Happy Challaween

My brain is too fried from this week to put words together in a manner that is either funny or interesting. Thus you have pictures of dogs in costumes, courtesy of my Mom. Enjoy

Phinally

AT LONG LAST - we win something!!! Phils take the world series! (Nothing "world" about it really, its essentially the america series, but screw it, we're better then every other state. Well ever other state that has a baseball team. But I'm pretty sure we're better than those loser states too, like Delaware - sorry 2.) You suck, we rock and it's awesome. This could be the start of great things for us Philadelphians. Maybe the momentum from this win will carry over...

Next up the Superbowl

then a phila girl wins miss america

then by some miracle I get engaged

then Oprah moves her show to Philly

ooh before that though PA goes firmly dem

then the stock market turns around based on the success of Phila companies like Nabisco - who doesn't like cookies?!

then my boyfriend Mark Ruffolo moves in next door to my parents

then my dog learns to pee outside

and while I'm walking her during a visit with my parents I bump into Mark

then we hit it off

then I have a decision to make now that I'm engaged

then I explain the conflict to Pants

and turns out he's cool with it

then I live with them both

and then Oprah invites us on her show to talk about our unique marital situation

man, dreams can come true. Yay Phils!

Hypocritical?

So I love One to bits and pieces. Almost as much as I love H-ette, she's like my number 2 number 1, which is good that she's called One because it makes it easy. But I have a wee gripe I need to put out there.

A couple of weeks ago, One experienced some "Buyer's Remorse" after having dinner with Pants, yours truly and H-ette. Whilst "she didn't taste the pork offerings," she proceeded after the fact to criticize the decision to "order" pork, the traifest of the traif, upholding her stature as the strong Jewish citizen that she is. Fine. I respect it. Lord knows everyone is entitled to their tolerance list. I get it.

However. Today, I opened my email to find an invitation to One's abode for Halloween festivities. Yes, Halloween - the pagan holiday which basically means "All Saints Eve." What else does Halloween symbolize, you ask? Well, let me tell you. Traditionally, the festival was used by the ancient pagans to take stock of supplies and slaughter livestock for winter. The ancient Gaels believed that on October 31st, now known as Halloween, the boundary between the living and the dead dissolved, and the dead became dangerous for the living by causing problems such as sickness or damaged crops. The festival would frequently involve bonfires, into which bones of slaughtered livestock were thrown.

Now I'm no Rabbi, but I'm fairly certain that this violates numerous Jew-laws. Believing the dead are infecting our meats, sacrificing the bony elbows of animals to a bonfire...these don't sound like Jew-friendly activities.

So I'm going to cut One some slack and offer her an opportunity to re-submit her invitation for celebration on Friday night. As it is, it is clearly interfering with my Shabbat celebration, so I propose we create a new holiday, which we can fuse together and everybody'll be happy. You can even invite angel baby dressed up as a strawberry - because at least strawberries are kosher.

I propose...

Challah-ween. The celebration of the braided doughy goodness we all know and love.

In lieu of Snickers, we will pass out those little sesame candies wrapped in clear plastic, even though they are just twist-tied closed and parents will question whether we have stuck needles in them. We're Jewish, and we're celebrating Challaween, and we don't do needles...that's what we'll tell 'em. We will also pass out the remainder of the surplus of dreidels from last year; we bought them in packs of 100 because the guy in the Jewish store on 44th Street told us to. And we will protest bacon. Because everyone knows that the best breakfasts involve one thing and one thing only. And that's CHALLAH.

Happy Challaween, readerettes. Have a safe and happy.

Will _______ for food

With so many jobs being lost, I decided to take to craigslist, the bulletin board for everything under the sun, and see what interesting posts I could find.

The winner?

