Kristin sent me a text.
Which isn't anything new. We text one another all the time. Now.
I say "now" like that because just a little over two years ago, Sister K was not about the texting.
We were in New York together for a week of Broadway shows, shopping, and literally cramming as much sight seeing into our week as humanly possible. And by humanly I mean, Super Wonder Woman powers were involved! We were out of the hotel by 7:45a everyday, and did not return until 11p or later each night. The only time we sat down was if one of us was trying on shoes OR we were watching a Broadway show!
I am Type A with a slight case of OCD: I like it how I like it (and I like it neat & tidy!) and I plan for how I like it.
Kristin is like that........only 100 times magnified:
We flew to New York in May.
She planned the entire trip in February.
We had an itinerary.
She had three drafts before it was "finalized".
Our itinerary had an accompanying map.
The map was so fkn big it was in three different sections and had to be pieced together on the floor of our hotel room!
Get my drift about "100 times magnified"?
I probably sound like I'm complaining, which couldn't be farther from the truth. I positively adore the fact that Kristin is more Type A than myself. Why? Because whenever I'm with her, I don't have to do a goddamn thing! I get a vacation within a vacation, and it's pure bliss for me. I literally just show up and wait for the good stuff to start happening.
But back to the texting. I text, therefore I am. Seriously. I cannot explain to you just how much I loathe talking on the phone. Always have. I was not one of those teens who would spend hours talking on the phone. I had a phone in my bedroom and I rarely used it. It became more of a knick knack than a tool for communication. My sister, on the other hand, she would spend days talking on the (goddamn) phone! This was back before cordless phones became all the rage, so we had a phone in the kitchen, as it was centrally located; and a phone upstairs in the tv room that separated our bedrooms. But the phone was never there. I would literally have to follow the (fkn) phone cord in order to find the actual phone. Holding onto the phone cord and following it like a Kindergartner following the rope that will lead her to the lunchroom, I would always be led to my sister's closet. Where I would find the phone, attached to Gina's ear; and find her sitting on the floor, amongst her piles of dirty clothes, talking about:
Noooooo way! He said that? Well what did she say? Nuh-uh! Wait....where's the party.......?
Get off the phone, Geeeeeeee-nuuuuuuuuh.
Yeah.... she'd say.
Two minutes. Get off the phone.
And I'd head downstairs to the kitchen to burn two minutes. I'd grab a glass, fill it with ice, grab a straw and toss it in the glass; scoot out to the fridge in the garage and grab an icy Coke. I'd come back to the kitchen, pour my Coke and then take the three steps required of me to get from the counter to the phone, and pick it up. Each time I hoped I'd hear nothing but a dial tone....and each time I was sorely disappointed.
She's so stupid........ I hate her. Nooooooooo, I hate her more. What are you doing this weekend?
Gina. GET. OFF. THE. PHONE.
Yeah....... heard ya the first time......
OFF. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW.
More stupid girl-y talk would ensue, which left me no choice. I would take the receiver of the phone and beat it into the phone base: BAM! BAM! BAM!
And the reply was always the same: I have to go.......my sister's such a bitch!
Indeed.
No talk-y on phone-y. Hate. It.
But texting, I'm all about it. So much so that Mark finally saw the light and switched our cell plan to unlimited texting because I kept going over the text limit. By like, 1,000 texts.
Oops!
So KB & I are in NY and I kept in touch with my family & friends back home via text. I'd send updates throughout our day because I wanted to share this amazing experience that I was sharing with Kristin, with everyone else. AND, random updates throughout the day meant less time on the phone at night when I called home to say goodnight to my kids. I'd check in with Mark, then both Monsters and boom! I'm off in under 10 minutes, while Kristin is over in the corner reliving her entire day and going on 20 minutes with a phone stuck to her ear.
After about three days of this, Kristin began warming to the idea of texting. I kept telling her- practice makes perfect. The more you text, the better you'll get! By the end of our trip, Sister was becoming a texting fool! And it opened a completely new door to our most favorite game in the world: Make Fun of Others While People Watching. We'd be standing in line and I'd spy The Target and give KB the look. And 3 seconds later I'd have a text that would say: the blonde, right? And we'd be off and running and totally cracking each other up and passing the time while standing in line.
