Archive | June, 2011

Nailed.

27 Jun

 

There are few things in this world of fashion that really get my blood boiling.  Some of them include, bleeding lipstick, VPL’s,  dark panties light pants, bad hair extensions, or the dreaded quadruple bosom.  You’re not sixteen anymore, so the only thing that neon green Victoria’s Secret water bra gave you was a third and fourth breast.

Last but not least, that small detail that really cooks my goose…chipped nail polish.

(*insert gag reflex here)

Besides becoming completely useless in your day to day life (Yes I’m referring to you Housewives of Orange county!), there are ways to successfully protect that magnificent manicure. First things first, before the deed is done, ask yourself this one simple question; ‘Is this good timing?’  If you’re helping grandma with some gardening this weekend, you should not get your nails done.  If you’re leaving on a camping trip, you should not get your nails done.  If you’re on the run from a bunch of vigilantes, accused of a crime you didn’t commit,  and you will be constantly fighting them in hand to hand combat, you should NOT get your nails done!

Next, two words; ‘rubber, gloves.‘  because the dishes don’t care, and they definitely won’t be washing themselves.  Trust me.  I got a mani last Wednesday and with my torn gloves recently trashed, I refused to touch a dish until either a new set of rubber gloves were purchased OR ideally, someone else took care of the pile.  Needless to say, my Sunday night was spent in fresh gloves washing a week’s worth of pots and pans.  Don’t make your nails suffer the consequences of hot water, cheese graters, and harsh chemicals.  It’s unnecessary.

Finally, touch-ups are mandatory.  So, you’ve got a hot date tonight, and have taken the time to paint your pointers before heading to the office this morning.  That’s great.  Very pro-active.  But please, I beg you, PLEASE don’t ruin it.  Bring the polish with you!  This way when the copier slams on your finger again, or your boss goes on another power trip and you find yourself unpacking boxes in the storage room for three hours with nothing but a shoe lace and a key-fob, at least your nails will recover.  (No guarantee for you though… sorry.)  Chipped polish gets you a date at El Pollo Loco.  Fresh polish get’s you a date in Paris… France.

Just sayin’.

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The Pants that Broke the Camel’s Back

20 Jun

It started with a simple sentence last Monday night. Me to my husband…

Me- I need some new pants.
He- Oh honey I just wrote a cheque for our taxes today…
Me- I need pants.
He- Honey, I just don’t think today is the day to talk about buying…

And then I LOST IT!!!! Like a two-year old being told no in Toys R Us. I had a hissy fit. I dropped F-bombs. I spazzed out….. big time!

“I used to be stylish!” I screamed.
“Do you know how long it’s been since I had a facial?”
“I haven’t had a bikini wax since 2009! It’s like 1975 down there!”

Like a man talking down an angry monkey, my husband very softly said “Honey you can get some pants. It’s just that we’re trying to buy a house this year and we really need to stick to a budget. In our weekly allowances we’ll put some money aside so we can get clothes.”

“So WE can get clothes?” I replied. “I need more money than you! Unless you want me to start looking like a dude I simply need more money!”

What I was trying to say was that men don’t realize how much money it costs us ladies to “keep it together.” Saying to my husband that I was going to start “looking like a dude” if he didn’t fork over some cash, seemed to only confuse and greatly concern him.  But it worked!

By the end of the conversation we both agreed that I was a raving lunatic. BUT a raving lunatic that was allowed to go shopping!

When I went to the shops, I decided to do something a little different. I DIDN’T start at the sales rack in the back. Anyone else like me? Any other “back of the store shoppers” out there? I started at the front of the store like a regular person! So liberating! I tried things on …just because I liked them, and not because they were on sale! I have been a victim of the “sales rack” lifestyle for many many years. It’s not to say you can’t find great things on sale but let’s be honest, a lot of things are discounted because they are weird-looking or ill-fitting.

I enjoyed and appreciated every minute of my shopping adventure and came home with what I like to call “Five Easy Pieces.” Here they are as an ensemble…

Individually they are:

Deena and Ozzy handbag (big enough to fit my Mac Book) bought at Urban Outfitters $39.99

A.J Morgan Sunglasses bought at Anthropologie $29.99

Staring at Stars loose cotton shirt bought at Urban Outfitters $59.99

1969 Men’s Chino’s (that’s right they’re boy pants!) bought at The Gap $24.99

Cooperative cropped jacket bought at Urban Outfitters $79.99

*Check out our Flickr page to see Jenn’s fabulous finds up close and personal!  (ok… not exactly personal, but you get the idea.)

Oh Baby.

13 Jun

It started as most things do.

An idea, a yearning.

An itch that needed to be scratched.

Soon enough the metamorphosis of this yearning took place.  It evolved to the point of no return, consuming my every thought.  I wanted… no, I NEEDED…

…a baby.

