments (7)

September 25, 2006

Chat about the new TV season

Is it Must See TV or not so must see?

The new fall TV lineup: Love it or Hate it? Or, worse, Madly Indifferent?

Join the LC as we discuss our faves – and not so faves. And just a warning - this is the longest blog in history!!!

ALESIA: STUDIO 60 - I almost had to like it with the Tommy/Aaron team, plus my darling Bradley (and no Donna in sight, thank goodness, was that done to a crisp or WHAT?), but Amanda Peet was surprising. Didn't expect to like her much, but I did. Loved the writing - "I brought the NASDAQ down just by reporting to work."

BONES - I love this show. Which is nuts. Because I don't like ANY of those crime shows, like CSI, CSI Miami, CSI Beaverville, whatever. Don't like it, know enough about how the stuff works to find it ridiculous, but just love the show. David Boreanaz is delicious in it and the interplay between Booth and Bones is fab.

THE BIGGEST LOSER - what can I say? I have a love/hate relationship with reality TV, but the people on this show inspire me. I'm not crazy about the hostess, she's insincere and brittle, but these people working so hard for health and for their families is amazing. I miss Jillian, though. She was such a hardass she was fun.

LANI: My DVR is going to burn out this year. The new TV season looks SO good! I can’t wait.

Returning shows: THE OFFICE. Can’t wait. Can’t wait. Can’t wait. I really liked Season 1, LOVED Season 2, and am so excited to see Season 3 tonight! While it’s a brilliantly funny show, and I love Steve Carell, I watch it for Jim and Pam. I just love those guys. Jim is like the ultimate beta hero, and you know how I love me my betas!

GREY’S ANATOMY. Faboo. I just finished watching Season 2 on DVD last week, and I’m ready for the new season. Although, I have to say, I’m a little tired of Meredith/McDreamy. To be honest, I’m liking them both less and less as time goes on. But for Burke, Cristina, Izzie (although I was disturbed by the McCrazy) and George (who I think would be GREAT with Izzie once she gets on those meds) I will watch forever. Especially Burke and George. Sigh. Betas.

HOUSE. The funny thing about House is that it’s up and down. It’ll be brilliant one week, and the next, they’re dragging out an improbable storyline with his ex-girlfriend. And this whole thing with Cameron and House – no chemistry. None. Move on. But still, I watch, because... Hugh Laurie. Sigh.

GILMORE GIRLS. Am a little wary, but after investing six seasons of watching into this show, I’m not gonna give up yet, although they’ve pushed me to the point where I don’t even give a crap who Lorelai ends up with. I don’t like her much anymore. And Luke was a total idiot last season. So if the new show runner can save the show, I’m in.

LOST. Fingers crossed that the stellar storytelling continues this year. And hands up for more shirtless Daniel Dae Kim! Love him!

New Shows: HEROES. This sounds really cool. I’m not typically a superhero kind of girl, but I’ve heard such great buzz about this show that I have to tune in.

STUDIO 60. Love it. Aaron Sorkin gets a bit preachy in his political stuff, but at least in a TV environment, he’ll only do it about once an episode. It’s not even necessarily that I disagree with his politics (well, not all of it) but damn. The man sure loves his high horse. Anyway, I love Matthew Perry and Bradley Whitford, and am surprisingly not turned off by Amanda Peet – usually I don’t like her, but here, she’s okay.

30 ROCK. I don’t like Alec Baldwin, but I love Tina Fey. All the previews I’ve seen look really stupid, but I have to give it a shot. Judgement withheld.

TWENTY GOOD YEARS. Just kidding. Not watching. Hoping that if I close my eyes and sing “la la la” it’ll disappear and it’ll be just like it never aired.

ALESIA: >>and George (who I think would be GREAT with Izzie once she gets on those meds)
Sick and wrong. Would be like incest, but yuckier. You are so wrong on this.

EILEEN: GREY’S ANATOMY. George and Izzie? What are you thinking? That would never ever work. And not because of the McCraziness thing either. Being a bit McCrazy myself, I have great sympathy for those things. George is not in Izzie's league. I know that's not nice, but it's true and I think relationships like that are doomed. George and Callie are clearly doomed too which is too bad because I really like Callie and George deserves someone who thinks he hung the moon which she clearly does. Still, not George and Izzie. No no no. That would be worse than George and Meredith.
Don't get me started on the wonders that are Preston Burke.
I'm hoping we see more of what happened to the older generation this season, too. I want to know why Meredith's father abandoned her.

HOUSE. This is one of those shows that I thought was okay, but everyone else raved about so I kept watching it to try and figure out what I was missing. I'm predisposed to like a cranky hero with chronic pain in his leg (have any of you met Cowboy?), but I still am not completely sold. Plus, the first episode this season was a brain tumor episode and those give me the heebie-jeebies. Been there. Done that. Sat shiva in the T-shirt.

GILMORE GIRLS. I still love it. Last season was difficult though. I'm predisposed to like a cranky hero who is occasionally an idiot (see above about anyone having met Cowboy) so I'm still rooting for Luke.
I'm not sure how I felt about the Luke's illegitimate daughter thing. I thought the mother's reaction to having Lorelai around was interesting. Being a single mom, I've taken a fair amount of grief about dating so I know that kind of attitude is definitely around, but it's usually from people who are happily married and have never walked the walk.

VERONICA MARS I am psyched to have a Gilmore Girls/Veronica Mars back to back evening. I loved this show. Talk about tight writing! Weaving all those little mysteries in to the bigger full season mystery arc was fabulous. I know it got a little complicated, but I still thought it was smashing. I'm ready to date Veronica's dad and be the Mom she never had, too.

LOST. Daniel Dae Kim is beautiful, isn't he? I would vote for more shirtless Matthew Fox, too. Does anyone remember a series he did called HAUNTED where he was a detective who had had a near death experience and now could communicate with the dead. Plus, there was this whole thing with his son having been kidnapped. It lasted like two episodes and was cancelled.

DESPERATE HOUSEWIVES I dunno. I felt pretty burned by the end of last season. I hated every one of the main characters by the end of it. I like my heroines flawed, but they have to redeem themselves at some point. I saw no redemption. I'll give it at least one or two episodes this season, but I don't have a good feeling about it.

MEDIUM This is coming back, isn't it? I loved it so much I bought the book by the woman on whom the character was based. And the guy who plays her husband? He can cuddle me after my bad dreams any day!

MY NAME IS EARL He had me at karma.

STUDIO 60 I liked this one. A lot. It'll have to stay that smart and fun for me to be willing to stay up until eleven o'clock on a Sunday night though. I especially love that they seem to be willing to take on some pretty huge issues. Like the religion thing. It will be interesting to see how they handle it. They did a good job of making Sarah Paulson's character sympathetic (although that lisp thing she's got going may make me want to smack her soon), a person whose personal convictions have become public fodder, it will be interesting to see if they can maintain that.

HEROES. I'm intrigued, too. Largely because I'm still waiting for my superpower to develop. I know I've got one. It's just a matter of time. Maybe this will give me some clues as to how to find it.

UGLY BETTY I'm really hoping this one is as fun and sweet as it looks.

LANI: Okay, this whole thing against George and Izzie – crazy. They’re best friends, and as far as I’m concerned, she’s out of his league. She needs to dump the McCrazy and get a grip, and then she’ll be worthy. But George is one of the best guys on TV. I love him; he’s absolutely got all the things a hero needs. I’m sorry – nice hair and big pecs aren’t what matters. He has the heart and soul and talent of a Greek God, and that’s all I need. Sorry, I have a George thing. Obviously.

AND I can’t believe I forgot to mention VERONICA MARS!!! I love it. Can’t wait to see V go to to college. It’s always a little unsettling when a major element of a show changes, but I think it’ll be handled well. I’m a little wary about the three mystery arcs, rather than just one big one, but I think it’ll be interesting. And anything that brings Jason Dohring into my home on a weekly basis is okay by me. ;)

Oh – and was anybody else disappointed by the GREY’s premiere last night? They slaughtered Miranda Bailey’s character. And WTF with the plague? Yargh!

EILEEN: You think George and Izzie should be together because of his inner beauty? Puh-leeze. It's a recipe for disaster. Plus, he'd totally enable her McCraziness. He's too sweet to give her the emotional slap she needs. And she's gonna need it again. Her kind of McCrazy is the kind of McCrazy that keeps on giving. She picked the curtain that has the lifetime supply.
Oh. My. God. I've started to think of these people as my friends. I'm that concerned. Who's McCrazy now?

BETH: Well, Lani, much as it pains me, I'm going to have to agree with you on Grey's anatomy.

During the season premiere, I kept asking, Who is this quivery woman and what have they done with my Bailey? If I need someone to get hysterical over their patients, I'll call Izzie.

And what happened to McDreamy being stoic and cold when he found out Addison cheated? Whatever--I'm rooting for McVet. I know Meredith will never go for him because, well, she really IS too dark and twisty and the resulting relationship would be far too sane and healthy to garner ratings, but I can dream.

Love Cristina and Burke, though, as always. And love that Addison found the notorious black panties. I'll be tuning in all season; I just hope Bailey sacks up. I am very interested to see how they get Izzie back on surgical rotation. After what she did, there is NO WAY the hospital could ever risk having her on staff in any capacity ever again.

As for new shows, I am trying very hard not to get sucked into any fresh addictions (I watch too much television as it is!). But I am intrigued by "Brothers and Sisters"--lots of great actors--and I'm going to check out "Men in Trees", mostly because it's set in Alaska and you all know about me and Alaska. Also, it's created by Jenny Bicks, who used to write for "Sex and the City."

