Saturday, March 27, 2010
Anyway, this rule is not about identifying that you may be an idiot who says stupid things. If you are dumb enough to ask someone when they are due, you wont find help here. We can only do so much. This rule is for people who are observant enough to notice weight gain, a familiar motherly gesture, or a glow on another unsuspecting woman. I don't care if it is your daughter, your sister, or your friend. Never.Ask.If.Someone.Is.Pregnant.Ever. Unless maybe if you are an emergency technician who needs the information to perform emergency care. Then, I guess it's ok.
This has happened to me a lot lately. Yes world, I have gained some weight. And yes, sometimes I wear shirts that are loose around my stomach, and yes, sometimes I choose to order a club soda at the bar (normally because someone has to drive my drunken husband home). But I am NOT preggo. I will tell YOU when I am pregnant and want you to know.
Recently, crazy excel-genius client of mine looked me straight in the eye and said "Oh my gosh, are you pregnant?" I replied no, but she thought I was lying. When I repeated that I was definitely not pregnant she says, "Its the way you are standing. You look pregnant."
I am off to go spend some time with my treadmill. Apparently our relationship is suffering.
Oompa Loompa is just that; awkward, pudgy to the point it keeps her from having a normal gait, and tinted an unnatural color of orange.
Do you want this standing next to you at your wedding? Didn't think so.
Hostess: There is room in C's car so I am going to start taking these chairs outside to be loaded.
OL (mumbling to herself, which only I overheard as she was solidly within my personal space): Leave the chairs alone, they scratch very easily and I don't want them ruined
Hostess (never hears this) goes to grab chairs and folds 2 of them and heads to front door
OL: Put the F*%&ing Chairs down! I said they scratch easily and you will RUIN them
Hostess: They are folding chairs, I haven't hurt them, but whatev, sorry
OL: You will scratch the wood and I did not bring them all this way to ruin them, unless you are planning on buying me new ones
5 minutes later the rest of the crew are done doing the dishes and in their drunken state come over and decide to move the chairs out of the living room.
Wash, rinse, repeat:
OL: Put the GD F*%$ing chairs down. You will scratch them. Hostess, I will need clean towels to use as covers for the chairs in order to move them!
OL: Clean towels. You know, to put in between the chair and the chair back to prevent scratching? I will wash them and mail back to you if it is a big deal.
Hostess: Where are the towels you used to bring them here?
OL: I didn't need them on the way here because I packed them myself, and I know how to properly fold and load them. But I can't do any folding and loading now because my shoes are causing blisters and I cant go outside in this neighborhood barefoot, so your friends will have to do the loading. And they obviously can't be trusted to move anything.
I kid you not. And I get to spend this entire weekend with her at the bachelorette party. Let's hope she comes down with the swine flu today.
P.S., Apparently her family owns a rental company...
Friday, March 26, 2010
It all started when my friend Maria and I were babysitting her 4 year old evil niece. We were all sitting around watching Top Model (because 4 year olds should know early on how to smile with their eyes). Out of nowhere, Devil Child comes up to me all innocent puppy eyes, sniffs me, and says:
“You smell like gina.”
That’s right. Like vagina without the va. I was horrified! Who says things like that?! .
Okay NB1, I tell myself, don’t freak out. This is a child and, although she is clearly the long-lost spawn of Shannen Doherty and Scott Disick, I surely must have misunderstood, right?
Me: What was that sweetie? This is me trying to butter up the Devil Child.
DC: You. Smell. Like. Gi. Na.
I full on panicked. I ask Maria if she agrees but she is laughing so uncontrollably that she has started crying and both of them at this point are jumping up and down, pointing their fingers, chanting “You smell like gina! You smell like gina!”
I hadn't been this humiliated since 3rd grade when I wanted with all my heart and soul to hairspray my bangs so that they fanned out oh so coolly like Kelly Kapowski and my mom wouldn’t let me b/c she said I would appreciate it later in life and so then all the girls made fun of me for having boring straight bangs.
I decided I should just go home at that point because if I stayed any longer I would bite that child’s face off and, although it would probably be a totally understandable crime of passion, that damn Nancy Grace would be all over it.
Fastforward to last year when I went to a party where all of Maria’s family was invited. Mind you, ever since this dreadful incident I have showered at least twice daily, I carry deodorant with me at all times, and I have a Costco-sized supply of Summer’s Eve in my bathroom (Too much information? No? Good.). So we are all at this party and Maria tells the story of how DC stole my confidence in one statement. I have heard Maria tell this story several times over the life of our friendship. This time though, DC’s mom is there, laughing at her obviously hilarious and witty child to the point where there are tears in her eyes. Then she says something that changed my life.
DC Mom: There’s a girl in her class whose mom is named Gina. Yes, she pronounced gina like vagina without the va. Who names their child gina?
Me: Seriously? Her name is Gina as in vagina? I needed clarification.
DC Mom: Yes.
Me: Oh………So…what does she smell like?”
DC Mom: Cucumber Melon.
This liberated me. I felt like a huge weight was lifted off my armpits. And although some habits are hard to break, like carrying deodorant and showering like a maniac, I have learned to relax a bit and not be so self-conscious. At least about how I smell.
I have also decided, as I was writing this post, that my new alias will now be Gina. So from here on out NB1 will be known as Gina as in vagina without the va.
Monday, March 22, 2010
NB1: Since I love shoes and figured the more stylists helping me out the better, I also tried ShoeFab. I, too, had this irrational fear about getting nothing but flats so I for some reason answered all the questions as if I moonlight as a 5’2” drag queen. (Side note: I am not actually a drag queen and I am about 5’7”.) I am also not against flats. I have zillions of flats for every occasion. I just figured I am not that style-deficient that I need a personal shopper to tell me which $40 flats to buy. To make a long story short, the stylists recommended 6 pairs of tranny shoes with heels >5” which would put me right at 6’0”. No thanks.
I then sent them an email saying “Hi, can you please send me shoes that an accountant could wear out on the town but could also wear at work and maybe also to that club that all the young kids go so that I can blend in? Thanks!” This thoroughly confused the people at SF and two days later I received 6 pairs of $40 bedazzled flip flops in my second selection as retaliation. Hence, ShoeFab and I are not friends, but I am happy for NB2 and her new warm and fuzzy relationship.
"When you dont return emails (which I understand, I know you have a real job and all) it’s like I am driving without my cell phone. It doesn’t affect my drive any, but it happens to be the time when I realize I want to make like 50 calls. It throws me off. "