Things I learned yesterday:
1. The DMV still sucks. I was number 195...they were on 164 when I walked in. The lady misspelled my name twice on my ID (after reading it off a form), she hit the keyboard in a rage induced tantrum because she couldn't figure out why she couldn't find my name in the computer. I suggested it was because she'd misspelled it again. She gave me the fuck you bitch, shut the hell up look. I gave her the don't be a fucking moron and learn to read smile.
2. Some people should never be allowed to have a cell phone. Ever. This old guy at the DMV was talking (and by talking I mean almost yelling so everyone within a 12 block radius could hear) on his cell phone for about 45 minutes. We all heard about how terribly frustrating it is at the DMV, how no one understands his pain, how his problems are the most important problems ever, how inept his wife is, etc. When the DMV lady came out from behind her glass cage and tried to make an announcement about ID requirements the guy is still yapping away, WHAT'S THAT BILL? YEAH, I DIDN'T CATCH THAT, SOME LADY IS TALKING REALLY LOUD. Someone's talking too loud? You don't say. Dumbass.
3. I saw on Oprah that there's a hooker at the Bunny Ranch that plays the french horn, which I found fascinating. I said, who knew hookers were so multi-talented? Chris said that we should totally visit the Bunny Ranch because all hookers are talented in their own way. I think not.
I still haven't packed for our trip, and am in full on procrastination mode, but thought I'd share.
Sigh.
So this is the big week. Kat's competing in Virginia Beach for cheering Nationals. It's pretty damn big deal, and I mean we've been planning this trip since February when they qualified. You'd think that'd be plenty of time to get the basic details taken care, plane tickets, hotel, fucking state issued identification. It's pretty much common knowledge that you need a picture ID to board a plane, and for most people that wouldn't be a problem, except that I got my license suspended and figured a state ID was a waste of money. Yeah, not so much.
See, in July I was in an accident. Some jackass rammed into the side of my Jeep, totaling it. Well, my insurance had lapsed, only by a few days, and even though the accident wasn't my fault, I got a ticket for not having insurance. About a month later, I got a letter from the State saying that I needed to have this special insurance (an SR-22) on my license for at risk drivers. So I got it, no big deal. Well, when my insurance renewed on December 31, I got a bill. For $600... JUST for the renewal. It was going to be another $200 for the first month of coverage because of the stupid SR-22. I was like well screw that, I'm not paying that.Chris and I decided we'd cut down to 1 car, he'd be the official chauffeur, etc. We haven't had any problems at all with it. We've saved money, it's been great, until this morning when it really sucked. On the way to work, I was thinking about how people lie on their licenses, you know they weigh like 500 lbs, but they put 120 lbs? Well, it was going to be a great blog post, then I realized 1. I totally do that on my license, and 2. isn't it strange I have long hair on my license. It was kind of a slow progression to reality: hey, I have long hair in my license picture, I haven't had long hair in like 7 years, that's weird, I wonder when this expires... OH MY GOD MY LICENSE IS EXPIRED! Now you're probably thinking, you already knew it was suspended, what's the big deal? Well, I don't have a state ID. Meaning, I have no valid identification to board the plane. On Friday morning. No big deal, just go get a state ID, right? Wrong. Because of the new federal laws, you have to prove that you're not a terrorist or something and show your birth certificate and a copy of your taxes or something before you can get an ID. Just get a copy of your birth certificate, right? Wrong. The Office of Vital Statistics takes 24-48 hours to expedite a birth certificate request, and since it has to be an "official copy", it just makes it harder. I have a copy, it's just not an "official" copy. Ok so, can't get one from Vital Statistics, not enough time. So I called the town where I was born, they can make me an official copy TODAY (huge sigh of relief). So they're an hour away, we have to drive there and get the "official" copy. Then we have to drive back an hour and a half in the other direction to get the actual ID. Then I have to give the State a copy of my travel plans so they'll release my ID today and not in 2-3 weeks, which is standard turn around time on IDs. Of course if all of this fails, we'll be driving the 13 hours to Virginia Beach. 13 hours, me, Chris and Kat stuck in a car together? Good Christ that would suck.
