I'm Going to Call it Winsome Overall

The past few days have been win a little, lose a little, in constant rotation:

I went to a new friend's going away party, she's leaving at the end of the month. Lose. 

At said party I mostly talked to people I already know and like. During our conversations we came up with many brilliant ideas, including but not limited to, a strip club that only serves pizza called Pizza Ass. Also many great outfit ideas for raisins were mentioned. Win. 

At the end of the night I came home, ate a quesadilla, and fell asleep on the sofa until 7AM. Lose. 

Saturday I was editing Episode Two of Hot Air, which is funny. Win. 

I was un-showered, in slippers, reluctant to be upright, and not in my house. Lose. 

Sarah made me a Bloody Mary. Win. 

Later that night I met up with my Platonic Life Partner. Win. 

We had to wait in line to get into a neighborhood bar. Lose. 

Once inside it was pleasantly at capacity. Win. 

We both ordered the same $8 cocktail that tasted like Robitussin with egg whites. Lose.

We walked next door to a friend's birthday party. Win. 

I had to leave before the good DJ because of an early morning bris in the suburbs. Lose. 

I heard someone say, "Moheled again." Win. 

I woke up after four hours of sleep. Lose. 

Saw a text message that the bris was postponed so I went back to bed. Win.

Later found out it is because the little dude is sick. Lose. 

Watched the play-off game at the bar that is my equivalent of "Cheers" where there was a potluck starring chili. Win. 

I live in Chicago so the bar was full of Bears fans. Lose. 

Packer Win...win. 

I was hanging out with two dudes who give me shit constantly. Lose. 

I actually really like them and it reminded me that I miss hanging out with dude friends. Win. 

We drank really good bourbon. Win. 

When you start drinking at 2:00, 10:00 seems like a perfectly normal time to call it quits. Win. 

Baby I Know, The First Cut is the Deepest

I'll be the first to admit that some of my past ideas have had some flaws. For example an empire built on the phrase I coined, "Blerg is the new Aack" which caters to funny, single, women by referencing our leaders Liz Lemon and Cathy (note, ironic funny only). Also a list of the most awkward Ikea furniture names is pretty short lived, but the idea of buying a bookshelf called the qüeef still makes me laugh. I will never concede that the quiz show "My Golden
Moment" in which you have to pick the activity taken from the day or week, depending on how elderly you keep it, is the most Golden Girls-esque. Feel free to answer: What is my Golden Moment? 
A) Finding the "perfect" cardigan B) Attending a 78-year-old's karaoke birthday party on a Saturday night C) Successfully repairing your favorite pair of Hush Puppy loafers. 

A few months ago two of my friends and I decided to start a podcast because we realized that our interactions with each other already sounded like a show. We crack ourselves up and often when we spend time with other people they seem to think we are amusing. A lot of really brilliant, funny, talented people I know have great ideas but never do anything about them because they can't get past the voices of self-doubt to get to a point of self-promotion. I certainly have struggled with the hang-up of believing that no one else will be interested and aborting my ideas before they see the light of day. This is referenced in the first episode of the podcast, but after a theorizing about the origins of SNL which I imagine started with Lorne Michaels saying to a friend, "Hey, I've got a great idea for a comedy show." That is not to say that we think that we just created something on par with SNL (when it's a good season), but that everything starts with a crazy little idea and my new motto is that I don't mess around with good ideas anymore.  

After much hilarious work, we finally uploaded our first episode of Hot Air. We will have shows every other week so check back for Episode Two very soon. 

