Two lies and a truth, or why you should never send texts or voicemails if trying to cheat on your spouse

My mother always said there were two sides to every story, and then there was the truth.



Take, for example, the recent headlines of married celebrities having affairs.

One side, the celebrity: I am so sorry, it was a mistake, I have an addiction, I never thought I would be exposed (pun intended), yada yada yada.

Then the other side, the mistress: He told me he loved me, he was divorcing his hot, rich and successful wife, I truly cared about him and thought our love was real *cough-BS-cough*!

And then there's the truth: Man meets hooker/porn star, Man sleeps with hooker/porn star, Hooker/porn star saves voicemails and texts, Hooker/porn star decides she wants to be famous and calls the Star to sell story. It is truly the American love story. {*edited to add: Also, really, Star Magazine? When did the Star become the place where people told the truth? It reminds me of a scene from one of my fav movies ever:
Charlie: Hey mom, I find it interesting you refer to the Weekly World News as *the paper*. The paper contains facts.
Mom: This paper contains facts. And, this paper has the eighth highest circulation in the whole wide world. Plenty of facts. 'Pregnant man gives birth.' Thats a fact.
Oh, and little did she know many years later, that too would be true. But still disturbing altogether. Name that movie anyone?}



Here is what annoys me. I am more than willing to watch an hour or so of coverage on your exposed affair for the pure entertainment value of creating an office pool of how many days apart mistress 4 and mistress 5 appear in the media. But, I am human, and a married woman, so I do feel bad for the wives you completely screw over. So I turn off Access Hollywood every time your name is mentioned on day 2. But the worst part, the absolute most horrible part to me, is that you think I am an idiot. This morning I read how the tatted up woman in the Jesse James scandal apparently thought she was an item with James until watching the Oscars. What? You did not you stupid wench. You knew you weren't an item way back at the Golden Globes when Sandy (Ok, that's weird, I prefer Sandra) was gushing about how hot he was from the podium upon accepting her award. You just waited until everyone was talking about how amazingly wonderful she was to completely crush her world by exposing your affair. Don't act like you were Blindsided (hehe) by this.

And the 2 dozen women with Tiger...saving text messages? You don't save text messages for a year when you are in love with someone. You save text messages because you know one day you will use them to your advantage to gain 15 minutes of fame. And saving voicemails? What a horrible thought. Each time you call to check your voicemail you hear "No unheard messages, 324 saved messages." You saved these to use as blackmail. Don't deny it. You were never in love.

The cheating men are just as dumb. If you text or leave a voicemail, of course it will be saved. You have money and fame, while they don't, remember? Stupid.

Don't try to make yourself the victim. No one believes it. And it insults my intelligence, which granted is continually deteriorating based on the hours of TV I watch weekly, but still.

Also, I need a new name, any thoughts?

Note to Self

Dear Me,

You are not 22 years old anymore. In fact, you haven't been 22 for quite some time. Even though you think you are still young and vibrant and resilient, you are not.

And so when your friends call you up to say "Would you like to play in a sand volleyball tournament on Sunday?" you have to remember the following things:

1. You have not played volleyball since middle school, which was 14 years ago. That's a shitload of years ago. And yes, you may have been the tallest of all the girls and therefore the best player back then, but that's because most of them were still going to puberty. You, on the other hand, had full grown knockers (yes, I said knockers) by the age of 11 and tried to hide them from your mom so that you wouldn't have to go through the embarrassing task of bra shopping and instead chose for them to flop around during gym class until they started hurting your back.

2. You should not under any circumstances dive for the ball. This is not negotiable. Not only will it take you weeks to get the sand out of your ass, your ankle has still not fully healed from the karaoke incident. Your team sucks anyway and diving for the ball will just cause you more pain the next day for no reason. I understand there is beer involved, but that only numbs the pain while you are drinking it and you cannot drink beer perpetually until your wounds heal because that is socially unacceptable.

3. You have not gotten off of your lazy ass in about a month and your diet consists exclusively of boxed mac and cheese. How you are winning your Biggest Loser contest is an effing mystery and has absolutely nothing to do with how in shape you are (or in this case how in shape you aren't).

Since you have failed to acknowledge the above, you will without a doubt be sore and tomorrow you will not be able to walk around like a normal human, but like one that does not have control of her bowel movements and just shat her pants. In fact, you know that throbbing you feel in forearms and groin? That, my friend, is early onset soreness reserved only for the laziest-ass-sittingest of people and is punishment for thinking you are some kind of volleyball all-star. Please remember these items for the next time you want to act like a competitive bitch.

Thank you,

Gina

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.

Scene:

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...