Baseball Sucks but Joe Mauer Does Not

Yesterday, I decided that I hate baseball. HATE IT. The A's decided to trade my favorite player, the superbly underrated Mark Ellis, and on the same day, they lost. To the Marlins. The Marlins won like 3 games the entire month of June before they played the A's. But of course, my team could not hit the broad side of a barn if you gave them a tee and a whiffle ball bat, so you know. HATE.

Baseball, and I'm sure most other sports, really does a number on its fans. One minute, you're riding high, and so amazingly happy with your team, the sport, the entire freaking universe. And the next minute, you are answering questions on a "Are you clincally depressed?" online quiz, and wallowing in a rage that is so completely blinding that you should not be allowed to drive. This is my life between the months of April and October. I'm ok with that. But there are certain moments (for example, yesterday) that just make it that much worse. And that is when I decide that I hate baseball more than anything else in this world and that it should do me a grand favor and just die in a fire.

The last time this happened, when my husband's favorite catcher of all time was traded, we drank ourselves into oblivion. Like that was the drunkest I ever got. I puked more that night than I puked in my entire college career, no kidding. It was absolutely horrible. I am a bit older now, and knew I had to work today, so that was not an option. Instead, I have ordered myself some new jeans, some Nars Illuminator and some tanning towels. Retail therapy, ya'll. I HAZ IT.

And since I now hate baseball with every fiber of my being, I should not care about Joe Mauer. But you know what? His is a beauty that lives on, thriving despite my absolute, white hot hate. And he knows all this, you know, and he's all like "Hey girl. Why don't you make yourself feel better by writing about that lip gloss and that eyeliner that I like? You know that stuff I saw you wear when we were laying in that DoubleTree in Cleveland and watching that clip of Buster Posey getting his leg shattered over and over again? You know that video makes me hot."

And since he deems it so, and well because he looks like this

I'll go ahead and give you these product reviews. Remember, these are two products that, if worn, will allow you to have sex with Joe Mauer. There's a 98% chance of it. Give or take that pesky 97%.

NYC Cosmetics Lippin' Large Lip Plumper: This is one of those reviews where I should just start it with the words "Well, I was in Target the other day..." I was there to buy a sports bra and some sunscreen and some pajamas for my kids. But, well, you know how that goes. Thankfully, this is one of the smaller purchases I have made under these conditions, running about $3. For my lip plumping needs, I usually use Bare Escentuals Buxom Big and Healthy Lip Polish in the color Dolly, in reverence to one of my favorite Southerners and the creator of Dollywood where you can get the best damn turkey legs in the world. However, I left my last tube in my mother's car and she promptly drove it back to Memphis, thinking it was hers since she uses the same stuff. No biggie, you know. I have plenty of lip gloss and I don't use any of them anything close to exclusively. But sometimes you just get the craving for big old fat Angelina Jolie lips, you know? Thus, the purchase. And I have to say, I like this stuff. I got the color Strawberry Mousse, and there is a bit of a strawberry smell, though nothing cloying or even that noticeable after the first little bit of wearing it. It comes in the little tube like thing that I like in the summer. And the formula is nice--not sticky, not goopy. Pleasant. It makes your lips feel moisturized and happy. The color itself is gorgeous--I could definitely see this color on a more expensive gloss. Now, the plumping abilities? I'm not sure. There is a cool tingle, not so unlike eating a York Peppermint patty, so you're not getting the full-on "I just spread pure uranium on my lips!" feeling of a Lip Venom. It is pretty similar to the Buxom gloss that I'm used to. And there is a bit of noticeable plumping. I'm not sure it is all that much more than a regular gloss where any plumping has just come from drawing more attention to my lips, you know? So if you want GINORMOUS lips, this is not the product for you. But really, I like it. For under $4, I LOVE IT. It is a great, easy product to keep in your purse for when you are riding down the road, air condition blowing on your lips and drying them out.

And the best part? Even for the low price point, it comes in a little box, so you know that even though you are buying it at Target, it has not been tampered with. Cover Girl could learn a thing or two. And you know that gives Joe Mauer a bit of piece of mind. He doesn't want your lips to be tampered with! He wants them all to himself, so he can kiss you and lovingly feed you little chocolate baseball bats that he molded himself in his cabin in Minnesota while he was also preparing a lovely roast leg of lamb, repairing a diesel engine and thinking about rubbing your feet.

Almay Intense I-Color Eyeliner (with Light Interplay Technology!) You know, aside from the internet, I hate technology. I don't have a Kindle (I am the only person in my family, aside from Alice, who does not), I don't have an iPad, I have a rickety old iPod nano that I only use when I'm running and can't convince the husband to come with me, I use my phone for calls. I like things that are old, like books, and tangible desk calendars and writing letters. You guys, I don't even have a food processor--what's the point! I can chop and make pie crust my own damn self, thank you. My husband thinks I'm insane. If it were up to him, we would live like the Jetsons. He keeps track of all new technological developments, and gets giddily excited about them. He has whole conversations about how much he loves living in the age we live in and how excited he gets by change and progress and whatever. Blah. Humbug. Give me a baseball game on the radio (uh, I forgot that I hate that game for a minute there. HATE.) and a nice long book with a broken spine, and I'm ecstatically happy with myself.

