WHO ARE WE?

Speaking of things that make me go hmm…

When did this child get this gorgeous van der Woodsen (HT @Metalia) hair?

I mean, she was cue-ball bald for at least the first two years of her life and last year at this time, at nearly 4, she still only had a wee bit.

[insert clever segue into third ponderable here]

Can we please talk about the craze that’s sweeping the nation….you know, the one where adults want to dress like Chloe Sevigny Juliette Lewis toddlers? I mean, it’s a super powerful one. Some of the loveliest people I know are losing this battle. You guys, some of the people who are under the romper spell are people who always look good. I mean, hell, even my sister made me try one on, but that was mostly just for shits and giggles. There were lots of giggles. Especially when I called it a ONESIE. And I pondered how you’d pee in such a thing.

Weren’t rompers designed for children to have a roomy, easy article of clothing to play in?  I mean, honestly, even the word turns me off. ROMPER. They are for romping around in. I don’t find that I do much romping these days.

(I have a sneaking suspicion that Tom Cruise and Xenu have something to do with this somehow.)

(I wonder if Katie and Suri have matching rompers.)

(I bet they do.)

So, what have we learned today, people?

This? CUTE.

This? NOT SO MUCH.

I am still rocking this awesome cold. It involves many, many boxes of tissues, some maximum strength mucinex dm that is supposed to be helping with these horrific coughing attacks but really doesn’t seem to be doing anything but making me choke trying to get the horse-sized pills down my gullet.

I cannot stop tonguing the impacted wisdom tooth that decided to break the surface ON THE SIDE of my top left gum this week, rendering me not really able to even open my mouth. And now I have to have the wisdom tooth taken out, but unfortunately my insurance coverage and my dentist are both stuck in Canada and I am, well, not.

(sideways. It’s coming in sideways).

I made the mistake of doing pilates yesterday. Do you know what it feels like to have a coughing fit when your abs are hurting like ass?

I didn’t get my annual Mother’s Day sleep-in because the husband isn’t here. He’s in Toronto. In our new house. Did I mention that he’s not here? And in our new house? You know, the one that I have never seen? Oh, and did I mention where he’s going to be on our anniversary? Oh yes, that’s right. NOT HERE. Oh, and did I mention my awesome mother’s day gift from my husband? Oh right…I didn’t. Because I didn’t get anything…not even one of those assy cards that sings an assy song.

I gave at least 8 time-outs to Isabella and Josh, who were in rare form today. I am pretty sure they were going for some record for the uttering the most “I hate you Mommy”s and “You are the worst mother in the world”s on Mother’s Day ever.

I ate mini-wheats for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Fancy.

I called my mother to wish her a happy mother’s day and instead of wishing me one back…maybe she forgot that I am a mother too…she gave me a lecture about how leaving my wisdom tooth untreated for a few days is going to most likely give me heart disease.

I…well, there’s this problem. My dog, well, he is kind of in love with me. Which, I realize, is kind of cute and all. Until he starts making this horrible whiney sound whenever I leave the room. It doesn’t stop. I mean, this guy is a serious problem. He needs to be attached to a lead all the livelong day, lest he eat inanimate objects and end up in the hospital getting his stomach emptied. But, he also needs to be wherever I am at all times. Or else THE SOUND. THE SOUND! It’s like nails on a chalkboard. She thinks he needs some prozac. I think she might be on to something because that sound is making my ears bleed.

Happy Mother’s Day to me.

(PS. am currently salivating)

Back before Seth and Summer competed for that one coveted spot. Back before any of the van der Woodsens even uttered the school name. Back before Norah and her playlist were accepted there. I applied early and waited and waited and waited on the waiting list…but by the time I got in, Brown was so far from my mind. You see, I was off pulling a Felicity and following a boy to Canada, and not Rhode Island. But, you know, there’s really no use in even talking to a strong-willed, exceptionally stubborn 18-year-old girl. So, I didn’t have the ivy-filled, sorority-filled college experience I had dreamed about for my entire childhood. I raced through college to get to the next stage in my life; to be a wife, to be a mother, to be a writer. And don’t get me wrong, I did all of those things and I am so glad I did. My life at almost32 is ridiculously fabulous, even though it wasn’t necessarily where I thought I would be at almost32.

