biggest little blog

how to treat your man

2009-11-21T20:27:00.000-08:00

I don't want to be that friend who calls after 6 months and then spends the first ten minutes of the conversation explaining and apologizing for the lapse in contact. Let's just cut to the chase and start catching up now, shall we?

First things first, Tales from the 1 Train.

Take a look... those are piles of kitty litter. I like to think this is the New York equivalent of toilet-papering. The funny thing is, no one was willing to just brush the stuff off so they could have a seat! Sure, it's sort of gross... but during a commute, people are usually willing to sit in a pile of hot garbage if it means getting off their feet.

This morning, we were riding downtown dressed in our Sunday best when we were approached by a very friendly, very VERY loud homeless woman who was quite taken with my Mister's suit-and-tie look. She told me (at the top of her lungs) that a man like that is "A GIFT FROM GOD!" and that I should "TAKE CARE OF THAT MAN!" And then she said, "IF I HAD A MAN LIKE THAT, OH MAH GOONESS, I'D BE LIKE..."

And that's when she did a horrifying booty dance for all the passengers on the train, complete with finger snaps, deep knee bends, and "UH-HUH, OOH! AW YEAH!"

And then she asked for a nickel.

jumbo topping

2009-10-04T18:48:00.000-07:00

Pinkberry! Once known for its cripplingly addictive frozen yogurt, now known for its MUTANT monster blackberries. It only took a few minutes of squealing and pressing my face against the glass for the employee (or "enabler") to throw it in.

Other than its extraordinary size, it was by all accounts a normal blackberry. I half-expected it to encapsulate a normal-sized blackberry, or possibly a family of woodland creatures. Which reminds me, have you seen this?

the anti-plural conspiracy

2009-09-23T17:00:00.000-07:00

Having houseguests for four days feels a bit like Christmas. Lots of excitement and build up and then it passes quickly and you're left with a bunch of leftover cookies and a mountain of wrapping paper. That's not to say my guests left behind a mess. No, no. They were very tidy.

But what they did actually leave behind is a bunch of magazines -- the kind you only buy when you're bored in the airport and you have a six hour flight ahead of you. The blasted things were left on my coffee table and I've been reading them ever since. And here's what I'm finding:

Fashion and beauty editors hate plurals. They loathe two of anything. Check out this quote I found:

"This year, the Emmys were all about the nude lip, paired with a smokey eye."

First of all, really? That's what the Emmys were all about this year?
Secondly, why just one nude lip and one smokey eye? Is it uncool to talk about the face as if it has matching parts?

Let me guess: the Emmys were also (but not ALL) about a slim pant and a strappy shoe.

Something about this just makes my skin crawl. It's the same way I feel when I hear someone say "mature," but they pronounce it "matoor." Or when dress pants are referred to as "slacks." Were the Emmys all about the black slack this year? Gross. I can't believe I would actually prefer "dress pant" in this scenario.

I'll tell you who else is in on this singular trend: Victoria's Secret. They're always asking me if I want to find out how to get a free panty during my birth month. A FREE PANTY. I cringe/giggle every time I hear that word. I'm either easily irritated or just really immatoor.

500 days of sunburn: a tan timeline

2009-08-16T18:10:00.000-07:00

namasteam

2009-08-15T12:50:00.001-07:00

My triumphant return to yoga included the following poses:

Sweaty warrior (I and II)
Hot-a-ranga
Shiva-sauna
Downward facing drip
Heatstroked child's pose

Apparently the ceiling fans are just for looks.

back to "normal"

2009-08-09T16:44:00.000-07:00

You'll be happy to know that my Mister made it back safely from his crazy Appalachian Adventure - no panther attacks or trail mix overdoses. There was an incident with a raccoon intruder, but I think any situation that can be treated by banging two pans together can't really be considered life-threatening.

While he was gone, I got caught up on my episodes of Intervention, which he isn't particularly fond of (he says it's "depressing" - I know, weird, right?) and in the process, discovered a new show called Obsessed, also on aetv.com. It's a fascinating show that documents the lives of people suffering from OCD and ironically, I've become obsessed with it. I have to check A&E several times a day to see if there is a new episode, and if there isn't, I scrub my hands with steel wool until they bleed. Just kidding, I just watch clips and re-read the case studies.

