The Weekend Update

Well, she is Mrs. Zilla now. Zilla and Groom had a lovely wedding. They had a lovely reception. And, now they are having what I hope is a lovely honeymoon. Additionally, in spite of her Zilla-ness, I think all friendships remain in tact.

So, I might have gained a little weight. I am not sure how. It could not possibly be the fact that I have been eating like a pig. However, I can report the following.

Yesterday, I wore shorts. It was a beautiful day. We were going to the Bayou City Arts Festival and to a lecture/demonstration by a couple of glass artists. I had not worn the aforementioned shorts since the end of last summer. (In Houston, that was about last Thanksgiving.)

All was well. I was mostly comfortable. However, a slight problem occurred.

I used the restroom at home between the festival and the demonstration. I flushed the toilet. It's flushing. I am buttoning my shorts. The button (evidently due to the enormous strain it had been under) literally flew off the shorts and down that gushing flush. Gone. Never to be seen again. Not that I would want it.

Anyway, I was not happy about this development. But, c'est la vie or que serra or whatever it is you say in these circumstances. I guess I will find another button, sew it on, and hope for better results. In the meantime, I was completely dependent on my belt to hold up my bottoms yesterday. I guess I could diet. But why?

Going to the Chapel...

Here’s the deal. If I can survive Zilla’s wedding of the millennium on Friday and Saturday, I think it could be a great weekend. (Zilla, if you are reading this, no offense…I just typically do not enjoy weddings…it has something to do with being constitutionally banned from marrying Shlomo…I am still a bit bitter.)

Anywho, I am sure it will be a lovely affair. She has spent the better part of fourteen months making sure it will be. My favorite quote from her so far is, “If someone wears khakis to my wedding, I will call them out.” Yeah, she’s been fun this week.

She gave me the itinerary for the weekend. It’s ten pages long and color-coded. That’s right. Ten pages. You did not read that wrong. There is a legend on the front page. Every minute is planned. I can tell you what time the first dance will be. I can tell you what time the last dance will be. I can even tell you when all eight bridesmaids are to flat-iron their hair. Did I mention ten pages with a legend? I told her when this is all over, she needs to use her powers for good and not evil.

So, Shlomo and I will be heading down to the coast tomorrow for the festivities. I am sure it will be lovely. I am also sure the bride will need to be medicated before it is over.

If the groom happens to read this before tomorrow, here is my advice. It will just be easier for you to do everything she says until the reception is over. I know you have an opinion. I know you are entitled to your opinion. However, on behalf of the other people who will have to deal with the bride, please make this sacrifice for us.

So, in the meantime, congratulations and best wishes to Zilla and Groom. May you have many happy years together.

Jumping the Shark

If you were a Happy Days fan as I was, I think we can all remember when Fonzie jumped the shark. If you don’t remember, here’s a quick rundown. They all went to California. There was a shark in a cage in the ocean. There were also ski ramps. To settle some dispute and to prove that he was in fact the coolest, Fonzie skied up the ramp and over the shark. Critics have long since argued that that one episode was the beginning of the end for that beloved series. In fact, it even brought about this.

Why do I tell you this story and reminisce so longingly of a classic tv show from my youth? Here’s why. In the zoo/museum (zoozeum?!?!) where we live, Shlomo and I have a 120-gallon aquarium filled with African cichlids.

For those unfamiliar with cichlids, let me just say that they can be an aggressive group of aquatic beasts. They are not as evil as piranhas, but they are nowhere nearly as peaceful as a tank full of guppies.

In case you are unaware, Shlomo and I are also fairly lazy. As a result, we have our tank serviced once a month. It really does make sense. They do a fantastic job. They know what they are doing. And they clean things we would never think to clean.

Last Thursday when they were cleaning the tank, Fish Guy (as I will affectionately refer to him) told us of some beautiful new cichlids they had at the store. These were called an albino strawberry cichlid. Shlomo made a beeline to the store. We got a pair. (As an aside, we always get a pair. They only sell pairs. We have never had a baby fish. I blame Shlomo. I am not sure why, but I do.) As is the case with practically all cichlids (and finches we have discovered), the male is the prettiest of the pair. Shlomo also got a couple of other pairs of cichlids, that while beautiful are not anywhere nearly as pretty.