But I still dream of Brown.

Yesterday, it was MCLL day at Georgia Tech, which meant free tickets for us to see The Georgia Tech Yellowjackets play The Virginia Tech pokies (POKIES?)(FINE. They are HOKIES. But either way it’s a ridiculous name). Sure, it wasn’t as exciting to the kids as a Braves game, but it was Sunday and it was free (well, it did cost $7 in concessions) but it was such good fun…and the feel of college baseball is just so, college. The only people there were a group of teenagers cheering on the batboy, friends and family of the dorkishly cute ball players, and parents with their little baseball fans. It was the perfect place to take my kids.

And it was the perfect place to take, well, ME. Because I was in heaven. Sure, it was no Brown, but driving by the old buildings and the stadiums and the giant old frat houses brought back these images of me walking across a campus in early Autumn with a US history book and a novel in my hand, wearing Doc Martens and jeans and a giant abercrombie sweater like this.

WHAT? It was the 90s, people.

So now, of course, all I can think about is going to college (even though I already went to college AND graduate school) and even though this would be ME…trying to be all RUFUS in a sea of not32-year-olds who don’t have three children and husbands at home and mortgages and jobs and actual, you know, responsibilities

I really can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be…

This is the lovely part of the holiday. The part that makes me proud of our Jewish heritage. I mean, and you know, the mandatory 4 cups of wine is a nice bonus too.

But then there is this kind of, well, ridiculous part. The part that takes away from the loveliness of the holiday that is supposed to celebrate the Jews getting freed from the slavery of Pharaoh. There’s this part about the rules. The nitty gritty bizarreness that I still don’t understand. The almost-month of preparation that goes into an 8-day holiday. The day before the holiday where you can’t eat any more non-kosher for passover food, but yet you still aren’t allowed to eat Passover food, so essentially you race to eat your last bread at 10am, but then you can’t really eat Passover food until the seder…like 9pm. That’s a fun one, let me tell you. The cooking – in different pots and pans than usual. The changing over of your kitchen – the pouring of boiling water over your granite countertops, or actually COVERING your non-granite countertops. The food restrictions.

I mean, I GET the reason for why we eat no leavening. I get that the Jews left Egypt in such haste that they didn’t have time to let their bread rise, so ended up eating unleavened matzo type deals on their way out of Egypt. So now, many many many years later, we are still eating the hastily made bread. See? WE ARE BIG ON THE SYMBOLISM. And I even get this rule that you aren’t allowed to eat the five grains that you normally make bread out of…wheat, oat, barley, spelt and rye. Fine, I get it. But then somewhere along the line, some rabbis decided that HEY! maybe you can make bread of corn, rice, peanuts, and legumes, so HUZZAH! those are no longer allowed either…and you know what than means, good people, don’t you…NO DIET COKE because wouldn’t you know that almost everything you eat in this world is made with CORN.

This is something many rabbis will tell you is ridiculous and makes little to no sense.

(I like those rabbis)

________________________________________________

Imagine this little scenario….

GOD: Moses and Co…please don’t eat any leavened bread.

MOSES: So, you are saying that we shouldn’t eat bread for 8 days?

GOD: YES! Don’t eat bread. Or any of the other 5 main grains.

MOSES: So, wait, God, you are saying that we shouldn’t eat anything else either, right? like corn or beans or rice, right?

GOD: Moses, are you not listening? I said BREAD. BREAD. BREAD.

MOSES: So, wait, you are saying we should buy all new pots and pans and boil our kitchens and make ourselves crazy buying insanely expensive fancy rabbi-certified stuff and we can’t use our dishwashers? Are you mad??

GOD: Moses, I said BREAD. wheat, barley, oats, rye, spelt. and PS, Mo, what the heck is a dishwasher?

