What I Will Do For Greek Wine (Also Why I Wear Flats)

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Greece... Not Greek Fest...

Women love their high heels.  One of the reasons women love their high heels is because MEN also love high heels. Men know that women feel sexier in great footwear, and that is a huge turn on…not to mention the visual of their lady in said heels.  I have one friend who is very, very dedicated to her footwear. The only person I know more dedicated to her shoes is her husband.  He has a deep respect for the high heel, for its sexiness, and for the way it makes his wife look.

(She’s super cute.) One night, the four of us were getting ready to go out. They came to our place first for a quick drink (in college we called this quick drink before going out “pre-game-ing”… now that we are older and classier and shit, we don’t call it that anymore). We were headed over to the Marietta Greek Fest for an evening of gyros, baklava, and Greek dancing.  Luckily, we live close by, so we were going to walk.  I was almost ready to go; I just had to put my shoes on.  I walked outside, and my friend’s husband (F’s H) Had A Fit when he saw my feet.  I had chosen some cute, yet functional flip lops, as our evening would break my two rules of high heels: I would be out longer than two hours, and I would be required to walk more than twenty five steps. (BTW, you KNOW my tootsies were painted, so that wasn’t an issue!)

F’s H: What is on your feet? You can’t be serious.

J: Of course I’m serious.  These are my cute and practical flip flops. Do you want to listen to me bitch all night that my feet hurt?

F’s H: You look so nice. You need nice shoes.  Don’t you want to look nice for your husband?! Go change your shoes.

greek wine bottles What I Will Do For Greek Wine (Also Why I Wear Flats)

The Siren Song of Greek Wine...

J: Thomas likes my shoes. And he would rather not hear me bitch. Plus, he won’t carry me when my feet BLEED from blisters if I wear high heels.

T: Her shoes are fine. And she’s right, no bitching and no carrying…

F’s H: (undeterred) You have great shoes! I have seen them! Please put them on!

J: Fine. I can guarantee you that #1 my feet will be bleeding before we get there, and #2, you are on piggy back duty when I refuse to take another step.

F’s H: Change ‘em and let’s go.

J: Fine…

My husband successfully listened to this back and forth without busting out laughing.  My friend’s husband thought that he could claim victory. And so we set off on our way.  Halfway there, my feet were KILLING ME and I felt something suspiciously sticky and wet in the back of my heels.  I yelled to everyone to STOP while I checked the damage.  If you guessed bloody blisters, you win! To prove the point, I tipped my shoe over, and yes, blood trickled out… I wasn’t

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Making Greek Wine... maybe still the same process?

surprised as one of my Rules had been violated- I walked WAY more than twenty five steps! (We also had traipsed through my backyard, climbed a chain link fence, and navigated through thick weeds/ brush at the border of a parking lot. IN HEELS.)

Although the call of the gyro and delicious Greek wine was strong, the screaming from my feet was definitely louder.  I refused to go on in my current condition. I did not make the gallant offer, “You all go on without me. I’ll be fine”,- if I wasn’t getting any baklava, no one was getting any.  This was a problem for everyone else, as they were hungry and ready to eat. I calmly looked my F’s H in the eye and informed him of the solution: I was getting a piggy back ride there and back. My feet would be saved, and everyone’s dinner was again a reality.  The good sport that he was (is), he complied. Also, he was out of other options. After all, he had consented to the terms of the Shoe Agreement.

Dinner was wonderful that evening. In subsequent years, it is now only my friend and I that go to Greek Fest. For some reason, our husbands don’t want to go anymore…

Today is a GREAT DAY!

Today I get to hang out with one of the coolest chicks on the planet- and her BFF!

Jen Lancaster will be in Atlanta (Barnes and Noble Buckhead) today doing a book signing for her newest book, Jeneration X.  She is quick, witty, and laugh-out-loud-so-hard-people-stare-at-you funny!

In the book , Jen decides to stop fighting adulthood, and to instead embrace it.  Here a preview of  Jeneration X on YouTube… warning: if you watch at work, please make sure your boss isn’t around. You will be dying!!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uHzXBQUUqaE

And, she LIKES ME! (Yes, I might have a total girl crush!)

