So my sister sent me a text Monday and I've been crackin' up over it all week. It came through as I was leaving my office for the day. Struggling into my coat while trying to hold on to my umbrella and balance my Dooney on my left arm and my lunch sack in my right hand.
Hell no, I'm not putting any of it down! Do you know how long it takes to grab that shit up?
I'm heading out the door, and cursing the day I've had, when I hear my cell. Normally I would ignore it, but for whatever reason, I shifted the umbrella to my left hand, swung my Dooney off my shoulder and to the crook of my arm and reached into the front pocket for my cell.
1 New Message: Gina
IT'S FROM MY SISTER!! WHOOP! WHOOP!
Gina always brings a smile to my face and instantly makes me hate people less. It's her Free Spirit, Mother Earth vibe. I make fun of it and yet it's soothing.
Like tea!
Mondays, for me, are hell. I am in court all day; I rarely get a break and I'm always surrounded by idiots. When I took this job 8 months ago, I had high hopes of whipping this docket into shape. It was out of control & there was no sign of anyone being in charge. Enter The Snarky Brunette. In her 4 inch heels and super big hair. Able to bark orders at attorneys in a single breath! With stealth like precision she has the ability to organize wayward attorneys (much like herding cats!) into single file rows. She has the technology. She can re-build this docket.
(If you are hearing the theme from the Bionic Woman....that is sooooooo totally what I was aiming for!)
Did she re-build the docket?
Ummmmm, not so much.
The defense attorneys now know to check in with me if they want to get out of court in a timely manner. I did manage to convince them that I do hold the key to their freedom. We are still working on the whole When I say we do not have time for sentencings, WE DO NOT HAVE TIME FOR SENTENCINGS! issue. And my Judge still drives me insane with his asking of my opinion; promptly setting aside my opinion; and proceeding to critique my opinion. He's also fond of arguing my own words back to me and telling me he's pretty sure we are in agreement.
WHAT?
For the most part, I have an abundance of ideas on how to streamline and improve this court and no one wants to listen to me. Or, they listen and then promptly do the opposite. And then when the outcome is as shitty as I SAID IT WOULD BE, they want to know why I didn't say anything beforehand.
BANG HEAD HERE!
So. I hate Mondays. I'm always incredibly wound up by the end of the day; incredibly frustrated; and the sheer number of stupid people I have to deal with never ceases to amaze me. Tk pulled me aside two weeks ago and gave me a seriously stern talking to.....all about my job is not worth my health and I've got to stop taking every set back as my own personal failure and everyone knows I'm the best thing that happened to this docket so stop trying to hold it all together for everyone and let them all fall on their faces.
Snarky: Wait.....you mean give up control?
Tk: Yes.
Snarky: But I love control!
Tk: I know you do, Babe..... and that's your problem.
Snarky: But I'm not sure I know how to give up control.....?
Tk: Let's role play. I'm the Judge and I say we're going to set 4 files for sentencing in a 15 minute slot, right before a jury trial at 9a. Now what do you say?
Snarky: I say: Hell no, you're not setting 4 files for sentencing before a jury trial! You can't even do a 1 file sentencing in 15 minutes!!
(Insert Tk crossing her arms and looking down at me whilst shaking her head no.....)
Snarky: What? What do I say?!
Tk: You say: If that's what you'd like to do, Your Honor. And then set the goddamn files for sentencing!
OY! Now I hate Mondays even more than usual! Do you know how hard it is to just sit there and let the village idiots run amok?
So hard.
Every Monday Tk meets me in the hall before Court and gives me her little pep talk reminder. It's actually kinda funny now.....
Tk: Ok, Sister...... who are you?
Snarky: I'm a professional!
Tk: And what are you gonna do?
Snarky: I'm going to sit in my chair and smile and agree with everyone!
Tk: Good girl! What do we say?
Snarky: Yes, Sir!
Tk: And?
Snarky: Super!
Tk: And?
Snarky: Whatever you'd like to do!
And then we high five and dissolve into a fit of giggles.
KB even sends me little reminder emails on Mondays now. Perky little emails like: Chin up, Sweet Pea....don't forget to smile! You are the master of the doe eyed, tilt your head, Mmmmm Hmmmmm look!
I always start off strong but by the end of the day, I'm worn thin. I think I managed to only correct someone once this week. And I'm pretty sure I didn't blurt out "Noooooooooooooo" at all. Sigh................. I hate Mondays. Now matter how hard I try, I always walk away feeling like I've stepped in a big pile of crap.
But then I got Gina's text. With a smile on my face, I slide my cell open to read it.
"Me: why did u run thru the backyard after i asked you not to?
Jack: cuz i wanted 2 surprise u with dog poop on my shoe!"
I burst out laughing..... laughing so hard, no sound was coming out of my mouth! I had to sit down on the bench outside my office door because I was afraid I'd fall over from laughing so hard! That and my Dooney shifted and totally knocked me off balance!
I was on the bench for at least a minute.....my laughter slowly dissolving away. I had to wipe tears from my eyes; I had laughed that hard. When I'd finally composed myself, I replied:
Jack is the perfect ending to my shitty day! :)
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Friday, October 22, 2010
Served
Bored with my usual cocktails, I took to the Bible last night to find a new refreshment.
The Bartender's Bible.
Please.....my hypocrisy has limits.......
The Bartender's Bible was a gift from my father on my 21st birthday. It's inscribed with a love note from my Daddy & has his favorite recipe written by his own hand on the inside cover. "The Perfect Margarita".
Hell no, I'm not sharing. Hello?
I am a bartender's daughter. My father held many jobs throughout my formative years, but the one he always kept coming back to was bartending. I have vivid memories of being smuggled behind the bar so he could finalize the shift schedule or meet with distributors or divide the tips from the night before. He bartended for the biggest bar in the town I grew up in. His clientele ran the spectrum from Judges to criminals. And according to my Daddy, sometimes they sat right next one another at the bar!
My father has some amazing stories from his time behind the bar. My favorite being when he caught the Phantom Pisser. This story requires a blog of its own..... but I bet you get the gist.
My father had a few Cardinal Rules when it came to "pouring". The first being, that you actually POUR the fkn drink. His distaste for "automated bartending" (meaning everything is measured through a gun) has been passed on to me. This is not bartending. It's pressing a fkn button and is so not impressive. His second rule was "deliver the cocktail in a timely manner". This rule is directly related to the movie "Cocktail". My Daddy could mix and pour three separate cocktails while blindfolded and send all three drinks down the length of the bar without spilling a drop. So please, dispense with the tossing of bottles behind your back and throwing shakers to one another. Only stupid people find this remotely entertaining. The majority of patrons in the bar JUST WANT THEIR GODDAMN DRINK. NOW! The third rule, and probably the most crucial, and could therefore be argued as the number 1 rule, is:
DO NOT TAP THE BAR TO SIGNAL THE BARTENDER.
