Another Lattice of Coincidence Kind of Deal
Posted: March 7, 2009 Filed under: Day-to-Day, family Leave a commentMy dryer hasn’t been so great lately. It was taking two and sometimes three cycles to dry. I knew I needed to clean out the vent, but I just hadn’t gotten to it. I kept thinking about it. I have the tools. I have this
little brush on a long wire, kind of like the one Dick Van Dyke carries around in Mary Poppins. I even have a special vacuum cleaner attachment. It all came in this kit I had bought a couple of years ago, and I think I’ve cleaned the vent once since then.
Not exciting, but like I said, it was on my mind. I was going to get to it. The other night I was reading on the couch while Manfrengensen was watching basketball, and a commercial came on. “Does your dryer take more than one cycle to dry your laundry?” came the words of the announcer.
I took notice, looked up from my book, thinking, Why, yes. As a matter of fact, it does. The announcer then proceeded to scare the crap out of me with the possibility (nay probability) of a dryer fire caused by the build up of lint in the vent.
Aaaaah!
That night, where I might usually have run the dryer when I went up to bed, I didn’t, out of fear.
I was going to get to it, and I had to get to it soon, because there was a load of wet wash in the machine. The ad gave a number to call for professional cleaning, and before I went to bed that night, I opened up the phone book and checked out the options, planning to call the next day. (Turns out a lot of the companies that clean out dryer vents are also chimney sweeps like Dick Van Dyke.)
First thing Thursday morning, I happened to speak to my mother-in-law, and I just casually asked her what was going on with everyone in the family she’s usually in contact with. She answered with a bit of random excitement from her end: that my sister-in-law had had a dryer vent fire the day before.
The Lattice of Coincidence strikes again.
Okay, I had to get that wash done, so I figured I would take a look behind the dryer to see if there was something I could do in a non-professional capacity. I pulled the dryer out just a few inches and what do you know? The dryer vent tube became entirely dislodged. I had none of that silver tape to reattach it, so now I was totally out dryer-wise.
My father, thankfully, helped me put it all back together. I could do a whole post on how great my father is.
Anyway, we’re back online now with the laundry. And I got it all cleaned with my Dick-Van-Dyke-esque tools.
In other news, yesterday The Princess developed a wicked case of pinkeye. Manfrengensen says she looks like she went ten rounds with Mike Tyson.
Maybe I’m Not As Uncool As I Think
Posted: March 5, 2009 Filed under: Celebrities Leave a commentCheck out Naomi Watts, walking recently in NYC with Liev Schreiber.

Good, Bad, Ugly, All In a Week’s Work.
Posted: March 4, 2009 Filed under: Dieting, family | Tags: Dieting, parenting, shopping, sledding 2 CommentsI’ve been kind of stressed lately. I know that’s going to shock you, as I am sure I seem so together and easy going here. Ahem.
Anyway, the kids have been sick for a spell. I figured out today that between snow days and sick days, my kids have been home for six of the last ten, when they should have been in school.
But they are all on the mend, and the snow is melting. We had some good times sledding, even though Clooney was almost killed….Okay, it wasn’t my best moment in mothering, but you know, I have plenty of those. I’m a good mom. Just because I failed to stop my son from careening down a steep hill, doesn’t make me a bad mom. See here:
I don’t know…I figured he would know to roll out of the sled. So it hasn’t really snowed here since 2005, when he was two, and he’s never really been sledding. But I just figured he would roll out of the thing. Thankfully the folks driving on the street at the bottom of this hill were watching and driving carefully. Clooney came to a stop right in front of the bumper of an SUV, along with (briefly) my heart.
Thanks to whomever the patron saint of sledding might be.
Here’s the funny thing though: I’m such a dweeb. I was the only person on the hill that day wearing a hood. I don’t know what’s with people. They were all out there with their necks exposed in teen-degree weather. Not me — I’m bundled. I may be a dweeb, but I’m a warm one. Manfrengensen teases me that I look like Han Solo on Hoth in that get up.

Almost as warm as the inside of a ton-ton.
