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You know who I find attractive?
I was just thinking of him the other day. Never mind why. I didn’t know his name. I’ve always just thought of him as “the guy who plays the cheerleader’s dad on Heroes.” I was never super-into Heroes. I don’t think I finished watching the second season. I dunno. I might have. It wasn’t very good. But anyway, I was thinking of him and didn’t know his name, so I Googled him–because I’ve been known to do that with the handsome men. I probably don’t have to tell you that. So I found out his name is Jack Coleman, and then I Googled the Google images of Jack Coleman, and what appears before my eyes?
Yikes. That is to say, wow, that was not what I was expecting. Yes, that is Jack Coleman as he appeared on Dynasty twenty-something years ago. I never watched Dynasty. And yes, I understand that I missed out. What was I watching instead of Dynasty? Probably some great show that went off the air because it got killed in the ratings by Dynasty. That’s neither here nor there. I never watched Dynasty, so I never knew Jack Coleman as this hunky, eighty-licious doofus. I do not find this version of Jack Coleman attractive. It might be the haircut. The haircut is really bad. I mean, it’s almost emasculating. But I actually think it’s his youth that’s the real problem. The intervening years have made his face much more interesting. Without the crinkles around his eyes and the other tell-signs of aging, he’s just another thin-lipped punk in a polo shirt. A turquoise polo shirt. Yegh.
I think that men, generally, tend to get handsomer as they get older. Their faces have more character. Of course, there is a point at which the law of diminishing returns kicks in. Paul Newman was always handsome–he stayed handsome for a disgustingly long time–but was he more handsome at 80 or at 60? I’d say 60, no contest. (No offense, Paul Newman. I hope that in the afterlife, you are perpetually 45-50.) And there are exceptions. Robert Redford is always the first one that springs to my mind, but now that I look at pictures of him, I think I may be holding him to an impossibly high standard. (The Paul Newman standard.)
I think women also get better-looking as they get older, but the age at which they stop looking great and start looking great-for-their-age is much lower than for men. This is probably some kind of sexist crap that I’ve internalized and have no control over. It does pretty much suck. I have to say, though, that I feel more attractive at 40 than I felt at 20 (or 30), but I don’t know if that translates to actually being more attractive. I have to think it does, to some extent. I’m more comfortable in my skin metaphorically, even if the skin itself has seen better days. That has to have some positive effect, or at least a compensating effect.
On the other hand, I’m finally getting my teeth fixed and my jaw properly aligned, so maybe I really will be more attractive in my middle age than I was in my youth. Maybe skin tone is overrated.
Who do you think has gotten better looking with age? Who is aging poorly? Do you think you’re aging well or not?
I’m asking because I have nothing left to say. Also, I’m feeling kind of shallow today.
Today’s ice breaker question:
If you could be any superhero and have super powers, which one would you like to have and why?
I think I would choose invisibility because I enjoy hiding from people. And by “people,” I’m talking about my children, because I’m already more or less invisible to the rest of the world, as I sort of blend into the woodwork everywhere I go. The kids always find me, though. Being invisible around the children would really help with the whole “hiding” thing.
But on second thought, if they couldn’t find me, they’d just start screaming for me. I suppose in addition to being invisible, I’d need the superpower where you can’t hear anything. Except I think that’s called “deafness.” I don’t want to be deaf. I just don’t want to hear my kids screaming. Or anyone screaming. Of course, I’d make a pretty poor superhero if I couldn’t hear anyone screaming. Hmmm. Must rethink these superpowers.
So if I’m going to be a superhero–I mean, that is the question: “if you could be a superhero”–the sense of hearing will come in handy. Unless I developed some sixth super-sense that informed me whenever someone was in need. I think I wouldn’t even mind knowing when someone was in need of juice, as long as I couldn’t hear them screaming for it. If I could just be aware of needs without hearing screaming, specifically–hearing laughter and music and babbling brooks is okay–that would work for me.
