holly, i’m sorry i told you to buy those sweatpants in petite

as a spouse/significant other, you are depended upon for both a) tasks and b) opinions.  in our household, one of my tasks is that i make the coffee because you’re so good at it, holly says, batting her eyelashes. (i need to note here that she’s actually pretty good at making it, too, but she’d rather i’d do it, which is totally fine, as i’d rather her take the recycling and trash out to the black hole that is our alley.)

anyway, sometime within the past six months or so we were perusing our local jcpenny’s–wait, no: JAYCEEPEE–perusing the aisles of our local JCP, when she stumbled across a pair of particularly comfy looking grey sweatpants.

ooooh these are nice, she said.

yeah, i said. nice.

now, you may or may not recall this, but i’m not much of a shopper. it’s like, the “gayest” thing about me (besides, you know, the obvious). i mean, i love a trip to target, but at least there i can make a quick getaway into the greeting cards/ cleaning products/make-up aisle to get away from all the clothes.

holly loves to shop. oh she loooooves to shop. (“i DO NOT love to shop,” she just said. whatever, she likes to. i don’t care what she says.) and she loves to get my damn opinion on everything. so that’s the context here. as i was saying:

do you think i should get them in a regular or petite? she asks me as i walk behind her, distracted and instagramming (is that a verb? i’m making it a verb.)

you’re small. get a petite, i say. otherwise you’re gonna havta get em hemmed and that costs as much as the pants. 

so i should get the petite?

yeah, get the petite.

ok, i’ll get the petite.

great, can we leave now?

no, not yet, i want to look in the kitchen section. where’s the escalator?

at which point i groaned and we had our usual but-i-don’t-want-to/pipe-down-babe-it’ll-just-be-a-minute,-if-you-want-me-to-cook-for-you-i-need-kitchen-tools exchange.

after a couple of washes the pants shrunk. holly noticed first. i looked up from words with friends and agreed that yeah, they were a little on the short side.

now, weeks later, i see that they’re actually not just a little short, they’re painfully short. she likes to wear them, because they’re a great color and they are indeed comfortable, but, like an inside voice or an inside cat, they are inside pants. she’ll occasionally wear them for a walk to the park and immediately regret it, saying she feels like rocky balboa (see below).

Rocky Balboa runs up the steps of the Philadelphia Art Museum in the first Rocky movie.

rocky balboa’s short pants in the first rocky movie. i guess it was ok because it was the 80s? anyway, holly’s aren’t quite as short, but it’s close. it’s really close.

anyway, now i feel kind of guilty. even though i laugh and call her “short pants,” i really do feel bad. she depended on me for input and i lead her astray. she should have never gotten the petite. babe, i should have never told you to get the petite. i’m sorry and i love you, even in your short pants. especially in your short pants.

i’m also sorry i was accidentally making you caffeinated coffee instead of decaf for like a week last month and you kept feeling anxious and we didn’t know why. i didn’t properly label the ground bulk coffee we got at whole foods. completely my fault. it was my task and i failed. i’ll take the trash and recycling out to make up for it. wait no. i can’t because i’m scared of our alley. but i love you and i’ll be more careful from here on out.

in other news: we’re getting MARRIED this weekend. THIS TIME RIGHT HERE IN OUR HOME STATE OF MARYLAND! on st. patty’s day (sunday!), the three-year anniversary of our first legal wedding in dc.

it was kind of a spur-of-the-moment decision. we ran over to the baltimore city courthouse earlier this week and were like HOLLA! we’re here to get our marriage license! (well, we didn’t say “holla” but we could’ve) and the lady was like HOLLA! here it is! (well, no, not really but she was nice). anyway, the rabbi that married us the first time will do it again, except this time she’ll be able to sign a license. full circle right? and this time in jeans! (if you’re new to this blog and you’d like to read about our nuptial adventures–and oh, we’ve had many–in one fell swoop, check out this essay i wrote for the current issue of baltimore bride.)

until then, folks, take your spousal/significant other-ly duties seriously! if your partner’s pants seem too short, for crying out loud, pay attention and speak up. and if s/he can’t process caffeine, don’t confuse the bags. you know it can only end badly.

