My Love-Hate Relationship with Giada de Laurentii

I cook.  A lot.  In fact, every Sunday I make it a point to make two large meals to keep in the refrigerator that will serve as lunches and dinners for my husband and me all week long.  This practice has been a good one to get into.  First, if my husband had his way, we'd be eating Papa Johns every night for dinner.  Nothing against Papa Johns, but pizza THAT often would send me into a wardrobe consisting solely of moomoos.  And I don't think anyone wants that.  Second, it also saves us quite a bit of money - and we all know I wouldn't want to take anything away from my precious shoe fund.  Third, I get no small amount of joy from making people eat my food and tell me it's delicious.   

So because I cook fairly often, the Food Network is nearly constantly on in my house.  I learn new techniques and get new ideas for meals so the hubby and I aren't eating whole wheat lasagna for weeks for on end.  This brings me to Giada.  Giada, for those of you who might not be as familiar with the Food Network, is a Food Network star.  She has a slew of shows, products and cookbooks.  And I love to hate her:  

• Her Bobblehead Body:  Giada's body confounds modern physics.  She is a living bobblehead doll.  She has a skinny skinny body (ugh - so jealous) but a disproportionate head.  Unless this is some feat of camera tricks, scientists should study how her body supports her head.  
• Her Constant Cleavage:  Though Giada has a tiny body, never fear, she has a massive chest.  And she loooooooves to show it off.  Giada is constantly wearing some form of V-neck or other low cut neckline, showing a solid 3 inches of cleavage.  I think I know now why my husband always has her show on...
• Her Over Pronunciation of Certain Words:  Giada hails from Italy - in fact she was born in Rome.  Since then, she's been a California girl.  In fact, there is NO INDICATION AT ALL of an Italian accent in her speech until she pronounces certain words - bruschetta (pronounced: bruscheeeet), riccotta (pronounced: riccoooot) and mozzarella (pronounced:  muuuzerrreeell) are massive offenders.  Who is she kidding?
• How She Instructs her Girlfriends:  Occasionally on the show, Giada will "invite her girlfriends over" to teach them how to make a dish.  All this segment proves to me is that I could never be friends with Giada.  She spends the full 25 minutes finding as many ways to work in digs about how her friends don't cook as she can.  Rude.  

I love the recipes (in fact, just yesterday she inspired a pasta sauce of a marinara and ricotta) but sugar, please.  

Sh*t We Didn't Care About This Week

Hey sugars!  Hope your weeks went as well as ours (ours included a study date where we watched Lifetime Movie Network for several hours so beat that)! Let's get to the week in review, shall we?  

Rosie O'Donnell and Lindsay Lohan

JanJan:  "Waaaaaah my name is Lindsey Looooohan and only God can judge me.  Focus on your own career."  DUI's were a career choice?!  I need to call every person I ever waited tables with!  They're moguls!!  

Kiki: Did I inadvertently go back in time in the DeLorean to 1998 where Rosie O'Donnell is relevant and Lindsay Lohan is an "actor"?  Who cares about what either person has to say!  

Supreme Court Arguments Over Arizona Immigration Law

Kiki:Who are the people who stand outside the Supreme Court with signs rooting for one position or another?  Oh yeah, that's totally going to sway the court.  News flash: cases aren't decided by Applause-O-Meter, so your crowd is pretty basically worthless.  By the way, don't you people have jobs?! Go to work! 

JanJan: Oral arguments don't make law.  Written decisions make law.  Until it's on paper, and in the US Reporter, the Supreme Court hasn't ruled.

Mad Cow Disease

JanJan: So a cow on the West Coast showed signs of mad cow disease.  I'm on the East Coast.  Unless that cow is on the red-eye to National Airport, I'm still eating my ribeye.  With pleasure. 

Kiki: I'm a vegetarian.  Not only do I not care, I also get to gloat.  Muahaha! 

NFL Draft

Kiki: After the first round, it's all about politics, not talent.  Why does this have to take over my weekend?  Just remember for every Cam Newton, there's also a Tim Couch.  Let's all calm down shall we?  

JanJan: Are they married to a Kardashian and moving said Kardashian to my city?  No?  Well then, nap time.

John Edwards Trial  

JanJan: A politician who kept a prostitute???!! NO!  SAY IT AIN'T SO!! 

