my blonde logic

depressing chick flick, thanks hollywood

I finally am going to see a movie that has adults no talking animals, no amazing tweens, no pixar, and no booster seats.  Going to the movies during the day is the ultimate treat.  I first discovered its magic when Thing 1 was an infant.  Until then I had never gone to a movie by myself and very rarely had the opportunity or desire to go to the cinema during daylight hours (unless it was a weekend).  My first experience was life changing.  I sat where I wanted to sit, drank what I wanted to drink (no sprite compromise instead of diet coke), ate my own popcorn and I got the aisle seat without issue.  It was amazing, exhilarating and liberating. 
I get so excited when the daytime invite/opportunity pops up.  It is the only time that I can go and see a chick flick.  I have a date to meet my friend to see "he's just not that into you".  It gets ok reviews, it has a cast I want to watch, all things in check. 
Surprise!  This may be the most depressing movie ever.  First of all Scarlett Johanson is so can't put your finger on it sexy.  She's not gorgeous, she's not skinny, she's just sexy.  The kind of sexy that makes a white t-shirt and jeans look awesome.  Of course her character sleeps with the married man, thanks Hollywood. 
You have the pathetic single girl, who just doesn't get it.  We all have been her at one time or another in our lives.  Yes she does end up happy in the end, but she gets the crap beat out of her emotionally before that can happen.  It takes the guy on the other hand about 3 minutes of movie time, that seems about right.
There is the girl in the happy but not officially committed relationship.  They break up get back together and live happily ever after. 
So basically the girl who's life ends up completely miserable and screwed up is the married girl.  You feel bad for her from the get go.  While her world ends in divorce which is supposed to be okie dokie, bullshit. 
Why in everyone one of these relationships the woman has to go through unbelievable heartbreaking crap in order to be happy?  Why are women depicted as beings that can only find happiness after being beaten into the ground by the opposite sex?   Why isn't the book about understanding women a New York Times best seller?
I think Hollywood should make a movie where there wife wins the husband loses, doesn't mean they get divorced.  The girl blows off the guy, end of story.  Every guy that you ever dated still dreams about you.  Scarlett Johanson isn't the other woman, she is THE woman.  Women are happily married and they are adored by their husbands. Why is the wife never the HOT one?   Every box of chocolate has all of your favorites, no bad bites.
And the most important part of the movie THE MAN CRIES. 

I would like to thank the Academy for my fabulous film that made every woman feel great and was worth the $12.50.  I would also like to thank all of the real women out there, I hear ya sistas.  I am woman by Helen Redding plays as I leave the stage of the Kodak Theater.

Life is Just One Big HA!!

I understand the whole concept of Murphy's Law, I just don't always want to live it.  I have worked my tush off on the kids rooms.  I have conquered the wallpaper monster.  I have looked the evils of the built-in, straight in the eye.  I have laughed at the unsuspected discovery of severe water damage. 

I never would have expected to find what I woke up to on a beautiful Sunday morning.  If I haven't mentioned before my children have a propensity to puking.  lt has been awhile since the puke monster has paid a visit outside of a mode of transportation (our last run in was courtesy of Jet Blue).  I am trying to sleep in on this Sunday morning, or at least til 8:00.  The planets were not aligned, they had a different plan for me this fine morning.

It started with Thing 2 screaming to Thing 1, "get Mommy, she needs to come here".  I hear this thinking, what could possibly be preventing her from getting me herself.  I run through my mental list and none of the options are good.  I gingerly make my way to Thing 2, I am not getting a good feeling. 

I enter the room that I have just spent a week, spackling, sanding, repairing, and painting, only to discover the puke monster and his evil doings.  It is everywhere, I mean everywhere.  I barely glance over at Thing 2 and the fact that she has slept in this situation.  My walls, my baseboards, my god!  Did the exorcist take over my daughters body?  Only a power of evil could have strewn such yuck all over my canvas of spa gray (what I like to call the color of serenity that engulfs the walls).  Through all of my immediate panic and distress Thing 2 is still lying in the decimated room watching Sponge Bob, as if all is well with the world.  Personally I can't imagine what the hell could be so entertaining about a talking sponge that a puke filled room wouldn't bother me.

