Discount Department Stores

I love discount stores. Loehmann's, Filene's, Century 21, HomeGoods. I take serious pleasure out of buying designer frocks and things at major major discount meltdowns. I pause to wonder why I would ever shop retail - and then I answer my own question - because I am impulsive. However I think I would be completely fine if I could only shop the discounts for the rest of my life. There's something insanely satisfying about wearing something that you look like a rock star in (figuratively, not literally) and girls compliment you all day long. It looks expensive, and at one time it WAS expensive. And there were plenty of loserettes who paid full price on impulse, or just to have the trend the moment it hit the shelves. I on the other hand peruse the racks at Loehmann's and I always find an insane bargain. I don't know what it is about me and discount stores but I work it like a prostitute in Atlantic City. Some of my MAY-JOR finds?

Alexander McQueen black kitten heels - originally $690, I paid $79.

J-Brand skinny jeans - originally $220, I paid $79.

Marc Jacobs silk corset top - originally $379, I paid $79.

There is something about discount stores and $79, btw. Everything always ends up costing $79. I don't know why.

However, one thing I don't understand about discount stores are their dressing room policies. The big open room with wall-to-wall mirrors and women lined up next to each other, all shapes and sizes and fleshy celluloid out for all to see. Now, if you are going to take part in this dressing room experience there is a code of conduct. And here it is ladies. Please take note, and act accordingly:

1. You do not blatantly stare at another woman while she is naked, half naked or trying on that hideous sequin dress. Everyone knows you are supposed to sneak inadvertent glances at them, sizing them up and making mental notes of the reasons you should be utilizing your gym membership.


2. Wear panties. Nothing is worse than catching sight of bush (during your inadvertent glance, of course) being shimmied into some skinny jeans. Trust me, I have seen this on more than one occasion. Nast. E.


3. Ladies, try things on that are your size. No, you did not go from a size 10 to a size 2 on your way to the dressing room. There is no excuse for you trying to sausage-squeeze yourself into anything that is not at the very least in your size "range." Just because that Marc Jacobs top is marked 70% off does not give you the right to rip it in half trying to get it on over your fat head.


4. Stop asking me how you look in things. Just because we are in a communal dressing room does not mean we came together, know each other, care one way or another whether you look good in something. This is no time for public service announcements. Bring a friend if you need reassurance. I don't want to bear the guilt of having to either be honest and tell you how awful that color is on you or on the flip side tell you how great you look and then watch you become another fashion casualty b/c of my inability to be honest.


5. Don't sit in the lurches waiting for me to take off and reject an article of clothing so you can pounce on it. This is not supermarket sweeps. It's quite horrifying actually when I am pulling something over my head and you are snatching it out of my hands before it even goes back on the hanger. Patience is a virtue.
   

That pretty much sums it up. Thanks for listening, and I hope to not have to see any of you in Loehmann's anytime soon. Stay off my turf.

Someone please help this guy

Look at the blood in his nose, it's too sad.

It's Leap Day!

February 29^th comes along once every four years. And I have no idea why, something about the earth’s orbit and the Roman calendar... I guess I may have learned the real reason why in like 3^rd grade science class, but that bit of learning has been pushed out of my head a long time ago and since has been replaced with something important like the theme song of Fresh Prince of Bel Air.

Now this is a story all about how
My life got flipped, turned upside down
And I’d like to take a minute, just sit right there
I’ll tell you how I became the prince of a town called Bel Air

If you are really interested in the leap year thing, here’s the explanation. You may want to read while you hum along to the FPofBA song.

From wikipedia:

Leap day

February 29 is a date that occurs only every four years, and is called leap day. This day is added to the calendar in leap years as a corrective measure, because the earth does not orbit around the sun in precisely 365.000 days.

A leap year (or intercalary year) is a year containing one or more extra days (or, in the case of lunisolar calendars, an extra month) in order to keep the calendar year synchronised with the astronomical or seasonal year. For example, in the Gregorian calendar, February would have 29 days in a leap year instead of the usual 28. Because seasons and astronomical events do not repeat at an exact number of full days, a calendar which had the same number of days in each year would, over time, drift with respect to the event it was supposed to track. By occasionally inserting (or intercalating) an additional day or month into the year, the drift can be corrected. A year which is not a leap year is called a common year.

“Yo homes, smell you later!”

