Wednesday, November 2, 2011

ESL Class


Friends, I've been holed up in Kenmore Square for the last 4ish weeks, receiving training to become a certified teacher of English as a foreign language.  DAS RIGHT.  In just a couple of days, universe willing, I will be certified to teach!!! 

As a long-running, potentially card-carrying member of the unemployed clan, I'm delighted to have found something that strikes my fancy and that I seem to be good at!  I hope others agree, and so far it seems they do!

Just wanted to share my joy with you.  Carry on your day!

XO
DH

Thursday, October 20, 2011

Separation Anxiety - Cat Style



Just look at her pretty face!!!


My move out has been hard on everyone.  Ok, that's a lie, it totally hasn't been hard on me at all!  In fact, I feel great!!!!  My mother has taken it well (though every time she sees me, she clutches me to her bosom like I fell off the Titanic and she's only recently discovered that the daughter she never got to know is alive and well), and my father keeps calling me to ask me for help around the house and to subtly imply he misses me by telling me that Fatty has been asking about me.

There is one lady, though, that hasn't been taking my non-constant presence well.  And that, dear readers, is my sweet and wonderful Fatty!

Fatty is feeling mixed emotions.  While she's happy that I've finally bucked up and proven that, in fact, I can take care of myself to an extent, she's wondering why she is not part of the packaged deal???  Fatty's well read, and she is especally fond of the Philip Pullman series, "His Dark Materials."  She is pretty sure that she's my daemon, so she's not clear as to how she can live in my parents' house while I gallivant to and fro, hanging out with my roommate's cat and cockatiel.

Fatty knows I've been cheating on her.  The first few times I came home, she sniffed me like I was a total stranger, turned herself around, and left the room.  She's lightened up since then, and now she does the usual run up, meow, plop over, and roll around to which I am accustomed.  I can tell, though, that she harbors resentment, but it's that kind of resentment based in true undying love.

For example, when I try to pick her up (which she normally hates), she lets me do it, but not with at least 4 meows of disgust.  But she doesn't get all tense and uncomfortable and unsqueezably board-like like she would when I lived at home and would hug her 24/7.  My fat cherub misses me.

Fatty is a master of the "WHAT?  Why are you leaving the house?????" look whenever I go out, but now, it's soooooooooooo much more deeply pathetic.  It used to be just a look, or maybe a mild gaze.  It has turned into a full-body rejection.  She walks across the room, turns her back to me, then turns her head over her right shoulder, the whites of her eyes showing all around.  She looks simultaneously enraged and deeply depressed.  Thank goodness I don't have a cat who goes and pees on all my stuff when she's mad.  She's too classy for that.

Fatty, this is an open letter to you:  I LOVE YOU!!!!  YOU'RE THE ONLY CAT FOR ME!  In fact, the only animal for me!  I'll come squeeze you a lot, so have no fear!!!

Sunday, October 9, 2011

The Inevitable Has Occurred



Friends, readers, friend-readers - THE DAY CAME!  I MOVED OUT OF MY PARENTS' HOUSE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  WHAOAOHWOAHHAHAAAOOOOO!!!!!!

That's right, DH finally got her shiznackle together and decided to haul ass to her own locale.  I have many people and things to thank for this, including but not limited to the following:  my parents, a certain bestie named Sarah H------g, turning 29, the South, and of course, my therapist.  What?  I'm like Ron Artest/Metta World Peace.  It's the 2011's, people!

I have moved to a not-so-distant semi-urban neighborhood that is a short jaunt to my parents' home (and my dearest Fatty who will not be living with me for the time being).  I'm also starting a class to get certified to teach ESL, so I'll be occupied doing that.

Ok enough about me!  Let's talk about how moving out does not actually disqualify you from still being, even in absentia, a Desperate Housedaughter!

Example A:  Not 2 days after my arrival in my new apartment, I get the following phone call:

[Phone - ring ring!]

DH:  Hello?  Hi Dad!

Dad:  I don't friggin' understand this friggin' thing, what the FRACK?

DH:  Dad, what are you talking about?

Dad:  The clothes washer!  Do I turn the button to the left or to the right or under the...??

DH:  What?  What button?  Are you doing laundry?  No no no no make Mom do it!  You'll screw it up.

Dad:  [Whining] DH, c'mon please just explain it to me :(.....  [Incidentally, not only have I explained to him how to do laundry at least 5 times before, I've also physically showed him at least 10 times.  Seriously, he's 61!!!  Get with the program, yo!]

DH:  Ok, turn the dial all the way to the equivalent of 8 o'clock on a clock.

Dad:  WHAT?  It's 8 o'clock????????????

DH:  NO!  OMG for realz dude, the button.  8 o'clock.  DO IT.

12 minutes of explaining later, I think he got it working, but honestly, who knows.


Example B:

[Phone - ring ring!]

DH:  Hello?  Hi Dad!

Dad:  UGHHHHHH

DH:  Oh boy, what now?

Dad:  I have to take my car to get an oil change.  Can you do it?

DH:  Um, why?

Dad:  Please? 

DH:  Why can't you do it over the weekend?

Dad:  PLEEAAAASE??? 

DH:  Shit, dude, are you for real?  [click]


There was a third phone call involving a request to get a friend, drive the friend to my Dad's car parked in a parking lot, and have the friend and I drive the two cars home so Dad could take the subway to the airport and not leave his car behind in the process.  Mm hmmm.  Seems like my Dad is the one who is missing the housedaughteriness more than he imagined!

Anyway, readers, since a housedaughter's work is never done, I'll keep coming to you with my stories, so please keep reading, and sorry for the 2 month gap!  I'm back better than ever, though!

Kisses,
DH

Monday, August 15, 2011

Dr. Bentley, We'll See You Next Week



When poor darling Fatty has to go to the vet, she gets very very very upset. 

Fatty is (thankfully) afraid and respectful of me as her most present, large, and loud authority figure, so she'll comply with me when I have to shove her into her Fatty carrier and put her in the car for her appointment.  However, from a specific incident involving 2 parents, a Desperate Housedaughter on vacation in California, and a non-compliant feline who ran and hid under the bed at the sight of her carrier being pulled out mere minutes before the vet appointment, I have learned that I must take out Fatty's carrier ahead of time.  Specifically, at least one week in advance for her to see it, acclimate, and then be shoved into it at an unknown and random time.  I just took it out today for her appointment next week, in fact!

Lest you find this method cruel, please try it yourself.  It works amazingly.  The element of surprise is critical.  Poor Fatty doesn't see it coming, and it's hilarious!!!!  Getting her in requires one firm shove, and then it's over.  Truly miraculous!

En route to the vet is when Fatty is the worst.  She meows the entire way there, and by meows I mean great big loud moans of disgust and horror like a baby whale dying.  The production only gets more intense as we stop the car, head into the waiting room, and then inevitably hang out for a bit until they're ready for her.  She wails so loudly that the people behind the desk look at me the way I look at moms of 4 year olds in the grocery store checkout line.  Sorry ladies, I get it now and will stop judging.

After we're escorted to the exam room, the vet tech attempts to lure Fatty out of her carrier, with no success as Fatty has now smushed herself to the furthest back point in the container and cannot be reached.  Super!  So then we just go with the flip the carrier on its side "dump-and-let-gravity-do-the-work" method, and the cat has no choice but to slowly slide down and plop onto the stainless steel exam table.  She shoots me an angry stare but then focuses her attention on the vet tech and hypervigilance.  I've watched enough Cesar Milan to know that I shouldn't coddle Fatty while she's at the vet, so I just ignore her and discuss the appropriate percentage of protein that should be in her diet.

When the vet tech leaves to get the doctor, Fatty makes sure she sits with her back fully turned to me.  I attempt to console her with the result that she turns her fluffy face toward me, unleashes a string of meowing profanity, and clearly wills me dead with what she wishes were her eye guns.  I never get a look so injurious from this animal except in this exact scenario, and she wants to make sure I know that what is going on here is UN. AC. CEPTABLE.  The look she's giving me implies the feeling I have anytime Fatty wakes me up at 5 AM (when I'll often mentally picture her bursting into a furry ball of flame).  She'd like me to go up in smoke and go to hell, in whatever order.

