Hippity Hop

I'm a hypocrite. I realized it today at the grocery store. It's clearly based on my prejudice against the winter months, or more accurately the end of summer.

The harsh reality of this hit me today when I happily embraced the sight of Easter candy on the store shelves despite the fact that Easter remains pretty far off in the future. It wasn't all that long ago that I was bitching at the audacity of this very same grocery store putting out Halloween candy before Labor Day. The HORROR, how DARE they.

My complaints included wondering who the hell was buying mini Miky Way bars MONTHS before there'd be a need to drop them into the open sacks of trick-or-treaters. That very same complaint about Easter never even glanced off my brain matter today. Nope, instead I got all giddy at the sight of Easter peeps and hollow chocolate bunnies.

I confess. It's me. I'm prejudiced against anything that signals the end of summer and I'm giddy at the thought that once again were about to faced down another summer season.

Despite the fact that I seem all excited at the onset of C'mas with the lights and the bad movies I realize it's all I've got to cling to as the winter looms large in my future. Damn. I thought I'd conquered that demon and I guess in some small way I HAVE conquered it with holiday lights and those awful movies and holiday specials.

But now I know the truth. I'm just waiting for the first hint of spring on the horizon. Those hollow chocolate bunnies make my heart soar while those mini Milky Ways in August sink my spirits all the way down to my sagging ankles.

Those aisles of bunnies makes me wonder how long before I'll spy my first hint of summer, that first display of grill tools can't be far behind the chocolate bunnies can they?

Not that you asked

I'm a home fashions freak. I love 'em. I even used to work in the home fashions industry (oh those were the good ol' days).

Because of my home fashions freakishness I have certain rules that I propose are the BEST rules and we should all live by them.

These occurred to me yesterday while I was making the bed and I needed a forum to share them, where better than my own blog.

First of all, sheets should always be 100% cotton and the highest thread count you can afford. Seriously, you spend roughly one third of your life in bed, make sure you're comfy. Sheets should ONLY be solid colors…NO CHEESY PRINTS! They should be a pale color but NOT WHITE. White can quickly become dingy looking unless you're careful and who needs to be THAT careful with sheets. I prefer beige sheets but pale (REALLY PALE) blue or green will work as well.

If you want to "dress up" your bed don't do it with the sheets, do it with an awesome comforter and curtains. Now that we're on the topic of comforters, do yourself a favor and buy several nice cotton comforters to switch around…don't get a big-ass puffy thing. Really, don't. Marshall's (Home Goods) has awesome prices and a great selection of cotton comforters. It makes for a nice "top of bed" look and also allows room for layering. In the winter you can pile on some nice cotton blankets and in the warmer months pare down to just the sheets and comforter.

Oh, speaking of cotton blankets. Don't buy those open weave things. First of all, if you have a pet that might occasionally spend some quality time in bed with you those open weave things can be a hazard when they get caught on your little muffin's collar. Be careful with that shit folks.

When I say cotton blankets I mean some nice, solid, flannel, 100% cotton blankets (try Overstock.com). Here's the thing, by using all that awesome cotton you seriously mitigate the static electricity conundrum which further enhances the comfort factor because you won't be snap, crackle, and poppin' every time you roll over in bed.

To review, high thread count 100% cotton sheets in pale colors, cotton comforter, solid cotton blankets. No patterned sheets…ever…no lace edged sheets…ever.

Despite the fact I have no kids that hasn't stopped me from having some words of wisdom about your kid and his/her bedding as well (shut up and listen).

First of all, when your little darling is ready to toddle from the comforting nest of his or her toddler bed don't waste the time, money or effort buying a stupid twin sized bed. Seriously, why? The ONLY reason you shouldn't buy a double bed is if you truly don't have the room to put anything larger than a twin bed. That's it your only excuse.

Here's the thing. If you buy a twin bed and your little darling actually ever leaves the nest and needs to furnish their first home it might be nice if they can mitigate the initial furniture costs by at the very least having an adult-sized bed to start their adult journey. Of course if your little offspring doesn't want to bring along their awesome childhood furniture a double bed in your newly vacated guest room makes a helluva lot more sense than a twin bed. I mean imagine hosting your college roomie for a fun weekend and putting her up in a room with a twin bed. So not cool. Seriously.