MOSES: So, wait, you are saying that we can’t drink diet coke and can’t go to Starbucks, right?

GOD: What in MY NAME IS A STARBUCKS?

________________________________________________

OH! And you want to talk about quinoa. Two years ago THE RABBIS said that quinoa is kosher for passover. Last year THE RABBIS said it wasn’t. This year there are some that say it is and some that say it isn’t. WHAT? It’s like a rabbi contest, and the forget what this holiday is all about.

Guess what Rabbi Ali thinks about quinoa….

AND COFFEE OH MY GOD THE COFFEE.

Guess what’s in coffee? coffee beans. But still, you need to be told which coffee is good enough….because you know, back in Egypt, which kind of coffee the Jews were drinking as they ran hastily out of Egypt and away from slavery was super important. You see where I am going with this? It’s COFFEE.

So, I did some digging and found that other people think the rabbis need to stop competing for the biggest wiener and the biggest passover restriction and found on the OU website….which is considered to be good authority…

So, guess who is eating quinoa and drinking Starbucks this week?

OH YEAH. I am such a rebel.

But alas, there are no surgeries or pregnancies or cubicles in my future. Oh no, there’s just, well, a lot of the same. My life is a little bit like Groundhog Day without the Sonny and Cher song, but that’s mostly because I haven’t had to use an alarm clock since Isabella decided that 5am was a perfectly acceptable time to start her day and to start watching cooking shows and/or Full House. Ahh Ahh Ahh Ahh Chity Chi bob botta. You think I’m a one-trick pony, don’t you? But, just so you know, I know all the words to the pokemon theme song too.

I mean, it’s not that my life isn’t exciting. I mean, just yesterday, we bid a toiletside farewell to a good fish last night. Josh gave a teary-eyed eulogy…”Junior was such a good fish. He gave me so much joy” and we even went down to Petsmart to replace the feeder fish that gave us such a happy two weeks. I filled my hands with a bigger bowl and some pretty stones and a plant and we were all set to buy a little fish to fill the void in Josh’s heart. Of course, we were all set, until this pimply-faced, dandruff-scalped, 13-year-old girl in a blue shirt came over and started talking about aquariums and filters and a financial commitment that I just not prepared to let this teenager talk me into.

I mean, I already have an expensive pet who needs things like surgeries and underpants extractions. I am not doing this again, pimple face!

Oh! and just today I got the pleasure of listening to my daughter read her entire Because of Winn-Dixie book out-friggin-loud, because apparently, that’s how she retains it. OUT LOUD. and then she takes notes, and then she eats cucumbers and peppers in between chapters and crunch crunch crunches in my damn ear and I really, at this very moment, can’t think of anything that drives me crazier than the crunching. (also equally as irritating…the slurpsucking of popsicles. MY EARS, they bleed) I did offer to teach her the African Anteater Ritual just to get her to stop reading.

Oh! and just this week I bought a shirt on ebay that I love so much I want to make out with. I actually already have the shirt in grey which I – sadly – paid full price for at J.Crew and I might even go out on a limb to say that I wear it every time I need to put on actual clothing that doesn’t zip up and have a hood or an elastic waist.

and wouldn’t you know…I bought the same shirt that was nwt (that’s new with tags for the smart people who don’t get sucked into ebay layman) in cream for $50 less than I paid for the grey one, which makes me feel happy that I got a killer deal but also makes me feel like a giant asshole for paying as much as I did for the original cami. Don’t make me tell you how much I paid for those damn True Religion jeans that I rarely wear because the rise is so low and not only does it announce to the world, “Hey! check out my fancy muffin top!” It also draws attention to my entire spare tire. Let’s just say it rhymes with shmalmost shmore shmundred.

