tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-59005962824092627082024-02-19T23:45:56.970-08:00Four Year PlanBecause five years is so obvious.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger38125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5900596282409262708.post-49433283378198799892007-10-03T10:11:00.000-07:002007-10-03T10:13:42.842-07:00Advice from Someone Who's Been There1. Whoops. Got new job and started new internet show. Forgot to blog. <br />2. Only Brian reads this anyways.<br />3. Sometime when it's almost midnight and you've just polished off a bottle of champagne, switching to bourbon is not the best idea. Maybe just go to bed instead, ok?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5900596282409262708.post-62569040161297156972007-08-08T12:32:00.000-07:002007-08-08T12:42:33.313-07:00Keenly Aware of the Value of a DollarI'm only almost 28. Or I'm practically middle-aged with one foot in the grave, depending on my perspective that day. The thing is: I feel like I must actually be 72 or something because I am continually amazed that things cost what they do. <br /><br />For example, it kills me to spend more than $20 on a pair of shoes. When is the last time a decent pair of ladies' shoes cost fewer than $20? I'm guessing it was when I was still wearing children's sizes or even before. Yet, all my adult life I'm constantly on a quest to find a pair of nice shoes in a price range WHERE THEY DO NOT EXIST. And if I'm being completely honest, I'd really rather they were $15.<br /><br />My most recent pricing irritation relates to dust mops. I want to buy a dust mop for $12-$15. THEY ARE NOT OUT THERE. I've looked all over the internet - eBay, craigslist, froogle et al. I'm going to be forced to spend at least $25. <br /> <br />I'm not entirely sure who to blame, but Swiffer is at the top of my list. It's a whole separate topic, but stupid Swiffer has made disposable desirable thereby rendering cleaning tools that have been used effectively for centuries obsolete BECAUSE YOU HAVE TO WASH THEM INSTEAD OF JUST FILLING A LANDFILL WITH THEM.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5900596282409262708.post-72004789535301672072007-08-06T14:04:00.000-07:002007-08-06T14:06:37.381-07:00New and Innovative ProductsFunny how a commercial for a product called "Acid Wear" can sound like "Ass Aware" when one is barely listening and a weed whacker is running in the distance.<br /><br />Oh that my ass were small enough for me to be UNaware of it.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5900596282409262708.post-13005493189018124662007-07-20T13:47:00.000-07:002007-07-20T14:10:42.215-07:00Conventional WisdomSo I was outside cleaning my window fans, finally having reached a point of frustration with them such that I no longer cared about their electrical well-being. They don't unscrew so there was no way to get at the blades manually and the thick layers of Los Angeles air dirt rendered vacuuming, air cans and any other cleaning options useless.<br /><br />It seemed a good spray down was the only option before me. But what of the fans' moving motor parts? There was a time when I cared. It was past.<br /><br />I decided the first step was to spray the grates and blades down with a good dousing of nature's grease cutter, vinegar. Then as if by magic, the dirt immediately loosed. It was beautiful. I nearly cried. Next up, I strapped the hose sprayer adapter onto the water source, set it to stun (Jet) and sprayed away like a maniac inflicting a shower of gunfire on her enemy. The whole thing was over in flash. I left the lifeless fans in the sun to cook and dry out.<br /><br />Later, when I went to check on them, I noted something that prompted this tome. I'd left the vinegar spray bottle outside and now there was a FLY ON IT. I guess you can get a few flies with vinegar. Which explains how that hateful Elizabeth Hasselbeck (Or Crappelbeck, I like to call her) has any family or friends.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5900596282409262708.post-55271687281825886652007-07-13T11:23:00.000-07:002007-07-13T11:26:48.864-07:00Dogs: NOT That Different Than MeWe both hate it when the Jehovah's Witnesses come to the door peddling their message of hope.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5900596282409262708.post-39622375405216381802007-07-11T17:53:00.000-07:002007-07-11T18:01:18.921-07:00ReminiscingYou know what I miss? Saltine crackers.<br /><br />Of course, they're still around, but I just don't eat them much anymore. There was a period of my life when I would often mix up a can of tuna fish with some mayo and relish and crack open a sheath of saltine crackers. <br /><br />You can do the math from there. It was tasty.<br /><br />That is all. You can thank me later for sharing this delightful anecdote, Internet.