In spite of always having been intrigued by 3-D, I'm not a big fan of the experience. When I've viewed dark/muddy landscapes or body parts flying towards me on the big screen, I've usually remained unimpressed.

A friend on face book, not one of hundreds I could not pick out in a police mug shot file, but an actual friend wrote, not to bother seeing Gatsby in 3D because it would take away from the flow and grand sweep of the movie.  I took heed. I'm glad I did.  I loved the beyond over the top excesses that took me to a world of make believe and romance.  Even though I actually found myself really looking at him in Django Unchained...  I did not NEED the 3D experience to finally stop resisting Leonardo DiCaprio.

Anyway, my HP printer is not functioning properly and I don’t know why.  It’s plugged in.  It recognizes my computer – they are having a dialogue that clearly states the printer is out of paper.  That’s not true.  Not only is there paper in the printer, I put MORE paper in the printer several times; that is after turning it off and on multiple times to no avail.

GMO Labeling Bill Voted Down In Senate

When I left the store with my sandwich to go, my stomach was so ready and my mouth was watering at the thought of it.  There were people out as there usually are.  One man was walking his dog.  I looked at the dog and the man said hello like he knew me.  I looked at him, and he seemed vaguely familiar.  I couldn’t place him though.  Soft-spoken yet assertive.  Younger than me, maybe 30s.  Tall, husky.  Indian-looking.  I felt cautious.  Then I thought that maybe it is a dog-owner thing and he’s seen me over the years with my dog.  So I said hello back to him.  But my tone and face were more wary than friendly.

Then I remembered why he looked familiar.  This creep once approached me a couple of years ago to have sex for money.  He had approached me then too like he knew me.  It scared me and shocked me.  It had been a bright sunny afternoon.  It was his way of doing it – with such ease like it was normal – that made me feel frightened.  For a flash, I felt like I wasn’t in America.  Though I am a grown woman, the incident brought me down that day.  I remember going pale.  I remember burning inside.  I felt so taken aback.  What an assumption – that I’m an item for sale.  And that was with a winter coat on.  It just amazes me that cultures who treat women like that even survive when we all come from a woman.  I have enough trouble with where we are at in NYC.  I have no tolerance to be treated any worse.  I’m aiming for better, not worse.

That is what I find so frightening – the idea that this is okay, normal, expected. 

The mother fucker was not easily discouraged.  This is what freaked me out last time.  He just goes right on, in his soft-spoken way, trying to convince.*  At least that is what the tone sounds like.  I barely heard the words.  But unfortunately for me and my thin-skinned self, I did hear “blow job.”  Nausea kicked in.  Fury filled my veins.  Images invaded my head.  I felt the need to boil my mouth.  I knew that was the end of being able to eat my sandwich.  Even though we were yards apart, I felt assaulted and so disrespected.  I did not want him to think I was afraid of him, and I did not want to just quietly go home with nausea.  I didn’t want to feel like I did at ten and burst into tears.  I told myself, you are not ten.  You have a voice.  Use it.  Under it all, he is scared of you.  That is why a young guy would need to buy a woman instead of getting to know a woman.  He is scared of you.  I summoned up a deep and loud voice.

He had the nerve to say, “Okay, goodnight.” 





*In light of the decade-long horror in Cleveland, I wondered if this soft-spoken scuzzball managed to convince some young girls to go home with him to make money, and I wondered if indeed some missing Bronx girls crossed his path. 

By Samantha DeRose








Well, it seems like I just blogged on Friday.  Oh Wait!  I did.

It's Memorial Day and after several days of winter weather, the sun's out and the barbecue is fired up all ready for me to burn some burgers and dawgs.

I've lived on the same block for almost 45 years and every year we make our way a half block up to see the Memorial Day Parade.  Old faces, new faces, all honoring the men and women who serve to protect our freedoms.  My father served, my uncles, my friends, and now my former students are serving.

I remember Anthony, my first little favorite.  He was in 3rd grade when I started my first teaching job.  I tutored him at the library over the summer.  We read Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing, he wrote stories, and told me his dreams of the future.  Then I blinked and he grew up to serve our country.

Memorial Day 2013

By Lisa Harmon

Memorial Day is at the wrong time of year. May is springtime, a time of renewal, not remembrance. Yet right in the middle of all the birthdays, all the nature, all the sunshine, Memorial Day is juxtaposed - a time we remember the dead.

It sure seems like the wrong time. The joy and youth of spring never seemed to me like an appropriate time to remember the departed. And my birthday is on Memorial Day. Again - a juxtaposition of a frivolous enjoyment on top of a somber and reverent, if not absolutely sad and depressing, holiday. Memorial Day kind of makes my silly birthday seem extra stupid.

Somehow, the one thing that draws all these mixed emotions together is barbecuing. The act of getting together to cook meats over charcoal and then eat them over a red and white checked tablecloth on the lawn encompasses the rare amalgam of human sentiment experienced only on Memorial Day.

Confusion, despair, frivolity, itchiness, awkwardness, sweatiness, all of these are part of a Memorial Day barbecue.

