Trick or treat

Have I told you lately how much I love Halloween? I mean, I love this holiday. It is, with the exception of Christmas (of course), the best day in the year. People (well, at least the cool ones) dress up in crazy, fun, exciting, awkward and interesting outfits, go out walking around at night and knocking on strangers' doors, and get candy for saying three little, magic words. The fact that this day evolved at all, let alone that it is rooted in paganism, convinces me that there is a guiding force in the universe, and that force has an awesome sense of irreverence and humor, as well as a sweet tooth.
So tomorrow I think I will decorate my house for this most awesome of holidays. I bought a second Halloween-colored storage bin for the additional Halloween decorations that I've bought throughout the year. I picked up some fun little nuggets here and there. Of course, I don't really remember what they are right now, but they are all wrapped and stowed in the closet ... making Halloween kind of like Christmas after all.
But I won't buy any more candy. I've eaten too much already.

Same girl, different outfit

I'm cruising around in a Buick today, my friends. The lovely little Land Rover started getting kinda hot yesterday, and the temperature monitor was settling in the red a bit too much for me, so it's in the shop this morning. Good news or bad? Good: they have all the parts and I should get the car back today. Bad: $730. The temperature gauge and the two hoses that lead to it need to be replaced. The coolant is leaking, the gauge is cracked, and the hoses are bloated and cracking. This, Michael told me, was a result of the extreme heat here in Arizona. I agree that the heat is a major issue, but I'll also go on record as saying that the extreme cold of Massachusetts for four winters can't have helped. It has taken me an average of two attempts to get the car parked straight and in the spot entirely both times I tried. Ugh.
And I know that you're all wondering about my television dilemma from last night. Well, problem solved. Given the finite amount of time that Sydney naps in the morning, I was presented with a "pick the show you want to watch in quiet and harmony" choice to make. I chose Gossip Girl. And given how I feel about not watching Private Practice (pretty okay with it, actually), I'll leave that one off my DVR agenda for Wednesdays.

It's all good on Wednesday

So I know that you're all thinking: What exactly is Kimmie G. watching this season on television? I've been reluctant to say, as I haven't yet watched everything that I'm trying out, but tonight, I'm at an impasse for the first time this fall. There are three, count them, three shows that I want to check out at 8 p.m., and my DVR can only record two at a time. ... And it won't let me watch the third at the same time. So here I am, stuck between Bionic Woman, Private Practice and Gossip Girl.
Just so you know, I recorded Private Practice and Gossip Girl, and gave Bionic Woman the live feed. I already know that I love, love, love Gossip Girl. I already know that I love Tim Daly, who's co-starring in Private Practice. I figured my best bet would be to try Bionic Woman, as that is the only real question mark as of now.
Well, having watched two of the three shows, I can say that Bionic Woman and Gossip Girl will definitely stay on my agenda for Wednesday nights. We'll see about Private Practice tomorrow. As for next week, should I enjoy all three shows, I will randomly select one to watch in its original and live incarnation each week while allowing the DVR to record the other two. Who knew that Thursday morning's television would be as exciting as Wednesday night's?

It's hardly pink at all

~ Mom gave me a couple bags of the breast cancer-awareness York Peppermint Patties. Yummy! One of my fave candies! The first bag is already cozy in the refrigerator, and open, just as all bags of York Peppermint Patties should be. But these are special ones because they are pink on the inside. Or so the York marketing department says. This is the most vague and discreet definition of pink I've ever seen in a candy. Seriously, it's only really pink if you squint your eyes and hold it against something white. I will have to bite into a couple more to investigate further.
~ I don't know when exactly it was, but I have begun trimming my own bangs again. This was a bad practice that I picked up in college, and had thought that I had dropped since I discovered how well Brian can do a bang trim. I guess maybe he whined one or two too many times, or I just decided to do it myself, but for whatever reason, tonight I am a victim of one of my famous "too short" bang trims. They're not super short, so don't freak out, but they are a touch shorter than was my intention. Thank goodness the damn things grow out so fast.

And many more....

Yay! It's Mom's birthday!

Happy birthday to you,
Happy birthday to you!
Happy birthday, dear Mommy,
Happy birthday to you!

Bill Bellis didn't warn us at all

Sydney and I surprised Mom by picking her up at the gate (or as close as we could get) this morning at the airport. I've not ever taken the kid in to the airport to pick up Mom yet, so I was sure that this would turn into a dreadful adventure. On the contrary, actually. Sydney was happy with her cracker, and was so entertained by all the people around us that she forgot to bitch about being held the entire time. Success!!
Following that, we did the lunch thing and hung out. But the big news is that I witnessed my first hail storm in Scottsdale! Seriously, hail! Pieces the size of peas pounding the pavement in front of my apartment, and, even better, on my balcony! I have pictures! So cool. The rain must have fallen like, yes, cats and dogs for all of 10 minutes. And it was a freak storm, too. None of the weather guys forecasted it, which makes it even better.

