Yes, they are serious

This company is really on to something. Urns in the style of the dearly departed -- literally. For $2600 -- a pittance, really -- they'll jack you up into some super-plastic rendering with the top of your skull as a pop off lid.

H-ette, when I die, I want my big blue peepers staring you down from the mantle, for the rest of your life. Set me right on top of the PS3, so every time you go to turn that sucker on, you'll be reminded of my disdain for the machine. Or, put me in the refridge for a fun "scare" late night when you go get some wettums.

Is this the new uniform for the US swim team?

Cause I kinda like it.

Another office gripe

I got a lot of 'em. And I'm not particularly picky, either. But something that really gets me is the Computer Speaker Abuser. This person does not understand volume control, nor do they own a pair of headphones, but what they DO have is a terrible taste in music, and you're going to hear about it, from one cat-screeching song to the next. I work with one said offender. As a writer, I value my peace and quiet, while I'm minding my P's and Q's and crossing my T's and dotting my I's. And every day, I have to suffer at the hand of the sado-masochistic music man. I'm all for melody, and soft, unoffensive music coming from somewhere you can't quite place -- if executed properly it can be nostalgic and sweet. But when you are forced to listen to something you a) wouldn't listen to in a million years, and b) would rather be chopped up and served to vamps while lucid than listen to...well then, my friends, your work will suffer.

Today mine did as I had to suffer through melodramatic alt-rock end-of-the-world emo drones mixed with heavy metal screaming, an awful musician's interview akin to a bad, slow episode of Inside the Actor's Studio, and then thrown in for good measure (I kid not), Funky Cold Medina, which he sang along to. Outloud.

Yes, I've got headphones, which I am FORCED to use all day long (and I have sensitive ear canals, those damn things hurt and I end up going home with crampy ears - not fun). But that's not the point. Where do we draw the line and say enough is enough? Where are the rules? Where's the corporate overlord to slap him with a fine and send his ass to HR?

Tomorrow, if I even hear a peep of Def Leopard-ness, his ass is going down. It's Friday, after all, and so help me if he gets some crappy song stuck in my head all weekend.

Sorry, 1

But the familiarity is a little creepy. You basically have the hots for Haley Joe Comet.

seriously?

Do I have to respond to this person on Facebook?

From random jew name: "are you the same Ette1 I went to Hebrew School with?"

1. What if I am? So what? Are we going to meet to reminisce about learning to write the aleph bet now that we've reconnected? What do you want to talk about exactly?
   
2. I was probably 10-years-old in Hebrew school. The only thing I remember was that one guy was kind of cute. So that's essentially how I spent my time, thinking about cute young jew boys, not learning Hebrew, and clearly not forming a lasting relationship with this girl who may or may not have been sitting in the same room with me once a week for a few months.
   
3. Do I have to "friend" every freaking acquaintance I've ever had in my life? I spoke to the taxi driver last night, he asked about my day and where I was going to, is he my FB friend? I've spent more time with him recently than this girl, that has to count for something.
   
4. What in the world made her think of me? There's no way I was suggested to her, we don't have any friends in common and I certainly didn't list my Hebrew school in my profile. Why after 20 years, would she remember my full name and have any inclination to contact me now. Was I really mean to her back then - like a bully that she now wants to connect with so I know how she felt back then. Entirely possible. I was way bitchy, I probably have enemies. But I feel like I pretty much kept to myself back then, it was before blogs. Maybe she always thought I was cool and pretty and wanted to be my friend, but then lost touch with me until facebook put everyone out on front street. Also entirely possible, I was a hot pre-teen, I was one of the first to get boobies and that counts for a lot in junior high - just ask Pants, they brought him around looking for me 15 years later too.
   
5. Anyway, it's weird. And I'm not friending her. I don't need her daily updates about how glad she is it's almost Friday, or how much she loves her husband or how the rain totally sucks.
   

It was like Michael Vick up in here

Leia the Wunderdog has been sharing her lair for the last six months with none other than Bro-ette's buddy "Stewpert the coosh-tard." Well, while Stewpert the coosh-tard is a loving, sweet animal, he's still sort of puppy-like, and well, to be quite honest, bro-ette never really trained him, and he's got some social issues. He doesn't quite get the 'no jumping on people 'rule. He is stubborn as a mule and will not come on command. And he's mad territorial about his food.

