Dear Summertime (if that's what you want to call yourself),
Dude! What was that? Seriously.....that's all you've got? A handful of 90 degree days followed by buckets and buckets and buckets of rain? Come on....the humidity didn't even break 75%. Surely that cannot be all she wrote in terms of summertime. That was more like Spring. Wimpy.
Here are my concerns: This morning, I saw a street sweeper sucking up a pile of leaves. I saw people raking....piles of leaves. I saw Halloween candy at the grocery store. We booked our Christmas airfare. I debated wearing a cardigan this morning. My NY Magazine for this week covered all the fall activities in the city. And last week's issue was all about fall fashion. My Southern Living magazine is starting to feature recipes using butternut squash and 50 different ways to cook with apples. I'm on high alert here as you can imagine.
Fall is my all time favorite season (perhaps because Fall exists only my imagination...I've never lived anywhere besides Huntsville that actually, technically, had an Autumn), however this year it is bittersweet because now I am enlightened. I know what comes next. It's like not wanting to watch Old Yeller even though you know it's a good story because you also know what happens to Old Yeller in the end. He FREEZES TO DEATH. Well, not exactly, but same difference. Even my excitement over the opportunity to wear cute boots (I want flat boots past the knee this year, according to NY Mag) and decorate with all my favorite colors isn't enough to get rid of that nagging "OMG" feeling that reminds me that soon I will be wearing different, less attractive boots and that God-awful coat that smells like the subway no matter how many times I Febreeze it and take it to the dry cleaners.
So Summer, come on. Don't be a prude. Let it all hang out sister. Give us everything you've got because all too soon I will be writing letters apologizing for my demands and begging you to come back to us.
Double hugs, double kiss,
L.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Open Letter to Public Pee'ers
Dear People Who Urinate in Public,
Did you not read my previous letter? It's bad enough when grown men do it, but passing it on to the next generation? Que Horror! I have to admit I was seriously taken aback (meaning I literally had to step back to avoid the "flow") when my husband and I were strolling along 5th Avenue after watching Julie and Julia (albeit in the world's most ghetto-fabu theater), enjoying a rare moment of "together time" without our son, when suddenly the little girl walking ahead of us announces she has to pee and literally hikes up her dress and does the deed right there on the sidewalk. There was no artful attempt to hide the infraction nor was the parent standing there with a look of shame and horror on her face. It was like, "hurry up and pee already". I was speechless (and also thinking of the many times Ryan has fallen down on sidewalks here, using his hands to catch himself. MORE SANITIZER PLEASE!)
Ummm....so NYC is TOTALLY not helping me potty train my kiddo. I do not appreciate this as I don't think they make diapers for 10 year olds (well, maybe they do, but probably not as absorbant). Thankfully our little guy wasn't there to see and cheer for this most recent display, but geez. WHY is it so common to see people doing that here?! Once again I appeal to the general public and especially those fond of relieving nature's call far away from any actual "nature" to please, for the love of Charmin, find a potty! (Chances are, God willing my son gets over his fear of potty monsters, I'll soon be carrying one in my giant purse and I'd be happy to let you use it).
Double hugs, double ply,
L.
Did you not read my previous letter? It's bad enough when grown men do it, but passing it on to the next generation? Que Horror! I have to admit I was seriously taken aback (meaning I literally had to step back to avoid the "flow") when my husband and I were strolling along 5th Avenue after watching Julie and Julia (albeit in the world's most ghetto-fabu theater), enjoying a rare moment of "together time" without our son, when suddenly the little girl walking ahead of us announces she has to pee and literally hikes up her dress and does the deed right there on the sidewalk. There was no artful attempt to hide the infraction nor was the parent standing there with a look of shame and horror on her face. It was like, "hurry up and pee already". I was speechless (and also thinking of the many times Ryan has fallen down on sidewalks here, using his hands to catch himself. MORE SANITIZER PLEASE!)
Ummm....so NYC is TOTALLY not helping me potty train my kiddo. I do not appreciate this as I don't think they make diapers for 10 year olds (well, maybe they do, but probably not as absorbant). Thankfully our little guy wasn't there to see and cheer for this most recent display, but geez. WHY is it so common to see people doing that here?! Once again I appeal to the general public and especially those fond of relieving nature's call far away from any actual "nature" to please, for the love of Charmin, find a potty! (Chances are, God willing my son gets over his fear of potty monsters, I'll soon be carrying one in my giant purse and I'd be happy to let you use it).
