I Don’t Like This. Can We Stop Now?

I’ve lived my entire life in a part of the world where there is serious winter weather.

And somehow over the years, I’ve managed to convince myself that the six months of lovely, warm, for a few days smoking hot, with an acceptable number of sunny days, weather that arrives in May and lasts through to October (sometimes November) is worth the misery of the other five to six months when it’s cold and windy and snow arrives weekly.

The Search For My Words

I’ve been a blog-lite blogger lately. Oh, yeah. And by “lite” I mean about 1000 miles away from being motivated to move fingers over my keyboard.

Having your marriage shit-canned by a bad guy douchebag can have that affect on a person. But, hey! On the plus side, he’s now someone else’s problem.

But it’s been hard, sitting at my laptop to have this happen:

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Why I No Longer Buy Designer Jeans

I no longer buy designer jeans.

[pause for shocked reaction and/or muffled snort of laughter]

It was an extremely difficult decision to make.

However, after much internal debate, bending and twisting into all three of the yoga poses I know, running up and down the numbers in my bank account, two full pitchers of martinis (with matching olives) and flipping through my 1,297 back issues of Vogue, I came to the conclusion that I can no longer pull off this look all day, every day:

2016: My Year Of Hella No

What. A. Year. It began with a man I loved and a three month trip to Italy.

It ended with me finding out the man I loved is a lying cheater with no soul. Oh, and dead eyes. (I just realized this as I was writing this post.) A man who came with me on that trip to Italy just so he could “hook up” with the wife of a couple we met on our first trip to Italy. After a year and a half of sexting, and texting, and secret emails, and private Skype calls, I finally found out what was going on and he’s no longer part of my life.

(I’ll wait while you scrape off that mental layer of eww.)

DEAR NETFLIX: PLEASE STOP TELLING ME I LIKE BOLLYWOOD MOVIES

The saying, “you get what you pay for” isn’t always true. I once won the low bid at a bachelor’s auction and can say with some measure of certainty — don’t judge a book by its cover, and good things come in small packages. IfyouknowwhatImean.

After being a Netflix subscriber for a while now, I’ve reached the conclusion I’d rather stand in line at the movie theater — freezing my ass off — casting the evil eye on nasty little line cutters and trying not to weep when the cashier tells me the price for two tickets. All that would be worth it because lately, Neflix has been letting me down.

Women Are Going Under The Knife For Better Toe Cleavage — It’s Time To Get A Foot Up On Body Dysmorphic Disorder

Feet. They carry us everywhere.

To work, to play, to the liquor store for vodka. To bed. To the bathroom. Into your lover’s arms. Away from the dentist chair.

Running, screaming, from your mother-in-law.

The size of your feet doesn’t matter. Or does it? If you suffer from body dysmorphic disorder (BDD), focusing on what’s wrong, instead of what’s right with your body, takes up most of your waking moments. There have been any number of articles written on body image issues. Too big, too small, too fat, too thin, too short, too tall. Pick a body part and I can guarantee there are women now looking in a mirror not liking what they see. The latest body part seems to be feet.

Not everyone is happy with the state of their two mobility devices and will try anything to improve on what nature gave them. We all agree that severe bunions or clawed toes can hamper our happy walk. There are surgical ways to ease those problems.

We can’t have enough freshly oiled butt cheeks

There are not many photographs of me in existence. Whenever anyone asks if they can take a picture of me, I negotiate. They can take a picture of my feet or they can let me take a picture of them in their underwear.

Once they see my skills with a zoom lens, they back off.

I’ve been a photographer since the days of the Polaroid and with all that snapping, I’ve learned a thing or two about taking a good portrait. Here are some of the notes I’ve made about taking self-portraits:

Wait until the Botox has softened. We know you want to look good but you don’t want to appear dead. So wait until your face has absorbed a bit of that Botox before putting on your pouty face.

What Your Tag Line May Be Saying About You

May I ask you a very personal question?

Do you have a tag line for your blog? It’s usually under the title and offers a brief glimpse into the mind of the blogger. I know I’m being forward but I really want to know. I’ve been reading that, if not properly researched and street-tested, your tag line could be dragging you down.

I don’t want to be a droopy sock so I took to the Internet recently to conduct a wildly unscientific and heavily-biased poll.

I want to see more REAL men. Preferably NAKED REAL men.

Ever stood in a drug store and counted the number of magazines for women on the shelves? I have and had to use my fingers AND the fingers of the woman standing next to me.

It made me want to hurl, people. Right into my Prada Payless purse.

Where were the magazines for REAL men?

Many were fashion magazines featuring bone-thin girls younger than some of my shoes. Wearing something that I’d mop the floor with, along with expressions of what I considered haughty disdain.

But maybe they were just hungry?

Female health magazines were plentiful. But really, editors should take the time to learn how to text each other. Depending on which magazine you decide to buy, you could end up:

1. Drinking too much water.

2. Drinking not enough water.

3. Drinking the wrong kind of water.

4. Only drinking water from icecaps around Iceland.

5. Only drinking water from icecaps around Iceland flavored with bull testicles. (TRUE STORY.)

By the time you finish taste testing, you could have drowned.

2015: The Year I Embrace THE LIST

Hey, if it ain’t broke…

It’s that time again. The annual new year’s listing of resolutions.

I’ve never warmed to this yearly ritual.

Taking the time to make a list of things I want to change about myself when I absolutely know I’ll lose the damn list right about the time I get to “lose 10 pounds, again.” seems like a waste of a perfectly good piece of paper.

I’m all about saving the trees, y’all.