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.

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

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

Eager Beavers

I am shocked – SHOCKED! - by the recent rabid beaver attacks in Fairfax County. One was random enough, but two? And in such short succession? It’s no wonder local real estate agents focus a lot more on the “school pyramid” and a lot less on the “increasingly frequent possibility of being attacked by a rabid beaver” when promoting the attributes of living in this County. While impressive creatures, what is impressive about them is also what is so scary. I mean, those are some serious teeth they have. It’s amazing to watch them fell trees with those things-- slit, slash, down they come. And with those felled trees, they industriously build dams which create rivulets, gullies and canals. I am in awe of any creature that can birth canals.


I love Beaver!

A couple of people have posted the news articles about these attacks on my Facebook wall, with juvenile references to the word “beaver.” And frankly, I don’t find this funny at all. It's actually terrifying when you know the details. A fit and trim 83-year old woman who was swimming in Lake Barcroft was the first victim, and when the beaver attacked, her screams were anything but muffled. Even when others came to her aid and continually banged that beaver with oars, it would not loosen its grip. She had many injuries, including large gashes on her arms and legs, and it almost left a gaping hole where her thumb was. But thankfully, she is expected to make a full recovery.

The second incident involved a rabid beaver launching itself out of the water and using the dock as a landing strip before chasing a group of children at Hidden Pond Nature Center. Talk about a hairy situation! They had just completed a fishing competition and noticed the beaver charging toward them. Fortunately, they were able to get away and no one was injured. Still...a very close shave.

I, for one, am concerned and think that it is time to stop beating around the bush and find out why these animals, that are normally as docile as pussycats, are savagely attacking people. It seems to me that figuring this out should be as easy as pie, and I'm planning on being pretty vocal about that if need be, and possibly even creating a Tactical Women's Alert Team. I'll keep flapping my trap until the authorities determine just how widespread a threat this is. Perhaps I’m being crotchety, but I think it should be fairly easy to snatch and analyze all the available data to prevent this from happening to others.

Thanks for letting me vent. Next week, we’ll be back to humor as usual. Which will hopefully put a huge vertical smile on your face.

See You Next Tuesday! (Er, Wednesday).

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
P.S. The preceding blog post was actually written and submitted as a column for Oakton Patch and Vienna Patch. My editor pushed to make it happen, but it was ultimately rejected by her supervisor on the grounds that someone was attacked and this is poking fun at that. (No, it's not.)

P.P.S. The most interesting part (heh) of all of this? This column ran last year. And it was one of my most popular columns to date. Something about this smells fishy... (You're welcome.)

P.P.P.S. Some of the references in the column above were provided by my friends, Dan and Kevin, who are nothing if not cunning linguists.

P.P.P.P.S. In researching this column, I sent two other friends an e-mail asking them for as many words as they could think of for "beaver." They both responded immediately with several great suggestions and neither one asked me why. We will be friends for life.

Well this is a little forward...

 

 

 

Marketers really do know a lot about us. 

I got bupkes

Check out my latest column on the Oakton Patch here about deciding on a theme song to introduce me at my nephew's bar mitzvah next month.

a) I'm not Jewish
b) I have no idea which song to use
c) I love this because life really should be more like a musical. (Apparently, my boss does not share this sentiment because he frowned upon my singing and use of jazz hands during our webinar this morning.)

Help a sister out,
Brutalism

Some candy walks into a bar...

I decided yesterday that the reason we don't have a second child is that I have exactly one round of enthusiasm for theme parks, kindergarten graduations and schlepping-to-soccer-practices in me. I'm loving every minute of this stuff with our daughter, but really don't even think I could fake it if I had to do it over again. Come to think of it, it appears that I can barely muster enthusiasm for this go-round.

Judge me if you will, I know my limits.

So I'm content in knowing that our family trip to Hershey Park yesterday will be the one and only time we go there. And it was great. Especially because I never have to go there again. Oh -- I'm so cruel -- please take a look at the 49 million theme parks my child has been to in her six years.