It's so nice to have my Mister back! I was single for hmphrthirtwentryhrmph years and I can honestly say that being married suits me far better. I like having a pal to come home to and to play games with. My favorite game to play since he's been back is, Does This Itch? It's a simple game. Basically, I find a bug bite on his body and then scratch it furiously, asking, "Does this itch???" His answer is always the same: "Please stop."

I know what you're thinking right now and you're totally right: it is a blast being married to me.

a new do

2009-07-31T16:11:00.001-07:00

I got my hair cut this afternoon. I can't decide if it's cute or if it's Indigo Girls. I hope it's cute.

I just realized how much Amy Ray looks like George Stephanopolous. All the more reason to hope it's cute.

cool it.

2009-07-29T19:26:00.000-07:00

"We don't have an air conditioner" is the new "We don't have a television."

It used to bug me when I'd be recounting the latest installment of ANTM over lunch and some coworker would be all, "Oh, I'm sorry I've never seen that show. We don't have TV." And I'd roll my eyes waaayyyy back into my head and think, "Hoho, you're just so ABOVE the whole television thing and the rest of us are just vapid slaves to the media! Well, have fun with your BOOK and your Meuslix, sucka. I'll be over here weeping with Oprah."

And then I moved to New York and sold my TiVo and never got around to hooking up the cable. Now I'm the coworker who doesn't get the Real Housewives of New Jersey in-jokes and the SYTYCD hysteria.

But then today I was talking to someone about how I couldn't wait to turn my A/C(s) on when I got home and she said, "Oh, we just open a window and use a big fan." I felt the familiar heat rise up within me (an internal, defensive heat, not the actual ambient temperature, which incidentally was also SIZZLING HOT) and I screamed, "JUST OPEN A WINDOW? Use a big fan? Do you also put Neosporin on a broken leg?"

Oh, who am I kidding, I didn't scream. I think I muttered something about being hot-blooded and having an apartment with poor air circulation. Because in much the same way that I know Oprah and I will be reunited someday, I also know that one of these nights, while My Mister and I are sleeping like angels in our climate-controlled paradise, that smug girl is going to throw the covers off her bed, take off all of her clothes, and stand in front of her big fan while she scans CraigsList for a used air conditioner. But you know what? There won't be any! Because I bought them all.

The end.

hypothermia, giardia, etc.

2009-07-27T18:27:00.000-07:00

The idea that love is scary has never made much sense to me. Not only does it sound like something you'd hear in a voiceover on Dawson's Creek, it just doesn't seem right to me. Having a crush is scary and dating is terrifying, but love is just nice. Especially marriage love. Sorry, did that sound gross?

Anyway, I've never understood scary love... until My Mister decided to go on a six day, 55 mile backpacking trip on the Appalachian Trail. In the days leading up to his departure, I was able to come up with about ten different ways he might perish, two of which involve panthers. One has to do with too much trail mix. Now I understand. For the first time in my life, I actually relate to Dawson's Creek.

And it's... like... scary, you know?**

Hurry home, Mister.

**To be read in the scrunchy-faced, side-smirky, Katie Holmes manner.

subway etiquette

2009-07-22T16:29:00.000-07:00

Do:

• Allow people to exit the train before trying to enter
• Move to the center of the car
• Stand clear of the closing doors
• Give your seat up for a pregnant or elderly person
• Expect that if you are carrying a suitcase, three grocery bags, a cello, and two backpacks that someone MIGHT bump into you and/or your stuff.
• Let it go.

Do not:

• Use your cell phone's speaker function to listen to T-Pain
• Smoke a cigar
• Remove your shoes if you have not showered in the preceding 6-10 years
• Abuse the subway pole (and innocent bystanders) by gripping it with your butt cheeks in order to achieve a hands-free ride.

the gluttonous showdown

2009-07-07T15:59:00.000-07:00

If there's one thing I learned on the Fourth of July, it's this: competitive eating is not a joke. It is a serious sport (I checked - the definition for sport does NOT mention physical fitness). Since Saturday, when I've told people I went to the International Hot Dog Eating Contest in Coney Island, many have said, "No way! How did you do?"

That is both a devastating and flattering question. On one hand, people think it's reasonable that I might enter a contest where shoving dozens of hot dogs down your gullet as fast as you can is the main event. Actually, now that I've written that, I can't remember why I thought it might be flattering.

