The Book I Keep Promising to Write

Day One

2012-02-14T21:23:00.000-06:00

Today is the first day of my 101 things to do in 1001 days. And, I am SO excited! It's my chance to set multiple goals for myself, and give me something to strive for. And so, without any ado, behold, my list!

1. Go to South Beach
2. Save $10,000
3. Complete kitchen
4. Complete bathroom
5. Become a fitness instructor
6. Chase happy rather than money
7. Leave the country
8. Do something drastic to my hair
9. Return to working out
10. Organize paperwork
11. Have palm read
12. Go to Tampa
13. Go to DC
14. Re-start saving for retirement
15. Get a massage
16. Send pics in to a modeling agency
17. Pay off credit cards
18. Buy new car
19. Buy fur lined gloves
20. Buy new rainboots
21. Fire a gun
22. Zip line in Vegas
23. Join a charity board
24. Volunteer 3 times each year
25. Visit Lincoln Park Zoo
26. Eat at Conoce mi Panama
27. Make 3 presentations as a panelist
28. Get certified as a group fitness instructor
29. Go back to Lambeau field
30. Attend 3 cultural events per year
31. Eat a candelit dinner at my dining table
32. Go to a psychologist
33. Have a healthy relationship
34. Bring in 3 new clients
35. Go on a vacation as a couple
36. Ski or snowboard
37. Take group fitness instruction certification.
38. Send myself flowers on Valentines Day
39. Go to Park 52
40. Go to a Bulls game
41. Visit the Shedd Aquarium
42. Visit the DuSable Museum
43. Visit the Museum of History & Sue
44. Picnic at Millenium Park
45. Attend gospel brunch
46. Complete physical therapy
47. Play tennis
48. Buy Starbucks for a stranger
49. Begin scrapbooking or otherwise organizing pictures
50. Re-frame pics from Arkansas
51. Re-do scrapbook from home
52. Find daily devotional and study
53. Play the slots at a casino
54. Make a sportsbook bet with the Titan
55. Get alarm for condo
56. Eat lobster
57. Play fantasy football in a buy-in league
58. Plant a flower box
59. Take Hip Hop Hustle certification
60. Return to July 2011 weight or better
61. Go salsa dancing
62. Go to family reunion
63. Sell Columbia coat on eBay
64. Attend a concert
65. Attend a jazz concert
66. Attend blues fest
67. See Too White Crew
68. Invent oatmeal recipes
69. Attempt a new seafood recipe
70. Send greeting cards for any reason other than Christmas
71. Bake a cake
72. Send Christmas cards
73. Send written notes to friends and family
74. Reduce sugar intake
75. Have tea at the Drake Hotel
76. Have tea at the Russian Tea Room
77. Learn to drive a stick
78. Get a physical
79. Have a wine tasting party
80. Bake bread
81. Ride a horse
82. Have a brunch party
83. Go to the botanic gardens
84. Visit the Domes (if they're still open)
85. Take Miller Brewery tour
86. Get a bicycle
87. Ride a bike to the gym on a regular basis
88. Donate blood
89. Create a list of 10 movies I must watch, based on friend recommendations and then watch them
90. Donate clothes to Goodwill
91. Organize recipes
92. Spend a day at the beach
93. Don't complain about anything for a week
94. Create 5 new playlists in iTunes
95. Make someone breakfast in bed
96. Have a cocktail in the Signature Room
97. Go to Skydeck at the Sears Tower
98. Learn to jump start a car
99. Ride a motorcycle
100. Read 10 books on a list of 100 books everyone should read
101. Learn to tie a tie

And, I can officially cross off #38. I sent myself flowers for this very Valentine's Day. As established last year, I am soooooo awesome!!

70 things...

2012-01-25T20:43:00.000-06:00

Previously, I posted about a list I was making. I'm making a list of 101 things to do in 1001 days. The official start date (as suggested by Jade) is February 14, 2012. As Jade put it, Valentine's Day is the perfect start date, because this is the perfect date to show love to yourself. Well put, lady!

Categories can run the gamut, so I've got things like "finish design of kitchen & baths" and "travel out of the country." I've got savings goals, dating goals, and charitable goals. And yet, I still need a ton of time to create my list! I am running out of things to add...I don't want to make a long travel list, because I want to make the list realistic. And in real life, I can't travel to 50 different places in just under 3 years. Same thing for money goals -- you can only do so much with what money you have. So while maybe I'd like to save a million dollars in 1001 days, I won't be making a million dollars in that time.

So what else is there? Or, more specifically, what else do I need to do in the next 2.75 years? I'm totally open to suggestions!

Sowwy...

2012-01-25T20:32:00.000-06:00

The past couple weeks, I have been disappointed/irritated/angered by guys. Usually they’ve apologized, and haven’t repeated whatever mistake they made. And yet, I find that after the apology, I was still dissatisfied. I wanted flowers or a mixtape or chocolates or a nice dinner or SOMETHING! What ever happened to the holy art of making it up to a woman? (Because let's face it, the concept was invented by men who were put in the dog house by women scorned).

Brother once told me that he didn't like to take flowers home when he was in trouble, because he didn't want to create that expectation. You know what I say to that? Fine, then what DO you do? Sometimes, an apology is enough. But sometimes, you want the other person to feel the same pain you did when they pissed you off. (Yeah, I said it). Fellas, word of advice? I suggest you buy something for your lady or do something for her if you mess up. I mean, how hard is it to bring her favorite dinner if you didn't notice that she chopped 5 inches off of her hair? Or, how about buying flowers after an argument about whether you could watch the game and skip her sister's baby shower?*

And speaking of flowers. Flowers are making me insane. What's the expression? Doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results is the definition of insanity. Well, I continue to see fellas and expect that they are buying flowers. Turns out? Not the case. If I were a dude, I'd have women falling all over themselves for me, because I would be buying flowers on the regular. And fellas? I haven't forgotten you. Women aren't cooking anymore, are they? Y'all have totally gotten the shaft on that one. So, let's make a Mars and Venus deal. The boys start bringing flowers to put on the table next to the home-cooked meal made by the girls. Ok? Deal? Deal! Just call me the Great Negotiator.

*Clearly a hypothetical. Of COURSE you skip the baby shower.

1001 days

2012-01-17T19:22:00.000-06:00

My co-worker gave me a great idea and I'm totally stealing it from her. She was seeking suggestions for her list of 101 things to do within 1001 days. A little googling led me to this website explaining the project.. I love list-making and I love goal-setting, so this just seemed like a nifty journey to embark upon.

The parameters on this website are bit stringent for me. I don't think everything on the list needs to be a "stretch." Sometimes, it's just about getting something done -- or doing something I've always wanted to do. And so, I am now taking suggestions on what to do!

I also wonder what date I should use. If I end it on Dec 31, 2014 (which seemed like an easy date to pick), I don't have to start until April 4. But then, I thought April 4 was so far away that I would lose interest. So then I thought ending it on my birthday of 2014, but I realized that a.) it was too late for 1001 days until that date, and b.) I don't celebrate my birthday anymore. So then, I thought maybe my half birthday would be a good day (November 22, 2014), because I typically begin to clean house and look back over my life around that time. But, it's kind of a lame day to end something. Then, I looked at Christmas Day, 2014. And, that too seemed silly. Maybe I'll start on Chinese New Year of this year...which is January 23, 2012. I'm concerned that might be too soon to come up with a list.

Basically, I'm officially taking suggestions on the list AND on the start (or end) date. I think my backup start date will be Feb 29, 2012, which has me ending on the day before Thanksgiving, 2014. Hm...that could be a good day too.

I'm already excited to start this new journey. Who's with me?!!?

Eff 2011. Bring on 2012!

2012-01-03T12:06:00.000-06:00

2011 had its ups and downs for me. There were some great but sporadic highs, but also some very low and dark lows. As far as I’m concerned, the second half of the year was more or less a lost year. Which is fine – every year can’t be amazing. As one blogger put it, 2011 blew goat’s balls. That said, things were beginning to get rosier near the end of the year…that is, until December 31, 2011. That’s when 2011 really decided to act a fool.

I’d just completed the first of a four day weekend, and I’d enjoyed myself tremendously. That Friday, December 30, I began my day with some serious sleeping in. Then, I moved on from there to the loafing on my couch portion of the evening. I got in some high quality bad television watching (I’m looking at you Steve Wilkos, Judge Judy, and Dr. Phil). Basically, I spent a day off work the way God intended. The next day, I woke up (after another excellent sleeping-in session) and decided to run some errands and generally get my life together since I figured I’d be too hungover on New Year’s Day to do anything resembling productivity.

First, I proceeded to Target to purchase some holiday storage solutions and an over-the-door hook for my new peacock-feather wreath. After Target, the plan was to go to the grocery store to get various food and sundries for the week, then to Starbucks to get my fix, and then on to Home Goods and the local wine store. After completing my rather productive circuit, I’d head home and get ready for the evening’s pseudo-festivities.

The first stop went well; I was pretty impressed with myself for remembering to take my coupon. Afterwards, I headed over to the grocery store and did some more coupon-saving damage.* Following a bankrupting shopping excursion o’foodstuffs, I then headed over to ‘bux to get a decaf soy latte with honey.**

Finally, it was time to head to Home Goods. It had been over a week and I was worried that the discounted home décor store was starting to miss me. And, I was going for a cookie sheet since I’d mistakenly destroyed mine last month. Upon pulling into the always crowded parking lot, I realized that for the 3rd shopping trip in a row, I’d forgotten the over-the-door hanger for the blasted wreath. S#!&!!! As I sat in the parking lot cursing the fah-reaking peacock wreath that I just HAD to have but so-help-me-was-going-back-to-the-store if I didn’t get a hanger soon, I took a nice long swig of my cooling ‘bux and felt better. Damn peacock wreath was really starting to work my nerves. ANGRYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!!

When I got myself into Home Goods and over to the cookie sheet section, I found that they still had an abundance of the brand I wanted. (Rachel Ray’s Oven-Lovin’ Sheet, for those keeping track…). I set my still twee-bit-hot-to-drink beverage on the glass shelf above the cookie sheet, and pulled out GAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
And there’s my Starbucks, all over the floor. #$&@(#&$@(#@(%*(%_)!&%. [INSERT EXPLETIVES HERE].

I proceeded to the register after informing a nice young man that I’d spilled my basically full cup of coffee all over the floor. When I got to the register, I found out that the cookie sheet was $5 more than I thought – and scratched – but given that I had to hold it flat because it had drippings of coffee on it, I was too embarrassed to ask them to give me a different one. How sad is that?

Since my coffee was gone, after the wine store I went to Chipotle to buy myself a completely unauthorized meal to make myself feel better. (Well that, and because the only calories I’d consumed at this point was 2 sips of my long-lost beverage and a TLC granola bar purchased at Target – when I SHOULD have been purchasing a damn over-the-door hanger). I got myself a nice little burrito bowl, and headed home.

I carry 4 bags of not-very-well packed groceries, my holiday storage solution, and my Chipotle up three flights of stairs. Groceries put away, I reached for the Chipotle bag, which was all wet. Why? Because it had tilted on the way up the stairs and I hadn’t noticed. I lost some of my delicious salsa to the paper bag. ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRGHHHHHHHHH!!! That right there? Was the last damn straw that broke the hobbled camel’s back. DAMN YOU 2011!!!! Disgusted, I put the burrito bowl in a non-leaking stoneware bowl, heated it, and demolished the entire thing with a glass of wine.

Take THAT 2011. Just when I thought I’d given you a bad rap, and maybe you weren’t so bad, turns out, you kick me in the teeth on the last day. So screw you 2011! I’m totally leaving you for 2012, and I don’t feel bad about it!

*Including a $5 coupon for razorblades, since I figured it was time to de-fuzz my legs for the first time since the local temperature was above 70 degrees. What? Like you were looking at my tights- or pants-covered legs. Pfft. Don’t judge me.

**AKA a Boston Latte and my newest obsession, thanks to former Masshole kd.

Not an Inspiration for the Dixie Chicks

2011-12-25T00:30:00.000-06:00

There was a hit country song that came out when I was in college by the Dixie Chicks called "Wide Open Spaces." Let me tell you something. That song? Was not a song about me. Hi, my name is pheebee. And I'm an agoraphobic.

Earlier this week, I was invited by a friend from high school to her house to hang out with her, her husband, 2.5 kids and their white picket fence. She was throwing a little shindig for her really good friend (and incidentally, my very first non-elementary-school boyfriend*), his wife, their 2.5 kids, and their family SUV. As I was preparing (dreading) going, I had all kinds of thoughts going through my head, which mainly consisted of "What in the devil am I going to do at a 'family-friendly' party?!". But alas, I overcame my apprehension and decided to go. Why? Because I hadn't seen these people in forever, and in high school they were kind of cool. And, if I was lucky, the kids would be sleeping by the time I got there. ;).

So, I checked the address and realized that girlfriend had moved from the old 'hood to BFE. And I told her I thought as much as I was messaging her about my drive. I'd always heard of BFE, but I'd never actually attempted to go there. Far as I was concerned, if it wasn't in the city or an adjacent county, then it'd better be on the way to the city I lived in. In order to get there and not get lost, I jumped on Google Maps and requested some solid directions. Google estimated my trip to take about 40-45 minutes. Knowing that Google always assumes that you're driving a Maserati that's invisible to speed traps, I also knew that this estimate was exceptionally low. I allotted for just under an hour of drive time -- not including the stop I had to make at a liquor store.**

Here's the thing. I have 2 random phobias, ok? One of them, is not really relevant here, and I refuse to admit that I have it. The other is agoraphobia. I get all kinds of panicky and anxious when I'm far enough out of the city that the highways and byways no longer have street lights. And this is precisely where I was headed. Gah! Anyway, I got there safe, had a good time catching up and talking trash.

But, here's where the story becomes worth posting about. As I was leaving, my Ma asked me if I wanted to take some money to fill up her gas tank. And the reason she asked was not because there wasn't any gas in the car, but because I was going so far out of the city and "you don't really know where you're going." Petulant teenager that I become where my Ma is involved, I said I didn't need any stinkin' gas, and it wasn't that far to BFE, for heaven's sake. It's not like I was trying to get to the Capitol! I had just over a 1/4th of a tank and I'd gone farther with less before!! Seriously!

Well, as I was headed back to my parents' house, I realized that what was just over a 1/4th of a tank when I left, was rapidly becoming an 1/8th of a tank. But the gas was actually more expensive in BFE than it was in the city (yeah, I was that far out. They probably have to pay an import/export fee out there or something, since it's so far away). I was really going to push it til I got home. And then...(dum dummm DUMMMM!!!!!!) the check engine light came on. CRAP! I'm driving merrily along, and I'm internally panicking because I have a check engine light, there are no street lights around, and OMG WHERE AM I?!!?! I convince myself that the engine light is really code for low fuel so I decide to care of that small matter ASAP.

I pull off the freeway at the first exit with a blue sign for fuel. And, I'm thinking to myself that I would 1. never admit to my Ma that she was right and I should've gotten gas before I left; 2. that my face will freeze off while I'm pumping, which is really a shame; 3. that I would never EVER in a million years stop at a gas station in the middle of the night if I was in the city or back in Iowa but...what are the odds anyone else will be there to rape and pillage me?

Funny story, when I finally got to the gas station, all the lights were off and I was convinced I wouldn't be able to get anything. Because hey, it's the country and they close everything down, and they don't have automated systems because it's (all together now...) BFE. But they did have a pay outside option, and the pumps were still on (station was closed though. Wouldn't be satisfying my beef jerky quota any time soon). And, there was no one around...until I heard vrooooooommmmmmm! At this point, I'm thinking about how most crimes are crimes of opportunity, and I surely just gave some fool an excellent opportunity to perpetrate a crime against me...and here I was without my pepper spray, in BFE where no one would hear me scream.

The car that squealed it's way into the gas station was a silver Infinity sports coupe. Immediately I figured it was a drug dealer***. When the car got to the pump that was the farthest away from mine, the driver got out. And...wait for it...it was Doogie freakin' Howser meets Duckie meets DJ Conner. He was skinny as a beanpole with dark hair and glasses. At first I wondered why he wasn't in bed sleeping because it was so clearly past his bedtime. Then I dared him (in my head) to just try something because I was pretty sure that I outweighed him by 20 lbs. So much for his crime of opportunity. Guess that kid would just have to stick with living a straight-laced life as a etymologist somewhere.

I gassed up and got back on the road. And, wouldn't you know the check engine light STILL didn't go off? The next day I found out it was actually that the coolant levels were low. So, all that trouble for what? Being scared half to death by a child that was joyriding his daddy's car to the gas station.

And that right there? Is why we stick to the city and adjacent counties. Anything else will lead to stopping for gas at 12:30 in the morning...and no good can come of that. ;)

*And by boyfriend, I mean guy I asked to Turnabout in 10th Grade. Exciting, I know.

**PS. When going to someone's house, act like you have some home training. Take a hostess' gift and if it's a bottle of wine or liquor that doesn't get opened (or finished), it's tacky to take it back with you. You leave it there. (Yeah, I'm looking at you, Titan).

***Because Infinity sports coupes are big in the drug dealer industry? Clearly. Why else would I think it...not like I'd make something like that up. Riiiiiight.

Propaganda?

2011-12-21T20:32:00.000-06:00

Sometimes I wonder about what's going through my head. I'm truly wondering if I'm a twee bit nut-so.

So, here's the deal. The other day, I was sitting around and I started to think about Disney. You know what I don't understand? Why is Disney out and out promoting straight-up propaganda? They've taken an entire segment of society that has been rightfully cast out to the gutters of society, and are constantly promoting them and trying to get all of us to accept them. You know what I think that is? BOGUS.

Who am I talking about? Mice. I mean, for real. Did ol' Walt have a secret fetish that no one ever knew about? First, there is Mickey. And Mickey is kinda cute, with his little squeaky voice and his cute little coordinating outfits. There was also duckies, doggies, et al. But then, along came Minnie. So, are we trying to procreate? But ok, I get it. All the animals go on the ark two by two. Fair enough, everyone needs a buddy. Cool. Besides, Minnie was likely the one running the show.

But...then there are all the mice of Cinderella. All of them are squeaking and talking and wearing little outfits. Moving through cinematic history, mice keep showing up in Disney movies, etc etc. Then, we end up in one of the more recent movies, Ratatouille...which featured an ENTIRE DAMN KITCHEN of mice. And, the restaurant critic meets the mice and he doesn't freak out. He has an entire conversation and shakes the hand of the little rodent. Ewwwwww!!!!!!!!!

I don't understand what is happening. On the rare occasion that they do show a mouse in the light that they're supposed to be; they are always rats, with creepy red eyes. EWWWWW AGAIN!!!!! Why is Disney trying to get us to embrace mice? What's up with that? Is there something we don't know?

A few weeks ago, my downstairs neighbor told me a story about a clogged drain. Evidently, one of the bathroom drains was plugged up, and nothing was working...not Drano or using a plunger, nada. So he decided to do a little manual investigating. Lo and behold he found the clog...and he's pretty sure it was a tiny little baby mouse. Excuse me, a DEAD baby mouse that had tried to climb up the drain and snack on all the non-poisonous food in the house. Let me tell you something. If there is ever a time where there's some little rodent running around my house -- or if I find one that died somewhere in my house -- EVERYBODY will know about it. It'll be clear after you hear the blood-curdling screams coming from my unit. Followed by the immediate packing of all my worldly possessions and the "For Sale" sign that will be posted on the front of the building, immediately.

And I don't give a rat's-behind what Disney or anyone else has to say about it.

Deep Waters

2011-12-12T21:36:00.000-06:00

Jade and I often talk about our tastes in the opposite gender. Turns out, we are both into the hot boys. This is not news. Problem is, we are both forever destined to be branded as shallow. If you ask me, that's just patently unfair. Behold, I shall defend those who want a handsome fella or pretty gal on their arm just as much as they want a smart man or woman.

First of all, no one is saying that what an individual finds attractive is going to be the same as everyone else's. No where is this more evident than the recent crowning of Jennifer Aniston as the The Hottest Woman of All Time or some such thing. (Leading legions of people to say "what the hell?!!?!"*) The point is that everyone has a threshold of attractiveness. And if you're honest with yourself, you know you have certain attributes that you like.

Secondly, I once read somewhere that couples who are in love and married for a long time never update their images of their spouses. Whatever the spouse looked like when they were young is what you'll be picturing in 15 years. Isn't that an image you'd like to look at? Yeah, I thought so.

Finally, I've said it once, and I'll say it again. No matter what the personality is, eventually you'll have to want to see the person naked. I'm not saying you have to jump into the sack on the first date.** But for real, how enjoyable is the horizontal mambo going to be if you can't stand to look at the person? I mean seriously, a paper bag is only effective for the face. And is bound to get in the way of kissing.

Call me shallow if you like -- but I intend to enjoy looking at my significant other (with or without clothes). And I suspect you plan to do the same. You just don't want to admit it. So fine then...I'll be the shallow one. You be the liar. :-*

*Or maybe that was just me. Who vote on this anyway? Jennifer Aniston -- really?!!

**In fact, no you may not on the first date, tramp. Keep your pants up. :-P

Growing Up or Getting Over It?

2011-12-06T08:03:00.000-06:00

Not too long ago, I was talking to my uncle. We were discussing maturing, and how it seems like some people never seem to stop doing the things they did in high school. The subject turned to going out. Now, my uncle is 30 years older than me, right? But he said that he had to stop going to the clubs because he was tired of seeing the same people there every night. He said they never seemed to want something different. It's a natural reaction of a young buck to protest "yeah, but things are different now!!!" But, before I could even get it out, my uncle pointed out that 30 years ago, the men were tryin' to get the drawers, and the women were wearing skirts that just barely covered their cheeks. (My words, but pretty darn close to his). That shut me up pretty quickly. Why? Because that's basically what's happening in the clubs today.

That conversation made me feel a little bit better. When I was in my late 20s and at the peak of awesomeness, I remember dreading the idea of turning 30, and becoming lame...saying things like "I'd rather stay in my house and drink" or "I don't want to go to a club to kick it with my friends" or "I don't like clubs, they're too loud. I'd rather hang out at a bar with my friends, where we can talk and kick it." These were all phrases that I associated with being old and lame. (Frankly, I still associate them with being old and lame). 2 things that are truly terrifying for me.

Then, shortly after turning 29, I moved to BFE...land of the hipster and stroller. There were families everywhere, and hipsters. The "scene" in my new 'hood was dive bars and coffee shops. All things that make me pull back in horror. And, I was far enough away from the real scene that I needed to drive or plan my night financially. I was sure to wither away and die in my pure lack of awesomeness.

Turns out, I was right about a couple things. First, there is nothing to do after 7pm in my new 'hood (except hit the gym). It's sort of like living in the suburbs, without the status or the space. I don't go to the clubs as much anymore (or at all, really). And I would rather go to a bar to hang out (sort of). But none of these things are because I'm old and can't handle the good nightlife anymore. I officially stand corrected!

The reasons going out to the club is less than appealing is because it's expensive! Dude, a cab roundtrip plus drinks plus cover (on the rare occasion that I'd pay it) is not something to be taken lightly. Alternatively, I can just have friends over and we can blow through a couple bottles of wine or liquor for a total of $10 a piece. AND, I don't have to concern myself with stumbling home. Now, let's not forget Sunday Fundays. When it go right, you get to go out (drive and park at the bar, if necessary!!), have a coupla cocktails, watch some football, yell at the TV, talk trash and then head home in time to sober up and not have a hangover. Finally, my uncle was right -- you really do see the same people over and over and over at the club. And really? How many times can you turn the same guy down? And the little soror-a-ho's that started working my nerves in law school are just as annoying now.

All that to say, it's nice to know that the reasons I started being lame are not necessarily related to being old. I kinda wish someone who'd already gotten there had explained this years ago...maybe I wouldn't have had such a phobia about turning 30.

So...who wants to come over to have a dance party?!!?

Torn or Multi-faceted?

2011-11-30T21:32:00.000-06:00

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

2011-11-18T19:38:00.000-06:00

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...?

2011-11-17T23:09:00.000-06:00

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...

2011-11-13T23:52:00.001-06:00

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

2011-11-08T21:13:00.001-06:00

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.

2011-11-08T20:46:00.001-06:00

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.

2011-11-01T21:01:00.000-05:00

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.

Twos

2011-10-26T21:24:00.003-05:00

The last two days have been filled with pairs. At first, I didn't even notice it. And then, it started to become a little more obvious. Allow me to explain:

Number of exes that have professed their desire to get back together: 2.
Number of exes that I believe are completely full of it when it comes to trying again: 2.
Number of times I've been approached about going on a date with someone from Facebook: 2.
Number of times I said I'd do it if for no other reason than for the story: 2.
Number of guys in or around my office who have a crush on me: 2.
And so, you see the theme.

I've always suspected that the Titan hangs around as an insurance policy. I think he's got me as a back up plan -- in the event he doesn't find something better, he knows that I'll make a good to decent wife (his words). Yesterday was the first time he finally admitted to wanting to try again. But, wait for it. Did he ask me out at that point? Nope. He said he wanted to try it again, and I quote: "down the line." To quote SiQ's sister, what in the fresh hell is that?! Is there no honor in dating anymore? Isn't that one of those things you keep inside your head? Perhaps it would have been more effective if he just said to me "hey, if we're both still single in 5 years, let's get married, k?" Ohhh wait, he has said that to me. Look man, you're really good at helping me with my fantasy team and all, but kick rocks. We are so not going to get back together.

Side note? He came out of left field, showing signs of intelligence again. I said to him: "hey, what would we talk about if we never talked about football?" And he says, "lots of things. Like, how about Obama withdrawing the troops out of the Middle East. What do you think about that? I think it's about time." Zwrrrrrrrr. Say what? Who are you?!