So when I saw the words "light interplay technology" on this package of eyeliner, I rolled my eyes. Right there in the Target aisle. But I needed some eyeliner, and I had seen some scuttle about Almay's eye products as of late, so I tried to ignore the fact that "light interplay" technology is the stupidest crap I've ever heard. It's a pencil, ya'll. A kohl pencil. The same sort of shit Cleopatra wore. It doesn't organize your calendar or chop your onions or forward those jokey emails that you get about tequila. IT IS A PENCIL. NO NEED FOR TECHNOLOGY. But I bought it anyway because at my most base level, I have to admit that I was curious. Would my eyes glow with beauty? Could I blind someone with my new ocular laser beams?

The fact is that it is just a basic eye pencil. I don't notice any technology, I don't feel any glowing or see anything crazy. Here's the thing though. The formula is pretty rad. It goes on well, and it has a little smudger on the end. I usually don't use pencils, eschewing them for the flowing-ness of a liquid eyeliner because I prefer the silkiness of a liquid to the sometimes painful and uncertain pencil. But this I like. I think it is perfect for a less heavy handed eye-lined look, especially for the summer. Today I am wearing this and mascara on my eyes. That is it. And that's saying something for a girl that likes her shadow. But I like the look--clean and easy yet defined.

They have lots of colors, and you purchase them based on the color of your eyes. I have boring black, but which is "Black Midnight" since that is what was specified for brown eyes. Whatevs. Joe Mauer, you know, prefers the black, but he says you could go with anything really because he loves your eyes just they way they are. "Just the way you are"--Joe Mauer just loves Billy Joel. Now, if you'll sit still, put your feet up, and eat this bowl of chocolate ice cream he just made in his Cuisinart Ice Cream maker, he'll play you some of the piano man's greatest hits. AND ALL BECAUSE YOU WORE THAT EYELINER. Girl, you are one lucky lady.

I hope you have enjoyed these tips for having sex with everyone's favorite American League Central catcher. As I was typing this, I checked Facebook and saw a post from the Oakland Athletics, and I briefly forgot that I hated them and planned on cutting out some recipes while I watch the game tonight. They are pulling me back in, I know they are. Sigh. A pour of vodka out for my homie, gone to the Rockies, but never forgotten.

Summer Survival Guide, Part I

I live in VA. Summers in VA suck. That is all there is to it. They are hot and humid and you frequently find yourself oscillating wildly between a hot and burning exterior and an over air conditioned, artic interior. My office building is a prime example of this. Some days, it is stuffy in here and the air has an icky feel. Other days, I could swear it is February. I have a fan in my office, as well as my wool J. Crew grandpa sweater that I frequently wear on days that I have to unearth my car from a layer of ice. There have been a couple of days where I have used both at different points. Such is the perk of working in the dead center of a giant building with no windows or other forms of natural aeration.

Therefore, you have to have a few tricks up your sleeve in order to make it through comfortably and not looking like you are "hot as a Trojan" (I don't know where this saying comes from and if it relates to ancient Greeks or condoms. My grandmother said it a lot growing up, and from her, it could be either). Here are a few things I have found that are helpful.

Goody Spin Pins: I have long hair, and come summer, my number one activity is finding a cute way to keep it off of my neck. Ponytails are ok, but I really don't want to rock a pony all day, every day. Health magazine ran an article about summer hair a month ago (June's edition, I think) and there was a cute bun in there that I wore a bit and liked. Real Simple had some ideas as well, notably one for a side pony that I have worn with my fedora to great acclaim from the husband. However, bobby pins are never really that fun. They fall out, you lose them, they bring back horrific memories of dance recitals in years past. They are a general pain in the ass. This is where the "spin pin" comes in. Basically, this are tornado-esque pins that you put through a little chignon and they hold it in place. Two pins and you're solid. And you know, I really like them. In fact, I am wearing them right now as I type this. They are fast and simple (I am pretty much all thumbs with a wide array of hair styling, but I got the hang of this pretty quickly), they hold the hair securely, and the look is cute and a little better than a pony. Plus, you don't even have to use a hair elastic. Really all you need are the two pins.

I will say that you should give yourself time to get the hang of it. It is quick to learn, but it can be frustrating (like really, HULKSMASH style frustrating) when you are in a hurry and trying to get your hair up and it just won't work. The real trick is to try to put them in straight up and down--not on an angle. Also, you are a bit limited on what you can do with them. The Goody box specifies three styles--the classic chignon, a side chignon and a double chignon. A quick Google search tells me there are other options on You Tube. But, for the money, this is a great product and a real helper in the summer time.

