30 Sep 2014 2 Comments
We didn’t win the lottery AGAIN, which is crushing because PLANS — I was on a quest to revolutionize my wardrobe by way of that venerated institution, the Sundance catalog. Please don’t sue me, Robert Redford, for naming names — I obviously can’t afford that since we STILL DIDN’T WIN THE LOTTERY.
It’s all so disappointing because my first new outfit as a gazillionaire was going to be killer, starting with the jeans, which are $108 and still have pieces of actual denim clinging to each other! There’s a sweet top, a twee rumpled creation weighing less than an ounce and going for a very reasonable $198. There’s a distressed-leather peacoat that looks fab with the little top — it’s only $548. The shortie boots in the same shade as the jacket, complete with fringe and studs, are a must — they retail for $575. To nail the look I’ll need the slouch bag for $368 and a cool nubbly belt at $120. Then we get to the fun stuff — the jewelry. Three necklaces, layered, at $1190, $3400, and $1300 respectively; eight stacked wrist cuffs totaling $4800; seven rings for $1603; and the earrings, $285. And a perfectly darling may-or-may-not-keep-time watch for chump change of $98. The surgery to add 10″ to my height is probably going to run into actual money.
So for just the debut ensemble, not counting height-enhancement because who knows, I’m looking at approximately $15,000 with shipping. And realistically I couldn’t wear it every day because it isn’t wedding and funeral appropriate, so it’s imperative that I buy out the catalog in its entirety, including the furniture. My dreams are all-encompassing.
Way to ruin my life, Powerball. Mr. Redford and I were going to be besties.
Plan B: Snag this $98 vintage bandanna scarf and accessorize my overalls.
29 Sep 2014 7 Comments
Oops, this is woefully out of place on the grid. So sue me for playing on my blog this morning.
27 Sep 2014 Leave a comment
Kim’s been working nine-hour days for the past two weeks, doing a one-man build for The Nervous Set at the Arts Center. This has pretty much been his baby from start to finish and he gets to use a butt-load of skills he’s proud of. He comes home every evening worn to a shred but in a good mood. I’m all chirpy for him, and now that Madison’s here the hours when he’s working on a project don’t feel as open-ended as they used to.
By yesterday, though, it’s clear that Maddie does not share my “I’m happy you’re happy” attitude. She is not happy. I regret to inform you that she is conducting herself like a tiny white fluffy douche canoe — snorting her way down the hall for potty break, straining at her leash, and barking at everything in her line of sight
including especially leaves and twigs. My stern attempts at discipline only egg her on to greater displays of rudeness.
Daddy walks in the door at 5pm and she’s all over him, an innocent pixie with light in her eyes. She covers his face and neck with kisses before I can get in line for mine, and as God is my witness she shoots me The Look — “Don’t even, Mommy dearest, he’s taken.”
I deliver the old classic “This child is causing me to come unhinged. It’s your turn ’til bedtime.” So he takes her out for Walkies & Potties and she’s angelic. No snorting, no straining, no barking. True story because I go with them — I HAVEN’T SEEN THE MAN ALL DAY! He finds the whole thing hysterical. Now they’re collaborating against me. Another woman has stolen my beloved’s heart and there isn’t jack-all I can do about it.
It’s okay, Maddie. Really. You’re a smart cookie.
26 Sep 2014 9 Comments
This girl is not fit for human company today, which makes no freaking sense — it’s a perfect fall day, the leaves are turning, my work is temporarily caught up, and we have a fun evening ahead. Meh. People. They’ve tried my last nerve and found it wanting. Facebook, my go-to social release-valve, is a morass of stupidity today. Yeah, and what, exactly, is new? A little biotch-of-a-privileged-thing pulled her white-girl schtick on me in lieu of answering a simple non-invasive question. Whatever. Have a nice day, sweetheart. Even Madison is a bundle of neurotic craziness — a short-tempered old baroness. She lives with one, go figure. She’s every bit as morose and disagreeable as I feel, so I’m doing a great job of spreading the love. And no, I didn’t kick her, she’s just very discerning. She loves me, so maybe I should just ditch this sulk and count my blessings or something.