A PSA From Me To You...

So, I got yet another text from Mame demanding that I back her up on the two things that Jersey kids were warned against in a most dire and repetitive fashion. I immediately texted back "Escalators. Railroad tracks." Because it is true.

When I saw Mallrats for the first time, I laughed until I cried at Brodie's rant about fearing and respecting the escalator. When I was little, my father had me convinced that if I didn't hold onto my parent with one hand and have the other on the railing, my shoes tightly tied and my Cabbage Patch kid held high above the platform, the escalator would eat me. And then spit out one pigtail and a Punky Brewster hightop sneaker. And then belch and laugh like Pennywise the Clown. (By the way, googling "escalator accidents" brings up some really awesome stuff. If I ever do a sequel to this post, which is sadly likely, I'll be sure to mention escalator accidents. I'm so sorry.) I still check to make sure my shoes are tied before I step on an escalator. YOU CAN'T BE TOO CAREFUL, OK?

Mame and I (and probably Sorsha, a fellow Jersey girl) sat through SO MANY assemblies about the dangers of playing on railroad tracks. A particularly memorable one showed us goggle-eyed 7-year-olds what would happen if you stood too close to a train going past. You know what happens? Your head comes off. Then there was the terrifying one I saw when I was a teenager with a lady who got stuck on the tracks when her car stalled and her baby was in the backseat. Yeah. The baby didn't make it. TRAUMA. OK? I am SO careful on railroad tracks, you have no idea.

Escalators. Railroad tracks. What are your PSA-related childhood traumas?

A Study In Our Friendship...

Welcome friends and readers to part one of what I believe will end up being an eight part series that examines the complexities that exist in Bea and my friendship. In today's entry I will be showing the odd differences between our real-world love life versus the far more interesting and (don't tell Bea) imaginary love life.


The Real World

Auntie Mame

You may find this hard to believe dear readers, but as a teenager your beloved Auntie Mame was, for all intents and purposes, was a whore. My sister (Dolly) will attest that I had what she liked to refer to as the "boy of the month" club; I had a new boyfriend that I fawned all over at the beginning of the month and then tossed aside and complained about by the month's end. I dated everyone from computer nerds to metal rockers with a few preps and jocks thrown in the mix for good measure. I didn't really develop a "type" until my senior year in high school when I realized I should be a little more selective with the boys I swapped saliva with.

"Lady" Bea

Any consistent readers of this blog will not be surprised to learn that dear Bea was a bit conservative* during our formative teenage years. It wasn't until college that all my corrupting finally sunk in and she began to even notice those once "icky" boys. Her relationships with the opposite sex are usually monogamous and lengthy - lasting well over my one month cap. She was picky and overly selective in who she shared a dinner table with.


Our Imaginary (and Far Better) World

Auntie Mame

I have been in love with John Travolta since I was only a few months old. Being born in late 1979 meant that reruns of the Emmy award winning (it won like nine right?) Welcome Back, Kotter had started to air nightly. Since my parents were Joan and what's-his-name I was put to bed after the rerun of Vinny Barbarino saying "Up your nose wit a rubba hose" was over. I've loved John Travolta with a very weird passion every since.

Then came the movie, Beetlejuice and with it a love for the quirky lead actor in his black and white, plaid, flannel shirt. This was right before my father, What's-His-Face, discovered a little movie called the Hunt for Red October and I was smacked in the face with a love for the classic good looks of one Alec Baldwin. He's the kind of crazy that reminds me of my extended family, and there's something cozy and familiar about that.

As time grew on, my love for John never wained.

Yes, even when he gave us this

When I feel the need to get away from it all, it is to one of these two men whose arms I run (figuratively speaking). When I'm in a dramatic, angry mood: I like to pretend that Alec and I have explosive, public arguements and then explosive, public sex to make up. When I'm feeling sad and down on myself: I pretend that John is there being the sweet and comforting man he's known to be. Anyway, that's the way it's always been: me and John, or me and Alec, depending on my mood. Yes, occasionally there have been other actors that have caught my attention, but never in the same way. I've seen every movie John has ever made, and if they are available on DVD, I own it (including the made-for-TV-movie, The Boy in the Plastic Bubble), and every Thursday I obsess over my darling Alec in 30 Rock.

"Lady" Bea

She's as loose in her Hollywood life as she is reserved and scared in her real life. Bea changes her pretend love life as often as I changed my real one (back in the day of course, I'm a happily married woman now). Despite what she'd like us all to believe, she's not overly particular in her Hollywood adorations - she once told me about a dirty crush on Billy Bob Thorton - and she spends her nights doing what it took me a lifetime to do: watching every movie, TV show, and B-rated musical they had ever been in. It's hard for me to keep track of who's who honestly; Is Jensen Ackles the guy from Doctor Who? Is David Tennet the comic book writer? I can't keep them straight. If she were better on the computer, I'm sure she'd create a flow chart to explain all this to me, but, well, you know.

read : prude

You Know You're Getting Old When...