Double hugs, double ply,
L.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Open Letter to Woman Whom I So Wrongfully Offended Today
Dear Madam,
I sincerely apologize for being so offensive today. I am humiliated, as you probably are as well--all my fault, of course. When you told me you were taking "the 9 year old to Antarctica" I made the poor assumption that it was your grandchild and the even worse decision to verbalize that thought. MY. BAD. I hope you and your DAUGHTER have a great time exploring cold terrain together. Maybe it will be so cold that this encounter between us will somehow be frozen from your memory and you'll forget all about my enormous faux pas. I'm also sorry that this occurred in front of your BFF, who swore to heckle you about it for years to come. Maybe you could take her to Antarctica too--and leave her there, since she doesn't seem like much of a BFF. (And I totally do not recommend myself as her replacement, obviously.)
In closing, while I know you are my husband's superior, I do hope that the disconnect in my brain t0 mouth wiring will not reflect poorly on his position in the office.
Anyways, maybe we can still be friends?
Double Kiss, Double Hugs, TRIPLE apologies,
L.
I sincerely apologize for being so offensive today. I am humiliated, as you probably are as well--all my fault, of course. When you told me you were taking "the 9 year old to Antarctica" I made the poor assumption that it was your grandchild and the even worse decision to verbalize that thought. MY. BAD. I hope you and your DAUGHTER have a great time exploring cold terrain together. Maybe it will be so cold that this encounter between us will somehow be frozen from your memory and you'll forget all about my enormous faux pas. I'm also sorry that this occurred in front of your BFF, who swore to heckle you about it for years to come. Maybe you could take her to Antarctica too--and leave her there, since she doesn't seem like much of a BFF. (And I totally do not recommend myself as her replacement, obviously.)
In closing, while I know you are my husband's superior, I do hope that the disconnect in my brain t0 mouth wiring will not reflect poorly on his position in the office.
Anyways, maybe we can still be friends?
Double Kiss, Double Hugs, TRIPLE apologies,
L.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Open Letter to Rasta Gucci Man at Target
Dear Rastafarian Gucci Bag Salesman,
I am annoyed that you tried to sell me a knockoff Gucci bag in the diaper aisle of Target. Last time I checked, you need to be wearing a red polo & ironed khakis to be selling things at Target. All I wanted to do was hop in, grab some size 4's, and make my way to join the 500 people in line at the one open checkout lane in the entire store. But instead I had to listen to you as you dug around in your garbage bag full of purses whispering something that sounded like "Ayladeeeee, wannapursaforapreddyladeeeee?" Also, when I tried to run away from you, my finger one digit away from calling 911 on my cell, it did not help matters to tell me to "reeeeelaaaaxxxxxxx". Just because this is probably the nastiest, most disorganized Target with a sales plan clearly modeled after a third world open air market, (ie I would not have been surprised to see a "Goats & Other Livestock" aisle), it is not appropriate to bring your illegal operations in here, especially to the kiddie aisles. That is why we have Canal Street, okay? Now, had you had a garbage bag full of Huggies priced under $30 per box, perhaps we could have had a conversation.
Double Hugs, Double Kiss, Double Sanitizer,
L.
I am annoyed that you tried to sell me a knockoff Gucci bag in the diaper aisle of Target. Last time I checked, you need to be wearing a red polo & ironed khakis to be selling things at Target. All I wanted to do was hop in, grab some size 4's, and make my way to join the 500 people in line at the one open checkout lane in the entire store. But instead I had to listen to you as you dug around in your garbage bag full of purses whispering something that sounded like "Ayladeeeee, wannapursaforapreddyladeeeee?" Also, when I tried to run away from you, my finger one digit away from calling 911 on my cell, it did not help matters to tell me to "reeeeelaaaaxxxxxxx". Just because this is probably the nastiest, most disorganized Target with a sales plan clearly modeled after a third world open air market, (ie I would not have been surprised to see a "Goats & Other Livestock" aisle), it is not appropriate to bring your illegal operations in here, especially to the kiddie aisles. That is why we have Canal Street, okay? Now, had you had a garbage bag full of Huggies priced under $30 per box, perhaps we could have had a conversation.
Double Hugs, Double Kiss, Double Sanitizer,
L.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Open Letter to Carrie Bradshaw
Dear Ms. Bradshaw,
So okay. I know you're a fictional character, but humor me. I'm a little perturbed right now. You see, I was never a huge fan of Sex and the City, but I watched it on occasion and quickly learned, or so I thought, about "going out" in Manhattan. Fancy dress, fancy shoes, fancy friends, etc. Swell. So you can imagine my elation when I was recently invited to attend a Girls' Night Wine & Cheese party at my friend M's apartment in the city. I was over the moon excited about this event. I was going out to talk with adults and drink wine and wear fun clothes, etc. I immediately thought of you Carrie. I was going to channel all I had learned and use it to formulate the perfect evening out on the town by myself, sans toddler. Here's what I don't get:
1. I bet you, Carrie Bradshaw, never rode the subway for 5 stops before realizing that the bottle of wine you purchased specifically for this event was left in the car at the original stop. I bet you never had to make the decision to get off the subway at a random stop, praying they'd have a liquor store nearby, and I also bet that you were never the only one in a liquor store who DIDN'T get carded. That's a lot of betting, I know.
