AHEM! My Eyes Are Up Here

Ladies, I anticipate that many of you will be able to commiserate with me on this. It seems that no matter where I am - work, the grocery store, yoga class whatever - some man is staring at my chest.

Before you get the wrong idea, that I walk around alway with the ladies just hanging out for the world to see, let me reassure you. I don't. I make it point, whether because it was ingrained in me by my mother, the nuns at my Catholic girls' school, or both, to keep my chest covered. Understandably, there will be a few times when a little more cleavage is appropriate, necessary or unavoidable.

Still, it baffles me when I'll be wearing a button up oxford shirt, and the man I'm talking to periodically glances down at chest. I've racked my brain trying to think up explanations for this:

Maybe, he's like the kid from the movie Big. Even though he's in an adults body, he's really just a boy who is still just learning about these. Maybe I should check his briefcase for lunchables and send a PI to his apartment to see if it's filled with video games and a bunk bed, just to confirm.

Maybe, someone told him that boobs are like leprechauns in that they have magical powers and if you catch them doing their magic at just the right time, you get a pot of gold.

Maybe he's worried they'll disappear. After all, it is 2012. Armageddon is upon us and the world could open up at any moment and swallow all the boobs.

Whatever the reason you're looking at my chest, and everyone other woman's chest, guys - I'm pleading with you to stop. It's creepy.

Things I Don't Understand: Self-Serve Coffee

I'm a busy girl.  More often than not, when I'm getting ready in the morning, I don't have time to make my own coffee.  Yes I have both a regular coffee maker and a single-serve hot beverage system, but I would rather take the two minutes it would take to make one cup of coffee and either 1) sleep or 2) have a Britney Jean Spears Dance Party while I'm getting ready.  I also like buying coffee in the city on my way to work.  It makes me feel really cool and like a grown-up (a grown-up who thirty minutes prior danced around not fully dressed to Baby One More Time, but an adult nonetheless).

Here's where we get to the part I don't understand.  So a lot of places I frequent have self-serve coffee.  In theory, you get your coffee faster and you get to fill it just so, so you can make the perfect mix with milk (or half-and-half which I love) and sugar (which I don't add, but if you do, more power to you).  What I don't get is what takes people so flippin long to mix their effing coffee drinks!  It's three ingredients at most: coffee, milk and sugar.  Why are you standing there for five minutes stirring to perfection like some chemist whose concoction may explode if it's not done JUST. RIGHT.  It's coffee people.  Fill it up, mix the goods, and get on with your day.  It should take about 45 seconds.

Seriously people, you're crowding the coffee station, you're keeping me from my precious stay awake juice and you're annoying the crap out of me at 8am.  STOP IT.    

Sh*t We Didn't Care About This Week

Hai Sugars!  How you doin?  We hope everyone had as fantastic a week as we did.  Now let's get to the gossip!!

Prince William Turns 30
Kiki:  This really belongs under the shit we do care about category becuase this prince is some kind of wonderful.  Mmm hmm. 

JanJan: As a present to the future king, I'm going to send him a you-tube video of my best Marilyn Monroe 'Happy Birthday' rendition.  Kate won't mind.

Johnny Depp and Vanessa Paradis Breakup 
JanJan: She doesn't even marry the guy and she might get half his money?! Best Breakup EVER.

Kiki: First Tim Robbins and Susan Sarandon break up, then Johnny and Vanessa.  It's almost like long-term relationships without real committment don't work!  I'm shocked!

Congress Holds AG Holder In Comtempt of Congress
Kiki: My favorite part of this is that an ATF operation was named after a shitty Vin Diesel movie that spawned 900 equally shitty sequels. 

JanJan: Pretty certain our AG needs a refresher on what 'separation of powers' means - specifically, not that the branches don't have to talk to each other.

Rielle Hunger Writes a Book
JanJan: She wants her child to know where she came from? An affair with a married man whose wife would later pass away from cancer? Let's all chip in for little hunter's therapy fund now.