As the title of this blog stipulates, I have now officially noticed I am getting older.

• Is it that I'm in my 9th month of my 2nd pregnancy? No.
  
• Is it my impending 8 year wedding anniversary? No.
  
• Is it my new 30 year mortgage?

No. It's this:

"Witty, insightful, and full of random allusions to their varied interests, "Two Jersey Girls" is an award-winning blog about everything and nothing. Two twenty-something women write about what's in the news, movies, television, and their lives. An entertaining read, updated regularly, and quoted often."

That's right - the header of this very blog. Notice why I'm old? It needs to be updated. No longer can it read, "Two twenty-something women..." because we're both over 30 now. OVER 30!!

It seems like just yesterday Bea and I decided to start this thing. It was long before Twitter, back when MySpace was the cool networking-site, (back when Bea flat-out refused to use said MySpace), back when I was celebrating my first son's first birthday. It was before the insane move that ended up taking two years, before we had a black president, before we realized just how parallel the war in the Middle East is with the Vietnam "Conflict." So much has changed. I wonder where we'll be when I have to change the header to "Two forty-something women..."

Hang on...I'm getting dizzy...

A Short Play Concerning Motherhood, Woes and WebMD

Bea: Oh, look. A missed call from Mame. [redials.] Hey!

Mame: I'd about given up on you.

Bea: Um...

Mame: I need you to do something for me.

Bea: Ok...

Mame: I need you to look up my symptoms on WedMD because I'm too scared.

Bea: No. I'm not doing that. That way lies madness. What's wrong?

Mame: I'm having these pains above my left hip. It REALLY hurts.

Bea: Uh-huh...like between your belly and your hip?

Mame: Yes!

Bea: Yeah, that's your whatchamacallits stretching. Because you're like, a million months pregnant. You know...those things...they start with an "L..."

Mame: Ligaments?

Bea: Yeah, those. Andie* was just complaining to me about that. You're fine. If it's still bothering you tomorrow, call your doctor.

Mame: But what if it's my appendix? And I have appendicitis? And me AND the baby die of sepsis? HUH? WHAT. THEN.

Bea: Your appendix is on your right side.

Mame: ...Oh. Well, what if it's my gall bladder?

Bea: [quick Google search] Your gall bladder is also on your right side.

Mame: YOU JUST LOOKED THAT UP.

Bea: Yes. Yes, I did. But it's on your RIGHT side.

Mame: What if it's my kidneys?

Bea: Your kidneys are in your back. You're fine. You're pregnant. Go to bed.

Mame: FINE. I HATE YOU.

Bea: I know you do.

Fin.

*Andie is also pregnant! She and Mame are due within weeks of each other! It's a very exciting time!

Dude.

Mame and I are on the phone, watching Conan O'Brien and giggling together. You know. As you do. And Stephen Moyer from our very favoritest show ever True Blood is on. (Bill! He plays Bill!)

He's BRITISH in real life, people. Which we knew. But we'd never heard him speak. It's...disconcerting, to say the least. Also, hot. And he's ridiculously charming. And then he started morphing back and forth into different kinds of British accents and then to his southern Bill voice. Weird!

EGT! It was like that time that we discovered that Chuck Bass was really British In Real Life and I dug up that Youtube clip of him just being English at everyone. And we were like o_O.

Who else is Secretly British In Real Life? Because it just makes them more attractive.

Summer Movie Round-Up

I've been inspired by the lovely, ginger and only occasionally rude Sorcha's driveby post of summer movie reviews. This has been a great summer for movies! I've seen a million already!

• Star Trek: LOVED IT. I was never a huge fan of the television show, I liked The Next Generation but that was it. More of a Battlestar Galactica girl over here, you know? But this is a terrific movie. Awesome cast, great script, fun storyline. The "twist" they use to differentiate this iteration of films from the original series is nothing short of brilliant. If this ends up being Leonard Nimoy's final appearance as Spock, I think that's ok. It's a lovely, intelligent, dignified performance. (I know people were bummed about Shatner not having a role in the new film, but seriously. I don't see him showing up and being dignified. Do you?) I plan to drag Mame and BW to see it this weekend even though neither of them like sci fi. Also, I wept through the first 10 minutes. For the next movie, however? MORE SIMON PEGG. ALWAYS MORE SIMON PEGG.
  
