These are absolutely hysterical!
The Monopoly one hit home especially because the recent ex suggested that I purchase a Wii game we could both play for one of our “date nights.” (Just to clarify, a “date night” for this loser consisted of coming to my house, raiding my refrigerator, then parking his giant ass on my sofa and watching TV until he proclaimed that it was time for bed.)
Since I had expressed my concern that we quite possibly had nothing in common & that I wasn’t cool with that routine, his idea was for me to purchase MONOPOLY for my Wii?!?! Seriously?!?! Snoozefest Dude! This poor guy was about as exciting as a soggy french fry.
So you… Yeah you there. Put on a ton of makeup and some really short shorts Okay? Oh, and here’s a guitar. Look like you’re playing it while this other chick with badly drawn eyebrows attempts to sing. You do know how to play a guitar, right? Good! Okay now go!
Um… I said GO!
Are you in there?
You should probably at least try to look like you’ve been in the same room with a chord progression or two…
This may be one of the most awkwardly embarrassing things I’ve seen in a very long time.
Although, I must admit, it’s a lot more creative than those penis pics the guys are sending out like trading cards nowadays.
Seriously y’all? Have a little class.
But this guy? I kinda feel sorry for him… and his poor taste in music. 😉
We do all the things we’re taught are right & proper… keep up our appearance, try to be the brightest, wittiest, best that we can be. We get our hair done, our nails, we peel away layers upon layers of skin & inject chemicals into the first signs of a facial flaw. But none of that matters. And even more depressing… no matter how responsible we are, how kind, how strong of character…
It just doesn’t matter.
We can try until we’re all out of tries, have the coolest car, the biggest house, the most fit body, the most beautiful face.
We can scream until our throats are raw, but they don’t hear us.
They just use us until they get what they need from us and move on to the next shiny object, using any excuse that will allow them to disappear from the scene blameless & with a wide open door for them to return to on a whim.
Lucky us. We get to watch from the sidelines because of horribly omniscient social media applications as a new courtship blossoms, crushed that we weren’t “That Girl.”
We think to ourselves, “What’s wrong with me?” because there certainly must be something since we were kicked aside so abruptly.
And we start believing it.
Because some asshole decided to treat us as if we were disposable.
We believe their excuses. And even make excuses for them to our friends, because our friends of course like us to be with that “Good-Looking Guy.” Everyone wants the fairy tale. Everyone wants Prince Charming. Believe me, looks are 99.9% deceiving.
But we always fall for it…
Because for some reason, we see something good in these assholes.
I honestly have no idea why.
And I sincerely hope I’m not going to be seen as a bitch for saying NO more than yes, but it’s my M.O.
I found this the other day when I was searching for something completely non-related in my InBox.
And proceeded to laugh my ass off.
Bless his heart. This guy actually had a website where people could PAY him to write custom poetry for them. *facepalm*
If he only knew how ridiculous it sounded to everyone else except himself & possibly his mother.
Second fiddle is new for me,
Second fiddle, should it be?
Second fiddle, strange in my hand.
Second fiddle?…I’m a Bass man.
Low and deep is how I sound.
When I play it, I play it loud.
At first it’s quiet but rumbles deep,
I hit the notes that lovers seek.
Second fiddle just seems to whine,
A high pitched ringing with-in my mind.
Second fiddle seems so weak,
I’ve never sat in this orchestra seat.
Bass that’s rockin’ and makes you move.
That’s the feeling to which I groove.
Up on stage for your eyes to see,
Adoring, wanting, just for me.
How can I sit and wait for days?
Can I pretend to enjoy the plays?
Will the patience that I use so much,
Finally snap, at a fragile touch?
“Music and fashion are always the passion”.
We fell in.Understanding? Patience again?
My heart won’t break but it’s a hell of a bend.
I don’t know what I need to do. But I know I hate fiddle two.
Can she, will she, would she want to see?
The prize behind, door number me?
Is it worth as much as number one?
Will it be as fancy, or seem a bum?
Here I sit, my mind a blaze,
A futile struggle? A running maze?
What to do in this circumstance?
I’ve never played fiddle, for another romance.
It all started with one of those “phantom pains” I get from time to time under my shoulder blades. They used to always occur on the left side. I figured they were the result of stress or my body telling me I was making bad decisions. This time the pain was coming from under the right shoulder blade. It started in December, but went away with some chiropractic treatment & TLC from my massage therapist friend Gin.
