Archive | August, 2011

Dog Gone

29 Aug

Last Monday around 4 in the afternoon I was standing in my kitchen when a thought entered my brain. “It’s been a while since you’ve seen the dog of yours, hasn’t it?” the thought said. Where could that rascal be? I playfully thought.

I bet he’s under the bed…..nope.

Maybe he’s under the couch….no.

After checking EVERYWHERE, I turned to the age of trick of obnoxiously loud opening of dog food containers while shouting “DINNER!” at the top of my lungs. For the entirety of my dog Norman’s life, he has never come when his name has been called. He has, however, always come after hearing the word “dinner.” Next dog I plan to name dinner.  It’ll just make things easier in the long run.  But I digress, as I was saying the dog is, officially, gone.

Call to husband…

“Norman is gone.” I say.

“What are you talking about? He’s just sleeping somewhere.” Says the hubby.

“He’s sleeping in heaven on a cloud, because he’s missing, and that means he’s dead.”

Our dog Norman is a grumpy, 12-year-old Boston Terrier, with more attitude than a grounded teenage girl, who’s on the rag. He’s bossy, has wicked halitosis, and ZERO natural instincts. Outside of the safety of a house I’d give him somewhere between 2 to 10 minutes to live. He doesn’t know about crossing streets, hunting for food, or that raccoons are not to be fucked with.

Basically he’s a total jerk, but he’s MY jerk and I’ve loved that smelly little smushy face for 12 years.

While my husband prepared to drive the streets and make missing posters I decided the first step was to call the Humane Society. Fighting the tears I was finally connected to the Lost and Found department.

After a seriously long, frankly unnecessary, list of questions the woman at the lost and found informed me that indeed Norman was there at the shelter.

I burst into tears and shouted “When he gets home I’m gonna KILL HIM!”

For the next two days Norman was a man of mystery.  I wondered where he had been found? What he had seen? Did he save little Timmy who was trapped down a well? Did he fall in love with a hooker dog with a heart of gold? What did my dog do with the 6 hours of his life that I cannot account for?

Three days after Norman’s trip to the slammer Norman and I were walking out the door to go to the park. Our neighbor’s wife (who we haven’t seen all summer) was getting out of her car. She looked at me, looked at Norm and gasped “Oh I’m so sorry! I didn’t know you had a dog!”

Turns out she had found Norman by the garbage bins between our two houses. And seeing that he wasn’t wearing a collar she scooped him up, and whisked him away to the animal shelter.

So turns out Norman went… well…. nowhere. He got as far as the side of the house when his dream of freedom was taken away from him.  No wonder he looks grumpy…..

 

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What are we,12?

22 Aug

 

In a perfect world, weddings are sophisticated, romantic events that re-instill our belief in true love and the sanctity of marriage.
However, there’s something about an open bar and a gathering of family that can turn a wedding from classy to trashy faster than you can say “I do.”

Weddings should (in theory) bring out the best in everyone. But sometimes, a little gin and a long personal history can turn a simple toast into, “Let me tell you about the time ‘Bride’ pretended to be a record producer and banged 3 of the guys from 98 Degrees.”

I find that the tone of a wedding begins with the Stag and the Stagette. My sister Tiffany is getting married this coming weekend in a picturesque setting (wine country), with only immediate family in attendance. In honor of my beautiful sister, I’m throwing her a simple, tasteful shower.

Here’s something I won’t be doing for this event. I will NOT be serving any penis-shaped food items, making her wear a penis hat, or tying a penis balloon to her wrist lest I lose her in a crowd. When I see some of the extraordinarily phallic items intended for showers these days, all I can think is, “What are we, 12?”  And did your betrothed friend really miss that many PE classes in grade school, that she has no concept of the male genitalia?

    

I suppose hundreds of years ago women did marry when they were 12. Back in the 1600’s with things like The Black Plague the phrase “Live like you are dying” applied in a very literal way. But today’s brides are older, wiser, and well aware of “the monster in his pants” that waits for her on her wedding night. Who are we kidding? Most brides have seen their husband’s penis so many times before they’re married their attitude is more, “Oh, that old thing!” than, “Oh my! What is this?!”

