Tag: humor

Your Cold Shoulder Top is Upsetting Me

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The world is full of injustice; Bravo’s ‘Gallery Girls’ only got one season, Rihanna hasn’t released an album since 2016, and Jonathan Cheban somehow still has something vaguely resembling a career. The biggest injustice as of late, however, is that the cold shoulder top has actually become a thing.

What is a cold shoulder top you ask? Well first things first, to answer your question, yes, they are one thousand percent as ridiculous as they sound. I would give you a more technical definition but when I went to Google to look for one, the first description I saw used the phrase “casual but classy” to describe a neon pink chevron patterned version of this top. I immediately fell into a rage blackout that I still haven’t recovered from some two weeks later. Maybe it’s because I don’t like any part of my body to be cold (just my demeanor), or maybe it’s because I don’t feel that my shoulders are my best asset, but I really just can’t condone the sartorial nightmare that is the cold shoulder top.

Most women have essential clothing items that they consider wardrobe staples, for most ladies that’s going to include things like a great pair of jeans, a little black dress, a chic coat, and other variations of pieces that are almost universally considered “classics.” There are some women (none that I personally have in my life, small mercies) for whom cold shoulder tops seem to be a critical part of their wardrobe, and although I’m generally against generalizing groups of people, I’ve noticed several things that almost seem to be mutually exclusive to women that wear these hideous tops.

  • Has children named things like: Brixton, Blaze, Maklemily, Maxkenzy, etc
  • Has gotten into an altercation with at LEAST four different t-ball umpires
  • Has one of those stupid stick figure sticker families on the back of their (usually white) SUV
  • Doesn’t give a shit that her $1 off $5 coupon expired in 2011, and thinks she is absolutely still entitled to use it
  • Needs to speak to your manager
  • Likes the “Women for Trump” page on Facebook
  • Thinks chain restaurants like Olive Garden are Michelin star dining experiences
  • Owns a $3,000 purebred dog, but she’ll still share animal rescue posts on social media because she’s such a good person
  • Has a vinyl on the wall above her bed that says “I Love You to the Moon and Back”
  • Loves wine, wine themed throw pillows, puns about wine, is essentially just SUPER f@$#%*& into wine (not like, particularly good wine though).

I could literally make this list at least 1500 bullet points long, but we really don’t have the time for all of that, do we? Look, I’m sure that someone reading this doesn’t fit all or even any of the boxes I checked, but just like when I see a red hat on a guy, your cold shoulder top activates my fight or flight response. I’m not saying that wearing a cold shoulder top makes you a bad person or that not wearing them makes you a good person, all I’m saying is that these shirts are stupid and it’s past time for them to go the way of the statement necklace.

 

Hold Me Closer Not-So-Tiny Dancer

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You know how people talk about the way certain smells can instantly bring back a flood of vivid memories? Admittedly, most of mine involve moments when I get whiffs of certain kinds of alcohol and am transported back to memories (using this term loosely here, as it implies I am remembering all of these incidents) that involve me puking or trying to get into the house without having to speak to my parents (an unsuccessful feat 99.8% of the time).

The other day at work, however, when I stepped into the bathroom to wash my hands after somewhat aggressively eating a pack of Peanut M&Ms, the smell of hairspray transported me to a place that I literally haven’t thought about, except maybe in therapy, for years, the basement of the performing arts center at Wesleyan College in Macon, Georgia.

I’m 10 years old, and my body shape can best be described as a steamed pork bun. I’m wearing red lipstick and a glittered little crop top/flared pants getup that, when paired with the unfortunate bangs I had, was worthy of at LEAST seven felony charges. I am at my dance recital, and although my disastrous ballet performance as a “French Lady” might be over, my jazz performance as an elementary school-aged sensual cowgirl temptress is in about ten minutes.

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If you can’t tell by now, I hated dance, like hated it to the point where I would throw tantrums before class because I hoped if my face got red and tear stained enough I would not have to go. My mom would then get to the point where she did nott want to risk me making a scene at the dance studio in front of other people, and let me skip class. This didn’t happen as often as I would’ve liked, because my mother is from the northeast, doesn’t embarrass easily, and had the audacity to make my brother and I fulfill commitments we had made.

Let me just say that I didn’t hate dance because I was bullied or anything like that, in fact, I met several girls at dance that I still consider friends today. I hated dance because I was terrible at it and I was incredibly aware of just how awful I was. I would watch the taller, more graceful girls glide effortlessly across the floor and convince myself that I absolutely looked like that, when in reality, I more closely resembled some sort of large sea creature that had found itself beached, and was desperately trying to flail it’s way back to the water.

