Oscar Night Breakdown

Sorry for not writing about our Oscar party earlier, but, have spent most of this week recovering from what was a very busy weekend. Went to see a friend in a play on Saturday night and then spent Sunday cleaning the house for our annual Oscar party. Then we had the party, which was great — the Frankenweenie pigs in a blanket, French cheeses and bread for Les Miserables, and the blood-spattered Lincoln cake seemed to be the crowd favorites! — and then spent the rest of the night re-cleaning the house. Good times.

Actually, it really was. An old friend of ours was at the party and I haven’t watched the Oscars with her since Marisa Tomei won back in the day, so, we had a lot of fun. And despite the fact that she was probably desperately over-tired from the events of the weekend, Greta was a dream child through the entire show. And then, just as Michelle Obama was about to announce the Best Picture winner (by the way, what the hell was that all about? I love me some FLOTUS, but, that shit was just awkward…yikes!) Greta suddenly flipped out and DEMANDED attention. It was the weirdest thing.

And though I tried my best to shuffle her off to her bedroom to silence the demon (seriously, she was shrieking!), even with the door closed, I knew everyone at that party was getting an earful. What really killed me was that if she’d just held on, like three minutes longer, the show would have ended and I could have showered her with attention. As it was, I ended up watching the tail end of the show later and comforting Greta instead. A small price to pay when my favorite movie won. Go, Argo!

Of course, once all the singletons and childless guests left — the type you hope will not fixate on the ten minutes your kid was bad and focus instead on the three-plus hours when she was a party host’s dream! — Greta was back to her old charming self. Guess she just needed to let off some steam. Oh, and speaking of, Greta also inherited a gigantic foot locker full of Thomas the Train trains and enough wooden tracks to cover our living room floor in, well, wooden tracks. So, that was great too. And it kept her super busy during the show, so, thank you upstairs neighbor, Ed. You rock!

As for the show itself, I was very pleased with all the winners. I hate when one movie dominates the night (yeah, I’m talking to you, The Artist) so, it was fun to see the wealth so evenly distributed throughout the show. And though he’s getting slammed in the press, I actually thought Seth MacFarlane was an awesome host. He was hip, funny, and despite a few off color moments — the Boobs song bothered me much less than the frat-boyish jabs at women never letting things go — he was never boring, which is the greatest sin an Oscar host can commit! So, if you ask me, moving forward the Academy needs to decide what they really want in an Oscar host: someone edgy, out-there and possibly offensive? Or someone who’s stately, traditional and totally boring. Because, as the past few years have proved, you can’t have it all, baby.

Anyway, love to hear what you guys thought of the show, so, comment away…

Getting back up…

I’m probably totally mangling the quote, but, someone once said something along the lines of: “It’s not how we fall that defines us, but, what we do after we get back up.” Whatever the exact wording is, that has been my mantra this week as I try to get back on track with Project X.

Yes, it’s true, I fell off the wagon last week. Big time. Truth be told, I’ve kind of had one foot off the wagon for a couple of weeks now. That’s not to say I wasn’t still trying to lose weight and eat healthier, I just wasn’t as focused as I’d been before. I’m not blaming Greta, but, man, she has been keeping me busy lately, and, unfortunately, when Daddy gets busy, cooking at home is the first thing to go out the window. I just don’t have the energy.

Luckily, my 25-year high school reunion is coming up in two weeks, and lord knows, nothing motivates a fat ass like having to see a bunch of old friends that knew you before you were a fat ass. Urgh, I know it’s stupid, but, seeing people I haven’t hung out with since my 10-year reunion, and probably won’t see again till my 30th, has been my driving motivation to drop a few pounds.

So, starting Monday, I was back on Project X full time. No bread, no carbs, no chips, not even a nibble on the leftover crust from Greta’s peanut butter and jelly sandwich today. I licked the shit out of the knife, but, I didn’t eat the crust, so, hooray for me. Seriously, I’ve been very good and it’s kinda driving me insane. Of course, the last time I felt this crazy I ended up losing some serious weight, so, hey, whatever works…

Happy St. Patrick’s Day!