But now that I know there are people in need, I’m still going to need some super-skills to help them, aren’t I? I’m not sure invisibility is really what I want in this case. I should probably go with super-strength or super-speed or elasticity. I’m thinking about Elastigirl now. Elasticity is a very useful talent, especially for a mother. I think it will bring me the most bang for the buck. Assuming I’m paying for these powers and they’re not just some random gift from above. Even if they are a gift, I could use that “bang for the buck” expression metaphorically.
Actually, I think my life and the lives of others would be infinitely more blessed if I just developed some regular old human powers, such as “patience” or “industry” or “perseverence” or “getting off the internet and doing something useful with one’s life.”
Oh, and pull-backs off the toe. If I could do pull-backs off the toe, I’d be set.
Today’s ice breaker question:
Mount Rushmore honors four U.S. presidents: Washington, Jefferson, Lincoln, and Roosevelt. If you could add any person to Mount Rushmore, who would you add and why?
Personally, I think I’d take Roosevelt down. No offense to him, but he’s kind of funny looking. I’ve always thought he added a “one of these things is not like the other” vibe. Maybe I’d replace him with John Adams. Not because he’s any better-looking, but where would the United States of America be without John Adams? That’s right. Also, when was the last time someone made a hit musical out of Teddy Roosevelt’s political career? That’s what I’m talking about.
The question says I can add “any” person to Mt. Rushmore, but if I were to go with a non-president, I’d probably choose a woman because if I don’t, who will? That’s right. Maybe I’ll add four, so things are perfectly balanced. Is there enough rock for that?
My top choices are Susan B. Anthony for women’s suffrage, Clara Barton for the Red Cross, Harriet Tubman for the Underground Railroad, and…Clare Booth Luce because she wrote good plays and also fought the Commies.
Needless to say, if I were going to going to add a comic strip character to Mt. Rushmore, I’d choose Snoopy. He could lie on top of everyone’s heads like they were a doghouse.
Who’s on your short list for Mt. Rushmore?
So I was wasting time on the Facebook this weekend, and I picked my top five Celebrity Crushes. I will share them with you now.
My Facebook friends noticed a distinct resemblance among these five cats. Brother Okiebu pointed out that they all had “strong noses.” I must say, I do enjoy a strong nose. The first thing I notice about a man is his nose. Because seriously, how can you miss it? It’s RIGHT THERE. If it isn’t, there’s a problem. That’s what I say.
I have loved men whose noses were not particularly prominent. I was going to give examples, but none is springing to mind at the moment…I’ll have to get back to you on that.
My husband also noticed the resemblance among these celebrity crushes of mine. He thought it was creepy. His celebrity crushes were much more varied. Christine McGlade, Mary Stuart Masterson, Helena Bonham Carter, Gillian Anderson, and Shelly Fabares. I assume that none of these women strike him as the type that smell bad. I suppose that in this respect, my husband has a nose thing, too.
Speaking of my husband, his nose doesn’t strike me as particularly strong. But neither is it unstrong. It is perfectly fine. And my husband is a very good-looking man. It just wasn’t his nose that attracted me to him. It was probably his eyes and that gap between his front teeth. (And yet I do not have a thing for David Letterman. Particularly.)
The other thing about these men is that they’re all tall. You can’t really tell that from the photos, but I think the shortest one is David Duchovny, and he’s 6 feet. I always thought I would marry a tall man, but I didn’t. My husband is 5’6″. This kind of freaked me out, initially, because I thought dating a short man would be awkward. Especially since I was very fond of wearing high heels at the time. So I felt about 5’9″, when I was really only 5’7″.
I don’t remember if I immediately went out and bought flats or not. I think I might have for the wedding. I think I still looked taller than him in the pictures. But it turned out that it isn’t that awkward dating a shorter man, or being married to one. Especially when the height difference is one inch. I went back to wearing heels a couple years ago, because I like the way they look and I’m no longer self-conscious about being taller than my husband. (I don’t know how my husband feels about it. I never asked him because I thought the question might be emasculating. Real men don’t care if their wives tower over them, right?)