So lesson learned? I don't know that I really learned anything...except that getting a license or ID is a pain in the ass. I refuse to take responsibility for the accident (the cops and the other driver's insurance company said he was 100% at fault) or for trying to save $200 a month on stupid insurance about a stupid law that punished me for some jackass hitting MY car.
Ok it's kinda my fault for not taking care of this sooner. SIGH.
See, in July I was in an accident. Some jackass rammed into the side of my Jeep, totaling it. Well, my insurance had lapsed, only by a few days, and even though the accident wasn't my fault, I got a ticket for not having insurance. About a month later, I got a letter from the State saying that I needed to have this special insurance (an SR-22) on my license for at risk drivers. So I got it, no big deal. Well, when my insurance renewed on December 31, I got a bill. For $600... JUST for the renewal. It was going to be another $200 for the first month of coverage because of the stupid SR-22. I was like well screw that, I'm not paying that.Chris and I decided we'd cut down to 1 car, he'd be the official chauffeur, etc. We haven't had any problems at all with it. We've saved money, it's been great, until this morning when it really sucked. On the way to work, I was thinking about how people lie on their licenses, you know they weigh like 500 lbs, but they put 120 lbs? Well, it was going to be a great blog post, then I realized 1. I totally do that on my license, and 2. isn't it strange I have long hair on my license. It was kind of a slow progression to reality: hey, I have long hair in my license picture, I haven't had long hair in like 7 years, that's weird, I wonder when this expires... OH MY GOD MY LICENSE IS EXPIRED! Now you're probably thinking, you already knew it was suspended, what's the big deal? Well, I don't have a state ID. Meaning, I have no valid identification to board the plane. On Friday morning. No big deal, just go get a state ID, right? Wrong. Because of the new federal laws, you have to prove that you're not a terrorist or something and show your birth certificate and a copy of your taxes or something before you can get an ID. Just get a copy of your birth certificate, right? Wrong. The Office of Vital Statistics takes 24-48 hours to expedite a birth certificate request, and since it has to be an "official copy", it just makes it harder. I have a copy, it's just not an "official" copy. Ok so, can't get one from Vital Statistics, not enough time. So I called the town where I was born, they can make me an official copy TODAY (huge sigh of relief). So they're an hour away, we have to drive there and get the "official" copy. Then we have to drive back an hour and a half in the other direction to get the actual ID. Then I have to give the State a copy of my travel plans so they'll release my ID today and not in 2-3 weeks, which is standard turn around time on IDs. Of course if all of this fails, we'll be driving the 13 hours to Virginia Beach. 13 hours, me, Chris and Kat stuck in a car together? Good Christ that would suck.
So lesson learned? I don't know that I really learned anything...except that getting a license or ID is a pain in the ass. I refuse to take responsibility for the accident (the cops and the other driver's insurance company said he was 100% at fault) or for trying to save $200 a month on stupid insurance about a stupid law that punished me for some jackass hitting MY car.
Ok it's kinda my fault for not taking care of this sooner. SIGH.
Heeeeeere's Johnny!
This afternoon we brought the kids to see the Hannah Montana movie. They actually had Johnny of the Cobra Kai as Miley/Hannah's love interest! So this kid, who they call Travis in the movie, is CLEARLY Johnny.
For anyone who has just crawled out from under a rock and doesn't know the awesomeness that is Johnny...Johnny is the uber bully from the Karate Kid. His gang of pseudo ninjas were called the Cobra Kai. He's the most bad ass bully ever.
See? Was there ever any doubt? Anyway, the final scene of the movie is the big crowd scene, it was so exciting, I just knew there was an ass kicking coming! And seriously, after almost 90 minutes of tween giggling and faux-teen angst, I'm ready to see an ass whooping. I start yelling, SWEEP THE LEG! SWEEP THE LEG! And, sonofabitch...there was no ass kicking. There was no sweeping of the leg. There wasn't even a good bitch slap. Nothing. Just a big stupid song and dance number. I'm like, what the hell kind of movie is this? You show me Johnny and taunt me with fantasies of the Cobra Kai and I get a stupid SONG? This was the stupidest movie ever. I hate Hannah Montana.
