Sunday, August 29, 2010

At least the title was good

I'm Irish (like I don't wear that on my sleeve) hence I'm morbid.  It's just in the blood.  The running joke in my family, for instance, is that no party is complete without my mom's "untimely and tragic" story.  There needs to be at least one for the "Opa!" effect.

So really, what should I've expected when I read a novel by an Irish 23 year old?  A series of untimely and tragic events, of course.  But I didn't expect that.  I expected the book to be just as wonderful and moving as the movie P.S. I Love You.  (I don't even really like movies, let alone get effected by them.  During ps I love you I was streaming tears the entire time.  I'm not sure if pregnancy hormones had anything to do with it, but I'm not willing to take the risk that it wasn't.)   The cover of the book says that it's by the same author.  Which should've been my second red flag.  If you like a movie so so much, chances are the book can't live up to the movie.  And isn't it always a shame when you read the book then watch the movie?  ( I hear Eat, Pray, Love is exceptional.)

and And that was the only credit that the book cover gave to this book.  No New York Times reviews.  No reviews at all, really.  No preface (not that a book needs them, because frankly, I never read them.  Although I always realize in retrospect that I should've read the preface.  This happens every single time.)

So.  With all that being said, I need to say one more thing.  I never thought that I'd be the type of person that would write a bad review on a book.  It is someone's piece of art, after all, and who am I to slander that?  Why would I deter someone else from reading it?  (especially since it's just a depressing novel?)  I have no answers to that question other than I can't believe I wasted 450 pages (but only 3 days, if I might add) to read it.

It was series after series of missed meetings with the true other.  And then when they're fifty and divorced and baby mamas and baby daddys and failures failures failure and 415 pages of FAIL they decide "oh my true love!  We've been "best friends" (let's face it you can't have the opposite sex be your best friend through marriages et cetera et cetera) since we were 5 now let's get mawwwwied even though your post menopausal and we have a combined three children in three different countries.  AND you're a successful doctor who only cares about work and YOU'RE always bitching about being a single mother and the manager of a hotel who didn't even pass health dept regulations."  And you're attracted to each other why?

There is one thing I was impressed with, however.  Apart from the epilogue, the whole book was written via letters, emails, Instant messages.  But when I think back about the story, the times and places of events are very clear.  That is the one and only thing that I would describe as "talent" or literal "piece of work."  But boyy, was this book a piece of work.

I also like the Title (main character's name) Rosie Dunne.  Who wouldn't want to be named that?  And I liked reading it in my own version of an Irish brogue.  That was the one thing that kept me from scratchimg my eyes out.

So if you're ever in the mood to read a very frustrating story that uses phrases like "gone mental" and "demented" and every 150 pages mentions a drag queen named "Miss Behave" to jazz the story up, this is definitely the book for you.

But clearly, I don't want to talk about it, so keep it to yourself.

I'm off to read about training my puppy, for a dose (or more) of reality.

Friday, August 27, 2010

I get by with a little help from my friends (followers?)

We all remember the days of celebrating when we'd have one more follower.  I remember clearly the day that I was up to my fourth follower and first random commenter.  I shouted for joy and told Mr Incredible (among others) and I quote: "A professional blogger commented!"  I'm realizing a year or so later that she wasn't "professional" she had a lot of followers.  Again, my mantra applies, tomato tomahto.
Wait.  Who am I kidding?  I still wait for just one more follower.  And a different commenter.  Heck!  I even got an anonymous commenter the other day!  The only reason I was sad was because I wasn't verbally harassed by he she (it?).  And I'm still, STILL waiting for the day I get a Cambodian spammer in my comments section.  That's official like relationship status on facebook official.

But alas.

So I'm imploring your help.  Because when Jen says that she's blogging for her job (pffff) and Emcy asks "how do you have 104 followers?  Not that I care how many followers I have...*trailing off...* (pfff) and Rose is "online journaling" we all just know that they are new bloggers who haven't come to grips with Step 1: Admitting.  Admitting that we are powerless over our need to be noticed.  To have followers.

