A Real Pain in the Ass

In the summer of 2011 my boyfriend and I were living in a little apartment in Brooklyn, when he got offered a job in San Francisco, starting in a few weeks. So we packed up our worldly possessions, our cats, and flew across the country (side note: NEVER FLY WITH CATS). 

angry cat

I will destroy you.

My parents graciously took us all in, and were so excited to be invaded that they decided to take everyone out for a shmancy dinner at the Cool New Restaurant in town. Sweet! Free food!

Now, you should realize that my parents had, ya know, met the boyfriend before, but they were suddenly confronted with living with him. And he was on his best behavior, which had to be exhausting. So I’m sure I was the most relaxed person in the group as we slid into the reclaimed wood booth, ready to order our gourmet California-Italian hybrid cuisine. Which was when I discovered that you should never, ever try to slide your butt over reclaimed wood. Especially if you’re wearing a skirt.

spintery wood

See where I’m going with this?

So, there was a splinter in my butt cheek. A really big, painful one. Stabbing me. In the butt.

I’m sure there are people out there who would have handled the situation gracefully. Who would have just smiled and dealt with it, so as to avoid embarrassment on all sides. Tragically, I was born without a sense of propriety. Or dignity. Or a general sense of how normal people behave in awkward situations. So instead I yelled out, “OW, MY BUTT!” at the top of my lungs, and proceeded to explain to everyone – including the mortified hostess – that there was a giant splinter poking me in the ass.

Luckily, I get my lack of social graces directly from my mom, who immediately realized that this was a job for her, so she whisked me off to the bathroom to get that sucker out of there.

Note: for the next half an hour, my boyfriend was stuck sitting and making small talk with my dad and uncle, while all three of them tried to avoid discussing the fact that I had a splinter in my butt.

The problem with going to Cool New Restaurants is that the coolness extends everywhere. Including the bathrooms. The interesting art installations and well-curated mood lighting would probably have made peeing one of the most relaxing experiences of my life, but when you’re bent over, hiking your skirt up, and trying to explain to your mom where the splinter in your ass cheek is… it’s just not as romantic, is what I’m saying.

“Wow, it’s really in there!”


“No, I mean, I don’t know how I’m going to get this out.”

“You don’t have, like, a first aid kit in your purse or something?” (apparently in my head my mom is prepared for everything)

“Hold on a second, I’m sure the restaurant has something…”

So she left me in the mood-lit bathroom, complete with throbbing cheek, while she went to inform the closest waiter that her daughter had a butt-splinter, and did they possibly have a first aid kit on hand?

No, they didn’t, but for some reason they did have tweezers. Why? I’ll never know. But at least now we were armed and dangerous, ready to attack this thing!

Only, the mood lighting wasn’t exactly helping. At this point we were both deep into MacGyver mode, and decided that the obvious choice was to try to arrange all the tiny candles sprinkled around the bathroom into some sort of butt-spotlight. When that didn’t work, the only thing left for it was for me to hold a tea light dangerously close to my ass, while my mom poked at me with tweezers.

votive candle

It was every bit as romantic as you’re imagining.

Which is when the eleven year old boy burst in.

Picture this: two women are huddled together in a bathroom. One of them is bent over, hiking her skirt up above her waist, and holding a candle to her butt. The other one is crouched down, with her face mere inches away, closely inspecting that butt.

I have no idea what that kid thought was going on, but I’m pretty sure he wished my mom had remembered to lock the door. He went running out as fast as he could, probably mortified and deeply confused, and my mom went after him, desperate to explain that actually that was her daughter, who had a splinter, and the light was bad, so we needed a candle, but it was okay, and why are you still running? Come back! There’s a perfectly reasonable explanation to all of this!

Eventually, we had to give up. That splinter was not. Coming. Out. In fact, I think we just managed to push it in deeper. So we went back to the table, probably saving all three of them from the world’s most awkward conversation, and decided to have dinner. I just sat very gingerly on one cheek for the rest of the night.

Stop! Thief!

That time when you get your toddler a beautiful fruit salad. You set it down in front of him, and he starts STUFFING honeydew into his face. Score! You sit down, and start chowing down on your vegetable salad (with some tuna on top for protein).

Suddenly, the fruit salad is no longer acceptable. There is much pointing at the grownup salad you were feasting on.

[Editor’s Note: the wee kraken mostly conveys meaning through a series of strange sound effects, the signs for “more” and “all done”, and pointing. He’s still surprisingly expressive, and the dialogue has been tweaked to reflect that.]

**sigh** Fine kid. Here’s a spinach leaf. See? You don’t like it.

Oh, but I do, Mommy. I do. More please!