When we were planning to go to Hershey, I showed my daughter some photos from the web site, which is when she announced vehemently that she "was not going to take a picture with a giant candy bar, because that is weird." Which was fine with me. Although she completely changed her tune (not the first time) the nano-second she realized Hershey makes her favorite candy bar:

You'll notice that she is holding a stuffed animal that her father just won for her playing Whac-a-Mole. As we were walking by a game that was just about to begin, Avery said that she wanted to play so Canetto plunked down two dollars and handed Avery the mallet. Avery then got performance anxiety and handed the mallet to Tim as the buzzer went off. He pounded away and hit 150 points first -- and won a little monkey for our little monkey. She was thrilled and he was feeling pretty good about himself until I pointed out the fact that the other three competitors were in the 10-12 year age range -- something he did not notice until I said, "Hey -- great job, there, Kramer."

Actually, maybe that is the reason we don't have a second child...

Better pack my smoking jacket...

The following is a recent e-mail conversation among me and two friends I have known since we were about seven. We did not really start hanging out until high school, at which time there were lots of shenanigans. And by "shenanigans" I of course mean "drinking."

I am going to Va. Beach (where I grew up) to visit my Mom in a couple of weeks, and wanted to see these guys who also live there, as it has been way too long since we've gotten together.

And now we're all grown up and married with children. Although in some ways, nothing has really changed since high school:

Old Friend #1: Sounds like my wife would like us to host at the house - and it would be easier for the kids to sneak beer out of the garage fridge this way. So who is ok with that plan on the 28th? I can also introduce you to the new TV. We can go with a Fifty Shades of Grey theme or a theme of "wear your favorite Made in China Olympic gear."

Brutalism: 28th is good here. And thank you so much for hosting. I figure one more visit to your house and we'll have almost a complete set of silver...

We'll bring drinks and dessert and butt plugs if we go with theme Option 1. If we go with theme option 2, we'll bring Chinese-made Olympic gear in addition to food and drinks...and probably still butt plugs, which add a touch of whimsy and fun to any gathering (IMHO). What is everyone drinking these days? Beer? Wine? Spirits? Can I find out how many drinks it takes Old Friend #2 to call 911 on himself?

Old Friend #2: My wife just said, "Great...just great. They're bringing the butt plugs, now what in the hell are we supposed to bring?”

Puttin' a cork in it,
Brutalism

Bittersweet

As will often happen during an impromptu cookout with friends, last weekend's gathering resulted in discussions about bath salts, "safe" words, mocking Marlee Matlin, and some inappropriate comments about Yeti's ass (verdict: he could go up against David Beckham any day of the week).

One of the guests was Jeff Cockey, who brought over five movie-theater-sized boxes of candy for my daughter, continuing his tradition of always bringing gifts for her. (Note: By "movie-theater-sized" I mean the size of the boxes sold at the movie theater concession stand, not that the boxes of candy are the size of a movie theater. Actually, that is exactly the same thing.) I thought this was very sweet until I received a text from my next-door neighbor (who had met Jeff Cockey for the first time during the cookout) a few days later inquiring, "why is your Hollywood friend at my son's little league game?" So I texted Creepy Creeperson to determine whether or not I needed to worry about him buying gifts for my young daughter and it turns out his best friend is a coach for another team so Cockey was there to support him. (Though we are still unsure about why he drove there in a windowless van with "Uncle Funtimes" painted on the side...)