Then the doctor comes in, and BAM!  Fatty turns the tables big time!!  The loathing-filled creature of 15 seconds ago has been replaced by a sweet Southern belle greeting Dr. Bentley like she's a long lost relative.  Maybe it's her defense mechanism, but Fatty is so freaking nice to the vet that I have to stop and thank Jeebus for sending me a lovely fluffpuff like her.  I used to have one of those cats that unleashed fury and madness on the vet, clawing and attacking and injuring before escaping onto the highest shelf in the room, out of reach for at least 30 minutes.  Once a vet had to get stitches because of him.  Trust me, vets hate you after that. 

Not Fatty, though!  She's a sweetheart.  She gets felt up, told she's fat (not unlike my own doc appointments), and then is allowed to leave.  My fluffy baby jumps back in her carrier as soon as its made available, and she's generally quieter on the way home.  As soon as we get home, she runs and hides for hours, giving me the cold shoulder until her next meal or she reaches forgiveness, whichever comes first.

Tell me about your pets, readers!  I love a good going to the vet story. 


Wednesday, August 3, 2011

The Funk of 40,000 Years

I have a storied and somewhat ill-evolved history with squirrels.  For over 25 years, whenever someone called them rats with a fluffy tail, I defended their fluffy cuteness.  When walking through the Public Garden, I would often stoop down to feed one of them a potato chip directly from my hand.  When I would see one crossing the street, I would slam my brake and swerve to avoid hitting them.  In short, I was a squirrel's friend and a real delight.

Then came San Francisco.  Behold the photographic evidence:


See that little grey blur right in the middle of the picture?  That's a squirrel charging at me in Golden Gate Park.  That little bugger not only chased me down, it also climbed my pant-leg to get to my chocolate chip scone.  I shook it off, but not without severe emotional trauma. 

Look, I was so pro-squirrel, even after this event, that I just laughed at the cherished memory of it scaling my leg past my kneecap in order to swipe food from me.  But squirrels, you have done me wrong now.  Very very very wrong.

The date:  this past Monday night.  The time:  9 PM.  The scene:  Me going to the fridge to eat something despite the fact that I wasn't hungry.  Scene:

DH:  "Mom, WHAT is that smell????????????"

Mom:  "Your dad ate some canteloupe [sidebar:  I hate canteloupe and it smells like horrible rancid crap to me, so this was a likely scenario.]

DH:  "NO no no no no no no this is WAAAAAHAAAY worse than that.  EW!  [sniffs air while fridge door swings shut]  It's coming from there [points toward study, two rooms away]!!!!!!"

DH and Mom walk towards study, stench gets severely worse and very very overwhelming.

DH:  "Ewwwwwwwwwwwww WTF it reeks in here!!!!!!!!  It smells like DEATH.  I told you we have critters in the attic!  The effing pest guy came and everything!  It must have died in the wall!!!!!!  BLECH."

Mom:  "I don't smell it."  [ calls dad over]

Dad:  "I don't smell anything."

DH:  "BBBRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!!"  [calls fire department]


The fire department came over and told us, yes it's a dead squirrel somewhere in the wall, stinking up our house for conceivably the next 4-6 weeks or more until it decomposes and gives us respite from it's disgusting malodorous body smell. 

In short, squirrels of the world, I'm SO OVER YOU.  You've lost an ally this week.  I might just go buy this mug:


Update:  As of right now, 8/4/11 at 11 PM, the smell has VANISHED.  WTF??????

Monday, July 18, 2011

Reveeeeyahhhh BEACH!



Here's a delight for your Monday morning, my lovely blog readers!  Last evening I went to the Revere Beach Sandcastle Competition to view the creations, and let me tell you, even at 8:30 PM, the crowds were abundant.  Although it was my idea, I credit my generally very enthusiastic mother for dragging the combined dullness of me and my father out of the house.  The above sandcastle was actually strung with holiday lights and itself was about 5 feet tall, and it was perched on a 5 foot tall mountain of sculpted sand that I didn't get in the picture.  It was eeeeenormous.














I overheard some ladies saying this next one was the winner, but I have no idea.  It was the most striking, however.  The whole inside of the shell was hollowed out!






Have a lovely Monday!  And if you want a tinge of bitterness to your Monday, just think about how these sandcastles will be destroyed by today's thunderstorms!  I almost wish I could be there to watch it. BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!

Wednesday, July 6, 2011

Brains do the Darndest Things


This morning I woke up and looked at the clock to see "7:30" in glowing red digital numbers.  I promptly rolled over, closed my eyes, and seconds later re-opened them to the glow of "9:00."  What happened inside my head and behind my eyes during that hour and a half was possibly the best, most 90s, most odd, and most awesome dream of my life.

I had watched a few episodes of "HUGE" before bed which I blame for my throwback to high school state of mind, but beyond that, I can only credit my brain for coming up with such an amazing bit of dreamworld.

I arrived at the Family Matters home of characters Harriette and Carl, which in my dream was a bed and breakfast.  I booked my usual room there and proceeded to their family room which promptly turned into a giant cavernous room and began to fill with some of my childhood favorites.  First, in walked the New Kids on the Block, then my best friend from childhood, then one of my gay husbands from college.  The room slowly filled with more of my childhood friends and tv family such as all of the cast of TGIF, The Backstreet Boys, and various other late 80s and 90s sitcom characters.

I remember turning to my best friend and telling her, "If the New Kids on the Block sing 'The Right Stuff,' I will pass out!"  She agreed.

The scene then turned into a giant dessert bar, and we all gorged to our hearts content (that I'll blame squarely on my pre-sleep tv watching) and suddenly our surroundings were a lush tropical porch in Hawaii.

I woke up then, notably forcing my body awake at the ridiculous thought of Chicago, IL suddenly becoming Maui.  Apparently that threw me over the edge mentally, not the idea that Steve Urkel's neighbor's house was really a B+B I frequented.

Tell me your funniest or most memorable dreams in the comments, creative readers!

Friday, June 24, 2011

Craigslist Transactions are Shady by Nature (Not Cause I Hate Ya)

I have tons of sh** to sell.  Coming off of many years of being a spendthrift (I'm newly inititated into the "Do I REALLY need that?" mentality), I have amassed a certain, well, prodigious collection of purses and other girlish accoutrements that really needs to be whittled down. 

I do not particularly enjoy the usage of ebay if I can sell things more locally.  Ebay requires packing items for shipment, convincing the post office that sending perfume via ground is legal according to their website, and giving Ebay a cut of the profit which itself requires money and time and drives to the post office.  To that I say, NOPE.  Instead, I enjoy when I meet someone around the corner at the bagel shop and sell them $300 worth of old jewelry.  Thus began my relationship with Craigslist.

Craigslist has been fine for me over the years while apartment hunting and giving things away for free, so I figured, let's give it a shot with all this stuff I need to sell.  Most of the people that contact me have been thus far average and not scary, so I would say that Craigslist is still being good to me.  That said, here are some of the gems I have come across (none of these are spam) in attempting to sell via Craigslist:


In seeing a purse in person:

DH:  "Here you go, it's the Calvin Klein."
Customer:  "You said this was silver in the ad.  It's really more of a grey with a shimmer and some metallic inflection."
DH:  "So, in other words, silver."
Customer:  (15 minutes later)  "Yeah, I really am looking for something darker silver than this."


In negotiating price:

DH:  "Great!  So that'll be $200 as we discussed.  That is 50% off retail value."
Customer:  "Will you take $75 for it?"
DH:  [Inhaling deeply with eyes closed] "No.  We already discussed price via email, didn't we?  We came to an agreement?"
Customer:  "Yeah, I'm really only looking to pay $75."
DH:  [Shoving back chair and standing up] "Thanks for letting me know now instead of before.  Buh-bye!"


