Wah Wuh.

Today, a kindergarten boy complaining about being ostracized pretty much summed up my life:

"The kids don't think I'm cool. But I really am."

I wish I could tell him that some things never change, but he should continue rocking the 70s style striped polos.

--Kate

Craft Time.

I made this.

She is a brunette, diva angel tree topper made with a plastic fork, construction paper, shiny paper, synthetic hair, hot glue and love.

--Kate

I Miss My $173

My car got towed yesterday. I've never owned a car before and thus never knew that sinking feeling of "wait...my car was right. here" and then staring at a gaping hole between two Audis where my little Toyota was sitting just 50 minutes before. It would have been less awful if another car had parked there, at least then my missing car wouldn't be so obvious to passersby.

Apparently I had parked in front of a driveway, which is like. the dumbest thing ever. But it was dark, I was ravenous, and this particular driveway's entrance was marked by quite possibly the smallest sidewalk dip in the world. It was barely a dip. It was a gentle slope.

Regardless, I was towed. I handed my roasted half chicken leftovers to my boyfriend as I call the police to find out where my car was taken. I call the tow company and as they're telling me my 1 mile tow and 20 minutes in the lot will cost me $173, I see my boyfriend giving my leftovers to a homeless man. It was just a perfect ending. No car, no $173 and no roasted rosemary chicken.

--Kate

I wonder what this knife would look like in your eye

So tonight I went on a kind of date.

Let's pause for a second. Because that doesn't happen, ever.

So I just want to remind you that it's still 2010, the sky is still blue, the space-time continuum is still in effect, everything is still the same. Don't panic. IN ADDITION to all that junk, I went out on a sort of date. That can actually happen. I don't have a hunchback, just a growing impatience for all of mankind that manifests itself into a metaphoric disability.

I say "sort of" date because if I say it was a date, I'll crawl in a hole and never be motivated to ever go out on one again - thus the linguistics will stay.

I have no clue why I'm so bad at dating but everything I try to think of leads me back to this one nugget of wisdom my mom told me at the ripe age of 12:

"Kate will give me the grandkids and you'll give me the puppies!"

Apart from being incredibly scarring, I think this little gem of wisdom pretty much sums up the success of my dating life.

So tonight what started out as bad just got steadily worse. Instead of engaging in the conversation I found it more enjoyable to slowly rub my knife and figure out what it would look like dangling from his eye socket, and debating if the blood spurt would sloppily get on my sweater, or just spray onto my white shirt collar where bleaching it wouldn't be a problem.

I can't go into it because I already have a migraine but the highlights of the night included my completion of an entire carafe of wine and the discussion on his avant-garde production of Hamlet (where the part of Claudius was played not by an actor, but rather, by a multi-colored hat. I'd explain in further detail but I actually can't. I had to stop paying attention to avoid the mandatory incarceration that goes along with murder.)

The thing is. This is a pattern that repeats nonstop and I know that I'm blinded by vanity but I just refuse to believe that it's me, but rather a serious of unfortunate events that just befalls me.

Oh well. Whatever, puppies are really cute. Mom knows best.

Entourage, or, When I was Heterosexual

So guys I'm sitting in my house watching Entourage as we speak.

And let me tell you.

It reeks.

I mean it fucking sucks. It's so desperately reeking of testosterone I can practically feel my hormones going wacky just by watching it. I might have grown a third testicle by the end of the episode if I didn't turn it off quickly.

This show sucks so much and I used it LOVE it. In fact, I watched the first three seasons right up until AquaMan. I was addicted. And then I realized.

I liked this show when I was heterosexual.

Let me repeat that.

That means I used to like Entourage until I acquired better taste.

Ok, I know what you're thinking. That might be a big jump I'm making by saying that just because you're a homosexual it means you have taste. It doesn't, as we all know.

But it certainly helps. It helped me.

And then I started to think of everything else I used to do back when I was younger and more foolish and in pursuit of my hetero-normative lifestyle with my 2.2 kids, a generic wife with a vagina, and a legal marriage certificate (wamp WAMP).

And I'm recalling Linkin Park CDs. I'm remembering lots of puffy skate shoes. I most definitely said in my fourth grade yearbook that "Will Smith" was my favorite musician (which at the time I thought would "butch up" my bio and offset the fact that I put "dance" as my favorite sport. Don't worry, it's back when I was competing in dance competitions around the Boston area. In tap and jazz. I swear to god it fucking happened, people.)

But worse is that I really enjoyed these things at the time. Or I thought I did. Just like Entourage.

It was a dark time for me, having to lie about who I was. And no, not about being a heterosexual, that was whatever, but I had to lie about having INCREDIBLE taste. Because I think I actually do. I have incredible taste. I said it. It's nature versus nurture people. It's DNA.

And I guess apart from the fact that women are bat shit fucking crazy and Entourage is so fucking bad... I just came back from looking at my nicely polished Florsheims in my closet and my recently laundered, powdered, and pressed dress shirts and I have to say: things just look brighter on this side of the fence. Because this side of the fence is tastefully decorated with lilacs, arbor ways, and carefully manicured topiaries to compliment the intricate Venetian style tile work on the table tops of our wrought iron steel patio set.

Oh, and sure, I guess you could say it's the self-acceptance and self-love and the sense of community and the blah blah boring boring. Because mainly, I'm in it for a shoes.

