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BY Jodi

01/01 Direct Link
On several occasions, my mom's told me she doesn't really like fiction. "Why would I want to read something someone made up?" she said with a fair amount of odd derision. "I like to read about things that are real."

Ahhh, her one daughter fell very, very far from the tree. I don't give a whit about most memoirs, would fight yawns at the biography of even the most amazing alien from the planet C8XdfrenchfryB&tron who was raised in a cabin on the plains of Nebraska under the alias Linda Farber-Wooten, and prefer eschewing reality as much as humanly possible.
01/02 Direct Link
I have 20 pairs of Bombas workout socks. Every morning I select a pair without looking so no one feels I'm "playing favorites". I have duplicates of six of the colors, so if I grab the same color two days in a row, I feel a frisson of disappointment but wear them anyway because it wouldn't be fair to that pair to return it and blindly choose another. Then I feel sad because it's not the socks' fault I was disappointed, and I don't want to hurt their feelings. Still, I feel like the socks KNOW and are sad anyway.
01/03 Direct Link
I reach for the coffee filters, yawn, blink, sigh, and curse myself for not having set up for coffee the night before. I should've known better than to think I wouldn't mind doing it in the morning. It's not difficult at either time, but I can't believe I could get to sleep without taking care of this when I should have.

It is *his* hand that reaches for the filters, he who yawns, blinks, sighs, and curses. I imagine his body carrying out the activity, and it simultaneously freaks me out and comforts me as I miss him like mad.
01/04 Direct Link
If you're flirting with me, you really suck at it. He texts me this.

I had asked him how he was doing, expressed interest in hearing the dramatic details of his divorce proceedings after he mentioned it was still not a done deal, and sympathized with him regarding the injuries he recently sustained when he slipped on ice. Nothing even remotely flirtatious.

I hadn't responded to his comment that "parts" of him were fine even though he was otherwise banged up, and instead had remarked that incapacitation was discouraging.

If that's what HE considered flirting, he sucks. Move along, champ.
01/05 Direct Link
It strikes me that if I really wanted to, I would never have to leave the apartment. I work from home, get paid by direct deposit, can have groceries delivered any day, and have all the entertainment I need here via the Internet, TV, Netflix DVDs, books, my own ridiculous imagination, and my cat. The only concern would be working out, which I could remedy by buying a Peloton or some other newfangled cardio equipment, and a few free weights. Or I could run outside along Riverside Drive just after sunrise, and see dogfaces, so I don't go completely insane.
01/06 Direct Link
In March I'm seeing "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?" on Broadway. My seat is in the rear row of the left mezzanine, on the aisle, a seat that, believe it or not, I took great care in choosing. If I could afford, I would've chosen the front mezzanine, to avoid craning and straining my neck to accommodate the obstructing heads I'd get in orchestra. This will be a good "test", to see if this kind of seat is worth getting again if I ever want to see another show in this theater. Whatever happens, though, I get to dress up!
01/07 Direct Link
If I bake something and give you some of what I made and you don't eat them in front of me, it's in poor taste for me to have to ask you if you liked them. It should behoove YOU to get back to me and tell me you've enjoyed them.

I'm done giving stuff to people who don't express appreciation. I recently gave gluten-free cookies to my best "gal pal" (ugh) in the city and she fell over herself thanking me in person, in text, and on Facebook.

Did I buy another little bag of gluten-free flour? You bet.
01/08 Direct Link
I rationalize NOT buying the dress I've been "watching" on eBay not only because of a faint stain/mark towards its waist that the owner mentions in the listing but because the shipping is $12.55. This is a cotton dress with a coordinating short jacket. This is not a hefty double-knit skirt suit complete with buckled self-belt and substantial metal buttons.

This is an "or best offer," and I was tempted to "lowball" and take off an additional few dollars in silent protest of the shipping, but I'd still resent it and don't want to "condone" her inflated shipping by purchasing.
01/09 Direct Link
Now that the scrawny rude recumbent bike bastard has been absent from the gym since just before Christmas, one of his cohorts, Herr Klangundbang (insert umlauts to your whim), has taken over manning the gym door so he can burst through the nanosecond it's unlocked for members and thus not only feel validated as a human being but recognized as the best gym-goer in all the land for having beat everyone else, none of whom could clearly give a flying fuck, about the order in which they gain entry. It's important to have goals, motherfucker. Congratulations on your grand achievement.
01/10 Direct Link
Someone in my acquaintance had cancer several ago and seems to have recovered, which is wonderful, of course, but he now talks about how he believes that positive thinking had much to do with his survival. While I believe that nothing good really comes from negative thinking (your voodoo doll is bullshit, kids), and positive thinking certainly couldn't hurt, it sounds like he attributes most of his recovery to it. If that's all it took, wouldn't we have a much better survival rate? I guess all the people who haven't been as fortunate as he just didn't want to live?
01/11 Direct Link
I thought that placing the Soom Chocolate Tahini in the freezer would act as a devour-deterrent, but it turns out it's even more irresistible when frozen. It's not rock-hard, but just enough to remind me of modeling clay (but a lot more delicious). At room temperature, it's way too easy to keep dipping the spoon into the jar, letting some of the stuff drip back into the jar, and then go to town on the spoon. This way, though, I daresay is a skosh more elegant since it won't be dripping down my chin like blood on a rabid vampire.
01/12 Direct Link
I don't know much about opera singing, and don't really care to (sorry, friends who are actual professional opera singers), but I do know that the incessant hideous warbling noise that you insist on polluting the courtyard airwaves with, neighbor, is more akin to the sound I'd expect from a froth-faced rabid raccoon when cornered by a hungry, lip-licking hyena near a dark alley dumpster than to actual human singing, and it has not improved over time (years) and with the prolonged practice you still think is going to help. For the love of Madame fucking Butterfly, stop the madness.
01/13 Direct Link
I should have done my RESEARCH before posting my the post that appears as tomorrow's post (I do these out of order sometimes). I said that "Mean Girls" was a movie from last century (meaning the 1900s, not the 1800s) (I have a hard time thinking of "last century" as the 1900s), where really it's just from 1994. After I posted, I thought, wait a minute, the girls in the movie aren't old enough to have been in a movie like that pre-2000, and then checked IMDb, which I should have done from the outset. Two thousand apologies, guys. Whoops.
01/14 Direct Link
(Redo of tomorrow's entry!)

