Future Fat Ass

Let's all wish a HUGE congratulations to our girl, Tine, for finishing her first half-marathon today. Tine shunned her Future Fatass ways to train hard for this and we should all be very proud!

I went down to cheer for her and although I stupidly forgot to bring a camera, I can report that even at mile 10, she was shiny, smiling, and didn't look at all like she might throw up. So once more, Hip Hip Hooray Tine!

While UPW continues to crap her pants over NY Fashion Week, I'm going to move on and announce that I've created a new column that will appear here on FFA periodically. And when I say periodically, I mean, whenever I have a flipping second to do something other than media planning and training for a marathon and joining book clubs and talking to Mooks on Instant Messenger.

"Tiney's Treats" will spotlight a particular product, restaurant, dish, food store, or delicacy that I have deemed SO noteworthy, I must share it with our readers, those readers being Wol, Wolison, and The Schwartz, and sometimes my sister when I remind her to read it (If you're a reader and not listed, please sign in at the guest book in the comments section).

Today's feature combines two of my favorite words: free, and ice cream. I'm talking about the free ice cream at Jason's Deli. Whoever runs that joint (and let me tell you, it ain' t the Jews) is someone I would consider hiring to plan my wedding menu. For those of you unfamiliar with Jason's Deli, here's the schtick: no matter WHAT you order, you get free ice cream after your meal. Not only is it free, but it is unlimited! The little soft serve machine is right out on the floor next to the drink machine. You get to pull the lever yourself and dispense as much as you like. You want a cup or a cone? You want chocolate or vanilla? It's up to you! You want a second serving? Have another! Have six if you like!

Who needs chips and a drink included in some delusional combo meal when you have free ice cream to look forward to! Don't spread this around, but word on the street is, you can go to Jason's Deli and not order a single thing off the menu, and they will STILL give you free ice cream! You don't have to spend a cent!

It's a good thing that Jason's Deli has such a great ice cream incentive program, because I have to say, they aren't off the hook yet. I'm a bit irked by their blatant misuse of the word "deli." Because it sure isn't a deli by my standards. How about they call it Jason's Restaurant or Jason's Cafe or Jason's Goyisha Sandwiches. Calling it a deli is a clear misrepresentation. It's almost as if Jason's Deli has an online dating profile and has posted a picture of itself looking tan and thin, when really, Jason's Deli is grossly overweight and pale with a big bald spot in the back of his head. Remember, Jason's Deli, evetually you're going to meet them in person, and this little fantasy is going to come to an abrupt end.

Anyways. Happy Eating!

Wolison's post on Fashion Week reminded me that I haven't talked to you all yet about the war that is going to be waged in the Mookie household come April. It's like this: Mr. Mooks and I are planning a little jaunt to Europe au printemps. We don't have a lot of details yet; only that we are leaning towards London and Paris. This might seem generic, but here's the rub: I'VE NEVER BEEN TO EUROPE. So take your haughtiness and stick it down your underpants, I want to go to London and Paris. Also, LM has already been to those pretzel-and-beer-and-leiderhosen countries like Germany and Austria so we're not going there, at least not right now. And finally (and you will LOVE this tidbit of condescention), the LM informed me that as a world traveler, he can tell me that it's very lonely and disorienting being in a country where no one speaks your language, and I would probably do well to first visit an English speaking country. Because my feeble little pea brain could NEVER handle someone speaking to me in a foreign language. Baisez ma derriere, LM.

But I digress. As it happens, my sister in law and her husband (you know, Colleen and Dr. Steve) went to Italy last week. While they were visiting us here in ATL a couple of weekends ago, Colleen mentioned that she had to fit all of her belongings in a backpack for their trip to Italia. Ha ha ha ha, I laughed. Backpacking! That is for drunken college children. Seriously Colleen, would you like to borrow this adorable pink steamer trunk I have for your voyage? After all, where else will you fit the five outfits per day you will need?

Then the LM laid the serious shit on me. Mooks, he said. What do you think is going to happen when we go to Europe?

Well, I said. Here is what will happen to ME:



Also:



And:



No, said the LM. No, here is what will happen to you Mookie:



AUGGGGGHHHHHH!!!!!