Kiki: A politician who committed a campaign finance crime?!  QUICK GET MY SMELLING SALTS!  Come on people, stop giving the narcissist attention!  It's what he wants!  

Have a good weekend sugars, and a very Happy 30th Birthday to JanJan's hubbie! 

No! My Chair!!

Sometimes I become very petulant about very stupid things.  It's like somewhere inside of me, four-year-old Kiki is alive and well.  Four-year-old Kiki will always make an appearance when someone asks me to move seats.  When someone asks, "Can you move?" my immediate reaction is to stomp my feet, cross my arms, pout and say, "NO!  MY CHAIR!!" 

For example, at the movies, let's say there is one empty chair on one side of me and an empty chair on the other side of the person I'm with.  I turn into a rage monster when someone comes in after the previews have started or worse when the movie has started and says, "Can you move down so we can sit together?"  It's a very easy thing to do, it's not really an inconvenience, yet to me, those people might as well have been asking "Can I have your kidney?" "NO!  MY KIDNEY!"  I'll move, but like the big bad wolf, I'll also huff and puff as I move one seat down.  

Most recently, I was in the city having lunch with my good friend.  We were enjoying some delicious Mexican food at Qdoba which was deserted.  We were about halfway through our food when a group of young 20-somethings come into the restaurant, get their food and take over the three tables on one side of us.  Keep in mind the rest of the restaurant, including two high tables with 10 chairs each were free.  A few minutes after these people sit down, two more of their friends come along.  Alas, there are no more seats at the tables the group took.  They never discussed moving their group anywhere else in the empty restaurant.  Instead, this douchemonkey looked right at me and said, "Would you two mind moving down a table so we can sit with our team?"  In my head I screamed "YES I WOULD MIND.  THIS IS MY TABLE!  MY TABLE!!!  I WAS HERE FIRST!!!!!"  While I was throwing this fit in my head, my friend stared at all the empty tables especially the empty 10-top table in the restaurant and the guy says, "Oh, we didn't see that when we sat down," then kept standing over us waiting for us to move.  I really wanted to throw my queso all over the table, scream and be forced to be dragged to the next table like four-year-old Kiki would do.  Instead, we grudgingly got up and moved to the next table and then gave death glares for the rest of our lunch. 

I could try to come up with some psychological explanation that deep down I'm super possessive over things because I have a twin and a brother only 20 months older and so I had to guard your territory with my life when I was growing up, but I think the plain truth is that sometimes, I'm just a brat.  So don't ask me to move my chair, OK?!

How I Narrowly Escaped Death, or, My Views on Travel

I maintain that train travel (Amtrak) is the only civilized way to travel.  "Road trips" by car just kill me.  They take too long, you invariably get stuck in traffic and there always comes that time when you have to unceremoniously announce to the rest of the car that you HAVE TO FIND A REST STOP. NOW.  Air travel is somewhat better.  Once you've survived the indignity of having a 40 year old man body scan you and rifle through your carry on bag on underbritches and prescription drugs, you can at least calm you nerves and wait for you plane to board at the hotel bar.  However, planes seem to be delayed at the slightest weather and I resent having to go a solid twenty minutes without my iPhone while waiting for the plane to reach "altitude" - whatever that means.  

Train travel.  That's where its at.  You can roll up to the train gate 15 minutes or so before boarding, just show your ticket and then its off to the platform to pick where you'd like to sit.  You can lean back, relax and once the train gets going, saunter to the cafe car at your leisure to get a glass of wine (or four - no waiting for a flight attendant here). Natch, when I took the train recently to visit my brother and his family, this is exactly what I expected.  

My train was scheduled to leave around 7am, getting me into NYC at 11:30.  I rolled up to the gate at 6:40, ready to get in line and board.  10 minutes went by, 20 minutes by, 30 minutes went by and ..... no boarding, no announcement.  Meanwhile, an overeager train rider was trying to make friends with everyone standing by the gate.  She was talking to children, elderly people and young couples who clearly wanted to be in their own world.  She tried to talk to me and got a blank stare.  Like my mother taught me, I do not talk to strangers, especially at that hour of the morning.  