The gay guy who wants to clean your house in his undies:

"I am a young 25 yr old professional gay male providing household cleaning/cooking semi-nude (boxers/thong). I am friendly, cute, and slim hispanic dude with southern charm. I can provide pictures upon request. I lost my job in the fashion industry because of economy and am trying to make extra money while im in between jobs. Im available all day everyday of the week. might be able to squeeze in weekends. Im fast and will have your home spotless in a couple of hours and if you need i can cook you a meal of your choice in just 30 minutes. i am strictly professional and expect to be treated with respect. Sorry but NO SEX. Please have your own cleaning products, a broom and a mop. Pls email me with any questions. pls only serious inquiries. $50/hr with 2hr minimum required per cleaning session. thanks, ray"

I'm just sayin

The world's fattest man got married this weekend. And I'm still single.

She spent $150k on wardrobe and she looks like this?

She could have bought that blazer at Talbots. And those glasses are fer sher from Costco optical, b/c that's where the Joe Six Pack's shop. That's lame-o. If I had $150k to spend to "improve my image," this is what I'd look like - H-ette, take note:

Broken down, that's:

$3000 for the dress

$1800 for the clutch

$18,000 for the diamond earrings

$900 for the shoes you can't even see

$26,300 in lipo, boob, butt and even VJ lift

leaving $100,000 to pay off a publicist to make sure my makeover stats never makes it into the hands of the media. Idiot.

David Sedaris is my hero

and he's damn funny to boot. (He gets extra brownie points because he's Jewish and his sister Amy is basically the funniest blonde on the planet.) His latest piece in the New Yorker is just plain laugh, and I thought I'd share a little snippet of it with you here...

"I don’t know that it was always this way, but, for as long as I can remember, just as we move into the final weeks of the Presidential campaign the focus shifts to the undecided voters. “Who are they?” the news anchors ask. “And how might they determine the outcome of this election?”

Then you’ll see this man or woman— someone, I always think, who looks very happy to be on TV. “Well, Charlie,” they say, “I’ve gone back and forth on the issues and whatnot, but I just can’t seem to make up my mind!” Some insist that there’s very little difference between candidate A and candidate B. Others claim that they’re with A on defense and health care but are leaning toward B when it comes to the economy.

I look at these people and can’t quite believe that they exist. Are they professional actors? I wonder. Or are they simply laymen who want a lot of attention?

To put them in perspective, I think of being on an airplane. The flight attendant comes down the aisle with her food cart and, eventually, parks it beside my seat. “Can I interest you in the chicken?” she asks. “Or would you prefer the platter of shit with bits of broken glass in it?”

To be undecided in this election is to pause for a moment and then ask how the chicken is cooked.
I mean, really, what’s to be confused about?

For the rest of this hoot of an essay, click here.

This is what I'd look like if I were a muppet

I can't help it, I love them

They are wearing McCain / Palin shirts, and he's carrying a gun and a six-pack. She's carrying a Marc Jacobs bag and a book with the title "How to Make Money During an Economic Crisis." Love it. Why are they so awesome.

Ahh, the things we take for granted

I've always had a fairly fast metabolism. In fact, when I was a young, sprightly teen, my father had a 'sit down' with me, PBS-after-school-special style, to ask if I had an eating disorder, because just as dinner was ending every night, I would head off to the looky-loo to do my business, and well, daddy-O thought I was possibly throwing up in there. Gross. Funny thing is, my body has always been relatively quick at digesting..just as I'm finishing up a meal it's ready to come out. Sort of like a paper shredder. Shovel it in one end and just as quickly it spits out the other end.

Alas, that trait of mine came to a sudden halt this last week, as my body decided to reject the notion of "easy come, easy go." Instead, it's decided to teach me a lesson - one of weight gain and bloat and very bad stomach aches. I'll save you the treacherous details, but lets just say no children have been to the pool this week. It could be the chilly temps, sure, but I'm convinced there's another culprit. I'm convinced I have a tapeworm, or some equally tragic leech inside of me, feeding off my intake and growing to massive proportions. So if this is my last week of life on earth, and this tapeworm ends up eating me alive, I love you all, and am grateful for our time together.

