Torn or Multi-faceted?

I forget where I found the quote, but I loved it so I'm totally plagiarizing it...the as-yet-to-be-determined woman said she felt: torn between being a feminist and a stripper. High-five sister!

Ladies, let's be real, shall we? There is something rather awesome about feeling like the hottest woman in the room. A feeling that is usually preceded by teetering a pair of stupidly high stilettos such as these:

You know the type. The kind of shoes that hurt your feet like the dickens but the shapliness of your legs make the fire shooting up your shins completely worth it.

On the flipside there are times when it feels good to be a feminist. For instance, when you're proved right 90% of the time when having an argument with your husband/boyfriend/guy friend/brother. Or when someone underestimated you in the boardroom (or the courtroom) and you totally get your way. That feeling of total intellectual dominance is amazing.

Given my rather obvious obsession with football...I'll spare you any feminist references to watching football. But suffice it to say that if being a feminist means watching football, than sign me up!

What I don't understand? Why must a woman choose one or the other? Who said a woman can't be a stripper and a feminist? And for that matter, who says stripping isn't a form of feminism? Don't get me wrong, I totally get the objectifying a woman can be degrading and blah blah blah. But, if men are just that easily distracted by a coupla tassles and shiny sparkly platforms, what could possibly have more of a feminist flair than using said sparkly-ness to get what you want? (Favorable outcome in negotiations, really big house, nice car...). Isn't the whole point to use ALL of your *ahem* assets to get what you want?

pheebee's mom

So, my mom read this post and decided to give me some sage advice as a result:

Ma: I read your blog today, and I thought it was funny.

Me: Oh yeah?

Ma: Yeah. And you know, I thought that you should make a new year's resolution for next year. Next year, you should do things differently. You need to get in the right circles, just like that Anna girl that got killed in the islands.

Me: *Confused look pointed at my phone.* Who? What? What are you even talking about right now?

Ma: You know. Anna something. She was so in love with the lawyer. Or he was in love with her. And she left the little girl behind. She had a son, he was in his 20s and he got killed...er...drowned or something first. Anyway, she worked the right circles and got in with the right people.

Me: Say huh?

Ma: Well, you always say you don't have any money and you don't meet people. You need to join the right clubs down there. Anna Nicole something. That's it. She was a poor white woman.

Me: Anna Nicole Smith? Mother! She was a Playboy Playmate!!!

Ma: Well that's how she met all the right people and climbed her way to the top!! *emphatically*

Me: So....are you saying you want me to be a Playboy bunny?

Ma: If you can get in Playboy, I want you in there.

Me: ... *mystified silence*... Have you been drinking?

Ma: I'm just saying. So anyway, what are you doing tonight?

Me: Watching TV. *and drinking wine...but I don't mention that part. Or that the reason I'm staying in is because a Sunday Funday is scheduled for this weekend and I need to save up :)*

Ma: See. We need to get you out from in front of the TV.

Me: sigh.

Unbelievably, this is the 2nd time my mother's suggested I be a Playmate. Coincidentally, it's not the first time she's cited Anna Nicole Smith as a role model. And, on top of all these things, she's also the one who's scarred me for life for dating an older man. So, what we've learned is:

1. I should be a Playboy Playmate
2. My particular brand of crazy is hereditary.

Yup. That really happened. I pinched myself to make sure I wasn't dreaming -- and then I checked the bottle of wine I was drinking. I'd only had one glass at that point; and the glass was more than half full. Definitely didn't hallucinate it. HAHA.

Would you rather...?

So, this morning I got to thinking...dating is basically a series of "Would you rather...?" scenarios. "Would you rather" is basically a question of 2 undesirable or worst case scenarios that are given to you, and then you have to pick one. There is no opt out, no escape hatch, nada. You must pick one. So, for example: would you rather spend an hour in a dark cave, with no light, and several creepy crawly critters, or would you rather swim in the Chicago River for 10 minutes.

If you ask me, dating is just one big game of "would you rather?" So, would you rather have mind-blowing sex once a week with a super hot guy who is clearly dating other women...OR date a mediocre looking guy with mind-numbingly boring sex who adores you?

