Tag Archives: women I love

Operation Gaga, entry 2

A highly successful past few days in my quest to spread the word of the growing Gaga Nation.

My mother, after watching Lady Gaga on Oprah, said she was “impressed” with her, and admired how she spoke about the importance of family. She said she would listen to her more often. Win.

Kayla told me that every time she hears Lady Gaga, she thinks of me. And since I know Kayla spends nearly every waking moment thinking of me, maybe she is thinking about Lady Gaga ALL THE TIME. Win.

Then, this morning came. I was driving the kids to school, Hank in the front, George in his booster, and my favorite 7-year-old twins, Jake and Alyssa from next door, piled in the back seat. As we backed out of the driveway, I said, “How about some music?” and hit play (no need to load in the CD, of course Lady Gaga was already in the player). Then, this conversation:

Lady Gaga and Hank: “Ohh ohh ohh ohh ohhhhhhhhh ohhhh ohh ohh ohh ohh, ohh ohh ohh caught in a bad romance!”

Alyssa: “Hey, we have this on the radio in our room!”

Marney: “You like Lady Gaga?”

Jake: “Yeah!”

Lady Gaga, Hank, Jake, Alyssa, George, Marney: “Ra ra uh uh uh, roma, ro-ma ma, ga ga, ohh la la, want your bad romance!”

Big fat win. Carry on, Lady Gaga. I’ll continue to spread the word here in suburbia.

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Operation Gaga, entry 1

As you all know, I have recently made it my own personal mission to see to it that the musical genius that is Lady Gaga gets recognized worldwide. To date, I have received e-mails and even a phone call from my own father to remind me when Lady Gaga was going to be on television for some reason or another.

Not long ago and without my knowledge, my husband recorded a 3-hour television special on VH1 about Lady Gaga (it was videos and interviews). And at his office Christmas party last month, Jim actually went to the DJ and requested a Lady Gaga song (granted, he could not name one, but he asked that the DJ just pick one and play it).

Yesterday, I received this e-mail message from my mother:

Hey Marney,Lady Gaga will be on Oprah Friday,dad and I are going to watch.

Do you see that? DAD AND I ARE GOING TO WATCH!

Victories abound. My mission is going well.

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5 awesome things about this decade

Now that we are officially just hours from 2010, I thought I’d take a moment to recall the five most awesome things about the past 10 years. These are not necessarily the top 5 things just for me (because that would be so boring — a picture of Kayla and Nancy, a picture of my parents and siblings, a picture of Jim, a picture of Hank, and a picture of George — yawn). Just things that I think we should all be able to seriously appreciate. Good, good stuff.

#5 – New Orleans

If you don’t love the city of New Orleans, then you have never been there. If you have been there and you still don’t love it, you are a fool (sorry to any fools who read this, but seriously, wake up, you are a fool). New Orleans is awesome. Let’s make a list:

  • French Quarter
  • Mississippi River
  • Street Car
  • French Market
  • Lake Ponchartrain
  • Coffee & Chicory
  • Boobie flashing for cheap beads
  • Big Ass Beers
  • Daquiris to Go
  • Drinking in the street
  • Insanely good Cajun food
  • Brass bands
  • Zydeco
  • Gator on a Stick
  • Ernst’s Cafe
  • Kermit Ruffins
  • LeMadeline
  • Superior Grill
  • Audubon Zoo
  • Shopping on Royal Street
  • St. Louis Cathedral & Jackson Square
  • Awesome trannys partying in the street
  • LaFitte’s Landing
  • Adult shops next to antique shops
  • Strip bars galore
  • Mardi Gras

Yeah, if you cannot find even ONE thing on that list (which is seriously lacking, by the way, it’s a fraction of what’s available), then you suck. If you weren’t heartsick when Katrina hit, and full of hope when the city started to come back, then you suck even more. If you don’t take time to visit New Orleans at some point in your life, you will have died lacking in a major life experience. And that’s just a fact. 

