How can that be? One minute you are obsessing over nursery school and then you turn around and you have been at this for 24 years. And by some miracle you haven’t messed them up.
Yes, kiddies, today marks the 24th birthday of my girl. And oh what a difference a year makes. Since 23 she has found her dream job, moved into her own apartment and learned to balance a tight budget.
There is so much I can say about her, but mostly I want to thank her for being such a good sport about posing, for always being there to make me laugh and most of all for constantly reminding me why I was put on this earth.
To be a mom.
I love you Petuney; and I could not be any prouder of who you have become. May this be your best year ever!
This week I had both. I’ll start with the blood boiler. Waiting on line to pay at Sephora, I spotted this outrageous product line from Bliss. Fat Girl Sixpack?!! Are you kidding me?!
It made me sad because I happen to like this brand. I have been to their spas and bought some of their products. When they started, they were a brand that was focused on making women feel good, and good about themselves. They have lost their way.
At first I thought it was some sort of joke, like an SNL skit. I want to know what product team thought this up and in what universe all the sign-offs required to launch a product allowed this to happen. It is 2013, kiddies. Are we still doing this crap? Ummm… I guess that would be a yes. On their site they state:
to sculpt a six-pack, you need to exercise and eat healthy —but to help you in your quest for a covetable core, we developed this tummy-toning gel.
SERIOUSLY?! Shame on you, Bliss. Perhaps you should read these statistics on eating disorders. Maybe if you thought about the up to 24 million people in the US suffering from eating disorders, you might reconsider this thinking.
This makes me sad. On a monumental level. Are we still doing this crap?!! (sorry, I know I said that already) But I have spent 24 years raising a fabulous daughter. One of the few of her generation who has a really great relationship with food (when did that term start) and a healthy body image. She eats well, works out and I trust she would be as disgusted by this as I am. I simply do not understand why a solid, popular women’s brand would market such a thing. And sadly, it is on the best-seller page of their site. I cannot imagine why a woman would purchase this. I thought we were done with this nonsense.
Which leads me to my favorite brand campaign and renewed faith in smart marketing. Dove. They have been continuously committed to women’s self esteem. They are working towards lifting women up. Their latest campaign is real, moving and the sort of thing that women in 2013 should expect. It focuses on the difference between the way we see ourselves, and the way others see us. I cannot count the times I have told beautiful friends who are beating themselves up about aging that I wished they could see themselves as others do. This campaign illustrates that sentiment perfectly. This is a brand I can respect. And, btw, one I have used for most of my life.
Watch this, feel good and don’t let Bliss bring you down. It seems the over 21 million people who viewed this video just might agree.
Me:(walking into the bathroom where I see both Gary and the Iko looking into the toilet) WAIT, I need to get a camera.
What, you thought I was going to stick my hand in the toilet to get that bone? Yeh, right! Yes, that is what that was, a bone. I have had people guess it was a sock and a condom. Seriously? A condom in my house? With my sans uterus, way past childbearing old arse?
Gary:She needs to get that out of the toilet. Go ahead Iko, you dropped it in there, now you get it out.
Iko: Gives the universal Lab look of ‘are you f’in kidding me’, turns around and walks out of the bathroom.
Me: Guess that leaves you, my sweet. Don’t worry, I just cleaned that toilet… um, when was that again.
He is hard pressed to believe I did not put the dog up to this… perhaps that will make him think next time he leaves the seat up ; )
Before I begin this post I would like to show my respect for the people of Boston for suffering such a blow, and say that I am so very grateful that my Boston family and friends are safe. In respect for this tragedy, I will refrain from the all-too-popular opportunistic tragedy blogging.
Ok, I am sure she thought she would escape my sentimentality. No ad from me in the journal, no video appearance, no public speech… this chick thought she was home free.
Not on your life, sistah!
This past weekend a dear friend was honored by a wonderful organization; one I have been involved in since its inception. It is an org that is close to both our hearts. She was asked to be the honoree because anyone in their right mind could see the fundraising opp tattooed on her arse. She is completely uncomfortable being the center of attention, but agreed more to help raise the big bucks and make a difference, than for the personal glory.
Humility. A quality so rarely seen. Especially in someone who has done so much for so many. Selflessly. Charmingly. With grace and a spirit of nonchalance. As if we all do these things everyday. Never asking for credit – at times actually giving it to others. And with that crazy smile on her face and infectious spirit that sweeps you up in her whirling dervish of excitement to the point where you never dare to say no to her. Nor do you want to. She wisely picks and chooses the times that she will actually ask. But even when she doesn’t, you find yourself offering to help because she makes it so damn appealing.
I truly believe there is nothing she cannot make happen. And if there is, don’t tell her. Or me.
So here’s to you, my friend. My heart was so full on Saturday night, seeing you finally get the recognition you deserve. Not because you asked for it.