2. Carrie Bradshaw, have you EVER been reading a book on the subway and laugh so hard that you had to hold your mouth like a fish face to keep from braying like a jackass and yet still could not do anything about your shoulders which are shaking like crazy from the inner laughter? Yeah...thought not. Me? Oh yes. I looked like an epileptic fish. Posh.
3. I bet Carrie Bradshaw never rode 4 stops in the wrong direction because she was in such a hurry to get back on track after a liquor store diversion that she didn't pay attention to the whole uptown/downtown signage. But guess what? I totally did! Amateur mistake, and yet I manage. And it's about 110 degrees under ground in the summer. Tell me, Care-Bear, how you maintain your dynomite hair and makeup when it is 110 degrees? Oh wait. I know. It's called a Taxi.
5. I bet you never EVER had to use a chilled wine bottle as a cold compress to prevent you from getting armpit stains on your dress. Yeah. Never. But yet, two hours of hanging out underground in Manhattan will do that to a gal!
6. Lets talk about the shoes, Carrie. This is what really urked me the most because when I did, finally after 2 hours of riding around on the subway, 30 minutes of which was spent listening to a modern-day Cheech and Chong debate the merits of washing one's hair every other day vs. daily, arrive in Manhattan at the appropriate stop, I figured my shoes would get me where I needed to go. I mean, I wasn't even wearing Manolos. By the time I walked 3 blocks in the WRONG direction and then had to circle back plus add an additional 4 blocks, my feet were bleeding. BLEEDING. Classy. I never saw this happen to you Carrie. Not once. And I was wearing Naturalizer low granny heels disguised as "cute shoes".
7. On nary an episode of SATC did you, Ms. Bradshaw, arrive at a party totally dishevelled and harboring a strong desire to uncork your own bottle of hostess wine with your teeth and take a swig prior to ringing the bell. Never (well maybe you DID do this) did you down 4 glasses of wine in a matter of 10 minutes and seriously contemplate sticking your head in the cooler of ice in order to cool off from the "ordeal" of getting to the party.
8. How often have you ever played the "Two Lies and a Truth" ice breaker? Carrie, I bet you've played it at least once. But how often have you played it with people whose truths include being Jermaine Jackson's personal chauffer (the dude is g-a-y btw), going to Malaga(Spain) on a 2nd date next week, or have been shot at by Ugandans during a political coup? Yeah. Thought not. So there's me with my "I'm an Army wife." "I like brussel sprouts". "And my son is potty trained". So awesome. I totally rocked that game. (Actually, I did rock that game a bit. I quickly came up with some cool stuff after the Ugandan Coup lady took her turn).
9. Carrie Bradshaw never had to eat 50 pieces of cheese and half a loaf of bread to sober up after 4 glasses of wine so she could hurry home before Kentucky Fried Chicken closed so that she could pick up a bucket of wings to take to the family reunion the following day. (FYI Carrie, KFC was closed by the time I got there. FYI to everyone...KFC is not open at 2am.)
10. And perhaps the most embarrassing of them all...NEVER did Carrie Bradshaw EVER have to borrow the shoes literally off the hostess's feet to wear home because the thought of leaving that party and reliving the whole walk/ride home in those heels made you want to curl up in the fetal position and rock back & forth in the corner. But I did it. They were JCrew flip flops, too big for my feet. And one fell off as I was exiting the stair case on the subway and rolled down 9 steps before Skeevy Weird Dude picked it up, brought it to me, asked if I would turn into Cinderella while I silently cried about the plethora of subway germs multiplying on my foot at that very moment.
Carrie, don't get me wrong girlfriend. I had a ball once I finally did make it to the party. But I'm a tidge bit disappointed that I was unable to carry it off in CB Fashion. I suppose I need more practice, but in defense of women everywhere who are living vicariously through SATC reruns and dreaming of the day they too get invited to a fun, swanky party in the city...PLEASE keep it real girl. It ain't all glitz and glam. There's a lot of huffing, puffing, and sweating involved.
