Goodbye July

WTF? Where did my year go? Someone asked me what my plans for Labor Day were, which is impossible because Memorial Day was last weekend.

This is so not fair.

Mani-Pedi Experience

A first. I went for a (see blog title) tonight, and a woman came in for a pedicure with an ankle bracelet. Not the gold or silver kind, but the "I can't leave the state" kind. She hiked up her pant leg, and I immediately thought she just got out of prison and was confined to her home.

But she looked way too pixie cute to have served hard time, and if she was on house arrest she would not be at Glam Nails with me now would she? Not to mention, she was getting a pedicure (not that prison bitches don't like nice toes, but I don't think Aileene Wuornos spent much time in a nail salon).

Turns out, it's a bracelet that detects alcohol or drug use--to the point where she can't even take Nyquil. Who invented this piece of crap, and how much fun do you have?! She is a DUI offender, and violated her probation, which was to not be in the presence of alcohol. DUI is pretty damn stupid what with cabs, safe rides, sober & pregnant friends (I mean, take your pick), however, she earned the bracelet when her probation office stopped by and found her boyfriend having a beer. Some people really need to feel important.

I don't want to debate the appropriateness of her punishment, but to share with you the hilarity of watching the broken english-speaking manicurist try to get that thing off her leg.

You try explaining that one.

Jersey Girl

Tis not the state from which I hale that I refer to this morning. I came to work in jersey knit and flip flops today. Nothing like management setting a stellar example. There is a reason, truly.

We were at the lake this weekend (feeling like a broken record here), and on Friday when I packed we had every intention of coming back to the condo on Sunday night--after TruBlood of course. My man, staying true to his nature, tells me Saturday morning that his parents are coming in Sunday night--to the lake. In all fairness, I do recall him mentioning this a week or two ago, but it somehow escaped all future conversation. Kind of like the getting married thing.

I had two options: 1) drive all the way back to ATL on a perfectly nice lake day and potentially rush having to make dinner and miss TruBlood (not to mention maybe becoming roadkill on 400) or 2) make the jersey knit work.

Naturally I chose option two. I just couldn't take that risk.

My lifesaver this morning? A highly professional looking cardigan I keep in my office draped nicely over my jersey knit dress. Coupled that with some silver hoops and you ain't never know the difference.

You can't even tell I'm not wearing a bra. 

P.S.

Can you believe I actually wrote a post about Jessica Simpson?

Salad is for Supermodels

Really. Who the hell eats salad because they enjoy it? Let me rephrase that--who eats salad less the cheese, bacon and dressing that make it just as awful for you as any other food? A good friend of mine made this point the other day when asked about lunch, and I could not agree more. The supermodel line is in fact hers, and yes, I stole it.

I have never been one of those girls who orders a salad because women should. Most women are in fact not supermodels. I know, it shocked me too. If I eat like a bird, it's potato skins less the entree. The older I get, the more difficult it becomes to eat like this and not see the consequences--mainly in my gut. I look like I'm five months pregnant, and despite the popularity of this fad around me, I am not.

But I still cannot consider salad for every meal.

Ten pounds, that's all I want. I need a good flu or something to start the process. This accomplishes shrinkage of the stomach so that I can still eat the food I love, just in smaller portions. Couple that with moderate exercise (we naturally high strung people burn calories like brush fires so let's not get crazy with the tread mill) and voila!

Or maybe I'll just take up a coke habit, like the supermodels.

Blindsided

I really wanted it to work. I thought it was love. It wasn't always rosy, but things seemed to be going well and marriage was even discussed.  And now, it's over.

I can't believe Jessica and Tony split up.  I didn't think it was real on the cover of the US magazine my sister brought to town this weekend, but People online confirms it today.

Oddly enough, I was really pulling for them. I say odd because I do not even like Jessica Simpson.  I could care less about football and Tony Romo and especially dislike the cowboys. Yet somehow I have a soft spot for them. I liked them. Together.