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5900596282409262708.post-68865991059522098012007-07-03T22:35:00.000-07:002007-07-03T22:39:28.047-07:00The Ultimate Material"So... what are we going to do about this whole having-kids-during-end-times-global-warming thing?"<br /><br />"Um, duct tape?"Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5900596282409262708.post-222899106359251412007-06-21T15:08:00.000-07:002007-06-21T15:10:57.066-07:00Bad IdeaDeciding enough time has passed since the last time you tried to do an at-home Brazilian wax and surely they must have improved the quality of do-it-yourself products.<br /><br />Nope. They haven't.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5900596282409262708.post-62765021713903788292007-05-22T12:55:00.000-07:002007-05-22T13:12:57.218-07:00Dare I Say?I think the more senior gentlemen who live on my street have really warmed up to me since I started staying home and doing traditional lady things like wearing an apron, shaking out rugs & blankets and gardening. <br /><br />When I brush the flour off my hands mid-pie-crust-rolling and run out to meet the mailman in my apron, it's like I'm bringing a comforting piece of 1955 back to the neighborhood.<br /><br />And now the neighbors say "hi" and wave from across the street. Ah, misogyny.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5900596282409262708.post-33540090366667575072007-05-18T11:23:00.000-07:002007-05-18T11:43:30.928-07:00Mean VagrantThis whole layoff-induced work-at-home thing has really surprised me in that it's been completely difficult and at times, depressing. I did not expect that. I thought it would be a constant party (a productive one, but one all the same); I expected more fun lunches and sunshine* and Bloody Marys and less staring at the wall and L&O.<br /><br />When I tell people that working for myself has been hard, most immediately jump to "Yeah, it's hard to motivate yourself and manage your own time." But that stuff is pretty easy for me - most of the time - because I used to be a total slack ass. Marta circa 2000 could piss away entire days watching television and eating last night's pizza like nobody's business. <br /><br />So when we decided that I would write instead of finding another cubicle to park my ass in, I made some serious decisions about time management and I've largely stuck to them. I make lists. I meet goals. Plus unlike 2000 Marta I like to do more stuff than watch TV. Like cook. And read. And stuff. So that's motivating.<br /><br />So, you might ask, "What <span style="font-style:italic;">is</span> hard about working at home?<br /><br />For me, it's feeling useless no matter what I actually accomplish. Because there's not really anyone there to watch or notice besides <a href="http://www.myspace.com/bbartelt">Brian</a> and let's face it: he's biased. I guess I'm like that stupid celebrity quote about life not worth living unless people are watching or whatever. Without a boss or coworkers, it's like what I do doesn't exist. And I know that I'm ramping up to a place where I'll do this work and have a work structure, but for now, I'm going a tiny bit nuts. <br /><br />Sometimes this manifests itself in weepiness, which I hate. Today it's just making me feel dark and snarky. I feel like taking an optimistic second grader down a notch. Saying something really morale busting, like "Oh sure, it's all sunny now, kid. But just wait until life kicks your ass." And then I'd swill from some brown-bagged beverage.<br /><br />I guess what I'm saying is: I feel like being a mean vagrant. Eh. I still think it's better than weeping.<br /><br />*Seriously. "May Gray?" That's what all the weather people are saying now. Um, I've lived in LA for 3 and a half years and this is the first I've heard of this. So now, Weatherpeople, you're telling me I have to endure "May Gray" AND "June Gloom?" What's next, you motherfuckers? "July-Poke-Me-in-the-Eye?" Sunny southern California, my ass.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5900596282409262708.post-53034629803948080232007-05-18T11:05:00.000-07:002007-05-18T11:06:59.579-07:00Dogs: Different Than MeBecause even if I could lick my own ass, I would not. I would especially not do that and then try to lick a person in the face afterwards.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5900596282409262708.post-43545366263473776642007-05-17T17:17:00.000-07:002007-05-17T17:20:21.445-07:00Can we all agree...That the term "injectable filler" is just nauseating? Listen, I don't really care if you wanna Botox your face or cram Restalyne in your lips; I've seen good work and bad work. I may even try it myself one day.<br /><br />But really? I-N-J-E-C-T-A-B-L-E F-I-L-L-E-R?<br /><br />Frankly it just makes me think of caulk. And I don't want caulk in my face. (Yes, it *is* a funny sentence out loud, you 14 year old boy).Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5900596282409262708.post-47767093040306276282007-05-16T17:12:00.000-07:002007-05-16T17:21:14.034-07:00Reason #84759 Unemployment RocksCan I just say? I <span style="font-style:italic;">love</span> the theme song to the Dr. Phil show. I've always felt like if it had lyrics - right after the musical ramp-up at the beginning - they would be "I am Doctor Phil and I am going to change your life. I am Doctor Phil and I am going to change your LIIIIIIFE!" Then for the very last part, a little more quietly: "My naaaame is Doc-tor Phil!" <br /><br />Next time it comes on, just try not to think of my lyrics. <br /><br />On a semi-related note, does anybody remember when Oprah sang her theme song and the lyrics at the very end were "Ooooooo-ooooo-op-rah"? I also loved that.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5900596282409262708.post-69795736608696742802007-05-16T09:47:00.001-07:002007-05-16T09:48:37.116-07:00Dogs: Different Than MePersonally I think the mailman is an alright guy.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5900596282409262708.post-53876526020838463432007-05-02T15:33:00.000-07:002007-05-02T15:35:18.177-07:00FacadeI'm sick of pretending. <br /><br />Oatmeal: I'm done with you. You've used up all your chances. I'm sorry, but just don't like you that way. For breakfast. Or any other meal.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5900596282409262708.post-9885296877504894682007-04-27T00:14:00.000-07:002007-04-27T00:16:50.164-07:00Oooooooooookay...My husband just walked by and said, "It would be weird to be a pelican!" The comment came seemingly out of nowhere. <br /><br />A few moments later, he followed that up with, "That would be nothing like being a human."<br /><br />Nope. It sure wouldn't, Babe.<br /><br />There was also some story about a pelican rescue in Florida that I honestly only got snippets of. Sorry, Dude, I was too busy typing this.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5900596282409262708.post-16376159580025408322007-04-25T18:47:00.000-07:002007-04-25T19:27:53.796-07:00Letting GoIn the last decade or so that I've been "on my own" in the world, I have lugged around the guilt that I feel each time I have to toss leftovers (or in some cases never used) food items that have gone bad.<br /><br />I'm so sorry:<br /><br />Half used cans of tomato paste. It's not my fault that every recipe only requires a tablespoon or two of you.<br /><br />A few months ago an Epicurious recipe told me that some Indian potato and rice dish would yield four servings. Um, yeah, maybe they meant servings for FOUR SEPARATE FAMILIES because those leftovers took up more than half the fridge space. I tried valiantly to get through it all - even making a fritatta - but, alas I wasn't really wild about the meal on its first appearance.<br /><br />More containers of milk than I can remember, from back in the day when I drank the mucus-inducing junk.<br /><br />Various and sundry other items which I cannot recall yet still feel guilty about discarding.<br /><br />I would like to say that the confessional helped me let go of some of this guilt, but there's just another batch in refrigerator creating moldly guilt as we speak.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5900596282409262708.post-77037934085677209652007-04-19T14:23:00.000-07:002007-04-19T14:27:32.038-07:00Kids These DaysIf ever you want to feel equal parts old and creeped out, I recommend spending some time looking at your 17 year old sister's MySpace page. If you don't have a 17 year old sister, I'm sure you can find another MySpace page loaded with things like players with the song "Do It With the Lights On," pictures of underaged kids with beers in hand , teenage girls making out, and captions like "They Say I'm Like the Desert but Hotter" and "You Know You Want It."Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5900596282409262708.post-78423772592061141552007-04-18T19:35:00.000-07:002007-04-18T19:36:32.963-07:00SloganI got a check in the mail today.<br /><br />Marta: Staving Off Homelessness Another DayUnknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5900596282409262708.post-38656950121157676692007-04-18T16:56:00.000-07:002007-04-18T17:09:18.444-07:00Contradiction in TermsI've been exercising lately. Like consistently, for a week or something. Which is close to my all-time record for continued regular exercise. I am easily distracted. <br /><br />So I was trying to do some sweet ab moves today and the instructions in Shape Magazine call for the use of a so-called stability ball. Surprisingly I do have one so that wasn't a problem. No, the problem was the fact that they expected me to be able to use it while simultaneously controlling my body, staying balanced and generally not flailing around.