Some Thoughts On The Oscars (I Know You're DYING To Hear Them)

1) Go Jamie Foxx!

2) Too Much Beyoncé, Even For Me.

3) Sean Penn: Take Some Of Dat Money And Get Yo'self A Sense Of Humor.

4) Melanie Griffith's Freaky Lips - Omigod.

5) Who Told Antonio Banderas He Could Sing?

6) It Just Wasn't The Same Without Paris Hilton.

7) I Refuse To Feel Sorry For Martin Scorsese.

8) Does Anyone Else Find Johnny Depp Kinda Creepy?

9) Too Much Beyoncé Is Way Better Than Too Much Celine Dion.

10) I Am Afraid of Barbra Streisand.

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He Wrote Down 'LOTR Trilogy' And I'm Like "What The Hell Is 'Lotter Trilogy'?"

"Hello. My name is Marsha and I haven't seen any of the 'Lord of the Rings' movies." This is where, in the 12-step meeting, all the others in the room would say, "Hello, Marsha!" but instead, they just stare at me in disbelief and disgust. The room gets eerily silent, then the leader of the group, dressed in a long flowing robe (who I later find out is this fella 'Gandalf') yells, "Kick the maiden's ass!" and all the people in the room, who I realize are remarkably short little people (who I later find out are those ubiquitous 'hobbits') start throwing things at me; rocks, spears, other props from the movie that I don't recognize since, as I've confessed, people, I haven't seen one freakin' installment of and I'm REALLY REALLY sorry.

Anyways, I wake up from this nightmare and realize it's all a dream, at least the attack sequence. The part about being the only person on the planet who hasn't seen a single 'Lord of the Rings' movie is shockingly true. Rigel, who is a fan of the books and the movies, has given up even trying to convince me to sit through one, even though I'm the one who bought him the first two movies as gifts (Thank God the guys at Target knew what LOTR stood for.) Friends express deep concern and almost always set out to rehabilitate me - our friend Bruce, with Rigel's tacit approval, even LOCKED ME IN A ROOM and made me watch 10 minutes of the first movie, convinced that after a taste of this fantasy gem I'd be begging for more, rushing out to buy Hobbit dolls and downloading a Gollum screensaver. Unfortunately, I don't remember much of even that 10 minutes I saw (lots of clouds! Many, many creaking doors!), so busy was I with planning how I was SO going to tie them both down and make them watch the 'Love Actually' DVD with me, even all the extra scenes, bloopers and directors comments.

And the reason I haven't rushed out to see these blockbusters like everyone else in the free world? It's so simplistic and abnormal, I know, but a hurdle I can't seem to overcome: I absolutely cannot watch a movie where they're wearing period costumes (okay, I admit - I call them 'funny clothes.') Call me narrow minded, but give me Brad Pitt in jeans and a simple white dress shirt and I'm fine, but put him in a silly suit of armor or even a randy cape and top hat and I can't bear to sit through even five minutes of the opening credits. It must have something to do with my inability to accept anything that doesn't scream, 'This is happening NOW, in modern times, and could happen to YOU or someone you know!' I need to relate, to identify with the character and can't seem to do it when that person is wearing a turban, harem pants and jeweled pointy shoes. (Unless of course it's Beyoncé in one of her videos, in which case I'm all "Where DOES she shop, and how can i get me one of those?")

I'm sure at some point, I'll give in, make a five gallon drum of popcorn, chill up a couple liters of Diet Coke and just watch a ten hour marathon of the whole damn 'Lotter Trilogy.' This should quiet my conscience, if not my friends, and at least eliminate that awkward moment at dinner parties, when someone is asking me which of the three movies is my favorite, and I reply I haven't seen any of them, and they all, even Rigel, look away, silent and just so embarrassed for me.

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Things That Suck

1) Having to go through yet another eyeball-gouging surgery since the last one didn't take. This will take place on March 17.

(Not to discount the Pope's tracheotomy and the threat of rain on the Oscars, of course, but MORE SURGERY definitely takes the award today for Most Suckiest.)

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Pixie Dust & Moonbeams

This is one of my favorite pictures of the girls. They are playing in a Fairy Tent that their grandpa bought them.