Oh! and SOMEONE WHO SHALL REMAIN NAMELESS spoiled the ending of that Robert Pattinson joint Remember Me. Apparently, it’s got a twist that fits somewhere in between the predictable Shutter Island and the less predictable Fight Club. Well, now I can skip this one and go back to my fantasyland where Robert Pattinson IS actually Edward Cullen and not some guy who is allergic to vagina and is actually screwing Kristen Stewart. Who, ps, looks like she has a scary vagina. If I was dating her, I would probably also pretend to be allergic. And now that I hear that my Joe Jonas is actually dating Demi Lovato (hat tip to her), I’m almost all out of men-who-are-too-young for me to have inappropriate dreams about. How old is Taylor Kitsch again?

And now you are sitting there all, “good god, I wish she’d go back to talking about about milkshakes now.”

If you want to see more of me – and, I mean, obviously, you do – you can read my latest entertainment news over at Juice, my latest outfit over at The Urban Closet (I actually put some pants on today! Wheee!), my latest advice over at So You Want It, and my latest blathering over at Aiming Low.

I needed that.

Indiana is recovering nicely. His incision looks good and he’s got lots of energy. But I am tired, emotionally and physically. He’s getting up early to go out. He is in need of being kept away from Gracie the golden and Montana the half-breed (Oh, Cher...) the entire day. He is eating four meals a day of dog food that omg comes out of a can and is taking three pills a day plus some liquid in a syringe. FUN. I have gone the hiding-it-in-the-peanut-butter route and it seems to be working better than trying to shove all those meds down his poor gullet. Dude can swallow a whole thong, but can’t handle a teeny leetle pill. Wuss.

On Saturday night, my sister and I had a date night. Twist and Shutter Island. I know the movie got some mixed box office reviews, but, you guys, I really liked it. What I didn’t like was the dreaded x.

Was that really necessary…I mean, really? But, I am still talking about the movie today, days later. And I ordered the book on amazon, and once I discovered that the other is the same one who wrote Mystic River, I pretty much fell in love with Dennis Lehane right there on the spot. So, yes, date night.

I needed that.

I am currently hiding up in the bedroom because my poor niece is having a barfy morning. and yet, I *knew* this was coming. I could have told you yesterday morning as my brother was telling me about their day with their friends…their friends whose daughters had a stomach virus earlier in the week; their friends whose house they needed to leave early because she was goddamned barfing. I KNEW. I just did. I didn’t react quickly enough when Isabella drank from her cousin’s milkshake yesterday. I should have. But, now, expect some vomity tweets from me this week.

On Thursday we went down to my brother in law’s office. We got to sit and eat cheetos on bubble wrapped furniture and go outside and take some shots. and run around a building with crazy gymnasium-like acoustics.

I needed that.

Because in addition to what you are reading here, there are other things. I know that when you put your life on the internet, a person who writes a #creepythesis about you and paints this portrait of who she thinks you are – rich! spoiled! eating-disordered! attention-seeking! – what she doesn’t realize is that what I, and most bloggers, put online is the stuff I want you to read. The stuff I am okay spilling in an obviously public place. There are things I don’t write about here, won’t write about here, and can’t write about here. So, while yes, my week sucked because my husband is away and my daughter is halfway across the world in Israel where I can’t touch her and talk to her and hug her and love all over her, and my dog almost died, and my vomit-phobia comes into play, there’s also some more major suckage. Stuff that comes from my family and makes some stupid person writing a thesis about me seem very insignificant. Yes, this is suckage that hits me deep to my core and has broken me and embarrassed me like nothing else in my life has ever done and I’m not the type to be all passive-agressive (oh! there’s news! I just can’t share it!) I guess I just don’t want you to walk away being all…wow, that Ali sure complains a lot…that doesn’t sound so bad, I just want to assure you, it’s bad and if you were with me, you’d want to buy me a cookie. Or something.

/rant

So, I take pleasure in the little things. The happy things. The sunny days at the park. The movies with my sister. The Mac that is now my very own. The fact that I will see my first-born before I go to sleep tonight. The friends I am so thankful to have in my life, even if they live way too far away. The fact that we sold our house yesterday without having to put it on the market (selling privately FTW!). The Olympics. The photos I have taken that I’m pretty proud of. The DVR full of this week’s tv to watch. The work assignments.

