Abby Has Issues

A Match for Martha

Posted on April 29, 2013 | 27 Comments

I heard that in an interview with Matt Lauer on the “TODAY” show, Martha Stewart, 71, said that she’s had trouble meeting a male friend with benefits and admitted she attempted to (unsuccessfully) join Match.com.

Apparently she loves dating, but the questionnaire seemed impossible and so she’s just going to keep looking on her own.

Well, I’ve never attempted online dating, but I think I could really help her out with this thing. After all, if weirdo Guy Fieri can find his Gal Fieri, there has to be hope left for Martha.

Username: Martha Stewart

Headline: Lifestyle guru, businesswoman, author, magazine founder and publisher, TV personality and domestic diva seeking companionship and snuggles with someone who appreciates the finer things in life.

Age: A spritely 71

Sign: Leo, which is perfect because I love my Himalayan cats!

Ethnicity: Whitest woman on the planet

Nickname: In prison it was “M. Diddy,” but I would prefer to just go by Martha. Bygones!

Income: Well this is curious! My income range is not represented. No matter. I get by.

Religion: Cleanliness is next to godliness. Also, Dog is my co-pilot. Ha!

Relationships: One ex-husband and several ex-beaus, most notably a software billionaire and Anthony Hopkins, who I had to break it off with after viewing that wretched film, “Silence of the Lambs.” I was unable to avoid associating Hopkins with Hannibal Lecter, a man with absolutely no table manners or sense of proper etiquette.

Children: I’ve had many lovely dogs, cats and horses over the years, but I won’t bore you with those details yet! However, if you’re interested, my two blogging pups, Francesca and Sharkey, have created a photo gallery of all my pets.

Oh, and I have one daughter, Alexis.

Body Type: It depends on what I’m eating, but I prefer an Asti for a light-bodied wine and a Barbaresco for a full-bodied wine.

Celebrity Look-Alike: I’ve been told I could be a mix of that lovely woman who played Murphy Brown (Candice Bergen) and Diane Sawyer.

Smoke: Do you mean salmon? If so, yes. It can make a delightful appetizer when done correctly.

Drink: I love a whiskey sour with fresh juice or a mojito, but it has to be a purple basil mojito and the basil has to be cultivated from my own garden and tended to with painted garden tools.

Hobbies: Anything involving a hot glue gun—decoupage, scrapbooking, creating snow globes out of glass from upcycled chandeliers; knitting blankets from the hair of my prize-winning Chow Chows, baking “green” brownies with my pal Snoop Dogg/Lion out of cupcake tins I’ve created from paperclips and aluminum foil; building a billion-dollar empire and tweeting. I love the Twitter!

Who I’m Looking For: Someone who I can laugh with that knows they can use half a potato to unscrew a broken light bulb. He should love animals, personal transformation and organized bed linens. There’s something incredibly satisfying about opening up the linen closet to see not unholy chaos, but color-coded bundles neatly tied in a bow.

Note: Stockbrokers and actors who have portrayed cannibals need not apply.

I think it’s pretty solid and can only imagine that the men would be lining up. And if all else fails, I’m pretty sure she could try Craig’s List or get cast on “The Bachelorette.”

Martha might just meet her match.

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Tagged dating, Martha Stewart, match.com, Today Show

Exclusive Interview: Vanilla Ice

Posted on April 26, 2013 | 22 Comments

Scene: An unprepared reporter interviews Robert Van Winkle, aka Vanilla Ice

Sorry if I’m a bit flustered, but I’m actually not the person who was supposed to do this interview. The reporter who was assigned is apparently sick, although I suspect it’s “the bar flu,” if you know what I mean. Ha, ha.

I’m not so much a “reporter,” per se, as a photographer for the pet fashion section of the paper. But I’m a team player. Plus, c’mon, you’re Vanilla Ice! So I was all, “Will I ever stop? Yo, I don’t know. Give me the address, and I’ll go!”

I grew up listening to you, so big fan!

But enough about me, let’s get to the questions. Of course, Dan, who was supposed to do the interview, wasn’t able to give me the questions he was going to ask, so these are some I jotted down on the back of a napkin at Starbucks this morning. I didn’t have a lot of time to prepare, but…

Oh my god! I just realized I was drinking ICED COFFEE when I was Googling you and preparing for this interview. Talk about meant to be!

So, one thing “off the record,” as they say, before we really start. And this might have been influenced by the fact that I was drinking a mocha when I got the call to do the interview, but I think it’s still of general interest: Do you prefer vanilla or chocolate?