I got home and the fish looked something like this (keep in mind the photo does not do it justice):

Or in the case of my artistic rendering, this:

However, somehow the fish in our tank always seem to know when there is a new and much more beautiful fish. The attack began. We have been through this several times. They attack for a day or so. They nip at its fins. They show it who is boss. Then, they leave it alone. The fins regenerate. Everything is lovely.

After 47 hours, the fish looked like this:

After 48 hours, like this:

That’s right blood was starting to trickle out from its tail. Shlomo and I high-tailed it to the fish store (that’s right, an ordinary pet store would not do—we have a specialty fish store) to find out what to do. We were ready to set up the “sick tank.”

Setting up the sick tank would have proven ironic. Referencing the aforementioned “lazy” comment, the sick tank had been sitting in the spare bedroom/study for about 9 months without water in it until the day before. We had people coming for dinner and I issued a slight ultimatum: it is hidden or I don’t cook. I know, I could have hidden it, but isn’t that why I have Shlomo? I need someone to kvetch at.

Amazingly, Fish Guy Number Two (as he is now affectionately known) had a simpler suggestion. He said to go to the dollar store and buy a mini-laundry basket. It would float. We could quarantine the sick/hurt/pitiful looking fish in there and he cold stay in the same tank. It would also have the added benefit of letting the other fish acclimate to him.

We went to the dollar store. Sure enough, they had those little laundry baskets. We also bought a plastic colander made from the same stuff. Guess what? They actually do float. We caught the little guy, put him in his little cage, and just waited for Fonzie to jump over him.

All was well, we went to sleep. This is where the story takes an almost unbelievable turn. In the morning when we woke, he had escaped. But, evidently they had turned on the female (who is smaller and noticeably different), and she had managed to place herself in the cage. I understand how she got in. She was probably small enough to fit through the holes. What I don’t understand, is how he got out. I have now named him Houdini.

Anyway, we caught him again. We transferred them both to the colander which has much smaller holes. Now, we are just waiting for them to recover…and for Fonzie to jump them, of course.

Wow, I Really Am Dull

Well, it’s official. I am completely dull. I have nothing to blog about.

I could tell you about dinner with Zilla and her fiancé on Sunday night. They were sweet. We gave them a Jonathan Adler pot for their wedding present. I think they liked it. They claimed to. Ooh, fun game: which one is the Asian couple? One couple at our table at the Thai restaurant ordered cashew chicken, beef and broccoli, and combination fried rice. The other ordered basil duck, pahd thai noodles with chicken, and cheese rolls. Correct guessers win the satisfaction of guessing correctly.

I could also mention how Zilla chastised me saying that the peridot cufflinks I was planning to wear on Monday were not green enough for St. Patrick’s Day (I don’t really have green clothes). I wore a different pair that had a true green stripe. Zilla wore lavender. Zilla got pinched. Ha ha, Stupid.

I could also tell you how our chairs were delivered on Saturday morning and how we continued our out of control, art-buying spree by adding this and this to our collection. But really, who cares?

It would probably be rude to tell you about going to our friend Holierthan?'s house to learn to make Hamantashen on Sunday. Hamantashen are a traditional triangular shaped cookie served around the Jewish holiday of Purim. She was showing me how to make them. She asked Shlomo if he wanted to make some. I pointed out that he is really not allowed to do that type of thing. He finally insisted on making some. His two were the only rhombus-shaped Hamantashen on the baking sheet. It's okay Sweetie, I am pretty sure they tasted as good as the rest.

I probably should not tell you that my dear Mumsy called last night to tell me she had spotted some china in a catalog that she thought I needed. I am now in what I hope is the end of an only-two-day scavenger hunt at every Macy’s across the city to get enough place settings for a dinner party we are having on Friday night. But really, I think these say we are sophisticated with only a slight obsession with Asian culture.

(FYI: Chopsticks will not be used at the aforementioned dinner party. I cannot even imagine how you would eat a Cornish game hen with those! Okay, maybe Shlomo will be forced to eat only with them. That could be funny.)

I could blog about how Heather Mills McCartney wound up with only a $47.8 million leg to stand on, but evidently was still upset and felt the need to dump water over the head of Paul McCartney’s lawyer. But, I am not sure if I care. I think Paul learned a very valuable (and expensive) lesson and hopefully her 15 minutes of fame are up.

I could also mention that Halle Berry named her daughter Nahla. I assume that is after her favorite character in the Lion King. Can you feel the love tonight?