**hands him more salad**

What is this delightful substance sticking to the leaves? Tuna, you say? Oh please, may I have some more?

**finds a few chunks of tuna for him**

There appear to be nuggets of golden deliciousness in here Mama!

You mean the kernels of corn that stuck to the tuna?

I do indeed! I would like more of that as well, sweet mother of mine!

Fine. Here. Are you happy now?

I would be happier with more. 



How much more?

I’m not going to lie, Mommy. I want all of it. 

This… is an adult-sized lunch.


…and that’s how I somehow wound up without any lunch, while the toddler practiced scooping up corn with a spoon.

A New Entry

The handsome husband has requested that I blog about something. But he refuses to give me any good ideas, despite being given the title “Blogging Guru,” so I’m going to have to make it up as I go along.

Which is to say that he is really hot, and Beyonce, I got you. I put a ring on it.

Put a ring on it



I hurt myself yesterday putting on on chapstick. I was mashing my lips together the way that you do to to get it all spread evenly and my jaw made a popping sound and I couldn’t open my mouth wide for the rest of the day.

Beeswax Lip Balm

Don’t let their hippy all-natural crap fool you; shit is DANGEROUS

Which got me thinking, why do I hurt myself on inanimate objects so much? Case in point:

  • The Immovable Door

In high school I played Ophelia (to much acclaim… thank you… thank you…) and had to run all crazy-like through a door offstage. Being a dedicated thespian, I took off at a full-on sprint, wind whistling through my hair as I made my dramatic exit. The door, on the other hand, was not into Method Acting and remained solidly, immovably closed. I somehow wound up with a black eye and had to explain to people for a week that I got in a fist fight with a door. 

visual approximation of Evil Door in question

visual approximation of door in question

  • Mood Lighting

It had been a long day, and I had the apartment to myself. So, like anyone would, I put on some jazz, poured myself a glass of wine, and put lit candles everywhere. I noticed that one on the dresser was kind of precarious looking, and being responsible about fire safety I walked over to put it out… ignoring the candle on the bookshelf next to it. Perched precisely at head level. I managed to put out the head-fire without hurting myself, but I smelled like burned hair every time I took a shower for a month. 

How a model looks when you set her hair on fire

How a model looks when you set her hair on fire


How I look when you set my hair on fire

How I look when you set my hair on fire

  • Bedridden

I was entertaining my boyfriend on my bed (not like that weirdo, we were just talking) and I tried to strike a pose that was both nonchalant and sexy, in that not-trying-too-hard manner I’ve worked so hard to perfect over the years. Which is how I learned that if you put your entire body weight on your shoulder at juuuuuuuuuuust the right angle you can mildly dislocate it. I had to wear scarves refashioned as slings for a week, and to this day have a certain terror of nonchalant sexiness. 

I couldn't think of anything for this one, so this is the first result if you Google "nonchalant"

I couldn’t think of anything for this one, so this is the first result if you Google “nonchalant”

I’m honestly not sure what all these anecdotes say about me, but it does go to show that even if my husband successfully covers all the pointy things in the apartment with bubble wrap I will find a way to hurt myself.

His Popiness

A friend of mine just sent me the link to all the names that Popes have had over the years. It’s awesome. Here’s a sampling of some of my favorites:

Pope Felix

Felix I, III, and IV
(II and V were both antipopes)

Pope Dionysius

Pope Dionysius
(I love me a good ancient Greek reference)

pope sylvester

Sylvester I, II, and III

Pope Stephen

Popes Stephen I through IX
(I didn’t even have to photoshop this one)

Pope Hilarius

Pope Hilarius

And I saved the best for last…

Pope Lando

Pope Lando. That’s right. POPE LANDO.

You’re welcome, Internet.

On Androids and Homosexuality

A Gizmodo article just popped up in my RSS feed:

Breaking: Andy Rubin Is Out at Android

And at first I was all, “Aw, that’s nice, Gizmodo’s supporting someone who just came out!” Then I realized that makes no sense, so I was all, “Oooooh, he’s probably coming out as an android. Huh. I didn’t know we had that technology yet.”

Next Generation is the best generation

Then I wasted a lot of time Googling old Star Trek episodes

Then the other shoe dropped and I was like, “Of COURSE! He’s a closeted Android user who’s finally accepting that he isn’t one of the brainwashed Apple millions. Good for him!”

And I laughed at myself for being so silly.

Which is why, boys and girls, you should always pay attention to your prepositions.

ooooh... out AT android...

They do know that “monumental” is generally used in reference to the Pyramids, Parthenon, and other Ancient Wonders, right?