THAT SH*T’S F**KED UP: downton abbey season 6 finale

The original cast of the hit 90s TV show Beverly Hills 90201.

the original cast beverly hills 90210 in mom jeans. i know this is a post about downton abbey but bear with me here.

let me tell you a story:

back in the day, back in jersey, in the 90s, i was a big 90210 fan with equally big hair. BIG fan. HUGE hair. i loved that show with every fiber of my being. i even had a 90210 poster (reminiscent of the photo above except they were on a beach. cut me some slack, i was in seventh grade.)

anyway, everything was going ok but then everything changed: brenda “moved away.” tiffani amber thiessen from “saved by the bell” came on the show, which was totally disorienting. someone bought a nightclub. everything got all mucked up and confusing and stupid. the show totally lost me so i stopped watching and moved on.

that was sunday night’s downton abbey season finale. the writers should probably just go ahead and write in a part for tiffani amber thiessen now. lord stupid grantham should probably turn the library into a gay dance club. jan brady edith should “move away.” because i’m not watching anymore.

some thoughts:

so apparently some people knew that matthew was going to die. yeah i wasn’t one of those people. i was pretty  horrified.

as matthew lay DEAD under his convertible with his eyes freakishly open and his mouth dripping with blood, i decided that downton abbey sucks like all other soap operas. it just seems high-class because everyone has english accents, but at it’s core, it’s an overly dramatic soap opera that i can’t bear to watch.

RIP downton abbey. it was fun while it lasted.

additional thoughts:

BITCH BETTER STAY AWAY FROM TOM. the guy just lost his wife and has a little baby! people are sick. i can’t even deal.

why the F*CK would anyone ask O’BRIEN for advice on HAIR? just look at her! if i ever see that woman i’m gonna elbow her in the mouth.

that was a noble thing of thomas to do but damn it was dumb. BOY NOTHING YOU DO WILL MAKE WHASSISFACE WANT TO GET WITH YOU. YOU HAVE GONE SO LONG WITHOUT ANY ACTION YOU’RE ACTUALLY DELUSIONAL AT THIS POINT.

c’mon mrs. patmore. did you really want to go out with that guy? i don’t think so. you and thomas need to go manhunting together. you’ve been in the kitchen too long. you need some air.

i can’t believe that guy’s nickname was shrimpy. shrimpy? really?

yeah even i know not to sit on the damn couches upstairs and i don’t even work at downton.

molesley. still an idiot.

rose‘s hair: still really bad.

everyone was wearing headbands. what was that about?

PLEASE PLEASE  PLEASE GIVE EDITH A MAN HER OWN AGE.

finally, mary. of course she doesn’t even gain one pound while pregnant. i’m about ready to force feed that biznatch a burger, fries, and a milkshake. her friggin braid probably weighs more than she does! sigh. i miss sybil. she was the only normal one.

lastly, i’m not live tweeting anymore, at least not with this show. hot damn. it’s hard enough to follow the damn plot, let alone understand what they’re saying. sometimes i wonder if they’re even speaking english! would it kill all of you to speak slower??

in conclusion: i’ve had about enough. i don’t know if time will heal my pain or what. but i’m done for now. i need to start reading spoilers so i’m not so damn shocked at these sorts of things anymore because i just don’t have the emotional wherewithal to deal. i really don’t.

(ok i just looked at that photo again: DAMN THEIR JEANS WERE SO HIGH!)

thomas needs a boyfriend & mr. carson’s gay: downtown abbey, season 3, episode 6

Thomas from the hit PBS series Downton Abbey.

THIS MAN NEEDS A BOYFRIEND.

after sunday night’s epic two-hour episode of downtown abbey (season 3, episode 6), i think it’s safe to say two things: that thomas may never, ever leave and mr. carson is, in fact, a closeted homosexual.

it’s also safe to say that no one actually cares about “the business of downton.” (ok, holly  just told me she cares, but she’s the only one.) it’s a boring plot line! all we care about is gossip! i don’t think i speak just for myself when i say that i actually kind of wanted thomas and whassisface to kiss. i’m sure it would be a much more exciting kiss than any other kiss that’s ever happened in the entire series, certainly more exciting than the dry-mouth cousin kissing between mary and matthew–but i’ll get to that in a sec.

