Category Archives: Uncategorized

July 14, 2008 · 10:58 pm

Dog in Street…

While we are on the subject of pets, here are a couple of real life stories about my sweet pup, Mel. For those who have noticed she is the dog with glasses on my avatar.

She is a white lab, definitely part rabbit and as sweet as can be. But she does suffer from the occasional bout of wanderlust (maybe she needs to be medicated).

The note above is an actual UPS post-it that I found on my front door few months ago. Having worked at home for many years, the UPS and Fed Ex guys know me pretty well. And they know my dog even better as she has a habit of running onto their trucks when they deliver here. Apparently she had gotten out of the back gate without my knowledge, the UPS guy found her and put her in the back, leaving me the note.

I have written this particular post today for my dear friend Joanne. You all know her, the one who does not know what spanx are. Joanne and I watch eachother’s dogs when we go away. They are like two old ladies together and they are very much at home in eachother’s houses.

This past weekend while we were whooping it up in Montauk, Mel was swimming in the pool at Joanne’s and getting the good dog food (the stuff in the can that I won’t feed her). Still not quite sure why she would want to wander from that Shangri-la, but you know how dogs can be.

Joanne called to tell me that she was in her house when the doorbell rang. She opened the door to find the husband of another one of the First Thursday Girls with Mel in the front seat of his car. Apparently he was driving down the road and found her out for a stroll. As he said, good thing as that would be a pretty tough phone call to make…

“uh, well, like your dog is dead.” kind of a relationship killer, don’t you think?

i told her not to worry as the last time her dog was here she took off and I had four 15 year old boys running around the neighborhood in fear of that same dreaded phone call.

my husband’s response? if you kill my dog I am taking yours! (very adult)

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July 14, 2008 · 10:44 am

Does Fluffy REALLY Need a Facelift?

Actually, it was liposuction that was cited in another of a series of outrageous ‘health-related’ articles this weekend, but as my friend Barb pointed out, the alliteration worked better in the title. And of course I LOVE alliterations.

Once again, the Sunday NYT did not disappoint for blog material.

Cover of the mag section… Animal Pharm. Here is the article “Pill Popping Pets” (of course I like my title better)

Some staggering statistiscs:

• Americans forked over $49 billion for pet products and services last year, up $11.5 billion from 2003

• other than consumer electronics, pet products are the fastest-growing retail segment. (remind me again why I am not tapping into this market?)

• A third of the total spending, and the fastest-growing category, is health care, with treatments formerly reserved for people — root canals, chemotherapy, and you guessed it, liposuction AND mood pills — being administered to pets. (I have been doing work in the healthcare market for years, again, why am I not tapping into this?)

Now, I am not one to judge pet health care spending. After all, when my dog (the greatest animal ever born) was under 3 she had not one, but two knee surgeries. (Hey, what was I supposed to do when she blew them out, get her a little cart?) And I do love her to death but quite frankly her fat ass will not be getting any liposuction if mine isn’t.

Perhaps I should say, “F the lipo, eat a big bowl of kibble”.

The administering of anti-depressants to dogs is also more than I can handle. How about this quote:

For lonely dogs with separation anxiety, Eli Lilly brought to market its own drug Reconcile last year. The only difference between it and Prozac is that Reconcile is chewable and tastes like beef.

OMG, can you imagine the mix up with a family member? “Honey, I took my meds this morning and the strangest thing happened, I have been craving a burger all day”.

My last word on this:

Woof!

 

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July 11, 2008 · 4:23 am

F the Botox. Eat a big sandwich.

One interesting evening with the First Thursdays I was asked what I had been using on my eyes. ‘Huh?’, I asked (profoundly, I might add. I can be that way). “Um, what do you mean on my eyes?”. To clarify, they wanted to know what I was using on my eyes because they were not that wrinkled.

Here’s the thing. I do happen to have wonderful genes. Both grandmothers had amazing skin. So I am blessed. That aside, I subscribe to the theory that as Catherine Deneuve once said (and I paraphrase) 10 lbs on your ass does wonders for your face at a certain age.