Anyway, I have been fighting with my directTV and my photoshop elements this week and so I was already feeling a little bit like the arch enemies are just crawling out of the woodwork, so I figured that this week’s girl talk thursday came at just the right time. Only today is Friday. But, you know, I work at home, so you could tell me that today is a Tuesday in February and I’d be all, “SWEET! Is the LOST premiere on tonight because I am really pumped to get the skinny on this Jacob dude already?”

So, here you go, it’s an incomplete list, because I am easily annoyed.

It annoys me…

…when my kids don’t pay any attention to the obvious “you cannot talk to me because I’m on the phone” finger wag and continue to talk to me while I’m on the phone.

…that there are NEVER any pens. EVER.

…that people don’t think Shia Labeouf looks like giant wiener.

…that the skype pen shows people when I am typing something.

…that I have to pay for my gas inside because my Canadian credit card has a 6-digit zip code that includes some letters and apparently, pay-at-the-pump machines are too stupid to recognize this.

…when someone finishes the toilet paper and doesn’t replace it and you don’t realize until you are already midstream and then you have to figure out how in the hell you are going to make that work.

…that the best cereals completely destroy the roof of my mouth.

…when my kids chew beside me.

…when I have to change the DVD in the car.

…when people use the word slacks. and the word panties.

…people cannot figure out how a four-way stop works.

…when people do not figure things like traffic and oh! I have children into their estimations of how long it’s going to take them to be somewhere and they end up being ridiculously late and I – who does build in time for traffic and children – end up having to wait.

…that they even MAKE NON washable Crayola markers.

…when my dog takes a shit on the book I am reading.

…when pants are too short.

…when I have insomnia.

…when people who don’t have accents use accents when talking to foreign people. My husband does this when talking to Israelis.

At noon, I need you to go to Perimeter Mall. Text me when you are there.

Of course, because I am a control freak, I begin to panic. What’s going on? And wait…do I need to shower? Do I need to eat lunch before I do this? Do I need to wear pants?

Go to Starbucks. Order a latte. Drink it. Enjoy. Head to Bath & Body Works and tell them you are Ali. Text me when you are done there.

Go to Anthropologie. Tell them you are Ali. Lemme know when you are done there.

A room full of clothing for me to try on. a gift card. and a dress (and a sweater and a shirt and a belt. whee!)

Go to American Cookie Company and tell them you are picking up for Martell.

That is all. Go and have yourself a GREAT day!

Wow.

That’s really all I can say.

Wow.

(mostly because my mouth is chock full of chocolate chip cookie goodness)

(really, the cake now only says “I and lo”)

(my ass REALLY wishes I was kidding about that)

But while my ass and I are fighting over whether or not I should have one.last.piece. I will direct your attention over to this little flasher dude. You may have seen him before on such delurker days as 2009 and 2008 where I urged all of you readers who read but never comment to jump in and leave me a comment today. Let me know you are reading…I’d like to see you somewhere other than in my statcounter!!

So, now I’m back for the twenty-ten version. This year, I have decided that I am going to give $1 for every comment I get to the Help4Anissa fund. I realize that some people are giving money to Haiti and I think it’s truly amazing. I donated yesterday morning after waking up and not being able to turn away from the horrific photos on CNN. But, MY ANISSA, she hits much closer to home for me. You see, my friend Anissa, she is a rockstar. She came out of that coma and called me The Alimartell. She is talking, laughing, joking, reading. She is amazing, but stroke recovery is a long haul, even for her. Anissa is living proof that miracles happen every day, all around us. She is true magic. But, in making this magic happen, she needs lots of help. She needs her family, she needs her friends, and she needs YOU.

