My Skirt Fell Off In Parking Garage

* 5 years ago … It happened again. Different skirt, different lot. Meh!

As I was walking from my office to my car, my skirt hit the concrete.  I remained upright, standing there in front of God and everybody, in my top and underwear. I do not have a tan – on purpose, but I sure could have used one at that moment.  My legs look like abnormally long pieces of packaged chicken. Read: white.  Did have on nice underwear, but it just doesn’t compensate for the lack of skin color – in daylight.  Couldn’t grab the demon garment  because I was holding boards.  The wooden kind. Ignored the horrified screaming and running of garage mates and finally managed to pull that sucker up under my arms.  And took my boards to the post office to mail them.

Who mails boards? As in not- too- long- but- sorta- heavy boards?  Interior designers, that’s who.  I’m not a designer, I am the office ODDJOB.  Without the razor-brimmed hat.  My areas of expertise are research (“Here’s a picture of a painting.  We need to know who the artist is.  There is no information, no caption, no nothing, don’t even know when or where the picture of painting came from. Go!” I found artist and a silkscreen of painting to purchase in 30 minutes), food choices (“Everyone is dieting but I still think we should get a cake, should we get a cake?” Get the cake. Am genius), and mailing boards.

Had to stick my stomach out to keep skirt on in post office.  Happy foreign man says, “You want to mail boards?”.  I said indeed I did and the cost must be under $100.  He started laughing and speaking to himself in his native tongue. Am thinking that means cost will be well over the budget. Skirting the details,I return to office with humble, sad face.  Walked into designers bull pen, looking for my boss to tell her about expense.  That damn skirt went south again. My colleagues, all women, were nonplussed; they are used to my wardrobe malfunctions.  Paper-clipped skirt top to underwear and called it a day.

Did I mention I live in the city located just on the outskirts of  Hell?  Where it is 81-degrees at 7 a.m.? This morsel of info is only necessary because sweats are not clothing here, sweats are a perpetual state of the body.  Every body.  So skirt slippage was heat-related. As evening approaches, it is a brisk 80-degrees inside my house; the a/c is working its ass(?) off, making the same sounds that pierce the air when empty cans are put in dryer and dryer is turned on high. War zone ambience. Trying to relax and cool down.

Turn on the computer and get some news.  Apparently bird doo facials are all the rage in NYC; you, too, can have one for $180. So “Emperor’s New Clothes”, I can’t even wrap this.  My mind is grinding, so I’ll throw out an offer for bird poop facial aficionados …. you are most welcome to sit on my patio – all day long – for $10; you will be delighted by all the bird bombs that cover your entire self.  There is only one catch … bring earplugs… the a/c sound might disturb your bliss.  Come early and stay late.

Don’t even think I”m complaining, I’m not.  Based on what I read, hear, and see, I am beyond lucky.  If anyone needs a skirt fail, a scary loud a/c, a poop facial provided by numerous regional birds, and/or  boards mailings, you know where to look.

*P.S.  Always wear nice underwear, even if you aren’t riding in the car … you never know ….. just saying.

Later.  If I don’t melt…

Advertisements

Blame it on Eve

I’m talking about clothing. While I wouldn’t call Eve a style icon, her curiosity and that damn apple did present us with the need to “cover up”. Don’t know who decided to make dressing an art form, but God bless him/her/them.

Did you know that any clothing over 20 years old is considered vintage? I didn’t, but am all over vintage clothing for a number of reasons. First and foremost …..

My Grandmother

My grandmother was born with style. I think this photo is 1930’s but her outfit looks like Norma Kamali was around at that time. Luckily, I have some of my grandmother’s jackets and other accoutrement which I wear frequently. Because it was so well made and way cool. I LOVE vintage clothing. The fabrics, the craftmanship … oh, I feel a case of the vapors coming on.

Before I take to my fainting couch, I must tell you why I’m double lucky regarding vintage. My city has the very best treasure chest of vintage clothing, shoes, hats, handbags, and other accessories in this hemisphere. IN ONE SPOT! Cheeky Vintage! Just the name makes me swoon.

The owners of Cheeky Vintage, Denise and Tina, are brilliant and have a serious love and eye for vintage perfection. But don’t just take my word for it; Lucky Magazine calls Cheeky one of the country’s best vintage stores. And the positive press goes on and on. Go to cheekyvintage.com to drool.

Chanel, anyone?

Treasure Chest

Just fainted.

Later.

My Trees Have Faces and Other Stuff

No, I’m not writing from the psych ward. All my trees do have faces.

Smiley McStump

See? He’s the happiest of the lot. It is too early in the day to show you the others. September was  a month of observations – and not blogging. Climbing back on the wagon, I’ll share lessons some observations. Shocking, right?