I won't mention how amazing they are. I promise.

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Shameful, Shameful Things

You know how sometimes you do something, feel kind of bad about it, but then shrug it off? Like the time you got to the car after leaving the supermarket and discover that somehow a jar of mayonnaise had maneuvered itself under your jacket in the cart, and you wrestled, really wrestled with whether you should go back and pay for it, but then didn't? Or the day you were wandering aimlessly around the house in your pajamas and the phone rings, and it's your friend, saying she's in the area and can she stop by, and you can hear her voice on the answering machine, "Hellloooo! Are you therrrre?" but you don't answer it?

And then there are those undeniably unforgivable things, those that are so intrinsically wrong, so inimitably perverse, that the only person you can tell is your husband, for fear that if anyone found out you would never be able to leave the house? Like, for instance, watching a whole ONE AND A HALF hours of 'The Ashlee Simpson Show' then Jessica Simpson in the 'The Newlyweds' and then 'The Ashlee Simpson Show' AGAIN? People, I'm not talking casual watching here, as in doing something productive, like tackling some of that foot-high stack of bills while the TV yammers on in the background. I'm talking hardcore watching, the kind where you only go the bathroom during the commercials, actually 'shush' your husband because you're trying to hear Ashlee's point, the kind where you would actually CUT someone if they tried to pry the remote out of your small, bony hand.

I'm not really sure what alien lifeforce invaded my body and forced me to watch 90 whole minutes of mind-numbing blather ("I don't like to sneeze!" "I love macaroni and cheese!") but it was powerful, and had me glued to the set, my butt planted firmly and defiantly on the leather couch. I've watched 'The Newlyweds' before and hate to admit that I actually find it endearing in a sweet, pathetic way, but the 'Ashlee Simpson Show' had me spellbound, mostly with incredulousness at how someone so lame could actually have their own show, even if it IS MTV. Even more worrisome, it never occurred to me, not even for a second, to take the high road and change the channel, maybe catch the last few minutes of that documentary about volcanoes on 'National Geographic' or, God forbid, turn off the TV altogether and ask my husband how his day was.

In order to avoid this type of sad, almost criminal behavior in the future, I've devised a (sort of) mathematical formula for myself that I can use to decide whether or not a show is worth watching at all, or if my time could be better spent cleaning the lint out of the dryer or reorganizing my utensil drawer. Here it is:
Multiply the number of hours the show runs by it's IMV (Intellectual/Moral Value). The number you get will determine it's 'worth' - the lower the number the more reason to turn off the TV and head for the laundry room. For instance, let's apply it to my unfortunate TV watching episode last night:

1.5 (hours) x .5 (Very little IMV) = .75. This indicates to me that the worth of my encounter with the Simpson sisters was equivalent to sitting in front of a blank screen, asleep, slack-jawed and drooling.

Now let's apply it to Discovery Health Channel's 'Woman With 120lb Tumor.':
1 (hour) x 4 = 4. Very high - anything 5 or above is reserved for those shows on Bravo and certain episodes of 'SpongeBob Square Pants.

As you can see it's an imperfect system, the higher the number of hours watched, the less sense the whole damn thing makes. For instance, 10 hours of watching 'Monster Garage' multiplied even only by 1 would get you a 10 in watchability, but I figure anyone watching 10 hours of ANYTHING probably can't multiply anyways, so this system would not be for you, you sad, sad person.

That said, I really need to go now and turn on MTV. I think it's the Ashlee episode where she fires her backup singer. Somebody help me.

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Shallow -- Population:You

Here are 9 things ACTUALLY said to me by a now ex-friend, over the course of our friendship:

1) "You got your hair cut! You look so...mature."

2) "Oh, so you got your car! What color? Uh, is that a good thing?"

3) "Oh, c'mon. You know Rigel only married you
because you were young and good looking."

4) "I am NOT shallow!"

5) "Oh...You're...wearing...a...miniskirt?"

6) "You have good taste. Cheap, good taste."

7) (Six years ago, when telling her about a surgery I had)
"I can't listen to this. It's depressing me."

