All posts tagged: Netflix

spacey

How to Watch House of Cards

If you watch House of Cards, you’ll understand.  And if you live with your parents, you’ll definitely understand.  If you do both (watch House of Cards AND live with your parents) well, God help you.  It’s enough to make you want to stab yourself in the eye with a fork. To my mother’s credit, I would have never discovered House of Cards if not for her recommendation.  Nor Downton Abbey, nor Glee, nor Drop Dead Diva but the niceties stop here. My parents, you see, don’t get how to watch House of Cards.  Netflix dropped the entire second season at one for a reason: you’re supposed to WATCH IT. In anticipation of the drop, I re-watched the entire first season over the summer.  I missed a lot the first time around—I always miss a lot when it comes to political thrillers, or historical dramas, or anything beyond romantic comedy come to think of it—but this is my problem.  I didn’t subject anyone else to watching the same episode three times in a row. I also …

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My Post New Years Confession

I have a terrible confession to make.  Yesterday, despite having spent hours on a beautiful new “2014 Time Management” spreadsheet, I spent the day in pajamas.  The entire day.  As in I woke up, rolled out of bed, brushed my teeth, brushed my teeth again and rolled back into bed approximately 16 hours later.  I spent the interim watching a BCC series on World War II (note my careful use of the term “series” to suggest a documentary of the educational variety instead of six episodes of Land Girls).  I also did some laundry, some dishes and assisted, to the best of my ability, with the consumption of the 800 bazillion pounds of leftover food from Tuesday’s New Years Eve party. What can I say?  I don’t get many days off so when I do, I take them very seriously.

Why Angry People Should Stick to Home Exercise

“You f*cking b*tch!” The blond chick with the chunky red highlights ignores me, so I add a curt “I hate you!” under my breath. Of course, she doesn’t respond to this either.  Why?  Well, she can’t hear me.  She’s on TV, and even though I’ve already done the “last eight” of my bun-toning squats, she tells me to do eight more. In keeping with my love of all things insane, I’ve decided to start a new exercise regimen in the hopes that I’ll see some “quick results” in time for my show on September 8th, and Blondie here has promised super-fast results with her 10-minute targeted toning workout (courtesy of Netflix). I initially thought I’d get to tone everything in ten minutes but no: its ten minutes for your arms, ten minutes for your abs, ten minutes for your buns, followed by a ten minute “dynamic power stretch.” (This far, I’ve been fast-forwarding through the ten-minute thigh workout.) Blondie, unfortunately, is a big fat liar.  Actually, she’s not fat at all—she has a rather amazing …

A Not-So-Happily-Ever-After Ending

It’s over.  The end.  Finito.  I don’t quite know what to do with myself now.  It’s officially summer— I should be going to the beach or working on my tan or scouting out my next bar-of-choice for Wednesday’s Center City Sips Happy Hour (I take Center City Sips very seriously)— but there’s a huge void in my life now.  Plus, I kind of hate the beach. I know I should move on and get on with my life and find something new to occupy my time but after last weekend, I just can’t stop thinking about… … all of the new tap numbers I want to choreograph! (Whoops!  Did you think I was talking about Date #7 up there?  My bad…) Yesterday marked both the end of the Philly Tap Challenge and this year’s student recitals.  Now I have a huge, gaping hole in my life (and a huge, gaping hole in my right foot thanks to the duet I performed on Saturday night, but the less said about that the better). I have a …

Life Lessons from a FASHION Director?

Ladies and gentleman, I have an announcement to make.  Three actually.  The first is that I spent Memorial Day at my parents’ place in The-Middle-of-Nowhere (Hoopers Island, MD) and am still wading through the comments on Saturday’s post; suffice it to say, the vast majority have left me speechless (and for a variety of reasons). The second announcement is that I’ve had another break through. I was sitting in the living room when it happened, eating chocolate chip cookie dough from a bowl and watching my new favorite show.  I’m not sure what’s more embarrassing: my penchant for salmonella poisoning or my love of mind-numbing reality TV (I mention neither in my online dating profiles). I guess I should just tell you the name of the show, and the nature of my “aha” moment, and let you decide. The show is Say Yes to the Dress.  (For those of who have yet to discover the very finest Netflix on Demand has to offer, it’s a TLC reality show that chronicles the daily shenanigans of Kleinfeld’s …

Four Things One Should NOT Do Whilst Single

1) Listen to Train.  Marry Me is going to make me run myself off the road one of these days.  (You should probably stop letting me borrow your car, Mom.) 2) Watch three back-to-back episodes of Wedded to Perfection, followed by Whose Wedding is it Anyway? and finally an entire season of Say ‘Yes’ to the Dress. You know it’s bad when your dad starts to recognize the season’s most memorable bridezillas and can predict which of the fledgling Kleinfeld’s consultants is gonna get the axe (Damn you, Netflix-on-Demand!) 3) Wake up at 4:00am to watch the nuptials of Prince William and Kate Middleton.  Nothing like a fairy-tale wedding to plunge a single girl into the depths of the despair (especially when you’ve got Princess Eugenie waddling around in that awful Vivienne Westwood number.  Now that was just plain depressing.  And Princess Beatrice—that hat!  What was she thinking?  I’ve seen classier reindeer antlers at the dollar store.) 4) Go shopping.  Three evening gowns, two cocktail dresses and one wedding gown later, I am ready for …

Driving in Circles

You’re going to have to accept my apologies for today’s post.  It was going to be all about my triumphant return to Match.com (which, in truth, hasn’t been so triumphant after all) but then my brother came to visit and I was forced to spend the majority of my evening driving around in circles behind the Ikea on Columbus Boulevard. Why?  Well, my brother does love DIY furniture (we’ve gone the last two times he’s come to visit; if I had a therapist he or she would probably tell me that I need to stop trying to redecorate my brother’s apartment and find myself an eligible bachelor with a pad of his own—one to whom I’m not related—in which to indulge my Extreme Home Makeover tendencies) but that wasn’t why we went to Ikea. We went to Ikea because my dad got a new car.  And because my dad refuses to embrace modern technology (Facebook, Twitter, Netflix-on-Demand, etc.) he couldn’t buy a car with an automatic transmission.  Oh no.  He had to buy a stick …

Christmas Day at Casa Richter

About halfway into our appetizers at Ikko Hibachi Restaurant on Christmas Day, my grandmother asks, “So Katrina, do you have any special men in your life?”  Because it’s Christmas, I decide to spare her the truth; she nearly had a heart attack three Easters ago when I informed her I was dating a Jew. The afternoon follows its usual course: my brother produces a tote bag from beneath the table and proceeds to fix himself a margarita (just as he has every year for the past three years in a row).  My grandmother acts as though she’s never seen a margarita before and begs him to make her one too (just as she has every year for the past three years in a row).  My dad talks to my grandfather about cars and I ask my grandmother the same question I’ve asked her ever since my grandfather and she “rescued” two feral kittens from the stream behind their house: “How are the cats?” “Susie and Maggie are doing fine, thank you,” she says. “Didn’t you …