Kiki: Rielle, NO ONE CARES if your love with "Johnny" was a true, spiritual, seventh plane of zen love.  Seriously.  No. one. cares. 

SCOTUS Doesn't Rule on Obamacare
Kiki: Yet another week went by where Prince Harry didn't fall in love with me...and that's just as newsworthy.  Call me when something happens.

JanJan: I'm pretty sure Roberts and the gang have the opinion written and are just giggling in their chambers because they can make people wait.

Keep cool sugars! 

It's Warm Outside? I Feel Shocked.

In case you haven't heard, it's hot outside.  Umm...so what?  Why is this all anyone can talk about?  Why are people surprised, IT'S EFFING SUMMER.  It's supposed to be hot in the summer!!  If it was snowing, THEN there would be something to talk about.  But heat?  Come on people.   

This is Washington, DC.  It is known* that DC is built on a swamp.  Now I'm no ecologist but my understanding, based almost primarily on the scene in the Fire Swamp in The Princess Bride, is that swamps are hot, sticky, unpleasant places with rodents of unusual size.  DC's swampiness is a staple of living here, just like tourists, douchebags and monuments.  I don't hear people express surprise at the fact that there are tourists roaming the city.  I don't hear people exclaim, "There are douchebags here?!"  On our morning commute, JanJan and I don't say, "Hey look!  The Washington Monument is out today."  So why is everyone in shock that it's hot?  

I remember from an anthropology class I took about seven years ago that humans as a species are adapted to warm weather.  The professor said, "If you had a choice between being in a frozen tundra for three days without supplies (or a jacket) or being in a hot climate for three days without supplies, which do you think you would survive?"  We'd survive the heat, because that's what our bodies are built for.  We'd get frostbite and die pretty quickly in the cold--much faster than we would in the heat.  My point is we should be excited it's this hot outside because that's what our bodies want!  It's evolution man!  

So please, can we all just cool down the heat talk, find a patio, drink some iced tea or lemonade or beer or whatever, have a popsicle and be grateful there isn't a 24" pile of snow outside?  Thanks.    

*Yes this is a Game of Thrones reference.  I'm a nerd.

Al Roker, NYC Dreamboat

Every morning, I have the Today Show on while I get dressed. So every morning, I get to listen to Ann, Matt, Savannah and Al discuss the must-know news of the day. On any given day this will involve some combination of Catherine, Duchess of Cambridge, a small child 'beating the odds' and a politician behaving badly.

But this isn't all that NBC deems a critical part of its Today Show magic. No, equally important to the Today Show's luster, is the Today Show plaza where any number of screaming fans are just waiting for ....... Al Roker?

For those of you who may not be familiar with this, Al Roker is a bald, portly, middle aged man who does the weather for the Today Show. And every morning, people from towns with names like Two Horse, One Fish and Normal clamor after him like teenagers (or me) clamoring after Justin Bieber, just hoping that he'll ask them where they're from and why they're in New York on the air.

Look here, if I'm on vacation in NYC, you can bet your bottom dollar I'm not hauling myself out of bed at 6 am to grab a Starbucks and hope my poster has more glitter than the person's next to me so that I'll be on the Today Show for a nanosecond. And you can darn well believe that my posse will not be wearing matching shirts (I'm too scarred from that from family road trips) or any other paraphernalia to get 'recognized'. No, I'm going to do what vacations are for - sleeping, eating good food, drinking good cocktails and staying up past bedtime.

Calm The Eff Down, You're Not Cristiano Ronaldo

Recently I participated in a soccer tournament.  This was the first time I have put on soccer cleats since I was in, oh, fifth or sixth grade.  I did play some pick-up games when I was in Munich and after a few liters of beer, I thought I was pretty good, my complete lack of experience considered (and there is no way all that alcohol influenced my opinion of myself...no way...).  So when my work said they were recruiting players for a soccer team, I jumped on the chance.  They promised this was a fun tournament for charity and that it would be law firms v. businesses.  I guess I figured that the teams would be made up of out-of-shape people who spend their days chained to desks and were looking to have fun. 

