No, Vogue. Just... no

I have a Vogue subscription. I don't really know why, but I do.

I guess I like looking at impossibly skinny women in ridiculous clothes I could never afford. I never read the articles.

Thinking about it, I probably won't renew my subscription, but I digress.

Flipping through, I was very disturbed by the trend I saw.

Heels with socks (and pretty dresses).

There were a number of examples, including this Chanel below.

No, no, NO, I say!

This is the exact same look that Vicki Lawrence wore as Mama on the Carol Burnett Show (I'm dating myself) in an effort to look as hideous as possible!

Why would you ever spend thousands on a Chanel dress and then treat it like this???

I am a fashion nincompoop; I think it looks heinous.

On the other hand, I DO really love these kick-ass Prada shoes (which I can't afford either).

My old-lady neighbor

I'm talking about the one who told my parents she thought I was a bad person (I've mentioned her in this blog before).

Last week late at night, I saw paramedics take her away in an ambulance after a fall (she was able to walk to the gurney, but she needed assistance). It made me a little sad for not liking her very much over the past seven years.

So on Saturday when I saw that she was home with her (grown) daughter, I decided to start fresh, try to be neighborly, and knock on the door to see if she was ok.

I got along with the daughter, who was nice and grateful to learn my name and get my telephone number in case something like this happened again.

As for her mother...

• She pointed at me accusingly and said I saw you watching from your window when they put me in the ambulance! (I told her that, yes, I had watched, because I was concerned--duh.)
• Then she told me that Six men [paramedics, who were there because she'd called 9-1-1] came into her house that night and not one of them wiped their feet!
• And then she pointed at me and said I talked to your parents about you once! (It took every ounce of politeness I had to refrain from telling her that I knew and that I knew she told my parents she thought I was a bad person)

I said goodbye and walked back to my house, secure in the knowledge that I'd been right about her all along and hoping that the old bat never lowers herself and calls me for a favor.

Why are some old ladies so fucking mean and unlovable?

Is that a fortune cookie in your pocket?

Or are you just happy to see me?

Leap day

It's a day to do something new.

Something unheard of.

I'm thinking of trying my very first Pop-Tart.

Yes, I've gone 38 years (and some change) without ever trying one (or any other kind of toaster pastry).

I've got some time to think about it.

Any flavor suggestions?

Oh, Dad.

Caught a bit of a cold (again) last week.

You'll learn two things by reading the text exchange below:

1. Beau's real name is Tom (ooooooh!)
2. My dad is funny without trying

"doing whoopee"

It's a first-world problem, I know, but...

3-1/2 minutes seems like a horribly long time to have to microwave anything.

Especially Easy Mac, which, technically, isn't even really food.

Sigh.

I'm pathetic.

Um, thanks. I think.

The other day, one of my sweet coworkers (a woman) gave me a hug.

A third coworker (a well-meaning man) was standing nearby at that moment.

He took a deep breath and said:

Man, you two smell good together.

We understood that he meant our perfume.

But still.

Awkward. :)

Olny srmat poelpe...

As an editor, I cannot tell you how many times folks have sent me the bullshit you see below.

It's designed to be a polite kick in the teeth, telling me that my chosen profession is worthless.

Here's my rebuttal, srmatasess:

If you don't want to look like a drunken, semi-literate buffoon, you'll shut your pie hole and let me do my job.

I doubt your boss would accept the missive above as an excuse for piss-poor briefs and reports.

Good to have that off of my chest.

NEXT!

Social experiment

My friend Vonn and I went shopping last weekend.

After perusing the sale racks (because there's no victory in paying full retail) at the Gap, I found two sweaters I really liked.

Vonn loved the first one.

When I tried on the second one (an awesome black and yellow striped number), Vonn frowned and said Buy the other one.

I was thinking of buying them both, I replied. You don't like this one?

It's cute, she said, but I think you're just asking for trouble with it.

Trouble?

Yeah. You know where we work. You'll get bee comments and questions about the honey in your hive. Why open yourself up for that? 

Because I'm stubborn and because I loved the sweater and because I have more faith in my fellow man, I bought the sweater and wore it on Monday to prove her wrong.

Turns out we were both kind of right.

The day started out well. 

But, upon seeing me for the first time that day, Beau broke the ice with:

BUMBLEBEE!!

(sigh. dammit.)

After that, I heard these comments (in order) throughout the day:

You a killer bee today?


You look like a bumblebee today. I hope you're not mean like one. 


You look like a fun bumblebee!


Buzz, buzz, buzz goes the bumblebee.


Sup, Queen Bee?

(On my way out the door, someone stopped me and asked for credit for NOT making a Blind Melon Bee Girl joke--credit given. Sort of.)

So Vonn was right. And so was I.

NOT ONE person inquired about the honey in my hive.

And I consider THAT a victory.

And I'll be wearing it again. Jokes or no jokes.

Grandma and my ex-boyfriend

On March 31 some years ago, my boyfriend at the time called me, distressed.

Louis is missing.

Louis was his big fluffy cat, whom I loved dearly.

I was so upset. The next day, he said there was no sign of Louis.

The day after that, we were set to meet at his apartment to go out on a date. I arrived early, to search the neighborhood for Louis. I looked in every bush and called his name again and again.

When the boyfriend (I won't even dignify him a fake name) arrived and let me into his apartment, there was Louis!

I was so happy to see him!

And then the ex told me that it had all been an April Fool's Day joke.

Not. Funny. Asshole.

A few weeks later, I brought the boyfriend with me to Easter dinner with my family, where he gleefully recounted his prank.