For anyone who has just crawled out from under a rock and doesn't know the awesomeness that is Johnny...Johnny is the uber bully from the Karate Kid. His gang of pseudo ninjas were called the Cobra Kai. He's the most bad ass bully ever.
See? Was there ever any doubt? Anyway, the final scene of the movie is the big crowd scene, it was so exciting, I just knew there was an ass kicking coming! And seriously, after almost 90 minutes of tween giggling and faux-teen angst, I'm ready to see an ass whooping. I start yelling, SWEEP THE LEG! SWEEP THE LEG! And, sonofabitch...there was no ass kicking. There was no sweeping of the leg. There wasn't even a good bitch slap. Nothing. Just a big stupid song and dance number. I'm like, what the hell kind of movie is this? You show me Johnny and taunt me with fantasies of the Cobra Kai and I get a stupid SONG? This was the stupidest movie ever. I hate Hannah Montana.
Trapped in a freezer with cannibals, whores, porn and other things you hope your Mom doesn't read
I'm kinda working on some site updates, just little tweaks because my blog has had the same look for approximately 2 months, and Lord knows I can't leave well enough alone. Fair warning though, I suck at coding and stuff so you visit and it's broken, don't freak out. I'll eventually figure out how to fix it.
Anyway, so I'm out looking for cool ideas to pirate, and I found a "rate your blog" thingy. So I rated mine, and this is what I got:
Also, incidently, in case you were interested, I can survive for 9 hours trapped in a freezer and if a cannibal ate me I would taste like undercooked fish. Nice to know I guess...in case I ever get trapped in a freezer with a cannibal.
Anyway, so I'm out looking for cool ideas to pirate, and I found a "rate your blog" thingy. So I rated mine, and this is what I got:
This rating was determined based on the presence of the following words: crap (8x), porn (7x), retard (6x), whore (5x), hell (4x), ass (3x), murder (2x), hurt (1x)
And that was just a sampling of the first page. Surprising thought that hurt and murder are naughty words and fuck isn't (used 14 times on the front page). Looking at those words make me sound like some wacked out psycho with an affinity for porn and retarded whores... or something equally as disturbing. And you thought this was a mommy blog.Also, incidently, in case you were interested, I can survive for 9 hours trapped in a freezer and if a cannibal ate me I would taste like undercooked fish. Nice to know I guess...in case I ever get trapped in a freezer with a cannibal.
Keith Olbermann ruined my movie
School vacation typically means a long week with lots of yelling, bickering and crying, and that's to say nothing about the way the kids act. This vacation has been totally different, it's been a real vacation. I haven't had a kid at home since Saturday night. They've been with their dad all week, spending quality time and such. At first Chris and I didn't know what do with ourselves. We cleaned, did the laundry,we rearranged cabinets, drawers, closets. We've vacuumed, dusted mopped and scrubbed. Monday we sat and watched tv until about 9:00 when we went to bed. Tuesday we watched more tv, and ate a pathetic peanut butter and fluff sandwich for dinner. Finally yesterday afternoon, we were like No kids? How often does this happen? It's really meant as a rhetorical question, but I'll go ahead and answer: Never. Ever. One of the kids is home at least part of the day every day, even on their dad's weekend to take them. So we stopped acting like senior citizens and went on a date. We hadn't been on a real date since Chris took me to Hooters like 4 years ago.
So he picked me up after work and took me to Olive Garden for dinner. Then we went to a movie, State of Play. The last movie I saw in theatres was Kung Foo Panda, so this was really a treat. We went all out, we had the $57 bucket of popcorn, a vat of Diet Coke and Scrooge McDuck even sprang for cookie dough bites. The movie was pretty good, it was one of those smart thrillers that you really better be paying attention to, or you'll miss the whole plot. It would've been better if Keith Olbermann hadn't ruined it. It had Ben Affleck, who played a Congressman involved in a scandal. I kept trying not to laugh at his dramatic scenes. He was all brow furrowed, enunciating words, getting all angry, just like he did on Saturday Night Live when he was parodying Keith Olbermann's Special Comment. Keith Olbermann is the host of Countdown on MSNBC, I like him a lot, and I watch him all the time, he's sometimes obnoxious, and Ben Affleck nailed it in the skit. Anyway, it was all I could do to not see that skit every time Ben Affleck's part of the story. It was really annoying, because there I am sitting in the theatre, the music gets louder, you know that it's going to be a part that is all dramatic and important. Yeah. Here's all I could see.