Double Kiss, Double Hugs,
L in the City
So okay. I know you're a fictional character, but humor me. I'm a little perturbed right now. You see, I was never a huge fan of Sex and the City, but I watched it on occasion and quickly learned, or so I thought, about "going out" in Manhattan. Fancy dress, fancy shoes, fancy friends, etc. Swell. So you can imagine my elation when I was recently invited to attend a Girls' Night Wine & Cheese party at my friend M's apartment in the city. I was over the moon excited about this event. I was going out to talk with adults and drink wine and wear fun clothes, etc. I immediately thought of you Carrie. I was going to channel all I had learned and use it to formulate the perfect evening out on the town by myself, sans toddler. Here's what I don't get:
1. I bet you, Carrie Bradshaw, never rode the subway for 5 stops before realizing that the bottle of wine you purchased specifically for this event was left in the car at the original stop. I bet you never had to make the decision to get off the subway at a random stop, praying they'd have a liquor store nearby, and I also bet that you were never the only one in a liquor store who DIDN'T get carded. That's a lot of betting, I know.
2. Carrie Bradshaw, have you EVER been reading a book on the subway and laugh so hard that you had to hold your mouth like a fish face to keep from braying like a jackass and yet still could not do anything about your shoulders which are shaking like crazy from the inner laughter? Yeah...thought not. Me? Oh yes. I looked like an epileptic fish. Posh.
3. I bet Carrie Bradshaw never rode 4 stops in the wrong direction because she was in such a hurry to get back on track after a liquor store diversion that she didn't pay attention to the whole uptown/downtown signage. But guess what? I totally did! Amateur mistake, and yet I manage. And it's about 110 degrees under ground in the summer. Tell me, Care-Bear, how you maintain your dynomite hair and makeup when it is 110 degrees? Oh wait. I know. It's called a Taxi.
5. I bet you never EVER had to use a chilled wine bottle as a cold compress to prevent you from getting armpit stains on your dress. Yeah. Never. But yet, two hours of hanging out underground in Manhattan will do that to a gal!
6. Lets talk about the shoes, Carrie. This is what really urked me the most because when I did, finally after 2 hours of riding around on the subway, 30 minutes of which was spent listening to a modern-day Cheech and Chong debate the merits of washing one's hair every other day vs. daily, arrive in Manhattan at the appropriate stop, I figured my shoes would get me where I needed to go. I mean, I wasn't even wearing Manolos. By the time I walked 3 blocks in the WRONG direction and then had to circle back plus add an additional 4 blocks, my feet were bleeding. BLEEDING. Classy. I never saw this happen to you Carrie. Not once. And I was wearing Naturalizer low granny heels disguised as "cute shoes".
7. On nary an episode of SATC did you, Ms. Bradshaw, arrive at a party totally dishevelled and harboring a strong desire to uncork your own bottle of hostess wine with your teeth and take a swig prior to ringing the bell. Never (well maybe you DID do this) did you down 4 glasses of wine in a matter of 10 minutes and seriously contemplate sticking your head in the cooler of ice in order to cool off from the "ordeal" of getting to the party.
8. How often have you ever played the "Two Lies and a Truth" ice breaker? Carrie, I bet you've played it at least once. But how often have you played it with people whose truths include being Jermaine Jackson's personal chauffer (the dude is g-a-y btw), going to Malaga(Spain) on a 2nd date next week, or have been shot at by Ugandans during a political coup? Yeah. Thought not. So there's me with my "I'm an Army wife." "I like brussel sprouts". "And my son is potty trained". So awesome. I totally rocked that game. (Actually, I did rock that game a bit. I quickly came up with some cool stuff after the Ugandan Coup lady took her turn).
9. Carrie Bradshaw never had to eat 50 pieces of cheese and half a loaf of bread to sober up after 4 glasses of wine so she could hurry home before Kentucky Fried Chicken closed so that she could pick up a bucket of wings to take to the family reunion the following day. (FYI Carrie, KFC was closed by the time I got there. FYI to everyone...KFC is not open at 2am.)
10. And perhaps the most embarrassing of them all...NEVER did Carrie Bradshaw EVER have to borrow the shoes literally off the hostess's feet to wear home because the thought of leaving that party and reliving the whole walk/ride home in those heels made you want to curl up in the fetal position and rock back & forth in the corner. But I did it. They were JCrew flip flops, too big for my feet. And one fell off as I was exiting the stair case on the subway and rolled down 9 steps before Skeevy Weird Dude picked it up, brought it to me, asked if I would turn into Cinderella while I silently cried about the plethora of subway germs multiplying on my foot at that very moment.
