She butters the top of the omelet. That’s right. To make it shiny. I love Julia Child.

Went for sushi, then saw the film “Julie & Julia” today (I know, I know, sushi is not French, yet it is tasty). Fun movie, I liked it. Streep and Stanley Tucci were wonderful, of course. I don’t think Nora Ephron has ever made a movie or a book I didn’t like. (My favorites, in no particular order: “Crazy Salad,” “Silkwood,” “I Feel Bad About My Neck: And Other Thoughts on Being a Woman” and “When Harry Met Sally…”)

The reviews all say something along the lines of, Oh, Meryl’s wonderful but eh, they could have done without Julie’s character. A blogger who is peevish, looking for inspiration with her cooking, and doesn’t always agree with her husband? Yeah, I can’t relate to that at all. hahahaha. I liked both plot lines — thought they were woven together well. I read the Julie/Julia Project sometimes when Julie Powell was writing it. Was glad she got a book deal. Was not so glad to hear that her second book details the affair she had after the first book was published. Eh, it’s not my life. But if you want to sleep with someone other than your husband? Don’t be married.

It’s our anniversary this weekend — can’t say what I’m giving Steve for a present, cuz it’s a surprise. But I think he’ll like it. My sister, the bride-to-be, informs me that eleventh anniversary is steel and jewelry. I’ll get myself some drill bits and get him some jewelry. Good? I won’t be getting myself a boyfriend for a gift, that’s for sure. What kind of lousy present is that? Also, nothing from here. Aroooooo… That’s what I’d really like to give him for an anniversary present — two wiener dogs. The bad thing about wiener dogs: Sometimes they get too nippy. Also they go “pee-pee” a lot. The good thing about wiener dogs: You get to say the word “wiener” all the time and make a lot of “wiener” jokes. That’s kinda fun.

Perhaps Steve wouldn’t like a doggy. Perhaps he would like a goose? Not that kind, the feathered kind. Sure he would! Happy anniversary, Steve. Eleven big years and I love you more every day.

“Never thought about divorce. Thought about murder plenty, but not divorce.” — my late, dear Granny, on the secret to her and my Grandpa’s marital success.

Why didn’t she remarry? “I had the best, honey. Why mess with the rest?”

True, that. Steve, I love you. Thanks for always loving me back.

Hmm. I like pets. I just don’t like their owners, sometimes. That’s all.

(Happy birthday to Wacky Cousin 3.0, we love you, kid. Hope you get to eat as many cupcakes as you want. And a big ol’ happy birthday to my little girl. If I had it my way, sweets, I’d get you three border collies. Happy birthday!!!!!!!!!! Hugs and love and kisses.)

…but actually it was only 100. At almost 7 o’clock at night. All of you people who now live in Portland and are actually from someplace else, someplace where they had lots of heat and “humididity,” who run around saying, Oh, I just LOVE this heat I just LOVE the sun I just LOVE this weather Portland is SOOOO PERFECT… really, stop saying that.

We Portlanders are just big wusses and don’t do well with anything over, hmm, dunno. Eighty-two degrees? Seventy-eight, mebbe? Ditto all you Portlanders who brag and smugly say, We don’t even need air-conditioning here, it hardly ever gets over 90 and it is only hot about two days out of the whole year the rest of the time it is just gorgeous… really. You need to stop saying that, too. I am the biggest baby in the heat, I hate love everybody especially you.

Steve, just now, “Let’s check the temp outside, then see if it’s time for another round of drinks.”

Oh, he is a pretty nice guy. Vodka lemonades on ice it is.

His ex-girlfriend posted on Facebook, “EMBRACE THE HEAT” and I’m all, EMBRACE THIS: THIS IS WHY YOU SHOULD NOT BE FB FRIENDS WITH YOUR HUSBAND’S EX, BECAUSE YOU HAVE TO READ SHIT LIKE “EMBRACE THE HEAT.”

OMFG, as my son would say. Yes, my seven-year-old says OMFG. Don’t judge me — embrace me. No, don’t. I’m too sweaty.

We still can’t open up the house — it’s 10 degrees hotter outside than in. Why do I not have air, you ask?

“YOU’RE KILLING THE POLAR BEARS.” — my children, in unison

No, for real — it’s because our lameass furnace wouldn’t “support” an air-conditioner and we’d need a whole new one. To the tune of how ever many thousands of bucks I don’t happen to have. Window units? We’d need to re-wire, our wiring is that old. Yep. Embrace that.

Just got back from Night at the Museum 2, All Hell Breaks Loose at the Smithsonian, featuring more monkey slappin’, Amy Adams’ ass, The Thinker’s ass, and Hank Azaria’s large, beefy arms.

Not featuring Carla Gugino, aka the History Hottie, aka the Ben Stiller Love Interest, from the first movie. Apparently she’s too busy with her gig on Entourage to bother. Amy Adams was pretty good though, what with the voluptuous behind and all.