In picking a meeting spot:

DH:  "Let's meet at the bagel shop in the town center."
Customer:  "Let's meet in the rear of the Whole Foods parking lot in the center."
DH:  "There's no Whole Foods in my town."


In providing too much information as to why a particular item is desired for purchase:

DH:  "The shoes are size 11."  (What?  I have big feet.)
Customer:  "Great!  Would you be willing to sell to a man with a shoe fetish?"
DH:  "TMI, bro!  If you'd just said, 'I want to buy them,' we wouldn't have had a problem!"


Upon discovering via Google that the customer has a criminal record:

DH:  "Holy ****** ****!  WHAT IS WITH PEOPLE????"
Fatty:  "MRROOOW!"

Craigslist, I do love you most of the time, but I needed to get this off my chest.  Please help me find some more real customers and less freaky deaks.  Oh, and darling readers, if you're in need of any new purses, perfumes, or jewelry, please do get in touch!  I have many for sale.

Friday, June 10, 2011

Mon Jardin des Plantes



Friends, don't be jealous!  I have a container garden (raising the roof - you can't see me, but I'm doing it).  That's right, this is the kind of crap Desperate Housedaughters get excited about when they don't have things like jobs and boyfriends. 

Please voila my gorgeous lettuce container:


Also, please enjoy one of the members of my herb garden:


Mr. Mint has been repotted to a much larger container since this picture was taken, and let me tell you, it is satisfying to have a little jardin des plantes on my deck.  Iranians eat herbs by the handful (as opposed to delicately sprinkling them over meats and veggies like white people), so it'll be great to grow piles and piles of mint and basil for us to eat. 

Container gardening is kind of cool, even posh!  I like the idea that it's not in my yard where I'd have to do things like weed the garden and fend off bunnies (one of my friends has a gorgeous outdoor garden and tells me all kinds of tales about squirrel/tomato robberies), and I also like that sweet Fatty can go luxuriate her fat self underneath the shade of the Heliotrope. 

I will say, though, that the number of strange and somewhat unattractive insects I've encountered on the deck throughout the potting of said garden is ICKY.  I will spare you photographs, but suffice it to say that adult jumping spiders are approximately tarantulas that are the size of a quarter.  And about an inch tall.  YEAH.

Do you all keep container gardens?  If so, what do you grow?  I need an excuse to go to Home Depot and buy more potting soil so the cutie dude there can carry it out to my car for me.

Thursday, June 9, 2011

Dinner Expectations

Dinner.  It's what's for dinner.  Wait, what?

Cooking dinner is part of the housedaughter equation of expectation which looks something like this:  Desperate Housedaughter + free time + no job + vague household skills = dinner.  Each and every night, I receive two phone calls, usually in this order:

4:30 PM - Dad calls.  "Housedaughter, what's for dinner tonight?  I'm on my way home on the train."

Me:  "Dad, WTF?  I'm so sick of getting these calls about dinner!  I can't make dinner every single night!  I already do all the laundry, 75% of the dishes, [blah blah prattling and whining about all the housework], so I don't feel compelled to make dinner, AGAIN!"

Dad:  "Fine I'll eat bread for dinner."

Me:  "FINE!"


5:30 PM - Mom calls:  "Housedaughter, what's for dinner?"

Me:  [Turning red with rage] "PFFFTTTTTT WHAT?"

Mom:  "What.  Is.  For.  Dinner?"  (She's adorable and thinks I didn't hear her.  I love optimists!)

Me:  "Thanks, I heard you.  Tacos.  From last night."

Mom:  "Ok, I'll just eat a muffin from the grocery store."


Oh dear.  I try hard to avoid the carb-loaded dinner fate for my parents, but let's be clear - I hate cooking.  Baking is fun and enjoyable, but cooking, NOOOOO!  I don't find anything about it fun.  So when dinner is laid squarely on my shoulders all the time, I get exhausted.

In the last 7 days, I've made dinner a shocking 3 times!  BBQ burger/veggie extravaganza, tacos, and spaghetti and meatballs (well, I only made the meatballs).  When my Dad makes dinner just once every 3 months, he gets mad if we ask him to make dinner again during that time.  And I laugh at him copiously.  What gives, people? 

It's good to be a housedaughter in a way, because now I know (unless I married some super rich dude who regularly bought me Prada and we had a prenup) that I could never be a housewife.  The expectation of dinner is just too much for me.  It tosses me over the edge.  Alas, I must now take my leave of you to go make my breakfast oatmeal.  Let me confess that cooking breakfast is an exception to my cooking hatred.  I make a delicious breakfast, so come on by anytime before 10 AM!  But please don't ask me to make you dinner.  Ever.

Monday, June 6, 2011

Repairmen

My parents freely make appointments with repairmen and expect me to be home during the long windows of time in which they'll potentially arrive.  Apparently, as a housedaughter, it's part of my job description.  [Sidebar: I'm still waiting on the official job description...hmmm maybe Fatty is HR.  I should ask her.]  Today, for example, the AC repairman will be arriving somewhere between 12-6.  Let's talk about this. 

12-6????  Can you imagine if my mom made an appointment with her patients and said, be here from 12-3, and I'll see you somewhere in there.  YEAH NO.  I get it, I get it, she's in an office, blah blah no travel time, blah blah crap.  But a 6 hour window?  The repairmen of the world are getting a little too comfortable with us being comfortable with their time window system.

I think a 2 hour window is fine.  3 hours, pushing it.  Above that?  You should bring me lunch, a soda, and guarantee an attractive and age-appropriate repairman with every repair.  I know Hillary Clinton told us that it takes a village to raise a child, and I often find that she is right, except that it takes a village to maintain a damn house.  If I weren't home for these appointments, my parents would have to wait months to have the AC repairman come, and by then mice could eat through the wires again (that's what happened last time).

I think next time I make an appointment somewhere, I'll try to make it in a window of time and see how well that goes.  Hi, friend I'm meeting for lunch?  I think I'll arrive somewhere between 8 AM and 9:30 PM.  Let me know if that works for you.  Toodles!

Friday, May 27, 2011

She got GAME!

UPDATE:  Mom has called me twice from the restaurant to confirm that yes, in fact, Todd is taking care of them and is awesome, nice, and hot.  Oh, and that the food is fabulous.  She was on dessert number 4 the second time she called me.  Seriously, if I didn't think I was a Desperate Housedaughter before, I think having a mom that has cooler weekend plans than you with random celebrities she befriends at lunch makes you pretty D.H.-y.  Fo' realz.



EARLIER TODAY:
Ohhhhh NO you will not believe the phone call I just got from my mom who is currently partying it up (under the guise of a dental conference) in NYC with her fellow Iranian lady dentist friends!!!!  WHOOAOAOA!!!!

Apparently my mom and her lady friends decided to head to the Park Plaza (pronounced PAhhhk Plahhhzahhh) hotel for lunch, cause, they fancy.  So I guess at the Park Plaza they seat you at long tables, so you end up sitting with other random people.  So this handsome man sits next to my mom and greets her.  She greets him back, and they have a short conversation.  When she turns back to her friends, they're all FREAKING OUT.  Why???  Because that dude is TODD ENGLISH.  YES.  And so my mom turns back and starts talking to Todd again, and they become insta-besties.  That's right, my mom got game.

So Todd and my mom and her friends chit chat and finally Todd says, "do you ladies have plans for tonight?"  To which my mom says, "no, not yet!"  So Todd says, "I'm opening my new restaurant Crossbar tonight.  Would you please join me at the opening?  I'll take care of you."  My mom was all, "let me check with my friends, Todd, and we'll get back to you."  Ok, that was in my imagination.  What they really said was, "YES YES A THOUSAND TIMES YES," and then squealed with delight.

My mom calls me, and casually mentions that Todd English invited her to dinner.  WHAT A PLAYA!!!! 