look, the bottom line is that thomas needs a boyfriend and he needs one fast. if he doesn’t get a little action, he’s going off the rails on the crazy train and it’s not gonna be pretty.

other thoughts:

mr. carson is obviously a self-loathing homosexual most likely attracted to thomas. his very loud proclamations that thomas’ gayness is both “revolting” and “foul” are simply to cover up his true feelings, which are strong yet tender and obviously eating him alive.

about bates:
bates seems to annoy me less when he’s clean-shaven but he’s still pretty annoying. i totally forgot about his gimpy leg until he was standing outside the prison with his cane. did they take away his cane in prison? how did he even get around? i have no idea.

mary/matthew:
i’m getting increasingly uncomfortable watching mary and matthew kiss on their bed. it seems wrong on many levels. i just keep thinking, stop touching each other! you’re cousins dammit!  i’m really not interested in seeing anything even remotely resembling their sex lives. i’m not even comfortable seeing mary in her nightgown.

also: considering the crudeness of early 20th-century medicine, how did mary get away with having secret gynecological surgery? wouldn’t she need a long time to recover? why couldn’t they tell each other they were going to the doctor? why is it such a secret? and how could they go to the same reproductive doctor? that seems weird.

lord grantam, friend of the gays:
i was going to start off this post by saying that the only living organism that actually cares for/can stand to be around lord grantham is his cute yellow lab, whose butt and wagging tail we see in the first moments of the opening credits. (that dog needs more airtime.) but seeing how he’s proven to be an early 20th-century LGBT ally, how can i hate him? i just can’t justify hating him anymore.

DAMN THIS SHOW. i swear, i’m up, i’m down, i don’t even know what i’m feeling anymore! the thing about downton abbey is just when you think you kind of hate someone something happens and you kind of start liking that person again, or at least start feeling sympathetic towards him or her.

for example, i’ve spent all three seasons disliking thomas to the point of wanting to elbow him in the mouth. but, as a fellow gay and human being, i actually feel bad for the guy. not bad enough that he should get a promotion. but pretty damn bad. i’m sure i’ll start hating him again soon enough.

closing thoughts:

like thomas, edith needs a man. but not one that’s like, old. or one that’s married and can’t get divorced. even though he’s her boss, i’m glad that editor told her she looked pretty. everyone needs a compliment now and then. even edith.

mrs. hughes is the unsung hero of the whole damn show. i do love me some mrs. hughes.

molesley‘s still a huge dork. i knew he couldn’t play cricket! idiot.

o’brien’s nephew, whassis face (or as i like to call him The One That’s So Pale His Eyebrows Actually Disappear), he’s a pain in my ass. he can bite it. i bet he’s gay, too.

class discussion questions:

1. why was the priest that christened the baby so pale? 
2. the new girl, rose? did she mean for her hair to look like that? it looked really bad.
3. why was the episode two hours? that was a pleasant yet disorienting surprise.
4. have you noticed the more upset thomas gets, the more he looks like a vampire. GET HIM A BOYFRIEND OR EVERYONE WILL SUFFER!
5. will i ever stop accidentally calling the show “downtown” abbey? (highly unlikely.)

come back next week for more edge-of-your-seat, horribly inappropriate commentary on the (gasp!) season finale. (previous commentary is here and here.)

CHEERIOS! CORNFLAKES! RAISIN BRAN! CHEERIO!

lord grantham’s an ass & other thoughts on downton abbey, season 3, episode 5

The sisters on PBS hit series Downton Abbey: Edith, Mary, and Sybil.

the sisters of downton abbey: edith (jan brady), mary (marsha brady), and the (sob!) late sybil (the sexy one).

seeing how i mostly watch bad reality tv and golden girls reruns,  you were probably filled with a mix of fear and delight when i provided commentary on the pbs series downton abbey last month, where i proclaimed that thomas must go, o’brien must go, sybil is the hottest sister, mary is marsha brady, edith is jan brady, and the turkish guy was hot, even when dead.