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Jen & Julia

Power Shoes

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"Give a girl the right shoes and she can conquer the world.” ~ Marilyn Monroe

High heels are  powerful. High heels are sexy.  High heels (much like a haircut) transform the ordinary into extraordinary. They make a bold statement, and command attention not only for themselves, but for the woman (or man- Ryan Seacrest I’m looking at you). High heels are the first thing that little girls want to wear of Mommy’s. They are the go to article of clothing that will make you feel like a million bucks. Unfortunately, they are also comparable to medieval torture devices. I mean seriously, anyone who says that they can wear heels all day and it doesn’t bother them IS LYING (you know who you are). I would love LOVE to be able to rock a kick ass pair all day long… and I totally can, when a day is defined as ‘less than two hours’ and/ or ’walking will be limited to twenty five steps total’.

 My job requires professional attire- and frankly, I think I would dress up even if it wasn’t an expectation. I feel more business-like, more in control of my own destiny, and more like a grown up when I ‘dress for success’ (so so cheesy, I know). My job also requires a lot of time on my feet. When I first started this gig, I wore heels every day. By 9AM, I would be uncomfortable. Around 1030AM, my mood would start to head south as a result of my back ache. As the day wore on, the aches and pains in my ENTIRE BODY (high heels hurt every part of me- Julia’s Math- ‘Shoes Affect More Than Just Feet’) increased, and  my mood proportionately tanked.  I made an Executive Decision: I Would Be Less Dressy And Nicer; rather than Dressy And Bitchy.  (It was an easy decision really, I wanted to keep my job and stay married.)

I have wonderful girlfriends. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. (I sincerely hope you aren’t jealous; and that you have wonderful girlfriends in your life!) We all love to get dressed up, and while any occasion will do, we love to go to lunch (have drinks at two in the afternoon) at cutesy, girly places (one of our FAVS is Party Chic, I highly recommend it. In fact, I highly recommend getting dressed up and grabbing a group of your girlfriends for lunch (wine) this weekend!)  These girls love their footwear.  Seriously love their footwear.  This is one place where our paths diverge… I am all about cute shoes. I am also all about shoes that I am able to walk in without busting my ass in front of an entire restaurant. I haven’t done that, mainly because I stick to my guns and wear cute, albeit practical shoes. (I have found I don’t mind this grown-up sensible stuff, which was a surprise to me!) Despite our different alliances to footwear, we always  have a great time at ‘lunch.’

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The world’s most expensive shoes cost $2 million! The one-of-a-kind 4½-inch stiletto sandals are studded with 565 diamonds (which include 55 carats of clear diamonds and one big 5-carat stone). Stuart Weitzman calls them the Cinderella slippers.

A Good Hair Day IS the Best Day Ever

Nothing can make a girl feel cuter than a great haircut.  A woman’s love for her stylist knows no bounds.  She will do whatever it takes to Make It Happen; to get that appointment with her soul mate.  It doesn’t matter if the stylist has moved to the next town, or possibly even the next STATE. She’s going.  It doesn’t matter if the stylist can only see her on a Saturday, and on that particular Saturday she has fourteen sporting events, three birthday parties, a dinner party, and a shopping trip planned for a new dishwasher, she’s going. Women who would consider cheating on a boyfriend would never, ever, cheat on their stylist.

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The Perfect Stylist and Me

My quest for the perfect stylist has taken me in many directions. Some of my stylists- and their work- have been great, and others were, well, misguided.  I had a love affair with color- I’ve been red (I’ve been every red from natural to I Love Lucy to Crayola Red.  Guess what wasn’t a good look?), blonde, red-blonde, dark brown, and light brown. I have sported a seemingly Whole Foods inspired repertoire: caramel, toffee, eggplant, cinnamon, coffee, latte, nutmeg, and cappuccino. I’ve had high-lights, low-lights and mid-lights; applied with both foils and caps. I’ve had both long and short hair. I have sported bangs (still growing those out. Last bang trim was January 2010). I am a perm virgin, only because my mom refused to let me get one in the early 1990s. (I technically wanted to get bangs and perm them, like my BFF at the time, Carolyn, but as my mom was and still is firmly Team No Bangs, I was denied both.)  In college, I firmly believed I was a Blonde and no amount of my father asking me why I dyed the roots to my blonde hair black could convince me otherwise. (He quit asking when he realized that it cost him $150 a pop for me to fix it.)