Around January 9th it came back. I tried to stave it off with Mom’s TENS Unit, but that wouldn’t touch the pain. I’m prone to have a high tolerance for most aches & pains, so I persevered through 8 makeup gigs in 9 days. I’d just finished up my friend Jessica’s makeup for the Governor’s Inaugural festivities and gone home to crash, when I awoke in the middle of the night screaming in pain. My right arm had begun to spasm. I took some Advil because that was all I had and tried to get back to sleep. Within a few hours I was struggling through a shower and off to another photo shoot. I stayed as long as I could without falling apart, then proceeded to the nearest Massage Envy and begged them to help me. They tried, but within 20 minutes I was curled back up on my sofa in the fetal position. I stayed there until Monday when I could see my chiropractor.
She adjusted me twice that day. I immediately felt better. And it helped each time she worked on me, but the adjustments weren’t holding because the inflammation around the injury was too much. By Friday I was in tears all over again. I made an appointment with an orthopedic surgeon. That’s all I knew to do. They sent me back to my chiropractor for my x-rays and she adjusted me again. She also told me to go to my Primary Care Physician to ask for anti-Inflammatories, muscle relaxers, and stronger pain medicine. I did. I couldn’t tell if it was helping by the time the weekend came.
Monday was my Orthopedic Appointment. They gave me a few different medications and scheduled me for an MRI. My MRI was that Wednesday. I’d never been so nauseated afterwards. I have no idea why.
After reviewing the results of the MRI, the Orthopedic Surgeon discussed surgery. As soon as he started saying things like screws, hinges, and cadaver bones, I lost interest. I called a neurosurgeon from the parking lot for a second opinion.
Now that it’s decided, a date has been set, and I know exactly what is going to happen each day brings a new challenge. Sometimes I’m so nauseated I wonder how I’m going to get through the day. Sometimes my arm spasms so badly, there simply isn’t enough medication. I sleep on an ice pack more nights than not. And I worry constantly that I might not be able to complete all the obligations on my calendar. There’s only one of me. It’s when you have to take yourself away that you begin to see how much you are valued. My calendar is booked solid until one day before I go in for surgery. That scares me to death. It’s flattering, but still scary nonetheless.
Let go of the people who have hurt or wronged you by sending them a final letter. Get out everything you need to say. This will purge the negativity from your mind & make room for more positive things.
Collect things you no longer need/want/use & deliver them to the Rescue Mission, Interact, Consignment… or prepare them for online sale on Poshmark or Amazon.
If you haven’t needed it in years, it could be time to let it go.
In your house for an office/studio; game/workout room.
In your schedule for looking after yourself.
Strengthen & Nourish
Streamline your schedule to include good nutrition & regular workouts.
Learn Something New
Take a class.
Do something you’ve always wanted to do.
Be the type of person you wish to meet
These are the types of resolutions I challenge you to create for yourselves.
I know you’re gonna find this hard to believe, but my life hasn’t always been all sunshine & rainbows. In fact, there was a time when I thought a dark cloud had parked itself permanently over my head. For what seemed like forever, no matter what I did, it was met with some sort of epic failure. I couldn’t do anything right. I lost jobs, relationships, friendships. With only minor peaks & valleys, I started over pretty much completely twice.
The second re-start was preceded by a period of deep depression, then countless hours of introspection. Evidently, my coping mechanisms were stellar because it didn’t take long until my EUREKA moment.
One day, completely out of nowhere, I just started making a list of everything I’d always dreamed of doing, but had been too scared to do. The horrible tragedy of everything before had given me this new strength that I didn’t know I had. I guess it was as if I no longer felt tethered to the security blanket of my protective upbringing. I no longer had the negative voices in my head, telling me, “I cant.”
I now knew what it was like to have NOTHING TO LOSE and it made me FEARLESS. I had finally reached the elusive land of WHY NOT?!?
Today I realized that I’ve accomplished every single goal on that list… even the most lofty, time-consuming, and seemingly impossible. I’m humbled by this discovery.
If you don’t want to be with me then move along and I’ll continue my journey unencumbered by you.
If you do want to be with me, but I’ve shown you no interest, don’t try to hang onto me in hopes that I’ll someday slow down and become interested. I won’t. Don’t be that wounded animal that begs to be taken care of. I have no time for that.
If you want to be with me, be my equal. Join me on the ride. Take the time to understand me.
Being a freelance makeup artist, my business is listed on quite a few internet directories. This is fantastic for business, as it makes my web presence stronger as I get to reach a wider audience of potential clients. However, it can also leave me open to web predators.
