It's not you, it's me

So, I've started a few new relationships this fall. Some satisfy my need for humour, some my need for excitement, some my love of drama. My husband is OK with it, too. In fact, we're doing a menage a trois with one of them.

I have to say, this fall's new crop of TV shows is the best I've seen in years.

But I've already dumped one. I'll leave you in suspense as to which one. The cliffhanger will be resolved at the end of this post.

So far the favourite of both me and my husband is "Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip." I love Matthew Perry and Bradley Whitford together - they have great chemistry. It IS kind of like watching Josh without Donna, though. Matt did a great turn in "The West Wing" either last season or the season before, so I'm already used to him not being Chandler.

Also enjoyed the first episode of "Smith." Ray Liotta has gotten pretty swarthy-looking - must be all that hard living. But he's still sexy as hell. And Virginia Madsen, well, let's just say, if I played for the other team, she'd be on my list. Oh, what the fuck, let's put her on the list anyway. I also really like Amy Smart. And the British guy is cool.

I have also watched "Six Degrees" which I liked, although I was pretty disappointed that they got the characters together so quickly - I thought they'd leave a little more to be developed throughout the season. "Shark" was another one, but I think James Woods has an awfully big job to carry that show all on his own. And after all the L&O shows, the audience is savvy enough about legal procedure to know that first courtroom scene was pretty weak. But I'll give it a chance.

Looking forward to "Ugly Betty" and "The Nine." Between the new shows and my returning faves - ER, Lost, and CSI:NY - I haven't watched this much TV in ages. Thank heaven the networks are offering up more than reality tripe. Sorry, reality fans.

But unfortunately, there is only so much room on the PVR, so I've had to let a show go. "Men In Trees" just doesn't do it for me. I don't know if it's the hour-long comedy, or Anne Heche, or what, but I was watching the second episode and about a quarter of the way through, I realized "I just don't give a rat's ass about what happens to any of these people." So it's outta there. With a Friday night time slot, I don't give it much hope anyway.

My Friday nights are already taken up with my only nod to reality tripe. "What Not To Wear" is my very favouritest show on TV. Give me an hour with Stacey and Clinton - and a half a bottle of wine - and my weekday stress just melts away. God bless those two. Hopefully one day there won't be a visible panty line or a tapered pant left anywhere in the world.

Bland = Blarg

So, now I'm seeing a nutritionist. From here on, referred to as The Nazi.

It's been good so far. She's very knowledgeable about stomach issues like mine. A little too knowledgeable, it turns out.

My studiously healthy diet may be the culprit. All those whole grains and non-soluable fibres. You know, the brown bread and salad. I've always liked the fact that I like that stuff. I would pick whole grain bread over white bread any day of the week and twice on Sundays. I'd rather have a salad with my burger than french fries.

Good for me, right?

Wrong!

Turns out all that stuff can irritate the gut. And with a gut that's constantly irritated - kind of like my personality, really - it just leads to all kinds of plumbing problems.

So now I'm on a bland diet. Like, really bland. Elevator Muzak bland. For breakfast I had a third - yes, a THIRD - of a plain white bagel with 1 tablespoon of light cream cheese, an egg, and a cup of peppermint tea. No coffee, just tea. For a snack I had a slice - yes, ONE SLICE - of light swiss cheese and a small banana. And more tea. For lunch I get a bowl of chicken vegetable soup, a white dinner roll, and 6 soda crackers. I think I'll skip the fucking tea. Afternoon snack is two slices of turkey and another roll. Dinner is meat and very well cooked vegetables. Oh, I'm also off starch at dinner for awhile, to "kick-start" my metabolism. It's going to need more than a kick-start with this diet, let me tell you. It's going to need a can of gasoline and a blow torch.

All this is meant to "calm my stomach down." Oh, it's calm alright. It's fucking comatose at this point. I find myself longing for the days when I could have plain oatmeal for breafast. It would be a party in my mouth, I swear! The wasa crackers and salt/sugar free peanut butter is a distant memory. Why didn't I appreciate it while I had it? Chicago was right - you don't know what you got until it's gone. And I found out a little too late.

Hopefully it doesn't take long to resolve these latest digestive issues, because I can't wait to eat normally again. Unfortunately for The Nazi, "normally" won't really cut it anymore. No more letting it all go on the weekends. I can't afford to sabotage myself, because it's affecting my health - and my waistline - a little too much.

But a little plain oatmeal would taste pretty good right now. So would a cardboard box. Can't eat that, either. Too much fibre.

The Windmills of my Mind ...

So, I have become what I swore I never would.

I have become a person who relies on a daytimer.