You have three options…you can answer the 2008 question: WHAT MOVIE ARE YOU EMBARRASSED TO ADMIT THAT YOU LOVE?? (Center Stage was my answer. It still is)

***Also, I HAVE to jump in here and tell you that I love love love love 10 Things I Hate About You and Bring It On and watch them more often than a normal person should.

or

you can answer the 2009 question: WHO IS ON YOUR LIST? (my list is ever-changing…and I’ve got lots of them…the fictional five…the UGLYHOTTS, you know, like Sean Penn…)

or

you can answer the 2010 question: WHAT IS THE NICEST THING ANYONE HAS EVER DONE FOR YOU? (which, clearly, my answer is in the little scavenger hunt above)

(or you can curse our the husband because, really, he makes us all kind of look bad, doesn’t he?)

but, I digress. Back to the good things.

Firstly, which, by far, is THE ONE that’s sticking with me. And will probably stick with me for the rest of my life. Even today, I cannot stop smiling about it. You guys, on Sunday morning, ANISSA greeted me with “THE Alimartell” (the nickname she bestowed upon me and a badge which I wear with honor). It was very slow and very quiet, but it was there. Clear as day. My friend is talking. TALKING. and REMEMBERING. I have been somewhat hesitant to tell people that yes, I have been seeing Miss Anissa on a regular basis, because, well, this is not about ME. It’s not my story to tell, but I would give that lady the world, and I am so blessed to be able to see her, touch her, help her apply her hand cream so her dry hands are less dry and nice smelling (and, you know, getting to sample some…because, hello, Bath and Body Works! Girl’s got good taste) and dance like a complete moron to the Glee soundtrack for her. (Some might call it fate that the Mayhew and the Martell families somehow ended up relocating to the ATL this summer). But, people have been wondering where I have been spending my days and have been wondering if I was THE Ali that Pete was talking about in his post this week. So, yes, I have been seeing her. and yes, I am THE Alimartell. And YES, Anissa is magic. And YES, she has admitted to Pete that my dancing is crappy, but she’d like to see more of it. Although I’m sure she’s only saying that so she can save that little nugget  in her back pocket for poking fun of me and maybe, possibly firing me from Aiming Low. Sooner, rather than later, I suspect.

I guess I’ll just keep my rendition of Defying Gravity to myself for now. We don’t need her mocking my lack of singing ability too.

Secondly, I went on a Daddy-daughter date with my dad to see Avatar in 3D. I wish I had the words. Actually, I do, but they involve the baby Jesus and I really hope that none of y’all are offended by this

I have been hearing reviews swirling around about unoriginal ideas and it being too Dances with Wolves and too Pocahantas and too hokey and too serious…and I don’t really know about that because seeing Sigourney Weaver run made me laugh like a damn fool. But, really, I am kind of a geekslashnerd at heart I seriously sat at the edge of my seat with those stupid 3d glasses covering my other glasses with my jaw on the floor. AND if you know anything about me, I am kind of hard on movies that are supposed to be BLOCKBUSTERS. Don’t hate me…but, Lord of the Rings? while very pretty to look at, epic even, I was bored to tears throughout the whole thing…except, you know, when Samwise Gamgee was talking, because all I could think was about how puffy Sean Astin had gotten since his Rudy days.

but AVATAR? mindblowing for me. It didn’t matter at all to me that the storyline was predictable. It didn’t matter to me that people are calling it “anti-war” and “pro-feminist” or too “pro-environmental.” It didn’t matter to me that they were looking for something called “unobtanium” and that we were supposed to buy Giovanni Ribisi in the role he played (because, I mean, really? Phoebe’s brother? REALLY?) and, you know, there was the Sigourney Waver running thing I already mentioned. It didn’t matter. The film had me at hello. I have not enjoyed blue people since the Smurfs and when Tobias Funke BLUE himself.

Thirdly, my work situation is going to be picking up after the holidays. I had alluded to something on twitter about unemployment being shittastic. (Don’t you just hate it when people are all fucking vague on twitter?) And yes, it was about me, but it wasn’t 100% true. I am not unemployed per se…there was just so slllllllooooowness happening. And when I say slow, I really mean that it halted to a complete stop, which really meant that I had to put the kibosh on all my house hunting, which, if you know anything about me, house hunting is right up there with cookie dough and Cameron Mathison for me. I live on realtor.com and mls. LIVE. BUT, it is going to be picking up, so I will once again be scouring the internet for THE PERFECT HOUSE. and I will be able to afford to get waxed again, so, really, everyone’s happy.

