I figured it out!

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

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

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

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

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?

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

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!

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

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

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?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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!

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

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.