At my shower there will be no “sexy arrests’’ made by scantily clad officers, no party-bus pub crawls, and no riding of mechanical bulls while wearing a shitty veil someone stole from the dollar store.  Fear not, my dear sister! This shower will be a celebration of you becoming a married woman, not you becoming a woman. Because Tiffany is a wonderful, witty, intelligent woman who is entering into her marriage already grown up.

At the shower there will be bottles of bubbly, tasteful lingerie…….and temporary Justin Bieber tattoos. What are we, 12?

      

Irony and Wine.

15 Aug


Missing a friend is like giving up dairy. Your life goes on, it’s just way less…delicious. Over the last 4 months my life has been less delicious without my friend Nicole, the other half of Society Finch.  Nic has been in LA, and I, Toronto.  It’s been an unfortunately long separation, but last night we met in Toronto for a much-needed dinner date, pairing long overdue catching up with wine, laughter and sunshine!  Sounds like a good 80’s album, I know. After dinner we moved on to ‘tipsy shopping’ on Queen St. West. Unfortunately most of the shops were closed, but we managed to wander into an edgy little boutique  filled with ironic hipster clothing, at ironic hipster prices.  (Shocking.)

How is a half top 400 dollars? It’s only HALF a top!’

Our too cool for school sales girl, recommended we visit the “garage sale in the back room”.  Usually when offered a “back room” experience, I’d suggest checking the ‘No, thank you‘ box, but we were feeling wild and inspired!  Or mildly intoxicated… it’s a fine line.  The back room consisted of everything that ironic hipsters weren’t willing to wear, which is impressive because hipsters will pretty much wear anything…. ironically.

I’ll see a person walking the street in gold leggings, a Spider-Man T-shirt, huge glasses and a waxed mustache, and I honestly don’t know if they’re a hipster or mentally unwell. It’s a tough call sometimes.

I would love to be so confident in my coolness that I could leave the house in 80’s running shorts, a Fonz t-shirt and a fur coat, and feel that if you laughed at what I’m wearing, you’re the asshole.

Hipsters are emotionally untouchable! They are rubber and we are glue. Whatever we say bounces off them and sticks to us.

In the back room of this shop, Nic and I found hoodie dresses, ruffled leather mini shorts, and an off-the-shoulder t-shirt that said “peach cobbler.”  We stood in that back room and laughed our asses off . We also sneaked pictures of said clothes while the sales girl walked in and out of the room.

I’m sure she thought we were stealing. Not bloody likely!  In the end, we decided that if we HAD to buy something, we’d choose a couple of navy skull bikinis. Only because there was two of them so we could look like jackasses together.

The irony continued as we moved further west to the Drake Hotel, for a cocktail. The Drake is like The Mothership for hipsters.  One of our bartenders was inked from head to toe, with mostly comedically ironic tattoos. We were big fans.  Lionel Richie on his calf. Eyes wearing glasses on his forearm, so when he sleeps with his arm over his eyes he looks awake. And our favorite, a small tattoo on his collarbone that simply said, “Tough Crowd.”  Thankfully he never had to pull aside his shirt collar, exposing his true feelings regarding our company, because after cocktails and a mystery shot, we were ironically crowd-pleasing.

Travel, I’m over you.

8 Aug

The novelty has officially worn off.  Driving, flying?  So over it.  The bus, you know how I feel about you.  Hell, I don’t even look at my bike the same way!  In the last few years, I’ve done more traveling than I care to remember.  I know that sounds pretentious, but allow me to clarify; I am in no way referring to romantic European adventures, or intoxicating tropical cruises.  I’m referring to traveling in a car packed to the roof, through deadly weather conditions, being nourished by only fast food and stale coffee for days.  Or flying east to west-coast and back, crossing time zones, and showing up to work the next morning feeling like you traveled underneath with the baggage. That kind of travel.

Over it.

Two weeks ago, my bags were packed and I was headed to Vegas for ten days.  When offered the choice between the four hour drive, and the forty-five minute flight with free peanuts, I obviously chose the flight. So relaxing.  So quick.  SO WRONG!

