10 Signs You May Have Cabin Fever…

Or, maybe you’re just stuck in a Sochi hotel. Either way send help, amiright? So it’s been a hot minute since my last blog, love nuggets. I’ll admit, I haven’t felt particularly inspired to write these past few months, but give me three days trapped indoors, and suddenly the creative juices flow like Nana’s special occasion Manechewitz. I feel the need to clarify that Nana only drinks on a rare Shabbat, and I’m pretty sure that since she’s Catholic, that means once a year.

Whether my inspiration is flowing from the crazed vibe of being trapped in two rooms with a Russian spy cat on a diet, or a lack of Vitamin D, I started researching “symptoms of Cabin Fever”, and oh, hey, it’s a real thing. And here’s the awesome part – not only am I going to tell you the symptoms, I’m going to give you my made-up crap WebMD-approved remedies…

You may suffer from Cabin Fever if you notice…

• A lack of patience – If you talked to Carlos Danger, he’d probably tell you I suffer from Cabin Fever everyday. Solution: Think of what it was like for Columbus in 1492. They had ZERO idea where they were headed. Hell, he probably thought there was a chance they’d fall off the edge of the earth. How’s that for patience – waiting to fall of the edge of earth, and STILL navigating a ship towards impending doom.

• Always feeling tired – i don’t know if I can identify with this one; although I do feel like I could go to bed by 9 pm… and I napped during my lunch break… even though I woke up at 8:50 8:15. Solution: For you readers who say “Dios mio. This is me!”, I would suggest lots of caffeine and tons of sugary drinks; for my pregnant blog readers, sorry… you’re shitouttaluck. Go take a nap. You’re growing a human in your uterus, for Zeus’s sake.

• Feeling unproductive and unmotivated – We’ve all been there… it’s called “watching a Housewives marathon”… for the second time. Solution: When I feel unproductive, I instantly look to my cats. They are the laziest people I know, by far… and then I feel better.

• Feeling sad or depressed – I have the perfect remedy for this one!! No, not Vitamin D supplements (too cliche). Solution: Watch this http://www.nbcolympics.com/video/russian-police-choir-performs-get-lucky-opening-ceremony?ctx=top-moments. The wildly inappropriate song choice coupled with a mix of old and new rigid Russian officers and their varying levels of enthusiasm create what will be remembered as the most awkward greatest Olympic performance mankind has ever witnessed. I’ve taken the liberty of highlighting some of my favorite comrades below, so you don’t miss one glorious moment. Needless to say, I think this is exactly what Gorbachev had in mind when he opened relations with the West.

• Lethargy – Does this feel like lethargy on any other day? I will admit, I’m more aware of my lethargy now that I can’t leave the house, but I can’t say I’m feeling more-so than any other day. I tried to do hundreds of squats while watching Shahs of Sunset the Olympics the other night. While this zeal had the added bonus of keeping me warm, there is a yang to every yin – it also caused extreme soreness the next morning because I’m not used to, well, exercise. Solution: Embrace lethagy, and you’ll never be disappointed or you might pull a muscle.

• Difficulty concentrating – If you can’t work, make lunch, and marvel at Reza Farahan’s mustache simultaneously, I don’t want to know you. Plus, how bad can your distractions possibly be? It’s not like you’re the female skater being thrown into a triple axel or luging down a frozen chute of death. Solution: Just make sure your major appliances are shut off. Create a ten point check list, and review it twice to make sure you didn’t test appliances being off by accidentally turning them on; or you can choose to ignore my tip and hope you don’t forget to remove your new skillet from its storage place in the oven when it’s turned on to broil chicken wings, causing said skillet to smoke and change color. Is that too specific an example?

• Craving carbohydrates or sugar – I don’t agree with this one. I always drink hot chocolate and eat Kraft Mac & Cheese at the same time. It soothes me. Solution: Buy organic fruits and vegetables and lean meats in preparation for a storm… because that’s all that’s left at the grocery store once everyone is done panic shopping anyways.

• Sleep disturbance – Do they mean cats sitting on top of you waiting to be fed (again)? Being stuck home for three days was probably a bad time to start a diet for any living thing, let alone a cat that looks like she swallowed a bowling ball. Solution: Bring your animals to your neighbor’s house. Let it be their problem, too.

• Social withdrawal – What?! Not me; I’ve been texting with lots of people. And what’s more social than social media? Actual F2F contact (that’s face to face for you social noobs)? Pffffft… please. So 2013. Solution: Facebook or tweet your every thought. Have a conversation with someone in the comments on Facebook. Use lots of hashtags. You’ll totally be thankful later that you grouped your witty comments and Instagram photos so efficiently. #lol #yolo #notreally #hashtagsareworsethanacatonadiet

• Irritability – I think this is why Penny Lane is the way she is. She has perpetual cabin fever. I have to say, I haven’t felt this one yet (it’s only day two – one more day to go… I suppose this could go the way of The Shining without those creepy twins). I’ve enjoyed the intensive quality time with Carlos Danger and the fact that he’s prepared most of my meals. We have food. We have water. We have heat. Life is good. Solution: Go outside – it’s not an actual apocalypse. And if that doesn’t work, watch Seven Brides for Seven Brothers. 14 people living between a cabin and a barn in the dead of winter with no running water… or wait, am I thinking about #Sochi2014?