My first taste of this was when I started getting calls from a company called Local Splash. I was in Esthetician School at the time. They called me repeatedly, telling me that I had all these good reviews and that a competitor had fallen out of one of the top 8 spots in the first page of Google’s search. I should have asked them where in the world they were getting this information, because I sure as heck have never seen a single review. In fact, at the time I had hardly even had the shell of a new website up and running. I told them to call back when I’d finished school because if they sent me a ton of clients now, I wouldn’t have any time for them.
They kept calling… different people… same spiel. I began to realize what was going on. It was a racket. They just wanted money.
I blocked the number and hadn’t had any problems until…
Fast forward to today. Keep in mind that with the first experience under my belt I’m wiser than before and significantly jaded. Basically, one of these clowns isn’t going to last 2 minutes with me on the phone.
An 800 number calls during lunch with my boss. I don’t answer. They call again. I let him answer. He hands it to me because he thinks it might be important. *Ugh*
When he answers a lady has asked for Blush Cosmetic Artistry. When I take the phone, I get some rude Indian guy that I can hardly understand. He tells me he’s from USDirectory and that I have a listing with them. I tell him I don’t. He corrects me and tells me it’s on Yelp. I tell him Yelp is free and that I’m not going to pay for a directory service. He proceeds to yell at me “You don’t want people to call you?” I say “NO!" (meaning people like him, not clients, but of course I know that he’s totally taking it the wrong way.) I proceed to tell him AGAIN that I’m not going to pay for a directory service.
He continues to yell at me… then screams THIS IS BULLSHIT and possibly a few more unintelligible things before hanging up on me.
Wow Mr. Person attempting to sell me something. You’re doing a fine job there!
So to all of my small business owner friends out there, please be careful of these predators. Now you know the names of two of them. Take note of these numbers and BLOCK them.
Local Splash (714)450-9237 or (949)253-5712 USDirectory (888)217-5736
Remember a little while ago when I wrote about a wardrobe service called StitchFix?
I’d purposefully put off writing about my experiences with them for fear that it might not exactly be a marriage made in heaven. For instance, I’d told my stylist that I wasn’t big on animal print. What do I find in my StitchFix box? A Zebra patterned top. UGH! Although the fabric was super-soft, I didn’t waste any time trying it on. I was also sent a ring although I distinctly specified no jewelry. Needless to say, I was nonplussed by my first box.
The most notable item in the first box was an orange silk cold-shoulder top that flowed effortlessly over me and fit exactly right. The only problem was that I really don’t like the maintenance that silk clothing requires. There was also a modern blue jacket and a cute panel dress that was a tad on the snug side. It all went back.
After this, I decided to give them a lot more information. I linked them to my Facebook profile and commented on EXACTLY why each item didn’t work for me. I didn’t hold back either. I figured that if I was hiring them to be my personal stylists, they needed to know the REAL me… nothing held back.
I also decided to give them some ideas of people in television and film that I considered to be my style icons at the moment.
The second shipment was delivered Saturday, while I was in Atlanta. When I returned on Monday I was too tired to be all that excited about it, so I waited until I’d had a good nap in me before making any snap decisions.
There are always 5 items in each shipment. This one contained a fabulous jacket, a great clutch, and a few tops. The first top was a navy cowl neck monstrosity with the skinniest sleeves. It was so disproportional that I wondered if it was a factory mistake. The second top was a thin navy flowered button-back blouse. It fit perfectly, but it was way too frou-frou for me. The third was an orange-red silk top with an ornate gold jeweled neckline. It might have worked, but the neck was shaped like a shirt collar and just wasn’t dong it for me. I’m into symmetry and geometry.
So here are the winners. This is the jacket. I found some advertising from the design house about it’s launch on Twitter.
Up close the details of the cut and seams of this jacket are a lot cooler than in this photo depiction.
And the clutch. This is really cool. It’s simple and functional. And I love the color. Can’t wait to see how many folks will compliment me on this little baby.
Since they’re getting better at figuring me out, I scheduled another Fix for next month. I’ll let you know how that turns out.
If you’re interested in scheduling your own fix, click here to get your invitation.
In legend & lore, fortune cookies & chick-lit there has always been this elusive concept of “The Handsome Stranger.” I always sort of figured the concept was simply far-fetched fiction…
I’ve never had trouble meeting people. I’ve seen my share of proverbial “handsome strangers,” but have found that they either have no desire to engage me in conversation, or once they open their mouths, I lose all interest. (and sometimes something between the two extremes)
When flying by yourself, you ALWAYS keep your fingers crossed that the airline won’t seat you beside a Dud, a Mouth-Breather, a StinkyPants, or a Chatty Cathy. I never in a gazillion years imagined that they’d seat me beside one of the most handsome men I’d seen. He was Military… Airborne… a Red Beret to be exact. He called me Ma’am. When we started the flight, there was a seat between us, but it wasn’t long before there wasn’t. We talked & laughed the whole time. He was adorable.