Lesson here? Don't take your #2's for granted, readerettes. They are all that stand between you and fat-hood, so merge into the fast lane and drop one for me, would ya?

Chin hair is cool for Justin Bobby, but not me

Today at work I was mindlessly scratching my chin when I noticed my two little friends have returned home.  My two chin hairs.  Two long, dark, thick chin hairs.  For pretty much my entire adulthood, two stupid chin hairs have taken residence about an inch below my chin.  They are the bane of my existence.  Usually I outsmart them, I check periodically, feel around under there for stubble and then pluck those bitches right out, no one is the wiser.  But I guess I've been busy and distracted lately what with the whole Katie and Peter split and then non-split and I let myself go.  So when I realized they were back in full force I almost became sick to my stomach.  I stroked them to see how long they were - and they've been there a while.  So now I'm looking around the office and I'm sure someone can see me stroking my chiny hairs and thinks I'm gross.  No matter how great a girl feels about herself, all it takes to destroy her confidence is like a long hair growing off a mole, or a zit on her chest, or catching herself in the mirror to see one long straggly gray hair in the back of her perfectly brunette head that's obviously been growing for years, mocking her back there, knowing she can't see it, can't do a thing about it, waving at all the people who sit behind her at work.  It's these little things that really matter.  If we've got a little cellulite, it's like you know we accept it, no amount of lunges will change that so we move on, or if we're 3 inches shorter than everyone else, we deal, we wear heals, it's fine.  But these little, normally manageable offenses really get in our heads.  I basically had to leave work early to go do surgery on my chin.  And now they are gone and I can go back to feeling like I'm not some half-breed werewolf woman.  I know its gross and I accept the fact that some of you will never quite think of me the same way, I may have lost any of that "jew I wanna do" status I might have once had.  But at least I aim to keep them at bay.  What about those women you see on the bus with like 6 major chin hairs?  They ain't never been plucked, they just grow thicker and longer and more gruesome everyday.  Who are these women?!  And why are they so powerful?  How is it that they don't live in fear of the chinys like I do?  I envy them in a way.  They are evolved. 

OMG OMG OMG

Due to my shoddy reporting (essentially stealing from Perez), it turns out the Katie and Peter story is not true. OK mag basically faked a cover story. They remain madly in love and are probably planning their next pregnancy, I think they'll name the baby Prince Petey the Third. Sorry to scare you all, but this is the best news of my day. So I am officially back on the love train. Pants, what I said about not needing the engagement, that was bullshit. Let's get on it.

IT'S FINALLY HERE...

K V E T C H E T T E boutique

K V E T C H E T T E boutique

K V E T C H E T T E boutique

K V E T C H E T T E boutique

My spirit is broken

My favorite trash couple from the UK, Katie and Peter, has split. I no longer believe in love. Pants, I'll stop bugging you for an engagement - what's the point. :(

This is the man some people think should be closest to the red button....

Letter of Apology

Dear Papa Shazam,

1 did not eat pork. Welllll, let me clarify, because two wrongs certainly don't make a right, so lying won't be much better than pig noshing...would it? Back to pork - maybe she smelled it. She definitely picked it up in her fingers, held it's greasy, porky on-the-bone goodness and then she might have put it back down on the platter, but she licked her fingers, for sure, and she savored that combination texture of butter and salt and meat residue that ended up on her pointer finger and thumb. She watched me while I at my pork ribs, because I am the kind of Jew who was taught that as long as you don't eat it in your own kitchen, it's kosher, and anything goes. I guess that makes me a bad influence...I do feel bad, I do. BUT - I will say that she chowed down on some chicken and brisket, and I'm fairly certain that two Jew-friendly meats cancel out one traif one.

Next time, I promise you with G-d as my witness, we will patronize a nice falafel joint, I will ensure we stick to vegetarian/milchig options, and 1 will continue on her righteous path toward the pearly gates of Jew Heaven. And I will add this to the ever-growing list of sins 1 racks up throughout the year, so she has lots and lots to ask for forgiveness for next Yom Kippur.

