I hate to shop no less shopping during a big sale when the stores are mobbed with crazed/psycho bargain hunters. "Last Call" at Neimans almost sent me back to therapy. I was dazed, confused and sweaty rifling through the endless racks of merchandise and started to question my sexuality. My Mother however, is an "extreme" shopper. I witnessed her dive and actually disappear into a pile of clothes and appear 10 minutes later waving a black sweater. She has no fear and very good lung capacity. I am cheap which is a "Catch 22" as I disdain shopping yet tempted by a sale. So when I saw Match.com was running one I decided to try it again. Men on sale hmmmm, now that sounded a lot better than retail. In my experience I always ended up returning "full" priced men.
Yet in my heart of hearts, what could I expect from a "marked down" man? Was it "last call" at Match.com? Everyone must go to make room for the new Winter line of guys? I got nervous thinking the remainder bin would be filled with short, beefy, and bald. But like I said I'm cheap so I clicked "join." Any seasoned shopper would have rolled up her sleeves and started plowing through the racks and racks of men. Armed with antacids and Cabernet, I judiciously read through the emails that came my way. I mistrusted misspellings, poor sentence structure, and use of the so-called word "irregardless" as I knew these sale boys were not for an English major. I hand picked a few marked down guys and ventured out for wine/coffee. I hoped against all odds that there was a forgotten "Armani" man left at the bottom of the bin and if I could be like Mom and dive down there I'd find him.
Ah yes I quickly remembered why I don't shop sales. There was "Appetizer Man" who ate them all himself and didn't ask why I wasn't eating as he was too busy wanting to know if I had money or assets. "Mr. Cock-eyed Conservative" repeatedly called Berkeley, Bezerkely . "Goldfinger" who wore more jewelry than I have ever owned. "Mr. Whoopsie I Forgot" who wrote we had so much in common I should call him. I emailed back to remind him he took me out two years ago... damaged goods? I especially liked "No Eye Contact Man" who was so busy looking around he wouldn't have noticed had I left. I did get a lovely flattering note from a man my son's age. Not remotely tempting for fear he might slip and call me "Mom" - too Oedipal even for an English major.
The sale ends in January but I have shopping fatigue. I hope Mom isn't too disappointed that I don't have the lung capacity or nerve to dive in the sale bin again. And ironically I think I prefer Neimans.
Monday, December 12, 2011
Monday, October 31, 2011
Kim Kardashian Say It Isn't So!
Uh oh I just read the breaking earth shattering news on my computer - Kim Kardashian and "what's his name" are filing for divorce. Shock and awe baby! Their four day romance had restored my faith in quick and inappropriate couplings. I was just going to join a dating service devoted to matching me with retired NBA or NFL stars. Yes siree I thought an aging hunched over 7 foot center or beefy ex 480 pound offensive lineman was just a click away. I'm a realist and know I don't have a snowball's chance in hell in snatching a current player when I'm in competition with a crafty giant breasted Kardashian. Kim darlin' maybe next time you should opt for an NHL player as you've dated or married your way through football and basketball. And let's face it "what's his name" was way too tall for you. It looked kind of goofy. Reggie Bush was more your size, and I bet you two had a lot in common.
I am so glad I didn't send a wedding gift as what a waste of money that would have been. I think it's only appropriate to return gifts from a marriage that lasts less than 73 days don't you? Although it could take years to return all the presents, but at least that will give Papa Bruce something to do. And btw, "Bruce, please no more plastic surgery and get a new colorist." I wonder if they'll split the giant diamond ring in half in the property settlement? Personally I thought it was too big and money better spent feeding a third world country.
Ryan Seacrest said, and after all he is like Walter Cronkite to an entire generation, that Kim didn't want to live in Minnesota. It's really hard to wear high heels in the snow which could have been a factor. Rumor has it the soon to be ex groom was surprised to learn she filed for divorce. Funny, because I wasn't. He said he'll do anything to save the marriage. Awwwww, that is so sweet but not happening. Another fairy tale wedding in the toilet. Is "happily ever after" only 72 days long? That does however take the pressure off "til death do us part."
I am so glad I didn't send a wedding gift as what a waste of money that would have been. I think it's only appropriate to return gifts from a marriage that lasts less than 73 days don't you? Although it could take years to return all the presents, but at least that will give Papa Bruce something to do. And btw, "Bruce, please no more plastic surgery and get a new colorist." I wonder if they'll split the giant diamond ring in half in the property settlement? Personally I thought it was too big and money better spent feeding a third world country.