But, I guess I will end with mentioning that last night I saw one of my favorite episodes of Friends in the syndicated repeats. It’s the one where Rachel discovers Phoebe working in one of the massage chains. I love that episode. Lisa Kudrow rocks.

Wrapping It Up...

So let’s have the week in review:

• The governor of New York resigned. He got caught with a high-priced callgirl in the Mayflower Hotel in Washington, DC. Didn’t we already live the Mayflower Madam scandal in the 80s? Whatever happened to Sydney Biddles Barrow, anyway?
• Britney’s guesting on a sitcom called How I Met Your Mother. Do we really care? Okay, I kind of do. But, I don’t think I care enough to actually watch.
• Sort of out of desperation (thanks again for striking, Writers), I have been watching Lipstick Jungle. It is kind of nice to see Brooke Shields and Andrew McCarthy both on tv. It’s very Endless Love meets Pretty in Pink. Whatever happened to Molly Ringwald, by the way? I guess 36 candles weren’t as kind to her career.
• The art work we purchased in New York was finally delivered yesterday. I will try to post a pic at some point. In the meantime, I say check out the stuff at the Opera Gallery. They have great stuff and are super nice. That almost sounded like it should have been written in a high school yearbook.
• The chairs that are replacing the other perfectly good chairs are being delivered tomorrow. We have spent the week without chairs in the living room…just the sofa and the “art chair” we got in NYC. You take the furniture out and leave the art on the walls, your living room does kind of look like a gallery.
• And, we finally got half our order from the (is it rude to say not-so-fine?) folks at the Talavera pottery place in Mexico. Yeah, I am still mad enough that I cannot blog about it yet. But, the big urn arrived. That was the main piece I was worried about.

For the most part, the week has been either building boring reports at work or waiting for deliveries. Now, the weekend is upon us. Why did it wait so long? Is it me or was this an incredibly long week? Can you tell I really don’t have much to blog about? I guess that’s it.

Speaking in Psalms

At the end of the month, my friend “Zilla with a Z” is getting married. (In case you weren’t aware, Zilla is short for Bridezilla…which she is.) At her ceremony, which I am sure will be the loveliest affair imaginable (I know I am pandering, but she is freakishly strong and I don’t want to be hurt), I am to read the 100th Psalm.

I have no fear of public speaking. It’s not a problem at all. The only problem is that I hate the sound of my voice. First, I considered doing the reading in a British, Jamaican, or Miposian (Perfect Strangers reference) accent. But, what if my accent faded? Don’t be re-dik-you-los, of course it would not. But, would I then I have to keep it up for the entire reception? That’s a lot of pressure.

After minutes of searching and struggling with this, I found a solution.

I think I will order this from Amazon.com. Then, I can simply burn out the 100th Psalm, play it over the loudspeaker at the church, and lip synch. I might even close with, “This is CNN.” What are your thoughts? Have I made the right decision?

Not Just Any Baton...

When I was in high school, there was this majorette with horrible bleach blonde hair who never caught her baton. Every Friday, she wore one purple shoe and one gold shoe to “show her spirit” because those were our school colors. I always thought she was an idiot with no taste.

Today, evidently, I am paying homage to her. It started because I overslept. It is all Shlomo’s fault. No one bothered to tell me that our new alarm clock only allows you to hit the snooze button five times. I know that seems like five times should be an ample amount of snooze, but for me, it’s not. I like to snooze for at least an hour.

That is probably the fault of my mother. I distinctly remember being in first grade and hear her talking about how she would wake me, put me on the couch, let me watch Captain Kangaroo, and not talk to me for an hour until I was awake and in a better mood. If it started then, I really can’t break that trend now.

After that digression, I think you know where this story is going. Alarm. Snooze. Alarm. Snooze. Alarm. Snooze. Call from Shlomo. Alarm. Snooze. Alarm. Off that I thought was snooze. I woke up 40 minutes later…30 minutes later than I needed to get up.

It was a mad dash to get ready. I still did everything I needed to do. I fed the birds. I made the bed. I let the dogs out and hopefully back in. I even took out some trash from the bathroom. (Okay, carrying a bag down the stairs as you were going anyway really deserves no applause.) I threw on my clothes and grabbed a pair of cufflinks to put on in the car.

I hopped in, backed out, and called Shlomo back. I always feel the need to talk one last time before the plane takes off. I know. Don’t start.

We had our brief conversation. Some stupid hussy known as a “flight attendant” made him turn off his phone. Whatever. I got to a stop light and reached over and put on my lovely moonstone cufflink. It’s one of my favorites. The white stone goes with everything.