Once on board (30 minutes behind schedule), I was happily nestled in my window seat, with a securities regulation treatise on my lap.  Just as I was opening it, a girl about my age sat down next to me.  Damn, my plans of being alone foiled.  I hoped she would be quiet and let me engross myself in 10b-5 liability.  No such luck.  She proceeded to try to force feed me granola bars (I did eat one, just to shut her up) but I was terrified the whole time that she was some kind of granola bar serial killer.  In fact, I'm still not sure there's not some latent poison in my blood.  Then, she showed me a stuffed yellow chick she'd brought on the train - she called him the "train ride mascot."  The craycray meter was near boiling at this point. Finally, when she stopped trying to be my friend/kill me she pulled out her Bible to read.  She would read her Bible, then journal, then read, then journal.  I read Helter Skelter, and I'm pretty sure Charlie Mason used to do that too.  I made note of the emergency exits and started to mentally catalogue the items in my purse that might serve as good weapons.  For the record, lip gloss was on this list.  

At long last, I arrived in NYC, alive, unharmed and in one piece.  Do I still love train travel?  Oh my yes.  But I might just have to develop a pre-screening questionnaire for any potential train seat partners. 

How To Meet a Bravolebrity

It's a Brad Brad World

Confession: I love Bravo.  It's very hard for Andy Cohen to put on a show that I won't want to watch in marathon form.  Real Housewives of Everywhere?  Yes please.  Shahs of Sunset?  How could there only be six episodes?!  Tabitha Takes Over?  That takes over my TV set.  Rachel Zoe?  I die.  A few months ago when I saw that stylist Brad Goreski was going to get his own show after appearing on several seasons of Rachel Zoe, I got crazy excited because I looooved him on Rachel Zoe and missed seeing him on TV.  Obvi, I totes watched the show and loved it. 

Fast forward to a week and a half ago.  I was out for happy hour with my law school friends that we kicked off early and kept going through dinner and after.  Several glasses of wine later (ok probably bottles) my group ended up at a pretty nice restaurant/lounge with a beautiful rooftop patio.  We walked up to the door and my friend says, "Hey, I think that guy from Bravo just walked in ahead of us."  Immediately my ears perked up like my dog's do when I suggest we go for a walk.  A Bravolebrity?!  Here?!  It can't be!  Christian Bale-Batman style I demanded my friend tell me, "WHO IS IT?!  WHICH BRAVOLEBRITY IS HERE?!"  He says, "Brad from It's a Brad Brad World."  I said "Impossible."  He says, "No, I'm pretty sure it was him."  I said, "No and I'll prove it."  I then proceeded to shout at the top of my lungs, "BRAD!  BRAD!  TURN AROUND BRAD!!!" 

I was heading up the stairs to the patio at that moment when my friend said, "Um, turn around."  At the bottom of the stairs was Brad Goreski himself looking incredibly dapper.  I died a little inside of mortification at my rudeness, but my mortification was overpowered by my Bravolebrity obsession.  I trampled down the stairs and apologized to Brad for being rude, telling him I was trying to prove that Brad was not in fact Brad, said I was a big fan, and chatted for a second.  He was so wonderfully gracious and even posed for a picture which he did not have to do with a drunken a-hole such as myself.  This experience taught me that Bravolebrities are incredibly gracious even to barking fans.

So take note sugars, apparently being a complete idiot is how you meet a Bravolebrity.

He's Just Not That Into You: Vol I

A recent conversation with a male friend of mine made me realize that, as ladies, we still need a little help in the relationship department.  Men may be from Mars and women from Venus, but that doesn't give us a free pass to go all stalker crazy on the men in our lives. 

So, my friend.  We were catching up and he was relaying to me how his most recent relationship had ended.  He had been dating this girl.  Everything was going along perfectly fine until he decided that OMG-HE-VISIT-HIS-OLD-FRIENDS-IN-OHIO (I'm imagining that this it was flashed through his lady love's mind when he said that).  Instantly, she assumed that, because he was visiting his old friends, he would be sleeping with everything and everyone he could in Ohio (clearly, a rational assumption).  She let her assumption fester and fester and take over every inch of her consciousness until finally, on Saturday, after a series of angry texts, she BROKE IT OFF WITH THIS PERFECTLY DATEABLE GUY (and we know just how many of those there are in the world) wait for it..... OVER TEXT. Honey, the last time I broke it off with someone over text, I was in middle school.  I'm pretty sure that now that we're in our late twenties/early thirties, that's not acceptable behavior anymore. 