Mom, you outdo me all the time, and I'm so proud!  Go shake it, sister!  And mention to any celebrity you meet that I have an awesome blog and that my sister is a stand-up comedienne.  Oh, and take lots of pictures - me and my readers need the dish (pun intended)!

Thursday, May 26, 2011

Online Dating...is fun?

Desperate Housedaughter is single and ready to mingle!  Ok, that's kind of a lie.  I'm single and hesitant to mingle.  I'm generally afraid of people and prefer to watch Ugly Betty reruns rather than, well, a lot of stuff.  Because of this proclivity, you can imagine that although I go out quite often and try new things, I tend to do so with my Mom or other person with whom I have solid rapport already.  Mom, you're in NYC this weekend partying with your friends!  I miss you!

Yeah that's right I just gave a shout-out to my Mom.  Due to being a 28 year old who gives mom shout-outs on her blog, I've had many friends suggest to me that I buck up, join the current population of Earth instead of continuing to behave like I'm in Ye Olde Days, and sign up for online dating.  I reminded them that I came to blogging about 15 years too late, but they said that's no excuse and I need to get on board more quickly.  So, finally, after much struggle and waves of nausea, I signed up for one of them websites last weekend.

My friends have been SO SUPER EXCITED!!!!  They've helped me with my profile, decided on pictures, and were, and are, generally all perky and encouraging.  Despite their efforts, however, instead of feeling like this about online dating:

I feel more like this:



My friend Anna told me not to have a bad attitude.  Oh, Anna, while you speak words of wisdom, you know I'm incapable of following them!  I'm a Virgo and I know that if I don't like something right away that I will probably never like it.  There have been exceptions to this, of course, but yeah.  Does not bode well.  And let me admit that I have a VERY bad attitude about online dating.

I got the standard creeps right away sending me messages like, "you r hot.  nice pics" and "let's get together and speak Persian" but written in Persian/English.  LAAAME.  The danged thing even matched me with a high school friend's older brother.  That was particularly enlightening, especially because I had a minor week-long crush on that kid when I was 14.  But I digress.

Then I got messages from two seemingly nice, normal guys.  They both have jobs, are into music, are freakishly tall (not a requirement, but entertaining nonetheless), and are age appropriate.  Despite their on-the-surface normalcy and my attempt at open-mindedness, I gotta tell you, I have pretty much no interest in meeting either one of them in a romantic type of setup. 

This is my question, and here, beautiful readers, you can advise me since you all are brilliant and go on many dates and aren't holed up like this Desperate Housedaughter:  How does one figure out dating?  I realize this is the age-old question, and many tv shows, movies, and books have been dedicated to it, but it's like I'm feeling it for the first time!  I am CLUELESS. 

Do I go on dates like I go on job interviews - to even the ones I'm pretty sure I don't want just to get more practice and give it a shot, or do I not think of it like that because it's a real dude and his real $25 buying me dinner?  I don't freaking know.  Help me, readers!  I have no idea what I'm doing, and I'm not sure I'm that into it, so I beseech you to help me figure out what to do and improve my attitude!  Comment me some advice, you lovelies, cause I NEED IT.

Thursday, May 12, 2011

Pants

I'm generally an advocate of pants.  They're fun and cover up people's usually gross/too hairy legs, mine included.  Just to be clear, I mean real, honest, well-fitted, full-length pants, such as these:

Not these:



or anything else attempting to be pants, i.e. leggings, jeggings, or tights of varied opacity.  Please, people, they ain't pants.

Being a Desperate Housedaughter, though, I don't always need to be worried about the appropriateness of my pants.  Who the heck is looking at me while I'm sitting home all day?  The cat?  She doesn't wear pants! 

There are times, though, when I have to put on the pants.  Like for example, 5 minutes ago.  I ordered a salad for lunch, and since gas is $587.32 per gallon, I feel less bad these days about paying $1 per item for delivery.  It saves me trouble, and money.  The only problem with ordering delivery, though, is that I have to put on some pants.

My typical uniform of housedaughteriness is a college t-shirt (GO HOP!), some inappropriate mid-length harem shorts thing I bought from Old Navy, and my at-home glasses (not to be confused with my in public glasses - my at home glasses are more German Architect while my in public glasses are more Sexy Librarian).  But when the delivery man is coming, the jeans must be put on.  I want him to keep delivering me my salad, so I figure it's a fair trade.

What kind of pants do you wear at home, if any (you saucy readers)? 

Tuesday, May 10, 2011

"Rick Cohen" of Minnesota, WTF?


"Rick Cohen" of Minnesota just gave me a call.  Before I go into the details of the call, I'd like you to know that when you google "Rick Cohen Minnesota," it goes to a state representative's page - Richard Cohen.  But no, friends, Rep. Richard "Dick" Cohen didn't call me, Rick Cohen (or so he claims) called me.  Why, you may ask?

My convo with Rick went something like this:

Me:  Hello?

Rick:  Hello?

Me:  Yes, hello.

Rick:  Hello.  How are you?

Me:  Fine, how are you.

Rick:  I'm Rick Cohen.

Me:  Good for you.

Rick:  Blah blah blah blah blah I'm trying to get in touch with your neighbor so and so, do you know them?

Me:  No.  [Pause - slight embarrasment and shame that no, I have no idea who these people are.  And there are only 6 houses on my street.  EEeek we New Englanders take this stoicism way too far.  Maybe I should get to know my neighbors?  Block party?]  How did you get my number? 

Rick:  From blahby blah insurance blah manual with names and addresses blah.

Me:  Mmm hmm.  Hold on.  [Me going to the computer, googling Rick Cohen.  Is this a senator?].  Ok, yes?

Rick:  So they own a travel agency and I have an important issue.  They are not picking up.

Me (thoughts to self):  WTF?  This guy is weird.  What's he calling about?  Is this mad shady?  Is this this guy's way of picking his victims if he's a serial killer?  Maybe I should hang up?  Maybe he's just some nice midwesterner confused by our New England cold blooded ways?  No, this is shady.

Me (now to Rick again): Mmm hmmm.  I don't even know you, so why would I give them your message?  Bye. 

Then I further googled the phone number Rick provided, and it turns out it's JSA Collections.  Fun!  I love debt collectors.  One time this guy called our house 500 times a day, insisting that someone with a last name similar to my mother's, but not hers, lived here and that we were lying.  He was soooo aggressive and rude and would say the most unbelievable things over the phone.  [Sidebar - reminded me of when I lived in DC, and within 5 hours of hooking up my home phone, I had 7 calls from debtors for 7 DIFFERENT people.  Before 24 hours was over I got rid of my land line].  Luckily, here chez les parents, I live in a small town where the police have time to help with this stuff, so they called the debtor back and insisted that whomever he was searching for did not in fact live in my house.  Thanks po-po! 

Basically, this Rick was calling neighbors to see if they could help him in his debt collection.  WHAT?  I googled this concept immediately.  Apparently, it's totally legal for debt collectors to call neighbors or co-workers or anyone whose number they can get their hands on in order to collect a debt.  However, they apparently must stop calling neighbors and others if those people tell them to stop.  I assume I'll be testing that theory sometime soon.

Rick Cohen, here's a written warning to you:  STOP CALLING MY HOUSE.  If you call again, you'll face my wrath.  And no, I'm not going to go talk to my neighbors re: their delinquency.  For one thing, I don't even know what they look like, and this isn't the way to find out!  For another thing, it is WAY tacky to call people's neighbors and shame them into paying their debts.  I mean, honestly. 

Please, dear readers, tell me your own debtor stories in the comments!  I love to share these horrible stories so we can all feel solidarity!

Saturday, May 7, 2011

Shut Up and Drive

We almost got into no less than 5 accidents last night (one right in front of a cop - super!) because my mom was too busy dancing to pay attention to being behind the wheel.  Fueled by ice cream and Iranian music, concentration had no chance to win over booty-shaking.  She probably should have just pulled over, danced, and then drove.

Sunday, April 24, 2011

I just gave Cesar Millan a run for his $$$



Seems like mentioning Cesar a couple of posts ago channeled something in me.

