If you never did you should. These things are fun and fun is good.

You know what you get when you write juvenile blogs and columns? (Well, aside from judgemental looks from room mothers and bumped up a few spots on the CPS watch list...)

You get invited to read to a bunch of students at a private school in Oakton to celebrate Dr. Seuss's birthday and Read Across America day.

So, tomorrow I'll be the guest reader at a primarily-Turkish-student-body school. Information that is only relevant in that I get a Turkish tea and Turkish snack break between reading Dr. Seuss books to the lower and upper schools. All of that is awesome. It's the invitation to also participate in a Turkish bath that is making me somewhat uncomfortable...

(I'm kidding, of course. I'm perfectly comfortable with that.)

It is also school spirit week at this institution and the day I'm visiting is dress-in-all-the-same-color day. As the cheery-and-not-at-all-moody-person-I-am, I'm going with head-to-toe black, which will be worn with the red and white striped hat the School Director is providing for me.

To recap: Tomorrow, I'll be reading childrens books and enjoying Turkish delight while dressed as the cat in the hat.

Life is weird.

“I like nonsense, it wakes up the brain cells. Fantasy is a necessary ingredient in living, It's a way of looking at life through the wrong end of a telescope. Which is what I do, And that enables you to laugh at life's realities.”  ― Dr. Seuss

It's plane to see

Recently, my daughter's first grade class celebrated their 100th day of school.

Part of this celebration was completing a booklet with information having to do with hundreds of things. For example: What could she eat 100 of?

(Awww. Adorbs. Except for the unnecessary apostrophe S. Why does she hate me?)

Next question: What could she not eat 100 of?

Here she's managed to avoid the unnecessary apostrophe S, but has used a "to" in place of a "too." (I'll tell you what's "to" much -- never sleeping again because you have a kid who spells "too" with one O.)

If she could have 100 of anything in the world, what would it be and why?

This says, "dreme hauses with a hot tub and hamick. It will be asum."

Hey -- go big or go home(s), right? Asum!

And finally, she was asked what she thought cars, trains, airplanes and rockets would look like in 100 years.

Rather than going the typical (some say unimaginative) route of drawing some futuristic-looking flying car, my daughter went in a different direction:

Yes. "becus it wil be old."

Can't argue with logic,
Brutalism

My Stars!

I'm a girl who knows how to have a good time.

Which my husband was reminded of again last weekend as I tried to pass off "an evening lecture at the George Mason University observatory" as a birthday gift.

I have other good qualities. (psst...I really don't.)

Actually, this event followed the GMU homecoming basketball game on Saturday night, the tickets to which were yet another birthday gift. (Or would have qualified as one had the Patriots not lost by 20 points.) The spectacular loss was followed by a spectacular fireworks show over the lake on campus -- so the evening turned around a bit at that point. And continued to get even better as we made our way across campus to the observatory and joined about 12 other cools who considered this a hip and happenin' way to spend a Saturday night.

The lecture was really interesting -- and we got to see the new half million dollar (said with pinkie touching corner of mouth) telescope and the dome in which it is ensconced -- all very sci-fi and cool. We learned something, we asked questions, it was all great fun. Until...the professor pronounced "Uranus" in a way I'd never heard before -- as "YUR-a-nuss." We immediately assumed this was a defense mechanism borne from teaching college students who probably snickered every time he said the name of that particular planet.

And I'll be honest...that is why I'm so glad not to be in college anymore, with people mocking and giggling at things that sound dirty and being sidetracked from real learning by focusing on the nonsense.  

Now we wait until we are in the car to ask each other the questions we dreamed of asking the Prof with a straight face. Those being:

1. Do you really think it's appropriate to show us so many pictures of Uranus?
2. Has Uranus been erupting?
3. Are there alien life forms on Uranus?
4. How big is Uranus?
5. Do you find that gay men, in particular, tend to focus their area of study on Uranus?
6. Can I point this telescope at Uranus?
7. What is the temperature of Uranus?

