Tuesday, May 30, 2006

Party animals

The anniversary party, if I do say so myself, was a huge success. My mom – who I have never been able to pull anything off on – was totally, completely, absolutely surprised. She had no idea. And she was so, so happy.

She just kept saying how nice it was to be in a room with so much love.

The story was that she was going out to dinner with Aunt Lynn. Then my dad, who was supposedly at the country club picking up his golf clubs after having them regripped, called Mom and told her that he’d locked his keys in his car.

So Aunt Lynn and Mom trekked down to the country club (less than a mile from Aunt Lynn’s house), bitching about how stupid my dad was. Mom was content with waiting for him in the car; Aunt Lynn thought quickly and talked Mom into going in with her to grab my dad and check out the wedding reception that was being set up in another room.

They swung by the grill room, where we were holding the party, and – oooh! – look! – there’s Meg! There’s your mom! And your sister from Chicago! And your coworker with the screaming red hair!

The first thing my mom said to my dad was “you knew how to do this?”

The next thing was “I don’t even have makeup on!”

Followed shortly thereafter by “damn you, motherfucker!”

Mom was very disturbed that we pulled such a trick over on her. She was also very pleased.

And, of course, totally proud that Meg and I did the family name good and hosted a hell of a bash. And decorated a gorgeous cake (will definitely post pictures). We are so f’ing domestic.

Before dinner, my grandma made a very sweet toast that made us all cry just a little bit.

Dinner was delicious. The stupid party planning broad gave us the wrong appetizers and claimed that there were no kids meals on our order (liar!), which temporarily turned me into a faux Bridezilla. In addition to being gorgeous, the cake was also quite yummy, but the pieces were cut very small. Like, Meg ate at least five pieces small. Mmmmm.

One of my favorite contributions to the party was the Polaroid photo album that I bought after finding it listed on Mighty Goods. People thought it was totally fun and they wrote my parents very flattering, nice, heartfelt notes. Totally worth the money.

The verdict is out on whether the disposable cameras on the tables were worth the money. My guess? For only the hilarity that is the ridiculous and embarrassing photos of the guests that we’ll get whenever we get around to finishing and developing the cameras (read: six months from now).

The party ran late (we were supposed to be out of the room at 10:00, but it was nearly 11 by the time everyone had gone) and nobody left a minute early.

So it must’ve been a good party, right?

I’d like to think so.

Sunday, May 28, 2006

Here goes nothing!

The party is imminent.

Happy 30, 'rents.

Saturday, May 27, 2006

Social butterfly

Got the invitation to Lucy's wedding in the mail yesterday. It was crazy, oh-they're-really-going-through-with-this moment. Cute invites, though.

Am currently dressed (in an adorable H&M dress I got in Chicago last year, if you must know) and ready to leave for Aviva's brother's financee's wedding shower.

I went this morning and got a manicure and a pedicure and I feel more fabulous than words can possibly describe. I am such a fancy, sophisticated girl. Who owns two hot feet.

(Actually, the part about the hot feet is a complete lie.)

My Aunt Lynn, who is supposed to be bringing my mom to the country club for the anniversary party, just called my mom. She's all "come out to dinner with me tomorrow!" and my mom was all "well, I don't know...maybe...oh! Actually, I don't think I can. Meg has a friend coming over and I told her I'd take them to Mexican Village for dinner."


So I guess Meg and her pal have to find a reason to be unavailable for dinner tomorrow night.

And Aunt Lynn and Dad need to find a reason to get her to the party.

Mostly I am just showing up and looking beautiful.

p.s. Meg and I were out of the house all day yesterday without incident. Mom thinks we were at the boat. We were decorating the cake with beautiful little marzipan grapes. And shopping at Costco.

...Mom went shopping at Costco, too.

Not at the same time. Lucky.

Thursday, May 25, 2006

The lame lie

I think I may have an anxiety attack.

This party is too much!

Last night, I spent the entirety of my evening packing up everything I would need for four days, one wedding shower and one anniversary party away from my apartment. Clothes, shoes, cameras, soccer shorts, makeup, dresses, skates, skating dress, skating tights, sunglasses, etc., etc., etc.