Our neighbors have a variety of pets - a charming Maltese named Cookie, a mixed terrier named Jackson (Fatty's boyfriend who would oft visit her on our deck), and last but not least, today's culprit, the gorgeous white Siberian Husky, Nanook.

Oh Nanook, how lucky you are that I am an animal lover!  Just minutes ago I saw a huge white blur zip across our front yard, and I opened the front door to see if someone had brought their dog for a walk in the conservation land across the street.  That's the usual reason there are dogs in our yard, but there was no one there.  The big white dog was then running across the street and into the woods.  "Is that Nanook?" I thought.  We have coyotes all over this neighborhood, so seeing pets joyrunning without their owners nearby really worries me.  I yelled his name a few times, but nothing.  Then I looked down to see Fatty attempting to sneak past my leg out the front door.  Good try, cat, but NOPE. 

Nanook was still in the woods, so I yelled, whistled, and clapped, but nothing.  I took a pause, then whistled a bunch of times in a row.  Yes!  Nanook stopped galavanting and looked up, then suddenly took off running toward me.  SUCCESS!  His owners weren't outside looking for him, so I didn't think they had a clue he'd escaped. 

Nanook came to our front door, and like the good boy he is, sat immediately when I pushed down on his hind quarters and grabbed his collar.  PS, it's not that easy to hold down a really freaking large dog with one hand on his collar.  I admire L.L. Cool Cesar for that.  I threw on my sneakers one handed and hauled that large white fluffpuff over to his house, and his owners met me halfway down their driveway in their truck, clearly on their way to dog-hunt.  "How did you get him to come to you???" they asked.

Neighbors, here's your answer:  It's cause I'm awesome.  Not only do I keep criminals off our street, but I also rescue puppies.  I'm about 15% down the path to my dream job of being a vigilante :)

Saturday, April 23, 2011

GET OFF MY LAWN, YOU DANG-ED KIDS!

So, I called the cops on some kids yesterday.  Yeah.  I'm a little torn about it.  I mean on the one hand, AWESOME.  And on the other hand, I feel like a snitchy mean old crusty person.

They show up on my street religiously, every weekend, and now on Fridays too, to smoke weed and drink Bud Light and whatever else they're up to, and they park on the one end of the cul-de-sac where they can basically be invisible to anyone in their houses.  That is, except to me!  Why?   (Binoculars).  Yeah, I'm totally creepy!!!

I saw their car drive by yesterday while I was on the phone with my sister, and this is like the 30th time I've seen it in the last 2 weeks, so I was like, EFF THIS.  I'm calling the cops!  My parents pay serious property taxes to live here, and waa waaa old boring people reasoning, these kids need to FIND A NEW PLACE FOR THEIR DEBAUCHERY!  I get it - I did some dumb sh*t in high school, but that's what the woods are for!!  Not my street!

So the cops were like, where are you calling from, so I was like, my cell phone.  Come get these damn kids.  About 5 minutes later, BAM!  2 cop cars, one kid making a fast getaway on his bike, and a handful of other kids getting BUSTED!  It was, I'm not gonna lie, Ah-Ma-Zing to watch their stupid scrawny rich 16 year old butts get hit by the letter of the law.  I hope their parents hung them out to dry when they got home.

I realize it's kind of crusty of me, and if I lived in a city I wouldn't even look twice at drunk kids, but the suburbs have gotten me uptight and old lady-ish!  Even my 38 year old sister was aghast, laughing at me nonstop and mocking me openly for calling the cops on some kids!  And I kept on defending myself!!  I hate those stupid kids!  If I had a huge guard dog, I'd send it to go bite them! 

So yeah, I think I did the right thing, and I hope those stupid kids never show up here again.  Take your party elsewhere.  Oh, and PS, if you hadn't yelled rude shit at me and my mom one time when we were walking by you, I never would have busted you.  So maybe be nice, and don't do drugs :)

Wednesday, April 20, 2011

My Cat Is Some Kind of Humanoid


I suspect that Fatty might actually be a very oddly shapped, furry human.  With magic powers.  Please review:

1)  Her new morningtime ritual involves (after being fed) meowing loudly from downstairs until I wake up, toddle over, and wave to her.  Then she runs up to my room and rolls around on the floor.  She appears to like having company around.  I thought cats were solitary?  But guess what - humans aren't!

2)  Fatty is currently rubbing her face on the computer screen.  Ok, that's not human-y, but it's a little weird.  Maybe she wants to use the internet to check the Petco site?

3)  Fatty can read my mind (magic power) - she knows I'm writing about her, so she has now installed herself on my bed while I type, at approximately my ankles, and is staring at my fingers intensely.  Don't worry, Fatty, it's not slander!!  I love you, you fluffy puff!

4)  Fatty enjoys manipulation - she is now purring and looking extra cute in an attempt to get me to stop typing and give her the loves.  It's a cat version of batting your eyelashes at a cute boy, really.

5)  Fatty now has full on conversations with not just me, but pretty much anyone who meows at her.  She meows back, then you ask her a question, then she meows again.  It used to be meow-meow on both sides, but now I just ask her questions in English and she answers in meows.  It's adorable, but when it starts to make sense to you, unless you're Cesar Millan or Doctor Doolittle, maybe it's time to either see a therapist or check to make sure your cat isn't growing opposable thumbs.

When I meet other people's cats, they just aren't like this!  I wonder if it's because she's always been an only cat, so she's more people-y than other cats?  Any thoughts, my fellow cat-owners?

Sunday, April 17, 2011

The Only Phone in our House

My family is one of the only families, potentially on Earth and not just in the USA, who has only one phone in the entirety of the house.  We have cell phones, sure, but when it comes to the land line, there's only one, and it's in the kitchen.

Our house has an open layout, and the kitchen is at the center of the home.  The net result of this is that anyone using the landline can be heard clearly and loudly throughout the entire house.  The effect is not that different from sitting next to a really irritating cell phone user when you're stuck on the train or walking behind them on the sidewalk - you're hearing one side of a conversation, and it ain't interesting.

When someone is on the phone, no one else in the house can make any noise.  Why?  Because then the person on the phone can't hear their own conversation (again due to the nature of our house).  So that means no TV, no typing too loudly on the computer, and no having your own cell phone conversation anywhere on the first floor. 

The TV is another issue - it's located in our family room, the only room with slightly more potential to generate house-filling noise than the kitchen.  Thanks, friendly architect!  When someone is watching TV here, it permeates the pores of your skin and makes your intestines shake.  And when your dear father is hard of hearing, wearing earplugs around the house doesn't seem like the weirdest idea anymore.

Since I'm being a huge bizatch today, my mom is making phone calls so that she can achieve her appropriate human interaction quota.  Unfortunately, that is making me grouchy since I'm trying to have a quiet day, but I can hear her conversations throughout our house.  Maybe I'll have a bowling lane installed in my room, and that'll solve everyone's problems!

ME CRANKY, YOU PERKY

I've experienced many living situations in my life so far, from living with random roommates to having my sister as a roommate to living alone in a teeny studio apartment to the current chez les parents situation (not all involved a feline, sadly).  All of these have pluses and minuses, and I generally prefer to live with others for the simple but real reason that no one's there to check any of my neuroses when I live alone, so they fly too freely on the crazy flagpole!!

Though infrequent, however, there are times when I wake up in the morning and am utterly incapable of interaction with another being - feline, human, or otherwise.  And that's today, fo sho.  My threshold for socialization has already been met this weekend - I had a busy day of friend-time yesterday, and consequently, today the only friends with whom I'd like to interact are the Real Housewives of New York and the comically touching staff of TGS.  I have phone calls to make and a cat to feed, but other than that, YOU SHALL NOT PASS!

So in comic intervention from the universe, today is, in addition to being a day where Fatty decided to wake me up multiple times starting at 6 AM with various mews and grunts to express her displeasure at being hungry and unfed, one of my mom's perkiest days EVER. 

