Happy Birthday FraochNiCymru aka "Because liberals and conservatives CAN be friends!"

I wasn’t so sure that today’s birthday girl would want a blog shout-out from me, but I was happy when I got the go-ahead. We met during my time on the East Coast and our friendship got off to a rocky start to say the least. It was sort of like an episode of Three’s Company in terms of misunderstandings, but no one was pretending to be gay. (And I’m using her Internet pseudonym since she works in a, uh, sensitive office and I don’t want any Google searches leading The Man here.) When I was headed back to California, she happened to email me to say hello and the ensuing conversations led to an interesting “come to Jesus” type of talk, a newfound understanding of each other, and an unlikely friendship at a time when I was looking for good signs anywhere.

Cym is a fierce mother lioness who will fuck your shit up if you dare mess with her family. For reals you guys. Just don’t even try. I hope that if I am fortunate enough to have kids I will find that kind of strength to deal with any crap anyone throws at them.

Cym has this weird notion that she isn’t girlie or a fashionable or some such silliness, but on a few occasions when I have posed a question about an outfit this chick has rolled up with advice that makes me feel dumb because it’s so simple. But mostly I am grateful I asked and that she shared.

Cym sometimes says the hard stuff you don’t want to hear. And as much as we all need the hold-your-hand-and-nod-sympathetically-friends, sometimes we need the kick-in-the-butt friends. (For the record, many of my friends can fall into this category, but this seems to be her specialty.) Hearing the hard stuff isn’t always pretty but it’s necessary.

Cym showed up at a transitional “WTF?” time in my life and encouraged me to keep on being me, having fun, and exploring all of the new options ahead. Yes, A LOT of people did this, but as someone who had very little interaction with me, she suggested things no one else had, and the possibilities opened me up in a new way.

Cym is an amazing writer. When she finally writes her memoirs or a novel or SOMETHING I will so be first in line at her book signings and readings because that shit is gonna be hilaaaaarious. I cannot drink anything while reading her emails because of too many close calls with coffee out the nose. You’ve been warned.

Cym, I am holding you to your promise of a West Coast visit and you will need to prep the guest room (and most of Northern VA) when I find my way back there. Stockpile the wine now! And enjoy your day – I’m toasting you from out here.


A Hypothetical Question for You

Yes, I went to church for Ash Wednesday. No, the walls did not start bleeding.

I’m not big on the Church and organized religion, although I most definitely pray and believe in God and do actually enjoy attending Mass. (Are you uncomfortable yet? Sorry. Bear with me.)

So, I went to church for the first time in almost a year, took communion, and went home with the biggest, darkest cross on my forehead ever. And somewhere in there, I half listened to the priest (I was at the back, the PA system was so-so and I had to strain to hear him) and half meditated on how giving up soda for Lent was not really a great sacrifice. Although I did reason that I could take the money I spend on soda, set is aside, and use it toward something more meaningful. You think 40 days worth of soda money won’t make a difference? People, you don’t know how bad my addiction is.

And then I took no end of crap for doing all of that.

See, I haven’t been to confession in, um, oh…Let’s just say I was probably in junior high. And being the goody-goody I was, I’m sure the worst offense I had to offer up was some smack-talk about another girl. Point is, I’ve racked up some decent sins since then and have yet to formally ask a priest to make sure I’m good with God. And did I mention I am NOT a regular church goer? I mean, I end up going for Christmas and/or Easter, maybe another random trip in there somewhere, and then maybe a wedding that includes a mass. And even then I’m checking out the groomsmen and counting down to the cocktail hour, not thinking about God and sacraments and whatever.

So here’s my question: am I a bad person for treating the Catholic faith like a buffet? You know, picking and choosing what I want, rejecting the not-so-fun parts? Or is it good enough that I at least acknowledge my hypocrisy, try to be a good person and basically use this blog as a confessional?

And if everyone agrees I need to get myself to a confessional booth, don’t blame ME when the priest freaks out after I go all Jack Donaghy on him.

Stone away.

What to Wear Wednesday: Your Turn

I’m such a hack. Here I claim I can solve your beauty and fashion dilemmas and I’m asking YOU for the advice. (Did I just lose the guys? Bye! I’ll post a picture of someone in a bikini tomorrow or something.)

My complexion is pretty decent, but every once in awhile I find myself dealing with a blemish or some dark circles under the eyes. Yes, I have a good foundation, but sometimes I just want to cover up the problem spots and move on, and it doesn’t cut it. The caveat: I am Pasty McWhitey and have dry, sensitive skin. So, whatever I use needs to come in a shade semi-close to my skin tone AND not make my skin issues worse.

Anyone have a miracle concealer? If so, leave a comment, send me an email or find me on Facebook. Any and all suggestions will be considered! Ideally this will be something I can pick up in retail-challenged Chico (ie we know not of Sephora, Nordstrom or Ulta), but that’s not a deal-breaker.

More Proof for the Commitment Hearing

I think about Beyonce sometimes. Not as much as I think about Tina Fey, but I spend a decent amount of brain energy on her. Energy that should be spent on job applications, saving baby seals and/or doing sit-ups. Don’t try to understand it, because Lord knows I don’t.

A few of my recent musings on the subject:

-Does anyone else find it weird that she has this alter ego named “Sasha Fierce?” Because “Beyonce” is just sooo commonplace that she needs something more exotic?

-Why is the hit single off her most recent album all about being single and not crying over her boyfriend? She’s married now, right? He liked it, he put a ring on it, Beyonce-Sasha! Don’t get me wrong, this song is playing on a continuous loop in my brain (although every time I hear the line “To infinity and beyond” I imagine that she broke up with Buzz Lightyear) and I may or may not have a little dance that I do when I hear it.

But really? Really?! I’m not getting what’s going on with Ms. Knowles.

