Put a little Krazy Glue on it

So, the other day, I was cutting an apple for my 6-year-old. I had gotten the apple cut in half, was working on quartering it, when I decided to slice my thumb along with the apple. Which, of course, resulted in frenzied bleeding. I had never cut myself that badly before. Sure, I've nicked myself plenty while cutting vegetables. I'm particularly dangerous with a peeler. But this was a gusher. I was slightly worried I'd have to get stitches.

I paced around the room, applying pressure to the wound with a paper towel. I consulted my inner MacGyver, trying to figure out how I could fashion a tourniquet with one good hand and some Silly Bandz. I put my SIL on alert. If I had to drive myself to the ER, I needed her to take the boys as the husband was out of town. Eventually, I got the bleeding under control and had to tell my son I was very sorry, but he wasn't getting an apple that day.

The next morning, as I was emptying the dishwasher, my hand grazed the same knife, cutting the middle finger on my other hand.

Son of a...

Is it me or the knife? I mean, I know we're not supposed to put these knives in the dishwasher, but it can't possibly be mad at me for that, could it? I would think the knife would enjoy a little steam bath.

Stupid knife.  I mean, gooooood little knife.  Please don't hurt me.

So, over the past 3 days, my thumb has been bleeding on and off. And Band-Aids suck. They a) don't stay on if you get it the tiniest bit wet and b) don't stay on if you keep it dry (I'm pretty sure Johnson & Johnson won't be calling me to work for them anytime soon). I've gone through an entire box of Band-Aids, trying to keep the wound under control. Yesterday, I bled all over a top I was thinking about buying bought at the store.

And then, today, a miracle happened. My co-worker taught me the wonders of Krazy Glue. As I am not schooled in the history of Krazy Glue, he informed me that it was invented during WWII to bond body tissue. So, he glued my wound shut. His wife, a doctor, is not happy that he performed surgery on me, but I'm hoping she'll give me a shot of antibiotics for my future infection.

I've lost all feeling where the wound is, but at least I'm not going to bleed to death.

Ode to a toothbrush

So, the husband was at a dental convention this past weekend. When he goes away, he almost always brings back gifts for the boys and me. This trip was no exception. In addition to a refrigerator magnet and a sweatshirt, he brought me home a new toothbrush.

I know what you're thinking. A toothbrush? Who gets excited over a toothbrush? But, this isn't just any ordinary toothbrush you get from your dentist's office after a routine teeth cleaning. This is a Philips Sonicare FlexCare Plus with UV Sanitizer. I mean, a toothbrush that has 7 words in its name has to be impressive, right?

So, yes. I was excited. I used the toothbrush for the first time yesterday. It was such an experience, I had to wax poetic about it.

And you all get to enjoy my poem. About my new toothbrush.  You're welcome.

O, Sonicare FlexCare Plus,
You brush my teeth with no fuss.
With your 5 brushing modes,
You work a boatload
To clean every tooth within me us.

And after the 2 minutes are up,
I put you back into your cup.
(Well, it's not actually a cup,
but it's all I could find
To rhyme in a bind
And, by the way, this is why I'm a poetic schlup.)

But the best part of this brush
Is the sanitizing flush.
You put the toothbrush away
Into its holding tray.
Hit the button and see
The 99% germ-killing spree
Which will keep bacteria and viruses far away from me.

I hope.

Think Philips will hire me in their Marketing department?

I still want my MTV

So, I am part of the MTV generation. Sort of. I remember a life without MTV. We actually didn't get cable until I was in the 8th grade, so I went years without it. But, I knew of cable. My friends all had cable. I slept over my friends' houses so I could watch cable.  I saw Michael Jackson's "Thriller" video at my cousins' house and couldn't sleep for a week (those yellow eyes at the end of the video coupled with Vincent Price's laugh? Scared the crap out of me).

