20 Dec 2010

Celebrity Holiday Homez.

Written by sally @ 10:01 am — Section: sally

This weekend I watched Celebrity Holiday Homes. This is a show in which three celebrity homes are redone by pushy designers and then the celebrities come home and go “where is my furniture? ha ha no really where is my furniture.”

The first celebrity in question was Sherri Shepherd from The View and 30 Rock, who has just bought a brownstone in Harlem and has never decorated for Christmas or had a Christmas tree. Whut. Instead of easing her into it, her designer removed her furniture to make room for gobs and gobs of gold glittery things. So many glittery things. Then she had a party, and her boyfriend arrived and she made lots of jokes about how she wanted an engagement ring ha ha ha and the guy was like um ok we’ll see.

The second celebrity home belonged to Brooke Burke and Dave Charvet, who are apparently some impossibly beautiful and tan people, who have many beautiful and tan children with funny names. Their designer was wearing a tiny dress and huge heels, which are a bitch to climb ladders in, but this did not deter her in creating a WHITE WINTER WONDERLAND. She said those words a lot. She got rid of all their living and dining room furniture (this bothered the tan man) and gave them all-white furniture, which is the best thing to do for a house full of children. There were also many lights and doo dads and sparkly things, and when they went outside to see the cabana, which was decorated aggressively white, there was an all-white-girls choir singing Christmas carols. This bothered the small tan children. (I was going to omit this part, but there was something wrong with the designer’s nose. It was yellow. She had a yellow nose. The rest of her was evenly colored, but she had a yellow nose. It was in stark contrast to the all-white decorations.)

The third celebrity was Trisha Yearwood, who was also reluctant to be on the show but did a better job of hiding it than the tan man. Her designer, who kept making a point of saying that he was from Mississippi, ignored Trisha’s requests for a simple Christmas and doo-dadded her house within an inch of its life. After the reveal, where Trisha pretended she liked it all, she said to the designer, I have a surprise for you! And he was all “do I get a car.” And then the surprise was he got to make cheese straws with her mom and sister. Ha ha! They kept talking about how they were having a party. Then they showed the party. The guests were: Trisha, Trisha’s mom, Trisha’s sister, and the designer. Then Trisha sang “My Favorite Things” while the designer stared into his gingerbread martini.

15 Dec 2010

Barf, Car Eating, Carrie, Fran.

Written by sally @ 2:09 pm — Section: sally

About a hundred years ago, I was scooping vanilla ice cream at a friend’s house to go on top of some blueberry cobbler she’d made. My hand slipped and a perfect scoop flew to the floor. Two seconds later, her dog ate it in one bite. We laughed about this until a few minutes later, when the dog barfed up a giant pile of dog food with the scoop of ice cream sitting on top. Last night Lulu barfed up a pile of dog food that had the same proportions of the long-ago dog barf pile, and I found myself thinking I would be able to clean it up much more goodnaturedly if it were barf a la mode. Instead, I had to keep saying SPIKE DON’T TOUCH IT’S YUCKY while I went to get paper towels. Then as I cleaned it up, he kept saying MOMMY DON’T TOUCH IT’S YUCKY.

Question: is it sadder to eat fast food in your car, or is it sadder to eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and then barbeque potato chips out of the big bag (not the individual-sized bag) in your car?

If you read Wishful Drinking by Carrie Fisher and loved it, you probably think that watching the HBO special is going to be equally awesome. You would be wrong. There is something about the in-person Carrie Fisher that sucks out all the charm of her on-page persona. I don’t recommend it. She ruins her jokes with weird cadence and knowing eye-rolls and I wish I’d never seen the damn thing. Read the book instead.

However, in happier HBO news, the documentary Public Speaking, which is about the writer/non-writer Fran Lebowitz, is fantastic. I have not read Fran Lebowitz since I was in college and read Social Studies. That essay about how much she loves smoking kind of made me wish I was a smoker. She writes something very simple like, “Smoking is fun. Smoking is cool,” and while this is what tv and movies always wanted us to think about smoking, this was the only thing I’d ever read that said it outright: Smoking is cool.

I picked up her first book, Metropolitan Life, at the public library at lunch. Here’s a very Fran Lebowitz paragraph:

All God’s children are not beautiful. Most of God’s children are, in fact, barely presentable. The most common error made in matters of appearance is the belief that one should disdain the superficial and let the true beauty of one’s soul shine through. If there are places on your body where this is a possibility, you are not attractive–you are leaking.

Also: you think I’m going to make my silly goal of 100 books this year?

13 Dec 2010

Will You Still Sit on a Storm Drain With Me Tomorrow?

Written by sally @ 2:22 pm — Section: sally

Y’all! This guy I had a semi-romantic moment with in 1989 is now a gay interior designer specializing in the baroque — gold-leafed paneling! ornate mirrors! crystal chandeliers! — and he has a Facebook page for his business, which I just Liked. Now it says “Sally Nordan likes Richard Holcomb,” which was so true in 1989.