My daughter totally appreciated the gift of assorted candy and like the hostess that the is, placed each type of candy in it's own dish and served it up to her friends. And they all went through the motions of pretending to eat their dinners so they could scarf down about a pound of pure sugar each. Which made for a very relaxing evening for the rest of us. Much like the one my husband experienced in New York City earlier this year, after I had spent a day on Long Island, leaving Avery in the capable(?) hands of her father, hanging out in Manhattan for the day. At one point during the day, I listened to a voice mail they had left me (before losing my phone like the responsible wife/parent I am), and it sounded for all the world like my daughter was on meth. And she was. Kid meth. Otherwise known as the jumbo pixie stick. This was the message, which was parlayed with not a single breath taken between words:

HI-MOM-TODAY-ME-AND-DAD-WENT-TO-TOYS-R-US-ON-THE-WAY-TO-THE-BOWLING-ALLEY-AND-GUESS-WHAT-I-GOT?- I-GOT-A-HUMONGOUS-PIXIE-STICK-IT-WAS-LIKE-THREE-UM-TWO-FEET-TALL-AND-IT-WAS-SO-GOOD-I-EVEN-PUT-SOME-ON-MY-FOOD-WHEN-WE-ATE-AT-THE-BOWLING-ALLEY-AND-I-GOT-TWO-STRIKES. (Then she is prompted by Canetto to say something and she comes back on) "...AND-WE-MISS-YOU.-BYE-MOM." 

Which took me back to my own childhood memory when a relative (Uncle Funtimes?) had given me a jumbo pixie stick, which my parents put NEXT TO MY BED IN MY BEDROOM and then told me I'd have to wait until the next day to eat. (Come on! Of course, I woke up in the middle of the night, ingested the entire thing (probably by doing lines, I wanted it so desperately) and then got in so much trouble the next day for not waiting as instructed.

Worth it? Totally. Especially at this moment when putting this post through spell check and having the checker highlight the words Cockey, Creeperson, Funtimes and meth.

Sweet!
Brutalism

What's Not To Like?

A while back, some friends of mine were hosting the friend-of-a-friend in their home for the weekend. I asked what he was like and my friend said, "He is Native American, gay, a manny, a Mummer, and in town for a tap dancing convention and also to bottle dance at someone's bar mitzvah."

Which is exactly why I always accuse her of making things up.

Hot Cross Bunions

Friday night, we went to the Queen Extravaganza at the 9:30 Club with some friends. Yes, this was a tribute band, and yes, that is kind of inherently un-cool, but I have to say -- this is one of the best shows I have ever seen. There were four great singers rotating through Freddie Mercury's oeuvre (not a euphemism) and the show was totally high energy and fun. Which was fortunate, because it kept our attention focused on the stage and not on the others in the crowd.

Unlike before the show began when my friend who was at the show with me and standing about eight inches to my left sent me a text message saying, "Hideous bunions behind you."

I spun around, looked down, saw the hideous bunions of which he spoke and sent him the following text in response, "I may vomit. P.S. Have you ever seen attractive bunions?"

We were able to put this out of our minds during the show (for the most part), but of course, had to re-visit the topic while heading out of the venue when the show ended.

And blah, blah, blah -- I know that nobody is perfect and that we all have physical imperfections. And this is exactly why they make CLOSED TOED SHOES, for the love of God. (And, thankfully, shirt tails to camouflage vestigial tails...)

Perhaps I've said too much.

My friend and I wondered if maybe we were being a bit narrow about this and he casually suggested that we might be in the minority and even suggested that there may be a bunion fetish web site. To which I said, "Well, there's one way to find out" and pulled out my iPhone. (Note to self: clear browsing history stat!)

(Ed. BunionFetish.com is a registered domain, but it is currently parked and not in use. I don't know whether to be relieved, or wonder if the domain holder is currently engaged in a bidding war with the masses of people who want to have this as their own.)

Now looking for concerts that attract a younger demographic,

Brutalism

UPDATE: DC Blogs linked to this post today. I love DC Blogs.

Old Friends

I originally posted the following on February 4, 2011. I'm re-posting it today because I learned through Facebook last night that Devin (my prom date below) just passed away. He was one of a kind and everyone who knew him loved him. The world is a little less colorful now.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You know how you look back through old school photos and remember a time of innocence? A time of all-American wholesomeness?