Once my family joined the 21st century and got cable (and call waiting at the same time - it was like Christmas!), I balanced my time between watching MTV and watching MTV while on the phone with my friends. I was one of those people who spent hours video taping her favorite music videos. Yeeaaahhh. I know.

Then MTV changed. They stopped with the all music, all the time and started producing reality programming. Nowadays, you're lucky if you see a music video. Not that all the shows are bad. I was an immediate fan of The Real World. Oh, how I loved when people stopped being polite and started getting real. Those first seasons were awesomely entertaining not to mention trying to raise social consciousness, before the roommates became ridiculous caricatures of themselves.

But, my love of The Real World had to end. Either I got too old or the roommates got too dumb, I'm not sure. Probably both. Plus, I couldn't stand those ungrateful bitches living in decked out houses in great cities, getting drunk and basically making fools of themselves. And, by the way, living in their own garbage. Ever heard of washing a dish? Aren't they at all embarrassed that their parents might be watching?

Yeah, that statement right there just proved I have gotten too old for this show.

I will, however, still allow a little Real World/Road Rules Challenge in my life. When I know it's on anyway. Because, sad to say, the people I remember, and loved or hated dearly, are still doing these ridiculous challenges. I mean, Beth from LA? She has to be eligible for Social Security by now. Since I haven't seen her lately, I can only assume she has broken her hip and can't compete. She's actually from a neighboring town and used to hang out at a bar where my sister worked, waiting for people to recognize her. Yeah, whatever. She was easily one of the most annoying characters in Real World history. I mean, that birthmark alone. Yeesh.

Gaah, I just looked her up online and learned a few things:

• The birthmark is gone.
• Someone actually married her.
• She has a child!

Okay, I'm sure she's a lovely person in real life. Don't email me.

Come to think of it, most of the cast members from Ohio were utter disappointments. While my sister and I agree that Texas is #1 for the sheer quantity of reality show contestants, I'm pretty sure Ohio is #1 for the dumbest. Mike from Parma? Sigh.

And so, another season of The Challenge (it's no longer RW/RR as no one cares) is upon us. Holy good gravy, this is the 20th season, too. They're in Prague this time, embarrassing their parents and the United States yet again. Oh, and throwing random Prague citizens down stairs.

Of course.

But, I have to admit The Challenge still a guilty pleasure of mine. I feel like I know some of these contestants and am happy when I get to see them a) win a challenge or b) get drunk and start a fight or c) get drunk and hook up with their teammates. Plus, there's something about watching these idiots in the (way way way) off chance they'll actually win $250,000. I watch, hoping this money will save them from their mounds of credit card bills, which they've no doubt acquired from taking too many head shots for failed acting auditions or fixing botched boob jobs (ever heard of getting a real job?).

And if they don't win? Well, at least they got to go to Prague, hook up with teammates (opposite sex or not), and get into fights with each other while I enjoy every delicious minute of it.

Snarky is as snarky does

So, this past weekend, my husband and I went to the opera with our only favorite opera dates. As always, a wonderful time was had by all. A lovely dinner with sparkling conversation, followed by an evening of beautiful music, what could be better?

I, however, did not enjoy this opera in the same sense as the last. While I still enjoyed dressing up and the culture and shit, my snarky self just couldn't hold it in this time.

We saw The Pearl Fishers, a French opera. I took French from 7th grade through college. I should've been able to translate the entire opera, right? Wrong. Good thing they had subtitles. Anyway, the story is a love triangle. Two friends, or, amis (heh), are in love with the same woman. One, a handsome, fit baritone. The other? A fat, feminine tenor. Guess which one she loved? Idiot. (Me? Snarky.)

Needless to say, 5 minutes into the opera is pretty much when the snark started. I took one look at the fat man, whose outfit didn't quite fit and thought, "Oh, come ON. That's not even realistic." Plus, all the men had really long hair and most of them (except the fat one, which I appreciated) were shirtless. I didn't realize France was full of long-haired shirtless men. Who knew?

