Archive for the 'Oh The Stupidity You'll See' Category

Yeah but no

October 1, 2008 | Filed under: Inebriated prose, Mmhmm That's Right, Oh The Stupidity You'll See

“History teaches us that men and nations behave wisely once they have exhausted all other alternatives.”  ~Abba Eban

This is one of those things I just have to get off my chest. Those almost inexplicable things that pull and tug and are always at the tip of your tongue and so you feel compelled to stand on your balcony and scream your feelings to the world. Sadly, only 14 people will walk down my street yet 140 people (let us pray) will read these words and most likely feel the same amount of undeinable and excruciating pain that I feel.

Deep breaths

I watch a lot of reality television. Since the dawn of the Bunim/Murray days. That said there are three people on the planet who I would have to kick in the kneecaps in exchange for the agony they put me through each and every week; thus leaving me without the will to live. In no particular order:

Kenley from Project Runway: How shall we extricate that stick from your ass?

Rachel Zoe: It IS bananas. And it DOES make me want to die. But YOU make me want to die every time you open your mouth or where sunglasses inside. Why do you do that, Rachel? To hurt me? It’s working.

Speidi: You both are those kids who ate glue in kindergarten. You probably ate lead paint as well. Your current state is just a manifestation of being poisoned as a child. Stop talking. Just stand there and be blindingly blond with that vacant “WUH?” look and collect your paychecks. No, no. Shhh. Quiet time.

Good morning, sunshine

September 16, 2008 | Filed under: Growing up is optional, Oh The Stupidity You'll See, Sucks like a vacuum

“You may not realize it when it happens, but a kick in the teeth may be the best thing in the world for you.”  ~Walt Disney

Being over the age of 18 should come with a disclaimer: “WARNING: This shit might get expensive” or “WARNING: May feel like having something rammed up your ass every third day” or “WARNING: May feel tingly sensation, nausea and vertigo when you look at your credit card balance” or “WARNING: Dumb ass PAY YOUR FUCKING PARKING TICKETS”

Remember that time I had a baby?

August 13, 2008 | Filed under: Blogology, Oh The Stupidity You'll See

“Mother Nature, in her infinite wisdom, has instilled within each of us a powerful biological instinct to reproduce; this is her way of assuring that the human race, come what may, will never have any disposable income.” ~Dave Barry

I’ve never been tempted to share any of the email I get because it’s all fairly standard smooshy stuff that makes me want to nuzzle people who take the time to send a note. But when I received this gem while writing my post for MamaPop, I immediately stopped to read, then re-read, then to read it once more and go back through my archives for clearly I’ve missed a large part of my life. The next time someone calls me a lush, I can now say, I am such a lush that I forgot about that time I gave birth.

Liz and Lindsay have written epics on the terrible PR pitches they’ve received from companies who have clearly never read their sites. The person who sent me this email didn’t get past the about page. Though wouldn’t it be funny if I did have a kid and never mentioned him or her and then one day I launched into a complicated story about using smarties as a bribe to potty train the kid and then the next day I went back into discussing an extensive trip to Anthropologie and drinking Grey Goose in Georgetown. The sad part is that Schnozz would read that post and say, but every story you tell is that disjointed and I’d have to say “touche”.

Keep in mind that if they had offered an actual trip to Disney World, you bet your ass that I would have found myself a seven year old and gone on my merry way:

Hi Heather,

Hope you are well. We work with Maria Bailey and she suggested we reach out to you regarding an announcement from Walt Disney World. On September 8, Disney will announce its search for the 2009 Walt Disney World Moms Panel, www.disneyworldmoms.com – but we wanted to give you an early look at what the Moms Panel is about, how and when parents can apply as well as offer you a neat online “Search” button, if you’re interested in helping us out…

Launched in 2008, the Walt Disney World Moms Panel is an online forum that provides first-hand tips and insights for vacationing at the resort from a panel of park-savvy parents. This year, Walt Disney World is looking for a diverse group of moms, dads and grandparents with vast knowledge of the parks and a desire to share their experience with others. And, due to the overwhelming response last year, the 2009 Moms Panel will expand from its inaugural 12 members to 16.