In the past year and half, my world has been changed. (I originally had the word ‘hair’ in parenthesis, but then I realized that if my hair is good, so is my world. So, literally, my world, and not just my hair world changed.) The

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Post Keratin Treatment

Heavens spoke to me, and God is Good! Now, Heaven used the forums of Groupon and my friend Emily (who is my stylist), but they say Jesus takes all forms, and, as Good Catholics, it is our job to listen. Groupon delivered the Keratin Commandment.  Keratin is a long, time consuming treatment that smoothes hair, giving it the appearance of flat ironing.  It is labor intensive to perform- it takes about three hours, but as the results last at least six months, it so worth it. Keratin treatments are VERY expensive for the average mortal. (I have long, fine hair. A lot of long, fine hair. So, for me, a Keratin Treatment would run about $400. I KNOW!) Thanks to the Angels at Groupon, I only pay $100 for my treatments! Thank you Baby Jesus! My friend Emily has not only provided me with great TRIMS (everyone else who “trimmed” my hair WHACKED off at least two inches), she told me about Dry Shampoo. She explained that washing my hair everyday was detrimental because it was drying it out. She said to use dry shampoo on the days when I didn’t wash my hair so it wouldn’t look filthy and I wouldn’t look homeless. She was SO RIGHT! (At this point I could wax poetic about my hair- the length, the softness, the incredible beauty of it… but I feel I would lose interest at this point.)

Conversely, the WORST haircut of my life almost broke me (to say nothing of the carnage suffered from those around me). I have had some doozies before, believe me. I have had the kind of haircut that makes one do crazy things, things that a rational, upstanding, educated woman such as myself should never, ever consider doing. (One haircut found me Googling ‘how to make hair grow faster’ and making subsequent purchases of “hair growth shampoo and ultra conditioner”. I informed Thomas that there would be some unusual charges on the AMEX that month, and that I did not want to discuss them nor did I expect to be questioned about them. He saw the look in my eyes (bat shit crazy) and never discussed any of it.) The Worst Haircut In The History Of The World happened to me.  I was eight and a half months pregnant at the time, so I was already in a ‘state’. I was so emotional that I was crying for no reason, it was the beginning of August in the south, so it was slightly cooler in Hell than in my backyard, and I was reduced to only wearing a gross pair of Birkenstocks from college because my feet were so swollen I had no other options. I was, to sum it up, A Hot Mess. 

Because I knew a cute haircut and color would make everything in my world better, I booked both at my favorite salon.

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Lovely, lovely Length! (Finally!)

I sat down in the chair, giddy with anticipation. I really liked my stylist, N. (I found her three years ago, after a disastrous experience. New to the area, I booked an appointment at the salon with ‘whoever’. ‘Whoever’ turned out to be a horrible, terrible, no good, very bad stylist. So bad in fact I actually went back and had someone please-sweet-Jesus-fix-it. ‘N’ was the lucky fixer of the hatchet job that was supposed to be my haircut.)   “Just a trim, I am trying to keep all the pregnancy length. There has to be some up side to this whole Pregnant Thing!”, I told her.who  However, despite her good work in the past, this time, N took “trim” to mean cut off three inches of hair. My hair was SHORTER after 37 weeks of pregnancy that it had been BEFORE I got pregnant. Also? I had what can only be termed a mullet. A longer mullet than most, but a mullet none-the-less. The layers in the front (I know! LAYERS!)were too short to stay behind my shoulders and the longer layers were in the back. I wish I could tell you that I had a wonderful color job, and that it balanced out the Billy Ray haircut, but I can’t. “Just a little bit darker, my husband really likes it that way” was interpreted as “your husband must be a total freak show because he wants you to look like a  Goth chick”.  There I was- Birkenstocked, clad in a pregnancy tent (dress), with swollen ankles and a GOTH MULLET. At the time, it felt like it could not get any worse than that. 