My trunk is very full.

I called home last night to check in with the family. That’s when I got really wound up. Dad tells me that Grandma called over and, without counseling me first, told my mom that Meg and I were going to go with her and Grandpa to their boat on Friday.

And help them put up their mast.

Okay. First of all, Grandma, you’re a pathological liar. Couldn’t you come up with something better than that?

Second, Meg and I would never agree to lend our assistance to such a project. Putting up the mast would be an all-day affair marked by my grandpa bitching, constantly, about how we weren’t doing things right.



There wasn’t any backing out of Grandma’s lie. Meg and I both feigned prior knowledge of the mast mess and I think we convinced Mom that we actually agreed to do this. Hopefully. We don’t need to create any suspicion.

So now Meg and I are stuck at Grandma’s house from approximately 9:00 am until 10:00 pm tomorrow – the length of time that it’d take us to put up the mast on the boat, if we were stupid enough to help with that (we’re not).

And then we’re going to have to come home and come up with some ridiculous stories about how insane and controlling Grandpa is (that part won’t be hard) in relation to putting up the mast (uhhh. Will require “creative thinking.”).


I am not going to get all worked up about this.

I’m not. I won’t. I can’t. Must. Be. Sane.

And then, after my dad tells me about The Lame Lie, I am informed that my cousin Danielle, the actress, is signing the national anthem at the Kittens/Yanks game on Monday.

...the musical she's in begins its Detroit stand next week; her singing the national anthem is part of the promotion, apparently.

So, like, I guess we need to find a lot of tickets and go as a family or whatever. And for some unknown reason, that seems really stressful.

Okay, everything seems stressful.

But that’s my own fault.

Tuesday, May 23, 2006

Cooks in the kitchen

Mom and Dad’s anniversary party is on Sunday. I am so excited! It appears that my mother is still clueless as to the master plan. Why on earth would she even have an inkling? Their anniversary was back in January.

She is totally clueless.

I absolutely cannot wait to see the look on her face!

For the longest time, my dad was basically the figurehead behind this operation. He made the reservations at the country club and left the rest up to us. Guest list? I made it and emailed it to him. And then read it to him. And then pointed out the people who may or may not make the cut. And forced him to decide whether or not they were invited.

Now, Dad has jumped on the bandwagon...along with his sisters and my grandma the troll.

There’s six of us doing the bulk of the planning here and we have reached the point where nothing can be done without significant discussion among all of us.

A few weeks ago, my Aunt Annette suggested that we book the string quartet that played at Cousin Liz’s wedding.

She asked me what I thought.

I told her I’d get back to her.

Called Dad. He wasn’t sure. Called Meg. She didn’t have an answer. Mulled it over with Aunt Lynn. Discussed it with Grandma.

We didn’t make a decision.

On Mother’s Day, at my dad’s new country club (not where we’re holding the party), there was a saxophonist who played during dinner.

Grandma thought he would be fabulous.

She asked me what I thought.

I told her that I liked him.

Discussed it with Dad. Pointed him out to Meg. Brought it up to Aunt Lynn and Aunt Annette.

Dad called him, I know, but I don’t even know if he’s been booked. I’m not concerned. There are too many other things to worry about.

Like the hors d'oeuvres, which required approximately three hours of discussion before settling on two that “weren’t too trashy” (my concern), “people will actually eat” (Meg’s concern) and “were worth what your father is paying for them (Aunt Annette).

And the favors. Which we weren’t going to do. And then we were. And then we weren’t. And then, yes, we were. They would be cookies and Aunt Annette would order them and it would be great.

No! Wait! Grandma had other ideas. She would come over with some ideas right away.

...I think that she ran to the store after proclaiming that she had better, cuter, less expensive ideas and – oops! – couldn’t find anything that was less expensive, more adorable and less labor-intensive.

Never mind, Aunt Annette, cookies it is!