Ladies, the mere fact that he's visiting his friends in Ohio is not a dead giveaway, red flag that he's going to be cheating on you.  The dead giveaway, red flag that he's cheating on you is when you go to a function with him, and he spends half his night with a bevy of different blondes sitting on his lap.

Sh*t We Didn't Care About This Week

We here at Oh Sugar Please are pleased to bring you a new weekly feature--the week in review, otherwise known as "Shit We DIdn't Care About This Week" where we offer our unique take on overhyped news stories of the week.  Let's get to it shall we?!

Brangelina Got Engaged
JanJan: Looks like its about time for Brad to do another movie with a hot actress, fall in love with her, cheat on Angelina and divorce her.  #TeamAnistonForever

Kiki: This is the most anticlimactic news I've heard since Kim Kardashian announced she was getting divorced.  The only engagement news I care about is Prince Harry because that means I need to call off my elaborate plot to make him fall in love with me.

The Space Shuttle Discovery Landed at Dulles
Kiki: I don't get what is so special about watching a space shuttle on top of an airplane flying Ace and Gary style over the National Mall.  Plus the last time I saw people standing on rooftops looking at spaceships was the movie Independence Day and that activity did not end well for those people.

JanJan: At first I thought this was the real discovery flying by itself and I thought, oh, that's cool.  When I found out it was actually more like some hooptie trailer hitched to a 1990 Ford pick up, I lost interest.

Pippa Middelton's Friend Had a Toy Gun
JanJan:  "Wah.  I am le French paparazzi and a reeech boy waved a toy gun at me.  Wah."  Buck up.  In America, we brandish real weapons.  P.S. Who makes that toy gun?  I want to buy it.  Pippa touched it.

Kiki: How is this even a news story?  You couldn't see her slammin hiney in any of the pictures. 

The Secret Service Got Busted In Columbia
Kiki: Oooo a bunch of agents went to Columbia and hired prostitutes.  So in other words they just went to Columbia...excuse me if I don't faint when it comes out that blow was involved. 

JanJan: Damn.  I missed out when I skipped that booth on career day. 

Have a good weekend now sugars! 

The Good Ol' Days

Call it nostalgia, call it sentimentality, call it wistfulness, but my last days of law school and upcoming graduation have me pining away for my good ol' college days.  I can't help but compare where I am now, to where I was at this point in my life four years ago:

1.  This time four years ago, I was planning my costume for the Dance of the Decades, a retro-themed costume party for all the graduating seniors during senior week.  I wore a short version of a Marie Antoinette dress (a look which Pippa Middleton borrowed from me four years later at her party with the Viscount), pinned my hair up into a mile high pile of curls and even spray colored it white, just to give it that "wigged" effect.  I don't know why I thought this would be easier than actually buying a wig.  To this day, I'm still finding white sprayed bobby pins all over my condo.  Four years later, the closest I get to a costume party at finals time is showering and changing from a Juicy tracksuit to yoga pants and a tee shirt while I mire myself in my outlines and mainline 5 Hour Energy. 

2.  This time four years ago, I was really really really really sad to leave all my friends at college.  I mean really sad.  It was pathetic.  I literally teared up almost every day in the final weeks leading up to graduation, no matter what the situation (my roommates can vouch for this).  I teared up at commercials, in the gym and at happy hour over a pitcher of Roggie's punch.  Four years later, while I'll be sad not to see my law school friends every day, the only tears I'm shedding come from the knowledge that my student loans will soon be in repayment. 

3.  This time four years ago, my friends and I were making random, sometimes middle of the night trips to various locations in New England.  I won "big" at the penny slots at Mohegan Sun, visited the Ben and Jerry's Factory and visited the Cabot Creamery.  Four years later, my idea of a "day trip" is a run out to my parents' house (they live twenty minutes from me) to ransack their cabinets for groceries and goad my mom into making me one of her famous grilled cheese sandwiches. 