Why?
1. YOU are not more important than the bartender himself.
2. While I'm serving you, I am not your servant.
3. Because if you do, your ass just became last.
I love the fact that I was raised by a bartender. It has served me well in a crowded bar when surrounded by idiots and bimbos. Case in point: when I celebrated my 4oth in Vegas with my girls, LoLo and I were the last two standing on one of our first nights in town. She and I were standing in line at the bar of Studio 54 in the MGM. We were given free drink passes (cuz we're so pretty!) and LoLo was determined to get every ounce of Vodka coming to her! It was my turn to pay, so I'm waiting in line and behind a Yuppified Douche Bag who is ordering 4 cocktails. Talking about substitute this and do you know how to that....and the bartender is getting all sorts of irritated with this idiot. He keeps looking at me like he needs a mercy killing. I've had a couple and my patience is thin; and I've got LoLo off my shoulder all sorts of wound up over HOW FKN LONG DOES IT TAKE TO ORDER A DRINK? Douche Bag finishes his order and steps off to the side. I sidle up with a smirk plastered alllllllllllllllllllllll over my face. He says: Whaddaya want, Doll? I deadpan: I'd like for that fkn guy to get his ass kicked. The bartender smiles wide. I say: Vodka tonic. Two. And my man behind the bar proceeds to pour me DOUBLES.
That's what I'm talking about!
And, he poured my doubles BEFORE he poured Douche Bag's.
Respect the bartender, People.
And reap the rewards.
You're welcome.
So.
Bored with my cocktail stand-bys, I consulted my Bible last night and was rewarded.
Behold! The Brazen Hussy:
Equal parts vodka & triple sec. 1/2 oz lemon juice. Shake and pour over ice.
A few thoughts from the Snarky Brunette:
1. I don't much care for sweet drinks, so I've modified:
2 oz Vodka
1 1/4 oz Triple Sec
1/2 oz lemon juice. Shake that cocktail til your shaker has a nice ice crust. Serve over ice. YUMMIFIED.
2. The name itself sold me. I'd have tried it even if it wasn't vodka!
3. I've got a full house tomorrow; celebrating my sister's birthday. My house is still a disaster. I should totally be cleaning it like a good Type A, Slightly OCD brunette would..........
Instead, I'm off to pour my third Brazen Hussy and fire orders at my children from my favorite chair.
Shameful.
The Bartender's Bible.
Please.....my hypocrisy has limits.......
The Bartender's Bible was a gift from my father on my 21st birthday. It's inscribed with a love note from my Daddy & has his favorite recipe written by his own hand on the inside cover. "The Perfect Margarita".
Hell no, I'm not sharing. Hello?
I am a bartender's daughter. My father held many jobs throughout my formative years, but the one he always kept coming back to was bartending. I have vivid memories of being smuggled behind the bar so he could finalize the shift schedule or meet with distributors or divide the tips from the night before. He bartended for the biggest bar in the town I grew up in. His clientele ran the spectrum from Judges to criminals. And according to my Daddy, sometimes they sat right next one another at the bar!
My father has some amazing stories from his time behind the bar. My favorite being when he caught the Phantom Pisser. This story requires a blog of its own..... but I bet you get the gist.
My father had a few Cardinal Rules when it came to "pouring". The first being, that you actually POUR the fkn drink. His distaste for "automated bartending" (meaning everything is measured through a gun) has been passed on to me. This is not bartending. It's pressing a fkn button and is so not impressive. His second rule was "deliver the cocktail in a timely manner". This rule is directly related to the movie "Cocktail". My Daddy could mix and pour three separate cocktails while blindfolded and send all three drinks down the length of the bar without spilling a drop. So please, dispense with the tossing of bottles behind your back and throwing shakers to one another. Only stupid people find this remotely entertaining. The majority of patrons in the bar JUST WANT THEIR GODDAMN DRINK. NOW! The third rule, and probably the most crucial, and could therefore be argued as the number 1 rule, is:
DO NOT TAP THE BAR TO SIGNAL THE BARTENDER.
Why?
1. YOU are not more important than the bartender himself.
2. While I'm serving you, I am not your servant.
3. Because if you do, your ass just became last.
I love the fact that I was raised by a bartender. It has served me well in a crowded bar when surrounded by idiots and bimbos. Case in point: when I celebrated my 4oth in Vegas with my girls, LoLo and I were the last two standing on one of our first nights in town. She and I were standing in line at the bar of Studio 54 in the MGM. We were given free drink passes (cuz we're so pretty!) and LoLo was determined to get every ounce of Vodka coming to her! It was my turn to pay, so I'm waiting in line and behind a Yuppified Douche Bag who is ordering 4 cocktails. Talking about substitute this and do you know how to that....and the bartender is getting all sorts of irritated with this idiot. He keeps looking at me like he needs a mercy killing. I've had a couple and my patience is thin; and I've got LoLo off my shoulder all sorts of wound up over HOW FKN LONG DOES IT TAKE TO ORDER A DRINK? Douche Bag finishes his order and steps off to the side. I sidle up with a smirk plastered alllllllllllllllllllllll over my face. He says: Whaddaya want, Doll? I deadpan: I'd like for that fkn guy to get his ass kicked. The bartender smiles wide. I say: Vodka tonic. Two. And my man behind the bar proceeds to pour me DOUBLES.
That's what I'm talking about!
And, he poured my doubles BEFORE he poured Douche Bag's.
Respect the bartender, People.
And reap the rewards.
You're welcome.
So.
Bored with my cocktail stand-bys, I consulted my Bible last night and was rewarded.
Behold! The Brazen Hussy:
Equal parts vodka & triple sec. 1/2 oz lemon juice. Shake and pour over ice.
A few thoughts from the Snarky Brunette:
1. I don't much care for sweet drinks, so I've modified:
2 oz Vodka
1 1/4 oz Triple Sec
1/2 oz lemon juice. Shake that cocktail til your shaker has a nice ice crust. Serve over ice. YUMMIFIED.
2. The name itself sold me. I'd have tried it even if it wasn't vodka!
3. I've got a full house tomorrow; celebrating my sister's birthday. My house is still a disaster. I should totally be cleaning it like a good Type A, Slightly OCD brunette would..........
Instead, I'm off to pour my third Brazen Hussy and fire orders at my children from my favorite chair.
Shameful.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
My Life As Seen Through Barf
Here's what I know:
It's been so long since my last post, my blog is covered in cobwebs.
All of you whiners who keep pestering me about this, to you I say: Hello? How sweet is my timing since Halloween is just around the corner and cobwebs are the perfect decoration?!
My house is a disaster. Seriously. If the Department of Human Services were to make an unannounced "knock & talk", my shit would be weak. They'd wanna place my kids in foster care and cite me for child neglect.
