Ok, you never really did seem on board with my fun movie theme idea.  I’m not sure why.  Is it because you’re not fun?!  Naturally I’d never SAY something like; that would be hurtful.  I’ll just wonder quietly to myself…

And NOPE!  Too late.  Don’t try to be all “but we really loved the movie theme idea” NOW.  Because now?  We’re done with it, I hope you’re happy – and we’re moving on to my latest reads…

I was right and Cutting for Stone was a big boo-hoo fest.  And I still find myself wondering how everyone at Missing Hospital (everyone who is left, that is – cue tissue box) is doing from time-to-time. 

But you know what was an even BIGGER boo-hoo fest than Cutting for Stone?  The Tiger’s Wife by Téa Obreht.  In fact, it’s put me off ALL of the “Wife” books for the rest of…life.  The Time Traveler’s Wife, The Shoemaker’s Wife, The Kitchen God’s Wife, A Reliable Wife, A Blahbity-blah-blah Wife.  Naw.  I’m out.  The Tiger’s Wife did me in.  [Spoiler Alert] Set in Serbia (or Bosnia?  Maybe even the Ottoman Empire wherever that is??  The setting is actually a mystery), a Turkish apothecary kills a pregnant deaf-mute because she sympathizes with and subsequently feeds a half-wild, half-tamed tiger.  Why did you have to kill her, Apothecary Man?  You couldna let her birth the baby and go on her merry way??  ‘Cause Karma’s a b**ch and then YOU got killed, didn’tcha?  During some WWII ethnic cleansing effort, I believe.  But, really, who knows – it’s all so senseless.  And that Deathless Man bit was a distracting sidebar, but we all know the real point of the story was to break your heart over all the poor unfortunates.  Gulp.  I’m gettin’ choked up all over again.  And you wonder why I’m off all the Wifely books?

Speaking of “off”.  You know what else I’m off of?  Food.  I’m reading The Anatomist’s Apprentice by Tessa Harris.  It’s set in olde tyme England circa 1780.  It’s about the dawning age of Coroners.  But before they had…er…bodily preservation techniques.  GAAAAacck!!  All of the descriptions of smell and “grave wax” will put you off food too.  Which isn’t really so bad as a pre-holiday slim down effort.  But as an enjoyable, lighthearted reading experience?  GACK!

Finally, I started to read The Twelve Tribes of Hattie by Ayana Mathis but only got about 10 minutes into it.  That part about Hattie’s twin babies dying of pneumonia?  That’s a deal-breaker for me.  Homey don’t play that. 

So…what unexpired library books do I have left on my Nook?  The Ruin of a Rogue by Miranda Neville; A Kiss at Midnight by Eloisa James; and Highlander Most Wanted by Maya Banks. 

Now THESE?  These I can get behind.  You ALWAYS know how they’re going to turn out – the rogue will get ruined or do some ruining (nummy, num, num); there will be a kiss at midnight (uhhhh-huhhh that’s what I’m talkin’ ‘bout); and that naughty Highlander?  The one who’s “most wanted”??  He’s gonna git hisself captured!  But in a good way–no tears (or grave wax gaaack!) will be involved. 

Remember how fun we are?  We even started a movie theme this week.  Fun movie-themers in the house whoop, whoop!

Now, continuing with our theme–here’s what I have to say about Star Trek after watching the 2009 remake with the kids a few days ago…

Any and every Star Trek movie I have ever seen is sooooo annoying.  I never, EVER know what’s going on.  It’s like one big, never-ending math problem.  And if you miss out on the ground-floor addition and subtraction, then you’re totally hosed when it comes time to figure out how to beam people in from ships traveling at warp or how much red matter to add to the black-hole-that-the-bad-guy-is-creating in order to make it go away. 

Red matter?  Really??  REALLY?!?  Suck it, Trekees. (Trekors?  TrekDorks??)

Have I made it clear?  I HATE Star Trek movies.

And that’s even before they add the Spock-in-the-future component where he (Leonard Nemoy) comes back to talk to Spock-in-the-present-and-by-present-I-mean-still-distant-future-stardate-2250 (Zachary Quinto) to talk about the Über-future-star-date-a-million-light-years-from-now-who-cares.

