Thursday, May 29, 2008

Fun, but Lazy

It's that time again, for Facebook to whisper in my ear that OMG, my friends have totally been talking about me behind my back, and this is what they said:

Your friends have voted on your strengths and weaknesses:


best dinner companion
person with the best sense of humor
best shopping companion


hardest worker
most outgoing

So... fun but lazy (I am going to take 'least outgoing' literally, as in 'I don't go out'). Yeah, that's about right. Although I do work very hard ... at appearing not to work hard. And I'm only not outgoing because you bore me. Oh, do I sound bitter? Ha! I drink bitters (with bourbon) for breakfast!

Aaaaaaand .... scene.

CNN: Your Top Source for Live Maiming

Is it just me, or does CNN always have video links to its most violent stories? I know it's a news report about the accident, and not video of the actual maiming, but the little video icon always seems awfully ... gauche.

Wanted: Dead or Alive

I was editing pages when the operator called my extension.

"Una, there are some IRS agents here to see you."

Now, I paid my taxes and I make bubkus, so I have no reason to fear the IRS, but my blood ran cold anyway. I imagined being carted away in handcuffs. I contemplated jumping out the window and going on the lam. To bide time, I stalled. "Um, what? I didn't hear you."

"There are some IRS agents looking for you," she repeated, slowly, as if explaining water to Helen Keller.

I walked up to the front desk totally prepared to see the Feds, who, in my imagination, looked like the Blues Brothers, but more sinister. So imagine my surprise--not to mention stomach-clenching relief--when, upon turning the corner, I saw my old co-workers, Nick and Logan, bearing impish grins.

The great thing about a trick like that is that it makes the person incredibly happy to see you. They might vomit though, so take precautions.

Tuesday, May 27, 2008

May Madness: Week O' Weddin's!

I love weddings. LOVE them. Love the canapes, love the champagne, love doing the Electric Slide in a dress I can't afford. I even love being a bridesmaid, which most people find appalling. But I love a lot of things that bum other people out, like birthdays, long car rides, and infomercials.

Anyway, this week is jam packed with nuptial bliss. Yesterday, Jeff and I went to Sara and Jared's wedding at Battery Gardens. I haven't uploaded any photos yet, as it was all I could to to drag myself out of bed this morning (someone--Jeff--kept refilling my three wine glasses). But the wedding was beautiful! Mazel tov! (By the way, no one believed me when I said that I almost fell 6 feet during the Hora at my wedding, but Jared actually DID fall--he's fine, don't worry--which proves that the Hora is a dangerous sport. Use chairs with arms. You have been warned).

THEN, on Friday, I get to watch one of my oldest and dearest friends tie the knot ... it's Adri and Matt's wedding! Here they are during their African bushmen ceremony last year. They decided to do an American version, too, because no one should ever have to choose between taffeta and loincloth.

And rounding out the Week O' Bliss, guess who got herself engaged yesterday? Little Miss Meredith, that's who! My tattoo Tink twin and all-around BFF had her question popped (almost wrote pooped--good save) by her longtime lovah Brian at a Memorial Day party. Yay!

Me and Mer showing off our tats ... (Note: I do have an arm, not just a giant shoulder, but you can't see it in this picture).

Mer and Brian put on their helmets for the bumpy road to love!

So, yes, I am geeking out on fairytale endings this week. I am also probably going to drink too much champagne. But I bet a lot of fairytale endings have more to do with alcohol than we realize. Disney just doesn't show that part.

Friday, May 23, 2008

Mii Fit

Every single morning I set my alarm for 7:00 am. And every single morning I snooze until 8:15, the time when I actually have to get up. I torture myself day after day with interrupted sleep because I believe, deep in my soul, that one day—soon!—I will bound out of bed, fresh and flush with health, go to the living room, and finally do one of my bajillion exercise DVDs.

This never happens. Which is why I have gone to extraordinarily lazy extremes to stave off the letting-myself-go process. I bought, as you may remember, special (expensive!) sneakers that look like orthopedic platforms and are designed to work my lazy ass while I am standing or walking. I think they work, but I can’t actually tell because they are so ugly that I have to wear long pants with them, thus hiding my legs. I also own a Pilates magic circle, which looks like a giant, flexible intrauterine device and which is used to build muscle through resistance exercises. It’s a glorified Thighmaster, but I happily trot it out during commercials, doing plies until it inevitably springs from my knees and flies across the room and breaks something.