(It's a great game, People. And for the record, it's always the blonde!)
Fast forward two years later and KB is the person I text the most with. Part of that is because she's in BoHo and I'm in Oregon. But it's also because we are so much alike, and often misunderstood, and texting is our way of having instant reality checks, or an instant answer to a question, or an instant comment on an opinion by someone who gets you.
Which (finally) brings us back to the text I received from Kristin:
Is it odd that I'm shopping at thrift stores while carrying my Dior purse?
followed immediately by:
BTW- I found a white, leather luvseat.....$50! (snarky, winking, smiley emoticon)
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Friday, January 22, 2010
Coming Soon.....
The Snarky Brunette has had a full plate.
Which has left no time for fun stuff....like making fun of others and railing against my own perceived injustices of the world (Peppermint Mochas should totally be served 365 days of the year, Starbucks!).
But fear not, Snarkalicious followers!
(You like that? I do! You can thank my friend, Red, for coming up with that gem! Say it with me: Thank you, Red!)
(No, that's not her real name...but she gets really mad when I call her Jenny, so I call her Red instead!)
I've got a few works in progress.....well, in progress, so keep checking back. More to come......
Which has left no time for fun stuff....like making fun of others and railing against my own perceived injustices of the world (Peppermint Mochas should totally be served 365 days of the year, Starbucks!).
But fear not, Snarkalicious followers!
(You like that? I do! You can thank my friend, Red, for coming up with that gem! Say it with me: Thank you, Red!)
(No, that's not her real name...but she gets really mad when I call her Jenny, so I call her Red instead!)
I've got a few works in progress.....well, in progress, so keep checking back. More to come......
Monday, January 18, 2010
Quit While You're Ahead
People, I have nothing to report.
I did begin a blog on the stupidity of the phrase "glass half empty" and how, when it's applied to me, it is almost always followed up with "you're so negative", but I couldn't work it out in my head.
So I deleted it.
Anyone else see the irony in that act......?
(Insert me crackin' myself up H-E-R-E!)
I did begin a blog on the stupidity of the phrase "glass half empty" and how, when it's applied to me, it is almost always followed up with "you're so negative", but I couldn't work it out in my head.
So I deleted it.
Anyone else see the irony in that act......?
(Insert me crackin' myself up H-E-R-E!)
Friday, January 15, 2010
Owning Your Shame
Wanna know what's fun?
Meeting your Girlfriends for dinner and drinks after work.
Wanna know what's not fun?
Being hung over the morning after meeting your Girlfriends for dinner and drinks!
Or, in this instance, just drinks.
Lots and lots of them!
And when I have lots and lots of them, I will inevitably decide it's a good idea to have a smoke. Or six. Upon reflection, each and every time, I always find it un-fkn-believable that I actually came to the conclusion that smoking would, indeed, be a good idea. Because, in the light of day......the BRIGHT light of day (Seriously......is it really this bright every day?!), the idea is clearly not a good one. And here's just a few reasons why.
The Smoker's Hang:
1. The smell. In your hair, on your clothes, in your skin; specifically, your hands. It's like you washed your hands in the ash tray! And no matter how many times you wash your hands thereafter, that sickly, stale smell of old cigarette ain't coming off. And it will continue to haunt you for the next 24 hours!
2. The taste. Blech! Apparently I wasn't so plowed that I threw all caution to the wind, because I distinctly remember being asked if I wanted another smoke and my reply was: "Jesus, NO! This one will ruin me I'm sure......." Indeed.
I've brushed my teeth five times already and I can still taste the smoke. I actually drank some Scope, straight out the bottle, hoping the mouthwash would, upon direct contact with my throat, burn the layer of smoke that I can still feel lingering back there! No luck, by the way....although I'm willing to wager that when I belch the Scope, it's gonna be minty fresh!