Yours truly,
Two

This girl gives us all hope

I don't know why but I find Jessica Biel incredibly pedestrian, and it bothers me to no end that she is the "chosen one" getting into bed with JT every night. It bothers me even more that she acts a tad aloof in this short call-to-action vid, Vote In a Box. Get over yourself girl. And next time you eat dinner at your boyfriend's down home resto, don't act like a ho and curse girls out for swooning over your honey - be flattered that he's bringing sexy back, b/c one day you are going to be fat - I can just tell. Enjoy the election tonight , my peeps.

People we don't hate

I often post about people I don't like but I guess I'm feeling all warm and fuzzy today and have an urge to tell you about someone I don't hate.

This guy:He looks mean in this picture that I stole from his blog, but he's actually very sweet and smart and funny. And whenever he comments on our blog it makes me feel very happy.

Check him out at: http://guamaniac.wordpress.com/

Celebrity marriages don't work part duh

Madonna and Guy officially split. Sad right, I was pulling for that one. But let's be real, she's Madonna. She's a gigantic raging crazy bitch stock full of semi-talent. You can't hold her down. I mean you probably can't hold her down because of her giant yoga muscles but still.

Just goes to show, celeb marriages are impossible. Real people marriages like by say a normal pr exec and web editor are totally possible and encouraged!

Even my dog knows

'cue

We don't often provide PSA's for restaurants on kvetchette. Come to think of it, we don't often muster up kudos for anything, really, but I'm here today to change all of that, for the sole purpose of giving you a literary taste of my culinary orgasm on Saturday night. It was too f-ing good not to share it.

1 can attest - she was there. Dinosaur BBQ is basically the best thing ever. (Cover your ears, Eema and Abba Shazam) 1 ate pork, and loved every last morsel of its cud-chewing, non-Kashrut conforming, split-hooved flesh.

So while we waited for like three hours to get a table, it was worth every second. Once seated (and after two pint-sized margaritas) we opened the menu and it was like a light from heaven arc'd out of it. The pages were practically illuminated, it was like a gift from heaven - maybe even the Jewish version, I think Billy Crystal would approve so I am okay with it. Pork ribs, beef brisket, bbq'd chicken, pulled pork, oh. my. god. And before I drown you in all that meat-lust, let me tell you about the sides. Oh, the sides. First we had mac & cheese dusted with chili powder, because what's bbq without that?? And then we stuffed our fat faces with baked beans, garlicky salt potatoes, cornbread, cole slaw, fried rice, oh my. It was truly a feast of epic proportions. I don't even remember leaving the restaurant, I think I ended the meal in a culinary coma.

So bottom line, while I can't think of anything funny to tell you about this experience (other than be cautious of the company you will be keeping/waking up next to the morning following a Dinosaur visit, b/c poo will be the only thing on your mind for like 6 hours.) Take my word for it. Now get ye to Dinosaur.

