DIABETIC COMA

I recently went to Auburn with my friend, D, to watch a football game and visit her boyfriend.  Since BF wanted to impress D, he tried to make everything run smoothly.  We ate great food, etc.  I have a slight addiction to chocolate.  Imagine my delight when I found out that BF shared my love of chocolate.  He loved it so much, he had dishes of chocolate in most rooms!  During the 48 hours of our visit, I managed to eat every bit of chocolate in the house.  Imagine my surprise when I found out that BF didn't have chocolate around because he loved it.  He kept it around because he might NEED it!  He has type 1 diabetes AND I ATE ALL HIS CHOCOLATE!

Immediately upon garnering this information, I constructed a worst case scenario:
BF's blood sugar begins to drop quickly, too quickly to take an insulin shot.  With his last ounce of strength he stumbles to the candy dish he keeps within arm's reach.  The candy is ALL GONE BECAUSE I ATE IT!  He falls into a diabetic coma where he stays for several weeks.

FACEBOOK RANT

We all know at least three people like this!

I realize that by ranting about this, I'm doing the same thing I'm about to blast others for doing. In my defense, it will just be this one time and I won't inhale...

I like to think that the creators of Facebook envisioned a social networking site in which you could reconnect with people from your past. I want to think they were trying for an extended family reunion feel. I realize this is the Disney version of their intentions. I saw the movie with the insufferably douchy Justin Timberlake & the guy who played the the nerdy virgin in Superbad. We have taken what could have been a pleasant way to keep up with people and turned it into a platform for people to unleash their narcissistic, delusional, passive- aggressive bullshit.

Almost gone are the days of the "I document my every move" facebooker. I didn't realize how innocuous they were until the rise of the passive-aggressive douches (PADs). They make the incessant documentors look like missionaries in the Congo. If you know me, we probably have a couple of these PADs in common. It is a rare day that I don't wake up to at least one post bitching about some imagined slight by an always unnamed aggressor. This includes ranting political posts calling everyone who disagrees with you stupid. I'm no Harvard professor, but then again, neither is the PAD to whom I'm referring. Exchanges between PADs is not even mildly entertaining. It's sad and usually ends up with them unfriending each other and then arguing like sixth grade girls about who cut the cord first (no offense meant to sixth grade girls). Someone called to my attention the fact that lots of these posts are made in the middle of the night when the PADs are either drunk or bored. I don't dispute that. Oftentimes, they will delete some of the more egregious passages once they have had a chance to sober up. Facebooking while drunk is like drunk texting your entire address book. No good can come of it!

Next up, people who criticize the hand that feeds them. Frustrated by your job?  Why not spew your venom on Facebook?  Certainly you aren't Facebook friends with your coworkers or, God forbid, your boss!  Because nothing says "please fire me" like posting nasty comments about your job. I've actually seen one guy who works on 100% commission bitch incessantly about his clients. I've also seen him turn around and try to make clients out of former rivals while boldly ignoring the things he said about them in earlier posts. Guess what?  Everyone has bad days, weeks, or years at work. Don't be the 1 dickhead out of 50 who feels the need to bitch about it to a bunch of people who just logged on to find out how their third cousin is doing. They don't give a shit!  If your job is that bad, find another one. If you need to vent, call a friend. Which leads me to my next point.

Just because I accept you as a Facebook friend does not make us BFFs. I talk to my good friends in person not through Facebook. Odds are I accepted your friend request in a rare moment of charity. I've since recovered.  I neither want nor need to see you out in the "real" world. I definitely don't need to correspond with you privately.

I have a newly single friend who called my attention to the Facebook Booty Call. She does not partake but she gets plenty of offers. This is apparently more prevalent in the over 30 category. My friend, who is gorgeous, will get private messages from men some of whom she knows, some she doesn't. Men, listen up!  If you don't even have her phone number, chances are she is not interested. It's not at all creepy to hit up someone you don't know with the FBBC!

Thank God for the hide feature. It has enabled me to check my Facebook account without being privy to the numerous slights visited upon some of my more self-involved friends!

DOGS, YEAST INFECTIONS, AND KONGS, JESUS H!

Pool Party!

Tonight, I found myself standing in the kitchen stuffing 2,000 calories worth of peanut butter into my hound's kong while explaining to my sister that my other dog has a yeast infection in his ear. Through the din of her laughter I realize this isn't normal.  How did we get here?