Anyway, back to the story... the woman happens to be some sort of mystical creature. With her song, she can ward off evil spirits. The baritone, the leader of the island (with a nice chest), asks her to keep watch over their island. She cannot take off her mask or have any friends, boyfriends, lovers, or husbands, only sing. And, for all her hard work, they're going to give her a pearl.

Well, that would certainly work for me. (Snark.)

Act II began in the woman's bedroom. We watched as the maids made up her "bed." It was, in fact, a rock. With a sheet. I leaned over to my cousin-in-law and whispered, "So, protect our island, don't have any fun, and we'll give you a pearl and a nice ROCK to sleep on." And then I got the giggles.

The giggles is a terrible affliction that runs in my family. My mom, sister and I happen to get the giggles in the most inappropriate situations. Basically, any time we're supposed to be quiet. It happens in church, at weddings. At funerals. It's terrible. There was one wedding we got the giggles so badly, we had to leave the church. And then we were laughing so hard outside the church, someone had to ask us to leave. There was also the time, in church, when my sister had to leave while everyone else was sitting down. People thought she was crying and that something terrible had happened to her husband. She had a dozen people come up to her after church to find out if she was okay.

So, the giggles are bad. And I got them during Act II. I would calm down a little and wouldn't look at my cousin-in-law for fear they would start up again. I could hear her, though, which would start me all over again. Or I would look at the rock and start up again. I was afraid I was going to have to leave the scene of the crime. But, finally, the scene ended, the rock was taken away and I calmed down.

In Act III, the baritone felt bad for sentencing his tenor friend and the tenor's girlfriend to death. The girlfriend came to the baritone to ask for mercy, and he got angry all over again. But then he realized that she was someone who had saved him from something (I don't know, it was in French), so he decided he would save them. How does he save them, you ask? He burns down his village, so the angry villagers will leave the two prisoners alone, and then he sets them free. When the villagers find out what has happened, they kill their leader.

Okay, he's the leader, right? He was the one who originally told the villagers to leave the two alone (because he loved his friend). He's also the one who told the villagers to kill them (when he realized his "friend" stole his "girlfriend"). Couldn't he then tell the villagers (again) to leave the two alone? He's the leader. He had asked, in Act I, if the villagers agreed to do as he says. They all agreed. So, what was the problem here?

If it were me, I would've just told them all, "Hey, that thing about killing those people? Forget I mentioned it. Go about your business." And everyone would've lived happily ever after. Well, except for the baritone, who was womanless. But, with that chest, he would've picked up a new woman in a second.

See? Snarky. Can't even enjoy the opera for the tragedy.

But, the music was beautiful, especially the harmonizing duets. The tenor, while unattractive, had a gorgeous voice. I could look past his vest creeping up, exposing his belly. He kept tugging at it, which now makes me feel bad for making fun of the outfit. He was probably thinking, "I have a great voice, I'm too good for this stupid outfit they put me in."

Gah, there's that snark again.

To be (a Titas) or not to be (a Titas) -- that is the question.

So, there’s nothing like a day with the ladies. It’s even better when those ladies are family members, which is with whom I spent my Saturday.

I come from a big family. My dad is one of seven. Almost all of my aunts and uncles had 3 or more children. There are 23 of us first cousins. Twenty-three people (not including my aunts and uncles) that you have to meet, learn (and remember) their names, learn (and remember) their spouses’ names (there are 16 of them), and learn (and remember) their children’s names (27 of them – if I’m counting right [even I get them confused]).

Presently, if you were to meet my family as a whole, you’d be meeting about 75 people. And that's just on my dad's side. For a holiday meal, it’s a lot of pressure. In my day, you didn’t bring a significant other to a meal unless you were serious. And either your date can hack it, or he can’t. And we've been through many who can't.