(if you missed that post, you can read it here.)

now that holly and i are up to date on the current season, i’m back to provide even more commentary, some of which, i’m sure, will make you want to pull out my weave (not wearing one, but still) and/or cut me. let’s begin:

lord grantham is an ass. i can’t even stand looking at his face anymore. all his decisions are bad. he says all the wrong things. he’s haughty and classist and he needs to smile more. i thought i had problems with him when he made the wrong decision about sybil (oh i’ll get to poor sybil in a minute), but when he tried to get all the girls to leave whassername’s house because the ex-prostitute who’s trying to get her life back together cooked them lunch, well that just pushed me over the edge.  what makes you so great anyway, ROBERT? you wouldn’t have a dime without your wife, ya gold digger! and you’d still have nothing if your cousin MATTHEW didn’t give you his inheritance from his dead ex-fiance since you lost all your wife’s money! stupid ass!

next up: lady sybil. oh my goodness sybil. i can’t even. i can’t…i can barely even talk about this. i can’t believe she’s gone. i can’t believe the writer’s killed her. i was absolutely shocked. i told holly, sobbing, that i didn’t think i could even watch the show anymore, and that this is why i don’t watch shows like this, i don’t have the emotional wherewithal to do it. i still cry every time i see the very last golden girls episode! the one where dorothy marries that guy and leaves the house? omG. real tears. every time. i can’t discuss lady sybil anymore, it’s too painful so i’m moving on.

mr. bates. kind of tired of him. i’m glad they got that lady to tell the truth because i was beginning to think he did it. but whatever. i like anna, and the house does need some serious cheering up. so at least there’s that. (but i am tired of his face and his stoic quietness. it’s like: speak up dude! i can’t even hear you.)

o’brien’s still a bitch and she still killed cora’s unborn child, but at least she’s setting thomas up for a fall however she still needs to go.

and while i’m mentioning thomas, let’s talk a little about mr. barrow, shall we? (oh i’m suddenly sounding british! you see how smart you get watching pbs??) thomas is an ass, too. but unlike stupid lord grantham, who’s just stupid and haughty, thomas is actually evil. i’m still trying to figure out how he hasn’t gotten fired yet! he keeps creeping his creepy way back in. but i guess they need him for storylines. anyway, i hate that he’s the lone gay. of course he’s evil, right? and of course he likes the hunky new guy, whassis face. thomas, ever heard of GAYDAR, ya moron??? whassis face DOESN’T LIKE YOU. not only that, he’s going to tell on your gay ass and get you fired!

also: mr. carson, the butler, needs to get a friggin grip. take the pole out of your ass and change with the times, dude! not to mention have a heart because you’re really starting to act downright mean. plus he’s nosy. i’ve kind of had it with him. i’ve also had it with mr. mosely. he’s so annoying he doesn’t even deserve his own paragraph.

other thoughts:

i’m glad they’re strengthening daisy’s character. i really like daisy. she’s being pretty mean to the new kitchen girl but i don’t blame her. (stop flirting with o’brien’s nephew (i forget his name) and do your job!) i also love the relationship between her and william’s father. finally someone’s being nice to that girl!

i’m  also starting to feel a little bad for edith. let the girl write in the friggin newspaper! plus she has to eat breakfast with the grumpy men while her sister and mother get breakfast in bed because they’re married. what ridiculousness is this? at least matthew has her back.

finally, ethel. poor ethel. i know i know. she shouldn’t have messed around with that assh*le general but she did and got pregnant and such is life. but man, what a bum deal she’s gotten. mrs. crawley is the only one that even gives her a chance. even though she seems kind of grumpy sometimes, mrs. crawley has wormed her way into my heart with that one.

i’ll finish things up with some thoughts on grandmama, i.e. violet, dowager countess of grantham. not only is she pretty much the only comic relief in the entire show, but how’d she get so doggone old? seems like life was really a crapshoot back then, anything would kill you. they barely even had antibiotics. they gave milk for fevers. (barf.) girlfriend has seen a lot in her years. all in all  she’s quite fabulous and i’m sure she has a huge gay following.

class discussion questions:

1. do you think daisy will accept william’s father’s offer to move to the farm?
2. will mr. bates finally punch thomas in the face upon his return? will he start speaking a little louder so we can actually hear him? 
3. will edith find a man to marry despite her jan brady-ness and history of being a bee-otch?
4. would thomas be nicer if he found a boyfriend?
5. will i ever understand what the prison guards are saying? (probably not.)