Ben Stiller kinda phoned it in. My kids didn’t seem to notice. The actor who plays his kid in the film should have had a bigger role, he’s a cool kid.

We had dentist appointments, all three of us. Air-conditioning. Then Flying Pie pizza, also air-conditioned. (And my solution to the whole “cooking issue.” This is Steve’s solution. Cheaper than mine, per usual.) Then the movies. Tomorrow we might just melt, but that’s the way it goes here, the land where it just never gets that hot.

(ignore the subliminal messages. just enjoy the song.)

“You can always tell what kind of a person a man really thinks you are by the earrings he gives you.”

— Audrey Hepburn in “Breakfast at Tiffany’s”

It’s snowing here in Portland, Oregon, folks. Snow day tomorrow? Fingers crossed.

Here is the Spicy Hot Potato Soup recipe from Planet Nomad. We would be eating this one up today, had we not left the potatoes in the ground, where they are now frozen. It is what it is. (Which seems to be the theme of the week.)

Have a happy Sunday.

love,

wm

Alternately titled, “Abbie Hoffman Killed Himself Because of Idiots Like Me.”

We just finished watching “Chicago 10” and it was good. Better than good — it was great. (more…)

You’ll find it here.

Gotta go Spocky.

wm

This is one of my favorites. Happy Monday to you.

wm

ps — the word for the day is…

obambulate
PRONUNCIATION:
(o-BAM-byuh-layt)

MEANING:
verb tr.: To walk about.
Alternate meaning: To get elected President.

I love Tinker Bell, know why? No, why? (Sorry, couldn’t resist.) The new movie is coming out, and I am even more excited about it than my children are. And they are quite excited, having just seen the original Peter Pan not long ago.

Read more…

(Comments open on full post.)

First of all, girls only. Boys gone? OK.

Cannie’s back! Fans of Jennifer Weiner’s awesome first novel, “Good in Bed,” will remember Cannie Shapiro well. “certain girls” picks up thirteen years later, with Cannie, her husband, and Cannie’s about-to-be-bat-mitzvahed daughter. (Atria Books, $26.95, 386 pages.) The chapters alternate in voice, first Cannie, then her girl, and Weiner digs right into the drama. I was lucky enough to score an advance reading copy and was thrilled because it gave me the best excuse to ignore my Psych 311 textbook.

Who needs Psych? I’ve got Cannie. What to know how it ends? Psych! Won’t tell you.

I was also happily distracted by Bridget Asher’s book, “my husband’s sweethearts.” (I kinda like writing out the titles very ee cummings exactly how they’re written on the covers.) “my husband’s sweethearts (Bantam Dell, $22, 271 pages) opens with a little “what would you do about this one?” scenario. What would you do if your adorable, sexy, estranged husband was dying, and you found his little black book? Would you drunk dial? Sober dial? Dial at all?

Lucy decides to call each and every one of them, and what she discovers isn’t exactly what she thought she would find. Great book, and hard to put down. (And speaking of chick lit, since we are — I love these books because they satisfy my need for a girly, drama-filled book that is down to earth, but at the same time, the writing in both of these novels is so good. The storylines go zipping along and you find yourself getting really attached to all the various characters, major and minor. Nicely played, you two.)

Did I have a date to go with my sister to see Sex and the City: The Movie? Yes, I did. Did dear, dear Felicia send me an advance copy of the sister book, so I could pair things up a little? Yes, she did. Did I do my reviews? NO. But I am right now.

I ordered the DVD on Netflix. It arrived. I shipped the kids off to Grandma’s. I fixed a quite lovely brunch for my sister and now, even though it was just a short week ago, I have no idea what we had. Oh, wait! Some kind of coffeecake? Fried eggs on toasted homemade cheddar biscuits, with butter and sweet-hot chili sauce. Fruit salad. And an entire pot of strong, good Stumptown coffee. Because watching those skinny girls brunch, brunch, brunch makes me want to devour a lot of food.

No Aidan, though, sorry. And the men were given pretty skimpy storylines. So were the women, come to think of it. But the movie was still pretty fun, although we found ourselves screaming, “Grow UP already!” at the TV several times.

“They’re still doing stuff we stopped doing in our early 30s,” my sister noted.

“Or late 20s,” I noted.

The book is shiny and perfect for the coffee table and looking through it is just like watching the movie all over again. (Amy Sohn and Melcher Media, Collins, 176 pages.)

Today’s books:

I loved me some Paul Newman. Slapshot, Cool Hand Luke, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, Butch & Sundance — everything and anything the man was in I loved. I appreciated his charity work. I liked that he seemed like the kind of person who didn’t put up with any crap. I thought it was cool as hell that he was best friends with Robert Redford and raced cars and had a big family who he adored, through hard times and happy times.

But what I loved most was that the man loved his wife, Joanne Woodward. My thoughts are with you, and may Hockey God and I be even half as happy as you two were. Even half as happy as you two, we’ll be doing fine.