tangentwoman

Monday, October 31, 2005

Hollow Win

So, I'm in two Yahoo groups related to football. The one, Pro Pick 'Em -- where you have to pick each week which team will win, based on odds -- I'm totally sucking at this year. The other, the Survival Pool, I was doing much better in (it didn't hurt that half the group forgot to pick the first week and was automatically out).

It was me and one other person in yesterday, Week 8. I picked Tampa, who somehow got beat out by San Francisco, and figured that was it for me. But I have a little green "Winner" note under my name, because the other guy failed to pick this week.

So although I'm glad to be winning something, especially football-related, it feels a little undeserved.

Thursday, October 27, 2005

So many thoughts, so little brain

Just a stream-of-consciousness brain dump today:

-- Tonight, the Smelmooo and I had dinner at a restaurant that was one of our very favorites when he lived in North Brunswick; we went there all the time, and I would often stop for take-out there on my way home from grad school. So lots of happy memories, and it was so nice actually to spend quality time together on a school night. But the place had a lot of new staff, and apparently some new policies, including a "Hey, do you guys want more soda?" that resulted in the waitress scooping up our one-third full drinks, toppping them off, and charging us for two drinks apiece. Not cool, in my book. Bring a whole new drink, then fine, but topping off is strictly for a free-refills place. So boo, but yay because the food is still darn good, and we got lots of leftovers.

-- I heard from a reliable source last night that President Bush is a Diet Coke man, that he has it at every meeting. I was, for some reason, startled and unsettled that we have that in common, but I guess there are worse things I could have in common with W. I guess I never really thought about what his new drink of choice is now that he's off the sauce.

-- There was a surprise 30th birthday party today for a woman at work, with whom I'm pretty friendly in the office, and we actually see each other socially every few months or so. I wasn't invited to the party, which actually hurt my feelings a little, but I feel like a jerk for feeling slighted. And I don't feel slighted by my friend, but now I'm worried that she feels slighted because I wasn't there and that she thinks I just blew it off. I'm overthinking it, and I'm sure I'll feel fine about it by tomorrow, but I think part of me is stuck in junior high somehow.

-- Even though I know I have a good deal at my current job, if I'm still there on my 30th birthday, I think I will be incredibly depressed.

-- I watched Ashlee Simpson on Ellen earlier this week (or maybe it was from last week...who knows...hooray for DVR, which I saw called TiFaux the other day, and I think I will start using that), and I didn't hate her. I hated her on her stupid reality show, and I hated her with dark hair, but she was actually charming and engaging and lovely. I fast-forwarded her singing, but the interview made me like her. I'm not sure what to make of this; it goes against everything I knew to be true.

-- I can't stand either candidate running for NJ governor. I'm trying to decide whether I should vote for the one who I hate less (which will require a good amount of work) or if I should do a write-in for Codey, who I actually like and think is doing a pretty good job. It seems sort of like a waste of a vote, especially in what looks to be a relatively close race, to write in someone who won't actually win, but I just don't think I can in good conscience vote for either of the other guys.

-- When I was in college, I really wanted glasses (even though I look totally goofy in sunglasses, I think in part because my ears aren't even), and I was certain I needed them the summer after my first year, but the eye doctor told me I'd just been spending too much time with the Norton Anthology of Literature without blinking regularly enough. Now that my sister Carolyn has gotten glasses and looks so cute in them, I'm back on the kick. People point out that I could get nonprescription glasses, but I think that's too dorky even for me.

-- Now that it's like 12 degrees out in the morning, I'm really missing my Jetta's heated seats, but I'm getting used to the Honda, even though I still have trouble remembering which car is mine in the parking lot.

-- I've had a teensy little cold for a week and a half now, and it is just so darn annoying. It's just enough to disrupt my sleep and make me miserable first thing in the morning and trigger uncontrollable coughing attacks during staff meetings.