Each question was followed by hysterical laughter. From my husband and me, that is. My 7-year-old daughter (who didn't quite get the joke) gave us an eye roll after each question and admonished us with a "That's enough."

She's a pain in Uranus,
Brutalism

Your Mom's on this Site

One of my best friends sent this sentiment along in an e-mail today:

Sent:Tuesday, February 12, 2013 12:21 PM

Subject: It's my lucky day! 

I just got a spam e-mail with the subject line:

Congrats on your free F%*kBook account!

 Thought you'd want to know. 

And, really, the only way one can reply to something like this is a la Tosh.0. So I did:

Sent:Tuesday, February 12, 2013 12:27 PM

Subject: Re: It's my lucky day!

 

Let's put :30 on the clock:

• Is the CEO of that corporation Mark F%*kerburg?
• Guess "getting poked" means something a little different on that site?
• Instead of a "Friend" request, do you get a "Friend with Benefits" request?
• Do the posts about people playing games involving farm animals take on a whole new dimension?
• Instead of "Likes" does the page show "Licks"?
  

I have always loved the dirty stuff,
Brutalism 

Stealing my Dignity

American Airlines just called to verify that an airline ticket from Mexico City to Bolivia that someone was trying to purchase with my credit card was authorized. And with that, ladies and gentlemen, I am on my second replacement card in less than a year.

>shakes fist at Gods of Internet commerce<

You'd think that would be the worst part. However, it is not. The worst part is that whoever stole my card thinks I'm small potatoes, as is evidenced by the fact that the only other purchase made with the stolen card was at a One Stop in Bismarck, Arkansas, for a grand total of $3.63.

I guess my thief assumed I wouldn't notice an extraneous beef jerky purchase. (And, to be fair, I almost didn't.) And I could live with that had I not heard a tale from one of my friends who had his identity stolen. Apparently, his thief bought a Porsche Boxter -- something he discovered when he received the loan documents in the mail.

So now I just have a lot of misplaced anger for my thief. What -- I'm so un-fabulous that you don't even try to buy season tickets for the Lakers? Some haute couture? A share of a private jet? What about dinner at a nice restaurant? A few good bottles of wine? A botox touch-up? Nope. Just $3.63 worth of convenience store crap in Arkansas, no less. Is that all I'm good for? A roadside Red Bull?  

Defrauded and deflated,
Brutalism

***Thanks for the link today, DC Blogs. I know you'd use my card for something fabulous.***

Homey does not play that

While at a comedy club recently, a member of our group walked by a table where he overheard one person at the table say to another person at the table (and I quote): "Homey don't play that" which was followed (naturally) by an awkward high five.

Of course, the perpetrator was white, middle aged, and said this without a hint of irony.

And which also, of course, led to the following discussions at our table:

• Anyone under the age of 35 probably has no frame of reference for this. Which makes it the perfect phrase replacement for "You kids get off my lawn" (said while shaking a fist at trespassing whippersnappers).
• You know that if anyone was going to heckle the comedians that night, it was Mister "Homey don't play that."
• How judgmental we'd feel if it turned out the gentleman we overheard did, in fact, know someone named "Homey" and he was, in fact, referring to something that Homey did not play.
• If that was the case, his grammar was still horrendous and he deserved to be judged

Awkward high five,

Brutalism

Working for a living

At some point, when my daughter comes to me for business advice (shut up -- it could happen), I will tell my grasshopper the following two things: 1) Surround yourself with the smartest people you can find and 2) Make friends with your IT Department. In my experience, those two things carry equal weight in determining your workplace success.