And lastly, my husband is home, which means I can stop existing on nothing but Ramen noodles and cereal. AND all of my lightbulbs are fixed so now I am no longer getting dressed in the dark.

That is, when I get dressed at all…

1. Isabella, 4, for the crime of stealing two entire books of stamps and decorating her disney printables with first-class forever stamps. Who knew she’d be drawn to those stinkin’ bells. Liberty, my ass. Well, it’s a good thing I was able to devote the 18 minutes it took to carefully peel them of the paper. Hopefully it’s enough postage to mail her buns to Switzerland. or someplace far, far away.

2. Neiman Marcus for the crime of having horrific customer service. Long story short, my mother sent my daughters veryexpensive coats from NM in Arizona. The girls deemed them “not beautiful” so I took them back to Neimans at Lenox in Atlanta, hoping to exchange them for something they would actually like and something that I’d never buy for them, like that pair of True Religions that Emily has been eyeing. (are you high? I would never buy a child a pair of $150 jeans for her teeny heiney to outgrow in 8 days). Anyhoo…that point is moot because the bee-otch behind the counter told me that she couldn’t give me store credit. or a gift card. and the only way she could help me was to put the money back on my mom’s credit card. Even though these coats were a gift. and even though the website’s return policy clearly states that she was a fucking liar. So, I am just upset I’m not wearing my blond blunt wig and my hooker clothing so I can pull a “Big mistake. Big. Huge!” and (bawk, bawk, bawk) returned the coats and went home unhappy. AND WROTE A VERY DISPLEASED LETTER about how I would never buy gifts at Neiman Marcus because they are shitty. and I got an email back saying that someone from the Atlanta store would get back to me…only no one ever did. and now my kids are freezing because they don’t even have “not beautiful” coats to wear.

3. Almost every single TV show I love for the crime of having winter finales. Seriously, where did this come from? Is this a new concept? WINTER FINALE? When “scenes from the next” are saying that new shows are coming in February or SPRING I want to cry and yes I am looking at you Glee because you cannot freakin’ have Mr. Schue suck on Emma Pillsbury’s bush baby face (oh my god. I am not spoiling here, people. It’s Friday. There is really no excuse for not watching yet unless you were in labor or something but then there’s no reason why you should be reading this site. so there!) and not gimmemoreohmigod. Also, I really want to look at Clay on One Tree Hill some more.

4. The rubber-esque Michelin Man flash drive/bracelet that I got at blogher this year for the crime of being swallowed by my puppy. Clearly, Indiana isn’t the brightest since after the whole tampon-eating-almost-dying-$5000-surgery-having incident, he didn’t learn to stop eating things that can’t make it through his digestive system. Really, he should stick to crayons which not only make it all the way through, but provide colorful entertainment when I have to stand outside and scoop. But, I am worried about him. His vet told us that his poor half of a colon won’t make it through another surgery…and either will our wallets. So, please, think some poopy thoughts for my dumb dog.

5. Movies like Frost/Nixon for the crime of, um, getting me hot in the middle of the afternoon. Apollo 13. To Kill a Mockingbird. Gone With the Wind. Platoon. All the President’s Men. An American friggin’ Tale. And it’s not just the movies either. I did my high school term paper on JFK assassination theories. hot. MAD MEN. hot. the fashion. the old architecture (seriously, I scare the tourists when I visit New York with my obsession with the old buildings. Tip: It’s probably best not to take me to Little Italy). the inventions. pictures like this.

6. Those mall kiosk workers for the crime of being total douches. I mean, I get it, you work on commission and you are masters of the hard sell and clearly I have the word “sucker” plastered to my forehead but get it through your skulls, people……I do not want my hair curled or to try dead sea cream or to sell my gold for cash. I want to pretend I am on the phone and not make eye contact and fantasize about punching you in your junk.