But like I said, I was warm. We’d been sledding for like an hour, and they decided to do one more run, but I was finished and stayed at the bottom. Manfrengensen started to walk, and when he was like fifty or sixty feet from me, he turned back to me and yelled something that sounded like, “Blah, blah blah, tree.” My hearing’s not too good with the hood on. I kind of interpreted his words like a dog interprets those of a master. My head may even have been cocked to one side. “What?” I asked for clarification. And again, he said, “Blah, blah blah, tree.”
So, I figured he wanted me to wait by the big tree there, maybe take some pictures or video (see above as proof of what a great job I did at that). Turns out though (and I only found this after we’d nearly lost one of our young) he’d said, “Stand down here and make sure they don’t go into the street.”
Oh. That made more sense, I guess.
So, I sat in the corner with the dunce cap that night.
Then yesterday: The boys had another snow day, but The Princess had a dentist appointment, and we also had some errands to run. Because I wasn’t sure of the condition of the roads, I gave us some extra time to get there, planning to leave the house at 9:30. Things always happen though. Someone always has to go to the bathroom after they’re all bundled to go. I couldn’t find my gloves. I had my purse over my shoulder, along with a bag packed for the Y, figuring we would go there later in the morning.
So all that’s over my shoulder when one of them asked me to help him find his glove, which had been removed after sledding the night before and thrown into a massive pile of laundry in our galley of a laundry room. I had made some delicious coffee yesterday, and I had put some in a travel mug and worked all my chemical magic to get it just right. I set the cup on the washer, and bent down to look for the glove. But somehow, the stuff over my shoulder upset the coffee, and the thing went FLYING, landing totally upside down and commencing to empty onto the laundry room rug.
And I have to say that I am pretty proud of myself for not using the F word right then.
But then I stood up. I really don’t know what I did to that coffee cup, but somehow as it went down, it must have flown up and around, and when it did it sprayed EVERYTHING in the laundry room with sweet caramel-colored nectar. There was coffee on the window, the window pane, the window sill, the baseboards, the wall, the washer, the dryer. There was even coffee on both the inside and outside of the slightly-open door of the laundry chute. I’m talking total carnage.
So I cleaned that up and we made it to the dentist with seconds to spare. That went well. The boys were good waiting, and The Princess handled her first cleaning like a sparkly-toothed pro. We left to head for my Jenny Craig appointment, again with minutes to spare and got about five hundred yards out of the parking lot when the dentist’s receptionist called to ask if we might have left a case full of DS games (and I figured out there were about $300-worth of games in that case) behind. Yes we had. If Edison’s head were not attached, I think you know what might happen.
Later, more milk was spilled at home in a dramatic fashion that covered most of the table and kitchen chairs. That was when I think I came closest to totally losing it. Especially when Clooney told me that I had “missed a spot” cleaning it up. Then I kind of went Incredible Hulk for a minute.
So here’s the good:
At Jenny Craig yesterday, I had dropped another 2+ pounds, taking me over the 30-pound mark. Technically speaking, I have less than five more pounds to lose.
Today I went to Macy’s for the bra sale they are having (buy two, get one free) and I got four bras for the price of the one I was wearing from the place I went to in Unmentionables (the everyday one.) But in that bra’s defense, I want to tell you
that I went to Ann Taylor after that and tried on a T-shirt that made me think “My God, that looks like a FABULOUS rack! I must buy this shirt.” I freaking looked like I had Sarah-Jessica-Parker boobs, and (as you may or may not be aware) those are not to be sneezed at. Unfortunately, my belly button, which was shrouded in what’s left of the flab (damn baby weight!) and visibly outlined by the white spandex-cotton blend, spoke the sense to me through the clingly fabric to counsel against it. It said, quite frankly, “Sister, you are no SJP. We’ll talk again when you lose those five.”
BUT despite the talking belly button incident, I tried on these jeans today that I had tried on more than a month ago. They were a little tight back then, and gave me a bit of muffin-top (and I don’t like muffin-top, at least not on me). A month ago, I had left them at the store. Today they fit great! I almost cried. Nice to go clothes shopping and like the way I look and feel.
