Grin and Bare It278RVVF85BGY

I work in a small consignment store.

There are a few men that come into the store. Pretty fucking amazing men frankly. Men that think outside of the norm when it comes to shopping. Men that are curious and stay because it's awesome. Men that are stuck there with their wives (I'll never in a million years figure that one out - go home - go to the Home Depot - go anywhere but following your wife around looking like an idiot). Men that are gay and therefore (in a sweeping general sense) more savvy to shopping. Men that consign.

I had a guy come in yesterday that said, "Your men section is small, like in all consignment stores, but I always find something awesome."

I just nodded and smiled at him. Maybe I even winked. Because he's in. He gets it.

Our store deals with customers and consigners. Clearly that's how it works. Customers come in and shop. Consigners come in and consign. Many of the customers are also consigners. Some consigners would drop dead before they'd shop the store.

The consigners are mainly women. The customers are mainly women.

In the past few weeks:

• I was called "her highness" by a disgruntled consigner that doesn't like to follow rules and told me in a Russian accent, "I am so sorry I am not up to your standards your highness, but I cannot follow the rules because I blah blah blah fuckin' blah." Bite me.
• A woman argued with me on a piece of designer clothing that was soiled around the collar. The consigner kept telling me, "This cost a lot of money. Someone will want this. It's a great party outfit. Do you realize who Oscar de la Renta is?" Bite me. First of all, wearing an outfit that makes you look like a piece of wedding cake (sorry Oscar) is heinous; just because it cost lots of "money" doesn't make it good. It's dirty - get the hell out.
• A woman was staring at my name tag and said, "Do you WORK here? When did you start wearing name tags?" Bite me. WTF? She also insisted on wearing a bracelet around the store because, "She wanted to see how it feels. I won't steal it." Yes, of course, she stole it. Get your husband to bite me. I'm guessing it's been a few years since he's had any fun.
• A woman stomped her foot and pouted when told she couldn't leave all of her stuff for consigning and go have lunch. "I'm late! Can't you just do this?" Bite me. Get in line. And plan your day better.
• A woman walked out in a huff saying, "I am not bringing stuff here anymore. It never sells." Bite me. Her stuff was usually pity-takes; which, frankly, I don't condone.
• A woman who had to tell me a story about every pieced she brought in. Bite me. What the hell do I care? Do you see the consigners waiting their turn behind you?
• A customer brought a pile of stuff up to the counter, said she was ready, and then while I was organizing her items, she's still deciding. "Oh! Maybe I should try that on again! Let me think about it. Oh, I saw a top - let me run get it." Bite me. People are stacking up behind you. Decide before you come to checkout.
• A customer indignantly marched up to the front of the store exclaiming, "Who put that top away I was looking at?" Bite me. WTH are you talking about? She found it. Right where she left it. Sigh
• A consigner that has consigned one piece of clothing and calls every day to see if it's sold. Frets every time she's told, "not yet." Bite me. There are thousands of pieces in this store. Not all of them sell.

I tell Pup stories every day when I come home from work. He laughs his ass off and can't believe what he's hearing most of the time.

It makes me feel good to laugh along with him because, hey, you have to laugh!

But for now, I'm buying myself the hugest tiara I can find and changing my name-tag to "Her Highness."

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Dirty Little Secrets

I've had the secret-things-girls-do conversation with friends and family in the past. The weird little things we do that we may or may not want anyone else (read - men) to know about us.

Of course, most of that flies out of the window once you're married. At least when you're married to a man. It's hard to keep the veil of mystery intact after the first time your husband sees you peeing. ahem. Not that I would know anything about this. ahem

• I don't shower every day.
• I eat an entire bag of Doritos. Every time I eat Doritos
• I daydream. A lot.
• I like my alone time. A lot.
• I sing along with my iPod. A lot.

What's your secret? Come on; tell me! No one is listening.

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Fake It Till You Make It

I'm in The Big Room, Pup's MacBook on my lap, clicking around my blogs, drinking my morning coffee.

I have to work at The Turnstyle later today so I'm enjoying my early time spent alone, fireplace on, Lorenzo's cat on my lap, mind spinning on what I could be accomplishing.

Not lying when I say I have projects, started for real and started only in my head. At this very moment, the house looks like an episode from Hoarders. And it's all my stuff.

A pile of ironing draped over a chair here in The Big Room, various scarves draped over the couch in the living room waiting for my approval to wear when leaving the house (really? they have to STAY there?), piles of stuff from our shopping yesterday still on the island in the kitchen, messy bowls and measuring cups from whoopie pie making last night (Pup HAD to have a whoopie pie pan from BB&B. I'm telling you - that recipe was complicated and I didn't think they were very good - SUGAR HIGH!), magazines strewn all over the desk next to the pit-couch where I sit in The Big Room. A mess. Not hot either. Just a mess.

But that's okay. I'll get to everything. I will.

Meanwhile, George knows what to do even while surrounded by his own mess.

Nap in the sun, close those eyes and relax, it will all get done.

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Hot Men Friday

The new year is nearly here.

