The True Depths of My Weirdness

Can I confess something?

Something that I ALREADY KNOW is quite strange?

I’m generally not what you’d call a Big! Birthday! Person! but recently, some sort of birthday-obsessed demon overtook me and began making strange demands of my husband.

More specifically, the birthday demon is of the opinion that it would be great if J would throw me a surprise Roaring Twenties-themed 30^th birthday party, complete with costumes, jazz, and God knows what else.

I’m not even into the Twenties.

I don’t like jazz.

And while I adore surprises, I feel like it’d be quite difficult to pull off a surprise themed costume party. What would he say to me? “Honey, you know what would look great on you tonight? This flapper dress. Oh, and a bowl haircut. Hey, how good are you at The Charleston?”

The worst part?

I’m not going to be 30 for another three years.

I have NO idea what is wrong with me, people. This is weird, right? Very, very weird?

In any case, my 27^th birthday is this Wednesday.

Somehow, between clapping his hands over his ears each time I drop some “casual” hint about the party utilizing era-appropriate slang (e.g., “Hey, J! You know what would just be the bees’ knees?”) and generally trying to get through the day without having to hear about some damn future party, J found the time to get me the BEST birthday gift ever: A MacBook.

Hello, Lover.

The shine you see on the right is not the flash, but a PUDDLE OF DROOL. Does my husband kick ass, or what?

Lest you think I’d dare sully the hallowed MacBook with my unworthy lips, please note that I kissed a piece of paper and placed it lovingly, gingerly atop the glorious MacBook instead. And it was hard, because I have exactly one lipstick, and I had to dig through approximately 87 lipglosses (which were far too shiny for this undertaking) to find it.

Oh, and this lipstick, by the way? Makes me look like a vampire whore. What, you ask, does a vampire whore look like?

Behold! My approximation of a vampire whore:

*Rowr*

I was talked into it ("it" being Vincent Longo lipstick in Dakota Red) by a Sephora Chick about a year ago; I had visions of being able to pull of a true red lipstick, like some French society lady or something, and clearly? I CANNOT.

But let’s focus on happier things! Such as the fact that immediately after “kissing” my laptop, I felt compelled to kiss other crap I’m in love with right this minute!

Yum! *kiss*

Cute flats that I am dying to wear! (Come on, Fall! Arrive already, dammit!) *kiss*

Nostalgia! *kiss*

(Another find in the box o' childhood memories at my parents' house.)

KARAOKE! *kisskisskiss*

Oh, yes indeed; your vision is not failing you. I am now the absurdly proud owner of a "Karaoke Party Machine" and these lovely karaoke CDs:

This was a joke birthday gift from my family, in light of recent events. The joke, however, is on them, because I cannot wait to take this baby for a proverbial spin. And possibly videotape it.

Any requests?

Wednesday Night FEVAH!

"I am the best goddamn dancer in the American Ballet Academy! And who the hell are you? Nobody!"



Wednesday Night FEVAH! from metalia on Vimeo.

Crushed II: Teen Idol Version- UPDATED

A few months back, I wrote a post about my embarrassing crushes. It was one of my favorite posts ever because the comments, wherein you confessed to your own weird crushes, had me in stitches. With that in mind, I'm revisiting the "embarrassing crush" topic here:

Ah, Sunday mornings. So full of possibilities!

You make some pancakes from scratch, get a little ambitious, and somehow decide that, YES! Today is the day that you’ll take your husband and son apple picking! You love apples! They love apples! You will pick apples and then make something cinnamon-y with them! Possibly while wearing a tunic made out of whole grain that you will weave yourself! You are one with the earth! And none of this has anything at all to do with the books you’ve been reading lately!

And then.

Somehow, six hours pass, and you find yourself sitting on your parents’ couch with your husband and father, eating what are most decidedly unnature-friendly cheese balls and watching the Giants totally blow a game. (And where, may I ask, is your defense, boys?)

Damn you, lofty Sunday morning dreams.

And then.

Your child is napping. Your husband, fretting about his fantasy team, continues to watch the game. You have a massive footlocker full of childhood memories in your parents’ attic that your mom has been asking you to sift through for years some time now. And so, you make your way up there and start to go through it.

And then things get interesting. More interesting than apple picking could have ever been. Suck it, apples! (That was for you, Isabel.)