And let's not forget the upcoming finale of Project Runway. My personal favorite is Laura (and I would actually wear her designs!), but I pick Michael to win the whole she-bang.

ALESIA: I didn't like GA, either. Although you know my feelings on McSlutty. He's going around chasing after Meredith when he hasn't even had the common courtesy to inform his WIFE that their marriage is OVER yet. So, speaking as a spouse, I'd take the WEEDWHACKER to his McBalls.

And when is Alex (Alec?) going to get smacked down for his attitude? Trust me, there's no way he'd get away with mouthing off like that to his superiors up the chain in a real hospital. Really clunks for me.

WHITNEY: Another one who misses the old Miranda. Who was that wimpy, teary woman, and what did she do with the Nazi we know and love?
And as for Finn . . . I lost all respect for him last night, what with his I want to keep my hat in the ring speech. It’s been awhile since I was single, but from what I remember, not being exclusive doesn’t mean you can sneak off in the middle of your date to have sex with someone else. And come on. Is a ruggedly handsome Seattle vet who looks just like Chris O’Donnell really so hard up for a date that he’d put up with that kind of crap?

The only other show I’ve caught this week is The Amazing Race. And, as always, a big thumbs up, even though the team I was rooting for has already been eliminated. Although the cheerleader team just may be the most irritating team ever to have raced. Do they not hear themselves? Are they not aware of just how stupid that stiff-handed clapping is?

MICHELLE WEIGHS IN, DESPERATELY JEALOUS, FROM THE LAND OF NO NEW MUST-SEE TV: We get shows such as Goede Tijden, Slechte Tijden (Good Times, Bad Times), which is kind of like As The World Turns or The Bold And The Beautiful, except in Dutch with Dutch actors. That can be fun (I have no idea what is really going on, but I make up my own script, based on how the characters are acting).

We also get Dutch Big Brother (I make up the script for this, too, based on how the characters are acting). I think, but am not totally sure (because I missed the particular episode, of course) but I seem to remember hearing that 2 of the contestants on BB over here had sex in the BB house.

And we do get a lot of the good American shows already mentioned on several of the channels, but they tend to be hit and miss for me in terms of when we get the new seasons (as I said, it's later here than in the US). If it is a first season show in America, then we might have to wait longer until the show is a success in the States.

So this is what usually happens when I we get a new season over here. I miss the first episode, because that was the only week I forgot to buy the Dutch TV guide (The Veronica). Then I get visitors, so miss the following week, too. After that I just think, "I'll wait for the DVD." So I wait until I come to America, and mass buy all the great shows I've missed.

I have a trip planned to NJ next week, mainly for the New Jersey Romance Writer's conference, but also to catch up with friends, spend time with Teenager No 1 and...to have a DVD shopping spree.

[Oh Patient One is sighing as I type this - he's worrying about the credit card bill I am going to run up. Don't worry, dear, I won't go too mad].

So LCs and chicklets, here is my question. If I could buy only ONE season of ONE show, which one should I buy? And why?

EILEEN: Which one DVD should you buy? Well, it's one we haven't mentioned. I
would say WEEDS. I loved this show. Smart, clever and filthy filthy
filthy. My favorite line at this point? "You've made your bed and now
you have to f*ck in it."

Brilliant. Simply brilliant.

BETH: Yeah, Weeds is pretty hilarious. (We don't get Showtime, though, so I have to wait until the end of each season to get the DVDS.) Also, maybe try Entourage or The Office. (Even though I know the British version is supposed to be better. Speaking of which, has anyone seen "Footballers' Wives"? I'm kind of dying to see that!)

MICHELLE: I've been thinking about how I watch shows, and how I read favorite authors. And one big shining banner just jumped into my brain.

With favorite authors, I go out and buy their book. Then I read the WHOLE book in one sitting. I just cannot read chapter by chapter over a period of days or weeks. I want the whole book and I want it now!

I am thinking that is why I don't, generally (despite time delays or whatnot) track much-awaited shows on TV. Even if I miss episodes #1 and #2. I really love to wait until the whole TV series is available on DVD. I want the whole thing, from beginning to end, from episode one or (or chapter one) through to the the conclusion. Right now. Or Right Now Later (once said DVD is available).

Is this some kind of classifiable disorder? Or am I just looking for instant gratification :-) (Or is it both? No hope left for moi...)

ALESIA: So if any of you made it this far . . . what do YOU think??

Hugs,
Alesia

Posted by Alesia at 6:00 AM | Comments (15)

September 24, 2006

Paris, and Pissoirs: Le Sequel

Urban myth?

Recently, a friend visited us here in Rotterdam. I was still in a state of delirious excitement after discovering that the strange object on the corner opposite my apartment is not a superlarge traffic cone, or a superly understated piece of modern art done in grey plastic, but, in fact, a public pissoir! So when Friend asked me what was new, I told him the tale and took him to see it.

This is what happened...

"I can top your pissoir. I bet that my pissoir is better than your pissoir," he says, after he stops laughing.

"What do you mean?" ask I.

"Well..." he replies, pausing for dramatic effect.

"Yes, yes, go on," prompt I.

And then he tells me something wondrous...

Pissoir: Le Sequel

"I met up with a Dutch friend last night, and he told me that the town has built a new, technologically state-of-the-art pissoir right outside his apartment in Rotterdam market place."

"What? Tell me more, tell me more," beg I. "What makes it so technologically superior to this grey plastic one?" I am wondering if this state-of-the-art pissoir can get up on the table and dance and sing. Or, in fact, if it has doors. You know, for a bit of privacy.

"Apparently," Friend continues, "it is a self-concealing pissoir." And then, because of the blank expression on my face, he adds, "When not in use, the pissoir sinks into the sidewalk. But if you, you know, need to use it, you press a button and up it pops, out of the sidewalk."

A-ha, think I. So in reality it is a multipurpose pissoir, not really a technologically superior one. You know, it's a sidewalk-slash-pissoir. I am also thinking that I have to get a picture of it to share with you chicklets.

Off I set, camera in hand, to Rotterdam marketplace. (This is Rotterdam marketplace - it's huge!)

I walked its four corners, I braved the milling throngs and traipsed through its middle, eyes peeled and digital camera on alert for a sighting. Sadly, wherever I went, the pissoir was not. I went back on a nonmarket day and tramped about again. No sign of this pissoir. I went back again, this time with Oh Patient One in tow, but even with his sharp eyes and keen observation skills, we could not find the pissoir.

Oh Patient One: "Let's go down the pub. Surely someone in Paddy's will know?"

Me: "Cunning plan! A dual purpose plan - a voyage of journalistic discovery, coupled with a little liquid refreshment."

The things I have to endure for the sake of knowledge, LOL.

Anyway, loads of people in Paddy's have heard of the pissoir.

"It's by the station," says one person.

"You know, near that bling statue that doubles up as a Christmas-slash-Halloween decoration," says another.

"It's right near the entrance of the station," says yet another.

This is good news! But then another thought occurs to me.

"Has anyone actually seen it or used it?"

Nobody has. And on the way back home from Murphy's Oh Patient One and I have a last look around for the elusive pissoir. We don't find it.

But at least the beer in Murphy's is good!

Paris

So, I think that by now you know that I absolutely adored Paris, mes chicklets! Well, rather than take pics of all of the usual (amazing, awe-inspiring, gorgeous, wonderful - insert adjective of choice) places, here is a little guided tour of some of the alternative Paris sights.

1. Park and Fill

Mon Dieu! I'm running out of gas about a half mile from the Arc de Triomphe. Thank Dieu for this convenient sidewalk self-fill gas pump!

2. Le Parking!

Pardon, officer, I thought this was a sidewalk gas pump and not a crossing...

3. Strong Arms!

Michelle is secretly a superhero with inhuman strength!

4. What were they thinking?

You know, that gorgeous, awe-inspring, classical Louvres building is so behind the times. Let's build a glass pyramid in front of it!

5. Strong Legs!

Is Michelle really a superhero, or has she been working out to her Denise Austin DVDs?

6. Le Shopping!

Guess what Michelle did when she was in Paris?

And so, chicklets, a little challenge for you. Can you think of some different (and probably funnier) captions to my Paris pics? I bet you can :-) Go at it!

Michelle

PS. Dear Paris authorities - despite my superhero inhuman strength, I didn't really wantonly bend two of your metal bollards.

Posted by Michelle at 4:51 AM | Comments (6)

September 23, 2006

There Must Be Some Misunderstanding

Because, typically, that's the case

Good morning, Chicklets! I am on my way out the door to do some shopping and have lunch with the lovely and talented Ms. Amy Garvey, so I don't have much time, but I wanted to share with you a special little thing that Sweetness said yesterday. She'll likely never forgive me for sharing this nugget publicly, but it's just too precious, and the fact is that I'm bound to do something else in the next ten years or so for which she'll never forgive me anyway, so I gain nothing by not using this. Here we go:

Sweetness: Mommy?
Me: Yes?
Sweetness: I wish I was a boy.
Me: Why?
Sweetness: Boys are so much cooler.
Me: How's that? We can give life. We can be affectionate with other women without worrying that it makes us look gay. We get makeup, and fun hair, and cute shoes.
Sweetness: Yeah. But boys can turn their vaginas inside out and pee standing up.
Me: Yeah. Well. You've certainly got a point there.

Note to self: Tell Fish to lock the door when he's in the bathroom.

Of course, you know I'm in a total glass house on this one. Sweetness has an excuse; she's seven. She's supposed to say stuff like this, otherwise I'll have nothing interesting to tell her prom dates. When I have a little misunderstanding, however, it gets totally blown up out of proportion.