Rotten Apples

It's October and that means everybody and their niece is going apple picking. Brisk Fall weather, leaves turning, hay rides, whatever. It sounds like a lovely afternoon activity right? So much so, even I got sucked in last weekend. But the whole thing is a giant racket and these "farmers" are cleaning up the cash, while I'm basically immigrant labor. So we schlep out to an orchard near Boston, and wait in a line of cars 3 blocks deep. Everyone is going apple picking today. We finally park and slosh our way through muddy grounds to the main gate where we wait in a ridiculous line to buy our apple bags, along with hay ride tickets. We pay 17 bucks for their medium bag package, which includes a sack that holds probably 10 apples, and another mini bag that probably holds two or three, so the little ones you are with have something they can carry. When you do the math, it doesn't quite ad up. At the grocery store I can get an apple for like 50 cents each right - and I don't even have to climb a tree to pick them myself, so already I feel stupid for paying that much. I barely even like apples. So I didn't feel bad when my niece ate like four apples that never made it into the bag. Also didn't feel bad about tossing half the apples I picked cause they didn't look perfect. There was a big sign at the front gate that said they had a hail storm in the summer so much of the fruit was damaged. So now I'm paying premium prices for bruised fruit. If Fresh Direct came to my house with this stuff I'd have a fit and call customer service and make them refund the entire order for my inconvenience, but now I'm actually paying double for it. Nice. So we take off to the orchards and fill our sad little medium sized bags, while people with double wide strollers make their kids walk so they can fill up the seat with extra apples. What are they even going to do with all of them. I bet 80% of the apples end up going bad sitting in their gross, cheerio-crumb filled SUVs. We work up a fierce hunger after a few hours of picking and head over to the hot dog line. Literally an hour and a half later we are enjoying 5 dollar dogs, when we realized there was a totally separate line for donuts and apple cider. Bullshit. If we were smart, when we got to the front of the line, we would have hustled people at the end - we'd buy their dogs for a 15 bucks a pop. You get so hungry out there people would so do it. It would pay for these stupid apples that are just going to rot in my fridge anyway. But of course we didn't have the nerve. Before they day ended we stopped by the pumpkin patch so the little one could pick one out, then waited in another line to have it weighed so we could pay for that. Another stupid purchase. Finally we were ready to leave so we figure let's have the hay ride drop us off at the parking lot and avoid the long walk carrying pumpkins, apples and tired 1-year-olds. So we wait and wait in line for the tracker. An hour goes by before it creeps along, we're first in line so we jump right in and get the good seats at the front when they tell us this tracker doesn't go to the main lot, it goes back to the orchards. Fuck me. So off we go and drag our tired asses all the way across the farm. So here's how the day breaks down.

Expenditures:

• 25 dollars for hand picked apples and pumpkins
  
• 4 dollars for hay rides
  
• 35 dollars for hot dogs and drinks
  
• 250 dollars in ruined leather shoes from stupid orchard mud

Gains:

• 1 apple enjoyed on the ride home, 9 apples rotting in fridge
  
• A few cute pumpkin patch pictures

My advice to parents: Go to McDonalds and get your kids a hot apple pie and let them run around in the playground in the back. It's cleaner, cheaper and more convenient.

I am not an alcoholic.

And thank god for that. I was thinking today, on my way home from work (when all I could think about was the perfectly poured glass of Malbec I was going to savor the second I walked in the door), how crappy it must be to be an alcoholic. Like, I can't think of a more inconvenient thing to be addicted to. I mean, it's like the crux of your social existence, no matter who you are. Going to dinner with friends? Order cocktails at the bar before they seat you, and a bottle of wine at the table. It's just what you do. Saturday night out with the girls? What are you going to do, sit around with a cup of Chai tea and cry over some stupid chick flick? No siree. Drinks at a bar, that's how you roll. And not just one drink. Who has just one? Especially living in NYC, it's funny, actually, when you go to certain clubs they MAKE you buy a BOTTLE just in order to sit down. Comedy clubs? That'll be a two-drink minimum. What the hell do you do if you don't drink?

What about in it's most basic form -- stress relief. Aahh...there's not much better after a long hard day of pimping stylish home furnishings through your fabulously satirical copy than a tall glass of vino. Or on a hot summer night - it's a G&T all the way. What would I replace those with if I didn't drink?? I don't smoke, maybe I'd take that up again. Or be a pill-popper, they always look nice and skinny and have naturally smoky eyes thanks to the dark circles. Tres chic.

I went out on a date with a guy once. (H-ette, earmuffs please) I suggested we meet at a bar in the East Village. Once there, I immediately ordered a dirty vodka martini and proceeded to drink it before he showed up, to take the "edge" off. Then he arrived, sat down at the bar, I ordered round two, slurring my words only slightly, and he chose that inconvenient moment to tell me he doesn't drink. Bomb. Needless to say, that was our last date. What the hell do you do with a guy who doesn't drink? Lame-o.