I’m not sure how I ended up taking dance for 13 years of my life when I loathed it so much. Maybe it’s because I was born with exactly zero rhythm and was trying to gain some? That never happened. I even have moments today where I struggle to keep up with the most caucasian of beats (my most humiliating moment to date was when I realized I was clapping off beat at a Taylor Swift concert last summer). Maybe it’s because the good lord saw fit to make sure I sought out therapy as an adult because he knew by that point the people in my life would deserve a break from my constant need to hear myself talk? It could be a lot of things but we really don’t have time for a complete list. However, I did learn a valuable lesson and that was that there were going to be things in life that I wasn’t good at, but had to do anyway (example, I met Lena Dunham at a work event a few years ago and had to pretend to be excited). Challenges like this have ultimately made me a more well-rounded (ish) person. That being said, I sincerely apologize to all those who had to sit through my dance recitals back in the day and had to pretend I had given a Misty Copeland level performance when you saw me afterwards and handed me a congratulatory bouquet. You’re the strongest people I know.

Valentine’s Day is Stupid

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There, I said it! Now, I know that for some people that statement will make you assume that I am a bitter, cynical wildebeest of a person who isn’t capable of feeling love or any other human emotions (You aren’t entirely off base. I’m somewhat emotionally hollow, and after a few carbohydrates can bear a striking resemblance to wildebeests, or really any other creature in the buffalo-ish family). The thing is, I don’t think love is stupid at all, I think it’s beautiful, wonderful, and am fortunate to have a lot of it in my life. I didn’t always feel this way about Valentine’s Day. I used to be pretty indifferent about it, but then Instagram influencers became a thing and suddenly I found myself loathing a whole lot of things I used to not care about at all.

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I’ve started doing something that’s probably not that great for me, and I call that thing “hate reading.” Meaning, I go to the social media accounts of those I loathe and look at all the absolutely terrible things they do and say (also, if you say you never do this, you’re probably, and by probably I mean, definitely a huge liar). This morning, I got up, got some work done, smiled at all the cute photos of significant others and babies people I actually like in real life were posting, reminisced about my favorite gifts of V-Days past (6th grade, my mom got me a t-shirt from Abercrombie and a bottle of what would become my signature scent until 10th grade, Tommy Girl), laughed at a few memes, and consumed way too much coffee, a good, pretty standard Wednesday morning for me, that is until Instagram’s algorithm decided that for, whatever reason, I deserved to suffer.

An “Influencer” I make a very express point of not following, for the sake of my own mental health, had posted a series of photos with her “lover” (Unless you’re Will Ferrel and/or Rachel Dratch, let’s never use this word again, thanks) where they were oh so candidly indulging in unhealthy food (which of course, was nowhere near her actual mouth), with an attached post so badly written (as the person who writes the posts on this blog, I think you can all agree that if I post what I do with some semblance of confidence, and call someone else’s writing terrible, it’s pretty bad). So, I get to the end of this millennial manifesto of a blog post (but not before rolling my eyes, audibly groaning, and saying “calm it down, Rupi Kaur” several times under my breath), and see that the whole thing is literally sponsored by a brand.  I promptly fight the urge to cloak myself in all black, and skulk around New York City informing everyone that love is dead.

Look, I’m not trying to burst anyone’s heart shaped bubble here, but if we’ve gotten to the point where a day that is (allegedly) supposed to be about celebrating the love in our life is just another day where I must suffer through your horribly written, incredibly staged #SponsoredContent and watch other people consume it like it’s some sort of aspirational thing, please, get Valentine’s Day as far away from me as possible. As far as my plans for tonight that you absolutely had no intention of asking about? I’m attending a Soul Cycle class, coming home to indulge in a ridiculously overpriced skincare regimen, and go to bed, as I always do, fervently praying that I never have to see someone use the hashtag #InstaGood ever again.

 

 

 

So, You Think You Speak J.Crew?

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It should come as a surprise to absolutely nobody that kitschy marketing campaigns really aren’t my thing, I have exactly zero patience for them, and quite honestly, I am only capable of showing actual, human emotion about things that involve animals. That being said, recently J.Crew launched a marketing campaign called “Do You Speak J.Crew?” in which they essentially have revealed that they have an in house library (because, of course they do) where they comb through books to come up with the names for colors such as “Casablanca” “Antique Navy” and “Blue Whale.” Honestly, while this type of thing would normally make me audibly groan (okay, so maybe it did) I wouldn’t be able to maintain the “middle aged suburban soccer mom” aesthetic that I’ve worked so hard to build over the years without J.Crew. I also really like Jenna Lyons, and given the rough past few years the brand has had, I worry about what would happen to Jenna should the House of Crew fold. Although, I personally think she could make a killing in Ruth Bader Ginsburg look alike contests, or maybe land a role as a young Notorious RBG in the inevitable upcoming bio pic about her life. Don’t believe me? Seriously, see the below picture. Anyway, moving on.