I'm excited for the new year. I feel very sanguine about the coming year. That all by itself is a pleasing feeling (More than a Feeling - sigh - I still love Boston). I haven't had that particular pleasure for a bit of time. So,

"Hello delight - where the fuck have you been? I've been very sad and lackluster without you."

As most of us bloggers/writers know, even though we share a slice of ourselves to anyone who stumbles onto our blog, there is, like an iceberg, much more below our surface.

We don't really know what motivates some bloggers to be endlessly entertaining, we don't know the creative force behind some of the brilliant fashion and decorating blogs out there, we don't entirely know the process behind those thoughtful and provoking blogs we love, and we don't know what could motivate a blogging-asshole. We just don't know. We think we do. But we don't.

For instance, the face I show here in my blog is a mostly happy face. I am mostly a happy girl. With that is the mostly dark girl as well. I kinda like the dark girl, but I never want to foster her because, truth be told, she can scare the shit out of me from time to time.

So, on this forum, for me, I let the happy girl out. But never confuse upbeat with weak.

We bloggers are a convex and rectilinear sort and to ever assume you can know what to expect - well, that could get your arse in a vice. That's what keeps me coming back. Isn't it fun not really knowing?

Happy New Year my friends. I am embracing the great and gristle. It keeps it interesting!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chris Noth

 

 

 

 

 

I have a thing for big, dark, men. I kinda love a bit of fluff and especially love a goofy grin and broody face. That juxtaposition sends a Bullet to, if not my heart, then someplace I can't talk about here. Yes, I said it. I'm not ashamed. Don't lie peeps, you all do it too

I am a great big Sex and the City fan. I own the deluxe boxed set and love to pull out episodes from time to time. Some of my favorite scenes are with Mr. Big. I loved it when his tanned, smooth, brown, and a tiny bit hairy, chest would be in Carrie's bed.

I'm enjoying The Good Wife for his good guy persona and the underlying bad bad boy that he's trying like hell to squash.

LOVE HIM!

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I'm Annoying

I know you guys don't know me that well, but I really can be annoying. Hey! You guys that DO know me - no fair chiming in with your raucous agreements!

The thing I am MOST annoying about is nutrition. I go ON and ON and ON. It's a wonder I haven't been murdered in my sleep with a fish oil gel shoved down my throat. (Pup? Is that you?)

I'm not saying I adhere to everything I say, (which makes it ever so much more annoying) but I just LOVE spewing out crap I've learned from classes or readings. Real boner-killing things like:

Sugar - you may as well get ready for your heart-attack if you eat any of this crap.

HFCS - our government is trying to kill us by subsidizing all the corn-producers in the country. Evil Evil!

Grains! No one would ever fart again if we stopped eating this crap!

Soy! Did you know that if men ingest too much of this shit they actually grow breasts??

You get my point. Do you want to choke me until my eyes bulge out yet?

So when I found this I laughed and laughed!



Oh my god, I haven't had tears squirt out of my eyes this hard for quite some time.

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Wrong Assignment

I know that being left-handed has its challenges. I know I have to be in absolute quiet to read my Financial Accounting textbook. I know I will have to work twice as hard to get half as far.

Grr and arg!

I am enjoying the organized process of this class. I do love the neat (well, kinda neat) rows of numbers (with some erasure marks to be certain).

But turning in the wrong homework? ::banging head::

Twice?

I had it written down wrong. I heard him and wrote it down wrong.

My instructor gave me credit in spite of that. I'd kiss him, but he doesn't look like the easily-influenced type. You know what I'm saying? Ha!

My brain fascinates me! Should I donate it?

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Who Says I'm Not Cool?

This is what happens when we stay up to watch Saturday Night Live. We fall asleep during the last half hour and wake up right in the middle of a BRILLIANT infomercial about 80s music.

Journey
Boston
REO Speedwagon
Heart
Foreigner
Pat Benatar
The Cars
The Pretenders

We hopped right on our 'puters and ordered us up some ballads. I've had them a week now and my vocal chords are RASPY from all the bellowing going on around here. I even called my darling Sarah Bella to play Sara by Starship to her over the phone.

She said, "Momma, you're such a nerd." but I could hear her giggling.

I've often said that the 80s passed me by in a blur. I was a young mom, in the middle of the busy years of bedtime stories, baths, lunches, hair combing, laundry, cuddles, cleaning, playing Barbie with "the voice."

But somehow the music was still a part of my life as it had always been.

One time my Sarah Bella had some little friends over. I think she was six or seven? I got them set up to play and made my exit, moving into the kitchen to do whatever it was that consumed my days then. I had the radio on and I was singing away and dancing in the kitchen. All the kidlets ran into the kitchen to sing and dance away with me. I thought, "cool! I can be a fun mom"!

The next day Sarah begged me to never, ever sing and dance in front of her friends again. Ha! She was MORTIFIED! Just goes to show you how delusional we all can be.

I remember another time when my youngest was, maybe, 15. My wasband and I were having a New Year's Eve party and we were part way into the party. Enough into it that my best bud, Reechie, and I were on our way to delusional.