I mean, the obvious answer would be vanilla, seeing as you’re Vanilla Ice and all, but I’m thinking that name might just be symbolic of something more. Like maybe by “vanilla” you really meant “bland” in an ironic way, because obviously you’re not bland at all. I didn’t mean to imply that.

Anyway, I guess that’s not important.

Questions. Let’s see…sorry. I’m trying to read these scribbles here. The other day I wrote down “clean shower” and read it as “clean Steve” which would be really awkward if I was around someone named Steve!

Moving along.

Everyone knows “Ice Ice Baby” and that you worked with MC Hammer—how crazy were those pants, by the way?—but I’m supposed to ask you about “The Vanilla Ice Project,” a show you have on DIY where you guys, and I quote from the Internet, “pound nails and call the shots in this room-by-room renovation.”

Is that like a metaphor for something or do you really build things? I once tried to assemble a bookcase from IKEA and almost glued my hands together, so maybe I should TiVo you, huh?

Anyway, they also told me to ask you about “Vanilla Ice Goes Amish?” I thought maybe I wrote that down wrong and meant “danish,” being in Starbucks and all, but I Googled it and found out you’re going to have another show on DIY and, I quote, “immerse yourself in an Amish community in Ohio to learn how they do construction.”

You do know that they don’t have electricity right? What if they ask you to “play that funky music, white boy?” Are you going to be all, “To the extreme, I will pump that butter handle. Light up the room with a waxy homemade candle?”

I just came up with that! If you use it, let me know!

OK, I’ll guess I’ll just watch and see. But I have to know… do you ever walk into a room and say something like “Hey, I’m back!” and your friends and family are like, “With a brand new invention?” And then you chime in with, “Something, grabs a hold of me tightly” and you all have a good laugh?

Well, no matter. What’s that? Our time is done? Bummer. I had some really good questions coming up. I’ll guess I’ll just look for you on TV and I thank you for your time.

Word to your mother!

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Tagged DIY Network, reporting, Vanilla Ice

Master of Your Domain

Posted on April 23, 2013 | 30 Comments

Living alone means that all the household chores are my responsibility. While I generally don’t mind cleaning—thank you OCD!—and actually find it relaxing at times, there are certain annoyances that I will not tolerate.

You have to put your foot down and assert your domestic dominance, as giving in to an appliance or a dust bunny only shows weakness, and trust me, these things prey on weakness.

Take for example the vacuum, whose job description literally entails it sucking crap up.

Without the suckage, it’s simply a large noisy thing with a light on the front that terrorizes the cat (a bonus feature they really should advertise, come to think of it.) Because of this, I will stand over the vacuum for 10 minutes and force it to suck up a string before bending over and picking that crap up myself.

I did not spend five minutes five years ago picking out a vacuum so that I could pick up the debris myself, good sir!

And I often find the dustbuster—named as such because it’s supposed to bust the dust—to be more temperamental. It will often passive aggressively push dust around the room instead of actually sucking (busting?) it up.

“Oh, you wanted ME to pick that up? Well, I never….”

Unacceptable. I will run the little bastard until it needs to be charged to make sure that it busts up that one grain of rice it spit out. Suck it up and do your job—literally.

A more seemingly innocuous perpetrator is the mini-blind. No, I’m not going to suggest that you actually clean a mini-blind, as it’s a scientific fact that much like shower curtain liners, it’s easier to just throw them away and get a new one.

This involves the raising and lowering of said mini-blind with those two little strings on the side.

It seems simple enough, but one wrong pull and you have a completely crooked blind with one side way up to the left while the other sags down to the right. Then you try and straighten it out and the right side goes up while the left side sags down.

Do not accept this asymmetrical configuration of window coverings, my friends. I don’t care if you stand there pulling on each string for an hour like you’re milking a cow. If you don’t even that shit up, the next thing you know you’re literally blinded by the light.

Moving on to the bathroom, I feel the need to warn you that the toothpaste that leaps off your toothbrush like a kangaroo will immediately become as stubborn as super glue the second it hits—and adheres to— the sink.

It can be tempting to let that slide, and you might even consider it “artsy” to have patterns dotting the sink interior. Stop the madness. Nine out of 10 dentists agree that one must immediately scrub the spot in the sink, lest one falls into the cavity of cleaning complacency.

Plus, that crap stays glued on.

This last one isn’t really about cleaning, but I will try and make it helpful by saying you should clean your remote control. I read somewhere that there are 12 teen million germs and probably the origins of the swine flu on the average remote, so Clorox that thing ASAP.

Possible HAZMAT situation aside, my issue is when the remote control simply gives up. The batteries are new, the little red light at the top of it blinks when you maniacally press down the buttons with increasing rage, but yet…no action.

Do not—I repeat—do not change the channel yourself.