It’s truly been a resource for families everywhere; in fact, the current panelists have fielded nearly 9,000 questions from guests who are trying to plan the perfect Walt Disney World vacation.

How to apply:

Beginning September 8 through September 19, interested applicants can visit www.disneyworldmoms.com/2009 to learn more about the Walt Disney World Moms Panel and enter. Candidates will be asked to answer a series of questions and write three brief essays; selected panelists will serve a one-year term and will each receive a 5-night, 6-day vacation to Walt Disney World for four people.

Attached please find an online 2009 Moms Panel Search button for you – we would love it if you could help us spread the word to moms and parents in your area. As a thank you, I have also attached “A Magical Back-to-School Breakfast” recipe for you and your family to enjoy.

Please feel free to contact me with any questions at all.

The Dumbest Story Ever Told

July 9, 2008 | Filed under: Oh The Stupidity You'll See, Once Upon A Time.., The District Of Columbia

“I always look for a woman who has a tattoo.  I see a woman with a tattoo, and I’m thinking, okay, here’s a gal who’s capable of making a decision she’ll regret in the future. ” ~Richard Jeni

On June 25th 2001, exactly one day after I donned a red cap and gown and played my clarinet in a formal setting for the last time at my high school graduation, I moved to Washington, DC. I say that with a tear in my eye not because I am recalling how sad I was to pack up my shit and move to a place where humidity would take you in its clammy hands and immobilize you and suppress your ability to breathe; but because I was so god damn happy to get the hell out of that place. As I recall on the outside I may have cried while crossing the Delaware Memorial Bridge but on the inside I was screaming “THANK GOD ALMIGHTY I AM FREE AT LAST”.

I was retelling the story of my Independence Day to coworkers yesterday because despite the oft-crippling fear of The Newness, I still do far better as an independent person, far away from what is most familiar to me. Which is how I lasted six full months in another country with absolutely no one I knew and a one sided grasp of the language. Meaning I could understand what was being said and was fully literate but the only thing I could respond with was “OK!” and lots of head nodding. I was a beacon of brilliance and compelling conversation.

So when I moved to DC, with my new-found freedom I did what any proper 17 year old with half a brain would do when sent 400 miles away: I procured myself a fake ID. Not just any fake ID, as you see, in New York the licenses of yore were made of a more flimsy, cardboard material. This made it easy to write and generally deface said license. With three colored pencils and a simple flick of the wrist, I turned 1983 into 1980 and was on my merry way.

(I should stop here and say that the awesomeness of this idea and patting myself on the back and being smug is called ‘foreshadowing’ and maybe one day I’ll tell you the story of what happened to that license)

And with my license I didn’t set out to start drinking, because I wasn’t much of a drinker at the time, I instead – and again - did what any FREE! 17 year old would do; I went out to get my tongue pierced. I found a tongue piercing to be cool and edgy which would in turn make me cool and edgy (I of the clarinet playing and non-drinking flavor of High School student). I could insert a very long diatribe as to the flaws in this logic but at 17 you are in your own little universe and whatever you say goes. You’re practically invincible of course and when you’re 17 and have just moved to a major city from East Bumblefuck, New York, well the world is your oyster. So you deface your body with a large needle. Again, count the flaws in this logic.

Full of adrenaline, I went to get my tongue pierced and was turned away not twenty minutes later due to a very large vein coursing it’s way smack in the middle of my tongue. I think this is why my tongue can reach the bottom of my chin, all that extra blood pumping through it. It’s also why I can tie a cherry stem quite expertly and I’m also a most excellent make-out partner. If said vein were to be nicked I could bleed to death and die and the Washington Post B section would read “17 year old girl with false ID bleeds to death after tongue piercing. Friends say she was a nice girl but such a dipshit”.

