What's Wrong with Americans

So, yesterday, I saw Jesse Jackson. (!). I was sitting on the train, headed to work, when the young thundercat next to me nudged me and showed me a text on his phone which said:

"U see Jesse Jakson?"

With a raised eyebrow and a healthy dose of skepticism, I shook my head. He pointed his chin straight ahead, but I couldn't see anything but the guy standing in front of the door. But, the young thundercat promised it was Jesse "Jakson" so I was inclined to peek around the other riders until I could see for myself.

Well, it took a few stops, but eventually I did get to see for myself that "Holy crap! It *is* Jesse Jackson!!" The young thundercat exited the train, with a self-satisfied-I-told-you-so smile. And I proceeded to marvel at my 2nd political celebrity sighting. And then...

I saw a tall, FIONE bald-headed chocolatey brother who'd been leaning casually against the back door. As he straightened, I noticed he was built like the statue of David. He was wearing a casual t-shirt and jeans that hung low on his hips just so. Naturally, his half smile was enough to make me completely forget any sights of the Reverend -- my excitement easily tempered by the prospect of catching Mr. Chocolate's eye.

Sadly, we reached my stop before Mr. Chocolate could make his move (you know, the one that was totally coming if he'd just had enough time to work up the courage to make his move). So I exited the train with one last longing look over my shoulder.

And that's when I realized...this is what's wrong with America. First, the young (African American) thundercat either didn't know how to spell -- or was too lazy to spell out a former icon's name. Second, any awe I should have felt about seeing someone of Rev. Jackson's (former) stature was easily pushed aside for one look at Mr. Chocolate. Ain't that about nothin'?

Well, fortunately, it was a fleeting moment that I felt patriotic guilt for the American public. Lazy and oversexed may be accurate descriptions, but fortunately, we aren't a one-dimensional people. We just have a certain, magpie syndrome. And really, what's wrong with being so easily amused? Sometimes, pretty shiny keeps our excessive cheeriness alive. And I mean, c'mon! It's ok to look at...Ooooh! Lookit! Something sparkly....*trails off*

You know your dress is too tight when...

This morning as I was getting dressed, I picked out a dress that had 3/4 length sleeves, a faux wrap, and a busy, but small print pattern (so as not to overwhelm my vertically-challenged frame).  It also has a narrow pencil skirt, of the variety worn by impossibly fit (or ridiculously skinny) women.  And, most importantly, it's made of stretchy material.

Anyway, I bought this dress at the height of my new level of awesome, and I was rocking it.  This was a mere 6-8 months ago, but since then, I've backslid a bit.  Admittedly, my backsliding has been a result of my inability to workout.*  But, my eating habits were not the sort which allow for time off from the gym. Short story long, this morning I had an extra 5-7 lbs to put in this dress. 

When I got dressed this morning, I spent about 5 minutes fretting over the fact that the dress was a bit...um...tight.  I thought it was hugging** my arse a bit snugly.  I also was concerned that the soft mounds it formed to were located in the thigh/hip region, rather than the much more desirable region above my waist.  But, I was running late, and I couldn't think of a better alternative.  So off we went.

Well, I get to work, and I have had no less than three confirmations that my suspicions were correct.  First, when I was walking out of the lobby to make a 'bux run, I heard the security guard behind me go "mm, mm MM!!!".  You know the sound I'm talking about...the sort one makes when they see something and they just can't believe it?  Usually reserved for kiddie shenanigans, REALLY good cake, and the like.  Well, THAT'S the reaction I got from the ...ahem... rear view.  I told him that he needed to remember that when thinking makes noise, it's talking.  And then I proceeded to back out of the door, to prevent additional commentary.  When I got to 'bux, the cashier that's had a crush on me for 3 years slipped me a freebie.  Which, is nothing unusual.  Then he came around the other side of the counter, where I was waiting for a drink.  He asked the (white) guy standing next to me if they could switch spots, so that he could "stand and have that view."  ACK!  The (white) guy had on sunglasses, but now I'm pretty sure he had been ...ahem...checking my outfit for a VPL***, shall we say.  (Here is where my internal monologue began.  "Aw hell..." I thought to myself).  Finally, as I am walking red-faced, and hurriedly back to my office, I see a (Latino) guy walking towards me.  I am 70% certain I read his lips to say "damn!!!", but it was under his breath so I can't be certain.  Right after that, I got a smile/nod/"hi!" combo.  (And the internal monologue continued...@#$*@#$&@#*&@*$@!!!!!!  Not wearing this &@#$&@ dress again until I hit the gym!!). 