 Hot Air babes, photo by Martha Williams

That's What She Said

This afternoon my friend Sarah said (actually wrote on Facebook) this about me, "See Mer is bringing what I like to call a real 'battery' to the table. Both positive and negative vibes. Her life is a joke, but she is prepared to make us laugh about it. Like a little AAA." I recently and frequently describe myself as being unflappable, because for the most part I am. I don't let most shit bother me. 90% of the time I think that people are well-intentioned but very weird. Conversely, it is very, very hard to ever get me to the point of being described as "giddy." I don't like to stray too far from even-keeled, it's like camping for me, I've done it but it's a pretty uncomfortable experience. I am rarely in a bad mood, but today I was. My emotional septic tank was backed up and work, life, and pretty much everything else I encountered in the world was blowing up like a shit fountain. Stupid world. Stupid everyone. 


I work for a Jewish Community Center that is full of children. My role can be succinctly described as the aunt of the building. I live in the office but I get to visit kids, make jokes, hold babies, and then wave goodbye when they start crying. During the height of my shitty mood I walked down the hallway and saw my co-worker's son. He starting running from one end of the hall down toward me. I knelt down and he gave me a huge hug, I picked him up and he laid his head on my shoulder. Then he popped back up and said "Cameltoe." Bad mood blown to pieces. 


For as long as I can remember I have used humor to deal with just about everything in my life. If I'm nervous, uncomfortable, flirting, or feel really at ease I am making jokes most of the time, and if it's not out loud just believe me that it is like a sitcom in my brain 24/7. I'm not saying that every situation and every moment needs to be funny or fun, because that's completely irrational. What I am saying is that it helps to be able to find the funny in anything when you need it. In case of emergency, tell a poop story. 

We'll Take a Cup of Kindness Yet

Trying to come up with the last thing I will write this year feels incredibly daunting. My instinct is that it should be epic, encapsulate the last 12 months perfectly, and set forth some sort of hope or premonition for the coming year. If I have learned one thing in 2010, and luckily I have learned more than one thing, it's to stop putting undue pressure on myself. If there's one person in the world who should take it easy on me, it's myself. Duh. 


I do know that this last week of this month, last of the year, has been been a whirlwind of somehow talking to or seeing many of my favorite people and doing many of my favorite things. Either 2010 is really trying to turn it around, or 2011 is going to be so incredible that it is leaking into the past year. I like the latter. It is a courteous question leading up the December 31st, to ask people what their plans for New Year's Eve will entail. In doing so I am reminded that I might be the only person I know who considers this their favorite holiday. I love it for three reasons: the countdown fills me with such anticipation that when everyone yells, "Happy New Year!" I tear up with joy. This has been my reaction since childhood and I'm so grateful I haven't lost it yet. Also, the song, "Auld Lang Syne," to hear everyone sing, or at least listen to, a Robert Burns poem set to music is almost too much for my nerdy self to bear. Third, but probably most importantly, is that it feels momentous if you let it, and I always let it. Try it, you'll like it. 


Happy New Year! 

Year On Fire

I used to think that my number one choice for a time travel make-out session would be Al Pacino from Godfather I or II (never III, don't even mention that it exists that's how terrible it was). But I've changed my mind and this video proves it. I realize that I have been mentioning Springsteen with what is now absurd frequency. But what's a girl to do, he has been slaying me lately, just absolutely killing it. 


On Tuesday I went to a party at my friend Sarah's house for the winter solstice. It was less hippie then it sounds, just a house full of ladies, sensible snacks, and bonfire at midnight to rid ourselves of the burdens that 2010 laid at our feet...actually that sounds incredibly hippie. Calling the party Burning Plan probably doesn't help de-hippie it either. Most people I know (definitely the women who showed up) have felt that 2010 was nothing to sneeze at. Burning Plan was a chance for us to purge all the shit we don't want to follow us into 2011, a chance to say our best intentions for the new year out loud to friends who will hold us accountable to a better self, a chance to drink a lot of tequila and laugh really, really hard. I grew up in a household of strong, funny, smart, amazing women and I am so thankful to keep discovering new communities of ladies who are impressive as hell. 

Putting the Ass in Class

My lesson about writing daily was not learned, clearly. New Year's resolution? I blame December! It's really snowing! I have a paper cut on a my space bar thumb!