I've always had a crack memory. Never needed lists or reminders or anything. Grocery list? Pshaw! Sure, I'd forget a couple of things every time I went shopping, but that's what makes it exciting, right? Calendar for birthdays? Forget it - my mind's a steal trap! So I can't remember my mother in law's birthday, so what? She never remembers mine either. Bitch.

But the steal trap started rusting a few years ago. I found I'd have to park in the same area of the mall every time I went, or I'd get lost. I'd be one of those people aimlessly wandering the parking lot, hunting for my car. Never resorted to the humiliation of having one of the little golf-carts zoom me around, though. Thank God for that. I'd also have to keep my keys in the same place, or I'd never get out of the house.

Now it seems the things I have to keep track of have exploded into a mess of lists, tables, and notices.

Take this Sparks thing. Sparks is like pre-Brownies. My daughter is a Spark this year, and gullible me, I have been talked into being a leader. That means a meeting every Monday night, with different activities. But some Mondays don't have meetings, because the night has changed, or there's a special event at some other point. Or a holiday. Oh, and don't forget about Sparks CAMP, either. In December. Can you say "pass the electric blanket?" I bet they won't even let us drink. Fuck.

Add in the Ballet Saturday mornings - but not EVERY Saturday morning. And the swimming lessons that start up in October. And the Parent Advisory Committee meetings for K's school. And the ridiculously busy social life I have somehow managed to create for myself. And the doctor's appointments, the trips to see my parents, my parents' trips to see us, etc, etc, ad infinitum.

Jesus, I don't need a daytimer, I need a secretary! And a chauffeur. And to win the lottery, so I can eliminate the biggest time sucker of all - my job. T fucking GIF, BTW.

The Incredible Lightness of Ebaying

Hello, I'm T. And I'm an Ebay addict.

Can't stop bidding no matter what I do. It's a good thing I don't smoke, or drink a lot, or gamble. I'm already putting us in the poorhouse with all these bloody auctions I "have to" win. If I were a normal non-addict, I would put in my maximum bid and just sit back and wait to see if I win or not. If I do, great - if I don't, oh well, there's always another one. Right? I wish. I get the bloodlust in me, especially when I'm sitting there lurking over the auction as the final seconds tick down. I've been sniped too many times - I'm wise to all those tricks. Suddenly the bids are WAY past my maximum, but I'm still in there with my quick little fingers. I end up paying more for the stuff used than I would have new, if I'd just waited for a sale. I almost always regret it when I'm done. I must stop. I think the only solution to this problem - is to start selling.

And the exclusive thing I bid on? Clothes for my little angel. You know, the one that was running screaming around my house on Saturday afternoon? If that weren't bad enough, 7 of her friends were running screaming behind her. What is the official name for this 9th degree of hell? "Birthday Party." Yes, on the day of my kid's 5th birthday party, it has to rain for the first time in THREE FUCKING MONTHS. Eight 5 year olds, supercharged on sugar and adrenaline, tearing K's room apart, terrorizing my cats, and breaking the sound barrier with all that yelling. All the other moms desterted me - cowards. They went to STARBUCKS. I would have snuck out with them but my husband collared me - there's no way HE'S gonna be trapped there alone.

Anyway, back to the clothes. I buy Gymboree. If you're not a parent, you don't know, but for moms, especially of girls, it's like the Dolce & Gabbana of kids clothes. Great fabrics, interesting styles, and they wear really well. But they're fucking expensive, man! The only time I can afford to buy them at the store is when I get a special email giving me 30% off - and then I still usually only buy on sale for the extra discount. Jesus.

And then Ebay came along. It's no longer parents selling their hand-me-downs, either. An entire economy has sprung up, with people (I don't know who they are - Gymboree employees?) selling huge lots of clothing, with the buyers then splitting their lots up into outfits and making an absolute KILLING. And boy, are there some stupid people out there. The newest craze - putting up an auction that promises to double the winner's bid in value of clothing. So if you pay $100, they'll give you $200 worth of clothes. Well, we're talking full retail here, people. In Gymboree terms, that could mean 2 pairs of pants and 3 shirts. Big whoop. Especially when you can order off the Gymboree website when things are on sale AND get free shipping if you pay enough. I usually only buy used clothes or new with tags IF the price is right.


I've been toying with the idea of selling myself, but I need some serious capital to get going. I also get a migraine when I think about dealing with buyers. I, of course, am a model buyer, but I'm sure I'd get every crazy wack-job out there. No, you can't return it because your kid doesn't like it. No, I won't ship it to you in Timbuk-fucking-tu for $3.50 when my auction CLEARLY STATES I will ship only to the continental US and Canada. No, I won't put it "on hold" for you or take more than the winning bidder, and reneg on the auction, just because you "really, really, REALLY want it." Anyone have a Tylenol?

Gack!

My daughter is now 5. And starting kindergarten.

I feel old.