This contest is what I call a Big Deal. The "athletes" are often professional competitive eaters, meaning shoving foodstuffs down their gullets as fast as they can is what they do. They "train" by drinking gallons of water or eating massive amounts of vegetables in order to stretch out their stomachs. They engage in all sorts of gag-preventing and esophagus-relaxing exercises. It's really, really gross. And it's not just big dudes who like hot dogs! One of the top-ranked competitive eaters in the world is Sonya Thomas, a 98-pound Asian woman who once ate 11 pounds of cheesecake in 9 minutes. She gained over 10% of her body weight in CHEESECAKE. In 9 minutes. She's also the world record holder for hard boiled eggs - 65 in under 7 minutes. More than 5 DOZEN EGGS! The only other person on record for eating that many eggs is Gaston, the ANIMATED BRUTE from Beauty and the Beast. And he was roughly the size of a BARGE!

Witnessing the contest was pretty amazing/horrifying. I can imagine every eating contest has its "eew" factor (the smell at the hard boiled eggs contest, the cow brains at the cow brain contest), and the hot dog contest is no exception. Apart from the overall grossness of a giant pile of hot dogs, there is the "dipping" factor. Contestants dip their hot dog buns in water or 7-Up to expedite the whole process. As a person who is sensitive to even slightly soggy French Toast, the idea of half-dissolved hot dog bun juice is... probably the worst part of the whole thing. Maybe the worst thing ever?

The winner, Joey Chestnut, ate 68 hot dogs and buns in 10 minutes, narrowly beating out Japan's Takeru Kobayashi, the world record holder for cow brains who recently lost a hot dog eating contest to a live Kodiak bear (it was actually pretty close).

If you have a strong stomach and can tolerate a little bun juice, you can watch the whole blessed event here. Look for us in the crowd - not in the contestant lineup, thank you very much.

hair mysteries, solved.

2009-06-26T11:36:00.000-07:00

A few things you might not know about hair:

1. Hair is food. And that food is "nutritious." It's also pretty inexpensive: $3.89 for the 8oz tub. That's way cheaper than hummus.

2. If it's bad for your heart, it's good for your hair. I'm excited about this one because it's a great solution for what to do with picnic leftovers. Just throw that extra potato salad into a shower cap, throw it on and let it sit for 5-10 minutes while you shave your legs. Done and done.

3. At first I wondered if maybe "placenta" means something else in Spanish. Like... "Color Protection." Or "No More Tears." Turns out, no. It means placenta. I think it's time we stop producing hair products on a dare.

not yet hot, but a tiny bit bothered

2009-05-19T19:22:00.000-07:00

I need some help. I tried to do a little shopping for summer clothes last week and I know this is going to come as a total shock, but none of the fashions spoke to me. When it comes to warm weather duds, I have a pretty restrictive set of criteria:

1. Shirts: Must have sleeves (not cap, not 3/4 length, not restrictive in any way).
2. Skirts: Must be knee length or slightly longer. No pencil. No denim.
3. No heather gray. Nothing screams "I have a mild-to-moderate sweating problem" like a heather gray t-shirt in mid-July.
4. No shorts. Not ever.
5. No cargo pockets.
6. No excessive layering required. If I have to wear something under/over it, it's going to be too hot.
7. Fabrics: Lightweight but not sheer.
8. No white pants. They look great on you. I, on the other hand, look like a husky nurse.
9. No nude hues. I don't want people to wonder from a distance, "is that girl wearing pants?"
10. Capris: A very tricky and possibly necessarily evil. Shorts are out of the question and pants are too hot... but how to choose the right leg? Are wide leg capris best for people with wide legs? Or should I counteract said wideness with skinny leg capris? By the way, the answer to both of these questions is EMPHATICALLY NO. Which leaves me with... what?

And don't even get me started on shoes. You already know where this is going.

It was only 60 degrees in New York today... but it's going to get hot. Fast. My supplemental air conditioner is in place. My bangs are grown out to the point of pinning back. But unless you can help me find some clothing that fits my criteria (and my budget - did I mention this stuff must be inexpensive?), I'm going to be wearing wool pants and long sleeve cardigans all summer long. Hellllllppppppp Meeeeeee.

at long last

2009-04-19T20:46:00.000-07:00

It is with much excitement that I announce the newest addition to my ever-expanding web presence:

www.biggestlittledesign.com

It's okay, go ahead and reload the page just so you can make the little guy wiggle. That's what I've been doing all night instead of writing this post.

surprise barbecue

2009-04-11T08:55:00.000-07:00

In the grand tradition of blogging about odd objects found in public restrooms, I present the following:

Yep, those are barbecue tongs. Under the sink. Considering the general state of the restroom, I wouldn't have been surprised to find a severed human foot under the sink, so I'll count myself lucky that it was just an out-of-place kitchen utensil.