And?  And this is where my head implodes into its own mini black hole because I.  Hate.  Star Trek.  Movies.  And I hate YOU Spock.  And I hate the fact that you hooked up with Lieutenant Nyota Uhura when she was young and firm and had a long, black ponytail.  But in the 1960’s future/past?  When you’re all grown up??  And our good lieutenant isn’t so young and firm anymore and in fact has a bad, short haircut with big dippety-doo curls?  Then you act like you barely even know her.  Jerk star date now.

But, I’m not a TOTAL Trek Hater.  And I CAN find the very few good things in a Star Trek movie.  For example, there’s this one part where young James T. Kirk says, “Fire everything!  Just…fire whatever we have!!” 

Yeah.  What he said.  Because I am totally on board with this approach.  Just in general.  Every day.  Fire everything.  Give ‘em everything you got.  Damn the torpedoes – full speed ahead!!!!

And then there’s that other great part.  Where the movie is finally over.  Yay!  Love that part.  And the voiceover says, “Space: The Final Frontier,” and Sonny says, “Wait!  I thought ALASKA was the final frontier.”

Yep.  That’s my fave.  

And a word to the wise here: That’s the problem with calling ANYTHING the FINAL anything.  There could always be one more final SOMETHING waiting in the wings. 

And ANOTHER word to the wise?  Live long and prosper. 

Now, not another word outta me about it–and that’s FINAL!

Hey!  I know what we could do!  We could get a movie theme going here.  We’re fun!  How fun are we?!  Yippeeeeee!!! 

Ok, I’ll go first…

I saw Catching Fire last week-end with Sissy (the requirement was that she had to finish the book before she saw the movie.  Aren’t I a good mother!?  And me?  I read those books like two years ago.  ‘Cause that’s what we 40-somethings do.  We read tween books to see what the hubbub is all about.  I also read the Twilight stuff.  Sue me.)

We met up with Sissy’s friend and the friend’s mother at the theater for a fun Mother/Daughter Catching Fire afternoon.

But in some weird unspoken seating arrangement scenario, Sissy ended up sitting with her friend on the RIGHT side of the friend’s mother.  So I was left to sit to the LEFT of the friend’s mother.  I had envisioned more of a mothers-bookending-tweens scenario, with each mother on the outside of her respective tween, instead of what actually went down.  Sissy and I were book-ending THEM! 

Whatevs.

And by ‘whatevs’ I mean I actually spent the entire movie not quite getting over how weird the seating arrangement was.

And when I wasn’t downward-spiraling over that, I was trying to figure out the knit and crochet patterns for all of Katniss’ awesome top layers – especially those worn before and during the Victory Tour.  There may have even been some rough homespun type duds I’d like to reproduce from that Quarter Quell business. 

And when I wasn’t enamored with the chunky-knits, I was…acckkk!….CRYING!

What?!  WHAT??  This is a TWEEN movie and I was with TWEENS.  Why was I crying?!?  And the tweens weren’t?  (Or were they?  I couldn’t quite…see them.)   Suffice to say the whole crying thing was ridiculous – especially that part about going into stealth tears mode; trying to HIDE my tears from the other mother.  Who wasn’t crying.  At all. 

Nor did she seem to be worried about crochet patterns.  Or seating arrangements.  Or hiding her tears from ME!  Some people seem to breeze through life.  And the odds are ever in their favor.

Would you say it’s luck?  Or just…odd??

Have you seen this movie?  I only ask because I just saw it this week-end.  And it’s my worst nightmare come true. 

In this movie, the girl’s parents are taken by Serbian revolutionaries.  Blah, blah, blah – the details aren’t important; What’s important is that in order to save them, she has to do…MATH!

Are you FREAKIN’ kidding me?!?!  To have to SAVE people you LOVE using MATH???  Like I said: Worst.  Nightmare. 

After her ex-CIA agent father has been strung up and chained to a pipe in a basement somewhere in Istanbul, he places a call to the girl (where she’s hiding in a closet) from his impossibly-tiny-phone-hidden-in-a-boot.