until next time! CHEERIOS! CHEERIO!

what is it with jews and seltzer anyway?

if i have a choice between plain water and seltzer i will always choose seltzer. why is this? i really have no idea. for starters, seltzer doesn’t even have a taste. second (secondly?), it has virtually no advantages to one’s health, only disadvantages, namely gas.

i’ve been thinking about seltzer a lot lately, as my parents very kindly gave me/us a seltzer-maker (a sodastream) for my birthday. well actually, it’s more of a soda-maker (you add flavored/colored powder), but since neither of us really drinks soda, it’s basically a seltzer maker.

we got it a while ago, back in the fall, but only started using it a few weeks ago. i think holly may have forgotten we had it at all. i, on the other hand, was simply scared of the carbon dioxide canister exploding in my face. anyway, it turns out it’s not all that scary (and quite simple to use, i may add). and let me tell you: since then, i have been drinking a lot of seltzer.

as i walk around the house hiccuping wildly proclaiming to holly you know, i probably shouldn’t drink so much seltzer, it’s got me thinking: what the hell’s up with jews and seltzer?

for some reason, there’s an inexplicable link between the jewish people and seltzer. or maybe it’s just jews in the northeast? or tri-state area (ny/nj/ct)? i have no idea. but i’ve met very few people in my life that drink plain (or flavored) seltzer that aren’t jewish. even the word seltzer sounds jewish. like it’s someone’s last name. as in: “honey, who was at synagogue today?” “oh, you know, the usuals: the rosenbergs, the greeblatts, the goldsteins, the seltzers.”

i honestly think there’s a jewish seltzer gene (JSG, if you will). i really do. every jewish household has or has had seltzer in the fridge. and it’s always “seltzer” to us. not “club soda.” it’s seltzer.

sometimes when we go out to a bar, since i’m not much of a drinker, i’ll order a “club soda with lime*” because we’re not in kansas anymore (kansas, of course, being new jersey). but truly, in my mind, i’m the jewish grandma shouting GIMME A SELTZER WITH LIME, DAHLINK. OY VEY DOES YOUR MOTHA KNOW YOU WORK AT A BAR? YOU’RE VERY PRETTY HAVE YOU THOUGHT ABOUT MODELING INSTEAD?

*please note that i won’t be ordering anything with sliced lemons or limes at a bar or restaurant until at least april, as most, if not all, restaurant or bar-sliced citrus have norovirus all over them and, as G-d as my witness, i will do nearly anything to avoid the norovirus. 

the JSG (jewish seltzer gene) makes no sense to me, since jews, by their very nature are a) gassy (ok i made that up but it sounds about right) and b) complainers. we have very sensitive systems and complain about everything. why would we be inexplicably drawn to a beverage that will not only give us gas but compel us to complain to our spouses, friends and family about how gassy we are? it seems all wrong. and yet….we just can’t stop ourselves.

(is it because we’re bad swimmers? an…evolutionary adaptation to protect us in the event of a shipwreck? so we float to safety?)

one of my earliest and fondest memories of my late grandmother is the two of us standing side by side at her apartment’s kitchen counter–yellow formica speckled with gold–as she taught me how to make “orange soda,” my curious five-year-old eyes just barely making it above the counter.

“orange soda” was, of course, just orange juice and seltzer. but oh i adored it. anyway, i have continued to make it ever since (and think of my gram every time i do).

in conclusion (is there a conclusion here?), seltzer does have a taste. it tastes like seltzer! yes, it tastes like bubbles. thousands of teeny tiny bubbles. which beats the hell out of regular water. i’ve also started to make a less carbonated seltzer (two shots of carbon dioxide from the sodastream instead of four) to protect my sensitive jewish system.

p.s. about downton abbey (the subject of my last post)

WHY LADY SYBIL? WHY!!!!!!!!!! she was the nicest one! DAMMIT THIS IS WHY I DON’T WATCH SHOWS LIKE THIS.

also: lord grantham is an idiot! he’s always making the wrong decisions! AND THOMAS IS CREEPIER THAN EVER! WHY CAN’T THEY JUST GET RID OF THAT GUY? HE’S IMPOSSIBLE TO GET RID OF! LIKE A ROACH! HE JUST KEEPS COMING BACK!