Goody Headwraps It is somewhat fitting that the first two things on my list would be dealing with hair, because I think hair is the biggest issue in a hot humid summer. At least it is for me. These are your standard head wraps, designed to pull the hair back from your face like a headband without the headache. If I remember correctly, I rocked some very wide cotton ones in strange colors during the early 90's. I originally bought these for running to smooth the sides of my head from the bits of hair that pop out from my ponytail. However, you can do a lot more with them. If you buy the ones in the color of your hair (brunette for me), they blend in and can really smooth those little fly aways on the sides that humidity pulls out of me. I have in one right now with my Spin Pin chignon. It is just there to keep things smooth. I have used these things forever, but I recently saw in the June Health where frequent contributor, Bobbi Brown (of make-up fame, not of Hell to the No fame) uses them as well, even for formal events, and I can definitely see how you would do that. Like I said, it is just another weapon for you in your battle against humidity. And by the way--don't order them from Amazon via that link. $17.59 is crazy. I just bought a new pack a couple of days ago to share with Gabby, and I think they were $4-$5.

Jersey dresses: I don't really feel like this is new information or that I'm blowing the lid off of anything here. Jersey dresses are super comfortable and are a summer staple. The racks are filled with them--I see classy ones, slutty ones, ones that are made of that weird stuff that is often flower printed and looks like it is wrinkled (anyone know what this stuff is called? IT IS THE DEVIL). But I also see a lot of women walking around in places where a jersey dress would be perfection, looking hot, tired, and uncomfortable in ill-fitting shorts and dresses made out of stiff, non-breathable materials. Stop the insanity people! Every year, I purchase a new one of these dresses from J. Crew. I might get a few others in various places, but I always, ALWAYS get a J. Crew one. Why? Because they are flattering, and I have found them to be of consistent quality. Just for an example, I wore one of them throughout my pregnancy with Alice--I think I wore it the day before she was born! This year's dress is this one. I have found it to be unique in that has a little bit of interest--the elastic belt, the almost Grecian look at the strap--that set it apart and make it ok for a not-so-fancy evening out or with a cardigan to work (especially around here where the lack of students is making us all a bit more casual than during the school year). Plus, it is super, super comfortable, and miracle of all miracles, was not too long on me when I purchased it! Super, duper score.

Neutrogena Wet Skin Sunscreen Ladies, sunscreen is not optional. I am uber, UBER pale and I would love, DREAM OF IN FACT getting a nice bronzing while laying at the beach, reading Motley Crue's The Dirt. BUT. Skin cancer is a very, very real thing. You probably remember this if you read regularly, but I recently watched my grandmother die of skin cancer. Besides the obvious sadness because this was my grandmother, this was probably the saddest, most horrible death I can imagine. I won't go into details out of respect for her, but believe me when I say that this is not something that you even want to tempt into having. I have always been a bit of the sunscreen queen while on vacation with my kids and that kind of thing (and really, what mom is not?), but this year I have definitely stepped it up a notch. I am glad I found this product. It is perfect for applying at the pool--you can apply it right after exiting on to wet skin, and it will adhere just perfectly. Plus, even if you're not chilling pool side that much, it is perfect for sweaty bodies. My husband and I used it yesterday after riding in a hot car (read: bit sweaty) and then going running and it stuck to us and worked great. Great for touch ups too. I will tell you that I don't wholly trust the super high SPF's that I see, so I think I have 30 or 50, but it goes up to like 85 if you are into that kind of thing. There is also a kids formula, but my kids are fine with this version.

Guys, I don't really care if you buy this sunscreen. I don't buy it exclusively--I use a lot of different brands depending on where I am, what I need and what is on sale. But please consider wearing it this summer. We put it on our kids, we'll make sure they are covered with rash guards and hats and such, but so many times, we as women forget about ourselves. And that's not ok. Layer it on so that you can enjoy many, many more summers with them and love that sun and that trashy novel as much as you can!

Futures I Thought I Might Have: Jonathan Taylor Thomas

I, like a good many women in their mid to late 20's, spent a good part of my adolescence embroiled in a passionate, one sided love affair with Jonathan Taylor Thomas. I liked to think that I had more of a right to him than other girls in that, I felt I had "discovered" him. While lots of other ladies were still tearing out the glossies of Jonathan Brandis (RIP) and watching Seaquest for their jollies, I had fully boarded the JTT train and was busy making my mom tape Home Improvement for me every week. By the time that the rest of my classmates had hopped on that train, I felt that I was the conductor. And that, yes, as a reward for sharing his unimaginable beauty with the world, he would be mine.

