As a connoisseur of celebrity gossip/profiles/BS, I just want to say Jennifer Lawrence and Daniel Radcliffe give the best interviews. Jennifer Lawrence is so unfiltered in her responses, telling journalists she is the world’s fastest pee-er, or whatever, I feel it influencing my behavior at work (uh oh) — nothing bad, but just being more myself and saying what comes to mind. Daniel Radcliffe is such a refreshingly unspoiled, insanely wealthy young actor. They both seem very goofy, bright, and sweet to boot. If you ever have a major deadline, stop working, and look them up. It will derail your work ethic. You’re welcome.
This guy’s peak is done, but I first saw his video with my mom and now I get up in the Twins face and shout their name, followed by “Gangnam Style”! I love that this guy is out there and popular. He’s got great performing instincts and is awesome at milking the crowd as well as his fifteen minutes of famous. Bonus: he has this enormous head, a truly dramatically sized head that’s being accepted everywhere, which I love. Makes me feel great and proud to parade my own enormous Psy-size noggin around town as well.
Thereâ€™s something about this girl that bothers me â€“ not like sheâ€™s an annoying person , more like trying to remember the name of a familiar face way. And it is this â€“ her youth. She plays women in movies perfectly nicely, has a husky voice â€“ but there is something about her that looks young. She either needs to turn 45, or they have to make an announcement that sheâ€™s been thirteen years old this whole time, or I’d be down with a press release that she’s a robot.
…and then came the locusts. Just kidding. No locusts in my story, though if I saw them appear in this Witness-Relocation-Program apartment building, I would just nod, “yes, of course, of course there are locusts.”
This weekend, we were visited by a 24-hour stomach bug that caused four out of five family members to throw up, in-laws, and a kind exterminator who said he was sad to inform me that he found bed bugs in the Twins’ room. Our landlord (whose job performance would never be mistaken as that of an overachiever), our charlatan day care center (who smiles to your face and apparently has an altogether different story once you leave, has assured us for weeks that the more than twenty pink and red welts Girl Twin woke up with every morning on her limbs, palms, head, and face for the past six weeks was not bed bugs. Um, yeah, you have no idea what you’re talking about), a random cast of others (um, I was quite short with a woman in a wheel chair protesting my supermarket who handed me a cartoon of the owner being a jerk to his employees as a reason to boycott the store. “Facts, woman. I need facts. Are you saying he’s an a-hole? I work with a-holes everyday. It’s part of life.” “Oh.”), and others (which I can’t get into in a public blog, but still mention) rotated as the target of Husband and my wrath. I don’t think any of these factors are a big deal alone, but they came upon a situation where we already feel constraints — fiscal, emotional, time, energy, etc. — so it felt like an onslaught and reminded us of the crisis time around when the Wonder Twins were born.
But the worst is already passing, the apartment’s been bug-bombed, we’re sweeping and unpacking. We will at some point find our socks and underwear in the sea of stuffed garbage bags in our living room, and more silver lining, what this all leaves in its wake is the motivation to get the hell out of dodge and do better for our kids.