So that’s it… 10 signs you may have Cabin Fever. Hopefully, another part of the Southeast will take over Atlanta’s title as “most incompetent in a snowstorm” before the end of the week, but that might be a tall order. In the meantime, stay safe indoors and try embracing a different type of fever… DANCE fever, courtesy of the Russian Ministry of Internal Affairs.

Baby Got Back…In the Wonder Years

Bring on the childhood memories…

Salve, discipuli, and welcome to May – quite possibly the LONGEST month of the year (Memorial Day seems to take for-freaking-ever to get here, yes?). As some of you may know, I often search for blogging inspiration in the daily, the ridiculous, and the mundane… if not, I will end up divulging some awkward personal history, and usually a little something about my live-in torero. Luckily, my dearest friend Regina Phelange has rescued him from almost certain embarrassment this month. And yes, if you are a loyal reader (all fourteen of you), then you’ll recognize Regina from my PSA regarding her hugburglaring episode. Oui? Wonderful! Let’s continue…

In between moments of brilliance and high productivity, Reggie (she prefers nicknames) and I like to let loose by discussing the latest news and judging the poor fashion habits of the rich and famous (I present to you Exhibit A – I’d say the B*tch stole his look.)

We are downright hilarious if I do say so myself and spot-on when determining who Bravo will demonize with each new season of Housewives. And today’s topic was no different. Reggie laid the mother of all turds on me and prefaced it with “Are you ready to feel old?” (Note: If you’re not, or if you’re under 21, just stop reading now, and I’ll catch you next month.) Naturally, my reply was “Always”. Hindsight is always 20:20, and I was clearly not ready for this – “Baby Got Back” can legally purchase a forty. Say what!?! Oh. My. God. Becky. Yes, kittens – Sir-Mix-A-Lot’s party anthem is twenty-one. Start. Feeling. Old.

As I let this sink in, I thought back to where I was 21 years ago – fifth grade, gangly, chipmunk teeth, with a Blossom-like fashion sense and the social graces of a pygmy goat (FYI, those earrings were made from dice. Eat your heart out, Gaga.)

Trending between Boy George and Blossom, I fell somewhere in the middle.

I certainly had no earthly idea that summer’s chart-topper professed loving juicy doubles. I vividly remember dancing in my bathroom as I brushed my teeth in the mornings and making up gymnastic-y floor routines with friends to this fantastically inappropriate song (it was the ’92 Barcelona Olympics, after all). All with a boombox. And a mixed tape that also housed hits by Whitney, Color me Badd and The Heights (bonus points if you remember the show).

Have 21 years really passed since that blissful ignorance of pre-adolescence? After all, I certainly didn’t realize what his anaconda really didn’t want (I’ll save you the time; he’s not talking about a real snake or actual hamburgers.) To my siblings, I feel an apology is in order – I’m sure I threatened wrangled you into some type of innocent dance routine at some point to this entirely awesome inappropriate song, and for that, I am sorry.

11 year old me, probably directing a dance routine… with a saw.

While I was having my pre-teen flashback (still at work, by the way), I made a startling revelation. Sir-Mix-A-Lot’s genius and I were like Kevin Arnold and Winnie Cooper, forever separating and coming back together. Sure, I moved on after summer ’92 – Boyz II Men and Shai were clearly on the horizon, and then I got all Latin-crazy in high school, but Baby Got Back was always there for me, waiting in the wings like some kind of creeper – girls’ night out, finals-weeks dance party breaks (solo and group), Tuesdays, weddings, the mitzvahs, both bah and bat. Like Winnie leaving for Europe and coming home years later to Kevin at the airport (with a wife and baby), Baby Got Back will always be there for me, albeit awkwardly the older I get. Few songs have had the staying power and international appeal in karaoke bars and seedy pubs, and quite frankly any song that can be rapped as a lullaby will always be acceptable (for future offspring) in my book.

I can’t wait to do this when I have a kid…

So here’s to twenty-one years of paving the way for Bootylicious Apple Bottom jeans and the boots with the furrrr, Sir-Mix-A-Lot. You’re a visionary, so just keep doing you. And for what it’s worth, your one hit wonder will forever be my Fred Savage…

Thank God I didn’t divulge any awkward personal history this month…

Welcome to the Greatest Show on Earth!

Welcome to the Olympics!