So if you go directly from the racecar shaped toddler bed to a double bed you're setting yourself up for the future instead of wasting money on that dopey twin bed.

Now that we've got the actual bed size out of the way…let's move onto bedding. The same rules apply here as above. I know that your sweet little lovebug will want a variety of age-specific themed bedroom crap as they march their way through the stages of their lives and it is up to you, dear parent, to indulge these whims. I'm not gonna dis that but I AM gonna give you some tips to do it right.

DO NOT BUY CHARACTER SHEET SETS! No, just no.

First of all, character sheets usually are NOT 100% cotton and they feel like SANDPAPER. Buy the top-of-bed stuff to match your little one's whim and stick to the original sheet rules above especially since kiddie whims can change pretty quickly and good sheets should hang in there longer than a kiddie whim for dinosaurs or Dora. Literally, one day your kid is, well, a LITTLE KID and the next day she's a tween (or even a TEEN). One day she's happy to have a pepto pink bedroom and a "My Little Pony" comforter (but NOT sheets) and the next day she wants everything to be BLACK.

No, it isn't advisable to switch those pink walls to black but you can at least quickly switch out that "My Little Pony" comforter to a plain black one for about $50 and a trip to Marshall's or Target. Even those lovely pale pink sheets on the bed can quickly be hidden by simply buying new PILLOWCASES! That's right folks. Buy some nice pillowcases, again overstock.com is a good option for this but if you're in a hurry Marshall's will do just fine. So the sheets (still in good shape because you bought high-quality ones) can stay on the bed tucked discreetly under that new black comforter…and all you have to do is buy some pale gray (soft) pillowcases and that's all your little punk will see now.

Makes sense, right? Of course it does.

And remember, your local animal shelter will love getting your old castoff blankies and comforters for their adoptable cats and dogs to use as beds and nests so EVERYONE WINS!

Townie

I'm watching the endless Stupor Bowl coverage, why not right? (Of course the question pops into my head, what will we watch when THIS is over…but we'll find THAT out tomorrow.) Obviously it's in Indianapolis. I've never been there. Everyone they interview is saying what a great city Indy is and what great hosts they are. They're showing people enjoying shopping, eating and drinking in what looks like a downtown area. It made me think about what it would be like if the game were being played at Giants' Stadium. Giants' Stadium is in E. Rutherford, NJ. It's in a fairly industrial area situated in the armpit of several major highways. There's no downtown, there's no quaint village feel (and on the outside chance that someone from that area reads this and wants to dispute this claim…try all you'd like, I grew up there, there may be the occasional Main St. but that's not within shouting distance of the 50 yard line.)

I've talked a lot lately with a friend about "major" cities and how you grow up with an idea of what makes a "major" city. My mom was from the Bronx, it's part of NYC, we didn't live in NY but we were a quick bus ride away so that became my definition of a "major" city. From that position it was also easy to visit Boston, Philly and DC so those were my back-up images of "major" cities.

When most people think of NEW YORK CITY they think of Manhattan, one borough out of five and other than Madison Square Garden there are no major sports venues in Manhattan. Imagine that.

The Mets play in Queens, Yankees in the Bronx, and the Giants and the Jets share the stadium in E. Rutherford…NEW JERSEY. That's right no New York football team actually plays football in New York city…not even in a borough.

So if "New York" were to host a Super Bowl where the HELL would that awesome downtown be? No one can just wander up to the stadium in E. Rutherford, you can only get there via a highway, you won't be sitting in its shadow as the game is on enjoying a downhome feel.

Hell, your best bet for local color might be at the Tick-Tock Diner on Rte 3 in Clifton.

It makes me wanna go see Indy and find out what all the hoopla is about. Now that I think about it, DesMoines is supposed to be rather cute as well. Hmmm, sign me up to go and listen to the Heartbeat of America.

Ouch!