Domestic dog has existed for hundreds of years. I find it difficult to believe Ben Franklin took time away from whoring, drafting the constitution, and inventing bifocals to give Fido his allergy meds. I suppose as we get more neurotic so do our pets. Couple that with the fact that (thank God) not everyone feels the need to procreate and you have an epidemic of pets that are as neurotic as Woody Allen. Apparently, even those of us who are not maternal, tend to treat our pets as children. We also fuck them up like people fuck up their kids. While the kid is put on ADD meds & sits in front of the TV playing video games, Snickers is biting the mailman and barking 24/7.

I consider myself a good dog owner. My dogs get long walks and playtime outside everyday. In the Summer, they have pool parties. The are on a raw diet (which is bankrupting me). I spend all my spare time with my dogs. They should be happy and well-adjusted right?  Wrong!  Gordon, the Kong addict, is on amitriptyline for anxiety. He has a trainer and a behaviorist (also costing me a fortune). He is also ADDICTED TO HIS KONG!  He gets a kong stuffed with peanut butter every night at bedtime. Once his bedtime rolls around, you better start stuffing the kong because there is much pacing & whining if you don't.  This also is making him a bit porky which equals more exercise. My German Shepherd, Nitro, is fairly normal. He is friendly to both dogs and people. He does occasionally eat his own shit which I'm told is a) a breed thing, b) a nutrional deficiency, c) shit (pun intended) happens. He does have a habit of needing to be near me. He sleeps on my bed and insists on being spooned.  Did I mention that both dogs have a nanny who comes if I have to be out of town or gone longer than four or five hours at a time?  They have more people on staff than a Kardashian.

I'm beginning to think that I am the problem...

PLEASE! NO MORE WEINER!

What has 100 teeth and eats weiners?  A zipper!

I was going to lead with Anthony Weiner's dick pics but they crashed my computer.  I was pissed and grateful because I'm really not interested in seeing Weiner's junk.  From the looks of him, I can't imagine it would be anything to write home about anyway.

I guess I had Weiner on my mind.  He was the first thing I thought of when I saw the above real estate sign.  I was stoked he found a job fitting a person of his stature.  What a piss poor way to realize I finally balanced my third eye chakra.  I pull up the news and see this:

Ok, maybe that's an exaggeration.  The news that day was all about Weiner.  Is it just me or do the dick jokes never get old?

What in the hell makes Anthony Weiner think he can be elected mayor of NYC?  He dropped 100K on "polling" (prostitutes) which will result in more dick pics.  He even got his wife on board.  She gave an interview to ABC news about her husband's comeback.  To me it's not even about trolling the Internet for women.  It's more about being such an inept fuck up that you can't work Twitter.  It doesn't include the word twit for nothing.  If thousands of middle school kids can be proficient with Twitter, shouldn't our elected officials at least manage to send their dick pics privately rather than disseminating them to all of their twitter followers?  People of New York, is this the kind of man you want as your new mayor?  I'm pretty sure he can't think outside the box...

COLORIOUS

I'm pretty low maintenance.  I have to be.  My husband is a mega diva.  I pride myself on being easy going.  When I have my hair cut or colored, I am always willing to go with something different because it will grow out or fade.  Part of being low maintenance might be because I'm lazy.  Part of it might be because I work in a gym and can cover up any mistakes with a hat.  Whatever the reason, I have been very lucky with at-home color.  I figure, red is an easy color so I can't really do much to fuck it up.  Enter The Yankee...

Since she doesn't want her name posted, we will just call my "friend" The Yankee (which she is).  My usual DIY color was out of stock.  Instead of going elsewhere to look for it, The Yankee chooses one she thinks will be lovely.  It's bright red but pretty on the model.  I've only had good experiences with DIY color so it's worth a shot, right?

but it's pretty on the model

WRONG!  I have a few immediate red flags.  This color takes 25 minutes to process.  Really?  Not only that, it has a bunch of different steps.  Instead of just adding the color, you have some kind of shimmer serum and a color booster.  At the time, I didn't know that this color needs no boost.  Why do I have to add a booster?  Why isn't it just part of the color?  Anyway, I'm not one to let the directions stand in my way.  When they get overlong, I usually just kind of wing it.  How hard can it be?  Most cosmotologists I know are not rocket scientists.  I mix up the color, apply it, then sit and wait...

As I'm waiting, I happen to take a closer look at the empty color bottle.  It looks like an abortion:

This is going to be awesome!

This is where I start to get a bit worried.  THEN I take a look at the color on my hair.  I look like that old SNL skit, massive head wound Harry.  As the color is processing, my husband is wandering in and out of the room with a worried look on his face.  He keeps asking me if it's supposed to be so dark.  I show him the box.  He says that it's darker than the box.  He is a genius.  That's why I keep him around.

