erin judge writes this

My photo
I'm Erin Judge. I'm a comedian and a writer. I live in Los Angeles. Let's hug.

December 4, 2007

an open letter to Junot Diaz

Dear Sir,

I have not read your recent best-selling book, but congratulations on your enormous success with it. I have read one short story of yours involving a young man who perhaps has some kind of deformity that leaves him relegated to a life behind a wrestling mask and also some thing you wrote about food in Gourmet which had much less sex-talk and violence than the other thing. You're clearly very creative and talented and brilliant. Kudos.

However, I have a bone* to pick with you.

Although I myself have not yet read The Brief and Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, my dear ol' mother is currently reading it. This woman raised me, nurtured me, and sent me away to a fancy college where I had the opportunity to study abroad** for a semester. The consequences of this arrangement are such that she now asks her Spanish-speaking daughter for translation help whenever necessary.

And your book. Your book. Makes such things necessary. In. Oh. So many ways.

Here is a snippet of the IM conversation (yeah, Mom's hip with the kids and their newfanlged technology) that took place earlier this MORNING (before my coffee):

Number1Mom48267: I have all these spanish words & phrases I have to look up
like meteselo
with an accent over the 2nd e

me: meterse is to insinuate oneself into
I believe
no te metes en mis cosas is like don't get up in my grill

Number1Mom48267: the phrase is (to an adolescent boy): Grab a muchacha y meteselo. It probably means "get into her" literally

me: yeah
what have you been....observing?

Number1Mom48267: How about this: Dale un galletazo

me: dale un galletazo***
give him/her some kind of chicken-related thing
possibly a blowjob?

Number1Mom48267: oh
that's possible
it's all adolescent, sexually charged talk among friends

me: you hear this where?

Number1Mom48267: in the book I'm reading
one more: "without a speck of verguenza"

me: oh jeez are you reading junot diaz?

Number1Mom48267: yes, I am

me: verguenza is shame
as in what I'm feeling right now


So yeah. That's how it goes. It's like a bunch of seventh graders in East L.A. went to town on some Mad Libs and then my Mom found it and asked me to translate! My mom!!!

Dearest Junot, I beg you: next time you write a book with widespread popularity that appeals to suburban women who aren't Eva Langoria Parker and don't know what the hell you're saying, please please PLEASE supply a glossary. Or perhaps you could sell a companion guide! Your publisher will love it! It's win-win-win!! People would buy it! Hell, I would certainly buy it, for my Mom, you see, and give it to her, perhaps as a gift, but even if there was no occasion, and then she'd consult it, and look things up, and she wouldn't have to ask me, and all would be well!!!!!

In closing, ¿cómo se dice peignoir en español?



*A non-sexual bone. Also a non-violent bone.

**Actually, I studied pretty much nothing but broads every semester!! Ba-dum-bum! Hey-oh!!

***Turns out galletazo seems to mean an open-handed slap, so dale un galletazo means "bitch-slap him/her." I could have easily looked up such a thing in a companion guide. Instead, you, Mr. Diaz, you with your lack of a companion guide or glossary made me guess and say "blowjob" to my Mom!!!! In conclusion, this is still all your fault.

November 27, 2007

On Procuring a Wedding Dress

Dear Worst Bride Ever,

I'm getting married next year, and I guess I need to start thinking about a dress. Any advice? Tips? Warnings? Witty anecdotes?

Love,
A Loyal Feminist

Dear ALF (ha ha, nice one!),

Indeed I do have some advice! And tips and warnings and anecdotes! For you see I recently purchased my own wedding dress! How 'bout that?!?!

Coinky-dinks abound here at somakeitup dot blogspot, I tell you what.

Anyhoo, I began my quest for a dress with an informal survey of my recent bride friends, which is to say that upon announcing my engagement to my recent bride friends they all immediately divulged the saga of their respective wedding dress searches and acquisitions. "Do you have a dress yet? Are you thinking about a dress? Any ideas on the dress? I did this whole dress thing and/or that whole dress thing. Let me tell you about it for a while. Do you want to see my dress? It's in my closet. Do you want to borrow my dress? You can totally borrow my dress." And so on.