"Mean Girls" as a movie again? Is this the best they can do anymore? Turning a movie from last century (!!!) into a Broadway musical, then turning it back into a movie reminds me of translating from English into another language, from that language into a third, and then back to English.

Example:

Let's eat fries and cookies all day while watching movies.

Mangiamo patatine e biscotti tutto il giorno mentre guardiamo film.

Ut vigilemus et velit eu dolor die manducant.

And the consumer wants to watch football on the brow.

I think I'd rather watch football on the brow.
01/15 Direct Link
Oy. "Mrs. Doubtfire" as a musical? Is this the best they can do anymore? Turning a movie from last century (!!!) into a Broadway musical, then turning it back into a movie reminds me of translating from English into another language, from that language into a third, and then back to English.

Example:

Let's eat fries and cookies all day while watching movies.

Mangiamo patatine e biscotti tutto il giorno mentre guardiamo film.

Ut vigilemus et velit eu dolor die manducant.

And the consumer wants to watch football on the brow.

I think I'd rather watch football on the brow.
01/16 Direct Link
I have gone a month and a half without buying anything wardrobe-related. (The last item was a mint condition Mollie Parnis Ultrasuede shirt-dress that I absolutely adore.) This does not mean that I haven't browsed Etsy and eBay like a shaky-handed alcoholic leaving nose smudges on the plate glass windows of a liquor store. When I find something particularly tempting, I'm thrilled when it's not my size and thus would be a waste of precious money. Because as much as I love this stuff, I'd never buy something that wouldn't fit. I won't guzzle bourbon when I'm a gin girl.
01/17 Direct Link
I may be "addicted" to diet cola. I prefer TaB and Coke Zero Cherry, but I have no qualms with regular Diet Coke, Coke Zero, or Diet Pepsi Wild Cherry. It's been some time since I've had plain Diet Pepsi, and here's how exciting my days are lately: I'm actually daydreaming about going to Fairway tomorrow morning after the gym and picking up a two-liter bottle of it as my "treat" now that I'm basically on a spending freeze for anything but necessities. Nothin' like kicking back on the sofa, chugging directly from a big ol' plastic bottle. Pure class.
01/18 Direct Link
I must remember that front row mezzanine seats may be obscured by a railing and I should choose the second row instead so I don't have to perch myself on the end of my seat, leaning forward to see over the railing, or hunched down in my seat, ducking my head to see under it. I must also remember that I can't sit that far away when the play is a one- or two-person drama and I want to appreciate facial expressions. I think a lot of "The Sound Within" was lost on me thanks to my choice in seats.
01/19 Direct Link
I never want to see "healthy" or "protein" in a recipe for any dessert. No. Just no.

An ex-boyfriend told me that at work meetings, he shunned all baked goods in favor of the "fresh fruit". I should've dumped him pronto for insisting on using the word "fresh" and the smug superiority of being above the indulgent losers who chose Danish over sliced apples. I know he wanted people regard him as "that super-healthy guy." I'll bet that they, like I, thought instead, "that poseur jackass who probably crams muffins in his pockets and scarfs them in the bathroom stall."
01/20 Direct Link
Now that I've decided not to add anything to my wardrobe in 2020, I've diverted my attention to baking, which demanded (ahem) that I acquire certain items. So far these include a hand mixer (my other one is from the '90s), two quarter baking sheets/pans, a dough/pastry blender, an offset spatula, kitchen scale, and two donut pans. And Pinterest is now my favorite sidekick.

In less than a week, I've made four batches of blueberry scones, two full and two half, totaling 24, and one half-batch of chocolate chip. I shared them with no one and all 28 are gone.
01/21 Direct Link
She's never mistaken as a relative of Tina Turner, but that doesn't stop Tabitha Turner from pausing any time she's called on to say her name, hoping the person asking or anyone within earshot will say, "Any relation to Tina?" Nobody does.