I think it may have been because she had an entire legion of fans of her boyfriends livelihood hating her and blaming her for poor game performance. She couldn't even walk into the stadium. Just imagine that for one minute. Totally sucks. But she overcame it and he supported her. Then everyone called her fat. Ok, maybe a little coupled with very poor choice in clothing. This too she seemed to be getting over, but I wonder if he was too.

And to be dumped the day before your birthday? So wrong. I sure hope he didn't dump her because she got a little meaty.

Flat out of celebrity couples to cheer on. Whatever will I do with my time?

Milk

Loser. That's me. Subconsciously I think I forgot the milk at the grocery store yesterday so I could go out early this morning and get some...only to drive my new ride. 

When you see me rollin' in my Volvo with the radio cranked to Snoop and my Gucci glasses on (booster seat and gallon of milk), just honk once if you love me. 

 

I love being a contradiction. 

+2.5

Kids, that is.

I bought a Volvo XC90 yesterday. Typically a mom-mobile (I have no idea what I am going to do with that booster and third row seat), of all the cars I drove it was the only one with a true combination of utility and luxury at a price point I was willing to succumb to in buying a car.

And I love it. L-O-V-E, love it. I have driven nothing but Acura's my entire life. This is definitely a change, and one I like after 27 hours.

I am so very happy that this experience is over for the next 6-8 years. I hated every minute of it. The end result was surely worth waiting.

Waiting was key. I almost ended up with two other automobiles. One that was a little more than I wanted to pay, another that was a little less luxury than I, well, deserve. So the Volvo it is.

Maybe I'll rent some kids.

Day Labor

We all have to earn a living to afford the basics (and not so basics) in life. Money is a necessary evil, thus so is a job. If you live in the South, you are familiar with the concept of migrant day labor. Mexican immigrants stand on a corner and wait for suburbanites in SUVs (luxury of course, because they are always the cheapest bastards) or professional landscapers or contractors to come pick them up and pay them for a days work.

Under the table. At a rate negotiated on the street by the English speaking Migrant Management.

Admittedly, we have hired them to help rake leaves. They do phenomenal work in half the time it would take us--seriously--because they have integrity and a desire to do a good job (unlike we lazy, entitled Americans). It's quite interesting.

And highly illegal I believe. Which brings me to this morning's experience. I was running out of gas on the way to work--literally sputtering down 285 afraid my brakes would fail and end up road kill in the leased vehicle I am about to turn in--and pulled into a gas station off Roswell Rd. A place notorious for picking up day labor.

There were about 15 of them (which is a lot for one corner), and they were subtly signaling to me when I pulled up to the pump. No, just need gas thanks. Seeing as they could not understand me, they approached me and asked me if I "want yard work" or "want bebesit". Babysitting? I know there is a language barrier, but I am pretty damn sure this what they offered. That in itself if just whack, but what was even odder about this experience is they typically do not approach you--they wait for you to come to them.

They went away, and as I turned back to replace my gas cap I noticed Sandy Spring's finest parked across the street. Which then begged the question--if this is indeed an illegal practice, are the cops paying the day labor to catch suburban criminals in the act? Far fetched theory maybe, but then again maybe not. Or maybe it was just a slow day--not enough people doing 90 around 285 to keep the coppers busy.

Too bad I couldn't hire them to do my job for a day.

Emotional Car Buying

It has been a LONG two months trying to figure out what I will be driving for the next five years. I swear this is quite possibly the most stressful experience I have been through in some time (and I am likely WAY overthinking it).

You see, it's not so much about WHAT I'm driving but WHY. There are so many factors that are being considered in this decision beyond the fact that there are unlimited choices in cars it's unbelievable. Oh, and by the way, I made this decision, it was done and then I took it back.

I would like to buy a home and not compromise my down payment

I would like to have children in the next five years

I do not want to pay for this depreciating asset, but at the same time I want a little more luxe in my automobile.

I want good gas mileage but not a hybrid (I'm of the thought that I don't want it until it's perfected--kinda how people with bad eyesight felt about laser correction at first)

I want space and height because I am officially a pussy driver. Sixteen lane highways at 80 miles an hour every day will do that to a person.

