Jeans

So, I have been on a mission to find the perfect pair of jeans. But, let's face it, nothing will ever beat the pair of Jordache jeans I had when I was 8 (God, I loved those jeans).

I've really tried over the last few weeks to find a nice pair of jeans. Affordable jeans that simultaneously (and magically, I might add) make my ass look good and my legs long and skinny. Do these jeans exist?

Here's what I've found:

1. Jeans that cut off the circulation at my ankles.
2. Jeans that I can only wear with stilettos (I have short legs) - I asked the saleslady at one store if they sell Petite sizes. She said they'll sell jeans again in the fall. No one buys jeans in the summer? Come ON.
3. Jeans with some sort of weird designs on the ass. While I want my ass to look good, I don't want to call attention to it.
4. Jeans that cost $90. Really? They're just pants, people. Made of denim. Not diamonds.
5. Jeggings. Enough said.

But, I'll continue on my jeans quest. Like the perfect shade of lipstick and... unicorns, I'm sure they exist. Somewhere.

To make myself feel better, I bought a pair of shoes today. You can't go wrong with shoes.

Hair and there

So, I love getting my hair cut (is it hair cut when talking about the action and haircut when it's a noun?). It's a gamble, of course, not knowing what you're going to get. It could all wind up horribly wrong - you smile and thank your stylist (and tip, of course), then cry in your car the whole way home and spend $50 on a new hat. Or it could be the best thing you've ever done and you spend the rest of your day looking for a mirror everywhere you go, tossing your hair around like you're in a shampoo commercial.

Let's face it, the not knowing what you're going to get is part of the fun and can be highly exhilarating.

I have experienced both good and bad haircuts. I remember my first bad haircut like it was yesterday. I was in 5th grade (maybe?) and had an idea of the hairstyle I wanted. I wanted Lucy's hair from General Hospital. She had a very simple bob, with bangs.

When the lady was done, I looked nothing like Lucy. She gave me bangs from my forehead to the back of my head. Are you picturing a 10-year-old boy with a mullet? Because that's exactly what it looked like. And I'm pretty sure I cried. Until it grew out.

Since then, my haircuts have been mostly non-traumatizing. I flitted from hair salon to hair salon until my sister and I found Chad.* Let me tell you, the man knew how to work it. Best haircuts ever. People complimented me on my hair all the time and asked where I went. I was so proud to give out his name, he was so awesome.

I was with Chad for 15 years (well, okay, I cheated on him once in college, got a bad cut, for which he forgave me and fixed). I followed him when he opened his own salon and had been pretty happy with him over the years. Everyone we knew went to him and we were all happy and stylish.

But, like all good things, it had to end sometime. I realize I stayed with Chad longer than I should have. I can understand one or two bad haircuts, but it was getting to be every. haircut. He started taking me for granted and wasn't even trying anymore to make me look good. My friends told me to leave, but I wouldn't listen. We had been together so long. How could I leave him? I loved him.

And he knew about my crazy cowlicks.

But then I saw the hair clippings on the floor. No one else was accepting mediocrity. No one else screamed in their heads, "Enough with the round brush!" or "What the hell is that razor thing and why are you (unevenly) shaving off all my hair with it?!" My other friends were getting the love, attention and free product I (and my hair) so desperately needed.

Perhaps he never got over my cheating and wanted to hurt me the way I had hurt him.

So, I had to leave him. It's not without guilt and regret. I still love him. And, if I thought we could see each other as friends, I totally would. But, alas, it's not meant to be. I don't want him wondering what color highlights my new girl uses on me or if she's ever flat ironed as well as he has.

My sister-in-law told me he asked about me when she saw him last. At least I know he's thought about me. Maybe he'll think about his behavior for the future. I'll feel better knowing I have saved his next client a lot of heartache (not to mention money for new hats).

At any rate, my haircut today? Totally rocks. Where's a mirror?