I can already hear the multitude of mothers out there screaming, ‘Stop!,’ ‘Please, take mine instead!’ But we all know it’s not that simple.  The scariest part about all this, is that I’m not even entirely naive to the consequences of motherhood.  I know about the loss of the three ‘S’s‘ (sleep, sanity, sex), the southern migration and flattening of one’s ass, the general loss of one’s identity, and the guarantee that one day I’ll leave the house with shit on my forehead and my t-shirt inside out.

Even so, the last nine months have been filled with regular installments of ‘sexy time,’ all concluding with either a Big Lebowski moment or full-out nude handstand.  (Which I wasn’t doing for my love of the sirsha-asana yoga pose and the healing it brings to a taut groin; Gravity my friends, gravity!)

For all of you that think this increase in ‘activity’ has been a dream come true, let me tell you… it’s anything but!

‘Hey baby, my temperature rose point four degrees over night.  Let’s get in a quickie before I take my morning pee.’

So romantic.

‘I understand you’re really in ‘the mood,’ but if we get busy tonight, it’ll lower your sperm count. I’m not ovulating for another 3 days, so we really can’t afford the waste.’

Hot.

So with all these initiatives, why am I not pregnant yet?  Is it because I am the proud owner of what Jenn refers to as the ‘Courtney Love of reproductive systems?’ Or because it’s a known fact that I’d be slightly devastated if I had to show up to my sister’s wedding this summer, (taking place at one of my favorite wineries) and cheers to her nuptials with sparkling cider?

Beats me.  Thankfully I have some time before my uterus withers and dies.  Unfortunately that doesn’t make it any less stressful as I no longer dream of rainbows and butterflies, but dancing sperm and turkey basters.

My husband and I have decided to relax and take it easy for the next few months.  We’re trying to remove the stress and ritual, hopefully allowing things to happen a little more naturally.  (Yah, we’ll see how long that lasts!)

Bacon.

6 Jun
This week while in a shop, my child claimed as her own, a stuffed pig. We bought said pig, brought it home and I named it “Bacon”.  Why? Because in our house the philosophy is “Everything is better with bacon!” As the days went by, Bacon started traveling around the city with Lola and I. Then I started to notice the look of horror on some people’s faces when I told Lola to “Let them meet Bacon!” and she cheerfully held up her stuffed pig. Some people laughed, the deli department really got a kick out of it, but others….well, they seemed none-too-amused.  So it got me to thinking: what is the appropriate age to tell your child where meat comes from? I had entertained thoughts of telling her about “The Meat Fairy,” “The Sausage Tree” in our backyard, or “The Great Hamburger Fields of Wyoming.”  But in the end, I think the longer you keep “what that hamburger is made of” secret from your child, the more angry and shocked they’re going to be when some kid at school makes a “moo” sound when they’re tucking into a Quarter Pounder. My personal decision was to tell Lola from day one which animal died to make the meat on her plate. We are a meat-eating family. That’s how we roll, man.
                

Part of my philosophy comes from Chef Gordon Ramsay, who years ago decided to raise turkeys and grow vegetables in his backyard for Christmas dinner. I watched with rapt attention as he explained to his 4 young children that the turkeys were there to be taken care of and fattened up for THEIR supper on Christmas day.  When the turkeys’ “time” drew near, the children surprisingly bid a dry-eyed farewell. And when Gordon asked when they would next see the turkeys, the children shouted enthusiastically: “On our plates!”

Now, I want you to know we are not ignorant to the mass mistreatment of animals in the meat industry today. locked in tiny cages, standing in their own feces, and never feeling the sunshine on their skin. Like Lindsay Lohan in the drunk tank on a Friday night.  Jokes aside, it’s really awful. The animals, not the Lohan thing. The meat my family eats is bought very carefully. And it costs a LOT of money. While in Toronto this summer we buy meat from an amazing place called “Rowe Farms”. Now the prices will initially make you wonder: “Does this chicken come with a diamond tennis bracelet?” But as you shop there you realize that this is what meat that has been raised humanely without any hormones or antibiotics COSTS.   So when you cook this meat, you cook it with LOVE. Knowing that these animals lived a healthy life. Knowing how hard those independent farmers work to make a living. Knowing how hard you had to work to earn the money to pay for this meat. And the results of everyone’s efforts are pretty tasty!


I’m sure this article will ruffle more than a few feathers, pardon my pun. I know each of you has your own philosophy when it comes to meat or no meat, and I want you to know that I totally respect you. But you really are missing out when it comes to bacon! You know you are! Every deli section has, “Veggie Bacon”, “Turkey Bacon”, and “Chicken Bacon.” Just give up. Nothing will ever be as delicious as actual bacon. End. Of. Story. You either eat it or you don’t. Just stop trying to make it with soy. It’s just sad.

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