-- Last night, I had a work dinner at which I was seated next to a super high-level person on whom I've long had a huge but platonic crush -- he's just smart and charming and down-to-earth and he kind of reminds me of my dad. I was kind of star-struck, I think, and (here I go again, back to junior high) got sort of quiet, but I felt a sort of kinship with him because he's also a finicky eater, I noticed. He asked a lot of questions about what ingredients were included in the salad, and carefully ate only the outer part of the layer cake during dessert. Minnams also happened to be at our table, and she noticed this similarity, as well, and pointed out that perhaps I could have bonded with him over our picky eating, but I don't think I could've pulled that one off.

-- Speaking of Minnams, I am so loving her for introducing me to The Superficial, even though she somehow found it through the Smelmooo. I've been spending an inordinate amount of time swearing at my computer this week, and spending five minutes over there really takes the edge off.

Wednesday, October 26, 2005

Keeping the magic alive

One of my co-workers is the type of person who is consistently unintentionally hilarious. Sometimes she's intentionally funny, but almost always most hilarious when she thinks what she's saying is the equivalent of, "I had cornflakes for breakfast," when it's in fact something fairly bizarre.

Today, she told me about her husband's imaginary dog.

This couple has a commuter marriage (which I don't think I could ever do on a long-term basis -- God bless them, and Matt and Chris, and anyone else who can manage this for years, because blech would I hate it); she's here in Jersey full-time and he's up here most weekends, but during the week he keeps a small apartment about six hours away. At their house in Jersey, they have a dog, and they walk the dog together every night, but it's not really feasible for him to keep a dog at the apartment, and he misses the exercise and family time every evening.

So, one day, he called up his wife and told her he'd gotten a dog, which she immediately understood to mean as "I made up an imaginary dog." I'm fairly certain that if the Smelmooo told me he bought a swimming pool, which is totally absurd given the postage-stamp that's our backyard, my first instinct would not be "Oh, of course he means an imaginary pool." Although that thought might hit in 30 seconds, my first reaction would be, "You WHAT? The hell?!"

Anyway, I guess when you're married 25 years you know instinctively, so my co-worker played right along, and asked all about the dog, whose name is Marmaduke. As it turns out, he had been abandoned and picked up by a circus, who showcased him as a miniature horse and abused him, hooking him up to a cart and dressing him up in clown costumes and stuff. So then the husband rescued him, and every night, they go on a walk at the same time as the wife and dog in Jersey, and they talk to each other on their cell phones so it's like they're all walking together.

Last week, he emailed pictures of Marmaduke: one of him in the circus outfit; one as a puppy; one of him walking with Daddy. My co-worker thinks this is adorable, and I agree; I guess a sense of humor really is the key to a successful relationship.

Tuesday, October 25, 2005

Dog days of autumn

So yesterday was the 6th week of Tucker's "puppy kindergarten," although he missed weeks 3 and 4 because of his kennel cough, and I missed week 5 because I was finishing revisions to a journal article (that has subsequently been accepted for publication, so yay), so the Smelmooo took him last week instead. All of this to say that Tucker and I are a little behind, especially because we couldn't really do our homework while he was sick, and limited time for homework this last week because we were away.

So last night, in the driving rain, the three of us took off for class; there were only two other dogs there, which meant the pressure was really on for Tuck and me (the Smelmooo basically gets to sit there and watch us -- which must be awfully boring, but I'd trade spots with him in a heartbeat for reasons that will shortly be very clear -- because the parent who has more difficulty with the dog -- which would be me, because I'm a big pushover -- is supposed to participate in the actual training activities during class, while the spouse or whoever watches so s/he can practice with the dog at home).

Okay, one more piece of background before I get to the main idea, sort of: I was a very sickly kid, as I've mentioned before, and I was constantly absent from school and gymnastics class and swimming lessons. And I remember very clearly returning to swimming lessons after a week or two of being sick, and while we were waiting for the class to get started, one of the other kids told me that, the week before, they'd learned backdives. And I freaked out -- remember, I'm the kid whose mom needed to give her a copy of the Serenity Prayer in third grade because I was so anxious about schoolwork -- and started crying hysterically and ran back into the locker room where, between gasps and sobs, I told my mom I couldn't go back because I was too far behind because I didn't know how to do a backdive, and I'd never catch up. And then Mom dragged me back out there, and we talked to the instructor, who told us that that was sort of a one-shot deal and I didn't need to worry about it -- we would be all about the swimming and not the diving, so I should hop in the pool and do my thing, and it was fine.

