This is how we get yellow snow! 
In related news: this is the kind of scene that makes me not want to get a dog.

We are all cooped up inside on this snow day ... and we think that's something we're supposed to complain about, but, we're pretty much inside all day, every day anyway.  Hooray for adulthood!  Also: in spite of the tsnownami, our place of employment is the only entity open for business in the entire city, so here we sit, hard at work! 

Today, we have accomplished many things and are looking forward to the rest of the day.  We took a life-threatening leisurely stroll into work, where we arrived late, watched the last half of the Teen Mom 2 episode we cut short last night so we could get to sleep early in the hopes that we would go to the gym this morning, which we did not end up doing.  Then, we did about fifteen minutes of real work, took a long lunch with Derrick, and now we're getting ready to leave early.  All while wearing jeans like the true rebel we are.  We love faux-snow days!

About Teen Mom 2.  Other than Leah, this is the most unsympathetic cast of bitches we've ever seen.  Jenelle says things like, "I would stop smoking pot if I got custody of my son," Kailyn doesn't see anything wrong with dating another guy while she's living under same roof with her ex-boyfriend and his parents, and Chelsea's boyfriend wears shirts that show his nipples.  And this is the nicest way we can write this ... the babies are of inferior cuteness to the kiddos of the original cast.

On another note, this little gem came from Sandy H. via e-mail.  She always likes to keep us posted on the greater Charlotte-area drug-ring activities, and now you know too:

"The Cornelius police busted a pot farm (in a locked room on the 2nd floor) today at a restaurant, 'The Creole House,' on Main St.  The food there was so bad I always wondered how they stayed in business. Now I know.  Love you, Mom."


Seasonal Affection

You may think I seem like the kind of person who revels in the doom and gloom of January, soaking in the cold, gray, bleak days of endless darkness, gazing past the leafless trees and into the sunless sky, thankful that there isn't another three-day weekend for months upon months, and not missing Gossip Girl's winter hiatus even the slightest bit.  But you would be wrong.

I have diagnosed myself with seasonal affective disorder.  It's a real thing; my sister told me!  I haven't felt like myself in a few weeks, and I blame the winter.  Anyone who really knows me won't believe what they're reading - specifically, all former roommates who no longer speak to me after epic battles over me cranking the thermostat to sub-freezing. 

I think I may have found a cure though, other than counting the days until spring (which, believe it or not, doesn't actually help).  I'm talking about the arrival of my favorite piece of porn for nesters: Architectural Digest.  The impending drool and release of psycho-sexual endorphins lead to a magnificent and swift recovery, all in the name of interior design.

All better!


Skins and Skinniness and a Real-Life Consciousness Stream

This week's premiere of the American version of the U.K.'s Skins and its corresponding disapproval has inspired me to completely skip it altogether in favor of streaming the British original on Netflix.  I'm pretty much obsessed with it and now spend my days at work wishing I were one of our interns so that I could get away with actually sitting at my desk, watching TV.

One of the characters does a spectacular job of committing to her eating disorder.  It reminded me of my 8th grade year when I gave anorexia a go.  I didn't lose any weight or get nearly as much attention as I thought I would so I was like, "Well ... screw this," and started eating again.

Presently, I am haunted by Natalie Portman's frighteningly thin frame in Black Swan.  Derrick and I were dazzled by this film and by Natalie.  Now there's a girl who doesn't value dinners consisting of blocks of cheese and boxes of wine!  Who does that?  What?

In all seriousness, we haven't seen The Social Network, but every time it wins another award, Derrick has a temper tantrum because he refuses to believe it is better than Black Swan.  It will be interesting to see what happens on Oscar night!  Wait.  No.  It is never interesting to see what happens on Oscar night, and yet I watch it year after year, like a dog who keeps getting its ass kicked for peeing on the rug, over and over, never learning my lesson, suffering through the insufferable awards and inevitably falling asleep before the important ones.

Maybe I will go to the gym instead.

My pre-wedding refrigerator contents, circa spring 2009.
Bouquet, spring mix, water, face mask.
And I think an apple down there somewhere.
Yeah, I looked awesome.


Sandy H. Has Recovered From Post-Traumatic Dancing With The Stars Disorder

“If I’m being honest with you…..”
Thoughts on American Idol by Sandy H.

In June of 2002, the first season of American Idol launched and in Pass Christian, Mississippi, Leigh Ann and I were mesmerized by this marvelous new form of reality television.  Brooke and Randy were out of college, off the family payroll, and onto actual gentle employment.  Bill was away on business most weekdays so Leigh Ann and I would join the family cats in front of the television twice a week religiously.  Leigh Ann would be draped over the sofa in sweaty riding clothes, and I would be wearing something… well, fabulous probably, and sipping a glass of pinot grigio.  Kelly Clarkson became our girl.  For the first and only time in my life I voted EVERY WEEK for her. (No thanks necessary, K C. It was my pleasure.)