I believe I’ve mentioned before that I had a deep and abiding love for Leonardo DiCaprio. Well, I did. So much so that I had a shrine devoted to him on my wall. Which I then kept in this damn box for nearly ten years. (WHYYY???) Behold:

The saddest part, however, is what you can’t see. Specifically, my extensive Leonardo DiCaprio biography collection, including one book entitled, I swear, Lovin’ Leo.

(Oh, sweet Moses! It's still in print!)

(Oh, dear God! Read the customer reviews! My favorite: “It to hot to touch. I just get a felling when I read it. My heart sank after i read it. HE IS CUTE.”)

I read these books religiously, and...wow. I’m ashamed to say that I can still involuntarily supply you with some key Leo facts, including his mom’s name (Irmelin!), his birthday (November something!) and his favorite food (pasta!). Unfortunately, recalling those very relevant items of information had the regrettable side effect of taking over the space in my brain where trigonometry used to reside. (Goodbye, sine! Goodbye cosine! And goodbye, tangent! I'll miss you most of all!) Oh, well.

Of course, upon further reflection, all of this is overshadowed, both literally and figuratively, by the LIFE SIZE PROMOTIONAL CUTOUT of his character from Romeo and Juliet that I also possessed, a gift from a kindly Blockbuster employee. That, at least, is long gone.

(Hello? Hey, wait! Where are you going? I’m over the fixation now, I swear!)

Um…let’s take the focus off of me and my Leo crush, shall we?

I also discovered in the box a Seventeen magazine from 1998. Amidst a plethora of unintentionally humorous articles and quizzes, the undisputed standout was an piece entitled “She’s Your Mom…So Why is She Competing with You?”

My favorite lines:

"While mom may be rockin’ out to your Chumbawumba CD…" [Not "rocking" mind you, but "rockin'"]

"Baby tees are all the rage, so you go out and buy yourself a tight black number that shows off your belly-button ring when you wear it with your low-riding cargo pants. Two days later, mom comes home with a bag from Contempo Casuals containing the same baby tee."

"Liz’s mom buys identical chokers and bindis!"

"If you’ve just about had it with Mama wearing hip huggers and platforms, don’t tell her that she looks like a dork."

Ha ha! Isn't that funny? Pathetic moms! Driving their daughters crazy! Oh, the hilarity! Who can even remember what we were talking about before? Certainly not me!

Ooh, I am a crafty master of distraction.

But...damn it all, let’s get back to Leo (and the like) for just a second, because I must know:

Who was your embarrassing teen crush?

I defy you to have been more obsessed with yours than I was with Leo. Beautiful, sensitive Leo.

* * * * * * UPDATE * * * * * *

I TOLD you I was going to love your old teenage crushes. Although I had to look some of them up because I *ahem* didn't know who they were (hello, I am a fetus, and an uninformed one at that), I cracked up all the same. There was one standout teen idol crush, however, upon whom I must direct your attention. Lovely Holly (whose adorable haircut I completely covet) confessed to having a crush on a British one-hit wonder named Chesney Hawkes. Naturally, I Googled him. OH, HOLLY.

I am seriously, seriously unable to stop laughing.

As you were!

Can't You See? I'm SICK!

Things I was NOT this past week:

• Dead
• On some sort of unannounced, extended blog-leave

Things I WAS this past week:

• Traveling
• Incredibly sick with some nasty virus-thing
• Celebrating Rosh Hashanah (A very happy new year to the rest of The Tribe!)

Suffice it to say that I am so very happy to be:

A) Back (though my trip included getting to spend a lovely, random night out with these lovely ladies);

B) feeling somewhat better from my mysterious bout with Hurlfest ‘07 (let’s ignore the fact that I am sitting here with a mug of mint tea and an HONEST-TO-GOD KNIT SHAWL, shall we?); and

C) fulfilling my Jewly obligations, so as to start the new year off right. (...Although my stint at the services lasted all of three minutes. Toopweets is in a delightful shrieking phase, you see, and I thought it wise to shield the rest of the synagogue-going populace from his unpredictable high-pitched screeches, the likes of which caused an old lady in ShopRite a few weeks ago to jump about 12 feet and invoke the name of Jesus, along with some very, very bad words. Not wanting to provoke a repeat performance in a synagogue, of all places, we decided to make a mercifully brief cameo at the very end. SOMEONE, ANYONE, TELL ME HOW TO KEEP HIM FROM SHRIEKING. I’LL BUY YOU SOMETHING PRETTY AND SHINY.)