Wicked awesome birthday gift

Thanks Flan

Week In Review

This has been a doozy of a week for yours truly. I'll tell you, anyone who lies to your face and tells you "It'll get easier..." well just drop 'em like a bad habit because they are lying sacks of potatoes.

What happened this week? Well for one, I have kicked the tar stick once and for all. That's right, I am done. And it is not fun. Husbandette has threatened me with annulment and I have to take him seriously...I know it is a dirty habit but what's wrong with a little 'dirty' every now and again? I mean, everyone loves a good dirty martini so why not a dirty cigarette? Oh well, I'm over it. Well not really, but each day it gets a little easier. Thank you Wellbutrin. And don't go blaming me if I replace my vice with food and get all chunky monkey on you.

What else happened? The miracle of life happened, that's what. Friendette's Mike and Erica Aisner welcomed a perfect and pink baby girl into the world on Monday. Her name is Mollie Irene Aisner and I would venture to guess this is her first Internet exploitation. Mollie, someday you will be able to search the Internets in the public library (like we used to with the dewey decimal system) because by the time you are old enough I bet the internets will have been converted into something else like the Brainernets where Google just implants your brain with all it's vast knowledge, but anyway I hope someday you can search out your name and find your first official shout out here on kvetchette. An official Kvetchette onesie is in the works...

Additionally, I took a new "long term" project which commences on Monday. It's very exciting and will mean more income for me, which means more shoes and bags for me, which means a happier me. Budgets be damned - mama's bringin' home bacon.

And lastly, we (husbandette and I) await a verrrrryy important decision in our lives. I don't like to talk about things prematurely, but let's just say, next Wednesday at 7pm is a very important day for us and so we ask that all Readerettes keep their well-manicured fingers crossed for us because we need all the positive powers of thinking we can get.

Okay, enough "cry me a river," it's back to business.

I am so over the winter

It’s like 30 degrees today, but feels like 10 with wind chills. We’re knocking on March’s door and its still bone chillingly cold. I am so over the winter, I want to wear my summer dresses and flip flops.

Here’s what I hate about the cold:

- Can’t wear cute little dresses

- Can’t really talk on the cell phone outside cause your little fingers get frost bitten

- Makes waiting for a cab miserable, which makes me cranky, which makes me rude to the other people standing on the street trying to get a cab. I look at them with death eyes and mutter curse works to myself warning them not to try to steal my cab.

- Makes me eat more, it’s cold so I order in, and I can never decide what I want so I order three things and eat way too much, then lay on the couch until I’ve digested enough to get my butt in the shower before bed.

- Need to wear the hood on my jacket which limits my peripheral line of sight which makes me bump into things

- Poison arrows show through all my shirts

- Can’t take dog out, she just stands there and shivers

I have to pee

I sort of have to pee all the time. I have to pee right now as I write this, but I don’t feel like getting up.

To pee in my office is requires finding the bathroom key, shuffling outside the office into the hall by the elevators and then usually waiting in line in our crappy little ugly bathroom. Then once I’m in the stall, it takes forever to get my butt on the seat. First I need to inspect the space. Did anyone leave pee all over the seat, was there some unfortunate poo incident that isn’t resolved in the area, is there adequate toilet paper, does anything seem inappropriate for proper sitting? Once I feel confident, I can begin to undress. I’m usually wearing tights which cut off my circulation when I try to wrench them down by my knees, and then I have to wrap the dress up in a ball by my wait to avoid any unfortunate slippage into the bowl. Or if I’m not in tights, I’m in some complicated 2-button, 3-hook closure pants and it’s a whole procedure to get them off. Finally at this point, I’ve waited so long, I’m almost leaking, I finally sit – oh yes I sit – I don’t have the balance to squat over the bowl and my aim is terrible. The whole freaking procedure takes forever and I’m always afraid I’m missing the one phone call I needed to take during the day while I’m away from my desk. So instead I sit here at my computer trying to think of dry places, keeping my legs crossed tight and hoping the urge will pass.

H A P P Y B I R T H D A Y E T T E 1 ! ! ! ! !

Ette1 thinks she's old.

Problem is, Ette2 is a year older....we won't take offense.

Ette1, may your 29th year in this world be the brightest, healthiest, happiest, most successful, most rewarding, most memorable, most intoxicating year yet!! And may A L L your wishes come true - I can't think of a single solitary soul who deserves it more than you...