Maybe it's because we test drove a Prius on Friday (I'll check under her bed for a unicorn), but my Mom woke up today with sunshine in her eyes and rainbows coming out of her fingertips.  She's delighted to be alive, and she's not afraid to show it.  I, to represent the other hand, want to hide under my bed with my TV, cut the phone lines, and ignore all other life forms until tomorrow. 

Poor Mom has tried everything - feeding me blackberries, smiling at me a lot, and ignoring the fact that I ate a turkey sandwich at 10 AM for breakfast (not easy for her, trust).  She's invited me to go out and frolic with her, but nothing's working, Mom, and it's not you, it's definitely me!  ME WANT TV AND NAPPING.

Poor Mom isn't the only one suffering my wrath.  I'm so tired that I told my dad during his breakfast monologue/bad joke gag reel that maybe he should write new material.  I stopped short of telling him to keep his day job.  He looked sullen.  Even the cat steered clear of me after I fed her, too.  At least that b*tch can read body language.

Dear readers, what am I to do?  I have a case of the "leave me alones," but I have one perky and one meh parent staring at me with hope, despite it all.  Coffee?

Tuesday, April 12, 2011

Parental Supervision, or "Mom, Dad, I'm not 12 anymore"

Ah my lovely parents.  I am so proud of them for their behavior this weekend!  I went to NYC to visit one of my besties from college on Saturday morning, and I got back last night.

I was impressed by the following things on the course of my trip:

1) Astoria - what a little oasis in a hectic city of freak show! 

2) Route 15, Merritt Parkway in Connecticut - waaaay prettier than 95, and faster!

3) My parents - for the reasons detailed below:

My parents, against every instinct that they have as people, did not call me ONCE during my weekend in New York.  Not even to check and make sure I'd made it there safely.  They didn't even ask me to call them when I arrived or ANYTHING.  This was so shocking to my friend I was visiting (she knows them well) that she mentioned multiple times, "DH, I can't believe you parents haven't called you yet!!  I'm proud of them!"

One might assume that like typical parents of a 28 year old woman, they would seize the opportunity to galavant around town, forget they have a fully capable adult child living at home with them, and basically HAVE FUN.  But I know them, and I know that they got itchy fingers and picked up the phone, pushed almost my entire phone number, and hung up before the line connected, knowing they needed to give me space. 

So congratulations, my parents - you did it!  You spent a weekend not talking to me, and all was well!  And I hear you went into Boston and partied, so good for you!

Monday, April 4, 2011

Having a Virus - Me, not the Computer

Readers!  Lovely gorgeous friends!  I apologize for not blogging since last Monday.  Sometime between Monday and Tuesday, I managed to become a snot filled sinus achey cranky sicky poo, and that lasted till approximately Saturday evening, when I had a spontaneous recovery and went out for ice cream.  Glorious! 

Monday, March 28, 2011

Fat Women - Society's Purest Evil

Barbara Walters just said matter-of-factly to Ricki Lake on today's "The View", "As a kid who [wa]s overweight, you probably didn't have friends."  And Ricki didn't say a word.

I need a moment to breathe.  One second.


Ok, so WHAT?!?!??!?!?!?!?!??!?!?!?!!?  Have we really reached the point as humans that saying absolutely any horrible, even false thing about fat women, even and ESPECIALLY if you're Barbara Walters, is not only acceptable but also deemed instantly true??  And Ricki, seriously?  You were such a charismatic young woman with your own talk show and Broadway starring roles and fun personality that I would be APPALLED to learn that you didn't have friends.  You couldn't speak up?  Have you joined some new "not fat" club where you can't admit you used to be fat?  I'm writing a letter to The View about this right now, but I really wonder if anyone else will???

For one thing, I was a fat kid.  And guess what?  I'm a big fat fat lady now too.  And I've ALWAYS had friends.  I daresay, I had more friends than I could handle.  Being fat didn't get in my way making friends.  You know what, this pisses me off gloriously. 

As much as kids say what's on their mind in any situation, the truth is, adults are still, and always have been, the ones instilling hate and prejudice into kids' minds.  Kids don't know that they're supposed to hate fat people.  Adults tell them to hate fat people.  So they listen.

If even one kid was awake during The View today and heard Barbara's comment, they might go be mean to the fat kid at school that they would have otherwise befriended, or at the very least left in peace.  FUCK YOU Barbara Walters, and the other Barbara Walters' of the world.

As a fat woman, I am constantly reassured by people like Barbara Walters, random males on the street of all ages, Michelle Obama, and pretty much any form of media, that I am committing a huge crime by merely existing publicly.  The number of times I get harrassed for being fat is shocking.  Any time I walk by a group of men, I get tense.  You know why?  Because people like Barbara Walters are saying that it's normal, and indirectly inferring that it's acceptable, to be mean to, shun, and dislike fat people.  Which automatically translates to fat women, and even more so since we don't have male privilege on our side.  So men driving by me in cars can scream "oink oink" and cackle at me when I'm walking down the sidewalk.  True story.  One of many.  Maybe one day I'll tell you more.

Thanks, Barbara, for making my point for me.  You're disgusting, and so are all of your loser counterparts spreading these messages.  You should be ashamed.

Showering and Flossing


Personal Hygiene.  Ruminate. 



Ok all set?  Awesome.  So now that you have your notion of personal hygiene fresh in your brain (hahahha fresh!  That was so deeply intentional.), let's discuss. 

I myself am a proponent of personal hygiene!!  It's cool, to like, shower.  YAY!  Here's the thing, though - when you're home alone for...4 days in a row, and you left the house maybe 12% of that time, and then just to get gas and go to Subway, do you need to shower every day?

Do you really?



Really?



Here are my thoughts:  NO.  Showering every day is a weird American thing.  There, I said it.  It's weird.  And I've noticed that any time a discussion of showering comes up amongst people here, everyone is very quick to flash their eyes around the group, silently guessing who showered within the last 24 hours, and then being prepared to heavily judge and perhaps shun them if they haven't.  However, I kind of doubt all of these people truly shower every day despite their lemon-faced but heavy expressions.  AND these same people readily confess to not flossing!!!!!  When did flossing become the approvable method of personal hygiene to skip?????  Maybe it's my dentist mother talking through my fingers here, but EWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!  Floss!!  That's an order!! 

In most countries of the world, heck, I'll just go ahead and say every country but the USA (maybe Canada too - Canadians, can you chime in here and advise?), people shower once every 3 days, AT BEST.  Like in Iran, when my Dad visits and insists on getting into the shower every morning, everyone thinks he's a huge freak show weirdo.  In the USA, though, you'd become a social pariah if you hinted at, let alone mentioned, that you don't get in the shower but for once every few days. 

Friends, Imma put it out there.  I shower every other day.  Exclusively.  BAM.  Deal with it.  EVERY.  OTHER.  DAY.  SHUN ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!  And I floss with reckless abandon up to several times a day.  AND SO SHOULD YOU.




xoxoxoxoxo
DH

Thursday, March 24, 2011

Too Tired to Blog

Here's a secret of unemployment that many people won't tell you - sometimes, you're just too tired from doing nothing to actually do anything.  For example, me, right now.  I'm exhausted, and for no explicable reason.  I've slept 20 hours of the last 48, I'm spending the day watching Bravo, and, oh wait, what's that sound?  Ohhhh, it's the sound of a 140,000 toilets flushing $1 each of my college education. 

Sometimes when you're unemployed, you have these days.

It doesn't help that the thought of having a "real" job gives me hives.  It actually makes me tense up and hyperventilate.  I am not one of these lucky folks built for a 9-5.  What I am is one of those weirdos with the capacity to work 27 out of 24 hours a day when doing something I care about, but it's just that I don't care about much these days.

Any brilliant suggestions for how to revive oneself, and/or off the beaten path jobs?  I'd love your ideas in the comments.  Thank you, lovely readers!

Monday, March 21, 2011

Happy New Year, Grandma!