Spent the last couple of days boiling and eating corned beef, cabbage and potatoes (we had an early St. Patrick’s Day feast on Friday with my brother and sister-in-law and a reheated version of the exact same meal, complete with black and tans, tonight) and lemme tell ya, I could eat that shit every day. Seriously, God bless the Irish!

Also been playing loads of Irish music — Enya, U2, Celtic Women, Luka Bloom, Sinead, The Cranberries, you name it, it’s on our iPod’s epic, three-hour-long “Irish Spring Playlist”! — including one of my all-time-favorite late-90’s bands, Garbage.

I know it totally dates me, but, man, I loved those guys. And don’t even get me started on their lead singer, Shirley Manson. That milky skin, all that crazy red hair, and that angry, riot grrl snarl, whew…she had me at “top o’ the morning to ya”. Seriously, she can rest her weary hand on my knotty old shillelagh anytime she wants. Follow the link, I’m not being nearly as dirty as I sound.

Anyway, figured St. Patrick’s Day was as the perfect time to teach Greta the finer points of Garbage appreciation, so, we rocked out with her Barbies to some of the band’s finest jams. Greta was a little hesitant to belt out the chorus on “Stupid Girl” — since S-T-U-P-I-D is a “bad word” in our house, we sang it as “Bad Word Girl”, which totally worked — but she and her Barbies sang the hell out of “I’m Only Happy When it Rains”. Of course, that may have been because it was pouring outside.

Either way, the worst part of my day came later, when I discovered, via Facebook, that my beloved Shirley Manson is as Irish as the fake-ass brogue I’ve been rocking all weekend. Which means, of course, she’s not Irish at all. Nope, turns out my favorite Irish singer is, in fact, a Scot. Urgh…so much for the ethnic purity of my playlist.

Ah, who am I kidding? Irish or not, I’m still your biggest fan, Shirley girl. If I like your music, and Lord knows I do, then your place on my playlist (and in my heart) remains totally unchanged. Happy Saint Patrick’s Day and long live the Scottish too!

Overloaded

Please forgive my absence of late. We had three big parties over three very-busy weekends in a row and I spent the last week pretty much recovering from the thrill/joy/nausea of it all. Seriously, any one of those parties (one was for the Oscars, one was for Greta’s third birthday and one was for my Grandma’s 90th birthday) would have tired a normal person out. But three parties over three weekends was just plain crazy.

Combine all that with the fact that Mrs. Yeti has been working like a beast (long hours, six-day workweeks, you name it) which means I’ve been doing the brunt of the toddler wrangling, and, well, let’s just say even my best Barbie scenarios are wearing kinda thing these days.

On the upside, the cat is using her box like a pro (or, you know, like a regular cat) and Greta has declared me her “best friend” four days running, so, there’s always that…

Carmageddon…scharmageddon!

OK, so, we just drove the second leg of our trip home from Oregon — a nice little jaunt from my Aunt’s house in Sacramento to our place in L.A. — in the record time of eight hours. You know, give or take a few hour-long stops to let Greta run herself ragged at rest stops and such. But, even with the stops, we made great time…and why is that such a big deal you ask?

One word: Carmageddon! Yep, that’s right, amigos…the Armageddon of traffic jams! See, for the past few months, the news out here was predicting dire things for all of California (and Los Angeles in particular) due to the closure of a three-or-four mile stretch of the 405 freeway in Santa Monica this weekend. The reason? Caltrans was blowing up a bridge or something, but, from the sounds of the news reports, you’d think the world really was about to end.

Seriously, we saw flashing “Carmageddon Warning” signs alongside the freeway the minute we crossed the state line back into California. It was crazy, I mean, here we were almost the entire state away from the freeway closure and they’re telling us to “expect major delays”. Insanity!

Believe it or not, our beloved XM Radio even had a dedicated Carmageddon Radio channel (XM 140) with constant updates on the situation. It was hilarious. But the funniest thing was, there was no situation to report. That’s right, Carmageddon was another big fat Y2K.

I don’t know if it was the fear factor or what, but the freeway and every rest stop, burger joint and gas station all the home were practically deserted. Come to think of it, it was oddly Armageddon-ish, but, you know, not in a bad way.

So, if Carmageddon clears the interstate in peak travel season for our next road trip, I say we make it an annual fucking event. Whoo-hoo…Carmageddon 2012 4eva!