Mad love, mad cow disease, mad props.

xoxoxo ETTE2

Here’s the thing about being 29

First is, I am old. I’m so not the youngest anything anymore. It seemed like forever I was the youngest exec in the office, I was the youngest chick at the party, I was the youngest little thing at the conference. Now I’m not, there are 20 little girls who are younger than me at everything and it’s annoying.

Second, I feel old. Nothing reacts like it used to anymore. I used to be able to go to the gym to firm up for spring break and in two weeks be in fighting shape, now I go (well not that often) and nothing changes. Remember being young and being able to sleep in on weekends till like 3 p.m., now I’m up at 8:30 a.m. like a total geek. And of course if I’m not in bed after 11:30 p.m., I’m a complete crank-ass.

Third, I act old. All of the sudden I’m asking everyone to turn their music down, and I don’t understand how kids these days listen to that “noise.” I don’t even know what getting “crunk” is.

Fourth, I’m behind the times. Here I am nearing 30, no husband no kids… even little Jamie Lynn Spears is way ahead of me in terms of life development. I’m pretty much exactly where I was when I was 21, just with slightly more expendable cash-flow and a better title – oh yeah and 15 extra pounds.

So I’m pretty sure 29 will suck. I hope I get good gifts to ease the pain. (Reminder, I wear a 6 Louboutin.)

It's official, I'm an old maid

At least I'm rocking cute shoes though

I Didn't See No Stinkin' Indians

When I heard we were headed up to Mohegan Sun for Ette1's birthday, I couldn't have been more excited. "A real Indian reservation!" I squealed with glee. I even pulled my Pocahontas boots out from the archives just for this very occasion. I figured if I was going to have a true Indian encounter, it might be helpful if I dressed the part:

Unfortunately, I did not get to interact with any Indians. However I did see:

• A woman who actually attached herself to her slot machine with what looked like a spiral phone cord.

• Two girls, wearing matching bedazzled bras - on the outside (and they did not work there)

• The largest amount of yo-boys under one roof since high school days. Good thing it wasn't breezy in the ole' casino or all their XXXL baseball hats with the flat brims might have flown off.

• A 45-minute long line to get into the casino's nightclub. In Uncasville, CT.
  

• A lot of odd-acting inebriated couples. I think Uncasville must have just received a new shipment of Xtacy.
  

But best of all, what I saw was Ette1, drunk as a skunk, try her hand first at Wheel of Fortune slots and win big, and then tear up the Roulette table by hitting 35 - 1 odds on 22. Challah.

All in all, a terrific gals weekend away...we (heart) you Ette1 ! ! ! ! !

WT parade

The Mohegan weekend couldn't have been more awesome. And the best part was how freaking low brow the clientele was. Think of a mix between people from the Tropicana casino in AC with Red Lobster regulars and add in a few yo boys from dirty jers and you've basically got this group. My five girlfriends and me were supermodels in this place; I never felt so hot, well dressed and clean in my life. I want to go every freaking weekend.

What to wear this weekend

I keep getting calls from the girls who are coming to Mohegan this weekend asking what to wear. I've posted a pic of my outfit below to give you an idea of the appropriate dress style. See ya there sluts.

sick

In Da Jess Chion

Busy day today, readerettes. Seems Ette1 had a similar agenda because poor girl didn't post either, and that's cause for a reprimand. Well it's her burp-day very soon, and so she gets a free pass or something. The Ettes will have a lot to post about come Monday because they are headed up the old I-95 this weekend for some spa, some gamblin' and of course enough drinking to negate the healing the massage tried to do to your tired bones at good ole Mohegan Sun. Yep, girl's weekend, folks. Get ready. There will be six of us, separated from our significants for the first time in pretty much too long. This is a budgetary danger, I can tell you that right now.

In the meantime, I've spent the last 36 hours with the most painful indigestion I've ever had in my life. I had a meeting this afternoon, and as I sat across the conference table responding to the CEO, my answers spurted out in between suffocated burps and groaning noises climbing my esophagus. Sister is gassy. Not cute, I can tell you that right now. If anyone has a home remedy to share with me, I'm all ears. Today's attempt at a home remedy had me drinking baking soda water which pretty much is the grossest thing ever.

Polaroid Mania

So it's official. Polaroid is ceasing production on instant film. A vital piece of our culture, a riproaring good party pal, an iconic American product that has offered us decades of immeasurable fun, the Polaroid will soon be a cult classic and a collectible piece of history.

