Q: why are witches frustrated? A: because warlocks have hallow-weenies.

Halloween is around the corner and decorations are popping up around San Diego. Can we take a moment and discuss this one I saw while picking up lunch?

It says: Enter. U.R. Dead.

Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was TEXTING with this sign. Wouldn’t it make more sense to just write: “Enter. You Are Dead” ??



Actually, no. No, it wouldn’t make more sense to write out the words "You Are" at all. Maybe it’s my severely sleep deprived brain post baby, but I have no idea what this sign is trying to say.

Did it mean to say:

(Do Not) Enter. (Because) U.R. Dead
(U. Can’t) Enter. (Because) U.R. Dead
Enter. U.R. (a Dad)
(If You) Enter. U.R. Dead (like, you know, like the kind of signs i used to scotch tape on my "clubhouse" to keep my brother out)



I'm not saying that I'm against fun Halloween decor. I'm not dressing up as the Grinch this October 31st. Alls I'm saying is if you're going to have a sign, it should at least make sense.

now, that's not very nice!

it's bad enough that they're slow, but do you have to call them out on it?

Bad Names

Now that I am expecting a little baby, I’ve thought long and hard about names and what it could mean for the future of this little bean inside me. I loosely believe that your name shapes who you become…if you’re name is Jane, you’re likely to be plain. If you’re name is Bella, you’re likely to be pretty. If you’re name is Irene, you’re likely to be an 86 year old Caucasian grandmother or a 30 something Korean woman (http://iwantpink.blogspot.com/2008/10/whats-in-korean-american-name.html). Your personality is partially shaped by how people treat you, and that treatment begins when you tell them your name. (Incidentally, my husband has a really cool name, hence why I think he’s the coolest person I know).

Anyhoo - I always play the “what’s the worst name in the world” game with my friends. Try it! It’s a fun game. My friend Jen knows someone whose name is Dick Hurlbutt. Another friend knows someone whose name is Sukdik Pengosticles. No, seriously. Say that out loud. Whisper it if you are at work but just say it out loud. It’s impossible not to crack up, right?

But I was reminded of the worst name ever when I was watching a re-run of Paula Deen’s Home Cooking the other day. She had Deirdre and Albert Pujols (he’s, like, a really famous baseball player) on the show and she introduced them, in her over the top Southern accent, as “Dee Dee and Albert POO HOLES”.

Yuck! Totally ruined the show for me! POO HOLES!

For All Of You Who Think I'm A Bad Driver...

...at least i don't do this:

*pause*

We all know the dramatic impact a well-placed pause can play. It can add intrigue, suspense, humor, excitement to an otherwise...mundane...sentence (see what i mean?). This is particularly true over the radio, when the rhythm and cadence of someone voice becomes the only thing we can "see."

Last night, I was listening to NPR’s Robert Siegel interview Scott Rudin, the producer of the new Broadway smash satire, “The Book of Mormon.” Rudin is long hailed as one of the most prolific and successful producers in the industry and Siegel asked him a very topical question, albeit with a very misplaced pause. He asked, “How many (pause. good, dramatic pause) BALLS (emphasis. ok. certainly got my attention at this point) do you have (pause. BAD AWKWARD PAUSE!)…”

...and then he stopped!!! Well, he started talking again but not soon enough. I actually thought Rudin was going to answer that question. “Well, Robert, always the hard hitter with your questions, aren't ya? As you probably have assumed, I was born with the standard two, but it’s true what they say about playing basketball with a pencil in your pocket…yes, indeed, quite an unfortunate incident.”

I mean, really.

The pause was clearly unintentional and I’m assuming was placed there because the sentence was coming out rather clumsily so Siegel needed the extra time to re-think how he was going to ask the rest of the question (which, incidentally was, “how many balls do you have…juggling in the air…with all your different projects?).

Anyway. It was funny. but awkward. and i still make the 'eeeeeek!' face when i think about that interview.

That's all for now. I have to go and screw...

...in a lightbulb ...into a lamp ... i just got fixed.

sir, brush your teeth and ee-NUN-cee-ate.

one thing i hate about business travel is the waiting period before you board a flight. the waiting area is way too cramped and you are always disappointed, either because someone sits down next to you, or you have to sit next to someone else. not only are you 2 inches from someone else, you are also facing someone. for me, that person is usually aimlessly staring into space; often times directly right at me in a very unnerving way.

so yday i was on my way to kentucky and i sat next the only person who had two empty seats next to him. as i started thumbing through my magazine, i noticed an odious smell. what IS that? turns out, it was the man to my right's BREATH! that is just FOUL. to have breath so stale that someone sitting next to you can smell it!

i put my nose down to my shirt collar and contemplated leaving but decided against it because i didn't want to be an airport loiterer. you know, the people who don't sit down and muddy up the line process with their constant creeping. the people to whom you want to say, "are you in rows 25 or higher? if not, get out of my way, WOMAN!"

i stuck around, though, because this man's phone conversation was gripping. who was he talking to? his best friend, the pimp? it went like this, "did you see how many BITCHES there were? how many BITCHES did he send YOU? i had at least 1000 BITCHES, it was unbelievable! i don't know how i'm going to organize all those BITCHES, it's going to take me a long time to put them in their right place. so many BITCHES, i don't know what to do with them all...Geez Louise...too many BITCHES."

the thing is, he was a totally normal looking GRANDFATHER. kind, gentle-looking, wearing high waisted pants, hearing aid, and orthopedic shoes. and he was throwing out the word BITCHES at a faster rate than a judge at the Westminster Dog Show.

i wasn't the only person who noticed. parents were stuffing their fingers into the ears of their little children, babies were crying, mouths were agape, people moved away (though it remains unclear whether it was his breath or his language that drove them to flee).

anyway. i was the only person who actually realized what the old man ways saying...he wasn't saying BITCHES, he was saying PICTURES but with an accent. you know, like "Pitchas".

he should really be more careful.