I was left dejected but I did what I do best, which is to get what I want, right when I want it. And if I can’t get exactly what I wanted in the first place, I go after the next best thing or I just obsess about it, whine, yell and scream and get it anyway. And my god, I sound like the most charming person on the planet. In lieu of the tongue piercing I decided on a tattoo. Yes! A tattoo! A tattoo would solve all of my problems. And only at 24 can you laugh hysterically at your 17 year old self at 6:30 AM because your 17 year old self was obviously missing a large part of her brain. The part of the brain that does cognitive thinking. The important part.

I walked my ass into that tattoo parlor – Jinx Proof on M Street in Georgetown, they also did my rook and tragus piercing – took out my fake ID, went to the wall of tattoos to pick out exactly what I wanted. The perfect piece that would adorn my body for all eternity. Something that would represent me for the rest of my natural life, forever and ever, amen. And I picked out a motherfucking butterfly. A Butterfly (it’s on my right ankle). An insect with wings that I have zero connection to except that I think they’re pretty. Not even pretty really, but mostly just nice to look at in passing if I happen to stop swearing and drinking and raising hell to notice that there butterfly right by my head.

Here’s a lesson; If telling your parents that you’ve defaced your body with a drawing of a bug on your ankle, start off by telling them that it’s not really that bad. Get them all worked up and worried that you’re dying or pregnant (first words out of my mother’s mouth “ARE YOU PREGNANT!?!?”) and then say, no, I got a tattoo. And then they’ll be too busy thanking God that they won’t be grandparents and/or planning your funeral anytime soon and hugging you because your stupidity will have cost them a grand total of ZERO dollars.

This all occurred seven years ago. I am far cooler and smarter now – or at least I pretend I am – and the minor pain from getting the first tattoo has long passed. I never thought I’d be one of those people who were decidedly unafraid of having needles stuck every which way. Which explains why I get a random ear piercing because I’m bored. Now with some modicum of an identity and something resembling a brain, I am a little bit more prepared and nervous-excited to get my second tattoo. I didn’t think I would get another one but over the last few weeks I’ve had the itch. And then I knew exactly what I wanted and where. It’s fun but more importantly has meaning and reminds me of where I was many years ago and thankful of where I am now. When it arrives you all will be the first to know and all I’m going to say is, no, it isn’t a damn ladybug.

In which I decide to start showering regularly

April 21, 2008 | Filed under: Oh The Stupidity You'll See, Socially Awkward Barbie™

“Let us be grateful to the mirror for revealing to us our appearance only.” ~Samuel Butler

The theme for last week was ‘Arduous’ though ‘shit in a can’ seems much more accurate. Details will come later but given the laborious tenor of two weeks worth of travel and having my heart punted into the Potomac, by Saturday I was beyond spent and decided that showering and getting dressed would require a minor act of God. Since it is both illegal to get on a plane naked not to mention the thought of flesh eating disease, I decided to rock the jeans and tee with flip flops look. With my hair in desperate need of deep conditioner hidden behind a headband. If there were ever a time to question why I am single, look no further than the haggard look I was sporting on Saturday afternoon. I then boarded a tiny plane from DC to Albany next to a very large and sweaty man. I went from one rather balmy climate to another. By the time I arrived to Albany, I was a hot, sweaty mess with dry hair and in desperate need of a manicure.

The awesome part about the above is that I am hardly exaggerating and yet I found myself driving home with the sunroof open thinking that I should stop at the mall. Purchase myself some cute summer wear and by ‘cute summer wear’ I mean something that makes my bloated ass look less like a sausage stuffed haphazardly in its casing. I clearly remember giving ‘Let’s go to the mall!’ a second thought but then thought that maybe I wouldn’t see anyone at the mall because it was a gorgeous day in Upstate NY and when it’s gorgeous in Upstate NY people run around naked on golf courses. They don’t go to the mall.