To which I'd be all: Pfffffffffffffffffffffffft! People please. I just spent the better part of four FKNG days scouring the bedrooms of my children. Sure, my house as a whole looks like a twister blew up in it; all sorts of hap-hazard and shit, but you could eat off their bedroom floors and see your reflection in their windows!
Perhaps this week I'll get to the rest of my house......?
So I was home the later part of the week, caring for sick Monsters. I'm not sure which is worse: two Monsters sick at the same time or one falling first with the other falling immediately after?!
I can tell you that their Barf Fest is what kicked my Psychotic Cleaning Frenzy into overdrive....because if you're going to wash all the fkn bedding in the room, why not just wipe down walls and wash baseboards and windows too? And if you do it for one Monster, hell yes you're gonna do it for the other. Exactly 24 hours later.
OY.
I'm hoping my PCF carries into this week and into every room of my house. Because Sweet Jesus, every room in this house needs a deep clean. And please, don't tsk! tsk! at me, People.....hiring a cleaning agency is not within my confines as a Type A, Slightly OCD brunette. I'd spend just as much time cleaning before the cleaning people came as I would if I'd just do the shit myself......so, Hello?
Rubber gloves and hot, soapy bleach water are now my new BFF's!
But if I sound like I'm bitching (shut up, Lynda!), let me be clear: so am not bitching. As I just told Mark a few minutes ago: the last 4 days have been extremely stressful what with caring for sick Monsters and firing orders about, "Samuel, please.............. one does not need a broken pencil sharpener just because it has Optimus Prime on it. THROW IT AWAY!"; and just generally letting myself go in order to accomplish the task at hand (my hair hasn't seen shampoo in three days....... shameful. I feel dirty!). But I've loved every minute of it. Being at home reminded me what I used to have before I went back to work full time: TIME. Time spent reading with my kids in my bed; time spent playing cards and getting my ass KICKED by my son in a game of Checkers. Time for all of us to take a nap together. I took all of that for granted when I was home; and now that I'm not home, I miss it the most.
Even the board game ass kicking!
So, my house is a disaster. I'm tired as hell. And I've got mountains of laundry left to do. But this long weekend has been a slice of heaven. Quality time with my kids (barf and all!) during the day, and leisurely evenings with Marky at night.
Who, by the way, has taken up the guitar. I believe it's every woman's dream to be serenaded at night with a little pong, pang! pong, pang! pong, pang!
Don't hate me cuz I've got it so damn good......!
It's been so long since my last post, my blog is covered in cobwebs.
All of you whiners who keep pestering me about this, to you I say: Hello? How sweet is my timing since Halloween is just around the corner and cobwebs are the perfect decoration?!
My house is a disaster. Seriously. If the Department of Human Services were to make an unannounced "knock & talk", my shit would be weak. They'd wanna place my kids in foster care and cite me for child neglect.
To which I'd be all: Pfffffffffffffffffffffffft! People please. I just spent the better part of four FKNG days scouring the bedrooms of my children. Sure, my house as a whole looks like a twister blew up in it; all sorts of hap-hazard and shit, but you could eat off their bedroom floors and see your reflection in their windows!
Perhaps this week I'll get to the rest of my house......?
So I was home the later part of the week, caring for sick Monsters. I'm not sure which is worse: two Monsters sick at the same time or one falling first with the other falling immediately after?!
I can tell you that their Barf Fest is what kicked my Psychotic Cleaning Frenzy into overdrive....because if you're going to wash all the fkn bedding in the room, why not just wipe down walls and wash baseboards and windows too? And if you do it for one Monster, hell yes you're gonna do it for the other. Exactly 24 hours later.
OY.
I'm hoping my PCF carries into this week and into every room of my house. Because Sweet Jesus, every room in this house needs a deep clean. And please, don't tsk! tsk! at me, People.....hiring a cleaning agency is not within my confines as a Type A, Slightly OCD brunette. I'd spend just as much time cleaning before the cleaning people came as I would if I'd just do the shit myself......so, Hello?
Rubber gloves and hot, soapy bleach water are now my new BFF's!
But if I sound like I'm bitching (shut up, Lynda!), let me be clear: so am not bitching. As I just told Mark a few minutes ago: the last 4 days have been extremely stressful what with caring for sick Monsters and firing orders about, "Samuel, please.............. one does not need a broken pencil sharpener just because it has Optimus Prime on it. THROW IT AWAY!"; and just generally letting myself go in order to accomplish the task at hand (my hair hasn't seen shampoo in three days....... shameful. I feel dirty!). But I've loved every minute of it. Being at home reminded me what I used to have before I went back to work full time: TIME. Time spent reading with my kids in my bed; time spent playing cards and getting my ass KICKED by my son in a game of Checkers. Time for all of us to take a nap together. I took all of that for granted when I was home; and now that I'm not home, I miss it the most.
Even the board game ass kicking!
So, my house is a disaster. I'm tired as hell. And I've got mountains of laundry left to do. But this long weekend has been a slice of heaven. Quality time with my kids (barf and all!) during the day, and leisurely evenings with Marky at night.
Who, by the way, has taken up the guitar. I believe it's every woman's dream to be serenaded at night with a little pong, pang! pong, pang! pong, pang!
Don't hate me cuz I've got it so damn good......!
Thursday, August 19, 2010
It's Been A Looooooong Day.
My drunk is wearing off.......
I totally blame KB.
To tell the truth, she's to blame for my drunk in the first place.
She texted me earlier today informing me that she was at a water park with her kids; she hated people and newsflash to Big Daddy- she would so be drinking tonight!
My response: We shud have IM cocktail hour!
Our date was set for 6:30 p.m. BoHo time.
Because my sister has now taken it upon herself to find my wee dog for me, I was already on line at 6:15 p.m. (BoHo time) looking at a Papillon Gina had sent me from a Craig's List post. KB had sent me an email at 5:03 p.m. asking me if I was ready.
My response: What part of 6:30 your time do you not understand....Drunk?
And we were off! She with a bottle of wine; me with a stiff Salty Dog.
First up: Kristin taking me to task for my non-obsession with blogging.
It's hard, I whined. And I was about to launch a full scale assault on just how hard it was for me to be witty & clever and have something meaningful to say 24/7, when it became apparent that Kristin had already moved on.
KB: this will piss you off- Big Daddy has lost 8 lbs in 2 wks!
Snarky Brunette: Are you fkn kidding me? Men......... Marky can lose 10 lbs in a week if he cuts sugar and booze from his diet. Who the fk wants to do that?
Which brought us into a discussion of our current & respective weights. Apparently, as long as KB's bra still fits-her number doesn't worry her. My number, on the other hand, is beyond tragic. I've finally reached the number I said I'd never go back to. I have not been this heavy in 6 years.
And I have only myself to blame.
(Myself and vodka.......)
I am: Jabba the Hutt.
(Two "T's". It's shameful that I know that.....)