we’re in the midst of a downton abbey marathon over here

The cast of PBS series Downton Abbey.

holly and i are usually  not the type to jump on the bandwagon when it comes to popular tv shows, but so many of our friends talk about the pbs series downton abbey that we were finally like ok let’s see what this whole thing’s about.

holly, of course, took the reigns and was like, babe, the new season’s starting, let’s get on this so we can watch season 3. so we started a trial of netflix and finished season 1 over the weekend. then we started season 2 last night (via a free trial of hulu–gotta love the free trials!). here are some thoughts so far:

on the cast & characters:

thomas is a little prick. i could kick his ass. why did they have to make him gay? not good for the cause. they should have fired him before he left. but i guess they need a villian for the storyline. i can’t even look at him. he disgusts me.

his friend, that lady who works for “her ladyship,” (the american lady that was in the 80s movie “she’s having a baby”)? she’s a bitch, too. mrs. whatever-her-face. (o’brian, mrs. o’brian, holly’s telling me now) i could elbow her in the mouth, i can’t even look at her face either. she needs to be fired, too. also: her and thomas smoke entirely too much.

mr. bates is my favorite. so is that girl, the one he proposed to? they’re both our favorites.

the youngest sister is the hottest. i know she’s probably young, but don’t hold it against me. she’s a dead ringer for a brunette scarlett johansson. she even looks good in the old-school nurses uniform.

edith, the blond sister: also a bitch. way to go spreading sh*t about your own sister! she’s the jan brady. everyone knows she’s an idiot. at least she can drive.

mary, the oldest: marsha brady, obviously. popular one. did you see how fabulous her hair is when it’s down? she’s ok. i mean, so far. there’s still plenty of time for me to hate her, too. we’re only on season 2, episode 3. plenty of time.

granny, i know she’s a really famous actress, don’t know her name. started out hating her, now i’m kind of liking her. she’s funny. wouldn’t want to meet her in a dark alley, though. she was great in “the best exotic marigold hotel.” did you see that movie? FABULOUS MOVIE. see it if you haven’t already! i know it’s a weird name for a movie but trust me, it’s good. you know i wouldn’t lead you astray.

matthew, the cousin. i don’t think cousins should marry, even if they’re distant cousins. you gotta mix up the gene pool, people! he has nice eyes, though. despite the whole cousin thing, i want him and mary together. so wrong it’s actually right.

the turkish guy that died. he totally had a moment with evil thomas. even though i can’t stand him, i don’t blame thomas for putting the moves on him. also: he was hot even when he was dead. that’s true hotness.

daisy: stop picking on daisy! she’s a nice girl! geesh.

i have more commentary on more characters but i have a headache so i’ll stop now.

other notes:

watching the show, episode after episode, really gets me in the mood to talk like british people. i suddenly have the urge to say words like “lovely” and “quite.”

i get confused easily as we watch. i mean, first of all, they’re accents are so thick i need subtitles. also, there are so many names to remember. and secret alliances and plots. i’m not cut out for this type of show. i’m better with friends reruns, jersey shore and hbo’s “girls” (OMG WE LOVE THAT SHOW). far too intellectual and historical for me. but i’m trying. i do see what all the fuss is about. it’s a good show. gotta hand it to them, pbs really knocked one out of the park with this one.

lastly, for the longest time i thought it was downtown abbey. don’t even tell me you didn’t think so, too. glad to have that cleared up before i embarrass myself at a dinner party.

p.s. please no spoilers! pretty please!

did i tell you how holly cut her fingertips off on christmas?

oh, i didn’t? yeah that’s right because i tried to and then i fainted.

warning: if you have problems with blood (like i do) i suggest you stop reading and go watch funny cat videos.

really. right now. do it.

(i know you’re still reading. i can see you.)