What was the Polaroid camera good for?

1. Taking nudie or dirty pics, as there is no shame in turning in your film for processing, risking exposing your private bits to a pervy 17-year old film processor at the PhotoMart.
   
2. Captions, captions, captions. Every good photo deserves a caption, and the white strip on the Polaroid film was perfect for sharing what Aunt Gladys was really drinking in that mug of hers.
3. Nostalgia!
4. Polaroids always make things a tad bit fuzzy - always good for pretending you are an avant-garde photographer whose vision is blurred and at the same time innovative and modern.

I am about to get on Ebay and buy as much film as I can horde (or afford - it ain't cheap) so that 20 years from now I can charge exorbitant amounts for unopened film at flea markets and make a cool buck or two on my advanced thinking ingenuity. Or I'll just take a ton of nude pics of myself. I'll be old in 20 years, but the pics will be blurry anyway so who cares.

Celebrity marriages don't work

Another one bites the dust.
Not sure if you consider them celebs, but still.

Valentine’s dinner

Backstory: loving boyfriend painstakingly prepares Valentine’s evening dinner.

Conversation:

Ette1: Wow, did you really make all of this yourself?

Pants: Yup, slaved all day, hope you appreciate it.

Ette1: This is so great, did someone give you the recipes?

Pants: No, I just figured it all out myself.

Ette1: Well this is really great, I’m so impressed, thank you.

Pants: You’re welcome, you deserve it babe. It was a lot of work you know, I spent all day cooking.

Ette1: These mashed potatoes are good, did you actually peel and mash them yourself?

Pants: Uh, yes!

Ette1: What’s in them, there’s something unique about them.

Pants: It’s my secret recipe.

Ette1: No, but really, I can’t put my finger on it, what did you put in them?

Pants: Um, yogurt…

Ette1: Really?! Wow.

Pants: Yes, now just enjoy the delicious meal that I made for you with love.

Ette1: Ok, well they are good, thanks again

Pants: You are welcome honey.

Cut to cleaning up:

Ette1: Let me clean up, since you did all the cooking.

Pants: OK, thanks

Ette1: What's this?

Southern Hospitality

Husbandette and I are currently vacaying in sunny and 65 North Carolina at Brotherette's bachelor pad. It's quite a step up from his last digs, which consisted of a shared apartment with two other dudes, a bathroom that had enough mold spores to cultivate a new breed to be studied in a lab at Duke and eventually become the topic of some geek's thesis. No more. Now, Brotherette owns a fab, modern 3-bedroom house complete with high vaulted ceilings, 2.5 baths (the .5 bath includes great reading materials, all involving your POO and what different shapes of poo reveal about your health or stability at the moment.) The guest bedroom has been done up in a modern fleur de lis motif that can only be appreciated by a discerning guest. And the soaps! The guy has the most pretentious liquid hand soaps in each of these bathrooms. It's definitely a lady magnet situation. And we haven't even started in on his adorable dog Stewart. Stewart loves the ladies. He is currently chasing Leia the Wunderdog around the digs, and she is playing hard to get since she's no slut. He is an expert at Guitar Hero (which btw is the most fun I've ever had, EVER) which means he has patience and is musically inclined. Always stellar qualities.

Basically, I am pimping my bro out on my blog. He deserves a fine lady who will appreciate his refined taste, his responsible nature, his southern hospitality and his innate ability to put a drink in your hand at the exact moment you are thinking about one in your head. And he drinks his coffee black, which is pretty bad ass.

So interested ladies, come knocking. I can attest to his handsome good looks as he is basically the guy version of me and I am pretty friggin cute.

Moral quandary

I found 20 bucks laying outside a conference room in my office. I looked around, no one was watching me, I said (not too loudly) “has anyone lost 20 dollars?” No response. What to do next.

I considered pocketing it for a moment – obviously. But then I had a thought, what if there are freaking cameras in this place and someone ends up watching me pick up the $20 that clearly does not belong to me. (Remember the irrational fear of picking my nose at my desk due to hidden cameras – it strikes again. I still pick of course.) So I sent a note to the office asking if anyone is missing some cash. I told them they’d have to describe it to me to have it returned. Here were the real life responses I got from my office, some good stuff.

Even though I wasn’t on the 7^th Floor, can I participate? It should have a picture of Andrew Jackson on the front and on the back is a picture of the white house. Also the print is green.