3. The charred lungs. See, as a Sober Brunette, the thought to have a smoke would never cross my mind. I find it positively disgusting. But more importantly (and here's where the whole un-fkn-believable revelation comes in to play), it is physically impossible for me to inhale the smoke into my lungs. But as a Plowed Brunette, not only will it be my idea to have a smoke, but once I actually get a cigarette and get it lit, I will smoke that cancer stick like a crack whore smokin' her pipe! I'll inhale deeply and keep running my loud mouth all at the same time. I've even been known to stamp out my cigarette on the bottom of my shoe......Classy.
Until the next morning. If the smell of my hair or the stank of my skin doesn't jog what few brain cells I have left awake, my first breath will. One word: Painful. I swear I can actually feel my lungs crackle with every breath, breaking free of the smoke cocoon that has just recently settled upon them. Marlboro Light, my ass. Light my lungs on fire is more like it!
4. The headache. It's a dull pain, right behind my eyes.....like a fog. Or, in this case, a smoke. It's akin to a sinus headache, only your sinuses are not affected. Just the pressure and sometimes a rhythmic throbbing. Like Indian drums. But without the chanting. Everything is hazy and must be done at a slower pace.
(And could you please stop talking so loud? And what's with the stadium lighting in this house? Is every bulb, like, a zillion watts? Jesus......)
(Editor's Note: I know what you're thinking........but this Hang is not due to the lots and lots of drinks. That Hang is a hangover of a completely different breed. A Drunkard's Hang, for me, always involves a headache. But it's also accompanied by its friends: Ralph, Wretch & finally, Dry Heave. My last encounter with the Drunkard's Hang was over a year and a half ago. My 20th High School Reunion to be exact. I'm pretty sure everyone gets a pass when a High School reunion is involved, but on the off chance this isn't the rule, I will fall back to: I take absolutely no responsibility for this debacle. I blame the asshole who introduced me to Purple Hooters and the idiot bartender who clearly had no business serving my (drunk) ass in the first place! That Hang was so shameful, it literally scarred me for life....or what's left of it! I now avoid any drink with Chambord in it (Chambord puts the purple in Purple Hooter!) and if I see a cocktail on the menu with any combination of "hooter" or "nipple" in its title, I walk away!)
So, what have we learned from this shameful exercise in owning my Hang? Well, off the top of my head (and through my thick layer of smoke induced haze!), I'd say this:
Sober Brunette knows better; Plowed Brunette knows nothing.
{Post Script~ Is it too late to add the following to my list of what I'd like to do in the New Year: Can I please fkn grow up and learn this goddamn lesson, already?}
Meeting your Girlfriends for dinner and drinks after work.
Wanna know what's not fun?
Being hung over the morning after meeting your Girlfriends for dinner and drinks!
Or, in this instance, just drinks.
Lots and lots of them!
And when I have lots and lots of them, I will inevitably decide it's a good idea to have a smoke. Or six. Upon reflection, each and every time, I always find it un-fkn-believable that I actually came to the conclusion that smoking would, indeed, be a good idea. Because, in the light of day......the BRIGHT light of day (Seriously......is it really this bright every day?!), the idea is clearly not a good one. And here's just a few reasons why.
The Smoker's Hang:
1. The smell. In your hair, on your clothes, in your skin; specifically, your hands. It's like you washed your hands in the ash tray! And no matter how many times you wash your hands thereafter, that sickly, stale smell of old cigarette ain't coming off. And it will continue to haunt you for the next 24 hours!
2. The taste. Blech! Apparently I wasn't so plowed that I threw all caution to the wind, because I distinctly remember being asked if I wanted another smoke and my reply was: "Jesus, NO! This one will ruin me I'm sure......." Indeed.
I've brushed my teeth five times already and I can still taste the smoke. I actually drank some Scope, straight out the bottle, hoping the mouthwash would, upon direct contact with my throat, burn the layer of smoke that I can still feel lingering back there! No luck, by the way....although I'm willing to wager that when I belch the Scope, it's gonna be minty fresh!