Cookies it is, indeed, but not from where we were originally ordering them from. Cousin Liz had cookies at her wedding shower in Ohio and they were far superior to the cookies she had at her personal shower here in Michigan (which is where we were to order them from).

Cousin Liz is now ordering the cookies.

Grandma ordered the cake that, like Mom and Dad’s wedding cake, she will decorate herself.

(Meg and I are helping.)

And everything was all settled and coming together nicely.

Until yesterday. When Dad has a brilliant idea. How about we invite everyone over to our house afterwards for a party?

There you go! A party after a party!

Otherwise known as an after party. For old people!

In his defense, I’m sure that they would all like to sit around a fire at the lake and drink and be all nostalgic. And it is predicted that this weekend’s weather will be phenomenal. So we’ll try to clean the house without obviously planning for something, Meg and Grandma will go to Costco and buy massive amounts of alcohol and hot dogs and snacks.

Aunt Lynn is buying the flowers for the centerpieces. Aunt Annette will help with the arrangements.

(Meg and I are helping her, too.)

And we’ll all just cross our fingers and hope that all goes as planned. No discussion necessary.

Monday, May 22, 2006

Bloody hell

Way to brag about not having to go to a wedding shower this weekend, Alyson, when you have a wedding shower to go to this weekend!

I don't know how I could've forgotten! After all, it is for Aviva's brother's fiancee, a girl who I could almost pick out of a crowd.

This is what I got them:

Random, right?

Whatever. It was on the registry.

Tra la la la la (or: bonding with Miss Meg)

This weekend was loverly.

I have not enjoyed a weekend so much in many months.

And I anticipate next weekend will be better – as I will have four consecutive days off! And the anniversary party! And I won’t be working for four days straight! And a birthday party for my little cousin Max! And I won’t work for four days!

And I don’t have to go to a wedding shower.

I hate wedding showers.

I’ve already covered Friday night. I worked during the day on Saturday, but was virtually in a coma the entire time, thus making the entire day significantly less painful than it normally is.

I left work at 4:00 pm and was in bed by 4:30. I slept – oh, glorious sleep! – until 9:00 pm when Meg called me. After spending the last two days helping her best friend plan for her wedding (which is another looooong, amusing story), she was on her way over.

We had a stupid wedding shower to go to for Nicole – Meg’s bestest – on Sunday and it was more time/energy/sanity-effective for Meg to spend the night at my apartment.

She didn’t get to my ‘hood until 10:30. We skipped on over to Cheeseburger in Paradise for dinner. My salad was 90% dressing, 10% greenery. Gross. Thank goodness for the mini cheeseburger appetizer.

Back at my apartment ‘round midnight. I lasted through two SNL skits before stumbling into my bed. Sleep felt, again, exceptional.

Meg and I went to breakfast on Sunday morning. We watched MTV for a bit, gussied ourselves up, and went to Nicole’s wedding shower.

Like I said: I hate wedding showers.

After that joyous occasion of pure torture, Meggie and I went to the gym and watched the end of the Pistons game while sweating our asses off, snacked (she likes to eat as much as I do) and went to my hockey game.

At my hockey game, I just tried not to suck because Meg is a legitimate hockey player and I only pretend to be.

Then she went home and I went home and – viola! – weekend over.

Am working four 10-hour days this week.

Getting up this morning sucked my ass.

Saturday, May 20, 2006

Sleepy as good

I got up to skate at 6:30 on Friday morning.

I still haven’t gone to sleep.

Last night was long and lovely. With Colin. Simplistic. Sweet. We’re on the verge of something. I can feel it. It will be good.

I was with him until 10 minutes after six this morning, when I retreated to Stella with visions of Starbucks dancing in my head.

I squinted, inhaled my mocha, sang (poorly) along with the Wicked cast recording as I drove east. Back to my apartment.

Back to work – after an unheard of two-day absence – after a shower and a bit of girly giddiness over a cup of tea.

Work has unsuccessfully put me into a coma.

My bed is going to feel so fucking good.

Thursday, May 18, 2006

Fascinating tidbit

I just drove by where the FBI is digging for Jimmy Hoffa's remains.