Of course you realize that I don’t write bodice-rippers, so you must have guessed that a little reality will rear it’s ugly head in 5-4-3-2-1. He was married. And honestly, I didn’t have intentions of hitting on him or anything. It’s just that when it’s so early in the morning, your eyes are definitely drawn to round, shiny objects. I also have rotten luck, so if you’re looking for me to be the heroine in a real-life romantic novella, you could be waiting awhile.
It was the best conversation I’d had with “a stranger on a plane.” He showed me photos of his wife & some other assorted friends & family. We talked about places, music, what we do for a living, fitness… We laughed because we were the only people awake on the entire plane before beverage service.
And then the weirdness… the awkward goodbyes when the plane lands. We had such a great time that we’d grown fond of each other. We’d connected. Should we keep in touch? We both decided against it. It just didn’t seem like the thing to do. If I were in his wife’s shoes, I definitely wouldn’t appreciate it.
But me? I’ll always have that image burned into my brain… of my very first Handsome Stranger I met on a plane.
I’d actually almost forgotten the significance there’s been so much good stuff going on in my life lately.
When I think about that fateful day, of course it brings back all the sorrowful emotions and how I no longer felt that sense of safety and security I’d once had.
I walked into MCI WorldCom that day and it was as if time had stood still. I sat in an open cubicle in the middle of the building. There were televisions everywhere that were always set to news channels since we were managing networks all over the world. Everyone was watching. The floor was silent. All that could be heard were the voices of the reporters. We were sent home early that day… all full of emotions and extremely confused.
I was engaged to a huge jerk. We brought out the worst in each other. On that day… the day when such horribleness had occurred against our country… when most people clung to their loved ones and gave thanks for everything they had… He chose not to spend the evening with me. Instead, he chose to watch a silly reality TV show with a girl he knew had a crush on him while I remained at home, curled up in the fetal position watching news reports about everything that had occurred until daybreak.
Not the greatest memory. But then again, most holidays and historical events are punctuated by the many douchebags I’ve allowed into my life.
Now that I’m older, wiser, stronger, less of a people-pleaser and more comfortable with the word NO, the douchebag population has decreased significantly.
As for 9/11, I’d rather think of the cool stuff that happened like this.
Every now & then I feel as if I’m the luckiest girl in the world. Why? Because things like this happen.
I met Jeff when I went to Cardinal Gibbons High School. I was only there a brief 2 years, but the people were so colorful. It was the time in my life when I started really developing my musical tastes as they are today.
There was a show called “Night Wave” that aired on the college radio station after most high-schoolers were supposed to be in bed. That show gave me my first taste of The Hoodoo Gurus, the Red Hot Chili Peppers, The Bangles, Lene Lovich, The Cure, The Violent Femmes… so many more…
It was my addiction. I would turn my “boom box” way down so that my parents couldn’t hear, pop a cassette in and record all night. I made Jeff a copy of the one of the best shows I had. To this day we both still have it.
Years passed. Life happened… Then Facebook happened, and we reconnected. We’d both spent our fair share of years performing, making music, and he began to share with me some music he’d written. Each week I was receiving a few MP3s in my email. It was like a “Good Morning” gift that I’d wake up to since he’d mostly write at night.
Recently, I decided to share with him some lyrics I’d written. Within a day or 2 he’d written this beautiful song. I was beyond words. We’d long-distance co-written a song. It was the first time I’d ever done that. Yet when I opened my email, it was the most special present I could ever receive.
Today, and most days lately, I consider myself very fortunate. And having people like my friend Jeff in my life are a major reason why.
The other day I was browsing around and I happened upon this on another particularly stylish friend’s blog. There’s a service out there called StitchFix. For a mere $20 styling fee, you’re paired with a StitchFix stylist who looks over the questionnaire you submit (sizes, preferences, colors, price range, designers, basically things about you & what you like) and custom-picks you a box full of outfits. You can choose to have them pick mostly dresses, mostly casual, mostly dressy, mostly accessories, a mix of everything, outfits… You decide. There are places where you are able to communicate with your stylist to tell them things that are not in the questionnaire. (like that fabulous vacation you’re about to take requiring fabulous outfits).
When the box arrives, you have 3 days to decide whether to keep or send back your loot. Then you can communicate with your stylist and if you want to try again, you can… with more specific instructions.
My box arrives FRIDAY! Don’t worry. I’ll be sure to post a full review.
This reminds me SO MUCH of “Muscle Guy” from Saturday night!