8) "You look much better today! The last time I saw you,
you looked just awful."

9) "I am SO a good friend! Really, I AM!"

The End.

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Evil Drives An SUV

Okay, so I'm driving into our local gas station, having already endured a particularly icky morning. It's raining AGAIN, I'm PMSing - what an exciting combination for a volatile day - and just as I'm pulling up to a pump, the only pump available on the side of my van where the gas hole (or whatever you call that thing) is, this SUV CUTS ME OFF AND PULLS INTO THAT VERY SPOT. Yeah, normally I would just let it slide, but feeling like Sally Field in Norma Rae, I really needed to right some injustices on this particularly bleak day.

So, I manage to maneuver into another spot, which required lots of backwards forwards maneuvers and now I am really pissed, partly because my backwards forwards maneuvering skills really suck. I see the guy get out of his SUV and get in line, and he's one of these O.C./ WB wannabes, and I decide not to pay at the pump, like I usually do but skedoodle right up into that line behind him. I wait until he pays for his gas and Altoids or whatever those O.C. plebeians suck on while they're driving their SUVs and cutting off volatile PMSing moms in minivans. I wait until he turns around and then I say, "Hey, THAT WAS REALLY RUDE. You CUT ME OFF right when I was pulling into that spot." His blank stare, and then, "Dude, it's nothing personal." Okay, I'm not even sure he called me 'dude' but, NOTHING PERSONAL? Who do you think was driving that van, dude - my pet monkey? A life-sized inflatable facsimile of a human? No, ME, a PERSON, you feeble-minded piece of clay. Anyways, before I could muster a fitting, cutting comeback he ran back to his car and drove away. So, he wasn't EVEN buying gas - doesn't he know if you're not buying gas you always, always park illegally, parallel to the cashier window?

All I have to say to you, Mr. Lucky jeans, Gen-X, Slacker Boy - you are SO lucky I didn't have my camera phone with me or your license plate would be all over this blog.

Thanks, I feel better now.

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Okay, You Can Buy That Guitar

Did I mention that he has to wash my hair for me for the next TWO WEEKS? All to avoid getting water into the previously mentioned plundered eye region.

For this he deserves a medal. And I'm going to get him one as soon as I finish this brownie and get off the couch.

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Okay, You Can Take That Motorcycle Trip With The Guys

Here's Rigel, in studly, skier, man-of-the-mountain mode. The poor guy has been having to clean and administer drops to my poked prodded stitched eye FOUR TIMES A DAY so I think he deserves some props here. All the while holding down the fort while I 'recuperate' which has involved laying on the couch in my sweats watching Oprah and 'Sex In The City' reruns and eating lots of chocolate and Pringles, foods known to possess healing powers for the eye.

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I Heart PowerBook

Laptop Love

While it can certainly be described as an unnatural love, the love that dare not speak it's name, I confess that I am truly smitten with my PowerBook. Its smooth, sleek, silver case, its amazingly seductive screen, its whisper quiet keys. OSX (No, that's not pronounced 'Ossex' you idiot) and all its lovely nuances - I can't keep my hands off this foxy, wily machine.

It was a gift from Rigel for Christmas, his contribution to support my new hopes of becoming a writer. I did some hardcore hinting (a subtle "Hey Honey! How about buyin' me a new laptop for Christmas? One of those silver PowerBooks with the 15" screen?) and surprise, there it was, under the tree on Christmas morn, the heavy, rectangular box bearing the machine of my dreams. I know we were supposed to be celebrating Jesus' birth and all, but I truly felt like the Three Wise Men had descended on our house and left the King of all Gifts under the tree just for me. In no time I was downloading all sorts of bad music with iTunes (at 99¢ a song, WHY NOT download Justin Timberlake's 'Rock Your Body?') and making way too many obnoxiously cute slide shows with iPhoto that I can email to friends and relatives to overload their emailboxes. Sure, I've had a perfectly good Mac all these years, but who wouldn't be completely seduced by a brand new model, and one that could be used without even having to get out of bed? I take it with me everywhere, and if someone dares to come up with a cute little 'Baby Bjorn' sling that I can use to carry my newborn laptop in front of me, you can bet I'll be buyin' one.

