exitstrategy

I know I promised to write every day, but I just haven’t been inspired lately.  I watched the oscars and they were great (except by husband Adrian looked freaky), but no surprises.  Jay Emmanual, as expected, was wearing a ridiculous white tuxedo and picked the ugliest dresses for best dressed (Freida Pinto (hated it), Amy Adams (hated it) and Miley Cyrus (really hated it)).  The only surprise was the look on Sophia Lauren’s face - not that she was surprised but her face was so full of botolism that it was in a state of perpetual shock, and what was with the ice-skaters outfit?  I mean it was a great show and I tied for the winner of the oscar pool, but all in all I didn’t find any inspiration in my old standby.Then, there was Women Tell All last night.  I mean that show is a guarantee to spark the bloggin’ juices flowing (hmm, that sounds way grosser than creative juices).  But last night was boring.  They spent three-quarters of it focusing on the lame girls who were voted off in the beginning.  I mean that blonde chick from Chicago was clearly ridiculous - but who cares what happened between her and the really ugly one (blanking on her name but she was wearing a green dress) behind the scenes.  And, how many times can they show the “hilarious” outtake where Jason and Molly were in the hottub and the drain sounded like farts.  I would say about three too many.  But, there is really nothing else to say about that.  Although I am anxiously anticipating next week, since Chris has promised it to be “the most shocking in Bachelor history.”  (But, I am pretty sure he billed the women tell as the most shocking in bachelor history, which apparently meant the most shocking with farty sounds?).  I take it back - there is one thing I want to say about the episode.  It is this: Trista and Ryan cannot be featured on any more bachelor or bachelorette episodes.  It is just WAY TOO PATHETIC.  Just because ABC purchased the rights to their marriage and their children (ensuring that they stay together until the franchise ends) does not mean we need to hear them talk on and on about how in love they are, or there insights for finding “true love.”   But, for the most part I am uninspired these days.  I took two cab rides today alone, but all I got was overcharged.   Perhaps it is because I worked from home today.  I was not exposed to my usual source of inspiration.  And then I was reminded of a conversation I had friday night with a friend, over steamed chicken and ricotta creme (south beach specialties).  ”Fat Spinsta, you should appreciate your job because without it you would not have anything to write about/complain about.”  ”I don’t just complain.  I comment on social issues, political issues, health issues, reality television issues.”  ”Oh right.   I forgot.” It’s true.  Spinsta’s glass is half empty.  So, this week I will read the news and blog about issues (or at least issues affecting people beyond just myself).  I mean I am sure there is a lot I can learn about Octomom, and Burris, and the stimulus plan, and other stuff.  Please let Spinsta know if there are any issues you would like discussed.  The reader with the best idea will win the chance to ghost-blog, an honor that means you will one day (in the year 2024) be entitled to a fraction of a penny.  Let the games begin . . . 