* Name has been changed so I don't get sued or anything

Without music life would be a mistake. ~ Nietzsche

So, I have almost 2,000 songs on my iPod. I thought that was a lot until I learned that my friend has over 8,000 songs. Are there even 8,000 songs available in the world?!

Okay, fine. There are. And I'm willing to learn them all. I love to try out new songs and artists. One of my favorite things to do is find new songs on iTunes. That Genius Recommendations is, well... genius. I have found some of my favorite new artists through that. I have also found some good songs through the Shazam application on my phone, just by tagging a song-I-don't-know-but-know-I-want as soon as I hear it. Could life get any better?

My iPod is probably the awesomest thing out there (if I do say so myself). Being able to rap to 2Pac one minute, sing along to Barry Manilow the next and dance to Kraftwerk after that? Is. Complete. Awesomeness.

A couple weeks ago, I took a trip to Columbus to visit a few of my favorite sonsabitches (read: cousins). It was already a perfect trip because I had 2 hours of uninterrupted iPod (4 if you include the ride home). I never get 4 hours of uninterrupted anything (not without consequences [read: the great Twilight debacle]), so this was a treat. And, of course, the time with my cousins was, as always, great fun.

We were up late talking, listening to my cousin's iPod, when "Biscuit" by Portishead came on. Immediately, I was 19 again, listening to a mixed tape my BFF's "lesbian-phase girlfriend" made me. I had lost that mixed tape (not that I have a tape player anyway) and had been trying to recreate it on my iPod. I had forgotten about that song altogether, so imagine my happiness when I a) remembered it existed and b) was able to learn the song title/artist so I could add it to my iPod as soon as I got home (which, of course, I did).

Music makes me so happy.

In addition to the music itself, my favorite songs have great lyrics. And I end up liking a song the more I memorize its lyrics (my mother always said I would've done better in school if my lessons were in the form of songs) (thanks, Mom). My boyfriend in college used to think "Mr. Jones" had the most poignant lyrics ever.

"We all want something beautiful. I wish I was beautiful."

Really?

How about "Wild" by Seal?

"And if loneliness can hurt as much as being cold... Come over here woman and touch me you look so electric."

Or "The World is Filled" by the Notorious B.I.G?

"The world is filled with pimps and 'hos, we'll just talk about those I know."

Brilliant.

There are, of course, exceptions to my love of music (most of the country genre, for example). And because music brings out memories for me, some are not always good. To this day, there are songs I can't bring myself to listen to (although, I still have them on my iPod - no idea why). Perhaps I think it's a test. I'm over something when I can finally hear a particular song. It helps me grow. Or something.

Or I just don't want to lose songs on my iPod in my quest to get to 8,000.

The skip button is there for a reason, after all.

The ghost of St. Patrick's past

So, in the spirit of yesterday's holiday, I was reminded of past St. Patrick's Days and how different life is for me now.

Picture it: March 17, 2000? Not sure of the year, but it was a Saturday. We had beautiful weather; 70s, sunny. I had a pretty good idea who I was with that day... until my sister reminded me yesterday that she was, in fact, not with us that day.

Hmm. That completely changes my fuzzy memories of the day altogether.  But who was I with if I wasn't with her?  And, where in the hello was she for such an important holiday?

Aaaanyway, the plan was to meet at a friend's house, drink, take the bus downtown, drink, watch a parade, drink, stay downtown all day, drink, come home. Drink. I believe we did all of that, although I don't remember the parade. Here is what I do remember:

• visiting a lot of bars
• drinking beer
• losing some people we came with
• eating a Reuben at our favorite bar near my apartment
• falling asleep on a pool table at favorite bar

Fast forward to St. Patrick's Day, 2010. I spent it doing the following:

• working
• making dinner
• arguing with a 5-year-old about rules and why we're not going to DQ for ice cream
• falling asleep watching American Idol while said 5-year-old stayed up to watch the entire episode

At least he was able to tell me who was voted off.