#4 – Tony Romo cries

That’s just entertainment. You know at that moment, as Tony was bawling his beautiful, hunky eyes out, Nick Lachey was thinking, “Thank GOD Jessica and I broke up!” Seriously, that’s more embarrassing than being a member of 98 Degrees, and Nick Lachey knows it.

#3 – Justin Timberlake

Speaking of boy bands — oh Justin Timberlake, you’ve touched us all in so many ways these past ten years. From curly-haired N’Sync heartthrob (just typing that put the song “I want it that way” in my head, and that’s not even N’Sync, that’s the Backstreet Boys! Look at Justin’s powers!) to the guy who outed Britney as not really being a virgin (like we didn’t know) to the man who wardrobe-malfunctioned Janet Jackson’s boobie all over national TV to the man who proved that the best gift of all is a di*k in a box, Justin really did bring sexy back. Keep it up dude. Just one piece of advice though — drop Jessica Biel. She’s lame.When the highlights of your weak career include playing the virginal daughter Mary on “7th Heaven” and complaining that you are “too beautiful” to get good roles, you are not good enough for Justin Timberlake.

#2 – Stepbrothers

Ok, now, I can see how this movie might not appeal to everyone. After all, I don’t think I loved it the first time I saw it. But now that it appears on Starz about 15 times a week, I can say, it’s freaking hysterical. And the more we watch it, the more we notice things we didn’t notice earlier. And while we know the comedy is completely juvenile, that’s kind of the point. I mean, who decided that at a certain age we should cast aside fart jokes and instead embrace more sophisticated humor? Because that person is a major douche.

For example:

“Your voice is like a combination of Fergie and Jesus.”

“Suppose Nancy sees me coming out of the shower and decides to come on to me. I’m looking good, got a luscious v of hair going through my chest pubes down to my ball fro. She takes one look at me and goes ” Oh my god, I’ve had the old bull now I want the young calf” and she grabs me by the weiner…”

“I swear, I’m so pissed off at my mom. As soon as she’s of age, I’m putting her in a home.”

“Hey Derek, you know what’s good for shoulder pain? If you lick my butt hole.”

I’m sorry, that is all funny. Every last childish piece of it.

The real scene stealer I think though is Mary Steenburgen. She isn’t just funny, she’s gorgeous. Seriously, see this movie. Without children in the room, preferably, or they will quote the most inappropriate parts back to you.

#1 – Lady Gaga:

Dude, do I really need to expalin this one? Oh Lady Gaga! How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

Actually, there’s just two of them, “The Fame,” and “The Fame Monster,” her only two albums. But I love them LOTS!

On Christmas Eve, I sat next to my father and handed him a small package, then tried to hide my pure glee as he ripped it open to discover “The Fame Monster” sitting inside. For some reason, many family members thought it was bizarre that I would give my father a Lady Gaga CD. I ask, why the hell would they think that? I only gush about the woman like she’s the second coming of Mozart. Why would I not want to share that with my Pops?

Dad, I say that when they questioned me, it was really an insult aimed at YOU, like you are too old and cranky to enjoy the musical genius that is Lady Gaga. PROVE THEM WRONG! Pop that CD in the player of your extremely youthful Chrysler Seabring and TURN IT UP! Even better, make sure you do it in the summer time with the top down while cruising through the senior living community. That’s making a statement!

So, there you go, 5 awesome things about this decade. I realize that not all of you will agree with me. If that’s the story for you, well, it’s not my fault you’re wrong. I tried.

Have a safe and happy New Year everyone!

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I seriously love this woman

People. I have issues. Serious ones. And they all revolve around her:

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Holy smokes, there, Lady Gaga. Where are your clothes?

This is a still shot from a video for the song Love Game, which, in my best estimation, can really only be described as soft core porn. This song is on her album, The Fame, and I totally dig it. I dig it to the point that sometimes, in the car, my 7-year-old will say, “Hey Mom, can you turn on that disco stick song?” And I think, “Wow, that is totally inappropriate” while I am popping the cd in at the same time.

