I did something this weekend I rarely do. I watched a movie that was not rated “G.” There wasn’t an animated princess, minion, fish, etc. I saw the movie “Her” at night in an actual theater. I didn’t even smuggle popcorn or candy inside, opting instead to waste my son’s college fund at the concession stand. When the popcorn was gone I suggested my husband refill the container so we could bring some home to the kids. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he asked. We laughed. Then, I picked a few kernels out of my dentures and hiked up my nude knee high pantyhose.
I will be honest, when the previews first came out, I thought, “You have got to be kidding me.” A guy falls in love with Siri? What are these film companies thinking? Next thing you know they will have a guy from a Jennifer Lopez video play a superhero.
So, what made me want to see it? I can tell you it wasn’t Joaquin Phoenix’s mustache. There is something wrong with a man under 40 who grows a mustache. I fully expect that guy to drive a van with blacked out windows and end up on 60 minutes.
I was intrigued after reading all the positive reviews. It is a beautifully written script. Well, minus Joaquin’s awkward phone sex scene with his phone. File that under Things I don’t want to ever watch again in a room full of strangers. The costumes were also a bit odd. Apparently, in the future men wear pants that rest on their sternum. It must take 10 minutes to close this zipper.
I would recommend seeing “Her.” I would also recommend refilling your popcorn bucket. That s**t is expensive. You might as well get your money’s worth.
It’s a new day which means another celebrity is going to post a picture of themselves on Twitter. I’ve never had the urge to go in the bathroom to snap a selfie. You’re welcome. My favorite pics are when people are obviously posing, but pretend to be caught off guard. Oh, I didn’t see you standing there with a camera. I was just risking my life, hanging on to this plant near a cliff in Mexico while standing in my underwear. (I call that Tuesday)
Actress Lea Michele posted this pic on New Year’s Day. There is no denying she is talented and gorgeous. The girl also has a massive wedgie. I choose comfort over sex appeal. I would rather have my underwear sit above my belt loops. Besides, a wedgie + cottage cheese = train wreck. I am sure many people who look at this photograph see her tight a** and the stunning backdrop. I see danger. Honey, you are too close to the edge. You are going to fall! (Besides, is that a foot in the bottom right hand corner with one too many toes?) I suppose since becoming a mother everything makes me nervous. Yesterday my 4-year-old daughter was demonstrating how she can balance on the bottom rung of a chair. She was so proud of herself. “Mommy, look, look, look.” I saw a vision of the chair flipping over, her face smashing against the wood and tears, lots of tears, “You are going to get hurt!” Her smile faded away. Sure, she could fall, but she didn’t. Why didn’t I praise her first? I reacted in a similar way when my older son told me a funny story about school. “Well, I hope you were behaving,” I said. His words made my heart skip a beat, “I can’t tell you anything.” I would rather be sentenced to prison and have a Kardashian as a bunk mate than know my kids can’t talk to me. I suppose I need to lighten up and listen. Is it possible to be a parent and really listen without passing judgement. I have to try. My job is to teach them the difference between right and wrong, but can they learn anything if I control everything?
This is too good not to share. I made my share of mistakes back in the day. I even made the photographer delete video the second we returned to the station, but nothing I did was as bad as what is in this video.
I cry every time this commercial comes on television and (every time) my 6-year-old says, “Mom, you do know it’s a commercial about Apple. They make phones and Ipods. Why does that make you sad?” It’s hard to explain. It’s the same reason I cry at the end of Toy Story 3 and while reading “Love You Forever.” He doesn’t understand yet, but someday he will.
Everyone has that Facebook “friend” who is always bragging about how perfect her life is. #Liar There is Facebook and then there is the truth. You’re not going to post the argument that ensued after he left his socks on the floor again. You’re status won’t include complaints about her spending and his daily lunch tab. The bouquet of flowers he got “just because” are probably because he came home really late without bothering to call. I can’t remember the last time I got flowers “just because.” So, I was tickled pink when the fine folks at TheBouqs.com offered to send me a bouquet straight from the farm. I was happier than a Kardashian in a mirror. I wish Ryan Gosling had hand delivered them, but I digress.