• X-Men Origins: Wolverine: A decent movie. Good action sequences, fun performances from everyone. I didn't expect a whole lot and was pleasantly surprised. I loved Ryan Reynolds, but then I ALWAYS love his smartass schtick. And Hugh Jackman is truly a humanitarian. These are troubled times and the only way he can help is by removing his shirt. And he does. A lot. And the slightest provocation. And the world is a better place for it. Thanks, Hugh!
• Terminator Salvation: Loved it. Saw it twice. Apparently, I'm the only one, but that's ok. Christian Bale was pretty great and a total BAD ASS. And I loved Bryce Dallas Howard's steely Earth mama routine. And helloooo Sam Worthington. I didn't think anyone was allowed to be hotter than Christian Bale but I stand corrected! And I adored Anton Yelchin as Kyle Reese and that's no small feat. Kyle Reese was my first love and I am VERY protective of him. And Yelchin was pretty great in Star Trek as well. Good for him! (My epic Terminator post is still in the works, I promise!)
  
• Drag Me To Hell: HA! This was a ton of fun. It was pure, old school Sam Raimi and I loved every second. It was completely disgusting and hilarious and made me jump out of my seat and screech more times that I can count.
  
• Up: I think I've made my thoughts on this movie clear. The most wonderful movie ever.
• The Hangover: SO. GODDAMN. FUNNY. Zach Galifinakis is practically a national treasure* and Bradley Cooper needs to show up to decorate every movie. Mame, BW and I have been quoting this movie at each other for weeks now.
  
• Away We Go: Lovely, lovely movie. Funny and sweet and full of great performances. I want you all to know that Mame cried. (Mame! The dad with all the adopted kids was played by the same guy who played Lawyer Ted on Six Feet Under. That's where we knew him from!)

What movies have you seen so far this summer?

*Why isn't "Between Two Ferns" a real show? I'd watch it every week! Though Mame will be amused to know that I still found the one with Michael Cera too uncomfortable to watch a second time. I tried! I couldn't do it! STOP TICKLING HIM.

IIIIIII'MMMMMM BAAAAAACCCKKK!!

OK y'all, I am officially here in Jersey.
Even though my childhood was the pits (Dolly will so back me up on that), there is something peaceful in coming home after so long. Nothing changes in this house: not the furniture, not the people, not the hate. My mornings are going to be filled with doing touristy things with the family, my afternoons over at the G-parents helping them with chores and stuff, and my nights will be spent with Bea. Oh, that sounds dirty. Well, maybe it will be.
My nephew (hereto known as Floppy) is here and getting to spend time with him is going to be great. Glowbug is like Floppy's shadow, he's so excited to have him around. Joan got herself a pool for the boys and after one day isn't driving me up a wall.
Meanwhile, back in WV: Beau and I are selling our house on the 16th and because the market is in such a shit-spiral, the buyer is being a pain in the ass about it: very nit-picky about everything and basically driving Beau up a wall. Lord and Lady are not being too helpful in dealing with his frustration and they're all at each other's throats. And it's only been two days since I've been gone. Heh.
More later, once a full day has passed.

Oh Auntie Mame, Where've You Been? Or, why this is so *NOT* a knitting blog...

Yeah, I've been MIA for awhile. Sorry.
But I'm here now! Isn't that good enough for you?! OMG!!

Now that I'm back from my hiatus of under a rock, I've realized that I've missed the entire season of The Office, 30 Rock, and SNL. I should kill myself. I like to think I've kept the TV off because I'm waiting for Conan's triumphant induction as the Tonight Show host, and Jimmy Fallon's take on the old Conan show. I have loved Conan O'Brien since he first started out with Andy Richter, and his taking the helm of that God-awful Jay Leno P.O.S. marks a personal victory for me. And Jimmy Fallon - don't get me started. Yes, he laughs at his own jokes. Yes, he looked at the camera way too much on SNL. Yes, he has weird hair. But guess what? I DON'T CARE! I love him and I even own his CD. He's fucking hilarious; give him a chance.

I've been doing a lot of writing for my great American Novel (I was an English Major in college, we all have one) and am thinking of starting a separate blog to publish it. It's very fan-fiction-y (is that a word?) so it's not all that amazing, but it's been fun to write and has been kicking around in my head for a long time.

I've also decided that during my downtime - AKA summer - I am going to Jersey to spend time with Joan. I'll take Glow Bug with me and we'll just visit for an indeterminate amount of time. Joan will love that, and I'll get to bother Lady Bea ALL THE TIME!! BONUS!! I'm devoting this summer to finishing the aforementioned novel and getting down to my goal weight before I turn 30. Therefore my days will be spent running the blocks of my hometown, sweating through layers of clothes, and sitting in front of my laptop developing carpel tunnel.

More later, I'm busy babysitting my students while they watch Alice in Wonderland. It's the 1985 version with Telly Savalas as the Cheshire cat: anyone remember it? It's my favorite version!!