-Max

KATE'S EDIT: 10/26/10 8:22pm

Max, I sadly remember this time and am glad to hear that it's labeled as "dark" not because of the fact that your homosexuality was being stifled by the rigid expectations of blah blah blah (because we know that's not true...obligatory and uneccesary assertation of love and acceptance) but that your "heterosexuality" was stifling your need for ANTM marthons and decent footwear. Also, after reading this, I have to apologize for encouraging you to buy Foo Fighters albums...just please remember that back then I was listening to S-Club 7 so I thought I was giving you hip, unground music recommendations. I went to Newbury Comics for the posters...I knew what I was talking about.

Although amidst all of your Entourage, taste in the toilet woes, may I remind you that I dated an openly gay man that hit on you for the majority of high school? I like to think that we've both acquired better taste, only yours involves vintage Florsheim shoes and mine involves a handsome Italian with a permenant 5-oclock shadow. And the long-awaited ability to perform a good blowout for my Jew-hair. We're winners.

$5.99 I'll never get back...this Jew's nightmare

I bought these yesterday:

I am fully aware that they most likely do not work and that I might as well have given the $5.99 to the homeless man outside selling "Spare Change Magazine" for crack. However, I'm one of those rare people who invites the placebo effect. I'm not sure what this says about me and it worries me to think how dull my mind must be if I can "trick myself" into believing in something I know is purely bullshit, but I bought them nonetheless. I've been popping them like tic-tacs and they are delicious.

Basically, they're lozenges that taste like marshmallows and work "homeopathically with the human psyche ease the mind. Calm Drops help restore the inner calm that enables a choice of outlook." That is such crap, I actually hate myself for it. I'm just glad that this packaged joke didn't come in the form of an enema. Delicious pieces of what essentially is candy that didn't make the grade so they turned it into a homeopathic remedy? I'm down.

Things that led to the purchase of Calm Drops:

- the obvious: money, work, lack of sleep

- I had been on a feverish search throughout the city for brown riding boots. Whenever I would set out on a shopping trip for them, my heart would race and I'd worry that I wouldn't find them. If you saw me walking down Newbury St, you would have thought I was on my way to beat the shit out of some slut. I was in the zone.

- I bought black skinny jeans at Banana Republic and wasn't sure if I should have (I haven't worn black jeans since middle school, back when I was referred to as Mommy Long-Legs) and if I should go back and buy another pair in dark blue...a matter I'm still struggling with as I write this

- I cooked. Which I hate doing because I am TERRIFIED of salmonella

- I've been very thirsty lately--an ailment I once made Max WebMD for me. "excessive thirst" means I'm either diabetic or pregnant...two options I put to bed very quickly

- My car's alignment is slightly off.

So there you have it.

Calm Drops: 1

Kate's Ability to Deal With Basic Matters in a Healthy and Reasonable Way: 0

So Now We're AS Attractive as the Gyllenhaals?

Max is so vain, the original title of this blog was "The Less Attractive Gyllenhaals"... homeboy couldn't handle being a less-attractive version of anything.

10/23/ 10 MAX'S EDIT:

I would like to inform everyone that, yes, I'm incredibly vain HOWEVER - the change is mainly due to the fact that - dear lord, everyone in the world besides Jake Gyllenhaal is less attractive than Jake Gyllenhaal. Maggie on the other hand - cute. Yea. She's cute. But I don't think my sister is "less attractive." Just. Less Oscar nominated. And less married to Peter Scarsgaard.

So this was for the maintenance of my sister's vanity. Because i'm a DAMN good brother.

The Obligatory Hello

I'm Kate and my brother is Max and this is a blog dedicated to our constant struggle and fear of mediocrity. We are indeed less attractive than the Gyllenhaals but our vanity tells us otherwise. Genes may not have given us chiseled jaws or straight hair but they did give us just enough denial to help us get by. If you are drunk, we are HOT and SO FUNNY. If you are not drunk, we'll strike you as more of an investment piece, like a fine wine or a block of cheese. We'll continue to get more attractive, just not at the speed you were hoping for. Don't get me wrong, it'll happen--overly obsessive styling and frantic dressing room phone calls to each other will ensure that we will eventually become presentable and (possibly) smokin'--but you'll just have to be patient.

We're not assholes. Quite the contrary. We keep that private. Private assholes. We love most people and don't bother to pretend liking the rest, a trait we got from our mother. She is small, often offensive and completely unaware of both of those things. To balance the genes out, however, is our father's absurdly positive outlook (countered by our shared excessive anxiety/hypochondria) and his ability to grow body hair at alarming speeds (though Max's head may have missed the memo in recent months). Our parents couldn't be less similar and their differences have helped produce the epitome of Darwinian advances.

We like the sound of our own voices (hence the blog), LOVE bread and are prone to acid reflux. I wore braces to senior prom and Max has to take his Invisaligns out when he eats. He puts them in his pocket. I once twisted my ankle dancing to Madonna's "La Isla Bonita" and Max used to angstily listen to Nickelback.

This blog's "misson statement", so to speak, is rather vague. All we know now is that he is in New York City, I'm in Boston. We haven't quite chosen a gimmick yet, unless Max has some insight he hasn't told me about. For now, it's two siblings, miles apart, brought together through writing, wit and a nagging need for not just acceptance, but a constant outpour of love and adoration.

That sums it up. Hello, we look forward to changing some lives.