Sometimes I like to check my own blog… to see if I’ve posted anything new.
Author Archive | Alison Rosen
An important note about dictionaries
On Friday’s Red Eye I may have besmirched The American Heritage dictionary. In fact, I know I did. We were talking about a study that said that brainy girls have more difficulty in the bedroom than their dumber counterparts because they are always thinking. I said this was true, and that I was known to read a dictionary while with a suitor but that since switching from Merriam Webster to The American Heritage dictionary, which I said was the dumber dictionary, magic has happened.
Now see, I feel I unfairly maligned American Heritage. It’s the dictionary I grew up on and it’s the dictionary I actually own—though in this day and age it’s rare that I actually open a dictionary because all that stuff is online. Also, my dictionary is packed in a box somewhere along with my lady parts, incidentally, but I think I covered that sufficiently in another post. But Merriam Webster is the dictionary most magazines use as the authority, hence my thinking it’s probably got an edge. In fact, one of my first edit notes at TONY said “check Web10” and I tried to go to that website but there was nothing there. How foolish was I! Web10 was sitting on my desk. Webster’s 10th edition. Now they’re on Web11 I think. Anyway, fuck those dictionaries, both of which are child’s play compared to the OED, you know?
Behind on sleep
I kind of lost track of time on the bike. If my behind were any more asleep I'd have to rename it Rip Van Winklebutt and read it a newspaper.
Butt Van Winkle? Ass Van Winkle? There is humor in there somewhere, I'm sure of it!
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At the gym, Buddhism
So I’m at the gym working on my gamma deltas and my dingbats and I have a confession to make: I read embarrassing self-help books. It’s why I’m so wildly successful at all my endeavors, especially my endeavoring to procrastinate and be reclusive. I bring this up because last time I was at the gym with my embarrassing book, ipod, blackberry, pack of smokes, cooler of bacardi breezers, small bbq and outboard motor in case I came across a boat and body of water, I had to tear out of there to do red eye at the last minute (may I applaud myself for getting home, dressed, reading the stories and getting out the door in about forty two minutes? Okay then) So today I was getting ready to go back to the gym and suddenly a panic shot through me when I thought I may have left When Things Fall Apart: Heart Advice for Difficult Times by Pema Chodron at the gym. Thank god I didn’t really. Or thank Buddha, because this book is buddhist although I am not. Now pema looks like a man with a very round skull, but she’s really a woman with a bad haircut. I didn’t realize this until she talked about how she felt when she discovered her husband was cheating on her with a box of hair extensions named jenny. I know what I’ll do, she thought. I’ll get a bad haircut! And so she did, and now she’s a famous author. What was I saying? I forget, but I’m not going to try to hang on to that thought, or even my mind, I’m just going to touch and release it, as I would a small child’s hand in traffic, because that is the buddhist way.
Now you may have found that joke in poor taste but I can’t control that and I have the wisdom to know the difference as well as the serenity to take a nap. Naps, actually. Not now though, right now I’m pedaling as fast as I can divided by about thirteen. I’m pedaling at a thirteenth of my ability because it’s not a race it’s a journey. It’s not a sprint it’s a marathon? Keep it simple stupid? Day at a time? Uh oh, I’m trapped in a downward slogan spiral! Shall I talk about kids again?
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A couple shots from The Activity Pit (courtesy of Malone's caps)
me me me me me me me me me me me me me (sometimes I just like to say what I’m thinking and feeling)
Things I am not currently getting
anything accomplished
shit done
my groove on
into trouble
into the pool
metaphorically or literally, that is
a barrel of pickles delivered to my apartment anytime soon
a barrel of monkeys delivered to my apartment anytime soon
the hang of it where it equals bull-fighting
an appreciation for sponge-painting
blood circulating in the tip of my left index finger (Raynaud’s syndrome)
The morning after
Pitcher of appletinis (above)
Another pitcher, above, in case you didn’t get the joke and need me to beat it into the ground
appletinis being poured into the bottom of what appears to be a giant tennis shoe
appletinis for your car
So how do I feel about last night’s appletini, you are likely wondering? I deeply regret it. Not for physical reasons—I feel fine, if a little chagrined/horrified—but for matters of self-respect. Do I think I’m better than people who drink appletinis? Pretty much, yes. Appletinis are the drink equivalent of “okay dokey smokey” or “okeley dokely” or “easy peasy japanesey” (no offense to the Pacific Rim) or “right on” or maybe “sweeeeeet” in that you say them making fun of them and then one day you wake up and they’ve actually wormed their way into your vocabulary in earnest and also, you’re that asshole drinking an appletini—which started as a joke because it sounds funny—but man if it doesn’t go down easy peasy. [Note: no one actually adds “japanesey,” that was just for effect.]