(in a scary voice) "i am the san diego chargeeeerrrrrrr"

I’m kind of scared. There’s a running joke in our little household (and by joke I mean, not a joke because jokes aren’t supposed to make you feel scared…) that we have a ghost. I mean, I don’t reeeeally think we have a ghost and even if we DID have a ghost, I’d be, like, totally cool with that (psst - I’m just writing that just in case the ghost reads my blog and I don’t want it to know that I’m really scared of it). I think this because I hear noises around the house at night...The noises I hear are noises houses make…you know, creaking and cracking and sighing and farting. Oh wait, that’s not the house. I will blame the farting on our non existent dog. MY POINT IS, they are noises that New Yorkers just aren’t used to hearing because no one lives in a house. So maybe, I thought, that's why I'm such a big scaredy-cat sometimes.

But THEN: my charger disappeared. So, I have a ritual. Every night, I charge my phone with the charger that is next to my bed. If I travel, I take ANOTHER charger so as not to be caught chargerless when I’m going to bed because I took it with me traveling and didn't unpack it. Bc there’s nothing worse than getting OUT of bed to get a charger when you're all snugged up IN bed because there’s also nothing worse than having an uncharged phone the entire next day. One night, however, the charger was missing. Except it wasn’t missing. It was in ANOTHER PLUG on the OTHER SIDE OF THE BED.

My hubby swears he doesn’t remember moving it. Which is different than swearing he didn’t move it. But STILL. SCARY!! Who moved it? 10% my husband, 90% the creepy San Diego Charger?

THEN. And this is why I’m cowering behind my computer in fear.

I just went outside to run and errand. Mind you, I had been alone in my office, nay! alone in the HOUSE for the entire day. When I came back from the errand, I saw this:

A FREAKING USED BAND-AID. A USED BAND-AID I SAID!! Obviously, I did a quick bodily once over to see if I had forgotten that I had hurt myself and then forgotten that I put a band-aid on. Then I remembered that I only buy Hello Kitty band-aids and there was NO WAY THAT BAND-AID IS MINE.

I’m so scared!!!!!!

sonic-ewwwww

so i needed to buy a new electric toothbrush yday so i naturally went to the largest e-tailer in the world - amazon.com - to do some price comparison:

look! YUCK! maaaybe i understand someone buying a used sonicare because you can just replace the head, but buying a used sonicare brush head???

that's just gross.

Dinner for Two

sorry sorry, i know it's been forever and a decade since i've last written on this blog. transitioning to a new place has taken over my new life.

this transition has not been without the normal hardships of missing friends, the energy of the city, etc. but i have to say little blessings do pop up on a daily basis.

1) blessing #1 - in san diego, people seem to take greater pride in their service jobs. i'm not kidding when i say that a recent trip to the verizon wireless store was one of the highlights of my life here.

2) blessing #2 - i've re-aquainted myself with the wondrousness of The Oprah Winfrey Show and am slowly coming to grips that this is her last season (i'm legitimately sad).

3) blessing #3 - we don't have to make reservations for any restaurant anymore.

ok, so maybe that last one is not always true. have you guys heard of P.F. Changs? it's kind of like an Olive Garden but for Chinese food. one look at the menu and you know that no Asian person of any sort was asked for input. this is not to say that the food is not delicious, because it is. delicious like Queso. delicious like Slim Jims. delicious like Cool Whip. fake. but delicious.

when i think about the board of directors at P.F. Changs, i envision a cadre of caucasion men, all rotund and rosy cheeked and loudly debating what they should name their dishes. "Moo Shoe Pork!" "Chinese Pig with Really Little Pan Cakes!" "Confucious say Moo Shoe Pork!" this is a restaurant where they actually have a loyalty program called the "Warrior's Club." (GONG!!!! (gong sound added for effect, that doesn't really happen when you sign up for the club tho i wouldn't put it past them)).

Anyway, i'm being totally unfair because the food is actually quite tasty at P.F. Changs. and we legitimately wanted to go there on Friday night. And as i said earlier, one doesn't need to make reservations in san diego, we rolled right up to the hostess counter and this is what happened...

irene: two for dinner, please

host: that will be 2 hour wait (handing me a abnormally large buzzer thing that will indicate when my table is ready)

irene: an hour wait???? here? (frantically waving arms around and pointing to the tacky chinese decor)

host: well. you know, this IS P.F. Changs...

it was as depressing a statement as saying a visit to the verizon store was one of my major highlights...