Anyway, when I was working at my first job, I learned a valuable lesson about going out with people who work places where you frequent. After a brief interaction with 'bux (this guy), I became intimately familiar with the awkwardness that happens when it doesn't work out. (Remember this?) The lesson is, if you go there often, do NOT go out on a date with these people, unless you're prepared to change your routine in its entirety if things go south. This rule is particularly important at your local Starbucks, the gym, your office, and anywhere else you're bound to be at least once a week. Sadly, the only two people on the planet who have a crush on me are stationed at my local Starbucks and my office building. The Starbucks guy has been professing his crush for almost as long as I've been at this job. Fortunately, he's bought the excuse that I've got a boyfriend for most of that time. (It helps that he was there when Astro went to get me a chai -- back when he was doing an effective job of courting me). This Starbucks guy also has a kid and is still in school. Furthermore, I'm just not interested in seeing him naked. Like, ever. So...pass on that. It would for sure end, it would be awkward, and then I'd have to re-route my 'bux habit. Nobody wants that.

The other guy, is the doorman in my office building. It took a minute for him to build up to actually expressing his crush. In fact, he hasn't actually claimed it, yet. But it's officially the worst kept secret. He gives me a hard time, which is fun. He always holds the elevator door open for me, and walks across the lobby with me to the backdoor. It's pretty endearing. But, it would be even more awkward when it didn't work out!* He works at the door of the building for heaven's sake. There is no getting around seeing him after a breakup. We'll just have to maintain our relationship at the lobby flirting level :).

Meanwhile, the date with Mr. Smiling Irish Eyes did not happen on Monday (much to the chagrin of friends everywhere). There is a possibility that it could happen tomorrow, because the plans which were made were tentative. We'll see. I promise an update if it happens!

Hmm, maybe all these twos have a lot to do with the weather. I always say, when it gets cold out, the snow bunnies start looking for someone to pair up with. All we need now is for one of these snow bunnies to be my kind of snow bunny.

*For the record, I'm making a lot of assumptions here. It's not that I think I'm hot stuff. By the way, my proof came today when he told me that since we were fighting, he thought we should kiss and make up. I giggled -- it was kinda funny.

So worth it!

2011-10-20T22:00:00.000-05:00

As we learned in the last post, a good story is always worth the hassle. Well, I tested this theory again earlier this week.

On Tuesday, Astro called me (out of the blue)* and asked me to go with him to a political fundraiser (aka networking event). Given my desire to raise my status as a super connector, I agreed to go.

When we got there, it quickly became apparent that I was going to have to make an adjustment to my strategy. Back when Astro was a "current" rather than an "ex" boyfriend, I'd often be more of a Jackie O rather than a Michelle O**. But, as an ex, I'm no longer obligated to fulfill that role. I'm not saying this is a bad thing, just a matter of course. So, we separate, and he goes off to meet his next investor, and I go off to meet my next sucker, er, client.

As I'm speaking to a woman, there is a guy who is standing a few yards away. He is oh, maybe just under 6 feet tall, has slicked back dark hair; a gray gimlet patterned suit, with a shiny blue tie; a shiny and obvious watch, and a tan. Basically, if someone were to play him in a movie, it'd be Robert De Niro (before he went gray). Oh, except Italian, he was Irish. (We'll get to how I know that in a minute.) So, I'm talking to this lady, and smiling Irish eyes says "wait a second...did she (meaning me) just say she's married?!" Ok. Entertaining, sure. I did like the boldness, that was cool. But, whatevs. The lady and I continue our conversation. Shortly thereafter, smiling Irish eyes says "hey Mrs. Irish Eyes, what would you like to drink?" (Ok, stop. Before you get all excited, we were at an event with an open bar.) The lady I'd been talking to was getting ready to leave, on her way out she says "this is the type of event where you could end up getting married. (sly smile)."

Well, Mr. smiling Irish eyes gets my white wine and hands it to me. I thank him for it, and he pulls me to the bar, and offers me a seat. He says "you're too beautiful to be standing." (Yes really, I'm so not making this up.) We chat for 3 minutes, he tells me he's Irish, and a friend of his walks over. The friend of SIE ask me who I came with and what he does. So I say I came with a friend who is a venture capitalist. Mr. SIE says "my friend and I are venture capitalists. We just put an in-flux of money into the economy whenever we go shopping. I always buy women's clothes and jewelry but I have nothing to do with it."***

Now, this guy is laying it on pretty thick, to the point of being comical. Except, he's being totally serious. Anyway, he goes on to say that if I want to get married, his friend is a rabbi so the friend can marry us upstairs.**** I politely decline the marriage proposal. So, it's time for them to go. Mr. SIE asks for my card, which I hand over. (Like I said, there may be a legit business prospect there, but I can't remember what he said he did. Mainly because I wasn't listening closely enough to retain anything he said). He then reaches in his pocket to hand me his card. And....it's his Amex Platinum. Yes, dear readers. He actually hands me his Amex. Now, we've just taken the evening to a whole new level. I don't even know what the appropriate reaction is at this point.

So, I'm telling this story to my co-workers, and they're all equally horrified. And so I say, well I'll let you know how the date goes. One of the girls says, "wait, what? You're actually going out with this guy?!" So, I look at her dead in the eye: "hell yeah! Either way, I get paid...either a nice dinner OR actual business because the dude has money. Either way it works out for me. And anyway, when a chance like this comes, you always ALWAYS go all in just for the story!"

So, here's hoping the sequel is just as good as the first story. Oh smiling Irish eyes, what else could you possibly bring?

*Side note? You know what really puts a bee in my bonnet? People who don't return messages -- voice OR texts! And, frankly, I'm tired of hearing that he's "busy." As near as I can tell, he just dix around all day on the computer and goes to "meetings" (most assuredly those meetings are with his dealer. If you ask me). Anyway, I don't care how damn busy a person is, unless your last name is preceded by "President of the United States" you are NOT THAT DAMN BUSY. PICK UP YOUR PHONE!!!! Ok, side bar over.

**In other words, a Jackie O is a pretty girl that is seen and not heard (and likely running ish in the background). A Michelle O is ahead of her game, and doin' her own thang (and STILL running ish in the background).

***Yes, really. I'm not making this up!

****Nearly forgot the best part. The event was held at the set of the recently cancelled "Playboy Club." Yup. Just adds a layer of shenanigans, doesn't it?

The Story that Almost Was

2011-10-17T21:45:00.002-05:00

This weekend I travelled to Seattle to lay some smack down on Conference First Timers. The flight out west is sooooo far. (It's halfway to London for heaven's sake!!)

Anyway, I managed to get myself a window seat on the plane, and in a row where the middle seat was empty. Score! So, after making polite small talk, the guy on the aisle fell silent...leaving me the opportunity to engage in a power nap. Well, when I woke up a short while later (deep, satisfying sleep turned out to be elusive), I discovered that the once vacant middle seat had been occupied. Boo Hiss Boo!! The guy that sat there was a guy who apparently was a comedian. He was travelling to Seattle for a show, but he wasn't famous (seriously -- the guy in the aisle actually asked him that!).

Turns out, he moved to our section because he was going to go crazy. He'd been sitting next to a guy that apparently believed showering was optional. And, behind him, the kid that had been disturbing all of us with his cries of "no! No! NO! NOOOOOOOOOOOO!" had also been kicking the back of his seat. He said it was so bad that he gave up the window seat to move into a middle seat. He feared that if he hadn't, he would've been the subject of every passenger's conversation: "OMG! Did you see that black guy who....". And so, I ended up with a new seatmate.

For the first hour of the 4 hour tour, he and I didn't really chat. It wasn't until snack time came around that we really started chatting. The comedian was living in NYC, but originally from Philly. He graduated with a degree in engineering, but decided to try pursuing comedy instead. He would be in Seattle for 2 days, and performing 2 shows. We discussed everything from television to seafood. We even stuck together for the walk from the airplane to the baggage claim. He asked for my card, and promised to get in touch later.

Now, I know you're all dying to know. Did I find him attractive? Could I see myself moving to NYC for him? Would I DO him?!!?! The answer is no. He just wasn't necessarily my type. (And by not necessarily, I mean not at all). But, I was really amped up about the whole scene because I have NEVER been hit on while I was on a plane. I'm just not the type of girl that gets looked at twice on a plane. Nor do I have the type of luck that involves a man giving me a second look when alcohol is not involved.* So, I was extra excited about having airplane comedian get in contact with me. (And for the record, I was exercising my right not to wear makeup that day).

Turns out, he did shoot me an email. And, we made tentative plans. I was totally in it, just for the story. Why? Because I love you, dear readers. I was going to endure what could turn out to be a disaster date just for y'all. Well, I met him at the comedy club where he was doing his show...and DL Hugley showed up! After that, he was free to head out, so he did a quick change and took me out for cocktails and dessert. Believe it or not, he had flowers waiting backstage for me! They were gorgeous!! (Admittedly, my first thought was: "how the eff am I going to get these back home on the plane?"). He took me to a great little bistro that....just kidding. None of that ever happened. Sadly, it never happened. Our schedules just didn't match up. But, just knowing that I almost got a date with a guy from the plane is bound to make a girl feel good!

*Or, when he isn't a homeless guy on the street. Or, a guy that just wants a hug. (eyeroll).

What would you do?

2011-10-10T20:10:00.000-05:00

I'm reading a great book called The $64 Dollar Tomato. It's a memoir of one man's quest for the perfect garden. Naturally, hilarity ensues. There is a moment where the author begins to wonder whether the gardening has lost it's magic, and it's no longer worth the effort. He quotes a great philosopher (I'm too lazy to get up and find the quote, but I think it's Sartre), asking "if you had to live the same life over and over again, would you pick the one you have now?

I think I can answer that question without much thought. My response? Is HELLLLLL NAWWWWW. But to know that you don't want to repeat your life as is isn't really going far enough. You have to figure out what you want. In a moment of introspection, I've been trying to figure that out. And you know what I've figured out? I want to be a Real Housewife of OC.

As I've contemplated my options, I can't say that when I'm fantasizing about the perfect life I'm picturing anything that involves going to work everyday. And I can say without hesitation that I don't dream of owning my own business. You know what I dream about? I dream about going to the gym for a couple hours a day, putting together fabulous meals, and throwing lavish parties. And let us not forget the hours spent in a huge closet (and shopping to fill that closet). The moments I do have miniature fantasies about work, they tend to center around big board meetings, in which everyone in the room is scared of ticking me off. (AKA being on the Board of a charitable organization).

Although the shopping and the lavish decorations are part of the fantasy, the part I usually concentrate on is spending time with my significant other and good friends. I think about owning a house with a great big porch or patio or some kickass outdoor area. Sometimes I dream of having a pretty flower garden. (Oddly, I never picture myself gardening). Oh, and I also dream about getting it on with my significant other on a very regular basis...just sayin'.

All this introspection leads me to believe that I truly do aspire to be an OC housewife! I wonder if that means I'm destined to be a reality TV star too? Hmm...methinks a career change is in order. I'm ready for my contract, BravoTV. ;)

What the...?!?!

2011-10-06T21:50:00.000-05:00

So, I started writing a post that was all kinds of introspective. But the St. Christopher gerwertztraminer kinda snuck up on me. So, instead, I am posting a reader submission. (One should never drink and blog.) Please see below.

My cousin sent this to me as a submission for the hot daggone mess portion chapter of the book. Can I just say, I'm traumatized? Possibly for life. Bad fashion is one thing. But this goes beyond bad fashion to straight out assault and battery on my eyes. To quote a recent commenter...what in the sam damn hell?! *shudder*

I figured it out!

2011-09-27T20:49:00.000-05:00

I have finally figured out why chivalry is dead. This morning on my way to work, I jumped on the el like a bunch of other people. The train car I got on was full, but not quite crowded. I was the 2nd person on my side of the car, preceded by a young man. There was one seat left, and he took it. Actually, he looked at me, and then sat down. I proceeded through the car and started to lament the death of chivalry. That's when I realized that I think I've figured out the reason why it died.

So, back in the day when men were giving up seats for ladies, opening doors, and generally being gentlemanly, women were...well...expected to be quiet, for lack of a better word. Proper ladies were meant to dress nicely, take care of their man, cook dinner, mind the children, do the laundry, and basically be a domestic goddess. They were not off galavanting around, running board rooms, getting advanced degrees, or earning the big bucks. Unfortunately, they also weren't expected to really have much of an opinion or cause a whole lot of ruckus outside of the home. As a trade off, men were the great big providers, protecting women and giving them special treatment, just because they were ladies.

Around the time that feminism took hold, (I assume) women decided that the trade-off was totally not worth it. Women were capable of kickin' ass and takin' names outside of the home, and we wanted the right to prove it. And prove it we have! I think at this point, most men understand that women can do something other than cook and clean. But, it would seem to me that men started to feel cheated. Now, women are on equal footing and, near as I can tell, men aren't especially motivated to give them that extra-special treatment. It's like some sort of loophole that the feminists didn't contemplate. Who woulda thought that the price of entering the boardroom was being required to stand on the el? Or split the check on a date? Or be expected to put out right away?

This point was really driven home when I thought back to old relationships. The Titan was all for the modern woman. He wanted a woman who could do it all. But the boy didn't do anything to show that I was special. (As in, I'm pretty sure we split every check, and I saw nary a flower). On the other side, Astro treated me like a special lady. Actually, he gave me some pretty convincing evidence that chivalry isn't totally dead: During the first few months of our relationship, he bought flowers, paid for dinner, gave foot rubs. All in all, the perfect guy, right? The only thing I was required to do was be a well-refined and well-educated lady in the streets, and a freak in the bed. Easy peasy, right? Right. But* after our first argument, when I expressed an opinion that was contrary to his, chivalry kicked the bucket. Basically, he looked at me, and then took the last seat.

What I don't understand, my boys, is why is it that there's no such thing as a happy medium? Yes, I'd like to have my own opinions, and (continue) to kick ass and take names. But I'd also like the guy I'm dating to open doors, give foot rubs, and just be a gentlmanly kind of guy. I find this especially perplexing when women have been balancing for generations. Seriously, if we are able to complete the epic task of keeping or freak in the bed and off the street, and our lady in the street and off the bed, why can't you be a gentleman that doesn't feel emasculated when a chick knows that that was TOTALLY pass interference and Calvin Johnson and the Lions was absolutely robbed last season? For real boys. Your head won't explode, I promise.

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*There's always a a but, isn't there.

Decorating Time

2011-09-26T20:55:00.000-05:00

I have an amazing friend who can turn any squalid studio into a chic urban loft. Jade is the type of chick who paints, faux finishes, and treats the walls of her rented space, just because she has to live there.* It's a trait that is nothing short of awesome. She has a million different service pieces, holiday gear, wall art, dishes, glasses, centerpieces, you name it! After a gathering at her space, I'm always inspired to go do something grand.

I, however, am not a decorating guru. I always find it difficult to muster up the excitement or motivation to turn my single gal's home into a festive space for holidays. When I go to department stores, the floor displays are always so well put together. The displays scream "Buy Me! Buy Me! If you do you will have fabulous dinner parties where people have a ripping good time and engage in all kinds of tomfoolery!!" They whisper to me about my hostess skills, the dinners I'll cook, the desserts I'll bake! Everything coming together and my guests being thoroughly wowed. There are displays for spring, summer, autumn, winter, and all the holidays that fall in those seasons. Visions of seasonally appropriate menus begin to dance in my head. But, I know full well that I have no such dinner parties. My cooking skills, while not sad, are not epic. There is no long guest list of people beating down my door to get invited to a shindig. And frankly, I don't have enough seating for a huge gathering. Where do these displays think I live? The 'burbs? HA! There is no good reason for me to run about buying autumn paraphernalia if I'm the only one who is going to be looking at it!

Ironically, I have oodles of willpower when it comes to home fashion trends, despite their inherent practicality. I have no such strength when it comes to the changing fashions. Could it be true that I am only motivated to participate in important trends if I think other people are looking? I should hope not! I am of the belief that you should (and your home!!) look good even if no one is looking!

Ok people, let's get it together. *Clap Clap!* Hence forth, all areas of our lives shall exude fabulous -- not just when the potential for seeing someone is high. Let's do it. Ready.....Break!

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*I like to think she does to her home what Stacy London does to casual outfits. Just because it's cas' doesn't mean it shouldn't be fabulous!

This is why I'm hot

2011-09-19T21:35:00.000-05:00

Today, I got another memo about just how hot I am. Let me set the stage for you.

I was walking down the street, headed to meet some uber important people for lunch. I had on my red ombre stilettos. I also had on a trench coat and a scarf. Frankly, it wasn't my most fabulous outfit. Don't tell my fashionista friends, but my shoes were scuffed, I've lost a button on that coat* And, my hair got wet when I jumped off the building yesterday, so I was rocking a 'do that can really only be described as a shock of black hair.

Anyway, I was about a block outside of my building (aka, before my feet were on fire and so I was still walking normally). I was stopped at the corner, waiting for the light to change. I saw a guy on the opposite corner in a black windbreaker, a hat, and he had a backpack hanging on the lamp post on the corner. He's got a big smile on his face, and appears to be talking to everyone walking by. ... Wait a minute. Is that a styrofoam cup in his hand? Oh geez. It's a homeless guy asking everyone for change. ... That's so sad. ... I don't have any cash though. Oh! The light is changing.

So, I walk across the street, and I hear "Good afternoon!! You look great today. Man, when I get a job, you better run!!!!!"

Zwerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. Hold the phone. Did I just get hit on by a homeless guy? Dude! Don't you have other things you should be concerned with?!

And see? This is why I'm hot. I got hit on by a homeless guy today. Who catcalled you?!!?

*On a related note? I hate that trench. The buttons are awesome because they're heavy, but they suck for the same reason. The heavy buttons are constantly popping off. Curses.

Adventures on the eL

2011-09-16T20:16:00.000-05:00

Lately, all of my adventures have been happening on the el. And, my adventures have mostly (ok totally) been adventures of a boy-crazy teenaged girl. *shrug*

First, on my way home yesterday, I noticed a very well dressed young brotha get on the train just ahead of me. He had on an athletic cut pinstriped suit. (Navy blue with gray stripes for those keeping track). He was well accessorized with a tie, great shoes, and a pocket square. He had a rather unfortunate scar on his bald head...you know probably as a result of being probed by aliens or getting into a fist fight with a weed wacker (he won); but I was totally willing to overlook it because he was so very well put together -- and because he carried himself so well. I took it upon myself to sit right next to him, in hopes of getting a rise out of him. He wasn't looking at me when I sat, so I didn't bother with the flirty half-smile. Instead, I made small production of sitting down and pulling out my copy of the RedEye. When he STILL didn't do anything, I giggled at an article. I don't remember what the article was about, but it probably wasn't nearly as funny as I made it seem. And? Still nothing from Mr. Pinstripe Man. So, I continued reading, dejected at the lack of forthcoming pickup line. But, we had been on the train together for a mere 5 minutes; so I didn't mourn our relationship for too long.

I proceeded to the sports section of the RedEye, where I legitimately did laugh at an article about Cutler. (Football's greatest actor). And this is when Mr. Pinstripe decided to say something. He opened with "how are you today?" Or something equally banal. I responded, and followed my fine with "just laughing at this article on Cutler...[blah blah blah] I heart football." And he said something about the Bears, and I made a snide comment about the Packers being far superior. And then, our newly budding relationship was over. He made a comment about the Bears being the city team and awesome, and I pointed out that we'd won more Super Bowls. (The sitcom voice-over that I sometimes have in my head said something like -- "and that's how he knew it would never work. He bled blue and orange, and she was a cheesehead. They were doomed from the very beginning..." What? I'm the only person with a sitcom voiceover in my head?) For the next two stops, there was a cold silence between us. When I got off the train, I looked back at him, and he totally avoided eye contact. Whatevs. I was over it.

It wasn't until I was about halfway down the stairs when it hit me. That dude only said something to me because he thought I was making all kinds of noise to get him to notice and/or talk to me! So what if it's partially (ok, mostly) true?! Dude, you're not supposed to make it so obvious that you realized what I was doing!! Also? I'm not that desperate. I don't tend to find my dates on public transpo, ok? My dates? Are men I meet in retail stores, thank you.* I don't need you, Mr. Pinstripe. Ok? I can find a date. I just wanted to have a little fun. Geez!

Anyhoo. This morning, I was sitting on the train, reading whatever silly book Amazon had on Kindle for free.** (Incidentally, the free books are generally colossally stupid, and I tend to lose a few brain cells whenever I read them.) So, I'm reading, and we come up to the next stop. I didn't see the man get on, but I sensed him sit next to me. When I looked at him out of the side of my eye, I noticed he was a tall brother in good shape. I didn't see his face from the front, but his profile was nice, a good strong jaw. And then, I got a good whiff -- ewwwww. He was a smoker! Unacceptable. Moving on.

So, on the way back from work, I was headed to the train, and on the way, I pass a Fannie May. I've managed to resist the urge to go in and buy several chocolatey delights, but today it was a struggle! As I was passing the big picture window, I noticed a young Latino gentleman. He was cleaning the counters or packaging candies or...hell I don't know (or care) what he was doing. But the boy was fiiiiiiiiiiine. He had a close-cropped haircut, just this side of a buzz cut. He had on black pants (maybe jeans? Which I hear are back in for men); and a black tank. The tank showed off his lovely muscles, smooth skin, and inverted triangle shape. And then, he had a nice tat on his right forearm. It was pretty big...and just enough badass to make any girl smile. I am pretty sure he caught me lookin' ...but I don't care. Clearly, I didn't learn ANYTHING yesterday. HA!

Hey, at least my commute is never dull!

*See: 'bux boyfriend (Starbucks); Astro (at the See Eyewear); Spritely Asian Guy (Sunglasses Hut)

**Side note? Why the eff are books so expensive on the Kindle? I thought the whole point is that it was cheaper and quicker. What's the point of owning a Kindle if the e-book is just as expensive as the hardcover -- and more expensive than the paperback?! AND I can't get awesome books from the library? Please oh please explain the point. Seriously, Amazon. You built your empire on cheap books. Let's return to our roots, shall we?

9.11.11

2011-09-11T19:48:00.000-05:00

Today has been a day of remembrance for many Americans. Many people have posted or spoken about what 9.11 means to them. I have generally avoided doing this, because even 10 years later, I remain confused by my memories and my reactions.

10 years ago today, I was in college. I didn't have class that morning, for whatever reason. I woke up, brushed my teeth, started getting ready, and turned on the TV. I remember thinking that I hadn't been watching CNN the night before, but maybe I'd turned for some reason -- since what I was seeing was very obviously news. I saw two buildings I didn't recognize with big billows of smoke on the screen. I don't remember reading the tag at the bottom. Frankly, I doubt I paid it much attention as I was getting dressed to go to my work-study job at the library. When I got to the library, my supervisor expressed all kinds of surprise that I showed up to work. It was THEN that I found out that the big buildings with the billows of smoke had been hit by a plane, and were two high rises in New York. My first thought? I wondered what went wrong with the plane.

As days passed, I remember the outpouring of support and the reaction of the nation. I remember feeling like it was an overreaction. Not because the victims and their families didn't deserve every bit of financial and emotional support...But because I was in the middle of Iowa, and I thought it odd that the shops and malls were closing. While I believe that crime happens anywhere and everywhere, I was still finding it difficult to believe that "attacks" or "terrorism"* could ever happen in Iowa.

Ultimately, I never did find a way to truly wrap my head around what happened. I didn't have a specific patriotic pull, because I felt so far removed from the situation. Despite being a short plane ride away, NYC was SO far...like another planet. I was so blessed not to have any family, friends, cousins, distant relatives, random acquaintances...no one I knew was in either of the places where there was an errant plane. I felt for the victims and their families in the way you feel for anyone who suffered from a tragedy -- man-made or otherwise. But it was (is) so hard to believe that it happened here.

Like any other American, I won't forget what happened that day. I pray for peace for those whose private memories are made public because of the tragically large community of people who share your pain.

But I will also let 9.11 serve as a reminder of just how blessed I have been. By the grace of God, my friends and family were spared from this particular tragedy. I praise Him for building a hedge, and I thank Him for all of them (y'all).

And by the way? I pray for those whose culture, race, and faith have forced you to become intimately familiar with the ignorance of some Americans. Those who fall into a minority category (of any kind) feel your pain. I can only hope that someday the great American spirit to whom much credit is given for being welcoming and open and diverse, will truly become welcoming, open, and diverse. Until then, stand strong, and continue to take opportunities to educate those who just don't get it.

*words which, at the time, felt odd in my mouth in connection with the US. They were things that happened elsewhere.

I am a girl, right?

2011-09-07T20:47:00.000-05:00

Sometimes, I question whether I was born the proper gender. What usually sparks these gender-bending thoughts are my reactions to typically boy things and typically girl things.

For example, I spent the greater portion of my morning discussing fantasy football teams. We were discussing Knowshon Moreno -- and not just that crazy first name either. We talked about whether he was better to start over Anquan Bolden in the flex position, how his stats compared to Adrian Peterson (Mr. Fumble, if you ask me), and so on. We also talked about Pitt's defense versus the Packer defense, and whether Jay Cutler was as garbage of a pick as I thought. Now, the people at my office are generally used to my football base of knowledge. But, more than once, I've left a few guys with their mouths hanging open when I make some reference to yards after catch (YAC) or Matt Forte's success in the backfield. Frankly, I think most guys expect women to be confused by the difference between the O-line and the D-line. I don't think they realize that real women can identify when the defense is about to blitz or the offense is standing in an I formation.*

Today was really a gender bending day, apparently. Because my other guy-like habit is my complete and unabashed objectifying of men and I was doing some serious objectifying on my way home. I was sitting on the train when a group of guys got on. All of them were pretty cute, but there was one guy who definitely caught my eye. Actually, his taller friend caught my eye -- but I was kind of turned off when I noticed he was wearing a Tiger Woods' inspired outfit along with a figaro chain...Do they still make those?! Anyway, I spent the better part of my ride toggling between reading whatever free dribble I downloaded on my Kindle, texting JP and eyeing this guy up and down. More than once he caught me staring at him. And, more than once I didn't let that stop me. Sadly, my stop arrived before his did -- but he totally called me out on my less than ladylike staring. No matter. My only reaction was to tell him that he should've asked for my phone number before I got off the train.**

Don't even get me started on my tv watching choices. I am SUPER pumped for football season to start...but I also spend a fair amount of time watching various shows on Bravo TV. Oh well, I guess that means that whatever guy manages to trap me is going to be the luckiest guy ever -- a girly girl that loves looking pretty and also loves football?! Is there anything better? And now that I think of it, his friends are going to really be lucky too...the kind of ladies I hang out with are usually just as well rounded. HA. Lucky ducks. ;)

*Side note? Why is Fashion's Night Out the same day as the NFL opening game? LAME.
**Yes, I really said that. And you know this.