Having shopped for clothes primarily in the late-20th and early-21st centuries, I myself have never had a garment custom-made for my body and have preferred instead to shop "off the rack" like a normal middle-class American human. Apparently, this lifelong habit is discouraged for my Special Princess Wedding Day of Princessitude. Upon perusing wedding websites and magazines (for this-blog-research purposes only of course), I simply could not figure out how boutique wedding dress shopping was supposed to work. Finally, I asked my very knowledgeable college friend, a recent bride who pulled her whole gorgeous wedding together in something like seven months.

"You have to order your dress at least six months in advance. The best thing to do is find a dress on the internet. Then, find a store that sells that brand. Then, call the store and ask them if they have the specific dress from that brand -- there will be a number associated with the style. Then, if they have it, go there and try on that dress and lots of others. They usually have just one larger size as the sample size, so the dress won't fit you but you'll get an idea of if you like it. Then they measure you and they make the dress you want FOR you, to your exact measurements. Then you go back for fittings."

Whoa. Seriously?

A touch of panic began to set in. I clicked through so many dress photos on the internet that I scorched my corneas (you know, all that white). I listened as more of my bride friends spoke of their wedding dress searches with a discernible tone of buyer's remorse. I dug deep, emailing discount retailers and trying to get some kind of ballpark idea of the prices of these damn things, which are deliberately not listed anywhere so that stores can charge you whatever you seem willing to pay. Numbers like $1200 (!!) and $2250 (!!!!) peppered my inbox, responses from the CHEAP online vendors. All that? For one day?

In the end, I flew to Texas (where my mother lives) to shop for dresses with her one weekend, and we went to David's and procured a garment that cost less than the round-trip nonstop flight from Boston. I'm using the name of David's because I had such a fabulous experience there. While my recent bride friends all have stories of being bullied or attempted-bullied into buying the up-sold princess gear by the specialty boutique employees, the professional and respectful women at David's actually listened to me. "I'm not really a super-girly type..." I began, and they snapped to it: "Got it. No tulle, no tiaras, no problem." I was pleasantly surprised by their understanding of my desired departure from the typical bridal trappings, but then I realized that they deal with all kinds of brides at David's every day: second- and third-time brides, visibly pregnant brides, brides of all social classes and walks of life. I myself saw one goth bride and one bride with a giant tattoo that she very much wanted to show off on her big day, and the David's employees were totally on it, bringing her backless dress after backless dress. I walked away having spent an amount that I feel comfortable with for a gorgeous garment that I'm only going to wear once, which was exactly what I wanted.

Just one last piece of advice: be open to non-traditional styles and colors. I was fortunate enough to find a dress that matches the pallet we've chosen for our outdoor summer wedding!



Amn't I fabulous?!

October 26, 2007

Red Sox Nation TM Copyright Somebody

Not enough of a big deal is being made of the fact that the professional baseball player who just won everybody in America a free taco from taco bell by stealing a base has a name so easily turned into an ad slogan by said fast-exican food empire: Jacoby Ellsbury becomes Tacoby Bellsbury with just two little tiny letters.



That's fucking incredible.

There are plenty of other speedy Red Sox who could have stolen the first base of the series, but no name is so easily transformed into the name of the beneficent chain. I mean, think about it: Dustin Pedroia is pretty speedy, but who likes the ring of Dustaco Belldroia? Julio Lugo can haul his skinny ass mighty quick, but nobody would even recognize such a mangled transformation as Bellio Taco, or Taquio Bellugo. I guess Coco Crisp could morph into Taco Crisp (or perhaps Tacoco?), but the Bell part still has basically nowhere to go.

As you can see, I have hereby proven that all major league baseball is fixed by corporations.

Go Sox!!

September 27, 2007

A real letter! From a REAL PERSON!!!

Dear worst.bride.ever,

The only flak I get is from fellow "feminists" who are totally riding my ass about taking his last name. Every message of "you should do what you want" seems to have a subtext "do what you want as long as you do x,y,z to prove you're a *real* feminist". I'm really surprised by this response given how very liberal and unconventional my fiancee and I are especially with regards to gender roles. It's gotten to the point where a couple people I must work with told me I've "sold out" even though they too struggled with the question.