We all want to be leaders of a circus.  In our case, it's a virtual circus.  Which is pretty thought provoking.  Descartes, anyone?  (Rose?)

So I'm going to strongly advise you to go read their blogs and follow.  Follow.  Follow.  And I'm going to proudly list them on my blog roll under my (not yet existent) Friends and family Blogs.  I always thought those friend and family blogs were such a Below the Belt Move.  Like saying, "these are outrageously awesome blogs under 'My Faves,' but please excuse my Friends and Families' blogs."  Not so, friends.

I guarantee youll be slightly envious of their way with words.  Dormant Gloria Steinman?  Yes please.  Delightfully and maybe overeagerly assisting policemen (while describing her husband as having a 'clipped bark'?)  Uh thank you yes.  Chicken wings (too many?)?  Forgetting to  take out the garbage (again?)?  Now that is empathy at its finest.

Wednesday, August 25, 2010

Welcome to the Family

I've discovered something new about me today.  I'M NOT A NATURAL AT DOG REARING.  I've discovered something else about me today.  I take back all the times I self deprecatingly shook my head at people when they would say that I'm natural and good mom.  BECAUSE I AM.  My new dog told me so.

New dog, you say?  Kiera, what's this?  Answer:  I don't know!

Here's the story.  We wanted a labradoodle.  We as in I suggested a dog to Mr Incredible.  Ya know, someone to play fetch with.  Labradoodle- hypoallergenic, relatively mild, kid friendly.  I always wanted a big dog.  So it met the criteria.  Yesterday we go to the pet store, conversation as follows:
Me: Mr Incredible just so you know if there's a labradoodle in there I'll want it immediately.
Him: No, we're going to go through a breeder, not the pet store,
Me: Just sayin.

Lo and behold, there was the sweetest lookin' labradoodle you ever did see there.  (commence whining and my argument why we should get him

Until took him out and played with him, that is.
Just a flesh wound.
My sweet little timid, timid, scared of any living thing (potato bugs included) children asked to play with a puppy that was little and sweet.  We chose a little Havanese puppy.  Upon delivery to my arms the pet shop worker said, "this dog is basically dead it's so chill."  
Right. up. my. alley.  Eldest daughter held this dog (!!) for 15 minutes (!!!!).  And then said "I want to buy him."  *heart melting*

Blah blah blah I can't believe I'm giving you all these details.  

cut to the chase next day we bought dog.  Named him Peppy.  

I did my research on Havanese dogs, but maybe not so much dogs in general.  A) You have to take them out in the middle of the night?  B) You have to let them "cry it out in the cage?"  THIS is the point that I'm emotionally detaching myself.  None of my kids "cried it out" in their cribs (and btw, they sleep through the night in their own bed (cept the baby is still in our bed))  But I'll be damned if a dog ends up in bed with me.  I'll be damned.  C) Dogs have "rest time" and "play time."  I thought dogs just laid around all day waiting to harass the mailman.  No?  No.

Needless to say, I'm more tired than I've been in a while.  Although this is the nice type of tired because my body isn't recovering from labor.
Meet Peppy

in all his glory.

With Pep in his step.

Tuesday, August 17, 2010


This restaurant
these horses standing outside of it
made me laugh out loud remembering this:

rusty!  no!

Monday, August 16, 2010

Miley has it wrong. It was a party in Can-AH-da

I'm back!  What?  you didn't miss me?  Oh, it's because I was on a long weekend.  Not a vacation.  There it's been clarified.

What I look like on vacation.  no for real.
I'll begin at the beginning and the end.  We went to Blue Mountain in Canada.  It's a ski resort only it was summertime.  So it was a summer resort on a mountain.  It was ah!mazing.  It's an hour and a half past Toronto.  If you're thinking, "ooo I love big cities!" redirect your thinking to, "note to self: never go on vacation when you have to drive through a ginormous city."  Unless you super fluffy heart traffic jams, of course.