Despite my brother Tommy’s erroneous assertion that Lady Gaga’s Poker Face is one of the most annoying songs on the radio (even though he later admitted that he cannot seem to turn off  Paparazzi — he’s pretty old, you understand, he’s going senile), I cannot stop listening to this woman. I’m at the point where I am wondering when I can next take a long car ride, so I can listen to her music over and over and over all while singing into my thumb, which frankly is more embarrassing than getting caught picking a little snot out of your nose by the driver in the next car over.

Just when I thought it couldn’t get any better, she went and did this to me:

What’s this? Awesome cover art you say?

Well, these are some of the pictures on her new album, The Fame Monster. Now, as far as albums go, it’s not much, as in, it’s only eight songs. It’s not so much a sophomore album as it is a few additional songs. But holy crap is it good. So so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so good. So good. Did I mention I like it?

The album came out on Monday, but I didn’t get a chance to go to the store. Later in the day, I mentioned to Jim, who was headed out to run a few errands, that if he happened to be somewhere where the album was on sale, go ahead and get it for me, you know, if you think of it. Jim is a smart man. He knew not to come home without that record, and he went to more than one store to find it.

The first song off the album is called Bad Romance, and the video for it is either one of two things: it is either as insanely upsetting as all get out, or it is amazingly cool.

Guess which one I think it is?

I have no idea what inspired my fascination with this woman. Listening to her newest album, it seemed that Lady Gaga is everything that Madonna would be if Madonna actually had, you know, talent. But while Madonna was all about shock and purposely acting sexual to illicit a response, Lady Gaga doesn’t seem to be acting. And damn, the woman can sing.

I admit it — I don’t necessarily “get” some of her stuff, particularly, her bizarre wardrobe that appears to be some kind of performance art. My co-worker Jerry, a 23-year-old who is already pretty afraid of me, practically shivered with fear when I marched into work last night with my new Lady Gaga cd in hand, ready to make every person at the Free Press fall in love with this woman the way I have. I do not think I was successful, but I did manage to listen to the new record twice.

But while I have no idea why this lady has a hold on me, I sure hope she sticks around, weird wardrobe and all.

I have this much to say though — I have a trip to Chicago tonight. So if you see a crazy woman in a red Civic singing at the top of her lungs on the Stevenson, that’s me.

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Coolest job ever

I find myself lately being completely engrossed with pop culture. Now, I have no idea if the things I seem to like are actually COOL pieces of pop culture, or if they are just popular nonsense that get lots of airtime. For example, I know that there is nothing cool about, say, Paris Hilton. Or, for that matter, Perez Hilton (seriously, he not smart or witty, he’s just kind of an ass). I thought maybe I had struck cool gold when I discovered my love for Lady Gaga, but some say I have missed the mark. Of course, they are wrong, but I digress.

Jim and I can both fall victim to these bizarre pieces of pop culture. These things that come from nowhere, with no credibility, with no reason for becoming popular, in ways that simply make no sense. And we cannot take our eyes off of them.

Enter Khloe Kardashian.

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Well, hey there Khloe! Good to see you and your obscenely tall frame and your non-Kardashian nose.

Until recently, Jim and I had no idea who the Kardashians were, or why anyone would want to keep up with them. They were simply fun fodder for The Soup. Then an awesome thing happened. We were watching an episode of The Soup, and when it ended, neither of us could find the remote. Rather than get up and walk across the room to change the TV, we succumbed to the next show airing on E! network. And that show was Kourtney and Khloe take Miami. Holy awesome awesomeness, it was so so so so bad. So bad it was good. So bad it hurt. It hurt so bad, and we loved it.