So, of course, when I read in the New York Times that there was a fitness video game for the Wii, I knew that it would be mine. Jeff and I like our Wii, but wii (ha!) don't use it that often because it involves unplugging the DVD player, and yes, wii are that lazy. But Wii Fit seemed like the perfect momentary obsession workout regimen for someone with absolutely no willpower or motivation who needs to be distracted in order to exercise (If you dangled a cupcake in front of me, maybe--MAYBE--I would run, but probably I would just go online and order cupcakes from FreshDirect and then watch 14 hours of television while I waited). In other words, desperate abs call for desperate measures.

It arrived in the mail yesterday, and I am going to break it in today. Wish me luck! I am thisclose to buying those vibrating belts that they sell on QVC.

Thursday, May 22, 2008

Bottom-of-the-Barrel Bartending

In a pinch, Sprite and Amaretto make a tasty cocktail. Lin coined the name "Amaghetto" for Amaretto and Coke, so this one will henceforth be known as an Amaghetto Citrus.

Oversharing on Oversharing: So Meta!

A former editor of Gawker, the online media gossip site, is the cover subject of this weekend's New York Times Magazine, which basically tells the story of why it is dangerous to blog about your personal life. This girl, like many other bloggers, went totally balls to the wall on the big, vast worldwide web, sharing sexual escapades, heartbreaks, and gynecological woes (apart from my "woman troubles," I like to think I have been rather modest in this regard -- YOU'RE WELCOME). And I have to admit that a part of me wishes I could be more like them.

It's not that I'm, like, dying to write about my sex life or anything (in fact, I have fairly traditional values when it comes to not slutting it up all over the Internet), but I am very aware that for me, my friends and family come before my blog. I could have, for instance, written a lot about my parents' separation or my father's new relationship and how they affect me, but to do that would be to risk hurting or exposing my parents during a sensitive time. I could write about my friends, a la Carrie in "Sex and the City," using their romantic foibles for comedic fodder. If I did that, I'm sure that I could draw in more readers. But to do that would be an invasion of their privacy, and I'm not willing to jeopardize friendships for some page views.

The one thing I'm allowed to do -- morally, at least -- is write more honestly about myself. But ... putting aside the fact that I am modest unless I've been drinking (a lot), the people who read this blog are not strangers (if you are a stranger, wow, am I glad to have you! I can't believe you are not related to me! Are you sure?). My parents, my sister, my husband, my friends--even George Soros, once--read this. Writing about sex on this blog would be akin to having sex ... in front of all of them. And modesty aside, I'm not self-absorbed enough (or nearly drunk enough) to do that.

Eventually, if I want to publish my writing, I may have to delve deeper and involve my family and friends in my stories. But for now, I'm sticking to my guns. It just sucks for you guys, because my friends are way more exciting than I am.

Wednesday, May 21, 2008

Holly GoHomely: The Hills

I have been watching waaaaaaaay too much TV lately, which can be blamed on my iPod nano, and my shameless consumption of practically anything that graces the "magic box." Having caught up with all of my favorite network shows (The Office, 30 Rock, How I Met Your Mother, Desperate Housewives), I finally turned to a phenomenon that I have been reading about for over a year: "The Hills." A spin-off of "Laguna Beach: The Real Orange County" (which I watched last year on Netflix and which made Jeff reconsider his proposal a little bit ... though not as much as when I followed that up with "Newlyweds: Nick and Jessica," but I digress), "The Hills" is a "reality" show that follows the lives of four young women living in Hollywood. There's no hook, really; they aren't competing for a prize or for money, they aren't alcoholics or divorcees (yet), and they don't seem too concerned with creating dramatic storylines. They just live their normal--albeit privileged--lives in front of an extraordinarily sympathetic and unintrusive camera (the lighting is lush and they never seem to be filmed without their express consent, unlike other reality shows that peek around corners into bedrooms and feature garish, grainy cinematography).

As many people before me have noted, the show is at once mind-numbingly meaningless and powerfully addictive. I can't really explain the phenomenon: watching it, the characters' lives are at once better and worse than your own life, which somehow works out as comforting. It has the pretty factor (i.e. not the "comfort" of something like "The Biggest Loser") but also the petty factor (their "problems" are never real problems), so you get to look at glamour and Mystic Tans while feeling good about yourself as a person. This, I think, is the magic mixture of "The Hills." The funny thing is that nobody wants to just say that it's ridiculous and fun. The media has been falling all over themselves with high-brow cultural comparisons to justify their love of it. The New York Times actually compared the show to the films of Antonioni and called its Barbie-esque villain, Heidi (who is currently dating a whiteboy Machiavelli who self-identifies as a "playa") "a feminist hero." Rolling Stone compared the dialogue to Harold Pinter, albeit "after 5 shots of NyQuil." And it seems everywhere I look people are trying to explain why "The Hills" is an important cultural phenomenon. Answer: it's not.