On a serious tip though, why?? We are going to two cities. Hear me: two CITIES. If I have a large suitcase instead of a craptastic nylon backpack, what's the difference? Either way, my bag will live in my London hotel (HOTEL, not hostel, LM) and then it will live on the Chunnel, and then it will live in my Paris hotel. Finis! Incidentally, I have nothing against backpacking. I truly, truly wish I had had the opportunity and funding for that kind of trip when I was 21. But I didn't. Now to me, my reward for waiting until the ancient age of 27 to get to The Continent should be traveling en style. I would even be fine with backpacking if I were going to rural, mountainy countries. But I am going to LONDON and I am going to PARIS. I need space for the few shreds of fashionable clothing I do own, and more importantly, I need empty room for bringing back the MORE fashionable clothing that I find there. The kind of clothing whose beauty you have to shield your eyes from so that it doesn't burn your corneas.

Allow me to relate another tale: When I was seven years old, my aunt and uncle took my cousin Ryan, same age, to Europe for the first time. My uncle is German and they visited his homeland among other places. For two weeks while they were gone, my two-year-old cousin Loren lived with us. I love her now, but damn did I hate that devil-baby who took all my mom's attention. When her parents FINALLY came back to get her, they came bearing gifts!! And the most glorious gift of all was for seven-year-old Mookie. It was a lovely pair of pants, straight from the runways of Paris. They were stark white, pleated, and featured a convoluted arrangement of buckles, snaps and buttons. As soon as I put them on, I KNEW I would be the most fabulous girl in the first grade. You couldn't have given me a better gift if you told me I had inherited Toys R Us.

The point is that even at seven, I knew that all good things fashion spill out of Paris. Those pants were an icon, and this trip is my pilgrimage. I tried to convey all this that night with the LM and Colleen and Dr. Steve. The subject died and C and Dr. S went on their backpacking tour of Italy. So yesterday they got back and you want to know what Colleen says, totally unsolicited by me? She says that all Italian women wear the most beautiful clothes, and she felt completely out of place in her wrinkled jeans and sneakers.

HAAAAAHHHHH!!!! HA! LM!

I told you, I told you. Rick Steves crappacks are terrible, and lovely suitcases full of lovely clothes are where it's at. I will accept no less. Which brings me back to the war. It's going to happen. I feel the turmoil building the closer we get. LM will try to tell me he knows because he watched a few stupid travel videos and went on one stupid trip to Germany with his old dad. But my will is like a stone fortress, strong and proud. There is a wall ten feet thick and a thousand men guard my decision to carry a big bag. And the flag that flies from my highest turret, is a pair of white pants from Paris.

I can't believe I almost forgot to post this. Last weekend the LM and I were watching my very favorite show on Food Network, Paula's Home Cooking. Paula and Jamie and Bobby (if you don't know who Paula and Jamie and Bobby are, you should never read my blog again, we don't want you here)...anyway, Paula and Jamie and Bobby were making delicious food for football parties. They made chicken wrapped in bacon and crab dip and spiced nuts and all kinds of things to make me drool. But then, THEN. At the very end of the show, the three of them are sitting down to watch football and eat their delicious tasty treats in Paula's lovely house. After Paula's usual sign-off,"Best deeshes from are house, to yers", Bobby says "And Go Dawgs", and Jamie says "Go Dawgs" and PAULA SAYS...

"GO GATORS!!!"

Yes y'all! SHE SAID IT! Just when I thought I couldn't love her anymore! The LM and I rewound it three times and watched it over and over. I've been trying to find a clip of it online to share, but no luck. BUT the episode will air again tomorrow morning at 7am and Monday at 1pm. Start your Tivos Gator fans, you don't want to miss this!

Let's take care of some administrative items this morning, shall we?

Item 1: I'd like to announce that I am currently wearing the infamous Audrey Hepburn skinny pants from Gap. Before you snort, let me tell you that I believe most could wear these successfully as long as you follow the Golden Rule of Skinny Pants, which happens to also be the Golden Rule of the Business World:

Always Cover your Ass.

I chose a long sweater vest for this purpose, and I also get all client approval in writing.

