How to Have A Meltdown

Hola bitches. and Gentleman, in the event that Postal decided we're all more entertaining than we are crazy, and stuck around. I'm making a special appearance today in honor of the fact that I turned 25 last week - and I wanted to share with you, that if you're going to celebrate a milestone birthday, there is no better way to do it than with a monumental-shit hitting the fan-heart palpitating-speed talking-batshit crazy meltdown. A la...me.

See, one particularly lovely friend (asshole), thought it would be smart to tell me that at the tender age of ONE-QAURTER CENTURY, all that I had remaining to look forward to – was marriage and children. This little nugget of wisdom was the rough equivalent of well-placed punch in the mouth. 25 years old, and I’m pretty sure that I had my first instantaneous hot flash. I tried to imagine myself chasing 2 kids around my fictional backyard and cooking dinner at night for my wonderful husband (yes, I live in fantasy world conveniently enveloped in a white picket fence) … and here is what happened next.

I decided to tell anyone who would listen (which included the boyfriend, family, extended family, friends and the random bartender) that I was no longer sure I wanted to live in Philadelphia. I wanted to move. To Florida. And before Florida, I wanted to quit my job and go travel around Greece and Italy for a while. That could be before or after I travel to New Orleans to help rebuild stuff. And maybe stall any wedding or babies for another 10 years. Or maybe skip babies and adopt. (Who am I, Angelina? I collect Louboutins, not Ethiopians) And take 15 vacations. And die my hair for the 35,000^th time. And lose 10 more pounds. Also, I wanted to try swimming with sharks, bungee jumping and possibly heroin. Ok, not heroin, but I needed something extreme to end that sentence. I capped that off by going out shopping and spent entirely too much money on dresses and shoes.

I imagine that I looked something like a deer caught in headlights. Only crazier. And with a penchant for heavy breathing and disarrayed pacing. Everyone got a good laugh out of me – and the rest became concerned for my wellbeing, lest I run should off to Mexico and begin an affair with a cartel leader of some sort. My girlfriends empathized and told me stories of their own meltdowns at certain birthdays. The guys looked at me like I was a patient who’d been released a few hours to early from the psych ward. It was a sight to behold, really.

Cut to a week later. Here’s what I’ve figured out. 1) I’m a hot mess. This is fine with me. I’m a female and the fact that I have a vagina pretty much entitles me to have an emotional implosion anytime I feel like it. 2) That silly sounding list that I rambled off like a deprived meth addict - isn’t that silly. I WANT to move to Florida someday. I WANT to go to Italy and Greece. I WANT to be a part of something bigger than just myself and help other people. I WANT to dance on tables still, and have my girls’ nights, and still come home to someone who thinks I’m sexy in sweatpants! And DAMNIT I WANT TO SWIM WITH SHARKS! 

It probably didn’t require a panic attack of epic proportions. I can do all of these things if I want (maybe not the stalling marriage and kids 10 years, I’m not cut out to have to lose baby weight at 35). It probably didn’t even require a mini-meltdown. A few mojitos and a couple shots probably would have done the trick (FYI, they did. On a Monday night. My coworkers love the smell of leftover rum on Tuesday mornings). BUT, the fact remains - I want an adventure. And regardless of who joins me for the ride or where I end up – I’m going to have it. So cheers to 25 – I’m going to embrace it with class... by class I mean a bottle of wine and some Prozac.

Take care strangers, xoxo

The Downside of Motherhood

Let's get one thing perfectly clear before I start.  I have not, nor do I plan on, deporting anything that remotely resembles a tinier version of Yoda out of the country known as Vagine anytime soon.  I love babies, really I do.  I am also completely unprepared for the inevitable punishment that will be inflicted upon me when my wisecrackingtakenoprisonersilldoandsayasiplease ass mates with my espn24/7ilovefantasyfootballandcraftbrewbeer boyfriend. I am already aware that Bossman upstairs is planning on sending me some unholy devil spawn that will laugh when I tell it to do chores and steal money from my wallet when I'm not looking. Also, I refer to my primevil unborn as an it, which should serve as an indication of my lacking preparedness for child rearing. Clearly.

However, I am the loving (if not, neurotic) mother to a 1 year old lab/husky mix heroically rescued by the boyfriend and I last year. Yes, I said heroically. I have an ego, sue me. He's 85 fluffy white pounds of sweetness, love, smarts and definite personality. Unfortunately because I am exactly the kind of person that I explain myself to be in the paragraph above, the following took place today.

My dog threw up on my carpet. Twice. He dragged my sorry butt all over the complex like a rag doll so that I was sweating like a whore in church... in my work clothes. He pissed off a fracking blue jay somehow, which then proceeded to chase us across a hill, divebombing MY head! Um Hi? Mr. BlueJay? Sorry my dog pissed you off, but if you want to take it out on something, maybe it could be his ass and not my scalp, k? Thanks. Go ahead - picture me sprinting across the hillside flailing and yelling (see also, the Bee Incident.), ducking for cover from a friggin bird, while my dog jumps around trying to catch said bird like a junkie who's watching a bag of crack being waved in front of his face.  Also, he tore open his dog beg, ate the zipper that had previously held it shut, ripped all the stuffing out and left it on the carpet for me to pick up.

And I? I will still snuggle with him and give him kisses before bed. Because just like any good mother, I am exactly the sucker that he thinks I am. This, ladies and gentlemen, is my son. Thank You, and Good Night.

My Bad

dawned on me today that i haven't really posted anything since i last told everyone to either shut up or grow up. or both.

figured i'd touch base with an update - i'm still reading.  or at least trying to.  i'm not commenting much - honestly, i either don't have anything to add, or don't feel like it anymore.  but i'm really not writing - i'm gonna put it out there and say that after the last few weeks of my life being so crazy busy and really, with all of the ridiculousness that's transpired, i'm kinda over PNN right now.

you're all lovely and great and kick-ass if your own ways. and like i said, i'm not totally gone.  i'm just not totally here right now... not into it.

offhand - message me for my email and i'll add you to my mailing list of absurd daily thoughts that i send my friends just to keep my own head from spinning while i'm at work.  that's about as involved as i can manage.

be well.  peace.

Dear Everyone, Knock It The Eff Off.

Hi, just an open letter to everyone here in our little circle of PNN friends.  Knock it the fuck off, k?  I'm sort of exhausted with logging on to this site and seeing people in the midst of verbal sparring matches on every other post I log in to read.  I don't think it's cool to write a post about someone else in a negative fashion for others to have the opportunity to read and throw their 2 cents in on.  I don't think it's cool to talk about someone who isn't there to defend themselves.  I don't think it's cool to use someone's name in a negative way without their permission.  I don't think it's cool to fight on the computer, period.  Disagreeing and debates, we can handle these things.  But outright fighting and insulting?  NOT SO MUCH. We're grown ups - if we have an issue, have a chat. In private. Where everyone on PNN doesn't have to listen to you whine, cry, bitch, moan and insult everything under the sun. Shit, I've been guilty of it in the past - but I know where to draw a line and where to take a high road now.  Give it a shot - it's a hell of a lot easier than drawing your own interpretation of someone's typed words and then play an argument out between two sparkly, happy looking avatars.

I've seen it happen in like 30 places in the last 3 days.  If you don't have anything nice to say, then shut up.  If you don't like someone, don't read their crap.  Or read it and don't comment on it.  And for the love of god - can we please stop talking about how "adult" we are in the middle of a post or comment that is berating another person in the same breath?  It's lame.

Notice how quiet it's been lately?  Notice how few articles or comments are popping up?  IT'S BECAUSE PEOPLE ARE FUCKING UNCOMFORTABLE.

In conclusion -- let's stop fucking up the vibe here, comprende?  I'm not a big fan of watching all the fun get sucked out of PNN - I'm sure no one else is either.  Let's put the petty shit aside, stop having the same argument/conversation in 4 different frameworks on 4 different pages, and just MOVE ON like the lovely, mature, grown women (and men) that we all aspire to be when we look in the mirror at the end of the day and realize that *suprise, suprise* we aren't any better than anyone else on here.

there, that's my piece. dunzo.