It's My Birthday And Apparently, I *Will* Cry If I Want To.

So, my 30th birthday is fast approaching. I'm not a big birthday person, I'm of the Patton Oswalt "We need to conserve cake and paper" opinion about them. I don't really care about turning 30 either. I'm pretty sure I'll be the same geeky weirdo who enjoys age-inappropriate pop culture who went to bed 29 years old and woke up 30. Still a Twilight fan? Check. Still rockin' out to My Chemical Romance? Check. Reading comics? Yup. Powerpuff Girls? Uh-huh. Watching "Gossip Girl?" You betcha. Fuck putting away childish things. What fun would that be? I still want that tattoo and nose piercing and maybe this is the year I'll woman up and do it!

The past few years as my birthday approaches, I always remember a birthday that was especially significant for me. No, not my 18th. I don't even remember that one, really. (No, I wasn't drunk. I just don't remember how I celebrated it) Not my 19th, which I would still rate as my best birthday. And definitely not my 21st, which was, of course, spent in a bar. There was that momentary thrill of "Oooh, now I can drink LEGALLY!" but that passed and drinking lost most of its already limited appeal once it was no big thing. For me, the most important birthday (so far!) was my 23rd. I know, right? Who gives a shit about 23 years old?

Lemme 'splain...no, no, there's too much. Lemme sum up.

I was living in Grim City the year after I graduated from college. I'd had the bright idea that it would be SUPER AWESOME to move in with my college boyfriend and live in this city and go to grad school. Well, grad school plans fell through (Due to poor planning on my part and lack of funds) and I had a shitty job that I hated. Well, I had two jobs, one shitty that I hated where my boss couldn't stand me and treated me poorly but worked me like crazy and one that was totally fun but paid very little. The awesome job was working nights and weekends in an indie video store. Seriously, that job and the people I worked with there kept me smiling. That, and the Powerpuff Girl puppets that I made. (No, really, they were adorable) At this particular time, Mame and I were not on speaking terms, which totally blew. (Clearly, we got over that. Yay!) [We do not SPEAK of that time, BEA! -Mame] I haaaaaated Grim City. I missed my family and my college friends. And my relationship went south in a really long, drawn-out and miserable fashion. Oh, but the best part? We still had to live together. Yeah, that ruled. GREAT PLANNING, BEA. I was the Dramatic Girl Who Is In A Bad Relationship. I cried a lot and pretty much everyone in my life was sick to death of hearing about it. I was sick to death of it and I knew I had to get over myself but I had very little idea of how to do that.

Now that we're all caught up...it was my birthday. I was hundreds of miles away from my family and most of my friends. My closest Grim City friends, Josephine and Sweet were out of town. I couldn't be in the same room as Ex, let alone expect any kind of birthday wishes from him. (Seriously, if he'd gotten me a cake or something, I would have had had it tested for poison and/or bodily fluids)

So, I'm trudging home from work, miserable and self-pitying and griping to myself about none of my friends being around and blah blah, being a huge baby. And then I had an epiphany. IT WAS NO ONE'S RESPONSIBILITY TO MAKE ME HAPPY BUT MY OWN. It wasn't Sweet's or Josie's job to make sure I was entertained on my birthday nor was it anyone else's. If I was miserable, that was my own fault. So, I sat down for a bit and thought about what I would like to do with my evening. Sadly, this took some thinking. Most of my time lately had been spent at work, on my way to or from work, crying, complaining or having pointless, painful conversations with Ex. I decided I wanted to go to the library and then get takeout from this awesome Mexican restaurant that was around the block from my apartment. (I'd been avoiding that place because Ex and I used to like to go there. Yeah, really.) And that's what I did. Then I came home, watched some tv, messed around with my scrapbooking stuff and read. It was a good night.

Don't get me wrong, I was still a fucking wreck for a long while after that. But that was an important lesson. Even though I look back at that particular time in my life and cringe until I almost break my spine, I probably wouldn't change a thing. If I could hop in the Tardis, I'd leave it all the same. Because I learned. I always thought that Eleanor Roosevelt quote about no one being able to make you feel inferior without your consent was victim-blaming. I still kind of do. Sometimes people are just dicks and being around people who are dicks makes you feel like shit. (There's a Team America: World Police joke here, but I can't quite get to it...) But there's some truth to it. If you let people treat you badly, that's what they'll do. If you define yourself by someone else's reactions to or feelings about, you, well. There you go.

These days, I have a quietly pleasant life. I have an awesome family and great friends. I have a job that I like and find satisfying. I have hobbies and things I like to do and I mostly don't care what anyone thinks about it. I haven't had a screaming fight that ended with me throwing a chair in years.

So, hey. Happy fucking birthday to me, right? (Seriously, though. We don't want to run out of cake and paper!)

