The Odd Broad

Open Bar

I'm sorry for the late posting, but Hubby and I just got in from spending a long weekend in Massachusetts for an old friend's wedding.  Lately it seems at every wedding I attend, I always make the same hopeful promise: I will not become intoxicated.  I will not drink too much, dance wildly, utter inappropriate sentences and talk to strangers.

How did I fare this time around?  I suppose my behavior can be summed up by the poignant words of a one Ms. Britney Spears: Ooops, I did it again.  Still, it was fortunate my wine intake kicked in late in the evening, significantly narrowing the window of time I spent gyrating upon the dance floor.  Unfortunately for me, my dancing is far less painful than my acute knack for drunken foot-in-mouthing.  (Sorry, Matt- although it's true your clothes do smell incredibly fresh and clean, there is nothing wrong with still living with one's parents.  I suppose I'm just jealous because my local laundromat leaves my clothes shrunken and smelling like burnt rubber.  Also, I did do two loads of laundry last night at my Mom and Dad's, and tonight the Hubby is telling me that HIS sweatshirt smells awfully fresh and clean.  I will not run around and ask people to smell it, however.)

Still, the evening was lovely and I'd like to give a warm shout out to Mike and Lori: Congrats!! 

I love watching wedding ceremonies because it's almost like reliving mine all over again.  It really gives me the warm fuzzies.

Speaking of weddings, my own wedding album finally came in.  In case you feel confused, don't be, for I've been married for roughly two and a half years.  The plain truth is, I am a bad bride and took forever to choose the pictures I wanted even though everything had already been paid for.  There have been no scrapbooks lovingly presented to my mother or mother-in law, no 8 x 10's, no 11 x 14's to hang on the wall.  Nada, zip, zilch. 

My cousin Stevie was married this past December and I was shocked and ashamed to find that his new wife has presented our family with beautiful, glossy wedding albums.  A keepsake to treasure, three months after the wedding.  Three months!  Hubby and I couldn't even get it together enough to sift through our proofs after two years!  So the fact is, my mother had an album of my cousin's wedding eons faster than she had ones for either of her two daughters.  And aren't we ashamed.

There has been a monkey on my back, I tell you, and he was wearing a tuxedo and doing the YMCA.  I am relieved to finally have my album.  Now if I could only get my scrapbooking on in time for Mother's day...

XOXO

Happy Belated Earth Day

Hubby and I were watching tv the other day when a commercial made him snort out loud.  Perhaps you've seen it also?  It was an ad for the Toyota Tundra, which boasts the following:

What does it take to be the 2008 Motor Trend Truck of the year? 

POWER. 

QUALITY. 

AND...

FUEL EFFICIENCY:  18 miles per gallon rating

What the?  Our country is at war!!  Is 18 miles to the gallon honestly considered fuel efficient?  Are these people smoking crack? 

If the state of NY is attempting to forcibly tax smokers into quitting, why not do the same with people who have fixations for gas guzzling trucks and suvs?  I say tax 'em.  It's for our own good. 

I'm sorry

Dear God,

I am sorry that I used the word fuckface while passing a church today, when a man doing work outside flicked a burning cigarette that came inches from hitting me.  It was both an unladylike and immature way to react, although at the time it did feel like a perfectly natural thing to say. 

I will try to be more Zen.

Sincerely,

The Odd B.  xoxo

Aliens and Chakras

Today is Shirley MacLaine's 74th birthday and I'd like to give her a shout out, though I know from interviews she doesn't really dig the world wide web.

I adore Shirley, and have voraciously read nearly everything the woman has written, from her spiritual journeys and past life progressions to her many love affairs.  I've always felt a strong connection with her, partly because she is constantly questioning everything, which from an early age I was apparently also apt to do.  (My mother claims that as a toddler, why? was my favorite word.  As in why do I have to eat this, or wear this outfit, or walk like a big girl when I'd much rather be carried?  This got old very quickly, I imagine.  Sorry, Ma.)

Hubby has been trying to find me a copy of Shirley's 1987 TV miniseries Out on a Limb for years now, with no luck.  I think it's lovely that he tries. 

The remarkable thing about Shirley is that the subjects she was previously panned for are now widely accepted in our culture, among them acupuncture, meditation and chakra therapy.  Not long ago I watched a clip of her on You Tube from the Tonight Show with Johnny Carson.  She was talking about chakras, a concept that is certainly in most people's lexicon nowadays.  At the time, however, talk of this nature was considered wacky and outrageous.  It irked me to watch Johnny condescend her, even as she attempted to calmly and thoroughly explain the ancient roots of what she was demonstrating.

In her latest book, Shirley talks a lot about star beings, (ie: aliens), which I don't actually find myself very interested in.  In fact, I have often marveled at my lack of interest on this topic.  I have never been one to enjoy science fiction movies, for example.  They put me to sleep faster than you can say Nyquil.

Judge me if you like, but I have decided the reason for my alien apathy must be due to the following: I was already an alien in a past life and therefore have no interest in speculating about them in my current.  To me this seems as good an explanation as any.