I thought about making a separate list for my chick celebrity crushes, but I could only think of these two.
And that just isn’t enough for a list. I could probably come up with three other ladies I think are hot, but I wouldn’t love them, so putting them on the same list as these two would just be insulting, in a way.
Neither of these women has a prominent nose, nor are they tall. They are both decidedly on the petite and perky side. What does that say about me? That I don’t like my women looking like my men, I guess. That’s…heterosexual of me…I think.
But the height thing is interesting. Kristen Bell is 5’1″ and Gillian Anderson is 5’3″. Have you ever noticed how often very tall men end up with very short women? I have. It used to really bother me, back when I was in the market for tall men, and they were all dating perky, petite women. Now that I’m no longer in the market for any men, tall or otherwise, I seem to have made my peace with perky, petite women.
Actually, I’m sure it’s something much weirder than making peace. Maybe I still harbor a desire to be with a tall man, only since it’s forbidden–what with being married and all–it’s morphed into some fantasy about being a tall man and consequently being attracted to short women…which isn’t forbidden…because I’m not actually gay. Particularly.
And now I end this ill-considered but highly attractive blog. Use the comment section to psychoanalyze me and/or confess your own celebrity crushes.
what is that creepy mormon humming music
This is one of those searches that make me wonder if some people use Google like a friend. I’m totally envisioning someone sitting around with his or her laptop, surfing away at the interwebs, and all of a sudden they hear someone humming. They look up and see a creepy Mormon. How do they know the creep is Mormon? Perhaps Mormons hum more than normal people. (I know I do.) At any rate, our Googler obviously has advanced Mo-dar skillz (sorry, OBL). But instead of just thinking to themselves, “Huh, that’s weird,” and going back to what they were doing before, they turn to their search engine and ask, “What is that creepy Mormon humming music?” What result are they expecting to get from Google, exactly? “Oh, I know, huh? Those Mormons are totally creepy! Mormon hummers anyway! LOL!” I suppose I’ll never know.
giraffe egg get fertilized
To paraphrase Liz Lemon, I do not want to go to there.
know your rude signs
Is this like that Letterman routine, “Know Your Current Events”? Indeed, people, you should know your rude signs. You don’t want to be caught off guard when someone gives you a sign and you don’t know whether it’s rude or not and find yourself unable to respond in kind. Especially if it’s a creepy Mormon. (Humming!)
There’s another kind?
Assorted Pervert Searches (aka “no comment”):
“whoopee cushion” fetish
zooey deschanel pantyhose
the woman who prefer wearing pampers
funny animated photos of jewish bubbie
pms hobby wagon wheels
I’m going to need some help parsing this one. Is this somebody with a PMS-related hobby? Somehow it involves wagons (or at least wagon wheels)? Is it a hobby wagon to carry off people who are incapacitated by PMS? I want to know!
driving to school tired
How could a person be curious about this? “Driving to school tired–is that dangerous?” “I dunno–why don’t you ask the internet?” “Tell me more of this ‘driving to school tired,’ internet!” I don’t get it.
i just don’t know. so much has happened.
I’d love to know the search that preceded this one. Or the search result from the previous search. Is this person asking for relationship advice? How supportive is the search engine being? These are the things I wonder.
Public service announcement: Ahem! “How to type expletives.” Observe:
and if you’re really upset,
People with proofreading challenges:
who do you spell giraffe
how do you sepll girafe
how do u spell giraffe
how do you spell giraph
how do you spell giraffi
Hear this now: popsicles must always be used for good, never evil. Do not search out such perversions, my friend. Stay far, far away from those who would misuse the popsicle. Googling is the gateway to more serious crimes, such as ice cream sandwich misuses. (Trust me, you do NOT want to know.)
where am i going mormons
Search me, pal. (Haha, “search me”–he’s typing it into a search engine, and the Mormon search engine says, “Search me!” That must be so frustrating. No wonder people think we’re creepy.)
ipod green pms
I totally recommend the green iPod for PMS. But don’t let your six-year-old get hold of it if you have PMS. That can end tragically. For everyone.
picture of joseph smith’s gun
This is just my excuse to show you this:
(Link: Mister Bubby, Artist)
I know it’s old and I’ve showed it to you before, but it just keeps being awesome.