4.  This time four years ago, one of my friends woke up with skinned knees, a bowl of chicken noodle soup in her laundry basket and just the wrapper of an entire block of Cabot Cheese (she had eaten the entire block of cheese) in her bedsheets.  We had had a good, good night.  Now, four years later, my idea of a good night is watching The Dark Knight (for the 15millionth time),  killing a bottle (or two or three) of wine and ordering in some nuclear buffalo wings (which I will regret around 4am when Mr. Heartburn decides to wake me from a dead sleep).

Is this lame? Maybe.  But hey, I've got a pretty badass highlighter tattoo that suggests otherwise. 

My [Former] Boss Is Making My Working Conditions Unbearable

It is time for a new segment here at Oh Sugar Please to share stories from the working trenches.  I've been working ever since I was fifteen years old [grocery store, pool concession stand, nanny, front desk at my dorm, state legislature page, political consulting, dog walker/house sitter, local government employee, the Hill & law firms] and let me tell you, I've seen a few things.  Something I never thought I'd see was a bill from my employer when I quit.

Here's the backstory.  As I've mentioned, I had some health problems last year.  I decimated my leave balance with my first surgery last year.  Though I accrued a few days back in the fall thanks to ongoing health problems I had to take more days off.  In December I had to take a day for a procedure (I'll tell you about that joy at a later date).  After I submitted my request, I received a charming email from HR informing me that I was out of leave time, but out of the goodness of their hearts, I was being granted ONE additional day off.  I'm not sure what would have happened if they had not granted me this ONE additional day off since this procedure was happening whether they liked it or not, but the message was clear: I had no leave. 

Fast forward to February.  I had only accrued a few days leave but found out that I had to have another operation.  I asked for a month off work but I would not be paid while I was on leave.  I get that legally they were not obligated to pay me when I was out of leave.  But seriously?  They couldn't find somewhere a few bones to throw my way?  I'm a student.  I work hard.  I made them quite a bit of money.  I don't get why it's so hard to be decent. 

I negotiated with HR that since I would be missing a paycheck, we would double up on my benefit deductions at the beginning of March on my last paycheck.  Halfway through my recovery, I decided that I needed more time to heal and finish my semester of law school, so I looked at my finances, figured out a way to swing not working for a few months and turned in my notice. 

Then I got a bill.  For $400.  SERIOUSLY?!?! WHO BILLS A DEPARTING, SICK EMPLOYEE?!?!?  Apparently the deductions were not taken out at the beginning of March as we had discussed and now I had to pay for them out of pocket.  Oh and they wanted me to cover the balance in my FSA, even though I know I had money left over from 2011 and submitted receipts during the grace period, so that was covered anyway.  I argued my way out of paying for the FSA balance.  I didn't write a check immediately because frankly, it was not a priority for me to give them money.  Then the comptroller called me asking where my check was.  Not only did they bill me, but not even a month after sending me the bill, they're already leaning on me to pay them $200.  I guess they're hurting for cash?  It is a down economy for law firms, but this is pushing it. 

I recognize that it's not illegal for them to be acting like this.  If there's one thing I've learned in law school it's that it's not illegal to be a dickhead.  But is it so hard for people to be decent?  You stay classy former employer.

Cool It With the Crazy

A while back I read a NYT article (in one of the rare moments I deigned to divert my attention from Us Weekly) that was, without a doubt, the most spot-on editorial I have ever read.   His general gist was that we, as Americans, have reached a point where we are offended (feigned or not) at every little perceived slight, effectively diluting that beautiful American freedom - freedom of speech. 

Here at Oh Sugar, Please, we could not agree more.

This particular election season has provided a lifetime's worth of fodder for all these 'grievous offenses'. It seems every time you turn around, someone else is personally offended by what someone said, did, may have said, may have done or just by what the media has decided to say someone's done.

The latest scuffle between Ann Romney and Hilary Rosen provides a prime example of just that. Mrs. Romney was a stay at home mom.  She chose not to pursue a career  and instead opted to raise her  children - decision which is admirable and honorable and which I'm sure, is a choice many more American families would like to make. But when Ms. Rosen said that Mrs. Romney had never worked a day in her life, it sparked a firestorm.

Let's be honest.  Certainly raising children (and in particular, five boys) and running a household is hard work. Not one in their right mind would ever argue that it wasn't.  But in reality, Mrs. Romney hasn't "worked" in the sense of work as earning a livelihood - bringing home a paycheck. She's never experienced the pain of being denied a promotion she deserved or the simple wear and tear of the daily grind.  She never had to decide whether to go to the boys' soccer practice or stay at work because her dictatorial boss doesn't understand "work-life balance."