In fact, if it weren't for alcohol, H-ette and I might not be here today as man and wife. Because it was during our first date that I really sealed the deal with my jolly, inebriated humor - I had him at Belvedere.

So moral of the story is, I'm terribly sorry to anyone out there who is an alcoholic. Your social life must blow, and you're probably not very much fun in stressful situations. I probably don't want to be your friend b/c I am just uncomfortable around teetotallers. Ya'll are weird and a tad awkward.

I gotta run, my wine glass is empty. Happy Fridays.

Inspiration

Courtesy of Patti. This is some good shit.

Yo its the Yom

If you see a Jewette today and wonder why they have a forlorn look on their mugs...  It's because its Yom Kippur, our most dreaded holiday.  The Jew year has come to an end and we're preparing for the year ahead.  Sadly it's nothing like the regular New Year.  We have to spend 24 hours fasting and thinking about what we've done wrong over the past year, it's like an extended grounding.  The goal at the end of our fast is that the big man upstairs decides that we're not that bad and then writes our name in the BOOK OF LIFE.  Heavy stuff right?  Like just cause I said some girl looks fat in her jeans - I might be written out of the book.  Not cool G-d.  So he basically gives us an opportunity to ask everyone for forgiveness and if you get it, he'll consider your BOL request.  So here we go.

I sincerely apologize to anyone I may have harmed, either intentionally or unintentionally, through my blog humor.  I hope you'll accept my deep regret for your pain and know that I truly only wish you all the best, and slightly bigger jeans. 

Now it's up to you bitches.  If you decide to still hate on me and I don't make it in the book, then my life is on your heads.  Hope it's worth it.  If I kick it this year, I'm coming back to haunt you for sure. So just get over it.  Thanks 

Easy fast everyone!!

I know what you're thinking...

How could I have called someone out like that in my previous post. But you know what? There's no evidence I am referencing myself, it's very possible I was talking about someone who knows someone who knows someone. Or maybe I read it somewhere. So don't judge. But really, it is tacky as hell, I make no apologies or excuses for it what-so-ever. And she doesn't read this blog anyway, so it's basically like my diary, I just so happen to be sharing it with the rest of the world. That is, if it were a personal story. I'll never tell...well, I'll tell you if you ask. Just ask me.

On to today, which has turned out to be such a great day, because I just won a contest from Apartment Therapy in which I won 2 fabulous pillows. Now how's THAT for a Super Tuesday! One of my wins is pictured above. I rock.

So my words of advice to readerettes today is as follows:

• Enter contests, you can't win if you don't play. The proof is in the pillow.
• Send thank you cards. Nothing says awful like a card that was part of a jumbo batch feed from the laser printer. At least don't send them to me. I require at least a signature created with a Bic pen. Like I said, there are stakes with being friends with people - my payoff is that someone I know might become famous and I can sell the signature to pay my bills. It's why I still have cards saved from my Bat Mitzvah.
• DVR is the best invention ever. The ability to watch shows at my leisure means I can gloat about my pillow win for another ten minutes, grab another Stella, watch 90210 sans commercials, and catch the start of the debate at 9pm on the nose. Everybody plays, everybody wins. Go Ette Six-Pack, go!

Wacky, tacky or true?

...or all three? You are in a wedding party. You take part in all the year-long pre-wedding festivities, included but not limited to: engagement party, dress fittings, envelope stuffings, bridal shower, bachelorette party, rehearsal dinner, pedicure party, yada yada yaaaaaada. You put your best face (and manicured feet) forward...you give a generous gift because that's how you roll.

And in return what do you get? How about a pre-printed, Kodak gallery postcard with the words "Thank You" emblazoned in some rich text font. Not even a signature from the happy bride and groom, something you could sell on eBay if they ever became famous. Not even your name penned in ink across the top. Nothing that differentiates this photo card stock card from any other pre-printed web order. In fact, the envelope doesn't even have your name and address handwritten out - that too, I'm afraid, came off an address label sheet.

Wow. Wow, wow, wow.