I guess the same thing that makes it possible for Thing 2 to hang out in her regurgitated palace is the same power that suspends my gag reflex long enough to clean it up.

My New Found Domesticity

 With all of the home renovations I have found myself in quite the nesting mode.  With the fifth season of Top Chef well underway, the cooking bug has bit me on the ass.  My culinary skills are not too consistent, you won't be seeing me on season 6.   This has all been compounded by our new found interest in expressing our Judaism.  We have started having Shabbat dinner, since Thing 1 has started Hebrew school.  We figure that no matter what, it is a nice family tradition.  Not Zac thinks of it as a new food group to obsess about, Challah, too this too that.  I now spend all Friday running around in preparation for the big event.  Candles, Challah, blah, blah, blah.

What to make, what to create?  I started a new tradition, each child gets to pick out what they want from the cook book. 
Thing 2 goes first, salmon and noodles an Asian flair.  Ok this seems doable.  I've only made salmon once before but I will give it a whirl.  The result is a moderate success.  Couldn't really ask for more.  Thing 2 thinks I'm awesome, yippee!

Thing 1 gets to pick.  He flips through the magical cookbook as if the pages are speaking the magical words of Moses that helped him part the red sea.  What does he land on, my 100% Hebrew school attendance child.  PORK TENDERLOIN, with pineapple.  Ok, now what?  Does he understand what he is asking of me.  I eat roast pork fried rice, spare ribs, chorizo, etc.  I have never sat down and dove into a full sized piece of pork.  I am not kosher, yet there are certain unwritten rules that I have never defied.  I decide to give it a try, what's the worst that could happen?  Grandma Yetta puts the fat thigh curse on me, already got it.

I need a butcher, this is not a supermarket purchase.  I have multiple questions and requirements, I need the experience of the old country.  I go to the place that Not Zac likes the hot dogs (his summer obsession).  I scope out the display cabinets, I have no idea what I am looking for, the little signs aren't helpful.  Finally its my turn, after the butcher finishes flirting with the elderly lady in front of me and complaining about some UES bitch on the phone.  I ask for my pork tenderloin.  The words barely make it past my lips.  Am I really going to do this? 

I head home with my well trimmed 2 pounds of the forbidden food.  I start to prepare the marinade, I'm still ok.  The time has come to rinse the pork loin.  I repeat my can do it mantra, over and over and over.  The room starts to spin, bile rises in my throat.  I CAN DO THIS!!!!!  Pork, its the other white meat.  I coat the now cleaned by my own hands pork with the marinade.  I put it on the the broiling pan that came with my stove 10 years ago.  Now I have to turn on the broiler.  This is where the big problem comes in.  HOW?  I push the button, nothing.  I push it again, nothing.  What the hell am I supposed to do, push more buttons.  Finally I turn it on.  The pork is supposed to be 4 inches from the flame, does that mean the pan or the actual pork?  Crap!  I decide to split the difference.  What's that smell, oh that would be the smoke flames that are coming off of the devil's pork.  All I can think of are my ancestors setting ablaze the evil meat.

After successfully charring the pork, I am ready to serve.  I can't seem to get past the pork word.  Spare ribs are spare ribs, fried rice the same, chorizo a different language.  This is flat out, can't dress is up PORK. 

My presentation is quite lovely, I used the top of the pineapple to plate, a trick my mother taught me.  We dive in.  Everyone keeps commenting on the pork.  Do you like the PORK?  I've never had PORK?  Isn't it the other white meat?  Is it healthy?  That's it, I can't take it anymore.  Can we stop talking about the PORK!!!! 

The guilt of this meal is more than I can stand.  I try to convince myself that it is ok, Thing 1 is beyond the moon that I made his pick.  Inside I am pretty impressed that I actually pulled it off.  I pray that the next pick is a non offensive pasta with olive oil.  Thing 2 thinks if Pork challenge for a quick fire, I would do AWESOME!