  1. GMA  reported that men adore beautiful women – specifically women with big eyes, full lips, and a small chin. This info comes from a Harvard study. I get the eyes and lips but a small chin? Have you ever been complimented on your chin, period? Good grief, the only reason a woman even looks at her chin is to check for scary hairies.
  2. My neighbor. If you saw him on the street, you’d think he was a hunk of burning love. LOOKS ARE DECEIVING. He hates everything and everyone except dogs, me, and penis replacements. He’s just traded his ginormous Hummer for a Monster Truck. Said truck does not fit in garage. He is way scary … especially when he throws a ball or something – repeatedly – against my bedroom wall from what must be his bedroom. Ewwwwww!
  3. The two funniest shows on tv, in my opinion, are Saving Grace and New Girl. Zooey Dechanel is HILARIOUS!
  4. BARGAIN ALERT: If you have a CVS card, you can purchase a case of water for $1.11 this week.

If you want the secret to good hair – buy this:

Suave Dry Shampoo

You can find it at grocery and drug stores, it is usually under $2 and it IS a game changer in hair land. After having a pixie cut for 20 years, I decided to grow my hair out. Channeling a younger Anna Wintour, I am. While there is much more hair than I remember, it is straight as a board and needs a bit of volume. Enter Suave Dry Shampoo. You can use it however you wish. For some serious volume, here’s what you do: wash your hair, dry your hair, then spray the roots with the dry shampoo. Massage it in and wait about five minutes. Then fix your major hair bomb. Trust me on this one; I’ve had disbelieving friends test the method and they are converts.

Am big into bargain hunting  and latest finds came from Old Navy and Marshall’s.

Old Navy cardigan and turtleneck
Laundry tweed sheath/Marshall’s

The cardigan, under $20; the turtleneck, under$18. Lots of colors and variations on both.

The Laundry sheath (bad photo) is awesome and will work until spring. With opaque hose and great heels, not bad for $59.
Last but not least, if you want a really good laugh, check out http://whenparentstext.com/
Later.

Are You Superstitious? Part 13

 

Parts 2-12 do not exist. But if you  are superstitious about that number, you can call it, Part 2. Am currently wearing a press-on device, $7, guaranteed to give me a brow lift in one hour. Which would be proof that I’d believe anything … including superstitions, except for the following:

  • “Wear your underwear inside out for good luck.” Trust me here, if you turn that frown upside down with inside out panties, you will NOT get lucky. And you might be drunk.
  • “A dog chasing its tail brings tornadoes.” No, no, no! Rabies? Yes. Tornadoes? NO! Rabid Luck … or drunk dog.
  • If you have a hole in your jeans, you will have a visitor.” Especially if the hole is in front of your privacy. A bit too “come and get it” for me.
  • “Eating a hair from a horse’s forelock is a cure for worms”. Let’s think about this. If you have worms, you are either dead or sick – if the latter, go to the damn doctor. If you can’t find a doctor and think this horsehair/forelock thing is the way to go, please wear a helmet. This is a recipe for a head injury, indigestion, and an isolation unit until the end of time.
  • “A cat onboard a ship is considered good luck.” Well, double duh and slap me silly. Of course a cat on a ship is good BECAUSE of all the rats on the ship. Purr Luck.
  • “Never bring a hoe in your house.” Especially if you can’t spell and you are a married man. Bad juju.
  • “If you drop a dishtowel on the floor, a worse housekeeper that yourself is coming to visit you.” Not. Possible. At. My. House. Dirty luck.
  • “If you sleep with a teabag tied around your head, you are an idiot”. ‘Nuff said here.

Must dash off to the store. The one hour, $7 brow lift worked! It lifted every piece of skin, from brow to scalp, right off the front of my face. As my skull is exposed, I either need to tie a pirate bandana (arrghhhh!) around my head for 4-6 months or find a perky, come hither, man magnet skull-cap. Ta Ta For Now!

Later.

Mrs. Brown, You’ve Got A Lovely ……

 

If you are easily offended, please do not read this post; come back another day. You have been warned. 🙂

Got an email a couple of weeks ago that promised to make me laugh. All I had to do was watch the You Tube video. It features part of a BBC show, apparently about the Brown family. When the title is, “Mrs. Brown Gets A Bikini Wax“. I love British humor; despite the fact that “bikini wax” in the title is a bit much, of course I looked it up and watched. And laughed my self silly. Should you need a good laugh and are a bit twisty, please watch it to the very end. You can find it here:

I’m a link loser so just go straight to You Tube and type in the show title. Oh, don’t complain, like that’s a bunch of trouble.

Speaking of losing, since I have taken on the odious chore of cleaning my house, I have found lots of surprises. Each day I discover something amiss. Today, it was the shower door.  Most of the time, I shower downstairs. My shower exerts as much pressure as a new-born baby. But I was in a hurry. Have worn glasses for about a month. Looked at the shower door, which is all glass, as I got in. It had been cleaned with a Brillo pad and looks like a cat with metal claws went into a glass-slashing frenzy. Who in their right mind would do that?

Delving into my kitchen cabinets, I found all sorts of cutlery and dishes that were obviously removed from the dishwasher and put away – but the dishwasher was never used. GROSS.