I spent the next three weeks alternating between terrorist anger, trying to plan a plot of revenge against everyone involved in the train wreck-formerly-known-as-my-hair, and having hysterical, sobbing meltdowns.  (At the OBGYN’s office, they actually noticed an increase in my blood pressure and asked me about it.) My poor husband didn’t know what to do, or say. I think he contemplated committing me for both anger issues and the ongoing meltdown…

The good news is, Hair Does Grow Out! The bad news is that if you are me, It Takes Forever.  And the worse news is that if you are my husband, you have to hear about it again and again and again.  (AND you have to be nice about it!) I now have Emily, who is a gift from the Hair Angels as far as I am concerned. I wish an Emily for you all, because it IS life changing!

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My Hair Angel!

We Really Need You, Miss Manners!

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The Kitchen (Now you see why we were so protective of the house!)

 

 As you all read, I learned some important lessons about the general public while volunteering ( Miss Manners is over due for a visit to my town)… mainly that, as a whole, they suck. They are rude, selfish, and don’t really care about ‘it’ unless ‘it’ benefits/amuses/pays them.  Thankfully, I had some of my besties with me while volunteering, so I was able to get through it without taking hostages, or cussing out loud and offending said public.  Unfortunately, not all of us volunteers were cut from the same cloth… one in particular- we will call her Bad Volunteer (BV) had more in common with the general public as she only cared about herself, and how she could position herself to gain something in the future….

 

 

 

 My friend, The Home Owner (THO) was stressed out during the house tour. She was dealing

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The Kitchen- GORGEOUS!

with ridiculous requests every time she turned around, and from every direction.  She looked to the volunteers to provide a nice break from the incessant Hands-Out-Give-Me-More-I-Deserve-It attitude of the people on the tour.  At one point in the afternoon, she escaped to the ‘break room’ for the volunteers. She was immediately cornered by BV. Let me set the scene: THO is venting, about to reach her breaking point. She is describing the amount of work she and her family did to get the house ready for the tour, (a LOT), and the personal expense they went to to make sure everything was perfect (again, a LOT).  BV makes a beeline for THO, and starts the conversation by being overly complementarily.  Don’t get me wrong- the home is GORGEOUS, and this chick was over the top about it.  She was the kind of over the top that implies a self fulfilling request, a personal favor, or something that in no way will benefit anyone other than her, is about to be asked.

 BV: I don’t know if you know, but I am a Stella & Dot Consultant, and I do Home Parties! You should totally have one! It will be great!

 THO: Are you serious right now? I cannot even imagine opening my home up again to strangers! I haven’t made it through this go round yet! Also, I don’t even know what Stella & Dot is.

 BV: Yes, it would great! You just need to invite ten of your friends- no strangers!

THO:  This is really not a good time to be asking me to do anything like that.

BV: It’s not a big deal! Very low key. We just need some wine and a few snacks!

THO: (she lists the commitments she has in the upcoming weeks, including visits from in-laws, traveling, and social engagements) We are really busy right now, I will have to just get back to you. Again not a good time.

BV: We could have it out by the pool! Then no one would have to come in the house!

THO: My husband would probably kill me if I agreed to anything else here. Not a good time to be asking for a favor.

BV: You don’t need to tell your husband TONIGHT! We can have the party in a couple of months! You get a great hostess gift and the jewelry is so cute!

THO: Are you listening to me? This is not a good time. I will have to get back to you.

BV: (turning to me and another volunteer) You girls can have a party! You only need ten girlfriends!

ME: I don’t have ten friends.

BV: You must be new here! What a great way to meet people!

ME: Actually, I have lived here for six years. I am just very choosy.