Normally, that sort of attitude would tempt me to give a very polite and gentle version of "fuck off cause your crazy is polluting my peace". But it actually distresses me that anyone would think I'm some sort of future stepford wife. I can't even cook! I know the high road is to shrug it off and I've been playing the avoidance game... but out of a defensive pride, I occasionally try to explain my reasoning to them. On the flip side, I feel way too proud to bother listing out my resume which would clearly articulate how much I've dedicated to gender rights-- because why should I need to?

What's your advice on how to respond so that I feel like I'm not a doormat but at the same time says "Dude, totally not your sounding board for your rant against patriarchy. Move on." But you know, in a way that doesn't make them hostile to me since I actually have to work with them. Reasoning has not worked, polite discussions and requests for them to respect my choices has failed. It's as if they want me to yell at them to validate their judgement that I'm somehow unbalanced.

Thanks,
Distressed at Work


Dear Distressed at Work,

Ahhh, the name change game. Ever since Lucy Stone herself chose to remain Lucy Stone herself, a bride's choice to keep or change her name has come to signify the depth, breadth, and width of her commitment to feminist ideals.

Personally, I whole-heartedly endorse the recent (and mostly gay) trend of coming up with a whole new last name for both of you upon getting married. One way to accomplish this is by combining your two last names. For instance, if you're Anonymous Johnson and he's Jon Anonson, then you would obviously become Anonymous and Jon Johnymous. Alternately, you could just pick a brand-new, totally-out-of-nowhere name for yourselves. How about Awesomeface? Or perhaps Baddassleby?

No no, I kid because I know that your question isn't really about changing your name. The truth is, you're entirely sure that it's what you want to do, and I assume you have your reasons for that. Maybe it's really important to your fiance's family. Maybe you don't like your current last name as much as his. Maybe you knew a kid growing up whose mom had a different last name and it always seemed weird to you and then that kid's parents got divorced and secretly you always attributed it to the name thing in your mind. The fact is, it doesn't matter what your reasons are. Your mind is made up, and I congratulate you for coming to your conclusion and remaining confident about it.

As for those bitches at work...I mean, I'm stating the obvious by telling you that their bullshit is NOT about you, right? You're a feminist and you know it; you don't have to prove anything to them.

The traditions associated with a wedding - wearing white, exchanging rings, changing your name - have multiple contexts, including but not limited to the historical, the contemporary cultural, and the personal. Smart people with access to information know that many of the symbols in contemporary marriages come from some pretty arcane historical roots. So people do what they do in every situation that has complex personal implications as well as cultural significance: they bargain, they rationalize. I'm sure you've heard stuff like:

"Sure, I'll wear white at my wedding, but there's no way I'm changing my name!"

"No way am I having some big church wedding with a white dress, but I of course require a huge diamond upon my engagement because, you see, I am worth it."

And so on.

The problem with the framework here is that it's all about what everybody else thinks. If you are choosing to do the ONE AND ONLY THING in the extensive litany of marriage traditions that these other women chose NOT to do, then they're going to act all superior about that one thing because they're still insecure about it. Maybe they're insecure because they DID buy the big white frilly dress and have their fathers give them away. Maybe they're insecure because their husbands' families have always been hurt by the fact that they didn't change their names. Because the choice not to change their names was the big symbolic gesture for them, they get freaked out when a like-minded person chooses something different or doesn't attribute the same gravitas to it as they did.

As for what to do about it, let me offer the following potential responses:

Yes, I am taking my fiance's name. Do you know what it is? It's Gofuckyourself. Yeah, he's Thai.

Damn right I sold out! The patriarchy is actually paying me SEVEN THOUSAND DOLLARS to change my name! Cha-ching!

Well, my fiance and I worked out a deal: he does the dishes, folds the laundry, and gives birth to the children, and I take his last name.

Tell me, Coworker, did your wedding guests appreciate the subversive tongue-in-cheek farce of your white wedding dress, or was the irony pretty much lost on them?

Okay, here's a real one:

Look, changing my name is my choice, and I have my personal reasons. It has nothing to do with the gender balance of my relationship. If it bothers you, that's your problem.

Alternately, you could tell your coworkers about this "really cool" blog you found with a bunch of "really awesome" entries on being a lazy feminist bride, and just let me handle them for you:

LEAVE HER ALONE, BITCHES!