Silver Lining and all that

2011-09-06T21:25:00.000-05:00

Given that I am ever the optimist, I try to find the bright side of things. (No seriously! Ok, not really.) Recently, I rediscovered one of my favorite silver linings, and I thought I'd share.

Ending a relationship is always a tough thing. There is a period of sadness and mourning that inevitably follows. And I don't know about you, but it seems to me that the shorter the relationship, the longer my mourning period.*

But, after you mourn and contemplate and do whatever it is you do to get over a man,** a bright side will emerge. Yesterday, I came across one of the best break-up benefits EVER! I found a pair of pajama pants that the young blood left at my house. I was just lounging about the house, maxing and chillaxin', enjoying the holiday off. They were soooooo comfortable. I can't say that I looked great in them; but I've learned something over the years***. Men find women sexiest when they are au naturel. No make-up, loose sweats, and a tank top. The relaxed and comfy look will do just as much as the dominatrix, lacy, Vicki's not-so-secret Secrets look. (Of course, maybe it's just easier to take off and that's why men like it).

Over the years, I've collected quite a few ex-boyfriend clothing items. T-shirts, pajama pants, an AWESOME flannel shirt from the Ninja. It's been great! I am still searching for the holy grail of ex-clothing...I gotta get myself an awesome sweatshirt from one of the basketball player guys. I think men are on to us now though...the sweatshirt is soooooo hard to come by.

*It took me a couple weeks to get over the young blood from the southside. We dated for 6 months. Astro? I'm pretty sure it took a good year -- and we dated for 3-4 months. WTH?!

**Including getting under a new one. :)

***Bonus bright side!

That's a [insert expletive] Shame!

2011-09-04T23:10:00.000-05:00

I try to remember, when I'm at the club, that people are cutting loose and hanging out. I know that for the most part, folks are wearing clothing that reflects a caricature of themselves and that they probably don't have on something they might wear when the sun comes up. (At least, this is what I hope.) Therefore, the fashion police radar is usually relaxed. However, I've found that despite the relaxed rules, when you're looking at what people wear in the club, the fashion violations are likely to be extra egregious.

Well, last night was no exception. I found myself staring at an outfit that was the definition of, the very incarnation of, a HOT DAMN MESS. The first and most noticeable piece of the outfit was the brown fishnet top. It was long-sleeved, cropped, and fitted. Ok, I guess. If you're bringing the 80s back with a scoopneck, off-the-shoulder, Madonna-esque fishnet situation, cool. Combine it with those crazy ripped jeans (in white) (and skinny cut) then hey. Do you, girlfriend! Throw on a colorful tank and you'll have your own groove goin' on. Except...your girl did NOT throw on a colorful tank. No, she had on a leopard print bra. A LEOPARD PRINT BRA?! Are you sure you meant to come outside like that?

Of course, after seeing the fit-out*, I couldn't stop staring. Which I acknowledge is so wrong. Like, who do I think I am? Stacy London? We weren't filming an episode of What Not to Wear. Anyway, in an effort to be less judgmental (or at least, keep my judgment to myself), I didn't even mention the fit-out to anyone! I kept all my bitchy comments to myself.** Of course, given that I was out with my cousins, and we all inherited a certain snarkiness, my attempts at keeping quiet were thwarted when Cuzo said "Psst. Did you see what your girl has on?!!?" And we commenced with the obligatory eye-rolling. At that point, I whipped out the camera phone, because frankly, no one would believe me without photographic evidence. Behold...what we were looking at:

It wasn't until I got up to (covertly) snap the pic that I discovered the last two straws that broke the camel's back, leg, and toe (pun intended). Let's start with the least obvious thing in the picture -- and a backhanded compliment. Girl is wearing some badass shoes. They are tan and brown zebra print and from behind they look like suede booties. But wait a second. Zwwwrrrrr. Rewind!! I said zebra print. Remember when the bra was leopard print? Aren't those two different animals?!

And now, the pièce de résistance....The little bejeweled heart in the general vicinity of where a tramp stamp belongs. Notice the trifecta of white strings? Now...do what I did. Take a few moments to put 2 and 2 together. BINGO! That's her thong! So basically, she was "fully" clothed, and yet I could see each and every foundational garment that she had on. Wow dude. Wow. I mean, for real. Wow.

By the way -- this was not taken in Vegas. Just in case you were hoping for a logical explanation.

*As opposed to an outfit, of course.

**This is progress, people.

Pretty but smart

2011-08-31T23:01:00.000-05:00

Today a Facebook friend posted the following link: http://moms.today.com/_news/2011/08/31/7539556-im-too-pretty-to-do-homework-so-my-brother-has-to-do-it-for-me?fb_ref=.Tl5qAik5Gzg.like&fb_source=other_multiline

For those who aren't going to click on the link, it's an article about a t-shirt that JCP put out for little girls that said "I'm too pretty to do homework, so my brother has to do it for me." I, for one, found the tshirt hilarious. But my Facebook friend (along with others) was appalled. So many people were appalled that JCP quickly pulled the shirt and offered an apology for being offensive. Later, I was discussing the shirt with kae.dea, and I told her how it made me giggle. She pointed out that it is funny for an adult because you're old enough to know that it's meant to be a joke, and that pretty and smart are not mutually exclusive. She also pointed out that little girls begin to decline academically around 4th and 5th grade when they find out it isn't cool to be smart. And this is the point that I could have been knocked over with a feather. What's this nonsense about not being able to be pretty and smart at the same time? Who the hell is teaching this BS?? Ok pause for a second. I'm not living under a rock. I'm totally familiar with the concept of pretty but dumb (useful for boys and girls, frankly.*) But, I've never been made aware of the fact that you can't be pretty AND smart. I definitely missed the memo on this. Grant it, as kae.dea says** my obliviousness to this phenomenon may have something to do with my sassy and smart mother.

When I was growing up, it was a given that I would keep my prettily powdered nose in a book. I would never EVER leave my house lookin' a hot mess, and the only place I'd be headed would be school or an extracurricular activity. It was a given that I'd be a cutie -- my mother had so many outfits that her auntie that babysat me would change my clothes halfway through the day. (She bought all the cute little dresses and bobby socks BEFORE ever knowing what I'd look like). When I was old enough to talk, stand, and point, I started learning to read. When I was old enough to learn and use the concept of charm, Ma entered me in Miss America Princess pageants.***

Later in life, I wasn't on anybody's top 10 list of hot girls in school. (Although that may have had more to do with how beauty was defined where I went to school, rather than how I looked). But goodness knows I still tried to look at least halfway decent and somewhat fashionable. Also? It's not like I went to a school where it was particularly cool to be smart. But, no one made fun of kids for being smart -- it was being smart AND dorky that was the problem. If you were smart and charming, or smart and pretty, or smart and kicked serious Mario Bros/Sonic the Hedgehog ass, you were in. Frankly, anything went when it came to making fun of people. Being too smart, too stupid, ugly, ditzy, wrong race, wrong religion, ANYTHING went. Which is why, it was important to be the total package. Hot, awesome, charming, smart, and having a car. These were the sorts of things that girls needed to be. In my experience, pretty was only enough if the girl put out. But where does that get you other than knocked up?

So, rock on JCP. If a girl starts dumbing down because she thinks that people won't like her, well, I don't blame JCP on that one. Maybe you should've told the little girl that she needs to be a total package. Because all a pretty face really gets you is "in trouble." Side note? Those girls weren't the ones who got engagement rings or flowers sent to them in class either. Seriously, all they got was laid.

*See The Titan, "The Early Days; or The First Time We Dated"

**and I will surely never admit, lest pheebee's mom gets a big head about it

***No, I was NOT a toddler in a tiara. I was a grade-schooler in a tiara. And I got 4th place twice, Most Ticket Sales once, and I won talent and went to Nationals once. And what?

Maintain the Awesome, Raise the Awesome

2011-08-30T19:36:00.000-05:00

When it comes to reaching a goal, it's super important to work to get there. There are books, blogs, articles, hell a whole damn industry to help you reach your goals. Be them improving your self-esteem, getting ahead in your career, losing weight (natch)-- there are a myriad of goals to set and achieve. But you know what's rarely discussed? What to do once you get there.

First, there is a certain level of dedication required to maintain your goal. Once you've reached that top, you have to find your own motivation to stay there. I, for example, tend to have a lot of enthusiasm and dedication when it comes to working hard to get somewhere. But once the "chase" is over, and I've got that gold star, I'm kind of over it. Grant it, I'm usually pretty impressed with myself for achieving whatever I was after, but once I hit that goal? Done. For example, I did everything in my power to learn 4 languages (French, Spanish, Portuguese, Italian). In 2006, I was a polyglot extraordinaire. By 2007, I was back down to just 2 additional languages. I worked my brainiac booty off for more than 2 decades...earning a post-graduate degree by the time I was 24. After I had it, *meh*. Honestly? Millions of people have the same degree. And, of course, weight loss goals are a constant source of pain. But, once I reach that goal? I love the result, but I lose all motivation for going to the gym.*

Sooooo...what to do about that? Perhaps setting a goal for maintaining. But that seems silly. Perhaps doing something to continue to award yourself as you maintain your goal. But that seems lame. Now taking suggestions :).

One thing that drives me a little bananas is how once you've achieved a goal, there are people (haters) out there who get totally offended when you set another, higher goal. A common refrain among this crowd is "you should be grateful for what you have!!" Is there a rule out there somewhere that says that when striving to raise the level of awesome, you are necessarily ungrateful for the current level of awesome? Why would that be? If that were true, we'd all have to be satisfied with wherever we are. Stuck in perpetuity in order to show gratitude for making it there. That is just plain asinine. Listen, I once read a quote from Etta Moten Barnett, and I've had it on my blog profile ever since: "the only difference between a rut and a grave is depth." Getting in a rut just to prove your gratitude is the dumbest idea ever. Clearly, those who say you aren't grateful for what you've got if you're trying to improve are just haters tryin' to hold you back. Tell those people to go kick rocks** and keep striving. We all owe it to ourselves to maximize the awesome and reach our full potential. (Or at least, find out just how far you can go!).

*EFF THE GYM!!!

**In flip flops. Nah.

Why do I bother?

2011-08-25T21:54:00.000-05:00

The Titan and I have a recurring conversation about the way men and women treat each other. My argument is that men don't court women anymore. As proof, I always point to anecdotal evidence. Usually, just to drive the point home, I remind the Titan that when it came to wooing, he opted out entirely.*

A common (and irritating) response the Titan has is the notion that there are women out there who don't want a man to do things for them. The Titan has told me about all kinds of girls who want to buy men dinner, who want to buy their own drinks, and who want to do things for their man. *gag* I get so tired of hearing this from the Titan. For one, he refuses to acknowledge the reason he keeps running into these women is because he's an insanely tall basketball player dude with a pretty face, a tight fade, and clean cut goatee.** And, he played basketball through high school and college. He? Is being approached by jersey chasers. And jersey chasers are willing to do anything to get it in. I can't say that I blame him for getting with those chicks. If I was a dude that looked like him, I wouldn't woo anybody either! I mean for reals? Why bother when you can get a piece for free?!

What actually drives me bananas is that there are girls who aren't demanding romance from regular guys. And then you end up with men walking around thinking they don't have to do a darn thing to keep a woman. These women are ruining it for other women around the world. They're relaxing of standards are making men lazy...and then men start looking at women who demand more like they're asking too much. You expect them to buy dinner, and they think you're a gold-digger. You refuse to go to bed with them on the first date, and you're a prude (or worse, a tease). You easy ladies out there, that don't need anything? Bite me. Keep to the self-absorbed men that wouldn't do anything for a woman anyway, okay? Quality women don't want those guys anyway. But stay the eff away from the quality men. The ones whose mamas and daddies taught them that you have to put in some work to get a woman. I don't want your dumbass undoing all of his good habits. Ok?

And men? If what you want is a woman who wants to buy you dinner, buy you presents when she travels, and cook, and be a freak in the bed all in exchange for you doing squat...keep it movin'. I ain't cha girl. As my friend Jade always says... NEXT ----------------->

*To which he almost always says that I didn't give him a fair chance. Whatever -- that's a chicken or the egg conversation that just isn't worth having.

**Incidentally, if I had a type...this is what my friends would say it is.

Manscaping

2011-08-22T20:58:00.001-05:00

There's a trend that's been brewing for a while called manscaping. I think the term was coined by the Queer Eye for Straight Guy guys back when Bravo/NBC was running that show. Basically, it's shaving, trimming, and grooming of men's body hair. I find men's opposition to the practice to be more than a little disingenuous. Frankly, I think they are just being whiny and lazy. Women have been landscaping since the day before forever. We manage to do it with minimal complaints.

But I digress. I can understand the confusion among the guys about whether they should bust out the razor. As near as I can tell, women just can't reach a consensus on whether they prefer men smooth as cashmere or rough and burly. I do believe, however, there are certain things that women everywhere agree on. So men? Take note.

1. Back hair is never EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER ok. There isn't a woman (in this country, at least) who wants to see that. If you can't figure out how to get rid of it solo, make an appointment at your local waxer. Word to the wise? Take some tylenol or ibuprofen before you go. Committing follicle-icide by hot wax is no joke. Don't be fooled by the warm soothing feeling of the wax being placed on your skin. That's just a trick that aestheticians play to lull you into a sense of complacency. And then? RRRRIIIIIIIPPPPP! Yeah, it's sorta like that scene from 40 Year Old Virgin -- except not as funny, because it's happening to you. But hey, it's totally necessary, I promise.

2. The unibrow. Pluck it, tweeze it, wax it, thread it. I don't care how you do it, just get rid of it. No one has ever said that Bert was sexy. So unless you've got a banana-shaped head and you're still wearing a stripey-sweater, try to rock 2 eyebrows at all times, mkay? Kthxbye.

3. Underarm hair. Listen, this isn't necessarily a popular one. But the times I've dated a man who kept the underarms smooth and hair-free have turned out to be nothing but pleasant experiences. Some of those guys were the classic pretty-boy metrosexuals that we all know I love. The others told me that they do it because they discovered that it keeps them from being stinky. And you know what's totally acceptable? Not being stinky.

As for the rest of the body hair, I'm all for you taking it off if you've got the body to support it. As it is, I demand a clean cut guy. A tight fade (if that's the cut he's got), clean shaven face, the whole nine. It was only natural that I'd progress to a smooth as cashmere kinda dude. Before I actually experienced it, I thought it might seem weird to touch a man's leg and it be as smooth as mine. But turns out? It's kind of awesome. And honestly? I kind of support men having to put forth a tiny fraction of effort that women have to do each and every day. I mean, even a male peacock displays his plumage. The least a human male could do is build up some pecs (and abs and back and legs) and then take away the layer of fur on top. Just sayin'!

Dear Congress, an open letter

2011-08-17T19:51:00.002-05:00

As I'm sure you know, I don't do deep and serious topics. I leave that for news pundits and hipsters. But every once in a while, I am forced to comment based on the shenanigans I see happening in Washington. Of late, I have been disturbed by what's going on in politics these days. So, below is my letter to Congress. For those of you that work in or around DC, feel free to forward to any politician you see on the street. *clears throat*

Dear Congress:

WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!!? As near as I can tell, I've been paying you to sit on your duff and squabble. I commend you on the diversity of your squabble. You will argue with the other party members, you will argue within the party, and then you'll argue with your constituents who happen to disagree with you. Congratulations on being generally ornery and argumentative. Now, here is your opportunity to explain to me what good that has done. Do it without spin and without rhetoric Don't worry, I'll wait.

Now, let's discuss what you have done over the past 8-10 months. *crickets* You hear that? NOTHING. You haven't done a dagblasted thing and the country is in disrepair as a result of your inaction. As your employer, I am disappointed with the fact that I don't possess the supervisory authority to draft a performance review (and frankly, a subsequent termination letter) for you. Lucky you. If I did, you'd most certainly be on a Performance Improvement Plan with the quickness. The basis of my assessment would be a complete failure to fulfill any of the objectives for which you were hired. Frankly, I've been wholly unimpressed with anything you've done.

For the record, I have voted as a Democrat in each of the elections in which I voted. I've been known to pull the lever for an Independent here and there. But hear this; I vote Democrat because I have no illusions that there is space for me in the Republican party. At the moment (despite your "diversity"), there is no space for an African-American woman with more liabilities than assets. Often, I question whether there is room for a person of color in the Republican party at all -- but that is a thought for another letter. Rather, I admit my recent voting pattern to circumvent the need for you to discount my reactions to your inability to perform by basing it on my "political bias." Look, I don't give two shakes which side of the aisle you're on if you're getting the job done. Which brings me back to my original problem with your performance -- a total failure to achieve ANY of the objectives for which you were hired.

There are 3 things that I suggest you do right now.

First, thank your lucky stars that you don't work in corporate America. I promise you, you would be fired. Second, thank your lucky stars that I don't have enough power to get you fired in the manner that would make me happy. Third, dammit, DO WHAT YOU WERE SENT THERE TO DO. I don't give a hoot if it requires you to work with the other party, sell your house, or give up your effing pension.

Finally, I think you need to give up your salary and several perks. You have done NOTHING to earn them. Do your patriotic duty and give it back to the deficit-laden budget.

Should you have any questions, do not hesitate to contact me.

Very truly yours,
pheebee

P.S. I know Washington is often referred to as "Hollywood for ugly people." That is not an open invitation for you to spend your time getting in front of the cameras on CNN, MSNBC, and Fox. Nor is it a hint that you should be spending your time drafting soundbites. It's actually an insult. What you should be doing is leaving the vapidity that is Hollywood and celebrity and doing your actual job. Which, in case you're confused, is governing. Not getting interviewed. If you want to be a professional interviewee, get a reality show...or run a failed campaign. Mkay? Kthxbye.

Request Denied

2011-08-15T20:59:00.000-05:00

I am addicted to Facebook. Ever since I got an iPod Touch* and later graduated to an iPhone, I have been obsessed with updating my status, checking up on my friends, and posting pics. It's become more than just social media for me. I get a lot of my news, advice, and ideas from Facebook. For example, I got the idea to have a dance party every morning when I wake up. I started listening to B96 in the morning so I could rock out to such gems as Party Rock, and Bottoms Up everyday. I have a new not-so-secret crush on Jay & Julian (not so much on Showbiz Shelley). They're pretty entertaining, and when I'm not busy shaking my groove thang they keep me giggling. One segment they do every week is the "Second Date Update." The premise is that people contact the show if they had a really good first (or first few) dates, and then suddenly they no longer hear from the person.**

One such segment involved a woman who went out with a guy. They had a great first date (according to her), but she never heard from him again. Jay & Julian eventually got the guy to admit that he was pretty unhappy with the surprise "guest" that arrived partway through the date. Turns out, partway through the date, her ex-boyfriend shows up! He found out where she'd be via Facebook. I have two problems with this particular situation. First of all, what kind of guy is intimidated by some random guy that shows up on the date uninvited? He claims that he didn't want to deal with drama, but frankly, how does he know it's drama based on the first meeting? He doesn't. That dude just wasn't confident enough to think he could compete. Bogus.

My second problem with this particular situation was the unannounced and uninvited arrival of the ex. Why are you friending people that you are just dating on Facebook?!?! The fact that the guy arrived was totally that chick's fault. Never NEVER friend someone on Facebook that you're just dating. You can't bitch and moan about the guy/girl you're dating if she's able to read it. Also? Unless you're extra sure you'll be together forever, you're inviting someone into your life that you aren't likely to keep around. How much is it gonna suck when it's time to separate your intertwined internet lives? (Do you really want to know just how "moved on" your former flame is? No, you don't. And finally, there is absolutely NO WAY to un-friend someone without appearing immature -- as though you're one of the mean girls ejecting someone from the lunch table in middle school. Seriously, avoid the hassle. Just say no to friend requests from someone you're just dating. Matter fact, let's make it a hard rule. No friending on Facebook until you're engaged!

*By the way, people. It's an iPOD Touch. Not an i-Touch. Try to get it right. I'm not all trademark Nazi or anything, but damn. Let's try to be accurate, mkay?

**This is why I continue to go out with the Spritely Asian Guy, because I'm afraid he'll call me out on B96 in the morning.

Outdone

2011-08-13T17:43:00.001-05:00

The Summer of Exes continues. Last night, I was out and about with the Titan and a couple of his friends. Our original plan was to head out to a club downtown; but when we couldn't procure free entry, we quickly changed course and headed up north to...Wrigleyville...dum dum dummmmm!!!!

I haven't been up to Wrigley for years. Literally, years. I started boycotting it (officially) shortly after I turned 27, around the time I realized that the age limit for women was about 24. Furthermore, I was tired of being able to count the people of color. There are only so many times I can be approached by drunk frat guys in hopes that the sway of my hips and the arch of my back holds the cure for their jungle fever before my eye starts to twitch. That said, I had squat better to do last night, and the Titan is pretty to look at, so I figured what the heck. I was expecting to find gaggles of underagers and undergrads; the girls overdressed for what is really a strip of dive bars; and the guys in cargo shorts and polos or jerseys. For the most part, I was right. Most of the girls were decked out in the latest Forever 21 Lycra dresses and cheap killer heels. There were also a lot of girls in shorts, sundresses, and maxi dresses.* The guys were exactly as I thought they'd be. Cargo shorts, plaid shorts, polos and sports t-shirts.

But boy, did I see something extra unexpected at the bar. As is usually inevitable in Wrigley, there were a few dance-offs. The first was one of those classic rhythmless affairs. But, the second, left me speechless for at least 15 minutes. There was a short girl in a sundress; and she was the fairest of the fair, with dark hair. If someone was going to play her in a movie, it'd be Christina Ricci circa Monster. She was having a dance-off with some non-descript guy. Let me set the scene for you. The song that was on was "No Hands" by Waka Flocka Flame.** (Or something similar. Basically, a serious hood-rap song without much substance). Christini Ricci was gettin' her dance-off on, poppin' it and whatnot. Girl had decent rhythm, too. And then, she busted out the C-walk. No joke. She actually went off on the first contender with the C-walk. The next guy tried to keep up, even brushed a little dirt off his shoulder. She stepped to him (again with the C-Walk!) and then bent to brush the dirt off his shoes. But, this girl wasn't a 2 trick pony. When she finished poppin, and doing the C-walk, on the next song (I forget what it was), out came the heel-toe. BOOM. I was beyond impressed. Oh girl was shuttin' it DOWN.

The heel-toe, for the unfamiliar, here is a video on how to do it:

The thing about this dance -- it's SO hard! I've been trying to figure out how to do it for years. (Actually, I'm kinda glad I found this video, maybe now I'll finally figure it out). And this chick was doing it for real.

After the last song went off she left a bunch of challengers licking their wounds. She noticed the Titan trying to get me to step to her and she bar whispered to me that she was headed out for a smoke, but that she always got excited because she knew the DJ and he always "played [her] shit." HA. Christina Ricci just said the DJ was playin' her shit. HAHAHAHAHAHA. Ok, I couldn't even take it. On her way out the door, she instructed the DJ not to play any 112 til she got back. (Which had to mean Peaches & Cream, because what other song did they have?)

I wish I'd had the sense to take a video of it. But I think I dislocated my jaw after watching her. It was AWESOME. For sure made my night. Christina? Wherever you are, brush that dirt off your shoulder, girl. You got it goin' on fo' sho'. Unexpected hood = awesome. ;)

*When I was getting dressed, I was a little worried that I would feel awkward. I wore black short shorts and a Ed Hardy-esque t-shirt and heels; for those keeping track. I didn't feel old as I expected I would. Heck, I don't even think anyone knew I was older than most people in the bar. Frankly, I'm beginning to think that the origin of that feeling is a seed of BS that I was fed and isn't completely accurate. That said, upon trying on a million outfits from my closet, I did feel rather puffy. Backsliding is not part of the Mission so I'd better get back on that train.

**Who was the person in A&R that approved that name?

Gym observations

2011-08-12T20:51:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, I was at the gym, doing some pre-repenting for caloric sins I'd intentionally be committing a few hours later. While I was doing some heavy lifting, I saw Adonis. So, it's the world's worst kept secret that I am a little shallow when it comes to men.* I've admired my share of lovely men. Well, yesterday, the bar was raised. While doing a quick set of 3 reps of some lovely curls, flys, and squats, I saw a guy walk by. Obviously...I was in the weight room so it was bound to be filled with the boys. But, a young man walked by in red shorts and a sleeveless shirt. At first, I thought the chosen workout outfit was ridiculous. He was one of these guys that not only cuts the sleeves off, but also cuts 1/3rd of the shirt off on each side, such that not only are his sleeves out, but so is his entire side. This, normally, is totally ridiculous. This time, it was totally acceptable. He was cut like a picture out of Men's Health. Then, he was the color of brown sugar melted with butter. Finally, he had a serious John Legend 5 o'clock shadow happening. He had a strong jaw, and great upper body muscles. I couldn't really tell from where I was standing, but I bet he had long thick lashes to go with expressive eyes and a kissable mouth. :). The reason I couldn't see his eyes wasn't for lack of trying though. I wouldn't be at all surprised if he saw me staring. I was shamelessly watching him in the mirror, looking at him when he walked past, following him with my eyes...I had a serious creepy stalker vibe and there was nothing I could do about it. And then, sadly, his workout was over before mine. So, he walked away and disappeared in the mist. It was sad; but it was also motivation for me to go to the gym every day -- just in case he's there again.

