While My Boyfriend Was Sleeping

What I write after Joe and Henry go to bed

Archives for August 2010

Growing, growing, gone.

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Oh, I tried. I really, REALLY tried to grow out my hair.

I even announced it, I was so dedicated to growing it out.

“I’m GROWING OUT MY HAIR. Just you see. I’ll be wearing ponytails by the end of the summer. I’ll be Rapunzel.”

I’ve Lanced about this topic before, in particular my obsession with Sienna Miller’s blonde crop circa 2005.  For years I walked into hair salons with a photo of Sienna. It got so bad I caught my stylist rolling her eyes.

“You want the Sienna. I got it.”

So, I decided to G-R-O-W it out, which I found B-O-R-I-N-G.

This is not to say that I find long hair boring. I find it boring on me and I have no patience for the tedious growing-out process. To those of you with luscious locks, I hold you all in high regard. I admire your ‘do’s the same way I admire people who can sing. I can’t sing and I can’t rock heavenly tresses. I’m fine with that. I look like an Afghan hound with long hair.

The closest thing I got to a ponytail required three bobby pins and a minuscule rubberband typically reserved for braces. I looked like I had a kid’s paintbrush poking out of the back of my head. It was pitiful.

So I asked my stylist to give me something blunt and bang-y. Those who know me know this a slippery slope. I’ll probably have a crew cut by October.

PS. I realize I didn’t get very far, that my hair is still short in this second photo. Nonetheless, every time I looked in the mirror I saw a Hanson brother. Well, back when the Hansons looked like sheep dogs…

PPS. Congratulations to my cousins Erik and Reb on the birth of their first son, Brendan. You must see his birthday cake!

A ballerina’s belly in pictures

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Last month my friend Tracey sent me this message on Facebook:

“As you know I’m pregnant! And some of the dancers and I thought it would be fun to take some maternity photos of me with a tutu and pointe shoes and my belly! I was wondering if you could possibly take these for me … nothing fancy … just so I have the memories.“

It goes without saying that Tracey is a ballerina …

A beautiful ballerina, at that …

With a warm Midwestern personality …

And mad skills, as evidenced by this shot. How many of you mamas stood en pointe at eight months pregnant?

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What’s eating Gilbert Gottfried?

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Yes, this post is about Gilbert Gottfried because I couldn’t think of a better follow-up to the previous cockroach post.

Joe and I were watching the Comedy Central Roast of David Hasselhoff tonight when Gilbert Gottfried came on. Gilbert Gottfried and that voice. That VOICE.

I’ve always wondered what Gottfried’s REAL voice sounded like. It has actually plagued me for years. When I learned that the clown was married with children I figured his voice HAD to be less irritating than the Aflac duck. How less irritating, I had no idea.

A quick Internet search turned up an old clip from the Howard Stern Show, in which Gottfried’s actual voice is revealed. You’re not going to believe how sedate it is. Gottfried sounds like a stodgy accountant. WTF?

And then I started thinking: how long has Gottfried kept up this gimmick? How exhausting must it be to squawk like that your entire professional life? So, I Googled the comedian some more and learned this bit of information: Gottfried was a Saturday Night Live cast member from 1980 to 1981, but he barely appeared in sketches. Apparently he was unfunny with an ordinary human voice.

Six years later, he landed a bit part on The Cosby Show. The role required him to be obnoxious, so he started squawking and squinting his eyes. The performance stole the scene and from that point on Gottfried became The Guy With The Voice.

In short, Gottfried has been annoying since 1987.

How to kill a cockroach in your sleep

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Cockroach on an apple

If aliens exist, they look like cockroaches. Trust me.

I have a J.Crew catalog in my kitchen that I’ve never opened. Its only purpose has been to kill cockroaches. Never has a catalog filled with overpriced cargo pants been so functional.

(Full disclosure: I love J.Crew. I get the catalog because I enjoy the company’s clothes and plain-faced models. Just because I’ve taken to smearing pale pink cardigans with bits of brown bug guts doesn’t mean I’m making a statement. It was there when I needed it and for that I’m grateful. However, now that I’ve used it for mass roach killings I can’t stomach opening it to look at clothes.)

Florida is a disgusting place to live in the summer. You walk outside and your face melts into a puddle at your feet. You dress to avoid pit stains. The sun is so blinding you wear sunglasses on top of your sunglasses, your husband’s deodorant over your pH-balanced deodorant.

But this is just heat. Heat I can handle.

Swamp ass might tickle when it starts to spread, but at least it doesn’t run across your kitchen floor when you’re baking a chocolate cake. At least it doesn’t crawl out from between the folds of your washcloth when you’re about to scrub your face. At least it doesn’t have antennae.

Floridians call cockroaches Palmetto bugs.

Palmetto bugs sound adorable. Palmetto bugs sound whimsical. Palmetto bugs sound like something that might teach you a life lesson in a Dr. Seuss book.

Calling a cockroach a Palmetto bug is like calling a maggot a creepy crawler. A maggot is a maggot. A cockroach is a cockroach. People who call cockroaches Palmetto bugs are delusional.

Personally, I think New Yorkers living in Florida invented the term because they couldn’t deal with the fact that cockroaches also retire in paradise.

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Dinner Rehab #5: Friday night takeout dice

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Let fate decide your din-din.

I bet even prissy foodies order greasy takeout.

Joe and I are usually too lazy to cook on Fridays. We’re also too lazy to get dolled up and go out to dinner.

We’re SO LAZY we can’t even be bothered to CHOOSE what we want for dinner, so THIS is how we come to a decision. Big ups to Ro for giving us this ingenious little die.

Nine times out of 10 it lands on Mexican. Tonight it landed on Pizza. Perfect, beautiful Valentino’s cheese pizza. God bless Dinner Rehab #5.

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PS. You too can have all you takeout decisions determined by fate. Takeout Decision Dice available at Abernook.

Newsprint ain’t dead in this office.

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Those of us in the newspaper business have got a dilemma on our hands. And no it’s not the imminent fall of print journalism. That would be too heavy a topic for this grizzled reporter.

My problem lies in the leaning tower of newspapers by my desk; the fact that my livelihood takes up space and I can’t seem to part with it. In no other area of my house is this more apparent than in my office, where I’ve stockpiled years of newspapers, notebooks and other reporter debris.

Debris! All of it!

If you were to throw a lit match into my office the room would go up in flames.

Imagine if I worked for a daily.

Now add the fact that I have a collection of newspapers from various cities and towns I’ve traveled through: The Idaho Statesman. The Oregonian. The Kansas City Star. The Hannibal Courier-Post. The Ozark County Times. The Chicago Tribune. The Logan Herald Journal. The Denver Post. Estes Park Trail Gazette. Mountain Valley News. Colorado Springs Independent. The Buffalo News. The Chattanoogan. The Clarion Ledger. The Arkansas Times. Asheville’s Mountain Xpress. (They’re all stacked in that white chest next to where the pug is sleeping.)

I haven’t even counted the European newspapers I keep in a Rubbermaid bin in my bedroom closet.

Some people buy souvenir shot glasses. I buy newspapers. Newspapers take up more room.

They were beginning to choke me. The dust was making me sneeze. The dust was making the pug sneeze. The leaning tower of newspapers was starting to resemble something from out of A&E’s Hoarders. Jesus, that show makes my skin crawl. I dare you to watch just episode and not purge your life of every inanimate object.

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