Carrie, don't get me wrong girlfriend. I had a ball once I finally did make it to the party. But I'm a tidge bit disappointed that I was unable to carry it off in CB Fashion. I suppose I need more practice, but in defense of women everywhere who are living vicariously through SATC reruns and dreaming of the day they too get invited to a fun, swanky party in the city...PLEASE keep it real girl. It ain't all glitz and glam. There's a lot of huffing, puffing, and sweating involved.
Double Kiss, Double Hugs,
L in the City
Friday, August 14, 2009
Open Letter to 3 Random Men, One with Severe Butt Crack Issues
Dear Sirs,
This morning I had the privledge of dropping off my husband at the subway stop. This is something I do from time to time when the stars align and we're all out of bed and alert at the same time in the morning. It is only a 5 minute ride to the stop, but it saves him about 20 minutes of walk time. After depositing him at the corner of 4th & 95th, I proceeded the brief ride home. (I'm still in my pj's, that's how brief it is). This is when I encounter Sir #1, who incidentally also has somewhat of a butt crack issue. There you are standing in front of St. Patrick's School relieving yourself of your morning coffee. Right there on the side walk. IN FRONT OF A SCHOOL! Thank you Jesus that it is summer time and there were no children present, but honestly. You were peeing on the house of the Lord and a school! WITH YOUR BUTT CRACK SHOWING! That's triple lightening strikes for you Sir!
I am still reeling from Sir #1 when I get to the end of the block & what do I see? You, Sir #2, relieving yourself of your morning beer (yes, it probably was beer based on the stagger and proximity to the Panic Room bar. The fact that it is 7am means nothing.) right there in the park where my child plays. Unacceptable. But because I was in my pajamas while driving, it was also unacceptable for me to exit my vehicle to scold you for being a jerk head. But let the record show that I do, indeed, think you are a jerk head.
At this point, I am pretty pissed, no pun intended. But because it appears to be National Pee Outside In Public Day, it comes as no surprise when I notice Sir #3 doing what I call the Artful Dodger Taxi Stance . Thank you for at least attempting to cover up your transgression with your car door. Almost tasteful, but not quite. Who are you kidding? Everybody knows what's going on over there behind that door. Bonus point for you though for at least trying.
I understand that this is New York where people live with the mentality that the world is your urinal, but seeing 3 men in under a minute all relieving themselves in public is cause for concern. It's like a mini-epidemic, ya know? Churches, playgrounds and streets aren't really the best spots for this activity. I mean, if I'm going to spend all this time and effort trying to teach my 2 year old to pee in a potty, can you at least help me out by peeing in spots where people expect to find urine...like the subway or in the corner at the deli? I'll even give you an M&M, just like I do for him. (Actually, to date, Ryan has had 2 M&M's and mommy has had 2 bags of M&Ms, but hey...who's counting?)
So lets all pull up our pants, invest in a subway pass, and carry your business underground where people expect to see that kind of behavior.
Double Kiss, Double Hugs (well, maybe not, but I'm just trying to be nice),
L.
This morning I had the privledge of dropping off my husband at the subway stop. This is something I do from time to time when the stars align and we're all out of bed and alert at the same time in the morning. It is only a 5 minute ride to the stop, but it saves him about 20 minutes of walk time. After depositing him at the corner of 4th & 95th, I proceeded the brief ride home. (I'm still in my pj's, that's how brief it is). This is when I encounter Sir #1, who incidentally also has somewhat of a butt crack issue. There you are standing in front of St. Patrick's School relieving yourself of your morning coffee. Right there on the side walk. IN FRONT OF A SCHOOL! Thank you Jesus that it is summer time and there were no children present, but honestly. You were peeing on the house of the Lord and a school! WITH YOUR BUTT CRACK SHOWING! That's triple lightening strikes for you Sir!
I am still reeling from Sir #1 when I get to the end of the block & what do I see? You, Sir #2, relieving yourself of your morning beer (yes, it probably was beer based on the stagger and proximity to the Panic Room bar. The fact that it is 7am means nothing.) right there in the park where my child plays. Unacceptable. But because I was in my pajamas while driving, it was also unacceptable for me to exit my vehicle to scold you for being a jerk head. But let the record show that I do, indeed, think you are a jerk head.
At this point, I am pretty pissed, no pun intended. But because it appears to be National Pee Outside In Public Day, it comes as no surprise when I notice Sir #3 doing what I call the Artful Dodger Taxi Stance . Thank you for at least attempting to cover up your transgression with your car door. Almost tasteful, but not quite. Who are you kidding? Everybody knows what's going on over there behind that door. Bonus point for you though for at least trying.