Stand up right next to the TV and force that remote to change the channel, adjust the volume or set a reminder to watch Baseball Tonight. And henceforth from said display of power, refer to it only as “the remote.”

Why? Because as with all the domestic dysfunction in your house, you are the one in control.

Never let them forget that.

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Tagged being single, cleaning, domestic disability, Uncle June, vacuuming

Because You’re Human

Posted on April 19, 2013 | 28 Comments

When give a dose of twisted reality, much like the tragedy in Boston, we’re also given a dose of perspective. Things are completely out of our control. There are monsters that walk among us who are filled with rage and hate. Bad things happen to good people.

It’s enough to make anyone want to crawl in a hole and escape.

But this post isn’t about Boston, Texas or Newtown or the myriad of tragic events that unfortunately, we’ve had to endure. There are others that can speak much more eloquently on those topics, as thankfully, I’m personally removed.

What I’m not personally removed from is depression, something that I’ve written about a million times before, and something that quite frankly, I’m tired of writing about. I like to keep it light, if only for my own sanity.

But events like Boston bring something to the forefront of my mind, something that I’ve heard others who suffer from depression bring up all the time—the guilt.

Ahh…the guilt. That useless emotion.

I have a job, a roof over my head, family and friends who love me and who are still safe. How dare I be depressed when on paper, things look go good? Other people have “real” reasons to be depressed, so what the hell is my problem?

These are the thoughts that go through my head. The guilt—combined with frustration—are what lead me to physically wear myself down to a literal shell of who I once was.

I won’t go into my details again, but when it hits, I can’t imagine how things might change. My motivation becomes basically reduced to: food, exercise, sleep and hopefully coming up with something to write. Anything on top of that isn’t something I have any interest in.

I just don’t want to think anymore.

I simply want relief, and part of me thought (and maybe still thinks) that if I kept physically pushing myself, eventually something would literally give and then I would have a “real” reason, a valid excuse.

Because if I have an excuse, then I won’t have the guilt and there’s something else I can blame for the way that I feel.

In their own way, I hear this from friends who deal with depression themselves. That the guilt is what keeps them tamped down, that they don’t “deserve” to feel anything less than the inspirational quotes and posters that plaster the globe expect everybody to feel.

But you know what?

Sometimes things are completely out of our control. There are mental monsters like that fill our minds with negative thoughts we don’t ask for. Depression happens to good people.

It’s not your fault.

So even though I cringe as I publish this— “serious” equates to insecurity for me—I wrote it because I know I’m not alone, because everyone has shit that they deal with—big, small, internal, external.

What you deal with is your shit and what I deal with is mine. That’s both comforting and disconcerting, as it means even though we’re not alone, we’re also not unique or the exception to some rule. Everyone has pain.

The only guilt you should feel is if you don’t honor the fact that your feelings are valid and real.

This doesn’t mean you wallow. This doesn’t mean you throw up your hands, say “screw it” and crawl in a hole and escape. This means you fight. This means you endure. This means your guilt is replaced with acceptance and you take the next step forward and deal with your reality now, whatever that reality may be.

You’re human.

That’s all the “excuse” that you need.

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Tagged acceptance, depression, guilt, issues, tragedy

Perishable Puns

Posted on April 16, 2013 | 26 Comments

It started off simple enough with this lame Facebook status:

“I’m just a fungi with high morels looking to shoot the shiitake with a cute little button like you.” -Mushroom at a single’s bar.

To put it in a nutshell, people relished the update and even mustard up the strength to ketchup with me and contribute to the fray (there was mushroom for improvement.) So that simple update planted the seed for this post, a series of perishable personal ads you probably won’t find on Craig’s List.

Dig in.

Hi. I’m Herb. I’ve been hurt before, but I’m gingerly throwing my caraway and trying to find love one more thyme. While I’m no sage, chive got a feeling that if we share some common interests—conversation peppered with laughs, the desire to curry on a new friendship—thistle work and we’ll become the pesto friends.

Born and bread in Coloradough, I’m just a simple guy wondering what I am doughing here. My past attempts at dating have gone a-rye, and I’ve found myself in seedy bars with weirdoughs thinking, “I donut belong here.” But I figured I kneaded to try this again, and placing an ad was the yeast I could do. I’m looking for someone to loaf around with who is willing to go against the grain, roll with the punches and rise to any occasion. If this is you, please reply and I will millet over.

Well-cultured woman looking for a gouda time with a minimal margarine for error. It a curd to me that I in no whey deserve to settle for less than jam-packed excitement—which is a nice way of pudding it—so the more spontaneous you are, the butter. I cannoli imagine the fun we will have!