Why do I bother telling my husband anything? Really, you hear this all the time in marriages, "you never TELL me anything" but the reason is because "YOU NEVER FUCKING LISTEN"!

This past Friday I had off. I had to work the previous Saturday and I'm a 9-5er type o' gal. When I found out that I'd have to put in a Saturday (roughly two weeks prior) I confirmed with my boss that I could take a comp day the following Friday. Not a problem.

As soon as I knew this I made a point of telling hubby. I gave him the whole lowdown. The "working Saturday, comp day Friday" thing. The whole story. We spoke IN DETAIL about what I'd be doing during my Saturday of work and what I'd be doing on my Friday of comp time. There were many and various conversations about this singular topic during the two-week lead-up time.

One thing I can say was that by the time Friday rolled around I could really USE a day to sleep in. My plan was to get up with the dogs when they woke me up (which I knew would be no later than 6:15AM), feed them then go back to bed until I was damn good and ready to roll my ass out.

Our handyman had come to do some much-needed work in our back room on Thursday. We had secured the dogs and made the room accessible to him but I had no additional word on where that little project was when he left for the day, having heard nothing my assumption was that it was either done, or he'd be back at another time to complete the job (it involved spackling and that shit needs to dry before more work can be done).

The dogs woke me at just before 6AM. I happily rolled out of bed and got them through their morning routine comforted by the lure of more bedtime in about 20 minutes.

Sure enough, by 6:15 I was snuggling back down into dreamland. Mmmmmmm.

Just fifteen short minutes later, hubby got up to use the bathroom and left the bedroom door open which prompted our youngest dog to jump on me full force, whimpering and pawing at me. WTF?

Hubby comes back into the bedroom, chases the young 'un out and then turns to me and says, "OMG, ITS LATE, YOU NEED TO GET READY FOR WORK!" The background music to this announcement was the sound of the dogs crying in the hallway because now they KNEW mommy was home and they couldn't get to her. FUCK!

I wanted to cry.

I sat up, looked at him and said, "its Friday…ITS THAT FRIDAY…the one I have off and can sleep late …THAT FRIDAY…THAT FUCKING FRIDAY!" His response, <sheepishly> "oops, did you tell me 'bout that? Yeah, I guess you DID. Oopsie."

DUDE, not cool.

Now this is a man who lives by his 10-hour nights of sleep, a minute less and he can't function. Sleep is his deepest desire. The guy craves sleep, can sleep through anything (including a dog wretching inches from his head). If I do ANYTHING during my getting-ready time that jars him from his peaceful slumber I hear about it ENDLESSLY. Seriously, I cannot disturb his peaceful dreams for any reason but somehow it's just fine for him to completely ignore my much-touted comp day and nearly push me out of bed to get ready to go…nowhere.

At this point there was no way I could effectively stay in bed. The dogs all knew my eyes were open and were harmonizing their mournful wailing. I was up. I was pissed.

So instead of languishing in bed until the midday hour of 8:30AM or thereabouts I was up and moving before 7AM. I was fuming.

My oldest dog (she's 12) had a vet visit scheduled for 11:30AM (routine shots, no biggie) so I decided to try to get some clean-up done before I showered for the day. I'm in my jammie pants and a ratty sweatshirt with fuzzy slippers on…a picture of loveliness.

Suddenly the dogs start going nutso and someone knocks on the door. I look and it's STEVE, our handyman. Nope, no one warned me he'd be here but here he is (mind you, he's a great guy and we're lucky to have someone reliable enough to actually show up, this wasn't his fault). Of course the house had been un-dogproofed since I had no pre-Steve alert which meant quickly re-dogproofing the Steve area and getting the dogs inside the house so Steve could get to work in the backroom. Sometime during the dogproofing/barking frenzy hubby wanders downstairs in his bathrobe demanding to know what the hell all the commotion was about, his sleep was being disturbed.

REALLY? FUCKING REALLY DUDE? You woke me up when I didn't have to get up, you failed to tell me that Steve would be back on Friday morning and now you're upset because you've had to roll out of bed? WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.