Valentine's Day

I have always had a soft spot for Valentine's Day. I think it's part of my ancestral, courtly love spirit. Maybe it's the fact that I look stunning in red. Whatever the case, I tend to really like V-Day. I've been very blessed to have had some very memorable Valentine's Days from both hot men and my very best girlfriends. This year was no exception; Beau did a fantastic job coming up with the perfect V-Day for me: namely blindfolding me and taking me to a locally-owned scrapbook store (my absolute favorite kind) and having me go on a spree. Then we went driving around for four (!) hours just the two of us, window shopping, and doing dumb, benign things that needed to get done. It was great though and just what we need - time alone!

Here's the thing though: I don't understand why people hate the V-Day. I just don't get it. I understand if you are alone then you don't want to be needlessly reminded that you are alone; however, some of the best Valentine's Days I've ever had were when I was single. My girlfriends and I would get together and do something, or one time I gave myself a day at a spa. I also don't think that Valentine's day is a "created" holiday, or is too "consumer based." Christmas is. Easter is. Valentine's Day? No. It's a day to celebrate the act of love. If you love someone you buy things for him or her. It's been that way since the first caveman dragged the carcass of a huge woolly mammoth to the hottest piece of tail in the tribe. You love someone, you show it.

If you are one of those people who go around spouting that Valentine's Day has become "commercialized," calm the fuck down - it's always been commercialized. Also, don't say that it's a day created by Hallmark. You're an idiot and need to read a damn history book (or at least wikipedia) Either way just enjoy the day with someone you love, or sit back and enjoy watching people show their love for one another. OR admit what you are really unhappy about and then get over it. February 14th has been a day since pagan times that people have shown others love. It's not about to change.

Happy Valentine's Day!

Happy Valentine's Day, babies! Anyone else think that Google's holiday homepage today is a little creepy? That it looks like the sort of thing that a serial killer would write on your bathroom mirror in lipstick after Psycho-ing you in the shower? No? Just me? 'K then.

Alas.

In Honor (Honour) of our Bicenntenial Blog Entry - - WHICH BEA HAS NEVER ACKNOWLEDGED BY THE WAY

To honor our 201st blog entry, I've decided to post an entry to let all our gentle readers know a little bit more about me. I'd offer for the Lady Bea to do the same, yet seeing as the proverbial ball of our FITA challenge is still in her court, and seeing as she has yet to acknowledge our 200th blog, she probably won't. Now I shall lay that guilt trip aside, and move on to the challenge at hand.

Here's how it works: You are supposed to write a note with 10 random things, facts, habits, or goals about you, so here it goes: 10 random things about Auntie Mame.

1. I have an obsession with John Travolta. I own his shoes, a scrapbook of pictures that I collected as a kid, all kinds of stuff. When other little girls were swooning over Leonardo DiCaprio in Tiger Beat, I was clipping out pictures from Reader's Digest of John.
2. My favorite movie of all time is Saturday Night Fever. Possibly because of my previously mentioned love of John Travolta, but in all seriousness I can relate to a lot of the movie and the main characters.
3. Whenever I get lonely for the "good old days" I listen to the soundtrack of Empire Records, Counting Crows August and Everything After, Gin Blossoms New Miserable Experience and Alanis Morresette's Jagged Little Pill. Each of those CDs, in entirety, remind me of very special days in my teenage years.
4. I could eat bake at home pizza or Mexican food every day of the week and be perfectly happy for the rest of my life.
5. The movie 40 Year Old Virgin rescued me from post-pardum depression. I watched it every day for weeks. I owe my sanity to Paul Rudd and Steve Carrell.
6. I represent my three oldest, and best friends in my mind by three bands: Journey, Air Supply, and Chicago. They know which is which.
7. The best job I have ever had was as a music manager at Borders. If I were to chose retail as a career, I could have stayed there forever. We had a great time.
8. I have an obsession with stand up comedy. I can identify a comedian by a line from their bit, their physical description, or on of their appearances.
9. I'm a fairly good artist. Mostly cartoonish stuff, but it's good! I make "movie posters" for all the stories that my students read.
10. In junior high/high school I created a collage on my closet doors of favorite magazine clippings, quotes, pictures, etc. It was amazing! One night in a fit of rage after some boyfriend problems, I'm sure, I ripped it down. It took years to create. It's a big regret.

B-List Celebrities on Vh1, Part One

First off, this is our 200th post - WOO HOO!!
Secondly, I love Celebrity Rehab. Seriously, this is the best show ever. I first got addicted during the writer's strike when there was nothing else on TV. It was the series premiere of the show and Bea and I watched it together via the Internets. Between Daniel Baldwin and Brigit Neilson, I thought that there was nothing better. THEN they started the second season and threw in Gary fucking Busey. GARY BUSEY!! AND they've added another show "Celebrity Rehab: Sober Living" where the B-list celebrities leave the treatment center and enter the 'real world.'
The show comes on Sundays on Vh1 and I demand that you watch it.