So that's sort of novel.

Wednesday, May 17, 2006

The leech that won't leave

It's funny how my parents both conveniently "forgot" to tell me that Meg's, uh, friend Jay impregnated his 19-year girlfriend.

Mom said that I didn't need any more fuel in my fire.

True that!

Jay was out of the picture for a glorious month, after which he saw Meg a few times. Nothing much resulted of it: they weren't back to their all-day, every-day routine on Loser Patrol.

Now Meg is at home, within a 10-minute drive of Jay, with nothing to do. Basically none of her friends are coming home for the summer. Her job as a camp counselor doesn't start until mid-June. And Jay has been over each of the last two days.


I now feel it my responsibility to keep Meg busy all summer. In addition to working at camp, I've set her up with a job within my company (where part-timers, especially in her position, do not deal with 1% of the shit that I do) that will hopefully occupy her from when she leaves camp at 12:30 pm until she goes to sleep.

Everyone, cross your fingers.

I don't know why Jay is back in the picture, anyway.

Probably because he and his baby momma will soon need a babysitter.

Tuesday, May 16, 2006

Turning the bitch in

Probably I should tell someone about what happened. I cannot imagine that a person with even an ounce of common sense would think that last Friday's incident was okay/professional.

But, in a small company, it doesn't take much to be painted in a corner.

Which is pretty much where I am.

My boss is married to the man who is widely considered the best at his (high-ranking) position in the company.

She used to work closely with the lady who is now the one-woman human resources department.

Our one-woman H.R. department is the company president's younger sister.

And I am the screwed bottom-dweller.

I'm certain that my boss told Ms. Human Resources about what happened. I do not doubt that Ms. Human Resources would lie for my boss, should I confront her regarding the means in which she obtained my email password. And I expect that, if I ever bring up the situation to her, it would be calling even more attention to the scarlet letter that I feel like I'm already wearing.

Quite simply: it isn't worth the time, the effort or the energy.

I just need to find a new job.

Because this is going to get worse before it gets better. My company has a history of pushing employees out, making situations so miserable that you quit instead of being fired. That way there's no unemployment for the Cheapest Company in America to pay.

This is the beginning, I feel, of my being pushed out.

Now the question is whether I can dig my heels in and take it until I find a new job.

Or until they give up and just fire me.

Monday, May 15, 2006

My corporate education continues

Early last week, my boss asked all of us to write down our voicemail and email passwords. “Human resources needs it,” she said, “in case of termination.”

I didn’t buy it, but I did as directed.

When I went into work on Friday, I was still pissed off about my “interview.” I fired up my email, as always, as soon as I sat down at my desk.

All of the settings on my Outlook had been changed.

The preview pane was off; auto preview was on. My sent mail was sorted by recipient. My deleted mail was sorted by sender.

I knew, with no doubts, that my boss had been poking around in my email.

She sailed around the corner just as I was realizing that.

I must’ve looked pretty pissed.

“What’s wrong?”

I couldn’t even look at her. If we were going to talk about this, I told her, we were going to talk about it in her office.

“Someone was in my email today,” I told her.

She admitted it was her.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you…”

Okay. You’re telling me that you trust me yet you feel that you have to read my email behind my back?

“…it’s just that you never talk to me. I had to read your email! Why are you so upset? I didn’t find anything bad!”

No fucking shit you didn’t find anything bad, Lady. I could’ve told you that. I would’ve been sitting at my desk with my tail between my legs if that were the case, you ass.

“I just don’t think that you like me.”

So now it’s my job to be your friend?

“You don’t say hello when I come in or say goodbye to me when you leave.”

Okay. So you want a kiss on the cheek in the morning?

“You’re great at your job. You’re awesome.”


I asked her if she wanted us all to sit around holding hands every day. I told her that it wasn’t her job to be liked. I ranted and raved and displayed far more assertion than I ever have in my life. I was just getting going when…

She kicked me out of her office. Told me to go home.

“Fine,” I hissed. “I’ll leave.” I threw her door open and I stalked out. I was halfway out of the front office when she heaved herself out of her chair and waddled out of her office.”