At this point, another girlfriend speaks up and says to just send her the information, she will look at it. Just to get BV to Shut The Hell Up.(Every group needs one of these amazing friends. The peacekeeper. The calm, sweet one.  I am not that one in our group. No big surprise there.)

 I hope one day to not be surprised and flabbergasted by the common person.  I keep lowering the bar, they keep underperforming. It is a good thing I am very choosy with my friends!

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Polite Volunteers/ Besties

 

Tootsies

As a mother, I am responsible for the development of my daughter.   It is my job to ensure that she is happy, healthy, and socially acceptable.  I take this job very seriously, as any mother does.  Personal grooming habits are especially important as no one wants to be around an unkempt person. (In college, I lived in the ‘foreign’ dorm. Feet were washed in toilets, and stench of the residents permeated every floor, every room, every elevator, every staircase…)We don’t have the stinky problem at home (excluding my daughter’s feet.  They are clearly from her father, and they are RIPE!  I didn’t know someone so little- and so cute- could make such a big stink!).

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Emma 9 Months. Please note her painted tootsies!

 Everyone has their own little bit of OCD when it comes to personal hygiene.  I still maintain that OCD is an OCDo, especially when it comes to all areas of cleanliness.  One of my (many) quirks is my obsession with painted toenails—also known as a pedicure. I can remember when the obsession started.  My family was on a family vacation (by the way, now that I have a child, I understand that those words together are an oxymoron) in Hilton Head.  My sisters were busy doing something, and I was watching TV by myself. (I was watching OJ’s infamous White Bronco car chase, which I found exciting for about three minutes, and then I was done with it.) I was bored, and I needed a project.  I found a bottle of Dusty Rose nail polish, and I haven’t looked back since.  I have had my tootsies painted since then- which was the summer before eighth grade.  Consistently.  Straight through.  No breaks…Except that ONE day my sophomore year in high school (Nerinx Hall Spring Fling 1996 what what!).  I was attending a dance and wearing open toed sandals.  (In St Louis, weather is much like a crap shoot… you just don’t know.  St Louisians are prepared for any type of weatherHalloween costumes were able to be worn as is, or under a snowsuit.)  In the great tradition of unpredictable, crappy weather, Spring Fling was on a day that was freezing and raining, thus rendering naked feet a no-go according to my father, who is normally spot-on with fashion advice. So, I was forced to commit a huge faux pas- pantyhose and open toed sandals. (I know, I KNOW! Never again. If I had to do it all over again, I would just have frozen toes.) To this day, I have no idea why he was so insistent that I go sans pedicure… I mean, in open toed sandals you want people to notice your feet! That’s why they are open toed! (Also, they were the cutest sandals and I am so pissed I don’t have them anymore.  Note to all the younger girls out there: Hold on to your clothes! They will come back into style!)

 I have done my best to lead by example when it comes to foot care.  I have waged my own personal campaign for years against the naked toenail.  My sisters and my mother will paint their own toenails in preparation for a family visit.  (I can only claim limited success.  My mother now keeps her tootsies painted in the summer.)  I actually got the inspiration for this post from a girlfriend who texted me.

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We even dress up our feet for lunch!

 

“Next blog topic: Julia’s toenail polish obsession.  I just happened to be painting my toes now

 and realized I hadn’t done so since November.  I immediately thought to myself, Julia would

freak the hell out if she knew this.”

 

 

Because I am (hopefully) a good mother, and because of my strong beliefs in personal hygiene, I am doing my best to raise my daughter accordingly. Emma has had her toenails painted since she was 9 months old.  And she loves it.  When her tootsies are in need of a pedicure, she comes to me and says “Emma needs her tootsies painted!”.   In true toddler fashion, if I do not respond in a manner that is fast enough for her (under three minutes), she goes to the bathroom and finds the nail polish to bring to me.  I have heard her telling her friends that she has pretty RED (oh yes, she requires red.  No light pink or purple for my child. She goes big or goes home… wonder who she gets that from?!)