Here’s what I know about the Kardashians. Their father, the late Robert Kardashian, Sr.,  was one of OJ’s lawyers. They are rich. They are some type of socialites, like the currently un-cool Paris Hilton. They definately model, though I’m not sure they would be considered “models.” Their mother is named Kris, and she is married to Bruce Jenner, with whom she had two more daughters who she also gave “K” names to who are on the fast track for their own reality show, but their last name is Jenner so it has to be something cute and quippy with a “J” instead of a “K.” Like, Jihad with the Jenners, though I doubt that will fly. That’s all I know. I do not know why the Kardashians have a reality show, but I can say that about everybody with a reality show. So that’s not much.

Now, lots of people, if they were to choose a Kardashian, would choose Kim or Kourtney. I mean, Kim was famous first, for, as Joel McHale explains, having a big ass and a sex tape. And she is really pretty:

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This is her Wikipedia picture, and dare I say it, she’s smouldering!

And then there is the incredibly tiny and adorable Kourtney Kardashian:

kourtney-kardashian-two-lead

Of course, of the countless pictures of her, I chose one where she is wearing entirely too much eye makeup. But I think you get the picture. She is cute as a button. And pregnant! And not married! Oh, a reality show baby born out of wedlock and in the heart of sweeps. AWESOME!

But forget those girls. I chose the youngest daughter. The impossibly tall Khloe.

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Look at that! She’ standing, like, a FOOT behind her sisters. Holy cow. I mean, I would not be surprised if she has a complex that makes her scream “GET IT YOURSELF” when someone asks her to reach up for something on a high shelf.

Now, I have not watched this show enough to know if Khloe has gotten less airtime than her sisters, or if she is the picked on one, or if she is less “celebrated” for her lack of a big ass and a sex tape or a pre-marital baby. But this weekend, they did a big show where she married Lamar Odom, an LA Laker who she had known for a month. And Jim and I could NOT TEAR OURSELVES AWAY FROM THE TV. The best part — they got married on Sept. 27… Jim’s birthday. IT. IS. A. SIGN!!!

WE LOVE KHLOE!

Do you think part of the reason she married him is because he is taller than her?

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Meh, who cares. They’re in LOVE, and they have the awesome ratings to prove it!

Jim feels shame. I feel none. You are my new favorite socialite Khloe. And that is the coolest job ever.

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Mars vs. Venus

Yesterday I was watching a little of my favorite 24-hour pretty much lefty but hey, at least they don’t claim to be “fair and balanced” news outlet, MSNBC. I like this station. I like their commentators. I like that they lean my way. I loves me some Contessa Brewer. And frankly, Mika Brzezinski is starting to catch my eye these days too. She’s got really great hair.

Anyway, it was 11-ish, so it was time for Dr. Nancy.

For this part, I am going off on a tangent… stay with me.

Dr. Nancy’s name is Dr. Nancy Snyderman. She is a board certified surgeon who specializes in otolaryngology, which is a word I cannot even pronounce, but means she’s an ear, nose and throat doc. She went to medical school at the University of Nebraska, and is currently on staff at the University of Pennsylvania. Plus, she is a on-air broadcaster, which frankly, is way harder than it looks. She is, by all means, accomplished. Yet she goes by the name “Dr. Nancy.”

Why the hell do broadcast doctors, be they MDs or PhDs, do this? Dr. Oz. Dr. Phil. Dr. Laura. Do these people have some aversion to their last name? I mean, it works for Dr. Ruth — but she is an adorable tiny little four-foot-seven German native who lost her parents to the concentration camps, yet is about the happiest-go-lucky person ever who talks about sex. She broke the mold people.

The use of Dr. Firstname reminds me of Sleepless in Seattle, when young Jonah wants his father, Sam, to talk to Dr. Marcia on a radio show. “Talk to her, dad. She’s a doctor,” Jonah says. “Of what? Her first name could be Doctor,” replies Sam. That sums up how I feel about it.

We have only one Doctor in our family, my cousin Jennifer has a PhD. And I am pretty sure that if I call her Dr. Jenny, she would probably take her baby out of his stroller so she could beat me with said stroller. Last names, people. Last names.