Tomorrow, I am going to set up the e-mail account for my phone so I can begin posting phone photos on the blog again. I've got to tell you, I think that is an aspect of the blog that's lacking in a big way.

The rugs will be returned

I think I'm officially running out of random little things to do around my house. I've had the most eclectic lists of things to get at both Target and Bed, Bath & Beyond this week, and I'm feeling strangely satisfied having gotten the items and placed them properly. (B,B&B: toilet lid cover, soap dispenser, atomic clock, napkin holder, kitchen rugs. All very necessary.)
Really, it's just the big-ticket items that are bugging me now, including a TV stand with cabinet doors to keep little fingers from messing with the equipment; one of those new iMacs (seriously, I must possess one soon); and nightstands for my bedroom. Each of these things is a bit more than what I can just bop out to the store to buy, and each of the current renditions of these things is irritating me with its presence. All I see when I look at my current TV stand, computer and nightstand set are the nifty new ones that should be occupying that space. It's a sickness, I know. It's called "get a job before you go insane."
Mom is coming to town tomorrow, and, per usual, we have a very full plate for the weekend. Plans include, but are not limited to, lunch dates, shopping activities, dinners and daily excursions aplenty. Of course, I'm totally game for all of it. Every day with Mom is a treat!

Tastes like chic... OW!

I saw the funniest headline just now: "Man puts snake in mouth, gets bit." I'm thinking that Captain Obvious has been to that guy's house. Who wouldn't get bit by a snake if they put it in their mouth? And who wouldn't expect to get bit if they put a snake in their mouth? The whole thing is so ridiculous that I didn't even read the article because I was so struck by how stupid it is that "news" such as this gets headline treatment on CNN of all places! Of course he got bit! He put a snake in his mouth!!

Baby contained, dog rebels

So I experimented with the doggy door issue today. This morning, I moved the door into the bedroom slider. Sydney was sleeping. Oliver didn't like it. In fact, the doggy doorway itself is a bit obstructed in the bedroom, and he has to kinda twist a bit to get through, but he managed it. Of course, I had to bribe him with treats to get him to enter or exit through the door. Sydney and I went out to run some errands and play at Gymboree. We returned home to find that Oliver hadn't gone out the door once since that morning, and that he was pretty much refusing to have anything to do with it. He would whine at the living room slider to get out. Because I have guilt about his life being changed so much by the arrival of Sydney, I got up and let him out and in ... and gave him a treat every time.
After the third trip across the room, I had a moment: "Why should I," I asked myself, "get up and let him out every time he wants if it's what I would be doing if the doggy door was out here with the door blocked? Why not just return the doggy door and allow him the freedom at night and in the morning, at least? Make it an inconvenience for me throughout the day, sure, but small price to pay for keeping the baby from crawling out onto the balcony."
I returned the door, and now, everyone is happy: Sydney can't get out during the day (me happy), Sydney can't get in trouble for getting out during the day (Sydney happy), and Oliver has his door in the living room where, he tells me, "It should have stayed all day anyway, Mom," (Oliver happy).

Mostly, it's the toothy smile

It's 9:15 p.m. right now, and you know what? I am not watching the Emmy Awards. And seriously, I can tell you why in two exact words: Ryan Seacrest. The guy just straight up bugs the shit out of me. I can't stand him! Is it the slicked hair? The cheesy gameshow host smile? The disingenuous way he talks to people? The surplus of face time he's been racking up over the last couple years? The blatant self-promotion of the Fox television network for getting him to be on the show?
Yep, all of that.
I may be punishing myself by not watching the show in its entirety -- because I have seen snippets here and there (Yay The Daily Show!) -- but I am boycotting the program this year. I won't watch it, and if I see that ridiculous cheesy man-boy by accident I change the channel faster than, well, faster than any man would, I guess.
So tomorrow I'll spend an hour or so catching up on all the best quotes, best dressed, best embarrassments, and best snide comments. I'll also, I'm sure, hear all about the "worsts," but the best part about that is that I'll be able to do it all without Ryan Seacrest.

Arm first, then head, torso, legs and feet

And that ridiculously ridiculous day has finally arrived in our household: the baby has figured out the doggy door. She went through it twice yesterday, and twice today. Yep, she's got in all mapped out in her head, and she's getting faster at it. No amount of childproofing can prevent something like this, unless one is interested in doggyproofing the area as well. This is a problem, but we're smarter than her; I'm sure of it!
Luckily, we have a sliding door in the master bedroom that opens out to the same balcony on which the living room slider opens. Now, all that's left is to show Ollie G. that no, you can't go outside from here anymore; you must go outside from this room. It'll be a bit of an inconvenience for him, but not so much as having the doggy door removed from the balcony entirely, whereupon he'll have to let me know every time he wants out and back in. That's a song and dance I'm used to though, as we had that kind of arrangement in our last apartment in Boston.