Um...I was wrong.  I'm pretty sure these asshats we had to play against confused Germantown, Maryland for Poland or the Ukraine because they were acting like it was Euro 2012 up in there.  Some of the people were in great shape and were great soccer players and I give them all the credit in the world. 

My beef however is with the out-of-shape idiots who thought they were as good as proper soccer players.  There was a goalkeeper who kept attacking people with the ball inside the goal box, ultimately tripping them because he had no coordination.  Asshole thought he was Oli Kahn but I think I saw four people have penalty kicks *because of him*.  Get a grip dude.

Then there was the jerk who ran into me, stopped us from falling over by wrapping me in a bear hug, then apologizing to me while keeping his hand around my waist.  1)  Don't touch me.  2) Apology not accepted.  As I told him, "This is supposed to be for fun.  Relax." 3) DON'T BAD TOUCH ME!

My true venom though is saved for a particular wenus who couldn't keep his balance.  He kept falling all over the ball.  Then while running out of control, he knocked me over, then stomped on my ankle as I was falling, and then ran off without even waiting to see if I was ok.  Again, this tournament was for charity.  You probably should check to make sure the person you just injured is OK--you're not going to score the winning goal.  I screamed at the guy that he was the sort of gentleman who had conjugal relations with his mother then told him to to regain his balance before he attempted soccer again.  I of course used this language. 

Seriously mothereffers, you all need to calm down.  This was a tournament for fun, it was not the EuroCup.  Had it been the EuroCup I would have expected much more attractive men.   

Despite my words with all these idiots, my team ended up winning the sportsmanship award.  You can call me Miss Congeniality from now on. 

My Washington Tea Party

I'm a regular customer at the local Marvelous Market that is literally just around the corner from my office. I stop in every morning without fail for a large coffee and maybe a bottle of water, or some challah bread if I'm feeling crazy.

I like the Marvelous Market. Every morning, the same woman calls out a bright, cheery "Good Morning!" as I pop in and (nearly) every morning she asks me if I want a muffin or a pastry.

This morning, I shook it up a little. I didn't get coffee, I got tea. And a large tea at that. Naturally, I assumed that -as at Starbucks- the cost of two tea bags is built into the price of the large the large tea at MM.

NOT SO, my friends. When I got up to counter after browsing a little bit and deciding against an orange juice, the cashier - the SAME WOMAN who rings up my coffee EVERY MORNING- rang me up for a $4.74 tea.

Yes, my tea cost also as much as a footlong sub from Subway.

When I asked her why (knowing, as a frequent tea drinker that tea in a cardboard cup will usually only put you out about $2), she shrugged her shoulders as if she had no choice and said it was because of my extra tea bag.

You have got to be effing kidding me.

I am accustomed to store proprietors bending over backwards to keep good customers, even if it means letting a 10 cent tea bag go.

For a moment, I thought about dumping my tea all over the counter, Boston Tea Party-style. Now I know how our forefathers felt when those Brits tried to tax their tea! Seeing as I wasn't under cloak of night or wearing Native American garb to conceal myself, I didn't think it would have the same effect.

I paid for my tea and left. But I can still feel those revolutionary stirrings, churning within me with each sip of my overpriced tea.