Like the time I saw someone use a Delaware license to buy beer in college, and then went back and told everyone that I couldn't believe the bad fake I.D. I saw, and then I explained it was from Delaware, and they all stared at my blankly, and I said, out loud, "Delaware's a river! It's a town in Maryland! It's not a state!" My friends from college still bring this up on a regular basis. And it's been seventeen years.

Of course, if it was just Delaware, I guess people would drop it. But then, I have to back it up with the time I was in Alaska and was walking by the big field on my way from the cannery to my tent and one of the guys was making chicken sounds as I walked by, and I told everyone there was a chicken living in the field. Then there was the time I tried to start a fire by putting a big log in a pit and lighting and holding matches to it, wondering why the damn thing wouldn't burn, I mean it was wood after all. Oh, and who can forget the time I moved into a house and inherited a pool and thought, "How hard, expensive and ultimately painful can this be?" Heh heh.

Heh.

But, I have to say, the classic brilliance of boys pulling their vaginas inside out so they can pee standing up is pretty poetic. Isn't she cute?

(You can send those checks directly to the Sweetness "My Mom So Screwed Me Up" Therapy Fund. I have a feeling the poor kid's gonna need it.)

Posted by Lani at 8:12 AM | Comments (6)

September 22, 2006

It's Fall and TV is in the Air

And there's a coldfront in my living room

So this week is premiere week for the fall television season, and that means that my husband and I have been fighting nearly nonstop about what, exactly, our Tivo should be recording. Now, I realize that for the sake of our marriage, we ought to buy one of those ingenious splitters (the modern marvels that let you tape more than one channel at once). But I’m pretty techno-ignorant, and my husband has an allergy to shopping of any kind. He won’t even buy his own khakis, asking me to order them online for him, instead.

One of my friends have said that the key to her happy marriage is the fact that they have two separate (but nearly equal in screen size and quality) televisions in the house, so that she can watch Desperate Housewives while her husband watches football. I can see the merits in this.

Because my husband won’t just disagree about what we should be watching, but he can’t help himself but making a running commentary like one of those people you want to strangle at the movie theatre.

“You HAVE to be kidding me – who writes this stuff?” he’ll exclaim just as Meredith and McDreamy are about to get it on Gray’s Anatomy. Or “I am physically in pain right now, and if I watch this any longer, I may go blind,” as Susan tromps around one of her neighbor’s bushes in Desperate Housewives.

Sometimes he has a point (“Why do you insist on watching Amazing Race just to see the couples argue? We could argue right now instead!”) but most of the time, he’s just a guy, and can’t understand why I like love triangles, neighborhood intrigue and hunky supporting guys like Patrick Dempsey.

Now, to be fair, I do my share of groaning, too, like whenever he insists on watching a) old westerns, b) the old original Star Trek with William Shatner or c) football. When it comes to his favorite viewing pastime this season, football, I’m pretty mild in my criticism – I just fall asleep on the couch.

This, however, enrages my husband.

“It was the fourth quarter, and the score was tied at 21! How could you fall asleep?!”

What can I say? The roar of the crowd and the nonstop drone of empty-headed commentators (who say things like “The team that showed up to play won today” as if the other team didn’t show up to play? What? They came to knit sweaters?) just lulled me right to sleep.

And don’t get me started on Star Trek. I thought I’d outsmarted him on this one: he’d taken up so much room on our Tivo recording old Star Trek shows, that last Christmas I bought him the box set of the entire three seasons. Unfortunately, then he proceeded to sit down and watch them. And he wanted company while he did so.

If I never see Captain Kirk seduce another green-skinned alien girl again, that’ll be fine by me.

So, this week, I’m going to find out about that whole Tivo splitting thing, if only to save myself a whole fall season lineup of arguments. And I think I’ll do that before Sunday’s premiere night. I hear Desperate Housewives just might be good again this season.

And by the way, congrats to the winners of signed copies of "I Do (But I Don't)"! I'll be mailing them their books this week:

Winner #1
Rachel Frasier
Elk Grove, CA

Winner #2
Billie Bininger
Lancaster, Oh

Winner #3
Lacy Hairgrove
Euless, TX

Winner #4
Tina Schultz
Dearborn Heights, MI

Winner #5
Maya Missani
Richmond Hill, ON
Canada

Posted by at 9:28 AM | Comments (7)

September 20, 2006

I didn’t…but I totally should’ve

Stupid, stupid, stupid

It’s been said--mostly in greeting cards and high school yearbooks--that we do not regret the things we do, but the things we do NOT do. While I must respectfully disagree with the first part of this statement (see: every other blog entry this week), I’ve found the second part is starting to ring true as I get older.

If I were granted a cosmic do-over in life, I’d definitely:

Go to the Chianti winery

This is my top woulda, shoulda, coulda regret, because it really was a once in a lifetime opportunity and I blew it. I spent my senior year of college studying art history in Florence, Italy, and every morning I attended Italian language and culture lessons at an “immersion school.” So this school organized a road trip to the Chianti vineyards. All I had to do was pony up a few euros and hop on the bus with my fellow American students. I realize that there are no guarantees in life, but this trip was probably the closest thing to 100% guaranteed fun that will ever come my way. With a built-in designated driver, even! But I didn’t go. And you want to know why I didn’t go? Because—I still wince just typing it—I had to work on my grad school applications. Seriously. I know. Talk about screwed-up priorities. And then, later in the semester, I blew off a day trip to Cinque Terre because “I have to revise my application essay.”
What a dumbass.

Go to Alaska
Once again, my misguided work ethic got in the way of living my life. The summer after I graduated college, my parents and brother decided to take a family trip to Alaska and invited me along. Now, as you probably already know if you’re a regular LC reader, I am kind of obsessed with Alaska. The fascination began with watching Northern Exposure and just snowballed from there. (Ha! Get it? ‘Cause it’s, like, cold in Alaska? Oh, the wit!) This was a golden opportunity to go, with all expenses paid and family bonding thrown in. And, in a moment of absolute idiocy that proved I had learned nothing from the Chianti winery debacle, I passed. Because I was doing a summer research program at the university and I thought my work was just soooo important. Turns out, it wasn’t. Now I am reduced to emailing Lani, begging for tales of life on the last frontier and she has to take precious time out of her day to explain, once again, the difference between TV shows and reality. Then we talk about how both Fish and I have webbed toes. (Must be an LC thing.)

Buy only one wedding gown
I am not going to dredge up the all the gory details here, because my friends and family just stopped teasing me about this (right around my third anniversary), but let us just say that I have known to be both indecisive and impulsive about fashion. And that these traits, when mixed with the enormous expense of designer wedding wear and the pressure every bride feels to look “perfect” on her big day, are a very, very bad combination. Very. Bad. All I can say is, thank God for eBay.

Oh, and also, I would’ve been a rock star.

What’s your “I didn’t (but I would now)”?

Posted by Beth at 11:34 PM | Comments (7)

Regrets . . .

. . . . I've Had A Few.

What’s my biggest regret? That’s an easy one – my decision to go to law school.

Here’s my advice for any bright-eyed young person who’s considering a legal career: DON’T DO IT.

Seriously. It’s a very, very bad idea. Especially if you have to take out law school loans to go. Because in the end, you’ll be deeply in debt, stunned at how boring your new career is, and wondering why your boss is such an incredible asshole.

Are all lawyers assholes? you’ll wonder. Will I be an asshole someday?

And the answer is: probably. I’m sure there are non-asshole lawyers out there – my husband, a commercial litigator, is actually quite sweet (most of the time) – so it is possible. Just not very likely.

But here’s the weird thing: every prospective law student is at some point warned by a well-meaning friend or relative to pick another career, any career, and they always, always ignore this advice. I did. I remember people, including my father, telling me that I would hate being a lawyer, that I don’t have the personality for it (a compliment, I think), and that I should instead chose a career doing something that I love.

Did I listen to them? No, I did not. And I learned the hard way just how much being a lawyer sucks.

A few years ago, during my brief stint as an oil and gas litigator (I still laugh whenever I think of that time, since I knew nothing then – and to this day, still know nothing – about oil and gas law), an intern at our law firm – I’ll call her Angela* – told me she was thinking of going to law school.

“Don’t do it,” I said immediately.

“I don’t want to be a lawyer,” Angela admitted. “But my dad wants me to go. He said there’s a lot you can do with a law degree.”

Now let me take a moment to say that this is one of the great lies prospective law students are fed: that having a law degree will give you a lot of options after you graduate. This is what’s commonly referred to as a flaming ball of bullshit. Let me tell you right now – if you go to law school, you are not going to end up being a secret agent for the CIA. You are going to end up being a lawyer. Trust me on this.

So, back to my conversation with Angela.

“What do you want to do?” I asked.

“I want to be a travel writer,” Angela said.

“That’s a great idea! Do that instead!” I said.

“Yeah . . . it’s just there aren’t a lot of jobs out there for travel writers,” Angela said despondently.

At this, I launched into a very long, very eloquent speech. I won’t bore you with all of the details, but basically I encouraged Angela to follow her dreams and not to give up, and argued passionately against using the law as a fall back position. I even banged my hand on the desk for emphasis a few times, and called in some fellow associates so that they, too, could convince the young intern how much they hated their jobs.

And when Angela finally left, saying that she would think about what I’d said, I felt proud. No, more than that . . . I felt like I had saved someone from making the same mistakes I had made in life.

So imagine my surprise when a few weeks later, one of the runners – a young woman named Sandy* who had recently graduated from college and was saving money to go on to get her masters degree in education – stopped by with some mail for me.