Why George Clooney? Why not?

All right. So I'm back up and running on my own computer, after several days of frustration, and, it turns out, only five minutes on the phone with Cox Communications. Apparently, their little modem doesn't like it when you switch computers without giving it a heads up, so it's been a bit temperamental, and refusing to acknowledge my Apple. So, what I have to do now is, when I plug the Ethernet cable into my computer, I have to restart the modem and give it a chance to synch up with the Apple. Same with Brian's PC. One more step in this world of "technology makes it easier." At any rate, having my own computer means that I can finally upload pictures from the computer to Walgreens. It's weird, isn't it, how using a computer that's not yours specifically is just a little off? Brian's computer is fine and all, it even surpasses mine in some ways, though I'd never tell him that, but it just isn't mine. Now, I've got mine again, and all is well.

And he's got pink hair

I'm ashamed. I really am. I'm embarrassed, too. I wish I could stop, but I can't. It's like a weird drug. I'll whisper it: i've been reading perezhilton.com, and checking it regularly throughout the day.
I hate it; I really do. As the leader and blogger for a celebrity gossip web site, the guy's a complete ass, and totally judges people on what they wear, who their friends are, what they do for a living, and just what they do. He's so slanderous it makes my journalistic heart palpitate. Goodness, but the things he says. It's addicting.
He calls people "douches." He reports on the most rampant rumors with little to no fact verification. He screams from the headlines that people are drunk, druggies, too promiscuous, and calls them racist, gay and homophobic. He's the most blatantly self-promotional person I have ever come across. He draws little penises on the photos he posts on the site.
I secretly love it. I'm so excited that our society allows for guys like this that, even though I'm not a fan of most of his posts, I simply must check it out several times a day. ... Just to see what he's saying and who he's skewering.
But, journalistically, he's killing the medium. For all the reasons that I stated above: no fact checking, slanderous name calling, drawing penises in people's mouths. It's so wrong. i love it.

Mark your calendars: February 24, 2008

ITEM!: I am so pleased to say that Jon Stewart of The Daily Show will be hosting the Academy Awards next year! I remember that he was funny, acerbic, and topical the last time he hosted (2006), exactly what the mainstream television watcher hates, so I'm more pleased than ever to see that he's on the agenda, and has plenty of time to get his routine done right.
ITEM!: I'm over the Britney bashing. People, stop already. Bad decision making on her part, yes. I, myself, was at the top of the list of disappointed fans, but this fervor for her downfall is just sickening. Give the kid, because that's all she really is, a break already.
ITEM!: I realized today that, even though the car has been paid off since March, I still have not received a pink slip from the state of Arizona for it. I found the letter that gave the number to call, and I shall do that tomorrow.
ITEM!: New random movie that HBO is showing that has me so excited? Galaxy Quest. Have you all seen this classic flick? Awesome! I love it all: Tim Allen, impossibly unrealistic plot, and "It's inside out? I heard that! It's inside out?"
ITEM!: And finally, yes, yesterday sucked right out loud. And not for the reason you all probably assume: the anniversary of 9/11. Nope, yesterday was Howie's birthday. He would have been 71. For the first time in 25 years, I wasn't able to sing the birthday song to him, and I won't lie to you, it put me in a downward funk throughout the day. The whole thing is just too awful to comprehend sometimes, and when it comes crashing down on me, really the only reason I have to get out of the corner is Sydney. And thank goodness for her. Who knows how I'd be doing if I didn't have her as a distraction from the sad. As it is, Brian called me several times throughout the day to check on me. So what did I do about it? My baby and I went to the cupcake bakery and bought some cupcakes. Cupcakes make me happy, and that is something that I definitely needed yesterday. So I toasted my dear Howie, ate a couple cupcakes, and waited for the day to be done.

Tribute in Lights, year 6

I'm watching the most disturbing thing on television right now. MSNBC is airing the network's coverage of Sept. 11 as it happened. It's weird, you know, listening to all their speculation at the very beginning, commenting on how it might have been a commuter jet, how it was an "accident," and more horrifyingly, the actual footage of the second jet hitting the South Tower. Watching it all over again is like living through it all over again. The best part about remembrances is that you have your current knowledge to lean on when watching tributes and such. Now, we know what happened, we know about the heroes, we know about the villains, and we know what happened next. Seeing it "as it happened," with the ignorant and unprepared narration of Matt Lauer and Katie Couric leading the way, it's just as jarring to witness tonight as that day six years ago.

