After my recent post this week about Johnny Depp’s birthday, I started thinking to myself about the other recurring subject matter here at ODNT. And wondering just how recurring some of it actually was. And after I was done wondering, I began worrying. “Good Gosh, Michele,” said my very dorky, Ned Flanders-y inner voice, “I’d hate to think that you’re a one-trick-pony. Are you offering a diverse enough menu to your readers?” (Again, my inner voice is a HUGE dork.)
So, in the interest of appeasing my dorky side, let’s take a look at how often some of my most popular keywords showed up around here, shall we?
Alec Baldwin – 11
Musical Theater – 14
Johnny Depp – 19
Hamster – 27
Dean – 37
Vivien – 43
Ketchup – 66
Cheese – 95
Cat – 254
So Ketchup beat out the kids. Well, I guess that’s no big surprise. It IS a recurring theme around here. And, of course, cheese topped that. (distracted) Cheese-topped. (drool) Damn it. Now I’m hungry.
But that THIS freak show conquered everything to be my most recurring topic of conversation? Well, I guess we know who the cat lady’s gonna be in my neighborhood in a few decades.
June is Blog Post by Numbers Month. Wanna play with Mel and me? Just write a “listy-type” post with a number in the title (ex. FOUR Reasons I Love Mayonnaise, SIX Things You Can Do With A Paper Clip). Then link back to us and tweet us about it so we can include you on June 30th in our final list: (Number-Yet-To-Be-Determined) Great Bloggers Who Played the Blog Post by Numbers Game!
(1) If you’re going to San Francisco, book your tour to Alcatraz in advance … or you will not get in. I am still way disappointed about this one. Yes, we did take a narrated boat tour around the island … but I wanted IN. I wanted to see the cells, the dining hall, the common shower area, the “Hole” (solitary confinement). I’m just curious (weird) that way. And I’ve promised myself I’ll get back there to see it.
(2) Leave any high-heeled shoes at home, even if it’s your wedding day. The slope of half the streets you’ll be navigating will make you want to chuck them into the nearest trash can. Which brings me to my next point …
(3) Trash cans are not always easy to find. When you do find them, you’re likely to see multiple cans with labels like recycle, compost and landfill … and you quickly learn the sorting process. (Nicely done, California.) The problem is that you can’t always find them. While in Chinatown one day, I searched three or four blocks to find a receptacle in which I could discard a wad of chewed gum until I finally came upon this one on a busy city street.
Yes, that’s a padlock.
(4) If you have a hankering for cheese, check out Cowgirl Creamery in the Ferry Building Marketplace. I recommend basically everything in the place and give two thumbs up to their signature Mt. Tam cheese. (There’s a reason it looks just like butter.) And be sure to tell them ODNT sent you. But don’t expect it to get you anything … as they have absolutely no idea who I am.
(5) Try to knock out #4 on a Tuesday, Thursday or Saturday. That way, you can also check out their killer Farmer’s Market. There won’t be something you seek that you can’t find there. Seriously, they have every vegetable and fruit imaginable. Did I buy any? Nah. I bought cheese, bread, wine-soaked figs, toffee, honey and other non-produce.
(6) While you’re traipsing all over town on foot, try to work the Filbert Steps into your walk. They run from the east slope of Telegraph Hill (coincidentally right where we were staying) all the way down to Sansome Street. The hills of San Francisco are sometimes so steep that stairs need to be put in for pedestrians. In this case, 378 stairs to be exact. (For reference, the Statue of Liberty has a mere 364.) And this long and winding staircase actually serves as a street for the houses along it, many of which are only accessible via this wooded and beautifully-landscaped climb. (Can you imagine? … “Hang on. I think I left it in the %$&#ing car. Be back in an hour!”)
(7) When in Chinatown, be on the look out for New On Sang Poultry(also known as San Francisco Poultry), located at 1114 Grant Avenue. A writing friend of mine turned me on to it but she could neither remember the name nor the address of the place. Melissa, telling me to find the “You Pick It, We Kill It, But No Pictures!” place in all of the 24 square blocks of Chinatown just wasn’t specific enough. (Yes, I realize the irony of not Googling the name and location of this place until I returned to New Orleans.) Anyway, Melissa dared me to take a picture of the ‘old world charm’ that occurs at New On Sang. And, for the record, I searched to see if anyone else had ever tried … but found nothing. So, maybe it’s best that I didn’t risk Chinese prison for the sake of what would likely be a very disgusting photograph.
(8) Allow time on your drive back from Carmel to stop at one of the many fruit stands and take advantage of things like TEN avocados for ONE dollar …. TEN ears of corn for ONE dollar … TEN artichokes for ONE dollar. Seriously. And then send them to me. I’ll pay you back.
