The Bitches (A 'movie' review of The Women)

I wrote this several years ago but two nights ago I forgot to set the sleep timer on my TV and woke up to the last five minutes of this 'movie'. I had to search my archives to share this because I refuse to suffer alone. 

I'm not entirely sure how to start this article. I want to say I ‘watched’ a ‘movie’ yesterday, but it’s coming through the tips of my fingers as I ‘suffered through’ the ‘worst piece of cinematic garbage that has even been created since the beginning of man.’ Actually, neither would be entirely true, as my mother and I walked out about 48 minutes into it. I had to wake her to ask her if she wanted to leave. I think her sleeping was a possum-like defense in reaction to the abuse this movie dispensed under the thinly-veiled guise of a Women’s Lib statement.

This stink pot opens to a montage of fabulously expensive shoes walking down the streets of Manhattan, marching to the “I'm beautiful AND smart’ anthem they picked for the soundtrack. Music fades and camera closes in on one particular pair of shoes. These shoes belong to a character Sylvie, played by Annette Bening. I loved Annette Bening, one of my favorite actresses. Then she opened her mouth and spouted the most shallow and pedantic dialogue. She stormed her pretentious ass into Sak’s Fifth Avenue, handed her dust mop dog to the receptionist and sat down for her 2 o'clock manicure. As if her incredibly narcissistic body language wasn’t enough, she unnecessarily informs the manicurist that she "wasn’t interested" in anything she had to say. That is, until, by the greatest coincidence any multi-million populated city has ever seen, the manicurist tells her (unprovoked, mind you) that his friend ‘the spritzer girl’ is having an affair with a married man. A famous married man. She thinks “I always forget his name, Steven……”

“Haines?!?!” Bening just guesses out of the blue.

“Yeah, you know him?” replies the manicurist.

Bening’s character knows him alright. It’s her best friend’s husband. Oh, the humanity.

Her best friend, Mary (played by Meg Ryan), whom she does not tell about the affair, is confusingly some 70 years younger than her, so I can only assume when they say ‘old college buddies’, they mean that either Mary was in an accelerated program for elementary school students heading straight to college or that Annette Bening was her professor. I mean, c’mon; Annette Bening played John Cusack’s Mom back when Harry was meeting Sally. I don’t care how taut they’ve pulled your face, you're fucking old.

Then we meet Sylvie’s polar opposite sister, the free-spirited Edie, played by Debra Messing. Isn’t she fun and precocious in her crazy hats and flowing dresses and 17 children swinging like pendulums from her teat? Spoiler alert! She pregnant again! To which her friends reply “uh, again?” I can only assume that was congratulatory. If a friend tells you with a smile that they are pregnant, smile back. If they are crying while waiting in line for Planned Parenthood, then you may offer condolences.

Just to shake things up, we’ve got a black friend played by Jada Pinkett Smith. Not only is she black, she’s a lesbian. She’s also not a daytime person; the night life makes her cranky which she tells us every five minutes when she’s not talking about her “new book”.

“You lucky you even got me out of bed much less out of the house!” (New book!) Why is the sun so bright? (New book!) “I party like a rockstar!” (New book!) “Did I mention I'm writing a new book?”

Then there’s the mistress. Mary (Ryan) goes for a manicure at Sak’s, and who is her manicurist? The same one Sylvie had. And the manicurist’s material hasn’t changed because in a matter of minutes (days after her best friend found out, mind you), Mary is made privy to the affair between her husband of 13 years and the perfume spritzer girl. Right in the same store! She handles it incredibly well, even when she ends up in the same dressing room as the whore who’s sleeping with her husband. “Men aren’t stolen if they go willingly”. Um, if those words were uttered to me by some bitch sleeping with my husband wearing a $600 skank suit that my husband was paying for, well let’s just say I wouldn’t have scrunched my face and left. I would’ve scrunched her face into the 3-way mirror.

So at this point, I left. I woke my mother and we walked out. First time I’ve ever walked out of a movie in my life. The dialogue reminded me of something I wrote for an English project in the 7^th grade. It was called Predictable. Or was it called Stereotypical? Not sure, I try not to remember such useless, trite rubbish. I’ve heard better dialogue in porn.