Those naughty bookworms! They have no moral and ethical standards! They’re probably females–reading! That’s SO. HOT. Wait, I mean–DISGUSTING.
dum ditty “went to the store” rap
No offense, but this sounds like a really stupid song.
“giraffe feces” crime
Sounds like a niche market to me.
baby tantrum in walker
The walker, you say? Not the play pen or the stroller? That sounds complicated. Perhaps you should consult the internet!
so i guess you dont want to talk anymore
Oh, no! I guess Google isn’t their friend. Not a true friend, anyway. Harumph!
are mormons allowed to have orgies
Short answer: It depends.
what do you do when you’re riding a giraffe
Good question. I think I would pick fruit off the top of a tree. Maybe wave hello to some people on the second floor of a building–they would totally not be expecting that. What would you suggest, gentle readers? (Caution: Orgies not recommended.)
im a nanny and hurt my ankle
A nanny, you say? With a hurt ankle. Well, that’s different from, say, a cab driver with a hurt ankle. You should probably consult the internet!
how i was trained by strict jehovah witn
It’s probably because I watched Kung Fu Panda this weekend, but when I read this, I think of someone steeped in the art of passive karate. That’s all.
abilify rip off
“Dude, I took some Abilify, and I was totally NOT abilified.”
“That’s false advertising! You should sue.”
“I know! But first, I’ll probably consult the internet.”
how can i make my ankle stop hurting so
That poor nanny! Keep Googling, girlfriend! Feel better soon!
forgetting something important
Yet another person who vastly overestimates the powers of Google. It’s not a forensic mind-reader, honey. (Yet!)
bouncy castle giraffe 79+
Let me preface this by saying that I totally admire this person’s vitality. But still, if you’re over 79, you probably should stay away from the bouncy castles. I’m sure your doctor would say the same.
what does my power animal mean (giraffe)
If you have to ask, I can’t explain it.
famous people to make fun of
“You know what would be a blast?”
“Making fun of famous people.”
“Dude, that would rock!”
“I bet there are some on the internet.”
i sit here and think to yourself i can’t
Okay, look, it’s not that I don’t feel for you, but I think Google made it pretty clear that it doesn’t want to talk anymore. You need to give it some space. Okay? Do something else for a little while. Make some new friends. Give it some time to miss you. You are making yourself too available. I say you make it come to you, for once. Seriously. You’ve got to get the upper hand again.
amateur big butt riding
I WANT TO KNOW BUT DON’T WANT TO KNOW WHAT THIS IS. I WANT TO MAKE A JOKE BUT I CAN’T THINK ABOUT IT ANYMORE. MUST…MOVE…ON!
man with minivan uncool
What? Are you joking me? Since when? Someone has been feeding you a load of crap, sir. I bet it was someone on the internet, wasn’t it? Uh huh. Thought so. Well, pay them no heed. Men with minivans are cool. In fact, they are the COOLEST.
young gay video giraf
After all these years of sifting through wacky search terms, I thought I’d seen most of everything. (Or, you know, references to most of everything.) But this is a new one. And I’m going to move on now.
i’ve been told the only mayo to eat whil
While what? While what? Curse these Googlers and their superfluous search terms! Are we talking about a mayo that’s safe to eat while pregnant? While driving to school tired? While riding a giraffe? A big butt? Or is it not a safety issue at all, but merely a superior flavor? Either way, I need to know!