“Guess what?” Sandy said. “I’ve decided I’m going to law school!”

“What? But why? I thought you wanted to be a teacher!” I exclaimed.

“I did. But I’ve reconsidered,” she said brightly. “I was talking to Angela, and she said that she’d talked to you, and you’d convinced her to go to law school.”

I stared at her, aghast. “She said what?” I finally asked, when I was capable of speech. “But I told her not to go to law school! I actually said that – the not part – many, many times. I'm pretty sure I was clear on that point.”

“Yeah, but she said that you said it in a really funny way, and it convinced her she should go,” Sandy said. “Here’s your mail! Bye!”

And I was left, slumped in my chair, to think about how I had somehow managed to talk not one, but two young women into going to law school despite my best efforts to the contrary. I don't know what happened to Angela or Sandy, but my guess is that if they did end up going to law school, they probably don't think I'm so funny now.

This blog was brought to you by I Did, But I Wouldn't Now, Cara's hilarious novel about loving, leaving and starting over again.

* All names have been changed to protect me from getting sued by the people I failed to convince not to go to law school and who, I'm quite sure, are now lawyers.

Posted by Whitney at 6:00 AM | Comments (6)

September 19, 2006

Yo ho ho! It's a pirate's life for me!

Or not.

Firstly, my proud chickadees, ye should know that today be Interational Talk Like A Pirate Day! So, avast me hearties! Let us all use the five As (Ahoy, Avast, Aye, Aye Aye, and the ever popular Arrrgghh!) of talking like a pirate or I'll make all you scurvy bilge rats walk the plank, I will! And remember, there be no regrets when you're sailing the seven seas!

Ye would think that with all the pillaging and looting that a pirate would have plenty to regret, but it no be so, me proud beauties.

No, by the spouts from Great Neptune's Tail, a pirate has no regrets. A pirate swashbuckles through his life and yours leavin' behind a salty trail o' tears shed by others. Perhaps that's why I wish I were a pirate, filled with pirattitude, but perhaps with greater access to bathing facilities than your average swashbuckler. I do like my daily shower and I fear Johnny Depp may be a cautionary tale to all those who neglect to remove their mascara each night. Arrgghh!

As much as I wish to be the kind of pirate wench who can swagger down the deck yelling "Prepare to be boarded!" with nothin' but a yearnin' for treasure in my heart, I instead be the kind of timid mouse who would be made into everyone's cabin boy before a fortnight passed, assuming a fortnight is a relatively small amount of time although I've never been exactly clear on that.

My lack of pirattitude has contributed lately to a distinct turn that 'tis more doormattitude in nature. 'Tis why, for instance, I be up every Saturday morning at the crack o' dawn to unlock scurvy soccer goals. If I had an ounce of pirattitude I would have told the volunteer coordinator that it no be what I volunteered for and she could walk her soccer goals off the plank for all I cared. She be a lovely woman and it no be entirely her fault, so instead I be up traipsing through the local junior high in my jammies each Saturday morning. Double arrgghh!

Do not get me started on how a little pirattitude might make me life more bonny in the grocery store where scurvy bilge rats cut in front of me in line as if they were bowsprits on the front of me ship! Triple arrgghh!

So where might in your life might you regret not having more pirattitude?

This blog was brought to you by I Did, But I Wouldn't Now, Cara's hilarious novel about loving, leaving and starting over again.

Posted by Eileen at 7:00 AM | Comments (8)

September 18, 2006

I DID but I WOULDN’T NOW

NOT ON A BET

Okay, first, the final wrap up from the Two Truths and a Lie contest! Here are the answers and not one of you got all 7 right, which shows how very tricky we at the LC are!

THE LIES:
[UPDATE: I'm an idiot!! Beth IS afraid of cats - her grandfather did NOT pitch for the Yankees!! But I'm far too sick to go back and recalculate (miserable head cold), so if this makes you really have 4 or more right, please email me your addy and I'll send you a prize, too.) sigh
BETH KENDRICK is afraid of cats. But not of dogs.!
CARA LOCKWOOD is NOT a size zero, and on fat days, a two. We LOVE her for that.
EILEEN RENDAHL did NOT, when she was in college, accidentally set fire to her apartment by forgetting to turn off a space heater when she went to class. But if she had, she probably would have licked the firemen.
WHITNEY GASKELL did NOT, in the seventh grade, win her school spelling bee. She SUCKS at spelling (her words, no hate mail, please ).
ALESIA HOLLIDAY does NOT love bluegrass music. But she did want to be, in no particular order, a WEREWOLF, an INTERNATIONAL JEWEL THIEF, and a FAMOUS WRITER when she grew up. She’s still working on the famous part . . .
LANI DIANE RICH did NOT work as a teller at a bank and get held up at gunpoint by a 13-year-old kid who then escaped on his Schwinn. But her friend DID.
MICHELLE CUNNAH has eaten every kind of food in the known universe.

So the WINNERS ARE: JANINA – Big winner with FIVE right! And, what the heck, Cate, Teresa H., Pearl, and KimW should each win something for 4 right! Thanks for playing! And email me at alesia@alesiaholliday.com with your snail mail addy for prizes!

So, speaking of wanting to be a WEREWOLF, let’s get back to Cara’s theme week and talk about the jobs that I had but would NEVER work again. Like Taco Ole on all-you-can-eat-burrito day at the Ohio State University. Go Buckeyes never had such a nasty connotation!! Think large football players and lots and lots of beans . . .

OR pickup salesperson at a business newspaper in Columbus, Ohio. Which meant I had to go around to all the skanky businesses that nobody else wanted to sell to and try to sell ads. On commission only, of course.

OR insurance sales – which sounded fairly respectably to a 20-something until your VERY FIRST DAY, when they ask you to list and call 100 of your closest family and friends and try to pimp out life insurance.

OR T.A. at graduate school, when you’re working on a PhD and being treated like slave labor. For $325 per month.

OR associate at a big defense law firm, where the money comes from billing by the hour, so the unspoken rule is to be as inefficient as possible.

OR cocktail waitress at a place where they make you wear a porn director’s fantasy of a WWII nurse’s outfit that’s so short your butt cheeks nearly hang out while you work from 3 pm till 2 in the morning with NO breaks and NO food.

OR working in a city that requires an hour to hour and a half-long commute EACH WAY.

OR, in fact, and especially after the lovely experience of only having to call in sick to MYSELF Friday when the miserable cold from hell took me down and OUT (I was very understanding to myself), I never, ever again want to work at any job that requires any more of a commute than I have now: up my stairs to my office with my pugs.

And, really, I know it: I have the best job in the world. Well, except for international jewel thief – and anyway, I heard that though the pay is good, the hours are lousy. Plus there’s that pesky Interpol.

So tell me: what horrible job did you have that you would never, EVER do again?

Hugs,
Alesia

This blog was brought to you by I Did, But I Wouldn't Now, Cara's hilarious novel about loving, leaving and starting over again.

Posted by Alesia at 6:00 AM | Comments (8)

September 17, 2006

I used to...

...but I don't now...

Bonjour, mes Chicklets (je am still being all Francaises after my Paris trip).

Oui, I know I promised you Paris (we'll always have Paris), and I know I promised Pissoir: Le Sequel. More to come on them next time.

But in ze meentime, notre theme at the LCs this week for Cara's fab book I Did, (But I Wouldn't Now) is: things I did, but I wouldn't now...

I used to have pink hair (I really did). But I don't have now.

I used to have a nose stud (I really did that, too). But I don't have now.

I used to wear hats all of the time...

What did you do, that you don't do now?And why? (Or why not?)

Curious people want to know...

This blog was brought to you by I Did, But I Wouldn't Now, Cara's hilarious novel about loving, leaving and starting over again.

Posted by Michelle at 2:03 PM | Comments (3)

September 16, 2006

Me and My Big Mouth

A marriage made in hell

I feel pretty lucky to say that I don't have a lot of regrets. Not that I've never done anything phenomenally stupid - I think you all know me too well to believe that - but unless I've done something phenomenally stupid that did something irreversible, like kill someone's dog, I tend to view my total screw-ups as opportunities for education. I kind of treasure my mistakes, all gazillion and ten of them, because I learned something from them all, and so they have value for me. Most of them, given the chance, I wouldn't go back and change. Well, except the time I accidentally almost blew up a can-can girl during a show at the old west theme park where I used to be a pyrotechnician.

(Speaking of which - Monica. If you're out there reading this, sorry, babe. Those eyebrows ever grow back?)

Anyway, out of all the things I would really change if given the chance, the list is pretty small. Monica and her eyebrows, of course, top the list. There was the episode where I dated a fundamentalist Christian. Not that I've got anything against strong spiritual beliefs, but the only way there could be a couple less well-matched than the two of us would be if Oprah started dating Pee Wee Herman. I also had a brief but ill-advised flirtation with selling scrapbooking supplies. I mean, scrapbooking's great and everything, but I am very possibly the worst salesperson ever. I can't charge people money for stuff. I'd end up giving them everything I could for free, or at-cost, so eventually I went broke and had to quit. It wasn't the brightest business decision, although I do still have about $600 worth of scrapbooking supplies in my closet. They're gonna be really useful when I finally get around to doing Light's baby book.

But really, when it comes down to it, my regrets have less to do with what I've done than what I've said. I don't know if you can tell this from my personality, but I have a mouth that spews stupid 24/7. It's always the first thing to enter a room and the last thing to leave. While I can recall the strip-poker-under-black-lights incident without anything more than a chuckle, when I think about what I've actually said to actual people, I physically cringe. Topping the charts in the Lani's Big Mouth Hit Parade are:

Delaware's not a state. It's a river. In Maryland.
-- Said during my freshman year in a room full of people who TO THIS DAY will not let me forget that not only is Delaware a state, it's the first state. (Hi, Bob.)