I did a lot of odd things for the love of one JTT. I made my mother search all over the greater Tri-Cities area for feta cheese, as I had read that was his favorite food and it, at that time, was not readily available in a rural VA grocery store (she found it, in a huge package, at a Sam's Club). It soon became my favorite too (and now, reading that, I want some). I purchased every Bop and Big Bopper and Tiger Beat imaginable in duo--one to leave together, to gaze at, dreamily, and the other to tear out the pictures to place inside of my Lisa Frank trapper keeper folders. Most funnily, when Man of the House (a movie starring Chevy Chase and JTT) came out, and I found out our local radio station was offering a Man of the House gift pack, I made my poor, embattled mother sit outside of my gymnastics class, frantically punching in the numbers on her new bag phone so that she could be caller number nine. She managed to win (probably because no one else wanted a prize pack that included a movie ticket and a Duck Head t-shirt from the Watson's sale rack), and she came running into my class excitedly, yelling, "I won it! I won it!" When we finally got to pick up the shirt, it was a copy of one that JTT wore in the movie. NOT THE ACTUAL SHIRT. However, I was convinced that it was still imbued with some indelible JTT-ness and decided to never wear it, and to let a large, forgotten teddy bear rock the look instead. I slept with that bear for a long time, and got pretty angry when my grandmother finally washed the shirt.

I imagined that JTT would find me utterly amazing. We were both smart, I figured, and I think I read somewhere that he liked to read. I imagined us reading together, and being very charming and eating a lot of feta cheese and shrimp pasta since that was my favorite dish. He also liked the outdoors, so we would hike some, and I would bring him to the falls that were close to my home and he would love it and we would kiss passionately on all of the bridges. We would snark a lot together about Jodie Sweetin, who I irrationally hated, so affeared was I that she and JTT might find a common thread of being on family centric ABC sitcoms and discover a hidden love. But mostly, I loved JTT with a love that can only be felt by pre-teen girls--shallow yet pure, adoring yet naive, happy yet frightened.

For some reason today, perhaps boredom, I got this hankering to see what old JTT is up to. IMDb and Wikipedia pages were startingly bare, with nothing doing since about 2005. A simple Google search brought up some pages, most of them linked to whether he is gay or not. Finally, I happened upon a page which says with absolutely no authority that he is now producing movies in Vacouver under another name. Since I'm not completely insane, and since I don't care that much, I decided to leave it at that.

But I like that idea of him, living (slightly) anonymously in Canada. Being old now, I can't imagine living with that kind of fame, of having your name permanently attached to another person living in a time long, long ago. I think of myself when I was younger, of my buck teeth and braces and head gear and fine dishwater blonde hair. Sure, he was a much cuter kid. But superficially perhaps, I don't think anyone really "likes" who they were at that point in their life, trying to sort it out what it means to be a grown up or a kid or whatever else you woke up feeling like this morning.

My daughter is now this age, this crazy knock-kneed age where nothing is what it seems. Yesterday, we took her and the other kids to see Cars II and to grab some sushi and ice cream. She came out of her room wearing a new tank top and a pair of (short!) plaid shorts we bought at Aeropostale over the weekend, size 0. Her hair was long and she had gotten it pin straight by some miracle (a real miracle since she doesn't have a straightening iron and her hair is difficult to put it mildly). She was wearing big, dark sunglasses. The only vestiges that belied her age were a tiny zebra pendant she bought at the zoo last week, and a pair of pink sequined Chuck Taylor-esque sneakers. I couldn't stop looking at her--there was a certain care she had taken with her looks, a certain je ne sais quoi, something that I don't think I fully got until I was out of college. She had tried to cultivate that look, worked to get it perfect. I kept telling her how amazing she looked, because really she did, and she just smiled at first, and then got sick of hearing it and shot me The Look.

But on the way home last night, I really got worried about this world in which we live. In my time, back when JTT reigned and there were no cell phones or Twitters or Rihanna's, being unperfect was some sort of a token, something that you couldn't escape, like Pogs or the flying toaster screensaver. For Gabby's generation, there is an emphasis on perfection at all costs, at all times. I was telling Matt last night, when we were kids, I felt music gave you an outlet--"You feel alienated? Awesome! So do we!" For Gabby, I feel the prevailing message is one of "You didn't look perfect when you rolled out of bed this morning? WELL FUCK YOU TOO!"

Now, I don't know if my daughter feels this pressure. We have talked about it some, in those roundabout Mommy/Daughter my-mom-sure-took-too-many-women's-studies-courses talks, and it is not something she owns up to, not to me, and probably not to herself. But seeing her yesterday being so perfectly lovely made me feel, yes, proud and happy in that Mom-ish kind of way (though not nearly as happy as when she brings home straight A's every quarter, or when she wins the school's Art Award), but also frightened. And worried. I want to take her aside, back to 1995, when everything was just a tad bit less plastic, when perfection was found in a Smashing Pumpkins chorus, not on the face of a 12 year old.