Listen, compliments appreciated, but when 4 different men of 3 different races are making similar comments; I'm pretty sure that my conclusion about the fit of this dress is spot on.  Goodness knows they weren't observing how well I accessorized, using a minor color, or that I emphasized the dress by wearing a neutral tone shoe.  Just sayin'.


*By the way?  I can't stress the importance of foam rolling.  Had I heeded my personal trainer's warning back in April, I wouldn't have gotten myself injured.  Necessitating 16 visits (or more) to a physical therapist, to strengthen my over-used IT band.  (And, as a result, take 5 months off from running, and 2 months off from working out altogether).

**And by hugging, I mean, hanging on for dear life

***VPL:  visible panty line

Roommate Switch?

Last week, the Titan and I planned a night out. Originally, it was going to be the two of us and our sets of friends. But, ultimately, our friends bowed out so it was just us. We were both out because we wanted to see if we still had it.

To remind everyone, the Titan played basketball in college. 6'5", 245, caramel mocha colored, with kind of light eyes. He rocks a goatee, and a low fade. In a word, tall, dark, and handsome. Turns out, the Titan still has it. I watched him seduce the bartender and get more than half his drinks for free. Then, I saw him get 2 girl's phone numbers, plus a girl gave me her number to give to him. All in all, pretty impressive. Meanwhile, I was charged for all of my drinks (a grand total of two, since they weren't free), and there was no one I was really willing to put forth any effort into meeting.* It was getting near the end of the night, and I was growing tired of sitting by myself at the bar. At one point, I did get hit on by a girl, so that was pretty hilarious. Especially after she hit on the Titan a short while later. But other than that quick blip of hilariousness, I was starting to feel like I'd need a do-over.

Well, around 1 o'clock in the morning, things started getting interesting. I was sitting at the bar, nursing a water, when I saw a tall chocolate-y brother walk up on my right side. He was clearly a gym rat, shaved head, and wearing my favorite color. Then he left, and I was sad. At the time, the Titan was across the room talking to some chick, so I was trying coming up with reasons to leave. Fortunately, the gym rat came back, and he had a shorter, rounder friend in tow. Hooray! Let the flirting commence. When I turned to do a double take (and start the flirting), I made eye contact with the short round guy. Nuts!

The short round guy decided to strike up a conversation. (Darn my flirty eyes!!) Asking me who I was with, how long I'd been there, and whatnot. Typical bar talk. He introduced himself and the gym rat, who by then was on the other side of me. Then, they judged me for my water. I pointed out that I didn't like buying drinks, so I was drinking water. The round guy proceeded to buy my drink of choice and a shot. And he continued the conversation. He was nice enough, and the conversation was good, as far as bar conversation goes. He even pulled in his gym rat friend, so he wouldn't feel left out. I tried to focus as much as I could on the gym rat, and send him brain waves letting him know that he was the one I was interested in. Sadly, he was not psychic and walked away. Noooooo!!!!!

Eventually, the Titan made his way back to me, so I introduced him. The round guy actually bought a round of shots for ALL of us (impressive, I have to say). Shortly thereafter, I had to run to the washroom. While there, I texted the Titan to tell him that the wrong guy was interested. And this is when things got even more interesting. At some point between my run to the washroom and my return, the Titan had managed to make friends with a group of guys out celebrating their friend's birthday. The birthday boy had asked that I come by, to say that he thought I was cute (yay!) but he was married (boo!) and would I like a glass of Moet (hell yeah!). They didn't even ask me to hang out over there. So I just took my champagne and left. HA! When I made my way back to the gym rat and the round guy, the Titan had gotten friendly with the gym rat. Evidently, they both worked out at the same gym** and recognized each other.

The Titan, trying to do me a solid for getting that one girl's number, got the gym rat's phone number. And did a little research. Apparently, the gym rat thought I was cute, but didn't want to pull a robbery from the round guy. (Darn you guy code!!!). So, the Titan is planning to circle back to the gym rat the next time they see each other at the gym. Meanwhile, the round guy asked for my number. While I gave him the real digits, I sent up a little prayer to the dating gods hoping that he wouldn't call. (So far, so good. He hasn't!).

I guess, at the end of the day, I still got it too! And, I may even get a decent date out of the shenanigans. I doubt that -- but if I do, it'd be the greatest roommate switch ever, right? Totally worth it!


*There was one guy who was cute from afar, but when I got up to him, he was far from cute. HA.

**Also known as the gym where I work out. Yay!

Eff 2011. Bring on 2012!

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

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?

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.

True Story

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.

True Confessions

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.

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

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.