Just one more reason I'd never venture down to KoP.
Ugh.
Aerial view of the site plans
Labels: bad news, bitching, local news, Philly burbs
In My HeadSaturday, November 03, 2007
So this is what's going to take the place of the now-defunct Valley Forge Country Club that is bordered by 422, North Gulph Road, and 202.
Just one more reason I'd never venture down to KoP.
Ugh.
Aerial view of the site plans
Just one more reason I'd never venture down to KoP.
Ugh.
Aerial view of the site plans
Posted by Lori at 11/03/2007 02:28:00 PM
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Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Posted by Lori at 9/26/2007 02:57:00 PM
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Sunday, April 15, 2007
Life has just been getting in the way. That's all.
And I've been terribly remiss in even visiting all my blog buddies' sites, too. I apologize for that. Doesn't mean I haven't been thinking of you all.
I no longer blog from my new job, and frankly, I've been so busy at night when I get home that I just don't have the time, energy, or inclination to sit in front of the computer.
I suck.
And I've been terribly remiss in even visiting all my blog buddies' sites, too. I apologize for that. Doesn't mean I haven't been thinking of you all.
I no longer blog from my new job, and frankly, I've been so busy at night when I get home that I just don't have the time, energy, or inclination to sit in front of the computer.
I suck.
Posted by Lori at 4/15/2007 09:48:00 PM
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Friday, March 16, 2007
I feel I owe my blogfriends a serious apology. I have kind of lost my blogging mojo lately, ya know? Like a major writer's block that has continued forever. Ugh. I hate it.
I keep thinking of things to write about here, and have actually started about a half-dozen posts in the past two weeks, only to reread them and delete them immediately because they're just so boring and blah.
The job is still going well, but it's been busy. SOOOO busy. This week I stayed until 6:30 on Tuesday, 7 p.m. on Wednesday, 6 p.m. last night, and until 5 p.m. tonight, even though everyone else left the office at 2 p.m. because of the ice and snow.
I've been desperately trying just to keep my head above water with respect to my workload. Most days I don't even take a lunch break...I just grab a yogurt and pound away at my desk. The powers-that-be keep reassuring me that they're going to be extending an offer to someone in the next few days so that I will have a helper. I freaking hope so! I have a pretty strong work ethic and don't mind staying late occasionally to get a job done, but 4 out of 5 nights a week? No thanks...I DO have a life outside of work!
Oh yeah...I started my weightlifting again this week. My office is less than 5 minutes from the Phoenixville branch of the YMCA. I managed to sneak away for 40 minutes twice this week, when I've actually taken lunch. And the gym is delightfully empty at 1 p.m., so I get a lot done in a half-hour.
The verdict? I am so out of shape it's pathetic.
I was looking at my old routines from when I was lifting religiously. Obviously, I've had to reduce the amount of weight for now until I can build my strength up again. It's so hard (not to mention demoralizing) to start from scratch again, but I know it's for the best.
And now I will bore you with my workout:
Cable bicep curls: 2 x 12 @ 15 lbs
Cable tricep pushdowns: 2 x 12 @ 40 lbs
Smith machine bench press: 2 x 12 @ 65 lbs (this fills me with shame...I was up to 120 lbs before!! Sigh...patience...)
Lat pulldowns: 2 x 12 @ 50 lbs
Hack squats: 2 x 15 @ 130 lbs
Hip Adductions: 2 x 15 @ 60 lbs
Hip Abductions: 2 x 15 @ 80 lbs
Leg Extensions: 2 x 12 @ 50 lbs
Leg Curls: 2 x 12 @ 50 lbs
Overhead shoulder press: 2 x 12 @ 35 lbs
My first workout was on Monday afternoon. Tuesday morning came and I could barely hoist myself out of bed. And on Wednesday, I was still aching.
Then I went back yesterday for more. The good news is that today was not bad at all...just an occasional pleasant twinge in my back and inner thighs to remind me that I worked hard yesterday.
Enjoy St. Patty's Day, my friends!
I keep thinking of things to write about here, and have actually started about a half-dozen posts in the past two weeks, only to reread them and delete them immediately because they're just so boring and blah.
The job is still going well, but it's been busy. SOOOO busy. This week I stayed until 6:30 on Tuesday, 7 p.m. on Wednesday, 6 p.m. last night, and until 5 p.m. tonight, even though everyone else left the office at 2 p.m. because of the ice and snow.
I've been desperately trying just to keep my head above water with respect to my workload. Most days I don't even take a lunch break...I just grab a yogurt and pound away at my desk. The powers-that-be keep reassuring me that they're going to be extending an offer to someone in the next few days so that I will have a helper. I freaking hope so! I have a pretty strong work ethic and don't mind staying late occasionally to get a job done, but 4 out of 5 nights a week? No thanks...I DO have a life outside of work!
Oh yeah...I started my weightlifting again this week. My office is less than 5 minutes from the Phoenixville branch of the YMCA. I managed to sneak away for 40 minutes twice this week, when I've actually taken lunch. And the gym is delightfully empty at 1 p.m., so I get a lot done in a half-hour.
The verdict? I am so out of shape it's pathetic.
I was looking at my old routines from when I was lifting religiously. Obviously, I've had to reduce the amount of weight for now until I can build my strength up again. It's so hard (not to mention demoralizing) to start from scratch again, but I know it's for the best.
And now I will bore you with my workout:
Cable bicep curls: 2 x 12 @ 15 lbs
Cable tricep pushdowns: 2 x 12 @ 40 lbs
Smith machine bench press: 2 x 12 @ 65 lbs (this fills me with shame...I was up to 120 lbs before!! Sigh...patience...)
Lat pulldowns: 2 x 12 @ 50 lbs
Hack squats: 2 x 15 @ 130 lbs
Hip Adductions: 2 x 15 @ 60 lbs
Hip Abductions: 2 x 15 @ 80 lbs
Leg Extensions: 2 x 12 @ 50 lbs
Leg Curls: 2 x 12 @ 50 lbs
Overhead shoulder press: 2 x 12 @ 35 lbs
My first workout was on Monday afternoon. Tuesday morning came and I could barely hoist myself out of bed. And on Wednesday, I was still aching.
Then I went back yesterday for more. The good news is that today was not bad at all...just an occasional pleasant twinge in my back and inner thighs to remind me that I worked hard yesterday.
Enjoy St. Patty's Day, my friends!
Posted by Lori at 3/16/2007 08:45:00 PM
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Monday, November 27, 2006
You know, I was ready to launch into a very angry post this afternoon about the idiocy of the uproar in Colorado over the woman who hung a wreath in the shape of a peace sign on the side of her house...but I'm just too disgusted to even get into it now.
Common sense--less common than you'd think!
Common sense--less common than you'd think!
Posted by Lori at 11/27/2006 02:46:00 PM
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Wednesday, November 01, 2006
I am so fucking tired of these damn political campaign commercials. It's like one big smear-fest. Why doesn't anyone stick to the issues? Gah.
That is all.
That is all.
Posted by Lori at 11/01/2006 10:55:00 PM
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Wednesday, August 09, 2006
Last Sunday night, I had a startling realization.
I am OLD.
Sure, I'm only 28, which doesn't sound old on paper (or onscreen, as it were). But don't laugh! I am dangerously close to treading into curmudgeon territory these days. Let me explain.
Last Sunday around 11 p.m., I was in bed, watching a documentary on ancient Egypt on the History Channel. I was sandwiched snugly between my two cats, Bailey and Sebastian. The Huz was in one of the guest rooms, watching The Godfather. Our bedroom was dark, save for the comforting bluish light emanating from the TV. I was beginning to drowse off when...
THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! whacka-whacka-whacka THUMP! from outside the house.
I gritted my teeth and turned up the volume on the TV slightly, waiting for the assault on my eardrums to end.
Ten minutes passed and the noise still hadn't subsided, so I tore out of bed and stomped over to one of the bedroom windows. Peeking out on the street from behind the cellular shade, I witnessed about a dozen boys, among them the three sons of our next-door neighbors, playing basketball in our cul-de-sac.
At quarter past eleven. On a SUNDAY NIGHT.
Actually, I stand corrected. Not all of them were playing ball. Three of them were circling the cul-de-sac on their bicycles, wielding flashlights, which they proceeded to aim into a number of windows in the other houses on the street--ours included.
What pissed me off the most is that our neighbors, the parents of three of the boys involved, were standing outside in their driveway, chatting and laughing and not paying a whit of attention to any of these kids. Am I wrong for thinking that these people are complete assholes?
If it were a Friday or Saturday night, I'd feel differently. Sure, 11 p.m. is still pretty late to be making that kind of ruckus, but I think a little leeway can be given on weekends. But on a Sunday night? When most, if not all, of the neighbors on our cul-de-sac have to go to work on Monday morning? That's just wrong. And the parents should know better than that.
So I called the police to file a complaint. I gave my name, address and phone number, described the problem, and told them I wanted to remain anonymous (yeah, I'm a pussy). The dispatcher agreed that it was way too late for kids to be outside playing basketball on a Sunday night, and assured me that a local officer would be stopping by shortly to talk to them about it.
Cackling like an old witch, I hung up the phone and went into our darkened master bathroom, where I could sit on the edge of the tub and spy on the street from between the tiny louvres on the plantation shutters in the window without being spotted.
But the police NEVER came. Nice. Our tax dollars hard at work. Like Sunday nights are so fraught with crime in freaking Limerick, Pennsylvania that they couldn't spare a single stinking cop to do a five minute drive-by. Please.
I swore I would never, ever be the evil bitch on the block who called the police on the kids. I swore I'd never, ever be the busybody neighbor who spied on everyone else through the blinds in the window. So much for that.
Damn whippersnappers! Now, where did my glasses and Geritol go...?
I am OLD.
Sure, I'm only 28, which doesn't sound old on paper (or onscreen, as it were). But don't laugh! I am dangerously close to treading into curmudgeon territory these days. Let me explain.
Last Sunday around 11 p.m., I was in bed, watching a documentary on ancient Egypt on the History Channel. I was sandwiched snugly between my two cats, Bailey and Sebastian. The Huz was in one of the guest rooms, watching The Godfather. Our bedroom was dark, save for the comforting bluish light emanating from the TV. I was beginning to drowse off when...
THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! whacka-whacka-whacka THUMP! from outside the house.
I gritted my teeth and turned up the volume on the TV slightly, waiting for the assault on my eardrums to end.
Ten minutes passed and the noise still hadn't subsided, so I tore out of bed and stomped over to one of the bedroom windows. Peeking out on the street from behind the cellular shade, I witnessed about a dozen boys, among them the three sons of our next-door neighbors, playing basketball in our cul-de-sac.
At quarter past eleven. On a SUNDAY NIGHT.
Actually, I stand corrected. Not all of them were playing ball. Three of them were circling the cul-de-sac on their bicycles, wielding flashlights, which they proceeded to aim into a number of windows in the other houses on the street--ours included.
What pissed me off the most is that our neighbors, the parents of three of the boys involved, were standing outside in their driveway, chatting and laughing and not paying a whit of attention to any of these kids. Am I wrong for thinking that these people are complete assholes?
If it were a Friday or Saturday night, I'd feel differently. Sure, 11 p.m. is still pretty late to be making that kind of ruckus, but I think a little leeway can be given on weekends. But on a Sunday night? When most, if not all, of the neighbors on our cul-de-sac have to go to work on Monday morning? That's just wrong. And the parents should know better than that.
So I called the police to file a complaint. I gave my name, address and phone number, described the problem, and told them I wanted to remain anonymous (yeah, I'm a pussy). The dispatcher agreed that it was way too late for kids to be outside playing basketball on a Sunday night, and assured me that a local officer would be stopping by shortly to talk to them about it.
Cackling like an old witch, I hung up the phone and went into our darkened master bathroom, where I could sit on the edge of the tub and spy on the street from between the tiny louvres on the plantation shutters in the window without being spotted.
But the police NEVER came. Nice. Our tax dollars hard at work. Like Sunday nights are so fraught with crime in freaking Limerick, Pennsylvania that they couldn't spare a single stinking cop to do a five minute drive-by. Please.
I swore I would never, ever be the evil bitch on the block who called the police on the kids. I swore I'd never, ever be the busybody neighbor who spied on everyone else through the blinds in the window. So much for that.
Damn whippersnappers! Now, where did my glasses and Geritol go...?
Labels: bitching, neighborhood stuff, premature mid-life crisis
Posted by Lori at 8/09/2006 01:12:00 PM
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Monday, July 31, 2006
I sometimes feel like an anomaly because unlike most people I encounter, who brag about how much they spent on various things, I tend to be more vocal about how much I SAVED on my purchases.
I am a bargain shopper, and I wear that badge with pride. I never, ever, ever pay full price for anything. Well, except for food--when it comes to shopping for groceries, I usually overspend because I cook a lot of different recipes. I often wish I had the discipline, time, and inclination to clip coupons from the tons of mailers I get for food products, but I don't.
Otherwise, unless something I want is on sale, I won't buy it. I haggled back and forth with the Toyota dealer on the internet and scored our SUV, brand-new and including all the options we wanted, for less than we ever thought possible. I only buy clothes or shoes when I have special coupons for the stores I like. I even buy most of my perfume on the cheap from eBay. Sure, sometimes the bottles come to me without caps, but who cares? No one sees it but me, and as long as it smells good, capless perfume bottles don't bother me a bit.
As I mentioned earlier, I often feel like the odd girl out in my quest for bargains. Maybe it's the geographical area in which I live and work. Every time I hear "Main Line" I just roll my eyes and groan (no offense, Mainline Mom--I'm not referring to you, and you're not really from the Main Line anyway). The Main Line is a cluster of suburbs that extends west of Philadelphia along the "main line" of the old Pennsylvania Railroad, which is now Route 30. It's an extremely upscale, old-money, WASPy area. I guess it's comparable to Westchester, NY or the Magnificent Mile in Chicago. And don't forget the King of Prussia mall, only fifteen miles from my house and three miles from my office. It's the second largest mall in the US, I think, and it's chock-full of designer stores. This is a place where people dress to the nines just to go shopping. It's ridiculous. Ugh. I avoid that place like the plague.
Many of the people I interact with on a daily basis are snobs, quite frankly. They always find opportunities to work into conversations how much they spent on their gigantic home theatre systems, their McMansions, their Land Rovers, and their black leather boots. I find all of this totally shallow and in very poor taste. I suspect that most people who do this are overcompensating for character flaws or other perceived shortcomings--the whole I-act-superior-because-I-truly-feel-inferior deal. It's so transparent. I feel the same way about people who constantly name-drop brands. Give me a fucking break.