Would you rather date a guy who has a decent job, but may never make it big...OR date an entrepreneur who might hit it really REALLY big someday, but may never have a steady income?

Would you rather date a guy who is super hot but has bad breath...OR date a guy who has truly awful fashion choices and refuses to change?

Would you rather date a man who is recently separated with two kids who is a really good dad (and therefore may cancel for things like taking his kid to a birthday party)...OR a man who lives in a different state than his kid and sees the kid sporadically?

Would you rather date a pothead exclusively...OR a guy who doesn't have a vice at all, and is so straight-laced his backbone could double as Marie Antoinette's corset?

Would you rather date a guy who is 5 years younger than you (but really mature) who isn't affectionate...OR a guy who is really affectionate and 2 years older than you (but refuses to grow up)?

Would you rather be a football widow once a week, or would you rather date a man who asks for a hall pass to go to Rio once a year?

And so it goes. (Of course the same applies for men, but given I have a lot less experience dating women, I'm going to have to leave it to the fellas to figure your own worst case scenarios out...)


The problem with the would-you-rather game, is that it's difficult to see the other side. If you ask me, a lot of singletons out there are stuck in the game, and are choosing the "or" instead of whoever they're with. My guess is, no one really thinks single is an option -- at least not at first. So, you go merrily along, hoping to find out what's on the other side of the "or" and hoping that you like it. At the end of the day, you just keep jumping from one worst case scenario to the next. The dating scene is a constant stream of blindly picking the other side, hoping that you made the right choice.

Truth be told, you can see all of the worst case scenarios out there, but you can't see yourself as the worst case scenario. So, would you rather date a pretty girl with ridiculous body image issues or an average girl that won't sleep with you or a complete idiot, or an egotistical girl who thinks her poo don't stank, or a *ahem* physical girl, or a nerd or a materialistic girl or a shallow girl or or OR.* Most people who are still searching for their "or" probably find it difficult to believe that they aren't the total package for someone. Wake up and smell the latte, my friend. Everyone is on the wrong side of somebody's "or." The key is to find who trips your trigger so much that you don't care what's on the other side, because you've got everything you need in him (or her).

Until you find that one, though, keep trying. First of all, the best way to get over a man is to get under a new one. Second of all, you can't find your match if you don't keep looking. And third -- you know what I always say...it's ALWAYS worth it for the story. :}


*having been called all of these, I'm not trying to offend anyone. With the exception of idiot or shallow. I've never been called either of those -- which is surprising, given the ratio of vapid to intelligent moments I have. (Roughly 10:1).

Evidently, I'm psychic...

You know what expression I've grown to hate? "Self-fulfilling prophecy." Do people say this to you? For example:

Me: Damn, my birthday sucked, hard. Top 5 of my worst days of all time.
Them: Well, you were expecting it to be difficult, so maybe it was just a self-fulfilling prophecy.
Internal monologue: Or. It sucked because I spent it alone in my apartment in my rubber duckie pjs.

Me: Whenever I wear this shirt, I always end up with makeup on the collar.
Them: Well, you're expecting to rub makeup off on it, so maybe it was just a self-fulfilling prophecy.
Internal monologue: Or. It has a really tight v-neck and a standing collar without much room to maneuver. Inevitably, whenever I wear it, I forget this fact until after I put it on...also known as too late because I've already slid it down my makeup enhanced natural look.

Me: I've moved to Siberia, and as a result, my social life blows.
Them: Well, you kept saying how far away Siberia was, and how your social life was going to go downhill. Maybe it was just a self-fulfilling prophecy.
Internal monologue: Or. My social life blows because I do not go out as often, because the social scene in Siberia is filled to the brim with hipsters and Siberians...neither of which interest me. And, because the places there are to visit are dive bars. Have you ever seen pheebee in a dive bar, guzzling a beer? No. Because skinny jeans and Kate Spade just don't belong in a dive bar. Neither does bougie. And I? Am all of those things.