Yeah, I don't either.

Recently, I was looking through pictures taken of milestone events in my young life -- you know, ring dance, graduation, and that very special night that holds so much promise, requires so much planning and is the subject of all too many teen romcoms -- the night you use your fake ID for the first time at the Jewish Mother when you're on a date and order a carafe of red wine and then complain to the waiter because it is (and I quote) "warm."

Actually, I'm talking about prom.

Back in high school, I was such a wannabe thrift-store-clothes-wearing, punk rock-loving, weird-guy dating chick. Instead, I was the irregular-Levi's-wearing, new wave-loving, normal-guy dating chick.

Fortunately, I was friends with some of the people I wanted to be like, so I figured I would prove just how "punk" I was by inviting one of these friends to the Bayside prom as my date. (Fun fact: I really did go to Bayside High School. Just like those mischievous imps on Saved by the Bell.)

This, gentle readers, is my prom photo from that night:

I guess this was just a rebellious phase. I'm not really sure what I was rebelling against, but that was kind of beside the point. I was a rebel! And I proved it by attending a school-sanctioned dance wearing the same Gunne Sax Jessica McClintock dress that no fewer than four other girls in my class were wearing.

Talk about sticking it to the man.

My parents did not really understand, and my mother suggested that one day I would regret this choice.

And guess what? She was totally wrong. It may have been a little unorthodox, but at least I had a completely memorable prom experience that is still fun to reflect upon. As a matter of fact, during the discussion in a book club I was in several years ago, our chat turned to first loves due to a theme in the book we were reading. A woman in the group was talking about how she had dated the same guy all through high school and how they had gone to prom and how it was such a quintessential high school romance.

And to that, I got to reply: "Really? Because I went to prom with a bisexual Robert Smith lookalike."

So all these years later, I don't regret a thing. Except perhaps looking my prom date up on Facebook recently:

(And only because he looks wwwwaaaayyyyy better than I do.)

Lip syncing for my life,

Brutalism

Famous Men I've Touched

Thursday, I did my first-ever speaking engagement at the Vale School House in Oakton, Virginia, and I loved every.single.second. and did not want it to end. During the evening, I shared this reading of one of my favorite posts:

(NOTE: I did omit mention of the "euphemisms for masturbation" category during my reading. And I think that was the right choice. Although for the record, I'm sure the category would have been included in the double jeopardy round and that "What is Shaking hands with Abraham Lincoln?" would have been the answer to a daily double.)

People laughed in all the right places, with the exception of after the line about "cities I've thrown up in". (Vomit haters.) And then, during the Q&A portion of the evening, someone inquired, "Who are the famous men you've touched?" And I drew a  complete blank. Seriously? Was my misspent youth so crazy that I cannot even remember all of the famous men with whom I've had skin-to-skin contact?

That night, I went home and compiled the names of these men, so I'll be ready the next time someone asks. (My humorist career should skyrocket after killing with the SRO crowd at the school house, so I'm guessing that the next person who asks me this will likely be Anderson Cooper. And if so, I'll make sure he is added to the list.)

Listed in order of importance, based on what each has contributed to humanity from greatest contributions to most minimal contributions, I give you...the list of famous men I've touched:

Joe E. Tata ("Nat" from the Peach Pit on Beverly Hills 90210)
Jeff Cockey
Jeffrey Ross
Todd Glass (He announced that he was gay shortly after. I'm sure this is unrelated.)
Tom Selleck
Joe Mantegna
Jerry Mathers (who really likes my beaver shot, BTW)
Joe Frazier
John Riggins
Buzz Aldrin
Jimmy Carter  (Sure, Jimmy Carter won the Nobel Peace Prize...but did he teach Dylan McKay responsibility?)

I'll never wash my hands again,
Brutalism

Getting Lucky

(This will so not be the post you expected based on that title -- apologies.)

It's like that old joke about what you get when you play a country song backwards...you get your wife back, you get your job back, you get your dog back...