Coming out of the supermarket the other day I started loading the bags into my car (don’t judge me for not carrying reusable bags, I am lame), when I came across this bag with the eggs and…
Please tell me in what universe this made sense to a cashier?
I am very proud to say that I was a supermarket cashier in high school and I took great pride in bagging like items so that unpacking the groceries would be easier. Yes, even as a teenager I was an OCD Virgo.
Since having this job I understood the importance of putting like items on the belt together so that the bagging task would be easier. A little pay it forward for the poor cashiers who work their butts off on their feet all day.
Except for this guy, who was obviously getting high on his break .
What do you think the people in the parking lot were thinking when they saw me taking a picture of my groceries?
I could not love this picture any more. I crossed the street to take a shot of this canvas hanging on the back of a truck on West Broadway, and this guy stopped in front of it just as I was taking the picture.
Art is so often created by happenstance.
Walking down the street with me is not a bargain. Those who know me well know my famous, “Go ahead, I’ll catch up.” Those who love me unconditionally (AKA, offspring and BFFs) smile and know this is just the price to pay for hanging out with me. I make up for it in other ways. Those who are married to me (the subset of one) are incredibly tolerant and will even stand in a situation for my amusement (and theirs later on).
So, this image begs the question, “Why are crazy people such good lovers?” Here is a little exercise. Jump out of lurking mode (I know you are all there, I check the stats) and feel bad enough for my sorry ass to leave some comments answering to one or more of the following topics:
Decide if this makes you more likely to admit that you are.
In your experience, is there a direct correlation between being crazy and being a good lover?
Disappointment… such a lousy emotion. It comes tethered to expectations and rears its ugly head out of nowhere when you think you have ‘it’ all handled. I have tried my best to manage expectations to avoid this nasty sucker. But sometimes shit happens, you are at its mercy, and it takes you down.
To make it short and avoid a pity party, I have managed high blood pressure. It has been controlled for a long time, went a little wacky back in the fall and got back on track. Then I had a reaction to some meds that made me feel very ill and caused my ankle to swell (of course the one I sprained a while back) and the switch of meds set me on a BP roller coaster I do not wish on my worst enemy.
The net: I could not fly. And what was I supposed to do… you bet. Fly. To Spain. To see my boy who is studying abroad. Who I have not seen since January. On a trip we had planned forever. At a time when we really needed a break. On the first real vacation in many, many years. That we can’t reschedule. Not life shattering, just a piece of life that I can’t get back. One of the really fun pieces.
I am coming out the other side of this huge disappointment and all I can do is run through my head all of the things I have told my kids over the years when their expectations were shattered:
Sometimes you just have to feel like crap.
Misery gives happiness context.
Everything happens for a reason and sometimes we don’t find out what that reason is for a long time.
Who you are when things suck says more about you than who you are when they are great.
Sometimes its not fair. Period.
On the other end of that wisdom I was fully aware of how annoying that wisdom could be. (sorry kids)
Until a friend of mine posted a favorite Maya Angelou quote that made me smile and think about who I really want to be:
“I’ve learned that you can tell a lot about a person by the way he/she handles these three things: a rainy day, lost luggage, and tangled Christmas tree lights.”
Even a Jewish girl gets the last one.
So if you see me knocking on a christian neighbor’s door asking to borrow their christmas lights in the rain wearing the same thing for 2 days in a row, you will know that it is just an exercise.
Remember that stupid saying,”You can pick your friends; and you can pick your nose; but you can’t pick your friend’s nose”?
I never really got that. I mean, people do all sorts of weird stuff with orifices (or is that orifici?), I would imagine a little nose picking amongst friends might be going on out there with the non-germphobic crowd.
I digress, this post was spawned by an email from the stock photography site, Corbis. I have been a Corbis customer since the olden days of graphic design when they would send out these delicious print volumes of stock photo images and we would flip through the pages to choose the right image. And instead of emails, we would receive teaser postcards with images like these to get us to call and do a search. Yes, I am aware this is the Art Director’s equivalent of the ‘I used to walk to school 10 miles in the snow’ story that my dad used to tell us. All you youngun’s, you will have these stories about archaic, clunky handheld mobile devices instead of the chip behind their ear that your kids will have.
Ughh… digressing again. The point is, the other morning, on a particularly difficult day for me (stay tuned for more on that on Tuesday), the photo above showed up in my inbox. It had that Sleeper-esque feeling about it and just the visual made me laugh. Their 20% headline was excellent for their purpose, but this headline popped into my head:
You CAN pick your friend’s nose.
I know, I am brilliant. What a lovely promo for a plastic surgeon… maybe a 2 for 1 deal! It made me laugh on a morning that laughing was the last thing I thought I would do, so thanks Corbis. But, the best part was yet to come when I clicked over to their site (yes it worked, they got the click-through from me and put Corbis top of mind), I found this photo… the pay off.
The proverbial ‘picked nose’.
Yeh it could be time to pitch a plastic surgery team. Anyone in? Other headline ideas?