Maybe I am not meant to understand. Maybe these are questions for the ages. Maybe I should put down the wine.

Oh, and I’ve been watching this non-stop for about 45 minutes:


Weirdly hynotic, no? The dance I choreographed is eerily similar to Andy Samberg’s moves around :58.

Exciting News from Lingering Cold Central: Now with Super-Attractive Cold Sore AND Period Acne!

(Are you totally turned on right now? It’s OK. Don’t fight it.)

Not long after writing yesterday’s bitchy-ass post about HOW DIFFICULT my life is, what with having the sniffles (oh, the humanity!), help and relief showed up miraculously. This put things into better perspective for me. I mean, it’s a COLD. There are people everywhere dealing with way worse. Hell, I have dealt with way worse (what’s up, pneumonia and various lung infections that made me cough so hard I vomit in public?) in the past. Sack up.

Katie is also sick and we decided that we needed pedicures to a.) get our whiny selves out of our homes and b.) help us feel like pretty pretty princesses. The pedis worked, yes, and we showed good judgment by sipping juice rather than our traditional mimosas. But Katie had a little surprise for me that perked me up like none other: a visit from the cutest little puppy ever. (Oh, he was accompanied by his “dad” and all that. It’s not like he just called up and asked if we were doing anything. He’s a puppy.)

Anyway, Riggs, the puppy, was so well-behaved and sweet and snuggly and soft…I did my best not to go all Lenny on him, but it took serious restraint, y’all. This kind of made me feel like a child. Despite all the Stranger Danger stuff I had drilled in to me, I’m pretty sure a kidnapper could easily – to this day – lure me into a sketchy van with a “Will you help me find my lost puppy/kitten?” story because sweet Jesus, I am a sucker for animals. And baby animals? Oy. Don’t get me started.

This kind of got me thinking that while I may look like a grown-up and manage to fake it on most days, I really should not be allowed to live without adult supervision. I submit the following evidence:

-I have had to take a little break from my 24 viewing. You’d think this break was inspired by a desire for real human interaction, or to eat some cheese. Nope. This little self-imposed break is due to the new appearace of nightmares…24-inspired nightmares. Now the assassins don’t want to hurt David Palmer or Jack Bauer: they are after ME. I know. I KNOW. There are first graders who can probably watch that show before bedtime and be completely fine, but I am a delicate flower. A fucking mental delicate flower, so please treat me with care.

-Last night while watching the Academy Awards I found myself hoarsely yelling “I NEED MORE COWBELL” the entire time Christopher Walken was on the stage to present…something. I don’t even know. I was too busy repeating a joke that was funny seven years ago, and cracking myself up in the process. Sure, there may have been a little cold medicine cocktail involved here, but dude. Come on.

-The aforementioned puppy incident. Most normal people reach down and pet a dog. Me? I roll around on the floor with it with zero regard to social norms, ladylike behavior or the pitch of my voice.

I’m choosing to take some comfort in the fact that I act like a full-on child, rather than a tween. I mean, I’m not parading around in a glittery shirt and my pants cover my ass. I’m taking my victories where I can get them. Back off.

Now, I need to cure my fever with MORE COWBELL. Hahahaha! Ah, never gets old for me…

It’s Raining, It’s Pouring, This Post is Really Boring

And whiny.

It’s the 2009 edition of “Being Sick is for Crap” so settle on in for some bitching and moaning because OH MY GOD I HATE HATE HATE BEING SICK.

You know that stereotype that men are the worst when it comes to illness? All helpless and baby-like? Well, I challenge all the males of the world to a showdown in that department. Something about sleep deprivation coupled with an inability to breathe brings out my most charming qualities: self-pity mixed with exhaustion and hint of “fuck-off-no-not-really-can-you-get-me-some-soup-please-don’t-leave-meeeeee.” I’m hungry, but I don’t know what I want. I’m thirsty, but I don’t want water, juice or tea, damn it. I’m tired but can’t relax and get to sleep. It’s adorable, really.

The weather is most definitely conducive to a day of staying inside under a blanket. At the same time, the weather is depressing me because if I’m sick on a nice day, I somehow muster the energy to face the world and that seems to help my mental health, if not the physical. If you have any hints on feeling better in a hurry, please send them my way. Along with some soup. And an US magazine, if it’s not too much trouble. Thanks.

I think the only thing that can help me is a hot toddy and a pedicure. Ladies?

Because My Friends Cannot Make Decisions Without Your Help Either

Interweb, your assistance is requested regarding A Very Important Fashion Decision. A wedding-related fashion decision…which is pretty hardcore in the realm of clothing choices. The marriage may not last, but those photos are around FORFUCKINGEVER. (Just ask my mom about the harassment she has endured at the hands of her only child. Hey, if you wear a lampshade hat, expect me to comment on it, OK?) For the first time in the history of someone getting married I am NOT the one required to don a bridesmaid dress. But we have a Bridesmaid Virgin on our hands and she needs our help.

Miss Katie will be in her very first wedding in September, which is actually very exciting. The bride has chosen dresses offered through an online boutique, and has designated “persimmon” as the color. However, being a reasonable sort, she is allowing each girl to choose her own style. Here is where you can help.
We have a little poll going where you can vote on which style Katie should choose. She has it narrowed down to two, but is open to suggestions if you feel strongly. You can vote in the comments, too, and all opinions will be considered.

Here is Katie, in case you haven’t met her:

Check out the dress options here http://lulakate.com/bridal/. Katie is leaning toward the Ashley or the Katherine (which would be kinda cute since that is her name and all, but not really a requirement), but open to suggestions if the overwhelming majority feels differently. This is kind of reminds me of playing dress-up with my dolls only it’s a real, live person. Who really likes wine. See why we’re friends?