missmp

So we've been in West Roxbury for two months now, and I feel pretty settled. Our prescriptions are moved, I know where the bus stops and ATMs are, and we've already amassed an impressive collection of take out menus.

The one thing I'm having trouble getting used to is how nice people are. Right after we moved, the baby started teething and I had to make an emergency run for orajel. At the counter, the saleswoman said, "Do you have those teething toys you put in the freezer? Those really helped my daughter." And I was like, "Uuuuh," before remembering my words and telling her that yes, we have pretty much every teething toy on the market (because Gen hates them all).

I realized as I left the store that after four years in Southie, I had completely lost my ability to make pleasant small talk. I'm not saying Southie was unfriendly...no, wait, that's exactly what I'm saying. Not mean. Just not at all friendly. The most pleasant interaction I could hope to get from a stranger or service person was "hi," with possible eye-contact as a bonus.

So the other day the baby and I were on another Walgreens run, and I was running through my list in my head as I crossed the parking lot, so I was a little spaced out as I stepped out from between the parked cars. Of course there was an SUV coming and both it and I stopped short.

The driver leaned out the window, and I thought, Oh crap, I'm gonna get yelled at. Instead he called, "Sorry! I was going too fast."

I have clearly moved to Bizarro Boston.

I am so baffled by today's Thrillist Boston email. Their trying-way-too-hard-to-be-hip vernacular often leaves me confused, but today I'm pretty sure they got a well-known Boston fact completely wrong. And because I am a total curmudgeon, it's bugging the crap out of me.

Here's the post, which is about a new Lebanese restaurant in my 'hood. I was annoyed from the first sentence:

When it comes to grub, West Roxbury's historically been limited, squeaking by on pizza shops, subs, and Latin that, while good, leaves you no choice but to bang chicks from Winsor.

First of all, I've lived in West Roxbury for all of 30 days and have already had great Indian and Thai takeout, but whatever: I understand that the writer has probably never been to West Roxbury, much like the copywriters for Daily Candy Kids have pretty clearly never met a child. Hey, I used to write copy about Tahiti and I've never been within 4,000 miles of the South Pacific. I understand that sometimes you have to write about things with which you're not that familiar, and if you're on a deadline, sometimes you have to fudge expertise.

But then I had to read the second part of the sentence about six times before I realized that it was a (badly executed) joke about Boston Latin School and the neighboring all-girls Winsor School. Doesn't that make it sound like BLS is an all-boys school? Yeah, it's been co-ed since 1972.

But that's not the mistake. Here's the post's last sentence:

To satiate your sweet tooth, they're baking traditional pastries, from pancakes stuffed w/ sweet cheese, to cream layered, rose water syrup'd shredded dough, also what parents suspect they did if you went to Latin and ended up at Not Harvard.

It's another sentence construction nightmare, but it looks like the joke is that parents whose kids went to Latin but didn't end up at Harvard wasted their money ("shredded dough"). Except Boston Latin is a public school. Google "boston latin" and the summary of the first result even SAYS "founded in 1635 as the first public school in America."

I don't know, I feel like a service that claims to "painstakingly wade through the crap to unearth ... the best of your city's food, drinks, gear, services, entertainment, travel options, and events" should at least get basic facts about said city correct.

My brother-in-law is volunteering for a month in Fond Parisien, Haiti at an orphanage that's now also serving as a mobile hospital and recovery center run by the Harvard Humanitarian Initiative. There's great info at that link about their disaster recovery efforts.

Anyway, my b-i-l sent a bunch of pictures of the kids at the orphanage, so this post is mainly an excuse to show you pictures of adorable Haitian children.

( Here you go! )

I met up with my husband yesterday at the farmer's market, and we bought our veggies for the week before walking up to Trader Joe's to look for their prenatal vitamins, which are the only ones that don't make me sick to my stomach, so I'm a total diva about them.