Item 2: To my New York readers, including all Wollets and a Yays- I will be in the city for one day only on Sunday, November 12. I wanted to stay longer but alas, I cannot. Can we all meet for lunch or something? I will be staying downtown at the Millenium Hilton on Sunday night, though I will be all over the city during the day. Except in Queens, because the husband thinks that's too far to go to the MOMA. UGH! Anyways, please respond and let me know your schedules.

Item 3: I am going to Mexico next week and am taking suggestions as to whether I should, or should not, drink the water. I have had mixed reviews on this topic thus far. If I don't drink it, do I still brush my teeth with it? Can't the water germs that make your stomach explode be absorbed in my tongue even if I don't ingest it? I think it would be hard to brush with bottled water. Input is welcome and appreciated. One thing I do know, is don't adopt any Mexican hairless dogs while I am there, because it could be a large sewer rat.

Item 4: Several months ago I posted about the crazies who live in the pseudo-suburban neighborhood in which I unwittingly bought a house. The personal affronts continue as we have recently received THREE violation notices from the homeowners association. One for weeds in our yard, one for lack of mulch, and one for having our big green city-issued garbage can (apparently named Herbie Curbie by Atlanta officials. I am not even kidding.) in PLAIN VIEW OF THE PUBLIC. Which is to say, around on the side of our house. I mean, come ON. So the challenge now is to find something obnoxious to place in our yard that might still be within code. Actually it doesn't even have to be code because every time we violate, we have 10 days to correct that specific violation. In 10 days, I'll be on to my next violation! Again, suggestions welcome. Here are some ideas to get you started:
--Chinchilla breeding facility, complete with fur coat makers stopping by for weekly pick-ups.
--Hare Krishnas (bonus because they feed you lunch)
--Shrubs trimmed into shapes of sexual organs
--Children

This status meeting has now ended. Go in peace and have a good day.

You know how you think you know someone and then you run into a situation where their personality changes and you're like, "Whoa, where did that come from?"? You know, like the really quiet, angelic girl at the office who gets wasted at the company party and photocopies her boobs? Or the big tough macho guy who gets the flu and turns into the biggest baby ever? Such was the turn of events last night, when the husband and I went to buy our first car together.

Let me begin with a little background on ole Mate, since some of you know him and some do not. Mate is, at the very core of his soul, a Life Manager. Because of his wealth of knowledge, Tiney has given him this very name, though we call him LM for short. He just knows things that responsible, successful people should know. Things that slackasses like me don't know. He knows exactly how much you should put in your 401k each month so that you can retire at age 60 and live comfortably til age 93.5. He knows that credit card debt is not acceptable debt but student loans are, as long as they were consolidated before last July, when interest rates were the lowest they'll be for years to come. He knows that if you are getting a large tax return every year you really should have your employer adjust how much tax they are taking out of your paycheck because even though you get that money back, you are basically giving the government an interest-free loan, and who wants to do that for The Man when they could put that money in an HSBC savings account and earn 5% on it?

You get the idea.

And when the LM wants to buy something, the same level of awareness is required. Most major purchases for LM require months of research. He will know and understand every option available to him and the pros and cons of each. And the important thing is, in whatever LM buys, the price should be directly in line with the quality. He's not cheap, certainly not. In fact, the LM is a big label whore. He just finds ways to get top quality stuff for a reasonable price. He reads, reads, reads. Asks everyone he meets questions. Researches until he is satisfied in his decision. Because of this, he knows things. He knows if you want to buy a Dyson vacuum cleaner you should buy a refurbished one online for half the money of the ones at Target. He knows the Panasonic plasma tv has a better picture than the Sony but either way you should try to find an open-box one, which drops the price by at least a few hundred bucks. He knows if you're buying an engagement ring you should not go to Tiffany's, you should find a private jeweler who uses the same supplier as Tiffany, and can procure the classic six-prong Tiffany setting (with the Tiffany & Co label etched inside) for a fraction of the price. Again, you get the idea.

My method of choosing things to buy is a little different. I believe that if things look pretty, they are probably good quality and I should buy them. I believe if someone on TV with a British accent tells me something is good, it is probably of excellent quality and I should buy it. So when we needed a new car, it kind of started like this-

Mooks: Maybe we should get this car. It is pretty.

LM: Ok. Let's go to Barnes and Noble and see what it says in Consumer Reports.