An Excerpt From A Phone Conversation Between Mame and Bea

Mame: What are you watching?

Bea: Supernatural. Hey, this episode is called "Criss Angel Is A Douchebag."

Mame: Hahaha, really? That's funny, actually.

Bea: I didn't know you could say "douchebag" on network television, but apparently, you can. They've said it like, 20 times already.

Mame: Douchebags are hygienic products...

Bea: I take that as a compliment! HAHAHAH, I love you!

Mame: Of course you do.

UPDATE: FITA

Also, still working on my review of Flowers in the Attic. I have total writer's block on it. I think I'm just intimidated because Mame's was so awesome. THANKS, MAME. GOD.

Also, Happy Inauguration Day! (They keep saying "balls" on MSNBC. I keep cracking up! Why am I so 12 years old?)

FITA Revealed...Or, after 2 years it's about time

Kevin Smith once said that the characters he writes into his stories and scripts are the kinds he wishes he had in the real world: they talk in long soliloquies, and they have a vast knowledge of pop culture. If I were to create the world I wish I lived in, it would be written much like that of the infamous VC Andrews book, Flowers in the Attic. Movements would be “spin around with their legs flashing through a thin negligee.” There would be face-cupping and the swelling of “rigid male sex”. Teenage girls will wish for things like, "Let me have all those swelling curves that men desire." Every breath would be “aghast” and every uncle would be fucking hot.
Wait. Is that weird?

In my world, however, the protagonist wouldn’t be quite so whiney. Catherine Dollanganger (Cathy - the narrator) had a hard life I’ll give her that, but her gratuitous use of the word “daddy” when referencing her father, and her constant complaining about everything anyone does good for her makes me want to Chuck-Norris-Kick her most of the time.

We all know the story: Cathy and her siblings get locked in an attic because her Mother is an fucking retard and presumably doesn’t understand math, so when their father dies she decides to move in with her emotionally and physically abusive, albeit rich, parents.

If I were Cathy and Momma told me of this plan, I would have had the common sense to argue the following points:

• Problem number one: the grandparents live in a house called “Foxworth Hall.” Nothing good has EVER happened in a house with a name that ends in “Hall.” Or “Manor” for that matter. Nothing. Ok, maybe Toad Hall.
• Problem number two: Cathy has NEVER heard of grandparents then all of a sudden they are off to not just visit but live there? Really?
• Problem number three: The kids are told that they have to ‘hide’ in the house because old granddad is sick. Really Mom? Hide in the attic? How ‘bout you just scrub up and start flipping some damn burgers at McDonalds? Oh I get it. You’re too good for that. But you aren’t too good to f your uncle, have his kids, lock them in your parents’ house, and then slowly starve and kill them off? Huh.

Now I understand that Cathy couldn't have foreseen quite all that, but still! -that’s what happens.

Did I mention that the grandmother, Olivia, announces that Cathy's parents, Corrine and Christopher, Sr., were really uncle and niece? Because she did. Then she calls the Cathy and her siblings (older brother Christopher, and the younger twin boy and girl) the "Devil’s Spawn" and pours tar into Cathy’s hair forcing her to cut it short and Christopher, Jr. to pee in it to loosen the tar. Hilarity!

So whatever, they spend a lot of time in the attic that adjoins their room. Now let’s talk about this attic. This attic isn’t like the crouch down split-level attic at my mother, Joan’s, place. No, this attic is an entire floor of treasures! What a happy coincidence, there is a school room up there! That’s not random at all! Oh and there’s a ballet barre, that’s not weird! Boxes of books? Check! Tons of decades old and not expired medical equipment, done! I should note here that I always thought that the attic never sounded so bad, but then again, I’m a homebody by nature. They decorate the attic with paper flowers – hence the name of the book, and Cathy teaches the twins to read and write. They put an old mattress on the roof so they can tan and the twins can get the sunshine they need, and – oh yeah – so Chris and Cathy could totally get it on.

What? The brother and sister? Yes, gentle readers. See, the years pass and Cathy and Chris were teenagers (I don’t think that word ONE is given to how she deals with her womanly curse, but I may be mistaken). Anyway, they begin to develop sexual feelings towards one another. Well, mainly Chris does for Cathy, but she confesses that she would watch him change and even at one point measure his unit. Nice. Chris just loves, loves, loves Cathy but she keeps saying that they must really be the devil’s spawn if they feel this way. That’s right, Cathy, you are!! Long story short, one night he rapes her on the mattress they kept on the roof for sun. It’s not really rape, she is just very conflicted about whether this is what she wants or not.