My grandma turned to him and pretty much nailed his whole personality to the wall with one statement:

On April 1, it's a joke. On the days before and after, it's just lying.

I love Grandma. She's so great at cutting through the bullshit.

Simple, pure joy

I washed my car today. And I don't know what it is, but I feel gleeful as those spinning blue monsters attack my car. And those sloppy carpet shags. And the colorful soap. And the crazy noises. I drive out of the car wash and my soul feels a little cleaner.

If that makes me weird, I don't care.

My car and my mood are shiny and new!

The color of passion! The color of excitement! The color of sex!

Beige.

Ooooooh yeah.

On my way to meet a friend for lunch in my (ahem, cherry red) Honda, I noticed how many beige cars there are on the road these days.

Most of the cars out there now are black, silver, and white (there have been studies done that have concluded that these non-colors are popular during economic downturns).

Ok, I get that. But beige?

People put beige carpet in their homes because it doesn't clash with anything and it's good at hiding dirt.

But don't you want more out of your car?

You're in the dealership lot. You've picked out what you want. Heated seats! iPod compatibility! 200 horsepower! Amazing gas mileage!

And... beige?

That's the equivalent of soda crackers and tea for dinner. Every night. For the next seven years. 

Who are you people???

Ridiculous, unnecessary product #3,154

I love kitchen gadgets. I truly do. But this one is more than a little ridic.

Does the modern kitchen really need a spring-action banana slicer??

Last time I checked, a knife did the job just fine.

Caution: Children in the office

Not even the cute, short, young variety.

Yesterday I had a little email spat with a coworker (he used to have a pretty good sense of humor, so I tried to be lighthearted about something. He came back with a hail of fire and brimstone. So much for lighthearted humor).

Today, he stopped by my department (something he hasn't done in over a year; just ask him) and said hello to one of my coworkers. She said hello back.

And then he responded to her (loudly, pointedly) I SAY HELLO TO YOU BECAUSE YOU'RE NICE.

Really?

Is my desk actually a sneaky time machine that's deposited me back in the 7th grade? Do I hear WHAM! on the radio?

I ignored it.

Then my coworker and I passed him again in the hallway, where we (and everyone within earshot) heard this:

OH LOOK! IT'S THE NICE ONE AND THE RUDE ONE!

Sigh. Is this what office politics has come to?

I wonder why he doesn't have a girlfriend.

Some things are destined to remain a mystery, I guess.

Two more examples of my tragic unhipness

I would never wear something called Gorilla Snot in my hair. Not even in some sort of alarming zoo incident.

Extreme Hold indeed.

And, having lived through this trend in the 80s, you won't see me sporting any of this nonsense either. The photo doesn't really capture the.... nuclearness/nuclearosity of these colors. They're dayglo, every last one. I could still see them when I closed my eyes to blink. Granted, I like these colors mixed in with other, more muted shades, but I won't be strutting around with a nuclear sunset bag on my arm any time soon.

I'm old, old, old. :)

Thanks for the reminder, Target. 

Today's WTF Target item

I'd say something pithy, but the product speaks for itself.

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

I could have a nice little side business

A friend of mine on facebook posted a photo of an unfortunate tattoo (not his own, thank God).

In super-fancy script, it said:

REGRET

NOHING

Perhaps his only regret is failing to run spell check first.

And then I realized I could totally make money off of these poor, ignorant souls.

I could freelance in tattoo parlors by proofreading tattoos BEFORE they're tattoos!

I could save Bulls fans from tattooing CHIAGO on their necks.

No gang member would ever walk around with CRIPES inked onto his skin again.

And nobody would ever have to suffer forever with YOU BLEED JUST TO KNOW YOUR ALIVE again. (Why are your/you're and there/their/they're such stumbling blocks? It's. Not. That. Hard, Folks.)

And if anybody ever walked in wondering how to spell TEBOW for a tattoo, well, I could point that individual to the back room where someone could beat some sense into him.

Aw yeah. It's gonna be a fat payday for me!

I know they foster a hippie vibe...

But I question the necessity of nipples on the T-shirt mannequin at Whole Foods.

Once upon a time at a Super Bowl party...

I sat behind a woman who had an adorable newborn baby. He was very sweet, and his mother was utterly besotted (as all mothers should be).

And she loved-him loved-him.

Through four quarters and a gajillion commercials, this woman cooed, cuddled, hugged, and kissed the little guy.

And then she just couldn't help herself any longer.


She licked the baby.


(I'll give you a moment to let that sink in.)

Not just once. She did it a few times.

I've seen cats do this, but the human equivalent was simply mind-blowing. I elbowed Beau because I needed someone to share the insanity with, but he didn't see it (there was a game on, so I give him a pass).

True story, my hand to God.

This turn of events lead me to coin the awesome phrase: It's just not a Super Bowl party without a babylicker!™

I still wonder about that woman.

And that child.

[shudder]

Not so fast, Princess

Bullshit political bumper stickers aside, nothing has made me want to ram into another vehicle more than this.

And before you come to this girl's defense, she does NOT have a child (no baby seat), and she had a Class of '13 tassel hanging from her rear-view mirror.

It's irritating enough that we push the Princess Theory on little girls (don't get me started). The fact that some of them hold on to it long after childhood gives me the shivers.

I weep for the future. 

Outta my way, princess. There's a grownup comin' through.

Here's to your health

I've taken it upon myself, dear reader, to show you the path to health and wellness.

Today's lesson: Calci-Yum!

Worried about those frail old bones of yours? Have no fear....

COOKIES ARE HERE!

And for those of you who don't like to read the healthy fine print, let me enlarge it for you.

One jug of these and you'll be good as new!

I'm here to help, folks.