Overall though, I can’t believe it’s only Wednesday. This morning I loaded up the crock pot with chicken and ingredients to make some kind of mushroom chicken thing. When I got back from the mall five hours later, I checked on it: forgot to plug it in. Doh!
Slumdog Tourism
Posted: February 24, 2009 Filed under: movies | Tags: movies, Oscars, Slumdog Millionaire Leave a commentI’m glad Slumdog Millionaire won Best Picture at the Oscars (which was THE most boring and self-important ceremony of all time). It was a great movie, but I have to say that it was the best movie I never want to see again.
I don’t get these people who are going to see the slums of Mumbai after seeing this movie. How heartless and moronic is that? Who says to themselves after seeing this movie, “Man, I’ve just got to see those SLUMS!” Like they’re going to visit a zoo or one of those drive-through safari parks. How out-of-touch do you have to be to think the slums of Mumbai are fodder for sightseeing?
Do the world a favor — take those thousands you would spend on your vacation to the slums and give them to a relief organization. I’m not saying don’t go to India. By all means, go. See the Taj Mahal, experience the culture, maybe even hire a real-live yogi for an hour or so. But please, don’t sit in your chauffered, air-conditioned Mercedes and look out the window at people living in squalor. It takes away what dignity they cling to, and it dishonors you as well.
One more thing about the Slumdog, and I will be finished. Again, great film. But what kills me is the ads. Whenever you see a clip, it’s always Latika turning around in slow motion, the wind in her hair, making eye contact with Jamal across the crowded train platform. The print ads feature a photo of the two of them smiling and dancing, taken from the Bollywood-homage dance number that appears as the credits roll and has nothing to do with the story in the film. I’m not saying they should feature the scene at the orphanage with the spoon or anything. I just find it interesting that they sell it like it’s this happy kind of Indian Step Up 2.

Like I said, it’s a great movie, but I wouldn’t say that I “felt good” about it.
Speaking of wealthy, I’ve been thinking again about the $54 panties. I think there should be a special tax on $54 panties. Like, if you’re spending $54 on panties, you should automatically have to give a reasonable sum to someone who can’t afford clothing.
Just my 2 cents. Thanks for reading.
This word you keep using…
Posted: February 22, 2009 Filed under: movies | Tags: Marisa Tomei, Sean Penn 2 CommentsI do not think it means what you think it means…
There was an article in Friday’s Wall Street Journal focusing on the instances where playing a stripper or prostitute has garnered Oscar nominations or wins for the actress in those roles.
The latest actress to earn such a nomination is Marisa Tomei in The Wrestler.
The piece talks about how the prostitute/stripper role is a kind of tried-and-true archetype, (and one could argue tired-and-true) the kind of part in which an actress might be able to reveal a kind of dichotomy of sorts, the good and the bad rolled into one, the diamond in the rough of an essentially flawed character. It’s a character we’ve seen countless times, and I think the article does a good job of covering Hollywood’s fixation on this kind of female role, though it doesn’t really touch on the kind of inherent misogyny that films like Pretty Woman convey. (I mean, the hooker with the heart of gold is SUCH a fantasy; more often a fantasy than a reality, I would assume. I know this is the point of Pretty Woman. It’s escapist popcorn fare, and it doesn’t claim to be anything that it’s not, provided, of course, that you don’t count Julia’s Oscar nod. But I imagine you will find that kind of lovable whore probably as often as you will find a street walker who looks like Julia Roberts.) I just worry sometimes that these films kind of perpetuate the fantasy and thus the misogyny.
My favorite part of the article is a quote from Ms.Tomei, who says of her research at strip clubs before filming, “My aim in the film was to honor the women I met and to represent them in a meaningful way.” Honor? Really? I don’t mean to seem callous, or anything, but it’s not like these ladies are heroes or anything. They’re not saving lives or helping feed the minds of the next generation. They’re working on poles and jiggling their gear. I’m not saying their lives aren’t hard, but I just don’t think honor is something they’re too worried about.
But I wish Ms. Tomei luck tonight at the Oscars. I do think she’s a fine actress.