But after thinking about all of this, I've come to the conclusion that maybe my disdain for people like this makes me a reverse snob. The funny thing is, most of the people described in this post are not from the old-money families of Philadelphia. It's the nouveau-riche types (or the wanna-be nouveau-riche) that are the most conspicuously obnoxious around here.
Thoughts?
I am a bargain shopper, and I wear that badge with pride. I never, ever, ever pay full price for anything. Well, except for food--when it comes to shopping for groceries, I usually overspend because I cook a lot of different recipes. I often wish I had the discipline, time, and inclination to clip coupons from the tons of mailers I get for food products, but I don't.
Otherwise, unless something I want is on sale, I won't buy it. I haggled back and forth with the Toyota dealer on the internet and scored our SUV, brand-new and including all the options we wanted, for less than we ever thought possible. I only buy clothes or shoes when I have special coupons for the stores I like. I even buy most of my perfume on the cheap from eBay. Sure, sometimes the bottles come to me without caps, but who cares? No one sees it but me, and as long as it smells good, capless perfume bottles don't bother me a bit.
As I mentioned earlier, I often feel like the odd girl out in my quest for bargains. Maybe it's the geographical area in which I live and work. Every time I hear "Main Line" I just roll my eyes and groan (no offense, Mainline Mom--I'm not referring to you, and you're not really from the Main Line anyway). The Main Line is a cluster of suburbs that extends west of Philadelphia along the "main line" of the old Pennsylvania Railroad, which is now Route 30. It's an extremely upscale, old-money, WASPy area. I guess it's comparable to Westchester, NY or the Magnificent Mile in Chicago. And don't forget the King of Prussia mall, only fifteen miles from my house and three miles from my office. It's the second largest mall in the US, I think, and it's chock-full of designer stores. This is a place where people dress to the nines just to go shopping. It's ridiculous. Ugh. I avoid that place like the plague.
Many of the people I interact with on a daily basis are snobs, quite frankly. They always find opportunities to work into conversations how much they spent on their gigantic home theatre systems, their McMansions, their Land Rovers, and their black leather boots. I find all of this totally shallow and in very poor taste. I suspect that most people who do this are overcompensating for character flaws or other perceived shortcomings--the whole I-act-superior-because-I-truly-feel-inferior deal. It's so transparent. I feel the same way about people who constantly name-drop brands. Give me a fucking break.
But after thinking about all of this, I've come to the conclusion that maybe my disdain for people like this makes me a reverse snob. The funny thing is, most of the people described in this post are not from the old-money families of Philadelphia. It's the nouveau-riche types (or the wanna-be nouveau-riche) that are the most conspicuously obnoxious around here.
Thoughts?
Labels: bitching, money, Philadelphia, shopping
Posted by Lori at 7/31/2006 11:31:00 AM
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Wednesday, July 05, 2006
This may be the best website ever.
Labels: bitching, funny stuff, FYI, marriage, technology
Posted by Lori at 7/05/2006 01:18:00 PM
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Thursday, June 22, 2006
Do you know what tomorrow night is?
That's right baby, Def Leppard time!
For those readers who missed it, here is the reason why I am so freaking amped to go to this concert.
Also appearing onstage:
I'm still pretty psyched about seeing Journey, too, but they've kinda lost their lustre for me since Steve Perry left the group back in 1987.
I'll tell ya, I need a good night out. I am so stressed out about the DC-2 exam that I'm taking next Wednesday. I'm hardly sleeping at all this week and I've been doing some last-minute cramming. I need to chill for a night.
Soooooo excited!!!!!!!!!!
That's right baby, Def Leppard time!
For those readers who missed it, here is the reason why I am so freaking amped to go to this concert.
Also appearing onstage:
I'm still pretty psyched about seeing Journey, too, but they've kinda lost their lustre for me since Steve Perry left the group back in 1987.
I'll tell ya, I need a good night out. I am so stressed out about the DC-2 exam that I'm taking next Wednesday. I'm hardly sleeping at all this week and I've been doing some last-minute cramming. I need to chill for a night.
Soooooo excited!!!!!!!!!!
Labels: bitching, concerts, Def Leppard, music, stress, work
Posted by Lori at 6/22/2006 05:06:00 PM
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Monday, June 19, 2006
When I was just a wee slip of a girl starting out in this field, I worked at two huge, internationally recognized financial services firms.
Like most large companies, both places were chock full of all the corporate bullshit bells and whistles you might expect. When I worked at Vanguard, we were forced (OK, not forced, but strongly urged and may I say perhaps even blackmailed?) to participate in time-wasting crap like World Diversity Day. This was an annual event in which each member of each staff in my department had to bring in food items from our assigned "culture" and recite a little spiel about it. I mean how fucking stupid is that? I'm there to get a job done and get the hell to happy hour, not learn about the indigent cuisine and hunting habits of the little-known Fijian Kummonawannalaya tribe. It was like a third-grade book report. Christ.
In 2001, I moved to Principal Financial Group, where the seemingly de rigueur office decor were a bunch of asinine motivational posters. I'm sure you've seen them before. These posters depict a photograph of something as random as the Great Sphinx or a dewdrop on a lilypad, and then proceed to wax poetic about some abstract crap like "Courage" or "Teamwork," thereby motivating all of the staff to....ridicule it? I don't know. That's all we ever did, anyway. It's not like these posters illuminated some life-changing concept for us.
So you can imagine how tickled freaking pink I was to discover these spoofs. Comic gold!
Like most large companies, both places were chock full of all the corporate bullshit bells and whistles you might expect. When I worked at Vanguard, we were forced (OK, not forced, but strongly urged and may I say perhaps even blackmailed?) to participate in time-wasting crap like World Diversity Day. This was an annual event in which each member of each staff in my department had to bring in food items from our assigned "culture" and recite a little spiel about it. I mean how fucking stupid is that? I'm there to get a job done and get the hell to happy hour, not learn about the indigent cuisine and hunting habits of the little-known Fijian Kummonawannalaya tribe. It was like a third-grade book report. Christ.
In 2001, I moved to Principal Financial Group, where the seemingly de rigueur office decor were a bunch of asinine motivational posters. I'm sure you've seen them before. These posters depict a photograph of something as random as the Great Sphinx or a dewdrop on a lilypad, and then proceed to wax poetic about some abstract crap like "Courage" or "Teamwork," thereby motivating all of the staff to....ridicule it? I don't know. That's all we ever did, anyway. It's not like these posters illuminated some life-changing concept for us.
So you can imagine how tickled freaking pink I was to discover these spoofs. Comic gold!
Labels: bitching, funny stuff, technology, work
Posted by Lori at 6/19/2006 11:19:00 AM
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Wednesday, May 24, 2006
Taylor Hicks is SO winning American Idol. He was consistently good in his performances last night, whereas Kat only shone in "Over The Rainbow."
I have a $5 bet with my boss that Taylor wins. He thinks Katharine will win strictly because she's a pretty girl. I think he underestimates America. Fantasia was not your typical pretty girl. Ruben was not very attractive. Neither was Clay.
Neither Kat nor Taylor would have been my pick for AI this season, but of the two, I think Taylor is a more interesting and seasoned performer. Kat can definitely sing, but only in a very stylized way.
And what the hell was up with their two singles? Yikes. Whoever dreamed up those songs (lyrics AND melody) should be shot. But maybe I'm expecting too much, because I thought last season's "Inside Your Heaven" was horrifying, too. Katharine was ALL over the place trying to sing that awful "My Destiny" song. And "Do I Make You Proud?" Christ. Totally lame, but I thought Taylor did better with it than Kat did with her song. However, if I never hear either of those again, it will be too soon. Ugh.
