like buttah

Because of a tax break for the film industry, movies have started filming in our little half medical, half redneck paradise (Sidenote: It is rare to visit any restaurant or store that doesn't have at least one person wearing scrubs, one person in a white coat, and one fat guy wearing overalls). Yesterday, there was a shoot happening around the corner from our house. Plan Make Ike Famous part B (my callout to the Today show fell flat) was in full effect. During our lunch break Yoni, Ike and I took a little walk to get some yogurt and -- ohmigosh what is this a movie set, right on our route? What are the chances? And I just happen to have my camera?!




There have been claims that none of the movies filmed here have been of decent quality (The Year One, Mad Money, W). Well this movie, the one whose set has now been graced with Ike's urine, is out to change that reputation:

A comedy set in the Midwest U.S., where an adopted girl discovers her talent for butter carving and finds herself pitted against an ambitious local woman in their town's annual contest.

How could a movie about butter carving be anything but amazing? I just hope Paula Deen has a cameo.

Anyway, as Yoni and I started on our walk we plotted ways to get Ike in with the celebrities. Jennifer Garner stars in Butter, so our first thought was obviously that little Violet and Seraphina would be hanging around on set, and want to play with our little doggy, which would surely end up on Perez Hilton.


But what if Jennifer Garner wasn't around? Alicia Silverstone is in the movie too -huge PETA advocate. We set up a hypothetical scene should she be there that involved us kicking Ike. She would have to intervene. Ike wouldn't mind taking one for the team.

Hugh Jackman could have been there. To attract his attention, we quickly choreographed an Oscars-worthy dance with Ike as the lead.

The other male lead, Rob Corrdry, is known (by us) for his Daily Show correspondence and awesome bangs:


Guys with beards have a special bond; why not guys with bangs?


Other cast members include Ty Burrell (my FAVORITE character from Modern Family), Kristen Schaal (another Daily Show correspondent), Ashley Greene (who was in some movie about vampires or something?) and Olivia Wilde, who I, oops, forget to tell Yoni about because I'm pretty sure she's on his list. We didn't come up with a plan for them; we were SO sure the play date with Jennifer Garner's girls would work out.

As we turned the corner, we spotted our first celebrity:


The fat neighborhood cat we call Wilford Brimley.

And the rest of the journey was just as eventful. We did spot a prop, though.



All in all I'd say our celebrity stalking walk was successful. We got some exercise and our yogurt. The only reason I left work for an hour on a busy Wednesday to take a walk. Yep. Gotta have my midday yogurt.

my first 5k

Well, I ran my first 5K this weekend and my body decided to reward me with a gross cold. There are some really gross things about having a cold, but I think the worst is having to retrieve my used Kleenex from Ike's mouth. Delicious.


The night before the race I had nightmares. In my dream, the race was taking place in Mexico, and for some reason people were running in shifts. The race officiator would wait until 5 or so people arrived at the race site and give them the "Ready, set, go" command. Then a few minutes later, he would do it all over again.

Fun fact: I am, for some strange reason, terrified of being startled by a loud noise. I was the worst swimmer on my swim team in high school because I stood on the block, squeezing my eyes shut waiting for the airhorn to scare the crap out of me. By the time I had recovered from the loud noise, most of the swimmers were on their flipturn. I've also sat through an entire play with my hands in my ears because a sign on the door warned parents that their children might get scared by the gunshots.

Sad story: I can't be in a room with balloons.

This is how I roll on New Year's Eve.

Anyway, I had briefly wondered if there would be a loud noise, (worst case scenario: a gun) to start the race, but I pushed the thought out of my head thinking surely I was over my phobia. Apparently I pushed the thought right into my dream. In this weird Mexican race scenario, I was one of the first to arrive but lurked in the shadows until I could find out what was used to start the race. Gun? Airhorn? Balloon popping? But each time a group of runners started the race, I got distracted and didn't hear what signaled them to go. By the time I finally got up the courage to just run, a giant severe thunderstorm warning threatened all of Mexico and the race was canceled. Typical Mexico. Drug wars and weather systems the size of an entire country; always ruining 5Ks.