Vampires and werewolves and... vampires... and werewolves (oh my!)

So, yeah, I jumped on the Twilight bandwagon.

It's not that I'm a big fan of vampires, although I did enjoy the Anne Rice series back in the day. Twilight was on Showtime one day, so I decided to watch. That was it for me. I ran out the very next day (or a week or so later) and borrowed the book from the library. I'm usually a "read the book, THEN see the movie" kind of girl. But whatever.

I found the movie was pretty true to the book. Aside from different characters saying a particular line or omitting some important details. I read Twilight in a weekend. The house fell apart, the children ran amok, I think my husband left me (or went on a business trip - he said something before he left, but...). Anyway, I couldn't put it down. I was Team Edward all the way. I added the soundtrack to my iPod. I couldn't get enough, so I went right into New Moon.

New Moon was different. It took me longer to get through. I read it over the course of a week (my co-workers have given up trying to talk to me in the lunchroom, I'm constantly surprised/relieved when I remember there are no vampires trying to kill me, and I've left a loaf of white bread and a jar of peanut butter on the kitchen counter in case the kids get hungry). New Moon was a great story, even though Edward leaves Bella (for her own safety, of course), which is depressing. But the reader gets to learn more about Jacob. I must admit, I was starting to lean Team Jacob.

No offense to Edward, of course. But, I am halfway through Eclipse and I'm getting pretty tired of him telling Bella what to do all the time. Cut the girl some slack, Edward. I realize there are blood-sucking vampires out to kill her, but you're kind of the reason they're after her. And she has werewolf friends to protect her. Let her live a little.

Sounds to me like she might be in an abusive relationship. He won't let her do things by herself (or, at the very least, she has to ask permission). She has no other life outside of him. She's not allowed to keep her best friend. Plus, she's willing to give up, you know, her human LIFE for him. I think she deserves to go to a cookout without him freaking out.

All that said, I'm still Team Edward. Because, of course, he's the one she's meant to be with. And he's awesome. You know, in an intelligent, brooding, vampire-like way.

What she really needs to do is stay away from the mythical creatures, find herself a nice human boy with a good moral upbringing, have a few babies, grow old and die. You know, like the rest of us.

Obviously, I don't know what happens as I haven't finished the series, but maybe she takes my advice. Maybe she pulls a Kelly Taylor "I choose me", kicks Edward and Jacob to the curb, goes to college, becomes an award-winning author (her stories based loosely on her experiences) and talk show host, finds a nice woman to settle down with (because, clearly, no other man could compare to a vampire or a werewolf), adopts 12 babies from some third world country, grows old and dies.

It could happen.

Eh, Scrabble this

So, I got an iPhone for Christmas. Sort of. What actually happened was:

• my old cell phone broke
• I wasn't due for a new phone until April
• the rest of my siblings all got iPhones for Christmas
• the iPhone looked like fun
• my husband had his old iPhone just lying around

So, I took it. And I gotta admit, it is a fun phone.

I downloaded about 50 unnecessary applications, from MoodSense (which is pretty much the dumbest app out there) to fun games like LineUp and Word Warp.

The boys have had a great time with my phone. Even my 2-year-old knows:

a) which phone is mine and which is Daddy's
b) how to turn it on
c) how to find the games he likes (Paper Toss and the Lightsaber app)

As with most things, of course, the novelty wears off. I don't like some features of the phone. I still hate that the phone doesn't have buttons, so I never text correctly. I appreciate autocorrect, but I'm also annoyed by it. Sometimes I misspell things on purpose and should be allowed to do so without the spell check police. I know you can turn it off, but, like I said, I appreciate it (see: I never text correctly).

Anyway, it went back to just being a phone for me. Until my sister told me to download Words With Friends. Which is Scrabble. With friends. Who have iPhones.

I thought this was a great game for me. I have my Bachelor's Degree in English, I'm fairly well read, I have a word of the day emailed to me every day. I am smart enough to make words out of letters.