Ryan Seacrest said, and after all he is like Walter Cronkite to an entire generation, that Kim didn't want to live in Minnesota. It's really hard to wear high heels in the snow which could have been a factor. Rumor has it the soon to be ex groom was surprised to learn she filed for divorce. Funny, because I wasn't. He said he'll do anything to save the marriage. Awwwww, that is so sweet but not happening. Another fairy tale wedding in the toilet. Is "happily ever after" only 72 days long? That does however take the pressure off "til death do us part."
Friday, October 14, 2011
Who Wants to be President?
I'm for no one who is marching to the White House. Besides which isn't it too early to fill one's brain with political jabberwocky? I have enough things on my mind no less spend time remembering who is running for President and who changed their mind and decided to stay home with their family or get a really high paying job as a political analyst. It really isn't a job for a family person is it? We need more divorced candidates. Come to think of it being President is a crappy job. Face it everyone ends up hating you. We're fickle folks out here in the electorate....one false move and you're SOL. And the ultimate irony is if we do change our minds and applaud your accomplishments or think you weren't so bad after all.... you're dead. Ha! Except for Bill - let's all say a big collective "we're sorry" because face it, we miss him. I wonder if he needs a job.
I've lost track of who's running for President vs. who's running for cover. I think Michele and Sarah have left the building. Trust me girls shopping for cute winter clothes will be a lot more rewarding. Be sure and check out the skinny corduroy jeans at J.Crew. I bought them in two colors, but I digress. So who's left and who cares? I really like pizza so it's easy to remember the guy who knows a lot about crust and good toppings. I didn't do very well in high school biology dissecting a frog so anyone whose name is Newt I have to say a big slimy "no." That leaves us a Mormon and a Texan. Whoa buckaroos ain't we got fun? They both have a full head of hair and nice teeth. Although the Presidency is very hard on hair - it seems to fly off their heads. We do like young good looking candidates however so it could be a beauty contest that boils down to the swim suit competition.
There is one candidate for sure of course, the sitting President; although there was some teenie tiny rumor that Hillary could be in the wings. And is there a collective "We're sorry" for her also? I'm burying my head in the sand until the slug-fest for the Oval Office is over. In the meantime, some of you divorced folks think about running.
I've lost track of who's running for President vs. who's running for cover. I think Michele and Sarah have left the building. Trust me girls shopping for cute winter clothes will be a lot more rewarding. Be sure and check out the skinny corduroy jeans at J.Crew. I bought them in two colors, but I digress. So who's left and who cares? I really like pizza so it's easy to remember the guy who knows a lot about crust and good toppings. I didn't do very well in high school biology dissecting a frog so anyone whose name is Newt I have to say a big slimy "no." That leaves us a Mormon and a Texan. Whoa buckaroos ain't we got fun? They both have a full head of hair and nice teeth. Although the Presidency is very hard on hair - it seems to fly off their heads. We do like young good looking candidates however so it could be a beauty contest that boils down to the swim suit competition.
There is one candidate for sure of course, the sitting President; although there was some teenie tiny rumor that Hillary could be in the wings. And is there a collective "We're sorry" for her also? I'm burying my head in the sand until the slug-fest for the Oval Office is over. In the meantime, some of you divorced folks think about running.
Monday, October 3, 2011
My First Kiss, Fact or Fiction?
Do you remember your first kiss? I do. Or I thought I did. I would have sworn on a stack of bibles, testified in a court of law, taken a lie detector test, or bet my first born that my first real kiss was from Doug Croft. I'm embarrassed to admit that it didn't happen until high school as I was way behind the curve. There was a lot of kissing going on in middle school, just not with me. I was slow dancing but not kissing. Nope, it wasn't until Freshman year that I found myself in the "Oh my God I think he's going to kiss me" position. I was so nervous. Mr. First Kiss was adorable. I had a crush on him but never thought he'd reciprocate as he was an upper classman and hung out with cheerleaders. Oh how I longed to be a cheerleader as that was the sure fire route to popularity and kissing. Unfortunately I wasn't perky enough and truthfully this white girl couldn't jump.