And since I'm flying to BoHo next week to see KB, I informed her that she is forbidden from gasping in horror when she meets me at the plane....."I'm fragile", I said.
I'm flying to BoHo because it's Kristin's 6th annual Martini Madness party. She hosts an all-girl cocktail party that features signature Martinis that she (and sometimes WE!) discover through out the year. This year's theme: Saddle Up! for Martini Madness.
Cowboys.
Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee Haw!
We segued from my weight (which she totally glossed over) to Martini Madness and what we were wearing. Kristin is going Daisy Duke style (a look she perfected last year in Vegas. We spent many, many hours on-line and texting to pull off her look for the UNLV v. Boise State football game): short, shorts with her black cowboy boots & her newly acquired, "girl huggin" (read: shows boobies off nicely!), Western lookin, smock.
My response: In my head, I'm going for Rodeo Bunny or Country Bar Chic- Black Stetson over my big, massive wave of curls; wide legged jeans with the biggest belt & buckle I can find; beat up cowboy boots & a black Wife Beater, layered over a white one. I hope I'm not too fat to pull this off.......
Again, she totally glosses this over and launches into a recap of her awful water park adventures today and her son's new BFF which has potentially created a new friend for her: BFF's mom. And she'll be at Martini Madness and I'll get to meet her and blah blah blah and I interrupt her IM to yell:
"HEY! DID YOU MISS THE PART ABOUT ME BEING FRAGILE AND I AM, QUITE POSSIBLY, TURNING INTO ONE OF THOSE 'SUCH A PRETTY FACE GIRLS'???"
Kristin's response: I caught the fragile, Babe. And I still love ya.
And that, right there, is why I love KB. She allows me to drown in my pity parties for only so long. My fingers poised over my lap tap, I briefly considered telling her how fabulous she is and how much I love her....... but I opted to go with:
Yeah! A new friend for you....... don't fk it up with you second guessing yourself!
Is there anything more warm and fuzzy than two Girlfriends who love one another?
We were on-line for almost 90 minutes. KB consumed a bottle and a half of wine; I was pouring my 4th Salty Dog when we ended. We covered topics that ranged from wee dogs (who names a male Pomeranian "Honey"?) to Men (they are idiots) to Children (ingrates) to Facebook.
FACEBOOK?
Kristin wanted to know my thoughts on this topic, given that her children are just minutes away from asking "can we"? Should she get some exposure under her belt before her kids become a part of it?
My response went something like this:
FaceBook is the DEVIL! No no no no!!!! I cannot express to you how much I looooooooooathe FB! Ok, it's the concept of FB I loathe. "Join and reconnect!" Pfffffffffft! Who the fk wants to reconnect with high school people you hated 20 years ago? It's ridiculous...... I will make fun of you if you join. Lynda & Gina regularly tag team me under the guise of "you could reach a wider audience for your blog if you had a Facebook page." No. Fkn. Way. I do not want idiots "friending" me.......it would do nothing but force me to deny them my friendship and I'd look like an even bigger bitch than I already am!
KB: So I just get my kids' passwords & ID's.......glad we're on the same page.
Do you people see why Kristin & I are friends?
I totally blame KB.
To tell the truth, she's to blame for my drunk in the first place.
She texted me earlier today informing me that she was at a water park with her kids; she hated people and newsflash to Big Daddy- she would so be drinking tonight!
My response: We shud have IM cocktail hour!
Our date was set for 6:30 p.m. BoHo time.
Because my sister has now taken it upon herself to find my wee dog for me, I was already on line at 6:15 p.m. (BoHo time) looking at a Papillon Gina had sent me from a Craig's List post. KB had sent me an email at 5:03 p.m. asking me if I was ready.
My response: What part of 6:30 your time do you not understand....Drunk?
And we were off! She with a bottle of wine; me with a stiff Salty Dog.
First up: Kristin taking me to task for my non-obsession with blogging.
It's hard, I whined. And I was about to launch a full scale assault on just how hard it was for me to be witty & clever and have something meaningful to say 24/7, when it became apparent that Kristin had already moved on.
KB: this will piss you off- Big Daddy has lost 8 lbs in 2 wks!
Snarky Brunette: Are you fkn kidding me? Men......... Marky can lose 10 lbs in a week if he cuts sugar and booze from his diet. Who the fk wants to do that?
Which brought us into a discussion of our current & respective weights. Apparently, as long as KB's bra still fits-her number doesn't worry her. My number, on the other hand, is beyond tragic. I've finally reached the number I said I'd never go back to. I have not been this heavy in 6 years.
And I have only myself to blame.
(Myself and vodka.......)
I am: Jabba the Hutt.
(Two "T's". It's shameful that I know that.....)
And since I'm flying to BoHo next week to see KB, I informed her that she is forbidden from gasping in horror when she meets me at the plane....."I'm fragile", I said.
I'm flying to BoHo because it's Kristin's 6th annual Martini Madness party. She hosts an all-girl cocktail party that features signature Martinis that she (and sometimes WE!) discover through out the year. This year's theme: Saddle Up! for Martini Madness.
Cowboys.
Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee Haw!
We segued from my weight (which she totally glossed over) to Martini Madness and what we were wearing. Kristin is going Daisy Duke style (a look she perfected last year in Vegas. We spent many, many hours on-line and texting to pull off her look for the UNLV v. Boise State football game): short, shorts with her black cowboy boots & her newly acquired, "girl huggin" (read: shows boobies off nicely!), Western lookin, smock.
My response: In my head, I'm going for Rodeo Bunny or Country Bar Chic- Black Stetson over my big, massive wave of curls; wide legged jeans with the biggest belt & buckle I can find; beat up cowboy boots & a black Wife Beater, layered over a white one. I hope I'm not too fat to pull this off.......
Again, she totally glosses this over and launches into a recap of her awful water park adventures today and her son's new BFF which has potentially created a new friend for her: BFF's mom. And she'll be at Martini Madness and I'll get to meet her and blah blah blah and I interrupt her IM to yell:
"HEY! DID YOU MISS THE PART ABOUT ME BEING FRAGILE AND I AM, QUITE POSSIBLY, TURNING INTO ONE OF THOSE 'SUCH A PRETTY FACE GIRLS'???"
Kristin's response: I caught the fragile, Babe. And I still love ya.
And that, right there, is why I love KB. She allows me to drown in my pity parties for only so long. My fingers poised over my lap tap, I briefly considered telling her how fabulous she is and how much I love her....... but I opted to go with:
Yeah! A new friend for you....... don't fk it up with you second guessing yourself!
Is there anything more warm and fuzzy than two Girlfriends who love one another?
We were on-line for almost 90 minutes. KB consumed a bottle and a half of wine; I was pouring my 4th Salty Dog when we ended. We covered topics that ranged from wee dogs (who names a male Pomeranian "Honey"?) to Men (they are idiots) to Children (ingrates) to Facebook.