So good luck. And remember, feminism is about freedom, and you're freely making a free choice, and everybody else is free to fuck off. Thanks for your letter!

Love,
W.B.E.

Dear everybody,

If you want to be cool like "Distressed" and send me an email, but you don't want to use your real email account because I might be a rich widow in Nigeria who wants your bank details, then feel free to make up an email address and send me a letter. I would post the account details that "Distressed" set up but my SysAdmin/fiance advises against it.

Send advice letters to worst.bride.ever@gmail.com. Even if you're a robot! That's fine! Robots need advice too!

August 26, 2007

Your Source for Lazy Feminist Bride Advice

Dear Worst Bride Ever,

I come from a Catholic family, but I'm definitely not down with the Church myself. I don't practice, and I certainly don't want to give their child abuse conspiracy any money to host my wedding. My fiance's family is not religious except for being really into nature, so we've decided to get married outside. Done deal.

Now, the problem is my grandmother. The woman has no memory loss or senility whatsoever, but she keeps pretending that we haven't made plans for our ceremony yet. Every two weeks, she says, "Now, have you decided on where to have the ceremony?" And I say, "Yeah, dude, we're getting hitched by a J.P. outside!" Except I usually don't call her dude. Anyway, then she cries, and then we go through the whole thing again. Freaking fortnightly. How do I handle this?

-Irritated Heretic


Dear I.H.,

Wow, that is so funny because literally the exact same thing keeps happening to me! In fact, I too occasionally call my grandmother "dude" whilst in the throes of annoyed self-repetition! In double fact, it's almost as if I myself were describing my very own situation in the letter you submitted!

Note to readers: Submit your letters!

Anyhoo, here's how I've been dealing with it:

1. Cheerfully repeat yourself, basking in the unique warmth of feeling totally guilt-free in a situation that would have made you racked with shame and paralyzed with guilt a mere ten years of therapy ago.

2. Emphasize how "comfortable" this scenario makes "everyone," implicitly blaming your fiance and in-laws. When Grandma snaps back with a, "But you're the bride. YOU should be comfortable," just repeat that it's what makes EVERYONE comfortable and hope she doesn't challenge you due to her own fear of even hearing you articulate your personal heathen theologies.

or (and this is really my favorite)

3. Foist her off on your mother.

Good luck!

Love and cocktails,
W.B.E.

As for the rest of you, seriously, SUBMIT YOUR LETTERS!!

August 21, 2007

Cracking

Ohhhhhhh.

Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh, the pressure!

Pushin' down on me. Pushin' down on you. No bride asks for
*.

Sooooo...IguessIhaven'texactlybloggedinawhileIguess. Sorry, loyal blogosphere-ee-ites. But you see, I am just absolutely positively cracking under the pressure of abject real-world bride-ocity. It's totally, totally true.

Ahem.

Okay, so maaaaaybe I've been ignoring my wedding-obsessing-related duties and focusing instead on advancing my comedy career. But that's not the real, actual, veracious reason why I've been neglecting this blog. The truth -- and I mean absolute, thorough, Bible-esque truth -- is that I have been inundated with fan mail. Rather than continue the blogging that has garnered so many fans and followers, I instead conducted a leisurely wade through the reams and chapters and volumes of letters I've received from my fellow hysterical indie-bride. And, dear readers, in doing so, I have finally found my calling: advice columnist to the stars! Errr, brides! The star-brides! Of indie-wedding-dom.

So now I'm a part-time internet weblog advice columnist. Which is freaking awesome. So write in your questions ladies! And gents, er whatever! Advice begins now! And please, keep your questions to the psychological and emotional rather than the practical. I can't tell you which fucking centerpieces to pick or how to stretch your budget for the sake of the salmon, alright? I'm more about the where-to-stash-one's-alcoholic-family problems. Capiche?!

Okay, so that's settled. And also I will blog regular-like, but there will be lots of advice given as well. On with the fun!

love,
W.B.E.

*Yeah, I know, we're all asking for it. What with our scandalous floor-length virgin-white** dresses and all.

**New from Crayola!

June 12, 2007

brides be CRAZY, yo!