- From the CFO

Meh I only carry $100 bills. Not me.

- From the Mailroom guy

I don’t think it’s mine, but if I come up with a better reason why I need it than anyone else, can I be considered?

- From an Account Exec

The cut off for someone really claiming this thing is noon, then I buy myself a fancy lunch.

In Treatment

Are you watching this show on HBO? If not, start. It’s adapted from a popular Israeli TV series (which makes it cool all on its own). It’s on every weeknight and chronicles four people who see the same shrink – then on Fridays the shrink goes to his shrink to download about all the nut jobs. Remember how you loved the Sopranos therapy scenes? It’s like that sort of, but without all the heavy breathing. It’s very intense, but compelling and in a weird way makes you feel a lot better about your own life. It also makes me obsess about my therapist, now seeing how this guy reacts to these crazies I wonder what Dr. Regine thinks of me. Is she secretly rolling her eyes because my problems are trivial compared to the serious freaks she must see every week? Or are my visits like a little break from the total drama that is her job – my worst day is like my mom told me she didn’t like the dress I had on. So now on top of my normal anxiety, I’m worried about how my therapist feels about our sessions – and obviously I can’t talk to her about that. Oy, anyway, it’s a good show and will tide me over till they bring back the Flight of the Conchords.

Budget This

As of very recently, I am on a budget. Now this sounds easy enough...I would imagine a lot of people budget out their lifestyle on pretty little spreadsheets, catching flack for buying one extra skim latte and getting pats on the back when spending less than allocated.

However I am not one of these people. I like the idea of a budget, and believe that being organized enough to determine what I spend in a given month on things like asian chicken salads from Atlanta Bread or manis would better my lifestyle in the long run, but I don't quite ever see this concept through to fruition. Thus, I guess you could say I've never been on a budget.

So for the first time, I am watching what I spend. Husbandette and I have always reveled in the NYC make-more-spend-more mentality. Heck, for a year of our relationship - A YEAR - we ate dinner out (or ordered dinner in) every single night. Swear. Now this is before I decided cooking was fun and realized I was actually good at it, and so living on penang curry from the thai restaurant up the block was perfectly reasonable. Plus we figured, groceries are expensive in the city...it's basically cheaper to eat out every night.

Well now I have no excuse. I live up in suburbia-land and graze from the limited culinary trough as it is, so cooking at home has become the norm. But I also have an expensive palatte, liking myself to a "Julia Child" and not a "Dinners Under $10" kinda chef. So...grocery bills rock out at crazy numbers. I also believe grocery shopping is an art form - one you don't truly learn until shopping for multiple people, i.e. a family, so I assume I will learn this art over time and wisen up on how to get multiple meals out of one sprig of parsley.

I have to watch what I spend now. This is a test, really, to see if I can pull it off and save some funds. Husbandette is on board with my exercise in caution, as he doesn't quite understand why I need certain things I claim as necessity, like the Tracy Reese handbag I just adore and a new pair of Paige Premium jeans. (helllllooo, that handbag is in the perfect shade of cognac and it's so spectacular I would eat off it - albiet I'd be eating Ramen noodles b/c that's all I could afford after buying it, but still...we make sacrifices). I guess this is all part of the fun of being married. Ho hum and happy valentine's day to you too, scrooge.

So in an effort to make my transition smoother from spend-a-holic to spendthrift, I am opening the measure of possibility should any readerettes feel the desire to buy me a coffee. Or take me out to dinner. Or donate a handbag you've grown tired of. Donations now being accepted.

I don’t like all this B.S. about Valentine’s Day being called a hallmark holiday, created by industry to make money etc. And those annoying people who act like they don’t care about it, like they are too cool. You just know they don’t have a date on Thursday and if they did, they’d be all up in a red dress feeling the romance of it all. Valentine’s Day IS IMPORTANT. We ladies bust our asses all year being good girlfriends/wives/booty-calls/whatever. We listen to you bitch about work, we go to your family events and wear a cute dress so your parents think we’re sweet, we take your dog to the Vet, we give birth to your spawn nearly destroying our girl parts int he process, we watch endless sporting games and sometimes pretend to root for your team, we pick up your stinky socks, we cook you the greasy foods you like and buy you butter crumb cakes every week, we sit in the hospital with you holding your hand and trying not to puke while your foot gets stitched up, we hang with your dorky friends, and we make sure to do it at least twice a week to keep everyone happy and settled. For this, and all that we do, we deserve grand, obnoxious displays of your affection and gratitude. That includes (but is not limited to) expensive jewelry, expensive dinners, expensive floral deliveries, chocolates, romantic trips, etc. It does not include lingerie (or sex-related materials of any type), coupon books for massages and stuff (if it didn’t cost anything, we don’t need it), poems, red roses (I hate them, don’t come at me with red roses, choose a flower I like) or basically any V-day related item you can buy at a drugstore.