It was less fine with Tucker having missed two classes and lots of homework; I also think we're at a huge disadvantage because of his squat little legs. How the heck am I supposed to do "heel" (which is him walking right close next to me) if the way to do it is both to constantly feed him treats out of my left hand AND to keep my head up and shoulders back? That simply doesn't work when I'm 5'7" and he's six inches off the ground; I either have to lean way over, which undermines my authority or whatever, or I stand up straight and he jumps up to get the treat, which is definitely a no-no. So I feel like I'm set up for failure, while the other owners prance merrily around in their circles like they're in Best in Show with their big tall dogs.

I acknowledge I'm a bit wimpy, and that Tucker totally knows I'm wimpy, and that that's a problem. But, really, do I need to get called out on it every five seconds? Brought into the center of the room and told that my dog doesn't respect me? That he walks all over me because I'm a big huge wuss? That he should know how to stay while lying down when we missed that part, and have only practiced "stay" from a sitting position? That if he's happily chewing away on a bone I should take it away simply because I can, because I'm dominant?

I don't know; that just seems backward as hell, although the instructor keeps insisting that Tucker doesn't have the human feelings we ascribe to him and that I simply have to let him know who's boss. But can't I be boss without taking away his toys just for the fun of it? We didn't get a showdog; I don't even need a show-off dog; we got a dog to have fun with, and where's the fun in taking away his stuff when he's having a good time, or having it take an hour to get from here to the corner because if he pulls we need to stop, and correct him, and not move until he's heeling. I just don't have that kind of time, lady.

And THEN she tells us, wait until we have kids, aren't we going to be in for a rude awakening. And part of me is like, Duh, you don't treat kids the same as you treat a dog; aren't YOU the one who's always telling us that? But now that I think about it, I'm sure I'm totally going through a similar thing to what my friends who juggle career and kids are experiencing -- I feel so guilty that Tucker's behind in school because I don't have any daylight hours at home to practice walking to the corner properly, and we have so little time together that I don't want to spend the time we do have being a big fat meanie.

Wow, I sure have some issues. Thank goodness there are only two weeks left of training, and that Tucker is so darn cute that it makes up for his disaster of a human-mom, who just lets him run around like a maniac and can't discipline for squat.

Monday, October 24, 2005

Two scoops of heaven

Last week, the Smelmooo and I took off for a belated anniversary trip to New England. We started off in Vermont, where the Smelmooo had a conference for work, and then took off to Connecticut, where we used a gift certificate that Minnams and Dave gave us for our wedding (thanks, guys!), for two nights at a little inn.

Everyone had told us that the first year of marriage is the hardest, which seems a little hard to believe; I guess we're still sorting out the Odd Couple business with my being messy and scatterbrained and the Smelmooo being...not messy or scatterbrained, but on the whole I feel like we had a pretty good time. Anyway, our waitress our last night in Connecticut told us the first two years are the hardest, but then went on to say that she got divorced after seven years. So I'm sort of thinking we shouldn't believe anyone on this point and should just go along our merry way.

So I'd never been to Vermont before, and I'm not sure that I'm cut out for it. It was lovely -- the leaves were gorgeous; there was tons of open space; it was quiet and sort of rustic and just what I'd pictured it would be. But it seemed to be populated with people who are much cooler than I am, and I was a little intimidated and couldn't help thinking that everyone was looking at me with some modestly veiled contempt. Everyone was outwardly pleasant, but I felt like inside they were thinking I was a big jackass from Jersey. I don't know; maybe I'm projecting.

One of the very best parts of the Vermont trip -- besides, you know, quality time with my husband, blahblahblah -- was the visit to the Ben & Jerry's factory. I was like a five-year-old; I was just so excited to be there and to see everything and to get free samples and a t-shirt and everything! We were on the first tour of the morning, and we arrived a little early so we could explore the Flavor Graveyard on the outskirts of the property, where they have headstones with odes to flavors that are no more.