Unfortunately, that’s it for today, kids. Giraffe out.
Because it’s a game, silly.
Hershey’s kisses, that is.
I like the milk chocolate ones best. Actually, I guess I like milk chocolate with almonds best. I’m not as fond of the cherry cordial ones. Or, for some reason, the dark chocolate ones. Usually I prefer dark chocolate to milk chocolate, but not in my kisses. My husband likes the dulce de leche kisses, but they don’t do much for me. Mint kisses are okay. I don’t like the Hugs, which is just as well, since they don’t start with K anyway.
2. Kermit the Frog.
I can relate to Kermit. He’s like the Muppet voice of reason. He’s sensible and even-keeled. Yet he’s also a dreamer. I took a Facebook quiz that told me I was Kermit the Frog, and it said I was mild-mannered. I discovered that some people think I am not mild-mannered. I can’t imagine what gave them that idea. (I’m sure you can’t either.)
3. Kickboxing aerobics.
At least I did enjoy it, back when I did it. I keep meaning to take it back up again. I think I finally ditched my kickboxing video tape at one point, though. I was looking for it a couple months ago because I thought Princess Zurg would like it–the fake kicking and punching, I mean–but I couldn’t find it. I have a vague memory of my husband asking me, “Are you ever going to do this kickboxing aerobics video again?” and me in a fit of pique saying, “Probably not, just get rid of it.” That may or may not have happened. At any rate, it’s missing and so of course now I feel like kickboxing. It’s the way of things. I always want what I can’t have.
Sometimes they’re okay.
As in “put the kibosh on.” I like putting the kibosh on stuff. Only stuff that needs kibosh-putting, of course. I also like the word “kibosh.”
I’m not proud of it. I’m just being honest. I do like to complain. I like to complain a lot. That’s what this whole blog is about. If you like my blog, you must enjoy a little kvetching yourself, eh? I thought so.
A year or so ago my husband bought me Born to Kvetch: Yiddish Language and Culture in All Its Moods. I think that he mostly got it for me because he knows I enjoy books about language and also books about Jewish stuff. (Why? I don’t know. It’s just a shame that “Jewish” doesn’t begin with K.) I don’t think he intended to imply anything about my complaining nature. No. Definitely probably not.
My favorite part of this book is the endorsement on the back that says, “Did I like this book? Let me tell you, my enemies should never enjoy such a book.” Doesn’t that make you want to buy it right now?
7. Kiwi fruit.
I used to eat kiwi fruit all the time. I love kiwi fruit! I haven’t had it for years, though, because if I have it in my house, my kids want to eat it, and my kids can’t tolerate kiwi fruit. They LOVE kiwi fruit, as I do, but it doesn’t love them. And so long as I’m changing their diapers, kiwi fruit doesn’t like me either.
:Sigh: Kiwi fruit. Someday we’ll be together again. Just as soon as everyone’s been toilet trained. (Yes, it will happen. Someday.)
8. Kazuo Ishiguro.
My husband introduced me to this writer, and now I am a fan. My favorite books of his are An Artist of the Floating World, The Remains of the Day, and Never Let Me Go. I also liked When We Were Orphans and The Unconsoled. One of these days I’m going to do a blog post about books I would take with me to a desert island, and on that list of books will be The Unconsoled–not because it’s Ishiguro’s best book, but because it’s his weirdest and most interesting. I will need weird and interesting things to occupy me on a desert island. To keep me from kvetching about all the sand. I do not like sand.
A few years ago we went to an art house flick called The Saddest Music in the World, which was a bizarro sort-of musical based on a screenplay by Kazuo Ishiguro. Apparently Ishiguro was totally rewritten, but you can still see him in there (metaphorically speaking). What a strange film that was. Recommended if you like strange films.
9. Kelloggs Corn Flakes.
The Best Corn Flakes in the World.