After this dream, as I stood at the starting line of the actual race all I could think about was how to avoid the loud noise. Never mind that I was starving. Never mind that it was 8 am and I am not a morning person, and never mind that I had never run more than 2 miles at a time. This could get embarrassing; I have been known to drop to my knees in the event of a loud noise (Note to self: do not attend air shows anymore). Could I plug my ears, pretending to be cleaning them out as the race started? (Yes, I have used this strategy before. I may look gross, but at least I don't look crazy. And -- bonus! -- my ears are spotless.)

I came up with a genius strategy. Turn my iPod on full blast, drown out the actual race noises and just start running when everyone else did. While everyone around me chatted, I turned on shuffle and listened to a Fergie-Ferg classic at full blast.

When the officiator got up to the front and reached in his pocket, my song got to a quiet point. I wasn't quick enough to change the song, and my heart started pounding as he pulled out his stopwatch and casually yelled, "Okay, GO!"

And you all thought Yoni was the worrier of this relationship...

Wow. That goofy running face is probably one of the many reasons I didn't pursue this hobby earlier.

it's prom season, baby

Those med school kids are so clever. Next weekend is, essentially, med school prom, but apparently someone loves puns as much as I do because it's being called "The Undescended Ball". Since I am no longer 17, proms aren't that exciting to me, but it does mean an excuse to dress up, which I will never turn down.

I waited until the last minute with online shopping, wishing and hoping that Rue La La would feature a really good deal on formal dresses ($3.95, Leila?). That didn't happen, so I have two options.

1. Search the teeny tiny corner of our Dillard's that sells semi decent clothing
2. Take a self deprecating tour through my closet of old formal dresses in search of one that is remotely recyclable.

Well. I did both. Dillard's had nothing to offer me (I even searched the...cringe... juniors prom dresses) and so far, neither does my closet:

I distinctly remember asking my friend in the dressing room if this dress made me look fat. Clearly, I had bigger things to worry about. Like... well, everything?



We also won't go into what I had to worry about here, either. But, oh, there was so much. So, so much. I do remember I started going to a gym for the first time ever a few weeks before this picture was taken because "I wanted my arms to look nice for prom". Snort.


And this was prom the next year. Honestly, I don't think the dress is the problem here.


A few years later, I recycled that red dress for a Mardi Gras ball. Sadly, shortly after I found mold on its beautiful, classy, visible tulle layers, so it is out of the running for this year's event. Such a shame. It's practically vintage now.



I've already showed you this dress, but I thought I would post it again to remind you of my resemblance to Jessica Simpson.




Mom stops buying your clothing? Poor college student? Ugly $25 dollar bright turquoise dress it is.


Still a poor college student? Have slightly better taste? This $15 random black dress from a juniors' section somewhere fits the bill. I would wear this one again, but not only did I wear it a Purim party 5 years ago, I wore it to med school prom last year (above). I wouldn't want to commit my first ever fashion faux pas, now would I??


3% of me wants to throw social norms out the window and wear my wedding dress. I mean, I could dye it, right? It wouldn't be that weird... right?


Needless to say, I'm back at square one. If you have a blog, I would love to see your old prom dress disasters!

beware of [our incredibly vicious] dog

mrs. misanthrope

I have a problem: I hate everyone.

People annoy me for no good reason. For instance, I know someone who repeats the last two words of every sentence spoken to them and acts like he was already in the middle of saying the same thing, trying to sound smart. I can't handle it. Even worse are the people around this person who don't realize that he is full of crap.

Tonight, while gritting my teeth listening to this person speak, I had an epiphany. All of a sudden I knew why this whole situation irritated me so much: I have an impeccable bullshit detector. And you know how I got it?

Who has two thumbs and is full of BS??

That's right -- my husband has his PhD in bullshitting and one of the many many many gifts of our relationship has been my growing ability to pick up on any and all bs - in my house and out of it. All those definitions Yoni claimed to know, all the dinnertime wikipedia editing (which, by the way, has not been changed back... remember that next time you rely on good old wiki for ANYTHING) have led me to detect every teeny tiny embellishment anyone spews out and judge everyone around them for not picking up on it.

So there you have it, Yoni - you are the reason why I would rather spend time with the dog than with other people. When I get to the point where I have no friends and over 500 pictures of the dog, it will be all because of you. You know... if that ever happens. Not that it will be anytime soon.

Picture 474... taken January 20. 2009.

My dog > your dog

Did anyone else see the dog that was recently featured on the Today Show?