My love for electronics is not limited to my PowerBook. While some women would be lusting after some serious bling-bling or a bow-topped Jaguar (or as the woman in the commercial annoyingly pronounces it, "Jag-oo-our." What is UP with that?!!) I dream of being gifted with portable devices, everything from a Blackberry to a Palm Pilot. Sure I don't really NEED any of these things, but who mentioned practicality? I'm talking desire, the nerdy desire that only a wireless, metal-with-an-LCD-screen type can satisfy. Unfortunately, Rigel doesn't share this obscene obsession, and tries his best not to cave in to my whims. I finally forced him into buying us both camera phones (it even takes short movies! I will die happy), but that was only because we were so fed up with our service and his phone stopped working. His futile rationale: "I have a phone. I have a camera. I don't need a phone that IS a camera." A valid argument, but sort of like telling the woman sitting next to you at Dennys, "Hey there big gal. Now, you got some ice cream there. You got chocolate syrup. You sure as hell don't need a sundae." My point: Don't stand between a woman and her irrational desires. (I might add that Rigel received an iPod for Christmas that IS STILL IN THE BOX. That is SO wrong.)

Look honey! Look at the 12 second movie I shot with my phone! I'm going to email it to my PowerBook!

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Take A Chance And You Should Know

Tuesday we were in the van and I popped in the new Gwen Stefani CD. Kiyomi had on her headphones and was listening to Puffy AmiYumi, but Kira decided she wanted to get a taste of Momma Music. The first song 'What You Waiting For?' started playing and before I could get my slow Mommy finger onto the pause button Ms. Gwen had belted out the line 'Take a chance you stupid ho.' Here's the conversation that ensued:
"Mom, what did she say?"
"Uh, 'Take a chance and you should know'."
"I thought I heard the word 'stupid.'"
"Well, 'you should' and 'stupid', they kind of sound the same."
"But that doesn't even make sense. 'Take a chance and you should know.' It doesn't make sense. AT ALL."
"Uh, well, neither does 'Too Shy Shy,' but that was a big hit in the 80's."
"What?!"

Rigel thinks the jig is up. All my lies, lies and me, the lying liar. He says soon I'll have to tell them that some girl singers have potty mouths and say bad words in their songs. That mommy or daddy sneaks into their room in the middle of the night and replaces that teeny bloody tooth with a couple of dollar bills. That mommy spent approximately ten hours scouring three different Toys R Us stores trying to find the Fianna Tokyo Bratz doll from 'Santa.'

Oh, say it ain't so.

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Righty-O

This is me pre-op with 'YES' scrawled on my head with a Sharpie.
Rigel took this photo with the camera phone I forced him to buy.

I had my surgery yesterday. i would love to say it was a piece of cake, but any operation that involves sharp, metal surgical instruments being plunged into your eyeball could never be a walk in the park. Actually, the surgery itself wasn't horrible, but the aftermath was pain, pure pain.

It started off pleasantly enough with cheery Nurse Joyce asking me several routine questions. She then asked me, in a very authroritve voice, "It IS your LEFT eye to be operated on, CORRECT?" When I answered yes she came at me with a black Sharpie and before I could swat her away like a gnat, she wrote the word YES over my left eyebrow. I guess with all the horror stories of people getting wrong limbs amputated they ain't takin' any chances. Then I realized it was written over my eyebrow and not actually my eye. What if someone screwed up and thought I was here for a good brow tweeze and waxing? I mean, if they're REALLY trying to prevent malpractice, shouldn't she have continued writing, down the side of my face and all over my cheeks, 'YES - this is the LEFT EYE to operate on! It is the soft organ nestled in the oval-shaped orifice located to the right of the nose! We hope you haven't been drinking! Do you REALLY have a medical license? ' I also got six - count em' SIX of those plastic hospital bands snapped on my wrists. I thought if anything, I could walk out of the hospital and get into any rave in the city.