What came next was several weeks of research, followed by us deciding on a car that, apparently, doesn't really exist, followed by weeks of waiting while the dealership looked for it, followed by us saying ok, we'll take any color, just give us a frappin car.

Which brings me to last night. We get a call that the dealership just got a car in that is very close to what we want, only it is a Limited edition, so it has some extra gadgets, and it is silver instead of black or flint mica, the colors we wanted. I said who cares, woo hoo, new car, let me at it. On the way there, the LM gives me a speech about not getting too excited. Clutching his documents from Edmunds.com, he says, "This is NOT the color we wanted. I don't understand why they can only get a silver one when I saw on the Toyota website that there are FOUR Flint Mica ones in the Southeast region." and blah, blah, blah, about holding out for what we want and not paying more than we planned for things we didn't ask for anyway.

All this was before. Before the LM's brain was washed by our salesman, Steve the Mind Ninja. Steve pulled our car around and opened all the doors. He began speaking very rapidly about fog lights, viscose, fluid-filled engine mounts, fuel tank bladders, tonneau covers. "Blah Blah Blah," said Steve the Mind Ninja. "???" said Mooks. "Aaahhhhh...pretty. And fast," said the LM. This was not in keeping with LM's prior speech.

Then we took a spin around the block a few times. "See how torquey it is? We're talking 100 more horsepower than the 4 cylinder" said Steve the Mind Ninja. "Really, very interesting." said Mooks. "Wheeeeeeeeeee..." said the LM.

When we got back to the dealership, Steve the Mind Ninja says, "So, is this THE car?" Says Mooks, "Well, it's certainly very nice..." Says the LM, "We'll buy it right now." By this point, I am getting concerned. The LM is showing strange signs of behavior not characteristic of himself. I reassure myself that he will regain composure when we start talking price. Then Steve the Mind Ninja won't even know what's coming. He will be the ill-fated Gazelle to the LM's lightning-fast Financial Cheetah.

Back at the desk, Steve the Mind Ninja places a piece of paper in front of the LM and I. "This is the invoice price" he says. I am pleased to see it is the same as what the LM found in his research. I look at the LM for approval. Blank stare. No matter, Steve continues.

Steve the MN: This is your price. See, it's only $225 over invoice. Then next you have the costs we have to add to all our deals. This is the tax on the vehicle.

Mooks: Hm.

LM:---

Steve: This is the charge for the floor mats.

Mooks: Hmph.

LM:---

Steve: This is the charge for us to bring it here on one of those big trucks with all the cars on it.

Mooks: Humph.

LM:---

Steve: This is the charge that helps the owner of the dealership afford his yacht.

Mooks: Harumph.

LM: Still nothing.

By now the total is several thousand more than what we thought we'd pay. Steve the Mind Ninja says "So if you agree, I just need your signature right here." Here we go, the LM is about to open a can! Instead, he does something that I can't believe. He picks up the pen and signs it! Steve the Mind Ninja hurries off to do the Dance of Joy with the finance manager. I stare at the LM. And then...this is the worst part. The LM turns to me and goes "I don't get it." GASP! I spend the next several minutes explaining to the LM how the trade-in value was determined, and wondering what kind of life-sucking pod person had taken the shape of my husband.

What is most amazing is that Steve the Mind Ninja's hold over the LM extends even beyond car buying. As we're leaving, the LM asks Steve if there are any restaurants around that might still be open, as we are in the foreign suburbs and we haven't eaten in hours. "Applebee's is right next door, you should go there," says Steve. Ha ha, I laugh. Because I know the LM despises Applebee's. We went once in college and he refused to ever ever go back. But..."Ok", says the LM, "We will go to Applebee's." GASP again!! It's just like in SATC when Bunny can control Trey with the hand touch. Steve the Mind Ninja is the LM's Bunny. Tragic.

At Applebee's I start to think about how to tell his parents that I'm going to have him committed. But thankfully, by now we are out of reach of Steve the Mind Ninja. Slowly, the LM seems to be gathering himself. "I can't believe we spent so much more than we planned on a car" said the LM. "I can't believe I got Mind Ninja'ed" said the LM. "By the way, this is the worst Oriental Chicken Salad I've ever eaten. Why the hell are we at Applebee's?" said the LM.

THERE's my boy!