Shortly thereafter, the mother successfully kills one of Cathy’s younger siblings: a twin named Cory. This makes Carrie (his aforementioned twin sister) go a bit crazy and self destructive. This is the final straw for the threesome who begins to sneak out to steal items they can later pawn. I’ve never understood why they let it go this far.

I lived in a suburb of New Jersey and it felt so much like a deathtrap that I started sneaking out before I knew what to do once I did it. Cathy was literally in a deathtrap and it took her FOUR YEARS before she was like, “You know, we need to bust out.”The book ends with just that. Christopher, Cathy, and Carrie do indeed leave the house, catch a bus and decide to travel to Florida with the money and items they have taken with them. Cory is long dead and buried who knows where, Carrie is all emo and for good reason, Cathy is walking differently thanks to her brother’s “rigid male sex,” and Chris is sporting a Lancelot haircut.

*SIGH* Have I mentioned how much I freakin’ love this book?

In Honor of Our Friendship...

Just a little insight into this amazing friendship I have.
I wanted to give you all a glimpse into Bea's inbox. On any typical day, the Lady Bea can expect the following email from me:

My Dearest:

So my little darlings are watching, "Tuck Everlasting" and it's such a sweet movie/story. However, there are quite a few pieces that make my sick mind chortle, nay, laugh hysterically. Have you seen the movie and/or read the book? You whore I know you have. Get back to me.

I get bored easily. She's the Marcy to my Peppermint Patty, if we were young cartoons or gay. *sigh* Sadly, we aren't either.

Book Review, Twilight…or, Calm Down Girls.

Since I’ve been teaching middle school this year, the girls have been going ape-shit over this Twilight series. As the weeks progressed I realized that my own, adult friends and sister were as well. I resist such things crazy fads normally - it took my cousin buying me the first Harry Potter book, and writing on the inside cover “read it for me!” before I would bother with it.
As Beau can attest, I spent the entire weekend with my head shoved into the books and was pleasantly surprised. I don’t like fantasy, vampire stuff usually, but this was a very sweet tale and pretty well written.

As a mother and teacher I liked that despite everything they waited until they were married before “doing it” (these books are for middle schoolers after all), and that the main characters both had really high moral characters. There was enough action to keep me interested and enough sweet, sticky, romance to turn my rather gruff, comedic exterior into mush. I would put my books down and cuddle up to Beau and he would laugh rather hard at me because this is not how I am. I suppose that means the books had an impact on me.

Happy Halloween!

So, I'm off to spend Halloween with Sid and Andie and their kids. We plan to dress Mothra and Conan up in embarrassing costumes and take pictures and laugh at them, thus really cementing their futures in therapy. Isn't that why you have children?

Mame hasn't blogged in a million years because she's got a lot going on now. She's fine, it's fine. I mean, she's so busy that she's barely talked to me. Her best friend of 16 years. Ooooh, beat THAT for passive aggression, Mame. HA! I WIN!

However, we do talk online and we would like you all to watch this: Drunk History. Our favorite is the one featuring Michael Cera of Arrested Development/Superbad/Juno fame. He plays Alexander Hamilton. 'Nuff said, right? Mame and I quote it incessantly at each other. I don't usually find drunk ramblings all that amusing, but most drunk ramblings aren't this funny. They usually consist of complains of why someone doesn't love you anymore, how much someone is going to puke or paranoias about government conspiracies. Or do I just drink with the wrong people? Hmmm...

Also, I went to this with work friends. It was AWESOME. I've yet to go to a haunted house that was really SCARY, but this had its moments and was TONS of fun. Also, may I apologize on behalf of Quakers everywhere for inventing a prison system that drove people crazy. Oops.

In Halloween movie news, don't ever watch One Missed Call, the American remake. Not the Japanese original version. I'm sure that one's fine. The American one sucks ASS. I should have know because it has Shannyn Sossamyn or however you spell her name in it. I refuse to look it up. She sucks, the movie sucks and is only suitable for mocking. Especially when you have the peanut gallery of my family. That's good times. I do, however, want everyone to know that I wanted to rent High Tension and I was vetoed. My cousin Bri swore that One Missed Call was a good scary movie and whenever it sucked especially egregiously, we would all glare at her. Ha.

And EEEK! The election is in less than a week! Is anyone else FREAKING out?

Conan the Destroyer (Of Bottles and Low Expectations) Or Conan: Part Two

So, I wrote this post last month and have taken, um, quite awhile to continue it. Sid has been nagging at me. FINE, SID. HERE. Heheh.