Enter Leia the Wunderdog. She was basically Angel Food Dog before Stewpert came. She was well behaved, greeted guests with a handshake and poured them a martini (shaken, not stirred). But ever since Stewpert's arrival, she's been working hard to keep up with the coosh-tards, and well, it's been affecting her temperament.

See, Stewpert gets fed twice a day. Leia the Wunderdog? Just once. She, like most women, suffers from the extra few lbs she can't quite seem to shed, no matter how many Frisbees she catches or laps she does around the yard. Stewpert on the other hand looks like an Ethiopian, his ribs and spine stuck out like an abused, neglected child's. So tonight, I fed Stewpert his evening kibble, like the king he is. He quickly ate 3/4's of the bowl and then sauntered off to find out what was going on in the kitchen. Well, Leia took that opportunity to go check out what was being served at table 3. When Stewpert returned, he saw Leia eating a bite of his watercress salad and like any man, he attacked her fat ass.

What ensued was X-rated stuff Peta would cover their eyes over. The dogs, entangled and snarled, went at each others faces until I could muster the balls to stick my bare hands in there and try to pull them off one another -- to no avail. H-ette flew in like a seagull and swiped Stewpert up, separating the abusive couple.

After an hour of time out for both of them, Stewpert has emerged as the clear loser of this battle. As his face gashes clearly show, Leia takes shit from no man -- and she does not think she's fat. Let's hope Stewpert learned a valuable lesson about sharing and relationships tonight...

Those straps sure are working hard

I know she's the queen and all (don't tell latifa), but someone needs to have a serious sit down conversation with this woman. First of all those straps look like they are going to rip right through her shoulders. That cannot be comfortable. Unless they are made of iron, there's no way they are up to task of holding up those jugs. Which makes me wonder, maybe all those studs on the front of the dress are an elaborate pulley system that keeps everything in place and covered up. The mic is also strategically placed to obscure the massive cleavage line. Also, that gauzey see-through wrap aint providing the type of coverage she needs. At this age, let alone weight class, she need to really start thinking long and hard about some sleeves. And what's the lameo wrist watch. Can't an assistant or event organizer update her on the time? It's like wearing your watch with your wedding dress. Hello that's what a MOH is for.

Pet Peeve #479

The Redundancy Communicator.

This is the person who sends an email to you with explicit requests/information/bullet points/theses, and then shows up at your desk the minute the email has hit your inbox, saying “I just sent you an email with blah blah blah” and proceeds to verbally address all issues in said email. Why bother sending an email at all? You’re now here, invading my personal space, you could have saved the valuable Interwebs space for something else, like forwarding on one of your stupid “God Works in Mysterious Ways” emails.

This behavior is not limited to email. It carries over to instant messaging. As in, you ask someone a question on IM and next thing you know they are behind you, peering onto your computer screen, going, “oh, I thought I would just come over and explain.” Well if I just wanted you to explain in person, my lazy ass would have gotten up and invaded YOUR desk from the beginning! I want a simple answer, IM style. I don’t want to be bothered, I don’t want you seeing that I’m working on my blog or have some online shopping windows open on my computer — stay away. Just respond the way the good Skype intended and we’ll all be better off.

This is why we're fat

I have figured out why Americans are fat. It's easier to throw something in the micro and call it a day, or mix some ingredients out of a box (hello, mac and cheese, I love you) then to actually cook a meal from scratch. I know, major aha moment. Whatever.

I work a full time job. Tonight after work I went to the eye doctor to get my peepers checked out, then I went to the grocery store to do some shopping for the week. I decided I wanted to make enchiladas. Seems easy enough, right? I found a trusted Martha recipe and got all my ingredients...except that I didn't really READ the recipe in terms of steps, process, etc. How f-ing hard can it be to wrap some stuff in a tortilla, put it in a casserole dish and bake it?

This recipe had me making my own tomatillo sauce. From scratch. That means chopping the veggies, sauteing them, and then pureeing them in the food processor. And as any cook knows, the experience starts to get stressful when more than 2 pots/pans/appliances get dirty.

I had to hand shred a rotisserie chicken. I had to pre-cook all the corn tortillas, individually on the stove top. Of course I had to make my famous guac, because what good is an enchilada without some guac. Before you know it, I'm an hour and a half into this and the friggin casserole hasn't hit the oven yet. I mean, seriously.