3. The charred lungs. See, as a Sober Brunette, the thought to have a smoke would never cross my mind. I find it positively disgusting. But more importantly (and here's where the whole un-fkn-believable revelation comes in to play), it is physically impossible for me to inhale the smoke into my lungs. But as a Plowed Brunette, not only will it be my idea to have a smoke, but once I actually get a cigarette and get it lit, I will smoke that cancer stick like a crack whore smokin' her pipe! I'll inhale deeply and keep running my loud mouth all at the same time. I've even been known to stamp out my cigarette on the bottom of my shoe......Classy.
Until the next morning. If the smell of my hair or the stank of my skin doesn't jog what few brain cells I have left awake, my first breath will. One word: Painful. I swear I can actually feel my lungs crackle with every breath, breaking free of the smoke cocoon that has just recently settled upon them. Marlboro Light, my ass. Light my lungs on fire is more like it!
4. The headache. It's a dull pain, right behind my eyes.....like a fog. Or, in this case, a smoke. It's akin to a sinus headache, only your sinuses are not affected. Just the pressure and sometimes a rhythmic throbbing. Like Indian drums. But without the chanting. Everything is hazy and must be done at a slower pace.
(And could you please stop talking so loud? And what's with the stadium lighting in this house? Is every bulb, like, a zillion watts? Jesus......)
(Editor's Note: I know what you're thinking........but this Hang is not due to the lots and lots of drinks. That Hang is a hangover of a completely different breed. A Drunkard's Hang, for me, always involves a headache. But it's also accompanied by its friends: Ralph, Wretch & finally, Dry Heave. My last encounter with the Drunkard's Hang was over a year and a half ago. My 20th High School Reunion to be exact. I'm pretty sure everyone gets a pass when a High School reunion is involved, but on the off chance this isn't the rule, I will fall back to: I take absolutely no responsibility for this debacle. I blame the asshole who introduced me to Purple Hooters and the idiot bartender who clearly had no business serving my (drunk) ass in the first place! That Hang was so shameful, it literally scarred me for life....or what's left of it! I now avoid any drink with Chambord in it (Chambord puts the purple in Purple Hooter!) and if I see a cocktail on the menu with any combination of "hooter" or "nipple" in its title, I walk away!)
So, what have we learned from this shameful exercise in owning my Hang? Well, off the top of my head (and through my thick layer of smoke induced haze!), I'd say this:
Sober Brunette knows better; Plowed Brunette knows nothing.
{Post Script~ Is it too late to add the following to my list of what I'd like to do in the New Year: Can I please fkn grow up and learn this goddamn lesson, already?}
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Consulting the Playbook
I'm getting alot of requests for daily entries to my blog. It's a bit overwhelming considering I'm new at this. Certainly, I love the attention (Geminis......we love the spotlight!), but the pressure to be "on" is a skoosh daunting. As a narcissist, I recognize my talent for witty repartee. Seriously, I am my own best audience! But I'm also fond of self -deprecation; I'm almost completely incapable of accepting a compliment, and I am my own worst critic.
OMG. Does that make me an oxy-moron?
I'm going to take a knee to consider this revelation and its profound possibility, so I'll leave you with this:
I just poured my third cocktail.
I figured it was the perfect chaser to the handful of Midol I just swallowed.
Booze and drugs. Alone, they are good. Together......well.......there couldn't be a better marriage!
What was I saying yesterday about not needing a 12 Step Program......?
OMG. Does that make me an oxy-moron?
I'm going to take a knee to consider this revelation and its profound possibility, so I'll leave you with this:
I just poured my third cocktail.
I figured it was the perfect chaser to the handful of Midol I just swallowed.
Booze and drugs. Alone, they are good. Together......well.......there couldn't be a better marriage!
What was I saying yesterday about not needing a 12 Step Program......?
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Have a Drink on Me.
You know that song about having a bad day? Daniel something sang it a few years back.....
Ellen DeGeneres loved it.
American Idol would play it every time a contestant got voted off and we'd have to watch a video montage of said Loser as the end credits would roll......something about "sing a sad song just to turn it around......"
Really? Sing a sad song to turn it around? Wouldn't that just make you more sad?