Jenny

Normally I write funny stories. This one has A joke, but I just started writing and this came out and I wanted to share.

I have been speaking at victim impact panels since my sister was killed by a drunk driver in 2008. The people that run these panels will tell you that you’re going to speak in front of 200 people. Most of them don’t want to be there and/or feel like they don’t deserve to be there. Then they tell you that even if you get through to one person, you’d made a difference. It’s hard to believe that when you’re doing something so raw and vulnerable. But it is true. And that one person has to be enough of a reward to press on and keep doing what’s important to spread this message. I posted something on facebook about what I was about to do, how hard it was going to be, and how I was hoping to get through to just one person. I don’t do this for attention. I do this because I will take any opportunity I can to make someone stop and think about what effect drinking and driving can have on other people. It’s not about you getting pulled over and arrested. It’s FAR worse than that.

About three years ago, I was speaking at one of these panels. A woman came up to me afterwards and said “Was your sister’s name Beth”? I said “yes”. And she burst into tears. She told me that she used to babysit us when we were very young. I immediately remembered her. Jenny. Our favorite babysitter. She cried as hard as a sister or close friend would upon hearing the news of someone passing away. I hugged her and told her it was alright. She was my one that night.

Later that night I checked facebook. One of the comments left on my post was from Jenny’s sister. She wrote “I know of at least one person you got through to.” It really made it all feel worth it. To go through that story is excruciating and to think that it’s all done in vain can be heartbreaking. This was the perfect thing to hear.

Jenny and I have kept in touch sporadically since then. Today I noticed she posted something that sounded very familiar. A phrase used in sobriety a lot. I asked her if she had gotten sober. She said “I’m not going to lie, I haven’t completely but I’m trying.” She went on to say that she was proud of me. Then I realized the last time we talked was before I got sober myself. I don’t remember reading the following story the first time around - it made me all happy and sad at the same time.

“I don't want to make you sad but my fondest memory of you is when you were about 4 or 5 & you were in your front yard crying & I was about 13 or 14 & I yelled over to you & you said Jenny hurry up come here & I said Erin what is wrong & you said Beth ate all the Smurfberry crunch!!! So the next time I babysat your mom bought smurfberry crunch & she told me to pay extra attention to you because you were sick & you said yeah I got my astroids taken out!!!!! You were &are the sweetest!!!”

The moral of this story is that I am hysterical. I have always been hysterical and will continue to be hysterical.

Additionally, this one person will sustain me through every speech I ever give from here on out. Even if the person doesn’t come up to me after, I will believe that they heard what I have to say and it will make them think twice before doing something reckless and selfish. I usually get at least one after every speech. This one though, this one was special. 

Today I celebrate 23 months of sobriety. I told myself that until I hit two years I was going to treat it like an infant and celebrate each month. Today I was also asked to speak at another Victim’s Impact Panel next month. Today I noticed Jenny’s status. There are no coincidences. Today as I ‘celebrate’ the last time I’ll say however many months I’ve been sober (which is probably a lie, I’ll go as high as I can count. The 25^th will ALWAYS be special to me) I’m reminded not to be complacent. Not to be cocky. Not to ever stop thinking about the events of my life that brought me to where I am today. A place which is great. I’ve been brought here and brought myself here and I’m never leaving. That’s all.  

So long, Savannah's!

 When I first got out of college, I migrated to the Albany area out of convenience. I had friends and family nearby and had spent my summers between semesters there, so it was just a natural move for me. I was a budding singer/songwriter and as naïve as the day was long. I started attending open mics to work on my craft and see about making my dreams of becoming a musician come true. I stumbled upon an open jam. Not knowing what one really was, I showed up with my out of tune classical guitar (which was not meant for the pounding rhythm style I put upon it) and the hopes of doing a couple songs. Out of my league was an understatement. There was a full blues/rock band on stage when I walked in. They certainly were not open mic types. Before I could chicken out, one of the guys in the band asked if I was there to play. I nodded nervously. He said “who would you like to get up with?” I had no idea what he was talking about so I said “just me, I guess.” In hindsight they were far too nice to me, but their support led to learn a lot – mostly learn what the difference was between an open mic and an open jam. They also informed me that the following week they would be at a new location called “Savannah’s” in downtown Albany.