Or in my words, “F the Botox. Eat a big sandwich”. 

Let’s face it my friends, being extremely thin after, let’s say fortyblahblahblah, gives ones face a gaunt look. The little bit of extra weight is like natural Botox if you will. It fills you out, and stretches those wrinkles away.

Hey, I am all for anything that makes you feel better about yourself. And I am not going to preach about not having plastic surgery, because if that rings your bell and makes you feel good, go for it.

But what scares me is the obsessive race for perfection. Two consecutive weeks the NYT ran articles as absurd as the Emporer’s new nail polish.  

First one from June 23rd was in the Suburban Trends section, called Promoting Plastic Surgery Party Style (oy). Here is a quote if I ever read one:

“The event attracted about 200 people, mostly women, paying $20 apiece; it cost about $12,000. Dr. Greenberg described it as “like a bar mitzvah.” It had an open bar, a disc jockey and performers on stilts during cocktail hour. The dinner buffet included carving, pasta and dim sum stations.

Hey ladies, lay off the friggin dim sum and pasta and you can avoid the lipo altogether! And of course the Bar Mitzvah comment was heartwarming. Now performers on stilts are considered commonplace when celebrating your child reading from the Torah?!

July 3rd Sunday Times Style section had this article about – no this can’t be true– and a woman doc no less… vaginal cosmetic surgery! Just when we were starting to worry about our crow’s feet and sagging whatevers, some lunatic has now come along to tell us that we need to consider a little nip and tuck in, as my husband fondly says, the hey–nanny-nanny. This must fall under the category of WAY too much time and money on your hands. Here is the most hysterical post from blogher on that article.

The race to beat aging is a losing battle. I’m not saying let yourself go, but hey a nice big sandwich once in awhile can’t be a bad thing. Sure beats shooting poison into your face!

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July 9, 2008 · 10:26 pm

Burning Mouth Syndrome?!

Yes, this is a real thing. (no that is not a picture of my actual tongue)

So of course if it is weird, I would get it, right?

A few months ago I started to have these odd symptoms like my mouth was burned. You know, like when you eat really hot pizza and you feel as if the roof of your mouth has turned to melted string cheese? (nice visual, right?).

Off I went to my dentist who gave me this speech about ‘women in their menopausal years’ yadayadayada. Another reason why menopause needs rebranding – tying all these nasty disorders to this lovely time of life. Then he comes up with an article from the Yale Taste Lab. I mean really, does this place actually exist? (it surely does) Imagine what a party it is in that place everyday. On top of menopause these Ivy League geniuses tied this to anxiety, depression, stress… the usual suspects. After all, everyone knows that women of a certain age are all crazy bee-otches, right? (husband, please do not answer that question, it was rhetorical)

I mentioned this to my new bbff (best blog friend forever) Liz, at Flashfree who had just done a post on menopause and taste. I hit send and within hours she had researched the hell out of this and done another amazing post about BMS, complete with a groovy youtube vid of the Trammps’ Disco Inferno (burn baby burn). That song NEVER gets old, does it? Thanks Liz, you rock.

Bottom line? There are all sorts of treatments. None proven.

Except of course the fact that if there is an odd symptom out there, chances are someone in my house will have it.

Ice pop, anyone?

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July 9, 2008 · 12:40 am

Why You Should Always Carry a Camera in the Mall (vol 1)

You can’t make this up. I have always made it a habit of trying to carry a camera at all times. This is actual signage at a mall near my home.

Woody Allen would have some complaint about the difference in the size of the letters between these two words, perhaps even go on some tirade about persecution.

Actually, this is an issue not of persecution, but perception. Of course we know there is no reality, only perception (more on this at another time, for sure).

Below is the full (damaged) signage. How long do you think it will take these guys to notice their subliminal message?

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July 6, 2008 · 12:49 pm

All the Other Vegetables Were Jealous…

…or cucumbers are a girls best friend?

Just came back from a glorious weekend visit with dear friends at their beach house on Fire Island. (more about the visit in my next post).