(9) If you don’t want to give up a whole day to the wine country … or, like me, you’re not high brow enough for it and are afraid the kid you’re dragging along will be bored to tears … consider the San Francisco Half-Day Wine Country Tour. It’s the lazy wine lover’s dream. The tour doesn’t even start until noon and gets you back just in time for dinner. And, in only five or so hours, we managed to taste 18 different vintages. That’s good enough for the likes of me. I had to get back to town for some valuable t-shirt shopping and oxygen bar testing.
(10) If you get the chance for a foot massage in Chinatown (or any massage of Asian descent), take it. They aren’t all hung up on propriety like the tightly-wound Americans. Clean water in the foot basins? Fancy towels? Privacy from other patrons? Screw it all. Close your eyes. There’s your privacy. What you get with the Asian massage experience is someone working their small hands and/or feet to the bone for you … using practices, in some cases, that are older than the Earth itself. And you’ll leave loose as a noodle for a very fair price.
Well, the hardworking people here at ODNT mailed off her glorious prize package this week … and we just received notification that she has received it!
hardworking /härd·wər’·kiNG/ cheese-eating, oversleeping, always looking for a shortcut to get the job done
people /pē’·pəl/ ODNT herself and her two kids, undoubtedly violating the child labor laws of this country
glorious /glô’·rē·əs/ something you would give your co-worker as a gag gift
And, in the interest of building suspense and keeping the surprise for Amy, we didn’t want to reveal the contents of this valuable prize package … until now.
suspense /sə·spens’/ a cheap and lazy grab at another blog post
valuable /ˈval·yo͞o’·ə·bəl/ worth at least the cost of the envelope and stamp that got it there
* * * * * * * * * *
So, here’s what Amy got in the mail today. Hold on to your hats, my friends.
First, there was the letter. And, with the bottomless expense account afforded to me here at ODNT, I used only the finest stationery.
stationery /stā’·SHə·ne·rē/ loose leaf shoved in her girl’s bedroom drawer next to a ceramic kitty
Then, as the letter promised and because we are all about it here at ODNT, I included some of the finest cheeses I could get my hands on here in the Southeastern Region of these United States. For the record, they are considered a delicacy in this household.
finest /fīn’·est/ edible, suitable for mailing, within the budgetary limits
delicacy /del’·i·kə·sē/ something requested for inclusion in a Christmas stocking, best enjoyed with Wheat Thins
And finally, my favorite part of the prize package. My girl (dubbed ODNT Jr. by my pal, Mel at According to Mags) took the time to depict Jud & Bill in watercolor, customizing it with a special message for our winner.
watercolor /ˈwô’·tər·kə·lər/ bits of paperless Crayola littering the bottom of the junk drawer
She even signed it on the flip side.
flip side /flip sīd/ Sure, I could’ve just said “back” but I like the sound of flip side. Reminds me of 45 records and my youth.
youth /yo͞oTH/ something just revealed to have taken place long ago by letting the term ’45 record’ slip
Editor’s Note – From the messages I’ve received since announcing this secret prize package, I know I have disappointed many of you by NOT sending a hamster through the mail to Amy. Quite frankly, I’m very flattered that you considered me competent enough to devise a method for mailing live cargo. Maybe next time.
My girl’s really starting to build her case for the stupid dwarf hamster I wrote about earlier this week. I think she’s even started interviewing sitters for when we’re out of town later this summer. And I’m sure her friends’ mothers will be lining up to take our family rodent into their homes for a week!
Now, bear in mind, we have not yet given her an answer. So, in an effort to address one of my biggest concerns, she designed this overtly pro-hamster propaganda and slipped it to me this morning.
She makes a compelling argument but …
The last I checked THIS WAS AMERICA! So, in the interest of democracy and … insuring “domestic tranquility” … and something about the 8th amendment which protects against “cruel and unusual punishment” (against me!), I offer the following rebuttal:
(1) Cover hamster in pizza sauce. Where there’s pizza sauce, there’s usually also cheese … which, as we all know, has a Svengalian hold on me. I cannot be held responsible for my actions where cheese is involved. So, while she may have solved her feline problem, she has ultimately created another. By associating the rodent with cheese, there are no guarantees that her mother, on a particularly dietarily-deprived day, could not also pose a threat to the small delicacy animal. Anyone know how many weight watchers points is in a hamster?
(2) Make hamster look scruffy and not delicious. As far as humans are concerned, this would seem an easy task (unless he’s covered in cheese … or possibly chocolate). As far as Milo is concerned, I can’t imagine that his feline tastes are so discerning that a little unkempt fur or stench of urine would hold him back. After all, I’ve seen him eat a roach.