I grabbed the other and put it on. I looked down. There was no moonstone. It was garnet. That’s right. Somehow, I managed to pick up two cufflinks that in no way match each other. I was already late and 10 minutes from home. I had no choice. I am wearing them.

So that’s my homage to a certain majorette today. Hopefully, that will be my only homage to the majorettes this week. Another one wore skirts that could double as belts. Actually, I have seen belts that cover more. I don’t really want to pay homage to her with my wardrobe. No one needs or wants to see that.

Isn't She Crate?

So, I might have mentioned how Shlomo and I were slightly out of control with our shopping when we were in New York a couple of weeks ago. Yeah, for some reason when we were there, we decided to redecorate a room that was really not in tremendous need of redecoration.

But let me give you a little backstory/justification. When Shlomo moved into our house, he literally had no furniture (not counting mattresses). Literally none. Over the course of that summer, he bought a sofa, some TVs, and a table with bar stools rather than chairs for the breakfast nook. One friend found a great buffet that fit perfectly in the niche in the dining room. Another helped him have a dining room table made from an old ranch door. There were no chairs.

He lived like that until Labor Day weekend. There was a furniture sale at a local furniture store. He filled the house (including a decent table for the breakfast nook and chairs for the dining room table). It’s not that the stuff was terrible, but even he claims not to have really picked it all out. He attributes most of it to the guy who worked in the furniture store…let’s just say it rhymes with Lassett.

So a year later, he met me. A year after that, we combined households. I was never in love with most of the stuff from Lassett. It’s fine. It’s run of the mill. Everyone can go buy exactly the same stuff. I am more like Phoebe in her pre-Pottery Barn phase (if you don’t watch Friends, you will not understand that reference). I like for my things to be a little more unique.

Shlomo agreed. He always said that he just wanted furniture when he bought it. Over time, we could replace it. It’s amazing how fast “over time” can actually be.

So, in New York, we fell in love with this table (minus the mushrooms—our fine friends at Bergdorff Goodman got to keep those). It was more than we wanted to spend, but desire outweighed practicality. It often does with us.

We weren’t completely out of control. They agreed to hold it until we could get home and confirm that it actually fit in our living room. It would. We struck a deal. They agreed to ship it out. It just needed to arrive.

Last Friday, it did. FedEx delivered it at 10:45 (just minutes after their promised time—I won’t complain about that). The driver put the crate which was the size of a small car in our driveway and was heading out. Shlomo requested that he use his forklift-type apparatus to move it to our garage (on my side of course—thanks, Shlomo!). The driver did that.

I got home at lunch and we began what we knew would be a daunting task…uncrating it. Yeah, we don’t have the best mechanical prowess. It was not going well. We stripped two screwdrivers…and still the crate was not open.

Shlomo phoned the store. Our salesgirl had the day off. Her manager was a bit snippy and finally said that she would see what she could do. She did point out that no other customers seem to have this problem. I decided that could only be for one of two reasons…either she was lying or anyone who would buy such a ridiculous item would have servants to uncrate it for them. Surely, we weren’t the only customers to ever stretch to buy a table there. I know Oprah lists the store as her favorite place, but it’s not that ridiculous.

A couple of hours later, another woman from Bergdorff’s called back. She had arranged for someone from Neiman Marcus (somehow they fall under the same corporate entity…I am not really sure who owns whom) come and uncrate it for us. Shlomo met them there. It took them five minutes to undo the crate. We had worked for almost an hour. Slight problem, however: they could not lift the table.

They left and went to get a dolly. I got home from work. It took all four of us and a dolly to get this thing in the house. It’s not moving. It’s there forever. Our taste can never change. A hurricane can come through. Our house can collapse. It will still be there.

After the struggle and pain of getting it in place, somehow, I felt better. And, it wasn’t just because the table was there. Yes, Shlomo and I are wimps. But, these guys get paid to do this sort of thing and they struggled with it. Hats off to those fine folks at Bergdorff Goodman for their crating ability. I have never seen anything so well packed. However, this is my advice to them: if you are shipping a crate that literally weighs 616 pounds, chances are, the person receiving that crate is not going to be able to “just handle it.” But, all is well that ends well.

Dullsville, TX

Okay, I'm bored. Shlomo is in the air somewhere between here and Orlando. New episodes of my favorite shows have not started airing since the writers' strike (seriously, I need some Ugly Betty!). So, here I sit...just waiting for Project Runway.