FACEBOOK?
Kristin wanted to know my thoughts on this topic, given that her children are just minutes away from asking "can we"? Should she get some exposure under her belt before her kids become a part of it?
My response went something like this:
FaceBook is the DEVIL! No no no no!!!! I cannot express to you how much I looooooooooathe FB! Ok, it's the concept of FB I loathe. "Join and reconnect!" Pfffffffffft! Who the fk wants to reconnect with high school people you hated 20 years ago? It's ridiculous...... I will make fun of you if you join. Lynda & Gina regularly tag team me under the guise of "you could reach a wider audience for your blog if you had a Facebook page." No. Fkn. Way. I do not want idiots "friending" me.......it would do nothing but force me to deny them my friendship and I'd look like an even bigger bitch than I already am!
KB: So I just get my kids' passwords & ID's.......glad we're on the same page.
Do you people see why Kristin & I are friends?
I had just given KB a "5 minute warning" in the middle of reminiscing about our Vegas trip when Gmail went down and our Drunk IM-ing Experience came crashing to a halt. My drunk ass finally figured this out when the big , red "KRISTIN DID NOT RECEIVE YOUR CHAT" message appeared on my lap top screen.
I picked up my tiny phone and fired off a text: Gmail is telling me we're down...you?
KB: Was waiting on you...... go help with dinner. I can make it until I see you next week. THANK YOU.
Snarky Brunette: Fk that....we gotta set up a Drunk IM-ing schedule. 2x a week. I LOVE YOU!
KB: Luv U 2.
I wandered into my kitchen to begin helping with dinner prep, a gigantic smile on my face. I'd spent 90 minutes talking with one of the most important people in my life. We stay connected through daily emails and texts. And the occasional Drunk IM-ing Experience. Our lives are busy, and they are hundreds of miles apart. With kids, and jobs, and pets, and husbands- our days are long. And yet, not a day goes by when one of us doesn't make the time to reach out for the other.
Who needs Facebook when you are blessed with real friendships?
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Happy Tails.
So I'm obsessed with two things right now:
1. Little dogs (as in finding one to adopt).
2. Craig's List.
I'll deal with each obsession separately, but in the end, you'll see how they come together to bring about a one happy ending.
Little dogs.
As in wee sized; a four legged companion. I possess a need to have one that is akin to my biological clock going off in Costco when I was 27. I was standing in the check out line with Marky while watching a baby who was sitting on her mother's lap in the food court. Said baby was dressed in pink, had big fat cheeks and a mouth so precious her lips looked like a rosebud. She was about 6 months old, drooling and had one tooth sprouting from her lower gum. And every time she and I would make eye contact, she'd squeal with delight and kick her chubby legs. After about 2 minutes of this, I burst into tears. I was convinced my internal clock was ticking so loudly someone was going to mistake me for a time bomb and I was completely incensed that my husband was oblivious.
(I may or may not have wailed: I WANT A BABY!! )
Our daughter was born the following July.
I've wanted a wee dog for years now.....about 4 to be exact. Which is precisely the age of our dog Benelli. Coincidence? Only in my dreams. I threw a hissy fit over wanting a dog and argued that I worked part time so I'd be home more than the dog would be left alone; having a dog would be a great way to teach our kids (then 6 & 4) responsibility and since we were not adding anymore 2 legged Monsters to our family, lets add a four legged one; one that could sit in our laps and lick our faces and just love us.
Mark finally agreed and we commenced to finding our forever dog.
Only someone forgot that I specifically said no puppies; no large breeds; and for god's sake can we pick a goddamn dog that doesn't shed?; so what we ended up with was an 8 week old, (red) Golden Retriever that everyone mistakes for an Irish Setter. She is the sole contributor to the tufts o' dog hair that are constantly a blowin' through my house!
Benelli was intended to be my husband's bird dog but she quickly became the family dog and has ultimately ended up being my son's best friend. They go everywhere together, sleep together, and Samuel is her staunchest supporter. He gets very upset when I refer to Benelli as a "dumb dog" and he wailed for hours when I said I was going to turn the dog into a rug after she chewed up my black, pointy toed mules (that screamed Sex in the City chic!). Benelli spent the first two years of her life in a constant battle with me over who was going to be the Alpha Bitch in this family. I prevailed the winner and I'm pretty sure it had something to do with Mark telling the dog that I am the biggest bitch she'll ever meet; and considering the fact that I can hold a grudge longer than anyone he's ever met, her recent "incident" with my favorite pair of heels did not bode well for her. Benelli's "puppy stage" lasted 3 1/2 years and consisted of shoe devouring, submissive peeing (on my hard wood floors), and an uncontrollable need to jump on people as they enter the house. Thankfully, she's grown up and learned some manners. But it took a lot of patience (of which I have little to spare), a lot of love and a firm belief in the fact that Benelli was, and is, a wonderful dog. She has imprinted on all of us. She is pack driven and if something separates her from her pack, she literally goes bat shit crazy. She's like a super-nosey Tween: sister has got to be in the middle of every one's business all the time! She loves her family and I have absolutely no doubt that if she perceived a danger, she would give up her life to protect us.
And yet I still bitch and piss and moan about all the shedding, and her stinky carcass which requires a trip to the beauty shop every 4 weeks, and her summer allergies to grass which give her "doggie hot spots" and require a trip to the vet for a Cortisone shot in her ass, and the fact that she has more emotional food issues than I do!
And I'm the dumb ass that wants another a dog. Specifically a little dog. Why? Part of it stems from the fact that I grew up with little dogs. I find them comforting; they make me all warm and fuzzy. And frankly, at 84 lbs, Benelli is too goddamn big to sit in my lap! I think KB said it best when she said: Who doesn't want something of our own; and who wants nothing from us other than to be with us and love us.
And then she made me swear that I would not dress the wee dog in sweaters of any kind!
The Monsters are on board, so long as I promise we are not getting rid of Benelli. And Mark has finally.......acquiesced. With a few stipulations. He & I need to agree on the dog and it needs to be healthy. This last caveat stems from me showing him pictures of Tilly, the one-eyed terrier (she and her one eye were adorable!) and dragging the entire family down to meet Scotter the Pomeranian, who, upon further investigation, suffered from a condition that caused his knee to "blow out" periodically (Really, what's the big deal there? You just pop it back into place!).
So. I'm looking for an agreeable little dog, who is healthy and who is also NOT a puppy. I give up when it comes to the shedding........sigh. I would prefer an older dog, 5-7 yrs, and I'd like to rescue said dog because it's positively sickening and sad that there are so many unwanted dogs in this world.
With my quest for a wee dog officially underway, I spend all my spare time trolling the local Humane Societies, Petfinder and........
Craig's List.
