Naddafinga!

I never understand when people say they don’t like Christmas.  What’s not to like about watching movies and eating cookies in your pajamas?  That’s the spirit of the season in my family.

Bullseye!

Bullseye!

It’s supposed to be nearly 90 degrees tomorrow, but in my head, fall has arrived: all I want to do is burn candles and knit.

Some of us are going over to Tino’s house.

Tim Riggins is so much better at being Jordan Catalano than Jordan Catalano ever was.

It? It all. In your poor mind.

I thought that this week’s Mad Men was the best episode of Mad Men I’ve seen, ever, without any of my usual qualifications like “except for how they’re all still just a bunch of boring mofos”, even.  It was like a Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf Very Special Episode, and I liked it.  


But, do you watch the previews for next week at the end?  Ever since this season began, they’ve become increasingly accidentally hilarious, to the point where I feel like they are worthy of parody by the Mike Myers era cast of SNL or something.  They’re singularly useless as far as interest-piquing goes, and they’re about as nonsensically mundane as a dadaist poem.  Equals gold!


This week’s transcript:

  • cut it out
  • don’t make me come out here again
  • you could do itI know the right people
  • look, believe me, you do not want me involved in this
  • there have been a lot of complaints
  • too bad
  • i don’t want to have to defend myself all the time
  • what do you think they’re doing in there
  • fine, don’t listen to me
  • none of my business, I suppose
I’ve been trying to figure out for weeks why these overly-serious, dark, brooding, yet farcically obscure previews tickle a familiar spot on my brain, and today it clicked.  Where have I seen them before?  Footfalls, by Samuel Beckett.  Some production intern is going to feel so vindicated if he reads this.  Message received, little dude!

We strive to maintain cleanliness.

My public restroom stall at Target is a disaster.  The little metal trash box has been ripped from the wall and tossed on its side, there is a mile of tangled tp festooning the commode, and then, finally, I see it:  the opened up&up-brand home pregnancy test box discarded on the tile floor.

Whoever you are, honey, you’re having a worse day than I am.  Good luck to you.

I always wanted to marry Carrington.

this afternoon, after my sexy romp at the teacher store, I went to Old Navy, because I am really enjoying this tee shirt I bought there earlier this summer, and I was hoping its brethren would be on clearance now.  Alas, they were all gone, except there were about 25 other clearance items I decided to take a chance on in the fateful Old Navy dressing rooms, otherwise known as Industrial Cement Hell.  So I quickly ruled out about 70% of what I had brought with me, but this 3 dollar turquoise tank top was making me pretty happy, and this long sleeve black tee shirt that was only 8 bucks even though it’s new fall merchandise was good, and then I had this crazy moment where I almost bought an exact replica of this other shirt I already own, just because it’s a good shirt and was cheap and Lucky magazine always says to buy 2.  Decisions like that send me into a retarded, OCD tailspin with Suze Orman on one shoulder and Nina Garcia on the other, and The Ghost of Future Me before me in the mirror, attempting to diving my future fashion needs and whims.  ”It’s only 7 dollars!”  ”You say that all the time; you are flushing your future away in 7 dollar increments!”  ”I really love it and the one I already own has a small, indisinct grease spot on the boob.”  ”Buying doubles of everything makes everything less special.”  ”It’s nice to own some weekend-level recreational clothing that makes you happy and feel cute.”  ”Except it’s short-waisted and kinda scratchy, so you have to wear something under it, thus negating the easy-breeziness of it.”  ”this shirt is fairly distinctive, so it’s not like you could wear it a couple of times a week and no one would notice.  people tend to remember a giant octopus emblazoned across your torso.”.  ”Will I even like giant octopi as a fashion statement a year from now?”  ”I’m sweating.”  I put it back.But, it was within that spinny frame of mind that I was confronted with another high-stakes fashion challenge:  the cardigan.  $12.97 on clearance…certainly not expensive, but equally as certainly not cheap enough to be exempt from intense scrutiny before purchase.  Scenarios this this are when the cement and paperboard walls really start to close in, and the plastic hanger avalanches start to make a grown woman feel like crying.  
Pro:  It’s a pretty, tweedy shade of brown that I love because it makes me think of Bloomsbury England, and I don’t own any Bloomsbury England Brown right now.  Con:  It’s kind of a little wonky. Pro:  Are those tiny little delicate buttons along the wrists, which are luxuriantly long to begin with?  And they’re functional buttons?  Yes they are.  Con: If I am being honest, I have without a doubt put more flattering articles of clothing on my body before.  Pro:  I do love a good cardigan.  Con:  I have a lot of cardigans that have proven themselves to be something less than good over time.  Pro:  This is a cotton/modal blend, so it won’t do that awful Cotton Cardigan Thing I hate.  Con:  There’s a small hole near the neck.  Pro:  V necks are flattering.  Con:  I know they are, but I always like scoop better.  Pro:  It’s neither cropped nor knee-length, and therefore more versatile.  Con:  Is it neither here nor there?  Pro:  This sucker will look bangin’ with all my England-y scarves and cameos and whatnot.Con:  Nothing wrong with that!
So, after much hesitation and fiscal anxiety, I decided to spend the $12.97 on the cardigan.  I gathered myself and approached the register, only to find to my delight that it rang up as $2.97, not $12.97!  Now, I typically expect just as much of my clearance-level clothing as my splurgier items, which I think is a good policy:  Buy it because you love it, not because it was a bargain.  But it just so happens that there’s a corollary to my policy, which states that items of clothing costing less than $2.98 are exempt from tough lines of questioning and simply welcomed with open arms into the fold.
Fold!  Get it?  ’Cause it’s a sweater! 

Priorities

I overslept today, and my to-do list was stressing me out a little, until I looked at it objectively and saw that it consisted entirely of beach-related items:

  • buy beach food
  • buy beach liquor
  • buy beach books
  • pack beach clothes
  • find beach towels

That is not a bad to-do list.

To Say Nothing of the Playtex Commercial That Followed

Have you seen those Payless Bogo commercials with the kid singing “Everybody Wants to Rule the World” while children frolic on a bus wearing cute plaid flats?  I never noticed before that one of the lines in that song is, “turn your back on mother nature”.  

That is a weird thing to have a tween’s Payless commercial.  

Faith.

Something I can accept all too easily:  That I will see Eat Pray Love and I will enjoy it, because despite what I know to be right and true in the world, I consistently enjoy Julia Roberts and the movie looks pretty.  Also, Javier Bardem is a mitigating factor, always.

Something I just cannot accept:  That Conrad on Weeds is never coming back.