Things They Should Tell You In College...

I know, I know -- they told us to study hard, do well on exams, show up early and stay late, work hard, network harder... and all our dreams of Jaguars and mansions and vacations to Tahiti will inevitably be ours. It was just that simple.

Except that they lied. I don't particularly remember who THEY even were anymore... was it our parents? Our professors? The schlubby marketing director we interned for that one summer (by interned for, I mean, fetched coffee for in blinding rain storms)? I'm only a few years into the whole "young professional" gig and I'll be honest... there's some stuff I wish they would have told me back then without the pretty layer of frosting on top that they so deceivingly distracted me with.  

And if I could go back and tell the doe-eyed college seniors who think they're about to become the next Oprah a few things, here is what I'd say - because the fact of the matter is, they need to hear it.

1) Business Attire is Overrated - sure, you'll feel flashy and oh-so-adult-like the first time you done the pinstripes and briefcase. You'll walk with a little extra confidence that day, showing all the higher-ups that you know how to dress the part. And then, 2 months down the road, you will find that the mere thought of buttoning your blazer or having to suck it in while you yank up your pantyhose... kind of makes you want to leap out of a plane. Minus parachute. But this realization and hatred are healthy - because realizing that the suit isn't going to get you to the next level? Is precisely the moment you realize that hard work and a strong mind, will.

2) There is No Such Thing as 40 hours - whether you love what you do or despise it, the 40-hour week is a myth (so are bankers-hours now that the economy is in the crapper). Some weeks you might actually do 25 hours of work, true (also, lucky), but rest assured that the following week, you will make that up two-fold. You will miss breakfast, lunch and dinner at some point. You will miss the big game and you will forgo a Friday night to get a big deal done. And all of this is much less to bear if you don't completely hate your job, which leads me to #3.

3) If You Don't Love It, Don't Do It - not for any longer than you have to anyway. That BS about needing to be at a job for 2 years so that your resume looks better - is just that, BS. If you have the goods, the character, the drive... someone will want you, regardless of how long you've been at your current company. And you will inevitably hate your job at some point - this is life. You change, your interests and passions change - and so your job changes is most cases. There's nothing productive about counting the hours to Friday night at 6 a.m. on Monday, and there aren't enough happy hours in the world to take the edge off of working for an absolute schmuck that you can't stomach for more than 30 second intervals. You get one ride on this merry-go-round called life -- so if you don't love it, don't be afraid to seek out something that you do.

4) Fail. Epically. - not intentionally or anything. But it's going to happen at some point - you'll miss a deadline. Or lose a deal. Or start a small fire in the office somehow. Whatever. No great success has ever come without a hiccup along the way. And you can't go through your whole career simply avoiding failure - people who avoid failure will usually settle for mediocrity just because it's a notch above the bottom. People who want to experience wild success or love of what they do - fail. They keep their minds open and learn from it. And then they go back at it until they succeed.

5) The Office?  Looks a lot like High School. - there are jocks and pretty girls. Nerdy IT guys. it's like the movie "Clueless", but Audis and conference rooms replace the sports coupes and classrooms. My advice? Don't be the same bitchy cheerleader or wallflower theatre geek you once were.  This time, be kind to everyone (you really never know when you might need to call in a favor, TRUST ME), help people when you think you're too busy, carry your weight to get good grades (in the corporate world, this usually equates to a raise, Score!), and speak up. Realize that the quality of your work and your character mean more to the company than what kind of bag you're carrying or car you're driving. This little gem? Is invaluable to your success.

6) Make Waves - Have a voice. It's always a rat race for the next big deal, the next promotion. it's SO easy to be trampled by the competition, both internally and externally. When you do something well (and you will), take credit. When you fuck up (you'll do this too), take responsibility. If your boss or coworker is treating you like crap, ask for a meeting and let him or her know what's on your mind. Admittedly, it's almost harder to take credit for something good than it is to apologize for something negative. Practice saying "thank you," or "I'm proud of how things turned out; I worked very hard." No one is going to spend their days championing your next raise for the fun of it. The sooner you own your career and its path, the sooner you can start making those waves and enjoying the ride.

Basically, I could write a book of the stuff I wish they'd told me - but today, this is what was weighing on my mind, so.. there it is. If you've got one to add, leave me a comment; I'll address them all with my take.  And if you've got a kid - make them read it.  Seriously!

*kisses*

A Loss for Words

I have nothing to say.  I'm at a complete and utter loss.  I'm not sure if I don't have anything to write about, or if I'm just too tired between work/gym/volunteering/training/life to do it.  Seriously, you'd think that with the ridiculousness that is moi and the hilarity that pretty much follows me wherever I go, that I'd be oozing new material to write.

And yet -- nothing.  Son. Of. A. Bitch.

I'd rather have swine flu

Current Mood:  Enraged/Devastated.

I just passed up a 5 day trip to Mexico with one of my best friends in October... because I have so many weddings, babies, showers, parties, gifts, dresses, shoes, hairdo's and more, to pay for over the next 5 months.  I am completely and ecstatically happy for all of these people - but at the present moment, my disappointment at missing out on this trip is sitting right about even keel...and for the love of god, I had to vent.

i swear to god, i'm eloping.

**kisses**

I Underestimate People

it's true.  I walk around constantly thinking that there aren't enough witty, sarcastic, cerebrally funny people in the world (aside from our lovely little group of ladies here)... and then I discover this:

TEXTS FROM LAST NIGHT

And I find out that I was wrong.  And that I love this site.  I love every sick, gross, unbelievable, ridiculous, peemypantslaughinghowdoimakethemmyfriend second of it.  It is both classically stupid and brilliant, a feat which I bow down to and revere.  And then I scour my own texts for something worthy of submission.

**kisses**

The List

You all probably thought that this was going to be something important and squishy with emotion -- wrong.  But alas, this is why ya love me.  So here, in no particular order of importance, is my supercalafradgalisticlyawesome weekend.

Sweat Like Pig at Gym.  Avoid Devil/Kimber at all costs (silly text messaging story, don't ask)

Buy Wedding Present.  Hate buying wedding presents.  I'm over Bed Bath & Beyond.

Drink Mojitos at Mexican joint.  Avoid a part duex of the flowerpot incident.

Return to gym.  Do so many squats that simply standing up will feel like exercise.

Take the dog swimming at the river.  Gain his trust back enough to throw him in the deep part to watch him doggy-paddle like a maniac like I did last weekend.  He still loves me, I swear.

Grill with friends.  Eat.  Grill more.  Eat more. Love my friends.

Lose Stalkers.  All of them.  Unless they send me free shoes, at which point, WOO HOO!

Clean guest bedroom for W, who's coming to visit on Saturday.  I hate when guests don't have a hotel-like room to sleep in at my house.  Then I hate the guest when they muff up the bed by sleeping in it.

Do a bazillion crunches at the gym.  Almost die laughing because my friend/workout buddy, S, made us this hilarious workout binder to follow & track out shit in.  Complete with before/after picture slots.  Love her.

Sex. Not that you care, but I do. So I'm throwing it in there.  :)

Coffee.  Lots of it.  Anytime it's available.  I die without caffeine.

Check PNN like a wildwoman with a compulsion for the refresh button.  Perhaps call some of the PNN girls to eff up their weekends with my nonsensicial conversation style.

Lose 5 more pounds, search for a tiara and feather boa, start conjuring name-to-face visions, and working on not having the voice of an 8 yr. old, because the Phreak is almost a week away, and I gots to be prepped.

(SIDENOTE - hipchick is sitting in the office right now, obviously bored to tears, and takes full responsibility for the absolute bullshit that is this post and apologizes for you losing the last few precious minutes of your life, to read this.  i still love you.)