It’s finally here - Oscar day.  I LOVE the Oscars.  I try to see most of the nominated movies - best picture and the best performances categories.  I mean, I am not so obsessed that I make sure to see best cinematography or best animated short.  This year I did not do as well as I could have.  I tried to see Milk last night but it was sold out.  I still haven’t seen The Reader, The Wrestler, Gran Torino, or Frost Nixon.  I know its pitiful.   Nothing can compare to the joy of watching the red carpet ceremonies - although I only watch E and I try to put it on mute since I cannot stand to hear Debbie Metanopoulous say something ridiculous.  Last year I caught a glimpse of Lisa Rina on the TV Guide channel - I mean that woman is not good enough to walk the Red Carpet so how exactly is she qualified to interview the stars?  Ugh, and she always wears some Vegas show girl number that is low cut with her huge jugs spilling out.  And, I don’t like Nancy O’Dell - she is boring, or Billy Bush - he is also boring.  I don’t know if Mary Hart is still out there but I can’t stand her.  So, I watch E’s Red Carpet and look at all the dresses and the jewelry. Then, when its time to watch the ceremony, I usually play one of the prediction games with friends.  Even though I should win since I see more movies than most, I never win.  Cinematography screws me every time - hmm, maybe I should start going to these nominated movies. I commit to watching the entire ceremony - even when they go over 3 hours.  I don’t care about most of the show except for the big categories, but I am still compelled to watch and listen to the acceptance speeches.  The least interesting award recipients always have the longest speeches - no one cares about your wife and children best set design dude.   I don’t know what it is about the oscars that makes me so happy to watch.  I mean, like everyone else in the world, I like to see the clothes and to predict who wins and hope that Jack Nicholson gets to present since he is always funny (or Steve Carrel, although he has been slipping).  I am nervous that the Jonas brothers will be presenting tonight - I mean could there be a freakier boy band in existence?   Partly though I think my love of the oscars is due to my love of all award shows (omg I just saw the NAACP Image Awards and it was amazing): I love to pretend that I am there accepting an award.  I already have my acceptance speech prepared: ”Wow, this is so unexpected.  Thank you so much for this honor.  I would like to thank my fellow nominees for best original screenplay - you are all an inspiration to me.  I would like to think the Academy for recognizing my  work.  And, I would like to think my boyfriend, Adrian (NOTE: my fictional boyfriend is Adrian Brody - we are the new Brangelina, but Jewish and without all the children and the ones we would have would not be the aryan beauties that Angie pops out).  But, most of all, I would like to thank all those people I worked with in my prior life.  Some of you may not know this, but I used to be a chubby, depressive, attorney.  I had to work with terrible people, doing terribly boring things.  You see, these experiences served as the inspiration for “Why The Windows Don’t Open: The Tales of Fat Spinsta, Litigator.”  I promised myself that one day, I would chronicle my early years and get the lovely and talented Marissa ___ (the fat chick from Hairspray) to play the main character and I stand before you today having fulfilled that dream.  Thank you.” The speech varies for each award show: The Tony’s - Fat Spinsta: the musical, the grammies “Fat Spinsta’s greatest hits,” the country music awards “High heels, honkeytonks and me, Fat Spinsta,” and finally, the Razzies “Fat Spinsta Part Deux” (you really can’t make a sequel of something that was perfect). Time to go watch Red Carpet - let’s just hope they don’t have too many instances of commentary by Jay Emmanuel, dressed in full make up and a Liberace-style suit, analyzing various celebs using “the glam cam.” 