Which is why it is important to let your IT Department know that you are reading their communications and appreciate the hard word they do. Like I did when I received the following distribution e-mail from our company's help desk technician this week:

I did not reply to that e-mail, but sent him a new e-mail a few minutes later:

 

And this is why I love our IT Department:

Queen of the ID10T errors,
Brutalism

Well, shoot

So, this happened recently. Please take a moment to read, then continue on to the discussion questions below:

1. Can you imagine how weird this would have been if drugs were involved?
2. If a naked stranger poops and masturbates in your home while trying to steal your television set, approximately how long will it take you to burn the house in a massive inferno because, as my friend put it, "you cannot steam clean your eyes"?
3. How does the conversation the next morning with your friends go? "Man...you were really wasted last night. And let's just say that getting tasered by the cops was tamest part of it."
4. If you are one to say, break into someone's house while naked, try to steal their television set, then poop and masturbate while they hold you at gun point (read: several of my closest friends), would you not populate your Facebook page with more sane looking photos?

Now that's a gun lover,
Brutalism

Age of Aquarius

Today is my birthday. I began celebrating this birthday a week ago -- with my mom and her husband in Williamsburg and Richmond, where we did this:

and saw this:

and was also what I dubbed the "weekend of disillusionment" as it was the weekend my daughter learned that I am a big, fat liar. (In my defense, I know that she talks about everything with everybody, so when she asked me last year how old I was, I knew this number would be broadcast everywhere.) Therefore, I felt justified in shaving 10 years off the actual  number -- a lie I perpetuated for an entire year until my mom pulled out number candles to put on a cake and my daughter learned the difficult truth. And that is she will be disappointed often with me as a mother. (On the bright side, she has to put up with me for 10 fewer years than she initially thought, so it all works out.)

And this weekend, I'm celebrating by doing a lot of fun things with friends.

Last night, went with the Dilettantes and the Dilettante spouses to see Todd Glass at the DC Improv.

Todd Glass has been a favorite comedian of mine for a while. Last time we saw him at the DC Improv, my friend, Amy, dared me to get him to sign my chest. Not one to turn down a dare, I accepted:

Klassy. And dear God...could I look more exhausted?
I had a very young child at the time and did not sleep.  I have no
explanation for the exceedingly high forehead.

Shortly after that, Todd came out publicly. I'm confident the two things are unrelated.

This year I kept my jacket on. I didn't want to risk
also turning Daniel Kinno off to the entire gender.

After the Improv, we went to the Dirty Martini, where the bartender gave me a complimentary glass of wine. While a nice gesture, I honestly didn't even need the first fishbowl-sized beverage. Two would have made me crazy.

Although not that crazy. 

This morning, we're hosting a brunch at the house for friends we don't get to see often. I get to play hostess and enjoy some day drinking -- two of my favorite things.

Another year celebrating what I value most: family, friends, disappointing those I love, comedy and drinks. 

Happy Birthday to me,

Brutalism

P.S. One of my birthday gifts was a yodeling pickle. (Note to self: add this list of things I value most.)

It's No Context

My friend, Dan, writes to me often after my Patch column publishes. In these brief e-mails he will rhetorically ask (and then answer), “Best line of this week’s column?” He boils down the entire narrative into the one line or phrase that he thinks anchors the column. And of course, he is always right. 

I’m now wondering if I should streamline things and write my column in tweet format going forward, as the other 375 words in each column appear to be superfluous.

Anyway, here they are. The best lines from each At Home with Brutalism column of 2012, according to Dan:

• Voir dire is a legal term meaning “everything we French people say sounds pretentious and condescending.”
• This was the only time in my life I was actually encouraged to judge someone (my sorority years aside), and somehow that made it much less fun.
• Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to warm up with a tall drink of something dark and strong. And I may brew myself a cup of coffee, too.
• In a perfect world, this list would be totally effective and there would be nothing left in the world to annoy me. That’s not true. I’m sure Seth Rogen will continue to make movies.
• I’m embarrassed just writing about that kind of over sharing — says the woman with a weekly column, two blogs, and Facebook and Twitter accounts. 
• I prefer to think this speaks more to my boundless energy and zest for life than to my maturity level. >LOL, smiley emoticon, giggle<
• Frankly, I’d like to see more meaningful lists that really help people make a decision on whether they'd like to live in a particular county. What about a list that shows the counties with the highest concentration of people with body odor? Or counties with the most people who insist on using air quotes? Or counties with the fewest number of hipsters? These are the statistics that mean something.
• This friend is somewhat of an expert in the religion arena, as he is in the process of converting to Catholicism — a plunge he decided to take because his current love is a member of the Catholic Church. (A former love of his was Mormon, so he also converted to Mormonism at one point.) While I admire his passion and commitment, I have let him know that simply attending mass is also an option.
• And if experience has taught me anything, it’s that this kid would be better off entering a witness protection program than trying to reassimilate into his classroom with a bunch of other kids who have not dropped delicious baked meat products in front of their peers.
• In my own brown, expressionless way, I actually appreciated being overlooked occasionally. 
• It could probably best be described as "Betsey Johnson" meets "Alexander McQueen" meets "LSD flashback." 
• Both sides believe its way is the right way and no amount of discourse seems to sway the other. I cannot go anywhere these days without the talk turning to this two-party system: the party who lives their lives on social media … and the party that I simply cannot relate to at all.
• The one occasion years ago that I did try gambling, I made a $5 bet at the roulette table which disappeared faster than my college roommate’s pants at a fraternity party. (Ed. IT’S FUNNY BECAUSE IT’S TRUE). 
• And let's face it, in the NYC metro area you consider it a win when someone sitting across the aisle from you isn't rambling incoherently to an invisible companion or urinating on themselves. (Revision: I actually consider that a win pretty much everywhere.) 
• But mostly I’m upset because as a parent who has worked both in and outside the home, I'm confused as to which group I’m supposed to feel superior to.
• Call me old-fashioned, but I prefer to get to know people over time ... and always where there is some means of egress.
• After considering and rejecting several names such as Purple Seahorses, Purple People Eaters, Purple Piranhas and Purple Poisonous Snakes at the first team meeting, they settled on … wait for it … the Big Purple Balls. 
• Reading my columns in public is a definite stretch out of the comfort zone for this formerly shy person. (Aside: I first wrote that as “formally” shy. Apparently, I’m shy only when wearing ball gowns and tiaras. Casually? I’m the life of the party. Formally? A totally introverted, albeit well-dressed wallflower.)
• Although here's a spoiler alert: You go through the entire Colosseum tour and do not even see one Christian being fed to a lion. 
• As my husband and I are of like mind that hard-earned money should be thrown at ridiculousness, we ordered ourselves a Yeti.
• Perhaps I should not be so judgmental. Particularly because the people wearing "Bi(nary) Curious" t-shirts likely made it to the starting line without falling on their faces.
• Never once did I dream of becoming a doyenne, and not just because I had no idea what one was.
• Nothing says, "We love and appreciate you" more than making dad set up a tent surrounded by a dozen hyperactive children. And making him sleep on a leaky air mattress. I say that like there is any other kind of air mattress. 
• We wouldn't even consider leaving our current house until our daughter graduates from high school. Besides, after taking the plunge of co-owning a Yeti with our neighbors, this is not a decision we could make without entering into some sort of (likely contentious) custodial arrangement, anyway.  
• When I was a child, my parents thought the best way for me to overcome this phobia was immersion therapy and always tasked me with making phone calls. It was astonishing how many busy signals I claimed to get during these fruitless exercises. I was never one of those teenagers who spent hours on the phone with their friends; and I'm probably the only person in the history of dating who hoped a good date would end with no promise of a call the next day. Honestly, even the Blondie song "Call Me" makes me break out in a cold sweat.
• And because it is my job to serve, I'm offering a list of Dos and Don'ts when it comes to closings, listed in order from most to least offensive according to much (read: no) Internet research and a significant sample size of me. 
• I only wish we had been asked to select a theme song for the bris we attended a few years ago, because I had a couple of great ideas: Anything by Cutting Crew or "I Fall to Pieces" by Patsy Cline
• This was nonsense at its finest — premeditated nonsense, which at its essence is truly an art form.
• Do: Make lots of new friends. Some of these people will be friends for life. And not only because they still have possession of the negatives from your weekend in Amsterdam. Don't: Make out with lots of new friends. Save that for your 20s — which you will later come to know as your "decade of regret."
• So it is a testament to their persistence that my husband and some friends actually convinced me to join a Fantasy Football league this fall. (Although, in my defense, it was presented as a "fantasy league" which I incorrectly assumed was something entirely different. And which may explain my choice of Benjamin Bratt as a first-round draft pick. And the white rocks around my mailbox.)
• Yeti is now somewhat of a celebrity, and with that fame comes a fair share a wackadoos. (Trust me. I know. Just last week, someone clicked "recommend" on my column. I may have to get a restraining order.)
• Lately, I've been seeing colored skinny jeans everywhere I look — in every catalog, on Facebook ads, and all over Pinterest. And as I rely on these sources to dictate what I should like and purchase, thus began my quest. A woman on a mission, I went to Nordstrom Rack and grabbed every pair of skinny colored jeans I could find with the grace of the Tasmanian devil and the discernment of Charlie Sheen at a pharmaceutical 'n' hooker buffet.
• To recap: My preparation for what was predicted to be the worst storm in more than a hundred years was limited to reviving my blondness and acquiring pirate pants. I apologize for the redundancy.
• Note: This is even more surprising for everyone involved when you are not wearing pants. (Which, apparently, our uptight elementary school frowns upon. Another lesson learned the hard way ...)
• My brother-in-law chimed in via Facebook about the Hostess bankruptcy and resulting loss of beloved treats by writing, "'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all." While I can appreciate his strong feelings about the situation, it figures someone who quotes Tennyson on social media is the type of elitist who grew up regularly enjoying SnoBalls in his lunchbox. (Not a euphemism). 
• I can also not be indignant when anyone cuts me off, takes my parking spot or is otherwise rude to me in traffic. Car costumes correlate directly to a lack of gravitas, no matter how righteous the cause.