Does that make Mrs. Romney any less of a good example to her children, a good wife and a good citizen? Absolutely not.  Does that mean that Mrs. Romney is somehow, "out of touch"?  Not at all.  Many American families - regardless of family income - make the the choice to forgoe a second income so that a parent will be able to take care of their children. 

So why were we so offended at this slight?  Is it because we felt that Ms. Rosen was belitting the work of stay-at-home mothers?  Is it because we felt that Ms. Rosen was implying that this was a way in which the Romney family is out of touch with the average American?  Is it because we feel like we shouldn't have to hear things that we don't agree with? 

This isn't the first time that we've been offended by what someone has had to say.   Mitt Romney's comment that he "likes being able to fire people" (horrendously taken out of context by the way) and Ricky Gervais' comedy while hosting the Golden Globes are just a few notable examples. 

Next time we hear something we don't like, before we start crying foul, I plead with you to remember:

"I disapprove of what you say but I will defend to the death your right to say it." - Evelyn Beatrice Hall, writing as Stephen G. Tallentyre in Friends of Voltaire

What Did I Get Myself In To?

Six and a half weeks ago, I had my second abdominal surgery in six months.  For the previous six months, I had days were I couldn't even get out of bed.  Just thinking about exercise made me wince.  After my second surgery, I was assured my problems were fixed.   After a few days of lying around my house nursing a very sore tummy and incisions, my mom said it was time to get moving.  At first I could only walk as far as the stop sign about a quarter mile down the street from my house, and that took me a good 40 minutes or so to complete.  But every day, I started walking a little bit more and a little bit more, pushing myself to go a little bit faster every time.

Two weeks after the operation, my doctor gave me the all clear to do whatever exercise I wanted at the four week mark.  So naturally, after being an involuntary couch potato for six months and being a few weeks out from surgery, I think, "I know what I'll do to get back into shape.  I'll do a boot camp!!!"  Because you know, it's just a hop, skip and a jump from doing nothing and having your tummy cut open to pushing 150 pound sleds up and down a soccer field. 

I showed up to my first day of bootcamp and within, oh, five second, I thought, "Holy hell what did I get myself in to?!"   The camp is run by an amazing instructor who has waaaaaay too much energy for 6am.  She doesn't walk anywhere, she sprints.  I had half a mind to tell her Lloyd Dobler Say Anything Style: "DUDE. YOU MUST CHILL."  Now I just want whatever drug she's on.  

Boot camp had us running laps around a soccer field, doing jumping jacks, push ups, jump rope, playing with kettle bells, Bosu balls, and all sorts of stuff I have not done since I was 8 years old in elementary school.  We had to do a running challenge around the soccer field and I came in a good minute behind the rest of the group.  I felt like the kid who would be picked last in dodgeball.  The next day, I could barely move. 

I honestly thought about dropping out.  For better or worse though, I'm a very proud and stubborn person.  After having boasted to about half the people I knew that I was starting a boot camp, I would have been embarrassed to quit.  So I stuck with it.  I started running on my own so that I wouldn't feel like this kid when the two lap challenge came around.  I reminded myself that my brother was a professional athlete in the NFL and my twin sister runs half marathons.  I could do this too!  The next time the run challenge came around, I shaved over 45 seconds off my time.  I took off even more the next time the run challenge came around.

This is the last week of this round of bootcamp and I managed to push this machine loaded with 70 extra pounds (so 145 pounds total) up and down a portion of the soccer field in 3:44--the second fastest time for the group.  Then I rolled around on the field for a good three minutes groaning in pain.  Whatever, I did it.   

I'm officially addicted to bootcamp.  Hoo Rah.

Why I'm Breaking Up with Glee

Breaking up is hard to do.  And for this die-hard Gleek, breaking up with Glee just might be the worst ever.  But it has to be done.  Glee has played me for a fool, time and again, with these ridiculous storylines.  Glee's changed but my taste for at least marginally good trash television hasn't.  So here it is Glee.  It's you, not me, and this is why: 

• The Sue Sylvester Having a Baby storyline:  Maybe it's just me, but I happen to like mean, caustic Sue Sylvester who's only out for No.1.  Really, she reminds me in many ways of myself (or at least, the alter ego that I'd like to come out the next time my boss assumes my two-week old marriage and exuberance means I must be pregnant).  Honestly, this storyline is just weird.  And did no one notice that she asked students for their DNA?  I'm pretty sure a teacher in Montana or something got fired for that.