When my friends and I went out to celebrate my passing the Esthetics Board Exams, we ended up at a little cigar bar that we like to frequent where cover bands we’re friends with like to play.
There was a guy on the dance floor in the tightest gray t-shirt I’ve ever seen dancing with a really plain, older-looking gal. She was hardly moving. And he was posing as if he was in some sort of body-building contest right there in the middle of the dance floor! Each time he lifted an arm, he’d flex & check to make sure his muscles were being properly displayed. Each position was choreographed, although it seemed much more like self-promotion than dancing. We all felt really sorry for the poor girl… especially since he wasn’t paying her ANY attention. She was just there.
He was only looking in 2 places:
At the crowd to make sure he was being checked out.
At himself to make sure he was utilizing all of his muscle-splendor.
When my friend the drummer came offstage to talk to us during a break, we told him what had been entertaining us for the past hour. His response, “OH YEAH! That guy comes to a ton of our shows! Did you know he’s in his 60’s?”
Sure he should be proud of his physique and the fact that living well has caused him to rewind the aging process… HOWEVER… It doesn’t give him license to be a complete DOUCHE to his date! If you’re with someone, pay them some attention! Otherwise, stay in the loo and make out with the mirror all night. It’s repulsive to make us watch that sort of ridiculous narcissism!
This is Sinead. She’s my mannequin head for the Esthetics Practical Exam. She & I have become quite intimate.
During months of Monday-night drills, I’ve been learning what’s best for her. Although I’d delighted in finding her just the right shades of eye shadow and blush, it took a great deal of trial and error to find a lip pencil and color duo that suited her. (The board requires the type of pencils you can sharpen. Although those are still made, the colors I prefer are in the newer styles that don’t require a sharpener.)
Sinead and I went through a trial run of this exam weekly when I was in school. I spent from 3 to 5 hours every Sunday packing up my kit. (That’s this white plastic thing with the drawers) Myself, my label maker, a ton of quart & gallon ziploc bags, ramekins, spatulas, 4x4s 2x2s, towels, a spray bottle of alcohol, a spray bottle of water and various other supplies would cover my living room floor.
This past Sunday was no different.
I took my time getting organized. I’d labeled all new bags a few weeks back, so all I really had to do was get everything packed and divided.
I went to two beauty supply stores to make sure I had absolutely everything I needed and since I had my temporary license I was able to get my professional discounts. SCORE! I finally even had real 2x2s, which we never had access to in school even though they were a requirement for the exam.
And since my pillbox leaked (we stored our color cosmetics in a pill holder) I went to Wal Mart and purchased a bead keeper, which was smaller and more ergonomically designed. GENIUS! My favorite cheap Mexican restaurant was in the same strip-mall, so I grabbed dinner on the way home. Everything was perfect.
The morning of the exam, I applied Sinead’s day makeup. I’d kept aside the colors I was using that I’d put into the bead keeper, however, I didn’t have another eye pencil like the one I had packed. ALL OF MY EYE PENCILS ARE WATERPROOF. Since Sinead isn’t a real person, I didn’t think she’d mind me using my discarded makeup. (being a makeup artist lends itself to lots of cast offs) I found a pencil and gave her a great subtle cat eye look.
I went on to have breakfast, shower, get ready, do laundry, go over the paperwork provided by the testing administrators. I took photos of myself in my scrubs, I texted, I Facebooked… Time was definitely on my side and the testing facility was only 2 miles from my house.
When I arrived onsite, it was a sea of ceil blue scrubs. It seemed like just about all of my classmates had signed up for the exact same date. There were only a handful of girls from other schools… and they didn’t appear to have learned the same things we did. We set up our kits in unison, clips hit trash bags, ziplocs unzipped. We were quick, efficient, and tidy.
Then it came time to remove Sinead’s makeup. Um yeah… About that waterproof eyeliner… I was certain that would be the one thing that would screw me. Every time a test proctor came to look at Sinead, I felt like Sookie Stackhouse reading her mind “Perfect! Except for that DAMN EYELINER!" But I couldn’t lose focus. I couldn’t talk or show expression either, which is ridiculously difficult for me. But I got through it.
And every chance I got… whenever there was a procedure that required eye pads… or if I could sneak a swipe of toner or a steam towel over an eyeball, I’d take an extra swipe at that eyeliner. I didn’t care if it was too late.
But honestly, looking around me at the HOT MESS of craziness from the other schools who didn’t have an organized system, I’ll bet the test proctors do have a difficult time keeping a straight face. I’m sure my proctor was laughing on the inside at poor Sinead and her Courtney Love eyeliner.