I don't wish that I was married to JTT or living with him or even knowing more about him. I am quite happy with my strange, nerdy husband, with his comic books and his glasses and his deft ability to make a reference to Russian literature and another to Spongebob in the same sentence. But I do wish for that innocent feeling of 1995, of that feeling of a world that is real and understandable, of 12 years old meaning blind crushes and the beginnings of bad skin, not a beginning of perfection.

Things That Suck: Cover Girl Natureluxe Foundation

First of all, Joe Mauer does not approve of this product, and would not condone your using it. Because he is not interested in having sex with an Oompah Loompah. Of course, if he decides that he is, you know who'll be first in line. THIS GIRL. Because I already have the foundation to make me Oompah-ish and because I was once in a production of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory so I have the requisite experience.

But despite me not sullying Joe Mauer's good name with this, here's a picture of him in a hammock. Because it is Monday, because he is hot, and because at the end of the day, it is my blog, and if I want a picture of a very, very tasty piece of catching goodness hanging out in a hammock, gosh darnit, I'll have it.

Ok, back to the foundation. Really, you know, I should have known better. I saw this stuff in Wal-Mart when I was shopping for make-up a long time ago, and I avoided it like the plague because it was being shilled by Taylor Swift. I have a deep, nonsensical hate for Taylor Swift, a hate that is shared, and I feel bolstered, by my 12 year old daughter. And you're sitting there hating me right now, because how could I hate someone as harmless as Taylor Swift who sings about being the non-cheerleader and all of that and oh, isn't she so cute with her blonde hair and tiny, beady little eyes. But her music makes me want to put my head in a wood chipper. I hate her voice. IT GRATES. Gabby agrees, and this deep, abiding hate has brought us closer, I feel. It is a strong mother/daughter relationship when you can hear a Taylor Swift song come on the radio and both scream in unison, "TURN IT OFF! KILL IT WITH FIRE!"

But I ran out of my L'Oreal True Match that is my "filler" foundation that I use between bottles of MAC when I can't get over to the Johnson City Mall to get my fix. And I was at Target, and I was thinking that maybe I should get something light that would be acceptable for days that I don't have to work and are just flitting around with the kids. I like Laura Mercier tinted moisturizer for this, but I'm out of that too, and it is a bit pricey to just be wearing around the house. So I picked this up. I don't even remember why I thought this was a good idea, but I know that I did match it up to my skin as best I could.

First off, the price on this sucks. I think it was $12, which in my opinion, is a little much for a drugstore brand tinted moisturizer. Plus, it is just the tube--no external packaging. Which means that every bottle there has been opened and tested by some other poor sap who thought it was a good idea to buy this stuff. For my $12, I think the good folks at Cover Girl could invest in something that might keep this stuff from being tampered with. But maybe that money went to Taylor so she could buy more Joe Jonas voodoo dolls to impale.

Now, the formula, I'll say is pretty nice going on. It blends well, and the smell is "natural" in the way that Pine Sol is natural. It is not obnoxious, and I didn't mind it, although I've since read some reviews from people who did. I wouldn't say it is necessarily "luxe", but I can see why that name was attached to it. The first time I put it on, I liked it, and I started crafting a "Products that Allow you To Have Sex With Joe Mauer"-style product review in my head.

But I wore it to the zoo with my family on Thursday, and I have to say that it changed colors. Now, mind you, this is a pretty transparent style foundation/tinted moisturizer that you can build coverage with. So it is not a heavy color to begin with. But somehow, I ended up with an orange-y face about halfway through the day, and I didn't change any of my other make-up. This is an outright fail in my book. Sure, the product "works" in a way--it is a serviceable tinted moisturizer, that allows you to have light coverage for a drugstore (albeit upper end) price. And maybe it is just my skin and the fact that it is very pale. But for whatever reason, it gets orange-y in a hurry.

I am willing to play with it a bit, adding powder and a lighter blush and what have you to try to salvage it because I spent $12 on it. But that is a lot more than I WANT to do since I just bought this stuff to wear on days when I don't give a crap. And the thing is, I'll still go and buy my MAC tomorrow and I'll probably STILL be on the look-out for a good tinted moisturizer.

The worst thing about all this is that I really should have just followed my mother's longtime advice. Growing up, my mom taught me two very important things that I should never forget. They are: Never buy cheap foundation or cheap shoes, and if you do, be ready to live with the results. Wise words, and it burns me that my mother was right yet again.

What say you, gentle readers? What foundation are you loving these days? I am getting increasingly curious about mineral foundation--I have tried Bare Minerals to no real success, but I've recently read that most mineral foundation lovers don't even consider BM a mineral make-up because of all the fillers and ingredients. I am thinking of ordering a mineral kit to try it out. Any ideas? Brands?