Me: Today was just one of those days. People were trying my patience ALL. DAY. LONG.
Them: Well, you always say the people you work with get on your nerves. Maybe today was just a self-fulfilling prophecy.
Internal monologue: Or. People are ace-holes.

Me: That date was terrible. I was so not into him.
Them: Well, you weren't really willing to give that guy a chance, so maybe it was just a self-fulfilling prophecy that the date was bad.
Internal monologue: Or. He was the opposite of my type who asked me to split the check on the first date -- after I wouldn't agree to go to his house to "watch a movie."

Get the idea? This crap makes me want to put on my crazy pants, bunny slippers, and flannel robe, looking all wild-eyed with my hair standing on end, go outside and scream: "No, dammit! It wasn't a self-fulfilling prophecy. I am not psychic!!!!!!!! Did you ever stop to think that maybe, just maybe, I was accurately predicting the outcome of the situation, based on past experience?!?!?!!?"

*Ahem*....I get that if you spend your life looking for things that are wrong, you will find them. If you are seeking out flaws and negative energy, it will come to you. A positive outlook does, in fact, change the way you see things. But it doesn't actually change facts. Fact is, if I look at things through a positive lens, I'm less likely to react in a bad way. If a dude is doing the electric slide on my last nerve, then with a positive outlook, I may just brush him off politely. With a negative outlook, I may cuss him out so hard his grandchildren are born half deaf from the ringing in their ears. Either way, he was tap dancing on my last nerve.

I feel like this "self-fulfilling prophecy" junk is just a way for people to put the onus on you to ignore bad situations. Ignoring them don't make them go away. Life isn't always a beach. Sometimes, life's a bitch -- your outlook determines how you deal with either scene. Sure, it's better to put on the rose colored glasses and pat life on the head like a cute little puppy. But sometimes, you need to take life by the collar and call it out for what it is. Sucky. Acknowledge it, and move on. It's not the observation of suckiness that's the problem -- it's what you do to move around the suck.

But hey, if people keep telling me my observations are self-fulfilling prophecy, then let me go ahead and say this. I will be one chick with happiness abound. I will be making good money, created out of a moguldom of things that I love to do. I will be surrounded by amazing friends that are ride or die, and have a hot and doting husband. I speak that into being...now what? Dare somebody to tell me THAT isn't a self-fulfilling prophecy.*

*Has anyone else ever noticed that only the negative things are self-fulfilling prophesies? NO one ever says that positive things are self-fulfilling. Then all of a sudden you're lucky or in the right place at the right time. You know what? Bite me. If I'm stuck with all these bad things that I made happen, then I want credit for the good ones too.

She Get It From Her Momma

Astro once told me that after he saw my Ma, he knew that I had good genes. As a result, he'd want to *ahem* for at least 40-50 years. This week, Ma told me the greatest story ever, proving once again that my genes are just fine.

So, apparently my Ma headed over to church on Sunday, even though earlier that day she thought maybe she should praise from home since her rotator cuff injury was acting up. But, she went on anyway, and found herself a seat. Not long afterwards, a gentleman sat next to her. Now, I can't say for certain what he looked like, because Ma only gave me a single description: he was drunk. Ma is a good Christian woman from the South. She just isn't a huge fan of people who drink. (She calls me an alkie at least once a week.) The irony here, is that she married a man who was a liquor distributor when they met, and shortly after that, Daddy bought a bar. Hilarious.

Anyhoo. After he sat down, her new friend leaned over and said "God sent you to me." She turned to him, like "say what?" But ignored it and continued on enjoying church. So, he leaned over and said it again: "I know God sent you to me." Ma made another attempt at instituting the "sit still and maybe he won't be able to see you" method. Unfortunately, that didn't work. So when he leaned over again, she tried shushing him. Of course, this was to no avail.

This alone would have been cringeworthy and hilarious (for me). But Ma's new friend took it to a whole new level. He leaned over and said "just write your number down here." The "here" was the church bulletin.