Despite disappearing, I was left in my reverie. He was gone, but his memory remained, and made me so very happy. But then, my reverie was interrupted. Why? Well, I'm glad you asked. I was headed to the locker room to exchange my weight-lifting gloves for my headphones (it was cardio time, baby!!!), and what did I see? Some serious foolishness that pushed the image of Adonis right out of my head. On my way, I passed a 20 year old hussy. Ok, I don't know that she was 20, necessarily. But she was a rail-thin bitch in white yoga pants, and a white sports bra. How do I know what color her sports bra was? Because this skinny bitch had on a turquoise lace crop top over it. Who the hell works out in lingerie?! Girls that mistake the gym for a daytime club scene, that's who. The sad thing is? My gym just ain't that kind of health club. Girls don't walk around in full make up, and I haven't seen nary a sequins in the Zumba classes. So please, Ms. Hussy, take your narrow-hussy-behind out of my gym before Adonis sees you. Because if you so much as give him side-eye so help me I will choke-a-bitch...and not feel bad about it. You got me? Good. Glad we have an understanding.

Adonis? I'm comin' for you baby. Just let me know your weekly workout schedule. Shoot. We already have so much in common ;)

*And when I say a little shallow, I mean totally. But can I help it if the boys are so pretty to look at!?

More ideas

2011-08-10T21:27:00.000-05:00

There is more than one way to please your mate. The important thing to remember is to actually try to do something nice for him or her. Because I think you should all be making your other significant one happy, I have a few more suggestions! (Who knows, maybe someone will get laid after doing one of these things, right? :P).

For the ladies: Ok guys. I've said it over and over and over and over again (ad nauseum). But, I'll say it again. The key to making your lady happy is doing something for her that will make her smile, NOT because she asked, but because you want to make her smile. But, just in case you need some help on what to do, here's a suggestion. Make her breakfast. Breakfast is the easiest meal to cook, and I'm totally confident that you can handle it. If you aren't a chef, keep it simple. Eggs, toast (or Eggo waffles, or pancakes -- depending on your level of culinary skillz), and your meat of choice (sausage, bacon, ham, turkey or vegetarian varieties of the same). Now, if you're feeling fancy -- and you want to make it extra special, bust out the champagne glasses. Make either mimosas (orange juice and champagne) or bellinis (peach nectar or peach juice, and champagne), or bloody marys (if that's her thang). Whether you serve it in bed or in the kitchen is up to you, her, or house rules. I'll leave that to you.

Ok, if you live together, this is obviously a lot easier. You just sneak out to the kitchen and wake her up with the smell of warm toast. But if you don't live together, then this is what you do. Call her the night or a couple nights before to plan it. But tell her you want to come over early to bring her a breakfast surprise, and that all she has to do is be adorable in her rubber duckie pajamas. Take all your own ingredients, and get your breakfast on. (Or, make a quick stop at IHOP or her fave brunch stop, and bring it on over).*

For the fellas: Ok ladies, we have to do things to remind the guys how lucky they are to have us. I've always said that it's unfair that there is no equivalent of flowers for guys. Most guys disagree, saying that there are all sorts of opportunities for a woman to buy something for her man...we just tend to make a big deal out of it. So, one suggestion is buying him a DVD of a movie you think he'd like...and that you can watch together. To get extra fancy, buy the DVD (hey! no gift wrap required!!), and bust out your grill (if you have one, your broiler or George Foreman if you don't). Girl, just take the plunge and make a steak and potatoes dinner. Yeah, we like the frou frou food, but sometimes a man needs what the Ninja used to call man food. Steak and potatoes, literally. Add in some asparagus and you are good to go. I'll leave the beverage of the evening up to you, since you know your guy better than I do (I hope).

So, I just gave you 1 good date night. What else can a significant other do?

*I wouldn't recommend just dropping by, but if you are dating the type of gal that's cool with the drop by, then go for it.

**Yes, I'm still raising money for the RHAMC. Click Here!

Product Placement

2011-08-08T22:36:00.000-05:00

I realized it's been a while since I did a product review. Anyone that's known me for at least 30 seconds knows that I don't like to spend a lot of money on much of anything. Any purchase over $20 needs to be fully vetted. I am particularly discerning when it comes to beauty products. However, today I thought I'd highlight some of my favorite "overpriced" products. These items are all worth the money, I promise! (For ease of searching, all but the Spa Ritual nail lacquers are linked to Sephora's website. They are, of course, available elsewhere.)

philosophy the oxygen peel.
I pride myself on taking care of my skin. As with most African American mothers, my mother was adamant -- militant, frankly -- about cleansing and moisturizing the skin. I got in the habit of cleaning and lotioning every morning and every night. Genes + ritual has left me with skin that is holding up as gravity continues to weigh it down. But, sometimes, my cleansers and lotions need a little help from a magic potion. philosophy's the oxygen peel is my favorite product which helps keep my skin looking glowy and healthy. I've had 2 professional facials and my skin has ended up little more than greasy. Meanwhile, the much more pocket-friendly magic from philosophy has left my skin looking rather than fantastic...and let's be honest, it helps me maintain my reputation for looking young. (Dissenters be damned). The last time someone didn't believe my age? Last week, when Mr. Sunglasses darn near carded me when I revealed my age. You know what I love? Moments like that. (And no, that's not the reason I gave him my number. Shut it.)

Buxom Buxom Lash Mascara.
I am continually befuddled by the origin of mascara. One of these days someone will explain to me why hairy eyeballs is sexy. Whoever thought of it, though, I tip my hat to them. Turns out, I enjoy long and full lashes! I once read in a girly magazine that it's rarely worth it to spend the money on department store brand mascaras. The reasoning was that drugstore companies are constantly trying to one-up each other in the mascara department. Well, SiQ introduced me to Buxom Buxom Lash Mascara when we were in Vegas and I fell in love. My lashes weren't quite to the level you get with false lashes. But they certainly gave me an oversized lash for a doe-eyed day look. Buxom Buxom kicked my drugstore mascaras little ass!

Spa Ritual nail lacquer.
I have sensitive skin, and lots of products cause breakouts or a rash. One product that consistently makes me itch, no matter the brand, is nail polish. Spa Ritual to the rescue! Spa Ritual is a company dedicated to creating eco-friendly products. One such product is vegan nail polish. I haven't got a clue what about it makes it vegan, but whatever it is, thank goodness for it because now I can have colorful nails too!

Korres Quercetin & Oak Age-reversing Primer.
~or~
Smashbox Photo Finish Primer.
One thing I just can't support is having to reapply makeup during the day. And by not support, I mean I am completely opposed to it. Enter primer. The Smashbox primer is meant to be used with a moisturizer, the Korres can be used with or without. I like both of these, the Smashbox is a smidgen better bang for your buck, but the Korres has the added bonus of having some anti-aging mojo. Whichever you choose, be prepared not to reapply your makeup a million times per day. I just feel like it sticks. (Admittedly, my nose still gets shiny, but the first person to invent the solution to that problem gets a gold star -- blotting papers notwithstanding).

I'm always open to falling in love with other products. Suggestions welcome!

P.S. I'm still seeking donations. No donation is too small! Click here today!

Spider-woman!

2011-08-08T09:41:00.000-05:00

It's that time of year again -- time for me to do my part to help the Respiratory Health Association of Metro Chicago by raising money. Because everyone does 5k runs and walks, I decided to jump on this particular fundraising mission, because it allows me to jump off a building. Help me raise enough funds for protective gear! (Just kidding. Our safety is not contingent upon reaching our fundraising goals.)

Please donate today! Just think...if I get 200 people to give $5, I'll reach my goal of $1000!!

To help, please Click Here!!

True Story

2011-08-07T22:51:00.000-05:00

So, stop me if you've heard this one. But, have I ever told you about my fail at throwing an over the shoulder look?

Nearly 3 years ago now, Jade* and I were out to brunch. Brotha was fiiiiiiiine. I told y'all about it here. He was so pretty that I was having a difficult time concentrating on the conversation with Jade. A good 10 minutes of our conversation went something like this:

Jade: Wahh wahh wahawhah wah wah (Something akin to the adults on Charlie Brown.)
Me: Uh huh...
Jade: Quit lookin' at that man's ass! I see you!!
Me: What?! Oh. I'm not!!!**

Anyway, he never showed for the big Halloween bash that year. Bummer. But, it was just a random guy. So, *shrug* whatever.

Funny thing, I was out for a friend's birthday 2 years later,*** and you'll never believe who showed up. Turns out, he was a friend of a friend of a friend...probably about 4 degrees away. But, I totally remembered him. Which is surprising, because it had been so long! Sadly, he was not nearly as snazzily dressed this time. But, after I figured out where I remembered him from, I tried to remind him. He had the common decency to pretend to remember our conversation and the invite. After talking about 7 minutes, his attractiveness level quickly started to decline. He smoked, he seemed directionless, etc. His decline wasn't a big deal though, because he started out so fiiiiiiiine to begin with.

When it was time for me to leave, I didn't make any particular orchestrations to say goodbye to him. Nor did I hang around and attempt to drop hints that he should ask for my number. As we all know, pretty can only last for so long. So, while it was fun to flirt with him for 5 minutes, he wasn't worth any sort of special effort. That said, that doesn't mean I wasn't going to try to leave a lasting impression, right? Right.

So, I walk out of the lounge, and there's a huge picture window facing the street. I'd already said goodbye to just about everyone, but most of the party was sitting near the window. I was rocking a long black strapless maxi dress, and some big wedges (black, snakeskin, minimal straps that cross around the big toe. Ralph Lauren for those keeping track. DSW, thankyouverymuch). My hair was did, I had on big jewelry, and I'd just applied lip gloss to give my lips that extra shiny hue. I was PREPPED to leave a lasting impression of a night! To make it truly hot, I decided to do it backwards too...in other words, I was going to toss my hair and throw an over the shoulder sexy look. The execution of this move would stir any man to run after me because he didn't get the chance to ask me for my number. I was walking slowly (sexy doesn't rush), I took a step, tossed my hair, and...tripped...In front of the big picture window...Just as he was waving. (So you KNOW he saw me). So what did I do? I did what any self-respecting diva would do...I pretended I wasn't turning to throw my sexy look and scurried quickly to my car. And gunned it.

D'ah well. C'est la vie. Can't be a sexilicious diva all the time, right? (I hear you laughing. It's ok, I'm cracking up myself).

*Jade, the Designer. FINALLY I came up with a handle! Hooray!

**For the record; I wasn't looking at his ass. I'm not really that into butts. I was looking at his shoulders, and fantasizing about caressing that whisper soft cashmere sweater vest he had on. It was heather grey and just begging to be petted.

***This was, of course, back when I still celebrated birthdays.

Jedi Mind Trick

2011-08-07T15:30:00.001-05:00

Have you ever been in the middle of something, and then found yourself wondering how you got there? This was me yesterday in the middle of my date.

Remember when I said I gave my number to the guy at the sunglasses store? Well, we went out on our first date last night. The entire time, I was wondering how in the dickens dude got my number. Let's review, shall we?

Ok, so I'm in the sunglasses store, minding my own business, trying to find some polarized lenses that won't cost me an arm, leg, and pinky toe. The sales associate is chatting to me, and helping me choose. I suspect he's bored because I'm the only person in the store. But that's fine, because I have some sort of brain malfunction that prevents me from knowing which ones look good on me and which ones make me look like I'm kin to a praying mantis. For the most part, we're just having banal chatter, totally easy-going. So, he rings me up, blah blah blah, I turn to leave. On the way out, he says "hey! You forgot to give me your number!" So I backtrack, and write it down. He says "P.S. This is for my personal use..." (A rather obvious statement, but whatever).

On my way to the train, I'm wondering how it is he got my number. Like, I'm completely confused. During our banal chatter, I just barely caught his name*, noticed he was short, Asian, and 26. And he thought I looked really young. I don't have any recall of being attracted to him. I mean, he was nice and charming, but not necessarily a guy I wanted to go out with.

And yet, here it was Saturday night, and I was going out to dinner with him. For inquiring minds, I wore a knee length turquoise dress (with the extra long straps to wrap in many alluring ways), and kitten heels. When I saw him, he had a great smile, was casually dressed in a plaid button down with the sleeves rolled, and jeans. And...he was shorter than me in kitten heels. Say what?!**

The thing is, it was a nice date. I got a strong impression that he thought I was out of his league (I have no idea why he'd think that) and that made me a bit uncomfortable. Other than that, conversation was good (admittedly, I got a little chatty after the first margarita); we laughed, we cried, we covered a range of topics. It was nice. I didn't even feel old -- and managed to keep all references to him being young to a minimum. Oh! And I got to ride in a Scion for the very first time!! Neat!

But...I'm not sure there was any chemistry there. I didn't think there was any there when we first met. So how the heck did he get my number? How did I end up on a date with him? And how am I going to end up on a second date?!?! (Because we all know that I am going to say yes when he asks again. LOL). You know what though? Maybe it's time for me to step out of my comfort zone or my pattern. Really, there are only 2 outcomes here. Either I'll be reaffirmed in what I like, or I'll learn something new about myself. :)

*Funny story. I'm not entirely certain I remember his name. I didn't hear him properly when he first said it, and then when I asked him to spell it, he said "like it sounds..." I couldn't tell if he said a "c" or a "t". And I didn't catch the end. I completely forgot that I wasn't certain about his name so I didn't look at it on his ID or credit card when I had the chance. Nuts!!

**If I had a type, he'd be the opposite of it. I'm generally an equal opportunity dater, I've dated black, white, latino, mixed...pretty much every one but Asian. Not that I'm anti-Asian men, it's just that there isn't usually any attraction there. I also heart tall (I think the Ninja is the only guy I've ever dated under 5'11"), and lean -- I <3 muscles. This guy was...well...lean :) -- as a result of being ex-military (more opposite of).

Big Girl Pant....

2011-08-03T21:12:00.000-05:00

As you all know, I love a lot of things, none of them are what I do for a living. But, until such time I'm able to make money off of watching football and shopping for myself and friends, I'll just have to fulfill my dreams in my blog rantings. Today, I'm going to use my love of fashion as the basis for my post. I draw your attention to the picture below:

You know what this is a picture of? It's a picture of a fashion travesty. Before you even say it, no, I am not hatin' on her Daisy Dukes. (Ok, yes I am). Admittedly, I am jealous. I wish I had legs for days that did not create an uncomfortable rise of the inseam into my nether regions thanks to the chub rub* that is the meeting of my thighs. So, while I am totally hatin' on her for her figure, I'd like to take that figure and smack the owner around for making such terrible fashion choices.

Starting from the top...why the hell is she wearing her older brother's button down? It's sloppy, it's huge, and it's just generally a wrong choice. Even when it was stylish circa 1986, it was to be worn with skinny jeans or leggings. Not short shorts which would disappear under the curtain of cotton. Ridiculous.

Perhaps most egregiously, however, are the shoes. I couldn't get a good shot of them, but they're pretty nice booties. They're a tan color, suede, with a nice stiletto. Maybe you didn't see that the first time. Rewind. Zwwrrr. They're suede booties. It was 145 degrees outside when I took this picture. It wasn't early spring (aka late winter in Chicago); it wasn't fall; and it wasn't winter. It was freaking summertime! Why is she wearing hot to trot booties when it's too damn hot to trot? And to have the nerve to wear them with dukes? AND her brother's button down? FAIL. Sweetheart? Consider this your first citation. Try to do better. Best regards, the Fashion Police.

*Shout out to kae.dea for that particular turn of phrase.

You entitled little...!*#$=^

2011-08-01T21:42:00.001-05:00

In May, SiQ let me try on her new sunglasses. They're polarized and they're fabulous. I put them on while in Vegas, and they changed my life. There are times when no matter the tint, the sunglasses still aren't enough to block out the brightness that is the sun. And given my general opposition to wrinkles, I try to avoid squinting. Polarized lenses are a great weapon in the fight against crows' feet.

Anyway, I began my search for a new pair of sunglasses a few weeks ago at the outlet mall. And you know what I discovered? Polarized sunglasses are freakin' expensive. For a girl who usually purchases sunglasses on sale at the likes of Kohls' and Ann Taylor Loft, making the leap to triple digit prices was more than a little sticker shock. The prices were so unexpected that I'm pretty sure I suffered from PTSD just from looking at the price tags. But, I would press on -- given the inevitable hole in the ozone layer + global warming + every other planetary problem, it's only a matter of time before leaving the house without polarized lenses will lead to an instant combustion of eyeballs.

Given my talent for shopping, I eventually found a pair of sunglasses that were polarized and on sale:

They also didn't break the bank.

I ALSO found a pair that were to die for. Totally squee worthy:

But alas, to get both cost an arm and a leg. Frankly, the squee-worthy pair cost an arm by themselves. So, they would ultimately remain at the store.

Anyway, I found myself back there today to pick up the cheaper pair (at the top). While I was there, I found another pair (cheaper than the to die for ones, but still pretty neat.)

While I was shopping today, the sales associate was a cute little guy. He had a baby face (he was 26); and clearly bored as I was the only person in the store. He spent most of the time that I was in the store flirting, and dropping silly compliments. (Are you really 30?! Really?!!? Are you screwing with me? You only look like you're in your mid-20s). Ok, not that I have a problem with light compliments or a little flirting -- it was all in good fun! But I wasn't really that into him. What I was hoping for was a discount after all of the "witty" banter.

You know what I got after all of that? I got a young guy asking for my phone number. And, I paid the same price for the glasses any other shopper would have paid. Which, I guess is ok. But where the eff is my discount?! Can a girl get 10% off? (Y'all know I asked!!)

Anyway, a moment of self-realization occurred after I left the store. I realized I was one entitled b*tch when I sent the followin text message: "Also? If one more sales associate flirts with me w/o giving me a disc, I'm going off"

Meh. To know me is to love me :D

So, what say you, readers? Which pair of sunglasses should I get?

Hate on Me

2011-07-31T16:10:00.001-05:00

I attend church with a fabulously dynamic pastor. One thing that I really like about his teaching style is that it is very direct. None of the hellfire and brimstone of days past. And, the best part? He is able to breakdown concepts into bite-sized tiny morsels. One such morsel is the joy of haters and hater nation.

Let's start with a definition, shall we? A hater is one who hates. Specifically, it's someone who spends a lot of energy concerned about what you have, whether you deserve it, and how you got it. Basically, someone who is all up in your business your bid-nass. Hater nation is the collection of haters that are following you at any given moment.

Pastor Hannah has spent several Sundays pointing out that with favor comes haters. It's a concept that is common throughout the Bible. (Remember Joseph's coat? And what his brothers did to it --and him, for that matter?). There are many-a scriptures to remind you that favor is what God gives to his children...and that he also gives you the tools to deal with haters. But you should never, NEVER refuse your blessing to appease haters...they'll never be satisfied, so why would you hold up your blessing?

The best thing about church is when you are able to apply or relive the lessons from service to real life. My friend the Designer* quoted Katt Williams the other day. I might not get it right, but basically, he said if you have 5 haters on Wednesday, you better have 12 by Friday. Hilariously, the Titan's father used to tell him the same thing...if you have 7 haters on Monday, you better have 20 haters by Saturday. The days might change, but the concept is the same. If you have haters, you're doin' something right. The more I see haters, the better I feel. I'm so tough that the more haters I get, the cockier I get. I've been singing Jill Scott's "Hate on Me" for months now.

What are you doing about the haters in your life? Are you sittin' at home, feeling all sorry for yourself? Are you avoiding your blessings and your favor because you're afraid somebody's gonna talk about you? Well, my dear, keep away from me...because if that attitude is contagious, I don't want to catch it. Because I? I am ALL about getting everything the Lord has planned for me. I want to reap the benefits of ALL my hard work. Ok? Ok then.

Oh, and to all you haters out there? Bring a couple of your friends by...because eyes haven't seen and ears haven't heard what I have comin'. Body, mind, pocketbook; all of mine is going to be tight. I? Am incredible. Sharpen your tongue baby, cuz you're gonna have a lot to talk about. Hater. :)
*officially her new handle until I can come up with a better one.

Learning about design

2011-07-30T17:32:00.000-05:00

One of the most awesome things about owning my own place is the ability to put my own mark on the furniture and walls. There are those who rent who are willing to attack the walls with paint rollers, nail guns, and drills, but then they run the risk of getting dinged on their security deposit OR having to undo whatever it is they did. I've never been one to get into that. When I was renting, I just lived with my white or ecru walls, knowing that someday I'd have my own place and I'd be able to do whatever I wanted to it.

Now that I'm a big girl, I've been having a blast doing just that. I decided to go room by room, as I'm not actually independently wealthy. I've turned the previously cream walls into all manners of shades of turquoise, aqua, and brown. I've made plans to stick some tile to the wall (aka a backsplash), change the light fixture, and drill some serious holes in the wall for wall hangings. And, of course, I also made some room for rather awesome electronics (note the grown-ass man tv that's been mounted on a full-range of motion wall mount. Eat your heart out, boys). Throughout this process, I've absolutely used the advice of experts. Designers, tech-heads, and painters have all been tapped for their knowledge. You know what I've learned? Designing takes for freaking ever.

First, there's the process of choosing what you want. With such a big decision, I can't take it too lightly. Changing my mind is far too costly. So, it takes time to decide what you want, and what my muse or inspiration is going to be. (In my living room, I went with peacocks). And then, there's getting that inspiration translated into something that DOESN'T end up on the home equivalent of "What Not to Wear." (This is where having a friend who is a fabulous professional designer comes in!!). And then, there's scheduling the install of these things. (When it comes to this piece, it is SUPER hard not to do what my clients do to me -- failing to realize that you're NOT the only client.) Finally, there's realizing that having champagne will ultimately require waiting a lot longer to gather the money to bring your (designer's) vision to life. It's a work in progress, but when it's all done, it will TOTALLY be worth it.

Who knew redecorating a home would turn into a life lesson? What we've learned in the last year is patience. It may not get done right away, but eventually I'll be done. And really -- what's 18 months among friends? (Although, let's be real. If it takes 18 months to finish this, I may not make it to the end...patience is a virtue, and I? I'm not a virtuous woman.)

All hail the V

2011-07-28T21:16:00.001-05:00

Have you seen those new commercials for Summer's Eve: "All Hail the V!!!"? The whole premise of the commercial is showing men doing great feats for the affections of women. First, I'd like to commend Summer's Eve for using several different multicultural references and using men and women of all ethnicities. Second, I'd like to say the following: *clears throat* PAH HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

Ok, part of the reason I like this commercial so much is because it's hilarious. (See video below.)* The other reason is that I find it thought provoking. Not deep philosophical thought provoking. But shallow, interesting provoking. Things that make you go hmmm, if you will. Here's what I'm wondering. This commercial implies that men are ready to do all sorts of things: go into battle, by land or sea; joust to the death, sword fight, you name it a man will do it, all for the affections of a woman. While I don't doubt that women are beautiful enough, and the "V" sweet enough to make these things happen -- what I wonder is, who the eff are the men that are doing these things?!! The modern man is hardly willing to open doors, pull out chairs, and buy a cocktail for women (they don't know). Where, exactly, are they challenging the local douchebag (pun intended) to a duel?

Ok, obviously, the modern day equivalent to these things are other perks that women get. For example, getting into clubs for free, never paying for dinner, talking their way out of tickets, the list goes on and on. Many of the women I know have rarely, if ever, experienced these things (particularly if we're talking about on any sort of regular basis). Is it that only the extraordinarily beautiful women are getting these perks? And, by the way, what women qualify as extraordinarily beautiful? As we've previously discussed, it's not the uber-skinny. So who is it? I think we can all agree that there's just a certain "something" that the women have. My 2 cents? It's having the confidence -- and the audacity -- to ask for it. Sometimes, it's just about going for it. So, from now on, let's just go for it!

P.S. I'm totally convinced that this works for the extraordinary male, too. Think about it. You definitely know a guy who has women falling over themselves to do things for him: buy drinks, cook dinner, do laundry, etc. Care to test my theory?

*Yes kae.dae. I'm embedding a video. Again. And you'll like it.

Good Skin

2011-07-27T20:40:00.001-05:00

Throughout the Mission, I learned several things. Finances, fitness, skincare, spirituality and attitude were all on my list of topics to address. One of the most surprising things I learned happened just recently. Last month, I learned that depression is bad for the skin.

For reasons I won't get into here, I spent the entire month of June under a dark cloud. Life was terrible, the beginning of the summer was awful, and I was an emotional wreck. To make my already fragile emotional state worse, I started to notice the appearance of smile lines (ironic, isn't it?) and forehead wrinkles. My overall complexion was ashen and the definition of unsexy. I ramped up my skincare efforts -- cleansing, exfoliating, moisturizing -- the whole nine yards. But NOTHING was helping. I resigned myself to leaving the category of those born lucky to look young for their age and into the sad category of looking older than my age.

Even though I didn't think it would happen, the clouds eventually began to lift. (Turns out, life goes on). The more light that came into my life, the better my skin started to look. Awesomely, my smile lines remained hidden if I wasn't smiling -- which was turning to be a lot less often -- that is, I was starting to smile ALL the time! (Again, ironic.) The forehead wrinkles were mostly nonexistent; and my skin was glowing and dewy. I didn't look a day over 25 (If I do say so myself).*

So, what we've learned is, a sunny disposition is not only good for the soul, but also good for your skin. Who knew?!

Oh, P.S.? I will take a moment to wax poetic about my favorite skincare product. philosphy's Oxygen Peel is worth every penny. It's an exfoliator that leads to smooth skin. I'm still looking for a magic potion that closes pores. Suggestions welcome.

*which really isn't necessary. John and Jane Q Public have confirmed this fact many-a time.

Think I'm Cute

2011-07-26T10:12:00.000-05:00

Yesterday I was having lunch with a great friend of mine, and I was telling him about a couple girls with whom I generally don’t kick it anymore. His first response? “What is with you and girls not liking you?!!?!” Seriously! That’s a direct quote! Mind you, I hadn’t actually given him the full background or story on why I’m not seeing these chicks anymore, and I certainly didn’t say that it had anything to do with something I did. But, given his reaction, I never did get to complete the story…I needed to know who else doesn’t like me.