Do you think I'm mental?

Happy Birthday, Shirl!

Also, happy birthday to my dear friend Amy, who has just turned...the big 3-0.  xoxo

On the street where I live...

For the past two days I thought Law and Order had been filming in my neighborhood, but I soon discovered someone much more delightful was lurking in my midst.

As I strolled home this evening, I noticed a crowd of people gathered around gawking in the same general direction.  Ordinarily I would simply pass by, but something made me take pause.  Surely there must be something fabulous taking place for a group of New Yorkers to collect in this manner?  I stopped and asked a woman what all the fuss was about.  She was a bit preoccupied, so I had to ask twice.  "Right there."  Trance-like, she pointed to the distinguished looking gentleman across the road.  "Denzel Washington."

Dear Lord.  She was right, it was him!  Someone called that's a rap and now he was crossing the street and was literally standing only feet away.  A hop, skip and a dreamy jump away. 

It's funny to watch New Yorkers gush.  I don't see it happen often.  When Denzel asked the crowd, "What's for dinner?" a woman answered, "Come inside, I'll cook for you!"  Another woman kept telling him he was her favorite, her absolute favorite. 

Isn't it funny the way we tend to treat celebrities like freaks of nature?  Even more curious is the way we ourselves turn into freak shows in their presence.  I smiled and stared for a dazed moment or two then continued on home.

I enjoy a little bit of dreamboat in my Tuesday evening.  xoxo

What's for dinner?

The first meal Hubby ever cooked for me was chicken cacciatore.  The year was 1999 and we were celebrating our first anniversary as a couple.  Unfortunately, that evening we were unable to obtain a bottle of wine and had to settle for Bud Light.  Naturally, this somehow made Hubby's effort more endearing.

In a moment of hungry nostalgia, I decided to recreate this dinner on Sunday.  Hubby and I modified his original dish using a Giada recipe.  It turned out zesty and delicious and we have lots of sauce left over.

Here's what you'll need:

3 bell peppers, sliced

1 cup baby portabella mushroom caps, roughly chopped

2 onions, sliced

3 cloves garlic, chopped

Chicken, cut into pieces (a lot of people use thighs, but I used 1lb of boneless skinless chicken breast)

1 14 oz can low sodium chicken broth

1 cup of dry white wine (I used chardonnay)

1 28 oz can of crushed tomatoes (I used Muir Glen fire roasted)

3 tablespoons of flour, some dried oregano, salt, pepper, 3 tablespoons olive oil

1/4 cup of chopped Kalamata olives (Giada uses capers)

Chopped basil, fresh parmesan (for garnish)

In a large freezer bag, toss in the flour, salt, pepper, and oregano.  Insert the chicken and dredge.  Add the oil to a pre-heated skillet or dutch oven.  Working in batches, add chicken to skillet and brown, about three to four minutes per side, depending on size.  Remove chicken and rest on a plate.

On medium heat, add the peppers, onions and garlic to skillet and saute until softened.  (Ten minutes or so?)  Season with salt, pepper and oregano. 

Add the mushrooms...

Once everything has caramelized, add the white wine and reduce for about three minutes.  Next add in the chicken stock, tomatoes and kalamata olives.  Bring the mixture to a gentle bubble, then add the browned chicken.  Lower the heat and simmer for twenty to twenty five minutes, or until chicken is cooked.

Serve with basil, parmesan and crusty bread. Enjoy! xoxo

 

My life takes a u-turn...

Not long ago I was bellyaching about my feelings of stagnancy and inertia.  What a difference a few weeks can make.  For suddenly, spontaneously, and after eight fun filled years, we are leaving New York.  I still can't believe it.

I was shocked when Hubby called me at work and told me he was in.  "Why are you so surprised, you've been talking about doing this for a long time!"  He was right, I had. 

My hands still shaking, I escaped outside and dialed my sister, mother and father.  I parked myself outside a CVS, whispering into my phone, looking over my shoulder for fear I might be overheard.  It was really happening.  We were moving back to Boston.  Oh Reader, it felt good to finally say it.

These life altering events have taken shape only over the last ten days.  I suppose you might call us impulsive.  You could definitely call us unprepared.  But in four months or so we'll be shipping up to Boston.  xoxo

Real Tense Like

Last night we went to the Yankees/Red Sox game at Yankee Stadium.  It was all I could do to not call someone the "C" word. 

We sat behind a guy wearing a shirt that said something like Riverdale's Finest first annual Boston Sucks tour.  For his part, he was heckling females, cursing and shouting, and told someone her Boston shirt was booger green.  His lady companion, on the other hand, wasn't as classy.  While there was a quiet moment in the game, the two of them shared a moment of calm reflection: "I mean, at least we're being funny.  If this was Fenway they'd be being BRUTAL!"

Says the man whose girlfriend had been violently telling everyone to go fuck themselves for the past hour.  I think I actually snorted aloud when I heard that one.