I slowly worked my way on to this stage at Savannah’s, desperately trying to just blend in. I had no delusions; I just wanted to fit in and not embarrass myself. This was a much smaller and more achievable goal then trying to stand out or even become mediocre in a group of greats. Nope. Just wanted to go by unnoticed and soak it all in like a sponge. After a few weeks I started doing this. I stopped bringing my guitar and opted to just sing. This meant learning songs that I could sing with them, which I sang like a desperate karaoke queen. I knew I wasn’t very good. But these guys were nice. Maybe they saw something in me, but I can’t tell you what that could have been. I thought “you know, I sing my own songs pretty well, maybe if I bring one of my songs and it’s easy enough to follow for these guys, we could try that?” I insulted them by asking “if it’s not standard blues can you still play with me?” A guitar player named Garry said “what are the chords?” I said “E, G and D.” He laughed and said “yeah, I think we can handle that”.

But something still wasn’t clicking. I knew I was capable of more and so I wanted more. I didn’t want to blend. I wanted to be great. I knew I had it in me, I just didn’t know how to get it out. There was one song that I always sang to myself in my car. It was an a capella song that I just knew I could sing like nobody’s business. I went to Savannah’s and asked the owner “what do you think about me singing an a capella song?” He said “I wouldn’t suggest it. This is a tough crowd.” I thought about it a minute and decided to do it anyway. I had to. I told him this and he shook his head and said “alright. If you want to.” He got up a little later and when it was my time he said “ok Erin’s up next, she’s gonna do…..something…..” and turned and told the band they weren’t gonna play the first song. So they sat at ease. This place was loud and very used to a constant stream of rock and blues. I had some fucking nerve.

I got up. I was shaking. I closed my eyes and began to sing. It was so loud that I cancelled out the sound in my head and just focused on the song. It became silent in my head except for a little voice saying “I don’t remember this song being so long…..oh my god what was I thinking?” Otherwise silent in my head, I came upon the end of it and finished strong. Still shaking, I took a step back from the microphone and opened my eyes. I realized it wasn’t only silent in my head. It was dead silent in the bar. As quiet as I have ever heard it. A slow round of applause started and erupted into a standing ovation. I could’ve thrown up. People looked shocked. I’m sure I did too. I picked up a guitar, smiled at the band (who also looked at me in shock) and went into my next song. I sang it with a whole new voice. Stronger and more confident than I had ever been. It was like I had found my soul and my voice all at once. It’s the strength and confidence I try to bring to the stage each time I have performed since. It was an incredible moment for me and an absolute turning point in my musical career. It was at Savannah’s.

Since then I’ve garnered a much storied history at this bar. Watching it change hands, change walls, change sound. I have so many memories and more importantly lessons. Not all the memories are of great moments, but they’ve shaped who I am today as a musician and a person and I’m pretty ok with that person. I feel like even though I said goodbye to Savannah’s years ago, last night I physically let go when I sang my last note, strummed my last chord, stepped off the stage and walked out the doors for the last time. If those walls could talk, I would only hope that someone would have the decency to put it to music.

Thanks for the memories, Savannah’s.

Snowday! (orig 12/8/08)

I work in Albany, the capital of the great state of New York. Currently we are suffering the worst winter we’ve had in years (prompt the “so much for global warming!” argument which is just GENIUS if you ask me).

Anyway, people seem to forget that this is typical winter of days of yore. In 1987 we got about 4 feet of snow in October! Now we get four inches and it’s pandemonium. You go to the grocery store – smart move, no sarcasm here – to get things so that you don’t have to go out when the weather is worse. Riddle me this, why bread, water, milk and eggs? If this truly is an apocalyptical storm of the millennium, why perishable goods? But I digress. If you’re going to panic, just stay home.