My very favorite was:

Our Dearly Departed
White Russian

A concoction so to-die-for
We were forever in its debt
As the liquer kicked the budget
We just had to say "nyet."
1986-2002

Hee.

So we had our 30-minute tour with Henry, who seemed like the quintessential Vermont stoner guy, which I appreciated; he didn't seem so much filled with contempt as needing some caffeine or an aspirin or something. We watched a movie about Ben and Jerry, the founders, and then saw the factory workers (who seemed sort of disgruntled, even though they're working for this supposedly great company, so I had some mixed feelings about this part, but I'm repressing it because the rest of the experience was so great) making the two flavors of the day, peanut butter cup and strawberry cheesecake.

Then we got our free samples, one scoop of mint chip and one of Cherry Garcia, which I'd never had before but which I now love. Mission accomplished, B&J factory tour -- I'm hooked, and happy to pay four bucks for a pint of it.

And then I got my t-shirt, which again made me ridiculously happy, and the Smelmooo just sort of smiled and shook his head and let me do my thing, because that's what you do when you're married for a whole 54 weeks. Thanks, honey, for humoring me! I'm a very lucky duck.

Monday, October 17, 2005

Fashion plate

Anyone who knows me, knows that I am not so much about the fashion. I sort of half-know what's trendy, and who the hot designers are, but this knowledge doesn't really translate into my actually incorporating good fashion sense into my own wardrobe. I don't generally look awful or anything, but I'm not a big shopper -- even though I super-love fall clothes, in particular -- and I'm pretty much content to wear the same thing, or the same style, fairly regularly. I think I'm like a 5 -- not offensive, but not impressive.

Except when my mom buys me clothes.

Somehow, Millie always manages to find me work clothes that people love, love, love on me, even if I myself am not too sure about them. For my birthday last month, my mom gave me a Michael Kors jacket (me to Minnams: "Michael Kors -- that's, like, a designer guy, right?) from Marshalls, about which I was totally uncertain, but Minnams told me it'd be good, so I wore it to work last week, and got a gazillion compliments.

And then, today, I wore the other birthday gift from Millie, a blue turtleneck sweater that -- as literally five people pointed out -- makes my eyes "pop" (which sounds a little creepy, actually). So, there you go. Two for two.

I told Millie all of this on the phone earlier; she replied, "I think it's because I think you're cuter than you think you are."

I love my mom.

Play along with me

I'm probably at least a week behind the curve on this (and thanks to Minnams for sharing it with me today!), but I still feel compelled to pass it along:

1. Go to Google
2. Search on "miserable failure"
3. Behold the first entry that appears.

Thursday, October 13, 2005

Editing makes me cranky.

I've always taken great pleasure in editing: my dad and I would sit down at the kitchen table on Sunday mornings with the crappy local paper and try to one-up each other, competing to identify the most egregious errors. On a less nitpicky level, I like being able to take something that's not quite right and fiddle with it just a bit to make it all fall together nicely.

So thank you, overpaid writer of imprecise, wifty, overdue drivel, for asking me to "take a quick look" at your "final" draft before it gets sent out to the world. You've taken all the joy out of something I once loved.

And PS: F7, dude. Learn it; live it; use it before you send me your crap.

It's fine.

So it's no secret that I'm a big bundle of stress and irritation about work lately, although I'm experiencing periodic bursts of delusional calm.

Today is particularly difficult, but the rest of the week, actually, has been lovely, I think mostly because I've been finding such joy in actually being home for a whole week, and having some semblance of quality personal time.

The Smelmooo and I had a dinner date on Monday, followed by ice cream, and it was so wonderful just to be able to spend time together and catch up and talk and breathe the same air. And even though he's had work dinners the last two nights (and another tomorrow), on Tuesday I got to give Tucker a bath and last night, I had a long overdue, giggly, easy dinner with my sister Carolyn.