You know what's wrong with America today? Brides. At least, this is the theory of one Emily Yoffe, the perpetually shocked-and-awed etiquette columnist for Slate. In her article, entitled "Run Away, Groom! Prudie's Advice for How to Tame the Bride from Hell" (I suppose you tame her by fleeing, as Shakespeare would surely also advise), Ms. Prudence takes out all of her years of pent-up aggression about the skyrocketing levels of contemporary American bridal entitlement. Now, I'm sure this woman gets a lot of very troubling letters about the insane things psychotic brides do, but any number of people can get out of hand with respect to a wedding: mothers of the bride, grooms, mothers of the groom, drunk bridesmaids, drunk best men, etc. etc. etc. But Prudence is only up for bride bashing, lamenting the willingness of these feeble-minded sheep to follow anything they read in bridal magazines when they should really be doing what Microsoft-controlled Internet magazine advice columns say instead. All in all, Prudence compares some truly appalling bride behavior with some not-that-bad stuff (like a bride being troubled over not receiving gifts for some friends and wondering if she should ask about it) and even some totally reasonable innovations (like honeymoon registries, for couples who don't need lots of extra crap in their house and don't want people buying them things that will end up in a landfill). She bemoans it all as the horrifically rude detritus resulting from the willful detonation of social mores and human decency committed by "the Bride from Hell," which, in this article, seems to be just about anybody wearing white.

Now, this issue of Slate seems to contain a lot of wedding-industry hating, which is fantastic if you ask me, but let the blame lie with the pushers and not their general audience, would you please? I don't have a diamond engagement ring, but I do have an engagement ring, so the front page headline that reads "Engagement Rings are an Immoral Anachronism" would seem to apply to me. Of course, the article in question goes on at length about the evils of the diamond, which I do not have on account of them being evil. So I guess the "immoral" part was an overgeneralization. The other main argument made is that engagement rings are one-sided, as only the bride receives one, which assumes that couples don't exchange engagement gifts (we did, and I think we can all agree that he did pretty well for himself in that category). Anachronism? I don't know. I don't think that me wearing a ring for a few months longer than my husband-to-be (who gets one on the wedding day) is on par with signing over the deed to my independence, and neither do all the hot chicks I make out with every week! Sha-pow!

Just kidding honey.

Just kidding about kidding.

So anyway, it's not the critique of the crazy brides, nor the critique of the fucked-up wedding culture, but rather the careless conflation of all brides with the insanely rude and conspicuously consuming variety. The engagement ring article actually has a line that declares: "Women are collectively attached to the status a ring bestows on them." Dude, seriously? I am? Well damn! I shoulda held out for a giant fucking sparkler then! I must have really low self-esteem!!

Either that, or maybe I'm one of those (non-existent, in these articles) women who bucks some of those tides, and maybe my partner is the same way. Sadly, while these writers kvetch and the industry kvells, non-trads like us remain entirely off the radar screen. Not a very prudent assessment, if you ask me.

June 1, 2007

Attention Baby Boomers: Enough with the Bummer Graduation Speaches

Alright, that's it. Rant time.

Mine was the first class to graduate college after September 11th, and ever since then, the hand-wringing thoughtful intellectual liberals who dish out the graduation speeches at colleges these days have been bumming the shit out of us. They use commencement addresses as sounding-boards for their general grievences with a fucked-up administration and the problems of our democracy, almost refusing to acknowledge that they're the ones in power now and maybe it's not the best plan to leave it up to a bunch of 22-year-olds to solve the current crises.

I think it's typical liberal Boomerism to be all, "Ah, lament lament, the world has forsaken stuff, and you, Dear Graduates, inherit this broken shadow of a society/planet/democracy/whatever, here are some examples, lament lament, anywho, good luck, p.s. buy my book." True narcisism robs anyone of his ability to inspire others, or even see the world as having a future without him. And sometimes I'm afraid that's what I see and hear with the Boomer "sky is falling" cries.

It seems like every time one of these guys says we're doomed (Doomed!), what they really mean is that THEY'RE doomed. They're gonna die, it's true. And for some reason they really feel that it's their job to deliver sobering messages to the youngsters of today, whose high school friends and siblings and maybe even selves have actually been off fighting these wars and who have lived so immersed in media that they can't possibly be missing it. Do they think so little of us? Or so little of themselves and their own agency?

