miss me

I'm flying out to Minnesota in the morning to go to a conference for work. And I extended my stay so that I can visit with some VIPs. I'll get to see my friend from college (Mary- more on Mary after the visit) and then drive to Wisconsin to see my grandfather, Papa Buck (mayor of Wisconsin) for a couple days. He's a hoot. A scotch-pushing hoot. My most vivid memories of Papa Buck are when he would give the little girl version of me sips of scotch and I would cringe! But eventually I stopped cringing... hrmmmm.

I've never been up north to Minnesota or Wisconsin and I will report back. Oh, yeah, I'll be gone until Tuesday. If I can find a computer I will give you an update on my fab mini-work trip/vacay...

I'll miss you blogland! Will you miss me, too? How will you occupy yourself while I'm away?

TELL ME EVERYTHING.

Dear Reese,

Dear Reese,

I know we haven't socialized in quite awhile... I've been too busy to fly out to L.A. this year. And I know you do come to NYC from time to time, but it has just been that kind of a year. You know how it is. With so many benefits and charity events to attend, beauty treatments galore, donating time posing for designers as their muse, etc etc, it can be oh so difficult to find time for myself and my old friends. We'll have to catch up soon though.

I did want to write to just keep you abreast of this topic. As you know, our previous misunderstanding continues to bother me. A thorn in my side, if you will. From time to time I have been compared to you. "You look like Reese Witherspoon". "You really do resemble that actress from Legally Blonde". And on and on.

Now, obviously these misguided commoners remain unfamiliar with our circle, our crowd, our level in society. I'm sure you would agree that it is a bit declasse, bordering on crass.

It is an embarrassing mistake for both of us and I think the best remedy is for you to continue to correct such mistaken comparisons. Perhaps let the press run an article on the differences between the life of an actress versus the life of an uptown socialite? Remind these plebeians that it is you that resembles me. And not the other way around.

And please keep up with your blonde hair so as to set yourself apart as much as possible. You know how complicated things get when you go dark...

Hope to see you soon, of course. And send my regards to Jake, Ava, and Deacon.

xoxo,

Uptown Girl

what the Fritz?

The Closer Season 5 has come to an end. Closed for the season. And it is a sad state of affairs. I am going thru the typical withdrawl symptoms: can't make myself get to bed at a decent hour sleep, can't stop eating ice cream eat, and can't stop drooling when I think about Fritz. Obvi. I know you feel my pain. bleh... sob... wipe a tear.


Luckily, I do have the great ability to watch re-runs and old seasons on the world wide web and on DVD. Yay for Netflix! And, of course, I have the great honor of being able to google-image pics of my hot mess... also known as Jon Tenney... also known as Fritz Howard. Fritzie!!



Here. He. Is:

Fritz looks good in his suit. His little FBI get-up. His intense look says, "You are a difficult woman, but I have what it takes to deal with you. And I will deal with you. And in a loving way. And you won't walk all over me. No fear." On the show his look says this to Brenda, but in real life/my imagination he is saying this to me. And to you, and to every woman he melts.

Look at that face... oooh Fritzie.

Fritz has single-handedly blown my 'babs' theory to bits. Almost. The fact that he is just a character on tv and not a real man is the only thing that keeps babs intact. The only thing. And, yes, babs is going strong.

Young Jon Tenney in a tux. A tux! Uh huh. Aww yeah. Swoon.

Fritzie likes my blogizzle. Who doesn't? It makes him smile. And laugh. And swoon.

Can you think of any character that is a better example of what a man should be? And in the same mostly-realistic way that Fritz exemplifies swoonability?

Feel free to help me with these captions. I know they are lacking. And I apologize for the lack of shirtless pics, google-images deprived us all. Or maybe Fritz is just that modest?

STINKY

DEFINITION OF stinky FROM WWW.ANSWERS.COM

STINKY
v., stank (stăngk) or stunk (stŭngk), stunk, stink·ing, stinks.

v.intr.

1- To emit a strong foul odor.

2- To be highly offensive or abhorrent. To be in extremely bad repute.

3- Slang. To have something to an extreme or offensive degree: a family that stinks with money; a deed that stinks of treachery.

4- Slang. To be of an extremely low or bad quality: This job stinks.
To have the appearance of dishonesty or corruption: Something about his testimony stinks.

v.tr.
To cause to stink: garbage that stinks up the yard.

n.

1- A strong offensive odor; a stench. See synonyms at stench.
2- Slang. A scandal or controversy: “the stink over sexual politics in the military” (David Nyhan).

idiom:
make (or raise) a stink. Slang.
To make a great fuss.
[Middle English stinken, from Old English stincan, to emit a smell.]stinky stink'y adj.


Ok, so on the way to work today my nose was accosted by the odious stank of garbage. For an entire city block. I'm talking an entire east-west block very far east on the upper eastside. So, you know, it was a looooong block. A long stinky block. This is unacceptable. Would you be so kind as to contact the Mayor on my behalf?

Tell him 2 things for me:
1- hey Mike, sorry I missed dinner at the Waldorf last week, it's been a busy summer full of social engagements, you know how it is, catch you on the flipside!
2- Please correct this stinky trash smell and fill the upper eastside with pleasant scents of clean linen and gardenias. Thanks.

What definition am I using when I say that this was a stinky morning?

patience little one, patience

Yes, I am perfectly aware that the weekend is over.

It saddens me to no end. No end, I tell you.



The weekend was low key and lovely. And I never made it to my tropical beachfront paradise. But, sometimes I like low key. It beats hectic and stressful every single time. But it never beats the beach. Just saying.



Sometimes I wish this was a private blog because I want to write an ounce more freely about my innermost thoughts and secrets without worrying about who will read them. Because I have oh so many to share.



