Reason #18 that Israel rocks

Challah at your dogs - at least that's what a Tel Aviv suburb will be doing, now that they are using DNA to test doggie poo that has been neglected on sidewalks, streets and public parks. Check this concept out:

1. You take your dog to the vet and they swab Spot's mouth for DNA which they program into the system. (Hopefully, Spot isn't the pimp of the town, or else you just signed your dog up for paternity proof and puppy support payments for all the bitches he humped, but that's a minor side effect of the project - we'll assume pooch has manners...)
2. You continue to do your doodoo diligence and pick up after Spot's number shtayims. You drop the shtayims in special receptacles and the doggie DNA people reward you with free stuff and coupons and doggie swag. Major score for doing what you do anyway, right?
3. Should you forget to pick up the doggie shtayim because you are too busy fighting with your boyfriend on your iPhone, wondering where you left your army rifle last, rubbing Ahava onto your hands and you don't want to get them dirty...whatever. Point is, the poo police are coming for ya. 911 style. They scoop the poop, take it back to the lab, and fine your ashen for the mess.

Point is...Israeli's are smart. And their streets are clean. And working on a kibbutz is sort of like Big Love except they sometimes grow their own food too and they don't shtup each other's spouses (at least not the ones I've visited). So Israel is officially on the list of possible places to move the family (including Leia the Wunderdog) should this country lose it's mind in 6 short weeks...

Just like the SAT's...

McCain is to the invention of the Blackberry as:

a) OJ is to truth telling
b) Britney Spears is to "live" singing performances
c) Steak is to vegetarianism
d) Sarah Palin is to feminism
e) all of the above

H E L P

Something is happening to me. I think I need help. Consider this a cry for help -- me reaching out to you.

I think I am experiencing a third life crisis.

I just watched three episodes in a row of the 90210 remake.

Cringe.

Let me tell you about my sporting adventure

Schlepped out to my hometown this weekend to see a Phillies game with the fam.

I honestly couldn’t tell you who they played (they were wearing blue and gray), but my team won – so we’re happy.

Here’s how an Ette experiences sports.

Game time:3:55

1 and Pants arrive at about 4:45. We missed kick-off (or whatever they say about starting a baseball game), but that’s fine because these things go on forever so the first 3 innings don’t mean much.

Before we find our seats we look for snacks – obvi. Pants enjoys a hot dog and I pulled some popcorn out of a bucket in the food service line, but it was stale, so I folded the box right up and left without it. I got a lemonade instead and a pretzel for my dad, but eat the end parts because he probably won’t want them.

We find our seats. I momentarily fight off the feeling of vertigo or nausea, or whatever from being so high up.

It’s muggy – I mention that to my sister. There’s also no breeze, I mention that as well. She’s reading her New Yorker.

They do that find the baseball under the hat (shell game) thing on the jumbo tron. I vote for 3, it was under 2.

Ooh the Phanatic comes out, he’s dancing, that’s fun.

Some baseball happens, one guy gets a hit, but someone catches it, so nothing happens.

On the jumbo tron some guy proposes to his girlfriend. Obviously I’m not happy for them. Plus how lame is it to get engaged at the baseball game?! Don’t get any ideas Pants. Well go ahead and get engagement ideas, but not during sports.

I’m starting to feel a little peckish, time to look for food again. We get in line for cheesestakes, but it takes too long, we eat funnel cake instead.

Then half a hot dog

And a slice of pizza

Ooh the crowd is cheering, someone did something good.

Then we had to get ice cream, cause it comes in that little hat/cup. So cute.

We make it back to our seats finally.

7^th inning stretch, that was fun I guess.

Then they did the thing on the jumbo tron where they search the audience for couples who kiss. Pants and I kiss but they didn’t find us.

It’s hot, so I stop touching Pants. I remind my sister how hot and muggy it is.

Phanatic is out again, he’s doing a funny dance. Wow, he must be hot in there. I say to my sister, “think he’s hot in that thing?”

I’m thinking about revisiting the snack bar, but the thing ends. I guess we won, yay.

We head out in the direction of our car. Dad decides we’re going the wrong way – he’s looking for Packer ave. We ask people where Packer ave is – and they point a long way away. We go in that direction. This looks wrong. It’s getting dark. Wait Dad says, I meant Patterson. Patterson is way away in the other direction. We go back where we came. It’s now cold and dark. We drive home in silence.

Tonight the Eagles play. I ordered Fresh Direct, should be fun.