With barbecuing there is no time to feel sad or guilty - you have to get the charcoal. OK you got the charcoal and now you’re starting to miss Granny a little. Well cut it out, because you have to get the ice.
You got the ice, and you’re feeling silly because today’s your birthday even though we’re remembering war heroes? Well forget it because you’ve got to flip the burgers!

Barbecuing is the perfect Memorial Day tradition because it’s tough and everyone has too much work to do to start feeling too awful about stuff.

And all the hard work and smoked meats hit us right in our caveman soft spot - making us drowsy, and happy.  We are sated with burgers and warm memories of those loved and lost.  We are happy for the chance feel the sun on our skin.  Memorial Day is always a beautiful, bittersweet day. It is always a good day for some hard work and smoked meats, always a good day for a barbecue.

By Samantha DeRose

Wow.  Holy Guacamole.  It seems like it's been forever and a day since I've blogged.

Here's a conversation that took place this week.

Podiatrist:  So, what brings you here?

Me:  Well, I hurt my foot about four weeks ago and it's not getting any better and I think it's swollen.

Podiatrist:  Yes, it's very swollen.  You say for FOUR weeks? What did you do?

Me:  I don't remember.

Podiatrist:  What do you mean, you don't remember?  Did you bang it?  Did you twist it?  Did you fall?

Me:  I'm not sure.  All I know is that it was 5 a.m. and I vaguely recall feeling some pain in the same foot where you removed the ganglion cyst 2 years ago and I was like, "Darn it!  I hope I didn't bang the same spot because you said that it'll always be a weak spot,"  but I really don't know what happened.

Podiatrist:  But how could you NOT remember what happened?  Think.  It's very important that you remember.  A fall?  A twist?  Did you drop something on it?

Me:  How could I not remember?  How  COULD I NOT remember?  HOW COULD I NOT REMEMBER?  Well you see, DOC, I get up a t 5 a.m. every morning to walk my asshole dog (who hasn't behaved on a leash for the past 6.5 years) 3.5 miles with my neighbor (and I try not to fart while we're walking because I don't know him that well, but my gastrointestinal tract is not at it's best at such an unGODLY hour...and one did squeak out the other day and I'm still praying that he didn't hear it) BEFORE I have to come home, iron, take a shower, pack my gluten free lunch, and make coffee and put out the vitamins for my eldest son (who won't eat breakfast) and then drop him off at the bus stop by 6:45.  Then I have to make scrambled eggs and toast with vitamins and lay out the inhaler and allergy medicine so that my one child can make it a full year without ending up in the ER with pneumonia and asthma.  Then I make avocado toast for several other people, and 2 more cups of coffee, make sure the others are up, showered, clothed (WITH school IDs and LUNCH MONEY), dishes in the dishwasher,  and get them to the bus stop by 7:20, and THEN be in school by 7:30 MYSELF where I teach 5 different preps and try to get kids to graduate before their retirement.  OH.  Add to that list, Mother's Day,  12 baseball games per week AND practices (for a kid whose own teammates call him a LOSER and a PUSSY because he DOESN'T call the other players LOSERS and PUSSIES the same way that they and their parents do), tae kwon do, cello concerts (two this past week and one more to go), a birthday party, a confirmation (THAT I CATERED and my EX-HUSBAND and HIS FIANCE attended side-by-side with my paramour), OH, and I'M a f$%ing comedian and do shows and write FUNNY F(^&*ing  material.  Did I mention preparing dinner every night?  Laundry and scrubbing piss off of the toilet?  Yeah.  Toilet.  Singular.  ONE TOILET, LOTS OF PEOPLE.

No.  I don't remember what the $%^ I did at 5 a.m. 4 weeks ago to make my foot swell up like a mutant hippopotamus face with elephantiasis.  No.  I don't remember.

Podiatrist:  OK.  You're going to need an MRI ASAP and you need to wear this cumbersome boot and STAY OFF of that foot until we can figure out what you did.

Me:  Stay off the foot?

Podiatrist:  Yes.  Bedrest.

Me:  HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.    Ha. Ha. Can I get some pain medication?

Podiatrist:  Absolutely.

Steve Fulop

1.  Jersey City got a new mayor - Steve Fulop.  Will JC suffer another corrupt, drunken mayor?   He swam the Hudson River at some point in his life, so, there is obviously something wrong with his brain.  Anyway, time will tell who he is and I can't wait to see.

2.  I had 3 interviews and got a day job.


3.  I took a drug test.

4.  My dog ate a lot of her shit.

5.  I discussed "Game of Thrones" with A LOT of people.  I freaking love Khaleesi and her story is the best story line right now.  Her story is always the best story line.

6.  The new season of  "So you think you can dance" started.

7.  "Rectify" is/was so freaking awesome.

8.  I watched a lot of tv.

9.  I drank a lot of wine.  A lot.

10.  I took naps and read up on Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, because NO ONE naps as much as I do.  There must be something wrong with me.

11.  I pondered my future with Dave Grohl.  That's something that I do on the regular.

12.  I had a lot of weird dreams and thought I heard a man walking around my apartment saying, "beep beep beep beep beeeeep".  It was just a weird dream.  Or was it????