Anyway, here I am, and I feel like I’m so behind in blog land. What have I missed? Fill me in! I have some random crap of my own to discuss, but I’m still sort of out of it on account of my virus and will blame EVERYthing on that until I’m 100% better (...much like Charlie on Party of Five in his “Can’t you see? I’m sick!” phase. Shut UP, I know I wasn’t the only person who watched that show!). Consequently, I’m bullet-pointing the hell out of this post, since I still feel all foggy-headed and a bit virus-y, and unable to focus on silly things like a cohesive theme and transitional phrases:

• I just bought a glorious dress. It's the cutest cut, a perfect fall color (deep purple), short without, y'know, giving it away, and the best part? It makes my…upper region look splendid. I can't figure out how, exactly, given that I wasn’t blessed in that arena, but man, oh man. I’m thinking I need to take a picture of myself in the dress to prove my point, yes? And perhaps that was over-sharing just a bit, but can’t you see? I’m sick! If you have a Banana Republic Outlet in your vicinity, go, and ask them for the magical purple dress with mysterious rack-boosting powahs. As they escort you quietly, but firmly, to the exit, do your best to find it.

• I took Toopweets for his 15-month checkup a few weeks ago, and received a rather steep bill from a lab for things which should have been covered. Rather than paying it and bitching about it to my husband, I decided to call and bitch directly to them. A novel concept, I know. Long story short: I'm now fairly certain that the medical billing industry just sends out statements to see if you'll pay them. I’m in a bit of a musical mood, so for the resolution of the bill in question, I will paraphrase Ms. Amy Winehouse, and tell you that they said I had to go pay Quest Labs, but I said no, no, no.

(And then they agreed, and removed the charge.)

Not having to pay $112 is, in my mind, like GETTING FREE MONEY. (You’re getting closer every day, adorable expensive flats that I lust after! You will be mine. Oh, yes, you will be mine.)

• You people are the best. Seriously. Not only did you make me feel infinitely better about my godawful karaoke performance, but you also seemed to enjoy my foray into the tale of the quiet mountain town of Moonlight Valley and its oftentimes seamy underbelly. Go figure. Needless to say, that cast of characters will definitely be making an encore sometime soon.

• While on the plane home from my trip, I was seated next to a man listening to his music at an extremely high volume. Now, the fact that I could hear his music over my own iPod as well as the din of the plane engine is no easy feat, so for that, my proverbial hat is off to him. What bothered me most of all, however, was the actual music that was drifting forth from his earbuds. For it was, in fact, my most hated song ever:

“Simply Having a Wonderful Christmas Time”

Putting aside the fact that it’s September, and no one, anywhere, should be simply having a wonderful Christmas time just yet…people, this song is my musical archnemesis. Let me put it into terms that, I hope, adequately convey my loathing. To me, this song is everything I hate, wrapped up in one synthesizer-driven package; walnuts, driving in NYC, when people walk into a bathroom with approximately fifty-four empty stalls, and take the unoccupied one next to you, eggplant, clowns, the word ''chocolaty'' (only when spelled thusly), Sting, raisins ruining an otherwise perfect dessert, and the distinctive scent known to me as eau de hobo.

And since I’m all foggy (Can’t you see? I’m sick! ) and have no better way to close this most rambling of posts…what’s your least favorite song? The one that causes your fists to clench up as you shudder and fantasize about destroying every copy of the song ever made?

There's Really No Excuse for This Type of Thing

I just came back from the dentist, and am quite numbed/drugged up. What the hell, teeth? Whatever happened to my perfect, “just 3 cavities!” dental history? Way to go, jerks. Suffice it to say that this fourth sucker was a doozy, requiring copious drugs and medieval dental torture devices. Not good times.

That is the only logical explanation for what you are about to read.

I was putting away a few of Toopweets’ toys, and, in my woozy, post-cavity state, noticed something… interesting about the little wooden people in his train set. There are eight in total.

Here are the first four. Nice, right? Wholesome, yes?