< Pause for outburst. > PAH HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

So, this guy was neither shutting up NOR getting the hint. So Ma decided to find herself another seat. When she got up, she heard behind her: "Hey! Where are you going?!"

< Pause for 2nd outburst. > PAH HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Honestly, I'm not sure what Ma's reaction should have been. I mean, are you offended that the drunk guy was bothering you? Or, are you brushing that dirt off your shoulder because you still got it? In my opinion? Go with the latter. Moral of the story? In 30 years, I'll STILL be a pimp.

Get it from my Momma, indeed. Heh.

Lessons Learned in ATL, Part 2.

1. The bougie bar CAN be raised.
People that know me would likely point to a small bougie streak. OR, they might point to the 8 lane expressway that is my bougie streak. Either way, suffice it to say I like the finer things. I'm the girl that will order a glass of sparkling wine at the bar for no other reason than my existence is celebration enough to justify a champagne glass.* A friend of mine once accused me of being bougie because I carried my Kate while on an island vacation to do some exploring. What can I say? It's my go-to bag, darn it!

Anyway, we'd been invited by the basketball player to a fundraising event that was happening that Saturday. The fundraiser was -- wait for it -- a polo match! As in, Pretty Woman, Kentucky Derby, fancy-hat-and-cocktails-in-the-middle-of-the-day polo match. Jade and I generally follow the philosophy of "EFF it, WHY NOT?!" So naturally, we were IN. The only problem was that we legitimately needed to look the part. There was going to be a fancy hat contest, for heaven's sake! Also? We needed to get this done in about 45 minutes. Well, let me just say, we were phenomenal. After digging in to Jade's closet and my suitcase, throwing things together and going to 2 different stores, we were equestrian chic and hot to death. Simply put, we were amazing.

When we got there, we were pleased to discover that our wool floppy hats fit right in. Our bougie bar? Splendidly raised. Just when you thought our fabulous level had peaked. HA!

2. The scumbag elevator always goes down another floor.
The last and most important lesson I learned in ATL is that I will never be desensitized to the scumbag factor. Just when you think you've reached the bottom, there is someone swimming in the gutter below the surface.

While at the polo match, we met an attorney there. (Of course we did). This attorney was on par with Smiling Irish Eyes from the fundraiser. Except he was much MUCH older. He was 15 years older than me if he was a day. Much like that guy, he was definitely overweight. He encased his pudgy in pinstriped vest and matching pants. Atop his head he had a pinstriped fedora. To bring the fit-out (as opposed to an outfit) out, the attorney had on mirrored sunglasses -- a la Megatron. While the sunglasses were necessary at the beginning of the day while standing outside, the tables were all open air but covered. Sunglasses, totally unnecessary. (Sunglasses at Night was on constant loop in my head).

Anyway, he was totally inappropriate, but it was generally funny. Let's be honest, I'm not easily offended by words. For example, he said to me "how tall are you? You're like a pin-up doll." A what? Yeah, I asked that too. He says "Like, I'd pin you up against the wall, doll." WOW. Did you just say that out loud? I was stunned, but it was still hilarious. And hey, drinking may have been involved. So I'm willing to roll with the punches.

And then, we jumped on the scumbag elevator and hit a new low. At the end of the day, someone said something that was wildly inappropriate but generally hilarious. In pure pheebee fashion, I reacted (over)dramatically, pretending to be so floored that I lost my balance. While I was bent over and giggling, I felt the rather distinctive feeling of 2 smacks being placed squarely on my arse by a foreign and uninvited hand. You know those moments when time totally stops, and you can't hear anything going on around you and you're moving in slow motion? Yeah, that's what it was like. I was so pissed I saw nothing but red. I'm not really a violent person, so my first thought wasn't to kick or slap him (although, that would have been totally preferable). My initial reaction was to tell him EXACTLY what I thought about his old fat self.

I spun around, and through clenched teeth I asked him if he had, in fact, just smacked my ass. With a disgusting pervert grin on his face, he says "yeah I did. *giggle*. You're wearing a thong, aren't you?"