Gosh! Yesterday ANOTHER grown-up (read: person significantly older than myself) asked me a question I really hate, like I possibly hate it even more than questions like "Are you going to wear that?" and "What happened to all the mini Snickers?". That question is, "What are your hobbies?". What the F$%k kind of question is this to ask a 26 year old? I can't believe I've actually been asked it twice in the past few weeks. There are so many problems inherent in this question, I don't even know where to begin. It's one of those simple-but-loaded questions that you get so rarely that being asked it sends your mental well-being into a tailspin because you should have a good answer and you don't. Yes, what ARE my hobbies? If you can't think of any, you are a boring loser who has nothing interesting going on in your life. If you do happen to think of some things you like to do, they never sound as cool out loud as they seem to be while you are doing them (watching TV, drinking wine). And you run into the problem that if there is something you kind of like to do and you say that's your hobby, the question asker could know way more about it than you, and you look like a liar. Example:

Question-asker/Degrader: "What are your hobbies?"
You: "Well, I'm into college football. Go Gators! Wooo!"
Q.A./D.: "Oh, me too. What do you think Quarterback McMeathead's chances are for winning the Heisman?"
You: Crickets.
You: "I guess I don't watch it that closely. Yes, in fact, perhaps my hobby is more of the beer-drinking sort than the actual football-watching sort."

And just like that, you appear lame. The truth is I am very busy and when I am not busy being busy, I am lazy. Neither status makes for good hobbies. It's not that I am a boring person. I have the INTENTION of having many and various hobbies. I guess you could say I am an extremely well-rounded and active person in my own head. Here is a list of hobbies I have the intention of someday undertaking, and think about doing quite often whilst I watch TV.

1. I love to paint, in my head. Right now I am working on an imaginary painting influenced by stains I got on my shirt. It's done in the medium of salsa and cheese whiz, though the white parts you see I did with a Clorox Bleach Pen.

2. I intend to begin working out in the very near future. I will be strength training as well as taking hip-hop dance classes. I need to get in shape so that I can reach my goal of making the Atlanta Falcons cheerleading squad before I am 30. I think this is quite conceivable because they have open tryouts and they don't have to do any tricks requiring gymnastic aptitude. Please be aware that I don't want to actually be ON the squad, just make the cut so I know I'm hot.

3. I am an interior designer. I own many, many, many design magazines as well as furniture catalogs. When I win the lottery I will start buying some things in them and then you will see the true capacity of my gift. I might invite you to see my showhouse, but I haven't decided yet.

4. I am quite fond of travelling. In the past week I have travelled from my house in Riverside to Midtown Atlanta several times, as well as to Charlotte, NC for a meeting and beautiful Lakeland, FL, where I witnessed a redneck getting arrested on an ATV. Someday soon I hope to make it out of the Southeastern states.

5. I enjoy rock climbing. Once I went to a rock-climbing gym and a cute boy held my rope and I climbed all the way to the ceiling like a little squirrel monkey. If Atlanta Rocks! didn't cost roughly one million dollars to walk in the door, I might do it again.

Now, maybe you're asking me why I don't actually DO any of these things. The answer is that I don't have any time for my IMAGINARY hobbies because I am busy working on my REAL LIFE hobbies. Which are:

1. Media Planning. I know this is supposed to be my job, but because my salary divided by the number of hours I work roughly equals $0.03, I think of it more as volunteering.

2. Thinking About, Buying and Eating Food. An oddly taxing production, this represents roughly 8 hours of my day. More if you count the hours I watch Food Network. Which brings me to...

3. Watching TV. There are so many reasons why it is imperative I get TV time in every single day. One is that my career depends on it (see #1). Two is that if I didn't watch TV I wouldn't be such a super-champion when it comes to board games and bar trivia. And that is extremely important to me. Everyone wants to be friends with a Trivial Pursuit super-champion.

4. Sleeping, Showering, Pooping. All necessary. All time consuming.

5. Drinking Alcohol. Usually done while spending time with friends and family members. Depending on the person, sometimes absolutely required while spending time with friends and family members.

So do me a favor people. Don't ask me what my hobbies are. Because I can only conclude that people who actually have hobbies are slacking in one of the areas above. And let's face it. A Snickers bar is more important than perfecting my hurkey any day.