Puddles + Vehicles = Superiority Complex

I need to know why drivers or operators of vehicles, when faced with an upcoming puddle, choose to speed up and veer directly into the path of the pond instead of going around it. But yet only do this when there are pedestrians present. Like it's their god given right to super soak your ass because they are behind the wheels of steel and your stupid self is hiding beneath a pocket-fold umbrella you bought on the street for $5 with three of the spokes poking out in a menacing fashion, and you're wearing open toed espadrilles. WTF?

These people are:

1. Predominantly drivers of vehicles that have things hanging from their rear view mirror.
2. The kind of folk who don't own espadrilles, don't know what they are, don't care.
3. The same people who have multiple McCain/Palin stickers across their bumper.
4. The people who have monster golf umbrellas hidden somewhere in their big rigs for just such a day. (Making them also the people who have zero umbrella etiquette - see archived umbrella post)
5. The people who's children do such things in public places as throw stadium-sized hissy fits in the Entenmann's aisle at Stop and Shop, who think cutting into their skin with paper clips is fun and a way to curb boredom, and who are at this very moment, probably having unprotected sex on their parent's couch in the 'ole family room.

I'm arming myself with rocks from now on. Your windshield won't know what hit it.

I'm a 12-year-old boy and this made me laugh

Speaking of Palin

It would be un-citizen-like of me to not make a stink about Ms. Palin's educational track record. Britney Spears has a better educational resume than this loserette. I'm curious how this woman has ANY qualifications to be the literal heartbeat away from leader of the free world when it took "Ms. Party-in" SIX YEARS and FIVE SCHOOLS to get her undergraduate degree.

Now, let's talk about this for a minute. Yours truly enjoyed college. I mean ENJOYED college. Sex, drugs and rock and roll style (sorry H-ette, put on your earmuffs). I spent many a night in the local dive bar watering hole, smoking Parliaments and drinking whiskey sours till the last call sirens. I partied with the best (and worst) of them. I had a realization the other day (or maybe just a bad dream, I still can't figure out if it was fact or fiction) that I forgot about a class I was signed up for for an entire semester...just neglected it all together. I sort of think this was a dream, but still. Point is, I smoked a lot of reefer, it does funny things to your memory. AND - I GRADUATED IN FOUR YEARS, WITH HONORS.

People of America - or at the very least, Readerettes...this woman went to school in Hawaii. No one who is serious about anything short of surfing and sex on the beach goes to school in Hawaii. You can put that on the record. Again - she is a HEARTBEAT AWAY FROM THE PRESIDENCY...oh, and she's never left North America. Sweet.

I leave you with that. There's not even a clever punch line I can regurgitate to make this post resonate with you through your lunchtime chicken wrap. This should be good enough. Go to your water cooler, fellow ettes, and discuss.

Forget about the weave...

...can we talk about Lindsay's pancake boob for a minute?? See picture from previous post. When did pit-breast cleavage become cool? Girlfriend dissed her stylist Zoe-Raisin face, and probably for good reason - but it's time to hire a replacement. This boob problem is unacceptable. If I left the house with my tits hanging onto my ribcage for dear life, with everyone in my peripheral vision getting a peep show, I'd probably get an eyebrow (or twenty) raised at me. Samantha needs to be a good girlfriend and help her lady out. This is just wrong. Not Sarah-Palin-wrong, but close.

Unbe-weave-able

I'm aware that not every lady was blessed with thick, full, lucious hair with ample natural curl like myself - and I feel for you, truly I do. Hair is our crowning glory, it's what sets us apart and helps create sex-appeal. You maybe can't do anything about your fat ass but you can take a hot iron to your head and rock some sleek locks for an instant self-esteem boost. But celebs live under different rules - they have the money to get their weave right, and I am so over seeing long, fake-ass extentions on these bitches. Case-in-point, see Brit Brit and Lohan below. I've added helpful arrows so you can see where their real hair stops and identifying the fake hair. Brit at least has an excuse, the whole head-shaving incident - but it's grown out enough for a fun bob by now. And Lohan has no freaking excuse. Lesbian's don't even wear their hair long so this weave has to go. That's not homophobic, it's just stating a fact. Kvetchette pronouncement: Hair extentions are over. Do not get them, if you have them, get them removed. They look stupid.

okay, alright, I get it. I'm flattered.

Glad to hear I've been missed. It's flattering, really. It's been a rough week. Ya'll have heard that before, we have frequent ones around here these days. But when life gives you lemons, sister soldia over here makes lemon martinis. Anyone care for a drink?

1 gave me a good idea, though. I neglected a very important kvetch upon my return from Philly. The Cheesesteak. This is a rite of passage in Philadelphia. These Italian mobster guys compete for the longest line outside their joint, and I have to say, it's pretty worth it - the 3 hours you might wait for a taste of the goodness, that is.