So, when are you due?
-- This is a classic. Said, of course, to a woman who was not pregnant.

The thing that I don't understand are the people who smoke while walking around with an oxygen tank. It's like, "Cancer's not enough. When I go out, it's gonna take both a carcinoma and an explosion."
-- Just as I said this, a woman with an oxygen tank walked right by me and my friend, and I felt appropriately like a complete ass. It's very bad for your karma to make fun of people with oxygen tanks. Just thought I'd pass that little lesson along.

What I'd like to know is why they have us blowing up wooden buildings that are 80 years old with no sprinkler systems. This whole place is going to burn down. Bill's an idiot.
-- This said about the old west theme park, three weeks before I left and six weeks before the place burned to the ground because of a stray cigarette and the place not being up to code. Also, this was said with my boss, Bill, (not his real name, dig me and my fancy legal footwork, Alesia) standing right behind me. So, I don't really regret this so much as wish that Bill had actually done more than give me dirty looks when I said it. Still, it's pretty classic Lani.

Oh, my God. There's a game on?
-- Said to my good friend Babs, who despite the nickname is actually a guy, when I called him during the NCAA championship game in which Syracuse was playing. This was while I was attending Syracuse University, and campus was dead because everyone who wasn't at the game was watching it.

So, what? No suspenders?
-- Said to Larry King, Jr. (his real name; sorry, Alesia, but I have to roll the legal dice or the joke won't work) when he was my boss. He laughed, but I could tell by the deep disdain in his eyes that he'd heard that one maybe once or twice before. FYI, making fun of your boss's famous dad? Not the way to win points.

Shh. Don't tell them about the explosives in my carry-on.
-- Said while pointing at the "It is illegal to joke about weapons" sign at the security gate in the Anchorage airport. This was about eight years pre-9/11, but still phenomenally stupid. My best friend Tracy and I kept joking about it, and Fish and her boyfriend Bob had to physically separate us before we got arrested.

There, of course, are thousands more, but we only have so much space. What about you? What's the stupidest thing you've ever said? Share, share. It can't just be me.

Please. Let it not just be me.

This blog was brought to you by I Did, But I Wouldn't Now, Cara's hilarious novel about loving, leaving and starting over again.

Posted by Lani at 6:12 AM | Comments (6)

September 15, 2006

I Did But I Definitely Wouldn't Now

When hindsight is 20/20

So it’s my turn to kick of theme week! Hooray. I love themes. They’re a lot like matching shoes and handbags, which is another favorite past time of mine. So, in honor of my latest release “I Did (But I Wouldn’t Now)” this week’s theme is: Regret.

In “I Did (But I Wouldn’t Now)” my main character, Lily, marries a rock star in training who hits it big, cheats on her, and then moves out. Marrying said rock star becomes Lily’s biggest regret.Now, I’ve been lucky enough so far not to have married a rock star, or even dated one for longer than six months, but I do have my share of regrets.

There are plenty of times I wish I could shout “do-over,” but unfortunately, life doesn’t have a rewind button. If it did, I so would have listened to my roommate in college about carb-loading BEFORE hitting the bars for shots.

Now, I’ve been lucky enough so far not to have married a rock star, or even dated one for longer than six months, but I do have my share of regrets. There are plenty of times I wish I could shout “do-over,” but unfortunately, life doesn’t have a rewind button. If it did, I so would have listened to my roommate in college about carb-loading BEFORE hitting the bars for shots.

My problem with regret is that I have plenty of them. You have to divide them by category, really. Like everyone, I have plenty of dating regrets. There was my musician phase, which was disastrous, and then my Bad Boy phase, which was even worse. In college, I briefly dated an Israeli paratrooper who once beat up a homeless man who tried to take his wallet. Said Israeli paratrooper was a little unhinged to say the least. He had an anger management problem and a problem with spontaneously crying for no reason.
It was a little like dating Jean Claude Van Damme, if Van Damme had serious psychological problems.

And then there are professional regrets. Take, for instance, a job I held at what I call the Evil Spam Company five years ago. Yes, we sent spam. Of course, they were so evil, and I was so technologically clueless, that I didn’t realize that’s what we did until after about six months of working there. The job was miserable, but I met one of my best friends there, so I can’t say I wish I’d never worked there at all. Still, if I’d known I would have been spending eight hours a day proof-reading “Lower Your Mortgage Now” messages, I might have considered taking a different job. I’m only thankful that we didn’t actually send out any Viagra messages, which we left to our competitors.

And then there were the five years I spent working as a newspaper reporter. This was my first job out of school, and let me tell you, Lois Lane, I am not. Every time the police scanner went off, I’d want to go hide in the bathroom because I knew my editor would want to send me off to cover some brush fire, and I’d miss happy hour with my friends. It’s pretty clear where my priorities lay.

Of course, the silver lining of regrets is that they make fantastic stories. And who need therapy, when you can write a 350 page novel, thinly disguising the people who drove you nuts? Not to mention, when you write fiction, you get to end the story exactly the way you wanted things to end, unlike in life. That’s one of many reasons I love to write (and read) fiction. Regrets have a way of just working themselves out.

This blog was brought to you by
I Did, But I Wouldn't Now, Cara's hilarious novel about loving, leaving and starting over again.

Posted by at 9:59 AM | Comments (1)

September 14, 2006

My inner child

wants an Easy Bake Oven. And a Pound Puppy. And Barbie’s dream house.

Whitney’s reference yesterday to the Easy Bake Oven brought back poignant memories of childhood…memories, that is, of toys that I demanded and was denied. My parents were big believers in “delayed gratification” and “appreciating what you already have”…pfft! Whateva. How could anyone appreciate what she has when she knows full well she is missing out on:

The Snoopy Sno-Cone Machine

Oh, how I coveted this. I knew, deep in my seven-year-old heart, that all of life’s problems would be solved if I only had one of these suckers cranking out sweet, syrupy slush. But my mom apparently put “scads of refined sugar” in the same category as “instant gratification,” so I had to wait until college to indulge my desire. I am here to tell you, Snoopy Sno-Cone Machine + vanilla vodka = good times.

Pound Puppies
Dude, I wanted one of these SO BADLY. Looking at them as an adult, I am not sure what the appeal was, but in grade school, I thought they were the bee’s knees. I begged and pleaded and groveled and tantrumed, but my mom held the line. And now, I have grown up to collect a pack of real, live, drooling pound puppies. I’m sure there’s a lesson to be learned here, but I am a little afraid to know what it is.

Barbie’s Dream House
You know, the two-story mansion with the working elevator. When I was little, I was given a hand-crafted, to-scale artisan replica of a Victorian home, complete with little lace curtains in the windows and gold-rimmed china in the dining room, but it didn’t have no elevator. My bourgeois roots betrayed me—when offered tasteful elegance, I yearned instead for the pink plastic status symbols of a nouveau riche label whore. My sister and I did have the Barbie camper, though. And the Palomino pony. I know you are jealous.

I have to give my mom and dad their props, though—they got their hands on a Cabbage Patch Kid for me at the very height of the marketing frenzy, back when soccer moms would routinely knife each other in the aisles of Ames to secure the only remaining doll. (Side note: Did they have Ames where you lived? It’s kind of an old-school, New England equivalent of Target.) Anyway, I’m pretty sure they literally had to buy my kid (official, Xavier-Roberts-approved name: Carma Clea) on the black market. My grandmother lived in the same town as the Coleco factory, and workers were known to “skim” off the assembly line and re-sell for obscene profits.

I also had enough My Little Ponies to choke an actual horse.

Oh, and does anyone remember a Saturday morning cartoon called “Shirt Tales”? About a cuddly band of escaped zoo animals who wore these droll little message T-shirts and the text on the shirts would change as the plot and the animals’ moods dictated? Or am I making that up? Help me, I’m having a Strawberry Shortcake hair-scented flashback…

Posted by Beth at 12:09 AM | Comments (16)

September 13, 2006

A Little Less Conversation . . .

. . . . A Little More Action.

Remember my post about how I didn’t like guitar music?

Cara’s blog made me realize I should have taken it one step further: I’ve also never been that big on musicians. I never dated one back in my single days. Hell, I’d get annoyed when a date tried to force me to listen to some song while he rocked out on his air guitar. The last thing I’d ever want was to throw a real guitar into the mix. And I’ve never seen the sex appeal of those skinny-yet-skanky rockers, a la Steven Tyler or Mick Jagger.

So you can imagine my concern at realizing I just may have a budding rock star on my hands. That’s right – my three year old son wants to be a guitarist.

It all started with that damn music class I dragged him to for a year and a half. He became so entranced with Miss Jodi’s guitar, that he could hardly keep his hands off it while she was playing. When I told my mom about this guitar fascination, she immediately went out and began to search for a toddler-sized guitar, finally settling on a little ukulele.

(As a side note, I’m finding it hilarious that my parents who gave me one measly buck a week for my allowance – which I had to earn through a series of chores that included cleaning out the cats’ litter box – have decided to completely abandon all principals with their grandchildren. If Sam even glances in the direction of a toy while accompanied by a grandparent, they buy it for him. And I just shake my head. I don’t know where these people came from, but where were they when I was five and wanted an Easy Bake Oven?)