At this point, I was doing everything in my power not to cuss him out AND kick him in his old wrinkled nuts. Clearly seeing the look on my face, Jade attempted to run an interference. She was talking a mile a minute (all I heard was "please don't" and "ruin" and "for real, like seriously") and her hands were making gestures akin to a baseball manager standing in the dugout telling his player to steal 2nd. So, what I say to him is "WHY THE PHCK WOULD YOU DO THAT? WHAT WOULD POSSESS YOU TO THINK THAT WAS OK? ARE YOU OUTSIDE OF YOUR MIND?"

He appeared to be surprised by my reaction. And pretended to apologize profusely. "I'm sorry. My bad." "I phckd up." "I was flirting with you." I was only hearing snippets, because the choice words in my head were SO DAMN LOUD!!!! I'd like to think he was actually apologizing, and was just drunk-stupid. But, no one is that stupid. The next thing he said was "do you want to meet me in Vegas next week? I have to go for a conference, and..." I'm not sure what he said next, because I was busy responding to the first part of the sentence "WHY THE HELL WOULD I GO WITH YOU TO VEGAS?"

Oh, did I mention that he was married? And that his wife was AT THE POLO MATCH?

Now, at this point, people who know me might ask "why didn't you cuss him out in your own special way?" Well, I refer you to lesson number 1 for today. It was a day of bougie, and there was a certain façade that was necessary. Plus, we were invited guests of someone that neither of us knew all that well. And, that person was the client of Jade's friend. Business before ego. Friendships before business. I couldn't go HAM because there were too many important relationships at risk. This was an unfortunate circumstance, because I had a couple sleepless nights since it bothered me so much that I didn't have the opportunity to tell that vile bastard exactly what I thought of him. Ultimately, I just have to remind myself that karma is a bitch with a looooooooooooong memory.

Perhaps even more tragic is that after it happened, Jade and her accountant friend were somewhat underwhelmed. Not because they're heartless, but because this caliber of scumbag is commonplace in ATL. It's a small wonder that any quality woman isn't single for life or so deep in her madness that she must be sedated just to get through each day. Honestly? If this was commonplace, I'd constantly suffer from laryngitis. There's no way I could keep holding my tongue. Even more sad, even if I had the opportunity to say something, it would have done ZERO good -- it would have fallen on deaf ears. Well -- not zero. I would have felt immensely better.



*In fact, Jade and I met and bonded over a glass of Moscato d'Asti. We'd both been invited to a birthday party of a guy we didn't know. I ordered myself an Asti (again, because my existence is celebration enough), and Jade was intrigued. I offered her my glass so she could give it a shot. And boom! We bonded. See that? Alcohol brings people together.

Lessons learned in ATL, Part 1.

So, I travelled to my least favorite city (to date) for a nice weekend jaunt with one of my favorite people of all time (to date).* While there, I learned all kinds of things. Allow me to share.

1. 5 Hour Energy Drinks really do work.
I worked a full day of work on Friday, so I was actually prepared to go out for a quick minute and then fall asleep. But, this was not an option because we were scheduled for some full time shenanigans. So, I drop a 5 hour energy drink in the carryon and roll out. Before I get on the plane, (and after packing the small bottled wonder), I stopped at Macy's to get a pair of eyelashes. When deciding which ones to get, I asked the lady for lashes that would fit in in the flossiest, flashiest, snootiest, most bougiest city in America. (That's Jade's description, not mine!!). Anyway, they were long, they were winged, and they were fabulous.** About 45 minutes before landing, I put in my contacts, touched up my makeup, and gave the guy next to me a nice little batting of the eyelashes just to make sure they were working. He promptly started fanning because his temperature raised at least 10 degrees -- they were working.*** After jumping off the plane, I dashed to the airport bathroom to change a la Superman with a bigger phone booth. Walking into the bathroom, I was a casual sorority chick visiting her long distance boyfriend. Walking out, I was a diva on her way to prove once and for all why northern women make southern belles look like chopped liver.