So thanks to Keith Olbermann my movie was totally ruined because I couldn't stop giggling. Well not totally ruined because I still had my chocolate covered cookie dough bites...
So he picked me up after work and took me to Olive Garden for dinner. Then we went to a movie, State of Play. The last movie I saw in theatres was Kung Foo Panda, so this was really a treat. We went all out, we had the $57 bucket of popcorn, a vat of Diet Coke and Scrooge McDuck even sprang for cookie dough bites. The movie was pretty good, it was one of those smart thrillers that you really better be paying attention to, or you'll miss the whole plot. It would've been better if Keith Olbermann hadn't ruined it. It had Ben Affleck, who played a Congressman involved in a scandal. I kept trying not to laugh at his dramatic scenes. He was all brow furrowed, enunciating words, getting all angry, just like he did on Saturday Night Live when he was parodying Keith Olbermann's Special Comment. Keith Olbermann is the host of Countdown on MSNBC, I like him a lot, and I watch him all the time, he's sometimes obnoxious, and Ben Affleck nailed it in the skit. Anyway, it was all I could do to not see that skit every time Ben Affleck's part of the story. It was really annoying, because there I am sitting in the theatre, the music gets louder, you know that it's going to be a part that is all dramatic and important. Yeah. Here's all I could see.
So thanks to Keith Olbermann my movie was totally ruined because I couldn't stop giggling. Well not totally ruined because I still had my chocolate covered cookie dough bites...
Kicked out of the Cardigan Club
Being the good mommy that I am, I volunteered to help on a fundraising committee for my kids' team. So this new fundraising committee had a meeting, where I met the other two members of the committee, who were part of the "I'm a Perfect Mommy and You're a Trashy Loser Club" aka the Cardigan Club. You know those moms that give you "the look" when your kid misbehaves? The moms that are the eternally suffering martyrs of the PTA (complaining about ALL the hard work they have to do, yet never have the sense to stop volunteering or let someone else have a turn)? Yeah, they were my fundraising committee. It was a little disheartening, because I think those kind of moms give moms everywhere a bad name, but because I want to be supportive of my kids, I sucked it up and played nice. After about 30 minutes of listening to how they're SO good at this kind of thing, and how during soccer they did such and such, and how they're they only 2 people on the planet capable of fundraising, they actually gave me a job. I was supposed to handle ordering t-shirts, collecting money from parents, etc. Easy enough right? I mean, I get paid to do logistical planning for Christ's sake, I think I can handle ordering some friggin t-shirts.
We "discussed" (and by discussed I mean they included me in emails in which they bickered back and forth in an effort for Ultimate Queen Bee Mommy Supremacy) for 2 weeks over what color the shirts should be. Yes, really. One of them said that black was just too "blah", and the other said that "white doesn't hide stains well", and "green is not my color". The argued about how much to charge. They argued about whether or not the logo should be outlined so it would "pop" more. On and on and on and fucking on. But I love my kids, so I resist the urge to bash their little blonde heads together. I continue asking for some decisions so I could finish this, I make about 73 variations of an order form, I mean, I put time and effort in to really try to do my part. I smile as they talk to me like I'm a backward redneck. I ignore the snotty comments and the backhanded compliments. After all, I'm a good mommy, right? And we're all just doing what we can to support our kids, right? So yesterday, I get an email that says essentially, Someone else is taking care of the t-shirts, butt out.I was like, eh what the fuck? So I wrote them all an email asking what was up, what happened, etc. So the reigning Queen Bee Mommy writes back and tells me that this should've been done last week and that I obviously don't understand how to do this, basically I'm just a big stupid loser so they had to "delegate" elsewhere. Speechless.