So anyway. I was watching Dr. Snyderman, and she was discussing whether men should have a place in the delivery room. To my knowledge, my father witnessed zero of his 5 children’s births. I did not deliver my children naturally, I had to have c-sections. Amy was there the first time, Jim nearly passed out the second time because he saw a little blood hit the floor. He never actually SAW anything gross. But I was so doped up both times that I can’t even remember someone else being in the room. My friend Nancy (not to be confused with the good TV doctor) told me just about the worst horror story ever involving the birth of her daughter and her husband holding one of her legs. Kayla said her husband watched the whole thing. I remember my sister Carrie talking about wanting to punch her husband in the face because he made the mistake of eating some sort of stinky snack before getting a little to close to her to tell her to “PUSH!”

So, is there a place in the delivery room for men? Dr. Snyderman made a legitimate comment about the men who get woozy at the sight of the birth, like my husband did (good thing he wasn’t really watching and he was sitting down — he would have dropped like a sack of potatoes had it been a regular birth). She said when the doctors need to check on the passed out man on the floor, it doesn’t go over too well with Mom.

“Men never faint after they’ve had sex,” Dr. Snyderman said. “They just faint for the delivery.”

Good. Point. Doc.

So what’s the answer? Do men help or hinder the birth process? Do we, as women, really need them there? I suppose the answer is that it is different for each couple, but really, the will of the woman should definitely win out on this one. I don’t know that doctors attending to a swooning Dad has ever actually put Mom or Baby’s life in danger. But still, why risk it? I do know that if it were me, and I was having the child the regular way rather than have it taken out against its will like I did, I want Dad to be as far away as possible, possibly on the other side of a sound proof wall.

What say the women and men of the blog world?

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My husband and my sister: The Affair

My husband and my sister are having an affair. That’s right, you read that correctly. My HUSBAND. And my SISTER. AN AFFAIR. And they’re all about rubbing it in my face. For theirs is an affair that I can only peek into, hard as I try to drive a wedge between them. Seems my husband and my sister are having an affair — over sports.

“Your sister sent me an e-mail,” he says to me. “She wants to come over Saturday to watch the Notre Dame game.”

“Ok,” I say.

A few hours later:

“Your sister will be here at 11 on Saturday.”

“But the game is at, like, 2:30,” I say.

“Yeah… but the Hawks are on at 11,” he says.

College football and hockey? I cannot compete with that.

While they were off in their affair-world, I went all Magnum PI on them and snapped this piece of photographic evidence:

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Can you even believe the nerve of them, right there on my fine Value City Furniture sectional? Oh, the humanity! To make matters worse, I, for some reason, created a whole delicious snack tray for them to enjoy on their date:

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Look at that! Fresh veggies chopped and sliced by my own little arthritic fingers. And yes, that’s pita chips AND pita bread. The fact that my homemade black bean humus actually looks like a soft-serve poop didn’t stop them from enjoying every little bite either. What did I do? It’s like I’m part of the problem. And if that wasn’t enough, they had to watch baseball, despite the fact that both their teams had been eliminated weeks ago.

There were rattled off stats and names of people I will never remember. There were memories of wins and losses gone by. There were discussions of the upcoming hockey season and the nonstop badmouthing of Blackhawk goalie Cristobal Huet, and all I could add to the conversation was “what a funny first name he has!” I don’t think they even heard my enormously funny wisecrack! If I’m not wrong, there were a handful of fistbumps.

It’s not just the games either. They send eachother text messages ALL THE FREAKING TIME about whatever team is playing whatever game at whatever time. And it’s not like I’m some sports novice. I pay attention. I can follow a baseball or football game better than a whole lot of other women I know. Hockey — meh, no one is perfect. But am I good enough? No. He has to go searching for companionship elsewhere… but he sticks to my own family tree. Like, two limbs over.

What do I do? How do I stop this?

I know this much. Kayla is no longer invited to my house during college football season. I cannot handle making another trayful of snacks so my husband can enter a three-way with my sister and one of my closest friends.

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