Everyday Italian My Ass

I’m watching an episode of Everyday Italian on the Food Network. I’ve never watched this before, as I don’t tend to watch this channel, but I’m stressed and bored and Clean House on Style is a repeat I’ve seen a zillion times.

This chick annoys me greatly. The little accent she uses when saying things like “ricotta” and “stratta” makes me want to smack her. And when they show the little snippets of her shopping for food, why do they play porn music? I guess somewhere some really fat person is masturbating to her shopping for cheese and mushrooms. “Oh yeah, that’s it….. sniff that block of parmesan… oh yeah baby….”

And honestly, I don’t believe this woman has ever eaten a full meal in her life, much less an Italian meal. Ever seen that kitschy little sign that says “Never trust a skinny cook”? There is some wisdom in that. This stick person probably purges at every commercial break.

Can you tell I’m in a really pissy mood?

Generation X Sells Out?

First it was The Violent Femmes song “Blister in the Sun” used in a Wendy’s commercial, albeit without words, because really the world is not ready to associate masturbation with stuffing one’s face with fast food, although it’s not a big leap to make.

But now The La’s song “There She Goes” being used in a Bali commercial? Where does it end?

I guess this is nothing new and will likely only get worse as we get older. I always wondered why my dad was so annoyed by some of his favorite songs getting used and/or bastardized in commercials. Now I know why. I guess no one wants to think of the music of their life, their soundtrack really, being used to sell products. And there is the worry that the older generations and the younger ones will only know these songs as commercials. They’ll never understand how many nights I spent in Moses Hall, drunk off my ass with Danny and Aaron while Danny played “Blister in the Sun” on his guitar. (Shut up. Yes, I was a sucker for a cute boy with a guitar.) When they hear that distinctive tune, they’ll just think about hamburgers.

My soundtrack has been sullied and cheapened.

What song-turned-commercial gets you fired up?

Here We Go….

Today in the mail, Bridget received her first party invitation. Oy. The invitation was sent by a woman I know whose daughter is turning three. I used to be her boss at a past job and while the whole group has remained in touch and friendly, she and I aren’t really that close. Honestly, if she weren’t part of this group, I don’t think we’d bother to see each other ever again. She’s very nice but we just never had the bond that I have with a one or two of the other group.

First, let me say that I do not believe in birthday parties for children who are too young to have friends. It’s one thing to get together at the house with the family to watch a baby bury their face in some cake. Spending scads of money on an event at a place like Chuck E Cheese’s and the like for a three year old just baffles me. Why spend the money and the effort to plan an elaborate party for a child who is not going to remember it? Do you remember your third birthday? Well, I do, but I am a freak - most people don’t remember back that far. Save the effort for when they can anticipate and get excited about it, and actually have memories of the party, not to mention have some input on which children attend. I know that I am decidedly UNsentimental about such things. We didn’t buy Bridget any Christmas presents last year and honestly aren’t sure if we will this year either. As I think about her first birthday coming in a few months, I honestly don’t see any more fanfare than what I just mentioned. The family. A cake. Then a bath. But again, I don’t tend to be sentimental about these things. I go overboard on the sentimentality of many many things, but just not this particular thing.

All that aside, the other thing that has me scratching my head is why Bridget was sent an invitation to this event. She is five months old. She has never even laid eyes on the birthday girl, and if she had, would have been completely unaware of it. Bridget has only been around the mother one time for about an hour. Is that how it works? Your child has a birthday so you invite every single person you know who also has children? I don’t know, there is something about this that really bugs me. It’s like in this case it’s about showing off. Look at the party I’m throwing for my child. Look how much money I am spending. It’s not just this person either. I have a handful of friends with small children (toddler age) who have parties for them at Build-a-Bear and other similar “experience” places or rent bounce houses and have pony rides. These are kids who don’t even attend school yet. Who can they know to invite?

I am convinced that Bridget is going to spend a good deal of her childhood hating us because we refuse to be sucked into this type of thing. This sort of showing off just doesn’t sit well with me, and I am sure that there will be many eye rolls and refrains of “Mom you just don’t understand!”

I know, I know. Welcome to parenthood.

Biting My Tongue

You may remember me telling you about my very dear friend from childhood who has three monster children. I am too lazy to link to the entries, so for those of you who are new readers… I have this old friend from elementary school and she has three kids who are monsters. There. You are caught up.

I got an email from her the other day complaining about another friend of theirs, who had the gall to try to discipline her children, and who told my friend and her husband exactly how badly behaved their children are. This all happened while they were guests in this man’s home. Her retort? He has no children of his own so he should shut the hell up. Now, when I first read that, I wanted to find this man and give him a Purple Heart for having allowed this family to stay overnight in his home. They have been to our home exactly one time (they live out of town so it’s not quite as bad as it seems) and within minutes I had a floor full of broken Christmas decorations and three miniature Tasmanian devils running around, opening cabinets and trying to scale baby gates to get to Jake’s LEGO collection. The thought of letting them sleep over would make me call my insurance agent and find out exactly what the old homeowners’ policy covers. I’d be curious to know exactly what items of his they obliterated before he opened his pantry to get out the warehouse club sized can of whoop ass.

What interests me is her idea that because he has no children, he doesn’t know a monster child when he sees one. Was her point that if he had children he’d know how hard it is to actually impose a little discipline, and therefore understand why they have chosen not to? That he’d be sympathetic to the fact that disciplining the kids would cause them to be inconvenienced and wouldn’t expect them to put themselves through all that?