I have never felt so dumb in my life.

In the 4 games my sister and I have played, I've only won once. And it's never even close. She beats the pants off me every time. She's an expert at using the double and triple letters to gain 50 points with one 3-letter word.

I hate her a little bit.

This last game, she played the word meze, for 70 points. What the hello is meze? According to dictionary.com, the word doesn't exist, so I should be able to call foul, but the damgame (a word my iPhone would have autocorrected) allowed it.

My brother has a theory she has another app installed on her phone that provides her words with the letters she has in her queue. I wholeheartedly agree. Because she's a cheater. Normally, her cheating is to my advantage as I'm usually on her team, but when she's playing against me, it's bullsheet (another word that would've been autocorrected).

Anyway, I played a game with my husband. In the beginning, we were fairly even. He had some pretty good words, giving him 20+ points each time. I am now losing to him.

Screw Scrabble.

Benjamin Bratt ain't got nothin' on this cleaner

So, I'm Greek, right? It is in our nature to speak our minds (loudly), to cook with abandon (and without recipes, which is annoying) (needless to say, this gene skipped over me entirely), to spit on people in order to ward off evil spirits, and, in my family, to clean.

I was taught early on how to clean. My mother is a cleaner. Growing up, both her parents worked, so she and my aunt used to spend their Saturdays cleaning the house. They would each have "sides" of the house to clean, and, when they were done, they would invite the other over for tea. Or baklava.

It's real dedication when you can make cleaning a game.

After she married, my mother made it her life's work to keep a clean home for her family. She went to great lengths, including yelling (see: speak our minds (loudly)) at us to clean our rooms. After a while, we were so used to the yelling, she began to sound like Charlie Brown's teacher, bless her heart.

So, fine. Teaching me to clean didn't mean I listened back then. My room growing up was a disaster. I was a big fan of leaving piles of clothes on my floor all week. You couldn't even see the floor, it was so bad. And, on the weekends, I would heave the entire pile down the laundry shoot.

Saturdays were my mother's favorite day of the week. Yeah, not really (see: speak our minds (loudly)).

The summer I was 14, my mom and sister went to Greece for 6 weeks. Before Mom escaped, she left me strict instructions to clean the house, do the laundry, water the plants, iron my dad's shirts, etc. Basically be my father's and brothers' (and grandfather's) bitch for the next 6 weeks.

Let me tell you, boys are gross. And it really sucks to clean up after them all the time. They are not capable of aiming their little things at the toilet bowl. How hard can it be? My brothers were 16 and 12 at the time, so not children, but apparently not old enough to know when they dribbled on the BATHROOM FLOOR! Anyway, I was very grateful to my mother when she returned. I'll tell ya, I never cleaned the house as well as she did. The second day she was home, the house already looked and felt better. I knew then I was way out of my league.

20 years later, I still clean the way I learned at 14. Bleach and Lysol are my friends, not my enemies (even though I admit I hate when bleach gets on my colors and Lysol still reminds me of being sick). My friends constantly make fun of me for saying I have to clean. But, it is who we are. We clean. And since we're stuck in this winter wonderland from hell, I spent my day cleaning the house. Sweeping floors, dusting, washing clothes, cleaning dambathrooms. I feel so much better.

For the record? Boys are still gross. I share a home with my husband and 2 sons. I am outnumbered and scared to death of my boys becoming teenagers. I can't really get mad at my 5-year-old for missing the bowl... mostly because he doesn't use the master bath. And, in defense of my husband, he did offer to clean the toilets.

As much as I'd love to take him up on that, he also said he'd wash the floors and the shower weekly and those things are only done on holidays (like Leap Day). Plus, he'd never do a good enough job. No offense to him, I'd feel that way about anyone cleaning my house.

Well, except my mother. So, if she wants to come over to clean my bathroom, I'll be more than happy to let her. I have the bleach and Lysol waiting for you, Mom.

Mom? Please??