Head wound?  Maybe

Head wound Harry

I go through the 25 minutes of processing.  Then I'm supposed to wash it twice with the shampoo provided.  I wash it three times and STILL the water looks like I'm bleeding out!  My husband walks in and asks me if it's supposed to be that red.  At this point, I'm texting The Yankee and delicately telling her that this hair color looks like I'm having fucking brain surgery in my bathroom and what did I ever do to her to cause her to pick such a godawful color.  Since she has no dog in this fight, she tells me to go to hell and refuses to take my calls.  After I use up all the hot water rinsing the abomination out of my hair, I decide to take a deep breath, style my hair and see just how bad it is. 

First things first, I slathered the color on my eyebrows.  It will not come off with toner or any other things that get normal hair color off your skin.  I email The Yankee to find out if there is anything else that will take the hair color off my face.  Nail polish, she says.  I start scrubbing my face with nail polish.  I realize that I

I have lovely feet

haven't taken off my toenail polish since fall.  I've got a bit of an issue with one of my toes.  I get to work on that and reveal this lovely toenail.

Now back to the hair.  As I dry it, I can see that it's very dark and rather purple.  It bled red whenever it got wet for an entire week!  Below is the end result:

I'm on the right.  BTW, The Yankee is second from the left.

Capridon't: A plea to those wearing capri pants

Oh, hell no!

I think history will look back on the capri pant with disbelief.  It started slowly like any quiet revolution.  It picked up devotees as it bumped and bumbled it's way along.  We weren't worried.  It was the late 90's.  We had been through so many ridiculous trends that we just assumed the capri pant would go the way of the stirrup pant.  We didn't know how wrong we were.  Here it is Spring 2013 and capri pant season is in full swing.  Of course,  now we know that it is a disease that should have been summarily executed!  How I long for the day when capris were reserved for the middle aged woman taking the express route to the muumuu. Now it seems that everyone from my neighbor's toddler to the 85 year-old lady across the street has at least three pairs of capri pants.  We can give the toddler a pass but anyone no longer mired in puberty should steer clear of these abominations!

If it seems that we are ignoring the literal elephant in the room, here goes.  It is no coincidence that the rampant spread of capri pants seems to go hand in hand with the rampant spread of the American ass.  Apparently, the fatter we get the less we care.  Why not wear a pant that visually shortens the leg?  Cankles, who cares?  Capri pants have looked good on one person ever, Audrey Hepburn.  If you don't have her body, stick to sweat pants.

Capri pants were invented by Emilio Pucci in the 50s.  They were considered liberating because of the uber restrictive fashion of the time.  What does that have to do with today?  I really don't know.  In this time of pajama pants worn outside of the bedroom, can we really say that capri pants are a comfortable, less restrictive alternative?  I think not.  Capri pants brilliantly exploit a woman's shortcomings.  So why do some people continuously subject themselves (and us) to them?  The simple answer is laziness.  Why go to the gym or spray tan when you can buy a shapeless "pant" to cover up.  Hell, why even shave?  Do those few inches of fresh air on your ankles really make it worth wearing a capri?  They aren't THAT much cooler than a traditional pant but you certainly will be cooler if you skip the capri and go with a pant or shorts.

a guide to disaster

Friendliness leads to ick...

We have a quirky grocery store in our neighborhood called Lucky's. I love it because it is convenient, has nice employees and great meat. The downside is you have a better than decent chance of being assaulted in the parking lot. I've been a patron for years!

I went to Lucky's this morning for creamer for the diva's coffee. As I was looking for items that fit his exacting specifications, I ran into a friend's father, or so I thought. He looked at me like he knew me. He was dressed old man casual; khaki pants, sweater, hat, jacket. This looks like Fionnuala's father, I thought.  We had this conversation:

Me: "are you Fionnuala's father?"
Old man : "what?"
Me:  "are you Fionnuala's father?"
Old man:  "who?"

This should have been a clue that perhaps I had the wrong man. Once I think I'm right, I bulldoze on. I once argued with a man for 30 minutes about whether or not he was of Native American heritage because he couldn't hold his liquor.

Me:  "FIONNUALA!  ARE YOU HER FATHER?!"
Old man:  "Fionnuala, who?" (Now I'm pretty sure I have the right guy because Fionnuala's dad is a smartass)
Me: "Fionnuala _______"
Old man:  "no, I'm nobody's father"
Me:  "I'm sorry".

As I walk away, the old man yells, "it's not from lack of trying!"

Ick, ick, ick!!!!