She and I were dancing away in the family room in front of a large sliding glass door. We thought we were lovely visions of coolness. Hard rockin' momma's with style and endless moves.

We did not know that Lorenzo and her band of miscreants were outside of the door laughing their little arses off at our "cool moves."

So it goes.

Who cares right? If WE think we have moves, then by all that is right, we DO have cool moves.

I know in reality I look like Elaine Benes from Seinfeld, but in my mind's eye I am hot and sexy, moving like a rock-goddess.

Rock on little mommas and papas!

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Please Don't Call on Me!

The Scene
Class

I am sitting, as my middle-class, Lutheran, upbringing would have it, near the back, on the end. Not too far back, not too far in the front.

Instructor is lecturing, I am taking notes, I am understanding. Look how convincing I am! I even convince myself! Aaaaaaamaaaaaaziiiing!

He pulls out something that suspiciously looks like a testing board. He keeps calling it a "pretest," but by now my brain has stopped working.

Did he use the word "test"? OMfriggin'G.

I am sweating, I am palpitating. I am flunking.

Oh - that can't be true. I got my name right, although I am pretty certain I forgot to put in my student ID number.

When Pup comes home I tell him about the test. We look at it together. He looks at my notes. He points out how I was actually writing down stuff that was on the test paper.

"I did"?

"Yeah. baby, it's all right here. Look. Assets Value = Liabilities + Equity. You even wrote it down twice."

"I did"?

"Yeah."

"Me?"

"Yeah. Okay, now look at this question - what are the parts of business activity"?

"Uh . . ."

"Sweetie! You wrote it down"!

:::moaning:::

"Can you text me during the real test"?

We both bust out laughing.

Pup asks me, "What DO you remember from class"?

Me, "Well, the woman in front of me needed her roots done."

"Really? You noticed that"?

"Yeah! And I noticed I was the only one in there that was left-handed."

Pup lets out a huge sigh. "Good thing you live with me."

I nod in agreement.


I mean - who goes into a financial accounting class without her highlighter and calculator?? Who?

The instructor did say it could take some of us a time or two for all of this to start to sink in. I believe I might be one of those people.

Meanwhile, I made additional notes to bring in my camera to capture campus fashion. Is this bad?

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Over and Over and Over

My family and I were discussing our favorite movies and the movies we could watch over and over. Everyone has one. Pulp Fiction might be at the top of the list for me. This being one of my favorite scenes in the movie.

Also, how hot was Bruce Willis in this movie? An arse like a round, hard apple . . . oh! I think I went to my happy place for a minute. Apologies . . .

A few others thrown around that day were, The Usual Suspects, Caddyshack, Gone with the Wind, Goodfellas, Thomas Crown Affair.

What is yours?

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Oh Dear and Oh Oh

Pup and I remodeled our house a bit about a year ago, the kitchen being the biggest thing we tackled. It's quite lovely, but I must admit to not entirely loving the appliances we picked out.

We went with a company called LG. They look spiff, but I truly wanted a Sub-Zero fridge and a Wolf range. I don't have a Sub-Zero or Wolf budget so we bought the LGs. Piles I must say.

So, last night I'm making dinner and decide that I will use (for the first time) my broiler for the chicken breasts. I turn it on and put them in and before you can say "what's that smell"? flames are shooting out of the oven door.

Pup wants to grab the pan, run to the back door, and throw the mess out of the door. I'm wailing and throwing my hands akimbo saying, "no no no"! All I can imagine is hearing the dreaded, "oh oh" as Pup goes reeling through the dining room.

He looks at me and says, "Honey, we have a serious fucking problem here!" Even in his alarm, my Pup is calm and sensible.

After the crisis had been dealt with we were rolling on the floor with laughter repeating his sentence over and over. "Honey, we have a serious fucking problem here!" This will forever be our code for laughing until tears squirt out of our eyes.

End note of story - we ate the chicken breasts, but I admit to feeding much of mine to George.

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Real - Really?

Confession. Sick and embarrassing confession. Will you still be my friend kind of confession. No one will watch these with me on Thursday night kind of confession.

I watch the entire Housewife franchise. All of them. Sit down and watch kind of thing. Oooh the shame. The time-suckage of it all. WTH is wrong with me? Was I dropped on my head as a child? As an adult?

Orange County, Atlanta, New York, New Jersey. I marvel at their huge hair, their blond hair, their SIB hair (some I bought hair - thanks Diahann Carroll), their stiff faces, their boobs (oh the boobage!), their mortified children, their sheepish hubs, their over-the-top homes, their fingernails!

And I watch. I can't stop watching. I laugh out loud. I embrace the crazy. Again - WTH??

What would an anthropologist make of this? Will we all be judged by these shows? Will this be our time capsule? Is this why I (and many others - I know it!) watch week after week, year after year?

I've done a casting call in my head for "The Housewives of Hennepin County". We'd need two versions though. The Maple Grove/Champlin chapter and the South Minneapolis Chapter. For obvious reasons. Sorry for the local reference. Those that live in these parts will understand.

Am I envious? Am I smug? Am I a drama-whore? Maybe a little of each.

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