“Excuse me! You get back in here!” She could’ve been talking to her tween daughter.

Once I was inside, she scolded me. “This is what I’m talking about. You have an attitude.”

“You just told me to leave!”

“I was letting you go home to calm down.” She was backpedaling. She must’ve known that, if I left, I wasn’t going back.

We fought a bit more. She brought up me and Kevin – for the first time to me – basically insinuating that I’m the company slut, the company bitch and, well, okay, terribly intelligent and awfully good at my job.

Eventually, I tired of the argument. I gave up fighting. I went back to my desk, stewed in my rage, and finished out the workday.

My boss was best friends with me the rest of the day.

I wanted to puke.

I still want to puke.

Workplace politics is way more than I can deal with.

And you know what made me the maddest? That my boss was blasé enough about snooping through my email to not even bother putting my email back to its original settings because either:

a. she’s too stupid to realize that, in order to successfully spy on others, one would need to cover up her tracks
b. she thinks that I am too stupid to realize that my email settings are completely different
c. she thinks that I am too stupid to connect my new email settings to the fact that she obtained my email password just a few days prior.

Seriously, lady.

Someone is dumb here, but it’s not me.

Do not insult my intelligence.

Sunday, May 14, 2006

Dessert for pervs, part II

Nothing says Happy Mother's Day like chocolate cum cake's lighter cousin, lemon cum cake.

Lemon Pudding 'Cakes' (via the Detroit News)

5 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened, plus extra for greasing ramekins
2 to 3 large lemons
3/4 cup sugar
3 large eggs, separated
3 tablespoons flour
2/3 cup whole milk
Water, for baking
6 strawberries, halved for garnish
Mint sprigs for garnish
Confectioners' sugar for garnish

Generously butter six (3/4 cup) ramekins. Set them in a larger baking pan, such as a 9- by 13-inch Pyrex pan. Zest and juice lemons to yield 1/2 cup lemon juice and 2 tablespoons zest.

With an electric mixer on medium-high speed, beat together butter and sugar until well blended, 3 to 4 minutes, stopping machine to scrape down sides of bowl occasionally. Then beat in zest. Beat in yolks, one at a time, then gradually beat in flour. On reduced speed, beat in lemon juice and finally the milk. Mixture will be somewhat thin and may look curdled; that's OK.

With an electric mixer on high speed and with clean beaters, beat whites in another bowl until soft peaks form. Then in 3 equal additions, gently fold whites into egg yolk mixture. Divide mixture evenly among buttered ramekins. Then fill large pan with enough hot water to come halfway up sides of ramekins. Bake on center rack of preheated 350-degree oven until tester inserted into centers of puddings comes out clean, 18 to 20 minutes. Pudding cakes will puff up like little souffles and then deflate after being removed from oven.

Carefully remove ramekins from pan. You can serve pudding cakes warm, at room temperature or chilled. (If serving chilled, cool, cover and refrigerate them. They can be prepared 1 day ahead.) Garnish each serving with a couple of strawberry halves, a mint sprig and a sprinkle of confectioners' sugar. Serves 6.

Thursday, May 11, 2006

Um. Hi. What the fuck?


Just go straight to Monster, you asses.

And - what the fuck? - don't schedule an "interview" with me if you're going to sit down, tell me that I'm not even close to being qualified, and be done in 2 minutes. Don't get my hopes up.


Wednesday, May 10, 2006

How to ruin a good thing

Normally, I'm anything but shy in proclaiming my love for MTV reality trash.

But I just finished watching one of my cousin Emma's classmates on My Super Sweet Sixteen. And Tiara Girls is featuring a kid from Oakland County, too.


It's less entertaining when it is so close to home.

Impeccable Timing

4:58 pm - I receive an email from the company V.P., responding to an email I'd sent him. Very complimentary.

I'm bouncing back up.

Get me past this first-round interview, and I very well may be golden.


Just what I needed.

Tuesday, May 09, 2006

Careful preparation

I am especially neurotic today.