I hope to be successful at this whole motherhood thing.  At the very least, however, I know I can claim victory when it comes to pretty, pedicured tootsies for the next generation!

 

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Emma's tootsies

 

Why The General Public Needs Miss Manners

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The Best and Most Polite Volunteers Ever

I recently wrote about my surprise at how many parts of being a grownup I love (please see “Who Wants To Get Old? I DO!”).  To be fair, some of the things I love I knew I would love- like lording my supreme knowledge over today’s youth.  Much of the lording comes out as, well, bitching: In MY day…  (Statements that finish this sentence are endless.  Did you know that colleges now give out iPhones that send a text message when the washing machine has finished washing a student’s clothes?! Also, these are special washing machines because they are fitted with a card/magnetic reader so the students can charge their laundry directly to the bursar?! I remember (back in my day) cleaning out friend’s cars when they weren’t looking to scrounge up enough quarters to do laundry!) While I expected to be outraged at teenagers for their lack of manners, I did not expect to have the same reaction to grownups- especially the kind that are ‘cultured’ enough to seek out events like House Tours.

 I spent some of my weekend volunteering for a House Tour.  I was assigned to a home that is owned by one of my dearest friends, so I felt an increased level of responsibility (it was like it was my house on the tour).  My friend was generous enough to let the general public (SHUDDER) traipse through her family’s personal space to benefit a charitable organization.  (She stayed in her house the entire time. And did not once punch anyone in the face, do tequila shots, or dissolve into a sobbing mess on the floor. This woman is amazing. As I mentioned, it wasn’t even my house and I was ready to go all Charlie-Sheen-On-A-Bender on some of the ‘guests.) Her two requests were no photography and to please not open cabinets/closets/drawers- again, she had opened her home to God and Country and all she wanted in return was a shred of privacy.  I would like to list the responses to this request. (You cannot make this shit up.)  Every question was answered in a gentle, respectful manner. What I actually wanted to say is next to the ‘guest’ responses.

  1. Well, we could in every other house. (Go back to the other houses then. Not my problem.)
  2. Seriously?! That’s no fun! (Goodness, I’m sorry! You must have mistaken ‘House Tour’ for Disneyland! Also- how is my job to ensure you ‘have fun’?)
  3. Even of the walls? (Was there an asterisk? I believe the walls are included as part of the house.)
  4. That’s stupid. (You’re stupid.)
  5. How am I supposed to remember what the (door, sofa, picture) looks like? (Maybe try memory games to beef up your memory skills? I know there are some products online targeted at children for this very problem.)

Have you ever had a conversation where it took a couple of seconds for what the person said to actually crystallize in your head? (Of course you have.) And, once you determine what was actually said, you are so mad smoke comes out of your ears and your eyeballs turn into lasers of death?  That happened to me… 

                Nosey man opens cabinets and starts to poke around inside.

                J: “I’m sorry sir, could you please keep the cabinets closed”

                NM: “Are you being serious right now?”

                J: “Yes, I am. Please don’t open the cabinets.”

                NM:  (In very RUDE and confrontation manner- he was advancing at me, and putting his face    extremely close to mine) “I can’t be opening any cabinets? Says who?”

                My Friend The Homeowner (THO): “Sir, I am the homeowner and I would just request that the cabinets stay closed. Thank You.”

                NM: “Well I would appreciate being asked in more polite manner.”

                J: “Thank you. Sorry to bother you.”

Five….four…three…two…one…

OMG what just happened? Because, what I thought happened clearly did not!  Here is what I thought heard

NM: “I’m sorry M’am. You have a lovely home.”