I don't know what I'm more irritated by: the fact that these two women, who stand for everything that I hate by the way, blew me off, or the fact that I care. Yeah, there are times that I wish that the Cardigan Club would pay attention when I talked. I wish that I could be a part of this elite clique of Mommies. I readily admit, I'm not a fancy pants mom. I don't send my kids to private school, I have tattoos and swear (although I never once swore around them, I even slipped in an "oh my GOSH!"). I don't even own a cardigan, let alone a pair of pleated khaki pants (their official uniform).
Anyway, I told them they could take their fundraising committee and their holier than thou attitude and shove it. Of course, thereby reinforcing their idea that I was not a worthy member of the Mommies for World Domination Club, but I was in fact an imposter, a smoking, swearing, jeans wearing, borderline psychotic mommy with questionable parenting skills. But hey, on the bright side, I'm pretty sure they won't be asking me to bake cookies for the bake sale.
We "discussed" (and by discussed I mean they included me in emails in which they bickered back and forth in an effort for Ultimate Queen Bee Mommy Supremacy) for 2 weeks over what color the shirts should be. Yes, really. One of them said that black was just too "blah", and the other said that "white doesn't hide stains well", and "green is not my color". The argued about how much to charge. They argued about whether or not the logo should be outlined so it would "pop" more. On and on and on and fucking on. But I love my kids, so I resist the urge to bash their little blonde heads together. I continue asking for some decisions so I could finish this, I make about 73 variations of an order form, I mean, I put time and effort in to really try to do my part. I smile as they talk to me like I'm a backward redneck. I ignore the snotty comments and the backhanded compliments. After all, I'm a good mommy, right? And we're all just doing what we can to support our kids, right? So yesterday, I get an email that says essentially, Someone else is taking care of the t-shirts, butt out.I was like, eh what the fuck? So I wrote them all an email asking what was up, what happened, etc. So the reigning Queen Bee Mommy writes back and tells me that this should've been done last week and that I obviously don't understand how to do this, basically I'm just a big stupid loser so they had to "delegate" elsewhere. Speechless.
I don't know what I'm more irritated by: the fact that these two women, who stand for everything that I hate by the way, blew me off, or the fact that I care. Yeah, there are times that I wish that the Cardigan Club would pay attention when I talked. I wish that I could be a part of this elite clique of Mommies. I readily admit, I'm not a fancy pants mom. I don't send my kids to private school, I have tattoos and swear (although I never once swore around them, I even slipped in an "oh my GOSH!"). I don't even own a cardigan, let alone a pair of pleated khaki pants (their official uniform).
Anyway, I told them they could take their fundraising committee and their holier than thou attitude and shove it. Of course, thereby reinforcing their idea that I was not a worthy member of the Mommies for World Domination Club, but I was in fact an imposter, a smoking, swearing, jeans wearing, borderline psychotic mommy with questionable parenting skills. But hey, on the bright side, I'm pretty sure they won't be asking me to bake cookies for the bake sale.
Feeling horny?
Did you know that you can grow horns? Yes, really. I read this article that said that the human body can grow horns, usually in response to a disease. The skin on the body grows thicker, and can eventually be the thickness of the butt of a rhinoceros or an elephant. One of the doctors in the article said, "The horn is a red flag". Red flag, huh? Yeah, if I was growing fucking horns, I think it's safe to consider that a red flag.
Here's the article if you're interested. If not, you can just marvel at my horniness.
Here's the article if you're interested. If not, you can just marvel at my horniness.
An open letter to studio execs
Dear Mr. Studio Executive,
I was reading my daily gossip today, and read that "Octomom" is thisclose to getting her own reality show. To which I say, What. The. Fuck. I know she's this woman who had octuplets, which is insane all by itself, and not at all her fault...except it was. She had in-vitro fertilization. Add those 8 kids to the 6 she already had, and you can call her Fourteenamom (if you use the name "Fourteenamom" for her show, you'll have to pay me the licensing fees, because I totally call dibs on that name). The woman has no job, and is totally reliant on government assistance to care for these 14 children. Don't misunderstand, I have nothing against government assistance for people who need it. I have a problem with a woman with no job and 6 kids paying thousands of dollars for in-vitro fertilization to have another 8 kids. But I digress. This woman gets a reality show? This is what's wrong with America. You have to be at the height of irresponsibility to get a reality show (Rod Blagojevic, the loser/Going to jail for selling Obama's senate seat/Ex-governor of Illinois is getting one, as is Michael Vick, dog fighter extraordinaire/former NFL quarterback is also said to be getting one). Well let me tell you Mr. Studio Executive, I'm MORE than qualified to have a reality show.