For those who do not know this place, it is a little slice of heaven. (and the veggies are hot!) A barrier island off of Long Island about 50 miles or so out of NYC. No cars allowed. You take a half hour ferry ride to get there and shoes are definitely optional. It is kid heaven, dog heaven, singles heaven, women of a certain age heaven and from appearances, veggie heaven too.

Our friends are the ultimate hosts and quite the gardeners. The picture above was taken just before we picked this sucker. (Did I hear someone say Miracle Grow?) He was supposed to be a kirby but apparently if you don’t pick them (or I suppose if you rub them, too) they keep growing. We kept passing him as we went in and out of the kitchen door and he certainly had an alluring personality. One could not help but stare. Or comment for that matter. All sorts of suggestions were made for his fate other than the salad he was destined for.

Poor thing, first circumcized and then tossed in a bowl with some tomatoes, mozzarella and avocado. Brings new meaning to the idea of orgasmic eating, does it not?

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July 2, 2008 · 5:27 pm

Life Decisions and the Magic 8 Ball

Wait. You think it is a bad idea to do this?

Honestly, sometimes you can ruminate the hell out of a choice and at the end of the day you are no closer to a decision that you feel comfortable with. Sometimes you need to be a fatalist.

Enter, the Magic 8 Ball. I love this theory. And the nice thing about it is that their answers are so… well so friendly:

As I see it, yes

Outlook not so good (I would like to change this to ‘not so much’)

Signs point to yes

and my all-time favorite:

Reply is hazy, try again

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July 1, 2008 · 9:47 pm

The Grim Reaper at the Nail Salon…


…in the body of a grandma.

Sometimes when i am out in public (and not in the basement) i am amazed at how crazy people are.

there i was, getting a manicure (as I still do not believe that chipped nails are either fashionable or acceptable) and next to me sits a very cute little girl getting a manicure and pedicure for camp (another rustic camp experience is born). Her mom and grandma are waiting for her and they are reading magazines. I swear to you I am not making up this dialogue. You can ask my friend Cindy, she was there.

Grandma: Uh, what a horrible story.

Daughter: What?

Grandma: Oy, don’t read this, it is too depressing. Two people murdered in a place you would least expect.

Kid: Where grandma?

Grandma: No sweetie, don’t read this. Don’t worry about such things. Too horrible to talk about. Killed in broad daylight with no chance to survive. In Oklahoma of all places. You are safe nowhere.

Daughter: That is awful.

Grandma: No, please let’s not talk of such things. Did you see Tim Russert’s son on TV. So sad, to die so suddenly like that. Let’s not talk of such sadness. Did I tell about when I had my son, the baby nurse was still there and my friend’s husband dropped dead at his mother’s bedside. Just like that!

Kid: Who died grandma?

Grandma: Don’t worry yourself about such things, sweetie. You don’t know them, it was 49 years ago. Oy, he just up and dropped dead at his mother’s bedside, like Tim Russert. So sad. You should not think about such things.

For G-d’s sake, this friggin old yenta was lining up the corpses right there at the nail dryers and there was not a thing we could do about it! Seriously, can you imagine a holiday at this woman’s house?

Thanksgiving: “Did you read about the mother of 5 that choked on a turkey bone?”

Christmas: “Did you hear about the family that died in a fire from faulty christmas lights?”

Fourth of July: “Did you hear about the kid that blew his arm off with illegal fireworks?”

Of course, all followed by her signature:

“Let’s not talk about this, too much sadness.”

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June 30, 2008 · 7:12 pm

Sleepaway. 10 for 2.

As I mentioned in my Jeep packing post, BOTH my kids left this time.

Sleepaway camp, that kidtopia in the mountains of upstate NY that they dream of all year. 10 for 2 translates into living 10 months in anticipation for the 2 that they are at camp.

For anyone who has never experienced this, and certainly parents who did not have sleepaway in their childhoods, it sounds absurd to send your kids away for the summer. Mine both started at 10. It is his 7th summer and her 10th! She is a third year counselor and group leader and he is a waiter. Waiter/waitress summer is the ultimate summer at this camp. They define themselves by this year, he will forever be an ’08 and she an ’05. I met someone recently who went there and he told me he was an ’88. I had to explain to others what that meant.