10. Kristen Bell.
I’ve been a little bit in love with her ever since Veronica Mars. She is the only reason I watched Heroes Season 2, and the only reason I will ever watch Heroes Season 3, should I decide to put myself through that bleep again. I like her because she’s spunky. Also, she’s pretty hot. I don’t know. Does love need a reason? Someone needs to cast Kristen Bell in something watchable again. That’s all I have to say.
If you want to play this game, let me know and I’ll assign you a letter. I promise not to give you X. (Unless you want X. Whoever volunteers first for X may have it.)
This post was inspired by my sister‘s recent blog about her new purse. I have not gotten a new purse. I have the same old purse as I’ve had for the last…I don’t remember when I got it. I think I’ve only actually had it a year or so, but it’s very similar to the last purse I bought, so it just seems like I’ve had it forever. I became converted to the backpack style of purse several years ago because I have such a hard time with shoulder bag straps slipping off my shoulders, particularly when I’m trying to herd children around. ‘Tis very annoying. So this style of purse is not what I find aesthetically appealing–believe me, I know a cute bag when I see one, and this one is not particularly cute, though it is not particularly ugly, either–but I like it from a utilitarian perspective. I am looking forward to the day when I can just go back to a simple shoulder bag. When that day might be, I do not know.
Anyway, my sister’s post about her new bag and moving the contents from old bag to new bag reminded me that my old bag needed to be cleaned out again. I try to do that every four to eight months, whether I need to or not. I tend to stuff my purses full of both useful and useless crap that weighs me down in both body and spirit. When I suspect that the useless crap is outweighing the useful crap, I decide it’s time to clean out the bag. Then about a month or so later, I actually clean out the bag.
So here was what was in my bag when I opened it this morning:
Yeah, that’s a mess. And the carpet is filthy, thanks for noticing. (And this is the clean part of the filthy carpet, just so you know.) I want to emphasize that ONLY what was in my purse is in this picture. Right now you might be thinking, “Is that a…pair of pants?” Why, yes. Yes, it is! But I can explain.
Here is what the contents of my purse looked like after I’d engaged in a little sorting:
And now you can really see how filthy the carpet is. You’re welcome. Yes, those are still pants, and yes, there are tampons in there, too. I should have warned you earlier that I have no pride. (Or shame. But mostly no pride.) For those of you with less-scrutinizing eyeballs, I shall present a typewritten inventory.
ALL THE FREAKING CRAP THAT WAS IN MY PURSE
- Receipts (galore–they’re in the northwest corner)
- Coupons that are either expired or which I will never use
- 1 voided check
- Grocery lists
- To-do lists
- Doctor’s instructions, including instructions for a prescription that I never actually filled
- Ice Breaker sours
- Instructions from Elvis’s speech therapist
- Flyer for my tap instructor’s holiday tap show
- 2008 Schedule for Princess Zurg’s girls’ group activities at the church
- Credit card application with a grocery list written on the back
- Target gift card
- Temporary ID card for the old health insurance
- 2 business cards
- List of books I want to read
- Facial tissue I blotted my lipstick on
- Dried-out wet wipe
- Rice Krispie treat wrapper
- Plastic bag that used to hold facial tissue
- 2 ponytailers
- 2 mostly-empty boxes of Tic Tac Freshmints
- 14 loose Tic Tac Freshments
- Online pharmacy statement
- Child’s headband
- Girlfriend’s pants (packed on a cold day when I was in a hurry and thought I could talk her into wearing pants later–I was mistaken)
- 4 tampons
- 2 maxipads
- 1 pantiliner
- 1 pack of Incredibles fruit snacks
- 1 snack pack of M&M’s (bonus!)
- Half a roll of Smarties
- Ziploc bag filled with emery boards and a pair of nail clippers (why did I need so many emery boards? heck if I know)
- 3 ball-point pens
- Unused deposit slips
- Old health insurance card for Princess Zurg
- Cherry Coca-Cola-flavored lip balm
- Large hair clip
- $35 that actually belongs to Mister Bubby
- Coconut lime hand lotion
- 1 tube of lipstick (“Rose Bud”)
- Nordstrom gift card holder (gift card missing)
- Compact mirror
- 1 pair of training pants for Elvis, who doesn’t wear training pants during the day anymore (WOO-FREAKING-HOO!)