He tells her to get out a map.  And then instructs her on how to jerry-rig a protractor out of a shoelace and a sharpie.  Whaaaat?  What the hell?!?

But it doesn’t stop there.  She then has to protract the HECK out of the map, measuring the shoelace to varying lengths and creating Venn diagrams.  This part might SEEM like total bs, but actually, Venn diagrams are pretty fun.  Venn there, done that.  Hee hee hee.

At some point she has to tell direction.  In Istanbul.  From a hotel room window.  Yeah, right.  I’m pretty sure my trick of holding up my thumb and forefinger to see which hand spells the letter “L” is not going to tell me which way EAST is.  In Istanbul.  From a hotel room window.

Because once she figures out which way EAST is, she has to then throw a grenade on the rooftop that’s east of the hotel. 

Ok.  Now THROWING?  Come on.  If I had to throw a live grenade – (“Let me hear you count to three before you do it, Sweetheart,” says the disembodied dad-voice on the other end of the line) Counting?  You’re really adding COUNTING to the mix?!? – that would pretty much be the end of the conversation right there.  Because I’d get so wild with my throw that instead of sailing out of the open balcony door, the grenade would hit the door jamb and ricochet back into the room.  For those who have seen me throw-like-a-girl, this is a distinct possibility.   

So.  Given all of this, Mom & Dad, please, please, please don’t get kidnapped in Istanbul.  Because if I then had to save you using protractors, directional cues and throwing?  (Oh, and let’s not forget counting.  But WHY counting??  That’s just rubbing it in.)  I don’t think I’d be able to do it.  Not that I wouldn’t WANT to.  I just literally COULDN’T. 

In which case the phone call from the tiny, boot-phone would go WAY differently than it did in the movie, “Oh, hi, Dad.  Thanks for calling.  Hi to Mom too.  Love you both!  But we should probably just say good-bye now.”

…and all through the house

The new stay at home mom

Was cleaning like a louse

Ok.  This is going nowhere fast.  ‘Cause what I really wanted to say was: Have you ever been at Thanksgiving dinner…and someone halfway down the table gets the brilliant idea that you should all go around the room and say what you’re thankful for? 

Except by the time it comes around to you, everyone has already said what YOU were gonna say?!  So then you just sound like an uncreative copycat.

Well…PRE-EMPTIVE STRIKE!!!

I’m gonna say what I’m thankful for on Thanksgiving EVE and the rest of y’ins* can eat my turkey dust! 

NOWWWW who’s the copycat?!?

Here goes. 

I’m thankful for:

My husband and my children.  I could spend a hundred lifetimes trying to be worthy of the gifts you are to me.

For my parents and my siblings and their families.  I hope I am everything you need me to be.  Thank you for everything you are to me.

For my friends – new and old.  You are such treasures to me.

For everyone’s continued happiness and health (because without health, it doesn’t mean much).

For the earthly gifts God has given me: a house, a car, warm clothing, a plentiful table.

For the gifts of intelligence, creativity, humor and strong faith.

For a year’s worth of unemployment compensation that let me do what I’ve never been able to do as a wife and mother.  Breathe.  Just take a step out of the frantic, seemingly never-ending scramble.  And breathe.

That’s it.  That’s all I got.  P.S.  Dear Santa, please bring me a job.

*Did I ever tell you that Hubby and I lived in Central Pennsylvania for like ten years?  And during that time we picked up certain phrases that still pop up in conversation – one of which is “y’ins”.  It’s a contraction of the words ‘you’ and ‘ones’.  Spelled ‘y’ins’ and pronounced YIHNS.  (Hey – it’s Central Pennsylvania!  Just go with it.  It’s kinda like the Jersey Speak equivalent of “youse guys.”)  In summation, youse guys can eat my turkey dust because I am thankful that I was thankful FIRST!  Now I gotta get back to cleaning the house.  Like a louse.

I find it’s always best to define a phrase before I use it in general conversation.  This works particularly well with my kids.  I learned this lesson the first time I let them go down a snowy hill in a sled by themselves.

They were little – maybe 2 and 3 years old – and I made it very clear to them that if they heard me yelling “BAIL!” they were to immediately fall off the sled.