For the last time, we’re NOT the Village People, dammit…

….And here are the second four:

What up, bitches? You lookin’ at us?

These last four; don’t they just look… unsavory?

Ordinarily, I’d just chuckle, point out my observation to J, and move on with my life, but in my current condition, I began making up a plotline for these wooden characters, and their comings and goings in the quiet, pristine hamlet of…..

MOONLIGHT VALLEY!

This will probably not be quite so hilarious to me once the drugs wear off.

Nonetheless:

Welcome to Moonlight Valley! A wholesome, friendly town, the type of place where neighbors greet you by name, and horses roam freely in the street for some reason.

Why, here are some of our hardworking citizens standing in the town square! They are joyful!

Their joy is such that they spontaneously burst into dance in the meadow!

But not everyone is happy in Moonlight Valley. Some sleazy, disreputable folks make their home on the other side of the tracks. Their days are filled not with town square smiles and impulsive meadow frolicking, but booze, mischief and bad behavior.

Who are these characters? Meet Chad, Rick, Starla and Kitty:

As you can see, Chad enjoys snow cones, grooming his goatee, and, well…I wouldn’t leave him alone with your livestock, is all I’m saying.

He also pees on trees.

Rick does, too.

AND THEY DON’T CARE!

Starla is they type of person whose, um, activities often land her here.

Rick is dating Starla, and Chad is dating Kitty.

But what Chad doesn’t know…

Is that Kitty is cheating on him with Rick! In fact, he just took her to London!

Cheerio!

When Starla found out, she was livid, and beat up Kitty.

Catfight!

Starla then ran crying to Rick, who saw the error of his ways. He immediately broke things off with Kitty, and took Starla to a Rod Stewart concert...

...Where he asked Starla a very important question:

It was the perfect proposal. But things weren't perfect for long... To be continued! Someday! (But probably not.)

Oh, The Humanity

Okay, I give in. Here’s the karaoke video. But first, some background:

I’ve mentioned before that I completely adore Vacation Karaoke Night (“VKN”) with every fiber of my being. VKN takes place at this rowdy firemen’s bar with a DJ who takes his job way too seriously. It’s sort of hilarious. This year, J, my brother and my brother’s best friend came along to bear witness to my performance. I kicked things off with Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’” and may I just say? I rocked it. Standing ovation! Applause! Cheers! I got so cocky that I actually thought to myself, "Hey I still look sort of young; maybe I can get a starring role in the upcoming High School Musical 3: Now It’s Just Getting Sad! I AM A SUPERSTAR!"

Drunk on my own power (and no tequila whatsoever) as well as the praise of my adoring masses, I decided to go back up for an encore. I chose “Can’t Take My Eyes Off of You.” I’m sort of unclear as to what my rationale was, but I believe that I turned to my husband and the boys and said something like, “Youknowthatscene? In 10 Things I Hate About You? When Heath Ledger sings that song to Kat in the football field? And slaps the security guard’s butt while fleeing? That is SO FUNNY and I shouldsingitnownownow because it will be funny. FUNNY!” I think, however, that statement may have come out sounding like “FlurgenhrrmphFUNNY!” so they just nodded nervously as I approached the stage for my encore. I was filled with the type of oblivious confidence that is only ever possessed by one who is totally going to fail, and fail completely. I felt certain that I could, nay, SHOULD perform this song.

This would prove to be a huge mistake.

For you see, I have one simple rule with karaoke. NO COMPLEX SONGS. And while the original “Can’t Take My Eyes Off of You” by Frankie Valli is pretty straightforward, Lauryn Hill’s cover is not. It has MANY harmonies, backup vocals, random “Uh! Uh!” grunts, and all manner of surprises that just generally conspire to make your performance an unmitigated disaster. Simply put: It’s karaoke suicide, people!

Which version do you think the DJ put on for me?

Watch the train wreck and see:



(This was my first shot at using Movie Maker, so be kind.)

Ain’t No Party Like a Scranton Party ‘Cuz a Scranton Party Don’t Stop

(Okay, so we weren’t in Scranton proper, but you can’t expect me to stay nearby and refrain from making references to The Office, now can you? I mean, come on. The Steamtown mall has fake signs directing you to Dunder-Mifflin paper supply. It’s hard to resist.)