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I get what J.Crew is trying to do here, however, personally I think they could’ve come up with color names that are more “on brand” and show that they really do know their target audience, so I took the liberty of compiling a list of suggestions.

  • “Nullified Pre Nup Purple”
  • “Gin & Tonic Lime(s) Green”
  • “Adderall Blue”
  • “Temporary Restraining Order Tweed”
  • “Hospitalized for ‘Personal Issues’ Houndstooth”
  • “Trust Fund Teal”
  • “Privileged White”
  • “Worse Case Scenario Wisteria”
  • “Emergency Xanax Ecru”
  • “Second Husband Slate Grey”
  • “Functional Alcoholic Fuchsia”
  • “I Told Him I Was On Birth Control Indigo”
  • “Curated Instagram  Coral”
  • “Delusions of Grandeur Denim”
  • “New York Times Wedding Announcement Navy”

I’ll admit that I do feel like somewhat of a self deprecating hypocrite to be writing a post like this, mocking one of my wardrobe mainstays at this exact moment considering I’m currently wearing a Ralph Lauren button down, an Ann Taylor sweater that has rabbits all over it, grey J.Crew pixie pants, and a pair of Topsiders that desperately need replacing*, but, like I said, my personal brand aesthetic is very much centered around being the type of woman you see at a kid’s soccer game and say “Is there whiskey in that Dunkin Donuts coffee cup? There’s definitely probably whiskey in that Dunkin Donuts coffee cup” (don’t worry mom, there’s not). No shade intended (-ish). Call me Jenna!

*No, you’re not reading my birth date wrong, I am actually 26 years old. 

The Salvation That The World Ignored..

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Don’t worry, the title of this post is definitely not indicative of me writing about anything remotely serious, but make no mistake that what I’m writing about is very important. On June 24, 2015 the Savior of Pop Music, and Canada’s greatest gift to mankind, Carlegendary Slay Jepsaint, known more commonly as Carly Rae Jepsen released her third studio album “E*Mo*Tion.” It was the album that pop music needed, but almost immediately it became clear that it was in no way deserved. Instead of getting behind this 15 track pop tour de force, the world instead allowed people like pastel colored queen of white nonsense Mastodon Trainwreck, known more commonly as Meghan Trainor to slither up the charts. Unforgivable. I, however, won’t continue to stay silent, so naturally, I’m providing you, my (two) readers (Sup? Mom and Dad) with a breakdown/review of my top 4 tracks on this masterpiece.

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  1. Run Away With Me: There has not been a dramatic song intro so critical and culturally relevant since the Zulu chant that preceded “The Circle of Life” at the beginning of The Lion King. If the iconic horns at the beginning of this song don’t make the hair of the back of your neck stand up, you’re either hairless, or deaf. 1000/10 would die for this bop.
  2. E*MO*TION: This song is some type of power b$%&@ anthem. She opens the first verse with “be tormented by me babe” and then commands the (I can only assume) weak man she’s singing to/about to “drink tequila for me babe.” Like OKAY sis! Torment his ass! Haze him with cheap tequila shots! This song is essentially about tricking a man into becoming emotionally vulnerable through torment and liquor, then making him talk about his feelings. Legendary.
  3. Let’s Get Lost: YASSSSS HONEY! LET’S GET LOST! F@#& GOOGLE MAPS! QUEEN OF THE LONG WAY HOME! When the beat dropped in this song I was immediately cleansed of sin, my crops provided a plentiful harvest, and my student loans were paid off in their entirety.*
  4. LA Hallucinations: Honestly there isn’t a song lyric I have found more profound or iconic than “BuzzFeed buzzards and TMZ crows..” Queen of words, metaphors, and imagery.

As IF the gift of this underrated magnum opus wasn’t enough, to celebrate it’s 1 year anniversary, her holiness Carly Rae blessed us with Side B of “E*Mo*Tion” as well. I don’t think I’ll ever quite fully recover from the injustice that is the world widely ignoring what could’ve been the savior of pop music in favor of songs from the human equivalent of stale cotton candy (again, Meghan Trainor) and Charlie Puth’s weird, half shaved, tragic eyebrow. Now, go atone for your sins and #BuyEmotionOniTunes.

*a slight exaggeration

I Find Your Triggers Triggering..