I love her, I love her not

I think it's official. I'm over Britney Spears. Yes, even over the last several months, I've harbored a small amount of hope for her, that she'll settle down, stay home with the kids, and work on developing some self-respect. I had hoped that she'd learn from her obvious bad decisions, and make moves to become a better mother, pop star and person.
Then I saw her performance tonight on the MTV Video Music Awards. I won't lie to you, I knew, straight up, before watching it that it would be a train wreck. But right now, I'm just stunned at how awful it really turned out to be. Let's pile on, shall we?
She totally phoned in the whole thing; was she even trying? She's lost her ability to lip-sync even a little believably. She can't dance anymore, and strolled through the whole routine. (Actually, and this is way harsh, but she reminded me of Billy Ray Cyrus in last season's Dancing With the Stars, where he'd just stand there rocking back and forth and the dancer would perform around him.) She seemed to be about two seconds away from yawning. Her outfit was ridiculous. Oh yeah, and her previously enviable toned body has turned into a fleshy clone of mine.
I was hoping to see her arrive on stage fierce. You know, rocking her bald head, lithe in something steamy but not slutty, and prepared to let it all out for her chance to remake herself. I wanted to see the dancing of bygone days, like in the "Stronger" and "Oops..." videos. I wanted to see that she still cared even a little bit for, not only herself, but those of us who hadn't completely lost faith in her as a girly pop star. Alas, I am disappointed.
What really sucks is that the song is pretty decent. It's got a fun little hook to it, and she kicks it off by saying, "It's Britney, bitch." I kinda love that.

Shut up, you talker!

We were a little late getting to 3:10 to Yuma today, so instead decided to check out Superbad. (Hysterical, by the way.) The theater itself was cold, as it usually is, and relatively full, as this particular theater isn't in the best location for mass audiences and is more of a "happened on" type place.
Anyway, in the theater was the type of moviegoer who is the absolute bane of my existence: the know-it-all who's seen the flick already. Yes, the girl sat in the row behind me and spouted out dialog either right before, "Seven dollars!", or right after, repeating it in the exact inflection and tone. I wanted to kill her. Fortunately for her, the movie kept drawing my attention back to it, since it was full of little one-liners, and she escaped the theater unscathed.
I mean, isn't it bad enough that I have to fight off Brian's penchant for conversation when we're watching a movie?
"Who's that girl? I've seen her. She's hot."
"That's so not right. There is a difference between nuclear and thermonuclear weapons, and they're just throwing the terms around like they are the same thing."
Why am I condemned to be stuck in the theater with the worst kind of ticketholder? It was awful. And Brian missed it all.

Danger! Danger!

I had a childproofing company come out to the apartment today to evaluate the place. I'm actually quite impressed that my house isn't as dangerous for Sydney as I thought it could be. And truly, if the only thing I have this company do is strap my tall furniture to the walls so she can't pull it all down on top of her, it will be totally worth it to me. But there's that, and then all the other stuff: cabinet doors should be locked, toilets should be locked, spring doorstops should be replaced with all-rubber stops, televisions should be strapped to the walls, access to any wall outlets should be denied.
At the end of the day, the estimate is a bit more than what I anticipated. But where, really, do you cut a corner? Doorstops: removed from estimate. But that's only a couple bucks. I can't not strap up the furniture and televisions. I can't not do the cabinets. Those are the things that she is always getting into. And I certainly don't want her drowning in, or developing some illness from, our toilets. So now what? We bite the bullet and pay the man, that's what.

I like the cowboys

I really don't think that there can be a single thing bad about this movie. Russell Crowe: good. Christian Bale: good. Cowboys: good. Shooting guns and general destruction in the Old West: good. Hot guys on horseback: good.
Yep, I think that 3:10 to Yuma will be our movie of choice this weekend. Okay, okay, it will be my choice for the weekend, but since it's an homage to the old-time westerns, I won't have a problem getting Brian into the theater, too. In fact, I've already floated the idea, and he's up for it.
I got my Entertainment Weekly this week and was a bit disappointed to see Jodie Foster on the cover. I was hoping to see Crowe and Bale on it. But then I realized that their movie doesn't start until this weekend, so they could very well be gracing the cover of the upcoming issue of my favorite magazine, and might be chilling in my mailbox as soon as Friday. That makes me happy. I like their hotness on the cover of my magazine.
But suddenly I'm a bit sad, because I realize that the most recent issue of EW had an interview with Bale already, and the review of Yuma was the lead in their movie section. Damn. No Russell Crowe on the cover? Awful! An unforgivable mistake! Very, very bad!