I love hearing gossip about myself. Usually, I find it hilarious. I love the inaccuracies, the half-truths, and the (mis)perceptions. Sometimes, it’s a learning moment, because I find out that I’m unintentionally giving off a certain vibe. And hearing about it helps me to correct it. (For instance, did you know I was stuck up in law school? Me neither!!). I’m quite certain that part of the reason my feelings aren’t hurt by the gossip and backbiting is because it hasn’t been particularly salacious gossip, nor has my reputation really been marred by the talking and sniping. My heart goes out to people who have had that problem.

My favorite type of comment -- and here’s where I circle back to my friend’s comment -- is that I “think I’m cute.” Apparently, there’s a group of women with whom I spend nanoseconds of time throughout the year, who are convinced that I “think I’m cute.” Here’s my question: why is this an insult? I mean, call me crazy, but aren’t the people who don’t think they’re cute far more annoying? Nothing will ruin a night quicker than being out with your girl, and having to constantly reassure her that the outfit she picked is cute and she looks great, and blah blah blah. Or, the people that constantly fish for compliments? How exhausting is that?!? And yet, these chicks are adamantly opposed to the fact that I don’t do any of these things. And the real kicker? They’re offended because I wear heels. OMG! A short girl who wears heels on a near constant basis! How dare I?!?!

As a really good girlfriend of mine (the designer) says, “of course I think I’m cute. What else would I think? That I’m hideous? Of course not. That would be ridiculous.” And, I’m going to add to that…because I think I’m cute, I’m going to dress myself accordingly. And since I watch What Not to Wear religiously, and pay attention when Clinton & Stacy are talking, I’m also going to know exactly which outfits to choose, to optimize my cuteness. And finally, to raise the level of fabulosity, I’m going to work on the areas I don’t like. Maybe instead of being all offended by how cute I think I am, why don’t you try looking at yourself in the mirror, and calling yourself the fairest of them all? Honestly? Maybe if you didn’t have your face all screwed up in that sourpuss expression, you’d think you were cute too. Just sayin’.

Turns out I have a lot of friends with thoughts on this subject matter. The Sailor/Officer says that people who are insecure are offended by other’s confidence. (Too bad for them.) My Ex used to say “I’m not conceited, I’m convinced.” Pastor Hannah says “with favor come haters.” To all of them I say, rock on. I am loving that I surround myself by an entire group of people who think they’re cute. If you don’t fall into that category, what on earth are you doing in this circle? Get on our level, mkay? Kthxbye.

Think I’m cute indeed. Funny – it probably wouldn’t bother girls nearly as much if their men didn’t agree. (Ok, that was catty. But it made me smile…)

Miss Independent

2011-07-25T20:44:00.001-05:00

My Ma raised me to be an independent woman. Despite being married, my mother was a firm believer in having her own house, her own car, two jobs, work hard she a bad broad*, and her own overall independence. It wasn't really a big issue, it's just how it was. Ma was always confused by the women who didn't operate that way. The ladies who always needed a man around; or (my favorite example) who would hide their shopping triumphs from their husband -- "because he'd be upset about how much I spent." Ma's reaction? "Say what? Don't you punch the clock everyday too?"

As a result, she raised a rather fiestily independent daughter. Each decision I've made regarding my future has been, well, about what's best for me. I chose my apartment -- and later my condo; my car; and credit card debt, based on how much I could afford to pay on my own. I decide what my future looks like based on what's best for me. There really isn't much flexibility, because there really isn't a need -- I mean, if I change my mind, who's around to whine about it? Frankly, no one else gets a vote. This is an island of one with a benevolent dictator -- visitor passes are generally given, but never has there been consideration for permanent residents.

Lately, I was confronted by my independent stance. Not that it was a bad thing, but that it was so "rigid" (I'd like to point out that it isn't rigid if you only have to consider one person's desires. If I change my mind, I don't need to be flexible -- I just change it). This got me to thinking. I wonder if by virtue of my focus on my ability to do it alone, I will ultimately end up testing my ability to do it alone. You know how they say you should operate as though you've got the job you want, or behave like your blessing has already arrived, etc? I wonder if the reverse works? If you plan your life around being able to do it on your own, will end up doing it alone?

The problem with this theory is that even if it's right, what on earth can be done about it? I truly believe that a woman (or man too, really), needs to be able to support his or herself. A relationship needs a bit of independence to keep either party from feeling stifled. What is the trick for balancing this independence, with sharing?

An interesting question, but not one I actually need to answer today. At the moment, no one's making an application to be a permanent resident on my island...and everyone else is kickin' it on the beach. Enjoy the sun, tourists!!

*If this invoked the hook of a particular song, then you seriously need to get out of my head. If it didn't, then I'll help you out: http://youtu.be/jCUiGArhW2M

With Benefits

2011-07-24T17:33:00.000-05:00

There comes a time in every gal's life when some guy asks her if he can get the benefit of the cookie* without all of the strings of a relationship attached. The circumstances of the question can range from a recent break-up; or he really likes her but doesn't want to ruin the friendship; or he's in town for a short period, but doesn't live wherever the gal is. Whatever the reason, the basic parameters are the same. This is a situation which has been mocked in television and movies ad nauseum. Usually, chick flicks result in the couple getting together. Whatever.

My question is about real life. I wonder if these arrangements ever really work out. I have female friends who claim that they can totally get down with the get down without emotional attachment. Other women say that there is no cookie without emotional connections.

More than one person has claimed that the cookie is always better when baked with love. Which leads to the question -- given that a woman's enjoyment of the cookie is generally less likely, and it's always better with love, why on earth would any woman agree to the friends with benefits arrangement? It is my contention that it is never hard for a woman to find a partner. (Seriously ladies. Go outside. Throw a rock. Ask that dude you hit if he wants to get it on. The end). So it can't be that the woman is hard-up for cookies. Assuming that it isn't a man that she's baked** with before, then it's unchartered territory, and no guarantee that it'll be delicious. (And, is there anything more delicious than really good cookies?)

Given all of those factors, maybe it is true that women can disconnect. Because otherwise, what's in it for her? I'd like to believe that it is the minority of women who believe that they can turn this friends with benefits arrangement into a real relationship. Just for those ladies, allow me to give you this tidbit from the Engineer (a former friend of mine): you can't turn a burger dinner into a filet mignon. Once you've set the tone, it is what it is. Ok? Kthxbye.

*For definition of the cookie, see Act Like a Lady, Think Like a Man by Steve Harvey.

**Now I'm just amused by the several code words I'm using

Gym Etiquette or, That's Freakin' Disgusting

2011-07-23T23:18:00.000-05:00

As you know, I spend much of my free time at the gym. Mostly because I don't have a life outside of work and the gym. *shrug*. D'ah well. Over the past few days, I have been so offended by the goings ons at my particular workout facility. As a result, I thought it might be time for a lesson in gym etiquette.

First of all, if you are taking a class, don't steal other people's equipment. This morning I went to Muscle Max. (A class, incidentally, which was designed to workout every muscle group you may or may not have known existed. Oww.) Anyway, this class requires a lot of equipment: Stairstepper steps, risers, dumbbells, a mat, barbell and weight plates. In order to be ready for start time, you really need to get there 15 minutes early. Which is what I did this morning. For once, I was actually on time to something! I got my 7.5s, 10s, and 12.5s, a mat, a step and 2 risers, barbell, and 4 weight plates. Unfortunately, not everyone made that decision. A chick, with bottle blonde hair, hunched shoulders, and a sour disposition showed up about 5 minutes before class started. Undoubtedly bitter because she (wrongly) believes I'm dipping in her middle-aged dating pool, she totally bogarted the empty space just behind my general area. For the record, at the time she did it, the class wasn't yet filled. Prior to class starting, I propped my mat up against the nearest wall. Well, when it came time to start using the mats for push-ups, I didn't need one. (Still got tennis elbow). But, I noticed after the push-up sets that my mat was moving. Guess who was moving it? Ms. Housewife, of course. Well, as revenge, I went and got my mat when it was time for whatever the next floor exercise was. First rule of thumb, don't take someone's hard-earned mat just because you were late to class. Clearly you didn't prop it against the wall, so go get your own. Darn Housewife.

The next item up? What goes in the cupholder on the treadmill. Turns out that little plastic well is for water bottles and books (or e-readers, as the case may be). So, yesterday, I jumped on the treadmill, in my unending quest for awesome, getting ready to fire up the 5k. As I finished up my 5k (just over 35 min, thank you), it was time for another 30 minutes of cardio. Given my hard-fought 3.1 miles, I opted for a lazy 30 on the recumbent bike. As I picked up my Kindle to give it a read, I noticed a piece of balled up paste on the end. Wait a minute. Why would someone have paste at the gym? And why would it be balled up? And, come to think of it, it looks like it's been worked.......ewwwwwwwwwwwwww. EWWWWWWWW. Used, chewed up gum does NOT belong in a cupholder on the treadmill!!! And FURTHERMORE, now my workout is interrupted because I have to yank this gum off my Kindle cover and drown my hands in hand sanitizer. Ugh. I'm still gagging at the thought.

Seriously people, let's try to do better. *shudder*

True Confessions

2011-07-22T08:52:00.001-05:00

There are times when I am feeling really philosphical. Then I ponder the answers to life's problems, discuss politics, or fantasize about heading up a charitable organization which will solve the latest world issues*.

But, it's time I admit my worst kept secret. Most of my day, I spend having banal conversation, about asinine topics, taking my subjects from the vapid** side of life. I can wax poetic for hours about Real Housewives (of every city but Miami), fashion, and gossip with abandon. I love television, chick lit, and comedies. I rarely opt for the History channel, choosing instead to give my brain cells to shows such as Jersey Shore, Single Ladies, and Man v. Food. And, I donate these cells freely! Even without television, the book I'm reading at any given moment is sure to have a hot pink cover or a picture of heels on the cover. And you know what? I'm ok with that. When you see the popular kids holding court, how often do you hear them discussing the debt ceiling?

I think part of the reason I'm ok with my total shallowness -- aside from the fact that I happen to find those topics interesting (especially shopping, boys, and fashion!!) is because somebody has to talk about them! And, the more serious and heavier topics tend to make me angry, frustrated, and hopeless. Who wants to feel like that? Sometimes, a person needs a little bit of bubbly -- and not always the kind that comes in a bottle ;).

*This last one falls into the category of "Things that are Completely False, for $500, Alex"

**Incidentally, the first time I ever read the word vapid was in one of my favorite author's book. (Either Bitter is the New Black or Bright Lights, Big Ass) Jen Lancaster is AMAZING. Friend her on Facebook, her posts are hilarious.

Fitness modeling

2011-07-21T13:44:00.002-05:00

I'm not sure I've ever admitted it here, but one of my secret goals in life is to become a fitness model. It all started in law school when I was reading a copy of Shape or Fitness or Oxygen magazine. While I was busy not doing the suggested exercises, and instead reading the articles, I came across the section where they interviewed and photographed some fitness models. This was shortly after I hired my very first personal trainer and set a weight loss goal for myself. One thing I noticed about all the ladies featured in the article is that they were short. Around my height. It gave me hope that I could someday grace the cover of a magazine too.

Having no clue on how to achieve this goal, it's more or less remained on the backburner. I found it resurfacing when I accepted The Mission. An acquaintance from school once told me to verbalize my goals and dreams. Because you never know who you know -- and people want to help others acheive their dreams. So, with the impending Mission, and all the work necessary to acheive my goals, I began verbalizing my desire to be a fitness model.

And, side note? It should go without saying that most of my arrogance is all bluster. I'm not trying to imply that I am hot stuff. I'm just saying that I'd like to take some pictures and have them published somewhere after I worked my ass off...literally.

Anyway, one of the people I verbalized this to was the Ninja. Pause for collective groan. As part of his frenzied offer to trespass back into my life and on my last nerve, he said he could train me. The very thought of having to deal with his over-emotional philosphizing about the state of our defunct-never-to-return-from-the-dead relationship was a lot to bear. I was fairly certain I'd turn down that offer.

Another person who made the same offer was my former trainer, the Diesel. Diesel is a ginormously freakishly huge guy. He's roughly the size of Goliath. With legs the width of tree trunks, hands the size of dinner plates, and a neck that has the same circumference as one of my not-insubstantial-thighs. To top that off, he's 7 feet tall, topped off by dreds which resemble the hair of a rag doll (Black Raggedy Ann -- Blaggedy Ann?). He's the color of dark chocolate, and has a facial structure not unlike the face of a Mayan sculptural mask. Suffice it to say, when he's around, you notice him. Unfortunately, he's also one of those huge and athletic guys, that he has no awareness of his body movements. When he's speaking to me, he would stand at roughly the same distance as one might stand relative to a puppy. (Towering and WAY too close). He is completely clueless as to the fact that my neck is breaking trying to make eye contact, and that the very act of having the conversation requires me to bed my spine in unnatural ways, and that his personal space has not only invaded mine, but has taken it over and is holding my personal space as a POW.

That said, training with him was exhausting. Yes, he whipped my butt into shape, but it took a huge amount of restraint on my part, not to substitute one of the dead lifts for exercising my quads and hams with kicking him squarely in the nuts. To accompany his herculean proportions, he also had an ego that took up most of the gym, and a pea-sized brain to go with it. I can't say that he was a stupid man. Rather, he was narrow minded. So maybe instead of a pea brain, he had a vanilla bean brain. He spent most of our sessions alternating between providing ridiculous examples of how great he was (did you know the female attorneys at the firm where he worked would ask him to come sit in their office? Just so they could look at him!!); and offending my feminist or liberal sensibilities (a man is going to stay with you, just so he can break you down.). All of this would be fine-ish, if he wasn't just preening and peacocking around in an attempt to wow me with his greatness. I doubt that he's hitting on me in particular, it's just that I'm a girl that he gets to spend an hour with once a week. And, he can reasonably be expected to touch me. But, pray-the-eff-tell, what sort of spotting requires you to touch my waist constantly? And why do I suspect that while you're watching my form, you're simultaneously picturing me naked?

While I don't think either of these offers would truly come to anything; they did make me wonder what I would put up with for a free lunch? Incessant whining and philosphizing? Or, insulting egomania? I think part of the problem is that I don't know if this dream is even worth pursuing. Without knowing anything about it, how would I know whether I could actually make this happen? What if, after I've walked 500 miles in the snow, uphill, both ways -- I find that you need to invest a large sum of money, or take a spin on the audition couch, or quit your day job to make this happen? I guess then, not only do I have a great butt, but I'm also on the verge of committing homicide for the person doing me a "favor."

What can you see?

2011-07-20T21:32:00.002-05:00

Have you ever noticed that what people may see in you is rarely what you see in yourself? There's a song by Marvin Sapp, called The Best in Me. In that song, he's speaking about the joys of God seeing the best in him, when no one else could see it. It's about the joy of knowing God loves you no matter what.

People, on the other hand, are not always as kind. But there are times when mere mortals are able to see the best in you. It is these times that I find most interesting. Have you ever paid attention to the compliments people give you? Or, even if it's not a compliment, some of the factual observations people make? How often do those jive with what you think about yourself? As a society, we spend a fair amount of time working on our outward facing image. During that prep time, we rarely (if ever) consider what people are truly seeing. Despite the rampant shallowness that seems to rule the world; friends, family, and acquaintances are often looking at more than your Louboutins and Coach belt. They are looking at what they see within you.

What I wonder, is why is it that we rarely see what they see? Why is it that other people can see leadership potential, charisma, and intelligence -- but we can't. A mirror's reflective surface can't show you what's on the inside, but spending time with yourself can. We don't take enough time to be introspective. I'm not advocating any sort of New Age hippy-dippy nonsense, but I am saying you should be aware of your own skills. Success is knowing what you're made of, and then using it. For those bad things (of which we all have some), you can't change what you don't acknowledge*. A little introspection never hurt anyone.

And, I'll say it again. Once you know what you're made of, you have to use it. Take your skills and turn them into something fabulous! And then, take your weaknesses and work them until they become strengths. We should work on our insides at least 50% as much as we work on our outsides, shouldn't we?

*Yup. I totally quoted Dr. Phil. On purpose.

To refrain....

2011-07-20T13:25:00.002-05:00

Recently, I've been on a tour of my dating history (through no fault of my own, mind you). I've enjoyed this little jaunt through my past dating lives, although I would like to know what caused all the boys to come out of the woodwork.

For the most part, they haven't really said anything particularly groundbreaking. There's been a lot of buttering up -- reminding me of how good he was at cooking (Astro); disparaging "the new guy" for not hooking up my surround sound (Titan); telling me he admitted to his friend that he messed up our relationship (the young blood from the southside*). But, the most interesting conversations have been those that I like to call: "Why We Broke Up: A Recap" or "Were We Even In the Same Relationship?!!". It never ceases to amaze me just how clueless a guy can be as to why a relationship ended. Especially when the girl does the ending. Part of me believes that the arrogance of (some) guys won't let them believe that the break-up was their fault. Part of me believes that (some) guys just aren't listening. That auditory fail then results in shock and surprise when the relationship is over. *Shrug*. Either way, the results are the same. I end up spending a couple hours of my life explaining the real reason why relationships end.

There are times when these conversations can be somewhat enlightening. The latest example of this is my conversation with the Titan. He has more or less been in complete denial about the nature of our "relationship" (a term I use loosely) and the reason for its demise. I've been told that it was over on his end because I wanted a boyfriend and he wasn't ready to do that; or it ended because I thought I was just a side-piece; or that it didn't work out because I never gave him a fair chance. The list goes on. It's taken 2 years, but we've finally gotten down to the bottom of why it was over. For the record, my official stance is that it ended because he wanted to keep his options open, and I was done "kickin' it." Last week, he said that he couldn't get serious because the "hot spice" (his words, I swear!!) is an important part of a relationship, and since I wasn't giving it up, he wasn't ready to go all in. I let him know that I'm positive this isn't the first time a relationship of mine has ended for this reason, but he's definitely the first to admit it. He hastily backpedaled and said that he thought it was a good thing "that you're doing" and he understands it. (No guy wants to be known as the guy who broke up with a girl because she wouldn't give it up when he asked). But....(and there's always a but)...he just couldn't do it. He could see himself marrying me (huh?); we always have fun together (we do?); we never run out of things to talk about (say what?); and on and on and on. But, he just couldn't go all in without knowing. So... his solution? Let me share it: "is there anyway there could be a loophole? Say, once or twice a month?" For real. That was it. PAH HAHAHAHAHAHA. And this is the part where I nearly fell out of my chair laughing. Ok listen, I know that the hot spice is important. And, I've had that conversation a thousand times. But dude, the whole point of abstaining is that you're abstaining. If you indulge every once in a while, you are no longer abstaining. You're participating.

I also know that I'm in the extreme minority on this issue. (Btw, I'm dancing around the phrasing so this post will remain suitable for work -- and because pheebee's Ma reads the blog. Hi Ma!!!!). But, there are several reasons for me to be waiting. Rather than typing it, I will let someone far more articulate explain it:

And so, I will wait. Alone, apparently.

*Suggestions on a shorthand for that handle are welcome!!

Whoever said "You can never be too skinny...."

2011-07-19T12:06:00.002-05:00

Was probably some skinny bitch and jealous of all the real women around her. If I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times...fashion model skinny ain't cuttin' it.

This article covers it very well...basically, lots of gay men chasing youth are placing unnecessary pressure on women to try to look like teenage boys. (That's the article theory, not mine...). No matter the reason, essentially, a lot of people out of touch with reality are creating an image of beauty that doesn't really jive with what regular society calls hot and sexy.

I suspect the fashion moguls are out of touch the way CEOs of companies are out of touch with what really happens on the ground. In retail, the C-suite sets sales goals for different stores in their retail chain. They do this without ever setting foot in some of the stores. So, pray-tell, how do you know how a store is doing? How can you tell what their level of success is, if you truly have no idea what shoppers in that town are thinking? And don't tell me you worked your way up the ranks...even if you had (you didn't), I know for a fact you're overestimating your skills in hindsight.

Oops. I digressed. So what I'm saying is, it's simple. Stop chasing the silly image forced on you from on high (evidently, real high. Acid, maybe?). Instead, re-define your image. See yourself as a sensual, hot mamacita. Not some walking praying-mantis. Think about it. If you saw a praying mantis in real life, you'd either: 1. run away screaming, or 2. (if you're bold) squish the thing. So please explain to me why you want to attempt to look like a giant bobble-headed stick thin green bug? You aren't even the right color to pull that off. Pull your shoulders back, swing your hips, and for goodness sake, let the boys figure out how much time they have left to speak to you when they're staring (hypnotically) at your hourglass shape. I mean seriously -- no such thing as too skinny? Pfft.

Hairy Eyeballs.

2011-07-18T23:18:00.000-05:00

Every night, I wash my face with facial cleanser. Twice a week, I exfoliate with a gentle Clinique wash. All of this in addition to whatever else I'm doing in the shower. When I get out of the shower, I brush my teeth, floss, and then rinse with Scope, Crest mouthwash, or Listerine (whichever was on sale). Then, it's back to facial care. I follow it up with an age-defying night cream, and every other day, Clinique Even Better.

Come morning time (after a regular toothbrushing, of course), I put on SPF 15 containing face "Uplifting" cream. Only to be followed by Anti-Ageing primer (which smells like oranges). This is before the makeup routine even starts. When it's time to start the war paint, I prep with Urban Decay Eyeshadow Potion. Followed by SPF15 liquid foundation, Mineralize powder, blush, shadow, eyeliner, and mascara. And then, and only then, can I actually leave the house.

Here's my question: Who decided what the definition of beauty. Certain things make sense. Blush, I get, because color in the cheeks is a sign of health. And even-ing out the skin tone with foundation I get, because symmetry is apparently scientifically attractive. And if you consider eyeshadow merely an accessory, then it's always fun to play with color. (And who doesn't love an excuse to coordinate yet another aspect of an outfit?)

But, when did we decide that hairy eyeballs is beautiful? I mean really, I love the look of long dark eyelashes, but what purpose does mascara truly serve? And, for the record, I have yet to hear a man say "she has beautiful eyelashes." And, if we're making hairy eyeballs beautiful, then why is a bald forehead beautiful? We've moved from plucking to waxing to threading. And, you know what? All of them are painful! For what possible purpose are we removing forehead hair? And don't even get me started on leg-shaving or bikini waxing!!!

All of that, and those are only surface changes. There are women who will go under the knife in the name of beauty. This isn't a post about body dysmorphia and that ilk. I get that there are women who have been screwed in the head by a zillion different outside (and inside) influences. My question stems more from the definition of surface beauty. The little things that women do to themselves in order to look prettier. Is the benefit from the additional pretty disproportionate to the amount of pain in the arse suffered? If I was going to guess, my answer would be yes.

I like to tease 2DP...that the only reason he ever does anything (workout, wear cologne, drive a nice car...) is to get women. A fact he more or less admits. But, the things women do aren't really impressing most men. (See above-mentioned note re: long eyelashes). So why are women going through all of this work to impress each other, when we know full well how much pain it causes? I propose a movement -- the 5 minute face will be a 5 minute face INCLUDING prep time. From now on, Project Make-up Optional should be exercised more often.

Smoke out

2011-07-15T09:15:00.000-05:00

Can I pick the next group to be "separate but equal"? I'd like to choose smokers.

Today, (right now actually. Isn't technology crazy?!?!, I was sitting on the train, when the guy next to me got up to get off at the next stop. Well, his siesta was quickly filled by someone. Upon him sitting down, my sense of smell was immediately assaulted by his stale smoke leftover from his early morning stroll down cancer lane. Hey, I always say, what you do at home is none of my business...until it starts to invade my personal space. And this guy? All up in my personal space.

I am sitting here, forced to take short labored breaths to avoid getting a full blast of that just back from the smokers' lounge smell. I'm pretty sure my lungs haven't taken in more oxygen than an infant's lungs in about 5 stops. I'm further damaged by the fact that he's hindering my ability to fight my already losing battle against aging. Because I'm so disgusted, I've been involuntarily scowling for a good 9 minutes. All the good worklSt night's deep wrinkle cream did, promptly undone. Any longer and the people who think I don't look young will bs right. Which is more than a little bogus. I take more than a little pride in proving that petty nonsense wrong.

My solution? In addition to creating a smoking area, make it mandatory for smokers to stayin that area. At least until they can prove that they are no longer offensively smokey the bear. Besides, separate but equal is equal, right?

You're under arrest....for real

2011-07-14T21:56:00.000-05:00

I came across this news story the other day. And, that led me to let out a silent yelp of joy. (It would have been a loud YAWP*** but alas, I was at work.) If I could put together a fashion police force, I would feel a thousand times better. For those who don't want to click on the link, the essence of the article is that a small town in southern Illinois has passed an ordinance outlawing saggy pants. Violators will be subject to a fine.

Ignoring -- for the moment -- the open invitation for racial profiling; I would like to celebrate this particular movement. Sagging pants have been in style since at least the early nineties, if not earlier. (My most recent memory of them is Kris Kross. But then again, their pants were also backwards). Sagging has got to be the single longest running trend, ever. And it just refuses to die! I just don't understand what the hold up is.

We've all heard the stories about how sagging started in prison, and was indicative of who was willing to get down and who wasn't on the homosexuality tip. And that's all well and good. If you want to rock a jailbird trend, far be it from me to judge. For the first decade. But, we are slowly working on decade number 3, and the trend has no signs of stopping. These idiots are walking around with their pants so low I can definitively tell you the color of their underwear. In order to walk, these idiots have to hold their pants up, to keep them from falling down. Frankly, I think they should just stop wearing pants at all.

The most egregious part of the "evolution" of the trend, is the addition of belts. I guess they got tired of hearing the old folks whine about the lack of belts. But, instead of buying a belt of their own size, and subsequently wearing their pants near their waist, the trend is to purchase a belt the size of the pants, and belt the pants at their knees. ARRRRGH.