Road Ragin

Spending more time driving, while giving me more time to listen to my favorites on the Kane Show (Hot 99.5) in the morning, has also given me more time to observe the driving habits of my fellow DC metro area-ers. One thing is for sure. We, as a people, are filled with rage. Take these examples:

Perfectly Acceptable Driving Manuever: Changing lanes in traffic to set up for you exit when you have enough room

Disproportionate Response: changing lanes to speed up, then slow down next to the driver who just changed in front of you solely so you can flick her off and honk your horn (arm waving optional)

Perfectly Acceptable "Driving" Manuever: crossing the crosswalk when you have the pedestrian sign (yes I know this isn't actually driving)

Disproportionate Response: making a left hand turn into the cross walk to block the sauntering pedestrians, then throwing your hands up in exasperation at how slow they are as you rant

Perfectly Acceptable Driving Manuever: driving the speed limit

Disproportionate Response: tailing the driver driving the speed limit, flashing your lights and honking your horn all while screaming at them to get their fat, hooptie civic driving a** out of the way

How do you disproportionately respond?

Why I Don't Love the 80s

Remember about ten years ago a little program premiered called I Love the 80s?  Remember how funny and original it was?  If you don't remember (or if you aren't American (though there was a British version so no excuses you Brits) or if you didn't have cable) I Love the 80s was a tv show where for an hour a year in the 1980s was profiled.  So for instance, for the year 1981, comedians, 1980s pop culture figures and others would crack jokes about things like Rick Springfield, the Royal Wedding, the DeLorean and Bosom Buddies.  

So I Love the 80s was funny and we all laughed and had a good time.  So naturally what came next? I Love the 90s because who doesn't want to reminisce about  NKOTB and MC Hammer and Ren and Stimpy?  Those things were hilarious. 

Oh wait what happened next?  Best Year Ever--an end of the year special making fun of all the silly trends and songs and movies we loved that year.  Because we can't just do this program once a year, Best Week Ever came into existence.  Because apparently this format of seeing clips of things that are funny then having no-named comedians and pop culture figures who can't find work anymore comment on them is a successful model.  I mean I Love the New Millennium premiered before the decade was up. 

In the meantime, every other channel decided to copy this formula.  Now you can't watch a countdown without a group of C, D, and E-listers commenting on it.  It's gotten so bad that you can't even watch a music countdown anymore without these asshat clowns making unfunny jokes.  I just want to watch the music videos.  Wouldn't that be cheaper for the network to produce?  I don't need the extraneous garbage. 

Can we please just simplify and let me watch a countdown of the best of 80s hair bands in peace?  We owe Bret Michaels that.

Are you good lookin?

I am one good lookin' son-of-a-gun. I mean it. Sometimes I catch myself checking myself out. Like, if I'm driving, I'll periodically flip down the visor just to admire how well my square framed sunglasses complement my cheekbones. On a sunny day, I like to admire how naturally multi-tonal my hair can be when it catches the light just so. Really, at any given moment with a mirror nearby, you might catch me checking out my hiney (depending on how slammin' it is on that particular day). Sometimes when I'm putting my makeup on (we all need a little help), I love how green my eyes can be with just the right eye liner/eye shadow/mascara combination.

By now, you're either gagging or you think I'm singularly the most vain person you've ever encountered (short of maybe, Kim Kardashian).

Am I vain? Maybe. I prefer to call it confident. And quite frankly, I wasn't always this confident (and even now, my confidence isn't running on all 8 cylinders all the time).

Look, we all have our down days. We all have those people in our lives who exist for no other reason than to do their best to make us feel bad about ourselves. There was one guy, a few years ago, right before I met my husband, who after I broke up with him decided that spending an evening with his besties going through my Facebook photos and commenting on exactly how much weight they thought I had gained would be good post break up therapy (Ladies: don't ever let guys tell you that we're the only catty people. They are just as catty as we are. Proof positive). This would have all been well and good (and normal, post-break up activity), had I never found out about it when I received a text message that DEFINITELY was not meant to be sent to me. I was embarrassed, outraged and hurt. And worst of all, my confidence was destroyed.

I had two options with this. I could either (1) let it eat me alive and totally wreck my whole persona or (2) move on, forget it and live my life. I chose option 2.

So maybe I'm vain. Or maybe, it's just my daily affirmations. My daily way of reminding myself that I'm beautiful. Does that hurt anyone? Not in my book.