I have a $5 bet with my boss that Taylor wins. He thinks Katharine will win strictly because she's a pretty girl. I think he underestimates America. Fantasia was not your typical pretty girl. Ruben was not very attractive. Neither was Clay.
Neither Kat nor Taylor would have been my pick for AI this season, but of the two, I think Taylor is a more interesting and seasoned performer. Kat can definitely sing, but only in a very stylized way.
And what the hell was up with their two singles? Yikes. Whoever dreamed up those songs (lyrics AND melody) should be shot. But maybe I'm expecting too much, because I thought last season's "Inside Your Heaven" was horrifying, too. Katharine was ALL over the place trying to sing that awful "My Destiny" song. And "Do I Make You Proud?" Christ. Totally lame, but I thought Taylor did better with it than Kat did with her song. However, if I never hear either of those again, it will be too soon. Ugh.
Labels: American Idol, bitching, music, TV
Posted by Lori at 5/24/2006 09:00:00 AM
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Monday, May 08, 2006
Now that I've gotten that last piece of information off my chest, I can tell you about the stupidest thing I've done in a long time, which happened just last night.
First, the backstory: about a month ago, I had purchased an Intermatic digital timer light switch at Home Depot, because I wanted the post light on our front lawn to turn on and off automatically. Surprisingly enough, I installed it with minimal trouble, ALL BY MYSELF, in about twenty minutes. All I had to do was shut off the breaker that controlled the light, undo the wiring to the original Decora switch, and then hook up and secure the new timer switch. It worked beautifully, and I was deliriously happy that I no longer had to bother with turning the outside light on and off every night.
(Sidenote: yes, I am a humungous GEEK. As I've noted here before, it's really the little things in life that make me giddy with glee.)
This accomplishment led me to believe that I could tackle any electrical conundrum with ease. So last week, I bought yet another digital timer switch for the light sconce just outside our garage door. There was just one minor (in my mind, anyway) difference: the double light switch that controlled both the inside and outside garage lights were simple flip switches, and the digital timer switch is only available in a wide Decora version.
No big deal, though. I just bought a plain Decora switch and faceplate in addition to the timer switch, figuring I could remove the flip switches and install the new Decora switches and faceplate. How hard could it be?
So after dinner last night, I decided to get my latest project underway. The Huz was due back from his long weekend golf vacation, and I wanted to surprise him when he got home. I opened the garage door to give me plenty of light to work by, then went to the basement, figured out which breaker controlled the garage lightswitch, and turned it off.
I came back to the garage, unscrewed the face plate of the existing switches, and assessed the situation. First of all, there was hardly any slack on any of the wires in the box. Also, I noticed a black wire running from the first switch's bottom terminal to the second switch's bottom terminal. Hmmm, how odd, I thought. Wonder what that is?
Nevertheless, I forged ahead. I carefully undid the wires for both flipswitches, and freed them from the electrical box. Then I began installing the regular Decora switch for the garage's interior light. I had to strip back a bit of both wires, but I didn't run into much trouble otherwise. I carefully pulled the new switch away from the exposed wires for the second switch, then ran back downstairs to flip the breaker back on. When I came upstairs, the interior garage light was working! I crowed victoriously and did a little impromptu happy dance. Actually, if you must know, I did the Cabbage Patch right there in my open garage, for all my neighbors to witness (none did).
From there, I went back downstairs and shut off the breaker again. Then I began installing the new timer switch. That was a real bitch, quite frankly. The wires were not cooperating and there was hardly any slack to work with, not to mention I nearly impaled my left hand with my needlenose pliers. Eventually, I did hook up the timer switch, tested it successfully, and again did my little Cabbage Patch while chanting, "I am woman, hear me roar!"
Humming happily, I carefully attached the new faceplate just as The Huz pulled up in the driveway. He came into the garage to see what I was up to, and I smugly informed him that I had done it AGAIN! He smiled and hugged me while congratulating me on a job well done. We then took his bags inside the house, and I heated up some dinner for him while he recapped his golf trip to Ocean City, MD for me.
About an hour passed, and I suddenly remembered that I hadn't shut the garage door after finishing my work. I practically skipped through the family room and stuck my hand out the screen door into the garage to press the "close" button on the wall unit.
Nothing.
I stepped out in the garage and pressed it again, several times, quickly.
Still nothing.
Panicked, I went out to the driveway and tried to close it using the battery-controlled keypad that I'd installed on the outer frame of the garage door earlier this year. The keypad lit up as I punched in the PIN, but the door didn't budge. In a perfect moment of irony, the new timer switch turned on the garage sconce light just as I hit "Enter" on the keypad, further illuminating the immobile garage door.
After about a half-hour's worth of cursing (mine) and interrogation (The Huz: "Are you SURE you hooked all the wires back up EXACTLY the way you found them?"), we gave up and called our electrician. How embarrassing. My chest, which had been puffed up with pride only a few hours before, was completely deflated in defeat. Except for my boobs. They were still jutting out there, proud as ever.
Luckily, The Huz was off from work today, and the electrician came out and fixed my boo-boo in about twenty minutes, to the tune of $125. Turns out the switch in the garage was a three-way, and not a single pole, as the first one I'd hooked up had been. Way too advanced for me.
Doh!
Labels: bitching, funny stuff, home improvement, marriage
Posted by Lori at 5/08/2006 02:47:00 PM
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Monday, March 13, 2006
This past Saturday was Brian’s 34th birthday. As has been the tradition, his parents drove down from Rochester to spend the weekend with us.
My in-laws are lovely people. They are very generous to us, and we all get along quite well. That’s all that anyone could ask for, really. So I feel some latent Catholic guilt when I say that Brian’s mom is quite a handful.
It’s not that she’s rude or mean. She’s just EXTREMELY talkative and high-energy, the ultimate extrovert. And if you’ve been reading my blog lately, you’ll remember that I am quite the introvert. So to spend an extended amount of time with someone who is my polar opposite really wears me out.
We took the day off on Friday, and they arrived at our house around noon. I had put together a casual, make-your-own-hoagie lunch for us, and afterwards we took them to walk around Valley Forge Park for a while. I was hoping that would take the edge off some of her energy.
Well, that was not the case. In fact, she was more hyper than ever. We got home around 4 p.m. and I decided that I’d have to start drinking heavily if I were going to last for the rest of the night. So I popped open a bottle of pinot grigio for her, and mixed the first of many Fuzzy Navels for me while preparing dinner (which was delicious, if I do say so myself—I made chicken piccata, roasted red bliss potatoes, and a copycat recipe of Texas Roadhouse green beans with bacon and onions. Mmmmm!).
After dinner, we chatted for a bit, then watched Walk the Line. Yes, I just now FINALLY got around to getting it. Outstanding movie, by the way. I can see now why Reese won the Oscar for best actress. She was phenomenal. I’m still puzzled that Joaquin didn’t win best actor, though. His performance was beyond great. However, I’m still waiting to see Capote, so I can’t draw any comparisons between him and Philip Seymour Hoffman.
After the movie ended, I could barely keep my eyes open. So I excused myself and went to bed, which I think disappointed her. I guess that was a little rude…the hostess going to bed before the guests, but oh well. I needed to escape the chatter before I ripped out all my hair.
I woke up on Saturday at 7 a.m. and took a loooong walk by myself. Then Brian and his dad went golfing, as they always do, so it was up to me to entertain her. Of course, it was gorgeous on Saturday, sunny and in the 70s, but we spent most of the day inside at the King of Prussia mall. Brian’s cousin is getting married in June, and his mom and I were looking for dresses to wear to the reception.