• The Rachel and Finn Engaged storyline: In one episode, Finn went from joining the Army to proposing to Rachel.  I'm pretty sure that's not the appropriate state of mind to be in when making a decision about your life partner.  Also, Finn's just supposed to follow Rachel to New York and do what?  This was not a well thought out choice kids.  Let's graduate high school first, how about.

• The Quinn in a Wheelchair storyline:  Here, Glee decides to send a "strong" message to teens about the danger of texting and driving.  I don't watch Glee to be preached to.  I watch Glee for the over the top musical numbers.  Mixing the two is weird.  It reminds me of when my mom made me put a banana in my Lucky Charms so I'd get some nutrition.

Look, Glee.  No amount of celebrity cameos is going to reel me back in.  Less preach-y, more sing-y and we'll talk.

Just Be Normal, Please!

So the other night on the way to class, I hopped on the metro at the Pentagon metro stop and was greeted by some dude’s bent over ass.  I’m guessing he was coming back from a run since he was dressed in workout clothes including bright orange running shoes.  He must have had a really intense workout because dude needed to stretch.  He was doing legit full out runner’s stretches in the metro using the bars and poles for support.  I wanted to approach him for a myriad of reasons to tell him: 1) stop stretching on the metro, it’s weird; 2) if you want to do a workout that involves poles and bars, try a power barre class; (I’m obsessed) 3) when you bend just so, I can see your wenus and I really don’t want to see that.   Just be normal. 
 
This encounter made me think of people who have absolutely no shame and do things in the wrong place at the wrong time (like changing a diaper at a table).  I’m well aware that I’m super type-A and compartmentalize everything in my life, but I don’t think it’s asking too much to ask a dude to do his stretching in the gym or at home, but not on the metro.  You look flipping ridiculous!
 
Another example of my rage at a person’s lack of self-awareness was a few weeks ago when I saw a girl doing her makeup on the metro (the metro is clearly a source of rage for me).  Like, why couldn’t she take five minutes at home and do it?  Instead I had to watch her over-apply mascara (I timed her, she spent three minutes gooping it on).  I wanted to approach her to tell her: 1) stop putting makeup on on the metro; 2) you’re doing it wrong anyway; 3) wake-up earlier and be socially normal!  No one else is putting on make-up right now!  WTF?!
 
I used to work for a man who also had zero sense of self-awareness.  He was this total new age guy, which is fine.  Live and let live is what I say (the caveat to that is that I will be judging you behind your back).   It always boggled my mind that he had no problem sitting in lotus position not only in his office chair, but at firm meetings, client meetings, depositions and even at trial.  I had to resist the urge to scream at him, “LOOK HOW EVERYONE ELSE IS SITTING AROUND YOU!!!!  SIT LIKE THEM!!!”
 
It’s not that hard to take a look around, see how everyone else is acting, and just pay attention to what they’re doing, or more importantly what they’re not doing (I’m looking at you girl who sits next to me in class eating microwaved fish).  It makes my life more comfortable and really, making me comfortable should be everyone’s end goal.

The Beauty Product That Changed My Life. Forever.

Most young girls dream about their wedding day, planning out to the finest detail bit-by-bit.  Not this girl.  I chose to spend my lifetime planning something else.  A foolproof anti-aging regimen.  A wedding is one day (and this girl had a fabulous one), but youthful, wrinkle-free skin? That can be forever, with some careful planning and preparation.  I once heard Beyonce say that if you're old enough to think about anti-aging products, you're old enough to use them.  If Beyonce said it, you know it must be true.  So I took her advice to heart. 

One day, not too long ago, I was getting some full-throttle retail therapy on with my boo and fellow sugar at Tyson's Galleria.  After attacking the Theory section and grabbing some vino (white, please - no teeth stains), we sauntered through the Neiman's makeup counter.  Little did I know, that my life was about to change forever. 