BUT STILL.

warm and weird

2009-04-05T18:58:00.000-07:00

Today felt like it might have been the first real day of Spring. The sky was blue and there was this lovely cool breeze, and every inhabitant of New York City was at Central Park. I don't think I've ever seen the park that busy. I also don't think I've ever seen a group of people more confused about their wardrobes. There were pretty much three types of people:

1. People in peacoats and scarves: these poor folks have spent the last three months looking out their windows and thinking, "BLUE SKY! It's WARM outside!" only to be greeted by a big fat "SIKE!" from Mother Nature. Why would today be any different?

2. Girls in skimpy shorts and tank tops. Throughout the last three months, these girls woke up every morning and asked, "Is it slutty time yet?" Up until today, the answer was no.

3. A disturbing combination of types 1 and 2. To wit: I saw a very tall man in VERY short spandex shorts, running shoes, and a parka. I mention his height because... well, the taller the man, the larger amount of visible man thigh. We're talking a good solid foot and a quarter of winter-white, hairy, man thigh. What I'm saying is, the ensemble was alarming on a number of levels. I've tried to figure it out, but I'm coming up short. Maybe it's the equivalent of throwing a leg out from under the covers when you're too hot in bed? Too cold for an ENTIRE tiny spandex outfit, but too warm for a snowsuit?

I really should carry my camera with me. Or not. You decide.

hold me closer, tony danza

2009-03-08T19:47:00.000-07:00

I try to keep up on current events and local happenings, but without television and a newspaper subscription, sometimes I lose track of the goings-on. Such was the case yesterday (or so I thought) when I heard this on the radio while changing out the laundry in the basement:

"The South Asian Army is accepting applications for its 2009 Boys and Girls summer camp. To apply, simply visit one of our ten locations in Manhattan."

First of all, The South Asian Army? Second, since when do foreign armies need domestic summer camp and TEN LOCATIONS in Manhattan?

The spot wrapped up with: "The South Asian Army. Doing the Most Good." Hmm. Weird, that's the slogan for the Salvation Ar--- Oh. Right.

This reminds me of a similar phenomenon, the mondegreen, which is the mishearing or misinterpretation of a phrase, typically a standardized phrase such as a line in a poem or a lyric in a song, due to near homophony, in a way that yields a new meaning to the phrase. Like when you're driving with your friend, windows down, belting out Prince's "Raspberry Beret." And then you realize your friend is shouting "Raspberry Parade." In her defense, it really does sound like "parade," but come on. Think it through. That's not the kind of thing you find in a second-hand store.

Then there's my brother, who for most of his primary years at church, misinterpreted the second verse of Book of Mormon Stories (the one where you pound out the rhythm with your fist into your palm) as, "And the Lansoom Welcome Doll who wanted to be free." The actual lyric is, "and the land soon welcomed all who wanted to be free," but for years he thought it was a story about some kind of caged Cabbage Patch Kid.

My personal favorite is a former co-worker's mistaken interpretation of the second verse in Whitney Houston's "I Will Always Love You," which goes:

Bittersweet... Man Maurice.

It has been two years since I first heard about his mondegreen, but it still makes me giggle out loud when I think about it (sing it in my head).

you should be mine

2009-03-07T20:34:00.000-08:00

I simply Can Not Stand how adorable this is:
See this sweet project at Beast Pieces

ups and downs

2009-02-22T16:28:00.000-08:00

High: spending one full hour at church staring at a baby who looks just like Patton Oswalt.
Low: taking my entire day's caloric requirement in 100 Calorie Packs.