After five department stores and four hours, we must have tried on thirty gowns each. She finally bought a dress at Lord & Taylor for $140…and I found a fabulous, floor-length chocolate brown dress on the clearance rack at Strawbridges for $40! Yahoo, baby! I was thrilled by the bargain, since the dress was originally $180. Both dresses are beautiful, but I swear…if I heard her complain about how flabby her arms look, I thought I’d have to slap the taste out of her mouth. The woman is a size six. Give me a fricking break.
We got home around 4:30 and started getting ready to go out to dinner. My parents came up to the house and we went to a local restaurant. I was so relieved that they were there to carry the conversation that I sat at the table like a mute for most of the meal. Afterwards, we went back to the house and had cake and coffee. My parents headed home around 9:30, and I just barely made it throught the first half of the 10 o’clock news before announcing that I was going to bed. She must think that I am totally lazy, but I don’t care.
They left yesterday morning around 10:30. By 10:33, I was fast asleep on the family room couch.
It was a successful weekend, but I’m kind of glad his parents live 350 miles away. I’m not sure if I could handle her energy level on a regular basis. She’s so high-strung that I just want to lay down and go to sleep after spending a few hours with her.
However, I know that many people have it worse than me, as far as their relationships with their in-laws, so I do realize how lucky I am.
My in-laws are lovely people. They are very generous to us, and we all get along quite well. That’s all that anyone could ask for, really. So I feel some latent Catholic guilt when I say that Brian’s mom is quite a handful.
It’s not that she’s rude or mean. She’s just EXTREMELY talkative and high-energy, the ultimate extrovert. And if you’ve been reading my blog lately, you’ll remember that I am quite the introvert. So to spend an extended amount of time with someone who is my polar opposite really wears me out.
We took the day off on Friday, and they arrived at our house around noon. I had put together a casual, make-your-own-hoagie lunch for us, and afterwards we took them to walk around Valley Forge Park for a while. I was hoping that would take the edge off some of her energy.
Well, that was not the case. In fact, she was more hyper than ever. We got home around 4 p.m. and I decided that I’d have to start drinking heavily if I were going to last for the rest of the night. So I popped open a bottle of pinot grigio for her, and mixed the first of many Fuzzy Navels for me while preparing dinner (which was delicious, if I do say so myself—I made chicken piccata, roasted red bliss potatoes, and a copycat recipe of Texas Roadhouse green beans with bacon and onions. Mmmmm!).
After dinner, we chatted for a bit, then watched Walk the Line. Yes, I just now FINALLY got around to getting it. Outstanding movie, by the way. I can see now why Reese won the Oscar for best actress. She was phenomenal. I’m still puzzled that Joaquin didn’t win best actor, though. His performance was beyond great. However, I’m still waiting to see Capote, so I can’t draw any comparisons between him and Philip Seymour Hoffman.
After the movie ended, I could barely keep my eyes open. So I excused myself and went to bed, which I think disappointed her. I guess that was a little rude…the hostess going to bed before the guests, but oh well. I needed to escape the chatter before I ripped out all my hair.
I woke up on Saturday at 7 a.m. and took a loooong walk by myself. Then Brian and his dad went golfing, as they always do, so it was up to me to entertain her. Of course, it was gorgeous on Saturday, sunny and in the 70s, but we spent most of the day inside at the King of Prussia mall. Brian’s cousin is getting married in June, and his mom and I were looking for dresses to wear to the reception.
After five department stores and four hours, we must have tried on thirty gowns each. She finally bought a dress at Lord & Taylor for $140…and I found a fabulous, floor-length chocolate brown dress on the clearance rack at Strawbridges for $40! Yahoo, baby! I was thrilled by the bargain, since the dress was originally $180. Both dresses are beautiful, but I swear…if I heard her complain about how flabby her arms look, I thought I’d have to slap the taste out of her mouth. The woman is a size six. Give me a fricking break.
We got home around 4:30 and started getting ready to go out to dinner. My parents came up to the house and we went to a local restaurant. I was so relieved that they were there to carry the conversation that I sat at the table like a mute for most of the meal. Afterwards, we went back to the house and had cake and coffee. My parents headed home around 9:30, and I just barely made it throught the first half of the 10 o’clock news before announcing that I was going to bed. She must think that I am totally lazy, but I don’t care.
They left yesterday morning around 10:30. By 10:33, I was fast asleep on the family room couch.
It was a successful weekend, but I’m kind of glad his parents live 350 miles away. I’m not sure if I could handle her energy level on a regular basis. She’s so high-strung that I just want to lay down and go to sleep after spending a few hours with her.
However, I know that many people have it worse than me, as far as their relationships with their in-laws, so I do realize how lucky I am.
Labels: bitching, family, marriage, movies, shopping, stress, weekends
Posted by Lori at 3/13/2006 11:49:00 AM
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Thursday, March 09, 2006
In the past few nights, I've caught bits and pieces of the new VH1 countdown show "I Love Toys." So naturally, now I have to bitch just a little bit about these kinds of shows on this station.
As far as I know, VH1 stands for Video Hits 1. But the only time they actually play music videos now is early in the morning (Jump Start) and during the Top 20 Countdown.
Remember when VH1 was really taboo? It was the television equivalent of an easy-listening radio station. You couldn't even admit that you watched it for fear of ruining your reputation. They played a grand total of five music videos back then, set on an endless loop: Phil Collins' "Do You Remember," Bobby McFerrin's "Don't Worry, Be Happy," Heart's "All I Wanna Do is Make Love to You," George Harrison's "I've Got My Mind Set on You," and Rod Stewart's "Downtown Train." Ugh.
Inexplicably, VH1 became cool in a kitschy way several years ago. I think the turning point was the original version of "I Love the 80s."
Talk about milking a good idea completely dry. The first "I Love the 80s" was really funny because it was offbeat and authentic. But instead of basking in the glow of an unexpected hit and then moving on to something new and different, the powers-that-be at VH1 took the same concept and applied it to the 70s (a few good moments, but not as funny) and the 90s (not funny at ALL, plus way too soon after the decade ended). Then they went back to the 80s not once, but twice more.
At this point, VH1 has totally jumped the shark. The fact that Flava-Flav now has his own reality show says it all, really.
And don't even get me started on MTV.
As far as I know, VH1 stands for Video Hits 1. But the only time they actually play music videos now is early in the morning (Jump Start) and during the Top 20 Countdown.
Remember when VH1 was really taboo? It was the television equivalent of an easy-listening radio station. You couldn't even admit that you watched it for fear of ruining your reputation. They played a grand total of five music videos back then, set on an endless loop: Phil Collins' "Do You Remember," Bobby McFerrin's "Don't Worry, Be Happy," Heart's "All I Wanna Do is Make Love to You," George Harrison's "I've Got My Mind Set on You," and Rod Stewart's "Downtown Train." Ugh.
Inexplicably, VH1 became cool in a kitschy way several years ago. I think the turning point was the original version of "I Love the 80s."
Talk about milking a good idea completely dry. The first "I Love the 80s" was really funny because it was offbeat and authentic. But instead of basking in the glow of an unexpected hit and then moving on to something new and different, the powers-that-be at VH1 took the same concept and applied it to the 70s (a few good moments, but not as funny) and the 90s (not funny at ALL, plus way too soon after the decade ended). Then they went back to the 80s not once, but twice more.