I remember everything about that kiss. Doug drove me over to his house after school in his sexy little sports car which dazzled me. He took my hand and we walked around back to his swimming pool- the setting was very "Town and Country." Then in one instant as we stood by the pool he leaned down and kissed me. A moment I will never forget but a kiss I would. "Is this it? This is what all the hoopla is about? This is kissing on the lips? Ewwww," was the bubble over my head. I didn't chip any teeth which was a blessing because they were finally straight from years of braces. My lip wasn't bleeding either which was good as it could have stained the collar on my new Villager blouse. We never kissed again. And that's the story of my first kiss.
Not exactly- there is now evidence to the contrary. All the years of believing my first kiss was Doug Croft have been challenged. Harry Haskell has come forward out of the blue and claimed that he kissed me at a Bar Mitzvah party out on a golf course in 8th grade. What?! Au contraire I declared, but he begged to differ. To make matters more confusing he stated that he could produce a witness. Jonathan Tucker apparently was there and saw him kiss me which is kind of "Peeping Tom-ish" but also very CSI. Was my first kiss memory a myth? I have no"Town and Country" sexy sports car story if Harry is right. It will take a period of adjustment and perhaps medication or therapy to come to terms with the fact that my first kiss was really my second.
I remember everything about that kiss. Doug drove me over to his house after school in his sexy little sports car which dazzled me. He took my hand and we walked around back to his swimming pool- the setting was very "Town and Country." Then in one instant as we stood by the pool he leaned down and kissed me. A moment I will never forget but a kiss I would. "Is this it? This is what all the hoopla is about? This is kissing on the lips? Ewwww," was the bubble over my head. I didn't chip any teeth which was a blessing because they were finally straight from years of braces. My lip wasn't bleeding either which was good as it could have stained the collar on my new Villager blouse. We never kissed again. And that's the story of my first kiss.
Not exactly- there is now evidence to the contrary. All the years of believing my first kiss was Doug Croft have been challenged. Harry Haskell has come forward out of the blue and claimed that he kissed me at a Bar Mitzvah party out on a golf course in 8th grade. What?! Au contraire I declared, but he begged to differ. To make matters more confusing he stated that he could produce a witness. Jonathan Tucker apparently was there and saw him kiss me which is kind of "Peeping Tom-ish" but also very CSI. Was my first kiss memory a myth? I have no"Town and Country" sexy sports car story if Harry is right. It will take a period of adjustment and perhaps medication or therapy to come to terms with the fact that my first kiss was really my second.
Sunday, September 25, 2011
I Tried to Save the Economy
I tried to save the economy. President Obama and Ben Bernanke you can stop worrying because I decided to do my part and get out from under the bed where I've been hiding with my money and spend. I would unclench my fist full of dollars and help relieve the country of economic woe. I gassed up my little car and headed from Palm Springs to LA. to shop 'til I dropped. I had my Saks, Neimans, Barneys, Visa cards and cash ready to go. Unfortunately I got a little lost trying to find LA but pulling over on the shoulder of the interstate to scream and cry did not deter me for long. First stop - my friend Ginger's house to watch the final episode of "All My Children" - my idea of pre-shopping calisthenics.
After a sorrowful good-bye to Erica Kane we hightailed it out to purchase. I gleefully headed directly into Barney's Co-op. Yes it's the cheap sister store but still expensive. Armed with my charge card I was poised and ready as I made a bee-line to the shoes. There I held in my hand for what seemed like hours a beautiful pair of teal suede high heels - they brought tears to my eyes and the price struck fear in my heart. My first impulse to buy them was thwarted by the cheap little voice in my head stopping me. "Gail, don't be an idiot. You have no place to wear them and besides it's money better put towards a colonoscopy. Get a grip on yourself and step away from the shoes." Sadly I put them back. In JCrew I clutched the cutest pair of skinny orange corduroy jeans but ixnayed them in the end. "Sorry Mr.President and Ben Bernanke but I'm not crazy about ankle length." I remained empty handed. My friend Emily joined us for dinner and we drank two bottles of a pricey Russian River Pinot Noir. I'm counting that as part of my economic recovery plan.
Day two of "Operation Shop 'til I Drop aka Save the Economy" started at Neiman Marcus. Imagine my joy as I had not stepped foot in the "mother ship" since I left Chicago 10 months ago. I didn't know where to start. I did however stop dead in my tracks by a pair of black suede Gucci high heels. I could have been arrested for fondling them. It was love at first sight and "deja vu all over again" as the cheap little voice returned to haunt me. "Gail don't be a fool, do you really need a pair of shoes that cost more than your car?" I blew them a kiss good-bye. Emily and I scoured every inch of the store. I tried, I swear I tried to purchase but felt sweaty, feverish and began to develop a rash. Yet ever the soldier committed to the President and Ben B. and regardless of being very itchy, we went to Santa Monica to peruse the shops on Montana. I rifled through rack after rack of clothes but couldn't pull my Visa card out of my wallet. Had I Super Glued it in there? My only contribution to the economy was ordering a plain omelet with extra fruit instead of potatoes for lunch.