Let me talk a minute about Project Runway. As someone who often considers himself walking down the runway of life, I have a serious love for this show. You already know that we bumped into Chris when we were in NYC a couple of weeks ago. I told him I was pulling for him. That was before I knew he used human hair in his final designs. Ewwww!

So now, it's down to Christian (he's fierce), Jillian (she's talented, but a little boring), and Rami (to quote Chandler Bing, "Can he be draping anymore fabric?"). Honestly, they are all good. I don't really care who wins. Okay, that's not entirely true. I would kind of like to see that little Christian win. I guess I will know in a couple of hours.

In the meantime, I guess I will plan my shirt and cufflink combination for tomorrow. That will take about seven seconds. So, it's right back to Dullsville.

Sliding Down That Slippery Slope of Home Decor

In case I have not made myself abundantly clear, Shlomo and I were seriously out of control in New York. When we left for the trip, we thought our living room was perfect. Within one hour of checking into our hotel, we had bought a chair that turned the entire room upside down. The chair, made of black shell lining applied over wood, led to the purchase of end tables. Then, there was a console table that can only be described as a big slab o’ wood with which we fell in love. That meant we had to change some of the art in the room. You can see, it was a slippery slope.

Well, we got home. We moved out the old and are waiting for the new stuff to arrive. It became abundantly clear that one more thing had to go: the brown fabric recliners. It’s not that the chairs were terrible. They are not. However, I had visions for Frasier Crane’s apartment. You know the one: the perfect sofa, the perfect art, the perfect objet strewn about. It’s all modern, yet traditional—decorated, yet not. Then, there it is…that big, ugly chair. All that was missing from ours, was the duct tape.

As a result, we decided if we had gone that far in our redecorating, we could look at new chairs. Let me say this from the outset: 1) I hate shopping for upholstered furniture. 2) Our chairs, while not that bad, were in fact a weak link in the room.

I would tell you we got up bright and early on Saturday to hit the ground running, but we really did not. We were, however, out of the house by 10:30. First stop: breakfast. What can I say? My mother trained me well. The key for any successful day of shopping is food for sustenance.

As a general rule, we knew that none of the big chain furniture stores would have what we wanted. I am not sure how we knew that, because we weren’t sure what we wanted. So we started with a few of the more specialized (read: pricey) local stores. I am not sure what they think makes their stuff so special, but it is not.

I won’t bore you with the details, but we went to 18 different furniture stores over the course of two days. We wound up ordering two of these. We thought they said modern, but traditional…comfortable, but attractive. They were in the fourth store.
We could be wrong, however. At one point on Saturday, we seriously considered this in a combination of brown leather and either a taupe or grey fabric. I chalk it up to simple giddiness from a long day of looking at furniture. I am not saying there is anything wrong with them. They are very comfortable. In the right environment, they would be great. Our living room (with an antique French table between them) is not the right environment.




I also knew we were in a bit of trouble when we found ourselves considering ivory leather. There is nothing about our living room that says, "Add some ivory leather, please."

So now, we wait. The rest of the stuff from New York should arrive on Saturday. The chairs should be delivered next week.

In the meantime, we have the existing painting of Pansy hung beside a dining room chair next to a big orange vase/umbrella stand from the entry hall to provide a very bad approximation of the black shell chair and end tables. Then, we used blue painters tape to mark where the big slab o’ wood table will go. We then taped photos of the painting and sculpture over it. I kid you not. It takes a little imagination at the moment, but I am pretty sure our living room will be even better than before.

I'm With Beyonce

Yep, those are words I never thought I would say. But, remember back about a month ago when that Destiny's Child baby diva introduced TinaTurner at the Grammy's with, "All hail, the Queen!" Everyone went wild. Tina came out and gave a great performance. And Aretha Franklin sat in the front row all bent out of shape because she thought she was the Queen because she is known as the "Queen of Soul." At the time, I thought it was Re-re's sour grapes.

Well now, I have a few sour grapes of my own. Earlier in the year, I had expressed my delight that Shlomo and I would be seeing Ms. Franklin in April...from the fifth row, no less. Word came yesterday, that the self-proclaimed "Only Queen" has cancelled.

Therefore, I now go with Beyonce. I saw Tina years ago. She did not cancel. Hers was the first cd I ever bought (Aretha was second). Therefore, I too say, "All hail, the Queen!"