As they started down the hill, gathering speed, they veered left so that they were headed straight at the one tree in the whole place.  At which point I started to run in slow-motion while screaming, “Bail!  BAIL!!!  BAAAAAAAILLLLLLL!!!!”

They missed the tree by inches and when I arrived at the bottom of the hill in tears with snot frozen all over my face, I asked (ok, yes, in a yell-y sort of way if you must know) why they hadn’t bailed when I told them to.

“We don’t know what ‘bail’ is,” was the reply from their pink-cheeked, big-eyed puzzled faces.  They were having FUN!  What was Mom so worked up about anyway?!?

Ohhh, Most Honorable Sensei.  This Grasshopper has now learned to DEFINE phrases before sending others plummeting towards certain head injury and broken bones.

So.  Before we get started here, do you know what a ‘pet peeve’ is?

No, I’m not talking about the ‘pet peeve’ as I first discovered it in my mother’s highschool yearbook: all innocuous inside jokes and stuff.  Mary Betsy’s pet peeve is Gilbert’s scarf during pep rally.  Tee hee hee.

Huh?  If my pet peeve were Gilbert’s scarf during pep rally, I would jump Gilbert outside the sock hop and use my switch-blade to de-scarf his gullet.  Now THAT’s what I mean when I say ‘pet peeve’.   Hulk during Defcon ‘Roid Rage Pet Peeve.

Ok.  Now that we’ve level-set, let me tell you about a pet peeve of mine which is top-of-mind because I cleaned THREE bathrooms today and all THREE bathrooms contained massive amounts of petty peevishness.

And for the record, no.  No, I’m not EVEN talking about what happens in and around all the toilets.  This remains a mystery to me which I will never solve and I’ve given up trying.  The particular pet peeve in question is…duh, duh, duhn…the sink.  And the spit.

How is the sink NOT a big enough target for all the spitting that happens in the bathroom??  Again, I ask you: how is the sink NOT BIG ENOUGH to contain ALL THE SPIT?!?

Why…WHY…is there so much spit on THE MIRROR?  And AROUND the sink??  But not IN THE SINK?!?

Gaaaah!!!  WHAT IS GOING ON?!?

Do you watch to see how cute you are as you’re spitting out the toothpaste and that’s why all of it ends up on the mirror?!?  Do you have some rudimentary blowhole on the TOP of your head you haven’t learned to control yet – so as you’re brushing your teeth into the sink, everything is spewing out towards the mirror?!?  Do you stand fully upright with a book on your head working on your posture WHILE you’re brushing your teeth and you just let the chips/spit fall where they may??

I don’t get it.  I honestly don’t get it.

Here’s what you need to do: hold whatever ya got in your mouth until you are bent-at-the-waist at a ninety-degree-angle above the sink.  Then, and only then, can you let it out.  And if you have to?  Just to be safe??  Get yer everlovin’ head right down IN the sink before you spit.  God save the Queen!

Premature spit-ulation.

Do you know what that is, boys and girls?  That’s my PET PEEVE!!!!

As a “special surprise” after dinner last night, I served those Limited Edition Pringles to my kids.

Judging by their horrified looks come dessert time, you would have thought I offered to stab the dog in the eye instead.

Have you seen these Limited Edition flavors?  Lay’s fired a Chicken and Waffles, Sriracha, and Garlic Bread flavored volley this summer.  Pringles returns-fire at Holiday time with Pecan Pie and White Chocolate flavored potato chips.

Which, I must say, as desserts go, is not the WORST dessert my kids have ever eaten.  So there.  (And no, I will NOT share with you the WORST dessert my kids have ever eaten.  Because then you’d want the recipe…or you’d call the cops.  So let’s just say the kids thought they were popsicles.  They didn’t know anything about the vodka until later.)

And in the scheme of things, the chips are really…ok tasting.  In fact, the Pecan Pie flavored Pringles taste like McGriddles.  For the record, I am not opposed to a McGriddle-tasting item once in a while.