Okay, I have to be honest: I never said “okay dokey smokey,” but I did have a problem with “okay dokey.” I think my sister the plant-name stealer did too. I’m reminded of one of my favorite stories, courtesy of one Steve Lowery, who had taken to saying “nighty night” to his kids and heard himself end an interview with a sports legend that way. I forget who the sports legend was of course, because I don’t know sports. Um, Mr. Pigskin? Sherman Bleachers? Doug Dugout? You see what’s happening don’t you? I’ve lost my sense of humor. This is kind of tragic actually, because I was counting on it for the weekend.
Also, I miss the big hair. It had kind of grown on me, literally! And without it I looked so smushed headed and dare I say fat-faced, because (shall I let you behind the curtain? okay then!) whilst in California I got my hair straightened (just the roots or the “regrowth” as it’s called in straightening circles), which is a little thing I do like having my personal assistants shot, for those of you reading all the posts, which results in flat hair (the straightening, not the assistant shooting). It’s why, I think, it poofed up so much the time before last (like poofed up in between when it was styled and when I went on air) and why, since they didn’t want it as big last night, it was kind of stuck to my head. That didn’t make much sense to you did it? My sense of humor along with ability to explain myself have been replaced with a swirling appletini. Let me try again: In its now unnatural natural state, my hair is quite flat. Because the texture is especially fine, it responded extremely well to the poofing last time, so much so that the walk to the newsroom kind of inflated it. Last night though, I think there was less poofing than usual, thus it was stuck to my head. Oh my God, who cares! I’m not even reading this anymore! I mean, seriously. Shall we take a look?
Delightfully big!
Robust!
pequeno
Did I mention I like to lapse into Spanish when talking about my hair?
Damn you, Michelle Collins
I haven’t had a drink since over a month ago, which is likely hard to believe since I’m a total lush who’s been known to teetotal for stretches, but somehow an appletini was purchased by Michelle Collins with my name on it tonight after Red Eye and I actually drank that fruity bullshit. I know I will regret this tomorrow if not sooner.
UPDATE: I'm on Red Eye tonight
This just in! Breaking! Um, other words that mean stuff like that!
At the gym
so I'm at the gym, working on my quads, glutes, triads, dingos and bananas. You aren't familiar with dingos and bananas? They're very important groups of muscles located under other muscles and you only begin to define them once you're really far along in the world of body sculpting. For example, I didn't even think I had dingos. I thought I was born without them (which, I know now, sounds totally silly!), but little by little I chipped away at first my triangles and then my tampolines and then there they were, right under the mangos! Also, I'd like to say that I sat down on this bike and went to put on my seatbelt! What's more, there wasn't a seatbelt! I'm doing, um, let's see, seventy rpms and they expect me to just hang on? I smell lawsuit! Also, the girl on the treadmill across the way bears an uncanny resemblance to the wife of the last guy I slept with, which is distracting. (I'm sorry, my humor has taken a turn for the darkly perverse today. I don't know why, just bear with me. I blame the bananas which are likely secreting bananatine which regulates tropical functioning but can cause dark jokes if it isn't balanced out by, um, ovaltine.) If you're about to say you aren't familiar w… In the misdt of this I just got a call to do red eye tonight, so that's where you'll find me. Good thing I worked out my bananas!
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