As we were walking along, carrying our local, organically-grown veggies which we get through a CSA program, some random dude with a clipboard pops out and goes, "You two look like you want to help the earth!"

I muttered to Jay, "I'm gonna hit him with my umbrella."

I hate street solicitors. Because, first of all, if I'm out walking in the city? I am going somewhere. I have a plan, sometimes a timetable, and it does not include saving the whales, sorry.

Plus, having worked in fundraising, I remember trying to tailor appeals as closely as possible to a donor's interests, which often involved pretty intensive research. Going out on the street and accosting strangers seems so lazy and insulting to the people who put actual effort into working with donors.

By that same token, I find myself most insulted by strangers who bug me about my own damn causes. I was late for a date with a friend one day when a guy stepped in front of me and said, "Do you have time for gay rights?" to which I responded, "Yes, but not now." It's like, geez, asshat, thanks for making me even later by trying to guilt trip me over something I already support.

Anyway, Trader Joe's didn't have the prenatal vitamins. Then I got a Braxton Hicks contraction on the walk back. Then guy-with-clipboard's dreadlocked counterpart hit us up with, "Can I talk to you about saving the earth?"

Because I really do try to be polite in all my dealings, no matter how bitchy I am on the inside, I smiled politely and said, "Sorry."

Instead of just wishing us a nice day, he said, "Don't be sorry! Just stop to talk to me."

Through gritted teeth, I was like, "Jay, hand me the umbrella."

Jay snorted and said, "No way. 'Pregnant Woman Accosts Hippie' is, like, The Metro's dream headline."

Because I complained when the Globe ran a crappy article about the Vineyard, here is a much better one.

It doesn't hurt that it was written by a Vineyarder. :-)

Man, I would really like to get to the island one more time before The Sprout comes, but I refuse to go in July (too many people...urge to kill rising...), and I think I might be booked through June. Sigh.

I cannot for the life of me figure out why this article, ostensibly about what the Obamas can expect on Martha's Vineyard is one of the Globe's most emailed articles.

First of all, the Obamas aren't even officially going to MV. Their spokespeople have denied it, and my parents haven't mentioned the Secret Service booking up the hotels.

Second of all, I haven't got a clue who the author is, which means she's not a Vineyarder or a prominent summer person, which, in my Vineyarder's mind, makes her opinion pretty much crap. Sorry, it's true. It's equivalent to when a New York Times writer comes into Boston, spends three hours here, and pretends to know the city inside out. Like the time they wrote an article about "Southie" and never left Fort Point. (My Australian readers are going, "WTF?" Just believe me: it's an important distinction.)

Thirdly, holy crap, what a terribly written article. It lists long-gone businesses like a badge of honor, but without any sort of context it's pretty easy to believe the author just went through an old phone book and picked out names. Then it lists MV "old-timers," again without any reason as to why we should know them other than that they're old. I was particularly annoyed by the "anyone with the last name Vanderhoop," aside, because that's an old Aquinnah name, meaning she basically reduced the Vineyard's Wampanoag tribal elders to a cocktail-party anecdote.

Then, of course, she totally blows her "insider" status by saying, "Memories of having held certain summer jobs are a badge ... such as bagging at Stop & Shop, or high-toned, such as being a hostess at Atria in Edgartown." Well, any adult Vineyarders having worked those particular jobs would have been bagging at the A&P and hostessing at Andrea's, as those places were known until a few years ago.

And finally, as though the author realized she wasn't going to hit her word count, there are four completely unrelated, random, sentence-long paragraphs at the end. Sigh. Well, at least she didn't mention Chappaquiddick.

I went downtown to get a prenatal massage today, and it was lovely; just what I needed. As I was basking in my post-massage glow, waiting at the bus stop, and eavesdropping on the women sitting next to me, a family of tourists paused in front of me.

I knew they were tourists because they had British accents and were taking pictures. I am observant like that. So it was a grandfather with the camera, a grandmother, a pre-pubescent grandson, and a young-teen granddaughter.