Yes the Spinsta has been away for a while.  I would like to say I was on an exotic vacation, or in the midst of a romantic tryst, or eating candycorn all the day long.  But, unfortunately I am on a restrictive diet (I have not had carbs in almost a week so if I am extra crazy, that is the reason) and I have been slaving away at the office.   I am not actually on any case at my firm.  But, I am like the stunt-man for these cases: I fill in when someone better might get hurt.  So, I had a million “discrete research projects” on a million different cases and the million little crap projects added up to one giant nightmare. Things really came to a head yesterday.  I was filling in pieces into a brief.  I spent two days on this and I actually thought it was good.  I mean not to pat myself on the back but I thought of some very convincing arguments (at least they convinced me).  So, I sent the final product to the junior partner for him to give it a final edit before sending it to the senior partner.  I sent it to him at 12 PM.  At 1:05 AM that night (or I guess technically morning) I awoke suddenly from my dream (which involved me eating a bagel at work - I mean how depressing).  I needed a glass of water, so I went into the kitchen.  I looked around the room while I was drinking my water and noticed that the light on my blackberry was blinking.  I don’t know what possessed me to look at it at 1:06 AM (I took a little while to savor that water - anything that goes into my mouth during this Phase 1 diet is precious).  It was probably some psychosis I have developed from low blood sugar/candy-corn withdrawal.  But, like a clown, I looked at the email and looked at his edits. He had changed the entire thing, got rid of most of my good ideas, added all kinds of parenthetical research questions for me (that I already did) and other crap.  I was so pissed.  It made me so mad in fact that I could not sleep for 2 hours.  I watched Mario Lopez on Extra - I did not realize he was the new host.  At least something good came from those 2 hours of insomnia: I got the inside scoop from Jason the bachelor.  He answered questions from random people on the street, including “do you think you can find lasting love on a television show?”  Not surprisingly, Jason the romantic/absentee father said “Yes, you can find love anywhere as long as your heart is open.”  Let’s just see how open your heart is to Melissa in 2 months, Jason. When I woke up the next morning, I decided to stage a secret protest.  I did not shower, I did not put on my contacts and I did not change my shirt.  I contemplated not even wearing a bra - take that mother f’ers!!!  But, I quickly realized that that was going a little too far. I got into my office and closed the door and just to show how desperate I felt, I called my mother!  A few hours later the junior dude asked if I would come to his office for a “brain storming session.”  The session involved him telling me things that were in fact wrong.  I told him he was wrong, but he was apparently not phased.  Better to be wrong than to be not as smart as the Spinsta.  He gave me a bunch of other crap to research and told me he would call when we were ready to meet with the senior dude.   A few hours later I got that fateful call.  ”Spinsta, it’s time.  Come to Senior’s office.”  I sat in Senior’s office for almost two hours and it was deja-vu.  I was always wrong (meaning right) and the Junior just agreed with the Senior.  At one point during out pow-wow, Senior said to me “Spinsta SPIT OUT YOUR GUM.”  I mean what are you my father?  Or is this catholic school and you are the nun with the ruler?  As an aside, this is a man who sits idly by while his partner chews white shit that spews from his mouth all the live long day.   Then Senior asked me if I could be done with the assignment Monday.  ”I don’t know how long it will take but I will definitely try to get it down.”  ”Let’s try again.  Will you have it done by Monday?”  (Spinsta nods slowly).   When the meeting was finally over, Senior attempted to make small talk.  He asked me I was going to attend a charity event and I said yes.  ”There are going to be great raffle prizes.  You should bid on the whitening trays.”  ”What?  Are you trying to tell me something?”  Ugh, I blame it on the candy-corn withdrawal, the exhaustion or my usual silent rage.  If you had seen the nod you would have understood. So, loyal readers, I am back.  I got lots to complain about.  See you tomorrow.  I am going to go chew some gum. 

So, yesterday was Valentine’s day.  The day before was Friday the 13th.  I do not think it was a coincidence - well I mean obviously since the 14th always follows the 13th it is not coincidental.  But, I mean that to many single gals, Valentine’s day is quite horrifying.  In fact, there are a large group of women out there who run in fear from Valentine’s day - they go out of town, they order pizzas to their homes, they see chick flicks, or they take sleeping pills.  To these women, being single on Valentine’s day is the worst possible thing.  I mean, being alone for 364 days  a year is no big deal? I don’t agree with these ladies.  I mean being alone on Valentine’s is sort of like a novelty, a funny story.  Ha, I ate brownies in my jammies while watching Love Actually in the dark all alone.  Ha Ha Ha, I am so spinstery.  You can compare stories with your other single friends - oh Love Actually?  Nice, I went to have dinner at my parents house and ate 3 pink cupcakes, ha ha.  Oh, that is nothing.  I went alone to the naughty movie theater but I felt funny about getting popcorn cuz I was not sure about the “fake butter.”  (Why are you friends with that perv?!) Exchanging spinstery tales about the other 364 days a year is not as funny.  In fact, it is pretty sad.  That was what I realized last night when I was at a family dinner for valentine’s day (my parents, my sisters with their husbands and babies, and my uncle who is basically a stranger had dinner at barbie’s dream house.  As you can imagine, it was a dream.  The highlight was when my mom gave me a valentine’s day present in front of my two sisters holding their babies.  ”Spinsta, here is a gift.  I got one for your niece and nephew and one for you.  You know, for all my babies.”  And then she poked me in the stomach like my sister was poking her daughter.  I guess I will be moving back in with my parents and sleeping in a crib.)  One day of “funny” spinstering is nothing in the big scheme of things. Perhaps it wasn’t just the realization that I may be moving back in with mommy and daddy that helped me to understand the truth about Valentine’s day - that it is really not such a bad day.  Or, perhaps it was the TLC show I watched after coming home from my very Brady Valentines.  The show was called Little People: Just Married.  The show is about a recently married couple of little people.  He was a business man.  She was a neonatologist.  They both were afraid that they would never meet anyone, but at 34 they met each other and fell in love.  After seeing how in love the Kleins were, I suddenly felt very hopeful.  I mean if this women can find a Jewish little person, certainly I can find a Jewish non-little person.  After seeing the Kleins find each other, who cares about being alone on Valentine’s?