Things that Suck: You Belong to Me

On Thursday, Matt and I took the kids to the Knoxville Zoo and to Pigeon Forge, TN for a little trip. We decided to only stay a couple of days so that we didn't have to worry about kenneling the dog (we had family members stop in to feed and take him out) and so we could enjoy a little time at home before trooping back to the salt mines today. And that was a good idea. Because any time we do any kind of trip, we do it HARDCORE. Like EXTREME vacationing. No laying back to relax! We do as much as possible for as long as possible, which means that we all end up bone-tired when we return. But it is a happy tired, an accomplished, holy-shit-that-was-fun tired.

This is why Saturday evening found me laying on my bed, watching Lifetime. We had just returned, and of course, I unloaded all of our outlet shopping purchases, and then, fell in a big heap with Alice. I was pretty happy with just watching whatever came on. And at first, I was just glad that it wasn't that crappy Army Wives shit or that Drop Dead Diva show which offends me to my core that they can't just make a show about a confident, happy plus-sized brunette chick. NO! She has to have been a blonde knockout in another life, thus making her fun and awesome! Everyone knows chubby brunette chicks are just miserable and wear only muumuus and cry tears that taste like vanilla bean frappuccinos! VOMIT.

But then I watched You Belong to Me, which just may be the absolute worst Lifetime Movie ever made (disregarding, of course, that schlocky shit they show at Christmas that I do not have the intestinal fortitude to even attempt watching). It stars Shannon Elizabeth (yup) and is a Lifetime "horror" "movie".

And that's not even the worst part. Basically, I think this movie was made because some dude somewhere had a horrible experience with an ex-girlfriend who was an English major. And since I was an English major, this offends me. And it made my head hurt.

Here's a synopsis of the movie: Basically, girl meets boy at work. Boy becomes obsessed with girl. Boy is a generally creepy English major. Boy stalks girl. Boy falls off of cliff. Girl's house becomes haunted. A vase is thrown by a ghostly scepter with horrible, horrible aim and girl realizes that boy wants her to join him in the afterlife. Girl finds boy's grandmother and finds out that she is a dead-ringer (har har) for boy's dead mother. PAGING DR. FREUD! WE'VE GOT OEDIPUS ON LINE ONE! Girl fights boy's ghost for her soul and that of her son. The end.

Sounds horrible, huh? Now imagine it with Shannon Elizabeth doing the "acting". Are you vomiting yet? No offense to Ms. Elizabeth, but holy crap. If there is any justice in the world, she and her majestic rack are working in a nondescript office job right now, somewhere where she can't hurt us any longer.

So the English major thing: yes, the creepy guy/antagonist (BIG ENGLISH MAJOR WORD, YA'LL) admits to being an English major. And I'm like, "Well, ok, yeah, we have some creepers among our ilk." People who like to spend their time writing and reading obscure things are generally not the most sane people you know, amirite? So I'm willing to cop to that. But this guy...whew. He spends about 9/10 of the movie trying to quote various Brownings. I kind of expect him to jump out of a closet and yell, "I AM AN ENGLISH MAJOR GODDAMMIT. AND SINCE THE ECONOMY SUCKS SO HARD, I AM LEGALLY OBLIGATED TO QUOTE THE ONE GODDAMN POEM I KNOW AT LEAST FOUR TIMES A DAY. BECAUSE I MAJORED IN ENGLISH. AND I DID IT SO FUCKING HARD." In fact, it would have helped the movie along if he had done that and probably shaved about 15 minutes we have of mindless Browning-rambling. And here's my picky English major point that pissed me off more than anything--he kind of skips around between Robert and Elizabeth Barret Browning. LIKE THEY ARE THE SAME PERSON. My lord, Lifetime. If you're going to feature someone being a complete English major douche, at least do it right! A real English major would point out the differences between the two, and would probably give you some really quippy point that would make you secretly hate that person a little and ultimately, remove them from your Christmas card list.

As if all that isn't bad enough, this movie had another major detractor. And that is some of the most horrible, cringe-inducing Lifetime movie sex I've ever seen. Now I'll tell you, no Lifetime sex is good sex. And if I had a quarter for every orgasm I'd seen faked in a Lifetime movie, I'd have enough money to be able to watch my trashy movies on a brand new 3-D tv. But this stuff is so cringe inducing that it made me squirm a bit. Ms. Elizabeth does have some gorgeous breasts--I'll give her that. And they looked lovely in her lacy little bra she wore in BOTH of the sexy instances. But the rest of it was just BLECH. The first time was especially wretched. Basically, Girl is talking to her lawyer boyfriend (we'll call him Boy II), who is completely non-threatening in a Lifetime movie man kind of way. And he's talking about how much he loves kids. And then they just start making out. Ok, ick. Maybe it is just me, but I don't find talking about my children to be an aphrodisiac. Usually, I am the most erm, excited, when I have not even thought of my kids in a good while. But I guess Lifetime feels that the only way ladies can get in the mood is if they are a) trying to have a baby or b) have found a man who just loves talking about the kiddos. Part of that pisses me off, and the other part just squicks me out. Blech.

