No one told me it would be this hard


If everything is going the way it’s supposed to, why am I so sad?

When “Toy Story 3” came out, I watched it with the kids, who were about 13 and 10 at the time. In the scene when Andy, the fictional kid in the movie series, was going off to college, I cried. It wasn’t one of those wiping-away-a-discreet-tear moments…I full-on cried. The kids did not get it.

Them: “Mom, what’s wrong?”

Me: “He’s going to college.”

Them: “That’s a good thing. He’s supposed to go to college.”

Me: “I know, but his mom is going to miss him.”

Yesterday we moved Jack into the dorms at Cal Poly, and today we took him out for breakfast, bought some supplies at the bookstore, and then said goodbye. That was 8 hours ago and I still haven’t recovered.

I’m pretty sure they were just babies like, a year ago.
Well, he grew up, damnit.

It’s only a 3-star spatula

One day last year, my parents were visiting. My mom and I were in the kitchen, and she casually said, “Oh, honey, I keep meaning to ask you: are you the ‘Lisa G’ who commented on my spatula review on Amazon?”  In that moment, several things ran through my head:

  1. Are you f***ing kidding me? I have a stressful exec job at a tech startup, two teenage kids, two dogs, two cats (okay, the cats take zero effort on my part, because Ted usually picks up their poop, but they add to the impact here), and a house with a massive water leak, such that the boys taking showers upstairs sends sheets of water down my living room window. For the record, I never would have noticed the leak, except that we had moved the kegerator into the living room for the annual holiday party, and when the kegerator got wet, I got suspicious and started investigating. My first method of investigation was to look up at the living room ceiling, which had a large wet brown ring about 6′ in diameter. Obviously, the living room doesn’t see much action. The funny thing is that my solution to the leak was to make the boys start using the downstairs bathroom, and to move the kegerator back over by the kitchen. That was last December. Plumber referrals welcome.

    Well, they do look nice.
  2. Who writes spatula reviews on Amazon? Even more amazingly, who COMMENTS on other people’s spatula reviews? There are really only two angles one could take: either “Oh, yes, that previous reviewer is spot-on. This spatula went ’round the edges of the mixing bowl flawlessly, time after time, and it cleaned up well in the dishwasher,” or “I don’t know why this person would write a good review. They must be friends and family of the company making the spatulas. This spatula is a piece of sh*t.”  In any case, how can one spatula impact your life so much that you need to document it publicly?
  3. Is this my same mother who has been extremely busy for the past four decades? When I ask her how she’s doing, her first response is always “Busy! We’re going out with Neal and Deanna tonight, and tomorrow I have two doctor appointments, and on Thursday I have my volunteer thing in the morning, and then the ladies are coming over to play ‘Hand and Foot,’ and then on Friday…”, etc. So this whole spatula-review-plus-comments-situation makes me want to crumple up my face like Colombo and start asking the hard questions. “In fact, you aren’t that busy, are you? Did you or did you not find time to get a pedicure last weekend?”  Eventually she’ll have to crack and admit that she sometimes puts her feet up and leisurely leafs through Sunset Magazine.
    (Mom, if you’re reading this, please know that you’ve earned the right to relax! You worked your ass off for 40+ years. No one is judging you for sneaking in a little downtime. Unless, of course, you spend that downtime reviewing spatulas on Amazon — then I’ll judge the crap out of you. 😉

I think what I actually said was, “How funny! Nope, must have been a different Lisa G.”

Postscript: Clearly I am in the minority on this topic. I just went looking for a spatula photo to accompany this post, and the one I happened to click on is a spatula with 5,042 reviews. Over FIVE THOUSAND people took the time to write about it. Sorry, Mom!

Really? He’s in charge?

I found this rant in my drafts folder, written in mid-2016. Guess I should have posted it earlier.

(“if a picture paints a thousand words…”)

Ladies, Donald Trump is every asshole you’ve ever met.

The privileged, cocky frat guy who spiked your punch with Everclear in college, the sexist boss who tells you that you’re more productive wearing pencil skirts, the guy who asks all the questions after a speaker is done, the guy who cuts in front of you at Starbucks, the neighbor kid who sets off fireworks at 5am (3 weeks after the 4th of July), the head of HR who’s secretly a dick, the head of product marketing who’s blatantly a dick, the guy who parks in the 30 minute zone all day, the construction guy who says “ayyy, mamacita!” when you walk by, even though you’re 45, the guy who works at the bookstore who asks you if you’ve gained weight, the asshole who broke your best friend’s heart in college, the bigger asshole who broke YOUR heart in college (god forbid they’re the same asshole),  the swim coach who didn’t put you in the finals, despite a slightly better time in your 50m freestyle, the Comcast guy who installs your wireless network with way too much proud detail, the snarky guy at Thursday night karaoke who is weirdly attached to performing “You Can’t Touch This.”

In short, AVOID HIM. And for the love of God, do not put him in charge.

Yeah, I bought it. What’s your point?

I’m usually pretty good at spotting ridiculous things — in fact, I delight in it — but some reason, when I first came across the TaTa Towel, my first thought was: “I need that!” Perhaps I imagined it would be supportive, or at least presentable outside the confines of my bathroom, but let me tell you, it is neither of those things. Not even close.

Yes, I should have realized how silly this is.

For maximum discretion and subtlety, I selected the “magenta/heather gray” color combo, because, hey, it’s reversible!  Why, one might ask, is this thing reversible? Am I going to wear it day after day without washing it? Am I going to trick dinner guests into thinking it’s a different TaTa Towel than the one I was wearing last Saturday?

Even my husband, who generally is fond of me and has never complained about seeing me in undergarments, was like, “Um, honey, please don’t wear that.”