[Semi-romantic moment: Our school’s one act play advanced to regionals in the statewide competition, and this cool girl with cool hair got mono or something and I got to fill in for her and go on the out of town trip. After the performances, there was a dancing at a pizza place. This very, very handsome (read: eventually gay) boy danced with me to “Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow?” It was all so perfect and wonderful, especially because he went to another school and therefore I could pine. A few weeks later he called me up, and it turns out he lived two blocks from my dad’s house. We went for lots of walks. Once he tried to kiss me while we were sitting on a storm drain that reeked of old garbage. I recoiled and hurt his feelings. At some point there was some heated discussion and he came over and threw rocks at my window, but I can’t remember what that possibly could’ve been about, since we never kissed or went on a date or did anything but talk on the phone and sit on storm drains together.]

Richard’s FB page is hilarious — not only because of the baroque (or is it rococo?) stylings, but because he starts each update with his name. He types it in. So it looks like this:

Richard Holcomb Richard Holcomb is in Paris.

Seeing that fills me with something. Joy is too strong a word.

10 Dec 2010

My Dummy Wrote Me a Letter.

Written by sally @ 10:18 am — Section: sally

A few weeks ago, someone called wanting information about a program I’m in charge of at work. She left several long messages, but never left her phone number. Then she called again when I was here.

It turns out that the person is the second dumbest person I have ever had the misfortune of talking to. (The absolute dumbest was a former employee who, when asked to make 50 paperclipped bundles out of a pile of paper, came back with 11 bundles. There is no point in telling you all the other stupid shit she did, as this bundle story says it all.)

Some samples of our ill-fated phone call:
Me: I can send it to you in an email or in the regular mail.
Dummy: The first one.
Me: Email?
Dummy: Yes.
(pause)
Me: What’s your email address?
Dummy: Oh, I don’t have one.
(pause)
Me: Ok, what is your home address?
Dummy: 548McAlisterStreetAlligator35888
Me: Could you repeat that?

Turns out Dummy never received the letter. All this week, she has left insanely long messages about how she never got the letter, but never left her phone number. My favorite was the one she left two nights ago, in which she talks for six minutes and just says words without knowing what they mean:

“You said you would send that but I never got it because remember you asked if I wanted it on email but I did not have email available to me at that time and so I said regular mail and you said you would send it but I never got it and so you can call me tonight but not too late because I might be in bed or otherwise occupied and yeah don’t call me too late because this day is out of order. You can call me tomorrow from 8-5, except I’ll be at work, but I will be home between 1-2 for lunch, but maybe I’ll be eating so maybe you shouldn’t call then–”

Delete.

Then yesterday, she called again. We had a very painful conversation wherein I learned she does not understand how mail works. I guess I kind of understand someone needing to ask whether she needs to put a stamp on a letter to make it get there, but I don’t understand someone asking, “Do I need to write the address on the outside of the envelop?” (That’s not a typo. It’s how she pronounced envelope.)

I am able 99% of the time to find dummies and all their dumbness entertaining in some way, but I like my dummies when they’re talking to other dummies and I just get to overhear them. Actual dummy interaction is quite painful. I was actively sweating for 15 minutes after I finally cut her off in the middle of her “What if I’m the only person who applies for this program? Do I win automatically?” scenario, which kept going after I said “You’re not the only person who’s applying. I’ve already gotten other entries” and her “oh, but what IF I was the only one?” response. She was still rambling on as I said, “Ok good luck I gotta go goodbye!” and hung up.

DUMMIES

8 Dec 2010

Does Anybody Really Know What Time It Is?

Written by sally @ 4:21 pm — Section: sally

Today I was in a semi-rural area outside of Jackson, and next to the place I was going (see, I could tell you where I was going, but it is boring, so I will just NOT tell you and make it sound more interesting, ok?) was a Wal-Mart. What is noteworthy is that there were hardly any cars there. After I was done with my uninteresting, yet mysterious errand, I went in to buy paper towels. It was sort of like I was new to the United States and seeing Wal-Mart with fresh eyes.

There were freakish people there! Like an old lady with long, long blond hair, styled in the fashion of 70s Miss Piggy, who was wearing a fur-trimmed coat. She was not steering her buggy very well, and almost crashed into me. There were LOTS of people riding Rascals. It made me wonder how many Rascals they have at that Wal-Mart because I saw at least five people tooling around in them. I did see a lady with a prosthetic leg, but SHE was pushing a regular buggy. Probably because there were no Rascals available.

I wandered around and looked at the lamps because I am in semi-need of a cheap lamp. I was examining my $10 options when I noticed that on a nearby shelf there was an array of busted-open packaging, obviously discarded after the stuff was pocketed:
1. packaging for a Casio watch
2. packaging for K-Y Intense

Look, I admire someone who wants to know what time it is AND make sure everyone is satisfied.