There are only so many hours in the day. I still haven't figured out how to fit the whole gym thing into my day -- lord only knows how that will get accomplished, I'll have to go when I'm sleeping. It's too much work. It's much easier to just open a box of Kraft and be done with it. Which means fatso. Which is why we are fat. And why kids don't know what gardens look like but they can tell you the contents of every meal on the McDonald's drive thru menu.

It's all just so stressful. Thank god for margarita mix...

How could you?

How can you do this to me, Kate, Cara, Madelyn, Alexis, Aaden, Hannah, Collin, Joel and little Leah? You've broken our hearts. You make us hate men. Your girlfriend is a skank, we hope she falls down a well. And we hope you lose all the rest of your hair, so you just have a sad little line of plugs left.

Team Kate

Enough already

I'm a little obsessed with Twilight as you know, but that doesn't mean I'll neglect the other vampires in my life, so of course I was glad to see True Blood return last night.

But this nutty plot line with this mystery woman is making me crazy already. What the hell is she, the devil - some Eros god of love-type?! They are dragging this shit out and its enough already.

I'll welcome any theories on who/what she is and where this whole thing is going.

Palin Pays Up

I thought this pic was really awesome. Even though Kvetchette doesn't condone self-inflicted blows to the dome...we do condone assholes who publicly enrage us and then allow us to bear witness to their own crumbling demise.

Rebuttal

Mostly because I want to post more pics of this guy.

1. Who says a jew can't be a vampire? No one said they are all sucking on pig, the jewpires eat only rabbi approved cows.
2. Not aging, hello that's awesome. What do I care what I look like if I get to stare at some hot bodied, forever 21 year old dude. It's like being hugh hefner - awesome.
3. Edwards hair is perfection. I'd take it off and put it on my own head if I could.
4. Cold is good. I hate waking up all sweaty and bothered because I'm trapped under the covers with another giant sweaty human being. How nice it would be to have a personal cooling system in bed with me. It's like an air conditioner without the expensive electric bill.
5. Warped speeds, what is 2 talking about - what would be more awesome than finishing a marathon in 20 minutes?! I'd have a zillion gold medals. Traffic - what traffic - I'll just run there.
   
6. Seriously 2 is worrying about fixing cars? Vampires are freaking rich. Car breaks down, he'll buy you a new one.
7. Ok I will give her this one. I would miss eating delicious foods, but I would be soooo skinny, so that's the pay off. I'll drink only bloody marys to be a size 2.
8. Women pay thousands of dollars to get their skin to sparkle. People even implant diamons in their fingers. This is awesome.
   

So I'm sorry to say 2, you have not convinced me.

Bite her already

Our very own Ette1 has an unhealthy obsession with Edward Cullen, aka Twilight vamp, and I'm here to help her through it. She is comparing everyone and every convo she has to vampy teen heartthrob Robert Pattinson. She's hoping Pants will turn into a cold-hearted vampire and get all mysterious, with big coifed hair and weird eyes and way too defined cheekbones (what's he housing in there anyway, a boomerang??). Here are my issues with this:

1. Vamps aren't Jewish. No way Jews are sucking blood from any neck. The only thing Jews suck on is a chicken bone from the matzah ball pot, and that's only if they're real Jewy. Although some of us do eat tongue, which is questionable, but that's a post for another time...
   
2. Vamps don't age, which means Pants would get to stay all young and glorious and then what if he doesn't vamp-convert you, and you get old while he stays young? That's too risky.
3. Edward's hair is ridiculous. It's sort of like a bullet-proof cone of cotton candy, and it makes me nervous. No man should have a wall like that above his forehead.
4. He's so pale, in a kind of jaundice yellow meets Icelandic Bjork kind of way, and his skin is super cold. What about this says "I want to get close to you?" I like a good snuggle, and nothing about cold, wan, paleness says "get close to me." It says bundle my frail ass up in a blanket. Or maybe a slanket.
   
5. The whole breezing through the woods and up trees at warped speeds thing? That's sooo Matrix. There's something to the whole "fashionably late" thing, and getting there like 5 hours before everyone else just makes you a dork.
6. I don't want my man hunting down bears and deer and ripping their limbs off with his bare hands. I want my man to fix a flat tire for me with his bare hands. I want my man to fix broken things for me with his bare hands. Bears and deer need not apply.
7. I pass out at the sight of blood, and honestly, I'm pretty sure One is as big of a puss as I am, so I'm not sure who she's kidding with the old blood diet thing. Not happening.
8. Sparkling skin in the daytime makes shopping on Saturday's not so easy.