Later, I went to my liquor cabinet. Never go there unless I’m having company … and happy pills treat me much better than moonshine. When I opened the door, I saw a slew of empty bottles: tequila, scotch, bourbon, gin, vodka. Of course, my first thought went to my girls. Wrong. They are of age and live elsewhere. Who in the world drained all the liquor bottles?

I pondered these mysteries while walking Cooper earlier. And ran into my friend, E. We chatted and I complained about house cleaning, glass slashing and the missing adult beverage material. She gave me a look that said, “HELLO!” I always wondered why my former house helper had a hard time getting to her car at the end of the day. And that also explains the glass door mess, the dishwasher that wasn’t allowed to do its job, and all the gouges in my walls and woodwork.  There was a cocktail party, attended by one, every week at mi casa. God knows, house cleaning is wretched, but get drunk after work, like everybody else.

Dumber than a bag of hammers, I am was. I once was blind but now I have glasses. Which I accidentally wore into the shower today. Whatev.

Off to bed now as I must get up at three a.m. to attend the Royal Wedding. I wonder if Mrs. Brown was invited?

 Nighty Noodles.

Later.

*Not a peep from Ms. DeGeneres … yet. 😦

And One To Grow On…

366 Wishes Candle Set/Red Envelope

Happy New Year! The photo above is part of a candle set I wanted for Christmas. Yes, I do have a new candle company and no, I didn’t make up this idea but I love it anyway. When youngest daughter asked for my Christmas wish list, this was on it. So I taped a picture of it to her forehead, sue me. There is an inspirational word on each of the 366 candles. Burn one a day. LOVE. Anyway, yesterday being last year and all, I chose to burn my “extra” to start the new year off just right. I randomly chose “Laughter“.

Laughter, is there anything better? (Yes, I am well aware of other better things, but let’s just stick with laughter here, ok?).  And that was the perfect word for the last evening of the year. A casual dinner with close friends at home and SO MUCH LAUGHTER. And good food, lots of champagne, and dancing all through the house and out into the backyard. My kind of fun. As a matter of fact, I’ve spent many a New Year’s Eve with these same friends and was reminded of an especially eventful one two decades before.

I was 17 months pregnant with baby #2. Nevertheless, I donned a cocktail tent and high heels and we left all the birthed babies with one  babysitter. When we returned to our friends’ home to fetch baby #1, the sight of the poor woman trying to juggle three very miserable babies (mine was literally tied to her back with a dustrag), made me lose control of myself. We started laughing so hysterically and I was so ridiculously pregnant, well … I had a wee accident. It would have been no biggie but Mick kept shooing me off their Oriental rug like I was a bad poodle. Which made me laugh so hard I channeled a racehorse. Not my most dignified moment nor was the rug ever the same. But it was funny. 

I did mind my manners last night. Or not. But no rug accidents. And I’m not pregnant. Or if I am, it IS a miracle AND the Second Coming. Not to change the subject but my contribution to the dinner was Spinach Gratin, recipe by the Barefoot Contessa.  It is a great recipe and I highly recommend it, but you really must love onions – 4 cups of chopped onions in a recipe that says it serves 8? Good grief … my house still smells like Coney Island.

Sorry I am all over the map as I write this. Main thing is – laugh! I thought of a good way to make myself laugh when I am not feeling it. Watch those crazy laughing baby videos on YouTube. Hilarious!

Dying to know what today’s candle is? Imagination. I don’t know what to think. Have to go light my way and see what pops up.

Later.

*It might seem that I was callous toward the feelings of the babysitter in the incident mentioned above. I was. But she was paid handsomely. And it was a long time ago … just sayin’…

Wednesday Wiggles

I’m conducting a scientific experiment. I made it up. Am trying to determine how observant others are. This requires me to wear pajamas everywhere. Either I’m invisible or own a mess of fine-ass sleepwear because no one I’ve been with has said a word. On second thought, I’m going to end this experiment immediately. Just remembered Crazy Woman Dancing. When I was in middle school, we lived across the street from a bigwig at some corporation. Every morning after he went to his coupon-clipping job, his wife would perform. Outside. In her pajamas. She had not seen her forties in many a moon; she looked like a potato on two sticks with dyed black hair. She would dance up a storm, waltzing here, twisting there, with a little cha-cha-cha thrown in. It’s fair to say she had a wee bit of a struggle with adult beverage consumption. Her “keeper” would wander out about an hour after the performance started and reel her back into the asylum house.

My eldest popped over yesterday. She has come to the conclusion that her father is very “regimented” and I am very “wiggly”; she claimed she and her sister were smack dab in the middle. She must have seen me dancing strolling down the grocery aisle in my pajamas street clothes. Under the influence of caffeine. Wiggly?

Rather than rant on Justin Bieber (who cares who he’s kissing? blech!), rip some very strange Freshly Pressed selections sandwiched between outstanding choices (an ongoing mystery with no end in sight), and cry for the poor soul playing the new female football coach on Glee, I guess I’ll just let my head explode for the umpteenth time. Or start dancing on the driveway ….

Better wiggle out of these pajamas first.

Later.