I have 2 kids, which I am completely unqualified to raise and I'm totally irresponsible. I let my kids run with scissors and paint on the walls as a form of self expression. I have a part-time job at Hooters, where I bring my kids everyday after because I'm too cheap to send them to daycare and the because they have the best wings. My life's goal is to be a singer/dancer/ninja and I work tirelessly on my career (I'll give you full access to all of my training sessions, except the ninja training, because then I'd have to kill you). My live in Manny (man nanny) is drop dead gorgeous and the sexual tension between us is palpable (you could use this for a "will they or won't they" moment during sweeps week). I have two little dogs that are cute and bark too much (a staple for any good reality show). My husband sucks at fixing things and home improvement projects usually end in a call to the fire department. As I'm sure you can see, we're fantastic candidates for a reality show.
I look forward to hearing from you and working for your network.
Merritt
P.S. I'd like a Thursday night time slot. Preferably in the 10:00 hour so I can swear more.
P.P.S. None of what I said about my family is true.Except the part about my husband setting things on fire, that's true. Give me a show anyway.
I was reading my daily gossip today, and read that "Octomom" is thisclose to getting her own reality show. To which I say, What. The. Fuck. I know she's this woman who had octuplets, which is insane all by itself, and not at all her fault...except it was. She had in-vitro fertilization. Add those 8 kids to the 6 she already had, and you can call her Fourteenamom (if you use the name "Fourteenamom" for her show, you'll have to pay me the licensing fees, because I totally call dibs on that name). The woman has no job, and is totally reliant on government assistance to care for these 14 children. Don't misunderstand, I have nothing against government assistance for people who need it. I have a problem with a woman with no job and 6 kids paying thousands of dollars for in-vitro fertilization to have another 8 kids. But I digress. This woman gets a reality show? This is what's wrong with America. You have to be at the height of irresponsibility to get a reality show (Rod Blagojevic, the loser/Going to jail for selling Obama's senate seat/Ex-governor of Illinois is getting one, as is Michael Vick, dog fighter extraordinaire/former NFL quarterback is also said to be getting one). Well let me tell you Mr. Studio Executive, I'm MORE than qualified to have a reality show.
I have 2 kids, which I am completely unqualified to raise and I'm totally irresponsible. I let my kids run with scissors and paint on the walls as a form of self expression. I have a part-time job at Hooters, where I bring my kids everyday after because I'm too cheap to send them to daycare and the because they have the best wings. My life's goal is to be a singer/dancer/ninja and I work tirelessly on my career (I'll give you full access to all of my training sessions, except the ninja training, because then I'd have to kill you). My live in Manny (man nanny) is drop dead gorgeous and the sexual tension between us is palpable (you could use this for a "will they or won't they" moment during sweeps week). I have two little dogs that are cute and bark too much (a staple for any good reality show). My husband sucks at fixing things and home improvement projects usually end in a call to the fire department. As I'm sure you can see, we're fantastic candidates for a reality show.
I look forward to hearing from you and working for your network.
Merritt
P.S. I'd like a Thursday night time slot. Preferably in the 10:00 hour so I can swear more.
P.P.S. None of what I said about my family is true.Except the part about my husband setting things on fire, that's true. Give me a show anyway.