I have a very specific morning ritual.  I wake up every morning at 6 AM.  I snooze until 7 AM.  I watch Charmed from 7-8.  I brush my teeth and get dressed, and am out the door by 8:15.  I change my morning ritual with every different phase in my life.  In college, I woke up at 8.  Snoozed until 9.  Watched Buffy the Vampire Slayer until 10.  Ate my frosted mini wheats and was on my way to out the door by 10:15.  In law school, I woke up at 7.  Snoozed until 8.  Watched Golden Girls from 8-10.  Got dressed, grabbed a Luna bar and headed to starbucks by 10:15.    

It is hard to understand how a girl who has grown so much (I mean I used to watch Buffy for G-d’s sake, although in my defense she was a strong ass kicking chick who fought vampires, unlike that wimpy girl in Twilight who gets stalked/”protected” by a vampire, although the Twilight guy is way hotter than David Boreanus. . .) would have the same recurring dream since high school. In my dream, which I incidentally dreamed again a few nights ago, I discover that I am registered for a class that I did not know I was enrolled in, and it is finals time, but I don’t have time to study, and this one class determines my whole GPA.

What could that dream possibly mean??? If I had insurance, I could ask my therapist to help me interpret the dream but we all know about my crappy coverage. I guess I will have to get a dream book to try to uncover the hidden meaning in this way ambiguous dream.

Like most Americans, I do not realize the extent of our problems until I am personally affected.  So, while I am aware that our health care system is a mess, I did not appreciate that until I just received my latest claim from my crap health care provider.   One thing I took for granted at my old law firm was how good the benefits were.  We really had the best coverage.  Now at my small firm, we have the worst.  I see an out of service provider for certain treatments (either Botox or therapy, I will let you guess).  With my old plan I would send my receipts to the insurer and they would send me a check for the amount they would cover.  Well, with the current ghetto plan, I got a letter asking me for all this information to show them that my treatment is “medically necessary.”  Um excuse me crappy insurer, but I do not live in a padded cell so how exactly do you expect me to prove medical necessity.  Then, after I called the crappy insurer, I was told to resubmit to the mental health arm of the insurance.  I just got a letter from them asking for all this information to prove that I do not have “a pre-existing condition.”  WTF - of course it is pre-existing.  I have been crazy for as long as I can remember but certainly working with the clowns I currently work with it has exacerbated my condition.   I heard those statistics about how millions of Americans are without health insurance.  I heard numerous stories from my sister the doctor about her under-served population and all the people turned away because they don’t have insurance.  Just today I was talking to my friend about her difficulty getting interim insurance.  But, none of it really registered until I got my final letter making it clear that I will be getting no help in paying for my therapy. I called my mom to complain about this problem (see how desperate things have gotten - I have to talk to my mom because I can’t afford the therapist, although the majority of my therapy is spent talking about my mother - OMG I AM DOOMED).  My mom said, “FS, health care providers don’t want to pay for anything and the easiest area for them to get away with this is mental health coverage.”  ”But mom, it is not fair.  Why do I have mental health care coverage anyway?  The only thing they would cover is if I lost my mind and was institutionalized.”  ”It is a sorry state of affairs, Spinsta.  Now do you want to talk about me??  Or your other sister.” Although my mom is evil, she is pretty wise.  She helped me come up with a plan to continue to see my therapist.  And, I will get some extra time off work.  I mean there is no way I will survive without having someone to listen to my work woes and my boy woes (yeah the blog alone doesn’t cut it).  I guess I need to go to the loony bin.  Hmm, but then my chances for finding love are zero.  I mean there is a high likelihood I will find single jews (I mean talk about neurotic) but no relationship I get into has a chance if I am the most sane of the pair. Ok, so if I can’t do that what do I do?  I guess I could take a page out of Michael Phelp’s or Brian Bointano (sorry Brian - come back to the Spinsta!!) book and self-medicate.  Ugh, but I already have rage issues and I really don’t need ‘roid rage. What is the Spinsta to do?    In sum, there is a health care crisis in this country and it has hit the Spinsta.    