Sam likes to sit in a chair and pick away at his uke, crooning softly to himself like a pint-sized Elvis. He also likes to enlist George and me for family sing alongs. So far, his repertoire is pretty much limited to a bastardized version of Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star. (My attempts to introduce Sam to disco have largely gone unrewarded, although he will occasionally indulge me by dancing to some Abba).

I have to admit, it’s pretty cute. But I am drawing the line if he starts asking for a drum set.

Posted by Whitney at 6:23 AM | Comments (8)

September 12, 2006

If you wore it the first time around . . .

You may want to think hard before you wear it the second time around

Leggings are back. I can say this definitively since there were at least three adolescent girls sporting them at Thing Two's band gig this past Saturday night. (Yes. My twelve-year-old has a rock 'n roll band. It is far too cute to describe so I will not even attempt it.) They weren't wearing them the way I remember wearing them the last time leggings were "in", however. Now, instead of wearing them under an enormous shirt that hides a multitude of sins, they wear them under tiny little mini-skirts with itsy-bitsy little stretchy tops.

I recently proclaimed myself too old for mini-skirts, largely because of the whole thigh cellulite thing. So I was eyeing these young girls and contemplating the fact that the leggings would certainly cover that whole cottage cheese thigh thing up quite admirably.

Still, I felt uneasy.

I consulted a friend who is one of those people who has good judgment on a multitude of subjects from fashion to kitchen decluttering to relationships. She's the one who gave me the words of wisdom at the top of the blog. Yep. If you wore it the first time around, you should think really hard before you wear it the second time around.

I think this might apply to more than clothes. For instance, I did the hustle in junior high, but I skipped the whole electric slide thing that came along a few decades later. I'm pretty sure they're the same dance. I'm ashamed to admit that I know the macarena. I swear I will not do it if it comes around again. Seriously. I promise.

I also vow not to make my hair unnaturally large, wear blouses with a huge bow at my throat or dresses with a huge bow on my butt. Even if big-haired bow-wearing women become all the rage, I will not succumb.

Is there a particular fashion that you would repeat in a New York minute? Or one you'd rather die than be seen in again?

Posted by Eileen at 7:00 AM | Comments (20)

September 11, 2006

Two truths and a lie, THE SEQUEL

SECOND CHANCES

WOW! I think I made last week’s fun little game WAY TOO HARD!!! Because, the truth is, so many of us here at the LC are so freaking odd that it’s hard to tell the difference between us! So here’s what I’m going to do:

First, the GOOD NEWS!! Bravery counts! Therefore, Sai, KimW, Dia, Maureen, Hope, and Christina are all going to win a prize just for playing last week!! Email me at alesia@alesiaholliday.com with your snail mail addy, gals, and a lovely prize will be on its way! (oh, and read further to see which ones you did get right)

Second, the SECOND CHANCE: I’m going to make it a little easier on you by disclosing WHO IS WHO – all you have to do is sniff out the lie. And the three contestants who get the highest number of correct answers will win! Something! Probably in the shape of a book! Here goes:

CONTESTANT NUMBER 1. BETH KENDRICK SAYS:

I'm afraid of cats.
My bellybutton is pierced.
My grandfather pitched for the Yankees.

CONTESTANT NUMBER 2. CARA LOCKWOOD SAYS:

I grew up less than a mile from a rodeo.
I went goth in high school, listened to the cure and wore nothing but black.
I’m a size zero, and on fat days, a two.

CONTESTANT NUMBER 3. EILEEN RENDAHL SAYS:

I am the great grand-niece of the poet I.J. Schwarz, famous among the Yiddish literati in the early twentieth century for his epic poem "Kentucky" written entirely in Yiddish.
I bought my current home, sight and unseen, on the advice of my sister and then fourteen-year-old niece while I was at a Diamondbacks game. I bid on the house during the second inning and bought it by the seventh.
When I was in college, I accidentally set fire to my apartment by forgetting to turn off a space heater when I went to class.

CONTESTANT NUMBER 4. WHITNEY GASKELL SAYS:
When I was in the seventh grade, I won my school spelling bee, but was defeated in the city-wide round when I misspelled the word bellwether.
When I was in the second grade, I broke my leg skiing on the Bunny Hill. My mother thought I was faking it, and tried to make me get up and ski the rest of the way down.
When I was in the eighth grade, I was a member of a school singing group called the Good Time Singers. We wore matching red polyester sweaters, and danced a box step as we sang.

CONTESTANT NUMBER 5. ALESIA HOLLIDAY SAYS:
When I was little, I wanted to be a werewolf when I grew up.
I was kicked out of Girl Scouts for organizing a raid on the Boy Scout camp
I love bluegrass music.

CONTESTANT NUMBER 6. LANI DIANE RICH SAYS:
In college, I worked as a teller at a bank and was held up at gunpoint by a 13-year-old kid who then escaped on his Schwinn.
My husband has webbed toes.
I was once kissed by Desi Arnaz, Jr.

CONTESTANT NUMBER 7. MICHELLE CUNNAH SAYS: I once danced for Kenneth Kawunda, the then president of Zambia, holding a birdcage in my hand.
I was once the only female member of a drag act.
I've never eaten snails, frog's legs, octopus, squid or ostrich.

Hugs,
Alesia, who is giddy because the Book That Would Not Die is finally shipped to NY!!

Posted by Alesia at 6:00 AM | Comments (17)

September 9, 2006

Nothing But Class

Yes, I have class. It's here. Somewhere. Although it might have gotten lost in the move...

You know, I recently made a promise to myself. I decided, without consulting my fellow LCs, that... well... I kinda bring down the property value here. They're all so classy and sweet and nice. They have decorum, and boundaries. They talk about golf carts and black thumbs and Monobrows.

And I tell you about fucking pools.

I've been feeling kind of bad about this because I think my fellow LCs deserve better, even though they've never complained, because truly classy people don't think they're classier than other people. And my girls here at the LC? Truly classy girls. So, a little while back, I promised myself I would never use the "f" word on the LC again. I would behave like someone who has some sense of what is and is not appropriate when presenting herself as a (pseudo) professional person.

But... something has happened. Something which is wonderful, and life-affirming, and glorious, but sadly to tell it requires that I partake of the "f" word prodigiously. So, with apologies to my fellow LCs who deserve better than to be associated with someone like me, I'm going to shout my news to very LC rafters, and just ask you all not to hold it against any of them. I'm the Touretic spaz here, and they really can't do anything but hang their heads in dismay. So, don't let it reflect on them as I tell you that...

THE FUCKING POOL LEAVES TODAY!

I don't know if I've ever been this happy over passing on possession of an inanimate object. But then, nothing has ever been (apologies, apologies) such a fucking pain in the fucking ass as that fucking pool.

Hooo. Okay. Feeling better.

About three weeks ago, I told Fish to send out an e-mail to his work buddies, to see if anyone wanted a fucking pool. After much lively discussion and quite a number of, "It's just a nickname, boys. It's a regular pool," messages, one of Fish's co-workers who has a truck and an incomprehensible desire to take possession of an inconvenient money-sink, has agreed to come over and take the pool off our hands.

Of course, the fucking pool had to grant me one final flip-off for old time's sake. Our plan had been to use the pump to drain the pool, which makes total sense, right? And, for a while, it was working okay. Until I went out this morning to discover that, sometime in the night, the fucking pool said, "Fuck this shit," and the pump shorted out or something. So, off to Home Depot to drop another hundred bucks on the fucking pool to buy a fucking submersible pump which I hope to the gods is returnable even after pumping approximately 5,000 gallons of water.

I doubt it. But it'll be worth a shot.

Anyway, I'm going to my writer's meeting today, and when I return, the fucking pool should be gone, leaving a large, ugly, empty, circular space in the middle of my back yard which I will remember fondly next year when I fill it with fucking flowers.

(Whoops. Sorry. Old habits die hard. I promise. That's the last one. From now on, nothing but class. Pinky swear.)

UPDATE: Since you asked, and the comments won't allow html, I'd like to put this out for your edification.

That's Light, by the way, playing in the ton of sand that was under the fucking pool. Isn't she sweet?

Posted by Lani at 7:37 AM | Comments (11)

September 8, 2006

My Man Vs. Nature

Squirrels are scary

Our squirrel is back.

But, first, let me tell you the story about our squirrel. Last summer, we discovered a squirrel living in a flower pot on the balcony of our condo. This tells more about my lack of planting skills and the fact that I left a flower pot nearly empty of flowers for six months than it does about the ingenuity of the squirrel, but I digress. Said squirrel looked very cute sitting in the flower pot, and being an animal-lover I didn’t want to dislodge the poor thing from his humble abode, especially when he looked so comfortable all curled up in there.

Well, things took a turn for the worst, when the squirrel decided he wanted to upgrade his living arrangements and actually move in with us. He got into our condo by gnawing his way through a screened window, and effectively terrorized my husband for three hours one Saturday afternoon.

I was out shopping with my mom on Michigan Avenue (Chicago). We're in Filene's Basement looking at some fantastic bargains, when my mobile rang. It was my husband calling:

Daren (sounding panicked): There's a squirrel in the house.
Me: There's a what?
Daren: A SQUIRREL! Oh GOD! ACK! He's big. Did I tell you he's big? I mean, he's REALLY BIG.
ME: What's happening?
Daren: He's jumping on our furniture. He's running over everything, and he's not scared of me at all. What do I do? Should I call 911? Oh my God! He's coming for me! Agggh!

Now, my husband is 6'1" and weighs 195 pounds. The squirrel was eight inches long and probably weighed four pounds. Granted, my husband is a pacifist. He doesn't even like to squish bugs, and when we had a mouse problem some time back, we spent some time arguing about whose job it was to throw away the glue trap that had caught Speedy Gonzales. My husband likes to say, "Why do I have to do it just because I'm a guy? That's reverse sexism."

