Tuna tipped the scale at a whopping 15 pounds today. I’m incredulous. “He’s fragile,” the vet told me while delivering the cat’s FIV-positive test results last year, so I’m stoked that we had to pry his huge tush off the scale this year. After examining him from butt to nose, Tuna’s excellent health was proclaimed, but unfortunately, the vet said no to the walking harness Bob and Jenny suggested as a way to keep him from conducting destruction derbies. The reason? Too risky! Say what? The cat dove out of my 11th story window months ago. Fragile, my ass.
I’m excited to announce that my bathroom relic – a sink/vanity circa 1974 – will soon go the way of the Dodo Bird. Tony the contractor says he can replace the cumbersome cabinet with a sleek pedestal sink after upgrading the plumbing, which was installed around the time the Roman Empire began engineering aqueducts. Living in a construction zone is my idea of a good time. With real estate values rising in my building, I may even find myself ditching my scuba gear and saying goodbye to my underwater mortgage. For now, I’ll just enjoy a second working bathroom sink.
The window wallet slot that holds my driver’s license requires the dexterity of Houdini to extricate the card, so I’m never happy when I must pry it out to prove my identity. Imagine my delight at having to wrangle it out to buy Elmer’s Glue. I understand why retailers ask for ID. I look positively youthful and could conceivably try to make an underage booze purchase, but glue? Buying school supplies has gotten complicated since my kids were young. Back then, I could buy as much glue as I wanted, no questions asked. Even the topic makes me feel stuck.
If you’re sick and tired of dumping a bundle at Walgreen’s or CVS to keep up with summer’s usual suspects – bugs, mosquitoes and wasps, for instance — grab your salt shaker and consider yourself weaponized. Salt is the cheap, all-purpose answer to summer’s dilemmas and pleasures. Rub salt into mosquito, wasp or bee bites to stop the itch fast or make a paste of salt and Vaseline to do the job. Heal poison ivy/oak rashes by soaking skin in hot saltwater. Everything feels better when there’s a salt-rimmed margarita in hand. Heck, invite the Morton Salt girl for cocktails.
Now that George Zimmerman is free, he may wish to consider hooking up with Casey Anthony to share expenses like murder weapons, lawyers and publicists. They could spend time collectively whining over their innocence and complaining that public opinion has made each of their lives a living hell. Alternately, they could become productive citizens by starting the Anthony-to-Zimmerman Neighborhood Watch Association (A-to-Z Neighborhood Watch) and specialize in killing young people. There’s a third option: Buy warm coats, leave Florida for Russia and enlist Edward Snowden as a partner. I understand there are no “Stand Your Ground” laws in Moscow.
If you’re Jewish, you know that Cohen is our version of Smith. I love the fact that my ethnic identity is so blatant – until I have to deal with, “Any chance you’re related to Steven Cohen, the inside trader running SAC Capital and responsible for crashing and burning our economy?” A contractor asked yesterday if I was related to George M! Puhleeze. When I meet up with Smiths, I don’t ask, “Are you related to the dude who went to Washington in that 1939 movie?” Dare I mention that I was born Zuckerberg? Don’t get me started on Mark.
People don’t believe me when I tell them that writing about sex gets tedious, but doing research for my book unearthed some fun stuff. For example, I stumbled on a New Yorker magazine article entitled, “A Million Shades of Smut.” Editors added a 5-book sidebar entitled, “How Dirty Can Smut Get?” I’ve no clue how the fifth book made this list:
1) 50 Shades of Grey: Alexandra gets laid 24 times
2) Thong on Fire (ouch): 15 torrid sex scenes
3) Dark Lover: Measly four
4) Whitney, My Love: Two. Pathetic
5) Love Amid the Ashes (Christian romance): 7 kisses.
When your name is Weiner, you can’t afford to be involved in sex scandals. And if you know compromising messages are still floating around cyberspace that are likely to bite said weiner in a place not far from your you-know-what, what kind of crazy person runs for office? The only weiner likely to get New Yorker votes these days is Oscar Meyer. He can exhibit his nude body with abandon. It would be easier to figure out what goes on inside Oscar’s head than yours, Anthony. Do everyone a favor. Think of Huma. Find a new gig. Maybe at Nathan’s.
Having traveled through a long financial debacle tunnel – two of three ex-husbands knew not the meaning of fiscal responsibility, a divorce lasted so long, my attorney likely retired on my fees alone, plus I once shopped with abandon when feeling sad, mad and glad – it’s great coming out the other side. Shopping sprees are fun. Bargain hunts? Funner. But being debt free makes me downright giddy. With each updated credit report, I feel like a lottery winner. Throughout my life, I undervalued material things. It just took me longer than most to learn that spending isn’t therapy, either.
I returned home from an overnight to discover the floors of many rooms in my condo lavished with Q-tips. Apparently, Tuna pillaged the open 1,000-count Q-tip box in my absence and wasn’t sloppy about his distribution system: He methodically dragged and placed each until the package was empty and the floors were decorated. Here’s my dilemma: the Five Second Rule can’t apply here, can it? I don’t believe that a cat spreading Q-tips with his teeth qualifies as hygiene, much less sterility, so I suppose I will have to dump and replace the lot before I think about ear care.