I asked if he had any idea that Steve would be back today to which he replied, "oops, uh I forgot to tell you didn't I?" Yup, ya did. Thanks for that.

With the dogs secured and Steve secured from the dogs I decided it might be time to get my ass in the shower and get ready for the dog's vet appt. I head to the shower only to find that hubby had taken up residence in the bathroom, he was getting ready for work.

Despite his claims of being the fastest person to EVER get ready to go ANYWHERE he is sadly mistaken. He rivals any woman I know when it comes to morning rituals and getting ready. He just cannot jump start that process. There's coffee and sitting and staring at a muted TV then there's a slow but steady slump towards the bathroom.

As the clock ticked down to my shower deadline the bathroom remained out of reach so I continued getting crap done in the kitchen and basement. I headed out of the kitchen carrying a load of folded towels when a freshly showered hubby is spotted heading towards me with a coffee cup tilted up obscuring his view while he attempts to text someone with his spare hand. We're both heading into a small section of hallway, me seeing the impending doom as he bears down on me, him oblivious to the world around him.

I bobbed and weaved to try to get out of his way but with three dogs trailing me I had few options. I called out for him to LOOK OUT but his obliviousness knows no bounds so despite the fact he was mere inches from me and I was SHOUTING he claims he never heard me.

The result? He conks me dead center of my forehead with the fucking coffee mug plastered to his face which is when he somehow managed to rouse himself from his walking-dead stupor. His first question? Why didn't you say something? DUDE, I was screaming for you to LOOKOUT and you were nowhere to be found…you had figuratively left the building.

OMG. That was how my big, wonderful COMP DAY got off to a start. Jeez, work would've been a more restful option.

Dinnertime

It's not the eating that gets me down, it's the CLEAN-UP and it's the RITUAL of eating.

My best friend (we'll call her BFF) recently told me that when her youngest kid goes off to college next year she's never, EVER cooking dinner again. She's divorced with a long-term, long-distance relationship so when he's not around it'll just be her and when he is around they tend to go out to eat anyway.

Her youngest kid (the one going off to college next year) is much like my husband. They seem to feel this burning need for not just food, not just general sustenance…nope they want DINNERTIME.

They want a MEAL and to sit down and eat that meal.

Us? We want to just make sure we're not hungry when we hit the sack at night.

BFF claims that she'll have tea and toast for dinner every night while standing at the kitchen counter surfing the 'net. I believe her. That's one of her favorite things to do.

Me? I'm a bit fancier (sometimes); I'll actually make an omelet or even a grilled cheese sandwich but whatever it is, I can manage to cobble something together, snarf it down quickly, clean up and be done. That's all I really ask is to make things simple.

I don't mind the occasional dinner with the prep and all that but the EXPECTATION of said dinner by hubby is just BRUTAL (he IS willing to pitch in but THE CLEAN-UP…).

On the other hand, hubby never wants to go out to eat. He won't go on a weekend because it (MIGHT) be crowded and heaven forbid we have to deal with CROWDS. He won't go on a weekday if he worked because he feels icky from having been at work and doesn't want to have to shower and get dressed to go out (he's not exactly a ditchdigger for a living and he wouldn't need to be daisy-fresh for most of the places we'd go anyway) so that pretty much eliminates the entire week. No weekends, no working weekdays. Where does that leave us? Yup, back in the kitchen again.

It occurred to me this past weekend that we haven't set foot in a restaurant since the calendar flipped to a whole new year. Seriously. That sucks.

I get to enjoy dinners out with my girlfriends quite a bit but due to personal scheduling conflicts that hasn't even happened lately.

Taking all this into consideration, BFF and I went out to dinner together on Saturday night at a local place (hubby was working). It was bliss. I could pick whatever I wanted off of a menu, I didn't have to eat the same thing as my dinner companion, I was at a restaurant with a whole MENU to choose from. The best part? No dishes for me to do later on, no stove and counters to wipe down, no dishwasher to fill, run and empty. It was great.

But that was Saturday and Sunday came rolling into view the very next day and with that came the need to make SUNDAY DINNER!

UGH!