Clearly, that wasn’t accurate.  I realized where I went wrong- I assumed (how many times did your mother warn you not to ASSUME because- well you know why!) that NM would behave, at the very least, in a socially acceptable manner. As this was a House Tour, and not a ghetto McDonald’s, I assumed an apology was forth coming. Oh, how wrong I was! Once the actual exchange crystallized in my head, a naughty, unladylike four letter word might or might not have been said. It might have been said in more of an outdoor voice than an indoor voice. (Life lesson: I will sink to the lower common denominator when challenged enough times.) I spent the rest of the afternoon coming up with snappy, more appropriate retorts.  After much discussion, this is how the conversation SHOULD have gone, according to me (J)

                J: “Yes, sir, I am being serious.  As this homeowner has made her home available to you, you should be more respectful, and, at the very least, act according to the Golden Rule.  Do you want weirdos, such as yourself, sticking their grubby paws all over YOUR kitchen utensils? I think not! What the hell is the matter with you?! What would your momma say if she could see you, all nosey and shit, all up in someone else’s business?”

This is how the discussion should have gone according to my friend, The Home Owner…

                THO: “Next time, I will punch you in the face. You might be more appreciative of my polite request then.”

 

Kim Brought It!

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Boom. We brought it!

My friend Kim is a Beachbody Coach (Beachbody is the company who owns P90X).

She is such a GREAT coach that she got to hang out with Tony Horton!!

 

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Kim and her BFF TONY HORTON

Karma… Its a Bitch

Karma is a bitch.  I know this, you know this.  I am so excited for the punk kid who stole my parking space today to learn about Karma.  I am hopeful this lesson will be learned the hard way.  As a society, we have certain unspoken rules of behavior.  (I’m not even discussing the pitiful, dumbed down etiquette expectations of the general public!)  These unspoken agreements govern things like waiting in line, waiting your turn, and waiting for someone to vacate a parking space so you can pull in.  (There also used to be an unspoken agreement that folks would keep their personal business to themselves by not having private conversations in public, in front of others.  Sadly, everyone is now operating under the assumption that they are a Kardashian, and that everything they say and do is of interest to everyone around them…. Now, I love Khloe & Lamar as much as the next aging ex-sorority girl, but unless you have that brand of crazy, I don’t need to know your business and, frankly, I don’t care. PLEASE GET OFF YOUR CELL PHONE AND PAY ATTENTION!)
girls lunch1 300x199 Karma... Its a Bitch

Ladies Who Lunch

The other day, I went to lunch with my girlfriends.  It had been shaping up to be a great day- weather was wonderful, I was looking forward to catching up with my friends (we had a lot to discuss, given the House Tour the weekend before), and it was the weekend!  As I pulled into the parking lot, two wonderful things happened: I was early AND I pulled into to the parking lot just as someone was backing out! I congratulated myself, flicked on my blinker- the universal sign of “This is my MY spot, bitches”, and turned up the radio (because Britney was playing! Love her! And don’t bother to comment or email me and say that she’s terrible or I have terrible taste or whatever.  She’s awesome and always will be! Also- you won’t change my mind.) The car in front of me backed out and turned towards me, and in that split second the course of the day was changed.  Some punk-ass-Justin-Bieber-hair-cut (CUT YOUR DAMN HAIR)-driving-Daddy’s-Land-Rover douche bag teenager swooped in and stole my spot. Oh no, you did’ant!  I politely drew the driver’s attention to this misjudgment (I blocked his car in and laid on my horn).

                 J: “You totally took my spot! I was sitting here with my blinker on!”

                Justin-Bieber-Wanna-Be-Douche-Bag (JBWBDB): “Whatever we were like totally waiting too.”

               J: “Um, no, you were not.  I have been waiting, with my blinker on.  Please move your car so I can  have my spot.”

I won’t bore you with the back and forth, as his friend, Justin-Bieber-Wanna-Be-Douche-Bag-#2, then got in on the action.  He was even more articulate than #1.  (Friends, we have a lot to worry about if these guys are our future. We might consider just hiring ourselves to the Chinese now so we get a better labor contract.)  The conversation- I am using the term loosely- ended with a warning.

                “I just want you to know that Karma is a bitch, and what goes around comes around.”

Sure, he laughed, and blew me off as the crazy middle aged lady, but when Karma kicks his ass, I hope he thinks of me.  I just wish I could be there to witness it…

girls lunch2 300x199 Karma... Its a Bitch

Liquid Lunch