Next someone came to wheel me down to the 'holding room', which I think is a nice name for a supply closet. (In my paranoia I briefly imagined a scene where they forget all about me and I'm left there, after the hospital closes, stuck with all the flammable oxygen tanks.) Finally, after what seemed like forever, a doctor came in and introduced himself as the 'assistant anesthesiologist' and I immediately was like 'Whoa - where's the REAL guy? I really don't mind waiting for the REAL ANESTHESIOLOGIST to show up! Slow down there, bucko!' Before I could complain anymore he had already stuck the IV in my arm. He looked like Clay Aiken and I think he actually used the words 'Righty-O' when he was done. I don't know, but it seems 'Righty-O' should never be allowed to be uttered within the walls of a serious hospital.

The surgery wasn't that bad, although turned out to be a little more involved than the doctor had originally planned. Some of the infected tissue in my eye was too weak too stitch up so he had to use some material, made from heart tissue (I hope those of you with weak stomachs have stopped reading by now) to sort of 'patch' it up. I remember floating in and out of conciousness the whole time - it was not unpleasant. Although at one time I had to go and open my big mouth and say "I'm feeling something - I think the local is wearing off" and he gave me another shot, RIGHT INTO THE LOWER LID OF MY EYE that hurt so bad I nearly jumped off the table. The doctor apologized and then said he would be giving me some more intravenous sedative. I yelled "Could you put some tequila in there while you're at it?" before I dozed off again.

The real pain started when I was back in my room. I'm talkin', Sharon Stone with an icepick from Basic Instinct, jabbing away into my eye socket with a vengeance. The nurse gave me some measley Tylenol but it did absolutely nothing. I felt so pathetic, especially since they wheeled in an older Chinese woman who appeared to be totally out of it, but five minutes later she was walking out niceley dressed and with a full face of makeup on. There I lay, at least 20 years younger than her, completely dishsheveled, my hospital gown tangled around me with my bare ass for all the world to see, moaning and begging for an animal tranquilizer.

I'm feeling better today, and had a checkup with the doctor this morning. He said everything looks good (adding an ominous 'for now') and we'll just have to wait and see if the eye heals correctly. In the meantime I have a patch over my eye, and the only pain I experience is when I shift my eyeballs too quickly (that rules out watching any ping pong matches for me.) Rigel took the last 2 days off of work and has been taking good care of me, doing all my 'wifely' duties (he can lay on the couch and read People magazine, too!)

Thanks for all your calls - I'll keep you posted!

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Cruel

I will surely starve tomorrow. It is 11:55 pm and I have only 5 minutes left to stuff my belly full of food to last me to the THING, the operation at 2pm. Cruel sadistic hard-to-understand nurse called me today to tell me “Di knot eath after telve oclock tonite, kay? Kay? You unnastan?“ Nurse Ratchid even took Chicken broth off the list, leaving me with black tea or coffee or apple juice. I mean, c'mon people - if we can invent Velcro, couldn't someone come up with an anesthesia that can be administered along with a chili dog and a Diet Coke? Ate FOUR (or was it FIVE) tacos for dinner in preparation for involuntary fast and am so gaseous and bloated, no doubt due to the liberal application of Tabasco sauce (the tequlia of my family – go figure) and uncontrollable, gluttonous shoveling of guacamole and chips into my piehole. I also had a beer, which I never drink and I’m starting to FEEL (if you know what I mean) where the term Beer Belly comes from. The bottom line is, in 14 hours I will have a surgeon (a good one, thank God) cutting a slit in my eyeball and removing an errant stitch left from a previous operation six years ago. This previous operation is such a loaded topic I’ll leave it for another entry, but suffice to say it was done by a true incompetent, a genuine moronic goon and caused unnecessary suffering for me, my husband, my then 2 year old daughter, and my unborn child, as I was six months pregnant when Dr. Lame did his dirty work. The lesson here is never, ever have eye surgery by a doctor that looks like a demented Doogie Howser, and ALWAYS ALWAYS seek a second opinion.

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This Would Be One Of Those 'Old Posts.'