And can I just say something about Sean Penn as Harvey Milk? Okay — I knew the Harvey Milk story really well going into the theater that night. I had seen the documentary The Times of Harvey Milk years and years ago when it was playing in the theater. So I had no surprises. But I didn’t think Sean Penn was all that. Really. If anything, I thought at times that he played Milk kind of close to the character he played in I Am Sam. Sometimes he played it a little too gay, on the brink of stereotype even. And maybe Milk was kind of like that, but what I am saying is that it was no big stretch for Penn, who is also a fine actor and fine here, but not his best.
Hollywood always makes like these “gay-centered” films are so courageous, but I don’t really think so. How is it courageous for Sean Penn, or Jake Gyllenhall or Heath Ledger to play homosexuals? If Hollywood were truly courageous, it might actually cast a gay actor in a gay part once in a while. I’m sorry, but that’s what I think, and I said it. You’re telling me they can’t find any gay actors? Or gay actors with big enough names for the marquee? Please. I think they just don’t give people credit for being able to watch an actor that they know is gay play a gay part. It’s much easier for John and Jane Q. Cineplex to think, “Oh, it’s okay to see Sean Penn kiss a man because really, he’s not like that. Isn’t he a great actor?”
Frankly, I thought Clint Eastwood was better in Gran Torino. I even thought Richard Jenkins was better in The Visitor. (Which is a great movie. You should see that.) But Sean Penn will probably come away with the award tonight not only because he’s Sean Penn, but also because voting for him would be a statement against Prop 8. (Prop 8, by the way is abhorrent. It should be repealed, but it has nothing to do with Penn’s performance.)
Oscars, Shmoscars, who really cares?
I’ll tell you what I care about — tonight Manfrengensen and I had a sitter and there was NOTHING at the movies. Medea Goes to Jail…um, I don’t think so. (Can I just ask — why do the
plots of so many films aimed at African American audiences involve men dressing as women or men dressing in fat suits or both? Is this something that plays well time and again with those audiences? These films must do well right?) Shopaholic? Not wasting the cash. He’s Just Not That Into You? Not into that. Crap, crap, crap. We went bowling instead, which was fun, and the place was packed. I threw rocks in the first game, but petered out in the second, which is my usual pattern when keggling.
Do You Smell That?
Posted: February 2, 2009 Filed under: family 1 CommentIt’s my muffin burning.
Edison and Clooney go to a school that is only co-ed through the third grade. When I went there, the ratio of boys to girls was about even, but I guess over the years it’s developed a reputation for being more of a girls’ school and the number of boys has dwindled. This year, the two sections of third grade have eight boys total, with four in each classroom.
Last year, there were no boys in the third grade at all, and the administration freaked out. What can we do to keep boys? What can we do to attract boys? They had this big parents meeting where all these ideas were aired and floated, but this year, there really hasn’t been much talk of the problem.
Edison has been there for the last five-plus years, and until this one, I really didn’t feel many gender differences in terms of the teaching. But this year is different. He had to read Sarah Plain and Tall, which was a chore for him. In fact, this child who does love to read when the material means something to him, has begun to lament that he’s “not good at reading.” And that’s not good at all.
I’ve also noticed that the assignments this year have a definitely feminine slant. The word problems are often about girls. They did another reading packet several weeks ago that involved sewing and making a quilt. Today he was doing corrections on a test about African culture that focused on a girl who made a certain kind of special cloth. How is that meaningful or engaging to an eight-year-old boy? And Edison’s not the most rough-and-tumble kind of guy either. He’s the kind of guy who will always have soft hands, which isn’t a bad thing, I’m just saying he’s more cerebral than physical.
So then, I’ve kind of noticed in the last year or two that the party invitations have dried up. Not a big deal. He definitely goes to plenty of them, but not as many as he did in kindergarten or first grade. The other day, he mentioned that one of the girls was having a Valentine’s Day party. I asked if he had been invited, but he said no, that none of the boys were invited because as the girl’s mother put it, “They would be too wild.”
Way to teach the boys how to act in social situations, lady! Besides, there are only four boys in the classroom, and I happen to know that they are all nice kids. There aren’t any problems in the classroom. It’s not like the teacher’s got eleven girls and four monkeys.