I am extremely fortunate to have women in my life who are there to listen to my confused nonsensical dilemmas and offer simple sage wisdom in return. What would I do without my girlfriends?



How would I survive even one week? My girls bring me such joy and help me to stay grounded. This is true both when I'm overly worried (read: on the brink of mental breakdown) and in times when I'm overly excited (read: getting my hopes up, or putting too much stock into something). And I try to do the same for my friends. I think as women we balance each other that way.



Maybe that is why I don't write poems very often and neglect my journal. Instead I work things out by talking things thru with my therapist friends. Why is it that I can give *amazing* advice to friends (ok, usually I can just tell them what NOT to do), but then need the same advice given back to me? We can rely on each other, uh huh. From one corner to another, uh huh. [name that tune]

I think what this advice usually comes down to is patience. A virtue that virtually escapes me. .. What is that saying? Patience is a virtue. A virtue is a grace. And grace is a girl that slaps you in the face. Something to that effect. Yeah, so back to the point of this rambling hot mess... Usually the advice we give one another is to be patient, not to rush into or out of any situation. To weigh pros and cons. To take time. Time heals and time reveals the good the bad and the fugly. Why is it so hard to remember this one little bitty life lesson? It has been the answer to almost all questions I've had. Once I give things time or just take time to work stuff out in my head, and remember that there is no need to rush, I can take a breath, take a step back, take a walk, and relax to the max. I let the question at hand lie, unanswered, and just live a little more. Then the answer will come. And it always does. Oh, and the issues swirling about in my brain can come down a notch and I can then see them for what they are... and they are usually not as urgent and pressing as they seemed before the girltalk commenced.

Anywho. I've got 2 songs whirling around in my head. One by Regina Spektor and one by Taylor Swift. Talk about poets. Those ladies rock my world. They put my feelings into words and those words into music. Haven't I told you to check out imeem.com? Do it to it. It will make your life. But as with all good things, patience will come in handy with figuring out imeem just like with figuring out life, love, work, play, and song lyrics.

Hope your Monday is happy great fantastic bearable! Just be patient bc the weekend is only a few long short days away...

imagine

This is my fantasy weekend plan... to sit in this chair on a tropical island with this view + a good book + a pool boy + it would be a cabana not this actual chair + unlimited food and beverages. Oh and minus every care in the world. And maybe you can join me. Who's in?




What does your imaginary weekend have in store?


*smile bc it is FRIDAY*

poetry on ice

I am a famous celebrity poet.

I like to write poetry and let my feelings and creative ideas flow. And I love to make everything rhyme.

Now, don't be fooled, I did not say that I am a talented poet. Hah! I just enjoy writing and find it cathartic in a way. Sorta like blogging. Trulio. I am way more into the blogging than he poeting these days. But I can recall a time when I wrote poems like they were going outta style. You know what was actually going out of style when I started writing poetry? Rolled acid wash jeans, worn with puffy hot pink socks that matched my electric pink t-shirt (knotted of course). That went out of style and I can't for the life of me understand why that fad has not returned.

The point of all of this nonsense is to fill you in on breaking news. In July, I was helping my mom clean out her garage (before she moved, remember?). I found a crap ton of memorabilia documenting my life. From colorful pre-K finger paintings to mementos left over from my Sweet-16. Pictures from every fancy dance I went to in high school... complete with the most frighteningly atrocious 90's dress/makeup/hair combos you can imagine... the teenage version of me looked like I was 45 years old in those get-ups... and my dates look like they should've been in romper room. Oh the bremories. They've scarred mine eyes and my head aches to even imagine the images once again.

I also stumbled upon about 594 love letters from my college boyfriend and 8,361 pictures of his 19 year old face (etc). Was he my first love? I don't really know. I consider him my first real love but know I thought I was in love at ages 5, 8, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17... you get the picture. Anyway, you'll be happy to learn that upon discovery these pictures and letters were thrown away. Not all, but most. A girl's gotta keep some evidence that she was once a teenager in love. Obvi.

I also uncovered my stash of poetry. If it can be called that. I found poems dating back to my 12 year old Jersey Girl days, written about how I felt like ... wait for it.... a BALLOON. I am oh so deep. In Eighth Grade I wrote about love, and how I would love Chris forever and ever and be apart from him never (that may or may not be a direct quote. 'Forever' and 'ever' and 'never' rhyme, right?). In high school I wrote about how I longed to be free of my parents rules. How I wanted to make my own decisions and my own mistakes.

I also wrote a love poem about my major crush (i'll call him Homeless Teen) and how I was sure it was "meant to be". Freaky. Homeless Teen barely knew I was alive and I didn't actually know him either. Just liked him from a distance and treasured my one picture with my stalkee. Bc that's what crazed teenagers do, ok? Don't judge. All I have to say to you right now is this: Before you criticize someone, you should walk a mile in their shoes. That way when you criticize them, you are a mile away from them and you have their shoes. Ok so maybe it is Jack Handy saying it to you. Take that. Pow.

Do I ever write poetry now that I'm all growed up? Thank you for asking. Yes, I do. Not often and not well. I wrote like two or three poems this year, and I don't think I wrote any last year. They come to me in spurts. Kind of like writing in my journal... I either write in it on the regular or abandon it for months into years. I find that I journal and write poetry both when I'm confused or down. To try to sort out my feelings, to get them out of my head, out of my heart, and onto the paper. When I can see the feelings in black and white they don't seem so gray (grey? i hate that there are multiple spellings of that word!!). But sometimes I make little poems in my head. I like to pretend I'm creating lyrics for a new hit song. Coming soon to imeem.... you just wait. Can you relate? <---- do you see that rhyme?? I told you I get a big kick out of rhyming! My rhymes are always simplistic and uncomplicated. Because I'm writing for the everyman... jk I'm just writing for me.