Things started going down hill once I opted out of the x-ray scan at security (save the ovaries!).   After receiving a rather ‘intimate’ pat-down from a cranky old broad, who I personally felt should have at least bought me dinner before fondling my lady lumps,  I was robbed at fork point by the LAX food court while purchasing a wilted twenty dollar salad. You want to know what that salad tasted like? Disappointment….in a light vinaigrette.  I arrived at my gate just in time to learn that my flight had been delayed by an hour.  First thought: I could have saved twenty bucks by taking the time to eat at home.  Second thought:  At least I can eat this shitty salad in peace.  Third thought:  Is 10:50am too early for a cocktail?

That sweet little flight would be delayed not one, not two, but three more times there after.  By the time I was in line to board the plane, I could have not only driven to Vegas, but been fully unpacked, lounging by the pool enjoying the sub-par early dinner buffet!  With a free drink coupon clutched in my hand, I found my seat and ordered myself a vodka soda. Not a moment after that life-giving nectar touched my lips, I was informed that a flight attendant would be coming though the cabin to collect all glasses because we were about to hit a patch of turbulence.  I looked at my drink and thought, ‘If they want this from me before I’m finished, they’re going to have to fight me for it, and I’m not afraid to pull out some mad ninja skills!’  Could I not just have this one thing!  I threw that vodka soda down my throat, like a soap star who just learned that her lover is actually her brother!  Nothing would go to waste on my watch!


Exhausted and head aching, I spent the next thirty minutes in full turbulence, staring at a Vegas-bound bachelorette party in slutty club gear, trying not to vomit.
Travel, you owe me one. Big time. I expect an upgrade sometime in my very near future.

Moms with jobs….. what up with that?!?!

1 Aug

I am a Mom and I work. There! I said it! Stick that in your pipe and smoke it, world!

I know what you’re saying, “Moms in the workforce are nothing new, Jenn!” Well as a Mom who works, I have felt a trend lately where it seems less “acceptable” to be a working Mom with young children. I know this because every time I go to an audition, the first thing someone says to me is, “Who’s watching Lola?”

At first I would answer with “She’s with her Dad.” Or “She’s with the sitter.” But as I started to get bombarded with this question time and time again, I started answering sarcastically in the hopes of embarrassing these people for asking such a stupid ass question.

Them- “Where’s Lola?”  Me- “You know what? I have no idea…..”

Them- “Who is watching Lola?”  Me- “No one. I left her alone, in the tub, with a toaster…”

You’re probably thinking right now as I write this blog “Who is watching the baby while you write this blog!!!” Jenn, what about the baby?!?!

No one ever asks my husband when he’s at work who is watching Lola. They just assume she’s with her mother….arrrggggg!!!

To give you an idea of how little respect Moms with jobs get, when I Googled “Famous Moms with Jobs” for this article the first link was to a Youtube video entitled Britney spears naked video college geometry textbook public blow jobs!”

Thanks Google, thanks for the respect. Although, I am intrigued that “geometry” made it into that mix.

By the way, being a Mom who stays at home with the kids is JUST as hard as a Mom who works out of the house.  I probably wear high heels more frequently, but Hero Moms who stay at home, probably have a cleaner house, and unlike me, you know where your daughter’s immunization card is.

My at home Mom shoes.

My at work Mom shoes.

So thanks to Google, I thought I’d give you a few examples of Moms who work out of the home, love their children, and kick ass!

Hillary Clinton- Hilary held her head high during the most personally embarrassing time of her life, handles foreign affairs with grace, and speaks to victims of political oppression in a way that truly inspires.  Also her daughter is lovely and doesn’t dress like a strumpet.

Sheryl Swoopes- Sheryl was the first woman to be signed to the WNBA, she won 3 Olympic Gold medals, and was named the 2000 WNBA player of the year AFTER she gave birth to her son! On being a working Mom Sheryl says, “I want people to remember me as a great athlete, but more than that, I want people to remember me as a great mom.” You go, tall girl!

My mom- My mother set an amazing example for me. When I was young my mother returned to school, got her degree, and spent the next 25 years teaching and counseling young children.  We used to joke that at 5’0 ft. my Mom was good with children because she was the same height as them. But the real reason was that she really cared, and no one worked harder for those kids than my Mom.  You go, short girl!

Have a great week, and if you know a Mom who works outside the house, for the love of The Sweet Baby Jesus, DON’T ask her who is looking after her kids!!!!

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