CL is like Facebook, but without the "friending" and "farming" (shut up, Lynda!). People can post their wares in the specific categories of CL for sale or trade; you can seek employment opportunities; seek a mate or seek out a discussion in the forum section. I'm a newcomer to the CL phenomenon and still consider myself a novice at navigating my way around it. Because of my Wee Dog Quest, I stick mostly to the Pets section.
Until last week, I was limiting myself to just the Salem CL postings for Pets. I cannot recall what prompted me to navigate to the CL Oregon page other than the thought: If I'm trolling Humane Societies and Petfinder for multiple counties and cities, why not CL? So I cruised through all the towns my family and I are familiar with and ended my troll in Portland.
On that particular day, there were over 3oo pet postings. 300! In a DAY. Lost dogs; found dogs; cats & kittens to re-home; particular animal breeds being sought. It was overwhelming. So I limited myself to only opening the posts if they included a picture of the dog. But then some of the post titles became too intriguing....such as "For the idiot who can't spell mosquito". Or, "Thanks for ruining my life re: lost dog". Apparently, there was an idiot who could not spell mosquito and this particular Craig's Lister was taking that individual to task for it and their misrepresentation about some kind of exotic fish. Whoa. The individual who's life was ruined was absolutely FIRED UP over a CL post being "flagged" and ultimately removed from the site. Because the post was taken down, he could no longer contact the people who found his lost dog. Who he'd had for 6 years...and without said dog, his life was ruined. This particular post launched a wave of consecutive posts from fellow irate Craig's Listers, all of whom are convinced that "the CL Police" are a posse of "fat women, who have no man in their lives, and have nothing better to do than to sit at home and read other people's post and 'flag' those that they don't approve of."
I'm not kidding.
And I was dying laughing.
As in hysterically.
In edition to the hostile "forums" (read: rants), there is a beavy of Craig's Listers who simply cannot spell. This not only irritates me (it's female. Not "femel".) it just furthers my belief that the notion of "It Takes a Village" to raise our children does us absolutely no fkn good when the village is a bunch of village idiots.
(Webster's. Invest in one!)
So while I have not yet found my wee dog, I have found a daily (and endless) source of entertainment for myself!
Which brings me to the Happy Ending.
(People say: Finally!)
Last night, after cruising through the Humane Societies & Petfinder, I began to troll Craig's List, saving the best (entertainment) for last. While logged into the Salem Pets, and in between a contentious dialogue on Pit Bulls as a breed, I spy this: FOUND: medium sized dog- Scio area. It went on to give a description of the dog and that it had only a collar, please call to identify collar.
That's sad. No tag or chip........ what are the odds this doggie is gonna get back to his or her owner? And Scio is in Linn County; and Salem is Marion County and so why post in Salem? That post should be in the Corvallis/Albany section.......Hmmmmmmm. Finding nothing that fit my wee dog requirements, I clicked over to the Corvallis/Albany section and there it was at the top: DOG LOST from Scio. This post gave an eerily similar description of the dog and identified the collar (blue with bubbles) and said her name was Maggie. Her people were desperate to find her, please call.
My Momma Bear instincts, coupled with my love for playing Dick Tracy, kicked into high gear and I fired off an email to both the Finders & the Losties, copying and pasting each of their posts into my email with the message: Perhaps you folks are talking about the same dog? Hope this is a happy pet reunion.
Within 10 minutes the Finder emailed me back and said the dog she'd found was indeed wearing a blue collar with bubbles and when she said "Maggie" the dog went crazy; she was calling the Losties "right now" and she thanked me for putting two and two together. I emailed her back and said I hoped it all worked out.
I looked down at Benelli, who was asleep at my feet, and thought about how even though there are days when I feel like she's more work than she's worth, her love and loyalty to this family is priceless. If something ever happened to her, my children would be devastated. And so would I. She's our constant companion, our giver of unwavering love (even when we all yell "BAD DOG!" upon discovering she's inhaled yet another loaf of bread!). I went to bed with the hope that Maggie would be reunited with her family.
This morning at 10 a.m., the Finder emailed me: "I just wanted to let you know that the post you sent me was from Maggie's owners. She will be reunited with them this afternoon. Thank you for making the effort for Maggie."
Yeah. The Snarky Brunette cried.
(Step off, Haters...... I really do have a heart!)
And then I got to thinking: Good doggie Karma..... I put it out there.....and it will eventually come full circle, and back to me........
Wee dog style!
1. Little dogs (as in finding one to adopt).
2. Craig's List.
I'll deal with each obsession separately, but in the end, you'll see how they come together to bring about a one happy ending.
Little dogs.
As in wee sized; a four legged companion. I possess a need to have one that is akin to my biological clock going off in Costco when I was 27. I was standing in the check out line with Marky while watching a baby who was sitting on her mother's lap in the food court. Said baby was dressed in pink, had big fat cheeks and a mouth so precious her lips looked like a rosebud. She was about 6 months old, drooling and had one tooth sprouting from her lower gum. And every time she and I would make eye contact, she'd squeal with delight and kick her chubby legs. After about 2 minutes of this, I burst into tears. I was convinced my internal clock was ticking so loudly someone was going to mistake me for a time bomb and I was completely incensed that my husband was oblivious.
(I may or may not have wailed: I WANT A BABY!! )
Our daughter was born the following July.
I've wanted a wee dog for years now.....about 4 to be exact. Which is precisely the age of our dog Benelli. Coincidence? Only in my dreams. I threw a hissy fit over wanting a dog and argued that I worked part time so I'd be home more than the dog would be left alone; having a dog would be a great way to teach our kids (then 6 & 4) responsibility and since we were not adding anymore 2 legged Monsters to our family, lets add a four legged one; one that could sit in our laps and lick our faces and just love us.
Mark finally agreed and we commenced to finding our forever dog.
Only someone forgot that I specifically said no puppies; no large breeds; and for god's sake can we pick a goddamn dog that doesn't shed?; so what we ended up with was an 8 week old, (red) Golden Retriever that everyone mistakes for an Irish Setter. She is the sole contributor to the tufts o' dog hair that are constantly a blowin' through my house!
Benelli was intended to be my husband's bird dog but she quickly became the family dog and has ultimately ended up being my son's best friend. They go everywhere together, sleep together, and Samuel is her staunchest supporter. He gets very upset when I refer to Benelli as a "dumb dog" and he wailed for hours when I said I was going to turn the dog into a rug after she chewed up my black, pointy toed mules (that screamed Sex in the City chic!). Benelli spent the first two years of her life in a constant battle with me over who was going to be the Alpha Bitch in this family. I prevailed the winner and I'm pretty sure it had something to do with Mark telling the dog that I am the biggest bitch she'll ever meet; and considering the fact that I can hold a grudge longer than anyone he's ever met, her recent "incident" with my favorite pair of heels did not bode well for her. Benelli's "puppy stage" lasted 3 1/2 years and consisted of shoe devouring, submissive peeing (on my hard wood floors), and an uncontrollable need to jump on people as they enter the house. Thankfully, she's grown up and learned some manners. But it took a lot of patience (of which I have little to spare), a lot of love and a firm belief in the fact that Benelli was, and is, a wonderful dog. She has imprinted on all of us. She is pack driven and if something separates her from her pack, she literally goes bat shit crazy. She's like a super-nosey Tween: sister has got to be in the middle of every one's business all the time! She loves her family and I have absolutely no doubt that if she perceived a danger, she would give up her life to protect us.