We headed out to the bar, where we met up with Jade's friend and his client. (Jade's friend being an accountant to the ATL elite). So, basically, I'd never heard of this dude before. But, I later found out that he was a retired basketball player. As in, in the NBA. That's right, I had cocktails with a retired NBA player. All I noticed was that he was really really tall and talked a lot of BS. But, he was nice and polite, and able to take all of the trash talking we did vis a vis the Falcons vs. the Packers. So, he was cool. *shrug* That's just how Jade and I roll...get on our level. ;)

2. Actually, you do need to put your bags back into your bag.
When I was going through security, I was hearing all kinds of wah wah wah over the speakers. I heard my gate mentioned, but I figured it was an announcement about a different flight. So I really didn't stress about it. When I finally got to the other side of the conveyer belt, I put my shoes on and hauled all my junk to the nearest bench in order to put my life together. I immediately checked for my phone, because I'm unnecessarily paranoid about losing my phone. It was there, so I zipped up my bag and got to moving. Just in time to hear them make the last boarding call for my flight. And THAT'S when I started to haul some serious booty. I ran, dragging my carryon behind me, coat flapping in the breeze. I made it -- and fortunately I wasn't the last person on the plane. I heard the guy at the gate say they were trying to get off the ground early. Yeah well, he was a total liar. The plane left maybe 3 minutes early. All that rushing I did? Totally unnecessary. No matter. I went to the bathroom before takeoff, and when I got back to my seat, I went to pull my 1 plastic baggie full of 3 oz liquids out to grab some lotion. And...it wasn't in my bag. I shrugged, figuring that I had stuffed it in my stowed luggage. Turns out? It wasn't stowed. I left the great folks of TSA a nice little present on the bench at Midway. Hope it didn't cause an incident. *shrug*. At first, I was totally calm about it -- I figured except for my foundation, it was full of all kinds of things I hijacked from hotel stays. And then I was pissed when I realized (2 days later) that my brand-freaking-new eyeshadow primer was in that bag. Some TSA agent is totally rocking longwear eyeshadow on my dime. #curses.

3. It actually is possible for Jade and I to get even MORE bougie.
Remember when I said that the NBA player was a nice guy? Well, on Friday night, he invited us to -- wait for it -- a polo match. A what? A POLO MATCH! It was a fundraiser, and included contests for best hat (a la, Derby hats), best place settings, and best cocktail. If that just doesn't beat all! So, in true eff-it-why-not form, Jade and I readily agreed. We managed to pull together "equestrian chic" outfits in 30 minutes or less.**** Part of that was getting humongous floppy hats. It was amazing. The entire time, I just kept thinking "am I for real at a polo match right now? Wow." It was a new experience, and it was wicked awesome that we did it.

While we were there, football was on. (Obviously). The Packers had a bye week, but my fantasy team was on and poppin'. Admittedly, I was concerned about it, because my opponent had some of the most awesome players ever (including Cam Newton, with his sexy sexy self). The boys were all checking their phones, and making all kinds of announcements about who was doing what to whom. I got into it right there with them. We were exchanging stats, comparing fantasy team members, and commiserating over Brees' horrible game against the Rams. At one point, we were talking about something really simple...like, the fact that Drew Brees' epic fail against the Rams was out of character for him. At that point, no joke, one guy turned to me and asked: "Are you a writer for ESPN?" Really dude? I didn't say anything remotely impressive just then. And I KNOW that you didn't hear me discussing the weaknesses in the Packers' secondary. So, are you truly that easily impressed?! (Man, southern women must really be out of the loop when it comes to sports. Score yet another one for northern gals!)

All in all, the trip was good. When I flew in on Monday morning, I was all around exhausted. Totally worth the sleep deprivation.



*Jade threw the friend card at me. Basically saying that if I didn't come to visit her, I couldn't be her friend anymore. So, I booked a flight out for a quick weekend turnaround.

**And, the Mac makeup artist also did some fabulous smokey eye flair to go with them. (She was amazing!)

***May or may not be a total exaggeration of what actually happened.

****I was totally unprepared for all of the activities we got into this weekend. I'm pretty impressed with what I managed to pull together with limited resources.