**kisses**

FYI - the banana rocks

Just so you all know - I have officially spoken to the banana via telephone.  And I'm now thoroughly convinced that we are sisters, separated at birth and now being brought back together by a common love of sweaty balls, all things crazy and spandex.  Also, judging by her voice and happy demeanor, I'm assuming that she is not really a banana and is all sorts of adorable.

Also, if any of you know how I can go about deleting a follower of my blog, for the love of god, tell me. And no, it's not any of you lovely ladies who bring so much whatthefuckityfuckness into my life everyday... because like I said, I love the crazy.  :)

**kissess**

A Disclaimer For the Future

Thanks to all the wonderful ladies who told me to keep laughing my ass off...

If you don't like what you read here, if it's too much for you to handle, if it's too bold, too harsh, too acidic - GO SOMEWHERE ELSE.  I write here as a way to release a completely sarcastic take on the the things happening around me -- and if you aren't catching the humor, the unreal exaggeration, or the fact that I pretty much take a shot at myself right along with whatever I'm making fun of in EACH & EVERY Post? -->  MOVE ALONG.  And if we aren't friends in the first place, if we already don't talk or interact, if you claim to not give a damn about me or what I have to say...what the fuck are you doing following my blog?  I'm by no means a Perez Hilton - I don't use people's names, I don't pick on children, and I sure as hell don't speculate about anything beyond my comprehension.  If you don't like what I have to say - send me a message, straight out, with no anonymity attached - I'm mature enough to hold a conversation and come to a compromise with almost anyone.  Or - and here's a better though - FIND SOME NEW MATERIAL TO FEED YOUR MIND WITH.

I don't ask anyone to have the same humor, thought process or verbal stylings that I employ.  I don't try to change anyone's mind or sell them on my way of doing things.  I talk about work and working out, my friends, my family, myself above all, weird fashion trends and diet fads, and crazy relationship stuff.  I give acid-tongued reviews of my own life in order to continue to find the humor in it all - and for the most part, it seems people here get it and laugh along with me.  Those that don't - I've usually always addressed, called a truce with or simply let move on.  And I WILL CONTINUE TO DO EXACTLY WHAT I'VE BEEN DOING SINCE I GOT HERE.  which is LAUGH with the fantastic and supportive minds who also exercise their right to say whatever the hell they feel like - good, bad and ugly.

In summation - it's MY blog.  you're welcome to YOUR opinions, and you are even capable of changing mine (See: Gossip Girl Knows Her Shit) but the words on these pages will remain.  Love it or Leave it.  

Gossip Girl Knows Her Shit

"Ok, sooo someone has a little too much time on their hands... LOL. Just left the pool and already has s*** to say?! First things first, NO ONE is scared of you, seriously?!?! C'mon! LOL... I appreciate your candor and your honesty, in fact some of it is quite funny however, shouldn't the blogger be of true class since they have such "big" things to say??? Seriously, if your bloggers knew what was in your closet they would say "Wow, why does everything look like it is from the $7.00 store BECAUSE I have not seen anything on you that reflects class or $$. Your boyfriend might look good without a shirt but honey, you need to hit the gym, SERIOUSLY...Is that y you and your dyke friend wore shorts and a tank top to the pool in 87 degree weather? LOL...You want to talk about people? Becareful what you wish for...Like you said "Everyone finds out eventually" XOXO Gossip Girl"

So, let's talk about it.

1) Not sure if GG actually read when the post was done, since it was already a few days old, but that neither here nor there.  I deleted my last post, because Gossip Girl made a good point.  I get from her comment that not everyone has the same sense of humor that I do.  I've said all the things that were in that last post out loud before, always with the intent to elicit a laugh from someone.  Also, the entire thing, although it was a joke that culminated in me making fun of myself above all things (I am not Heather Locklear - she's a size 2 blonde with a lot of moolah - I am none of these; I believe you all knew this was a joke, but just in case, I'm a 6/8 brunette hauling ass to pay my bills on a regular basis)... some people might not see the humor.  So I'm giving that one to Gossip Girl - jokes can hurt peoples feelings and piss them off just as much as anything else.  And I should think about that more often.

2) Regarding the comments about me having class or money -- I'm pretty sure you've all heard me say that I'm a sucker for Target, fleamarkets and all things Sale related.  And judging by every single post I've ever written here, I don't think I've ever professed to be the epitome of class - perhaps that epitome of sarcastic interpretation, but not class.  I don't really think I'm above any of it - and if you got the joke about us having a little "crew" of our own at the pool and me having the best bag (I don't carry a bag to the pool and we tend to sit by ourselves), you probably already knew that.  But perhaps, it was simply too obscure.

3) Regarding my friend - I have no problem if you attack me GG - I'm pretty sure we both know one another anyways, but don't attack her.  You've never even crossed paths with each other in the wrong way- that's just beyond necessary.  Me though?  You can go ahead and take a whack at - maybe we should sit down for coffee sometime and hash this whole thing out, since we're obviously neighbors and all.  Oh, by the way, I kept my skirt on because I was only wearing a bathing suit top & was only going to be at the pool for a short while, before having to run out - I didn't think it would be appropo to flash a thong to the general public.  And if you want, check out the section titled "bitch on a diet" where I openly and honestly discuss my struggles with diet and exercise (by the way, I'm in the gym 6 days a week because I'm already familiar with the fact that I have to be there 6 days a week and work hard to stay in any kind of shape - but thank you for the reminder.  It's good motivation for the next cardio session.)

Anyways - like I said -- GG makes a good point -- I thought that this was all a simple joke like the rest of my posts.  I thought this was the case because I thought I clearly included myself and my own ridiculousness in the post - but maybe it didn't translate that way.  In any case, i don't write anything here to hurt anyone's feelings - so I took it down.  I'm wearing my big girl panties and I'm mature enough to admit that I'm capable of being an asshole -- Thanks GG for pointing it out.  My apologies if you were caught in the crosshairs of a silly post gone wrong.

**kisses** -- Not Heather Locklear (just in case anyone was still unsure)

That. Just. Happened.

If for some reason you were looking for further proof that I am indeed, a completely ridiculous and absurd human being who thinks only of herself and who has rather little control over what escapes my lips in pubic... I offer up - The Bee Incident.  That. Just. Happened.

I was driving to office about 15 minutes ago and had the sudden realization that I am in fact, an idiot, for purchasing a dark grey vehicle with a black leather interior. (I was on my first "real job" salary kick at the time and had my head up my ass about the realities of black leather in the summer - leave me alone).  Anywhoo - suddenly sweating my proverbial balls off, I decided I would swing through the Chic-Fil-A drive-through on my way to work to grab an UNSWEETENED ICED TEA.  I capitalize this because Sweet Tea? Is Just Gross.

As I'm sitting in the little drive-through line thing-y. I have my windows down and I'm minding my own business... when a GIANT QUEEN BEE FLIES IN THE WINDOW AND STARTS BUZZING AROUND MY HEAD!  (um... ack! get out of here bee!  i hate bees!  they buzz and fly around and sting people - I've NEVER been stung! What if I'm allergic?  What if i get stung and die in the Chic-Fil-A parking lot!? How fucking sad would this be?)  Couple these crazy thoughts with a lot of ducking, flailing, incoherent shrieking... and oh yea, the highlight of it all -  I took my foot of the damn break.

And then rolled right into the back of the lady in front of me.  I'm not lying.  Even worse, because I'm quick with the verbal storytelling (read: good liar) - I hop out of my car shrieking and apologizing and telling the lady that I'msorrybutahugebeeflewinmycarandIMALLERGIC!! which is a lie - I'm not allergic to jack.  But she bought it and felt bad and there was no damage so she patted my hand and told me she was just glad that I was alright.  UM - let's review - I roll into some lady's car because I'm having an epileptic seizure over a creature the size of my thumbnail, then I lie and say its because I'm allergic and SHE actually tells me the she's glad I AM OKAY. --> I am a bad person.  