On graduation day, I think, we have a right not to be bummed out. We, the Echo-boom kids, armed with our B.A.'s and blogs, have a right to hope for our future.

Having some guy at the height of his career show up and say, "Well, we're fucked, and I don't know how we got here, and we're probably not getting out," doesn't inspire echoes of "Pomp and Circmustance," except perhaps in so far as they are the pomp, and we're the assholes left holding the circumstance.

May 24, 2007

Vow Mad Libs!

Thanks to this handy vow writing crib sheet, I created a fun Bridal Mad Lib! You know, to BEAT THE STRESS!!! It was easy; I just filled in the blanks! Enjoy!

What did you think when you first saw him/her? Start from the beginning -- you didn't want to go out and now you’re grateful your friends dragged you out? How to use: "When we met at the mall, I knew you also liked the mall.”

Where do you see yourselves in 10 years? 20 years? 40 years? Go deeper than "Happily married in a big house." What are your long-term hopes, dreams, and goals? How to use: "I look forward to drinking, laughing and drinking as we drink at our forthcoming wedding reception.”

Is there a line from a movie, song, or poem that says it all? It's okay to borrow, as long as it's not too much of a cliche (we’re sorry, but "You complete me" is suffering from overuse). Instead modify something familiar to personalize. How to use: Subtly. "I watch you complete me, and I think to myself, what a wonderful world."

Can you think of a funny or touching experience that put your partner in a new light? The way he played with your little cousin or helped your grandmother up the stairs showed you that under his macho exterior is a wittle, bitty bunny wabbit and you love him for it. How to use: "When you pulled out the handcuffs, I saw you for the freak-nasty person you are. And that made me want to blow a wad in your face."

What do you have now that you didn't have before you met? Focus on the heart and head, not material possessions. Has she taught you to appreciate beauty differently? Has he helped you learn to savor creating a home-cooked meal? How to use: "Before I met you, I liked badminton. Now I continue to enjoy badminton, with the added challenge of an opponent."

What about him/her inspires you? What is it about your fiance that you'd like to improve in yourself? What do you most respect about your partner? How to use: "Your lawyer has shown me how to cheat on my taxes."

What metaphor (or simile) would capture your love? Think of something that describes or defines your love: Is it strong like a castle? Peaceful like a mountain stream? How to use: "Our love is like a strong feeling of emotion between two people because it is the noun we’ve employed most often to describe our mutual sentiment."

Why are you entering the bond of marriage? Think about why marrying your fiance is so special. You may be surprised how the answer leads you to the perfect words. How to use: "To me, marriage is hell. With you, it's double-hell.”

What will keep your marriage strong? Find the bedrock of your relationship. What makes your relationship tick? Is it your resilience? Your shared sense of humor? How to use: "Even when we enter trial separation, we will have a legal obligation to each other that will prove very time-consuming and costly to terminate."

May 14, 2007

you are whatever shit you want

There are six kinds of couples, at least for the purposes of theknot.com and Macy's new wedding registry venture...oh, pardon me, LIFESTYLE REGISTRY venture. There, you can take a 7-question quiz about what kinds of expensive vacations and expensive cocktails you like, and then it spits out not only who you are but, even more conveniently, which expensive shit is right for you! How fucking fabulous is that?!?!

After completing the gruelling questionnaire (for blogo-research purposes only), I discovered that my better half and I are "Happy Hipsters," which apparently means:

You prove that adulthood doesn't have to mean being too serious. Think last-minute road trips, one-pot meals that are somehow to die for, and date nights in. You love to entertain without a lot of pretense or labored preparation -- as long as there's enough food and drink, you trust the rest will fall into place. That relaxed vibe rubs off on your guests, who all feel comfortable in your nest. Registering for multipurpose, sure-to-be used pieces will make your life even cozier.


It then suggests we register for Kate Spade china and a Kitchen-Aid 5 qt. standing mixer. How does that reflect a "relaxed vibe," let alone "hipster"-ishness? Nowhere does it recommend instructing our loved ones to buy us black skinny jeans or sleeve tattoos or condos in Williamsburg. Sure, the Kate Spade china has a picture of a bug on it, but...hipster? Come on, Macy's, how do you connect those dots?