At this point, VH1 has totally jumped the shark. The fact that Flava-Flav now has his own reality show says it all, really.
And don't even get me started on MTV.
Posted by Lori at 3/09/2006 10:09:00 AM
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Friday, February 17, 2006
Well, here I am, sick again. This winter has been horrendous.
Let's see: I came down with strep throat two days before New Year's eve, which sucked. Now I am fighting some kind of upper respiratory infection, with sinusitis (I suspect) along for the ride. I got a week's worth of Levaquin from my doctor yesterday and have been blowing some extremely nasty stuff out of my head ever since I started it last night.
However, this antibiotic is not without side effects, the most noticeable of which is insomnia. I took the first pill, along with 2 Aleve, last night around 8 p.m. I got into bed at 8:15, and had the lights out by 9 p.m. But I didn't fall asleep until well after 11 p.m. Then I kept waking up frequently, and it took seemingly forever to fall back asleep each time.
Finally, I awoke at 3:30 a.m. because my throat was so sore and sandpaper-dry. I was practically in tears from the pain. And Brian's snoring was working my last damn nerve. I slipped out of bed, headed down to the kitchen, and ate a few spoonfuls of applesauce, to coat my empty stomach a little bit. Then I took 2 extra-strength Tylenol, some Sudafed, and guaifenisin, which is an expectorant.
By this time, I was wide awake. I considered trying to stay awake until it was time to get ready for work, but knew that probably wasn't a good idea--I'd hit a major 3 p.m. slump if I tried it. So I got settled under a blanket on the sofa in our living room and turned on the TV. Wound up watching the Olympic men's figure skating event until close to 5 a.m. Finally, I felt tired enough to try to sleep again.
The next thing I knew, it was 6:45 and Brian was standing over me, tapping me and telling me to get up (note to potential future second husbands, i.e., Joaquin: NEVER tap me. Especially not on the head, and especially not when I'm sound asleep. You might end up with your ass in a sling.).
After a lovely, long, steaming hot shower (undoubtedly the best part of my day), I was putting in my contact lenses and the right lens ripped almost in half on my fingertip. Since I only had one pair of lenses, I had no choice but to wear my glasses. I HATE MY GLASSES.
Brian and I carpooled to work today, and on the ride, I discovered that I had lost my voice. Which didn't bother me much, since I can barely conduct any meaningful or enjoyable conversations before 10 a.m.
As I was working at my desk, I felt my nose begin to run. Annoyed, I grabbed a tissue and wiped it, and was horrified when I saw what appeared to be about a pint of bright red blood on the tissue. I never, ever get nosebleeds. Ever. But since this morning, I've had three episodes of profuse bleeding.
And finally, since the barometer is currently hovering just over 30 inches, I have a screaming sinus headache. More of a face-ache, really...it feels like someone in five-inch spiked heels is standing on my face, right over my cheekbones, and occasionally shifting to my browbones.
So, as you can see, I'm batting a thousand today.
I'm so pissed. Another weekend down the drain. I had a lot of stuff on the roster, too. Bummer.
Hope your Friday's better than mine.
Let's see: I came down with strep throat two days before New Year's eve, which sucked. Now I am fighting some kind of upper respiratory infection, with sinusitis (I suspect) along for the ride. I got a week's worth of Levaquin from my doctor yesterday and have been blowing some extremely nasty stuff out of my head ever since I started it last night.
However, this antibiotic is not without side effects, the most noticeable of which is insomnia. I took the first pill, along with 2 Aleve, last night around 8 p.m. I got into bed at 8:15, and had the lights out by 9 p.m. But I didn't fall asleep until well after 11 p.m. Then I kept waking up frequently, and it took seemingly forever to fall back asleep each time.
Finally, I awoke at 3:30 a.m. because my throat was so sore and sandpaper-dry. I was practically in tears from the pain. And Brian's snoring was working my last damn nerve. I slipped out of bed, headed down to the kitchen, and ate a few spoonfuls of applesauce, to coat my empty stomach a little bit. Then I took 2 extra-strength Tylenol, some Sudafed, and guaifenisin, which is an expectorant.
By this time, I was wide awake. I considered trying to stay awake until it was time to get ready for work, but knew that probably wasn't a good idea--I'd hit a major 3 p.m. slump if I tried it. So I got settled under a blanket on the sofa in our living room and turned on the TV. Wound up watching the Olympic men's figure skating event until close to 5 a.m. Finally, I felt tired enough to try to sleep again.
The next thing I knew, it was 6:45 and Brian was standing over me, tapping me and telling me to get up (note to potential future second husbands, i.e., Joaquin: NEVER tap me. Especially not on the head, and especially not when I'm sound asleep. You might end up with your ass in a sling.).
After a lovely, long, steaming hot shower (undoubtedly the best part of my day), I was putting in my contact lenses and the right lens ripped almost in half on my fingertip. Since I only had one pair of lenses, I had no choice but to wear my glasses. I HATE MY GLASSES.
Brian and I carpooled to work today, and on the ride, I discovered that I had lost my voice. Which didn't bother me much, since I can barely conduct any meaningful or enjoyable conversations before 10 a.m.
As I was working at my desk, I felt my nose begin to run. Annoyed, I grabbed a tissue and wiped it, and was horrified when I saw what appeared to be about a pint of bright red blood on the tissue. I never, ever get nosebleeds. Ever. But since this morning, I've had three episodes of profuse bleeding.
And finally, since the barometer is currently hovering just over 30 inches, I have a screaming sinus headache. More of a face-ache, really...it feels like someone in five-inch spiked heels is standing on my face, right over my cheekbones, and occasionally shifting to my browbones.
So, as you can see, I'm batting a thousand today.
I'm so pissed. Another weekend down the drain. I had a lot of stuff on the roster, too. Bummer.
Hope your Friday's better than mine.
Posted by Lori at 2/17/2006 03:20:00 PM
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Friday, February 10, 2006
I have to go off on a little rant here today.
I am so sick of product parties. Partylite Candles, Longaberger Basket, Tastefully Simple, Mary Kay, Tupperware, and Creative Memories, I'm looking at you!
I mean really. I have better things to do than sit around with a bunch of other women to ooh and ahh about hydrangea-scented tealight candles or pineapple habanero pretzel dip. Christ.
The only thing worse than the parties are the stupid people themselves who sell this shit. I say "stupid" because I don't really think they have a clear idea of what good salesmanship entails. It means that you shouldn't automatically hit up your friends and relatives. If you want to sell, then go out and hit the pavement. Actually WORK for your sales. But don't assume that just because we're related (or work together, in some cases) I will buy whatever crap you're shilling this week.
Let me give you an example of this stupidity.
I have an acquaintance who I really don't know that well. She lives in NY. I only see her a few times a year, and we don't ever talk on the phone.
On the afternoon of August 23, 2005, we moved into our new house.
The very next day at 1 p.m., she called me. Because we have never called each other just to chat, I assumed that she was either calling to tell me she's pregnant or that something terrible has happened. Not the case. She made small talk with me for about ten minutes, asking how our move went and how we liked the new house, then started in with the sales pitch:
Her: "So, I just recently began my own business, Partylite Candles. Have you ever heard of it?"
Me: "Uh, yeah..."
Her: "And I was wondering if you would be interested in hosting a party for me."
Me: (without a moment's hesitation) "No."