So I got back in my car, got my iced tea and went about the business of immediately calling my boyfriend to tell him what an asshole I am... and he politely informed me that Queen Bees rarely sting people. Obviously.

and this ladies (and gentlemen, just in case) - is why I am absolutely, positively, and unabashedly in love with my own insanity.  And my boyfriend's steadiness.

**kisses**

THE PPP PARTY

Before Comic stabs me in the damn leg with a dull spork or something - anyone who's attending the PPP event (there's 3 P's you body-function perverts, move along).... leave a post with a possible date that will work for you.  We're considering the following:

Weekend of May 30th

Weekend of June 6th

Weekend of June 13th (if neither of the first two work)

Leave your shiz asap - Comic is sharpening her claws as we speak -- and that pussy cat is tough.  Plus, Hannah needs to start grooming that growth on her neck that Carm calls a head and face - the least we can do is give the girl advanced notice.

Location is Philly - let's aim for a Saturday - so anyone coming in has time to make the drive/commute.  Footy-pjs or some other ridiculousness are required.  as are feather boas and tiaras.  i don't give a shit how old or mature you think you are - tiaras make everyone feel pretty.

kthanksloveyou - but you're all still butches.  Ha - I meant bitches, but obviously that was a freudian slip, so i'm leaving it there - for the fauxbians.

A Hip Banana Comic Love Baby

1) I have an announcement -- I'm pregnant.  With a morph of HannahBanana and ComicTragedy's love child.  I'm going to call it Hip--Babana-Comic Love Baby.  And it will swear like a trucker.  *when appropriate, for all you faint of course language people.  (who am I kidding?  it's a product of hannah, comic and I - it will do whatever it fucking wants to.  kind of like chuck norris).

--> btw, Hannah and Comic didn't know about our love baby until just now... so, big congrats Mommies!

2) Hannah, Comic and myself are planning a get-together.  Anyone on the relative East Coast is free to attend.  There will be alcohol and footy-pajamas and talk of Rabbit vibrators.  possibly tattoos and chanting in foreign tongues.  and some voodoo.  If you think you can handle it - WE. DARE. YOU.  :)

3) If you can't make our get-together -- meet me in Vegas sometime.  I told my boyfriend I think I'd rather be married by an Elvis impersonator in the Little White Chapel than by a priest in a church.  Knowing me, I'm sure this makes complete sense to all of you.  I can kill two birds with one stone - quickie wedding + PNN Meeting.  OOOooooh, and I can go on that crazy-high ride atop the Stratosphere where they like, hang you off the side of the damn building.  That could be fun  :)

PS - anyone that would like to apply to become honorary god-parents to little HBC when the hell-child arrives, feel free to leave a post.  there will be a lengthy interview process - you might be required to run around somewhere in public, naked.  and screaming swear words at the top of your lungs.  wielding kimber's porkchop and hannah's adhesive-side up pad.  but it will be worth it - we'll probably let you babysit (ie- drop it off and run like hell).

PSS - also, I'll be accepting gifts.  but not like, baby stuff.  i was thinking like... mojitos and new shoes and stuff like that.  stuff that matters.  ;)

**kisses**

BreakDown City...10 miles to go

Just to lend a bit of insight to my week --

I threatened to take someone's head off at work after they sat silently in one more meeting and tried to let me take the fall for the whole team because they didn't want to carry their own weight.

I threatened to take the balls off of a consultant who seemingly dislikes anything female or under the age of 35.

I cried.  Hard.  Not because I was sad - I think it was because I never thought I'd actually contemplate vehicular manslaughter in anything but a hypothetical joke. (target was said consultant above)

I walked 5 miles a day on a knee that is only starting to recover from surgery 2 weeks ago.  It hurts.  And now it's fat and bruised.  I have a fat, blue knee.

I repeatedly ran into bitchy dog park girl and have concluded that she does, in fact, SUCK.

I got bored in the bathroom last night and cut my own hair.  I have long, wispy bangs now.  And I think they might be crooked.

Oh, and my boyfriend and I are moving to a new place tomorrow.  We have exactly 4 boxes packed.

--- the moral of the story --- Where's the vodka???

for every chica on PNN having a completely balls week -- I'm with ya sister!  When's Friday!?

Dear Verizon, In Your Face

Today - I defied the odds of logic.  I laughed in the face of the anticipatory. I shocked and awed and recorded historic new levels of absurdity as only I can do.

Today - I somehow managed to flat out delete the contents of my ENTIRE phone. Not simply the contact list.  Nay - that's for amateurs.  Not just my work email account.  Because who really cares about work on a Friday?  And not just the picture gallery that contained the greatest candids of my gorgeous dog, funny face friends and pretty sunsets.  No, memories aren't that important.

I deleted the WHOLE DAMN THING.  All numbers, all texts, even the fucking Start Menu.  To be fair, I was in the presence of an obscenely boring person talking about sales and strategy and whatnot... as I was checking an email that HE forwarded to my phone from INSIDE THE ROOM, I somehow wandered off to a new menu and one of the evil little voices inside my head, convinced my finger that it would be a damn good call to just go ahead and trash it all.  And somehow, my phone, which should probably come equipped with some kind of child-proof, bored-professional-proof, anti-moronic decision device... allowed me to do it.  Which means I mostly blame Professor Snooze and Verizon.

And when I took it to the store determine exactly how technologically-retarded I am... the Verizon guy actually told me that he wasn't even aware that someone could do that to their phone.  And then he laughed.  He asked if I had my contacts backed up on my computer.  I stared as though he has just spoken Canadian (yea Canada, I'm looking at you and your damn accent).  He laughed some more.  Because Verizon obviously trains their employees to kick stupid people when they're already down. (Someone remind me to fill out a customer service survey asap).

In any case, I have my phone back.  Completely devoid of content, save for the only numbers I know off by heart - Boyfriend, Mom, Dad, Bestest, and Work.  Which sort of makes it look like I... am the new Loser McLoserPants.

Score one for the team.  God... I'm an asshole.  :)

**kisses** 

Bad Hair Days Can Kiss My Ass

Remember that post I wrote forever ago about wanting to tell the annoying bitches I suffer through dealing with, that I think their haircut makes them look fat??  (See Below - That Haircut Makes You Look Fat) Well, let me just say this - today, I am the girl who's hair is making her look fat.  Or, at least like I have a strange penchant for sticking my appendages into live sockets, just to see what the resulting sting will feel like.  Jesus H Christ, I'm having a bad hair day.

Allow me to introduce you to Sue.  That's what I call the mop so recklessly framing my head right now.  Sue is super dark brownish-red, super thick and mystifyingly ambiguous when it comes to deciding whether she wants to be curly or wavy or straight.  Sue is hell on wheels (follicles?) and she doesn't care if she fucks with my day or not.  Essentially, Sue is a lot like me... only hair.  And given that you're all pretty well acquainted with my bitchassness, I know that you undoubtedly feel my pain.  By the way, ComicTragedy, if you're out there reading -- I am a BITCH baby! Loud and Proud and in a damn good way!  I know you feel me woman!

Anyways, today my hair decided that it was curly.  Mostly.  The other small portion is convinced that it's simply not.  Hasn't really made a decision about what it IS really, but it is not curly.  It does however, look a lot like a giant knot.  Which is just fabulous really.  Because what looks better with the hottest dark skinny jeans known to man and a sick, fitted navy blazer... than noncommittal frizz-ball?

So anyways - this is my rant for today.  And despite that fact that it might look weird that I've placed it on the page where I tend to thrash the stereotypes of female relationships, this totally applied.  Because remember, my hair has a name.  And it's Sue.  And today, Sue is a sucky, backstabbing, selfish whore.  :)

**kisses**  

Sensitive CryBabies Need Not Read

This one won't be excessively long, but I literally almost pee my pants laughing when I think about this, so I had to throw it out there for some perspective. Someone who reads my blog told me that I can be very mean and might be hurting someone's feelings when I write about muffin-tops not being cute and most girls I know being shady whores. Bah!  I thought, "yea... and?"