The women on the show are not heroines. Lauren, the narrator and lead, seems like a basically good person, but she's also basically rich and self-absorbed. Heidi, her former best friend and nemesis, got nose- and boob jobs immediately after beginning to date the evil Spencer, and generally displays the self-confidence of a wiffle ball. Audrina, Lauren's new roommate is, I'm sorry, painfully dumb (or at least sounds--and acts--like it). And Whitney, Lauren's co-worker, is sweet but garners almost no screen time, as she has an actual job, it seems. The thing is, these girls aren't trying to be the voice of a generation. And I don't think MTV is trying to make them seem that way. Can't we call it like it is, and just say that we like insipid television? Is that too much to ask?

Given that the current crop of network shows include "Farmer Wants a Wife" and "My Dad is Better Than Your Dad" (really), I guess "The Hills" seems kind of like Shakespeare. But Shakespeare was "The Hills" of its time. Think on that for a fortnight.

Tuesday, May 20, 2008

Happy Primary/Possible Almost End to the Democratic Nomination Race!

Depending on your mood, I give you actual satire/humor:

Or just Bollywood music and a dancing head! Enjoy!


Saturday, May 17, 2008

New Regime

Serious congratulations to Steve and to Ray, but ... wow.

Thursday, May 15, 2008

When You Are Low and Life is Making You Lonely, You Can Always Go ...

I hate shared iTunes libraries--the way you can automatically see all of the playlists in your computer network. What if I don't want anyone to know that I like to download Petula Clark songs when I'm feeling sad?

Worse -- they don't know I'm sad! They just think I love Petula Clark and "How I Met Your Mother", which, OK, are both true, but on paper, make me seem ... not cool.

Wednesday, May 14, 2008

Denim Days

Awhile ago I said I would blog about my new jean jacket, and unfortunately for all of you I was not kidding. See, I am enamored with this thing, mostly because a jean jacket, to me, is like a wearable time capsule that takes me back to 1993. I am not -- as much as I would like to be -- the sort of person who can wear a jean jacket and make it look chic. I inevitably look like a preteen ranch hand, much in the way that suit jackets make me look like a miniature train conductor. However, I covet my jean jacket, and imagine that some day I will put it on and will suddenly appear tan and willowy, as if I have stumbled out of a Ralph Lauren advertisement.

Seriously, though, this new one is a vast improvement over my actual 1993 jean jacket. First of all, I took to wearing that one with jeans, which was (unbeknownst to me) wildly ballsy as I now think of denim-on-denim as similar to Halley's comet in that it only works about once a century. Also, the jeans were stonewashed with ankle snaps and I wore them with blue docksider shoes and a neckerchief, but my eye starts twitching when I think too hard on the details. I know you won't believe how bad it was, so against my better judgment I will show you:

See? Even Hans Christian Andersen looks nonplussed.

But this new jean jacket actually IS Ralph Lauren and is NOT worn with jeans, neckerchiefs, or unibrows (or Eddie Vedder hair), and so I have high hopes. The nostalgia factor is still there, which is important to me, because while I would rather not look the way I did in 7th grade, I like walking down the street in my denim jacket and feeling the promise of summer as I listen to Arrested Development (the group, not the show) and SWV on my iPod. It takes me back to a simpler time, when work meant homework, when love was determined by M.A.S.H., and when an afternoon spent flipping through Sassy magazine with stack of crackers was my idea of pure happiness.

Sobriety Test

Last night I skipped dinner and had two glasses of wine, which, for someone of my size and constitution, equals drunky drunk. When I got home I leapt onto Jeff and began to regale him with inane sound bites, as I am wont to do when I have been on the sauce. Jeff sort of set me aside (nicely) and suggested I simmer down. Which is when I started it.

ME: "I'm not that drunk! Give me a sobriety test!"
JEFF (thinks for a minute): "Name the last ten presidents in reverse order."
ME: "Bush, Clinton, George H.W. Bush, Reagan, Carter, Ford, Nixon, Johnson, Kennedy .... um ...."
JEFF: "You like him."
ME: "Ike! Dwight Eisenhower! Give me another."
JEFF: "Name all of the states on the Eastern Seaboard."
ME: "Uh .... Maine."
JEFF: "Yes."
ME: "Vermont?"
JEFF: "Uh .... no."
ME: "But it's eastern!"
JEFF: "But it's not on the seaboard."
ME: "This sucks! This is a real test. I wanted a SOBRIETY test. Like touch my hands to my nose."
JEFF: "Walk in a straight line."
ME: "That's more like it."