A couple of weeks ago two of my friends were supposed to DJ at a bar near my house. I showed up like a trooper but due to some technical glitches they weren't going to go on for a while. The real cruncher was that I had just purchased a can of Tecate...but I did not open it. You get were I was going with this? I returned a can of Tecate to the bartender for a refund of $4. As I was walking home I sent a text to another friend who was going to meet me and that message ended with me speaking in the third person (something Meredith never does) "She keeps it classy." It of course cracked me up since I am retelling it, but since then it's been cropping up in my mind again and again because it really points out how unclassy I can keep it. 

Let me first disclaimer that I can keep it genuinely classy with some effort. I am excellent at getting dressed up for fancy things, I am super polite, parents love me, I have this French woman hang up about never letting anyone see me brush my hair or apply lipstick. Which brings me to another old French lady rule, I don't leave the house without lipstick, earrings, and Chanel perfume. I'm goddamn Edith Piaf when I want to be. But I also made fisting jokes at two separate, work-related, Hanukkah parties. I also called a fifty-something, widow from the suburbs, who might be my new interim boss "Dude." Then I told Dude a funny story about neck tattoos. I had a conversation about how choking on a piece of good salami wouldn't be the worst way to die, in fact it might be ideal. I instituted a rule at my ladies only Bloody Mary event that we can only listen to classic rock (predominately Bruce Springsteen). I was trying on new glasses and I said to the salesperson, "These make me look like Bruce Valanch." These are just the things I can remember, these are just from the last week. 

I don't know if there is a lesson to learn from all of this. Maybe the title of my blog really relates more to the fine line between being quirky and charming, and being a weird ladydude. 

How Do You Spell That?

It is a very slippery slope to take one day off from writing, suddenly four have gone by. Lesson learned maybe.

In my workplace right now approximately everyone except me is pregnant. The upside is the snacking, oh the ceaseless snacking. The downside is everything else. When someone rushes into your office and says, “I have amazing news!” I wouldn’t ask what that news is if I ever considered the answer would pertain to a mucus plug. The only appropriate response to that good tiding was to gag and promptly walk away. The other downside (again there are countless) is listening to horrifying details about pregnancy and birth while trying to eat lunch. I had to work hard to enjoy my Polish dill pickle soup from Kasia’s while hearing about clogged milk ducts. I will say that the lunch time discussion I have enjoyed has been about what to name all of these babies, even though no one ever likes my suggestions. I like old Jewish people names. I still maintain that Ida is lovely and I secretly wish that my nephew Isaac was Ira instead, I pushed really hard for that one, no pun intended.

It’s such a tricky thing to think of a name for a little human, and so important. Before I was born my parents were convinced that I was a boy. They had one boy name picked out, Evan, and strangely no back-up plan given the odds. It took them three days to think of a name which they did about two hours before they brought me home. I have heard some of these names and feel incredibly lucky to have left Bronson Hospital with Meredith Jane. Contenders were: Marijane (yes, really and spelled just like that), Daisy, Lucy, Dulcinea (from Don Quixote fame), and the real wild card was Kristen. I can only imagine how my life could potentially be different if I was Daisy or for god’s sake Dulcinea. People have a hard enough time understanding or spelling Meredith, it runs the gamut from Marydeth, to Beredith, to Matilda, to my personal favorite, Mames.

Another dilemma my co-workers are having when trying to think of names is that working at the JCC we become acquainted with 184 names a year and 184 little associations both good and bad. You might have loved the name Leo* for years and then he turns out to be the grossest kid in the school, game changer. It adds another twist to an already complicated decision. It is the name you will likely say the most out of any others, the name that will be associated with the most important person in your life. Make it good, and rethink your decision to name a child Wolfgang.

*I have actually had three Leos in classes and they have each been such a mensch. The truth is I have an Uncle Leo so that's why the name is off the table.