My response is this.  I am a snarky bitch.  I swear like a sailor.  I prefer to point out the funny side (read - monumentally insulting to some, wildly hysterical to me) of the things I see happening around me.  If you think I give even the tiniest shit about offending someone, dear god, you are on the wrong blog.  Also, if you think that I believe I'm actually offering any kind of real, helpful or usable advice to anyone, you are far less intelligent that I give you credit for.  I'M JUST OUT FOR SOME FUN PEEPS!  Seriously, instead of reading this blog, you might consider a snappy new coloring book and the newest line of Crayola no-mess non-permanent markers.  Dumbass.

I am simply writing down the funny things that run through my head during the day.  Mostly because I laugh out loud at myself, a lot.  And rather than look like a schiz-o with an imaginary friend, I'm sharing these little gems so that everyone else on here can laugh at the shit we aren't supposed to also.  If you like it, great - read on and by all means, send me more things to write about.  If you don't - get bent (said lovingly)... oh yea, and find some new reading material.

Love ya bitches!  :)

No MOJO = No GOGO

Ever heard one of your friends tell you that they met a really nice guy over the weekend?  He was cute (+1), tall (+2 if you live in Philly, land of the Shorties), and had a job (slam dunk).  They talked for hours and laughed a lot (because everyone is funny when you're drunk), blah blah blah. Now, he wants to take her to dinner this week and despite all his Prince Charming-ness... she's just feeling a little... meh.

So she asks you what she should do (read: tell her what she wants to hear).  Now I don't know about any of you girls, but my thoughts are -- homeboy could be a David Beckham body double with 6-figure income -- if there ain't no MOJO baby, all the dinner and drinks in the world aren't gonna cancel out that sort of incestuous feeling you get when he hugs you too long or tries to seal the deal with a (gasp! ewwww!) kiss.

There's nothing wrong with it -- there are plenty of attractive, intelligent and interesting (aka: fine to look at without mentally planning your future wedding date) men in the world.  They don't all have to be your next boyfriend just because they pass the "not a douchebag and has stable income" challenge.  Go ahead and wait for the guy who gets under your skin a little, who invades your most random and mundane thoughts, who's got that little something extra that makes you think "MINE! ALL MINE!" instead of "meh...whatever."

Stimulation is the name of the game ladies- mental, sexual, emotional... hell, Austin Powers had it in spite of a gap tooth and bad bowl cut.  So go get you some -- and don't settle until you do!  You're worth it (special thanks to L'Oreal for that warm and fuzzy sentiment and for allowing us all to exploit it).

**kisses**

I Texted You So I Didn't Have To Hear Your Voice

Yea Yea I know, we all think texting is so convenient because you can do it anytime and it has the ability to be non-disruptive.  Plus, we get to text cute abbreviations, like OMG or TTYL.  ooohh, I got one for ya-- BS Bitches!  

Watch ladies, while I break it down for you. The fact of the matter is that I text the majority of my girlfriends almost daily, but not because it's cute or quick.  I've had 30 minute discussions via text that could have been rectified with a 30 second phone call.  The truth is that I Don't Want To Actually Talk To You!  

You see, because if we actually get on the phone with one another, you'll be incapable of NOT telling me about the pimple on your nose that's making you self-conscious, the Johnny Depp look-a-like (yea, right. not buying it til' i see it.) who you had the most amazing date with last week but hasn't called since, how much personality and genius your fucking cat exhibits, and the gray hair you found on your head that you lost 6 hours of sleep over last night. And I'll have to go all Ms. Santos on your ass with an "Oh Really?  That's Awesome," while I desperately search for a handy-dandy dull needle to scratch my corneas up with (See Below Post - That Haircut Makes You Look Fat).

Except that while I love you dearly (most of the time) - all I wanted to know was whether or not we were going to meet for drinks on Saturday... but now I can't stop thinking about Johnny Depp and your goddamn cat.  If I wanted to listen to useless chatter, I'd tune into Elizabitch Hasselbeck on The View, thanks.  I was hoping to hold off on this prolonged prattling until said Happy Hour on Saturday, so that if we are going to trade such ridiculous verbiage, we can both at least drink ourselves silly and laugh about it then (read: forget about it later).

And while this doesn't hold true for every single scenario in my long tenure as an evil texting mastermind, it's definitely an underlying theme.  And I just thought that you should know that I'm aware you did it to me too.  And it's cool, because I totally get it.  :)

TTYL BB's - kisses!

LADIES, I NEED YOUR FEEDBACK!!!

Alright, I'm stepping outside of my bitch box for a moment girls.  I need some answers so that I can be sure I'm not about to embark on a monumental waste of time and energy.

We've all been in love right?  Either in the past, or now, or hopefully someday.  We've all had a guy, or a handful of guys, who helped to shape us as individuals and partners.  And we've all wished at some point, that we would have had the chance to sit them down, shut them the hell up, and tell them how we really felt about them or what we really thought of them.  Good, Bad, or Ugly.

I'm beginning the process of compiling stories - and I want yours.  I'm looking for anyone who wants to contribute -- send me your story.  give me some background on that relationship, how it ended or progressed, and what you always wish you would have had the chance to tell them.  That they're the one who got away, that you wish you would have never wasted so much time, that you still love waking up next to them in the morning.

This is the project that I've been dying to start -- I have plenty of stories to tell myself.  So I'm taking the leap, and I was originally going to only tell my own tales, but if I know anything, its that women walk around all the time wishing they had said something when they had the chance, sometimes many MANY years later.  So I want to give anyone who's looking to participate the chance to do it.

You can change names if it makes you feel more comfortable, tell me that you want it to be anonymous, or air it all out.  If you're interested, let me know!! AND PASS THE WORD ALONG TO ANYONE ELSE WHO MIGHT WANT TO SUBMIT!!  I'm working on setting up a direct email specifically for this project so that you can all send your stories!

and if it's a horrible idea- tell me that too.  i will appreciate the honesty!

**kisses** 

If I Were A Golden Girl...

I would obviously be Sophia - and here's why:

Mamacita told it like it was ladies.  If Rose said something stupid, Sophia smacked her in the head with something and called her a moron.  If Dorothy was being a whiny baby, Sophia would tell her that she wished she had someone else for her daughter.  And when Blanche acted like her typical slutty self, Sophia let her know, in not so many words, what a whore she was being.

Also, I like to think that I'm not stupid, a whiny baby who dresses like a man, or a whore -- and since I already know that I'm a sarcastic B who enjoys the witty one-liners, Sophia it is.

Homegirl still knew how to wrangle herself a few fellas like she was in her prime, she always carried around some little handbag (cuz age doesn't mean you forget style!) and she she traded faux insults with her sister in one episode the same way that I do with my mom.

She told Blanche that she looked like a bag of old jello and that sluts heal faster after break-ups, she told Dorothy to get a man and get some action already, and she told Rose to stop talking because her idiocy was giving her a headache.

Still, she loved her girls and had herself a good time.  

Sophia, you knew how to bang it out B. and I loved it!

:)

How Women Think (selected sample)

I hope that alarm clock dies.

Ugh, my hair probably looks like shit.

Seeing self in mirror, hair definitely looks like shit.

My forehead is dry.  Glad I spent $65 on this face cream. 

I should lose 5 pounds.

I want a brownie for breakfast.

Where are my "look skinnier than really am" jeans and spiky heels?  i can't go out without my spiky heels.  where the hell are they?!  i bet the idiot that sleeps next to me at night moved them.

i bet he's still sleeping.  fuck.  i want to go to back to bed.

this outfit looks like shit.  i'll change 6 times until i find another one that i don't like but have to wear because i'm running late for work.

maybe i should skip breakfast... that brownie looks delicious.  i could always just skip lunch.  wait, i like lunch.

i need to get laid.  he better be ready to go later. maybe i'll just jump him when i get home.

i should lose 10 pounds.  and get a new haircut.  and new heels.

GODDAMN I'M LATE!