And if he can’t? He’ll be missing out. For all of the chaos (and the Peters) my family possesses, the wonderful memories that result from Thanksgivings and Christmases, Titas Golf Outings, and the like wouldn't be traded for anything.

Anyway, my cousin-in-law noticed we don’t really know the new women entering our family. The men in our family have golf outings and manly events in order to bond, but the women never get together to do anything. And, when we get together for holidays and parties, we’re constantly chasing after the (27) children and never have time to drink our wine and gab.

So, she decided to put together an event for the ladies, which included manicures/pedicures, dinner and a Shakespeare play in the park (she made me describe it as that - I was just going to say "outdoor play," but we sound much classier this way). We invited the aunts, the cousins, and the girlfriends we knew the names of (sorry to any we missed).

We had a good turnout. Manicures and pedicures galore. We lost some cousins after that, but gained some others for dinner, including the girlfriend of one of my younger cousins. She? Is awesome. For one, she doesn’t know any of us from Adam Eve. The one person she did know (her boyfriend's brother's wife - follow that okay?) had to cancel at the last minute.

But, she came anyway. And held her own. We have some pretty strong personalities in my family. Yet, she was able to engage herself in the conversations and, when the check came and my aunt (read: strong personality) suggested we divide the check equally, she said, “Um, I only brought cash” and “I only had a salad."

This, my friends, was great. She was right, and, in the end, it was decided that we'd pay for her. Woo! Sticking up for yourself! A great way to get your meal paid for you! (Take notes, dear reader.)

Once dinner was over, a few of us decided to go out for one more drink (and to screw the play, apparently). And the awesome girlfriend came with us. When she had a perfectly reasonable excuse to run for the hills, she didn’t take it. I’m telling you, if my cousin doesn’t marry her, I will... er, I mean, I will make my brother marry her. Or I'll adopt her. Or something.

The group of us out for drinks consisted of 2 cousins-in-law, my sister-in-law, the awesome girlfriend and... me. The only blood relation. We spent time regaling the awesome girlfriend with stories of the family. My one cousin-in-law shared that she wasn't allowed to come to a family function until she and my cousin, Peter (of course), were engaged (and they had been dating since the 8th grade). Her first family function happened to be Christmas. And we sang. A lot.

My sister-in-law admitted that we are intimidating. I agreed. We have our own Yahoo group and Facebook page. When I was young, I was afraid to come into the party because of the sheer number of people to say hello to - and I am related to all of these people!

My husband's family consists of 8 people. Total. When he came to his first family function, he didn't know where to look first. So, I get it. The awesome girlfriend told us that my cousin doesn't even know how we're all related and didn't really give her much of a warning when she was first brought around the extended family. Nice.

She's still awesome, though, and I'll be happy to call her a sister- cousin-in-law when the time comes. And if she gets nervous, there's always alcohol aplenty.

Some favorite lines from the evening:

• My aunt to her daughter-in-law, who ordered a salad AND an entree: “Oh (cousin-in-law), you’re going to be full.” My cousin-in-law is an adult... I'm pretty sure.
• Soon-to-be (come hell or high water) cousin-in-law, upon discovering she might have to shell out $45 for a salad and a taste of sheep cheese: “But I already paid for my wine.”
• Me to another cousin-in-law, while driving past my grandmother’s old house (NOTE: This house holds wonderful memories for us all [as well as 100 bedrooms] and my cousin-in-law would like to buy the house if it ever comes on the market): “Yeah, but it’s not in such a great neighborhood.” Cousin-in-law: “Uh, this is my neighborhood.”

Sidenote: (Cousin-in-law I offended), if you’re reading this, I still contend that your neighborhood is nicer than Mociute’s. You live across the street from a park, for goodness’ sakes. Oh, and I’m sorry.

And, T? Thanks for thinking that was the funniest part of the evening. You kind of suck.

A good night had by all, even if it was, partly, at my (and my family's) expense.

Oh, PA Turnpike, how I missed thee...