I think everyone should have these daily affirmations. Find things that you like about yourself and focus on those, instead of focusing on what you hate about yourself (and believe me, there's plenty of that I could focus on if I wanted to). I think when you focus on what you like about yourself, you actually take better care of yourself overall because you're more inspired to keep what you like, well, there.

What's your daily affirmation?

Sh*t We Didn't Care About This Week

Hai Sugars!  It's been a beautiful week weather and gossip-wise so let's get to it!

Miley Cyrus Gets Engaged
JanJan: I give it 6 months.

Kiki: She didn't even get Thor, the good brother.  Basically she's marrying Loki.  (Nerd alert, I know)

Shawn Johnson Retires
Kiki: I'll start caring about Team USA gymnastics when the Olympics stars, I'll vaguely recall their names during the Olympics and as soon as China inevitably beats them, Imma forget.

JanJan:  She didn't retire already?

John Mayer Complains About Taylor Swift's Song "Dear John"
JanJan: A little late to the pity party buddy. That song came out eons ago.

Kiki:  You said Jessica Simpson was "sexual napalm" to the world but you're pissed that Taylor Swift wrote a song about you?  I just wrote a song about you, sung to the tune of Bitch by Meredith Brooks, called "Dick."

Wisconsin Recall Fail
Kiki:  Hey Wisconsin, take a page from the book of activism in the Great State of Ohio: you's gots to strike when the iron is hot.  This is further proof that Ohio is better than you.
 

JanJan:  Guess the Wisconsites weren't quite ready to "pack" Scott Walker up. ;-)

Have a good weekend now!

Why I Try Not to Sweat the Small Stuff

For a little change of pace, I'm writing a positive blog entry today (I know, try not to fall off your chair in shock). Of course, being me, it comes from being annoyed, but I promise if you stick with me, you'll get to the good part. 

Recently I've been exposed to people who sweat small stuff which annoys the shit out of me.  My philosophy is that life is serious and hard and complicated.  We don't need to make it more serious, hard or complicated through anxiety or making mountains out of molehills.  I've had a few life lessons that have contributed to that philosophy, but my greatest teacher in life so far has been this guy: 

 

This is my nephew.  My nephew is my hero, my inspiration, and the person who keeps a smile on my face no matter what is going on in my life.  When my sister-in-law was pregnant with this little man, she and my brother were told there was no chance he would survive gestation because he had no amniotic fluid.  Despite those odds, my brother and sister-in-law's faith sustained him and he survived.  He (and his twin sister, my darling niece) was born three months early and within his first few months he had blood transfusions, heart surgery, eye surgery, and foot surgery.  He had lung issues and was on oxygen for over a year.  He had two club feet, his hips were dislocated and he had hernias--all of which required surgery.  The mountains of problems this sweet little baby faced seemed insurmountable.

He faced each of these challenges with a smile on his face.  No matter how uncomfortable he must have been, or how much pain he probably was in, his spirit always soared.  Even now as he learns how to walk, speak and do all the things toddlers do, he always has a sweet smile on his face and a song to sing (ok maybe it's LMFAO, but it's a song and it counts!).   

Brynn teaches me every day that no challenge is too great to overcome, that no period is so dark that you can't be a little positive during it, and that all our petty differences with others, our frustrations with work or school, our little coughs and colds or whatever are no big deal.  Life is made up of serious situations, but life only becomes serious when we stop smiling and laughing.  He's taught me that feeling sorry for one's self is a learned behavior, it's not innate.  If we all had even a fraction of Brynn's spirit, we'd complain a lot less and have a lot more fun, despite life's challenges.  So let's give it our best, shall we?  

Hooker Heels and a Blazer Do Not an Attorney Make

Summer in Washington DC brings with it a flood of inexperienced interns, all set to trot their way around the city for a summer, set to waste people's time in their offices, go to happy hour and brag to their friends at home about they saw the President's motorcade.