Take for instance the song "Mandy". A Barry Manilow classic. Mandy came and she gave without taking.....and he sent her away....Oh, Mandy. The poor bastard is sad because he falls into the category of yet another man tossing a good woman aside....and now he's gonna cry about it. After the fact. Dumb Ass.
But I digress.
I'm pretty sure if you were the Dumb Ass, and you were sad....."Mandy" is not the song you'd be singing....... to, you know.... turn it around! I'm pretty sure you'd be singing "Low" (aka: Apple Bottom Jeans) by Flo Rida. Or, "Girls, Girls, Girls" by Motley Crue.
So what's my point? I've got two.
1. While I didn't have a bad day, I certainly had a rough day. And at no point in my day did I ever feel compelled to burst into song, let alone a sad song. Which brings me to,
2. Daniel Whatshisname can pound sand!
I'll spare you the details of my rough day. Just take me at my word when I say it was long and demanding; required much babysitting on my part of grown adults and frankly, for all the times I walked back and forth and back and forth, my ass should be a lot thinner! As I was leaving work one of my friends called to check on me and the inevitable "How was your day" query was posed. I said something to the effect of "it was rough" and that I "seriously needed a cocktail!" Which prompted said friend to say: So have one.
Um, D-U-H!
But then I started lamenting my whole begging of the Lord to lose 15 pounds....and I had gone 4 days without a cocktail.......and while I certainly don't need a 12 Step Program (yet!) , I could probably channel my nightly routine away from the vodka and towards a SmartWater instead (Say, how cute is the little fish that looks like it's floating on the inside of the water bottle? Way cute would be the answer!).
Naturally, I did all my lamenting aloud which prompted my friend to ask: So....do you want a drink?
Yes., I replied.
Will it be worth it?
Oh. Snap! I just got the Jenny Craig equivalent of Checking Yourself; only instead of food, it's booze. As a former Jenny Girl myself, this bit of reverse psychology is akin to the gauntlet being thrown. And one of my Gemini flaws is always being up for a challenge (even if I know I can't win.....because, Hello? Gemini 101- we love to argue!), so I consider the question posed and begin to weigh my day: the pros and cons against the challenge. It is just one more day. And one of Jenny's mantras (she's got a million of them, by the way!) just happens to be Take It One Day at a Time........and I do hate to lose. And I am so very competitive........but, really. It just boils down to my friend being right.
Fk. I hate it when that happens!
A few seconds tick by as I process all this and I finally answer (much like Jon Heder's character Napoleon Dynamite): Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo-wah!
Yeah, Me! Going for Day 5. "Checking Myself". Score one for Jenny!
We end our call and I shut down my computer. I still have another office to shut down, so I grab my keys, decide to come back to my office for my personal effects and walk out the door feeling Oh- So -Smug for making the better choice.
And the minute I hear my door shut behind me, I realize I have grabbed my car keys, not my office keys, and I am now locked out. And not just locked out of my office, but the entire goddamn building! It took me 10 minutes and an entire flight of stairs (3 stories!) to find a janitor who could let me into my office. By the time I exited the building and got to my car, my resolve was strong.
I whipped out my cell and texted my friend: I am soooooooooooooooooooo having a cocktail!
Ellen DeGeneres loved it.
American Idol would play it every time a contestant got voted off and we'd have to watch a video montage of said Loser as the end credits would roll......something about "sing a sad song just to turn it around......"
Really? Sing a sad song to turn it around? Wouldn't that just make you more sad?
Take for instance the song "Mandy". A Barry Manilow classic. Mandy came and she gave without taking.....and he sent her away....Oh, Mandy. The poor bastard is sad because he falls into the category of yet another man tossing a good woman aside....and now he's gonna cry about it. After the fact. Dumb Ass.
But I digress.
I'm pretty sure if you were the Dumb Ass, and you were sad....."Mandy" is not the song you'd be singing....... to, you know.... turn it around! I'm pretty sure you'd be singing "Low" (aka: Apple Bottom Jeans) by Flo Rida. Or, "Girls, Girls, Girls" by Motley Crue.
So what's my point? I've got two.