Though this is the same woman who didn’t contribute to aid a needy family at Christmas that the class had taken on. The family had five kids, the youngest of whom had cerebral palsy. The parents had been out of work for several weeks. It was a sad story. But this girl’s mom told her daughter (who then told my son) that it was pointless to give them money because “the parents are just going to spend it on cigarettes.” Nice. Charitable. Really Christian. (Not that I am into that, but hey, it is a Catholic school whose motto is “to serve.”)
But maybe I am wrong. Maybe separating girls from boys for parties a reasonable thing. Edison doesn’t care that he wasn’t invited to the party, and frankly neither do I. But I just think that it’s a little young to start excluding members of the group. Plus if we are so worried about keeping and attracting boys to this school, excluding them from activities certainly doesn’t help.
Unmentionables
Posted: February 1, 2009 Filed under: Day-to-Day, Dieting, family | Tags: underwear, Victoria's Secret 1 CommentSo, with all the weight I have lost, I needed some new underthings. But I had no idea what size bra I am any more, so I needed to get fitted. For Christmas, someone gave me a gift card to Victoria’s Secret, so I made time to go there.
But you know, it’s their busy season. They had two girls working, and like fifteen people in line waiting to pay (made me think recession shmacession, but then sex always sells, right?) so I kind of tried blindly to find a bra that would fit to no avail. I had been a 4_ D+, so I was trying

Yeah, I could pull this off. It would just be hard to get the wings through the door of my bedroom.
3_ C’s and 3_ C’s, and in every case, the cups would runneth over.
What I really needed was some help. Ideally, this help would come from someone who knew what she was doing though, some woman on the west end of middle age who was wearing both a tape measure and a pair of glasses around her neck. I don’t know what Victoria’s Secret is like in your neck of the woods, but the one at my sad little mall (the one that’s one bad holiday season away from having a wig store?) is sparsely populated with college-age girls who look as though they may have barely passed their G.E.D. for all their looking at their own reflections in any window or surface that might do the reflecting.
Besides, I have this theory about Victoria’s Secret: They’re not all that. They are fast food for underwear, like the McDonald’s of Underwear (Manfrengen says, “So, they’re like McBra-nalds?”) but no one says they’re the McDonald’s of Underwear because what they see is Stephanie Seymour, Heidi Klum or Naomi Campbell in a lacy bra and panties and people (specifically men and the women who aspire to be such fantasies) are just like “ooh, SPEC-TAC-ULAR!” but really it’s just eye candy…junk food.
Seriously. I blame Victoria’s Secret for the unnecessary pervasiveness of the thong, which let’s face it, is a kindness to call at the very least misogynistic. All you have to do is add Victoria’s Secret to the mindlessness (that masquerades as female empowerment) that is Sex and the City, and what you will get is a lot of sheep who believe they need sheering in a Brazilian style.
So I left Victoria’s Secret in search of that lady with the tape measure and her glasses on a chain. I went to this store in a little shopping center that my stepmom had recommended, and sure enough, the ladies there were at the ready with the tape measures.

Expressing It.
So, I got measured, and I actually learned something new: that while your measurement goes down, your cup size actually goes up. So even though I have gone from 4_ to 3_, I’m still in the D territory. The woman got me all fitted with a nice comfortable every-day bra, and then I said, you know, how ’bout something with a little more va-voom? Something that could lift me to the heights I was in the 1980’s? Sure enough, she pulled out this sexy number with black tulle and a little tuxedo thing going on between the underwire. It had a little row of roses going up the middle. (Just an aside: who designs underwear? How about that for a career?) Any way, yes, it fit nicely. Not only did I look like something out of the 1980’s, I looked and felt like Madonna circa 1987.
It was very nice indeed, so I told the woman I would take it. Then she asked if I would like to see the matching panties, and I thought what the hell? I’ll go for broke. Let me tell you: I have always been a strictly Jockey girl. I have never owned a matching set of bra and panties. It’s just never been important to me to have such a thing, and I have never suffered either sexually or self-esteem-wise because of it. Just never got around to it. Its not that I don’t buy into sexy. I like sexy and to feel sexy, it’s just personally I’m more like the sexy librarian than the kind of girl who looks like she should be working on a pole. But okay, today I had decided to go for broke. Today I would get the panties that matched this fabulous bra. What the hell.