13.  Thought about taking drum lessons.

14.  Watched "Hangover II" and laughed so hard that I spit up.

Miss Bean.  She loves poop.

I am still basking in the pleasure of having shared a wonderful Mother's Day with my son.  This week was less pleasant for another Mother...

As God/the Universe tends to do to keep me upright, at the very same moment on Facebook, I was having this conversation.  Leighann Lord had posted this gem: 







      Now, before anyone lacking the gift of reading comprehension and the ability to suss out sarcasm chooses to respond here, let's be clear. I am not talking about all men, just the one in Mindy's example. But if you recognize yourself there's still time to make the necessary alterations.           

 

I know.  I know.  Weird blog title.  All unrelated things that I'm going to talk about today.

Yesterday was the first Mother's Day / Ryan's Birthday (my oldest son) in which we broke tradition.  My family normally gathers at my aunt and uncle's house for Mother's Day / Birthday festivities, but as they were vacationing in Italy and my parents had tickets to a show on Broadway, we were left to our own devices.

A few weeks ago, Lee and I sat around contemplating how we would spend our day, when she suggested that we all go to Lips for brunch in NYC.  We had been to Lips about 3 years ago and had a FABULOUS time at the show.  For those unfamiliar, it's a drag show/brunch... a phenomenal drag show/brunch. OF COURSE!  Why didn't I think of that????  What teenage kid wouldn't want to go with their moms to a drag brunch??

And off we went.  Two adults, four children.  My youngest, Ethan, was clueless.  I made fun of Lee for her choice of sensible footwear... which couldn't hold a candle to my high heeled boots*.  When we walked in, the hostess, in all her bitchy glory, barked orders at the customers.  "What's your name?  How do you spell it?  Christ!  Doesn't anyone have normal names like Susan Jones anymore?  Go stand over there, and if you have any questions, I don't give a sh!t."

Getting ready for the first round of mimosas

and the second round of mimosas

Our Hostess!

Ethan came over to me and said, "Mom!  At first I thought that person at the counter was a guy.  Then I realized it was a lady."  That's when I had to explain the dynamic of the ENTIRE staff to my young blonde.

As the glamorous gals strutted their stuff, taking our orders and sassing the patrons, I took a gander at Ethan's facebook page: "Oh god already having a stressful day."  "OMFG!" "Oh, Damn what a big city this really is."

OMFG!

I decided to call him out on the stressful bullshit by pulling him aside and explaining that this day is a lesson in not taking oneself too seriously...to have a good time, to stop trying to be the "kid who's too cool for everything."  I also told him that it was MY day (ok, his brother's, too) and that he was making me sad by behaving in such a negative way.  After that, he had a blast.  GUILT.  Works every time.

As it was Ryan's birthday, he was brought to the stage with a line of other folks celebrating special events... by a charming fellow dressed as Little Orphan Annie.  He hammed it up like a champ.  Of course, there was chocolate cake drizzled with caramel syrup at the finish line.

It's a Hard Knock Life

The Sun'll Come Out TOMORROW!

The show was hilarious.  We all had a great brunch... the unlimited mimosas (for the adults) and the added bonus that Mommy Dearest was playing on the screen prior to the show!!!  My FAVORITE!

Funny how a bunch of gay guys are applauded for being rude and insulting to the patrons... AND people PAY for it!  If it had been a bunch of lesbians, they'd have been socked in the gut!

Following the show we had to hit a street fair for gifts since Lee is heading to Australia on business next month and needs to take .99 scarves to all of her pals down under.  As soon as we hit the streets in search of bargains, I was reminded of why wearing high heeled boots was a bad idea.  Every step was agony and the only cure was to purchase (for myself...F$%* the Aussies) 3 handbags, a pair of sunglasses AND THE MOST FABULOUS MOMMY DEAREST T-SHIRT E.V.E.R.!!!!!   No lie.  I met this adorable street vendor, Tom Sharp, who had a fantastic line of t-shirts (www.tomsharpnyc.com).  I told him that I do comedy and intend to wear it on stage (and to school) and he threw in an adorable NYC t-shirt.  Really.  Check him out.

Corny?

She insists she's not a hat person

No scarves here.

Coup de Grace

By the time we reached the parking garage (sans scarves... wasn't a cheap-o street fair) I felt like I was wearing boots made of razor blades, broken glass, needles, and nails on the inside (see Steve Martin's book, Cruel Shoes).  Now I was the one being mocked for my exquisite fashion sense.  HOW DARE THEY!

All in all it was a phenomenal day.

Of course, it's Monday and I had to rise at 5 to walk the Nunz at 5:30.  Suffice it to say, my feet have not recovered.   As we paused so that I could pick up his (3rd) morning constitutional, I felt as if I had somehow been condemned to the 8th Circle of Hell, Second Pouch...Malebolge.  Coincidentally, I am teaching that very CIRCLE in my English IV section TODAY... If you don't know what the punishment is in Malebolge, Google it.

The More You Know!

Have a great day everyone!!