So standing in Filene's and not wanting to leave the Fendi scarves I've just found on sale for $14, I give my husband a "pep talk" or what he calls my "Be a Man" speech. I tell him he ought to a) close the door to contain the squirrel; b) open our patio door; c) try to shoo it out with a broom.

"Uh, yeah, right," my husband says. "I don't think you realize how big this squirrel is. It's BIG. He’s not going to be scared by a broom. You don’t understand what I’m dealing with here. He has NO fear."

I hang up and suddenly start thinking that maybe my husband needs back-up. After all, there was the time he killed a tiny spider in our apartment by emptying an ENTIRE can of Raid on the bug in front of our air conditioner, so our entire apartment smelled like insecticide for a week. I have images of the squirrel wrecking havoc all over my living room and decide to go home to help.

When Mom and I arrive at my place, we find no squirrel, but we do find my husband Daren, dressed in "squirrel fighting gear" which includes his snowboots, his leather jacket, a tennis raquet and a broom. "I've taken care of him," Daren says, sounding proud.

"What are you wearing?" I ask, wondering if Daren's strategy was to convince the squirrel he was insane by wearing snowboots in August.

"I had on flip flops and shorts," he says. "You couldn't expect me to fight a squirrel wearing flip flops and shorts."

Apparently, my husband spent an hour chasing the squirrel around the house wearing everything but a catcher's mask and hockey pads. According to him, he was throwing up his arms and making all kinds of racket, shouting “Get outta here squirrel! Go away.” The squirrel, however, was entirely unfazed, just like me when Daren tells me I ought not to spend so much at Nordstrom's. Mr. Squirrel, apparently, literally ran circles around Daren’s legs to taunt him.

When Daren, exhausted from his show of brute force, took a break to go looking for a phone book to call animal control, he looked up to see that the squirrel had - of its own accord - gone back out the open window, and was sitting there on the outer window sill, as Daren says, "mocking him." In a heroic leap, though, Daren threw himself into the room and slammed down the window, just as the squirrel was planning on coming "back on the offensive."

Well, after that, my husband threw out the flower pot (the squirrel’s home) and we thought that that would be the end of the rodent-with-a-tail. But apparently, he really likes Daren’s Lazy Boy, because the squirrel is back. We caught him trying to gnaw his way through our window AC unit wings this week, trying to get into our bedroom.

“Now do you believe me about how dangerous these things are?” my husband asked me at two in the morning when we were both awakened by the racket the squirrel was making intently gnawing on the plastic. He’d made enough progress to get the tip of his nose through one of our air conditioning slats.

I’m not sure what’s more annoying – the squirrel, or having to tell my husband he was right.

Posted by at 9:45 AM | Comments (8)

September 7, 2006

`Tis the Season

Well, almost.

Sorry, guys—this is going to be a short post because there’s giant lightning storm rolling in from the west and it’s only a matter of minutes until Mr. Tall charges in and insists on unplugging all electrical appliances.

Okay, back to your regularly scheduled blog…

I have a confession to make: I started my Christmas shopping last weekend. I know. It’s wrong. So very, very wrong. But I can’t help myself.

Here’s the thing: I can’t face the prospect of doing ALL my holiday prep after Thanksgiving. There’s already party hosting and cleaning and decorating and baking to do. (Which reminds me: I promise to pass along the recipe for chocolate cranberry cheesecake when we get closer to December.) How do people manage to shop in addition to all that??? And not devolve into histroinic harpies???

So I spent Labor Day cruising around the Internet, picking out gifts for my nearest and dearest. When my sister called, I shared this news with her and her response was, and I quote: “LA LA LA LA, I CAN’T HEAR YOU!!!”

Oh, and do you want to hear the sickest, most depraved part of all? I already have fresh new boxes of holiday cards all ready to be signed, stamped, and sent out into the world. (They have dogs on them. Shocker.) I bought them 50% off last year after Christmas because I’m just that cheap and/or have a deep-seated control-freaky need to feel prepared.

What have I become? I used to mock people who started Christmas shopping in August! I was getting ready to break down and ask for help and then…

I went to the mall today and saw lots of shops breaking out their holiday décor. And I put my hands over my ears and shouted, “LA LA LA LA, I CAN’T HEAR YOU!!!”

Because, really. There are limits.

Posted by Beth at 1:03 AM | Comments (12)

September 6, 2006

View from a Bike

Changing vehicles changes more than my gas bill

I've been riding my bike more lately. This happened for a number of reasons. The biggie is that my heel still hurts like crazy so I can't run on it. (Insert sighs of sympathy here, please.) Next is that I have my grocery bike -- the big heavy one with the enormous baskets on the back -- back from Thing One who was riding it last year after his brand spanking new bike was stolen. Anyway, I once again have a bike that's practical to ride when doing errands. The temperatures have, for the most part, dipped down into double digits from the triple digits they were hovering in for a good portion of the summer and gas prices have risen along with the number on the scale (see aforementioned "I can't run" item). All in all, it seemed like a good idea to spend more time on my bike.

I've been amazed at how different everything looks when I'm on my bike. The first things I noticed were on the long bike route I've been taking with my exercise buddies. When I'm driving the narrow back road between Davis and Winters in my car, I'm pretty focused on staying on my side of the winding road. I hadn't realized how fascinating the geometric layout of the trees was in the orchards or ever really tracked the progress of the fruit. I hadn't appreciated how the creek winds up to the road and away again or even noticed some of the little houses tucked away in the trees. The whole road has changed for me. There are new landmarks and different views and even a few moments of special bicycle bliss when you wind out of the shadows into the sunshine and the vista with the foothills opens before you.

Even in town, things seem different. I've been driving these streets for a long time now and I felt like I knew this town like the back of my hand. Maybe I did. It is, after all, a pretty small town and regardless of the length of time my ancestors spent wandering around in a very small desert, even I can find my way from the river streets over on the west side of town through the spanish streets and bird streets to the north and the colleges over on the east side. Still, stuff is different on my bike. I now know which streets are shadiest, which bike paths have the annoying roundabouts, where the houses with the particularly pretty gardens are to ride past. I choose my routes through town on my bike for completely different reasons than I choose routes for my car.

What I really want, however, is to apply this changing point of view concept to other parts of my life. There's a street that dead ends at a park that I never drive my car on. Well, I go on it all the time on my bike. Are there streets in my life that I've been avoiding because I'm not in the right "vehicle"? Is there a view that would make my heart sing that I'm just not seeing because I'm going too fast to notice it? Or because I'm so focused on being safe that I can't be bothered to look at it?

I know I'd like to change how I view lots of things about myself. What about you? What would you like to look at differently?

Posted by Eileen at 8:56 AM | Comments (8)

September 5, 2006

Black Thumb, Green Heart

But I really, really try. Really.

My mother appeared on my doorstep with an enormous fake tree.

“I don’t want it,” I said, rather ungraciously. Although she already knew this, considering she’d called me earlier and announced her intention of bringing over the fake tree, and I asked her not to. Well, actually, I told her not to.

“Just let me bring it in,” she said. “And then you can mock it, and I’ll take it away.”

“Okay, fine,” I grumbled. And she brought in the plant, placed it in my living room and looked at me. “Well?”

“No,” I said.

“I don’t think she’s going to go for it,” my mother, ever perceptive, said to Sam. He just giggled.

“I told you. I hate fake plants,” I said.

“Not all fake plants are bad,” she argued.

“Yes, they are. Oprah even said so,” I bleated.

It’s always an act of desperation to invoke the Gospel of Oprah, but I really didn’t want the fake tree in my house.

“She did not,” my mother said.

“Yes, she did. She had a whole show on it. There was a woman who was obsessed with fake plants, and Oprah said they were tacky and insisted that she remove them all from her house,” I said.

“I was going to bring you a real plant . . . but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I thought, what has the poor plant done to deserve living with you?” Mom said sadly.

“I’m not that bad,” I said sulkily.

But George had started laughing. “Whitney has a black thumb. A green heart, but a black thumb,” he said, cracking himself up so much he had to wipe tears from his eyes.

I’ll admit, this stung. Because the truth is . . . I do have crap luck with plants. I kill everything. Everything. I’m the only person I know who can't keep a cactus alive. I can’t tell you how many times a Home Depot employee has handed a plant to me and said, “This one's easy to take care of” . . . only to have the leaves curl up and turn brown within a month.

And it’s not that I don’t try! I do! I follow the instructions – I water, I fertilize, I provide adequate light. And it’s all to no avail.

As I type this, my staghorn fern is languishing on the wall. Everything I’ve read about staghorn ferns has claimed that they’re low maintenance. That all they need is a quick, twenty-minute dunk in a bucket of water once a week, and they should flourish. Yeah, well. I did that.

This is what a staghorn fern should look like:

And this is what my staghorn fern looks like:

Pitiful, no?

But as pathetic as I am, I still refuse to resort to fake plants. I’ll just try watering a bit more . . . and maybe buying some new fertilizer.

And if that doesn’t work, I’ll do what I always do in the end . . . shove the plant outdoors, and announce loudly that if God wants the plant to live, it’s up to Him to take care of it.

Posted by Whitney at 6:00 AM | Comments (12)

September 4, 2006

Two truths and a lie

What do you REALLY know about the Lit Chicks?

Now that we’ve had a long weekend to process the news we’ve all been waiting for – that Tom Cruise has apologized to Brooke Shields for his amazingly assholish, what the f#$k was he thinking, er, I mean, LESS THAN POLITE remarks about post-partum depression, something he knows so much about, having a UTERUS and all . . .