I'm a junkie and eBay is my enabler
This weekend I cleaned out my closet, and took out 3 huge garbage bags of clothes. It was pretty amazing. I don't know how or why I have so many clothes and can never find anything to wear, but I digress. I had originally planned on selling my goodies in a yard sale, when mom suggested I sell it on eBay instead. I wasn't ready to sift through all the bags, but figured it was an idea worth trying, so I experimented with a couple of purses and the kids' old jackets. This morning I sold Davey's old North Face fleece for $45! This eBay thing is awesome. I've only ever bought on eBay, I've never sold. It makes perfect sense though, because there's a market for everything, especially name brands. Since I've been watching my stuff on eBay, I decided I'd do a little shopping myself. I mean, if I'm making all this room in my closet, I might as well fill it with some new stuff, right? Chris thinks this a deeply flawed argument, but it's my stuff, so he doesn't get a vote. So I'm thinking it's time for a new bag. I'm selling my Juicy Couture bag, which should bring in a pretty big chunk of change, so that will at least offset the cost of a new bag. I could put it in the bank, but bank schmank, we're talking bags here. Anyway, I've settled on a gorgeous Michael Kors bag (can you go wrong with a Kors? I think not).
So all this shopping and selling really got me thinking, and I've realized, I'm a total fashion junkie. Even a label whore.For instance, I was snickering at a pair of Coach sneakers, at the utter ridiculousness of someone choosing to being so branded...until I found a pair in my size that I absolutely love. Or making fun of gladiator sandals earlier today because they're so stupid looking...until I found the Christian Dior Gladiator Extreme sandals.
You may recognize them from the Sex and the City movie. Carrie wore them several times. But now Icould wear them...if I had $879. Which really is a bargain since they retailed for like $945. True, I'd probably fall on my face and break my ankle. And yes, I may garner some strange looks from the other moms at David's lacrosse games, but man, I love them. And this my problem. I hate them at first, and then when I find a designer that I like who makes them, I'm all oooohhhhh. I want those. Like I said, total label whore.
The saddest part is, no one around here even knows the damn difference. I carried my Juicy Couture bag all last summer, and while I got tons of compliments, the majority of them were something along the lines of, "Cute bag. Juicy Couture, didja get that Wal-Mart?" Eh. No, didn't buy it at Wal-Mart. These of course are the same people who walk around with their fake Dolce and Gabbana or Chanel bags that they bought at a purse party and try to pass if off as real. You want me to believe you have a real Dolce and Gabbana bag, but you think you buy Juicy Couture at Wal-Mart? Please. If you're going to be a label whore, at least admit it. I have a friend who has a fake Louis Vuitton bag, she affectionately calls it "Fouis" (pronounced "fooey", for "fake Louis"). No shame in faking it, just don't pretend that it's real.
But I've digressed. I'm headed back to eBay to check more of my auctions and to see if I can get the Christian Dior Gladiator sandals lady to lower her price about $800....
So all this shopping and selling really got me thinking, and I've realized, I'm a total fashion junkie. Even a label whore.For instance, I was snickering at a pair of Coach sneakers, at the utter ridiculousness of someone choosing to being so branded...until I found a pair in my size that I absolutely love. Or making fun of gladiator sandals earlier today because they're so stupid looking...until I found the Christian Dior Gladiator Extreme sandals.
You may recognize them from the Sex and the City movie. Carrie wore them several times. But now Icould wear them...if I had $879. Which really is a bargain since they retailed for like $945. True, I'd probably fall on my face and break my ankle. And yes, I may garner some strange looks from the other moms at David's lacrosse games, but man, I love them. And this my problem. I hate them at first, and then when I find a designer that I like who makes them, I'm all oooohhhhh. I want those. Like I said, total label whore.The saddest part is, no one around here even knows the damn difference. I carried my Juicy Couture bag all last summer, and while I got tons of compliments, the majority of them were something along the lines of, "Cute bag. Juicy Couture, didja get that Wal-Mart?" Eh. No, didn't buy it at Wal-Mart. These of course are the same people who walk around with their fake Dolce and Gabbana or Chanel bags that they bought at a purse party and try to pass if off as real. You want me to believe you have a real Dolce and Gabbana bag, but you think you buy Juicy Couture at Wal-Mart? Please. If you're going to be a label whore, at least admit it. I have a friend who has a fake Louis Vuitton bag, she affectionately calls it "Fouis" (pronounced "fooey", for "fake Louis"). No shame in faking it, just don't pretend that it's real.