In the cab ride home tonight, the cab driver was listening to the Obama press conference.  The interviewer asked the President what he thought of the recent admission by A-Rod that he sauced.  And, earlier today during our team lunch we discussed the pictures of olympic G-d Michael Phelps taking bong hits.  Finally, I am reminded of all the Elizabeth Hasselbeck soap-box moments when she opined on both of these topics and every other “shocking” discovery of professional athletes who admitted to taking steroids. The President, my co-workers, and Elizabeth all agree that it is a bad thing when professional athletes take illegal drugs.  Call me a renegade but who cares?  I mean with all the bad stuff in the world, is this really worth thinking about?   In a time when you cannot force consumers into a store, here we have several high net individuals who have money to spend.  Maybe part of the stimulus package could be devoted to selling drugs - I mean not crack, but ‘roids and pot are pretty harmless.  Then, these fallen heroes can redeem themselves and help get us out of this recession. In closing, drugs are good and Elizabeth Hasselbeck is BAD.  Her theory was that if Michael Phelps will take drugs that detract from his performance he is more likely to take drugs to help his performance.  I mean Liz, Michael just needs to let loose with some strangers on  a college campus, he doesn’t need any help with his swimming performance.   I am reminded of this girl Emily in my high school.  Her dad was conservative and he had formed the coalition of parents that made sex education optional and who prohibited the nurses from giving out condoms.  According to Emily’s dad, teenage sex was bad.  Two months into Emily’s freshman year at college she had to drop out because she was pregnant.  According to Emily, teenage sex was good. So here is to a new economic stimulus and a chance to play puff, puff, give with Michael Phelps.  Or, to take ‘roids with Michael Boytano (those triple toe lips are not easy).  

I am definitely not a stranger to self-sabotage.  I mean I am not a cutter or something, but I don’t always make the best decisions, even when I know what the best decision is.  My eating habits are like that.  I am usually pretty healthy, but when I eat something unhealthy I decide that I might as well just screw it and go down in flames.  Say for instance I eat the fries that come with the sandwich?  Well then I have already eaten too much, so I order the brownie sundae, eat the entire bun, and order some bread to go with my sammie.  Clearly, the best option would be to stop after the fries.  I mean they are not the most healthy but they are obviously better than eating my body weight in hot fudge. Well, as you may guess, I am this way about my job.  I am going to let you in on a little secret - I hate my job.  Shocking, I know.  And, because I hate my job, I have decided that I should not have to really work when I am at work.  I mean they know where I am - if they want me, they will ask for help.  This is not a rational thought process.  I mean in a good economy, it’s stupid but in the current economy its suicidal.   I have told every family member and every friend about my current dilemma.  ”I hate my job, I have no work, I am afraid I am going to be fired.”  ”Well, then it is probably time to get out there and knock on doors, ask for work, be visible.”  ”Ugh, they should come to me.”  Most of them just look at me funny and change the subject.  One of my friends, probably my most professional friend, looked at me and said “hey, with that attitude, I would fire you.”  Brutal, but true. So, how do I stop the self-sabotage?  I mean do you really think a girl who calls herself Fat Spinsta is capable of doing so?  But, I have to be stronger.  I mean I am going to be a mother to Ty Mesnick (I guess he does have a last name).  Oh, and I signed up to be a professional mentor to a law student.  Ok, so starting on Monday it is a whole new Spinsta.  I do realize that tonight is only Thursday, but you can’t expect miracles to happen over night.   