Emily Post not only just turned over in her grave, but she is clawing her hollowed eye sockets out with the remnants of her bony, disintegrating fingers.

Everybody's doin it...

Soulja boy off in this hoe
Watch me crank it
Watch me roll
Watch me crank dat soulja boy
Then super man dat hoe
Now watch me yuuuuaaaaaa!
(crank dat soulja boy)
Now watch me yuuuuaaaaaa!
(crank dat soulja boy)
Now watch me yuuuuaaaaaa!
(crank dat soulja boy)
Now watch me yuuuuaaaaaa!
(crank dat soulja boy)

It's a MAN's World!

At long last... and many moons after being promised uncensored access to provide my inner most male-centric Kvetches, behold the musings and ramblings of Husbandette.

Rather than bore the Kvetchette faithful with the typical banter usually found here, I'd like to focus this almost certain one-time-only contribution where it belongs... on the complaints that we men have regarding ye' women. For discussion purposes only, "women" shall be defined as any and all of the following:

Wife, girlfriend, Mom, Nana, first-date chick, sugah-mama, FWB (friend with benefits), random hook-up, Mistress, Cleaning Lady, Dry-Cleaning Lady, Meter-Maid, and Mary Kay Saleswoman, etc.

1. Too much talking. We men are busy individuals. We have Madden tournaments to play in. Our visits to the throne are sacred (see #4). Playoff sports are in fact more important than almost anything you "have to talk to us about" excluding the phrases "my water just broke," "the Swedish Nanny agreed to have a 3-way!" or "Ummm... Honey, the FBI is at the front door, is there anything I should know?"

Now I am sure most women were foolishly led to believe at the onset of the relationship that we men actually like to talk. Heck, what other modus operandi are we to employ in order for you to actually believe that we're interested in helping the blind or donating cash to educate Nepalese children. I'm all for a lengthy chat about Sarah Palin's stunning level of stupidity or Brad Pitt's awesomely thick hair, but when it comes to wasting precious seconds discussing so-called "feelings" or "relationships," I would wager my 6-iron that most men would rather attend three successive defensive driving courses in August without air-conditioning.

2. We ALWAYS think you look GREAT! This is a major issue. If we had any clue that you'd need so much reassurance about your appearance, we might have reconsidered the relationship in the first place! Now in all fairness, most women probably do not realize how the male brain actually functions so it is fortunate that I have a few minutes to describe the process:

Woman: Hi babe, how was your day sweetheart?
Man: Ummm, it was nice.. and yours?
Translation from male inner monologue... uh oh, why is she being so nice?

Woman: So... notice anything?
Man: ...
Translation... I knew it. Hmmm, is it hair, shoes or liposuction?

Woman: You've gotta be kidding me, you don't even notice anything different about me do you?
Man: ...
Translation... I've got a 1 outta 3 chance here, screw it, I'm going hair.

Woman: BABE!!!
Man: Whoa, sorry... I was just so mesmerized by your hair, I couldn't summon the words...
Translation... Please let me be right so we don't have to spend the next two hours TALKING.

Maybe woman should try a new approach in this area. Instead of trying to draw blood from a stone, instead simply assert your gorgeousness with confidence and therefor your male counter party will do what his genetic makeup requires... which is to agree and reinforce!

3. MEN ARE ALWAYS RIGHT. At some point, there will be a moment of clarity for ALL women. I have heard of (but never seen) a few women in Finland who have reached this greater state of consciousness, but unfortunately no one has actually proven their existence. Just to be clear, although only very few men ACTUALLY ARE always correct about everything they think, say or do (myself and Pants included), it is the THEORY of #3 that is important.

Women, try a drill for this one. Remember when you were babysitting your 7-year-old cousin and he was absolutely certain that there were 52 states in the Union? He was so sure of himself and the argument had no end in sight. Do you recall when you actually just gave up and agreed with his ludicrous assertion and he finally shut up and went to sleep sucking on his thumb in false triumph? That's the lesson ladies, all men just want to nap with their thumbs in their mouths with the satisfaction that they are STILL right.