So our vacation at the lake house was absolutely lovely.

See?

I’m not going to go on and on about how much I love my family, but suffice it to say that I do. A lot. And although 10 days may seem like a long time to spend with your loved ones, Toopweets, J and I had the best time with them.

However.

I’m a bit tired right now, in part from the fact that the trip is over, and I have to unpack (HATE), but mainly due to the fact that I now have to tussle with a heretofore angelic toddler who has been WAITED ON HAND AND FOOT for the past 10 days by a coterie of no less than 8 people at any given time, and is now completely insane (thanks, family!). Advice? Suggestions? Vodka? Send 'em all my way!

Anyway.

Where to start? I have much to say, so I’ll attempt to keep myself on track by segueing my many random topics. I warn you now that there are eleventy billion pictures:

It was J’s birthday shortly after we arrived at the lake house (happy birthday, J!), and there wasn’t too much in the way of fine dining nearby…

...so to celebrate, I took him out for a romantic evening at the movies. With my brother. And his girlfriend. And my brother’s best friend.

Am I the best wife ever, or what?

We saw Superbad, and found the movie to be hilarious, as we collectively have the sense of humor of a very immature adolescent boy. The movie, however, was no match for the sheer absurdity of Pickle-in-a-Cup. (Which, like a nevernude, is exactly what it sounds like.) You see, when we visited the concession stand before the movie began, we reviewed the posted list of assorted treats. Which read: “Popcorn, Pretzel Bits, Boxed Candy, Pickle.”

Pickle?

PICKLE.

A Chilly Dilly, in fact:

Of course we bought one, but really, WTF?

If there is a more random movie snack being served at your concession stands, by all means, let me know.

Speaking of food…

I had recently read this book, and was chastened to learn that a typical meal travels 1,500 or more miles to get to your plate. I was consequently thrilled to see the sheer volume of local food readily available from farms near the lake house. Fresh sweet corn, berries, tomatoes, peaches and plums….YUM. I can’t say I’ll keep it up, but it did make me feel good to know that I was doing a TEENSY bit to reduce my carbon footprint. Said the girl with the big-ass SUV.

I will now climb off my soapbox…

And discuss the county fair.

I absolutely LOVED the county fair. You see, we don’t have THESE in New York:

It's taking all of my willpower not to rant about the grammatical error.

Nor do we have bulimic cow sculptures hawking Amish cheese...

Oh, Flossie. It's time to admit that you have a problem!

...Or human rubber band trampoline rides of terror...

Spot the carny!

...Or guns made out of Nerds packages.

But while I’ve never before seen a physical Fart Bomb, per se…

…I can say with some degree of certainty that riding the subway with any one of my hobo friends will yield pretty much the same effect.

I also learned many valuable lessons at the fair, such as the fact that there exists a shiny aerosol spray with which to coat your livestock before presenting them to the judges. Who knew?

Oh, and we also saw animals. Sad, isn’t it, how this is a novelty for us? Toopweets loved this soft, friendly goat.

I'm smiling and all, but inside, I'm mentally calculating just how quickly I can grab my Purell before we all contract Mad Goat Disease.

Speaking of goats…

Another source of endless delight during our trip was this store.

Best name ever, hands down. I still giggle at the thought of a bleating goat just totally passing out.

Speaking of bleating goats…

We must discuss my performance at karaoke night.

To make a long story short, I kicked ass with my first song (which, as seen above, was Journey's "Don't Stop Believin'"). And yes, that really IS my earnest emotive karaoke face. Bask in it! Bask, I say! Anyway, I went back up for an encore, which COMPLETELY SUCKED. My brother caught the whole thing on video, but I’m unsure as to whether or not I should post it.

You see, my performance is SO WRETCHED and embarrassing that I fear posting it will destroy any credibility I have. And I speak, of course, of my credibility as a productive, functioning member of society. It’s that bad, I swear.

So you see my dilemma.

Should I post it or not?

Something that may sway my decision is any information you might have about easy programs/sites that will enable me to cut down the length of the video.

Because no one, BUT NO ONE needs to see my warbling, full-length version of Lauryn Hill’s “Can’t Take My Eyes Off of You.”

(P.S. - As if you haven't seen enough pictures, here's my Flickr photostream from the trip.)