I was in the market for a new tinted moisturizer and asked the saleslady for her assistance.  She quickly whisked me away from the Bobbi Brown products and over to the Sisley counter, where she sat me down and proceeded to remove all my makeup with an oh-so-heavenly rose scented toning lotion.  Once my face was prepped, she applied THE PRODUCT.  With just a few touches, ten years were erased from my face.  My eyes were brighter, my skin more taut and dare I say... evenly toned.  Clearly, the product's primary ingredient was angel tears, as no other substance could work such magic (note: my saleslady did confirm the presence of angel tears in the lotion). 

It was then that I knew.  I lifted my hand, turned to my friend, gently grazed my forehead with my fingertips and said, "I will never age." 

What We're Reading: 50 Shades of Grey, E.L. James

I'm the kind of girl who downloads the Amazon Kindle app (note:  doesn't actually buy a Kindle) and only reads the free "classics" in a vain attempt to seem edified.  Really, I just really like free stuff and I'll snap if up wherever I can get.  So when my friend, knowing my affinity for the Twilight books (Team Edward all the way) suggested that I read 50 Shades of Grey, I was skeptical.  $9.99?  For an e-book?  Highway robbery!!  I could read the Adventures of Sherlock Holmes for FREE. 

Yet one night, after a few glasses of wine, I found myself hitting that download button.  In just 20 minutes, I was hooked.  If you're unfamiliar with 50 Shades, a word of background:  young, new college grad Anastastia Steele meets the incredibly successful and incredibly wealthy 27-year-old Christian Grey, falls under his spell and finds out that he has interesting...um... preferences.  Three books worth of "preferences."  

This book made me uncomfortable.  My cheeks actually blushed while I was reading it.  Whenever I was reading it on the Metro, I actually shielded my iPhone from everyone around me in case they could see what I was reading.  I was fairly certain that every nun who ever taught me in Catholic school somehow KNEW I was reading it and that they were all making mental notes to pray to Jesus for the salvation of my soul.  Yet, I could not put this (e)book down!  

Maybe its because it was near the end of Lent, and having gone 35 days without chips and salsa was slowly killing me, or maybe it really was that 50 Shades of Grey is a really good junk read.  Either way, it's definitely worth the $9.99.

Not To Be A Traitor to my Generation but Grow Up!

Hey all!  So sorry for the long pause, it's been an eventful past several months to say the least with job changes, law school, marriage, heartbreak and other life crises. All that means more fodder for the blog! 

OK, so, a friend of a friend's friend posted this open letter from McSweeny's.  Basically it's a 27 year old who is keeping it classy by boozing it up, puking, falling down stairs drunk and kissing inappropriate partners at inappropriate events and wants you to be OK with it, OK?! As she argues, at least she's not in some lame relationship that requires her to be at Bed Bath and Beyond in the suburbs on the regular.  She's perfectly content with acting like a 22 year old at age 27 and you should be ok with it too. 

Sorry but this single 27 year old thinks this is horseshit.  Sugar, grow the fuck up please.  Being a drunk, one-night-stand a week girl apparently standing around naked in the kitchen dipping french bread into olive oil may not make you irresponsible, but it does make you a joke.  You're that girl at the bar--old enough to know better but in too much denial to act your age.  It's a hop, skip and a jump from being unapologetically immature at 27 to being a 45 year old cougar in a too-small skirt trying to get 21 year old guys to take you home because that's infinitely cooler than raising a child.  

This girl laments the fact that her friends in relationships don't party like they're 22, asking, "Do couples suddenly forget?"  No, sugar, they grew up.  Once upon a time, I used to have sleepovers with my friends while listening to *NSYNC, reading TigerBeat and playing Mall Madness.  I'm not shocked that my friends don't want to do this anymore nor do I question whether they forgot how awesome this was.  This is because I grew up and learned to appreciate other things. 

Life doesn't go from blackout drunk straight to suburban Red Lobster dining.  You can still manage to have a lot of fun, go out, dance, drink, flirt, without acting a fool.  Life is about maturing, learning lessons and earning respect.  Drunkenly falling down all over the place, consistently choosing inappropriate sexual partners, blowing rent money at the bar--all these choices make people lose respect for you.  It also demonstrates that you have no respect for yourself at all.  So seriously, stop trying to justify your sad self and learn to have some adult fun.