I took chicken out to defrost and decided to use up some veggies in the fridge that needed to be eaten or tossed out. As the day wore on I felt less and less like cooking but I knew there were few ways out of it so I had to just soldier on with the dinner thing.

Hubby came home from doing errands and I mentioned that I wasn't really into making anything hoping against hope that he would suggest going out to eat. Nope. The closest we got was the option of ordering something that I would go pick up (really? Why me? I don't wanna even fucking EAT DINNER). I resigned myself to cooking. Let's just get this over with.

Now my first problem is that we have a small work area in our kitchen and hubby wanted to chat while I cooked. That's nice. It's nice to talk to each other in a relationship and we did have a lot to talk about, I wanted to chat as well; but I wanted to chat like normal people meaning he needed to be a safe distance from me and the large knife I was wielding. I was hoping he'd pick up on this fairly obvious thought process and move his ass from standing directly in the way of the stove and refrigerator and go sit at the kitchen butcher block instead, safely out of the way but a convenient chatting distance. Nope. Captain Obvious he ain't.

Now hubby can (at times) be a bit of a delicate little flower so the option of screaming "MOVE YOUR FUCKING ASS OUT OF MY WAY" was not a viable one. I have to speak softly, lovingly and respectfully at all times so as not to end up with a bruised hubby. Of course what I really wanted to do was SCREAM, "MOVE YOUR FUCKING ASS OUT OF MY WAY" because that would've given me much more satisfaction but I squelched that urge and instead said, very politely, "it would be great if you sat at the kitchen table while I make dinner, this way we could chat but you wouldn't be in my way while I cook, okay?" Yeah, not so much. He went upstairs. I swear I was super sweet when I made this little suggestion. Honest I was.

I had to go upstairs and ask him to rejoin me in the kitchen while resisting the urge to say, "look, my interest in cooking this meal is only slightly higher than my interest in ice hockey so if you want to eat any of it tonight you'll get your loving little self back down to the kitchen, plop your ass in a seat and chat away", that would've been rude.

Instead I went this route, "awww honey, I really do want to chat, I just figured it was annoying for YOU to have me reaching around you all the time to get in the fridge and get to the stove". Yup that little leap o' logic seemed to work and he followed me back down the stairs.

Really this whole thing can boggle my mind sometimes.

The remainder was uneventful, we chatted, we laughed, we toasted each other while I cooked and then while we sat side-by-side eating our SUNDAY DINNER.

Once it was over and I was cleaning up (the WORST part of every meal) it occurred to me what I wanted for Valentine's Day, I wanted to go the fuck out to dinner. I even had a specific place in mind; it's a very nice place, old-school ritzy but not overly crazy dresscode or anything; hell when it comes down to it the prices aren't even all that bad (especially if you never go out to eat). Now you may be shaking your head at this point and wanting to point out to me that if hubby won't go out to eat on a weekend due to the random potential of a crowded restaurant then why in the world would I expect him to set foot anywhere near a restaurant (especially a NICE one) for Valentine's Day? Yeah, I decoded that one myself but thanks. My plan was to tell him that we could go any time during the month of February but we had to GO during the month of February. No big deal, no whining just a nice night out.

I looked up from loading the dishwasher and sprung it on him.

"Know what I want for Valentine's Day honey?"

A look of terror crossed his furrowed brow…Valentine's Day was always tough turf.

"ummm, what's that?"

"I'd like to go to <fancy restaurant> SOME TIME in the month of February…NOT on Valentine's Day but some time during the month. I want to be human and go to a restaurant. That's it."

"okay. I'd like to go there again, too, yeah, we can do that."

Now let's see if this actually HAPPENS.

I'm hedging my bets on this one but hope springs eternal from my weathered old soul.

Favorite Beatle

Okay, not really Beatle but favorite member of the E Street Band. For many people that person has long been Clarence as the foil to Bruce's "Scooter" the Big Man won over hearts with his wacky ways (count the wives that showed up at his funeral). Garry Tallent is a favorite to many, kinda like "the quiet Beatle" Garry stands quietly off to the side with his Mona Lisa smile firmly in place and keeps the bass line humming. Roy Bittan has his crew of followers as well as do the other members of the band.