I have grappled with what a reasonable car payment is, I have test drove countless automobiles and yet I still have no idea where I am going to end up. My boyfriend tells me I should wait until October when yet another severe economic downturn will occur (heed the advice, he was dead on last time) so that I can get a lot more car for my money.

I do not have that option unless he wants to drive me around the next three months.

What have I considered? Honda Pilot, Acura RDX & MDX, Lexus RX 350, Nissan Murano, Hyundai Sante Fe, Toyota Highlander, Infinity EX--all used by the way. It's how I justify the "luxe". I know my readers are typically voyeuristic versus conversational, but I would very much welcome your thoughts on this matter.

And now I'm off to test drive a car that the dealer drove to my office on his lunch hour. How nice.

Mobile Blog

Is I technologically advanced and able to blog by mobile??

I is, I is. Rock. On.

Happy July 4th (even though it's the 5th)

Coming off an amazing weekend, I am tan, skinny and happy.

Spent the weekend as a country mouse at the largest man made lake east of the M-i-s-s-i-s-s-i-p-p-i.  While the setting had all the makings for a traditional July 4th holiday, we were somewhat unorthodox. Not a single hot dog or hamburger consumed.  In fact, we went to a Japanese steakhouse for dinner Friday (fine dining in the Cumming area, complete with large mockery of a rice paddy hat for birthday celebrations), made cajun shrimp and andouille pockets on Saturday, and I am now getting ready to cook us an Italian feast for Sunday dinner.

I suppose the good ole' USA is the melting pot--we were simply embracing all that it is.

We also taught our French bulldog to swim. If you are familiar with the breed (actually native to England, go figure) then you know, they don't. Entirely too top heavy. Our dog, however, grew up around the water and it was only natural he would one day want to venture all the way in. His mentor, a Venezuelan mix named Mango, taught him to skirt the edge of the lake and this weekend we tested those limits even further by strapping him to a life jacket to see what would happen.

The end result: he prefers to float. On our rafts. With us.

Of course our weekend would not have been complete without fireworks. My dear sweet man helped us trespass on private property (yes, we were asked to leave, no we didn't) for a front row seat to the Cumming fireworks on Friday. Saturday was amateur night around our neighborhood. Never before have I heard or seen so many, albeit smaller ones. Interestingly enough, it sounded like war (or what one might think it does sound like, seeing as I have never actually been in battle) especially with the echo of the lake. Bombs going off, cannons being shot--close your eyes and you could almost believe that's what was happening.

Poetic, in that it was a reminder of exactly what we were celebrating--the fight that ended in Independence for our country. A place where you can eat Japanese on July 4th, own a French bulldog and mix with Venezuelan's (or Argentineans on the Appalachian Trail)---of your own free will.

I heart America. And the days off from work our forefathers made possible.

Preggers

Deep breath, I am not.

But a high number of the women in my life are--married or otherwise. I suppose it's that time in my life, the age so to speak, but what's really crazy is the fact that everyone is having GIRLS! As of today, only 1 out of 6 is delivering a man child, and of the remaining 5 only one of those chose not to learn the sex. That's a rather large percentage of estrogen being brought into the world in my little circle. Men, be forewarned.

I am beginning to wonder if there is any truth to the extinction of men--lord knows we have enough assholes to weed out. Have you heard about this? Women being categorized as the "sleeper sex"--that is, the strongest of the two quietly biding their time to take over the world. Obviously we need men in order to pro-create, but maybe not quite so many. The idea of Alpha Males--purely used to populate the earth--is a theory (albeit freakin' weird) that this is the direction or evolution. Meaning, we all get to sleep with Johnny Depp to have children. There are other theories that state man-made chemicals are influencing the birth of more girls--like it's a bad thing.

Regardless of the influencing factors, it's just plain strange so many little Born without a Y's are coming into the world in my circles.

And for that one little man child---life is going to be G-O-O-D.