To all the generous friends and relatives who have been helping me plan my fall wedding, I promise you that, no matter the mounting stress, I will not become a Bridezilla.
With that being said, I will tell you that I’m a hardass when it comes to deadlines, and that just can’t be helped.
Dear Sarah Palin,
You sound like a broken record.
Please stop talking because your voice drives me crazy, and your party’s repetitive spin equates to nails on a chalkboard.
Exactly what makes you think that hunting Hockey Moms are qualified to lead our country? Sure, I can relate to your down-to-earth demeanor and respect your family-first philosophy, but guess what? I’m not looking for anyone described as an “average American” governing higher offices in the United States. Average doesn’t cut it when it comes to leadership. Yet you, with your beauty-pageant charm and good looks, have convinced hordes of Americans that average is enough. Way to inspire. I suppose your campaign believes excellence as overrated.
And going back to that Republican spin you spew, why not share something of substance at your next campaign stop? Who are you, Sarah Palin? Tell me something other than your Bridge to Nowhere story, something other than your Executive Jet on eBay story, something other than low blows and falsehoods about your Democratic opponents.
Or, on second thought, don’t. Just stop talking.
Thanks, Sarah. Thanks but no thanks for the exaggerations, half-truths and down-right lies.
Sincerely,
minal.
Yesterday I went to my tailor to be measured for my wedding sari/dress.
Let’s just say that I’m far from the Western ideal of 36-24-36, a shape that has been referenced in pop culture by the Commodores, Sir Mix-A-Lot and the Violent Femmes.
Come to think of it, I don’t recall a time, even during my fittest teenage years, where that “ideal” string of numbers described my physique — and I was cute at 19!
Andrea Lynn, who was an editor for the News Bureau at the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, says 36-24-36 is a disproportionate figure, akin to Barbie. The measurement casts aside the fact that the average woman is shaped more like a pear, not an hourglass. Plus, 36-24-36 would mean that a woman has a size 10 bust, a size 2 waist and size 4 hips.
Which begs the question: Is that “ideal” attainable without surgical enhancements?
So, despite the big-bigger-biggest measurements for my sari, I’m gonna strut it on my wedding day.
You could probably imagine what living with four cats can do to one’s lifestyle. In our 600-square-foot apartment, Ben and I cannot escape the fur.
We have clothes lined with cat hair, floors littered with cat hair, furniture layered with cat hair, and, most unfortunate of all, water glasses occasionally spiked with cat hair.
I have resisted taking an electric razor to our cats on countless instances, wondering when I will have the gumption to follow through.
I keep telling myself that having a house at least double the size of this place, and with a basement, will alleviate the cat-hair predicament that we’ve been in for the past two years. My solution: The cats will reside in the basement.
But there is a reason we have four cats ā€” it’s because we adore the silly little creatures. And I know all my threats of “Basement Living” when exasperated with Lewis, Gizmo, Sidney and Bumshiqua are as empty as a fat man’s stomach.
One of my fears in life is having my brain turn to mush as I age. That’s why, at 29, I’m loading up on an arsenal of Sudoku, crossword puzzles and Mensa quizzes. I strive to be among the sharpest 90-year-olds in the world.
But I’m also going to be a broke 90-year-old due to my fascination toward hours-long infomercials for products that are useless yet embarrassingly tempting (e.g. the Flexi-Fit Lid, the H2O Mop, the Lighted Party Fountain and the Bacon Wave).
So it turns out that I will be sharp, just not wise.