FYi - this lovely little train of inconsistency and psychobabble takes place every morning between approximately 6:30 and 6:47.  this leads me to believe two things:

1) all the other chicas are as crazy and incoherent in their own heads as i am.

2) no man ever really wants to know what a woman is thinking.  they simply wouldn't be able to process that kind of crazy.

:)

Bethenny Frankel = My Hero

This woman kills me.  I love her.

Long Live The Skinny Girl Margarita!

And for those of you wondering where the rest of this post is, chill. It's coming later!  It's Friday bitches, and it's beautiful out -- gimme a break!

:P

We Danced Like Hookers. And loved it.

I AM NOT A HOOKER.  ok, now that we've got that all squared away, i'll go on ahead and make my point.

I made my first solo-trip home to visit family and friends last weekend without my significant other (see below: Like Mother, Not So Much Daughter.  Or Maybe So.) and I will be blunt:  it was FUCKING FABULOUS!

I love the man in my life - we are a lovely fit and we make each other happy.  And because I used to be the girl that fell into a relationship and forgot what my own fucking name was, I feel like now's a good time to put this out there... because I've got friends of all ages still doing the same thing.  I AM STILL A FABULOUS, SMART, FUNNY, AND ENJOYABLE INDIVIDUAL WHO IS ALLOWED TO HAVE A FULFILLING LIFE AND INTERESTS OF MY OWN! (in addition to the whole foul-mouthed, unfailingly competitive, slightly superficial side that I will also cop to - see, i can admit it bitches).

On said night of hooker dancing, the boys that I grew up with in high school (like it surprises you that I hung around mostly guys) and my closest and longest-running girlfriend took a night to head out for a little liquid escape and subsequent flailing of appendages.  

What a friggin' rush to the head it was to remember that I LOVE DANCING!  Even after a few vodka/sprites, when I'm rather positive that me swinging my hips around looks more "i'll show you mine for $10" than "wow, i love this song and i have great rhythmic talents," my girlfriends, my buddies and I had a blast - and no, I didn't take any tips, that would have just been rubbing it in. Ha!  And when it was all over, I came back home to my boyfriend and my puppy, happy as ever to be back where I am happiest.

Anyways, watch as I momentarily step away from my non-stop, beat it into your head verbal assault to say the following -- I love my family.  I love my friends.  I love my boyfriend.  and I love to dance on tables in short skirts, not to be looked at, but to enjoy this ride for what it is.  Above this all, I LOVE MYSELF.  and no matter how great your relationships are with the people in your life, DANCE LIKE MADWOMEN. You deserve it.  (Also, eventually all of our tits sag and short skirts make us look like street-women, so do it while you can!!)

:)

ps- i'm dedicating this to my closest friend, L, who has been dancing like a hooker with me through the last 10 years.  i love you! 

Your Boyfriend is a Douche.

I know you don't want to hear it (you, yes you).  I know that you would rather go with the alternative of "he's just not a romantic kind of guy" or "he took the trash out last Saturday" or even "he was working late.  it's one of his co-workers that smells like a 3-day old ashtray/dirty stripper pole."  If this mental exercise somehow makes you feel better about the scam you so diligently refer to as a relationship, congratulations - you should be smacked in the face.

I have plenty of friends who subscribe to this strange belief - that if you just pretend like a big fat brownie sundae is in front of you, maybe it will appear.  Luckily, friends like me are around to tell you that those nuts are dirty (nuts...hehe, I love a good double entendre) and the whipped cream on top isn't going to do anything for your ass or self-esteem.

Ladies -- if you ask him to help you with something and he tells you to go do it yourself, you should tell him to take a sit & spin on that machete you sleep with (see below post: How To Tell If You're Dating A Crazy Woman).  If he forgets your birthday, he's a douche.  Maybe not permanently, but for that day, definitely a douche and it's ok to say so!  If he's mean to your mother, or worse, his mother - clear out and find a new man.

I have no problem telling you that I hate your boyfriend because I don't think he showers enough, I don't think it's cute that his jeans hang below his saggy ass, and the chinstrap on his face just makes him look like a skeeze-ball (it's a word, leave me alone).  I don't mind telling you that he was macking on some skanky girl at the bar and I don't mind telling you that he smells like a pot plant.

and while I can't force you to see it, I'll be glad to tell you it.  because i've had almost this same conversation multiple times in the last 2 weeks or so, I am dedicating this to all of my girlfriends (and anyone on PNN) who needs to hear it.

You're Welcome Bitches!  :)

Drinks + Girlfriends + Conversation = Sitcom Material

Having just returned from my traditional Tuesday night dinner with the ladies, please let me say the following in reference to a post by Ms.Santos & the 9,762 comments that followed in agreement, argument and absurdity (at some points) -- You Bitches are Need a Glass of Wine and a Good Dick Joke!  (said with love and respect)

The last 90 minutes of my life included conversation on the following (in no particular order, because really, who remembers after a few glasses of wine??):

- Boyfriends, Sex, Work, Sex, Shoes, Divorces, Fear of Giving Birth, Love of Sex, Vacations, Oral Sex, the older men across the dining room ogling our goodies, Roommates, Sex Toys, Education, Ex-Boyfriends, Weddings (because I obviously love the topic so much - SEE BELOW POST ON ENGAGEMENTS), Sushi, Wine, the creepy waiter that looked like a sex offender waiting to happen, Sex.  Oh, and we talked about sex somewhere in there as well.

Point being ladies, I know this is community and we're all here to get philosophical and theoretical in one way or another - and before anyone goes shooting fire out of their asses - YES, WE ARE ALL ENTITLED TO AN OPINION!! -- but right now, my goddamn jaw hurts from laughing so hard I almost peed myself (twice).  Ain't nothing wrong with us getting our laugh on every now and again -- so just for me, tonight, all of you grab a glass o' pino and call a girlfriend up for some lighter/funnier/not so friggin' intelligent conversation!!  

It's good for the soul!

For the Fellas - How To Tell if You're Dating a Crazy Woman

Alright, this little ditty is going to be for one Mr. Dog Walker- who's asked me to share my insight on why so many men seem to end up dating "certifiably insane" women.  Here, Mr. Dog Walker, are my so highly sought-after thoughts on this topic.

First & Foremost- you, and all the other men in the world need to accept and own the fact that ALL WOMEN ARE CERTIFIABLY INSANE, MYSELF INCLUDED!  If it's got tits and ass, it's fucking crazy!  (To any women I offend with this statement, think about the last time you had a breakdown over your super mean boss or drank yourself silly because the douchebag you went out with last night still hasn't called -- get it now?)

In any case, here are some tips Dog Walker (and any other fella reading) on how to tell if you're date is crazier than the average chica.  If she goes overboard on the following - leave her on a corner with a $10 for a cab and get the heck outta Dodge.

1) She talks about her Ex.  A lot. - no woman ever wants to hear about her date's ex girlfriends.  It immediately leads to thoughts of "I wonder if she's skinnier than me?" or "OMG What if he's not over her?  Maybe if I just sleep with him right off the bat, that'll help it along."  Yet, most of us can't stop the verbal diarrhea that is talking about our own exes to a new date.  Please, if she does talk about an ex, just go ahead and tell her that your ex-girlfriend had a better rack than her... or jam a roll in her mouth to stop the noise and ask for the check.  

2) She makes plans for Memorial Day Weekend with you.  In February.  On your First Date. - Obviously, she's going Fatal Attraction on you.  She probably has a list of your future children's baby names hidden in her panty drawer.  And your luck, she probably sleeps with a machete under her pillow, you know, for protection.  My advice: Run Away Dog Walker, Run Away. 

3) More Body Parts are Exposed than Are Covered. At Lunch on a Saturday Afternoon. - Yes, I know, men love the teet.  Which is hysterical, because most women as usually just praying they don't start sagging sooner than they have to.  Anyways, if she appears unaware that the buttons on her shirt aren't merely decorative and that the toddler at the next table is salivating at the sight of her chest... you have a problem. Bitch obviously not only loves, but NEEDS, attention.  Which means you probably aren't the only fella she's seeking it from.  