This dog, Riley, got on the Today show because he took ONE picture where it looked like he was smiling. Of course, during his live segment on the show; his one shot at real fame at the hands of Matt Lauer, he didn't smile. FAIL, Riley, fail.

Scholarly Ike wants to know what happened to journalistic integrity.

First of all, Today show, EVERYONE has a picture of their dog smiling (but how many dogs have hearts on their backs).



Secondly, if all it takes is one semi amusing picture of your dog to get fifteen minutes of fame, I am all over that. How about this for a segment, Matt Lauer: If My Husband Pushes My Dog's Neck Fat Up a Certain Way, I'm Convinced he Looks Like Martin Van Buren.



Or this one: One Picture of My Dog Sort of, Kind of, Okay Maybe Not Really Looks like Jim from The Office.



Or perhaps, My Dog Jumps on the Roof of His Dog House When I Say "Snoopy"



Or my favorite, It Looks Like My Dog Has a Handlebar Mustache.


Call me, Lauer!

chametz

Another year, another Passover ends. I've never actually liked giving up bread for Passover, but it becomes especially difficult when my husband has decided that his many hobbies --dissecting brains, memorizing the periodic table, building bikes, herding sheep...



...aren't enough, and he needs to add baking delicious, delicious bread products to his repertoire.


Jealous?

luxury

My friend in San Diego takes her dogs to "doggy daycare" once a week. She shared the webcam link and OHMYGOSH. Forget dropping my dog off there, I want to go! Doesn't this look like fun?


As a self proclaimed crazy dog lady, obviously the thought of watching my dog play while I'm at work appealed to me. So, I looked into our local "luxury" pet daycare place.





That does not look like as much fun.

city mouse

Have I ever mentioned that I live in Smalltown, USA?

Yesterday we were playing tennis, and as per usual Yoni hit the ball over the fence (we're really, really good). Luckily, at that exact moment, in an occurrence that I've come to realize is NOT all that odd, Yoni's high school gym teacher happened to be taking a walk along the street that runs behind the tennis court. "Hey coach!" Yoni yelled, as if this happens all the time (IT DOES), "You mind throwing me that ball?"

Yoni might be used to this, but I. can't. handle. it. I want my privacy back! I don't need Yoni's high school gym teacher (or his genetics professor, or one of his classmates, who we also happened to see at the tennis court) to know my every move. I also would like to go to Target in my pajamas every once in awhile, without fear of running into the dean of students of the med school. Oh, and I'd like to enjoy brunch at my friend's house without looking out the window and seeing my boss pass by on her morning walk.

While sometimes it's good to go where everybody knows your name and your tennis score and what you're eating for brunch and all that jazz, I think it's time for an escape.

I don't know any of those people! So refreshing!

We're going to New York and DC this summer and while you'd think it would be a chance to remain completely anonymous, last time we visited New York we parked at a New Jersey train station and struck up a conversation with the couple parked next to us... who had dinner with Yoni's little brother's fencing coach a few weeks earlier. WILL IT EVER END?!

retro blogging?

I love to read, but my choice of books is usually pretty questionable. Case in point: On my color coded bookshelf I've read the entire pink shelf but only two or three books out of the three black and white shelves. Funnily enough, black/white books are usually more respectable than pink ones.

I'm not doing too bad on the yellow books, either...

One of my favorite series of books might make my father in law (and his collection of world history books) raise his eyebrows, but surprisingly I don't think any of them are pink. They might as well be, since they are about high school and crushes, but the author's dry humor and sarcasm make me feel comfortable admitting that I read most of these books during or after college. Plus, since most of my friends read them, I have allies who can back me up when I say I sped through 3 Jessica Darling novels in 6 hours at the age of 24 but quietly sat in the background when JD Salinger died because I haven't read Catcher in the Rye. (It's on my list, OKAY?!)


(I have a point, I promise.)

Megan McCafferty, the author of the Jessica Darling books, has a blog. She calls it her (retro)blog and posts old pictures of herself and old journal entries she wrote and makes fun of herself. I love this idea! I love making fun of myself.

My retro blog title for this beautiful number would be something like: XXL Fred Flintstone T-shirt + Picking Your Toes in Public + Orange Soda Mustache + Huge Plastic Glasses = PURE AWESOME, aka, This is Why I Had No Friends.

