W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> Moi, Toi, et VoI: February 2009

Saturday, February 28, 2009

Too Sad For A Proper Title.

You have no idea how disappointed I am that RICK SPRINGFIELD AT THE BORGATA ON MARCH 28 IS SOLD OUT.


Just Following the Spirit of the Blog.

My mother has a very annoying habit of using the following phrase to respond to 88% of anything you tell her.

"I'm making frozen pork chops for dinner."
"Nothin' wrong with that."

"I spent $67 at H&M today and got six complete outfits!"
"Nothin' wrong with that."

"We made $1600 today at The Canary."
"Nothin' wrong with that."

"I'm getting a divorce."
"Nothing' wrong with that."

"I'm getting married!"
"Nothin' wrong with that."

I've become a very forgiving daughter toward my mother in my adulthood. I have put the past in the past and accepted that she is a limited woman with limited emotional resources. Or at least I thought I did. When will I ever learn to just not go there? But then I feel guilty about not sharing stuff that I feel I should...even though I know I will almost always be disappointed by her (lack of) reaction. Gar.

So, mother-readers out there, just a word of advice: When your daughter sends you a picture of her dreamy-supercute-oh,that's so you, Oy Vey!-1950's short flouncy wedding dress, please feign interest. Please don't pretend like you forgot altogether (did you forget?) and then call her to discuss the crappy astrological chart you got from some Cuban psychic when you were in Miami last week. I subject only my closest, dearest friends to such wedding-related assaults, so it's slim pickins there. One should always be able to talk about champagne vs. ivory vs. pink crinoline vs. white polka dot crinoline with one's mother, n'est-ce pas? Am I wrong? But I can't get more than a single run-on sentence "Yes, that's nice. Aren't you going to wear a veil? And how's Ernie?" Am I asking too much?

I was so bummed after speaking to her that I almost bought Kindle 2 as a really sweet consolation prize.

I'm not asking for much from my mother, really. Just the teensiest little bit of interest in those little things that make life so nice. It's so lonely otherwise! And SFG's mom asking me about what my mom thinks about the dress, about this, and about that...well, that shit really doesn't make me feel much better. My therapist and I discussed ways of deflecting those questions so I could still stay true to my own feelings yet not throw my mother under the bus ("Well, my mom's just not that kind of mom." Very smooth, Dr.! Nothin' wrong with that!)

So here I am in all my glory, in my 35th year, still kvetching about my mother. I'm not sure it ever stops, these mother issues. But believe me, I'm not losing sleep over this. I accepted a long time ago that family does not necessarily give you what you need and want automatically. Family's usually been a pain in my ass, which is why my friends are more like my family anyway. Just sometimes you wish things could change for a moment and your relationship with your mother could be totally unfussed and normal for five minutes so you could feel a little bit loved.

(I am ending on this note for extra emotional effect! Waah!)

Tuesday, February 24, 2009

Hack hack! Sneeze!

Stuffy head, fever, chills, painful cough, snot, body aches from Friday morning until Monday afternoon. I am now well-versed in all movies Lifetime.

It just turned into a regular cold today and I was finally able to go back to work.

Wednesday, February 18, 2009

The Streets of Philadelphia.

Yesterday at The Circus, I saw one of the 'ladies' who works at one of the fish markets begin to unbutton her pants as she made her way to a free bathroom stall. She was also wearing a plastic apron at the time. If you email me, I will tell you which fish market.

You know that South Philly/Chicago/LA/Boston hairdo where they plaster down their their bangs with vaseline? I spied it on a two year old girl.

On the subway, a woman was pushing a stroller with a two year old in it saying in a singsong I'm-Talking-To-A-Baby voice "He was retarded, wasn't he? That man was super-retarded! Yes he was!"

One of my bakers was on Passyunk Ave and saw a gaggle of adults chasing a little person down the street trying to take his picture.

Monday, February 09, 2009

Bigger Than Bullet Points.

Amsterdam was, as it always is, absolutely lovely. The perfect combination of charming quaintness, social progressivism and Nordic functionalism. SFG and I had the best time basically doing not much else than wandering, eating, smoking weed, shopping, and wandering. I bought a skirt and a cute little wool hat at My Favorite Store on the Earth. I want to move there. I think SFG would too...because...

...We got engaged! On the plane over. The flight attendants and a Russian nesting doll were involved and then they announced it over the loud speaker when I said yes. How freakin' cute is that? Then some drunk Dutch people came over and handed us a scroll made of USAir placemats with best wishes from the entire plane. How really freakin' cute is that?

We aren't discussing concrete wedding plans just yet, but I have thrown into the hat the idea of having this fabulous Beatles tribute band who does 1964 through 1967 wardrobe changes during the performance. Of course, with a theme like that, one opens up a whole host of options...retro wedding cake toppers, vintage dresses, ...ohhh!

I beg you please check out this month's issue of Martha. My peanut butter and jelly cupcakes are on pages 45, 46 and 49. Without credit of course, because that's how she operates. And to a fellow Barnard alum at that. How can I be so disappointed in you, Martha, when I completely expected it in the first place? How?

We took Ernie to a vet internist ($$$) to have a kidney ultrasound ($$$$)at the behest of our regular vet ($$). Good news is nothing showed up on the ultrasound; bad news is nothing showed up on the ultrasound so he has to go back the our regular vet ($$) for more tests ($$$). I got so frustrated I got an email reading from a psychic animal communicator ($) to ask Ernie what was wrong. He told her his chest hurts, partially because he is highly empathic and part of his 'heart pain' is from bearing the burden of his Mommy's stresses. Waah! He also asked to be tested for diabetes ($), which we might as well do at this point, because, hell, what's another coupla $$?