Just 24 hours ago, I submitted this week's Oakton Patch column -- a column based on the theme of what a big, fat loser I am of late. (Yes, OF LATE. Shut up, everyone who knows me.) And between the time I submitted it and the time it ran this morning, I found out that my iPhone was turned it at Penn Station and my good friends John and Meredith are currently working on retrieving it and shipping it to me, and I also found out that a wonderful neighbor had two tickets to the White House Easter egg roll that she offered up. (I have not stopped smiling today.)

However, I also discovered that my daughter is #58 on the wait list for the magnet school -- so not all has moved on from Schleprockism.

Just mostly.

Off to buy a lottery ticket,
Brutalism

I Should Sue

On Saturday, while watching The Hunger Games in the theater, I was so startled by the appearance of the muttations that I tensed enough to strain a muscle in my calf.

I wish I was kidding.

Which was awesome timing as I was running the Cherry Blossom 10-miler on Sunday. I've avoided this race for a few years, as the last time I ran it, I ended up requiring knee surgery. (Though, to be fair, I ran it three weeks after running a half marathon at a pretty good pace.) And grimacing and curling up in a fetal position while crossing the finish line.

In order to prevent any injuries from happening again, I did a lot of preparation and training this time around. And by that, I mean I did approximately three training runs over the past few months.

I'm an idiot.

But guess what? I finished it. While I did not complete it in great time, I did complete it in a non-humiliating time. And I got to be there while my friend, Amanda, PR'd by THIRTEEN MINUTES.

Even better? When I get a massage tonight, I can blame the tight calves on the run and not on The Hunger Games.

I'm a finely tuned athlete,
Brutalism

If I can ever make a segue about a Segway, my life will be complete

Recently, I used the most horrible verbal transition of my life. During a business call, I discovered that the owner of one of our customer companies had died. I was very empathetic with the Office Manager who was conveying the news to me and told her how sorry we were to hear that and that I could call back as this was obviously not a good time to discuss promotions. She then said, "No, now is okay." So I said solemnly, "Again, I'm really sorry." And since I didn't know where to go from there, I followed it one nanosecond later with a cheery, "Now, let's talk marketing!!!"

As I have a lot to catch you up on, this post will be in blurbs, introduced by the most awkward or disjointed segues I can think of in honor of what a total rube I am.

1) Canetto's mom had surgery yesterday. She was vague about details, letting us know only that it involved her "lady parts." And, trust me, we did not want to probe further.

SEGUE: Speaking of probing my mother-in-law's private parts...

2) I spent last weekend in Manhattan with Canetto and Avery. Highlights included: my cousin's wedding on Long Island, Mary Poppins on Broadway, walking the length of High Line park, taking the ferry to Staten Island, going to the American Girl doll store, bowling with Canetto's friend from high school, and randomly meeting up with a friend I've known since we were seven and discovered we were staying a few blocks from each other in NYC thanks to Facebook. I love social media. So much, it's almost like a disease.

SEGUE: Speaking of social diseases...

3) While coming back to Manhattan on the Long Island Railroad, I left my iPhone on the train when disembarking at the terminal.

SEGUE: Speaking of getting off at Penn Station...

4) I have been invited by a local charitable organization to be a featured speaker at an upcoming event. This alternately thrills me and terrifies me. It is one thing to hide behind the computer to write about unsavory topics...it is another thing entirely to stand in front of a group who is paying to be there listen to you talk about poop and swinging.

SEGUE: Speaking of last Saturday...

5) The owner of a local kids' clothing boutique in Oakton asked me recently if Avery would be interested in modeling Easter dresses. My child, while a fashionista, is completely shy. So I didn't think she'd go for it. But once she realized that she could try on any clothing she wanted and feel like a princess in a fairy tale, she conceded.

SEGUE: Speaking of happy endings... 

I'm out,

SEGUE: That's what he said

Brutalism