All a-Twitter,

Brutalism

Brutalism's 2012 Highlights

What's the saying about March coming in like a lion and going out like a lamb? Well, for me, 2012 was like March. If March came in like a drunken pro football player and went out like a hideous lawn ornament that the neighborhood adopted and adorned on various occasions.

I'm surprised that adage has not caught on.

For years now, I have provided a bulleted list of the things I and my family have done during the year with a picture of our big, fat faces that serves as a holiday greeting for our friends and family. More importantly, it prevents me from having to write anything emotional or sentimental to people I care about. This year, I did not get my act together in time and the greeting never went out. So now I can share that with you, loyal readers, so I don't forget the year that was.

Brutalism's 2012 year in review:

• Started the year with a Redskin, a few too many cocktails and some police intervention (okay...so this year began like most other years...)
• Traveled to some world hot spots:
• Basye, VA (mud tubing that should have been snow tubing)
• Tunkhannock, PA (cousin's bridal shower).
• Dayton, OH (Erma Bombeck Humor Writer's Workshop with 7th grade BFF)
• New York City (cousin's wedding)
• Hot Springs, VA (because I like to bathe with lots of strangers)
• Niagara Falls (Canada side) and Rochester, NY (nephew's bar mitzvah)
• Rome, Florence and Venice Italy (because - awesome)

My daughter's vision of Venice. That is the reflection 
of a pigeon in the water, not a dead body as I originally thought.
If we were in Sicily, it would be a diferent story.

• Hershey, PA (Hershey Park) (because my only child is not over-indulged nearly enough)
• Virginia Beach, VA (visiting mom and childhood friends...and their butt plugs)
• Miami, FL (cousin's wedding)

My mom and my Stepbrother dancing
at the wedding. No alcohol was served.
Ha ha ha ha ha ha.