What is that goodness, you ask? I'm sure you've all had a cheesesteak, but I can vouch that unless you have had one in Philly (or in Yankee stadium) you have tasted an impostor. Yup, that's right. Your shaved meats and cheeses on a roll may have tasted good, but probably weren't the heart attack inducing delights you would feast upon in Fat-a-delphia.

Nope. In Fat-a-delphia, it's WIT WIZ. (that means wit onions and wiz.) A big fat, carb loaded roll, drenched in cheese whiz that is literally dripping through the doughy pores. Then they slap in some meats - grade D beef, shredded to within an inch of its life and then they mix in some onions for good measure, because onions are a vegetable, right? So maybe you won't feel SO fat. And then they dollop you off with a little more whiz. Like the maraschino cherry on the top of a sundae.

After you've waited for hours for this tasty treat, you savor each delectable bite until you are licking processed whiz from out of your finger nails. Which you'll be doing for about 2.5 days, FYI.

And then the stomach turning starts.

Skip to the loo, my darlin'.

And someone please remind me to stick to treats like Rita's water ice the next time I visit the city of Brotherly Love. Especially prior to a 2 hour drive back to the NYC. With H-ette. And AM radio.

Joke of the Day

Pants called in to Kvetchette central this morning to contribute a joke. (Apparently he stole this from Sarah Silverman - enjoyable none-the-less)


What did the waiter say to the table of Jewish women?

"Is anything ok here?"

OK, 2 time to return

Sometimes 1 has a bad week or a little much-needed and well-deserved vacation, and during those brief times 2 fills in for her with sprightly blog posts that entertain us all. And sometimes 2 has a bad week or a little honeymoon, and in those times, 1 fills in for her. But 2, it seems, is taking advantage. She is neither on vacation nor having a bad week as far as I can tell. In fact I happen to know her only current complaint is bloating from overdoing it on the cheese steaks in Philadelphia this weekend. So where is she you ask, why is she not blogging about the benefits of greasy, griddle cooked meets on soft Philly-style rolls slathered in Cheese Whiz? I can't answer that for you readers. I can only appeal to her here, in this most public forum, and beg her to come back. And remind her, it's freaking Fashion Week and I'm busy, get your ass back on the computer and write about something funny. Thank you.

People I don't like

I'm back with an addition to my list of people that really bug me. I won't say I hate him, because I know nothing about him outside of his TV personality. My issue is really more about bad casting than anything else. I just can't stand the main guy from Entourage. There is nothing about him that says "movie star sex symbol." He's the hairiest man in Hollywood, next to Robin Williams, but at least Mork keeps it shaved. He looks like he's never seen the inside of a gym and he has basically zero charisma. I was watching the season premiere last night and just couldn't get over how "nothing special" he is. So I don't understand how viewers are supposed to believe he's this incredibly rich film star who lives on an island with 14 unbelievably hot lesbians who want to do it all the time. So obviously I had to share in the hopes that some of you would think to yourselves - "Oh yeah, that guy does seem kind of lame and what's with the beard - not hot." And then I will feel validated. You see bringing a little bit of negativity into your lives is what I live for. Now go on and think about who else annoys you and please share the bad vibes with us in the comment section. We'll likely agree, we basically don't like anyone.

Dumb things NY parents pay for

Bro-in-law was injured today, I think he twisted his ankle while he was running into a Dunkin Donuts for a french crawler, and sisette was in school being a first class teacher's pet (she brought candy in for the class - uh huh geek.), so I filled in and took Angel Baby to her swim lessons.  That's right I took my 1-year-old niece to swim class.  I plopped her into a baby pool filled with piss and 6 other tots who can barely hold their heads up let alone Michael Phelps it across the pool.  It's basically a glorified bath with an instructor and it's a colossal waste of time. We spent half the lesson trying to teaching her things we probably don't want her to do, like jump off the edge and splash the water.  Then at the end, the instructor pushed all their little surprised and scared faces under the water.  They come up all red-eyed and chocking and hysterical.  What exactly are we teaching them there - going under water is terrifying?!  Excellent, I'm glad we forked over 500 bones for this experience. Smart. 

Let's talk about what's wrong with her

1. Never been outside the US - um yeah, no problem for her to basically run the free world, Detroit is like Beruit right? When McCain was asked if he thinks she's ready to be president he said "100% yes - plus Obama has never even been to South America!" So what's the point he's making there - you don't have to be world-savvy to be president or you should be - because apparently Obama isn't ready to lead...
2. Her kids names: Track, Bristol, Willow, Piper and Trig - that's right Trig - like your most hated math subject.
3. Her special needs child especially needed a crib last night, cause it was mighnight and they were still bouncing this poor baby around on stage.
4. Palin is governor of Alaska, our least important state.
5. The whole being investigated for corruption thing.
6. She's CRAZY
7. She admits to smoking pot but claims she didn't enjoy it - Um LIAR - everyone enjoys it that's why they make it illegal like all the other good drugs.
   