I'm back under the bed with my cash. "President Obama and Mr. B. please accept my apology for coming home empty handed. My economic recovery plan also failed but call me and I'll buy you a nice lunch."
After a sorrowful good-bye to Erica Kane we hightailed it out to purchase. I gleefully headed directly into Barney's Co-op. Yes it's the cheap sister store but still expensive. Armed with my charge card I was poised and ready as I made a bee-line to the shoes. There I held in my hand for what seemed like hours a beautiful pair of teal suede high heels - they brought tears to my eyes and the price struck fear in my heart. My first impulse to buy them was thwarted by the cheap little voice in my head stopping me. "Gail, don't be an idiot. You have no place to wear them and besides it's money better put towards a colonoscopy. Get a grip on yourself and step away from the shoes." Sadly I put them back. In JCrew I clutched the cutest pair of skinny orange corduroy jeans but ixnayed them in the end. "Sorry Mr.President and Ben Bernanke but I'm not crazy about ankle length." I remained empty handed. My friend Emily joined us for dinner and we drank two bottles of a pricey Russian River Pinot Noir. I'm counting that as part of my economic recovery plan.
Day two of "Operation Shop 'til I Drop aka Save the Economy" started at Neiman Marcus. Imagine my joy as I had not stepped foot in the "mother ship" since I left Chicago 10 months ago. I didn't know where to start. I did however stop dead in my tracks by a pair of black suede Gucci high heels. I could have been arrested for fondling them. It was love at first sight and "deja vu all over again" as the cheap little voice returned to haunt me. "Gail don't be a fool, do you really need a pair of shoes that cost more than your car?" I blew them a kiss good-bye. Emily and I scoured every inch of the store. I tried, I swear I tried to purchase but felt sweaty, feverish and began to develop a rash. Yet ever the soldier committed to the President and Ben B. and regardless of being very itchy, we went to Santa Monica to peruse the shops on Montana. I rifled through rack after rack of clothes but couldn't pull my Visa card out of my wallet. Had I Super Glued it in there? My only contribution to the economy was ordering a plain omelet with extra fruit instead of potatoes for lunch.
I'm back under the bed with my cash. "President Obama and Mr. B. please accept my apology for coming home empty handed. My economic recovery plan also failed but call me and I'll buy you a nice lunch."
Monday, September 12, 2011
Collecting Husbands and Stamps
I've had two husbands which at one time seemed like a lot. I have however, met men and women who are on their third , fourth and fifth spouse. It's a little jaw dropping but seeing as how everyone is living so much longer it's apparently possible to collect marriages like stamps. (Btw does anyone actually collect stamps anymore?) I feel thankful I got married in the 1970s and then again in the 80's as I never would have met either husband in 2011. Why? It is necessary to LOOK UP to meet someone. Has anyone else noticed that everyone is looking down texting or talking on their cell phone? Truthfully I'm shocked more folks haven't walked into oncoming traffic or trains. Everywhere I go men and women are yapping away on their phones probably complaining they never go out. Wake up all you 21st century dateless whiners - get a 20th century answering machine and leave the cell phone at home.
I admit this is much easier said than done but let me take you back to yesteryear. I met husband #1 in an age when phones plugged into a wall. The year was 1976 and the place Central Park . I was walking my Golden Retriever and he was out with his Golden Retriever. The dogs started playing and we started chit chatting. Now if either one of us had been on a cell phone or texting we would never have looked up long enough to have a conversation. I would have been on my tiny device bitching and moaning to a friend how I was dateless and my future husband would have gotten away. Husband #2 was trickier but again I was looking up. I was meeting my friend Ellen at the Museum of Modern Art when I realized I was a $1.00 short of the admission price. (Foolishly I couldn't resist a purse in the window of the Coach store on the way over.) Panicked, I knew I had to borrow money from a total stranger to get in. It was 1984 and phones were still attached to walls - no texting or calling her about my cash shortage. I looked around the lobby and decided if I had to make a complete fool of myself and beg for $$ I might as well pick the best looking man in sight. Voila I got the $1.00 and another husband. Yes, I paid him back.