The five other species of couples that could possibly exist are as follows: Jet Setters, True Romantics, Independent Spirits, All-American Dreamers, and
Connoisseurs. Just for contrasting shits and giggles, I clicked on the "Independent Spirits" list, and found out that this second-person archetypi-couple has a "creative lifestyle [which] means you're always discovering the next best kept secret" and should use the registry to "make [your home] as fascinating and creative as you are." This boundless creativity is expertly matched with Mikasa dinnerware and Waterford bedding: "The Glengarrif Bedding collection helps you create a truly royal suite. Rich, regal shades of reds and golds, elegantly embroidered sheets and indulgently-detailed accessories create a luxurious look and opulent feel." Indie-licious!

My betrothed and I attempted to start a registry a couple of weeks ago. So far we've gotten as far as a couple of quality kitchen knives and a Playstation 3. Who's the independent spirit now?

Be-otch.

May 11, 2007

worst bride ever blogs again

Planning a wedding is boring because you do all this stuff and then you just sit around and wait and everybody says "how's the wedding planning going" and you're like it's fine I guess except I haven't really done anything in a few weeks because we already reserved the venue and picked out some dress stuff and found bartending companies and started to register and there's fourteen whole months left before the big day so what the fuck else can I do, go and pick flowers or some shit? Well I don't think that would be very good because all the flowers I pick now will be long since dead and turned to dust by the time my wedding rolls around in fourteen whole effing mothereffing months, okay? Okay???

And then everybody feels sorry that they asked.

April 13, 2007

not dot com

My impending nuptials have of course led me to the inevitable clearinghouse for all things wedding on the web: the knot. Positive things first: the site has a lot of great resources, features some helpful tips, and gives users a monthly checklist to ensure planning hums along smoothly. So kudos to them for that.

However, like so many websites out here in cyberspace, the knot seems a teensy bit...strapped for content. Every so often you click on an "article" about centerpieces and it goes something like:

Weddings are a time for attention to detail. Centerpieces are a thing that detail thinking about goes into. Some centerpieces include flowers, but for some they are too expensive. Other centerpieces include stuff that's not flowers, like pink things, or maybe blue. Enjoy your centerpieces that you will never forget!

And...scene.

Okay, maybe it's not quite that bad, but they're often really stretching.

And another thing: every tip, every article, every checklist implies somewhere within it that the role of "bride" carries a blinding level of intense stress on par with that of brain surgeon or professional nuclear device disabler. Check out this list of duties for the bridesmaids, and this one for the Mother of the Bride. They basically include instructions on how to care for the psychotically stressed-out bride by administering her electro-shocks and dolling out prescription meds as necessary. The mother of the bride is supposed to "Let the bride cry on your shoulder anytime, day or night." Wow, I never realized getting married was so...lugubrious.

Um, furthermore....the aforementioned M.O.B. list includes instructions to "Help bride choose her wedding dress, trousseau, and wedding-night peignoir." Wedding-night peignoir? I have no idea what that is, but if the words "wedding-night" are involved, then I don't want my mother anywhere near that store with me, ever. This sounds like a throw-back from the days when wedding dress shopping was the sanctioned opportunity for the mother-daughter "by the way there's such a thing as a penis" last-minute education session. Yeah...no thanks.

So thanks to the knot, I am now preparing to be a sweating, swearing, snapping, insane mess on "my day," armed only with a checklist and some shitty filler "information" on centerpieces. And a peignoir. Which hopefully is something I can use as a projectile when I'm mid-bride-tantrum.

You know what the knot needs? The knot needs a customized calendar to help me figure out when to time my various meltdowns. After all, they're supposed to be my one-stop web guide for all things wedding...somebody oughtta write the Guide to Coming Unglued for Brides 101.

Stay tuned......

April 10, 2007

Skinny Bitches With Problems

While perusing the OMG You Are So Inadequate aisle at the Pittsford, NY Barnes and Noble the other day, I came across a volume entitled, simply, Skinny Bitch. Written by two bitches who are indeed skinny (or very convincingly Photoshopped), the book attempts to drill-sargeant you into the hot body of your dreams. And the weird thing is, I found it oddly...refreshing.