But the real draw, the guilty pleasure every week was British judge Simon Cowell.  When he would start a sentence with, “If I’m being honest with you…” you knew, you absolutely KNEW someone was about to be eviscerated, savaged, driven to tears or blind rage.  Some poor nineteen-year old had stood for hours in the blazing sun or pouring rain to sing (and in those days it was really bad Mariah Carey or Celine Dion) in a stadium or hotel ballroom or old theater.  She had driven hundreds of miles and brought her two best friends and grandparents, all of whom had told her she was waaaay more talented than anyone on the radio.  And then Simon would say, “Do you have a singing teacher? Do you have a lawyer? Then you should get a lawyer and sue her.”  His compliments, because they were rare, were all the sweeter and more precious.  You saw pure, sheer happiness and pride in the singers’ faces.

How is American Idol, which starts Wednesday and Thursday nights this week, going to survive without him?  Can new judges Stephen Tyler and Jennifer Lopez  step up?  Will returning dawg-man Randy Jackson, who will sit in Simon’s chair and give the final critique, be more demanding? Well, "if I’m being honest with you,” I don’t see it happening.  Still, you’ve had a good run, American Idol.  Although I for one will be watching, at least in the beginning, what I’m really looking forward to is Simon’s new show, The X Factor, starting in the fall.  Searing comments.  Humiliating moments.  And hearing him say, “All I could think of when you were performing, is how I would pay you to stop.”

Check out charming and lovable Kelly's audition below.  BONUS FEATURE: vintage Seacrest!  And don't even get me started on co-host Brian Dunkleman, who stupidly bowed out after one season because the show was "too mean."  I wonder if Ryan Seacrest sends him a holiday card from aboard his yacht every year.



I had a tremendous time in New York this past weekend visiting Randy and Chris.  I experienced one of the most fun - and by far the gayest - days of my life when the city greeted me with brunch drinks within an hour of arriving, followed by a trip to Barneys and a viewing of La Cage Aux Folles, rounding off with a cabaret performance by genderqueer and lesbian separatist Justin Bond.

Since our Saturday was so drag-driven, our visit to Ellis Island on Sunday involved brainstorming potential 19th-century immigrant drag names during the ferry ride.  We came up with the following personae:

Alice Island
Donna Corleona
Ellis Island Fairy
Typhoid Mary
Scarlett Fever
Scarlett Beaver

On Saturday evening at dinner, I started getting all (drunkenly) blubbery about my sisters-in-law and how much I love them, and how much I always wanted a little sister.  Randy had told me several years ago that when I was young I wanted a little sister named Mary (Typhoid Mary?).  I always had this maternal instinct thing going on, then Randy reminded me about the Little People play sets from Fisher-Price I used to be obsessed with. 

These were perfect little child-grip sized people (although based on the picture below, they have a much looser definition of the word "people" than my generation did, what with the example being some sort of genetic pig mutation with a thriving commercial pilot career) that fit into different little holes and whatnot.  You can spend hours organizing them and lining them up.  So fun! 

OMG, an airport!  How fun!
While I heard everyone call these toys "people," for some reason what came out of my mouth when calling them by name was quite different. 

I called them "Poopies."  I always had to run off to go play with my Poopies.  What's that you say?  You need me to do something right now?  Sorry, I'm busy ... playing with my Poopies.

Sandy H. has this to say about the matter: "Yeah, we called them People.  You called them Poopies.  People (Poopies) donate them to Habitat for Humanity.  I saw some today including the furniture which included a potty chair for the baby Poopie.  They still make them but a different version since 1990.  Apparently they were listed in a book called Toys That Kill.  That put a damper on things for a while.  But they still make them.  Also, Googling 'Little People' will catch you up on dwarfism."

Me as a child, not a self-imagined dwarf.


Road Rage

As excited as we were to leave for the holidays, we are equally excited to be back to our boring routine and back to our own bed!

Some people don't look forward to a good, long road trip, but we do.  We love zoning out on the interstate, rocking out to early '90s jams, and the inevitable and immediate feeling of contrition after a giant double burger from Wendy's.  Oh, it hurts so good!

Our trip down to North Carolina was full of memorable moments, all of them involving eleven hours of Derrick shivering in the passenger seat, pale as a sheet (well, paler than usual) and battling a crippling stomach virus. 

We were sad for Derrick, but as usual, we were way more sad for ourselves, because not only did we have to drive the entire way, we also didn't get to enjoy any of Derrick's hilarious road rage antics.  Luckily for us, he was as good as new for our drive back up to Philly, and we learned so many new foul phrases we could never have imagined in our wildest dreams!

We tried to take his mind off of things with some light conversation.

In all seriousness, it isn't too difficult to steer Derrick back into a happier frame of mind.  Sometimes, a little Lady Gaga goes a long, long way.


Happy 2011!

Happy New Year, CiB readers!  It has taken a few days for us to recover from the holidays and get back into the swing of things.  In fact, we have been about as relaxed about getting back to Cats in Baths as this cat in a bath seems to be about being in a bath. 

We have been delinquent bloggers because Derrick is off in Australia and New Zealand for two weeks so we have the whole apartment to ourselves, so obviously we have been dancing around in our skivvies as much as we want, like Risky Business meets Swan Lake, but with more falling, more wine-drinking and fewer blinds on the windows (you're welcome, world!).  We have also discovered some incredible new TV - My Strange Addiction or Freaky Eaters, anyone?

We will have new regular posts starting again on Monday! 

And thanks to Lynn B. for the video tip!