So, I went to DC this past weekend to help my younger brother find a place to live. I was very excited for the trip because a) my brother was going to be there and b) my sister was going to be there. Family reunion! If only we could’ve gotten my older brother to ditch his family and come with us! But, I suppose when you’re faced with a weekend with your siblings or no divorce, you pick no divorce… right? I mean, right!

So, my brother’s girlfriend and I made the 6-hour drive to DC. We stayed at my BFF’s house while she was out of town. It was really nice of my BFF to give up her house for us. It’s one of the many reasons she’s my BFF.

She lives in Alexandria, not far from The District (and yes, I called it The District, just like they do on the TV show, The District [not that I’ve ever seen that show, but I’ve seen commercials for it, so therefore, I'm an expert]). My siblings enjoyed making fun of me for it and to that, I say, “Brother? Relo. Just sayin’.”

Anyway, where was I?

It was 800 gazillion degrees in DC this past weekend, which made it (hot and sticky) fun for (but not limited to) the following:

1. Walking outside.
2. Getting in and out of a stifling car.
3. Doing anything anywhere that didn’t come with a built-in air conditioner.

We toured about 9 different places. By the end, we were pros. “What amenities do you have?” “How much is parking?” “Do you give a Preferred Employers discount?” “Do you have an apartment available for out-of-town guests?” We also entertained ourselves (and the people around us) (mostly ourselves) with our zingers.

For example, one guy, Mike, showed us around his apartment building in Ballston, a neighborhood of Arlington. One of the tenants was moving out, so he was throwing himself a big pool party that day. Lots of young professionals, milling about, in their bathing suits. I’m going to assume they were young professionals – they weren’t carrying briefcases and/or Blackberrys (Blackberries?), but they live in the DC area, can afford to pay rent, and, I’m assuming, are older than college kids and younger than, um, old people.

Anyway, Mike had a plan. He was going to take us to the biggest of the one-bedroom apartments first. What kind of idiot shows the best he’s got right out of the gate? We had to school him by telling him, “Make the big look bigger, not the small look smaller.”

Tips are free, Mike. Tips are free.

So, as we were touring this apartment building, the pool party was getting a little rowdy. People brought in contraband beer. As there is no alcohol allowed in the pool area, the police were called in to deal with the riffraff. To which, I said, “Hey, the stripper is here!”

Again, entertaining ourselves here.

It was the best party we ever never went to.

And, of course, this is the apartment building we picked. Not for the debauchery… well, not only for the debauchery. It is also within walking distance to two different metro lines, plenty of shops and restaurants and three (3!) grocery stores. There’s a dry cleaners and a convenience store in his lobby. If he didn’t have to physically go to work, I don’t see why he’d ever leave his apartment.

We then asked my BFF her opinion, since she’s lived in the DC area for 10 years now. She told me Ballston is the place people new to the city move. Well, that’s him, isn’t it? She also mentioned that Alexandria and Arlington have a Crips vs. Bloods kind of relationship, but I’m hoping she’ll make an exception here and still invite him for dinner (and, you know, not do any drive-bys [bies?]). In any event, it’s only a year lease. If he decides he likes another area better, he can move.

We did have a chance to enjoy the city while we were there. Since it was hotter than blazes outside, we didn’t really have the energy to go out every night, but we did visit our fair capital Friday night. We rode the metro (!) to Dupont Circle. My BFF used to live right on The Circle (shutup), so I remembered a few places that were still there, like the Starbucks I used to sit at and read The Post (again, shutup).

I love this city. Memories… light the corners of my mind…

What was I saying? Right. So, we found a nice, reasonably-priced restaurant for dinner. Since it was hotter than a whore house on nickel night (did I mention it was hot there? Hot.) outside, it was the Arctic circle inside. It was so cold, I chipped a tooth on my soup (okay, I didn't have soup in 100-degree weather, but it was still damcold in there).