So, in the whole scheme of things, with one being Christmas Lifetime schlock, and five being The Two Mr. Kissels, this movie rates about a 1.5. And it only gets the .5 because of this awesome line of dialogue (and note that I'm approximating here--I watched this on Saturday):

Boy II: If this ghost is so powerful, and he really wants to kill you, why hasn't he?
Girl: I DON'T HAVE TIME TO EXPLAIN THIS TO YOU!

What's funny here? Well, I feel like with this line, the good folks at Lifetime are acknowledging they've made a really shitty movie with a big old fat plot hole. And you know what they're saying? They're saying, "Well fuck you too! We don't have to explain anything to you. We'll make you EMBRACE that plot hole, you randy housewife!"

So, bad as it may be, this movie has some balls. Albeit tiny, sad little balls, but balls none the less. Watch if you dare.

The Optimum Number of Children for Maximum Awesomeness

Last night, as I stood in a Chuck E. Cheese, wearing a fedora and clutching a Guitar Hero guitar and trying desperately to not look like a total idiot while activating star power on the Beastie Boys' "Sabotage", I began to think about families. Around me were families of all sizes, shapes, and variety. Kids were running around, doing the kinds of things that would get them thrown out of any establishment but a Chuck E. Cheese. And parents where there, some of them wrangling, some of them peacefully eating pizza, some of them melting your fucking face off on Guitar Hero.

Two women, however, stood out. One had obviously just come from work and was wearing a lovely pair of linen blend pants, just casual and summery enough to be seasonal, but not so much to preclude her from wearing them to the office. With it, she had a refined knit v-neck shirt with some shirring, flat black sandals and a long, thick necklace. Her hair was styled simply and her make-up looked effortless. The other lady was wearing a simple knit pull on skirt in a lovely blue, a black shirred t-shirt (not so unlike the other lady's white version) in a refined, substantial knit, and bronze gladiator style sandals. Her hair was pulled back in a clasp, and she wasn't wearing noticeable make-up. Both ladies were lovely, in a pulled together, appropriate way. One clearly had spent her day at work, while the other was probably a SAHM. Neither had the perfect body. But seeing them was enough to say, "Wow."

I will come right out and say that I wasn't stalking them because otherwise it might sound that way. If you've ever been to CEC, you know that you're stuck in there with everyone else and it is kind of like maybe being in a bank hold up together--you become comrades in a grand scheme to placate the terrorizing people (or, as they are better known, your children) around you. That said, I did notice that both women were there with 3 kids. And I smiled a little bit because I have three kids, and well, us 3-kidders are just the most awesome people ever, don't you think? I immediately started thinking of how that the three most stylish people in the CEC had three children and that couldn't be a coincidence? Right? RIGHT?!?

Anyway, I brought it up to Matt on the way home, and he was (probably rightfully) alarmed that I would consider such a thing or had really bothered to notice so much about these ladies (I AM NOT A STALKER!). But he quickly warmed to the idea, and soon, we were crafting a list of the ways to maximize your life's awesomeness by having the right number of kids. And yeah, you may disagree. But whatever. We all know I'm right.

1. You have to have a back-up kid (or two). Let's face it. You may be awesome, but it is totally possible that your kid may turn up being a fuckhead. We all know awesome people who have raised some real gems, amirite? Think about that kid on your freshman hall who ended up only wearing a bathrobe for the better part of his first semester and ended up in such a state that the counseling center had to come and debrief you all. That kid's parents were probably ok. No matter how good you do with being a parent, your kid could end up on the receiving end of some poor life decisions, and the next thing you know, he's living in your basement, eating tater tots and organizing rallies for Sarah Palin. Good thing you have a back-up kid (or two)! Your back-up kid can probably be goaded into doing extra special good to make up for his lackluster sibling. AND the back-up kid can even take on some of your job as a parent and try to help that sibling. While you sit back and watch Law and Order. Holla.

2. Movies have shown us that only children are creepy as all hell. I was an only child. Was I creepy? HELL YES I WAS. I had all these imaginary friends, the most prominent of which were weirdly named "William" and "Mary." I'm not kidding. William skiied a lot and Mary was a cheerleader. For what sport, I don't know. She just wore a cheerleading outfit around and carried pom poms. Did I mention they were bears? Cause they were. And this is not an isolated phenomenon. Damien from the Omen? Rosemary's baby? That creepy kid from The Shining? Norma EFFING Bates? All only children and all people that I don't want to meet in a dark alley. Plus, only children think they are special. We are not special. And when life beats us down to tell us that, it hurts. Excuse me while I blow my nose.

