photo credit: moacirpdsp
Hey all of you teetotalers out there reading my blog! (Wait, why would you do that to yourself? You know that Gruner Veltliner is wine, right? AKA booze?)
Anyways, hold onto your dry counties, because have I got a scoop for you. Or more accurately, the L.A. Times does. Get this:
To my great pleasure, Can’t Buy Me Love was on last night. If you’ll recall, this is the flick featuring a nerdy-but-intriguingly-sexy early-days Patrick Dempsey (pre McAnything, thank you lord) who goes from “geek to chic” and then back to geek (or is he?) on the wings of a dastardly plan (the kind only a nerd could come up with, involving a riding mower, a high-powered lady suit, and some unfortunate red wine stains) to get the neighbor girl/cheerleader to fall for him/make him popular/destroy yet bring him, in the end, to life again.
The movie is punctuated with many great scenes and much hilarious styling (How does Bobby get his hair to do that?). And then, of course, there are the dance moves, which “inspired” only barely hints upon. Remember the African anteater ritual? Kinda reminds me of the floogle, another ill-forsaken oldie but goodie. That I, um, created.
photo credit: ReeseCLloyd
You know it’s the day after your birthday when you wake up and reach for the glass of water upon your bedside table and swig its remains hastily to rid the fuzz from however-many-Gruners from your debauched tongue but instead find your mouth infused with a fiery liquid that clears your sinuses, singes your nosehairs, and might explain why you were a little bit drunk on the subway this morning.
The morning-after-birthday Scotch. Welcome to 34. ‘Sa gonna be a good year, ya wee bairns.
photo credit: PhotographLayne
Hey, hey! The middle-aged lady is one step closer to middle-aged! And that is a cause for celebration. And perhaps botox.
But those are worries for later. Because, well, you know it’s a good birthday when …
Every so often the perfect job comes along. You’re never expecting it (especially not in this economy) and then, wham!, you do your daily perusal of the job posts and THERE IT IS. It’s kismet. It’s beautiful.
Today, YUD experienced this rare moment of synchronicity in the job search cosmos. And here, my friends, is the job, compliments of Mediabistro and 12-steppers everywhere:
photo credit: H is for Home
This morning I thought it was Tuesday until about 10 am, when I looked at myself in the mirror after putting on a cardigan I’d worn on Monday and said to myself, “Wait a minute!” Yep, it’s halfway through the week, on the verge of WINTER HAVOC (downed power lines, heavy snow, high winds—o’ my!), and I for one am rather happy it’s hump day. And aside from a bit too much chicken in my bibimbap, rather happy in general.
I spoke to my mom on the phone yesterday (she’s been moved out of ICU and into a regular room at the hospital), and she sounded very much herself, except for a still-raspy voice due to her breathing tube being in all last week. Which is great, nay, fantastic news. Thanks again to everyone who put good vibes in the air or said a prayer or did whatever things you do to try to make things right in the world.
photo credit: Express Monorail
Doesn’t this job opp sound fun? And by fun, I mean solid justification for a drinking problem and fodder for that debut novel that becomes a movie that stars Scarlett Johansson?
Please, somebody apply, because I’m dying to know what multiple roles this woman plays (not that I don’t think she’s incredibly nice and, yes, very busy) and why she needs a photo of her applicants. Ugliness test?
Thanks everyone for your concern, checking-in emails, and kind words. My mom is doing much better! We were very pleased to have her wake up on Thursday (albeit with the mouth of a sailor and a bald head, but I’ll take a salty mom over a diprivan-coma-induced mom any day, and the hair will grow back). We think she’ll be discharged to a rehab facility today pending another good MRI. Keep your positive thoughts coming—they are much appreciated.
I’m now back in NYC resuming all normal scheduled behaviors and activities (as much as “normal” applies to my life, that is) and will be back posting my usual hilarious banter as early as tomorrow, if all goes well. For now, I’m trying to catch up on a number of emails and other workaday things, like, for instance, lunch. Lunch is good.
So it’s been a while—four days—since I last rewarded you hungry readers with a post. I apologize. I have been remiss. Well, I would be remiss except I think I am excused because I’ve had a personal/family thing going on that has been taking much of my focus away from (I’m sorry) you and, to be honest, work in general.
It’s weird to unload such things in a relatively public forum, but I’ll tell you anyway: Last Thursday I found out that my very active, healthy, irrepressible mom had been taken to the ER in the middle of the night by my dad. It turned out that she had bleeding in her brain. Nobody likes to hear those words together.
She went into surgery later that afternoon and had two hematomas removed, one from each side of her brain. We think they may have been from a bike accident sustained in New Zealand around Thanksgiving. Since the surgery, she’s been in the ICU convalescing (they’re keeping her asleep to avoid harm/jarring/whatever else might happen). My dad was recently allowed to hold her hand.
Fascinating news from the New York Post today: More than two-thirds of city residents hear their neighbors having sex!
Most intriguing to me is that I’ve actually never heard my neighbor—who shrieks at weird times in the middle of the night in seeming temper tantrums, throws things at walls, and blows her nose quite loudly, along with other annoying acoustical habits (just today she was blasting The Office theme song at 9 in the morning)—in any sort of passionate throes.