Recently she's changed her strategy. "No relation to Tina," she says, picking up a theater ticket.

"How about to Ted?" the boy in the booth says.

"I don't love Ted," she says.

In her rom-com fantasy, the boy says, "What's love got to do with it?" but he just gestures for her to step away from the window.
01/22 Direct Link
I'm in my seat when he comes down the aisle and prepares to take the seat immediately to my right. It's impossible to not be aware of his presence because he's so tall, but I pretend for a few minutes to not take much notice, and then say something so banal that I can't remember it and am glad I can't because it was probably not only banal but cringe-worthy, and we engage in quick, spirited conversation until the play starts. It would have made for a great rom-com set-up if only he wasn't 32 years younger than I am.
01/23 Direct Link
June Mauser is finally ready to leave the house. It's only taken her three hours to come up with something to wear, but she's confident this particular pair of black leggings and black tunic and black belt and black ankle boots and knee-length black jacket, of all the black leggings and tunics and belts boots and jackets bulging from her drawers, closets, suitcases, boxes under the bed, and trashbags tucked between the back door and the screen door is the best of the best and will present her to the outside world as a with-it chick who's effortlessly, impossibly chic.
01/24 Direct Link
I spent precious, delicious time researching hand mixers and bought one about two weeks ago but still haven't used it. That doesn't mean I didn't remove it from its box, marvel at its pristine beauty, insert the beaters (it also comes with dough hooks and a whisk!) and turn it on "just to see". I want to make cookies so I can "cream" ingredients. (Okay, I want to eat them, too, but that's beside the point.)

I'm not going to pretend this sort of thrill has come about with age. Nope. I've been this level of dork from the get-go.
01/25 Direct Link
The weighted blanket. Good god, the weighted blanket. I'm in bed, trapped beneath it in the best possible way, rendered motionless by dint of having just awoken, still being tired, and not wanting to uncover myself to greet the cold morning, and I want to know what time it is so I can know if I have to consider getting out yet. I'm so catatonic that I can barely even bring myself to ask Alexa what time it is. I'm amazed she can make sense out of the garble that results from my mouth barely moving to form the words.
01/26 Direct Link
I watched all ten seasons, 293 episodes, of Beverly Hills 90210 in about 4-1/2 months, and I already miss the gang. I think I'd stopped at Season 6, back when it originally aired, with (SPOILER ALERT!) Dylan leaving town on his motorcycle after the murder of his wife.

While watching, I kept thinking about how when I watched years ago, I could enjoy Luke Perry's cuteness without thinking, "Ugh, he's dead now." Back then, I often dreamed I was Brenda's best friend. This time around, I preferred Donna. And David, in the last few seasons, wins hands down for cuteness.
01/27 Direct Link
My interest has been waning for about a month, but today it's taken several steps closer to sealing the no-deal deal (not that a deal is even on the table) after he extended his fist to fucking FIST-BUMP me when I was taking leave. When he first tried that a while ago, I told him I don't do that, that you don't fist-bump women, or at least not this one, and after maybe one more reminder, he didn't even try. I'm wondering if today's attempt means he's lost interest as well (if he had any to begin with, that is!).
01/28 Direct Link
Yes, please, to "Jump to recipe". I don't need to read a treacly novella about how you loved when you were four, your daddy would push your high, high, high into the sky on a playground swing and you asked if you returned at night and he pushed you just as high, could you touch the stars, and how you can't wait to do that with your own kiddo but he's gluten-free and you think the old swing your dad pushed you on may contain traces of wheat. I just want to know if I should melt the butter first.
01/29 Direct Link
I recently found something called "Jacob" on Amazon Prime, a documentary about Jacob Appel, a guy I'd never heard of but who apparently has written a ton of short stories and plays, has multiple degrees and is a doctor, a lawyer, a college professor, and who the hell knows what else. Butcher, baker, candlestick maker, whatever. I think I was supposed to be utterly charmed by him, but I felt like I was trapped on a bad date, so after maybe half an hour, I turned it off, cringing, and thanked myself for not wasting any more of my time.
01/30 Direct Link
In celebration, I hope 45 crams fuckloads of his favorite chocolate cake into that anal aperture masquerading as a mouth, and in his gluttonous haste, some of it "goes down the wrong way", he chokes and falls off the toilet where he's eating it, onto the hard tile floor, is out cold, and we're richly rewarded with a final tweet of OH THIS CAKE IS SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO, and when he's found in a heap, the chocolate has made its way back out of that mouth and it looks like he's literally spewing shit. Not that I've given it much thought, natch.
01/31 Direct Link
You may not like food photos, but don't tell someone that what they posted is disgusting. Contrary to what you may think, you don't have to express every minuscule thing that pops into your fool head. You really don't. In fact, I gently suggest you don't. I know this is social media and some people think that politeness and niceness fly out the door when they're sitting behind the screen of a device, but that's utter poppycock. Would you go into someone's house and tell him his breakfast was repulsive? If so, you're an asshole in the flesh too. Congratulations.