I know we've got a good deal of male readers, so you know I'm talking to you! Don't try to make a drive-by at Duane Reade before you get home tomorrow. Get on the phone and the internets and hit the pavement, rain or no rain, stitches in feet or not, and do something special for the woman in your life who deserves it. I repeat, I'm a size 6 Louboutin!

Coincidence that Valentine and VJ both start with a V?

I think not. I am quite certain there is a consipiracy here - probably brought to us by the same tricksters who created MENapause and MENstruation. But alas, we are faced with this Hallmark holiday year after year, so we might as well have fun with it, right?

Here are some V-Day cards that are a little more unique than the ones you'll find in the card aisle at Duane Reade:

Both cards above brought to you courtesy of Whimsy Press.

And for the guy who forgets the stupid holiday you pretended to not care about in the first place, this series says it all:

The series above can be purchased with love at Ella Studio.

When a card just won't do, and a tangible gift is in order to tell your sweetie just how much you adore them, try one of these. They speak louder than jewelry or tools ever could:

An absolute steal at $7.95, the Heartless Bitch stuffed animal comes with a heart shaped hole where her heart should be. Perfect for the cold, callous type. Purchase at Heartless Bitches.

And should Mr. Short-Lived rain on your romance parade, slip on this cozy tee to show him just how much you appreciated that 2 minutes. Available courtesy of the Sticker Wizard and Goth Monkey.

Now go on...let love rule.

I Wanna Text You Up

This is just plain silly, but kind of addicting in a strange way. See just how naughty the plumber (or nurse) will get with you - he has a snake that can unclog pipes.

Let's Have Text is a fun lil' site brought to us by the dirty birds and repressed sexual souls over at Virgin Mobile.

Rx Games

Drug companies are E V I L. I swear, they are going to be the downfall of our culture, our economy and morality in general.

Case-in-point: In a valiant effort to quit the nicotine habit once and for all, I was prescribed Zyban by my doc to help ease me off the tar tubes. I headed on over to the CVS with my Rx in hand, prepared to hand that baby in and pay $5 for my monthly supply of white warrior pills. I was told to HALT at the Rx counter, as the nimble pharmacist told me it would be ready in 20 minutes, and would be $295. Yes, you heard me correctly. Two hundred and ninety five dollars. Just a SLIGH T cost difference from the $5.00 copay my insurance company has me paying.

After a momentary freak-out, I managed to eke an explanation out of the pharmacist. "Your insurance company won't pay for a smoking cessasion drug. And this drug, marketed as ZYBAN, is just that."

Now hear me out. Zyban is EXACTLY the same thing as Wellbutrin. They have given the drug different names so that the crazy depressed folk don't feel like they are taking an anti-smoking drug and the smokers trying to quit don't feel like they are crazies (even though everyone knows smokers are depressed...or repressed...I can't quite remember). So I asked Mr. Pharmacist, if the Rx was written out for Wellbutrin would my insurance cover it? A big fat YUP.

So, three days and a secondary visit to my lady Doc friend and my little slip of paper has been re-zoned as Wellbutrin. Yes, she realized at second glance I must be depressed. And $5.00 later, I am the proud owner of a month's supply. Go figure. So thank you, Glaxo Smith Kline, for helping me not be depressed. Not for helping me quit smoking, which makes me healthier in the long run and reduces my risk for cancer, which down the road could cost you, insurance giant, $50k+ in reimbursed medical fees.

Good lord, Aretha

Now I like me some Aretha Franklin. I have R E S P E C T for that woman o' soul. She can croon to her heart's delight (and ours) and I would say nary a word. But when it comes to Ms. Franklin's wardrobe choices, something's gotta give, and at any moment that something is going to be the dental floss holding her dresses of choice up.