Please vote Obama

You know what really grinds my gears...

People like her.

I caught a bit of Regis and Kelly the other morning when I was on vaca and she was going on about her fat thighs and how they rub together when she walks. I'm all for self-deprecating humor - but when it's freaking true. This bitches thighs don't rub together - I bet they don't even touch when she crosses her legs. She is nothing but skin and bones - so really fat jokes? I don't get it and I don't know who appreciates that kind of bs. I know she's trying to be an "every woman" - she's just like you, she has insecurities, and celulite. But uh, no she freaking doesn't. Why doesn't she joke about how her hip bones sometimes annoyingly rip holes in the side of her pants because they are so jagged and not covered by body fat. That I could laugh at. Just stop it Kelly - you are skinny - too skinny. Let's save the fat jokes for the people who need them like Tyra and Orpah.

Chores freaking suck

You know when you move to the big city, you start to see how people operate.  Movers and shakers in NYC like to outsource all the little unpleasantries that make up their daily lives.  (Yeah, I know unpleasantries is not a word but you all got the meaning, so I'm leaving it.  In fact new ette rule - if I write it and someone might get it, it's staying, f/u spellcheck, I'm not outsourcing my spelling.)  Think about all the things you don't do for yourself - house cleaning (maid), laundry (wash & fold), nails (little korean ladies), special massages (little korean ladies) driving (cabs), walking the dog (lazy college kid who needs cash), exercise (lypo) and the list goes on.  But Pants and I are from harder stock - we are not used to paying for people to do our chores for us.  We take them on ourselves (or beg our parents to them for us like you are supposed to).  I can paint my freaking nails and I can vacuum.  And frankly you all can too, which is why I generally look down upon people with servants (like my sister).  At least she has a good excuse, baby and school and full time job and all, but Pants and I certainly don't we've got nothing but free time.  We're not wasting any of our precious non-working hours planning a wedding or anything like that keeping us busy.  We watch TV, so I generally have no excuse not to do my chores myself.  But there is no chore I hate more than laundry, it's a documented fact, read earlier posts!  So imagine my surprise when I was welcomed home today by a plastic trash bag full of stinky, dirty, Pants clothes with a post it note saying "Pretty Please." Is this fucker joking?  Is he outsourcing his laundry to me?  Hell to the no - as my sister Whitney would say.  This is the freaking problem with living in NY for too long.  Neither of us have clean underwear, we're basically just turning them inside out and going for a second use.  My bras have lost all their elasticity, so my D's are not properly supported, and my weekend pants have baby vomit on them from like a month ago. We are officially out of clothes and since I just paid rent and took a fancy vaca and all, I can't afford new ones.  But I can't bring myself to do it.  Instead of doing my wash right now, I'm doing this, wasting my time and watching TV obviously.  For some stupid reason, like all other New Yorkers, I think my time is too valuable to spend on a dumb chore like laundry.  And there are my clothes, just rotting in that basket.  Looking at me.  Thinking I'm lazy.  Well screw it - I'm outsourcing.  I've made the decision.  We are getting a maid - she will do our laundry and the following other unpleasantries:

• Cleaning my hair off the bathroom floor
  
• Washing up where Bam missed the pad
  
• Dusting - who dusts, that's the worst one, so annoying, don't forget under the bed
  
• Putting the clean dishes from the dishwasher away
  
• Cleaning the soot from off the windowsills where Pants secretly smokes thinking the smell goes outside instead of actually being wafted inside from the breeze 
  
• Setting up the DVR to record all my favorite new shows (Gossip Girl, Real World/Road Rules Challenge, Hills obvi)
  

So Mom, see you this weekend, Thanks! 

More qualified than Sarah Palin to be Veep

She wears overalls. She would definitely 'relate' to middle America. And farmers. And Ettes.

He plots some very intricate retaliation schemes. Stewie could take out an enemy with a butter knife, a super soaker and a hair tie.

She comes with her own pink microphone for speaking engagements. That's hottttt.

Did you miss me?

Just say yes so I feel good.  I mean 2 totally rocked it while I was away, you know you were all singing "revved up like a douche in the middle of the night."  But she deserves a creativity break and I will pick up some of the complaining slack.  I am sure you are eager to hear about my exploits over the past week, so here are the lowlights.

