The week wouldn’t be complete without a touch of Throwback Thursday. Innocent little me with some delinquent cousins. Upon closer examination, I strongly resemble Bride of Chucky.
Wednesday’s child is full of woe …
08 Oct 2014 7 Comments
Just watched Madison throw a tantrum of epic proportions, all without a sound. My usual mid-morning snack is a handful of nuts and for whatever reason she decided she wanted one today. She’s been trained not to beg, and at any rate nuts are a big no-no, so I ignored her. She flounced into her bed next to my desk, frantically attempted to dig the fully-attached mattress out of it, then failing that burrowed her nose into each of the four corners, still scrabbling away with her feet. When nothing worked, she flopped disgustedly on her side, arched her back, and kicked her legs like she was having a nightmare. Lather, rinse, repeat on the other side. Big sigh. Stood up, shot me killer side-eye, and marched into the other room to sulk, with every hair on her head standing straight up and her frilly tail in a big frazzle. Total nutcase. See what I did there?
Kim has renamed her Badison.
And this brings us to Tuesday Thankfulness …
07 Oct 2014 2 Comments
… for this little girl who entered our lives so unexpectedly and brings us such happiness! Madison, you’re a pip.
Monday, Monday …
06 Oct 2014 6 Comments
Mondays carry a melancholy feel. Why is that? Even now, willfully unemployed, I’m sorry to see the weekend, well, END. Because my friends head back to work for five whole days and I wouldn’t think of annoying them in the middle of all that. And it’s likely some sort of latent psychosis — a Monday maladjustment. Predictably, by Tuesday morning the psyche is once again in harmony with the turning of the earth, and the blue mood slips away. Must.Make.Changes. Adopting a new attitude about Mondays, starting in 4 … 3 … 2 …
Peanut Butter Cookies
04 Oct 2014 Leave a comment
Time for a recipe. Watch for them on Saturdays right here!
Throw in some vanilla and a pinch of salt just for grins.
Well, THIS sucks …
30 Sep 2014 14 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 the outfit 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.
It’s a girl thing …
27 Sep 2014 1 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 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.
Mind if I rant?
26 Sep 2014 11 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.
Queer-Eye for the Straight Girl
23 Sep 2014 24 Comments
Alex, I’ll take “PARTIES” for a hundred, please.
Here we go … Every woman’s response to “We’re having a party.”
Mashes the buzzer! … What is “I have nothing to wear?”
Casino Night is looming on the horizon, a dress-up affair at Abe & Jake’s Landing, significant because friends are hosting and it will potentially benefit other friends. I’m slated to give a speech but I have NOTHING TO WEAR so I’m not too pumped about the whole thing.
Enter my friends Adam and Seth, armed with knowledge from every episode of What Not to Wear, Project Runway, their own impeccable taste, et.al. A shopping date is set for the following week, beginning with a lunch of salad and wine. Thus fortified we hit the stores, fearless and ready to incite terror on both sides of the street. A saleswoman whispers to me early on, “These guys are making me nervous.”
THESE guys? You mean the ones who are giving you a break by zeroing in on a selection of flattering outfits from your store and thanking me for considering any and all options? The guys who are giving up their day to make sure I have a fabulous time shopping, so I can relax and enjoy a great night out with people I love? These two guys who have a gift for showing how much they care? Yeah, well. Get outta heah.
After a lifetime as a skinny-minny, a series of crushing blows caused me to almost disappear from grief anorexia. What followed was so much unexpected and over-the-top happiness that I starting packing on the pounds, neutralizing my shopping mojo. Because, you know … before I bought any more clothes I was definitely gonna lose the extra weight and be me again in the eyes of the world, never mind that in the meantime I’d turned into a better person than I was when I was a skinny biotch. Fortunately, my guys didn’t for a second consider letting me off the hook, and they rate massive kudos for changing my perspective.
We found the dress in the first shop we hit. And the jewelry. And a pair of skinny black pants and a silky top. AND another dress that was on sale for a stupidly low price, nabbed after Seth stood me sideways in front of the 3-way mirror and told me with a sweep of his arm to “Concentrate on this great rack!” then cupped my ass in his hands and crowed “Just look at these two amazing Christmas hams!” We heard a gasp from the sales clerk, followed by “Can he SAY that?” Yes, yes he can. Love and respect buy immunity.
In the second shop the guys found a pair of not-Mom-jeans and a top from the sale rack that we couldn’t believe no one had snapped up. My confidence was increasing by the hour and I was into my Happy Dance. Another store or four, a purchase here and there, and we realized it was almost 7pm. Tired and hungry, we crossed the street for drinks, appetizers, and a review of the game plan. Adam placed a Zappos shoe order on his phone and just like that I had everything I needed for the big party. Oh yeah, the party! I’d sort of lost sight of the original mission because the party was already ON.
I’ve dropped a few pounds in the weeks since, but I may or may not ever be skeletal again. My friends clearly do not care and I don’t either. The bonus is that Kim has never really minded one way or another — the angst was mine alone and was overdue for a kick to the curb. We live in a university town where the options for enjoyment are nearly endless — who wants to worry over chunks of dessert, impromptu foodgasms on somebody’s balcony, late-night drinks at sidewalk cafes, or breakfast twice in one day? Worry is for chumps.
Seth put shiny stuff in my hair, I wore the dress and rocked the speech, we gambled for a worthy cause, we danced, we laughed, we ate good food and toasted each other with great wine, and the tumblers in my brain spun and lined up. The obvious is true — I’m not a number on the scale, I’m not my dress size, I’m that girl who loves life, qualifiers be damned. When’s the next party?
1) Casino Night … 2) the Christmas Ham dress with my favorite date … and 3) my newlywed personal shoppers, Seth and Adam …
Playing for Time 
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