Her: "No?" (I think she was so shocked that someone actually shot her down that she didn't know what else to say)
Me: "No. First of all, we just literally moved into this house less than twenty-four hours ago. I'm not ready to entertain here. Second, even if the house were in order, I just don't believe in that stuff. I don't feel it's polite or appropriate to ask my friends and family to come to my house and buy something. It's against my principles. I also don't go to those parties, either. I know a million people who have them, and they don't even bother to invite me anymore, because they know I'm just not into it."
Her: (dead silence)
Me: "But good luck with it!"
Can you believe the fucking nerve? What kind of idiot calls someone that she rarely sees or speaks to in the first place, on the day after that person moves into a new house, just to ask if that person will hold a party for their dumb "business" (I use that term loosely here)?
Another example: yesterday I got a funny joke email from another friend. I replied to her email by asking how she's been.
Her response? "Busy. Are you interested in hosting a home party or catalog sale for Partylite?"
FUCK!!!!!
Finally, let's not forget that pesky former coworker of mine who sells Mary Kay. I worked with this woman over five years ago. I haven't seen her in person since my wedding in 2002. She doesn't send me any holiday cards, never even bothers to respond to invitations I have sent her for barbecues and other get-togethers, but still manages to try to convince me to buy Mary Kay from her. Fortunately, she doesn't know my new email address or my new home mailing address, but damned if she doesn't try to weasel it out of a mutual friend every other week. Despite the fact that, when we lived in our old house, I called to tell her specifically to stop wasting postage mailing me invitations to her Mary Kay "Beauty Night" every month. You think she would've taken the hint then.
These people need to get a fucking life. I have visions in my head of just totally freaking out on the next person who asks me to get involved with this shit. Kind of like Michael Douglas in Falling Down.
OK, rant over.
Happy Friday!
I am so sick of product parties. Partylite Candles, Longaberger Basket, Tastefully Simple, Mary Kay, Tupperware, and Creative Memories, I'm looking at you!
I mean really. I have better things to do than sit around with a bunch of other women to ooh and ahh about hydrangea-scented tealight candles or pineapple habanero pretzel dip. Christ.
The only thing worse than the parties are the stupid people themselves who sell this shit. I say "stupid" because I don't really think they have a clear idea of what good salesmanship entails. It means that you shouldn't automatically hit up your friends and relatives. If you want to sell, then go out and hit the pavement. Actually WORK for your sales. But don't assume that just because we're related (or work together, in some cases) I will buy whatever crap you're shilling this week.
Let me give you an example of this stupidity.
I have an acquaintance who I really don't know that well. She lives in NY. I only see her a few times a year, and we don't ever talk on the phone.
On the afternoon of August 23, 2005, we moved into our new house.
The very next day at 1 p.m., she called me. Because we have never called each other just to chat, I assumed that she was either calling to tell me she's pregnant or that something terrible has happened. Not the case. She made small talk with me for about ten minutes, asking how our move went and how we liked the new house, then started in with the sales pitch:
Her: "So, I just recently began my own business, Partylite Candles. Have you ever heard of it?"
Me: "Uh, yeah..."
Her: "And I was wondering if you would be interested in hosting a party for me."
Me: (without a moment's hesitation) "No."
Her: "No?" (I think she was so shocked that someone actually shot her down that she didn't know what else to say)
Me: "No. First of all, we just literally moved into this house less than twenty-four hours ago. I'm not ready to entertain here. Second, even if the house were in order, I just don't believe in that stuff. I don't feel it's polite or appropriate to ask my friends and family to come to my house and buy something. It's against my principles. I also don't go to those parties, either. I know a million people who have them, and they don't even bother to invite me anymore, because they know I'm just not into it."
Her: (dead silence)
Me: "But good luck with it!"
Can you believe the fucking nerve? What kind of idiot calls someone that she rarely sees or speaks to in the first place, on the day after that person moves into a new house, just to ask if that person will hold a party for their dumb "business" (I use that term loosely here)?
Another example: yesterday I got a funny joke email from another friend. I replied to her email by asking how she's been.
Her response? "Busy. Are you interested in hosting a home party or catalog sale for Partylite?"
FUCK!!!!!
Finally, let's not forget that pesky former coworker of mine who sells Mary Kay. I worked with this woman over five years ago. I haven't seen her in person since my wedding in 2002. She doesn't send me any holiday cards, never even bothers to respond to invitations I have sent her for barbecues and other get-togethers, but still manages to try to convince me to buy Mary Kay from her. Fortunately, she doesn't know my new email address or my new home mailing address, but damned if she doesn't try to weasel it out of a mutual friend every other week. Despite the fact that, when we lived in our old house, I called to tell her specifically to stop wasting postage mailing me invitations to her Mary Kay "Beauty Night" every month. You think she would've taken the hint then.
These people need to get a fucking life. I have visions in my head of just totally freaking out on the next person who asks me to get involved with this shit. Kind of like Michael Douglas in Falling Down.
OK, rant over.
Happy Friday!
Labels: bitching
Posted by Lori at 2/10/2006 02:38:00 PM
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Monday, January 09, 2006
This has been a pet peeve of mine for a while, but it's the first time I've blogged about it. For the past few years, I've noticed a disturbing trend on TV--on sitcoms and in commercials, specifically--of bigger, huskier men paired with skinny, size-2 women.
It bugs. You will almost NEVER see a heavyset woman with a lean, muscular guy on TV. Why is that? I call it the beauty double standard.
King of Queens, I'm looking at you. Teeny, tiny little Leah Remini paired up with Kevin what's-his-name (who, although amusing, won't be in the running for Mr. Universe anytime soon).
Another example: the Cingular wireless commercial featuring a husband/wife team in which the wife is fashion model-pretty and the husband looks approximately seven months pregnant.
I know that there are other examples out there of this insidious double standard in our society, but those were the first that came to mind. I find it irritating and unrealistic that in TV Land a schlumpy-looking fat guy is almost always coupled with a stunning, or at least above-average looking, extremely petite woman.
This trend is sending the wrong message to both men and women. Schlumpy-looking guys have begun to think that they are entitled to stunning and petite women, and perfectly normal, average-looking women despair because they'll never be a size 2.
Grrrrr.
It bugs. You will almost NEVER see a heavyset woman with a lean, muscular guy on TV. Why is that? I call it the beauty double standard.
King of Queens, I'm looking at you. Teeny, tiny little Leah Remini paired up with Kevin what's-his-name (who, although amusing, won't be in the running for Mr. Universe anytime soon).
Another example: the Cingular wireless commercial featuring a husband/wife team in which the wife is fashion model-pretty and the husband looks approximately seven months pregnant.
I know that there are other examples out there of this insidious double standard in our society, but those were the first that came to mind. I find it irritating and unrealistic that in TV Land a schlumpy-looking fat guy is almost always coupled with a stunning, or at least above-average looking, extremely petite woman.
This trend is sending the wrong message to both men and women. Schlumpy-looking guys have begun to think that they are entitled to stunning and petite women, and perfectly normal, average-looking women despair because they'll never be a size 2.
Grrrrr.
Labels: bitching, deep thoughts, TV
Posted by Lori at 1/09/2006 10:20:00 AM
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Thursday, November 03, 2005
Well, tomorrow is the big day. We're dog-sitting Brian's friend's Chesapeake Bay retriever this weekend. After work tomorrow, I'm going to pick him up and bring him back to our house.
It was my extremely fervent hope that Donnie (the dog--named after Don Mattingly, the former New York Yankees team captain) behaves himself. If he is an exemplary dog this weekend, it can only increase my chances of convincing Brian that we, too, need a dog.