(3) Close hamster room. Dear God, is she expecting us to dedicate an entire room to this smelly, little cotton ball? I don’t even have my own room. I wonder if I can convince her that a “room” is a rubbermaid container. Duh, with holes in the top. And kept in the toolshed.
(4) Close Milo in a room. Poor, poor, poor Milo. He’s put in his time and paid his dues around here for four years. Sure, we’ve all got a few scars that I treat with Mederma from when he was a kitten. And our furniture surfaces (also known as his landing strips) are all scratched up from his claws. And don’t get me started about the small fortune we pay to the vet for all of this check-ups, shots, flea prevention … where was I going with this one? Fine, whatever. Close him in a room. Duh, with holes in the door. And have it be the toolshed.
(5) Put too much food in Milo’s bowl so that he is always full. I see vomit. Loads and loads of cat vomit. And now I’m picturing the gluttony scene from the movie Seven. Gross. Wait, would this mean Brad Pitt would stop by to solve the mystery? Ooh, I’ve got an even better idea. If we can sub out “Brad Pitt” for “Johnny Depp” and “solve the mystery” for “mop up the cat vomit,” then we’ve got a deal!
I just know this won’t be the last pro-vermin appeal I receive. (sigh)
It’s been five days since I checked in here. Glad to see that number down a bit. Pretty impressive considering the cheese consumption in this household this week. And we’re now headed into Mardi Gras weekend. The good news is … lots of walking. The bad … lots of food … and drink. Sigh. Promise to be honest with the stupid weigh-ins. Ugh.
1. I attended a Polyphonic Spree concert with my brother and my friend, Vanessa. I realize most of you probably aren’t familiar with this band, so please allow me to pontificate. There’s something about their music (especially live) that elicits an inexplicable feeling of euphoria usually only indicative of a nice muscle relaxant. Or, well, something like that. Maybe it’s the 16 people taking the stage at once wearing choir robes and carrying with them an orchestra’s worth of instruments that sets them apart. I don’t know. And, because I’m a big dork, I stuck around after the concert to meet the band’s frontman, Tim DeLaughter (even his freakin’ name sounds happy) and snap a quick photo. I’ve included the picture as well as a shameless plug for the band (a video of their appearance on Scrubs in 2004 – Love this band. Love this show).
2. While Googling the above song for a good video for this post, I was reminded of a movie (in which the song was used) that I always intended but never actually got around to seeing. (Story of my life.) So this week, thanks to Netflix, I watched Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. Anyone besides me ever see it? That is one unconventional film. And it involves Jim Carrey in a serious (as opposed to manically stupid) role which (like Robin Williams) is always a good thing. I won’t ruin it for you by rehashing the whole plot. Just go see it for yourself some time and come back and tell me what you think.
3. Ellen DeGeneres used one of my jokes on her show this week. “ONE of my.” That’s funny. Like I have an arsenal or something. Anyway, she was seeking corny Valentine’s Day jokes and I tweeted her one. What’s that? Well, YES, I tweet. It’s 2012, McFly. (Great. Any hipness Twitter just bought me was erased by my cavalier use of ‘McFly.’)
4. I lost half of my face to a little snafu with a women’s skin care product, uncharacteristically cold weather and my own, full-on ignorance. Apparently, Retin-A does not double as a moisturizer. I’ll bet any woman worth her salt already knew that. In the area of cosmetics and girly savoir faire, I am not worth any salt, mine or anyone else’s. Which, apparently, is only about $2.99 per pound, thus rendering me pretty useless. Except that when I complained of my Retin-A debacle, one friend actually said I was ‘making leprosy cool.’ Um, thanks?
5. I made cheese. Yes, that’s right. I built it. From the ground up … or the milk up, as it were. There were powders, liquids, cooking thermometers and oversized, cauldron-y-looking pots involved. And then there was the whole curds-and-whey-separation, a rather tedious process. And kneading. Dear God, was there kneading. But, in the end, there was cheese. Mozzarella cheese. That we promptly used on a homemade pizza for dinner last night. I made cheese. (Sniff.) I may try walking on water later this weekend.
6. I watched my girl kick butt in her third year in the school talent show. She channeled a young Michael Jackson beautifully in her own take on ‘I Want You Back,” although I think she was going for Nickelodeon’s Victoria Justice who recently covered the old J5 song. And, as always, we got to see a lot of other kids strutting their best stuff on stage all evening. One of my favorite acts involved two nine-year-old white boys popping and locking better than a 1980s Alfonso Ribeiro. (Without googling him, please comment below if you actually know who I’m talking about. No cheating!)