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Archive: Offspring

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Tuesday, November 1, 2005
When You Have A Blog You Can Make Up Words Like 'Halloweening'

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Wednesday, October 26, 2005
People, People Who Need People

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Wednesday, October 19, 2005
But I Like The Mini Babe Ruth Bars

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Thursday, October 13, 2005
Big Scary Things

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Tuesday, October 11, 2005
I Can't Wait To Put THIS On My Next Invitation

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September 27, 2005
To Prove It Hasn't Gone To My Head, You Don't Have To Call Me Madame President

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Sunday, September 18, 2005
When They're Teenagers And Telling Me They Hate Me, I'll Pull This Out

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Thursday, September 8, 2005
Promise You'll Write Me

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Wednesday, September 7, 2005
I Haven't Watched Cartoon Network For Forty Eight Hours

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Tuesday, August 23, 2005
Girls Who Scream

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Friday, August 5, 2005
My Day

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Friday, August 5, 2005
I Am Paranoid

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Friday, July 29, 2005
We Live In The Space Between Their Heartbeats

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Monday, July 18, 2005
It's Kiyomi's Birthday!

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Thursday, July 14, 2005
Should Scientists Discover That Bugs Have Feelings,
I'm Going To Feel Real Bad

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Saturday, July 9, 2005
Oh Say Can You See

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Thursday, June 30, 2005
Mommie Fully Loaded

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Monday, June 27, 2005
We Had A Bad Experience At The Library And I'm Sure As Hell Going To Tell You About It

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Friday, June 24, 2005
Oh The Fun To Be Had!!

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Friday, June 10, 2005
Notice To Man In Ralphs: I Am, Though Uninformed About the Appearance Of Jicama, Neither Single Nor Desperate.

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Saturday, June 4, 2005
Dance Little Sisters Dance

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Monday, May 30, 2005
Freezer Motor And Defroster: $395
ER Visit: $500
Being Able To Mention 'Butt Crack' At Least Once In Your Blog: Priceless

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Tuesday, May 24, 2005
If I Was A Man I Would Have .00001 Balls

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Thursday, May 19, 2005
I Just Had To Share This

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Friday, May 13, 2005
Dear God When Is Your Father Getting Home??!!

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Saturday, April 30, 2005
Me And My Homies Hangin' In Our Crib

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Tuesday, April 26, 2005
One Bad Apple Don't Spoil The Whole Bunch, Girl

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Friday, April 22, 2005
The Cranky Lady Declares It Was Worth It

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Thursday, April 21, 2005
Slumber Party Countdown: T-1 Day

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Tuesday, April 19, 2005
Forty Eight Round Blobs Of Happiness

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Monday, April 18, 2005
Slumber Party Countdown: T-5 Days

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Friday, April 15, 2005
Slumber Party Countdown: T-7 Days

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Wednesday, April 13, 2005
Kira, Finally A Blog Post Mommy Will Let You Read

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Tuesday, March 29, 2005
Conversation Before Bed With An 8-Year Old

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Tuesday, March 29, 2005
Conversation Before Bed With A 6-Year Old

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Monday, March 28, 2005
The Well-Balanced Meal Is SO Overrated

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Sunday, March 27, 2005
Happy Easter

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Wednesday, March 23, 2005
We're Gonna Party Like It's 1996

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Monday, March 21, 2005
All You Mothers Out There Don't Tell Me You Haven't Thought Of This Yourself

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Tuesday, March 8, 2005
What Are Friends For?

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Monday, March 7, 2005
Remember Children, It's Not Important Whether You Win Or Lose...Oh, Wait - YES IT IS!

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Sunday, March 6, 2005
Cheeto Nation

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Friday, March 4, 2005
Things My Daughters Have Said To Me Recently

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Thursday, February 24, 2005
Pixie Dust & Moonbeams

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Saturday, February 19, 2005
Take A Chance And You Should Know

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MomSecret

Thursday September 21, 2006
Regrets: Teaching Them How To Read Nutritional Labels.


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Tuesday, May 23, 2006
Lying, Deceit and Self-Absorption - Some Moms Can Do It All!


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Friday, May 5, 2006
Next Up: Stealing Shopping Carts From Homeless People.


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Monday, March 17, 2006
Bad Mommy.



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