Get it? Got it? Good. Enough said.

4. Man is King and the bathroom is his domain. Why is this that WE should have to leave the toilet seat down? Clearly, women need the seat, so you should simply lower it when in use and return the seat to its unused position when the deed is done. How can the glorious and wise man be expected to fumble around with mechanic contraptions at 4 a.m. while also maintaining control of a powerful urine stream? Simply put... he cannot. It goes against every law of physics and biology.

We do not want anyone messing with our toiletries! Men have five basic devices/products/tools that are essential to our survival. These are, in no order of importance, toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant, razor and soap. We do not want you to put our toothpaste and toothbrush away in some designer pouch to be stored in the third drawer! If I wanted my toothbrush to be hidden away, I would have stored it in your underwear drawer just for laughs.

Additionally, "everyone loves their own brand." We men do not want to use ozone-layer depleting aerosols to mask the true nature of our delicious odors. Haven't any of you women read the literary gem "Everybody Poops?" If Men are to be deprived of absolute control over their Throne and all the lands within smellshot, then this just may be a world that I don't want to live in anymore.

5. Science has proven that Man was created without "bed-making" Chromosome. This point needs no explanation or clarification, simply re-read until memorized.

Unfortunately, that is all the time I have to entertain the Bored Faithful today. Ette2 is dangerously close by and I can sense her marathon DVR wathing session is about to end. It was a great pleasure and a true honor to represent the Supreme Gender today and although I shall most likely be banned from posting ever again... it was WELL worth it.

Sincerely, H-Ette

It's Temporary

I know what you're thinking...this has become a very Sarah Palin-obsessed blogrant. And you know what? You're right! When there is someone out there making a fool of herself and society, it's our duty to humiliate that person and exploit their idiocy. That's our job.

But to take a break for a moment, we'll shift the focus back to McBlame. Here's an interesting flow chart to get you going before the week begins. Enjoy.

Here’s what I liked about the debate

You know you watched it. You wanted to see Sexy Sarah say something stupid to reaffirm your belief that you are better and smarter then her in everyway, making her a totally insane VP pick.

Favorite moments:

• When Palin basically said she’s not interested in answering questions from people like the debate commentator – and only wants to speak to Joe Six-pack. It’s possible someone didn’t explain to her the purpose of the debate.
• That non-focused stare she did every time she was reciting something she memorized the night before.
• When Biden cried – brilliant, bravo Biden, tears from a chic – weak and lame, tears from an old man is solid gold vote-earning genius
• “We’re just a team of Mavericks”
• Did you catch when she said “Obama and O’Biden?” That might have been my favorite moment.
• You know she practiced saying Ahmadinejad and she was determined to say it at least 10 times to prove she knew it. Kim Jung Il, got her bonus points.
• Her kicky new hairdo

Lowlights:

• The downs baby at the end. They let the preggo teen stay home and rest, why not give the baby a break.
• Those chompers on Biden – they seem a little elitist to me, so big and white

I'm no art historian

But this doesn't strike me as belonging in the Louvre. It's a solid gold statue of kate moss's special area. It's being displayed in some British Museum along with their Greek statue gallery. Because, you know, these are like the same.

Put them down

What's with celebrity parents always carrying their kids on their hip - even till they are way too old for that shit? I feel like I see these pictures everyday. My back hurts because my boobs are too much weight for me to carry around in the front, I can't imaging lugging a 50 pound child everywhere. I also think it's stunting their growth and development. These kids can walk by now. They should be running and jumping and riding bikes. Also, my sister who is a total non-celebrity has like 18 strollers, can't these rich jerks get the kid a ride? And especially Jennifer Garner, she's carrying the big one and the little non-born-yet one at the same time. I feel like Violet is kicking the new baby in the head on every stroll they take. I wonder if my mom did the same thing with me and that's why I have secret resentment against my big sis. Or maybe that's why my little brother kind of hates me.