For those of you living in a cave, or if you’ve been avoiding Bob Costas’s unblinking gaze as he reports from across the pond, you’re in luck!! In honor of the Olympics being held in London this year, I’ve decided to throw in my two quid about the Greatest Show on Earth (you’ll never hear me say that about a circus because I’m terrified of clowns)… and I will do so using “proper” English throughout (or my interpretation of “proper” English), so you get the full effect. It’s just like being in foggy-Londontown (without the McDonalds that seats 1,500 Olympic spectators.) So grab a pint, a giant Toblerone bar and enjoy, or bugger off… your choice, mate.

Watching the Olympics this year has been both brillo and bollocks (nice, right?). Although I didn’t understand Danny Boyle’s opening ceremony, I was completely gobsmacked watching the torch lighting – best I’ve seen in my 31 years on this planet. Throw in a little Paul McCartney, Mr. Bean, and the Queen mum’s corgies, and you had one happy Yank the first night (even though I didn’t understand Boyle’s weird “dance party through the ages”, and Spain’s Olympic uniforms were voted the eyesore of the evening in my household.)

Anywho, right – brillo and bollocks of the Olympics. Here we go:

Brillo: 16 year-old Gabby Douglas wins Gold for Team USA in the Individual All-Around as well as Team Gymanstics Competition. Team USA wins gold for the first time since Atlanta. (Yes, I realize for my international readers, you don’t give a tiny rat’s arse, but too bad.)

Bollocks: Gabby’s mother has to explain and defend against critics slagging her daughter’s natural hair. These people criticizing a 16 year-old Olympic athlete should be kicked in the ovaries/testes. End of story.

Brillo: Guatemala wins its first Olympic medal. Congrats to Erick Barrondo’s well-deserved medal. He hopes this inspires children in his country to put down weapons and pick up trainers to end the country’s long history of violence. This is what the Olympics should be about.
Bollocks: Aly Raisman’s parents. Have you seen these people? It’s like Toddlers and Tiaras meets Dance Moms, and they all go to London on holiday.

Five dollar foot-longs = Gold medal?

Brillo: Michael Phelps wins his eleventy billionth Olympic medal, surpassing a record set by Larisa Latynina of the former Soviet Union. Too little, too late on the Cold War effort, but good on ya, Phelpsy! I can only assume all that free Subway had something to do with your record-breaking outcome.

Bollocks: Ryan Lochte wears a grill on the Olympic podium. I am no stranger to the grill (and to plug my neighborhood, I can get you a real one right around the corner), but there is a time and place for frat boy humour, and I’m pretty sure the Olympic stage wasn’t the place. You did live up to the stereotype that I believe most of the world (especially Canadians) have of us, so thanks for not letting the Canadians down, Ryan.

Brillo: Iran wins Gold (three times) in Greco-Roman wrestling. Who knew there were that many medals to win in Greco-Roman wrestling?
Bollocks: NBC cuts off Bob Costas in the middle of announcing the result because (God forbid), Iranian athletes were to succeed, and their celebration televised here in the US.

Brillo: Women in the Olympics. Three Muslim countries sent women to the Olympics for the first time. Of the women competing from predominantly Muslim countries, one of them competed in shooting events… and she was eight months pregnant. Man’s claim to greatness by way of his ability to pee standing up is officially null and void. Boom.
Bollocks: Cheating women in the Olympics. Ahem, Badminton. Seriously? The fact that this is even an Olympic sport is mindboggling, let alone four teams trying to fix games. No soup for you!

Brillo: Apparently, it’s tradition to be givin’ a bit of “how’s your father” in the Olympic village. Rumour has it 30,000 more contraceptives were flown into London for the Games than Beijing in 2008, and there is an official brand sponsoring the event. Shagadelic, baby…
Bollocks: The wussification of the Games. I know this is going to come off as super “American”, but bear with me. In women’s gymnastics, a gymnast failed to qualify for the all-around competition because each team could only send two athletes, even though she came in fourth place overall. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I thought the goal of the Olympics was to compete against the best of the best – not everyone should qualify; not everyone gets a trophy. And I’m not a particularly athletic person, so if anyone would fall under that “let’s give everyone an equal opportunity” rule, it would be this girl. For once, Bela Karolyi and I agree on something… I can’t believe I just said that.

I actually make that face, too.

So that’s it – if you haven’t been keeping up on the Olympics, you’re welcome. I’m trying to think if I missed anything – US women’s volleyball players are still half nekkid (and won gold as I write and breathe), and China is still bored to tears winning gold in all diving events. In closing, enjoy the greatest show on Earth while it lasts, because it truly has everything – intrigue, controversy, sex, perseverance, glory, defeat, apparently more sex, and capitalism’s finest marketing restrictions (just ask Dr. Dre). I would normally finish this post out with an obnoxious U-S-A! U-S-A! chant and virtually high five all of you; instead, I’ll take the high road, say Cheerio, and leave you with this incredibly awkward photo… Bob’s your uncle. – Jess