Usually, the summer interns represent some of DC's worst dressed. Cocktail dresses and miniskirts on the ladies, boat shoes and wrinkled khakis on the gents. I didn't think anyone could surpass the summer intern inappropriate meter. Until, that is, I saw the soon to be attorney.

You see, I'm spending my summer studying for the bar exam which means that after work, I head out to school for the 6pm bar review lecture every night. Because other students from other schools are also studying at my location, i'm getting the opportunity to observe a whole new batch of people.

As I was walking into class the other night I saw a girl leaving the 2pm lecture (yes, it was 4 hours long) wearing hooker heels, a pencil skirt with a back slit up to her bottom and a blazer, none of which matched (not that that would've helped).

Honey, your cheap platform strappy heels, paired with everything else, make you look like a hooker and do nothing to convey an image of professionalism. If you want people to take you seriously as an attorney, you might not want them to think you're moonlighting ummm.......actually under the moonlight.

Buy some nice pumps, and a bigger skirt. Unless sleeping your way around the firm is on your bucket list.

You Might Be an AHole...

If you're a child of the 90s like me, you remember Jeff Foxworthy's bit "You Might Be A Redneck."  (If you think the last words to the Star Spangled Banner are "Gentlemen Start Your Engines"...you might be a redneck).  I'm inspired by that line of thinking and have decided to start a little segment here on this blog called "You Might Be an A-Hole." 

If you recline your seat on an airplane, bus, or train within 45 seconds of sitting down...you might be an ahole.  I rarely recline my seat because I don't feel the difference in the few inches you get when you lean the chair back.  I also find leaning back like that feels awkward on my back.  So I don't get why people recline the seats--it doesn't make a difference to the person sitting in the reclined chair.  But reclining your chair sure as shit makes a difference to the person sitting behind you.  I'm 5'9" and that's mostly legs.  If you take an inch away from me, that means my knees are directly in your lumbar and believe you me, I push back.  If I can tell that you're under 5'5", I start to kick like a four year old (shocking, I know).  You're short!  You don't need the extra space!  I do!!!  

Here's the thing--let's just all recognize that airplane, train and bus travel is going to be uncomfortable.  Deal with it unselfishly and don't lean back into me.  Because if you do, you get the Oh Sugar Please Ahole Stamp. 

What Your Cocktail Says About You

You may not realize it, but your drink choice sends a message to your fellow revelers. Choose wisely, my sugahs:

White Wine:
Ordered by a girl: I'm nut crazy about maintaining my personal appearance. Red wine will stain my teeth and beers/mixed drinks will add unwanted ounces/pounds. My fridge is stocked solely with celery and lean cuisines (for splurging).
Order by a guy: I'm trying to get into White Wine Girl's pants.

Dirty Martini
Ordered by a girl: I am one confident, take no prisoners, make it or break it powerwoman. Get in my way and I'll stab you with my stiletto.
Ordered by a guy: I'm trying to get into Dirty Martini's Girl's pants.

Lite Beer:
Ordered by a girl: OMG I AM FINALLY 21!
Ordered by a guy: OMG I AM FINALLY 21! Dang. Lite Beer girl is hot.

Margarita
Ordered by a girl: SPLURGE NIGHT with my BESTIES!! My pants won't fit tomorrow.
Ordered by a guy: I'm trying to get into Margarita Girl's pants.

Bourbon
Ordered by a girl: Where's my derby hat? What? You mean it's not Derby Day?
Ordered by a guy: I'm going to watch MadMen after I get into Bourbon Girl's pants.

Lager
Ordered by a girl: I can drink you under the table.
Ordered by a guy: I'm trying to get into Lager Girl's pants. Or Bourbon, Margarita, Lite Beer, Dirty Martini or White Wine Girl. Really, any girl will do.

Diet Coke:
Ordered by a girl: Cough, Cough i'm sick.
Ordered by a guy: Girls? Who needs girls? I've got my mother.