Oh. Maybe that’s another blog. Heh.

So on to the fun and games portion of our day! We’re going to play TWO TRUTHS AND A LIE. I am shamelessly stealing the idea for this game from the lovely Suz Brockmann, because we laughed so hard when we played it in Atlanta I nearly fell off the stage.

Here’s how it works: I’ll give you two truths and a lie about each of the six of us here at the LC AND our special guest Cara Lockwood! You write in the comments which author you think matches each number and ALSO for bonus points, which one you think is the lie. So, for example, if I said:

1. Did bad home hair straightener kit once and had to cut 28 inches of fried hair off. Can sing national anthem of the Philippines in Tagalog. Have a tattoo in the shape of a pug.

And you said: 1. Alesia. The lie is the tattoo.

You would hear the cyber clanging of BIG BELLS AND WHISTLES!! Because you’d be RIGHT and you’d win some sort of FABULOUS PRIZE that will involve books! And a t-shirt! And other assorted fun stuff that our office manager, Jazz Terlicki, is demanding, er, encouraging us to move out of the storage closet at the LC offices!! (UPDATE: I'M LEAVING THE GAME UP ALL WEEK, SINCE IT'S A HOLIDAY WEEK! CHECK BACK NEXT WEEK FOR THE WINNERS!!Oh, and check this space next Monday for the winners so you can email me your addys; we are strictly a “no tracking people down” kind of joint.)

So without further ado, here goes:

CONTESTANT NUMBER 1. THIS LIT CHICK SAYS:

I'm afraid of cats.

My bellybutton is pierced.

My grandfather pitched for the Yankees.

CONTESTANT NUMBER 2. THIS LIT CHICK SAYS:

I grew up less than a mile from a rodeo.

I’m a size zero, and on fat days, a two.

I went goth in high school, listened to the cure and wore nothing but black.

CONTESTANT NUMBER 3. THIS LIT CHICK SAYS:

I am the great grand-niece of the poet I.J. Schwarz, famous among the Yiddish literati in the early twentieth century for his epic poem "Kentucky" written entirely in Yiddish.

I bought my current home, sight and unseen, on the advice of my sister and then fourteen-year-old niece while I was at a Diamondbacks game. I bid on the house during the second inning and bought it by the seventh.

When I was in college, I accidentally set fire to my apartment by forgetting to turn off a space heater when I went to class.

CONTESTANT NUMBER 4. THIS LIT CHICK SAYS:

When I was in the seventh grade, I won my school spelling bee, but was defeated in the city-wide round when I misspelled the word bellwether.

When I was in the second grade, I broke my leg skiing on the Bunny Hill. My mother thought I was faking it, and tried to make me get up and ski the rest of the way down.

When I was in the eighth grade, I was a member of a school singing group called the Good Time Singers. We wore matching red polyester sweaters, and danced a box step as we sang.

CONTESTANT NUMBER 5. THIS LIT CHICK SAYS:

When I was little, I wanted to be a werewolf when I grew up.

I was kicked out of Girl Scouts for organizing a raid on the Boy Scout camp

I love bluegrass music. Especially anything involving dueling banjos!

CONTESTANT NUMBER 6. THIS LIT CHICK SAYS:

In college, I worked as a teller at a bank and was held up at gunpoint by a 13-year-old kid who then escaped on his Schwinn.

My husband has webbed toes.

I was once kissed by Desi Arnaz, Jr.

CONTESTANT NUMBER 7. THIS LIT CHICK SAYS:

I once danced for Kenneth Kawunda, the then president of Zambia, holding a birdcage in my hand.

I was once the only female member of a drag act.

I've never eaten snails, frog's legs, octopus, squid or ostrich.

OKAY, ARE YOU AFRAID YET?? Are these things you never wanted to know about another human being, let alone your beloved Lit Chicks?? (Trust me, we feel the same way!!!) So GOOD LUCK and HAVE FUN!!
Hugs,
Alesia

Posted by Alesia at 9:05 AM | Comments (11)

September 3, 2006

Monobrow: The Sequel

Today, a little tale of a mini disaster because it's been so long since we had one around here...

I know, I know, I promised you the scoop on Paris (heavenly) and Pissoirs: Le Sequel (a gripping tale not to be missed). Well, more on them next week, with photos, I promise. But due to a slight technical promlem (don't laugh) I am currently unable to upload the pix from the digital camera. Okay, okay, so I forgot to buy AA batteries and the digital camera is currently out of action. Oh, go on then. Laugh if you want to :-)

Anyway, it's been a while since I had red tape problems, or hanging on the telephone problems, or, in fact, any kind of problem. So why should I be suprised when, recently, we had a little episode. Or rather Oh Patient One did...

A little while ago I told you about Teenager No 2 and his monobrow "accident". Well, the other day Oh Patient One went off to the bathroom to clip his hair (he likes to keep it about 3/4 of an inch all round). He's been doing this for years, and he's goood at it because he's had a lot of experience with them there clippers. So imagine my surprise when about a half hour later this strange bald guy walked into the living room. I nearly fell off my chair!

Me (with mouth open in fly catching mode): "? ? ? ? ?"

Oh Patient One (with a very sheepish grin on his face): "Er, I thought I'd shave my head for a change, you know, because it's time I had a different look."

Me (still with the fly catching mode mouth): "? ? ? ?"

Oh Patient One (still a bit sheepish, but trying for a matter of fact tone): "You know - I thought I'd go for the Bruce Willis look. I mean, you think he's sexy, don't you?"

Me (having progressed beyond fly catching mode and am now clutching the chair because I am in grave danger of falling off it): "? ? ? ?"

Oh Patient One (now just a bit grumpily): "Well, okay, my hand slipped and I accidentally shaved off a whole strip of hair from my forehead to the back of my head, and rather than look like a reverse Mohican, I shaved off the whole lot so that at least it's all the same length."

Me (clutching at my stomach as I helplessly roll on the floor): "Hahahahahahahahahahahaha."

Oh Patient One: "Well, it's not like we don't all have hair disaster accidents from time to time, is it, Michelle? Remember when you gave yourself and your sister a hair cut?"

Me (in between gusts of laughter): "Yes, but I was only eight years old at the time. Bwahahahahahahahahahahahaha."

Oh Patient One (with a sniff): "You hate it, don't you?"

Me (trying for supportive and positive): "Don't worry, it will grow back. Bwahahahahahahahahahahahah."

Oh Patient One (leaving the room in disgust): "I'm going to look for my baseball hat."

Me: " Bwahahahahahahahahaha."

This happened two weeks ago (just before we left for Paris, in fact) and I am happy to report that Oh Patient One's hair is growing back. Finally.

Surely we cannot be the only family in the world who have these odd little mini moments? Come on, Chicklets, fess up and tell me it ain't so ;-)

Michelle

Posted by Michelle at 12:13 PM | Comments (11)

September 1, 2006

Musicians and other I Did's

Keep on Rockin' in the Free World (Without Musician Boyfriends)

Hi everybody!

I'm honored and thrilled to be a guest blogger with such savvy and entertaining authors, and I only hope that my meager blog skills will be able to compare. Because I’m new, I’ll try to keep on my best behavior, which means trying not to self-promote too hard (it’s a disease that I suffer from and I’m currently in a 12-step recovery program for Shameless Self-Promoters).

That said, I am very happy to be promoting my latest chick lit masterpiece (okay, sorry, that was a slip up of my self-promotion disease), “I Did (But I Wouldn’t Now).” The book follows the antics of Lily Crandell, who has married a rock star and discovered that life married to a famous guy with groupies is not all it’s cracked up to be. She dumps Ted after catching him getting cozy with an actress in public, and then escapes to London to get away from hearing his number-one single played everywhere she goes.

I’ve been asked several times if I’ve dated musicians, and if any of them were inspiration for Ted, Lily’s ex rocker beau.

Sadly, I have dated musicians. I think some girls go through a “bad boy” phase. Well, I went through an “unemployed, lame musician” phase, where I dated a drummer and then a bass guitarist. Neither one had any talent or became famous, but it didn’t prevent me from imagining that they would some day. The fact that my drummer had never played a venue bigger than the high school football field (yes, he was in the marching band - how seriously sad is that?) didn't stop me from dreaming of him becoming the next big thing. Once I figured out that my drummer had no intention of forming his own band and touring, I moved on to my Bass Guitarist. He actually had a band, even though their main stage was his mother's garage and the occasional Bar Mitzvah.

My experience with the Bass Guitarist taught me that while it seems like it would be cool to be the backstage girlfriend of a guy who can play “Margaritaville” with his eyes closed, that it’s actually not all that fun. Besides the fact that he never actually played any real gigs, he still managed to have legions of fans, and I realized that should he actually hit it big one day, I'd never be able to compete with hundreds of screaming fans, especially since I could never quite get that excited about his music. My Bass Guitarist Beau was into instrumental “jamming” that would go on for ages and never have any catchy parts, but I’d have to nod, and look solemn and pretend that his jamming on the “E” and “A” chords rocked my world. It was a little, I admit, like trying to find the genius in the music of Spinal Tap.

I’m only thankful I outgrew musicians in favor of accountants (my husband is an actuary) before I was old enough to want to buy things at Pottery Barn. Honestly, the best part about dating a musician is breaking up with them, so that you don’t have to pretend to like their music anymore.

I’ll be back next Friday, until then, I hope everybody has a great Labor Day weekend! Until then, stay away from boys who play guitars!

Posted by at 5:27 PM | Comments (7)