After dinner, I needed to thaw, so we sat outside to continue drinking. We were minding our own business, people-watching, when we noticed an older lady trying to parallel park in front of our restaurant. It took about 10 attempts and 20 minutes, but she finally got the car the way she wanted it.

And then she sat in her car. And sat. And sat. With her head slumped. I couldn’t tell if she was reading, texting, or dead, but it was hot outside and if she was sitting in her car in this heat, with no open windows, she was going to die.

Being the good Samaritans that we (read: my brother) are (is), we (read: he) went to the car and knocked on her window, scaring the crap out of her. Whew, she was alive. She waved him away, irritated, so he left. Turns out her car was on. I’m guessing she was trying to sleep off happy hour?

Does it count as a good deed when it goes unappreciated?

It was another fun trip to DC. I’m glad I have another person to visit when I go… next month.

See you in a few weeks, PA Turnpike.

Please, make it stop.

Oh, The Bachelorette. How I love loathe you. Seriously, the show could be about 20 minutes long if they would just edit out the characters gazing out into the wild blue yonder, repeating (in a voiceover) (while we watch them gaze "thoughtfully") the same things they've said a million times. I'm already drunk from the "amazing" drinking game and it's only been 10 minutes!

I wonder if the editors of this show have been up for any awards? I mean, it takes a lot to edit the crap material they're given into something of interest. Although, I don't quite understand some of the things they do. For example, they show Roberto packing up a red suitcase. And in the next shot, he's putting a black suitcase into a limo. Was he helping an old lady with her luggage? Wouldn't that just be a Roberto thing to do? I lurve him.

And why have they changed the rules of the show this season? Giving the bachelors free reign to leave their house/hotels to a) get tattoos or b) call their girlfriends and leave 100 messages or c) not go to Tahiti right away because they need to see their ex-girlfriends (in Chicago) and tell them they love them.

But that last one was pretty awesome. Frank goes to tell his (ex-)girlfriend that he loves her and wants to be with her. And then says he has to fly to Tahiti to tell Ali. Um, wouldn't a phone call have sufficed? I know Chris Harrison could give them both a phone to use (I saw him do it earlier in the season). Also, when Frank gets to Tahiti, why is he all sunburned and why does he have a lot of luggage? Doesn't he just need a change of underwear and a toothbrush to break up with someone on TV?

What I'd really like, and I've probably said this before, is a reality show that goes behind the scenes of the reality show. I know this entire thing is fake (Ali is the WORST fake crier ever), I just want to know how it's done. I know it spoils the fun, like when you learned how the magician saws a person in half, but really. This show has been on for, like, 20 seasons. It's time to show the man behind the curtain. I want to know why they let that guy get a tattoo. I want to know why they let Justin call his girlfriend. I want to know why they let Frank go to Chicago to see his girlfriend. For the drama, I get it, but... why weren't they doing this all along? I am sure a lot of the past seasons could have used a little more crazy. That's why we watch. A doy.

And speaking of crazy, Frank's break-up scene was painful. It should have lasted about 6 seconds ("I'm in love with someone else. See ya!"), but there was a lot of crying and staring and more crying. It was uncomfortable. About 4 times, I said to the TV (because the TV and I are friends), "Make it stop!" "Okay, we get it. Bye, Frank!" And poor Chris Harrison. I know he's contractually obligated to be there, but man, he's got one painful job (keeping a straight face is hard work, people). I hope he gets a bonus at the end of each season.

I still don't understand what possesses a person to want to go on reality TV. Don't they know the kind of fame they receive is a) short-lived and b) not the good kind? They have people (like me) talking smack about them for a few weeks and then we (I) forget they exist. If I were Ali, I would be embarrassed horrified by my actions. I totally get her riding Roberto's jock the way she was. I mean, seriously? Homeboy's hot. But she was kissing boys she doesn't even like or know their names. It's kind of pathetic.

At least they got to visit some cool places this season... I really hate these people.