3. Multiple children can play together. When you have more than one kid, they can amuse each other. Case in point: last night, Matt and I took our brood to CEC. Alice is just old enough to where she can run amok and ride stuff and throw skee-balls at unsuspecting Little League teams. And sure it is fun enough to walk around with her, and put her on rides and hear her scream "NO!" and then relax and realize that it is fun and enjoy the heck out of it. All that's great. But then the pizza gets there, and you just want to sit down like a normal person and have a slice of pizza and talk about The Traveling Wilbury's. Older siblings to the rescue! Gabby (semi-relunctantly) "volunteered" to take Alice around while Mommy and Daddy finished eating. The best thing about this? These older children can be bought with basically nothing. Matt gave Gabby two extra tokens for her troubles (the equivalent of $.50) and SHE TOOK IT. HA HA HA. Before she goes out in the world, I'll teach her to not be a sucker, but not until I reap the benefits of this to the maximum.

4. A family of four gets squeezed into a booth. A family of five gets a long booth or the round table. Case closed.

5. Four or more kids, however, raises your likelihood to have a douche by a lot. The more kids you have, the more you're tempting fate. And the more your attention slides and the less you're going to notice. Sure, they could all turn out to be solid citizens. But the more you have, the more you skew those odds. You could end up with a kid who wears a lot of Ed Hardy, moves to Peru and names your grandkid something like "Cool Beans." They could just slip under the radar, and then one day, you're sitting at the dining table at Christmas and you realize the guy with the mashed potatoes is rocking looks like a paunchy Jonas brother. Man, that shit happened on your watch! Be vigilant and keep the kids down.

6. But lastly, the more kids you have, the better memorial service those kids can throw you. I have three kids, and I'm going to pay to send those kids to college. My main reason for this is so that when I die, I go out in a blaze of glory the likes of which you have never even dreamed of. I want to be cremated, and I want my children to take my ashes (which will be kept secure in a Folger's coffee can) on a cross country trip in my old Volkswagen. I want them to film this, and I want one of them to make it into a quality documentary film about my life. And I want them to get me to the Marin Headlands, right off of Highway 1, and there I want them to shoot my ashes out of an authentic colonial cannon and into the ocean while blasting ACDC's "Whole Lotta Rosie" from the car's stereo. See? I've gotta have three kids to finance that. I'm an only child, ya'll. You wanna know what I intend doing to my parents up on their death? Do the words "backyard BBQ spit" mean anything to you?

My baby is better than yours.

Is your baby advanced? Cause mine sure is! Just look at her! Can your baby count to 100? Can she do it by 10's? 20's? Mothereffing 3's? Because mine can do that shit right now. Can yours? No? Well, if she can't, I'd recommend you start filling out that Wal-Mart application for her right now. Because, unlike your kid, my kid is super advanced!

Is your 21 month old potty trained? Because mine sure is! Not only that, she can go to the bathroom, put her own Dora seat down and complete the entire New York Times Sunday crossword puzzle IN PEN before she finishes taking her sweet little baby crap. I don't know what a six letter word meaning "A shower in Paris" means, but I know that the other stuff means that my kid is advanced. And if your kid isn't potty trained by the time he or she turns two, I think we all know that she will never be advanced! Looks like it is a promising career in porn for your kid! Don't cry--I hear that's how Marilyn first got her shot.

My kid likes playing with toys! Did you hear that? Get your jaw off the ground. She can pick up tangible objects and manipulate them in a playing manner! HOLY SHIT YES. That's because she's very, very advanced. Does your child play realistic games, reenacting key battles of the Crimean War in French? No? Um, have you had that kid checked for....developmental delays? No developmental delays here! Do you know why? Because my kid is ADVANCED.

Do you read to your kid? I do! Because my kid is advanced! In fact, I read to her in utero. IN FACT, before she was even conceived, I read to my husband's balls. Every night! And not like those letters to the editor printed in Hustler. I read Tolstoy to my husband's balls. Did you do that? Well, I'm sorry that you are not going to have an advanced child. Maybe she'll let you use her discount at FasMart.

Have you thought about where your child will attend preschool? I'm filling out applications as we speak! I already have a preschool, elementary school, high school, one-on-one high school tutoring, Ivy League university and an awesome internship with NASA lined up for my kid. Do you have that for your kid? No? Who are you? Do you live in Pakistan? Obviously, since your kid is not advanced.

Are you breastfeeding? No? Then I'm sure your kid has scurvy. Or rickets. Or gout. At least that's what I read on the internet! In fact, my (public school attending) breast milk is not even good enough for my advanced child. I have breastmilk flown in from only Ivy League graduates. You know why? Because my kid is advanced! No plebian tit for her!

Stop the presses! My kid just said her colors!!!! In Old Church Slavonic! Can your child say their colors? They can't?!? I speak five languages to my kid. I suppose you only speak English to your child. Maybe you should read this book I read about intelligent people speaking a bunch of languages. Especially French. Because French is so useful.

Is your child advanced? If not, maybe it is not too late for adoption. Maybe you can get a nice Asian family to take her and try to help with the situation. I'm sorry if you don't like that. But that's life if your kid isn't ADVANCED!

Just sayin'!