And if the work doesn't get done by Tuesday, it'll still be there when we're back, but off we go to New England for our anniversary trip, about which I'm just ecstatic. Maybe it will finally stop raining by then. I bet that's part of why everyone -- including myself, of course -- is so cranky today. Enough, already.

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Someone got here by searching: "woman that are insecure with themselves are mean to other woman"

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Wednesday, October 12, 2005

Baby, take a ride in my coupe

Or, you know, my sedan, because I'm an old lady now.

Goodbye, my sporty little Jetta, with your nearly-defunct water pump, your cracked side mirror, your hubcapless front wheel, your trunk still filled with remnants of the rock salt that saved me during the long, hard winters in Hamilton, NY.

Goodbye, quirky little car with heated cloth seats and tape deck, possessed windows that had a habit of simply disappearing -- almost always right before a rainstorm, temperamental moonroof that opened when it darn well pleased.

Hello, Honda Accord sedan, with your extra-long body that I never pull far enough into a parking space, your locks that don't lock when the spedometer reaches 10mph (like Dear Jetta did), your crazy automatic lights that ping when I open the door.

Hello, old person's car, raising your cool factor considerably with your airy moonroof and your intoxicating six-CD changer.

I think, and I hope, that ours will be a long and beautiful relationship. But it's hard to give up your first love.

Tuesday, October 11, 2005

If looks could kill, you would be an Uzi

So on the drive home from work, I was flipping radio stations (and alternating with a CD! Because my new car came with an actual CD player. But I'm still having trouble getting over my first love, my dear, sweet, troublesome Jetta, so I can't quite talk about the new car yet. But I'm getting there, and I'm crossing a whole bunch of things off my list, with the cleaning out of the old car and the purchase of a new one), and came across the song "Shoop" by Salt-N-Pepa.

I just love, love Shoop, for some reason, and I hadn't heard it in ages -- in so long that I didn't remember all of the words. If that VH1 show Motor Mouth is still on, they should totally rig it so that the subjects have to sing along to Shoop, and also "Things That Make Ya Go Hmmm" (which I heard on Ellen the other day, yay!) and "The Humpty Dance."

I was thinking of Shoop the other day, though, and Smelmooo gave me one of those "you are just so weird" looks when I explained why. That "It's in His Kiss (the Shoop-Shoop song)" that was in the movie Mermaids came on the radio, and I sang along, because it's kind of catchy, and I remembered to Smelmooo how, during one of the disco nights when I was in England, I requested "Shoop" and I was so happy that the DJ had it and agreed to play it, in a way that I knew he wasn't faking like DJs always do when I request "Forever in Blue Jeans." Anyway, a few songs after I put my request in, on comes "The Shoop-Shoop Song," which is just antithetical to Shoop, which the DJ did not, in fact, have in his collection. Ah, memories.

But the other thing that the actual Shoop song reminds me of is my college roommate Katie, who was absolutely hilarious and just quirky as all get-out. She looooved Shoop, and on occasion would, after several drinks, go up to someone at a fraternity party and say -- either with wicked irony or naked infatuation -- "If looks could kill, you would be an Uzi," which of course is a line from Shoop. I don't know that it ever worked as a pick-up line, but it was funny as hell to me. I miss Katie, although I think she's one of those friends who's more bearable in retrospect.

Speaking of which, it's high school reunion time in Jersey (although mine was in April, and I skipped it, because I'm a big wimp and I was kind of scared to go without Jenny), and I so enjoyed hearing Shari's debrief of her reunion last weekend, particularly because so many people really never change, which is alternately depressing and reassuring. So I wonder if Katie, in her fancy job as a clothing buyer in NYC, is still serenading relative strangers, still procrastinating by cleaning, still best friends with Debbie, still the world's biggest Syracuse fan, still just a little nutty: Straight-up, wait up, hold up, mistah lovah.

Sunday, October 09, 2005

Time flies

A year ago, the Smelmooo and I got married. It's so hard to believe a whole year has past -- I remember everything about that whole weekend so vividly, it's like it was yesterday. But this morning we watched our wedding DVD, and I got all weepy and choked up all over again, both at the Smelmooo and the smiling faces surrounding us, the beautiful toasts, the silly and poignant moments. It was a great day, but it's been an even better year.