I understand that this is New York where people live with the mentality that the world is your urinal, but seeing 3 men in under a minute all relieving themselves in public is cause for concern. It's like a mini-epidemic, ya know? Churches, playgrounds and streets aren't really the best spots for this activity. I mean, if I'm going to spend all this time and effort trying to teach my 2 year old to pee in a potty, can you at least help me out by peeing in spots where people expect to find urine...like the subway or in the corner at the deli? I'll even give you an M&M, just like I do for him. (Actually, to date, Ryan has had 2 M&M's and mommy has had 2 bags of M&Ms, but hey...who's counting?)
So lets all pull up our pants, invest in a subway pass, and carry your business underground where people expect to see that kind of behavior.
Double Kiss, Double Hugs (well, maybe not, but I'm just trying to be nice),
L.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Open Letter to Pediatrician Receptionist with the Frosted Hair Circa 1985
Dear Receptionist with the Frosted Tips:
Thank you for being so accomodating by allowing me to keep the appointment I made over the phone which someone in your office neglected to write down in the magic book of appointments. Thanks for squeezing me in between, well, Nobody & Nobody Else as your waiting room was filled with invisible kids with invisible ailments at the time of my unplanned (on your part) arrival. You and I could totally hang out together (once you get rid of that hair dresser of yours), however I would like to set the record straight on something. Just because I carry military health insurance and my husband is an active duty soldier in the US Army does not mean that I can fill you in on the secrets from next season's upcoming episodes of Lifetime TV's hit show Army Wives. And no, I cannot provide my autograph nor do I know Catherine Bell personally. It was nice of you to bring in your friend, Nurse ParachutePants, so that we could discuss this show I never watch together as a group. (By the way, is that Flock of Seagulls playing on the speakers right now?). I was happy to field your questions about the oh-so-exciting life of being an Army wife. No, I do not know anyone who has had an affair while their husband was deployed or otherwise, although I'm sure it happens. This is America. Jerry Springer conitnues to churn out new episodes. Crazy is bound to exist anywhere, including the Army. No, none of my friends own bars (although I've met plenty of friends who frequent them!) and I have never been to the Hump Bar. I think it's fictional. Just like the rest of the show. In my humble opinion, I think Army Wives pulls together the most stereotypical personas of Army wives and stations them all on the most idyllic and beautiful post of all time. In reality, being an Army wife means you have an extra form of ID in your wallet and your spouse disappears for sometimes months on end. That's about it. Yes there is drama from time to time, but don't you have drama here in this office/VH-1 Back to the 80's Episode ?
Anywho, I hope this clears up any miscommunication between us and I hope you find a hairdresser who is more versed in hair styles for this particular decade.
Double Kiss, Double Hugs,
L.
Thank you for being so accomodating by allowing me to keep the appointment I made over the phone which someone in your office neglected to write down in the magic book of appointments. Thanks for squeezing me in between, well, Nobody & Nobody Else as your waiting room was filled with invisible kids with invisible ailments at the time of my unplanned (on your part) arrival. You and I could totally hang out together (once you get rid of that hair dresser of yours), however I would like to set the record straight on something. Just because I carry military health insurance and my husband is an active duty soldier in the US Army does not mean that I can fill you in on the secrets from next season's upcoming episodes of Lifetime TV's hit show Army Wives. And no, I cannot provide my autograph nor do I know Catherine Bell personally. It was nice of you to bring in your friend, Nurse ParachutePants, so that we could discuss this show I never watch together as a group. (By the way, is that Flock of Seagulls playing on the speakers right now?). I was happy to field your questions about the oh-so-exciting life of being an Army wife. No, I do not know anyone who has had an affair while their husband was deployed or otherwise, although I'm sure it happens. This is America. Jerry Springer conitnues to churn out new episodes. Crazy is bound to exist anywhere, including the Army. No, none of my friends own bars (although I've met plenty of friends who frequent them!) and I have never been to the Hump Bar. I think it's fictional. Just like the rest of the show. In my humble opinion, I think Army Wives pulls together the most stereotypical personas of Army wives and stations them all on the most idyllic and beautiful post of all time. In reality, being an Army wife means you have an extra form of ID in your wallet and your spouse disappears for sometimes months on end. That's about it. Yes there is drama from time to time, but don't you have drama here in this office/VH-1 Back to the 80's Episode ?
Anywho, I hope this clears up any miscommunication between us and I hope you find a hairdresser who is more versed in hair styles for this particular decade.
Double Kiss, Double Hugs,
L.