At breakfast yesterday a friend asked me to explain this camp. What was the lure that kept these kids coming back year after year, some well through their college years, others through grad school and sometimes beyond if they are teachers.

This friend happens to be the grandmother of 2 ‘legacy/legend’ counselors at the boys camp. One of them is 24, has graduated UPENN and taught in South America for the past year. My point being, this is no lazy slouch. In trying to explain, I told her this:

To start, I went to this camp. I know first-hand what keeps them going back. My husband, brother, in-law siblings, cousins and even my mother and aunts went there. My kids are known as third generation (a prized status, I might add). There is actually a fourth generation family. We are very jealous.

So what is the IT? The best explanation would be the sense of family, of belonging to a place and it to you. A culture of acceptance that no matter who you are or where you come from, this place is yours. Athlete, musician, artist, actor, outdoorsperson, offbeat personality, wise-ass – they are all accepted and embraced equally for who they are. This place is the level playing field where kids form relationships with other kids they would otherwise never hang with. Relationships there last a lifetime. Our kids are friends with the children of our camp friends!

Many camps can make this claim. But when you see generation after generation sending their kids, the proof is in that action. Some claim it is a marital dealbreaker. If the spouse does not agree to send their unborn kids to this camp the wedding is off (you think I am kidding, don’t you?)  A few years ago I asked my son why one of his counselors did not come back and he said, “oh mom, he had to be a lawyer” This kid had been in law school and still going back!

30+ years later when I step foot on that turf I have a sense of coming home. Of being somewhere that makes me feel that I have finally struck a balance.

There is no greater joy than to watch your kids experience that kind of childhood euphoria that you have known. When they tell you about their time there, they know that you fully understand. It is a bond that transcends the parent-child relationship. You are them and they are you. What a gift!

It is bittersweet when they leave us now. They are at an age where they do not compromise our lifestyle, rather they enhance it. When they were younger (and needier) we counted the days to have our time to ourselves. Now we feel the void in a different way, maybe one of foreshadowing.

But we still have the same response when other parents ask us what we do all summer without our kids…

Whatever the hell we want!

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June 29, 2008 · 5:13 pm

How many Jews does it take to pack a Jeep?

Or as my father-in-law says, “Seven Jews, Nine Opinions”.

I guess you could say as a tribe we have a tendency to over control a situation and discuss our options ad nauseum.

Yes, my friends, once again I find myself reducing things into small spaces. This is the abbreviated version of the dorm room packing. My daughter (and her stuff) are on the move again. And this time she is taking my son with her. Sleep away camp! (more on this in my next post).

Picture this. A bright and sunny Saturday morning in June (the mother’s month from hell). In the past 30 days I have helped her pack and move home from college, pack (a minimal amount of stuff) for a 10-day trip to Israel, and now, after sending the oversized trunk and duffle up to the adirondacks via trucking company, we are in the business of trying to fit 4 19-year-olds and their weekend of stuff in a Jeep. The catch here is that the plan is to go camping at the Dave Matthews concert on the way. So along with all the other nonsense du jour, we must find a place for the tent. (note the ihome in the middle of everything, this is a very rustic camp we are talking about here).

There we were, four girls and their parents (and of course the dog), everyone (including the dog) with an opinion (or two) of what should go where in the car.

My daughter, “Guys, did I not tell you to pack light?”

The only solid piece of advice from the whole experience was from the mom who suggested that putting the tent at the bottom was probably not a great idea since that was the item that needed to be taken out first. (she must have had practice with this).

A half hour later and many discussions about ‘the best way to get to Saratoga” (Jews also love to talk about how they have the best route to… anywhere, actually, must be all those years of wandering) they are on their way.

Oh, and of course they never went camping. When a guy from camp offered a place to stay at his parents summer home on Lake George AND a ride to the concert to boot, the well placed tent seemed less than desirable.

Anybody else jealous of her life?

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