Her girls ar so big they have their own zip code. Her girls are so massive, she buys them a separate plane ticket. Her bazonkas are so ginormous, they enter a room 3 days before she does. So why, I must ask, does she wear these gowns that hold those puppies up with spaghetti straps?? Now even I would be hesitant to leave the house in spaghetti straps. Everyone knows that one spin the wrong way on the dance floor and you could be looking at spending the night in jail for assault with a deadly boob. This woman insists on wearing gowns held up by not much more than a string. I just don't understand. It's not flattering. It's not stylish. It's not hot. It defies the laws of gravity.

Thoughts?

Cranium craziness

After a monumentally bad week including police cars, screwdrivers and stab wounds, Pants and 1 were in a desperate need to forget their troubles and enjoy some down time.  On sat we packed Boozie and hopped a flight up to Canada to a lovely bed and breakfast run by a kindly old couple - good cooks and good sports.  The first inaugural Game Night ensued. Fueled by massive amounts of frustration and a bit of wine, the team that was OnePant destroyed the InnKeepers in two consecutive cranium challenges. Despite valiant efforts and great gets like bungee jumping charades and sausage necklace molds, OnePant pulled the gold metal through clutch calls like freaking DNA out of clay (its all in the twist of the wrist) and a bucking bronco rodeo. Huge thanks to our hosts, we'll post a great review on TripAdvisor.  They even had chocolates on the pillows! 

Let's everyone look forward to a better week!

It's Friday...

And this weekend couldn't come at a better time. This week has just been horrendous. Mama needs a bottle of wine and her dogette and husbandette curled up on the sofa with her, STAT.

Tomorrow night is game night with Ette1 and Pants. We have a little Cranium and Scattergories action in order, accompanied by lots of treats. My strategy? Get them both heavily liquored up before game time and then beat the pants off Pants and Ette. That's how we do up in suburb-land.

Happy weekend to all, and to all a good night.

As a service to our readers

We like to tune you into the best of pop culture, sometimes that includes great gifting ideas (wine bra, gold poo pill), sometimes it's movie reviews (Lars, Juno) and sometimes it's great Web sites. This one is a must see.

www.hotchickswithdouchebags.com
"Pictures of hot chicks with total and complete douchebags. With Commentary."

It's a brilliant concept, wish we thought of it... here are some examples:


Enjoy!

Techmology

Technology is grand, ya'll. Just check out this nifty invention, known as the Wine Rack. A sports bra that you fill with the nectar of the gods, this sports bra-like boulder houlder pumps up your rack and your blood alcohol level. There is a tube that is attached - suck it and get drunk. Your boobs will deflate, but who cares about a rack when you have a buzz going on some good Pinot. At $29.95, this is surely my gift of choice for all my upcoming girlfriend's b-days. And of course, one for myself. It may give me Pamela Anderson-esque breasts, but who cares? I don't - I'll be too drunk to care.

Still laughing...

Got a mani today and the sweet (but obviously senile) manicurist asked me if I was a junior or a senior in high school. She was about to lecture me on my knuckle duster, for being a way-too-young bride. When I finally picked myself off the floor from laughing so hard (hello, 30th birthday around the bend) and brushed the nail clippings off my bum, I asked her if she was serious. She told me I have young skin and don't look a day over 18. I think I am in love with my manicurist.

And just for fun...

My new obsession

Totally can't take credit, this is 2's discovery, but I am freaking cartoonizing everything. Check out how cool:

Six more weeks

With all the news about celebs being admitted to psych wards, the presidential race and Heath’s toxicology reports, no one is talking about Phil.

Groundhog Day came and went on Saturday without so much as a CNN news alert. Up on Gobbler’s Knob in Punxsutawney little Phil saw his freaking shadow and we are doomed for six more weeks of winter. They take this stuff very seriously. Here's what they have on the official site:

Phil's official forecast as read 2/2/08 at sunrise at Gobbler's Knob:

Hear Ye! Hear Ye! Hear Ye!

On Gobbler's Knob on this fabulous Groundhog Day, February 2nd, 2008
Punxsutawney Phil, the Seer of Seers, Prognosticator of all Prognosticators,
Rose to the call of President Bill Cooper and greeted his handlers, Ben Hughes and John Griffiths.

After casting a weather eye toward thousands of his faithful followers,
Phil consulted with President Cooper and directed him to the appropriate scroll, which proclaimed:

"As I look around me, a bright sky I see, and a shadow beside me.
Six more weeks of winter it will be!"