It's 2017 and I find myself spending a lot of time looking down texting or talking and complaining about my paltry dating life. Obviously I am not taking my own advice. I am so far behind the marital curve that I would have to live to 120 to catch up, if it's even possible. Truthfully I think there's only one answer. I think I'll collect stamps.
I admit this is much easier said than done but let me take you back to yesteryear. I met husband #1 in an age when phones plugged into a wall. The year was 1976 and the place Central Park . I was walking my Golden Retriever and he was out with his Golden Retriever. The dogs started playing and we started chit chatting. Now if either one of us had been on a cell phone or texting we would never have looked up long enough to have a conversation. I would have been on my tiny device bitching and moaning to a friend how I was dateless and my future husband would have gotten away. Husband #2 was trickier but again I was looking up. I was meeting my friend Ellen at the Museum of Modern Art when I realized I was a $1.00 short of the admission price. (Foolishly I couldn't resist a purse in the window of the Coach store on the way over.) Panicked, I knew I had to borrow money from a total stranger to get in. It was 1984 and phones were still attached to walls - no texting or calling her about my cash shortage. I looked around the lobby and decided if I had to make a complete fool of myself and beg for $$ I might as well pick the best looking man in sight. Voila I got the $1.00 and another husband. Yes, I paid him back.
It's 2017 and I find myself spending a lot of time looking down texting or talking and complaining about my paltry dating life. Obviously I am not taking my own advice. I am so far behind the marital curve that I would have to live to 120 to catch up, if it's even possible. Truthfully I think there's only one answer. I think I'll collect stamps.
Monday, September 5, 2011
"I'll Have What She's Having"
I have a psychological disorder. Many of my friends have speculated this for years. And in my defense they were presumptuous. I've checked the "Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders" and my problem is not mentioned. It's either not officially recognized, not taken seriously by psychiatrists or I'm the first person to exhibit symptoms and give it a name. It falls under the general category of "envy" and it's not for a penis. I don't know what Freud was smoking when he thought up that idea. I've never wanted one of my own. A pair of Manolos or Jimmy Choos but not a penis. My problem is more troubling yet I'm too humiliated to seek counseling.
I have "order envy." Yes it's a real issue. I never order right in a restaurant. I look longingly at what is on everyone else's plate and despairingly at mine. It makes me sad and costs money. My friend Betsy has a perfect record when it comes to getting the best thing on the menu. It never fails I always want what she's having. So, why I don't follow her lead? This question haunts me. For example she gets a fresh farm veggie omelet and do I order the same thing? No, I ask for the turkey sandwich after sweating with indecision. Out comes her fluffy yummy looking eggs and my thinly sliced fake turkey. I'm green with envy as I pick at my loser choice and fight back tears.
"What are you getting?" is my restaurant mantra. I query everyone at the table and carefully consider their answers. The pressure mounts as I insist on ordering last and the waiter is impatiently hovering over me waiting for my selection and my friends are giving me dirty looks because they're hungry and I'm torn between Emily's choice of curried chicken, and Les's order of Trout. "I can't decide!" I want to shout and seek medical attention , but don't. Then it never fails the ill fated yet predictable words come out of my mouth. "I'll have the Salmon."
I have "order envy." Yes it's a real issue. I never order right in a restaurant. I look longingly at what is on everyone else's plate and despairingly at mine. It makes me sad and costs money. My friend Betsy has a perfect record when it comes to getting the best thing on the menu. It never fails I always want what she's having. So, why I don't follow her lead? This question haunts me. For example she gets a fresh farm veggie omelet and do I order the same thing? No, I ask for the turkey sandwich after sweating with indecision. Out comes her fluffy yummy looking eggs and my thinly sliced fake turkey. I'm green with envy as I pick at my loser choice and fight back tears.
"What are you getting?" is my restaurant mantra. I query everyone at the table and carefully consider their answers. The pressure mounts as I insist on ordering last and the waiter is impatiently hovering over me waiting for my selection and my friends are giving me dirty looks because they're hungry and I'm torn between Emily's choice of curried chicken, and Les's order of Trout. "I can't decide!" I want to shout and seek medical attention , but don't. Then it never fails the ill fated yet predictable words come out of my mouth. "I'll have the Salmon."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