And yet I still bitch and piss and moan about all the shedding, and her stinky carcass which requires a trip to the beauty shop every 4 weeks, and her summer allergies to grass which give her "doggie hot spots" and require a trip to the vet for a Cortisone shot in her ass, and the fact that she has more emotional food issues than I do!
And I'm the dumb ass that wants another a dog. Specifically a little dog. Why? Part of it stems from the fact that I grew up with little dogs. I find them comforting; they make me all warm and fuzzy. And frankly, at 84 lbs, Benelli is too goddamn big to sit in my lap! I think KB said it best when she said: Who doesn't want something of our own; and who wants nothing from us other than to be with us and love us.
And then she made me swear that I would not dress the wee dog in sweaters of any kind!
The Monsters are on board, so long as I promise we are not getting rid of Benelli. And Mark has finally.......acquiesced. With a few stipulations. He & I need to agree on the dog and it needs to be healthy. This last caveat stems from me showing him pictures of Tilly, the one-eyed terrier (she and her one eye were adorable!) and dragging the entire family down to meet Scotter the Pomeranian, who, upon further investigation, suffered from a condition that caused his knee to "blow out" periodically (Really, what's the big deal there? You just pop it back into place!).
So. I'm looking for an agreeable little dog, who is healthy and who is also NOT a puppy. I give up when it comes to the shedding........sigh. I would prefer an older dog, 5-7 yrs, and I'd like to rescue said dog because it's positively sickening and sad that there are so many unwanted dogs in this world.
With my quest for a wee dog officially underway, I spend all my spare time trolling the local Humane Societies, Petfinder and........
Craig's List.
CL is like Facebook, but without the "friending" and "farming" (shut up, Lynda!). People can post their wares in the specific categories of CL for sale or trade; you can seek employment opportunities; seek a mate or seek out a discussion in the forum section. I'm a newcomer to the CL phenomenon and still consider myself a novice at navigating my way around it. Because of my Wee Dog Quest, I stick mostly to the Pets section.
Until last week, I was limiting myself to just the Salem CL postings for Pets. I cannot recall what prompted me to navigate to the CL Oregon page other than the thought: If I'm trolling Humane Societies and Petfinder for multiple counties and cities, why not CL? So I cruised through all the towns my family and I are familiar with and ended my troll in Portland.
On that particular day, there were over 3oo pet postings. 300! In a DAY. Lost dogs; found dogs; cats & kittens to re-home; particular animal breeds being sought. It was overwhelming. So I limited myself to only opening the posts if they included a picture of the dog. But then some of the post titles became too intriguing....such as "For the idiot who can't spell mosquito". Or, "Thanks for ruining my life re: lost dog". Apparently, there was an idiot who could not spell mosquito and this particular Craig's Lister was taking that individual to task for it and their misrepresentation about some kind of exotic fish. Whoa. The individual who's life was ruined was absolutely FIRED UP over a CL post being "flagged" and ultimately removed from the site. Because the post was taken down, he could no longer contact the people who found his lost dog. Who he'd had for 6 years...and without said dog, his life was ruined. This particular post launched a wave of consecutive posts from fellow irate Craig's Listers, all of whom are convinced that "the CL Police" are a posse of "fat women, who have no man in their lives, and have nothing better to do than to sit at home and read other people's post and 'flag' those that they don't approve of."
I'm not kidding.
And I was dying laughing.
As in hysterically.
In edition to the hostile "forums" (read: rants), there is a beavy of Craig's Listers who simply cannot spell. This not only irritates me (it's female. Not "femel".) it just furthers my belief that the notion of "It Takes a Village" to raise our children does us absolutely no fkn good when the village is a bunch of village idiots.
(Webster's. Invest in one!)
So while I have not yet found my wee dog, I have found a daily (and endless) source of entertainment for myself!
Which brings me to the Happy Ending.
(People say: Finally!)
Last night, after cruising through the Humane Societies & Petfinder, I began to troll Craig's List, saving the best (entertainment) for last. While logged into the Salem Pets, and in between a contentious dialogue on Pit Bulls as a breed, I spy this: FOUND: medium sized dog- Scio area. It went on to give a description of the dog and that it had only a collar, please call to identify collar.
That's sad. No tag or chip........ what are the odds this doggie is gonna get back to his or her owner? And Scio is in Linn County; and Salem is Marion County and so why post in Salem? That post should be in the Corvallis/Albany section.......Hmmmmmmm. Finding nothing that fit my wee dog requirements, I clicked over to the Corvallis/Albany section and there it was at the top: DOG LOST from Scio. This post gave an eerily similar description of the dog and identified the collar (blue with bubbles) and said her name was Maggie. Her people were desperate to find her, please call.
My Momma Bear instincts, coupled with my love for playing Dick Tracy, kicked into high gear and I fired off an email to both the Finders & the Losties, copying and pasting each of their posts into my email with the message: Perhaps you folks are talking about the same dog? Hope this is a happy pet reunion.
Within 10 minutes the Finder emailed me back and said the dog she'd found was indeed wearing a blue collar with bubbles and when she said "Maggie" the dog went crazy; she was calling the Losties "right now" and she thanked me for putting two and two together. I emailed her back and said I hoped it all worked out.
I looked down at Benelli, who was asleep at my feet, and thought about how even though there are days when I feel like she's more work than she's worth, her love and loyalty to this family is priceless. If something ever happened to her, my children would be devastated. And so would I. She's our constant companion, our giver of unwavering love (even when we all yell "BAD DOG!" upon discovering she's inhaled yet another loaf of bread!). I went to bed with the hope that Maggie would be reunited with her family.
This morning at 10 a.m., the Finder emailed me: "I just wanted to let you know that the post you sent me was from Maggie's owners. She will be reunited with them this afternoon. Thank you for making the effort for Maggie."
Yeah. The Snarky Brunette cried.
(Step off, Haters...... I really do have a heart!)
And then I got to thinking: Good doggie Karma..... I put it out there.....and it will eventually come full circle, and back to me........
Wee dog style!
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Johnny Tyler
Do you know how hard it is to craft a post whilst being constantly interupted by wee folk?
This should paint the picture for you:
(500 Snarky Points if you know what movie I'm quoting)
"I swear, it's like I'm playin cards with my brother's kids or somethin.....you nerve-wrackin' sons-a-bitches!"
Don't judge.....and stay tuned......