The reason why this has got my goat today is because of where I am regionally. It should come as no surprise that we get snow, given that we live in the northeastern United States. However, people walk around mystified. “What are these magical cold flakes of white that are falling to earth? Are the angel’s wings shedding feathers? Is this God’s dandruff?” No, it’s fucking snow. And it’s winter. Let’s move on.

Another regional encumbrance is this land only known as “The Hills”.

Moron number one: “There supposed to get like twice as much in The Hills.”

Moron number two: “I live in The Hills. I am probably going to stay home tomorrow.”

Then, the reason for my headphones at my desk is because these people call their town folk who I can only assume are guarding The Hills to check on the weather “up there”. And then, as if we haven’t heard their conversation, they get off the phone and repeat to whoever’s around that “My mom said it’s getting pretty nasty up there.”

I grew up in the country. Small farming community of fewer than 1000 people and many, many hills. We lived in a village. There are hills around us, that’s what makes it a village. Got it? Now a majority of my friends lived in hilly areas. You know what they got? They got chains for the snow tires on their 4 wheel drive automobiles. You know what they didn't get? Excuses.

How I Get To Work (Orig. 6/11/08)

Sometimes I take my helicopter, which lands in my backyard, connects to a solar tube attached to my back door. Then it drops me off on the roof of my building into a similar tube, and I am transported safely into the top floor elevator. 9 floors down and I'm ready to work.

Sometimes I do my “I Dream Of Jeanie” impression, which I stumbled upon one morning when I did it just for goofs and next thing you know I'm sitting at my desk in my pajamas! Oh, the site. So I quickly transported myself home, changed my clothes, folded my arms, bopped my head, and I'm back at work. This method is by far my favorite.

Sometimes I take my portal. I discovered this by accident as well. I was checking out the back of my closet when I moved into my new house. I pushed on the back wall for leverage when all of a sudden I was tumbling through space. I landed right at my desk moments later. Thought effective, this method can be painful and scary, unless of course you like the feeling of falling. And of course, can land on your feet.

Sometimes I just sleep at my desk. Wake up and work.

This must be why you insist upon telling me the weather every morning, co-worker. Or telling me about the driving conditions. Because I have somehow morphed here and haven’t experienced the extreme heat. And what about that snow a few months ago! And oh, that congestion! I'm fortunate to have missed out on that experience!

I don’t know how you do it each day, but you should really look into the ways I get to work. It really reduces stress.

That is, until you get to work and tell me all about it. 

Drives Me Crazy (Orig. 12/18/08)

Drives Me Crazy (Orig. 12/18/08)

I am the product of a one car family. This is not an issue for the most part; however, it does lead to the fact that I don’t drive that often. That, my drinking problem*, and my fears. But I digress.

*written, obviously, before I quit drinking.

So maybe it’s just me not being used to driving or even keeping my eyes on the road, but when did everyone become mentally disabled when driving? Mostly in the snow. Now I saw that 99 percent of the cars had NY license plates. And I didn’t hear about a rash of relocating to the capital city of Albany, so what in the fuck is wrong with you people? It’s snow. You live in the northeast. Get on with it!!!

The weathermen would’ve led you to believe that we were getting destroyed by the nuclear bomb of a storm last night. I barely had to take out my brush/ice scraper. So is it the weatherman’s fault? Let’s break it down into why you drive the way you do, because I really want to give you the benefit of the doubt, and in the spirit of the holidays not call you a fucking idiot tool bag ass munch.

1.     The Weathermen/Women. Or Meteorologist if they had 10 grand more to shell out in How to Be a Liar school. I don’t stare directly into the high-def glowing talking picture box as much as most so maybe I miss the brainwashing hypnosis that makes you believe that there will be snow, and you’ll be lucky if you can climb out your second floor window and take your dog sled to work! You were right to cancel that Tupperware party you had planned for 10 days from now—you might just barely be getting back on your feet then. Use that Tupperware to dig yourself out of that half inch of slush that actually fell.

