Friday, August 24, 2012

Back to School Shopping

No time for blogging since I've been clothes shopping practically every. fucking. day. Including the day The Kid moved into our home. I'll just say that there is a difference between owning a lot of clothes and owning clothes that one has not outgrown.

I'm sure you can imagine that the added stress has been awesome.

But allow me to share an insight that hit me in the dressing room at Macy's Herald Square.

My mother owes me an apology.

It certainly seemed that buying me school clothes when I was in high school was agonizing. But since I hadn't been brainwashed by the invention of skinny jeans, my mother had it so easy, she doesn't even know.

Most mothers and daughters fight while buying clothes because the daughter wants to push the envelope on what she's allowed to wear. Not me & my mom. Our problem was the ricockulous dress code at my high school. You see, the dumbassess in charge, in their infinite dumbassery, banned all pants with outside back pockets. Think about that for a moment. Their "logic," if I may insult logic by calling it that, was that by banning any pants that looked like jeans, they could easily identify any public school kids who'd snuck into the building to cause trouble. In my four years of high school, this happened exactly never times.

So my mom and I would go on these ludicrous quests for pants with no outside back pockets and when we found a pair, she'd be fed up and want me to just buy them already. I had the slightly higher standards of wanting my pants to also be flattering, and not polyester.

This is a problem that could've been solved by my mom handing me some cash and sending me on my way. She could've enjoyed the entire experience from the comfort of a fainting couch.

Leap ahead to the new millennium where, to paraphrase Patsy Stone, pants are so tight that the whole world's your gynecologist. I've managed to explain fit and drape to The Kid and I've quoted Michael Kors ("that crotch is insane!") more times than is healthy. She's at peace with the fact that you have to try everything on and you can walk into a dressing room with twenty items and end up buying three.

But we're completely at an impasse over one thing.

See those pants over there? She says they're too big. Absolutely refused to buy them.

Take a moment to absorb that.

The jeans are not completely tight around her ankles. Therefore, they are too big.

This could take an intervention from Tim Gunn, the entire What Not to Wear team and skinny jeans deprogramming team. And I'm still not confident they'd convince her that she's being a mite silly.

I'll be on the fainting couch if anyone needs me.

Wednesday, August 8, 2012

Cultural Exchange

Cherry Tree Blossoms & Jefferson MemorialThe Kid has been very eager to share her favorite movies and TV shows with us. As in, "You HAVE to watch this Chucky movie." And here I thought my life was happier sans Chucky. We watched Child's Play the weekend before last and boy, am I glad I had my knitting to keep me company.

In exchange, we showed her the Alice Cooper episode of The Muppet Show, which she dug, so we're good there.

This past weekend, we showed her The Muppet Movie (the original), which she also enjoyed. In return, or retaliation, she showed us Insidious. (She totally wanted to show us another Chucky movie, but I shot that down early in the negotiations.)

Insidious is a movie about haunting, astral projection and how men are useless. It was written by a man, so I don't know how much of the male-bashing is deliberate, but it's there. I won't go into a spoilerific examination of this movie, but let's just have a quick breakdown of the adult males in this movie.

The Dad: Starts working late every single night after the house starts acting haunted so that his wife gets to deal with it alone. Goes into denial when the wise woman explain what's really happening. After he comes around and sets off to do what he has to, ignores most of the wise woman's instructions. He may be a bigger idiot than the characters on The Walking Dead.

The Wise Woman's Assistants: Bicker over which one of them is more important and freak out when they see actual ghosts. You would think that a couple of guys who work for a Freelance Exorcist who have built ghost-detection equipment out of a view master would've seen enough real ghosts that they'd be used to it.

And the spirit who triumphs in the inevitable twist ending that leaves the door open for a sequel? Is a female ghostie.

I'm really torn between wanting to write a detailed feminist critique of this film and submitting it for publication somewhere and wanting to scrub my brain out so I never have to think about it again.

Any thoughts on horror films? I'm going to be watching a lot of them in the coming weeks and months. Apparently. Sigh.

Thursday, August 2, 2012

It's Just a Fucking Toe

81/365: sad toeAs I've mentioned before, I have a busted toe that is totally my husband's fault. (I stubbed it really hard on a suitcase he should've put away two weeks earlier.) If only I had broken the fucking thing. I hurt it in December. Or maybe November. It was a really long time ago. A broken toe would've healed in less than a month.

But I'm way too talented to simply break a toe. I have a screwed up hammer toe situation going on that requires surgery.

First, I decided to delay surgery because it was Winter and who wants to wear a surgical shoe in the snow? And then it didn't snow. So I spent all Winter wearing orthopedic sneakers which I already owned because I'm sexy like that.

Then, in the Spring, I went through all the pre-surgical tests and doctor's appointments just to find out that the ambulatory surgical center where my podiatrist wanted to do the surgery was run by idiots. When he called to schedule the surgery, they said that they had to redo his certification this year instead of next year because they have new rules. So he sent over his paperwork and the person who does certifications when on vacation for two weeks while his paperwork just sat on his desk. And then I don't even know because it's August and they still haven't recertified the poor guy.

In the meantime, I decided that I didn't want the type of surgery that podiatrist #1 does because I'd lose the flexibility in that toe and I might miss that when I do yoga. I might not, but the doctor was glad that I decided to go to someone else instead of waiting for the idiots, so everybody's happy.

So I went to see podiatrist #2 this week. He'd rather do the surgery in the ambulatory surgical center in his building with an anesthesiologist and four part harmony, as long as they participate in my insurance network. I'd rather do it in his office. Sitting up, swilling scotch and biting on a piece of leather if truth be told.

When he described the actual surgical procedure, I was all, "well, that sounds gross, but as long as I can wear shoes again." But I really just do not want to be assed with anesthesia. I get migraines several days a week - I don't need to be knocked out for an additional day. Plus the pre-anesthesia fasting is sure to give me a migraine. That I won't be able to treat with anything stronger than Tylenol because of the risk of extra bleeding.

So I'm hoping I can get the most local local anesthesia they have. I had something removed from the inside of my eyelid (a weird-thing-ectomy, if you will) while I was wide awake and they only numbed the actual eyelid in question. If they try to tell me that they have to numb more than my foot, I'm kicking someone.

I remember when I had knee surgery about 15 years ago, there was another woman there for the same surgery. She had an overnight bag, so it was clear that she was going for the full unconsciousness anesthesia complete with overnight hospital stay. I, of course, just got a spinal and it felt shitty enough coming out of that. When I saw that woman, I thought she was such a wuss. Because I am full of sympathy and kindness like that.

I mean, come on. It's a freaking knee. It's way down there. It was arthroscopic. Our surgeon was the best knee guy in the city. I really didn't see anything to be scared of.

Of course, I had surgery on my face when I was twelve (hit by a car, landed face & knees first) and damn straight, I was knocked out for that (and for when I had my septum undeviated years later). But a knee? Or a foot? Or an eyelid? Child's play.

What's your anesthesia threshold?