Anyway, when we last left off, Andie had been taken in for an emergency c-section, as baby Conan was in distress. Sid sent out a mass text at about 7 pm. I waited. And waited. And waaaaited. I may have squawked NUMEROUS times, "Dude! How long does it take to do a freakin' c-section? It's so fast on Maternity Ward!" Yeah, I know. I got a call from Sid about an hour later that Andie was doing well and that baby Conan was out and breathing, hooked up to vents and things. I didn't get a lot of details, we mostly talked about how ridiculous Sid had looked in his O.R. scrubs and whether the obstetrician had given Andie a Britney Spears-style tummy tuck while she was in there. (They didn't and we thought it was hilarious to tease about it, but the doctor was appalled. We, um, get that a lot.)

Andie calls me some hours later, at about 1 am. She sounds WRECKED. I mean, like she'd taken over the lead singing for AC/DC. We talk for a little bit and I ask her to tell me about Conan. She tells me that he's red and has a head of black hair that will probably be curly like Sid's. That he has blue eyes and Sid's chin. That he's ANGRY and keeps trying to kick off his tubes and wrappings. Then, her voice breaking, she tells me that the doctors gave him about a 10% chance of survival. I find out later, their lead doctor advised them to make funeral arrangements.

I tell Mame, who breaks down in tears. I spend most of that night and the next day praying in a manner which can, if I'm being honest, best be described as "begging." I go to my Friends meeting and get the local chapter of Quakers on the case. Conan is baptised, guerilla-style in the NICU. Sid and Andie have a huge network of friends and family members who cover a wide variety of religions. I don't believe that any one religion is the right one, but if there is one right one? One of us had to have hit it. We had Born-Agains, Catholics (Including EGT with her special Pope-blessed rosary), Muslims, Jews, Methodists (My Gram had her prayer chain going), Lutherans and Hindus all praying for this kid. Someone heard us. Someone said, "Ok, let me take a look." Someone granted our prayers.

At one point, I have a very amusing conversation with a stoned-off-her-gourd-Andie. Hey, if anyone deserved the good pharmaceuticals, it was her. Conan starts to take a turn for the worst. But by the next morning, he's still here. He's still fighting. He's apparently decided that yeah, this whole dying thing? DOESN'T WORK FOR HIM. He begins to improve a tiny bit. Just the fact that he's still breathing is a HUGE deal. His status, according to Sid, is upgraded from "Really, Really Critical" to "Cautiously Non-Pessimistic." And he just continues to improve. Andie is sent home, in good condition.

I decide, fuck this noise, I'm driving out there. I need to see my friends. I need to meet Conan. I drive out on a Friday night after work, arriving at their house at about 1:30 in the morning. And EXHAUSTED looking Sid greets me at the door and sweeps me into a huge hug. He shows me video of Conan and I start crying. I suck. Conan is doing really well, far better than expected.

The next day, we all go to the hospital to see Conan. He's a week old and no one's been able to hold him yet because he still has a central line in his navel. We all pile into his tiny room: me, Sid, Andie, Mothra and Sid's sister Red, who is Conan's godmother. The nurses all bounce over to announce that they've taken his central line out, because he's doing THAT awesomely, and that we can now hold him. They sit Andie down and hand Conan to her. I'm holding Mothra on my hip, trying to dissuade him from grabbing at EVERYTHING in the room. As soon as the nurse hands his brother to their mom, he stops and stares. Even he realizes what a big deal this is.

Conan was the tiniest baby I've ever seen. His face was the size of the palm of my hand. His chest was about 3 or 4 inches wide and fluttered heart-breakingly. His fingers and toes really get me: they are about the size of matchsticks. He sleeps most of the time, but he keeps trying to wake up. His little eyebrows shoot up as he struggles to open his eyes. They open for about 5 seconds and then...close again. Hey, life is TIRING, ok?

Conan's room was right outside the nursing station and finally, one of the nurses slams down her pen. "We can't get any work done! We're all too choked up about you guys FINALLY getting to hold him!" Conan was a great favorite of the nursing staff. They admired his kick-ass nature and his beauty.

I get my chance to hold him. He's swimming in his pile of blankets. He's still pissed off at his tubes and has to be restrained from yanking on them. I rock him in my arms instinctively and hum under my breath to him.

Sid: Bea. Are you humming My Chemical Romance to my kid?
Me: No! That would be ridiculous! (I totally was. And if you're a My Chemical Romance fan, you know what song it was.)
Sid: Riiiiiight. Because you're never ridiculous or anything...

Conan continued to have his ups and downs. He was still having heart fluctuations and many of the usual preemie issues. But also continued to be awesome. But more on that later!

I've decided this will be a three-part series. Hey, this is Mame's and my blog. We can be verbose and long-winded if we want! However, I think I've run out of stupid jokes for the titles. So, I'll be accepting suggestions if you guys have any...