1. While I didn't have a bad day, I certainly had a rough day. And at no point in my day did I ever feel compelled to burst into song, let alone a sad song. Which brings me to,
2. Daniel Whatshisname can pound sand!
I'll spare you the details of my rough day. Just take me at my word when I say it was long and demanding; required much babysitting on my part of grown adults and frankly, for all the times I walked back and forth and back and forth, my ass should be a lot thinner! As I was leaving work one of my friends called to check on me and the inevitable "How was your day" query was posed. I said something to the effect of "it was rough" and that I "seriously needed a cocktail!" Which prompted said friend to say: So have one.
Um, D-U-H!
But then I started lamenting my whole begging of the Lord to lose 15 pounds....and I had gone 4 days without a cocktail.......and while I certainly don't need a 12 Step Program (yet!) , I could probably channel my nightly routine away from the vodka and towards a SmartWater instead (Say, how cute is the little fish that looks like it's floating on the inside of the water bottle? Way cute would be the answer!).
Naturally, I did all my lamenting aloud which prompted my friend to ask: So....do you want a drink?
Yes., I replied.
Will it be worth it?
Oh. Snap! I just got the Jenny Craig equivalent of Checking Yourself; only instead of food, it's booze. As a former Jenny Girl myself, this bit of reverse psychology is akin to the gauntlet being thrown. And one of my Gemini flaws is always being up for a challenge (even if I know I can't win.....because, Hello? Gemini 101- we love to argue!), so I consider the question posed and begin to weigh my day: the pros and cons against the challenge. It is just one more day. And one of Jenny's mantras (she's got a million of them, by the way!) just happens to be Take It One Day at a Time........and I do hate to lose. And I am so very competitive........but, really. It just boils down to my friend being right.
Fk. I hate it when that happens!
A few seconds tick by as I process all this and I finally answer (much like Jon Heder's character Napoleon Dynamite): Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo-wah!
Yeah, Me! Going for Day 5. "Checking Myself". Score one for Jenny!
We end our call and I shut down my computer. I still have another office to shut down, so I grab my keys, decide to come back to my office for my personal effects and walk out the door feeling Oh- So -Smug for making the better choice.
And the minute I hear my door shut behind me, I realize I have grabbed my car keys, not my office keys, and I am now locked out. And not just locked out of my office, but the entire goddamn building! It took me 10 minutes and an entire flight of stairs (3 stories!) to find a janitor who could let me into my office. By the time I exited the building and got to my car, my resolve was strong.
I whipped out my cell and texted my friend: I am soooooooooooooooooooo having a cocktail!
Friday, January 8, 2010
G-L-O-R-I-A!
My mother emailed me and said she was going to look at a loveseat that her friend wanted her to have. Did I think that a white, leather loveseat would work in her living area better than the sofa she's got....?
Wow. Where to begin?
First, let me tell you that this friend is one of my mother's dearest friends and this offer is coming from her heart. Second, let me tell you that she is clearing out her father's home as he is being moved to a care facility. That's sad. Third, let me tell you that I know that every furnishing in this home is circa late 70's to 80's. Again with the sadness.........
So. Now that you know this, care to wager what the Snarky Brunette's response to her mother was?
If you were anywhere in the vicinity of: "Oooooooh, tough call. I'd need to see it, Mother, to really give you perspective, but my gut is saying white, leather loveseat circa 1980 screams left-over Disco Shame.", you may award yourself 100 snarky points!
My mother's reply: You're probably right......would you like it?
Oy.
Wow. Where to begin?
First, let me tell you that this friend is one of my mother's dearest friends and this offer is coming from her heart. Second, let me tell you that she is clearing out her father's home as he is being moved to a care facility. That's sad. Third, let me tell you that I know that every furnishing in this home is circa late 70's to 80's. Again with the sadness.........
So. Now that you know this, care to wager what the Snarky Brunette's response to her mother was?
If you were anywhere in the vicinity of: "Oooooooh, tough call. I'd need to see it, Mother, to really give you perspective, but my gut is saying white, leather loveseat circa 1980 screams left-over Disco Shame.", you may award yourself 100 snarky points!
My mother's reply: You're probably right......would you like it?
Oy.
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