2.     You Hibernate In The Winter. But this year, I don’t know, maybe you had to go out and get your cable converter; otherwise, you won’t be able to watch 6, 10 and 13. Goddamn cable Nazis! Messing with your rabbit ears which have worked just fine since you got them in 1946. So you go out and not only are you unfamiliar with all the new traffic lights, lines in the road, speed limits over 25 and these new fangled automobiles, you have to deal with snow on top of it? You poor thing. You get a pass.

3.     You Just Moved To The Northeast. You had to have just moved here from Florida or something. You don’t even know what snow looks like. The first time you saw frost in the yard, you went out and rolled around, desperately trying to make a snow angel until your wet hair from the shower froze to the ground and your neighbors laughed and shamed you back indoors. Now that you’ve seen your first snowfall, you are scared to death. Just stay home whenever it snows, it’s safer. I have to think people like this are the rarest of any category. After all, who would move here from Florida? Isn’t it the other way around?

4.     You’re Old. I love old people, I really do. And I want you to go about your life as if you were still in your swinging sixties, but you just can’t. Chances are you’re slightly curved in the back, which reduces your height and thus limits your view over the steering wheel and dashboard. The worst part of this is that I will have already honked, flashed my lights, and sped past you with my middle finger poised before I realize that you are an adorable old person. And then I will feel AWFUL! Did you ever think about how I might feel? I will give you my number and be a surrogate grandchild to get you to and fro since your asshole family is not helping you out, deal?

5.     You’re Sixteen. Give me your parents’ phone number so that I can:

A)   Kick their ass for paying off whatever shady DMV guy gave you your license.

B)    Slap them around for letting you drive your new sweet sixteen present while you totally text Amber to say that you're skipping school to go to the mall, or:

C)    Let them know that you’re having sex and doing drugs, whether or not it’s true, so they maybe punish you by not letting you drive till spring comes or until you’ve grown a brain.

Basically, everyone should be used to the fact that these are the Northeastern United States, this is not the first snowfall ever, nor is it even close to being the worst storm we’ve ever had. Remember twenty years ago when you would get four feet of snow and school wouldn’t be cancelled (Ichabod Crane excluded)? So relax, save your double latte fuckachino till you get to work so that you're not white knuckling your way down I-90 to get to work. Or move south. Your choice. 

Askin' for it

I never usually get political because I know I'm inviting a whirlwind of shit. And I probably won't be very popular for this post but I have to say it. A lot of people have some pretty mixed (and opinionated) feelings surrounding Whitney Houston's death. I, however, take issue with people parlaying it into a sanctimonious diatribe about who the "real heroes" are. There's no doubt that our troops are selfless, brave and make incredible sacrifices on a daily basis to protect our freedoms and they should be thanked every day for their commitment to that; and not because there's a feeling of misplaced attention on a celebrity. Fact: Whitney Houston was an idol, a star, a tragic talent who died way too early. She was one of the biggest superstars of our generation. Hands down one of the best and most celebrated voices ever heard. All of her accomplishments were overshadowed by her downward spiral into addiction and self-destruction. Alcoholism and drug addiction is a disease for which there is no cure and she succumbed to this disease. She's also a human being. And regardless of what one may interpret as sad, it WAS tragic and sad to see an amazing performer lose her way and subsequently her life. Where have we seen this before? Does anyone remember Elvis?

As a newly minted sober person I can say that this is a serious illness. It's frightening and life threatening. It doesn't make you a bad person. I've heard this quote once which helps me forgive myself for the pain my addictions caused others. I wasn't a bad person; I was a sick person doing bad things. I work really hard on this everyday and it's the most important and rewarding thing I've ever done in my life. And it is NOT easy. I am one of the lucky ones and I thank my lucky stars everyday that I made it through another sober minute.


If you want to support our troops and draw attention to their nobility then do it everyday. Send a care package. Make a donation. Throw a fundraiser. Do more than just click "share" on a meme and writing "SO TRUE" about it. And please.......keep the issues separate.

Now I'm sure I'm gonna get a ton of responses, both negative and positive but if you attack what I have to say then you're more than likely missing my point.