I woke up in the middle of the night - at almost exactly 2 am - and I couldn't go back to sleep. My ass hurt (thanks, busy Sunday!) and my head was filled with Lucy's wedding. I planned out the wedding shower menu (it has to be a brunch! Breakfast foods are so delightful and my sister can contribute her heavenly cinnamon rolls!) before going back to sleep.

Was anxious all day at work, waiting for a noon marketing meeting with the VP of the company. Wanted to make a glowing impression, as that interview is hanging over my head. Performed perfectly well, as far as I'm concerned, but feel even less confident for no good reason.

Am wondering why I'm even interviewing.

While being struck with the occasional cocky bout of: "they would be fucking dumbasses to pass on me! I can do this! I deserve this!"


I was going to cram for my interview tonight, but that idea fell apart when I realized that 8th and Ocean would be on at 8, 8:30 and 10:30.

Sad but true.

I ran four miles today. That won't help me get the job, either.

Monday, May 08, 2006


The thing about Lucy is that she is laid back. And she thinks that it's okay for to call me today and announce that Labor Day weekend 2006 (!) (I was hoping she would get over the rush-to-be-married flu) will be the wedding; she will merely be amused by my reaction - instantaneous hyperventilation.

She told me that I would be the perfect bridesmaid. I think that had something to do with the fact that I immediately insisted that she make a list (I'm certain that she did not) because I needed to get started.


I am very worked up about this.

Labor Day is SOON.

Translation: a shower is sooner. And, being my mother's daughter, I cannot simply settle for a shower. It must be a beautiful shower that showcases my superior party-planning genes. But it can also not be too fancy and I must not forget that this is Lucy's wedding, not mine, and if she wants to be lackadaisical about it, I have to let her be lackadaisical about it because it is not my job to be the bride and make decisions - that is up to her and her mom and I need to get over it.

And that means that I need to take the following off of my list: registry, guest list, photography, food, cake.

And that I should probably chill the fuck out.

And not call her offering to make a wedding binder.

...which I was just really close to doing.

Because it's not my wedding.

Keep reminding me of that, kids.

Blogging the boring

I was going to write out a nice, elaborate thesis on my weekend, but I realized something: my weekends aren’t exciting.

This has an awful lot to do with the fact that I work on Saturday.

Perhaps this working on Saturday thing won’t be for much longer. That position that my company is doing an internal search to hire for? I’m interviewing on Thursday. I couldn’t be any less confident that I’m perfectly suitable for the job, but I also couldn’t be any more confident that nobody else in this company is any more perfectly suitable. So I have that going for me.

Unfortunately, the job is listed on monster.com.

Maybe the Powers that Be have already decided that the internal candidates are a bust and that interviewing outsiders will be a necessary task.

Maybe I’m looking too much into this.

Maybe I’ll just recap my weekend.

On Thursday night, I went out with Colin. It was uneventful. In a good sort of a way. We’re just feeling our way through this. Nothing in our current relationship could be described as serious. For now, I like it that way.

On Friday, I slept until 8:30 (hurrah!) and spent the day with Mom and Meg. We did lunch and shopping and it was rather lovely. I went back to my apartment late in the evening, watched 20/20 and went sleepy.

I spent Saturday at work. Stupid job.

After working, I went met Meg and Emma at the mall. Meg found a gorgeous dress. We bought 0 Mother’s Day presents (sob). Then we met Emma’s parents for a de-li-cious dinner. Meg and I went back to Mammy and Pappy’s house, jumped in their bed (they were out-of-town for the weekend) and watched Elizabethtown. ...not as good as I had expected.

Sunday was skating (I sucked ass. So embarrassing. Skating is suck a fickle sports), soccer (average performance. Why couldn’t I cross the ball?) and hockey (was peppered with shots, but I was a brick wall personified). Then I went home and went to sleep.

Too much physical activity.

Way too tired today.