Single chick with chili disposition looking to stop floundering around. Past dating experiences have been offal, dare I say the wurst, and I won’t make that missed steak again! I’m accident prawn with a bit of a fowl mouth, but would love to meat someone who I can bacon for companionship and fun. If that sounds like ewe, carpe diem!

I yam hoping this ad will produce some grate replies, as I’m tired of medi-okra dates with men who think a huge celery means we make a great pear. Bean there, done that and sometimes I wonder why I even carrot all. But if you march to the beet of your own drum, lettuce meet and see what might turnip.

I know. I know. Any way you slice it, these are corny and I falafel about how cheesy they are. But don’t worry…I won’t milk this anymore.

That’s a wrap.

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Tagged food, personal ads, puns, vegetables

A Letter to My New Yoga Pants

Posted on April 11, 2013 | 37 Comments

I understand you had higher hopes for where you’d end up, maybe some fashion-forward type with a perky butt that would fill you out better than I can and wear you only once every few weeks while “slumming” and sipping wine on a veranda.

However, the simple fact is that I chose you to come into my life and join a rotation of about three other pair of these pants. You play the hand you’re dealt.

I need to make clear up front that even though I will wear you when occasionally doing yoga, I’m aware you’re not technically yoga pants—you’re workout pants. I don’t pretend that you’re a $100 purchase from Lululemon that I’ll never buy when you’re actually a $12 purchase from Target, but seeing as I don’t sip wine and eat sushi on a veranda, please allow me to sound fancy when referencing you.

I also need to make it clear that for me, you aren’t just weekend wear or something to lounge in. You will become a highly valued member of my family. Because you’re new, you will be considered my “good yoga pants” and will be worn to the gym, the store, etc.—in other words, you will be a public figure of sorts.

That means I’m going to need to rely on you day in and day out until I feel others get suspicious and I throw you in the wash.

This cycle will continue until you literally wear out your welcome, like the others who have journeyed before you. When that time comes, be secure in the knowledge I will keep you around as my “home” yoga pants, which is a pretty much like retirement in the Florida Keys for you.

Public appearances will be replaced with home workouts and actual yoga sessions, but your primary function is comfort. Every day when I get home from work, you are expected to be standing guard at the ready, next to the sports bra and T-shirt that complete my fashionista trifecta.

There will be challenges—cat hair, spilled food, quick sprints outside to try and move the recycle bin out to the curb on the days I remember—but when all is said and done, you will know that it’s you and you alone who provide me with a sense of relief and relaxation from “real” pants that just don’t get me.

So welcome to the rotation, my friend.

I look forward to breaking you in.

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Tagged exercise, fashion, letter, yoga pants

Be Kind, Rewind

Posted on April 9, 2013 | 25 Comments

I actually rented a movie a couple weeks ago. This is news because I have the attention span of a manic gnat with ADD and prefer just to watch TV shows that max out at an hour.

And going to a movie? It’s been years.

I judge a movie by whether it’s better than spending two hours watching a squirrel perform Cirque du Soleil moves on the feeder, a ballgame or a “Chopped” marathon on Food Network, and you have to admit that’s pretty hard to beat.

Plus, it doesn’t cost $10 or force you to deal with strangers loudly slurping their pop.

At any rate, because I’m old I can also say that I remember VHS tapes—those things that came before DVDs. When I was younger, my favorites to watch were classics like all the Rocky movies (I still know every word,) Troop Beverly Hills, Camp Cucamonga and Mariah Carey Live.

They were often for research purposes, as I would give elaborate concerts on the front lawn before organizing cut-throat games of the home-version “Double Dare” game show complete with plastic helmets with sticks to throw wet sponge hoops at.

I was a recreational pioneer, people.

The first time I watched a DVD I remember being amazed that I didn’t have to “be kind and rewind.” Brilliant!

But I soon learned that while DVDs are convenient, there are certain things about them I detest. For one, they don’t always let you fast forward through the FBI warnings anymore, and second, they can skip.

There’s nothing worse than getting into a movie and having the damn thing just stop and the timer vacillate between two numbers before skipping 20 minutes ahead and ruining the flow of the show.

You can bet that after staring at the frozen screen, trying to “scan” back and forth and yelling a stream of words that would earn an “R” rating, I march back to the video store and get a credit on my account (for the $1 movie I rented for five days a year after it was popular.)

Wait.

There is something worse—if it’s an exercise DVD and Jillian Michaels suddenly sounds like she developed a stutter and you end up doing squat jumps for 3 minutes straight before realizing the DVD is just skipping.

Anyway, all of this is to say that I watched a couple movies that didn’t stink and avoided throwing my remote at the DVD player while cursing modern technology.