I begin this post with a correction.  I mistakenly attributed the song “I don’t know much” (if that is even the name of the song, maybe it is just the chorus) to Lionel Ritchie.  However, as many Spinsta fans told me, the song was in fact sung by Aaron Neville.  Yet another example of how the Spinsta don’t know much. With that cleared up, let me tell you something I do know.  There is a tiny child out there who needs a loving home.  While I do not really love children, I am prepared to step up and adopt this needy child.  His name is Ty ____ (do we know Jason the bachelor’s last name?).   For those of who do not watch the latest Bachelor, let me catch you up briefly.  So Jason No Last Name has a son Ty.  Ty, you see is “the most important thing in [his] life.”  Every few minutes that pass on the Bachelor, Jason will utter this phrase.  Some of the hoochie mommas vying for his attention just LOVE the fact that Jason is such a devoted father.  They just want to be a wife to Jason and a mother to Ty.  I mean they are all 22, but apparently they are super mature.  So, in a nutshell, that is the bachelor: single dad looking for love and an insta-family. In a world where many parents do not live up to their caregiving responsibilities, it should be refreshing to see a loving single dad raising a child.  But, if you dig a little deeper (i.e. watch both The Bachelorette and The Bachelor) then you realize good old Jason is not such a great dad.  Ty appears to be four or five years old and yet for the past year or so he has been living on his own (or raised by that family that plays leap frog - yeesh).  Jason, the devoted dad, ditched Ty to find love on The Bachlorette and when that failed he again ditched Ty to live in a brothel in LA where he makes out/does it with a gaggle of broads.  And, if all other previous seasons is any indication, Jason will not end up with whatever lady he chooses to be Ty’s mommy.  So, beyond being abandoned by his first Mommy, he will be abandoned by his second.  And, then once Mommy number 2 ditches the family, Jason will move in to the Surreal Life House to look for love with a former teen star or a former reality star. Who raises little Ty while daddy is following his . . . um, heart?  I am ready for the challenge.  Ty, meet your new mommy.  Now we just need to figure out how to get ABC to pay for your care.  I guess we can follow the lead from Trista and Ryan and televise Mommy’s wedding?  Ugh that is unlikely.  Wait, we will televise Ty’s Bar Mitzvah.   

I have recently been made aware of just how much I do not know.  Not how much I don’t understand, but how much I don’t know.  Like, I know that there are many people in this world who actually like their jobs.  I know that to be true, but I just don’t understand it.  Or, how there are trolls marring attractive spouses, or two trolls procreating and producing a cute baby, or even two trolls managing to go on three consecutive dates.  Again, I know this happens but I just don’t understand it. No, I am talking about this whole world of stuff that I know nothing about.  For example, I got a manicure on Sunday.  I was seated next to a man in workman’s clothes - you know those one piece numbers in khaki made by carters (I think it may be called a union suit) and he had on those big brown worker boots.  His hands were black with dirt - from working the land I guess (ha, I have turned this city worker into a rural farmer which is probably wrong).  But, this man was getting a mani-pedi just like me.  I had no idea that this happens. Also, a week earlier I watched 60 Minutes.  There was a segment on how calorically restricted animals live longer.  Based upon this research, there was a group of older people who got together and formed a group called the Caloric Restriction Society (or something) or the Skinnies, for short.  The skinnies ate just enough not to be malnourished, but nothing more.  To make sure they consumed only the bare minimum, they ate a diet of tomato soup, walnuts, and baby food.  I did not know there was a group called the Skinnies.  In fact, I did not know there was a group of people with an even more unhealthy view of food then me (or my sister, ha). But, nothing made me more aware of my ignorance than Sunday night (hmm why are all my life lessons on Sundays?).  I went to a superbowl party and, unlike any other superbowl, I watched the ENTIRE game.  I watched the TV for 3 hours or something, but I had no idea what I was watching.  I mean fine I understand when they get a touchdown, but what is this business with the downs?  And the rule with your toes?  And why do they take so many breaks after each play?  I do not know anything about the rules of football. In the words of Lionel Ritchie. I don’t know much.  But, I know I love candy corn.  And that may be all there is to know.  Maybe the words were slightly different, but you get the point. Oh and P.S. there is one last thing I do not know.  What the f is the deal with this website?  First, they dock my pay.  Then, they change the background without my permission.