For me, Miami Steve VanZandt (no, not Little Steven, I knew him "when") is #1 in my heart and always has been. He's quirky and funny. He's solidly and completely committed to the religion of Rock'n'Roll with unwavering faith and devotion. He MEANS it. He met his gorgeous wife YEARS ago and remains married to her still residing in their Manhattan home of many years. I can only imagine the two of them being familiar faces in their neighborhood haunts stopping for coffee or a bite to eat.

But why is Stevie of the skintight leopard pants and array of bandannas my all around fave E Streeters? It's not what you'd think. It's not his contribution to the band or his stage presence and sure as shit it ain't his vocal skills (sorry Stevie, love ya man, but the vocals? Hmmm).

It's him. In the far distant past we've had our share of conversations but even now with the distance of time and less personal communication I still find him to be smart, witty and engaging...did I say SMART? That's the big one.

He was a guest on Howard Stern this morning and I made sure to stay tuned in just to hear him. He mentioned that he'd been blogging recently for The Huffington Post (who knew) so I hopped on over there to read some of his posts and my heart swelled once again. They're smart, funny and honest and they deal with tough material.

Here's one: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/steven-van-zandt/democracy-in-america_b_1139463.html

I love his middle-ground, populist mannerisms. He's not pompous and he doesn't claim that he's the all-knowing being here, he admits there are smarter folks out in the big world but from his humble observations this is what he sees.

Yes, my thoughts and beliefs do happen to align pretty friggin' closely with his, it's true. But I think I would be able to see his point even if we were idealistically miles apart.

Damn, he's good.

Goes together like a horse and carriage…

I love my husband. Honest I do. He's kind and sweet, he's handsome and loves animals. Really, he's a great guy.

But all great guys, let's face it all great PEOPLE do have some shortcomings. Look, even I snore.

Oh those shortcomings. I came home from work sick yesterday, basic flu-like symptoms, achy, tummy, sleepy. He did great for me. For some reason all I wanted to eat was a turkey sandwich from my favorite sandwich shop nearby, he got me the sandwich and even threw in some of their awesome matzoh ball soup.

He's a helper bee when I need him to pitch in, yuppers. While I hunkered down in bed with Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives (I wasn't feeling well but I was well enough to watch Triple D) he was busying himself downstairs with important things like making his own dinner and using up every available bowl in the kitchen (see early post regarding knives and forks).

We have an old house; we've lovingly upgraded most of it except for the expensive stuff…the kitchen and the bathrooms. Yeah, we'll get to those rooms eventually but for now, we can live with it. What does it mean? Well it means that we have this silly dishwasher that we have to roll over to the sink, hook a hose up the faucet, plug it in and let 'er rip. Ya know what though, it's better than no dishwasher at all.

Darling hubby just cannot quite "get" this though. The instructions are clear, you've gotta turn the water on full for this whole thing to work.

Of course hubby's level of helpfulness doesn't extend to getting up at 6AM to care for the dogs so that meant me crawling out of the sack at 6AM and finding that the dishwasher had been run last night. Oh happy me…but wait, why was the water only opened a small amount? Huh? Uh-oh…

The inside of the dishwasher revealed still-wet dishes but also some baked on dishwasher liquid. Seems there was enough water to get enough of the dishes wet but not quite enough to prevent the dishes from being left dripping in caked on Cascade.

I wondered why the dishes were still damp? Why didn't they dry? Oh wait, let's take a look-see at the control buttons…yuppers, somehow hubby had managed to hit a bunch of wonky buttons on the control panel, it was set to wash pots 'n' pans with no heat dry. Awesome.

How does this happen? Seriously. Hook up the hose, assure the water is on FULL, plug in the appliance, make sure the settings are correct and hit GO.

What did this mean to me? It meant un-caking the Cascade from the dishes and re-running the whole mess with water on FULL and settings adjusted.

And of course, it was still up to me to empty it when it finished it's cycle…the second time around.