4) She imbibes an entire vat of vodka on your first date. - She's either painfully shy and just goes way overboard on the liquid courage.  Or there's a good chance you're her future sponsor in the 12-Step Program.  And she's probably going to throw up on your shoes later.  If any of this sounds like a good time to you, perhaps you should sign up for the program with her.

Alright Dog Walker, these are the main giveaways of a crazy lady in your company.  Now remember, we're all a little bit nucking futs at times, but I guess it just boils down to how much crazy you, the wonderful man that you are, can live with.  If you're current broad isn't falling in the above categories, but you still think she's a sure-fire wack job, tell me about her.  God knows I love to judge!

:)

The Girliest Blog Layout A Bitch Ever Had

Bah! I just HAD to go and utilize this obscenely girly, yuppie pink layout because honestly, how goddamn funny is it that a girl as obnoxiously and unapologetically lewd, opinionated and abrupt as me... uses softy pink and red graphics as the background for me unleash my little diatribes on various friendship-based topics (also, totally considering a foray off into other areas as well)??

Enjoy it bitches - the layout is here to stay - the irony is just too good.

And just for good, girly measure - fuck you if you don't like it.

:)

SISTA LADIES

I am so compelled to extend this nomination (which is odd, because I typically loathe anything chain-related with emails and blogs), but as all the lovely ladies on here are so interesting to stay in the loop with on a daily basis (and so kindly forgive me of my foul mouth and faux-bitter demeanor), I must acquiesce. 

1) felista - because she gets me!  she sees the truth and still manages to laugh at all the silliness that i rant about.

2) mn.risley- because she never fails to contribute, which i love

3) citygirl - i find her funny.  and unapologetically honest.  both of which are good traits in my book.

4) leandrea78 - she too, gets it.  she sees the funny and takes it for what it is.  and she gets the message behind the funny  :)

5) mandm950 - homegirl loves shoes like it's her job. which is cool by me.

there's so many more!!  read up ladies, read up!

A Note on Mothers & Daughters

Like Mother, maybe not so much Daughter. Or Maybe So.

I have affectionately referred to my mother as Martha Stewart for the better part of the last 10 years.  It has since been shortened to Stewie, for pupose of laziness and increased humor.  She is an angel of a woman, who can interior decorate and clean the shit out of any home in America, & make anyone's bad day a little bit brighter with a hug and some decaf herbal (Whole Foods only, yuppie-style) tea. 

We have a... special bond.  The majority of our phone conversations (I live 5 hours away) consist of banshee-esque shrieking about how she doesn't like when I wear my naturally wavy hair straight and swear like a trucker with the inability to monitor the syllables that escape my mouth.  We sprinkle that with my sarcastically calling her everything from a Mother Theresa-wannabe to the bain of my existence.  Then we say I Love You and hang-up without uttering goodbye.  Or I swear enough times to drive her completely bat-shit and she simply hangs up on me.

I'm home for a visit this weekend and it's much of the same.  My mother and I shop and do lunch, fill each other in on diets and the next book that the other one HAS to read.  She delights in questioning me on when my boyfriend and I will be engaged, which one of my girlfriends I want to behead this week and how my dog (currently the closest thing to a grandchild in her life, ergo, her obsession) is surviving in my care.  I delight in lacing my sentences with curse-filled rants that are guaranteeing my front-row seat in hell as I write this; the fake look of horror on her face (because we both know I'm funny as hell and she wants to laugh) is too precious to not strive for.

When I leave tomorrow, we will do what we always do when our visits come to an end.  We will hug for too long and one of us will tear up a little bit.  Because we aren't that different - the space that separates us in age and language is trumped by the obvious truth that we are, in fact, best friends.  All the bitches, damns and Motha-Whatdidyoujustsay?!?!'s will never eclispse that fact that my mom is insanely proud of the secretly-sentimental truck-talk daughter she raised... and I'm the proudest sarcastic bitch in the world to call her my mom.  Just a thought  :)

I Believe I Struck A Nerve

Apparently my posting on the Engagement Club was somewhat polarizing.  People either saw the humor in it and found my acid-tongued approach rather refreshing (but got that it was in no way meant to incite a social riot)... or they took the PoohBear9 approach and decided that I don't like happy, engaged people.  Apparently, to those readers, I am (and I quote) "negative" and "unrealistic".

I know that weddings/engagements/etc can be a polarizing topic, which is why I bring it up.  Felista made a great point when she noted that weddings in general have become a completely commercialized industry -- which is the origin of most of the sarcastic, condescending remarks made in that article.  (Thank you Felista for having a sense of humor and some insight!)  I was simply trying to start a conversation via my funny little rant about the silly notions attached to being engaged, as though it somehow makes your different than the day before you were wearing a ring on your left hand.

I found so many of the comments interesting and insightful - but felt the need to post an open response to anyone who thought I was being intentionally negative or mean (and therefore missed the 37,000 jokes sprinkled throughout the post)  -- GO READ SOMETHING ELSE.  BECAUSE I HATE PEOPLE WHO CAN'T TAKE A JOKE!

how's that for negative?  :)

No Ring? No Entry to the Engagement Club.

Let me start by saying that I am in a fantastic relationship for over 2 years and have no complaints.  I don't have a ring on my finger yet either, which also isn't causing me to lose any sleep.  In my mind, it will happen when it happens.  According to the Engagement Club of Engaged Females who only Like Other Engaged Females, I am something similar to the Creature of the Black Lagoon.  Only worse, because I have no bling.  I'm sorry - but, WHAT THE HELL????

I'm not saying all engaged women are guilty of this - some are really lovely and genuinely can't wait for you to be in the same scenario.  I have a few friends who are engaged as I write this, who I couldn't possibly be happier for.  But most women, it seems, become completely engrossed in a semi-psychotic stare upon their left ring finger...and then promptly begin to alienate their girlfriends who don't bare a similar knuckle-crusher.  Allow me to elaborate.

I made the error of attending a "girls night get-together" once, unaware that 17 out of 20 people there were either engaged, newly married or ready to pop out their first ankle-biter.  All perfectly lovely girls in their own right, I was immediately blinded by shiny sparklers, which was sort of fascinating (who doesn't get a kick out of watching a big bunch of women silently size one another's rings up?).  Because if your ring is bigger than your best friend's, obviously your fiance loves you more.  Gag me.

Once my eyesight returned, I found myself cornered by one of the aforementioned newlyweds, who proceeded to deliver a thesis on custom wedding invitations to me for the next 20 minutes.  I actually had to ask the uncomfortable question out loud - "You do know that I am NOT engaged, correct?" The 'ohmygodyoupoorthing' look on her face was almost enough to make me laugh out loud. 

And just recently, the boyfriend and I took a weekend trip to the Inner Harbor. Without missing a beat, every other female I know (and some males too, which was kind of absurd) started with the "OMG is this IT?! Is this the weekend?!  Are you so excited?!" -- like they already knew the fate of my poor, poor bare left finger.  How sad they were when I returned in the same condition that I left in, all boo-hoos over lost bets and whatnot, which could either make me laugh at the ridiculousness or ball my eyes out in self-pity.  I chose the first alternative. So, we did not become engaged.  And it was an awesome, amazing weekend.  Which means I am still happy and not losing sleep.  Both good things.

Asking when I think it will happen or why it hasn't happened yet, doesn't make it any better.  It actually kind of makes me feel like hitting you in the head with the $200 bouquet of rare sweet peas and tulips you just ordered.  I promise, when it happens, I'll call you.  Or I won't and then you'll know not to expect a custom-designed, hand-stitched and specially-pressed invite either.

So Here Is My Promise -- When my wonderful other-half and I do get engaged, I will not stare at my left hand like a popsicle on a 200 degree day, I will not bore you with conversation about how I want my hair done or special napkins, and I will sure as hell not start asking you when your time is going to come.  And if I ever lose my way and do any of these things, by all means - tell me I look fat in my wedding dress.  I will deserve it.  :)

FOR MN.RISLEY -- People who Don't Follow Through -- SUCK.