- Travel bag of Huggies wipes
- 1 check to deposit ($7–those stock dividends are really paying out, you know?)
- Facial tissue that is miraculously intact
- 2 miniature flashlights
- iPod plus earbuds
- 2 Hotel for Dogs toys from McDonald’s, one still in plastic wrapper
- 1 monthly planner (from 2009!)
- 1 checkbook
- 1 spiral notebook
- 1 tithing slip plus two tithing envelopes
- Prescriptions for Princess Zurg
- Envelope containing our new health savings account debit cards
- Nail clippers (another pair)
- Tide to Go pen
- Hot-pink wallet (you see it? of course you do!)
Now, I know what you’re thinking: a) that’s ridiculous, and b) where is my cell phone? Well, it was upstairs charging. But it’s charged now, so I put it in my then-empty purse, which is now-not-empty, along with only the most essential items from the above list. And what might those items be? Well, I can tell you it only included three tampons. I mean, who needs four tampons in a single outing? There’s prepared, and there’s just silly. I also kept the M&M’s (obviously) and my wallet. I tried to consolidate the Tic-Tacs into a single box, but the ones from the one box wouldn’t budge, so I just ditched that one. I exchanged Elvis’s training pants for one of Girlfriend’s diapers. Girlfriend does, unfortunately, still wear diapers, but give us a break, she’s only three.
And sorry there’s no picture of the old-but-freshly-and-less-ridiculously-packed purse, but I forgot to take one, so you’ll just have to use your imaginations. The point is that I am to be congratulated. And pitied–at least most of the time. But today, congratulated. Congratulations to me!
And just to up the entertainment value of this post, I shall include random quotage from Princess Zurg.
Princess Zurg: Some people think that it’s embarrassing if everyone at school finds out who you have a crush on. But you know what’s even more embarrassing?
PZ: Being naked in front of everyone!
GM: Oh yes, that’s much worse.
PZ: But you know what’s even more embarrassing?
GM: What’s that?
PZ: Telling everyone who your crush is while you’re naked!
And with that, gentle readers, adieu.
My dear husband gave me an iPod for Christmas. It looks like this:
Now I can listen to music any time I want to, and nobody says, “Mom, turn that down!” And my husband doesn’t say, “How can you listen to that swill?” Because nobody can hear it except for me because of these awesome earbuds that are going to give me tinnitus before I’m 40 because they’re always in my ears.
Also, now I can do the Soundtrack to Your Life internet meme that was going around, like, three years ago.
EDIT: Forgot to post the rules.
IF YOUR LIFE WAS A MOVIE, WHAT WOULD THE SOUNDTRACK BE?
So, here’s how it works:
1. Open your library (iTunes, Winamp, Media Player, iPod, etc)
2. Put it on shuffle
3. Press play
4. For every question, type the song that’s playing
5. When you go to a new question, press the next button
6. Don’t lie and try to pretend your cool…
Opening Credits: Born of Frustration (James)
Ain’t it the truth.
Waking Up: Ave Maria (Chanticleer)
First Day At School: When It Rains, It Snows (They Might Be Giants)
Falling In Love: You Are Here (that dog)
Breaking Up: Song for Ireland (Mary Black)
Because when I think of love lost, I think of Ireland. Seriously, who doesn’t?
Prom: This Night Has Opened My Eyes (The Smiths)
By coincidence, my real prom theme was “Forever Young,” which is also a song about infanticide. Oh wait, no, it isn’t.
Life’s OK: [I can’t say what it is because it’s the song played at the closing credits of Kiki’s Delivery Service, and it’s Japanese, and I have no Japanese characters on my keyboard. It is a happy song, though. If you haven’t seen Kiki’s Delivery Service, you should. But you should watch it in Japanese because it’s better that way.]