<br /><br />Yeah, not so much.<br /><br />Stability ball is the most archetypal oxymoron I've encountered of late.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5900596282409262708.post-91077702121786261462007-04-09T19:01:00.000-07:002007-04-09T19:04:17.447-07:00Dogs: Different Than MeBecause when someone is nice enough to feed me, spend time with me, brush my hair, vacuum my bed et al, I DON'T SPEND THE DAY DOING THE EXACT THING THEY ASKED ME NOT TO DO LIKE BARKING MY HEAD OFF AT THE NEIGHBORS.<br /><br />OR DIGGING IN THE YARD.<br /><br />OR LICKING THE COUCH. <br /><br />Ew, who licks a couch anyway? What could possibly be gained from that? Unless it was a flavored couch... like hot and sour soup flavor. But I digress.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5900596282409262708.post-47941672368288296082007-04-02T20:50:00.000-07:002007-04-02T20:59:12.921-07:00BlankWhat to write, what to write... Brian is sitting across from me, type-type-typing away, and I, the writer of this fearless pair, am stuck. I'm debating. Shall I share a childhood memory with this (mostly) imaginary readership... or something more immediate? But what's happening immediately? Uuuuuuuuuum, I'm drinking some wine? And watching Brian type? Yes. Riveting. I'm aware.<br /><br />I'm clicking the keys because I feel like <span style="font-style:italic;">something's</span> there. More accurately, I feel like something SHOULD be there. But godammit - the dogs are making a lot of noise. I mean, honestly, does faux-battle require THAT much growling?!?!? And jumping!??!?!<br /><br />I guess what I'm saying is: I'm fussy. Annoyed by the noise of the animals (human and otherwise) that I love. I'm fussy because I'm things, writing-type-things, are supposed to be flowing freely and they're just stuck with nary a day job in sight to assign the blame.<br /><br />Grr. I thought this blog was about the funny. Not about the fussy.<br /><br />Grr.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5900596282409262708.post-14667021693097294362007-03-29T20:39:00.000-07:002007-03-29T20:52:24.112-07:00DisclaimerThere is no equilibrium in my mind lately. I feel like I should have a warning tattoed on the side of my head about its contents. I'm in a constant state of push and pull against myself. To be honest, I'm feeling a little like Gollum* right now.<br /><br />For example my inner dialogue goes something like this:<br /><br />"I'm doing a great job. Each day I accomplish at least <span style="font-style:italic;">something</span>. Rome wasn't built in a day."<br /><br />"<span style="font-style:italic;">"Noooooo! We hates the something. We're useless. We don't do anything worthwhile." </span><br /><br />A more concrete example: this morning I literally just stood in front of the mirror for a bit, weighing the pros (clean mouth, fresh breath) and cons (lots of gagging) of scraping my tongue. In the end, I scraped. Like every other morning.<br /><br />Conflict is supposed to be the "thing" that fuels stories. Makes it interesting. But right now, it's really just making me feel like I live on the outskirts of Crazyville.<br /><br />*How dorky IS this blog anyway? I'm not even *that* person, but already, in its short existence, this page has seen Harry Potter, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and Lord of the Rings mentioned. And I've never even seen Star Wars.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5900596282409262708.post-67449329947486170472007-03-27T16:36:00.000-07:002007-03-27T16:38:08.914-07:00Dogs: Different Than MeBecause when I lie awake at night, in the wee hours of the morning, I'm not obsessively licking my feet. I'm obsessively worrying about money.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5900596282409262708.post-10492360282640680142007-03-27T16:28:00.000-07:002007-03-27T16:35:59.174-07:00Mission Accomplished, SenseiWe totally saw TMNT. And it was better than <a href="http://fouryearplan.blogspot.com/2007/03/heroes-in-halfshell.html">imagined</a>.<br /><br />Honestly, I'm not a movie reviewing blogger, but TMNT is worth the price of admission (besides the great story, it was simply the most beautiful animated film I've ever seen). And nachos. Oh, and don't forget your rum. But here's a tip: if it's a self-serve fountain, put the soda in first. Because if you, um, add the liquor first, it eats through the wax and you might - hypothetically, of course - spill soda all over the theater. And that, my friends, is no way to have a cowabunga-good-time.<br /><br />P.S. To the filmmakers: did the actual conversation about April O'Neill go like this, "No, no. Make her arms skinnier and her RACK larger. No even bigger than that. And can you do something about her waist?"Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1