I don't think I'll end up copying her idea, because a) I like to think I'm more creative than that and b) I'm not that funny, but I started looking through old journals just in case I needed material, and I stumbled across an old online journal from when I was 19.

(I'm getting reaaallly close to the point.)

My memory is broken, I think. Yoni will tell me a piece of trivia and I'll forget it 5 minutes later. I can't retain ANYTHING I learn in classes. I'll read a really interesting article about something and when I go to tell someone about it, I won't be able to remember any of the details. BUT: I remember what I was wearing on most given days when anything of mild importance happened. If you tell me you really like something, I'll most likely file it away and get it for you for your next birthday. And one time, when I was 19, a guy stepped on my foot at a crowded bar at LSU and then yelled at me for being in his way. I remember it like it was yesterday. He had blonde hair and looked vaguely like Abe from a season of Road Rules, back when people still watched that show.

6 years later, I'm on the elevator on my way in to work, 4 hours north of where we went to college, and he gets on. I recognize him immediately and call all of my friends - it had been a big deal when we were nineteen but apparently my friends have been too busy remembering important things (they all have masters degrees...) and have no recollection of this most important moment in my life.

After that initial elevator ride, that guy was on the elevator with me at least once a week. I would be behind him in line for coffee. We would be on the shuttle to the parking lot together. Every time it happened, I texted my friends and pleaded with them to remember. No luck. A few weeks ago, I found out that he is going to be a brain surgeon and I had no one to share this information with. I started to think I made the whole incident up because what kind of friend wouldn't remember a guy stepping on my foot 6 years ago and ruining my night?

Well, while browsing my old journal looking for material for a rip off of (retro)blog by Megan McCafferty, who writes some of my favorite books, I found PROOF: (See how my mishmash post came together all of the sudden)?


[29 Feb 2004|01:54am]

the new dirty dancing came out last night and all we wanted to do was dance. so me rache and dana went out to fred's to do just that. we get in the door, some guy steps on my foot, spins around and yells "WATCH WHERE YOU'RE GOING, BITCH!!!!"

how rude.


It happened! I knew it.

Thanks for the tip, 19 year old me. PS, Your run on sentences and excess of exclamation points are embarrassing me and I will never share you with anyone. I'm also going to pretend I didn't just find an entry where you admitted that you wanted a trucker hat.

I know at least some of you out there had blogs before they were blogs... care to share any wisdom from your younger selves?

Easter in the 'Port

The Passive Aggressives

Y gets, in my opinion, unreasonably angry about many things. Maybe you've heard how much he hates the game Apples to Apples?


I guess usually my laid back attitude complements Y's, well, not laid back attitude. But yesterday, we had a bonding experience when something pissed us both off equally.

We were standing by the gate to enter a set of two tennis courts, one of which was occupied by a group of pastel clad women playing doubles. As we waited for them to take a break so we could walk behind them to get to our court, one woman adjusted her diamond tennis bracelet and snapped at us, "You need to use the other gate." We didn't realize there was another gate, so we probably gave her a look like this:



She looked at us like "our kind" was the downfall of her beloved tennis court. "You're going to cross our court while we're in the middle of a point," she pre-accused us snootily. This made us angry.




As if we were so dumb that we were going to just walk in the middle of their court as they were playing?? Please. Look lady, my tennis outfit may just be a pair of random leggings and a men's Hane's v-neck-- and that's only because my tennis skirt was in the dryer, but even if I had been wearing my tennis skirt, it has two holes in it and it's from high school 10 years ago and my high school was --gasp-- public, and there was a stabbing outside of my homeroom and people were busted for drugs 2 streets over and my husband might be wearing my dad's polo shirt from the 70s and is in dire need of a haircut and our tennis rackets might be from Wal Mart but THAT DOESN'T MEAN WE DON'T HAVE BASIC COMMON SENSE.

That's what was running through my mind. Y told me his was brimming with all kinds of really clever insults: "I hear that being a raging bitch is the leading cause of early menopause." Not quite as well spoken as his Apples to Apples rant, but I would have loved to hear him shout that across the court. And then ran and hid.

So what did the dynamic duo to retaliate when our intelligence was questioned? We used the other gate. And went on with our match. And passive agressively ran really fast to grab our stray balls, heaven forbid they cross the other court in the middle of a point. And in Yoni's case, made up really awesome insults that would, sadly, never see the light of day.

Go team.