Mental Breakdown: Such a Shame (Talk Talk)
Driving: If You Feel Better (Emilie Autumn)
Flashback: Rapture (Blondie)
Also known as the “acid flashback” scene.
Getting Back Together: Places Named After Numbers (Frank Black)
Birth of Child: The Age of False Innocence (Blind Guardian)
I guess so, since it comes before the wedding!
Wedding Scene: Ode to My Family (Cranberries)
Final Battle: Heartbreaker (Pat Benatar)
That’s gonna be a helluva fistfight, chumps.
Death Scene: Silent Night (Chanticleer)
O bitter Irony!
Funeral Song: Song Sung Blue (Neil Diamond)
End Credits: Snowfall (Ray Charles)
Apparently the movie of my life takes place at Christmastime. That Chanticleer album is unfairly dominating the proceedings, as is the theme of snow. What an interesting playlist, however. I am seriously reconsidering the music selection for my funeral.
Sugar Daddy and Madhousewife discuss her Christmas present that is the green iPod Nano
SD: I’m glad you like your iPod.
Mad: I love my iPod.
SD: I just remember how [your stepmother] complained when your dad gave her one.
Mad: I’m not sixty years old!
SD: Well, yes.
Mad: Anyway, I hope you don’t gauge the likelihood of how much I’ll enjoy a gift by how much [my stepmother] would enjoy it.
SD: No, I don’t really do that.
Mad: That would make the dustpans very difficult to explain.
I hope you all had wonderful Christmas (if you did indeed celebrate Christmas–but even if you didn’t, I hope you had a wonderful Thursday). Tell me all about your favorite gift, especially if it was something non-materialistic, like peace on earth or a big hug from a puppy dog or something. My Elvis is threatening to be toilet-trained over winter break, which would officially make this the BEST CHRISTMAS EVER. But I dare not speak further, else I tempt fate to disappoint me yet again.
So my husband took the 1930s Marital Scale quiz and scored something like 134. I’m ashamed to admit that I responded with some skepticism–though he swore that he did his best to answer truthfully and not just to make himself look good–I mean, what else could I do with my measly score of 68? So I took the husband version of the test for him, and he ended up scoring 140. (So much for that theory!)
Then I decided to re-take the wife version of the test–since my husband is too busy working to support the family (driving in the snow, no less!) to take silly internet quizzes on his wife’s behalf–and tried to be as generous with myself as possible while still maintaining some semblance of honesty. (I keep my husband’s clothes clean, if not pressed. I’m a little bit spunky. Sometimes I get dressed for breakfast…okay, no, I don’t. You see, it isn’t as easy as it sounds.) I still only managed to score as high as 90–which makes me “very superior,” but still 50 points shy of my husband’s super-very-superior score.
My youngest sister (not bythelbs, but my other little sister) said she scored 69 and her husband scored 156–which tells me one of two things: The ladies in my family are merely-superior wives who tend to marry super-very-superior husbands, OR that men in general make better husbands than women make wives. Of course, there’s always a third possibility, THAT THE TEST IS SEXIST! But I’d have to hand over my extreme-right-winger card if I decided to go that route.
What I’d like to do is make a 21st Century Marital Scale quiz, but I have some seams in my hose to straighten out and then I have to comment on my husband’s strength and masculinity whilst keeping the socks out of the wash basin and writing to his parents, and I just don’t have the time. Also, it’s Christmas. I’m sure there’s something else I could be doing to keep busy. Maybe after the new year starts, I can revisit this project. You know, once my new year resolutions to be a better wife have all been shot to hell and I’ve given up on everything but silly internet amusements. So, like, mid-January? I’ll see you then.
Happy Chanukah, Jewish friends. Happy regular old Monday, goyische friends.
As a 1930s wife, I am