Aside from the prison overtone, this trend ticks me off for additional reasons. Allow me to list them for you:
1. It makes a man's legs look like they're 2 inches long. I've never wanted a short man; I've never wanted a man who had a disproportionately long torso. And I don't intend to start now!

2. The holding of the pants. If you're walking about holding your pants up to keep them from falling down, you deserve to trip and fall in a puddle, while a dime piece is looking on...laughing at your dumbass.

3. Finally, you have no business asking for my number. Or hell, talking to me at all. If I can't trust you to buy pants your own size, I can't trust you to do a damn thing else.

Cart them all off to jail if you ask me! Fine them for all they got!!! Just sayin'.

***Give yourself 2 points if you caught that reference.

Cater 2 U

2011-07-13T21:15:00.000-05:00

I frequently wax poetic about what a woman wants, in an effort to help men give their women more romance in their lives. But I rarely consider what a man wants. Let's operate under the theory that a happy man is more likely to romance a woman. So, how often do women think about making a man happy? Rarely. I suspect that's because most of us women secretly think that men are idiots and/or all they want is sex. Which is probably mostly true (I kid, I kid), but that doesn't mean the simple creatures don't deserve happiness, right? I mean, you throw your dog a bone every once in a while, don't you?

Ok then. So I asked a few of my guy friends and exes what it takes to make a man happy. After I got past the BS answers they all thought I wanted to hear, we got down to brass tacks. You know what a man wants? He wants to be catered to; to feel like a king. How do you do that? The most common request I've ever heard is cooking. A good meal, or even a putting together a nice spread for him and his friends when they're going to watch the fight. Then of course there are the intangibles -- listening when he's talking, letting him feel like he's in charge, letting him feel like the big man on campus.

My friend the officer said it best: "Men just want someone to like them. In return for letting us feel like we're in charge, we buy you things...In subsequent return for us buying you things, you let us touch your boobs."

Well said, my friend. Well said.

Racial lenses

2011-07-12T10:10:00.001-05:00

Sometimes, you have to stop and think about differences. We all know that life in America is experienced differently depending on your race. (At least I hope we all know that. I hope that everyone reading this is not under some delusion that we've officially reached some post-racial world. If you believe that, please put yourself in a time-out until you have a reality check.) But the idea of how that experience is different can often be a vague and amorphous notion. Sort of like you know that horses are fast, the desert is hot, and Danielle from Real Housewives of NJ is crazy.

Ever since moving to Chicago, my racial awareness has been in overdrive. Part of it, I think, is that I am finally comfortable with my identity; and how I operate as a black woman. Another part of it is the rather sharp division of friendships I've fostered in the city. Much like the city itself, my friendships are completely segregated and always have been. There's the Cashmere Mafia, which was made up entirely of women of color, and the Fantasy Football League, which was made up entirely of white women. That said, it wasn't that these groups of women were unwilling to hang out with one another. Kaia is a testament to that, being that she'd hang out with me with both sets...that said, I suspect this lane changing was more of a result of her being a ride or die chick, who's always down. Anyway, my point is, while most everyone was willing to kick it with whomever, the groups generally remained separate, with divergent interests and tastes in activities. (Which incidentally left me in sometimes awkward positions, but that's a post for another day).

Thanks to this slight (major?) shift in my own perception, I've noticed some of the ways in which black people and white people see things. And, as always, I've decided to share those observations here.

#1. Let's start with an easy one, and one that I didn't come up with. (Thanks to the anonymous website commenter who posted this). Ok, picture it. It's a busy street corner in New York. A cab driver is at the end of his shift, and he just dropped off his last fare. He zooms down the street, in a hurry to get home and get the heck out of his cab. A white guy raises his arm to hail the cab, but the driver keeps going. Likewise, up the street a ways, a black guy raises his arm to hail the same cab, but the driver keeps going. What are their likely reactions? I bet the white guy thinks nothing of it, figuring the cab didn't see him, or some other explanation that has nothing to do with him. The black guy, meanwhile, may be more inclined to believe the cab driver intentionally went by, because he's black. (I'm told that hailing a cab in NYC for a black man can be hit or miss). Now, it's not that the white guy is arrogant, it's just that he hasn't grown up in a society where he's ignored on the basis of who he is. At least, not often enough that it'd be his first thought. Meanwhile, the black man has enough anecdotal evidence and personal experience to justify this reaction. The reality here is that this particular cab driver didn't see either guy -- he was just done for the day.

#2. This one just happened to me at the grocery store. I was in the produce section choosing apples. And in a not-the-brightest-moment left my purse in my cart. I'm smart enough to know better, but I did it anyway. So, as I'm leaning over the apple bin, I sense someone near my cart. I look over my shoulder and see that it's a guy – and promptly adjust myself to be closer to my purse, just in case ol' boy gets froggy. Now, if it had been a black man, I would have felt guilty, because the whole reason I was moving was to protect my purse, and I'd feel bad if he thought I was doing it because of a reaction to
a stereotype -- rather than because I live in a city where people steal things. However, it wasn't a black man. It was some white guy, who when I shifted said "oh no, you're fine." He thought I was shifting because I was politely moving out of his way. At this point, I found myself feeling slight indignation. Look man, everyone isn't here to make your life easier! I'm moving because you're standing too effing close to my purse!!! Why don't you understand that?!!??!! Rather than point this out, I merely reminded myself that this is a situation that racial lenses will change a perception quick and in a hurry. But I admit. I'd feel a whole lot better if just once that guy knew what it was a like for someone to pull their belongings in a little bit closer just because he walked down the street. There, I said it.

So what does all this mean? I have no idea. My thing is, I can see all of these things happening, and I know what my reaction is, but I don't think there is a wrong way or a right way to react to these things. I think what's important is to first observe the differences-- then and only then can we begin to work on solutions.

This Post Brought to you by Ne-Yo

2011-07-11T22:47:00.000-05:00

You know what really bugs me? There's a song by Pitbull featuring Ne-Yo called "Give Me Everything," and in that song at the very beginning, I swear Pitbull says Ne-Yo's name incorrectly. I can't be the only person that hears this!! It's even more obvious because during the song he also corrects himself. So it goes "Pitbull, Nigh-Yo Nee-Yo...that's right." WTF!!??!!? How is no one talking about this?!

Anyway. Aside form lyrical shenanigans, Ne-Yo is on my mind tonight because his video reminds me of a past relationship. My gym has small tvs on each of the cardio machines; and it's a fantastic way to distract me from the upsetting exercise of, well, exercising. One of the videos that came on during my run was "One in a Million." It's a great song...it's classic Ne-Yo wooing the ladies with his warm-your-heart lyrics and creating the impulse that makes a girl go "awww." Likewise, the video is pretty awesome. Here's a brief synopsis (necessary for the point I'm making, I promise): In the video, Ne-Yo sees a girl at a restaurant, and proceeds to attempt to woo her. But the girl? Wholly unimpressed and uninterested. She walks away when his back is turned, and he has to chase after her. When he catches up to her, he gives her a rose, but she waves it away. She makes an attempt at a clean getaway again, but he finally does something to make her stay and listen. She begins with a small smile, and he proceeds to sing her praises in the middle of the street. Aww...

Know what this video made me think of? Astro. Since I've been on a bit of a hiatus, y'all missed the mini-saga (mini is relative, you see) that was my relationship with Astro. But, I think Ne-Yo's video pretty much sums it up. He did a great job of doing the chasing. When we first met, he didn't call. So, I brushed him off as another one of those guys that asks for numbers for sport, rather than actually wanting to call. *Shrug.* A month later, he shows up at my office, and just wants to talk. I tell him he missed the boat and to kick rocks. He says, "I'll pick you up Starbucks." I say, "ok. I'll give you another chance" (sometimes an addiction leads you to make poor decisions). Then, he disappears again. Then he shows up again, and does a masterful mind meld to get me to go out with him. I'll save the details, but it wasn't unlike Ne-Yo's machinations in the video. The next several weeks were fantastic. I was falling hard and fast for a great guy. But, you know what? It's easy to be a great guy for a couple months. Sustainability is what separates the men from the boys.

And this is where Ne-Yo's video comes in again. At the end of the video, Ne-Yo is distracted by gorgeous girls dancing with him. He's still singing the song to the first girl (who's one in a million, of course), but he's so distracted by the performance that he doesn't notice her first getting frustrated, and then walking away.

In a moment where art imitates life, this is precisely what came to be the end of my relationship with Astro. He was still talking a big game, but 4 weeks went by and I saw neither hide nor tail of him. I've never thought it was another woman (I mean seriously, what woman could ever measure up to pheebee? Ok ok, other than Eva Longoria, Halle Berry, Serena Williams, or J.Lo). But business/life/whatever became his mistress. And in that case, mistress trumps girl. And thus, it ended. I took the next cab out, and didn't look back. (Until the aforementioned wedding, apparently).

At the end of the video, Ne-Yo doesn't notice the girl leaving -- and neither did Astro. But, I'm already aware that I'm one in a million. ;).

All of this was over a year ago, so you can forego the pity party. As with any relationship, I learned a few things. I learned that there is a rare breed of guy that still courts a woman when he's interested. And there's also a rare breed of guy that cooks. Sadly, dating Astro only raised the bar of things I'll look for in a man. But, it also taught me the art of putting my foot down. Sometimes girls, and by sometimes I mean always, there's just no reason to settle.

Read this. Trust me, you'll love it.

2011-07-11T11:01:00.001-05:00

I am certain many have seen this already. But it's so hilarious it's worth re-posting. I kind of wish my blogs were as funny as this chick. Also? For the record...I would totally do something like this...

http://thebloggess.com/2011/06/and-thats-why-you-should-learn-to-pick-your-battles /

Emotions at the gym

2011-07-10T22:34:00.000-05:00

Working out can be an emotional experience. On Saturday, in an effort to pre-empt upcoming weekend caloric sins, I headed to the gym. I woke up at the crack of dawn (aka 8am) to head to a cardio kickboxing class. (Cardio kickboxing is the class' government name. But Cardio kick-your-ass-twice is the street name). There was a substitute teacher when I got there, and I noticed it was a a teacher that just works my last nerve. Everytime she teaches a class, she spends the first 5-8 minutes talking. She's got somewhat of a high voice, and does all this fake humble ish. Like, "you know when there's a sub, you have to have an open mind." PFFT. Shut up. Anyway, after chattering about goodness knows what, she asked the class if we wanted her to go over the proper form for the kicks and punches. One rather type-A mother who was desperately trying to fit in her workout before returning to a life of playdates and bouncy castles (you know, I imagine), said with a healthy amount of snark "no, just start class." Now, while I agreed with mommy dearest in principle, I thought it was ill-advised for her to make a comment to a cardio teacher. Doesn't she know how it works? If you imply that the teacher isn't working you hard enough, that teacher uses your implication as license to attempt homicide by cardio. And, I had already been a victim of that particular crime earlier this week.

Anyway, true to form, Kelly the kickboxer started class, and proceeded to vicitimize us immediately. Even the warm-up was mind-boggling. She counted every thing on the half count, and a lot of jumping was involved. I didn't really mind that, though. You know what my real problem is with this chick? She was wearing at least 2 if not 3 bras. Her rack was ginormous, and required a lot of suspension and balance in her hardware. She was otherwise extremely toned -- she could've been a wrestler in another life. Suffice it to say that you would not want to meet her in a dark alley when she was pre-menstrual. Yeah, I said it. During the workout, as my muscles slowly began to fill with lactic acid, I started to wonder if my mounting rage was because she had the biggest chest I've ever seen on a fitness instructor, or because I felt like I was cheated out of 10 minutes of class, or if I was just bitter because my skin itched and my lungs were on the verge of explosion. Anyway, at the end of the day, it was very mentally exhausting.

As though my world isn't bizarre enough; I am continuing along my journey through past relationships. As I mentioned before, the Titan really never goes away. We still talk a lot, and we sometimes workout at the same gym. For the most part, our relationship doesn't usually extend beyond weekday chats. But today, as I was completing a day of errands and couponing, I decided I was craving deep dish pizza. Having been well-trained by WW, I knew that I would have to do something to earn it. Fortunately, at the moment I was having the craving, I was also driving past my gym. Which made me think; if there is anyone that I can count on to fulfill a pizza fantasy after working out, it's the Titan. He is a complete gym rat, but also a pizza fanatic. So, I proceeded to call him and tell him that he should come by the gym, and then split a pizza with me. Given his aversion to impulse, I figured he'd say no. But, surprise surprise, he was down! With one caveat, we had to walk to the gym.

It wasn't the distance of the walk, it's maybe 4 blocks, (albeit uphill), but not far. But the thing about that walk, is that it involves walking under an overpass, which houses a place for Hipsters of Tomorrow to meet up. Tomorrow's hipsters are today's skaters. Managing to sag jeans that are 2 sizes too small, find a way to wear plaid and flannel no matter the temperature, and the ubiquitous knit hat is, well, ubiquitous. With all the brooding and teenage flirting going on, it's difficult to watch. That, AND, it's the official pigeon port o' potty of the northwest side. Seriously, I can't take it. But, I wanted my deep dish pizza...so walk we would. Naturally, the Titan picks one of the hottest days of the year to make this walk...and then he proceeds to complain that the a/c is too cold once we reach the gym. *Note: never NEVER walk in 90 degree weather with a man from Memphis.

While we were at the gym, (and he had the audacity to lift hundreds of pounds right in front of me. Tease), I started to notice something. That boy knew a lot of the other gym rats that were there today, including the girl who apparently got her gym locations mixed up. Whereas I was wearing the first pair of workout capris and bright yellow Nike dri fit, with a faded bandana, this chick had on an outfit straight outta Hoochie's Workout Wear. While standing on a bosu (flat-side down -- punk), she did cute little squats in front of a mirrored corner. She was wearing black bootcut stretch pants, with lime green racing stripes which went up the leg and crossed (rather conveniently) at the hip and around the back. Drawing your eye to her nonexistent booty. To match -- and I do mean match -- she had on a lime green zebra striped tank top. Fitted, of course. But, the piece de resistance was...wait for it... an Ed Hardy hat. Who the hell wears an Ed Hardy hat to the gym? After finishing her bosu squats, she made a beeline for the Titan. The entire time I'd been up there, I'm pretty sure he was purposefully avoiding eye contact with me (or...he was watching his form in the mirror. Whatever). Out of the corner of my eye, I could see them talking, and I KNOW he was smiling and whatnot. And she was all "hi, aren't I cute and adorable?!!" *** And then, just before I'd worked myself in a tizzy, he brought her over to meet me. What the devil?! But I have been lifting! And I forgot my gloves, so I look like a total amateur!! and I'm sweaty!! Dammit!

Not surprisingly, she had a little bit of attitude. But meh. Whatever. I didn't tell her he and I used to date -- that's on him to tell her if that's the type of relationship they got. The fun part for me? Knowing that I was leaving with him, and all she could do was huff. HA. Ok, not really. Truth be told, she did give me a little bit of a cold shoulder, but I didn't give her any hint that he and I came together or were planning to leave together. I didn't give any hint that I knew him any better than she did, because really? I'm not one to fight over a guy. He's either mine, or he's not. And when it comes to an ex? He's not. So, meh. No matter the gender though, it's still a bit awkward to meet someone in a gym...when you're all sweaty and gross and whatnot.

That said, the workout and extra mile of walking was totally worth it for the pizza. Yummy! While we were eating, the Titan gave me some insight into dating in 2011 from the male perspective. I opined that men don't court women anymore. He said that lots of guys don't feel they should have to court a woman, since so many of them are dating 2 and 3 guys. Guys don't want to go all in, just to find out he's one of a few guys this chick is seeing. I proceeded to roll my eyes. Sounded like an excuse to put forth the least amount of effort necessary in order to get a piece -- but maybe that's just the cynic in me.

***Ok really? I don't actually know what they were saying or doing. This is totally what I heard in my head.

The importance of dryer sheets (or, I have a thong in my purse!)

2011-07-07T21:36:00.001-05:00

I admit it. There have been times when I’ve been known to set the women’s movement back a few years. Hitting up the bars with Kaia, in hopes of using my feminine wiles to get past the door and (more than a couple) free cocktails. Purposefully wearing a skirt suit to court when I knew the hiring partner (that thought I was cute) would be there. (That one wasn’t entirely my fault, if MMM had never told me that the partner thought I was cute, I never would have done it. No, really. I wouldn’t have). There have even been times where I accidentally gave an inappropriate view of my boobs (and, let’s be real, my lime green bra) to a deponent and opposing counsel or two. That one was completely subconscious though. I mean, I was just trying to stay awake by shifting positions – is it my fault that one such position involved leaning forward, as though paying attention?! Ahem. My point here, is that as a woman, I haven’t always held up the feminist banner. Sometimes, I’ve just been out and about, throwing feminine wiles, cleavage, and leg around. But today, I think I crossed all bounds of (in)decency for the workplace.

My office, like many highrises in any metropolitan area, is filled with computers, servers, printers, faxes, and other electronic devices. It’s fantastic for saving paper and all that. Not so great for maintaining a temperature anywhere above frigid. No matter the time of year, you will find a space heater and a sweater in my office. The thermostat residing on my back wall is either broken, just for show, or some sadistic contractor’s way of torturing office inhabitants. Anyway, suffice it to say that it’s effen cold in my office. All. The. Time.

Because my sweaters get worn a lot throughout the year, there always comes a time when I finally remember to take it home to wash it. You’ve got to wash the stench of greedy (and desperate) executives off your clothes every once in a while, right? After one such cleaning, today, I brought my sweater back to its royal spot of draping over the back of my chair. Lately, I’ve been suffering from pre-menopausal hot flashes, so I didn’t need to put the sweater on right away. But eventually, as with any other day, I found myself slowly draining of body heat. Before turning into a fudgsicle, I politely lifted my sweater out of my bag, and wrapped myself in it. I then left my office to make a boiling hot cup of cream and sugar with coffee.

Imagine my dismay when I returned to my office to find a crumpled Kleenex sitting just behind my chair. I mean, don’t you just hate it when you forget to clean out your pockets before doing laundry? Wait a minute…this sweater doesn’t have any pockets. And that Kleenex is not one which survived an entire drying cycle. And, since when do Kleenex have lace…OHMY..!!!!! Nobody look! Everybody avert your eyes! No one needs to know that I do, in fact, own a pair of cotton lace thongs. Oh good grief. I wonder how many people walked past and noticed…*shudder*. Let’s just hope they all thought it was Kleenex, like I did. And THAT, my friends, is why you need dryer sheets when doing laundry.

Men who text...

2011-07-06T20:47:00.003-05:00

Only want sex. According to Franklin & Bash, anyway. So, my question is, are they right?

Technology has thrown the rules and etiquette of communication out of the window. Whereas before, you could count on the 3-day rule as an overall standard of calls (even on college campuses!), the only rule of modern day communication is that there is no rule.

Back in the day, (I'm told), a man would wait at least 3 days before contacting a woman he was interested in. The reason for the wait would range from not wishing to appear desperate -- to making a woman sweat so she would know he was hot stuff. (That last one caused single women everywhere to collectively roll their eyes to the heavens. Fellas? We? Are not impressed). Fast forward to the new millenium, the land of Luddites and iPhones, BBM and IM; Match.com and eharmony, and goodness only knows when you'll hear back and what the timing of that contact will mean.

Let's start with the Luddites, shall we? What does it mean to you if a guy doesn't have a mobile? (I'm only asking the ladies, because my understanding is that when it comes to women, men only care about one thing...and it ain't her method of communication). How important is it to you that a man has a mobile? My guess is that it is important that he has a mobile phone, but it's more important that he knows how to use it. A woman wants to know that you're on her mind, and the best way to do that is to text or call her.

When it comes to talking, however, it is important that you actually hear a ringing sound when using the phone every once in a while. If all you're doing is texting, he isn't really trying to get to know you. My guess is, he's using the quickest, laziest method to talk to you. Which tells me that he has little or no desire to put forth any kind of effort to date you. That doesn't mean he isn't interested in taking you out. But, my guess is "out" may include paper napkins or big screen tvs. And, the ultimate goal of going out is a speedy invitation to get "in." Sometimes, that is exactly what a girl wants. (Hey, this is a safe space. No judgment -- tramp ;}). Let's get real...some guys are just for fun (read: a pretty handbag, as previously explained...). And that's ok. What's not ok is trying to turn that guy into a real relationship. Try to remember that! Any real man worth dating, is willing to face a dial tone to get to you. I mean seriously, if a guy isn't willing to risk a few awkward silences, what else is he unwilling to do?

Watch that workout

2011-07-05T21:44:00.005-05:00

Right now, I'm sitting on my couch, enjoying a delightfully fattening cinnamon roll. It is roughly the size of my fist...at least, it was before I started. Every bite calls images of steps on the treadmill, climbing the endless escalator stair climber, and facing the spin instructor's awful hillclimbs. And today? I earned my cinnamon roll, and every caloric delight that comes with it.

After taking an unauthorized 5 days off, I made a rather reluctant return to the gym. In order to make sure I didn't punk out on my workout, I decided to jump on a stationary bike and take a spin class. For the uninitiated, "spinning" is the ancient art of riding on a hard banana seat while pedaling furiously and going nowhere. As you pedal on, you slowly start to lose feeling in your nether regions...a concept that would be slightly disturbing if it didn't hurt to maintain feeling in that area more. Nothing says dedication like pelvic bruising! Anyway, in the case of this class, your ride is with the background of a mix of Madonna, Gaga, and techno-remixes that would put any gay disco DJ to shame.

Anyway, after I finish my cinnamon roll, I'm going to file a complaint with the D.A.'s office. I was a victim of attempted cardiovascular manslaughter. Frankly, the spin instructor made a valiant attempt to kill attendees by workout. After enduring 60 minutes of screaming quads and fiery calves, we all found ourselves crawling out of the small room, with nothing but our pinky toes and elbows to drag our slowly decreasing body weight back to the locker room.

The true redeeming quality of the class is that it's the only place in the gym where the gender roles are reversed. In this gym, as with most, at least one entire wall of the group exercise room is glass and facing the free weight section of the gym. During any number of classes where women are sure to be shaking their booties, doing downward dog, or various stretching exercises, you'll find men who are "between sets" ogling the ladies. The women, to their credit, pretend not to notice -- all the while proving to themselves that the hardwork is worth it thanks to the received attention. In the spin room, however, the roles are absolutely reversed. Usually, the class is filled mostly with women. And, just as with the other group exercise rooms, 1 and a half walls are full on windows. And, just as before, the windows look out onto the free weight area. Unlike with the room which holds Zumba, yoga, and the like, the spin room holds only spin classes. Apparently, meatheads do not find women hunched over stationary bikes sexy, therefore, they tend not to gather at the window. Instead of watching, the muscle men get back to the business of lifting. What does that mean for me and other women taking classes? That means we get to take our minds off of the incredible cardio exertion by watching the boys doing sexy things like pull-ups, hovering push-ups with hanging chains, and various bi and tri curls. I'm not ashamed to say that this evening found me and my bike neighbor unabashedly gawking at a man who must have done 3 sets of all manners of abs, biceps, triceps, and pecs. He certainly helped me get through my workout :).

To spite all the hardwork I put in on that bike (against my will), I finished off the last of my cheat food from this weekend. While TOTALLY worth it, I can only hope that there will be some meatheads working out this week and over the next few; because I will need as much incentive (distraction?) as I can get to work off this softball sized bit of delicious. Hello? Male fitness models? I'll be happy to watch you and to check your form. ;)

Ex-Factor

2011-07-04T22:44:00.004-05:00

I used think the time to expect to hear from boyfriends of dating past was in the winter time. I always figured that once it got cold, men start wishing for a cuddle buddy. The best kind of cuddle buddy is one that you already know, right? Apparently, late June is the new winter time.

In the past 2 weeks or so, I've heard from every man I've ever ended a relationship with. Oftentimes, I'm not the one doing the ending. I'm usually the one getting left in the dust. Apparently, June 2011 is the year in which men of my distant and not-so-distant past begin thinking of all the "good times" we had.

It all started with the Ninja. The incredibly stupid guy who had an allergy to using a phone, following through with promises or plans, and a penchant for overall douchebaggery. Prior to two weeks ago, I hadn't spoken to him in 3 years. And then, I got a text message on Friday, asking me to go to a wedding on Saturday...back home. Because I didn't learn my lesson when we dated in 2002, I assumed that the reason he was asking was because he was desperate. That it was going to be a wedding and his ex would be there; or his family was pressuring him and he needed a decoy -- you know. Weddings can bring a lot of pressure if you don't have a ready-made date to go; at least for women. I don't think it's as serious for men, what, with their ability to hit on bridesmaids and single girls that couldn't find a date. In fact, last I heard, weddings were basically shooting vulnerable fish in a metaphorical barrel for single guys. But, there are exceptions (like those I listed). So, being the good Samaritan that I am, I agreed to go. (That, and he agreed to pay for my gas and I was totally in need of a fill up).

I expected that he would get on my nerves a little, but I had a tiny, bite-sized hope that he'd changed. NOT. He made all kinds of extra-deep comments that were designed to wow me with his sensitivity. Did you know, that I've always been there for him? Or that he didn't want to lose me again? How about that he loves that I asked his opinion even though I wasn't going to take his advice? He had a bad case of "one that got away"-isms. Unfortunately, he completely forgot about the fact that we only dated for 3 months -- namely because we didn't get along. Of those 3 months, we spent 85 days fighting. Argh. I'll spare you the details of how he picked a fight with me 5 days after the wedding. But suffice it to say that I suspect we'll go another 3 years before I hear from him again. Suffice it also to say that I didn't get my gas money.