“I won’t see anyone” would be my famous last words because there is a reason for why people refer to Albany as ‘Smallbany’, because it’s easy to walk out of the front door and see your high school Organic Chemistry teacher, your former pediatrician, the nurse who delivered you and some woman who used to date your father. And if you think I am being hyperbolic, I cannot tell you how many times I’ve ducked behind grocery carts to keep away from my first grade teacher.

I am at the top of the escalator looking down when I see a woman I haven’t seen in seven years looking up at me. I briefly think that she didn’t see me and then I contemplate hiding but it’s an escalator so running back up would probably force someone to notice me more than coming down peacefully. I put my face down and look casually off to the side when she catches my eye. I stand up straight, suck my stomach in and wave back. She was a good friend from high school and so we hug and she tells me I look great and I say “Ha. I just got off of a plane. I NEVER dress like this”.

“Well you look great” she replies.

“I NEVER look like this. I’m all hot and sweaty and did I mention that I just got off a plane? Because I literally just got off a plane like 25 minutes”

We exchanged updates on each other’s lives and pleasantries and she told me that I really did look great while I kept interjecting that I just got off a plane and I’m surprised she didn’t backhand me because I’m sure she got it that I just got off a damn plane. We depart and I wonder if I actually do look decent even though I’ve yet to see a mirror.

I go upstairs to do my normal Banana Republic, JCRew back to Banana Republic dance of credit card suckage. On my round of JCrew I go towards the back to look at dresses, including a dress I keep trying on and fondling the eyelets even though I have yet to actually make the purchase. I’m standing by the dresses and barely notice two girls standing in front of me. That is until one stops mid-conversation with the other and stares at me. This is when I have to quell my urge to be blatantly rude. I look at her trying to see if I can place her and going through my mental rolodex of people I know and for the life of me, I cannot figure it out. I can feel the “What the fuck are you staring at?” right at the tip of my tongue and it’s then that she says “HEATHER?!”

“Uh yeah”

“I’m JEN!”

JEN! And then I have to keep from diving under the dresses and pretending like she can’t see me because I’m all hot and sweaty and gross and I DIDN’T SHOWER. Yet no invisibility cloak arrives to save me because ha! There’s Jen! Jen who reads my blog! Here is where I prove how absurdly small Albany is: Jen found me on someone else’s blogroll and commented that we must live like right near each other because there are like 24 people in this city. So I clicked over to her blog and realized that I did ‘know’ Jen in that I wrote about her nephew in November and her sister and I work on the same floor.

So ha! There’s Jen! Right in front of my face laughing at how crazy it is that she has found me in J. Crew and I’m all “I just got off a plane” and awkward and OH MY HELL, I JUST GOT OFF A PLANE AND I DIDN’T SHOWER. I’m pretending not to be wildly uncomfortable because I’m all gross and crazy haired and all I can think is she is going to remember this very moment, the first time she met me in the mall and I looked as if instead of sitting inside the plane, I just strapped myself to a wing and hoped for the best. She goes to pay for her flip flops and I stand looking at some chinos with my heart racing because on top of all of the other grossness, I remembered that I had Cajun fries from Five Guys for lunch, you know, ON THE PLANE and so I probably smelled like Cajun fries.

I swear this gets better every other second.

I told my mother, who happens to work in the same department as Jen’s sister (this place is so small that it suffocates), what had happened she asks how Jen knew I was Heather and I said “uh, from my picture” and she is all shocked and shit that people might actually know what I look like from a photo on my blog. She thinks it’s creepy to say the least and I have to bite my tongue to keep from telling her that’s nothing compared to the number of times I’ve discussed my boobs on this site. For wouldn’t she be a little upset to know that not only do several thousand people know my cup size but they now also know that her only daughter sometimes hates to shower and walks around town like an unkempt woman who got run over by a USAir puddle jumper.