And we ate some of our wedding cake this morning, which went very quickly from "Hey, this isn't too bad" to "Ugh, I can't really eat this," but it was still fun to partake in a little tradition.

Thursday, October 06, 2005

It's the little things

So, I'm on the road again, this time in D.C., which feels closer to home in many ways than the other places I've been traveling during the last month and a half.

I'm right off of Dupont Circle, which is an area I know fairly well, so I made a beeline for the nearest Cosi during the lunch break, and enjoyed it enormously. I can't articulate why I love that place so dearly, but it's heaven to me. And I kind of think that Jai from Queer Eye was there at a table outside, asking his lunch companion about his interest in architecture. I have no idea why Jai would be in D.C., and there weren't any cameras around, but if anybody still watches that show and sees that they're on location in D.C., let me know!

Anyway, also during lunch, I stopped into this fabulous bookstore, Kramerbooks, where I spent hours with Jenny when she lived in D.C. for a summer in college. I didn't buy anything, but I just loved paging through all of the books, and I love that the attached cafe is called Afterwords. It made me so happy to stroll through the familiar streets in this part of D.C., even though there was a little bit of a rain and it was a little crowded with lunchtime traffic.

Most surprising of all was that the hotel I'm in has no gift shop and has one ancient soda machine that sells $1.25 cans, so I headed to the CVS a few blocks away for my morning fix of Diet Coke. And BOTH of the bottles won me a free liter, which has happened like once in the many moons they've been doing this promotion. One in 12 wins, my ass, but today I was a winner. I do think that they don't spread the winners out; when they did this game in 1996, the bagel shop around the corner from the bank where I worked almost always produced a winning cap. Truly -- make me a winner, and I'm loyal as a puppy (hi, Tucker! Miss you!).

My meeting itself is "eh" at best, but I'm all about the positive attitude, which does seem to be helping. My first-year seminar in college was called "The Self and Other Fictions" and every paper I wrote began with some version of the thesis that one's self can't exist except in relation to others. And every time, the professor somehow thought it was genius, every time. Anyway. I've been thinking a lot about the various personas (personae?) I take on according to my environment. I think there was a point in my life when I'd have found this chameleonesque behavior reprehensible, that I was being a poser or selling out. But sometimes, I think it makes life much easier to adopt a different persona (I actually heard something the other day about Beyonce doing the same thing on stage -- I think she calls her hot-mama alter-ego Sasha).

Speaking of celebs, I am inexplicably fascinated by Katie Holmes's pregnancy -- a big shout-out to Shari to breaking the news to me yesterday. I wonder what her peeps in Toledo think of all this, really. And I wonder whether she and Tom visit the Scientology Center near Dupont if they're ever in D.C., marching on the Mall to protest anti-depressants.

And I kind of do want to get to the bottom of what really happened with Lindsay Lohan's car crash, but not enough to lose sleep over it.

I think it's time for another visit to the CVS -- I may already be a winner.

Wednesday, October 05, 2005

Drunk with power

A couple of years ago, I was working on this big campaign where we were working with a handful of celebrity types to do public service announcements and be spokespeople and stuff. It was very exciting to me, particularly when I got to go to Hollywood for a taping with a couple of TV stars (thanks again, Minnams, for making sure I was appropriately dressed for the occasion -- I love having a stylist), who were lovely and gracious and posed for pictures with me as I giggled away, totally starstruck and stammering like an idiot.

But what struck me was how bitchy their assistants were. I understand that they have to protect their peeps, and that everyone wants a piece of the celebrities, and it must be stressful work with long hours and relatively low pay, the trade-off for the glamour of it all. But when the third assistant to a TV actor has HER assistant place her calls for her and then say "Please hold for Bitchy McBitchypants"? Not cool. Especially when the actual celebrity, when participating a conference call where one is asked to announce oneself when joining the line, announced his OWN name, clearly having place the call himself. Which I thought was just so cool...again with the giddiness of a star being just a normal person.