Open Letter to Euro Mom at the Park
Dear Uber Hot Euro Mom at the Park,
Props to you for maintaining a size 2 bod while your kids clearly thrive on a diet of caffeine & sugar. Speaking of goodies, lets talk about yours. Holy crotch-shot! While I adore your chic black jersey knit mini dress (although even you know you're sweating from that scarf around your neck!), it is probably not the most appropriate attire for swinging, sliding and *gasp* doing pullups or any activity where your arms extend past your shoulders. Seriously! Now, in Sweden (or wherever you are from), this may be totally tres chic, however here in America, unless you are a drunken Hollywood starlet out for a night of wild debauchery and in desperate need of a career boost, underpants are the traditionally accepted garment designed for wear under dresses and general daily use. Sure I'm a little jealous that I don't look all smokin' hot when I take my kid to the park (although I am hot...I mean, it's summer time and it's humid!), but I have my morals. So lets put some shorts (or make good use of that scarf around your neck!) like all the other parents and save whatever you've got going on down there (or lack thereof) for the papparazzi during your next night on the town with who I can only assume is your Ken-doll husband.
Double kiss, double hugs,
L.
Props to you for maintaining a size 2 bod while your kids clearly thrive on a diet of caffeine & sugar. Speaking of goodies, lets talk about yours. Holy crotch-shot! While I adore your chic black jersey knit mini dress (although even you know you're sweating from that scarf around your neck!), it is probably not the most appropriate attire for swinging, sliding and *gasp* doing pullups or any activity where your arms extend past your shoulders. Seriously! Now, in Sweden (or wherever you are from), this may be totally tres chic, however here in America, unless you are a drunken Hollywood starlet out for a night of wild debauchery and in desperate need of a career boost, underpants are the traditionally accepted garment designed for wear under dresses and general daily use. Sure I'm a little jealous that I don't look all smokin' hot when I take my kid to the park (although I am hot...I mean, it's summer time and it's humid!), but I have my morals. So lets put some shorts (or make good use of that scarf around your neck!) like all the other parents and save whatever you've got going on down there (or lack thereof) for the papparazzi during your next night on the town with who I can only assume is your Ken-doll husband.
Double kiss, double hugs,
L.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
An Open Letter to God
Dear God,
I am sending this to you because I find myself saying, "Dear God" on a regular basis and yet never follow it up with a letter. So finally, here is your letter. First, I wish to thank you, from the bottom of my cholesterol stricken heart for having the stork drop me off somewhere south of the Mason Dixon Line. That right there is one of life's greatest blessings and I am truly grateful. Living a life of barefeet, sunshine, Southern Baptist Dinner on the Grounds (hence the cholesterol reference above), and excessive usage of the word "y'all" (& "Y'alls plural) has filled my heart with happiness. And being a Florida Gator....well...we all know there's a reason why the sun is orange and the sky is blue. *wink wink*.
I do not count Texas as the South, so I'm not particularly grateful for our stint there, but my childhood in Florida was awesome as was our four month stint in a furnished apartment in Huntsville, AL (despite the little neighborhood murder incident that occurred our first week there). Now Lord, what I don't really understand, and this is kind of the point of this letter, is how exactly we wound up here in Brooklyn, New York. Yeah, I know that there's a plan for everything, but unless your plan involves me dying in a firery car crash on a city street with a posted yet severely ignored speed limit of 30mph or stressing myself into an early grave at the checkout counter at the Coney Island Home Depot (worst one in the NATION), I'm not entirely sure what it is I'm supposed to be doing here. Yes, I know I'm an Army wife and we are supposed to have that little plaque in our home that says, "Home is where the Army sends us!" but frankly, that's just not my style of decor nor my philosophy on life. Home is a sandy beach in Florida. Plain and simple.
We've been living here in the Big Apple for about 8 months now and I've moved through different phases of acceptance. First I was literally screaming and jumping up and down that we were coming. Then I freaked out that we were coming. That phase lasted a while and involved me sending oodles of emails to current NY'ers asking them pressing questions like, "Should I buy a super puffy coat for my 2 year old, or just a medium puffy coat?" and "will my speaking of the English language be a problem there?". Then we arrived in the dead of winter and it was too darn cold for me to really have any other emotions until Spring arrived and my brain thawed out. Sure, I think it's pretty cool that we live here and obviously our friends do too because we've had more guests here than anywhere else we've lived. We have had some great opportunities to see and do cool stuff and we've met some great friends. But Lord, I am just astonished at the people we encounter here. We have friends here and obviously I'm not referring to them. I'm referring to the general population of crazy that seems to have congregated here on this island and surrounding borroughs. Lord, how did they all get here and what does that say about my recent arrival? Are you trying to tell me to get back on the meds?