(fine. keep reading. but don’t say i didn’t warn you. i’m dizzy and i haven’t even started writing yet. just try not to hit your head on anything on the way down.)

so it was just an average christmas in butler, pennsylvania (or “pee-ay” as the locals say). and by average i actually mean less-than-average. a ray of light in the darkness was holly’s fancy new french au gratin recipe, which she saw on the cooking channel, her second favorite tv channel after bravo.

she decided she’d try it out on christmas day. i should note that holly has a habit of trying out new recipes on holidays, when we’re having visitors, on special occasions, etc. it doesn’t always go so well. but i digress.

this recipe, it’s actually called, get this, pomme de terra a la boulangere, french for “potatoes a la bakery,” which is equally as vague, if not slightly ridiculous. it calls for a lot of thinly sliced potatoes and onions. a whole lot of them. especially onions. so holly packed her oxo brand “v-blade” mandolin slicer and off we went to pee-ay.

at the time, holly had only used this slicer (pictured below) one time. and the entire time i felt myself getting dizzy and paced around the downstairs saying things like babe, we really don’t need julienned beets. i can do without the damn julienned beets just come here so i can hold you.

the slicer features an alarming array of sharp blades, all of which could easily slice off and/or shred one to four of your fingers and/or digits. what i’m saying is: just looking at this thing makes me picture pints of my blood on the floor, which, in turn, gets me light-headed and forces me to frantically search for a hard candy in one of my thousand purses to distract me and raise my blood sugar, which drops in times of severe stress. (hard candies are a jewish thing used to treat all ailments. kind of like windex for skin problems in my big fat greek wedding. don’t ask me, i don’t get it either.)

oxo v-blade mandolin slicer

anyway, holly and i are alone in her parents’ kitchen. the rest of her family is downstairs in the basement hanging out. as she’s slicing onions with the mandolin, i’m peeling potatoes with an ancient peeler repeatedly inquiring about how many i should peel. i should note that holly was not in the best of moods. she really shouldn’t have been using anything sharp and dangerous. (and i probably shouldn’t have been asking her annoying questions.)

i hand her potatoes and she slices them into gorgeous, even, thin slices. things are going well. she double checks the recipe, and it turns out she needs even more onions. she switches from slicing potatoes to slicing onions, reducing the depth of the blade since they’re thinner than the potatoes. this is the move that probably saved her fingers.

she’s in a hurry and grabs the onion and begins slicing it without the guard. if you’re familiar with mandolin slicers, you may already know that the first rule is to use the damn guard. that’s why they make it! the guard (the round thing in the photo above) attaches to whatever you’re slicing, thus protecting your hand and fingers from complete annihilation.

i’m not sure how long it took for her to hit the blade since i’ve already repressed the memory of almost the entire afternoon. all i remember is her suddenly shouting F*CK! F*CK! F*CK! then jumping up and down holding her hand and me shouting WHAT WHAT WHAT!

i went into panic mode immediately, ran to the sink and put on the cold water, shouting PUT YOUR HAND UNDER THE FAUCET, which, of course, didn’t help at all seeing how she had just cut both nail and flesh off her left middle finger, ring finger and pinky. (i had done something similar, in the very same kitchen, over the summer, cutting off a significant chunk of flesh off the right side of my right thumb with a (*gulp*) apple corer, and the first thing holly did for me was put my thumb under cold water. i almost fainted but couldn’t since her little nephews were there, so we played “i spy with my little eye” in order to keep me conscious.)

by the third “F*CK!” her younger sister, heather, thank G-d, ran up from the basement, followed by her parents.

there was a lot of blood, most of which i didn’t see because i had to turn away. as holly’s stepdad (once a cop, always a cop) went through the sliced onions looking for fingertips to put on ice  (she didn’t cut off enough flesh to reattach; all he found was (ugh) fingernails), heather and holly’s mom tended to holly’s bleeding and i ran around in circles panicking.

it was quickly decided holly would go to the emergency room to stop the bleeding and for a tetanus shot. holly, of course, was fairly calm. she was mostly a) in an extreme amount of pain and b) irritated at the thought of getting a tetanus shot–and the fact that she had had the accident at all.

i, of course, was far from calm. this was not the type of health crisis that called for a hard candy.

after handing holly–who was standing near the door waiting to leave–a superfluous amount of paper towels to replace the blood-soaked ones she was holding and promptly running away from her, i ran around the house in tears looking for what she’d need on the way to and at the hospital.

i grabbed her cell phone, a charger and her driver’s license. remembering she hadn’t eaten lunch yet, i also found the rather large square of what could only be described as artesian caramel we purchased at the wexford, pa whole foods the day before. because when you’ve chopped off both nail and flesh in a mandolin slicer the thing you really need most is artesian caramel.