• Las Vegas, NV (where better to spend a 7-year-old's birthday than Sin City?)
• New York City (weekend with my daughter and my mom to see the Rockettes and stay in a hotel that was way too hip for us)
• Charlotte, NC and Chattanooga, TN 
• Took my daughter to the White House Easter Egg Roll. It was awesome. Just ask Tim Tebow: 

• Learned of the dangers of flirting on the Long Island Railroad
• Did not float through the air with the greatest of ease, re-bloomed my orchid,  sipped and painted, and (wo)manhandled some birds of prey with the Dilettantes.
• Went to parties and hosted parties -- all of which involved dressing in costume. Or my new game-changing copper sequined skirt. It's probably only a matter of time until I'm a furry.

     

• Started a second career as a humorist with two speaking engagements that raised money for local charities. One was a charity group that formed after a woman died of breast cancer at age 36. All of her friends rallied and formed a charity -- which is amazing. However, my introduction for that speaking engagement was done by a woman who launched into a heart wrenching, emotional narrative about the charity namesake's last days and what a great person she was. Then she and many audience members teared up, as most of them were close, personal friends.

   And of course, my opening piece immediately following this introduction was a poop story: 

• Enjoyed coaching and cheering on the Big Purple Balls:

• Stayed overnight at the National Zoo for Father’s Day
• Said hello to drag queen friends in public restrooms. Said goodbye to a drag queen friend.
•  Acquired a Yeti. 
  
  

  

  We're a very formal neighborhood.

  Hope your 2012 was eventful (in the good way) and Happy 2013!

Brutalism

Happy 'Nooga Year

I just spent three days in Chattanooga, Tennessee.

No, it was not community service. I actually wanted to go there -- a decision made after watching an HGTV House Hunters episode - you know, the way I make all of my travel destination choices.

And after driving 1500 miles over 5 days (we stopped in Charlotte to visit relatives along the way), I have to say -- I love the 'Nooga!

Which is kinda weird. Because I hate nougat. And noogies.

What a great city. And not only because I happened upon a marriage-proposal-in-process while I was walking across a pedestrian bridge (awwww):

Right after proposal was accepted, I screamed,
"You know 50% of marriages end in divorce, right?"

or because I fell in love with a 10-week-old Wheaten Terrier I met on that bridge. It was not even because of some great restaurants with great beer or the fact that this is what a Chattanooga police station looks like:

Well put me in cuffs and send me to your Art Deco hoosegow.

or that they teach you how to do the Waltz while walking (now dancing) down the street:

Look how drunk Avery is.

Chattanooga has a dedication to public art and refurbishing old buildings and growing the city in a really smart way. It's hip without the 'tude. Great real estate without the great price tags. Nougat without the "T."

Besides, my next house is there:

Right in the center of town and ridiculously cheap.
Perhaps because there are no doors.

And, yes -- I did make my child both a) eat nougat and b) get a noogie while we were there:

So.Much.To.Tell.Her.Future.Therapist.

Happy 'Nooga Year, Everyone!

Book 'em, Rod-o

I first "met" Rodney Lacroix, aka "Moooooog35," aka "Midget Man of Steel," aka "Mental Poo," aka "Stop hanging out where I work it's starting to creep me out" a couple of years ago. We had commented on each other's blogs for a while, and then he put out a request for guest bloggers at one point and I replied with the following:  

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dear Moooooog35 -

I saw that you were looking for guest posters a few days ago. Then I went to your FB page again today to try to find the request and it was no longer there. Or I overlooked it. Let's see...I'm a procrastinator and/or careless...frankly...who WOULDN'T want me as a guest poster on their blog?

When I first read your request I thought, "Cool. I could totally be like Joan Rivers when she used to guest host the Tonight Show." (Please note that I am comparing your blog to the Tonight Show comedy institution. In the years when it was funny, even. This is not at all an attempt to kiss your ass so that you pick me as one of your guest bloggers. I would never stoop that low.) Unrelated...did you receive the muffin basket?