Maybe a week later, I hear from the guy I broke up with last year. Also asking me to go with him to a wedding. He, at least, I'd heard from about a month ago. It was sporadic and just an exchange of text messages; but still it was contact. For the same reason I agreed to go with the Ninja, I went with Astro. It was a completely different experience. Astro spent most of his time convincing me that there were certain things that had changed about him, and that I should remember all of the great things about him. For example, he reminded me about how he once brought me a rose to my train stop to surprise me first thing in the morning. And that he used to cook for me. He also mentioned how he had eased back on the substance abuse (which shall remain nameless). The most shocking thing is that when I was being introduced to one of his friend's mom, she asked how we knew each other...and he says "we used to date. But I miss her, so maybe we'll start dating again." Zweerrrrrrrrr. Rewind. Say that again. Did he just say that we were going to start dating again? Did I miss a memo? The friend turned to me and says "my mom just got more information from him than you have all night. Awesome." Actually? Not awesome! That is something I'd rather get a memo about before other people, you know? I mean seriously! What's going on!?!?

Finally, I heard from the last guy. The young blood from the southside. Now, he was just kicked off the island maybe a month ago. So it's not all that unnatural that he'd pop up. It's just so funny that he made contact in the same time frame as all the other guys.

Now, the Titan never really goes away, as we all know. So I won't count his phone calls in the list of exes who called popped up. But, get this. I was telling him about how 2 guys I dated had asked me to go to a wedding -- and that I was starting to get weirded out. Then, he says "oh, I might be next. I have a wedding to go to, too." I'm thinking he's totally kidding. Nope! He's headed down to Rio for a bachelor party, and that's the wedding for which he'll need a date. Before I got too creeped out, he explained to me that the wedding won't be until next year. So I won't count it. But still! When did I become everybody's backup date?!!?

Oh well...I guess there are worse problems to have, right? Think about it -- where there's a wedding, there is cake. And the only time I ever said no to free cake was when I didn't understand the question. ;)

Holiday Shopping

2011-07-04T22:24:00.004-05:00

Happy Independence Day! I have a very patriotic friend, who happens to be a naval officer. He is th epitome of patriotism. Today, he made the following comment (via text) to me:

"Today is my 2nd fave day of the year. A holiday to our own. the day we set forth a new nation that, for the first time ever or since, chartered a legacy of liberty that we're always striving and never quite achieving. And, I kinda like it that way."

I proceeded to congratulate him on his patriotism, but reminded him that pheebee is not so patriotic. It's not that I don't think America is great and awesome, it's just that *shrug*. I have a hard time getting all twitter-peated about it. I'll tell you what I CAN get excited about though -- SHOPPING!

I assume that no one is surprised by this particular bit of info. I love shopping! When people get all philosophical about "following your passion" and all that; one of the first thing that comes to mind for me is shopping. If I could make money doing it, I swear I'd drop all pretense of practicing law and take up professional retailing. But, to be a shopping addict, one must be smart about it. Until such time that I've married rich (and probably after I do), I will never, ever, ever pay full price. I mean seriously, who does that?

So when's the best time to find a deal? Like anything answered by a lawyer, the answer to that question is "it depends." Everything has a sale cycle -- if you're smart, you shop when things are at the low price point. This doesn't have to mean that you're constantly buying clothes out of season, or last year's electronic model. It does mean that you have to pay attention to commercials once in a while.

This particular holiday, the day we declared our independence from the British, is excellent for summer fashions, furniture, and almost anything related to picnics and barbecues. And, don't forget, most holidays which involve great weather and a day off are usually good for great prices at outlet malls. I suspect the factory store owners assume that people will need some sort of -- ahem, outlet -- from hanging around family. An excellent stress and boredom relief is shopping.

It is with this wealth of knowledge that I decided to spend some money I don't have on things I don't need. On the way back from visiting the parents, I stopped by the nearest outlet mall. And, guess what? Pheebee's intuition was correct. I hit up Banana Republic which had 50% off everything in the store. I also picked up a few mini lotions to keep my hands soft and smooth at Bath & Body Works (sales of up to 75% off). Now, since I'm allegedly on a shoppping hiatus in favor of re-decorating, I held off from stopping at other clothing stores, and instead headed to Home Goods. Where I saw some of the biggest mirrors EVER. They were well over 2 feet taller than me (I guess that's not some huge feat -- but still). I managed to pick up a new shower curtain for just a coupla bucks, and possibly some new bedding.

For similar sales, check out Memorial Day and possibly Labor Day. Although, Labor Day is tricky because it's a signal for the end of summer -- that holiday will lean more towards back to school. A great time to pick up office supplies, and fall preview fashions.

So, happy birthday America. Thanks for the great deals ;)

Heavenly Hangover

2011-07-01T09:58:00.003-05:00

Last night, I was sitting watching the Real Housewives of New York City, marveling over the sheer amount of arrogance, stupidity, and tackiness that can be packed into a 60 minute period. The proper way to watch RHofNYC is with a glass of wine or a cocktail. Apparently, I was not the only person to feel this way.

About 40 minutes into the program I heard loud cracking sounds. I looked out of my window to see ice cubes falling from heaven! It was as though the angels were making a Chicago cocktail – and they wanted it shaken, not stirred. I can’t say that I blame them – to truly get a good freeze on a cocktail, you really need to shake it. All stirring it does is melt the ice cubes and water down your strawberry-basil mojito. (RIP Martini Park). Anyway, I should have known something was up with the little cherubs started putting on a light show without any rain showers. Silver beams of light were cutting across the sky, in the pattern of a drunken woman’s walk after a night Vegas – as she stumbles her way back to a hotel room with only a shred of hope that the door she picks (#2?) is actually her room. Funny thing is, I’ve lived in this part of the country my entire life, and I’ve never seen hail this big. And I’ve certainly never seen it in July. I’m still trying to figure out how the little buggers managed to send ice cubes down while it was still in the 70s…

Well, after a night of angelic debauchery, the earth was certainly suffering a hangover. The streets were filled with all kinds of arboreal carnage. There was a carpet of leaves on the sidewalk – which, while romantic when in reference to the greenery of a pasture in a romance novel*, is not so idyllic in the middle of a city. On top of that, there were branches and sticks and all kinds of natural shenanigans on the ground. But, on the upside, the birds were still tweeting (in the bird-singing sense, not in the Anthony Wiener sense).

I wonder, are there several angels on a time out in heaven? Is there a legal drinking age in heaven?

*And, while I’m on the subject of carpets of leaves and grass and whatnot, who wants to walk on that? I mean seriously, if you’re in the middle of being romanced, shouldn’t you be wearing sexy sexy stilettos? If so, aren’t your heels sinking? Isn’t that, you know, the opposite of sexy? Ok. Just checking.

A lesson in sweeping

2011-06-29T19:40:00.005-05:00

Here's something I really have trouble understanding. Why are men perpetually unable to sweep a woman off her feet? The other day, the Titan -- my "ex" (and I use that term loosely) -- was telling me that he thought he'd treated me well when we were dating. His proof? That he was always calling, I always knew where he was, he wasn't out playing around, and he opened doors for me. I don't want to completely discredit him, those are all fantastic things. In fact, given my past history of ex's, they were awesome (see: the Ninja. Boyfriend circa 2002. Completely unable to place a phone call). But, neither of these things qualify as sweeping me off my feet. Frankly, I was surprised at his surprise. I'd always assumed that he didn't make efforts to wow me, because he was so used to women chasing him. (Point of reference, he spent his teens and twenties as a basketball star. Those guys? Women chase them; they don't have to put forth much effort). And friends, before you say it, I KNOW he could have been just saying that -- but in the context of the conversation, there was no need for him to lie. And, although he was a blockhead when we were dating, he wasn't one to out and out lie. He was more of an omission kind of guy. In other words, whatever he said, he was pretty straight about it.

That said, he cannot be the only guy that (allegedly) doesn't know how to sweep a woman off her feet. So, I have taken it upon myself to help the men out. So boys, listen up! This is very simple: in order to sweep a woman off her feet, and make her fall all over herself for you, you need to do one simple thing. Ready? Here we go: do things to show her you're thinking of her. Allow me to give a few examples.

When you're walking past a farmer's market, buy one of the $5 flower bouquets, and give it to her. LISTEN when she's talking. She's bound to mention something she likes. Remember what that like is -- write it down if you have to! Then, do something with that information. If she mentions a restaurant she's always wanted to try, take her. If she is constantly complaining about tired or sore feet (because she makes a habit of wearing badass stilettos), give her foot rubs...without expecting one in return! If she seems stressed at work, give her a nice neck massage, or her favorite bottle of wine, or a tasty cupcake. Does she hate HATE HATE doing dishes and cleaning the floor? Pull on those rubber gloves, baby. Nothing is sexier than a man who knows how to work a scrub brush. (But don't do it half-assed. Then she'll just have to go behind you and redo it. Which will only serve to tick her off. And that? Is the opposite of wooing). When it's girls' night out? Drive her to the club!! Notice how not all of these involve spending money. Yes, some of them do. But it's rarely about the amount of money you're spending. It's about the thought and the effort you put in. It's showing her that you thought about her -- and then subsequently did something about it. See how not difficult this is?

Now, if you find any of this too hard, or the girl you're with isn't worth that effort...well, maybe she's not the girl for you. But seriously, no guy really has an excuse not to be any woman's Prince Charming. Let's start putting as much effort into wooing your girlfriend as you do picking your brackets for March Madness, shall we?

Dang. To bad I'm not a lesbian. I'd really be a pimp. I'd have chicks doing all kinds of ish for me. One cleaning, one cooking, and one to run my errands. ;)

That's sexual harassment, and I DON'T have to take it!

2011-06-27T22:51:00.002-05:00

So, I'm walking down State Street, minding my own business, contemplating spending money I don't have on things I don't need -- especially after purchasing 2 rather awesome purple chairs with a gangster 15% discount that I got after talking to a woman who turned out to be a Delta and...ahem. I digress....

Anyway. I'm walking along and I know that it's that time of year where the boys are out and ready to get some action (of the female variety). Let me pause here by saying that I am not, (in this case), trying to be arrogant. I'm not saying that I'm the hottest thing since sliced bread. Especially today when I'm wearing a bra so heavily padded that I resemble one of those girls that appears as though she may fall flat on her face due to the sheer top heaviness of her figure. Unhappily, my butt is sticking out in such a way that it looks like I'm overcompensating; in hopes that I'll create some sort of gravity balance by twisting my body into the shape of a duck. My point is, that I don't think I look extra dextra hot today. Instead, the boys are just, well, horny.

I've lived here long enough to know the drill. They speak, you speak back without making eye contact and keep it moving. This strategy works well on marketers, those Save the Children people with clipboards, and skeezy guys that are raising their odds of success by hitting on as many women as possible. Today, it worked on the first guy that said hello. The second guy, however, not so much.

I didn't get a good look at the second guy (remember the rule for avoiding eye contact), but out of the corner of my eye I could see CarHart colored cargo pants that were 4 sizes too big, a black t-shirt, and a cap. But, what I heard was this "Hey L'il Mama. -- pause for reaction --". When I didn't respond because I was fairly certain he was the kind of dummy that wouldn't go away, I heard this:

"Hey L'il Mama. Hey L'il Mama.Hey L'il Mama.Hey L'il Mama.Hey L'il Mama.Hey L'il Mama.Hey L'il Mama.Hey L'il Mama.Hey L'il Mama.Hey L'il Mama...." This entire time, I'm walking rather briskly, in attempts to shake this guy. Sadly, being 5'2" makes it rather easy to match my pace. So, he finally decides to go all in: "Hey L'il Mama...can I get a hug?" With his arms held out, and more or less blocking my path on one side. To borrow a basketball term -- I was boxed in. Sadly for him, I've dated a lot of basketball players in my day. I stepped left, faded right, and spun my way out of his intended embrace. (Honestly, that may not have been the best idea for me. It would have been the most action I've gotten in over a month!) Anyway...

REALLY!?!? REALLY?!!?! I mean, did he think I was all of a sudden going to change my mind? What chapter is this in the playa's handbook?

So, what we've learned is, no more going over to State Street without an escort. I may have to get back together with my ex just so he can meet me at the CVS, escort me to wherever I need to go, and then drop me back off at the CVS. Geez!!!

Success is...

2011-06-27T22:07:00.004-05:00

I don't know what I weigh right now. But, for the very first time, in recent memory, I actually like my body. I look in the mirror, and I am stunned at what I see. I don't necessarily have a flat stomach. And my thighs are a permanent fixture, apparently. (Literally, in 9 months they have remained the same size, despite any changes I've made elsewhere). My feet are still a mess. And today, my hair was straw. But, when I look in the mirror, my first thought is: damn girl -- you are fiiiiiine!!

I've always wondered what it was like to feel sexy and hot. Sure, there are times when I've dressed well and I know I look good. But being able to dress for your body type to use the tricks and illusions of fashion to create the figure you want isn't quite the same as having the figure you want. Now that I've got it, it's worth all the work to keep it. I can finally relate to the Titan's meatheadedness. Despite turning his body into that of a Greek statue, he keeps going to the gym 8 days a week; just for maintenance.

The truth is, you aren't ever really done. I'll spare you the "it's a lifestyle change" sentiment. Frankly, I think we all know I'm too shallow for that. It's constantly chasing that high from loving what you look like. Friends, it's not that there's no such thing as too skinny (because there definitely is...particularly if you are a woman of color). What it really is, is holding on and being able to repeat that moment when you walk by a mirror and you are stunned every single day. It's a great feeling. I encourage you to give it a shot!

So, how do you come to love your body? You are asking the wrong gal. I spent all of my high school years hating everything but my fingernails. Ditto for undergrad. I spent the better part of my teens and twenties confounding my boyfriends about what body part I hated that week, what diet I was on, and my worrisome experiments with Xenadrine, skipping meals, two-a-days at the gym and counting calories. You know what we learned? That's not healthy. By law school, I discovered the joys of ordering in, and all bets were off! Hello pizza! Hello chicken tenders and fries! Turns out...also not healthy. Goodbye size 3 and 5 jeans. Hello misses sizes...wait...what?

Thus began my very first trip to Weight Watchers. I went despite my fear, and despite my concern that the ladies of BBW club would push me out of the meeting, chasing me with pitchforks at my audacity to arrive at a mere 134#. But hear me out! First, I am only 5'2". Second, I had no idea what a balanced meal was. Double W could teach me! And third, I just have a really really low threshold, because my self-image was so screwed up. So no, I didn't have 50 lbs to lose -- but did that make my 10% any less hard earned than yours?! Yes? Ok then. Bite me. I still paid my $13.95 and the meeting leader didn't discriminate. So, with the assistance of Double W, I got myself down to high school weight. But back up. Remember when I said I spent most of high school loathing my self-image?

Fast forward a few years. (5, to be exact). I have a crisis or two of epic proportions, and found myself in nearly the same place. For five months, I tried it on my own. But sometimes, you need to know when to ask for help. I went back to what works, aka Double W. For the next 4 months, I hit it full force -- I was on a Mission, and I was NOT going to fail. Turning 30 was traumatic enough. The least I could do was mitigate that inevitable horror by looking my best. After Vegas, it was time to fly on my own. I spent the next few weeks testing the waters, keeping my membership as a backup plan; but making meal and workout choices without my crutch there.

Today, I don't know where I am in terms of the actual number on the scale. And, back in the late 90s, they weren't subjecting teenage girls to calipers and other torture devices to measure body fat. (Thank the Lord for small favors). But I'll tell you one thing, I carried my new (and kick ass) bar stool up 3 flights of stairs all by myself...76 lbs and in a big ol' box. That? Is triumph. It was the next day that I caught myself in the mirror. So maybe, that's truly the key. I was never chasing skinny -- I was chasing strong. Watch out world...I'm strong and unstoppable! (heh. 5'2" and lifting 76 lbs. Just call me Mrs. The Rock).

On Being an Adult

2010-09-23T20:58:00.003-05:00

Well, pheebee has been an adult for 4 years now. There are a lot of things are pretty freakin' sweet. There are other things that suck. But all in all, it's a nice ride. So now, it's time to take it to the next level. Allow me to give the highlights of what you need to do to take it to the next level:

For the girls:
1. Keep your comments to yourself. Yes, you would feel better if you could tell that girl with her baby sister's clothes on that she looks like a 50 cent hooker, but in the end, it really isn't good for anyone.

2. Only show one sexy area of the body at a time. Dang girl, leave SOMETHING to the imagination.

3. Purchase a kick ass tv. Real adults have at least 32".

And, for the boys:
1. Pull up yer effen pants. SERIOUSLY. No one wants to see your azz in those plaid boxers when you're walking down the street.

2. Learn to court a woman. For real. Being hot isn't gonna cut it. Ok, it's gonna cut it for a while, but after a couple months buy some freakin' flowers!

3. Get a real bed. A futon does not qualify. And while I'm on the subject, any furniture that's left over from your dorm room should be thrown out immediately. Really, that's got to be a breeding ground for all kinds of cooties. Get some real furniture!

Ok, thus ends pheebees guide to adult life...for now.

Manifesto continues!

2010-09-14T21:08:00.002-05:00

Well, slowly but surely, I'm raising the level of awesome in my life. Since my last post, I've been going to the gym more consistently. Yay for that! I've also been cleaning more consistently. Speaking of which, can I just wax poetic for a moment about the Swiffer WetJet? Whoever invented that should be given a medal of honor. That sucker keeps my otherwise icky floors clean as a whistle. It is fantastic because it's just as clean with a lot less effort than a real mop and bucket situation! It does so well that I just gave away my old mop. I definitely feel like those hilarious Swiffer commercials! Another ease of use product that has made life better? The Fresh Shower spray. You know the type? Where you spray your shower down after you get out and it helps you clean? LOVE IT. And this time, it actually does a better job than the soap and sponge method. My shower really holds on to overall grime (not specific dirt, but just the kind that hangs around when a shower is old...). Even after soaking the tub in bleach I just couldn't get rid of the water stains. Now? After letting the fresh shower do its thing, I am actually starting to see a difference. Nice!

Ahem, back to the manifesto. The level of awesome is moving slowly but surely. I'm only on week 3 of working out with the trainer as of tomorrow, but last week I did hit the gym 5 days. My workouts aren't as intense as before, but frankly "less intense than before" is a helluva lot more intense than not at all. Today, I suffered a little bit of a setback of the sore throat variety, but we're only on the 2nd day of the week. Hopefully, I've fought this cold hard enough that I will be able to go everyday the rest of this week. Hooray!

So, my next milestone? Halloween. I've decided to retire the Snow White costume, and replace it with something equally cute and scandalous. In order to do that, I'm going to have to get my act together in roughly 6 weeks. On the weight watchers schedule, that could be anywhere from 6-12 lbs between now and then. So, we'll see how that goes...Let the costume shopping begin. Because I? I am an "after" picture waiting to happen. ;)

A Disciplined Manifesto!

2010-07-30T13:27:00.000-05:00

A Manifesto

The stresses of the past 3 months have taken a toll on my physical well-being. Which has resulted in a negative impact on my mental well-being. So, as of today, pheebee is making a manifesto!

It all started with the breakup. That led to the standard cycle of skip the gym, eat comfort food, watch tv, start all over. It’s a cycle familiar to women everywhere. Oddly enough, right before the cycle started, I had a loss of appetite. The failure to eat probably led to the lethargy, which is why I started skipping the gym in the first place. I was abruptly pulled out of my breakup blues by the mortgage crisis. When my funding didn’t go through (due to the direct negligence of my mortgage broker), I jumped into survival mode. Which meant, skip the gym, eat sporadically, and panic. Also not the best choice for a healthy lifestyle. Finally, packing and moving, and unpacking, and being homeless led to choices of convenience. I was staying at someone else’s house, therefore it was inconvenient to go to the gym. Then, I was eating mostly on the run, so I didn’t make the healthy choices, I made the tastiest choices. Now, I’m living in the new place, and *sigh* the gym is just so darned far away.

So now, here we are. Chubbier than we used to be – and likely carrying around all the weight previously lost while on weight watchers all that time ago. Enough, is enough. (Although admittedly, I kind of enjoy the weight gain in the booby region. I finally have enough for an ohh la la moment! Yay me!)

Breaking up, funding a mortgage, and moving has disrupted my discipline. (Which, has not only affected my body, but also the cleanliness of the new place). And while I fully acknowledge that for most people, I’m not remotely chubby (wouldn’t even register on the radar. No one hears you when you’re still a size 4). And my house probably isn’t that messy (I was just raised by a neat freak). I’ve decided to rein this in before things get too out of hand. Now is the time to do something about it.

Ahem, insert manifest here!

I will return to the gym, with a vengeance. Even if it means robbing a bank to pay for a personal trainer.

I will return to Weight Watchers. If they did it once, they can do it again.

I will be more disciplined about how I spend my time. My house is unpacked enough that I can begin a regular cleaning schedule. Even if it means cleaning boxes.

I will set strategic goals and benchmarks of achievement, so that I don’t lose sight of what I want.

Things they forgot to mention...

2010-07-30T10:05:00.001-05:00

I made my first mortgage payment today. It may have been the biggest check I’ve ever written. Truthfully? I did not find that particular part of the home ownership process enjoyable. In fact, it was the opposite of enjoyable. But, I guess it’s part of joining the club of adulthood. Boo!

I’ve also discovered a new problem with this condo. The elements that are most desirable when condo shopping turn out to be the biggest pain in the arse in real life. For instance, let’s discuss the floors. Home buyers get so excited when they see the phrase “hdwd thru-out.” Do you know how much more maintenance a hardwood floor requires? A ton! With carpet, you’ve got 15 minutes with a vacuum cleaner, vroom vroom, you’re done. Hardwood floors? Not so much. They attract dust like magnets. And even once you sweep, you still have to go behind with a wet mop. Booo!
Another bit of happy? Granite countertops. Verrrry purty. And again, impossible to clean! You can’t just use plain old cleaner. Oh no. You need special granite cleaner. Pfft. What? Too good for 409?!

In other news, the closet is still a work in progress. I have a furniture designer who is drawing up plans to trick it out. I’ve already stressed the importance of shoe and accessory storage. Let’s hope he understands the importance of a shoe collection!

Soft Launch

2010-07-26T20:00:00.003-05:00

This weekend I held a soft launch at the Manor. I figured, if a swanky resto can have a pre-official opening party, then why shouldn't I?! Since my dad was making massive amounts of bbq, I decided that this weekend would be the perfect time to host that party. (As a side note, did I ever mention that my dad is an awesome grillmaster? Because he is. Just sayin').

Anyway, I decided to host this Saturday party on Wednesday. This is very very bad for someone who suffers from party panic. By Thursday, I was ready to cancel because I didn't have enough time to properly plan for the party. I didn't have time to plan the menu, map out the space, properly consider the guest list. It felt very much thrown together, which is not really conducive to throwing the best party ever. NOT! Despite my panic (and likely thanks to good friends talking me off a ledge), the party went off without incident. I was really impressed with the guy/girl ratio...although the guys were mostly part of a couple. I had been aiming for a better mix of singles and couples, but the guy singles all bailed on me. (Jerks!). I did do a fine job of having a diverse crowd -- age, race, career. It felt good knowing that I had a wide variety of friends, AND they all got along really well.

All in all, I'd say it was my first adult party, and it went pretty well. Now, to set the grand opening. I'm thinking about a year from now? :)

Nomad Chic

2010-07-20T10:33:00.001-05:00

I have been advised, on more than one occasion, not to rush into buying furniture. As my one friend put it “don’t rush into buying stuff just to fill the space. You’re bound to move, and there’s no way to tell whether the things you buy will fit in the space you move to. Better to find stuff you love instead.”

Ok, so this is a valid point. I rushed to fill the space at my last apartment because I had no furniture at all. But this time around, I do have some form of furniture. So, I have no excuse to go out willy-nilly buying furniture.

For me though, the whole place just feels unfinished. It feels like I haven’t fully moved in yet, or fully made it mine. I want to start adding elements that make it me. Fortunately, I haven’t figured out what that means yet, so I guess it hardly matters that I’m not out buying things. No sense going shopping if you haven’t decided on a theme yet. Although, heads up…the theme for the front room is going to be peacock feathers. Everyone who’s excited to see it come to life raise your hand!

One Man Short

2010-07-15T09:42:00.001-05:00

There’s something to be said about having a man around the house. As I begin mapping out the things that need to be done in my place, some of them require the height or the brawn of a man. Now, let’s not get ahead of ourselves and start revoking our independence or taking back the sexual revolution or anything. But, seriously, there are some things that just require a man.

For example, I have tall ceilings. Connected to those are walls which need to be painted. I’m only 5’2” (on a good day). Even on my newly purchased 3-step ladder, I’m not going to reach anywhere near the top of the painting surface. So who, may I ask, is going to handle that? And let’s talk about the soon to be beautiful closet. In order to install it, someone’s going to have to hold the top shelf and brackets against the wall. Those suckers are heavy! Cue music for my own personal superman here.

Ah well, such is the life of a (short) female homeowner.

The Price of Fashion

2010-07-14T10:03:00.000-05:00

I went to Home Depot, and I saw bliss. I saw everything that my closet should be, and more. There were shelves, rods, valet rods, belt racks, drawers, shoe shelves! Everything a fashionista like me could want to appropriately display the fabulousness that is her wardrobe. And it was soooooo much cheaper than California Closets – the platinum standard of all closets. I went home happy.

But then, I whipped out the calculator, and my nightmare began. Because Martha Stewart so slyly sells each component individually, there were a lot of numbers to add up. Plus, I would prefer to have all matching hangers, which is another expense (although I did just find some on clearance for $29.95 for 50 plus 15% off). Plus, I have to pay my professional organizer friend to put it all up. And that’s when the dark clouds began to form.

Despite all this expense (and the overall feeling that I’m just bleeding money right now), I really really want a nice closet. It was going to be the best part about owning this particular condo. I was going to trick out the closet like the fashion diva that I am. And doggone it, why can’t I?! Oh right. Because I don’t have fashion diva money. When I started this process, I decided the closet was a priority. I guess I will just have to suck up the sticker shock, and go ahead and start shelling out some cash. *sigh*. Donations will be accepted beginning immediately :).

Confessions of a New Home Owner

2010-07-12T09:59:00.001-05:00

Well, I have spent the last 3 nights and 3 days in my new condo, and frankly, I am still baffled by the whole thing. I can’t believe that I actually own a home. I. Own. A. Condo. Say what?! How did this happen?