But I've digressed. I'm headed back to eBay to check more of my auctions and to see if I can get the Christian Dior Gladiator sandals lady to lower her price about $800....
Just like a brontosaurus
I had a couple of really good ideas for posts for today...but I forgot them. I'm completely exhausted and apparently I've developed amnesia, or my brain is just broken. Hard to tell. Could have something to do with the fact that I got literally 2 hours of sleep last night. I've been a funk lately, the whole economy thing finally hit my job. We got news that the there was a good possibility that 45 positions (including mine) would be eliminated. Fortunately, that isn't going to happen, but I didn't find that out until this morning at about 6 a.m. (BIG sigh of relief). Ever since I heard that, I could lose my job, I've been kinda moping around, just not myself at all. Not sleeping really well, being all zoned out, just all depressed-like. So last night, I said to Chris, so I think I know what my problem is.
Chris: Oh yeah? What's that?
Me: I think I'm depressed.
Chris: Well, don't take this the wrong way, but you've kind of reminded me of a brontosaurus, all moping around with no place to go.
Me: Did you just call me a brontosaurus? What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Are you saying I'm fat like a fucking DINOSAUR?
Chris: No, no. Not at all. You know how a brontosaurus just kinda lumbers around aimlessly?
He then shows me how a brontosaurus "lumbers around aimlessly". Walking around the kitchen like arms and legs don't bend with this ridiculous big-eyed sad face. Wow. I was speechless. Did my husband seriously just call me a fucking brontosaurus? Nice. I "lumber around aimlessly"? Yeah, let's see if I can imitate any other dinosaurs. Maybe a raptor or something so I can rip your head off if you ever say anything so retarded again. So I kind of brushed it off (the imitation was kinda funny) and we went to bed. I start trying to talk to him, I'm feeling that maybe I have been in funk, and maybe just need to get it off my chest. I'm being totally open and vulnerable, baring my soul, when all of a sudden I hear a familiar sound...snoring. Yes folks, my wonderful and adoring husband fell asleep while I was talking. A minor faux-pas (which he was still very sorry for at 3:30 this morning when I finally decided he was sorry enough for being insensitive and could go to sleep to get ready for work at 5:30), no?
So apparently if you have husband who will compare you to a brontasaurus or fall asleep while you're talking, screw baring your soul and discussing feelings. Pout and tell him jewelry will make you feel better. Granted you run the risk of not having ample guilt ammo stored up (I have tons and tons), but you also won't be called a fucking dinosaur.
Chris: Oh yeah? What's that?
Me: I think I'm depressed.
Chris: Well, don't take this the wrong way, but you've kind of reminded me of a brontosaurus, all moping around with no place to go.
Me: Did you just call me a brontosaurus? What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Are you saying I'm fat like a fucking DINOSAUR?
Chris: No, no. Not at all. You know how a brontosaurus just kinda lumbers around aimlessly?
He then shows me how a brontosaurus "lumbers around aimlessly". Walking around the kitchen like arms and legs don't bend with this ridiculous big-eyed sad face. Wow. I was speechless. Did my husband seriously just call me a fucking brontosaurus? Nice. I "lumber around aimlessly"? Yeah, let's see if I can imitate any other dinosaurs. Maybe a raptor or something so I can rip your head off if you ever say anything so retarded again. So I kind of brushed it off (the imitation was kinda funny) and we went to bed. I start trying to talk to him, I'm feeling that maybe I have been in funk, and maybe just need to get it off my chest. I'm being totally open and vulnerable, baring my soul, when all of a sudden I hear a familiar sound...snoring. Yes folks, my wonderful and adoring husband fell asleep while I was talking. A minor faux-pas (which he was still very sorry for at 3:30 this morning when I finally decided he was sorry enough for being insensitive and could go to sleep to get ready for work at 5:30), no?
So apparently if you have husband who will compare you to a brontasaurus or fall asleep while you're talking, screw baring your soul and discussing feelings. Pout and tell him jewelry will make you feel better. Granted you run the risk of not having ample guilt ammo stored up (I have tons and tons), but you also won't be called a fucking dinosaur.