Did you know that if Toronto were in the US (tomato tomahto, ay?) it would be the third largest city after nyc and la?  Approaching the big city, I thought, 'Ikeas! skinny people (maybe even famous)!, musicals! and Asians!'  Round number two:  Approaching the city I thought, 'Please God don't let there be more traffic jams that creep up so fast on you that I'll get whip lash and more importantly, will let the kids wake up."

I won't get into all the wonderful nitty gritty details of it.  But this much I'll say:  Starbucks under our hotel room.  Tim Hortons in Canada.  Pool.  Beach.  Mountain.  Someone else washing all of our dirty towels.  Beer.  Martinis.  Wine.  Live music.  Need I say more, friends??  Need I say more.
Front: capri sun. Back: cranberry lime martini.  It's not everyday that I have martinis. (garnished with limes, that is.)

Thursday, August 12, 2010

There's a fungus among us (but I decided to blog about something else)

I'm tired.  Have I ever mentioned that before?  I don't complete full sentences, thoughts, really anything other than appetite, when I'm this tired.

Have you ever read design interior blogs when you're tired?  Gone to TJMaxx when you're tired?  Tried ordering off the dollar menu?  Decided between an ice cream sandwich and York mint patty?  (I ate both plus another york mint patty.  the big ones.)  Gone to AAA to rent a van with all four hubcaps?  DMV?

So now I'm tired an anxiety ridden.  I'm not good enough and AAA and DMV employees have successfully made me feel inadequate and have left me wondering if my children are in fact comparable to ferrets.  (So I didn't brush their hair today!!!!!)  Most importantly, I'm frantically calling, emailing, scouring craigslist for a dresser like this:
(mind you I'm not trying to get a new bedroom furniture sets.  This is for our living room/den)
image 1890007049-0

to turn into this:

and I want to turn this:
image 1881967507-0 
into this:

Oh the list could go on.  


Hopefully I'll come back Monday (oh, whatever, it's a long weekend.  I call them vacations) with wonderful pictures and stories and the best Irish tan you ever did see.  

See you thennnnnnn.  <3 <3 <3  

(the mere thought of vacation and my fingers just typed 790 words per minute.)

Wednesday, August 11, 2010

My Mahtha

After many years I am slowly coming to grips with Martha.  Martha Stewart that is.  My mom always made it very clear to me that Martha was a daughter hating, stock stealing know-it-all.  Which I heard as 'she makes gaudy crafts and has people who housekeep for her.'  And newstand Enquirer magazine covers told me that she doesn't rock a thong bathing suit very well.  Notice that "doesn't" doesn't mean "can't" or "won't" or "strongly advised not to."  All these thing made me steer clear of her.

martha-stewart.pngFast forward (rewind?) four years ago when I had expiring frequent flier miles.  Choose from the following: Martha Stewart living, Fishing, Golf, Southern Living.  Obvious.

Needless to say, I've fallen in love.  Martha, I love you and all of your turquoise orange stuff and crafts and print out lists and recipes and cookies of the day that I receive via email every single day.  And your paints!  oh, your paints, Martha!  I was in a bit of a white wall hell when you withdrew your line (maybe they withdrew the line from you) of paint from Lowes.  But you know that Home depot would pick up those pieces.

Today I was in celebratory retail therapy mode (again) (Mr Incredible's semester is over) at TJMaxx and I found Martha's cookbook for $12 from 50.  I don't know whether I should eat it or read it cover to cover or start baking feverishly.  Fat and furiously.

My little snowflake of respect for martha has now snowballed out of control.  Sure!  I'll make sesame cookies.  Sure!  I'll make nautical coasters.  Yes!  I'll hang up your must have for a laundry room list up in my laundry room.  Of course!  I will sweep the floor every night if you tell me to, Martha.  Actually I'll lick it for you.  What's your favorite Martha craft?  cookie?  list?

Let's talk Martha.