See more high/low moments on my new collaborative micro-blog: myhighmylow.blogspot.com

think before you tag

2009-02-17T21:48:00.000-08:00

You won't hear me complaining about the growth of social networking sites, or online communities of any kind, really. I'm a big supporter, CLEARLY. I've found everything from an end table to a husband on the internet. What you will hear me complain about is Facebook etiquette, specifically as it relates to photo tagging. I love staying in touch with friends from all stages of my life, even the "Mom jeans, horizontal stripes, and plastic baby barrettes" stage. But if we're going to be Facebook friends, I'm going to have to ask you to stop posting photos of me during that stage and then TAGGING me, so my entire friend-o-sphere is immediately notified.

I've thought about just trying not to be crazy for one second and letting it go, but then I discovered that profile photos are organized by date added. So, when my long-lost friend from high school clicks to view my photos and see how I've changed and what I've been up to, instead of seeing my most flattering/successful/happy angles, she sees a photo of you. Looking adorable. Oh, and there's me - out of focus, unaware of the camera and presumably in the middle of some sort of facial stretching exercises. Wearing a mini-backpack.

I feel awkward clicking "Remove Tag," but if I can't control how flattering my own online profile photos are, WHAT CAN I CONTROL?

bacon, it's what's for websites.

2009-02-07T10:53:00.000-08:00

I have a well-documented love for bacon, so you can imagine my excitement when I found out about this little gem: http://bacolicio.us. I've been adding bacon to almost everything for decades, and now you're telling me I can add it to WEBSITES? Whelp, there goes my afternoon.

self-piledriver

2009-02-01T20:32:00.000-08:00

I. Can't. Stop. Watching.

Courtesy of failblog.

this week's big decision:

2009-01-31T20:29:00.000-08:00

Slanket or Snuggie?

While Slanket clearly has the better name (I'm a sucker for a portmanteau) and comes in more colors, it's also TWICE the price of Snuggie. Actually, make that FOUR TIMES the price, because IF I CALL IN THE NEXT FIFTEEN MINUTES I can get two Snuggies for the price of one. AND a free ROBOTIC book light.

But I bet Slanket is of a higher quality. And there are no soul-sucking infomercials for Slanket. Snuggie's ad campaign is almost as terrible as the ones for those Igia hair-removal products from a few years ago, and those things turned out to be a total scam. But how scammy can a blanket with sleeves be? It turns out to be knee-length?

Okay, I have to run. Only 2 minutes left before that two-for-one-plus-booklight deal runs out.

would a towel kill you?

2009-01-26T19:09:00.000-08:00

It was almost exactly one year ago that I wrote about my gym experience in Salt Lake City. I know what you're thinking: "Typical. She joins a gym every January and then blogs about it to advertise the fact that she's exercising." First of all, how dare you? Second of all, yes. Exactly.

I'm exercising. At the University "Gymnasium." It's close by and has all the equipment I need and I'm allowed to wear my headband. But there is one thing I'm finding a bit... off-putting about this new place and it's the NUDITY. Not like naked treadmilling, just like naked locker-rooming. Normally naked people in the locker room don't bother me. I mean, sometimes people just have to get nude.

But in my experience, it's the old saggies who are most often going skins. This is well-documented, right? The whole, "it's the people you DON'T want to see naked who get naked" observation. Well, I disagree. My experience at the new gym has shown me that when I'm in a brightly-lit room lined with mirrors, and there's a chance I'm going to have to take my pants off, I'd MUCH rather be surrounded by the old & saggy than by the young & toned.

And that's what this gym has tons of: naked fit people. Swimmers and gymnasts and people who run on the treadmill AND THEN get on the elliptical AND THEN do abs. These people are not effing around. AND THEY'RE NUDE. Possibly at the locker next to mine, putting lotion on their muscles. They're just hanging around without their tiny clothes on, doing their best at making me feel lumpy.

Last week, I noticed an older woman (faculty?) with hairy armpits and long, talon-like toenails, and instead of being grossed out, I actually tried to make eye contact with her, hoping a moment of "can you believe all these naked athletes?" understanding would pass between us. I can't be the only person who is thinking: come on, people. Put some clothes on. No one wants to see that.

a nursery lesson

2009-01-11T17:23:00.000-08:00

Me: Before you came to live with your family, you lived with your Heavenly Father!
Ava: I have a princess movie at my house!
Me: Heavenly Father wants you to come to live with him again.
Elliott: BaaaaaaaAAAAAAAA!
Me: When we're nice to each other and we love our families, it shows Heavenly Fath --- No, Anna we don't put carrots in Elizabeth's ear.