Not that the Sox fans were behaving any better.  On the contrary, the highlight of my evening came when one Red Sox fan began hitting her gentleman friend in the head with her handbag.  Over and over she whacked him, the contents of her purse scattering everywhere.  This broad had a mean swing.  She didn't stop hitting, in fact, until she lost her balance and fell three rows in front of her.  After that the cops took her away.

As for me, I probably haven't worn a Red Sox T-shirt at Yankee Stadium since 2004.  That doesn't mean these games don't make me feel completely neurotic.  Although I did seem to calm down after my third beer and one gigantic stick of cotton candy.

Over the years I've made several observations regarding Yankees fans.  Not only can they be bitingly bitter but I also find they very often lack a sense of humor.  Basically they remind me of the disgruntled kid on the playground who snatches up his kickball and goes home. 

In closing, I blow a giant, collective raspberry into the face of every pinstripe wearing boob in town.  Except for our dear friends Mike and Maria, of course.  And that Jeter's not so bad, either.  xoxo

And the winner is...

Like all good things, Rock of Love 2 has come to its filthy, glittering conclusion.  (Warning: spoiler to follow...)

So in the end Brett Michaels chose the halter top devotee, Amber.  Throughout the episode I found myself constantly fighting the urge to vomit, and not simply when Daisy was puking off the side of a boat. 

I obviously find this reality series highly disturbing on a number of different levels, not the least of which being the interactions between the women.  I find their cutthroat, single minded behavior repulsive, as if snagging a man is the end all and be all.  Equally upsetting is the way these ladies eagerly degraded themselves in order to win this man.  Seeing as he is old enough to be some of their fathers, why wasn't Brett ever forced to demean himself in their honor?  Was Brett grilled on his sordid past the way Daisy and the rest of them were?

The idea that a person could select someone they've only just met to be their permanent "true love" is outrageous.  I fear the volatile Destiny had it right all along- how can she love someone she just met?  Part of me wants to like Brett Michaels, but I do wish he wouldn't take this pretend quest quite so seriously.  I mean, are those tears for reals?  I only pray they were using ample amounts of protection.  Let's face it, that house is a veritable petri dish for all things STD. 

My sister raised a valid point when she suggested that perhaps Brett's lifestyle isn't as wild and hardcore as he'd like the American public to believe.  The man is a type 1 diabetic, after all. 

All I can say is...I cannot wait for the reunion special!  Since Hubby has tired of my asking him, I will in turn pose this question to you:  Dear Reader, will you continue to stay here and...rock my world?

xoxo

There's no womb at the inn...

Why is it that a woman of child bearing age cannot hold a baby in her arms without every person within a five mile radius asking her the following:

When is it going to be your turn?  You look pretty natural holding that baby...is it making you want one of your own?

As if simply holding an infant will instantly cause every woman to go out and impregnate herself.  In hindsight, I should have answered, YES!  YES, IT IS!  Now that you mention it, I am going STRAIGHT home to have marital relations with my husband!!  Woo hoo!!

Seriously, though, people are crazy.  My coworker's girlfriend brought their three month old daughter into work the other day and I have to admit I did get a little gaga.  But what would I rather have been doing at that moment, squinting at a spreadsheet or cuddling with a sweet smelling baby?  I chose the latter.  I was surprised nobody else asked to hold her.  She snuggled into my shoulder and I was in heaven.  We stayed that way for a long while and when her mother remarked how she usually doesn't like to be held that way I felt a little smug.  It must be because I'm an auntie, I innocently thought.

When I returned from my lunch break I was inundated with a barrage of questions.  When was I having my OWN baby, everyone demanded to know.  When was I going to get pregnant? 

I pointed to the picture of Kittie tacked up near my desk.  "There, I do have a baby!"  (Yes, I keep a picture of my cat at work.  Judge me if you like, I'm beyond help.)

On top of this, I am auntie to a sweet little angel named Luke and the experience is amazing.  I may be pushing thirty and I may love babies, but right this second Hubby and I just aren't ready to be jointly responsible for inviting a tiny person into this world. 

Sure you're not... everyone seemed to say.  Wait, they did say it, actually. 

Under these escalating circumstances, any and all protesting is futile and only causes one to look: pregnant, trying to get pregnant, or secretly yearning to be pregnant.  There is no winning in this kind of situation, so I find it's best just to give in.  Figuratively speaking, I advise going limp, like a political demonstrator, perhaps.

Some time later I was back to working on my spreadsheet when my coworker, the one with the baby, quietly told me I will make a wonderful mother someday.  I started to protest and he interrupted me, repeating what he'd just said.  Maybe it was the way he said it, but for some reason I was sort of touched.  I'd seen him try to defend me earlier, saying I was already an auntie, saying I missed Boston, etc.  I have to admit, it was a nice thing to hear. 

However, I've said it before and I'll say it again.  Parenthood is a massive, life altering commitment for which I have all the respect in the world.  A woman's reproductivity, however, should not be up for public discussion in polite society.  That is all.  xoxo