Alright, this one is for one Miss MN.RISLEY - who last week, asked about friends who don't initiate, or who don't reciprocate when you do the initiating. I had to mull it over for a few days, but I didn't forget ya girl. Here are my thoughts on this topic, since I find myself bitching about it often.

1) Now this is just the trigger reaction I have when I see that one of my girlfriends isn't holding up their end of the bargain in terms of generally knowing that I am still alive and wouldn't mind trading a few nonsensical stories about that heinously decadent cheesecake that ruined my diet last week.... YOU SUCK.  (sometimes that rant is a little bit longer and includes gripes about bad hair and ill-fitting jeans, but then I have to question if thoughts like that can be read on my face and maybe that's why I haven't heard from them anyways)

And in all fairness, sometimes I suck pretty hard at the same thing.  We get busy, we assume certain girlfriends will always be around and we absorb ourselves so deeply in our own everyday controversies that we forget we were supposed to meet Gloria or whoever for sushi on Tuesday. (By the way - Gloria is not a cool name anymore, don't name your child this.  EVER).  But when I realize my own suckiness, I always try to make it up with an honest phone call where I admit my briefly crappy friend-rating.  So at least you all know my head isn't completely stuck up my own ass.

2) My thoughts regarding someone just not reciprocating the required efforts to sustain a friendship are a bit clearer.  If you've called the same chick 12 times to meet for coffee and she's continuously flaking or worse, not even responding to the invite (without any real explanation)... or if you've got a girlfriend who's great to party with on a Saturday night but wouldn't dream of hearing your life story over breakfast on Sunday -

a - she's not a great friend.  pretty simple stuff - maybe she's a terrible human being, maybe she just hates your guts... either way, not somebody very worthy of your time.

b - she sucks.  and no one would blame you if dedicated a whole blog post to how sucky she is.  (anonymously people, anonymously! you gotta keep it just a little classy!)

So let's break it all down.  Life happens and we all get busy. Sometimes we're caught up in ourselves and our own stories - we forget to call, we forget to return a call, we forget each others last names (that last one should be inexcusable, but shit happens).  This is all fine and understandable - real friendships are built to endure these things.

BUT - if she just doesn't bother calling.  or if she talks a bunch of trash behind your back and then randomly shows up at your door bearing baked goods made especially for you... fairly safe to call it what it is and decline to make further efforts towards that friendship altogether.  chances are that it was never really as solid a relationship as you thought.  and those brownies are probably laced with exlax anyway.

MN.RISLEY -  don't sweat it lady.  give your time to the friends who make the same effort that you do!

RANT AWAY and QUESTION ON!!! Challenge me to address it!

Send me any and all topics about your relationships with the females in your lives -- mothers, sisters, friends, co-workers, bosses.  that chick who lives a few feet down the road that you fight the urge to run over every morning when you leave for work.  The super pretty size-2 girl at the gym who's workout you try to copy, but somehow, never with the same results.

I will address them all and with as much honesty, humor and grace as is humanly possible from my sarcastic, self-deprecating, sometimes too honest brain!

what the hell is a Best Friend anyway?

I ask this only because in almost 25 years, I'm not really sure I'd know how to define this term.  I'm infamous for making new girlfriends quickly, only to be fighting the urge to violently tear their eyelashes out one by one within a few months.  Nice imagery, right?

The truth of the matter is that we never, EVER really know everything about our friends.  And they never really know everything about us.  And don't BS me either - like you haven't told your girlfriends that you're a size 6 when you're squeezing into an 8.  Like I haven't hit ignore on some of their calls when I really wasn't in the mood to hear them tell me about their cheating whore of a boyfriend.

With even our closest friends, we still seem to be in competition mode.  What's your title at the office?  What salon do you go to for highlights?  There's no way that's a real LOUIS VUITTON, right?!  How the hell did SHE, my best friend who I KNOW doesn't make that much money, afford a LOUIS?!  Maybe I should run out and buy a bigger one tomorrow.  

I think this is the real truth - there's no such thing as a BEST FRIEND.  Doesn't exist.  I think we are lucky if we have a handful of kick-ass ladies who we can call at 2:00 am, bawling like baby because we just ate a half-gallon of Chunky Monkey and we think we might be getting fired.  Or have a few that we can get when we are fired, or broken up with, or whatever- and instead of sitting idly by while we drown in our own self-pity, they kick us in the rear-end and remind us that raccoon eyes aren't a good look if we're going to head out on the town to celebrate for no reason tonight.

BEST implies perfection.  REAL implies truth - and the reality is that our friends let us down sometimes.  We let them down.  We piss each other off and then make each other pee our pants laughing.  I have some truly lovely, REAL girlfriends.  Each with their own quirks that get under my skin sometimes and still always make me smile.  

And when a friendship is REAL - can you actually ask for anything better?  

That Haircut Makes You Look Fat

This is what I would love to say to some of the women I come in contact with on a daily basis.  Or perhaps, "I would rather rake a dull needle across my pupils than have to talk to you right now."  Most of the time though, i smile sweetly and exchange the necessary pleasantries and then walk away smirking at my silent jab.  What the hell is wrong with me?

Actually, what is it about all women, and not just young women... but of all ages, that we somehow can't make it through a day without putting some other female down just so that we don't feel so fat in that pencil skirt we insisted on cramming into this morning.  it's not her fault that we made a poor wardrobe choice.

And even if she is a completely heinous bitch, does it really require mentioning if it's practically plastered on her face anyways?  Are we this insecure, this lonely... that we genuinely feel better about our own shortcomings if we're able to point out some other girl's issues?  Don't we have enough of our own crap to worry about?

Perhaps we all, myself included, ought to work a bit on the whole "truth in advertising" thing.  If we like each other, let's play nice.  And if we don't - well then you better get the hell out of my sandbox, or I might have to get honest about that fact that the 1997 "RACHEL" bob you think you're rocking, just ISN'T WORKING!  

ahhhh, how getting crap like that off you're check will make you feel just a little bit sunnier on a dull afternoon!

Homegirl is a FAKE

So I'm setting the expectation that the majority of my blogging will be in reference to the social complexity known as 'female interaction.'  I can't help but to be fascinated by the ridiculousness of it all when I sit back and watch how completely absurd we are, both to ourselves and to each other.  As evidenced in my first post, I have a rather sarcastic and pointed approach to things, which I plan to keep.  For what it's worth - enjoy... and I hope to hear what you all think as well.  I'm looking to create conversation here!

So last time, I talked about how much I hate the false friendliness and interest that females feign when they really don't like another girl, but don't have the balls (or is it ovaries?) to say so.  Now, let's talk dish about telling the difference in everyday life.

1)  The "Hi, I hate you" Smile - if she grins with authenticity and sincere joy at running into one of her favorite people, she's in the clear.  however, if the chick is baring chicklets like it's going out of style and her face is so tense it looks like Dr. Rey went to town on the Botox... she probably isn't your biggest fan.  Take heed when you smile at others as well.

2) The "I hate that you're in my personal space" Hug - anytime a woman makes it a point to bend at the waist for a hug, so that the rest of her body keeps its distance, feel free to silently call BULLSHIT! in your head.  Same goes if there's any weird patting on the back happening; that's a clear "OK, let's stop touching as soon as possible"

3) The "I'm ok if we don't talk for a while" GoodBye - if you're actually saying things like , "We'll have to do dinner or drinks sometime" - without talking dates, consider it alright to keep your calendar space totally open.  And just an fyi - the phrase "Take Care" coming from a female while saying goodbye, typically means "Get Bent" or some other version of telling someone where to stick it.

These are a few I've picked up on - there's countless others and I know you've all either witnessed it or perpetrated.  Tell me yours - I'm dying for more insight!  I'll update the list as we go- and totally credit your for participating! And in the meantime -- "Take Care!"  :)