7. With the help of a few friends, I compiled a list of of people we’d like to see cloned and sent it to @GeneticsView who (foolishly) decided to follow me on Twitter. They hung in there for most of my shenanigans but finally unfollowed me because, I think, I got greedy and asked for too many clones. Who was on the list, you ask? Using the input of others as well as my own ideas, we sent them the following names: Brad Pitt, Jane Russell, Johnny Depp, Julia Child, Bono, Ellen Degeneres and Orlando Bloom. We were really just getting started when they unfollowed. Cowards. What crappy customer service.
8. I learned that I am an unteachable monkey when it comes to the computer. As such, there will likely be many more ‘This is not a real blog post‘ blog posts until I get this crap straightened out. Feel free to ignore them.
9. I learned that I know someone who knows Paul McCartney. That’s only two degrees, people. Meaning YOU are only three degrees of separation from Sir Paul. Go run and update your Facebook statuses … now!
10. I accidentally emailed my kids’ teachers from my ‘tits’ email again. Bear in mind, my daughter’s teachers include a nun. Please say a prayer for me immediately.
11. I an effort to throw off the many cheesy porn autobots of the world, I tried reprogramming my Twitter account by using hashtags like #Osmonds, #GirlScouts, #PBS, #BillCosby, #7thHeaven, #milk, #Crazy8s and #Waltons. It worked, but only for about five hours.
12. I devoted a day of my life to thinking good thoughts about Doug Henning. Doug Henning, you guys! Am I the only one who misses his big, buck teeth? Did you know he was a magician, illusionist, escape artist AND politician? Didn’t see that one coming, did you? A moment of silence for Mr. Henning, please.
Oh, yeah. And we passed 25,000 hits on this six-month-old blog. Yay, us! Thanks to all for reading. Happy Mardi Gras! I’m off to THE paradeS.
When we hear phrases like ‘To tell the truth,” “If you want my honest opinion,” or “Frankly, I think,” they’re almost never followed by information we really want to hear, right?
To tell the truth … you really looked better as a brunette.
If you want my honest opinion … those pants make your ass look HUGE!
Frankly, I think … you should give up salsa dancing altogether and go back to being a toll booth collector.
(My apologies to any newly-blonded, large-assed toll booth collectors reading right now.)
And yet, there’s something about honest posts like Monday’s A Day Spent in Bed isn’t Always a Bad Thing that attract attention, like staring down a car accident. I think it’s reassuring to read that we’re not the only ones eating boxes of cookies alone in the dark for breakfast, squabbling with our significant others and making big ass parenting mistakes every now and then. It’s good to be reminded that we’re not the only ones screwing up out there. So, please allow me to help you feel good about yourself today by pointing out some of my own shortcomings.
(1) I yell at my kids … way too much. (And I love those little rats so much.)
(2) I totally take my family and friends for granted. (Sorry, guys. I love you, too.)
(3) I have been known to curse like a sailor. (Surprising, considering how clean-ish I’ve managed to keep this mother bleep! bleep! bleeping! blog.)
(4) I never send thank you notes anymore. (I know. Gasp!)
(5) I have no idea how to moderate my food intake … and therefore vacillate between eating like a bird or like a pig.
Alright, fine. So, I’m not perfect. The list could obviously go on and on. I don’t use ribbons when I gift wrap. I am long-winded on other people’s voice mails. I eat way too much cheese for just one person. Blah, blah, blah …
But today, I’m just going to take on one tiny thing. I started my morning with one small step – getting on the damned scale. Women only reveal their weight when it’s exactly where it’s supposed to be, which for me is right about 115. And I was there, even a little under, shortly after my surgery. Then, the comfort foods started arriving (thanks to my truly wonderful friends), then Christmas, then New Year’s and, well, you get the picture. So, back to the stupid scale. After I removed everything I could this morning, evacuated my bladder, clipped my nails and exhaled deeply, I stepped on.
123 and a son-of-a-mother-freaking-half.
Eight and half pounds? In a little over a month?? Which doesn’t even count regaining the ones I lost after the surgery??? No wonder my clothes are so pissed off at me. Fine, this will be my small step for now. And you guys will be the watchdogs. I will list my weight at the top of every post until I reach my goal. Not to worry. The posts won’t be about dieting (Borrrrr-ing!), but the weigh-in will be up there mocking me … and reminding me to PUT … DOWN … THE CHEESE!
Are you with me? I need the accountability. And now … I’m off to eat a crappy, healthy dinner. Later …
Just writing about the daily dumbassery of life. The good, the bad and the so-utterly-mundane-that-you'd-think-I-wouldn't-even-bother-to-write-about-it.
OldDogNewTits 