“heather,” i said to her sister, who works in the medical field and who was therefore acting normal, unlike me.

surely i had ramona crazy eyes by this point. the fact that heather did not run from me is a testament to her love for her older sister.

“here’s stuff holly’ll need at the hospital: her cell phone, charger, driver’s license,” i plopped everything down in her open hands.

“and caramel. she hasn’t eaten and her blood sugar’s probably low.”

heather looked at me, blinking. she may have laughed a little, i have no idea, i’ve blocked it out.

then it was time for holly and heather to go to the hospital. i couldn’t hold it together any longer. i grabbed holly around her neck and blubbered something about how much i loved her, i’m so sorry this happened, i’m so worried about you, i love you so much, i love you and i love you and etc. i swear you’d think she was about to go into battle.

her mother may have had to pull me off her. again, i have no idea, i’ve blocked it out.

once they left, i sat down on the couch and sobbed into my hands. it was a crap week and this was the cherry on top. she was bleeding and in pain and i couldn’t do a thing to help but hand her sister a piece of artesian caramel.

her mom told me that it was ok and not to worry, that’d she be fine. susan (her mom) and frank (her stepdad) threw out the onions holly had been slicing, cleaned up the accident scene, finished up the recipe, and went to visit with family downstairs.

i stayed upstairs, immobile with worry. incapable of doing anything else, i picked up my phone and played words with friends, then walked around in circles. honestly, i don’t really remember what i did until they came back. luckily they weren’t gone for long (about an hour).

when i saw holly’s fingers (below), of course i burst into tears again.

holly's fingers after her mandolin accident

as instructed by heather, i met them both at the door with two glasses of guinness –and a rather large shot of whiskey for holly.

soon, more family came in for christmas dinner. despite her cooking injury, i’m pleased to report that almost everyone ate the pommes de terre a boulangere. the ironic thing is that most people thought it was “too onion-y,” so i guess holly didn’t need to cut up all those extra onions after all.

i can say with great certainty that this was our worst christmas ever. however, there is much to be thankful for: her injury could have been much, much worse. if she had been cutting the potatoes, she would have sliced off way more and this would be a much different blog entry.

since christmas, holly has changed her bandages many, many times, and, now that the bleeding and oozing has stopped, i’ve forced myself to take a deeeeeep breath and look her fingers and i gotta say: it’s pretty damn bad. seeing them kind of makes me want to hold her and tell her to never slice or julienne anything ever again.

when she got home from the hospital, i told holly we’d be throwing out the slicer. but frank said it was “operator error” and that there’s nothing wrong with the slicer. it was, in fact, the operator. which was holly. so, despite  my pleas, we brought the damn thing home.

last week, when i was upstairs, and holly was downstairs and therefore unsupervised, she secretly julienned zucchini and yellow squash for a pizza. i got kind of mad that she was using it again, but what can i do? she’s a chef, she needs to express herself through her culinary creations and has vowed to never, ever use the mandolin slicer without the guard again. i, on the other hand, am investigating blade-resistant gloves.

this concludes what i hope will be the bloodiest lunch at 11:30 post ever. if you fainted, you can wake up now. here are two funny captioned hamster pictures to help ease you back into consciousness.

funny hamster picture

funny hamster picture 2

haha. until next time! happy 2013! and if you need to use a mandolin slicer USE THE DAMN GUARD.

p.s. if you live in the baltimore area, be sure to pick up the current issue of baltimore bride, which features my essay, “Four Weddings And a Referendum: A love story about two women and their many weddings,” which chronicles our multiple nuptials (including some of the less-than-perfect things that happened on the way to our first wedding–the BFGW, if you will. kind of like the “dvd extras” you never got to read the first time around.) the entire issue is pretty goshdarn gorgeous and i’m honored to be a part of it. (plus they drew a picture of us!)

holly and i as CARTOONS!

us! as cartoons! (look at my shiny hair! FABULOUS!)