Traveled to Tahoe for lawyerette and her big head husband's big wedding day.  Sisette and bro-in-law booked these ridiculous early morning tickets out to Reno.  Apparently there is no direct flight from the East Coast out to Tahoe - what the fuck is that about.  They figured since we were traveling with the wee one, we should get there nice and early and get her all settled in.  So we took a 5:50 am flight, which meant we had to get up at 4 am.  I considered staying up so I could just sleep on the plane, but by 12:30 I got tired and cranky and packed it in.  But here was my concern with the early wake up call.   I have a very delicate system - my body has a routine.  Normally I wake up by about 8:05 and immediately need a pee break.  Then I get dressed and ready for work, have a little sip of water and in about 20 mins I'm ready for a quick poo before I run out the door, late for work as usual.  As long as I don't stray from that

 schedule, I'm in gastrointestinal peace.  But at 4 am, my system is not ready to poo - it's confused and scared and doesn't understand why we are not cuddled in bed.  So I get ready and pack my things, about to leave, but my stomach is in a state of shock.  It knows we've been up for 20 minutes, it enjoyed some cool water, but it's not quite ready to move things along.  So I need to leave to make the flight on time - well then the stomach is really confused and kinda pissed and makes the rest of my morning an unhappy one.  

Anyway, we get to the airport and we had a stop at McD's which set my stomach back on the right course - I can always count on them for that.   We take forever, but finally get through security, they made us take the freaking baby's shoes off - like they are plastic, see-through sandals - aren't we taking this too far guys?!  And upon my insisting we gave her a morning breakfast of cheerios and baby tylenol to get her good and drugged up before take off.  Much to our surprise, Angel Baby stayed true to her name and was a perfect little flyer.  Can't say the same for little Jakey behind us.  Pain-in-the-ass, little shit kid who kicked my seat, whined, cryed and sucked the whole flight.  The thing was if he was like semi-cute I could have dealt - but he was not so it was annoying. 

About a thousand hours later, and a stop in Houston - eww-  we arrive in Reno - better known as the country's litter box.  All hot and sandy and icky.  And its really freaking dry out there.  Your eyeballs are like burning the second you land and the moisture is sucked out of your skin - it's weird and totally uncomfortable. I wanted to bathe in body oil the whole time.  I missed my gross soupy, humid, NY climate. 

We made our way out to Tahoe which is freaking beautiful, the mountains shoot straight up, the sky is blue, the lake is majestic, blah blah. Oh you know what's strange about that place - you will not see a non-white person at all, the entire time.  They were on our flight and hanging at the airport- but not a single one of them made it out to Tahoe. It was bizarro - but I guess a good place if you are a KKK member on vaca.  And people there thought we were french for some reason - so we just went with it.  If blacks aren't allowed in, we figured they wouldn't want a bunch of jooooos there.  

So the week was great, nice hiking on ski slopes, gondola rides, lake, kayak, pools.  I had about as much fun as you can have away with your immediate family for a week without your boyfriend.  No one got hurt - so it was a win win.  The wedding was lovely.  I guess it was called for 5, so my family arrives a respectable 25 minutes late like you're supposed to - well no one else got that memo.  By the time we rolled up, everyone was seated and the processional had already begun.  We didn't notice that of course and were honking to people we recognized in the parking lot, which was situated like right next to the outdoor wedding locale, so we made a big scene and probably annoyed half the guests.  We spent the rest of the ceremony arguing amongst ourselves about the start time - "how could it have been 5, must have 4:30, who arrives on time for a wedding, who starts a wedding on time?"  Then we realized our arguing was disturbing the wedding too, so we clammed up.  But it was beautiful and the couple was happy, so all is well.  I guess they decided not to register but asked for donations

 to some nature charity instead.  But that's bullshit.  The whole reason to get married is to get freaking gifts.  I'll give to charity on my own time thank you very much, you guys are getting a toaster. 

Oh the craziest thing is that there were signs for wildlife around, like bears in the neighborhood and coyotes and stuff and the whole week we were obsessed with seeing some - to no avail.  But then one night at 3 am we hear what sounds like 12, 14-year-old girls screaming bloody murder and then laughing insanely out in the forest.  It went on for 20 minutes, it was horrifying.  I guess it was a pack of coyotes on the hunt.  Awful sound - I missed my comforting city nighttime sounds - the noise of cranky cops shuffling bums off the street, drunken college kids stumbling out of a bar and squeaky trash trucks leaving half the garbage strewed along the block.  

OK, you are probably bored by now, so I'll wrap up.  Check out the pic below - look close.  We don't even know that creepy guy.  Ew.

Did you miss me?