Saturday, March 27, 2010

Life rule #3 Never Assume Someone is Pregnant

We have all heard the stories of women just a few months post baby that are asked "when are you due?" The best part of these stories are when the accused woman is holding, carrying, nursing a tiny newborn. Life is not a soap opera, you can't be pregnant with one baby and get pregnant with another months later while still pregnant with the 1st. One pregnancy at a time. (If I am wrong, please God, don't ruin it for me.)

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."

The F?

I am off to go spend some time with my treadmill. Apparently our relationship is suffering.

Why I Am Scared of Oompa Loompas

A friend of mine is getting married. Woohoo for her! Run and hide for the rest of us who must be forced to spend time with Oompa Loompa bridesmaid from hell.
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.

Recently at a shower for Bride, we were treated to Oompa Loompa in all her glory. You see OL contributed to the truly fabulous shower by A) acting as a director of the party by dictating who got what piece of cake, seriously, and B) providing a total of 4 folding chairs. Anyway, the chairs were fully functional FOLDING chairs. You know the ones you fold for storage in a dusty closet somewhere until your husband decides to start a poker group on Tuesday nights in your living room? I believe they were the Target brand, and I know this because I heart all things Target, with the deep cherry wood colored veneer to make them look more grown up than your average post college furniture. The party wraps up and the rest of us are helping Hostess clean and return her gorgeous house back to its pre-party state, when the Hostess exclaims she is going to start moving the chairs outside to be packed in someones car. You would have thought she said she was going to place someones new white Jimmy Choos in a mud puddle for safekeeping the way OL came unglued.


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!

Hostess: What?

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

Irrational Fears, Devil Children and Vaginas

I have had this irrational fear that I smell bad for about 4 years.

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.

Love, Gina

Monday, March 22, 2010


Tuesday is Shoesday here at Two Non Blondes. We are so excited about it, that we are posting our first ever joint post!

NB1: Fairly recently we both joined shoe clubs. I joined Shoe Dazzle because I love Kim Kardashian and NB2 joined Shoe Fab because a nasty rumor was spread that Shoe Dazzle is out and Shoe Fab is in. (By the way, we promise we are working on better aliases. NB1 and NB2 makes us sound like reject robots from Short Circuit. Remember Short Circuit? Number 5 is alive! I love that movie.) So anyway, yeah shoes. So the gist is you pay $40/month and shoes are selected for you based on your *style*, you pick a pair and they are shipped to you. Genius.

NB2: The most amazing part is that these clubs have hired professional shoe designers complete with real degrees in shoe shopping, and are all successful business venture peeps who HANDPICK your shoe selections each month. Like a real life personal shoe shopper that I don't have to pay but knows exactly what I like and what I need at exactly the right time. Or so I thought.

To get started you fill out this in-depth personality quiz based on your fashion dreams and inspirations. These quizes are the insight to your personal shoe style fabulousness. Below are some of the *actual* questions and responses from the Shoe Fab quiz I completed to join:

SF (Shoe Fab): Which of the following three shoe styles would you wear to the Grammy's (insert 3 very different shoes, details only semi-important)?

Me: 1st picture looks great but I don't particularly think a nude pump screams Grammy Awards. 2nd picture looks way more *Daytime Emmy* than Grammy Awards, and why would they put a huge yellow flower on bright pink stilettos? Picture 3 is all kinds of awesome and totally worth building an outfit around. I choose picture 3

SF: Who is your style icon: Gwen Stefani, Fergie, or Anne Hathaway?

Me: Well, that totally depends. Gwen Stefani today or circa 1995 Spiderweb? I like Fergie, but not too big on her clothes, or her shoes for that matter. Anne Hathaway? Uh hello?! The very same Devil Wears Prada and Awesome Chanel Boots and Bride Wars Teacher Chic Anne Hathaway? Yes, please!

SF: Which heel hight do you most prefer: flats, mid-height (3-5 inches), or super stripper corked wedge 8 inch platform heels?

Me: Again, this also depends. I have nothing against flats, but I am afraid if I *prefer* flats, I will be sent a selection of birkenstocks and other geriatric type shoes. Also, I am of the belief that wearing flats too often is broadcasting that you have essentially given up on life. I love me some heels but I dont need 12 new pairs of heels within the next year. And 5 inches is considered *mid* height? Ordinarily, wedges make me want to barf. But what else would possibly be appropriate to go out in here in South Texas but innappropriately high wedges which are obviously the new must have shoe? I.So.Need.Strippper.Shoes. Obviously I go with the 8" wedges.

So then I sat back and awaited my first shoe selection from the awesome and not at all confused shoe stylists. My selection arrived and apparently my shoe style is super-slutty-domanatrix-murderer (the heels on these shoes can kill, literally) - meets - hospital chic. Bleh. One particularly disgusting pair was reminiscent of a straight jacket for your feet, in prison grey, no less.

I made the wisest selection I could, and settled for these beauties:

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.

Life Rule #2 NEVER Steal Another Girl's Bouquet

I went to a wedding this weekend. It was probably one of the most fun weddings I had ever been to. There was nothing particularly extravagant about this wedding other than there was an open bar and great music.

Anyway, as all weddings go, it eventually came time for the bouquet toss. Now I am not one of those trample-over-my-own-mother-for-the-bouquet kind of girls. I am more like hey-if-it-comes-my-way-and-I-happen-to-catch-it-with-my-super-long-fingers-so-be-it kind of girls. So before my friend, let's call her Maggie, throws the bouquet she tells this story. Apparently she caught this very same bouquet at a wedding a year ago and two weeks later her boyfriend proposed to her so it has like special powers. So after Maggie tells this amazing story about this magic bouquet, she very obviously points the magic bouquet at me and winks like “I’m totally aiming for you” which was awesome b/c I have never in my life caught a bouquet, let alone a bouquet with special powers, and not even best frenemy aimed for me.

Then, as if in slow motion, without even bothering to fake throw it for the photog, Maggie tosses the enchanted magical special powers bouquet and its heading right toward me! As if in slow motion, I ready myself, so excited that she would bequeath this special gift unto me and thinking about how after five years I might finally actually get married and that it will happen before I turn 30 and how when I do get married I will toss this very same bouquet and tell the story of Maggie and her generous heart. Suddenly, out of nowhere, some "sturdy" {NB2 edit - this girl was NOT me} girl in a yellow dress jumps from the other side of the group of girls and totally boxes me out and steals my bouquet! WTF??!! She stole my magic powers, enchanted, superhero bouquet of all bouquets that was purposely tossed to me! I just stood there. Stunned that this girl would have the audacity to do such a thing. I felt like crying. Over a freaking bouquet of fake flowers. (I mentioned the open bar, right?) To make things even more appalling, she doesn't even have a boyfriend (yes, my classy friends went over and asked her).

All of my friends (and most other people at the wedding) agreed that I was totally robbed and tried to devise ways to steal it (grab it while she was dancing), win it (challenge her to an arm wrestling competition) or to get Maggie to do a do-over, but I told them it just wasnt meant to be. I just sincerely hope that if that bouquet-stealing, boyfriend-less sturdy wench gets married before me, she will invite me to her wedding so I can claim what is rightfully mine.

Quote of the Day

Actual email from NB2 to NB1:

"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. "