So, if you are still looking for guest bloggers...I'd like to be considered. If not, I'll just take this opportunity to say "Hi". Um...."Hi."

(Also, thanks in advance for being cool with my standard $80,000 guest blogging honorarium.)

Brutalism
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

And in his classically funny way, he responded:

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hey Kathleen (Kathy? Brutalism? Brutal? Brutal Kathy? etc., etc., ad infinitum (OOOH! Latin!)

Absolutely would LOVE to have you guest post. Feel free to send me whatever you want (I have no doubt it would be funny) and I'll replace a Friday post with it (would run Friday noon - Sunday morning plus the Sunday recap).

If that sounds good, let me know. The 80 grand, though, um..yeah.

SO not happening.

Best I can swing is, like, 75k...but I know you're a stickler with the 'all or nothing' so I guess that's off the table.

Thanks!

Rod
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

How can you not love this guy? AND? In addition to his very funny blog, he has now written his first book. Trust me when I tell you that after a few stories, you, too, will be sucked into the Poo vortex. (That sounded better in my head.) (Aside: I never did end up guest posting. I'm adorable in the way I over-promise and under-deliver.)

 

And even though major celebrities are endorsing his book and he doesn't need me, I'm shilling away anyway, because he's hysterical.

 

Buy his book! Links to where you can do so are below:

"Things Go Wrong for Me" is available at:

Amazon: http://bit.ly/12o6h8N

Amazon (Kindle Version): http://bit.ly/ZpoiVk

Barnes and Noble: http://bit.ly/UIgJBw
RCG Publishing: http://www.rcgpublishing.com

Going to RCG Publishing will give you links to all the books PLUS the option to get an AUTOGRAPHED copy!!

Your link to fine literature, Brutalism

The Man is trying to keep me down. And by "the man" I of course mean Mark Zuckerberg.

CLICK TO ENLARGE

It's like I don't even know me anymore

If there is ever any doubt my love for my daughter is unconditional, I offer up Exhibit A:

Sweet Jesus,
Brutalism

Up in Smoke

Hookahs don't count. Apparently. 2009

I have never been a smoker. (Which of course explains the photo I chose to use for the Brutalism header...)

I don't feel morally superior about this fact...I am a non-smoker for purely practical reasons: health, cost, not wanting to get those lines around my mouth that make me look a lot older, and the fact that I like taking work breaks in a barren, exposed area in front of my office building reserved for the non-smoking employees, while the smokers get benches, overhangs to protect from the elements and a selection of delightful hors d'oeuvres featuring seasonal ingredients presented to them by uniformed butlers.

Faye Dunaway/Barfly impression. Mid-90s. This was either in
Cleveland, OH or Rochester, NY. But of course.

And that that is why it was so surprising that while cleaning out my home office recently, I found so many pictures of me pretending to smoke cigarettes and actually smoking cigars.

So for your viewing enjoyment...I present to you a pictorial history of my bad decisions -- both the smoking and the sartorial choices.

Enjoy!

UPDATE: Thanks to DC Blogs for linking to my post today. It's always the posts of which I'm proudest...

A work going-away party, circa 1998. I was
probably fired for that sweater. Justifiably.



One of my first vacations with my now-husband, Key West, FL, 1996.
(That's called setting a man trap, ladies.)




With my college boyfriend. Mid-90s. (He was wearing a mini skirt so he was totally asking for it...)



Smoking a cigar in the back yard while wearing a t-shirt that says "I have issues" on the front.
(As if the blue-contacts-for-purely-cosmetic-reasons and cigar smoking did not give that away.)

2001-ish.





At a poetry reading with Jack Kerouac. Mid-50s.

In a cheesy limo on the way to see cheesetastic Richard Cheese at the 9:30 Club in DC. 2009.



Double Identity

Someone is posting under my name at Fairfax Underground.

They are posting filthy, disgusting remarks and making comments on topics and items that I would not.