Isn't it unusual that the wife (me) has to convince the husband (him) to get a dog? I thought it was normally the other way around. But no. Brian's never had a dog in his life. None of his family has ever owned dogs, or been owned by dogs, as the case usually is. This kind of blows my mind. They are cat people. They think that dogs are wild, smell bad, and make a mess of the house. Which may be somewhat true, but to me the cost/benefit analysis is clearly in favor of canine companionship.
Don't get me wrong; I love cats, too. In general, I am a total animal person. I'd have birds, rats, and a Vietnamese pot-bellied pig if I were allowed to. And we have two fabulous male kitties whom I just adore...but even they don't fulfill my need for a more intense human/animal bond.
A dog would make me ever so happy. I'd even do all the work involved in taking care of it without complaint. It would be MY dog.
We've been married just over three years, and for 2.9 of those years, I've been subtly, and sometimes not-so-subtly, trying to get my way in this matter. I don’t ask for much. I’m not a nag. Brian plays golf, softball, poker and bowls in a weekly league, all without complaint from me. As a wife, I think I’m pretty darn cool. But I’m alone a lot, because of his extracurriculars. So why can’t I get a dog to keep me company? Sigh…
I witnessed something about a month ago that just broke my heart. On a sunny Saturday afternoon, my mother and I were driving to Target to do some shopping. We were in my car, and I was taking a shortcut through a residential neighborhood. A very wealthy neighborhood, in fact. We were chatting and laughing, and suddenly I noticed something on the side of the road, up ahead in the distance. I shushed my mom and slowed down, and what I saw next nearly made me burst into tears.
There on the side of this road, next to what I would have to imagine was a $500,000 home, stood an adult Siberian husky. It had a thick rope tied around its neck, and on the other end of the rope was an empty plastic water jug. Also attached to the rope was a sign that read "Take Me." The dog stood there, in the gutter, looking lost and confused and sad. I don’t know if the owner of the $500,00 house had put the dog out there, or if someone who had driven by just pushed it out of their car.
I stopped the car and pulled over to the opposite side of the road. My mother said, “You’re not going to get out of the car, are you? You don’t know if that dog is vicious!” The only reason I did not get out of the car and go to the dog was because she was with me. Had I been alone, I would’ve tried to get the dog into my car and taken it home with me. Instead, I called 911 – okay, I’ll admit it was probably overkill, but I was absolutely distraught and couldn’t think of anything else to do. I certainly wasn’t going to leave this animal on the side of the road to be hit by a car.
After I informed the 911 dispatcher of the situation (who thought I was a wee bit crazy, no doubt), I pulled away and continued to Target, at my mother’s insistence. I’m pretty disappointed in myself for doing that. I should have at least stayed in my car where I was, just to keep an eye on that dog until the cops or the Humane Society came to take it to safety. But my mother, who does not share the level of passion I have for animals, was becoming impatient, so I felt it was best for me to go.
We ran our errands and as I headed for hom, I turned up the street where the dog had been. My mother said, “I knew you’d go back to check on that dog.” We passed the spot where it had stood, and it was gone. I’ll never know if it wandered off on its own, or if the police truly cared enough to come and get it.
The whole point of my story is this: why is it that some people who couldn’t care less about dogs and treat them as a disposable entity are ALLOWED to have them…and I want one so very badly and would love it to pieces, but am not “allowed” to have it? It makes me so angry. Grrr. Oh, I suppose I could just stop at the shelter one day and bring one home, but that would really upset Brian, and I don’t think it would be worth the ensuing arguments.
So instead, I’m slowly chinking away at his willpower. Because I cannot see living the rest of my life dog-free. Any ideas?
It was my extremely fervent hope that Donnie (the dog--named after Don Mattingly, the former New York Yankees team captain) behaves himself. If he is an exemplary dog this weekend, it can only increase my chances of convincing Brian that we, too, need a dog.
Isn't it unusual that the wife (me) has to convince the husband (him) to get a dog? I thought it was normally the other way around. But no. Brian's never had a dog in his life. None of his family has ever owned dogs, or been owned by dogs, as the case usually is. This kind of blows my mind. They are cat people. They think that dogs are wild, smell bad, and make a mess of the house. Which may be somewhat true, but to me the cost/benefit analysis is clearly in favor of canine companionship.
Don't get me wrong; I love cats, too. In general, I am a total animal person. I'd have birds, rats, and a Vietnamese pot-bellied pig if I were allowed to. And we have two fabulous male kitties whom I just adore...but even they don't fulfill my need for a more intense human/animal bond.
A dog would make me ever so happy. I'd even do all the work involved in taking care of it without complaint. It would be MY dog.
We've been married just over three years, and for 2.9 of those years, I've been subtly, and sometimes not-so-subtly, trying to get my way in this matter. I don’t ask for much. I’m not a nag. Brian plays golf, softball, poker and bowls in a weekly league, all without complaint from me. As a wife, I think I’m pretty darn cool. But I’m alone a lot, because of his extracurriculars. So why can’t I get a dog to keep me company? Sigh…
I witnessed something about a month ago that just broke my heart. On a sunny Saturday afternoon, my mother and I were driving to Target to do some shopping. We were in my car, and I was taking a shortcut through a residential neighborhood. A very wealthy neighborhood, in fact. We were chatting and laughing, and suddenly I noticed something on the side of the road, up ahead in the distance. I shushed my mom and slowed down, and what I saw next nearly made me burst into tears.
There on the side of this road, next to what I would have to imagine was a $500,000 home, stood an adult Siberian husky. It had a thick rope tied around its neck, and on the other end of the rope was an empty plastic water jug. Also attached to the rope was a sign that read "Take Me." The dog stood there, in the gutter, looking lost and confused and sad. I don’t know if the owner of the $500,00 house had put the dog out there, or if someone who had driven by just pushed it out of their car.
I stopped the car and pulled over to the opposite side of the road. My mother said, “You’re not going to get out of the car, are you? You don’t know if that dog is vicious!” The only reason I did not get out of the car and go to the dog was because she was with me. Had I been alone, I would’ve tried to get the dog into my car and taken it home with me. Instead, I called 911 – okay, I’ll admit it was probably overkill, but I was absolutely distraught and couldn’t think of anything else to do. I certainly wasn’t going to leave this animal on the side of the road to be hit by a car.
After I informed the 911 dispatcher of the situation (who thought I was a wee bit crazy, no doubt), I pulled away and continued to Target, at my mother’s insistence. I’m pretty disappointed in myself for doing that. I should have at least stayed in my car where I was, just to keep an eye on that dog until the cops or the Humane Society came to take it to safety. But my mother, who does not share the level of passion I have for animals, was becoming impatient, so I felt it was best for me to go.
We ran our errands and as I headed for hom, I turned up the street where the dog had been. My mother said, “I knew you’d go back to check on that dog.” We passed the spot where it had stood, and it was gone. I’ll never know if it wandered off on its own, or if the police truly cared enough to come and get it.
The whole point of my story is this: why is it that some people who couldn’t care less about dogs and treat them as a disposable entity are ALLOWED to have them…and I want one so very badly and would love it to pieces, but am not “allowed” to have it? It makes me so angry. Grrr. Oh, I suppose I could just stop at the shelter one day and bring one home, but that would really upset Brian, and I don’t think it would be worth the ensuing arguments.
So instead, I’m slowly chinking away at his willpower. Because I cannot see living the rest of my life dog-free. Any ideas?
Posted by Lori at 11/03/2005 09:35:00 AM
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