Happy New Year everybody!!  Iranian new year (Norouz) is the first day of spring, and here we are!!  So for all of you who have been looking for a day where you can start things fresh, or retry your resolutions, here it is!  Above is a picture of the Iranian New Year's traditional table - the Haft-Seen (7 s's - everything on the table starts with an "s" sound).

Of course we called my Grandma in Iran to wish her a happy new year, and this year since my dad and sister are at her house visiting, it was very important that we call immediately upon the arrival of new year's. 

Grandma loves herself a phone call.  A typical conversation with her revolves around saying hello, telling her she has a big butt (she thinks that's hilarious!), and then her asking me about Fatty.  Grandma knows what counts.  Which is why the change in tone of our conversations recently is all the more jarring.  She's never been the type, but recently she's focused on instilling Grandma guilt from halfway across the world.  She is my mother's mother, after all.  The following is a transcript of my conversation with Grandma yesterday, of course translated from Persian:


DH:  "Hey Grandma!"

G-ma: "Hi Desperate Housedaughter dear!"

DH:  "How are you??  Happy New Year!"

G-ma:  "Happy New Year!!  I have a big fat, big fat, BIG FAT WHAT????"

DH:  "Butt, Grandma.  You have a big fat butt."

G-ma:  "HAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH"

DH:  "Oh, Grandma."

G-ma:  "HAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAH"

DH:  "Grandma!  Focus!"

G-ma:  "HAHAHAHA....[deep breath]...So how's Fatty?"

DH:  "She's good.  She likes to eat, sleep, the usual.  She doesn't do much else."

G-ma:  "Really?  Why not?  Doesn't she have things to do?"

DH:  "What things would she do?  She's a cat."

G-ma:  "Right.  So DH I'm wondering something.  When are you going to, you know..."

DH:  "Huh?"

G-ma:  "Well, I mean, I'm 87, and it looks like I'm sticking around for a while, but..."

DH:  "Huh?"

G-ma:  "WHEN ARE YOU GOING TO GET MARRIED???????????"

[DH internal monologue :  "Um, Grandma, we talk maybe a few times a year from over 6,000 miles away, and you're spending this time to guilt me about when I'm going to get married?  Are you serious?  I'm still kind of afraid of boys, Grandma!  This is so cliche!  Again, are you serious?  Why do you care?  We talk about big butts, Grandma!"]

DH:  "[Sigh]  Grandma, my sister's right there with you, and she's 10 years older than me.  Why don't you ask her and focus on when she's going to get married instead."

G-ma:  "Ok, DH dear.  Make sure you drive carefully and not too fast."

DH:  "Ok Grandma.  Happy new year!"

G-ma:  "Happy new year!"


Yeah, I threw my sister under the bus to avoid discussing marriage with my Grandma.  I'm classy.  Sometimes it's cute to be related to people with archaic (perhaps simple) values, but only when it doesn't affect me!  Alas, my Grandma is who she is - a nice 87 year old Iranian lady with a big butt who just wants to see her grandkids get married, and then of course make babies.

Thursday, March 17, 2011

My Cat, Kathy Griffin?

I'm watching the Kathy Griffin stand-up marathon on Bravo right now (thank you, Bravo - I pretty much love all of your programming.  Although I think your awesome daytime marathons might be contributing to my unemployment.), and I'm suddenly attuned to the strangest noise circling the family room.  Upon further investigation, I have discovered that my cat, Fatty, is purring loudly and delightedly, while sleeping.  This is a first for Fatty, so I'm intrigued. 

Fatty was upstairs, napping on her armchair (which we've covered with a soft tablecloth in order for her fur to be easily removable from said surroundings), until I turned on Bravo.  Then she suddenly appeared downstairs, rolled around briefly, and then jumped into her pink cadillac where she is currently asleep and purring. 

Here are the possible explanations:

1)  Fatty is having some kind of delightful dream involving chasing birds and bugs.  This is unlikely because when Fatty sees a bug in the house, she walks over to it, sniffs it gently, and then attempts to befriend it by lying down next to it and rolling over.  She really has no killer instinct at all.

2)  Fatty is dreaming about romping through fields of butterflies with the cute boy dog next door.  Again, this is unlikely because he moved away a while back, and I'm not sure cats have long-term memory.  But she was kind of in love with him.  He'd come visit her when he escaped his yard, and they'd chat and hang out and have a drink.  Yeah, I don't know, she's a weirdo, and evidently open-minded in terms of interspecies love.  So maybe she's progressive!

3)  Fatty might love Kathy Griffin.  Fatty enjoys and is well accustomed to loud, mean-funny women in her immediate surroundings and prefers the company of gay men to all other people she meets, so signs point to yes.








 

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

When Moms are #1's



My mom rocks on occasion.  That's right, she's sometimes so supremely awesome that I temporarily forget that 98% of the time she's giving me stony lectures about the value of grad school. 

Janet Jackson was in town last night!!!  She's one of my top 5 favorite singers of all time.  I used to have 5 minute dance parties many years ago in college to take breaks from writing my thesis, and I'd call into the dorm hallway for anyone to come into my room, and we'd shake it to Miss Jackson with the lights off, in the glow of my lava lamp and pink holiday lights around the windows.  It was classy, obviously.  You could say that without Janet, I wouldn't have made it through college!  I love Janet so much that she's one of my ringtones - people, you know that's a special place to be.

*Sidenote:  If I tell you the other four of my fav singers, I worry that you might stop reading this blog, so don't ask (cough cough one of them might be R. Kelly cough cough).*

I spent most of yesterday scouting craiglist for ticket deals - I love Janet, but I don't love that she was asking $150 per ticket.  Since I have lots and lots and lots and lots of free time, I figured, why the hell not spend it trying to find some bona fide awesome but under face value tickets!  People weren't budging, but then around 5 PM clear desperation set (the concert started at 7:30), so I managed to score tickets WAAAYYY under face value!  And of course my date to the concert - Mom!!!

There is nothing cooler than showing up to the Janet show with your Mom.  No, I'm serious.  Most of the audience was women of varying ages and their gay boyfriends (shocking); there was also of course the requisite dragged along boyfriend/husband (I happened to be sitting next to one, and at some point during the night, the switch flipped from bored to AWESOME and homey was feeling the groove thang!  All 6 foot 7 of him, which required watching out for flying limbs on my part). 

BUT in the midst of all of this, you should have seen the attention my Mom woman was getting!  She was the star of row R, Orchestra section RC, without a doubt! 
Mom was shaking her ethnic parent bootay and clapping on 1 and 3 like that makes any kind of sense!  The drunk girls in front of us kept turning around to dance with her, and she was high fiving them and finding the cameras they dropped on the floor for them.  Oh Mom, how you rocked the house!


Janet put on a SHOW.  YES.  It was OFF THE HEEZY.  Voila proof:


The crazy robot outfits and skintight pleather were expected, but I must say that I hope the power of her boobs comes through in this picture, cause she looked A-MA-ZING.  When she stepped out, I was like a 12 year old boy - all my brain thought was "BOOOOOBS".  And she was unstoppable - she sang four sets with 5 minute interludes between them, each 20 minutes long, nonstop singing and dancing.  She was on fire.  It was incredible!

And Mom was also incredible - after a long day of seeing patients, she came to a concert where she had no idea what to expect, couldn't name a Janet song to save her life, and she ended up being the perfect date.  ROCK ON, MOM!

Monday, March 14, 2011

Snarky Disaster Coping Strategies

Laughter is the best medicine, blah blah blah, of course not if you really need help, in which case food or medical attention may be the best medicine.  Like right now in Japan, they'd probably prefer clothing and shelter and nuclear shielding. 

I'm not trying to make light of the situation in Japan.  I'm so sorry for those people and their loss of life and livelihood.  Here is a link to the Red Cross if you are able to donate

Please note, though, that the rest of this post includes snarking about disaster scenarios and may offend those who are feeling sensitive:  reader discretion is advised!