To that I say, "Whatever."

However, the person posting under my name is also not at all funny, so we do have a problem.

Anyone have any experience with this site? And/or any advice?

What is love?

Serious conversation with my husband on my way into work this morning:

Me: (After listening to a report about early onset Alzheimer's): "You know. If I ever get dementia and act like a looney toon, can you at least invite our friends over to enjoy the show? I mean it. If you don't at least get some laughs out of it, it's just too sad..."

Canetto: (Deadpan): "I already do."

MDNA = AWSM

On Saturday, I was offered tickets to the Monday night performance of Madonna's MDNA tour at the Verizon Center in Washington, DC. My desire to see Madonna over the years has been trumped by only one thing -- my desire to not sell a kidney to pay for the tickets to see Madonna. So with the offer of complimentary admission, I immediately said "yes." And I am so glad I did...this is the best show I have ever seen with the exception of G.G.Allin (but that's kind of an apples-to-coprophagia comparison, so it's not really fair...)

So, finally having experienced the Material Girl first-hand, I give you: My first Madonna concert...a timeline:

8:30pm - Babysitter arrives. Feel very hip and cool about going out on a school night before realizing that it took two cups of coffee to keep me awake enough to put on pants.

8:45pm - Smugly wonder why people always complain about DC traffic...as the trip in is blissfully speedy. Granted it is 8:45pm, but we are smug nonetheless.

9:00pm - Walk around Verizon Center. Pop into arena occasionally to listen to DJ Benny Benassi and text club-music-loving-friends to let them know we are in his presence. Bask in return-text jealousy.

9:45pm -  Make new friends in the ladies restroom. (Both with women and those simply dressed as such). Note that it was really not imperative that I did put on pants. Love that new friends happily pose for pictures:


"Like a Virgin" Madonna, "Rock Hard Abs" Madonna, "Desperately Seeking Susan" Madonna
(as if you needed the caption...)

10:00pm - Enjoy great people watching. And by that, I mean a lot of great looking guys watching my husband as he walks by. Feel invisible. Try and convince husband to make out with one of these guys to get us into a sky suite. Unsuccessful in this endeavor.

10:15pm - Begin to fade. Mainline a jumbo diet coke.

10:25pm - Beeline to restroom after mainlining jumbo diet coke.

10:30pm - Show begins. Best described as equal parts Quentin Tarantino movie/church service/burlesque show/high school marching band performance. It is also part circus sideshow, considering how many triple-jointed dancers that look like living Giacometti sculptures are part of this extravaganza.

11:30pm - Become unclear about which presidential candidate Madonna supports, but understand that she wholly supports displaying her bum on a jumbotron:

Not judging. If my bum looked like hers, I would also display it on a jumbotron.
Although it's doubtful that so many people would pay to see it.
 

12:30am - Cannot believe show has been going on for two hours, as it feels like it has just begun. Watch the diva perform one of my favorite Madonna songs, "Like a Prayer," and assume she is serenading me personally. Break my own cardinal rule of concert-going by singing along with the artist. And at the top of my lungs.

12:31am - Notice husband mulling over earlier offer to temporarily switch teams, if only to get away from the lunatic next to him singing "Like a Prayer" at the top of her lungs.

Madonna...singing directly to me. From the jumbotron.

1:00am - After another easy drive home (seriously, commuters -- toughen up!), pay babysitter roughly the equivalent cost of a Madonna ticket.

6:30am - Grab iPhone off nightstand to turn off intrusive and jarring alarm. Inadvertently press reverse camera icon. Become instantly terrified of creature looking back at me and leap out of bed, fueled by pure adrenalin.

9:00am - Make it to work with hair in a ponytail, and after guzzling no fewer than three cups of coffee. Involuntarily "Vogue" with hands when describing show to co-workers.

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A million thanks to Moss Building and Design for making this long-time Madonna fan's dream of seeing her in concert come true:


MDNA WNABE circa 1985 2007