This should paint the picture for you:
(500 Snarky Points if you know what movie I'm quoting)
"I swear, it's like I'm playin cards with my brother's kids or somethin.....you nerve-wrackin' sons-a-bitches!"
Don't judge.....and stay tuned......
Monday, August 9, 2010
Shark Attack
My Sister & Jack came to visit me last Friday. It had been a long while since we'd gathered for a visit. It's camping season, don't you know? And their family takes camping very seriously. (Whereas I......do not. Unless of course by "camping" you mean hotel and/or resort.)
Jack came in bearing gifts as they had missed the Monster's Annual Birthday Party & Family BBQ in July. I was too busy paying attention to Jack, who was attempting to carry two gift bags which equaled the size of him, so I completely missed the fact that my Sister was carrying a large rectangular box. I have only 2 Monsters, so I played coy: "Who is that adorable box for?", I ask whilst pointing to the box wrapped in red paper with white polka dots (Polka dots! I love polka dots!)
"It's for you, Sisso! Haaaaaaappy Birthdaaaaaaay!", Gina whines in her best Fran Drescher.
"I love presents!", I yell as I'm thinking to myself: my birthday is in June; I began celebrating in May; it's now August.....I've managed to stretch my birthday out 4 months.....I'm a genius! As I begin to rip into my gift Gina says: "Now wait........ you're either going to love this present or think I've completely lost my mind....... but I was wracking my brain about what to get you...... and I wanted it to be useful and I was wandering about in Tuesday Morning- you know how much I love that store! Anyway....... this just said your name....."
Now, I should tell you that my Sister and I do not share the same taste. She dresses like she just stepped from the pages of Eddie Bauer (Fall & Winter editions) and J. Crew (Summer catalog). I don't believe her foot has ever been in a high heel (she wore sparkle-y flip flops under her wedding gown....) & Chapstick is the new lipstick in Gina's world. I am Talbots to her Eddie Bauer. If I could garden in heels, I would. And in my world, the right shade of lipstick makes said world a better place (Seriously, orange-red lipstick should be outlawed!).
With this being said, and apart from the shameful hat-scarf combo incident (See.....it's a hat and a scarf.....and it has dingle balls attached to the bottom of it! People say, What?), Gina picks out the best gifts for me. Ready to be dazzled, I rip into the box and I'm greeted with these words emblazoned on the side of said box: SHARK.
No. Way.
I look over at Gina who has pressed her thin lips into a straight line and is now sitting on the edge of my couch. "DID YOU BUY ME A VACUUM?", I yell. "Cordless", she squeaks.
"I. LOVE. IT!", I scream.
Insert Gina launching herself off the couch and jumping around whilst saying: "Oh My Gaaaaaaaawd....I was hoping you'd love it.......cause you're always talking about the dog hair blowing through your house like tumble weeds and with your back, it's gotta be a drag lugging that canister vac around....and three floors! Jesus! So when I saw this I just thought you could really use something for every day (to which I look at her like, Fkn right I vacuum every day!)......or you know.........every other day.......AND IT'S PINK!"
Oh yeah it is! Behold: what every 40 year old Diva needs!
I just took my pink Shark out for her first spin and I'm in love!
-Cordless, which means me & my Shark can go anywhere.
-Bagless, which means after we spin through Benelli's main
territory all I have to do is empty the dust cup.
-Hands-free button allows me to dump disgusting dust cup
contents directly into the trash. Best. Feature. EVER!
-And folding handle not only allows for easy storage, but
my Shark can bend so that it goes directly under furniture
and it turns at 90* angles to get between chairs (and other objects I'm too lazy to move).
My Shark is a little slice of domestic heaven.
And the fact that it scares the shit out of my dog?
Bonus!
Jack came in bearing gifts as they had missed the Monster's Annual Birthday Party & Family BBQ in July. I was too busy paying attention to Jack, who was attempting to carry two gift bags which equaled the size of him, so I completely missed the fact that my Sister was carrying a large rectangular box. I have only 2 Monsters, so I played coy: "Who is that adorable box for?", I ask whilst pointing to the box wrapped in red paper with white polka dots (Polka dots! I love polka dots!)
"It's for you, Sisso! Haaaaaaappy Birthdaaaaaaay!", Gina whines in her best Fran Drescher.
"I love presents!", I yell as I'm thinking to myself: my birthday is in June; I began celebrating in May; it's now August.....I've managed to stretch my birthday out 4 months.....I'm a genius! As I begin to rip into my gift Gina says: "Now wait........ you're either going to love this present or think I've completely lost my mind....... but I was wracking my brain about what to get you...... and I wanted it to be useful and I was wandering about in Tuesday Morning- you know how much I love that store! Anyway....... this just said your name....."
Now, I should tell you that my Sister and I do not share the same taste. She dresses like she just stepped from the pages of Eddie Bauer (Fall & Winter editions) and J. Crew (Summer catalog). I don't believe her foot has ever been in a high heel (she wore sparkle-y flip flops under her wedding gown....) & Chapstick is the new lipstick in Gina's world. I am Talbots to her Eddie Bauer. If I could garden in heels, I would. And in my world, the right shade of lipstick makes said world a better place (Seriously, orange-red lipstick should be outlawed!).
With this being said, and apart from the shameful hat-scarf combo incident (See.....it's a hat and a scarf.....and it has dingle balls attached to the bottom of it! People say, What?), Gina picks out the best gifts for me. Ready to be dazzled, I rip into the box and I'm greeted with these words emblazoned on the side of said box: SHARK.
No. Way.
I look over at Gina who has pressed her thin lips into a straight line and is now sitting on the edge of my couch. "DID YOU BUY ME A VACUUM?", I yell. "Cordless", she squeaks.
"I. LOVE. IT!", I scream.
Insert Gina launching herself off the couch and jumping around whilst saying: "Oh My Gaaaaaaaawd....I was hoping you'd love it.......cause you're always talking about the dog hair blowing through your house like tumble weeds and with your back, it's gotta be a drag lugging that canister vac around....and three floors! Jesus! So when I saw this I just thought you could really use something for every day (to which I look at her like, Fkn right I vacuum every day!)......or you know.........every other day.......AND IT'S PINK!"
Oh yeah it is! Behold: what every 40 year old Diva needs!
I just took my pink Shark out for her first spin and I'm in love!
-Cordless, which means me & my Shark can go anywhere.
-Bagless, which means after we spin through Benelli's main
territory all I have to do is empty the dust cup.
-Hands-free button allows me to dump disgusting dust cup
contents directly into the trash. Best. Feature. EVER!
-And folding handle not only allows for easy storage, but
my Shark can bend so that it goes directly under furniture
and it turns at 90* angles to get between chairs (and other objects I'm too lazy to move).
My Shark is a little slice of domestic heaven.
And the fact that it scares the shit out of my dog?
Bonus!
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