All of this sprang to mind this morning when I returned a work call to a person I don't know very well. The person who answered the phone couldn't find him, so she sent me to his voicemail, where the outgoing message was recorded not by the actual person, but I guess by his (female) assistant. Which is just weird to me, and a little pretentious -- it's not like he's the president or something, and even then I think I'd think it's a little obnoxious. I still feel weird having my assistant answer my actual phone for me when I'm not at my desk, so I guess I have a bit of a skewed perspective, but my immediate reaction was "Wow, I bet you make her fetch your coffee, too." Which drives me bananas.

It's 2005, people. Learn to use your voicemail, and leave your own message. The Judgers of the world will love you for it.

Sunday, October 02, 2005

Celebrities are just like you and me!

Not to steal from the section of US Weekly titled "Stars are just like US!", which I find kind of obnoxious (I generally find US's hyperuse of exclamation points impossibly irritating, but sometimes at the end of a long work trip it's all I want for the train or the plane), but I was sort of struck this week by how celebrities, sometimes, really are just like regular people, and it's for some reason hard for me to grasp.

I was catching up on my Ellens, and Jodie Foster was on Monday's episode. Yay! Love Jodie Foster, ever since Stealing Home, one of my favorite movies in high school -- and still, probably -- and she so rarely does press, and she just looked beautiful, and she was lovely and funny and it made me very happy, even if I'm not so sure about this new movie of hers (although, even sight unseen, I think the flight attendants' urge to boycott is absurd).

And then she was talking about her sons, so glowingly, and how much she loves Halloween, and how she and the kids had gone a couple of times to pick out costumes, but they always pick out ho-bag outfits for her to wear, so she gives up.

Okay, so if I lived in LA, and I didn't hate Halloween, and I wandered into Everything Halloween or whatever, I might just stumble upon Jodie Foster and her kids trying on costumes? That is just so weird to me. As much of a fuss as I kicked up over Oprah kicking up a fuss about the Hermes thing, I sort of do expect that famous people don't actually shop at regular stores while regular folks are around (although that sort of sounds like I'm going against my original thinking on Oprah, which...rats. I guess I have less of a problem of a store closing itself to regular folk while a celeb is in there than I have of a celeb expecting it to open just for her. Anyway).

That just, for some reason, was shocking to me. And then, later in the week, Fran Drescher was on, and she still continues to irritate the heck out of me, and she was going on and on about refusing to go out on a date with some guy who drives a yellow sportscar of some sort because she worried he was trying to overcompensate for some kind of physical shortcoming and/or having a midlife crisis, and she wanted no part of that. Okay; kind of like a normal person, I guess. And then she went on this long tangent about running into Gwyneth Paltrow and Chris Martin at a restaurant, and Gwyneth coming up to her and saying how Chris loooooooves Fran Drescher, and how they had to meet. So, yeah, not like us, and honestly? I have to think that Gwyneth was playing some sort of prank, like in fifth grade when Billy Bryan went up to Kristen Smith on the playground and was like, "Do you want to go out with me?" and she said, "Yes" and he said, "Ha. Just kidding."

Ellen, bless her, hustled Fran off the show after that, because, Ick.

Also annoying on Ellen this week: Jared Padelecki, who would have been kind of funny if he didn't seem sincerely pretty dumb; Alyson Hannigan, who I really wanted to like but who just kept talking about this fan who bought her a horse; Jennifer Love Hewitt, who needs no explanation; and Jerry O'Connell, who is arrogant plus dumb, which made him my very least favorite, and I want to encourage Rebecca to run for the hills. I didn't hate Jennifer Garner, but she, too, seemed a little simpler than I'd expected (sorry Shari) -- maybe it's the pregnancy, but she seemed to be channeling her 13 Going on 30 character a little more than I'd have liked.

But overall, a most satisfying week of TV, all compressed into a couple of hours because of the beautiful thing that is DVR. A lovely escape from the realities of weekday stress and annoyances, but back to reality soon enough.