So there you have it. One, stick to what you know and keep Pants human. You guys get married in a few months and you can spend all of earth-eternity loving each other limb by limb. And if you must? Prick his finger with a needle and suck.

Here are the things I'm thinking about today:

1. Our blog really helps people. A certain someone saw the praise we heaped on a certain ex-smoker and became jealous of the attention. The next day he tosses his pack of Parliments and has since been smoke-free. Went cold turkey. No idea where that term comes from, but still. We are proud, and we take credit.
   
2. I seriously don't care about MJ. I know I'm awful, whatever. Come on guys, were you expecting Thriller 2? His best days were far far behind him - he was a good dancer yes, but a completely screwed up person. Let's just let it be done with please.
3. Palin: Don't you love this. What a freaking whackado she is. I am so waiting for the "part 2" of that announcment, like Todd has a love child with someone, or she's taken a job as a Fox news correspondent - sorry Pants, but there has to be more to this story. I knid of wish she would go the way of MJ and just be out of our lives, but maybe without the death part.
   
4. Coney Island is a giant dumpster. I will never go there again. When someone actually overlapps their blanket on your towel - that's it. Respect my sapce people! Never again.
5. I am OBSESSED with Twilight. That Edward Cullen gets me all hot and bothered, I was comparing Pants to him all weekend. I love Pants, but he's so unvampirey, which is a shame. I'm totally a 13-year-old girl in a 30 year-old's body.
6. Picnics in the park are the single best thing about NYC in the summer.
   
7. Fireworks. Why do people insist on videotaping them? They never look as good on camera and when you are watching through that little screen you are missing the whole point of actually experiencing the fireworks. Ooh but did you see that new one where there's a big burst and the little lights make that awesome round shape and then just before they die out, they all make little sqwiggly movements. I know, it's hard to describe fireworks, but they were cool.
   

Why so close?

I have an inquiry -- a gripe if you will, to address with a certain driving set. I'm talkin' bout the ladies who drive too close to the steering wheel.

Yes, you know who you are. You are the women who get in the car and adjust the seat back and tray tables into their full upright and locked position, so close to the windshield you are close enough to fog it up with your coffee breath. What is up with this?

I am assuming you drive like this because it makes you feel more in control. You can practically wrap your entire arms around the steering wheel. You are so close you can use your steering wheel to wipe sweat from your pits. You can take a nap on it without having to move your head at all. But has it not occurred to you, windshield driver, that while you think you are acting in your safety's best interest by frenching glass while you drive, you are really putting yourself in extreme danger!

Because should you actually get in an accident, your airbag has nowhere to expand except by breaking into your face at warped speeds. If you were to get in an accident, it would probably be the airbag that would kill you. This kills me. The irony. You are an Alannis Morissette lyric waiting to be sung.

Kicking butts!

One of our darling readers informed us that as of yesterday he's celebrating 1 year of being completely smoke-free. Three hundred sixty five long days of fresh breath, whiter teeth and healthy lungs. And we think that's a big deal.

We hope the other people in our lives will gain inspiration from this success story and stop freaking smoking already. You know who you are.

Happy holiday weekend.

Finish your thought!!

What's up with people who seem to speak in the language known as Ellipsis? As in, they start a sentence but don't finish it.

For example...you're on the train and someone says "Would you mind if I..." and then they just make a motion with their hand to indicate that they would like to sit in the seat next to you.

Or, you're in a restaurant and someone asks about the specials..."What's the fish like -- is it..." as if the waiter is supposed to know where you are going with that thought.

Or how about this one. Someone asks you for the time by saying "Excuse me, do you know..." and then they just point to their wrist, where, surprise, there is no watch or they wouldn't have to ask you. What's up with that?

If you start a sentence why can't you finish it? Why just let your voice trail off as if your mind suddenly went dark mid-thought?

I'm going to start finishing people's thoughts when they do this to me..just go ahead and assume what they want to say. I suggest you do the same.

For example, when on the train and someone says "Would you mind if I..." just go ahead and say "give me a back massage? Great!! I'd love one, thanks!" and just turn around to present them with your neck.

It'll be fun. You'll see.