I’m not trying to do any armchair parenting here, because right now, thankfully, we are not in need of discipline. I don’t know what I will do the first time I have to punish Bridgie. It will probably break my heart. But I do know enough to know that you can’t let a child get away with that stuff ever. You let it go just once and they have just learned that there are times when they can get away with it, and they will keep looking for those times.

So I sit here, thinking about replying to my friend’s email, knowing that she wants me to tell her how out of line I think that guy was, and I just can’t. I’m trying to find something, anything else in that email I can reply to, so I can avoid telling her what I really think. Not that I ever would do that. But I’m also not going to lie and say that she’s raising wonderful kids.

Oh, the funny thing? Her youngest, and by far the worst of the three, has the same birthday as Bridgie, only he’s three years older. She made a joke on the phone to me right after Bridgie was born about them being just the right age for each other to date one day. I had to cram my fist in my mouth in order to not make the comment that I didn’t want Bridgie to date guys in prison, where this child is inevitably going to end up.

That thound? That’th me biting my thongue.

Some Things are Best Left to the Imagination

Just curious, is anyone else as disgusted as I am by the newest round of commercials for a popular over-the-counter cough medicine (M^cinex if you want to be specific)? We, the viewers, are treated to a peek into our lungs during a cold or other illness, featuring a Phlegm Man wearing clothes, talking, and in one commercial, carrying his Phlegm Bride across the threshold of someone’s lungs. In another, the Phlegm Man is encouraging his Phlegm Child to make a mess of phlegm all over the “walls” of some kid’s lungs. What is worse is that we then see a real human child or adult either blowing his nose or coughing, then we are switched back to see the cartoon phlegm people being sucked out of their little homes. In a word - horrendous.

Why do advertisers think that by animating bodily fluids, it’s somehow ok to show on television? I guess these are the same people who came up with using blue water to show the absorbency of feminine hygiene products and toilet paper. Oh and don’t get me started on the commercial for the toenail fungus medicine featuring the little toenail fungus man, who actually lifts up the animated toenail and climbs in. Shudder.

There are some things that we just understand, and don’t need to be shown. I know that a tampon is supposed to soak up fluid. However, I also know that the fluid is not, in actuality, pretty blue water. So showing me your brand of tampon soaking up pretty blue water really doesn’t impress me. And I know that when I take a decongestant, I will soon be emptying my sinuses and/or lungs of gunk. Please don’t turn that gunk into a living creature and please don’t give me a demonstration of what it might look like from the inside when I cough of blow my nose.

(by the way, I just wanted to see how many times I could use the word “phlegm” in one blog post)

I Must Be Wearing My Cranky Pants

People, I am not in a good mood today. No, I should rephrase that. I am in a downright shitty mood. I won’t go into everything but I will say that I have been awake since 3 a.m. and that is a big part of my shitty mood.

And if that stupid girl in the next row does not stop snorting, I can’t be held responsible for what I might do to her.

Backfire

Remember my snot-snorting co-worker who is driving me mad? Well, I decided to take matters into my own hands. This morning, I got to work early and left a box of tissues on her desk. Brand new, unopened completely full box of Puffs (strategically purchased because Puffs is not my brand of choice and I didn’t want her to connect the tissues back to me).

She just got in, sat down, started up her computer, and I thought I heard her open the tissues.

Except she’s now snorted exactly four times in the less than ten minutes she’s been here.

So great. Now I am stuck with the snorting and I’m out 99 cents for the tissues.

Reassurance

It seems lately that everywhere I go, I am being reassured that I will be a decent parent, something I worry about daily.

Yesterday’s installment of “I Can Raise Better Children Than You” took place at Elizabeth Arden, as I sat in the waiting area, before my nail lady came out to get me. Now, the waiting area is quite small, only four chairs surrounding a round coffee table. Inevitably, someone has to stand while waiting for their person to come get them. Yesterday however, a man came and sat down with his son, who was maybe nine or ten years old. They were apparently waiting for someone to finish getting her nails done and they took the last two available chairs. The dad pulled out his cell phone and started making calls, while the boy sprawled out all over his chair. A few minutes later, a woman walked up to the waiting area. She was older, but not old. Maybe early 50s. And I expected that the man would either stand up to offer his seat to the woman, or make the slouchy kid get up so she could have his. Nope. He just sat there, making calls and generally pretending he didn’t see the lady standing waiting.

It just seems to me like basic manners to give up your seat to a lady who is a) older than you; and b) paying for the spa experience, while you are just waiting for someone. And if the father doesn’t have these basic manners, what hope is there that the kid will ever learn them?

No One Cares

OK, is anyone else as sick to death of David Blaine as I am? Does anyone really think his “stunts” are interesting and amazing and worthy of television coverage? I think he’s an idiot, and the things he attempts neither amaze or impress me. I just find them to be idiotic. This last one apparently almost killed him, as one might expect trying to hold one’s breath under water for nine minutes. And what does asshat have to say afterwards? He wants to try it again. I say go for it. I’ve never been one to think we should stop idiots trying to commit suicide. It’s all about cleaning out the gene pool.

Hey, Here’s a Tip

When approaching an entrance or exit that has double doors, you should always go through the one of your right. It is extremely rude and annoying to stand there, waiting for someone to come through a door so you can go the other way, when there is another, perfectly serviceable door right there, which in fact, is the door you should be using. Why? BECAUSE IN AMERICA, WE WALK ON THE RIGHT.

Also wanted to note that my comment notification thing seems to be on the fritz again, so I was shocked to see I had several comments for which I had not received emails. I’m sure it’ll be fixed soon, so I’ll try to make sure I reply to your lovely comments soon.