Basically what this teaches us is that I was woefully betrayed by my schooling. I'd like to think that the wine had something to do with it. But then, I had no problem walking in a straight line.

Tuesday, May 13, 2008

Tuesday: Random

Okay, A.

You will notice that my posts are now all signed "written by Sassy." No, I haven't farmed out my blogging to a gloriously-named intern; rather, I am trying to avoid tying my name to the blog from here on out because I work for a big company now and I can't risk being associated with my own fluffy, occasionally dirty and/or irate musings.

B. Omigod my iPod Nano can download TV shows and now I can watch TV on the subway, on a desert island, ANYWHERE. Goodbye, remaining brain cells. Hello, Desperate Housewives.

Thursday, May 8, 2008

Way to Run on the Racial Divide Platform!

Today Hillary Clinton thought it wise to point out that she is winning the presidential race among whites. Um, A. No shit, and B. Not smart to brag about that when your opponent is not white. That is like drawing a big red line down the middle of America's racial divide and declaring "Racists love me!" The exact quote: that Obama's support among "working, hard-working Americans, white Americans" is waning. (I guess that means that his support among unemployed Americans, lazy Americans, minority Americans must be rocking -- score!) Why, rabid media, wouldn't you say that she is implying that black people don't work hard?

Of course you wouldn't, because you don't even care that McCain sought out the endorsement of a reverend who thinks Pamela Anderson drinks “the blood of the Jewish people.”

Oh, and she added that "whites in both states who had not completed college were supporting me." Them there is bragging rights if I ever seen 'em.

Desperately Seeking W.

So Oliver Stone is making a W. biopic.

They got Josh Brolin to play Bush:

Brolin's "bushface" looks like he's about to vomit, don't it? They totally should have gotten Kyle Chandler* (aka Coach Taylor from "Friday Night Lights" -- git 'er done!):

Just look at that charming, frat boy grin! Plus, Chandler is Southern. Then again, vomiting is key to official Bush foreign policy...

*Note to all Hollywood casting agents: I am awesome at casting celebrity biopics. Call me.

Wednesday, May 7, 2008

Walk, Don't Rush, to the Polls

Why, oh why, CNN, must you pay attention to that portly, nagging child tugging on your pant leg? I'm speaking, of course, of Rush Limbaugh, who decided when he got up today that his disingenuous endorsement of the likely Democratic nominee was newsworthy.

Almost everything Rush Limbaugh has ever said or done reminds me of what a six year-old might do*, only with less wit and aplomb. When he urged Republicans to cross party lines and vote for Hillary, he was clearly sooooo pleased with himself, even though he was, basically, just rallying his friends to knock over the Democrats' Lincoln logs. This Obama "endorsement" is simply a remedial** reverse psychology move, pulled off -- in classic Limbaugh style -- with all the subtlety of a wrecking ball.

So, in kind, I'd like to suggest that lightning not strike this fantastic human being, as a personal favor to me.

*apologies to six year-olds for this comparison
** no offense, remedial students

Monday, May 5, 2008

Thesis of What Eventually Will be a Tour-de-Force Essay on the Unibrow

There are only two positive representations of unibrows in American popular culture:


The rest are all evil sidekicks like so:

Or worse:


Saturday, May 3, 2008

The True Measure of a Woman is How Her Friends Draw Her ...

My former roommates and best buds Ellaree and Betsy hung out in California last week. Sadly, I couldn't join, so I asked them to draw me and to take me with them wherever they went.

I was asking for it ...

True friends black out your teeth and give you back your unibrow.

I love you, Bets and Ell!

Friday, May 2, 2008

Don't be a Una!

Jeff and I were looking at Urban Dictionary tonight, mostly grossing ourselves out with various novel sexual practices. Then, of course, I had to enter my own name...


a girl who is gorgeous from far (ooo) away but extremely unattractive up close (nah)
"damn im gonna talk to that girl over there"
"no dont, as soon as you get there, you'll see shes a una"

Jeff: "DAMN! The internet fucking schooled you!"
Me: Thanks, honey.

Don't ever enter your own name into a search engine. No matter what, you will be humbled.
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