Then she brought the panties. She said they were panties, but I wasn’t so sure. In the front, yes they had that kind of tuxedo thing going on around I guess you could say where the band of the panties should go; they were kind of that hipster-style brief, but everything else, including the crotch, was tulle. Black tulle. There was no elastic in the back or anything, it was just tulle, and I could picture my cheeks basically swinging in the breeze that this flowing fabric would fan. But I’m a gamer, I figured I would check it out, and I did, but it didn’t feel right. It wasn’t me.
Then I looked at the price tag: FIFTY-FOUR DOLLARS. For panties! That had very little fabric! Fifty-four dollars…I don’t even know that I have ever paid that much for a whole pair of pants. I probably have, but I am sure I felt like I better get my money’s worth out of them.
So then I thought, crap, I already said I was taking the bra, let me check the price tag here. Va-Voom! I don’t want to tell you the exact price, but let me just say that those beans could buy a lot of Jockeys. But you know, Jockey’s not that sexy, so I went with it. I’ll wear it for those special special occasions, and when I do, even though I probably won’t be able to breath as freely, and the lace on the straps are likely as not to give me a rash, I will feel like a million bucks. At least for the evening.
The First Casualty
Posted: January 24, 2009 Filed under: family | Tags: fish 1 CommentClooney just came to me to say that there was “something wrong with Anthony” the fish. I kind of knew it was coming because when I fed them today, only two fish seemed to be coming to the surface to eat. I followed Clooney up there, and sure enough…to say Anthony didn’t look good would be an understatement. His bloated yellow-tailed body was stuck upside down against the glass of the tank.
R.I.P. Anthony.
Alternate Reality
Posted: January 24, 2009 Filed under: family | Tags: Nintendo DS Leave a commentWe all have our favorite distractions. I myself have the Facebook, and a few other haunts here in cyberspace. The boys have Nintendo DS. I have a love/hate relationship with the Nintendo DS. On one hand, sometimes the boys are hard to reach. They play in the car, or before school, after school. It borders on obsession. I have to repeat things over and over to get attention. It can be frustrating.
But on the other hand…the house sure is quiet.
If the dress fits…
Posted: January 23, 2009 Filed under: Dieting, family | Tags: diet, Jenny Craig 1 CommentSeveral years ago, there was a Laura Ashley store here in town that was going out of business. I wouldn’t call myself a huge fan of Laura Ashley, but I happened to wander into the store, and I fell in love with a dress. It was this navy blue A-line timeless number, and it had soft, yet nubby, delicate navy blue roses embossed in its fabric. I bought the thing, I think without even trying it on, despite the fact that there were no returns because the store was closing.
Even at 60% off, it wasn’t cheap, but I figured that if it was too small, it would give me a goal. I brought it to the counter, and the salesclerk reminded me of the no return policy. When I said okay, she kind of gave a me a look that said Okay, lady, but you’re never going to pull it off.
That look, that parting thought, her resignation that the customer is always right, no matter what I might think has haunted me all these years, because as it turned out, she was right. I had misread the size on the tag, which said 12, but a UK size 12. In the States, it was a size 8 (and I think it was cut as a small 8 at that), and at the time, I was more of a US 12. The thing fit me like a navy blue sausage casing. Those delicate embossed roses stretched across my mid section and looked more like warped clown faces than anything remotely floral.
I never wore the thing. It has hung in my overflow closet, complete with the tags. I thought about selling it on eBay, as I had other children, and my size ballooned to 14 and even 16, but something always kept me from parting with it. I really was crazy about that dress when I bought it.
Anyway, next weekend, I am going to a baby shower, and I was thinking of buying a new outfit, but then I thought, let me check and see if I have anything old that might fit. The Laura Ashley does. It’s the tiniest bit tight across the bust (which Manfrengensen will be glad to hear) but it drapes beautifully over my abs and butt.
I wish you could see how I am grinning at the moment.