The granddaughter was wearing what I remember from my youth as a "cut-off jean skirt." She turned her back to me, and I got an eyeful of the entire bottom of her ass. Like, both butt cheeks and crack. While she was standing still, chatting away with her grandmother.

I knew the other women at the bus stop had seen it too, because their conversation died mid-sentence. I was just as dumbstruck as they were. I could not imagine how this girl had been walking around the city of Boston all day with her ass hanging out and not gotten cited for something. I mean seriously, this was a skirt that Lady Gaga would have rejected as too revealing. I have paid money to see that much ass. My current pair of underwear cover more than that skirt.

But the most baffling-slash-appalling part of the whole story is that when the family walked away? The grandparents walked BEHIND the girl. Meaning they totally knew that she was going around flashing unsuspecting pregnant women. What the hell! I hate to break out my cranky-old-woman before the baby's even born, but honestly, what is this world coming to?

(Xposted from SF)

So I'm 6 and 1/2 months pregnant, and I ride the bus to and from work every day. Every day, I stand. Because no one ever offers me a seat. I have joint pain, occasional sciatica, muscle cramps, and a fetus who likes to kick me in the bladder.

Thus, I have made this mental list of Things That Do NOT Make You Disabled, which I will shortly be writing up and nailing to every #7 bus in Boston, like a bloated, waddling Martin Luther:

1. Wearing really high heels.
2. Needing to reapply your lipgloss.
3. Holding an unreasonably large purse or manbag.
4. Texting.
5. Reading a book.
6. Looking anywhere but at the pregnant lady.
7. Being hungover.
8. Holding a teleconference.
9. Feeling kind of tired.
10. Holding an iced coffee.

And an addendum for the bus drivers: It is May. Turn OFF the heat. Turn ON the air conditioning. I cannot believe how difficult this seems to be for you.

Well, I haven't done a random poll in awhile, and I have a $15 coupon to Sephora, so help me pick what I should get:

Poll #1308011 beautify me
Open to: All, detailed results viewable to: All, participants: 23

What should I buy?

Notes:
1. I already use the primer and am running low, but may not run out for awhile, since I rarely leave my apartment.
2. I got a sample of the Hope In A Jar and it left my face soft as a baby's butt.
3. The Eye Illusion just seems cool.

Every day, I check to see what's on Oprah. I skip the celeb interviews and newsy episodes; I like domestic Oprah best because those episodes are high comedy. I mean, come on, the woman clearly hasn't touched a sponge in twenty years, yet she's all about home organization? Yeah, okay.

So last week was "Oprah's Holiday Ideas," and I was like Yes! Favorite Things! I love the crazy shit she finds, and the apoplexy of the audience when she gives it all away.

Except this year, Oprah decided that since we're all Poor now, it wasn't appropriate to give away, say, hand-blown crystal champagne glasses or HDTV refrigerators. Nope, instead we got "thrifty" holiday ideas. I swear to god, you could hear the audience thinking, We're not even getting Williams Sonoma gift bags? I mean, yeah, none of us have money anymore, but you're still richer than god. WTF!

But no, sorry, Poor audience! You get to learn how to make a "gratitude box," where you write down the nice things you're supposed to tell your friends out loud, but never do. To demonstrate, Oprah read nice things Debbie Reynolds and Maya Angelou had written about her. Oh, Oprah. Your modesty is boundless.

Next was a mix CD, which has been my preferred thoughtful-yet-low-cost gift for years. Oprah, of course, made it sound like she'd invented the idea. As I said to katesti, I am totally DLing that sucker for my mother and saying, 'Merry Christmas, Mom! Oprah told me not to spend any money on you.'

Anyway, here are the rest of O's cheap-ass holiday ideas.

me: I love how being poor is, like, novel now.
Kate: Hah, truefax.
me: It's totally trendy to have to keep the heat at 58!
Kate: I love accidentally being on-trend.