It was about 10 months ago, that I got the grand idea to start looking for a condo. I knew I wanted 2 bedrooms – I just didn’t see the point in purchasing a one bedroom. And I knew I had to have a parking space included, a washer/dryer in unit, and a dishwasher. I was going to live in LP, LV, or downtown. And, I wasn’t going to raise my monthly payment by an obnoxious amount. 10 months later, I am sitting in a penthouse unit in LS, with two bedrooms, two full bathrooms, and a ridiculously-huge-by-comparison kitchen. Not only do I have a parking spot, but that spot is in an attached garage. I, am in real estate heaven. Truly there is a God, and I am blessed.

But, I am also baffled. When I first got in (after much trials and tribulations) on Thursday night, my unit resembled a refugee camp. Now, it’s more nomad chic. I don’t have nearly enough furniture, and the walls are soooooo boring. But, it’s mine, all mine! Squee!

Now, down to business. How do homeowners decide what to deal with first? Honestly! I can’t stand the sinks in the bathrooms, the neutral cream whiles have got to go, the floors need to be sanded and refinished, I need an alarm system, I’d love to change the hardware on the kitchen cabinets, and, did I mention I need new furniture? No one told me that on top of standard repairs, I’d begin to see things that need changing which I didn’t see when I first made an offer. I mean seriously! All the changes that need to be made seriously require a rich benefactor. Anyone got any ideas on when I might get one of those?

Short of robbing a bank, I wonder where to start after the paint color? Thus began my journey…how do I prioritize the changes I want to make?

The Beginning, Delayed

2010-07-12T09:58:00.000-05:00

After a complete fiasco in the financing arena (as in, the banker I hired failed to complete any of the tasks he was hired to do), I was finally ready to close. My side of the loan approval went through without a hitch, and I was ready to go a week earlier than anticipated. Naturally, that was far too easy. The underwriter wanted to know about the status of the condo association dues. And, of course, there were units who were behind. As a result, I couldn’t close. Excuse me while I panic. My loan is being held up because two people not at all related to me are unable to can’t pay their effen HOA dues on time. GRRR!!!

But, time is of the essence, as I have to be out of my apartment by June 30. Does that make the condo association president move any faster? Of course not. It’s not his problem, so evidently he fails to see the urgency of the situation. A fact that becomes all to clear when he sends an email ON THE DAY OF CLOSE that he won’t be able to get the appropriate paperwork showing proof of payment to my (new) banker until that afternoon. Is he kidding?! Nope, he sure isn’t. That means I can, make my down-payment, move all of my worldly possessions into the condo, but I can’t have any keys. Nice.

I proceed to be homeless for 7 days. Literally, I am sleeping on couches and moving around gigantic suitcases for 7 days, until the bank can see proof that the condo dues have been paid by the errant homeowners, and underwriting can sign off, and the seller can get his money. It’s Thursday night, around 9:30 before I get my keys…I meet the association president (AP), and he says that the banker was a complete pain in the arse. Is he kidding? Really?! We are not off to a good start as neighbors. There should be a way to interview the other homeowners in a condo, and the HOA leadership. I’m starting to feel apprehensive about living with such a dense donkey. But alas, after sleeping on a futon for 5 days, and travelling back and forth to Milwaukee for 2 days, and wearing the same shoes to work everyday for 4 days, I’m just glad to be inside my own place. Will it be worth all the trouble? Stay tuned…

Crickets and frogs and owls, oh my!

2009-11-02T19:44:00.002-06:00

For Halloween, Kaia and I went to the Roof for the Black-i-Ball party. The party was pretty low-key, but still a good time. There was even a red carpet and a professional photographer! Can you believe that?!

Anyway, the party wasn't really blog-worthy, other than the fact that pheebee was hit on by a woman. What was noteworthy was the overnight stay in theWit hotel. theWit is a fantastic hotel -- by Doubletree, believe it or not! the rooms are lovely, the tiniest bit of a downgrade from Westin. Same great comfy feeling, just less luxury. I liked everything about it. Loved even! But, they have the WEIRDEST couple twists I've ever noticed.

First, the complimentary lotion was by Gilchrist. Not the first time I've seen this brand in a hotel. But, this was the first time I'd ever used a lotion that smelled like freshly cut grass. Grass! I can't say that I don't like the smell of grass. It's very summery and nice adn reminds you of an outdoor barbecue. But, why on earth would a person want to smell like it? Weird, but we can live with it. Besides, the scent is going to fade after a few minutes anyway.

And then, we went into the hallway. Excuse me, but why do I hear crickets? We are still in the heart of downtown, right? They have it piped in. Yeah, you read that right. Instead of crazy Musak, they have nature sounds piped into the hallways of the hotel. And it gets wilder. They have crickets and owls at night. And then, in the morning? Roosters, birds, and ocean waves. So, I say to Kaia, why are there roosters and ocean sounds? Where are there farms near oceans? She says "maybe in Pennsylvania. Never underestimate the Amish."

Oh geez. Dear hotel management. Please stop wasting the energy to pipe in ridiculous nature signs. It's ok if the hallways are quiet. Or, in the case of Halloween night, filled with the sounds of 4 d-bags dressed as Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles tossing stuff about. (True story. I found out that's who they were when these d-bags woke up the next morning, loudly yelling the title of the theme song in a ridiculous staccato voice. I could hear it through the adjoining door. Awesome).

One or Two Good Drills

2009-11-01T15:32:00.002-06:00

So, I'm watching the Packers game against the Vikings. We're at home today, and it's been nail biting so far. Not much has happened, it's just incredibly tense to see Benedict Favre return to Lambeau with a shockingly good Vikings.

SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!

Ahem. Sorry, I was interrupted by awesomeness on the field. Hooray GB recovering a Favre turnover!

Anyway, as I was saying, the hype around this game has been huge, of course. But the best part was watching Favre walk out and get booed. And frankly, the booing was deafening. It was amazing. I imagine that had to hurt a little bit from Favre. Terry Bradshaw predicted that there would be more cheering than booing. Favre did spend 16 years in green and gold. Boy was Mr. Bradshaw wrong. Really wrong. I bet it hurt more than a little bit. Can you imagine coming "home" after all these years, after the Super Bowls, record breaking, blah blah blah, and receiving a pail full of venom?

I can't say it isn't what he deserved. Yes, the management in GB took a hardline stance. and they had their reasons. But, we all wished Favre well when he went to the Jets. But, he has just repeatedly thrown salt into the wound over the past year. First, to go to the Vikings. An arch rival!! And then, to not only go there, but to say that it's the best team he's played on. Whoever said that Favre didn't do it for revenge is lying. And by whoever, I mean Favre.

I sure hope they drill him!

More Wheeeeeeeeee!

2009-10-27T22:06:00.005-05:00

Wheeeeeeeeeeeeee!

2009-10-27T21:50:00.002-05:00

I decided to take the plunge! On Sunday, I raised money and awareness for the Respiratory Health Association in a way that was a million times more exciting than a run/walk would ever be. The RHA of Metro Chicago hosted the Skyline Plunge! on Sunday. What is that you ask? It is the awesome feeling of plunging down the side of The Bolt of The Wit Hotel with only a polyester harness, metal hooks, and nylon ropes holding me suspended over 27 stories. I used a metal mechanism to lower myself down those 27 stories.

People asked me over and over if I was nuts, scared, crazy, senseless. Truth is, I am none of those things. I was just feeling adventurous, and it was for a good cause. Although, I can't say I was really doing it for altruism only. No, I was doing it for the thrill. Honestly? How many people can say they rappelled down the side of a building in a busy downtown area?

The actual feeling was quite tiring. You basically have to hold yourself upright. Another blogger described it as holding yourself in a perpetual sit-up. I'd add that your tummy is tight, but it's more like holding your self in a crunch -- so not only are you holding your upper half up, but your feet too. The other thing? You're supposed to be "walking" down the side of the building. Pah! Whoever said that was totally lying. My feet kept slipping, so eventually I just gave up and let myself dangle. I can't say I was a big fan of when I started spinning around, and slamming into the side of walls made of glass. The other thing? No one tells you how tired your hand gets! To lower yourself down, you have to squeeze this little mechanism. It really feels like those old school hand strengthening devices that men used to use to prove their strength.

Eventually, I got to the point where I just wanted to get down as fast as I could because my hand, back and inner thighs were starting to get really sore. That, and it was a bit repetitive after a while. There really wasn't much to look at up there. I bet the scenery is beautiful from a mountainside. But from theWit? Really just street, trees, and river. The Chicago Theatre sign looked REALLY cool though. Anyway, enjoy the pictures that follow!

Ad Nauseum

2009-10-23T19:08:00.002-05:00

So, on Monday I saw an ad in the RedEye for a fundraiser for the Respiratory Health Association of Metropolitan Chicago. Instead of a run/walk, volunteers will be rappelling down the side of theWit Hotel!! How cool does that sound?! On Tuesday, I sent out an email to nearly everyone I know asking if they'd be willing to donate. On Tuesday night, I had insomnia so I signed up. On Wednesday, I started my big electronic push to get funds from friends, family, co-workers, acquaintances, friends of family, co-workers of family, etc. I even posted a link and status updates about my efforts on LinkedIn and Facebook.

Now, I'm about 58% to goal, and I've got a ways to go. For the record, I will have to cover any difference between what I raise and what is the goal. Which, I must say, is an excellent motivator. But now? Even I am sick of hearing myself talk about it! I've managed to slip it into so many conversations I'm starting to think I'm playing a perpetual game of 6 degrees of RHAMC (get it? Instead of Kevin Bacon?).

I'm almost done though. I go over the edge of theWit in 2 days. The irony here is that I've now managed to put it on yet another crazy. Ha ha!

Revenge of the broke

2009-10-22T22:06:00.002-05:00

Today I went to look at a townhome for sale. It's up for short sale, and it was the very first piece of real estate that I went to look at with actual potential for purchase! Usually I'm just tooling around my neighborhood looking at places that I'd buy if I had oodles upon oodles of money. Anyway, I was really excited because the pictures on the MLS website made it look really awesome. Of course, being the cynic that I am, I was expecting the pictures to be total glamour shots, and that they'd oversell the place.

Nothing could prepare me for what I saw though! Ok, I've heard before that homes in foreclosure are often in terrible condition, because people are saddened by the fact that they've been evicted out of something they own. But this was ridiculous! Apparently, the trashing rule also applies to those homes that are under short sale. Ok, so we went after work. Obviously, it was going to be dark. Well, the people who used to live there were kind enough to leave lightbulbs only in the bathrooms. Seriously! They stole nearly all of the lightbulbs! They also took some of the light fixtures too.

What they did leave behind was portions of a sectional, piled in a corner. Some cleaning supplies that were obviously not actually used on the unit. Dust bunnies, nasty stains on the carpet, and a pencil. All I can say is, ewwwwwwwwwwww.

It's really sad too, that of the three places I checked out, this is the one that had the most potential. Ack! Quick, I need a couple hundred grand -- clearly I need more buying power.

Rush in NFL

2009-10-20T22:23:00.002-05:00

I know I'm late to the discussion party, but I also know that all of you were dying to know just what I was thinking too. (HA!)

So, Mr. Rush Limbaugh wanted to buy a piece of the St. Louis Rams. Frankly, I think he should've gone ahead with it; or more accurately, I think his partners shouldn't have kicked him out. I would have love to have seen the fall out. Players requesting releases, free agents refusing to sign with St. Louis, the organization having to payout extraordinary sums of money to get players to stay or sign. The entire organization financially brought to its knees. Followed by the boycott of the games by fans (because the Rams begin to suck AND on principle). And Rush Limbaugh losing all of his money.

Here's what's sad, I don't think it actually would have gone down that way. I think some of it would've happened. But, I'm betting that everyone has their price -- and a lot of players would have gone to St. Louis just to be in the league. And I don't think all the hype would've had much of an effect on people who just wanted to watch a game. Sure, I think there would have been some sort of outcry/repercussion. But, I don't think that the attention span of the American people is good enough to really sustain a movement against an NFL team past the immediate season.

So, good work to the partners that kicked Rush out. I guess my real question is, what were they thinking when they put him in? You couldn't find anyone else with a couple mill to toss around!?

French Women Don't Get Fat -- PAH!

2009-10-19T21:38:00.002-05:00

Well, I've been to paradise and back. I spent 3 days in the French and Dutch West Indies. Aside from the fabulous weather (a few minor rain sneezes, but otherwise great) there was a ridiculous amount of extraordinarily rich food. I ate two full French meals. Plus, I had a lovely catered dinner at the hotel. I for sure gained 10 pounds in those three days. I don't know how French and West Indies women don't get fat, but I'd die for their secret!!!

Now, aside from the extraordinarily rich food, I also marveled at the fabulosity of the hotel. And by calling it a hotel I am underselling the Dawn Beach Resort and Spa. A Westin owned resort, this place was every bit the tiny piece of heaven Westin advertises it to be. I must have taken 7 pictures of my room alone -- and I was in one of the less desirable rooms! I had a hallway in my room...a hallway! Then, off to the left, a nice sized closet with a cleverly placed switch that turned on a light whenever you opened the door. To the right, a bathroom bigger than my current bedroom. Big enough to have a separate glass enclosed shower and a huge bathtub.

Then, the bedroom, with a big flat-screen tv, a king-sized bed, a lounge chair, and a desk. And yes, bigger than my living room. And, the sliding glass door opened onto a balcony, large enough to hold two chairs and a wooden coffee table. It was fantastic!

The thought I had to myself as I was falling asleep my first night there? "I don't care where I go on my honeymoon, as long as I stay in a Westin Resort."

To top it off, I met my new married friend! She doesn't have a nickname yet. But, she is fabulous! She is for sure one of the most put together people I've ever met. And, she's got an extraordinary husband too. (At least, the way she tells it).

New Year's in October

2009-10-12T22:09:00.003-05:00

It was a lot like New Year's Eve. I spent way too much money to go to a bar that normally doesn't have a cover charge. I was wearing a pair of extraordinarily uncomfortable shoes (that were fabulous!!!). And I wore a fantastic party dress that I purchased for no apparent reason 6 months ago but worked out splendidly for the event. It wasn't nearly as fun as it was hyped up to be. But, all in all, I would've been really mad if I hadn't gone.

And that, is my very accurate description of my 10 year high school reunion. Honestly? It was soooo not worth the $65 I paid. And, frankly, the reason it wasn't worth it probably had something to do with poor planning. However, I know I definitely would've regretted it if I hadn't gone.

In high school, I wasn't very popular (or awesome). The popular girls generally didn't give me the time of day. (These were the same girls that were too cool for school in elementary and middle school). As you can imagine, I was soooooooooooo ready to have my big (HAHA B*****S!!!!). I definitely didn't get that opportunity. None of those girls were there. Some of the nicer popular girls were there, but they were all kinds of hugs and kisses. It was weird. Even weirder, one of the girls that I was pretty good friends with in high school gave me (and the rest of us) the cold shoulder! Say what!?!? Hilariously, she's teaching theatre, speech and English classes now, and had truly turned into the crazy dramatic theater teacher. Seriously, the transformation was crazy. Picture one of your good friends suddenly morphing into that hippie teacher in high school. For the most part though, nothing truly outrageous occurred.

So, I didn't get my big HA moment, but I got to see a ton of people that I actually liked throughout high school and see what they were up to. And up to they were! One guy had toured with Prince, and another girl was a diplomat for the U.S.!! Unbelievable right? But most surprising were the number of girls who were married and/or with children. That was MIND BOGGLING! Can you imagine being married right now? Don't get me wrong, I would totally rock an engagement ring. And I am so amped for the cake and party. But to actually see the same person over and over again, everyday, and commit to love and cherish them for all of eternity? Good-ness. I am shuddering on the inside. Hmm...having recently read over older posts, it would appear that I'm totally over my desperate attempt to get into a relationship (for now).

The Glorious Return of Pheebee

2009-10-12T21:44:00.002-05:00

I've had a lot of snide comments pass between my ears. Many of them made their way to my Facebook page. Those were mainly witty quips that could get done in 5 sentences or less. However, some things just require a full page of prose, and that's where the return of pheebee comes in. Yes friends, I'm back -- and hopefully with a vengeance.

Since most of you keep up with me by phone and email, there's no need for a serious review of what's happened in the last 3 months. But, for those of you just joining the party -- and those that need a refresher course, I figured I'd re-visit the characters that make a regular appearance in my book:

Married Martamack, aka MMM, aka Brother. An on again off again unsolicited older sibling who was invited on to the island after we met at my first job (also known as Dante's Inferno). Was kicked off the island a while later for being less supportive and more negative (and for accusing me of interfering in his marriage. An unfounded accusation at that). Has been given a passport for short-term visits, as he's keeping his negativity to himself and is otherwise able to give pretty decent advice (whether or not it's actually solicited).

Kaia. Ride or die girlfriend. A hero for actually having the guts to leave a crappy boring law job to pursue dream of being a famous actress. Also a former regular, now sporadic, partner in crime when out flirting with boys and trying to get free beverages.

The Cashmere Mafia, aka the Mafia. A group of fantastic ladies, mostly of color, with whom I used to kill every Tuesday at Martini Park. The group consisted of lots of chicas, but the main characters were Big Sis (also from my last job), Kaia, and an interior designer whom I don't think ever got a moniker. Our regularly scheduled meetings ended shortly after the big bash Halloween party.

The Young Titan, aka The Titan. A guy I met last football season, shortly before the holidays. Pretty guy, my own real life Calvin Klein model. I had to cut off all communication for about 3 months because I was sick of "just kicking it." As no one will be surprised to here, we're speaking again. My tolerance fluctuates with each passing day, but the peanut gallery seems to think I should give him a chance.

The Engineer. No introduction necessary. A guy with tons of qualities that I love living in perfect harmony in a tall, lithe frame. Said frame is unfortunately employed and living in Seattle.

2DP. Oldest and dearest friend from back home. First guy to turn me down, and I have no intention of letting him forget it. Also best friend and roomie of an ex-boyf of mine. Usually responsible for pervy remarks and overall silliness that keeps pheebee grounded and entertained.

I'm sure there are a bunch that I'm forgetting, but we'll reintroduce them as we go along. Stay tuned for future shenanigans!

Complaints Department

2009-06-17T21:10:00.002-05:00

Current Complaints:
1. my job
2. my love life
3. my social life
4. the h'ing penguin
5. the titan
6. the shape i'm in

I don't understand, and if you do, please fill me in -- when, exactly did complaining about something automatically mean you aren't grateful about it? For example, today I was complaining (albeit publicly) about being unhappy at my job. For the most part, I got a lot of support from people in the same or similar positions. One person, (see complaint #4) was extremely vocal in saying that I should be the happiest person in the world but I'm not, blah blah blah I should count my blessings.

Well, excuuuuuuuuuse me! I was having a bad day at work, and I've been questioning my career choice for several months now. Excuse me for not dropping to my knees and being eternally grateful for being unemployed every waking second of every single day. Does the fact that I'm not entirely certain that I love my job -- or even my field, for that matter -- mean that I'm not grateful and full of praise to the Almighty because I am gainfully employed in a position that keeps me in my cute little loft apartment and fantastic shoes? Ugh, nothing like a little righteous self-indignation to set a girl's teeth on edge.

That being said, I can tie this all in to the more entertaining subject of my love life. Basically, aforementioned penguin keeps making random stabs at "trying to get to know" me. Whatever. Each time I talk to him I find my hackles raised. Sort of like walking in the sand with shoes and socks. No matter what you do, you'll keep picking granules of sand out of your shoes. SO ANNOYING! This last gratefulness comment just makes me want to throw him off a bridge...or at least off my island. The definitive answer is absolutely no!

Sniff, Sniff

2009-06-10T20:35:00.000-05:00

I smell. In fact, I totally reek. I find myself in unfamiliar territory. I want, desperately want, to be in a relationship. I think I may even want one for the right reasons. Now that, my friends, is exceptionally weird. Most often, I don't want a relationship at all. If the time comes when I want one, then normally I want one out of boredom, or because it's winter and I want someone to snuggle with, or just to pass the time because my friends are all in relationships. While some of that is true, I can't really say that's the true motivation.

No, lately (probably the last month or so), I've been wanting a relationship for all the right reasons. Because I want to have that special someone. It doesn't take a rocket scientist (pun intended) to figure out that my craving for a relationship strictly coincides with the time I've spent with the Engineer.

The second most unfortunate thing, (the first being the Engineer living across the country) is that when the whiff of desperation is on you, a relationship is sure NOT to come. Sooooooooo, what are we gonna do? Well nothing, this feeling has always passed before, it'll be a passing feeling again.

And one other thing? Desperation or no, my standards haven't gone anywhere. And quite honestly, I have yet to find someone I care to spend more than 45 seconds with.

Under Where?

2009-06-02T20:50:00.002-05:00

I have declared war on underwear. I HATE wearing underwear. I'm not the biggest fan of going commando either though. So what's a girl to do?

Who decided underwear was necessary anyway? Seriously, what purpose does it serve (aside from the obvious special time of month)? Here's my thing. Some masochist/woman-hater invented the thong. What kind of sane person walks around with floss between the cheeks not on your head? (Or either set of cheeks for that matter.) Floss belongs between teeth, and no where else.

The alternative is the dreaded VPL -- the visible panty line for those of you fashion backwards. Who decided that visible panty lines were such a fashion faux pas? And, even if wasn't a fashion no-no, do I really have to be bothered with wearing full coverage drawers? Ok, I know that they patterns can be quite adorable, but how adorable is it when nobody sees it, AND they're riding up uncomfortably between aforementioned cheeks? ARGH!

Ok, so the moral of the story. How do we banish underwear forever and ever?

Inaccurate Reflection

2009-05-28T20:36:00.002-05:00

I'm watching "So You Think You Can Dance." One of the contestants says "I was really confident up until I saw myself on video, now I'm not sure." Deep thoughts from a reality show contestant. I have to day, I totally feel him on that though. Does this ever happen to you? I'm out and about, feeling fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine, thanks to my super-friendly bedroom mirror. Then I get to an accurate reflective surface and it's like oh goodness who let me out looking like this?! Frankly, it's not a good feeling.

I hear we humans are quite good at fooling ourselves. When a couple is in love and gets married, they don't update the image of each other 30 years down the road. So, they still see that same glowing fabulous person that they married. Weird huh? And, I heard on the Today Show, that lots of people don't weigh themselves. Those people tend to lose less weight/weigh more. It's as though by not weighing themselves, they can convince themselves that they haven't gained weight.

Oh we humans, we're so very gullible.

HP Update

2009-05-26T20:45:00.005-05:00

See that? That's a play on computer/printer updates. Anyway, this is a blog about the humping penguin. Here's what's been happening:

Basically, we had our first date, and he worked my last nerve. Then, he kept working my last nerve. The short version of the story is, I was a total pill and sick of listening to a story that wouldn't end, so in an effort to get him to make a point, I said "land the plane." I fully acknowledge and admit that this was not appropriate first date banter. I even half-apologized after he pointed it out. But, here's where he starts tap dancing on my nerves. He kept repeating it after aforementioned apology. Ok, I deserve it. 5 times in one day, fine. Incidentally, after the date is over, he hugs me goodbye, and I think to myself "Sigh. Not nearly as hard as the Titan -- abs I mean! Get your mind out of the gutter!!!"

Anyway, over the course of the next week or so, I hear/read this phrase over and over again. So, finally I say, let's drop it forever and ever Amen, ok? So, I think this is the end of it. I think wrong, he says it again! I am BEYOND irritated, and I tell him so (albeit in a nice way).

Anyway, we don't have anymore dates. He doesn't ask, and honestly? I don't particularly care. Thereby winning the bet I had with the Engineer, (a bet he squelched on, but that's a story for another day). We do, however, continue to talk, and forge a friendly, networking relationship. he even brings me chocolate (in an attempt to bribe a co-worker into using his web-hosting company).

He even takes me out for beverages for my birthday. Yeah, things get a little strange at that point. He calls me, after said beverages, and makes a ninja-style proclamation. He says that he's failed at every relationship he's ever had, but he wants me in his life always. So, ok, that's...interesting.

Anyway, today, he brought me flowers. He said it was because he'd seen my posting on Facebook wishing that a guy would bring me flowers. And might I mention, that is a GREAT way to start the day. (A day that quickly went downhill, but that's a story for another day too.) So, I called to say thanks, and he asks me to send an email thanking him so his boss could see that this was the way to do business. So, I'm totally cool with that. And then he calls back later, and would you believe the first words out of his mouth are "land the plane"? I swear I could've killed him. Instead, I hung up on him (with warning). Then, I called back and told him that my phone got disconnected. ARRRRGH!

Ok, so the moral of the story, I'm never ever ever gonna date this guy.

Hitched or Ditched

2009-05-26T20:37:00.002-05:00

So, I'm watching The CW's new "reality" show "Hitched or Ditched." Ironically, the gay community staged a protest down Halsted as a result of California's narrowly upheld ban on gay marriage.

Anyway, I think this may be my new guilty pleasure show. The basic premise of the show is a couple that's been dating forever gets a free wedding. The catch is that they only get 7 days to decide whether they want to get married. On the last day, at the wedding, everyone is all dolled up, dress is on, ring is picked, cake is baked, and then the couple decides whether or not they'll be married. Unbelievable, right? It's purely craziness. In the first news, it's a couple that's been dating for far too long, and has yet to commit. Both families think it's a bad idea. They've each said that they aren't necessarily sure. As I watch this, the bride is at her bachelorette party, and she totally denies that she's going to get married. The husband decides to go crash the bachelor party. (Idiot). Drama, of course, ensues -- including him throwing a bottle on the floor while being interviewed by camera. No, he didn't throw it at anyone.

He tells the bride that they need to go, and pulls her out of the bar. She tells him that she's not ready to go -- and proceeds to go back in the bar and drink and party more. Good for her! Idiot. Who crashes a bachelorette party?

I can hardly wait for the ending to see what happens. Which only pumps up my interest for future episodes! Hello, guilty pleasure. :)