This is the “Bundle of Joy” bouquet from TheBouqs.com. It’s as sweet as having a newborn minus the dirty diapers, overnight crying and leaky breasts. If the flowers sucked I would tell you. I cannot be bought. Well, unless it involved a new Michael Kors handbag.
The flowers arrived in a few days in a box. There wasn’t a tacky vase or glittery heart on a stick. It was just a simple bouquet of gorgeous flowers. They came to New York from California, but you wouldn’t know it. They smelled sweet and lasted over a week. All of their bouquets cost 40 bucks and shipping is free. I am all about supporting your local florist, but this is another option. You won’t have to worry about sending flowers out of state and having it arrive looking like the centerpiece at a firehall wedding reception.
My husband wants to give me a chore for Christmas. He keeps talking about how great it would be to have a Sodastream. “Just think you could make your own soda whenever you want.” Yeah, or I could just grab a can out of the refrigerator, flip a metal tab and take a swig. With three kids I don’t have time to eat a hot plate of food. Now, you want me to die of thirst, too? Someone once lectured me about drinking Diet Coke. “Do you know that it can remove rust? Imagine what it is doing to your body.” I was siked! I can drink it and clean with it? Sweet! My husband has also said, “Think of how much money we can save!” We could also save money by churning our own butter and making our own clothes.
I have never expressed a desire to make my own soda. Who am I kidding? We call it “pop” around these parts. Soda is pop. Lollipops are suckers. It doesn’t matter what you call it. I don’t want to make it. I am hoping he keeps bringing up the Sodastream to throw me off his scent. Perhaps he plans to buy me an awesome gift. Honestly, I don’t really care if I get anything. I just don’t want a chore for Christmas. (You can also return the vacuum, dishwasher, iron, broom, etc.) This whole thing reminds me of this Jim Gaffigan bit:
I actually received an email questioning, “Why haven’t you written anything in the past few days?” I love my fan.
I could barely get out of bed, let alone type. I exercise on a daily basis, but my muscles are spent. Raking a million leaves will do that to you. Well, it will do that to you at my age.We got a little behind schedule with our Fall cleanup. Minutes after my husband started clearing the yard today the belt busted on the lawn mower. He insisted he could fix it. This is coming from the same man who “fixed” the oven door with scotch tape. He grabbed his tools. I grabbed a rake. Why can’t men just admit they can’t do something? I can’t pole vault. I can’t carve a bear out of wood with a chain saw. So, I won’t.
I was sweating profusely and cursing under my breath for about an hour until he finally admitted defeat and helped. I miss the (alleged) crackhead that used to rake our leaves. My husband paid this guy $40 to rake our entire yard. He looked like Sebastian Bach, but rolled up to our house on a ten speed. Forty bucks was a steal. There are a lot of trees out there. He could make more working in a sweatshop sewing articles of clothing for the Kardashians. I must give him props. This fella was a hard worker. The problem was he liked to rake topless. He would tear off his shirt and hang it on his belt loop. It was November in upstate New York. His long curly locks were usually tied back in a low ponytail. His nipples were as hard as his beer belly. Oh, what the neighbors must have thought.
Anyway, I do have a few things to share with y’all. File these under the “what the hell were they thinking?”
My daughter opened a Halloween bag this morning with an unusual treat. Yes, this morning. You have to pick your battles.
I would love to know the thought process behind this grab bag. Should we give pre-schoolers lollipops? No. Hershey Bars? Too messy. Skittles? Nah, too colorful. Let’s throw in a piece of candy flavored with alcohol.
….and here is another
I scratch my head every time I drive by this road. The ‘road naming guy’ couldn’t come up with something else? Perhaps, he was drunk. I think his buddy suggested the name, they giggled and gave each other a high five. I would get a P.O. box if my house was on this street.