But my daughter won’t be eating this flavor.  She’s allergic to pecans – and even though I’ve tried to convince her that there’s not a single, solitary ‘pecan’ listed in the ingredients – she refuses to budge.  So she’s relegated to consuming the White Chocolate flavored ones.

These?  These taste like those mini dehydrated marshmallows that come in the little hot chocolate packet.  But before you add water.  You know, kinda crunchy and squeaky in your teeth.

Yep, the White Chocolate flavored ones are all hers.  Or Sonny’s.  Whoever wants ‘em.  And if they’re not gone by the time the first big snowfall comes around, I’m going to sprinkle them on hot chocolate and see if anyone notices.

The time has come to bring Starbucks’ lack of decaf to New York City’s attention.

Yeah.  That’s right.  What I just said.  Bring it!

But to clarify…did you know that Starbucks STOPS brewing fresh decaffeinated coffee at 2 in the afternoon?  This pretty much guarantees that all those fools in there AFTER 2 are drinking full-bore wack juice.

And THAT seems like just the sort of “this has GOT to be bad for you” thing that New York City would want to know about.  You know, one of those “this has GOT to be bad for you and it’s really none of our business since you’re an adult, but we’re gonna try to put the kibosh on it anyway” type of deals…along the same lines as massive, sugary Big Gulps.

How do I even know that Starbucks doesn’t brew decaf after 2?  ‘Cause I asked for a decaf at about 6:30 p.m. and they told me the whole tale:

Me:  “Uhhh…yeah…I’d like a tall decaf coffee please.  With room.”

Perky Starbucks Automaton:  “Ohhhh – gee, I’m sorry!  [while giving me a sooo saaaad frowny-face reserved for only the dumbest of the dumb-dumbs]  But we don’t brew fresh decaf coffee after 2 in the afternoon.”

Me:  “Uhhh…ok.  Can you just find some of the old decaf and warm it up for me?

PSA:  “Teeee heee.  I could make a cup of Verisimahlollyloolah for you.  It brews the perfect cup of coffee every time.”

Me:  “I have no idea what you just said, but if it’s decaf, I’m in.”

PSA:  “Sure!   Again, it’s Verisimahhhh-lolly-looooo-lah [said in the same way my grandmother spoke all foreign languages: English only LOUDER and SLOWWWWER] and it brews the perfect cup of coffee every time.”

Me:  “Okaaaay.  And again – as long as it’s decaf, I’m in.”

[5 minutes later…I’m THOROUGHLY annoyed at all the nonsense.  I just wanted a FREAKIN’ cuppa decaf coffee.  Why does it have to be so HARD?!?  Thanks for making me feel like an a$$, Starbucks.  I already feel intimidated every time I go in there with all the inside jokes that you call “ordering coffee.”  I thought I was doing so well knowing about “leaving room” and everything – and then you hit me upside the head with the “no fresh brewed decaf after 2” silliness.]

PSA:  “Miss?  Because Verisimahlollyloolah brews the perfect cup of coffee every time, I had to put it in a grande cup so that you would have room for milk.  Is that ok?”

Ok??  OK??!   Screw the coffee!  Screw the cup size!  Screw the room!  She just called me MISS…of COURSE it’s ok!!!

P.S. New York City, there is nothing to see here.  Move along.

My book club is now defunct.

It started slowly sliding off the hill when we began selecting vampire books-that-were-made-into-movies so we could all go see the movie together.

Then we just started going to the vampire movies and skipping the books altogether.

Then we started skipping the movies and meeting at winebars.

Every once in a blue moon I’ll get an email about a book suggestion and subsequent meet up at someone’s house, but because I don’t even live in that ‘hood anymore, I’ve kinda opted out.

But that’s not to say I haven’t been reading; Because I have.  I’ve been reading all the books I didn’t get a chance to read when they first came out because I had one of them-there JOBS everyone is always nattering on about.

[Well, and all the books I didn’t get a chance to read because I was slogging my way through five THOUSAND pages of Game of Thrones.  Here’s a friendly hint for you: There are actually FIVE books in that series, not four.  So when you get to the end of the fourth and nothing has been wrapped up and in fact 10 MILLION more characters and contenders-for-the-throne have been introduced, don’t be surprised.  Don’t be surprised when it’s that way at the end of the FIFTH book either.  Clearly there will be ten MORE books that eventually I’ll be too old to read or remember anything about.]