Friday, May 05, 2006

Phenomenal dysfunction

I feel that I have restrained myself from being quite the judgmental bitch that I’d like to be in the situation with my Uncle Alan. I’ve been polite – and maybe the slightest bit cold (though I doubt he’d notice, due to his inability to think beyond his high and mighty self) – on the phone with him. I never once told him to go fuck himself. And, in a moment of weakness, I even told him that I would teach him how to ice skate.

Okay. I did tell his marriage secret. I did laugh at his desire to learn how to skate. And, when talking to him on the phone, I do entertain the thought of telling him to fuck himself.

But he doesn’t know that!

Soon, however, he may. Because I am finding it increasingly difficult to restrain myself.

This week, his wife of one week mailed us all a picture (and a bad, off-centered one at that) of the glowing newlyweds outside of the courthouse with one of those CVS-added borders that pronounced Our Wedding Day in grand style.

Shocked the shit out of Aunt Marie.
Amused the hell out of Meg, Emma and Anna.
Made Grandma cry and cry and cry.

You know what? Fuck him.

You don’t do that. You do not announce your wedding to your siblings via trashy photo. No note. No phone call. Nothing.

And who the fuck is this wife of his? She sent the picture. Did she not notice, on obtaining the addresses, that his sister and his parents live less than 10 miles from his house?


And I must point out: she’s not even cute. Her head is the shape of Jay Leno’s.

I talked to that bastard earlier in the week, too. Upon my father’s insistence, we mailed him an invitation to the anniversary party. He called to decline, thank goodness, because the last thing I need is that turd waltzing in on Mom and Dad’s party with his new wife on his arm, causing a scene and ruining the festivities.

I cannot wait until he calls me for those skating lessons. I will take great joy, I think, in finally telling him to go fuck himself.

It's so long overdue.

Wednesday, May 03, 2006


Realization: Mother's Day is in a week and a half and I not only lack gifts for my mother, I also lack ideas for gifts for my mother.

Stevie is buying my mom a new collar for himself to wear. It might seem selfish, but, with the theme of the collar and our XOXO fanaticism, I think she'll be tickled pink.

Other than that, though, we're screwed.

I think I might give her a card that says something along the lines of:

Lady, sorry Mother's Day sucks, but we're throwing you the coolest surprise party ever. Love, Meg and Aly

I think that would suffice.

Tuesday, May 02, 2006

It seems that I am not very smart

I just checked the email address I have for this here blog for the first time since (I am not even kidding) January.


Dear Anyone Who Emailed Me,

Sorry! I am a lazy twit!

Love, Me

I'm now setting a reminder on my MS Outlook. From now on, I'm checking that email at least once a week. So please send me outrageous urban legends and nudie pictures of your grandparents. And notes of love and affection, too. I am changing my ways! For real.

Monday, May 01, 2006

Brave, poor choices

Emma and Anna came over for dinner on Saturday night, sans Aunt Marie (who apparently was quite harsh in speaking to my mom sometime last week before hanging up on her) or their dad (who was in Cincinnati on a golfing trip with my dad).

Emma seemed good.

She was very willing to discuss her hospital stay. She told us about The Cutter, The Bulimic Girl, The Girl Whose Mom Died On New Year’s Eve, The Girl Who Shimmied Up The Fence And Escaped and The 9-year-old Bipolar Girl. She told us about how she was on “SP” – suicide prevention – and how, when other kids asked why she was there, she would say it was for anxiety and depression.

To me, it was awfully brave of her to even discuss it. I would tuck the hospital stay away, put on a smile and pretend it never happened.

After Mom, me, Meg, Emma and Anna went to dinner and ate massive amounts of deliciousness, we settled in on the couch with Meg’s DVD collection to aid our digestion.

Why exactly Meg and Anna (who had both seen the movie) chose In Her Shoes is incredibly beyond me. Okay. It’s a movie that touches on themes that include sisters, family dysfunction, mental illness, suicide and psychiatric drugs. Was this really Emma-appropriate? Could two humans be so self-absorbed that they would not consider this movie in the context of the last week for our family?


It was nearly as bad as settling down with a nice film that featured a death by heart attack as the main catalyst for action with my aunt too, too shortly after my uncle died.

Very awkward.
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