Sure, these woman are not just skinny bitches, they're skinny vegan bitches who actually cite ending cruelty to animals as their #1 reason for writing the book. One shrill admonition against dairy, for instance, enjoins the reader to "Go suck your mother's tits." Um, touché? I guess? But oh, that's only the beginning! (And now I'm paraphrasing): Seriously, go! Go suck your mother's tits! We'll wait here! No? You're not going? Ha! HA! See? Ergo brie is evil. The chapters on (not) eating animals and (nor) dairy read less like a life improvement plan and more like somebody accidentally fed Ingrid Newkirk after midnight and handed her a word processor.

This whole book is exactly the kind of thing that I would usually deconstruct incessantly whilst steam poured from my ears for at least six or seven more paragraphs...but the truth is, I didn't hate it! When the Skinny Bitches say to quit smoking, they tell it like it is: Smoking is stupid and gross and it's fucking killing you and it's not hot or sexy or even remotely cool. I mean, "Stop putting shit in your lungs" is a pretty unimpeachable message. And they're similarly merciless about alcohol, soda, artificial sweeteners, packaged foods, and lots of other shit that is sold basically just to fucking kill you.

In the end, even their abuse comes across as playful teasing, even when they call the reader farty or a lazy shit or a stinky pig-beast or whateverthefuck. With their cheesey, oft-forced, over-the-top "bitch" tone, they actually manage to take all the desperate bargaining, hand-wringing decision-making, and gut-wrenching emotional power out of stuff like food choices for a second and give a different perspective. A different fucking perspective, you shit.

So my recommendation is not to buy this book, unless you really need an epic list of Skinny Bitch-approved packaged vegan snacks. But if you happen to notice it in the store, glance at it for a couple of seconds, have yourself a chuckle, and thank the Skinny Bitches for their teeny-tiny size 2 cents.

And then go check out some other awesome, smart, fabulous bitches.

April 2, 2007

a bit blank

This shit is bananas.

And spelling. And so on.

Alright, kiddies and readers (both of you), it's time for me to come clean: I haven't been writing lately because I can't write. You see, I've developed a bit of a...phobia. Honestly. It's a fear of criticism, which I developed after receiving some, and this whole time I've been thinking that I was just too lazy or too busy or too tied up in my sloth to bang out a few sentences and then I thought harder and realized that I was terrified. Am.

Am terrified.

I don't like it when people don't like what I do. Sure, there's the occasional troll who tells me that probably the reason I don't think the Pussycat Dolls are the towering pinnacles of women's liberation is that probably I'm to ugly to fuck probably definitely, ITHO*. Even that makes me seize up all self-conscious-like, so when people I know and love tell me that what I do is right crap, I guess it just....I don't know. I can't blog. I can't work on my screenplays or my other writing project. I can't. All I can do is journal, writing endless emails to myself about how I really oughtta just suck it up and write and get over my aversion, but I can't.

And I write all of this in the present tense because it's still here, even as I type with full intent to hit "publish." I have to get it back, I have to earn it. This blog was going to be a well-crafted blog, not one of those tributary streams of consciousness feeding into the wide muddy Blogossippi River, but rather one of the ones that bespeaks grace and candor, whit and craftsmanship, and gets literary agents to notice the blogger's inimitable talents and sell the blogger's screenplay and get the blogger book deals and get the blogger out of her job as a secretary in academia. It happens.

But now it's the blog about nothing, the blog about my rants and raves and contrived jokes. And I'm not trying to say anything. I'm just trying to write and not be scared.

So I invite you to criticize me. Tell me I suck. Especially if you really actually think so, and particularly if we used to be friends or relatives or respect each other. I just split a thing, that was bad grammar back there, and here, too, don't you see? WHY AREN'T YOU CRITICIZING ME?!?!?

My skin, like a yankee gravy, needs thickening, and I hope to crap that I can count on you fuckers to help me immunize myself. I need dead virus in the gravy. See, now I'm mixing metaphors. CALL ME OUT!

Love,
Not A Writer, But Soon
Dot Com

*in troll's humble opinion