I am in the midst of this gchat conversation with one of my besties, Sarah:

D.H.: sarah!
what is going on in the world? specifically japan????
 
sarah: I got home thursday night and my roommate was watching TV... what the H*** is wrong with news reporters they just flew over all these ppl calling for help and left them!
 
D.H.: oh man, yeah i have no idea
it's crazy overall
makes me definitely not want to move anywhere near the pacific ocean
also makes me sure the apocalypse is night
nigh*
 
sarah:   I'd rather deal with an earthquake than a hurricane
 
D.H.:  well now it seems like earthquakes come with tsunamis
which are basically meaner hurricanes
 
sarah:   there are these crazy ppl who are driving up and down the country saying the apocolypse has started and the world will end in November.... maybe not so crazy ;) 
 
D.H.:  yeah for real
apparently earth hates us
which, let's face it
duh
 
sarah:   yeah, I'd hate us too
 
D.H.:  i'm waiting for the yellowstone caldera to erupt any day now
now moving to my own private island is less appealing
unless of course my island home is at an elevation of at least 2000 feet
 
sarah:   hahaha
it would be awesome.
maybe an underground, waterproof bunker could work?
 
D.H.:  i feel like no matter what, though, it'd spring a leak
 
sarah:   somthing with an escape hatch, but nothing else above ground?
but then you would drown and that would be super sad
 
D.H.:  well hav eyou seen that thing on the history channel
about people fearing the end of the world in 2012
 
sarah:   no?
 
D.H.:  so they're buying the underground bunkers in th emidwest
yeah, no joke
there are realtors just for those!
i can't believe people are buying bunkers!
like, i'm nuts, for sure
but here's the thing - if the world is coming to an end, like for real
i'd rather just expire quickly myself than fight it out in an underground bunker
 
sarah:   hahah omg
that is awesome
 
D.H.:  i kind of want to put an opinion poll up on my blog about this
 
sarah:   if the end of the world comes when in I am in LA, I hope I just get wiped out with the rest of the population
there isn't any water here -- it is a desert!!!!
anyone who survives is going to just die of thirst
totally not cool
 
D.H.:  yeah that's what i'm saying!
it's like, if you're going to have to fight for survival
then f*** it!
why wouldn't you just be like, PEEACE OUT B*TCHES!!! and just face an immediate death rather than the potential for a drawn out one that is relatively unpredictable
 
sarah:   haha, well it might be fun in the northwest, but I'd only do it places where they still have widllife and natural water.... and the midwest doesn't!!!! if you are going to be a survivalist, they should at least choose the right area!!
no point in struggling in a non sustainable area... that is when I just hole up and find something fun to do for the last few days ;)
 
D.H.:  yeah agreed, however in any other scenario
i'd make some mac and cheese and hug fatty until the certain end arrived
 
sarah:   love it!
so on the same page with that
though I guess I'd be hugging my dog
 
D.H.:  you can come join me
assuming you can get to me
i'll make extra mac and cheese
 
sarah:  haha, I'll make the trek with an extra box of powdered milk for the mac and cheese
as I pass all the silly ppl trying to survive on my way to boston, i'd say no thanks, I am just heading to a friends to eat mac and cheese and laugh at the world for our last few days
 
D.H.:  they'll all be terrified and you'll be like, whatevs we're watching Supernatural and eating dairy



Dear readers, I ask of you - what would you do in the event of a disaster of epic proportions?  Run, fight, or join me for mac and cheese?  Please RSVP if so - I need to know how much to make.  Let me know what you would do in the comments!

Mrs. SusanWong, please stop emailing my parents.

I awoke this morning to the following email, with a document attachment:


From:  One of DH's parents (frankly, they've both done this so let us not accuse)
Subject:  WORLD BANK UNITED NATIONS
To:  DH

I received the following E-mail but it was not in my Spam. I did not open it. Does it look like a virus?
--- On Mon, 3/14/11, mrs.susanwong <susan.wong288@gmail.com> wrote:

From: mrs.susanwong <susan.wong288@gmail.com>
Subject: WORLD BANK UNITED NATIONS
To:
Date: Monday, March 14, 2011, 4:09 AM

WORLD BANK UNITED NATIONS

Right.  So the thing is, unnamed parent, obviously this is SPAM, because WORLD BANK UNITED NATIONS a) doesn't exist as that entity, but two separate entities and more importantly b) would never be emailing you an attachment and c)  would never send an email that just says "WORLD BANK UNITED NATIONS." 

It is not infrequent that I receive these kinds of emails, and I've had to remind my parents that the United States Visa Lottery wouldn't contact them, let alone by email, let alone asking for wire money transfers, and that they definitely didn't win the visa lottery since they've been US Citizens for about 30 years now.

SPAMMERS, take note - you should just stop what you're doing re: pretending to be the US Government or other important sounding entities.  It's rude, and additionally, it annoys me to have to explain your stupidity to my cute ethnic parents.  STOPPIT!

Love,
DH

VIOLATION!

I slept for 9.5 hours last night, and I'm starting to feel human again after spending the last few days in, or in a daze from, PAX East!  I went with a group of my gamer friends, and while I myself do not game frequently, I did enjoy the overall atmosphere, as well as some rousing games of Ms. Pac-Man and Super Mario Bros on NES (or as I like to call it, OSN - Old School Nintendo)!  I also particularly enjoyed meeting Lesley Kinzel of Two Whole Cakes.  She's ridiculously awesome.

I'm taking this moment to b*tch, since on Saturday night I came home from PAX to discover an effing parking ticket on my car!  F**k you, City of Waltham!  YOU SUCK.  I'm going to dispute it, obviously, because nowhere are there any signs, at all, indicating that parking on the street after 2 AM results in a ticket.  Super!  Massachusetts, are we just supposed to KNOW this s*it?  For real!  

To add insult to injury, I attempted to dispute the ticket twice through the city of Waltham website, and get this - the officer hasn't even entered the information yet!  Thanks, you lazy asshole!!!  If you see Officer Piantedesi walking around Waltham, please kick him in the nuts for me. 

Ok, b*tching accomplished - thank you.

Thursday, March 10, 2011

Potty Time is Private Time

I don't know about you, but while I'm using the bathroom, I prefer not to converse with anyone.  This applies to public restrooms as well, even when I enter one with a friend and we're mid-conversation.  Frankly, especially then!  It should be girl code that you just shut up while you pee.  For real.  Even when I'm home alone, I close the bathroom door lest the cat decide that she's interested in what's going on in there.  Bottom line is, in Desperate Housedaughter's world, potty time is private time.

My mom, either disrespectful of boundaries or generally oblivious, somehow has fine-tuned NASA level radar for when I'm on the toilet.  She may not speak to me for hours, but the second I use the bathroom, she has something pressing to say to me.  I've had, embarassingly, more than one talk with her about the fact that I'd prefer that she wait until I've exited the bathroom before speaking to me about anything.  She obliges for a few days, then one day she knocks on the door to chat because she really needs to know right away how to spell the word "omelette."

Here's a list of fun questions my mom has asked me during my potty time:

1)  Where is my purse?
2)  Why don't you brush your hair?  I don't understand why curly haired people can't use hairbrushes!
3)  Are you thinking about grad school?  Or a job? 
4)  Do you want to be a dentist like me?  I know some great post-bac programs.
5)  Are you serious that curly haired people don't brush their hair??  That's disgusting!
6)  PHONE!  PHONE!  Please pick up the phone!!!
7)  Do you think our kitchen needs more cabinets?
8)  Can you come help me change the sheets on the bed now?
9)  Do you have a spare shower curtain?

Mom!  I love you!  Let me pee in peace!  It'll make me less grouchy, trust.  You know what I think is at play ultimately here?  I think she knows that while I'm in the WC, she has me cornered, and when I'm cornered, she can ask me life's important or mundane questions and I have NO ESCAPE.  Dang it all.  In the matter of bathroom chatty time, the score is:  Mom 1, D.H. 0. 

I just told my mom about this post, and she goes, "I know what this is going to say!  Every time I go to piss, my mom wants to talk to me."  See where I get it from?