Anyways, Lord, I've never been confrontational, verbally anyway, but you've given me the opportunity to encounter some insane, confrontation-worthy stuff since we've been here. And you've allowed me to keep customer service hotlines & survey companies in business (because good or bad, it's important to report!). And you've given me this computer and an English degree (although I'm a stay-home mom now and cannot be held responsible for poor grammar, mispellings, and incomplete sentences. This is a blog, not a thesis). I have always been better at communicating my feelings through writing (mainly because my tongue is always in my cheek and my foot is always in my mouth so speaking is usually not an option), so maybe I'm here to communicate to the masses on behalf of the Human Race Complaint Department. Maybe I can share a little of my frustrations in the hopes that others will not have to experience them. Maybe I can share some of my funnies, because you know how I love a good laugh. And maybe this is how I can make it through the next 18 months here before we're off to some place new (preferably south of the Mason Dixon Line por favor). Perhaps all those "dear God!" moments I have are part of your plan for me. Maybe this blog will, somehow, help me figure that out.
Amen.
I am sending this to you because I find myself saying, "Dear God" on a regular basis and yet never follow it up with a letter. So finally, here is your letter. First, I wish to thank you, from the bottom of my cholesterol stricken heart for having the stork drop me off somewhere south of the Mason Dixon Line. That right there is one of life's greatest blessings and I am truly grateful. Living a life of barefeet, sunshine, Southern Baptist Dinner on the Grounds (hence the cholesterol reference above), and excessive usage of the word "y'all" (& "Y'alls plural) has filled my heart with happiness. And being a Florida Gator....well...we all know there's a reason why the sun is orange and the sky is blue. *wink wink*.
I do not count Texas as the South, so I'm not particularly grateful for our stint there, but my childhood in Florida was awesome as was our four month stint in a furnished apartment in Huntsville, AL (despite the little neighborhood murder incident that occurred our first week there). Now Lord, what I don't really understand, and this is kind of the point of this letter, is how exactly we wound up here in Brooklyn, New York. Yeah, I know that there's a plan for everything, but unless your plan involves me dying in a firery car crash on a city street with a posted yet severely ignored speed limit of 30mph or stressing myself into an early grave at the checkout counter at the Coney Island Home Depot (worst one in the NATION), I'm not entirely sure what it is I'm supposed to be doing here. Yes, I know I'm an Army wife and we are supposed to have that little plaque in our home that says, "Home is where the Army sends us!" but frankly, that's just not my style of decor nor my philosophy on life. Home is a sandy beach in Florida. Plain and simple.
We've been living here in the Big Apple for about 8 months now and I've moved through different phases of acceptance. First I was literally screaming and jumping up and down that we were coming. Then I freaked out that we were coming. That phase lasted a while and involved me sending oodles of emails to current NY'ers asking them pressing questions like, "Should I buy a super puffy coat for my 2 year old, or just a medium puffy coat?" and "will my speaking of the English language be a problem there?". Then we arrived in the dead of winter and it was too darn cold for me to really have any other emotions until Spring arrived and my brain thawed out. Sure, I think it's pretty cool that we live here and obviously our friends do too because we've had more guests here than anywhere else we've lived. We have had some great opportunities to see and do cool stuff and we've met some great friends. But Lord, I am just astonished at the people we encounter here. We have friends here and obviously I'm not referring to them. I'm referring to the general population of crazy that seems to have congregated here on this island and surrounding borroughs. Lord, how did they all get here and what does that say about my recent arrival? Are you trying to tell me to get back on the meds?
Anyways, Lord, I've never been confrontational, verbally anyway, but you've given me the opportunity to encounter some insane, confrontation-worthy stuff since we've been here. And you've allowed me to keep customer service hotlines & survey companies in business (because good or bad, it's important to report!). And you've given me this computer and an English degree (although I'm a stay-home mom now and cannot be held responsible for poor grammar, mispellings, and incomplete sentences. This is a blog, not a thesis). I have always been better at communicating my feelings through writing (mainly because my tongue is always in my cheek and my foot is always in my mouth so speaking is usually not an option), so maybe I'm here to communicate to the masses on behalf of the Human Race Complaint Department. Maybe I can share a little of my frustrations in the hopes that others will not have to experience them. Maybe I can share some of my funnies, because you know how I love a good laugh. And maybe this is how I can make it through the next 18 months here before we're off to some place new (preferably south of the Mason Dixon Line por favor). Perhaps all those "dear God!" moments I have are part of your plan for me. Maybe this blog will, somehow, help me figure that out.
Amen.
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