So, in no particular order are the books I’ve read recently.  Along with a few insightful comments about them:

• Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn.  Wack.  Totally wack.  And no I don’t want to read any more of her books because I’m sure it would be more of the same.  Doesn’t the husband ALWAYS do it?  Uh…nope.
• The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern.  It starts to make you think that magicians might actually BE magic and not just DOING magic.  Either way, I sure hope Le Cirque des Rêves is coming to Denver soon!  In fact, I sent an email to the address listed on the proprietor’s business card, but the reply indicated it’s against their policy to disclose information about upcoming locations.  See??  Magic might actually EXIST!
• The Language of Flowers by Vanessa Diffenbaugh.  So sad.  But uplifting at the end.  But sad most of the time.  But some happy parts.  Very few though because the main character is so flawed.  But that part about the Victorian language of flowers was way interesting.  Also?  I may now want to adopt a dozen children from foster care.      
• The Beautiful Mystery by Louise Penny.  It’s one of the Chief Inspector Gamache series.  I love him as a main character.  But I suppose everyone else does too.  If you were looking for a sex scandal at the monastery, you’ll be severely disappointed.  But Gamache’s second-in-command does fall off the deep-end, so there is that.
• The Paris Wife by Paula McLain.  It should actually have been called “A Doormat in Paris.”  And as a side note?  Ernest Hemingway was a total a$$.

Finally, I’ve just begun reading Cutting for Stone by Abraham Verghese.  I’m starting to get that sinking feeling in my stomach.  The one that means I will hate this book but continue to read it anyway, and then be sad for the rest of my life that I did.  This is exactly the same way I felt about The Kite Runner and Little Bee.  I feel like the whole thing is just gonna be a HUGE boo-hoo fest that will linger long after the borrowed library book has expired and disappeared into the air above my Nook.

What’s up with Pikachu?  What is UP with Pikachu?!  He’s that cute little pink-cheeked Pokémon and all he ever says is, “Pee-cuh.  Peee-cuh.  Chew!  Peee-cuh-chew!”

Uh.  Ok.  Is that why they named him Pikachu?  Which came first: the Pikachu, or the peee-cuh-chew?!

Seriously.  It’s so annoying.  He’s gotta move on to something else.

Why am I even on this topic?  Because I was privy to a huge dose of peee-cuh-chew this past Saturday.  At full blast.

He sounds like a baby just learning to make complex sounds-which-aren’t-quite-words.

When my daughter was doing that, she sounded mostly Asian and once-in-a-while Latvian.  When my son was doing it, he sounded like a bubble machine and there was a LOT of spit.

Pikachu?  Just sounds annoying.

But Pikachu is not the first of his kind.  Remember that cartoon from the 80’s?  (Hey!  I’m flexible.  I can talk 80’s cartoons OR songs.  Today it’s cartoons.)  It was called Thundercats.  (Thundercats, HO!!!)  There were human-ified lions and tigers in that show.  They talked like people.  But they had spotted/striped hair and weird cat eyes.  And of course, cat powers.  They also had a pet…cat.  How wacky is that?!?  But all the cat ever said was, “Snarf.  Snarf.”  So his name was Snarf.

This cartoon-y named-after-the-sound-you-make theme I’ve identified makes me wonder if I’m STILL a stay at home mom because I SOUND like a stay at home mom?!?

Hmmm…what does a stay at home mom sound like?

I CAN’T STAND DOING ANYMORE DISHES.  I’M NOT DOING ANOTHER DISH.  IF YOU MAKE THAT DISH DIRTY, YOU CLEAN THAT DISH!!!

That’s just ONE example.  I could give you various OTHER examples – all shout-y like – pertaining to carpools, errands, meals, homework, school projects, holiday preparation and so forth.  But I won’t go into that now.  Because I think I’ve narrowed it down.  You know what makes me sound MOST like a stay at home mom?!?  The part where I say, “Nope.  Still no job.  But thanks for bringing it up!”  [stink eye, stink eye]