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As a *shudder* Millenial, I know that I should probably “get” the whole concept of “triggers” more than I actually do, but my confusion isn’t completely shocking considering I have, in many respects, the personality of an irritable, 90 year old woman. While I completely understand and recognize the existence of things, situations, etc that are legitimately triggering for some individuals, I have some trouble wrapping my brain around some of the things that a lot of people my age (looking at you, fellow white, privileged, upper middle class twenty-somethings) say “trigger” them. Call me insensitive (you wouldn’t be the first to do so,and I’m certain you won’t be the last), but I just have no sympathy for people that claim they are now “triggered” by mundane things like ice cream because when they were 10, they dropped theirs and it upset them.  That all being said, it would be very out of character for me to pass up the opportunity to complain, so, I’ve decided to compile a list* of things that I personally find to be “triggering.”

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  • Excessive amounts of condiments (if it’s mayonnaise I am twice as triggered)
  • “Vaping”
  • Anything related/having to do with “The Minions”
  • Stray, unidentifiable hairs. This probably stems from the time my mom and I were trapped in a Wyoming Days Inn because of a snow storm, and I found a short, curly hair in my bed, and then another, and another. A scene straight out of the classic fairy tale, “The Princess and The Pube..”
  • People who use the word “squad” and the phrase “squad goals”
  • Anne Coulter
  • Grown adults who put unecessary “-ers” at the end of words. Particularly triggering example? “Yummers”
  • The Bravo series “Gallery Girls” only lasting one season
  • People saying that Beyonce is “overrated”
  • Actual white feminist bridge troll Lena Dunham
  • People who think Lena Dunham is a decent human being
  • The word “journey” when it’s being used to describe anything to do with fashion, or some metaphorical “Eat, Pray, Love” bullshit
  • Speaking of “Eat, Pray, Love” I find Julia Roberts laugh/general existence incredibly triggering.
  • Middle aged women who are really into the “Fifty Shades of Grey” franchise
  • Mouth breathers

*not a complete list

The 5 Facebook Friends You Definitely Have..

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At this point, I’m not really sure why I still have Facebook at all to be honest, considering I almost exclusively use it to look at pictures of myself from high school to remember that it can always be (and definitely was) worse, watch political/social justice arguments unfold, and get meager amounts of validation from my parents. Other than that, I just keep my account out of habit, and to attempt to balance out the human garbage persona I’ve built for myself on Twitter. That being said, I’ve noticed that a lot of my Facebook friends fall into five categories, and whether you want to admit it or not, yours probably do too. So, if you’re willing to endure this BuzzFeed-esque listicle, you can find out exactly what these five types of friends are, and all the reasons they annoy the absolute shit out of me (don’t even, you knew that was going to be a part of this).

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  1. The Political Expert: Equally annoying whether they’re coming from either side, and generally very easily provoked. More than likely this is either a distant relative, or somebody you went to high school with and haven’t seen since (bonus points if it’s the parent of somebody you went to high school with). They are always right, and tend to be about as reasonable as a toddler who is being weened off of their pacifier. Usually only come out of the woodwork during an election year, or during national tragedies.
  2. The VagueBooker: There’s ALWAYS something monumentally tragic going on in the VagueBooker’s life, at least, by their own definition. Very rarely does the VagueBooker have something actually tragic occurring, such as a death in the family, loss of a job, illness, etc. the more than likely  scenario is that they have been, at best, temporarily and minorly inconvenienced. The VagueBooker really chaps my ass because they always just post things like “Really going through it right now, send good vibes please” and “Prayers” without any details (I would imagine that’s due to the fact that what they’re usually “going through” can fall into the category of “first world problems”). I get that some things are personal, but if it’s that personal, why are you posting about it on the internet at all? What is the return on my “good vibes” and “prayers” investment? There’s no such thing as a free lunch, you’re going to have to give me some details.
  3. The Oversharer: The Oversharer is the ANTITHESIS of the VagueBooker, but equally as irritating. The Oversharer tends to do things like “check in” at the doctor and find it necessary to let you know their getting a colonoscopy, post statuses like “SO DONE” that are followed up with an over detailed description of a very personal fight they’ve had with their spouse, etc. If the Oversharer in your life has children, you probably (unwillingly) know how many shits said children have taken this week.
  4. The Pedestrian: Has the overwhelming compulsion to post a new status anytime they literally do anything. You know what this person is doing every step of the way, and by noon, you are aware that they have “grabbed coffee” (and where they grabbed it), filled up their tank with gas (and what music they were listening to on the way to the gas station), and arrived at their desk (and, if you’re anything like me, rolled your eyes at their accompanying “on my grind” hashtag). The Pedestrian either doesn’t know Twitter exists, or is older and is overwhelmed by the prospect of taking on another Social Media channel (don’t worry, they’ll probably get one 3 years from now). Fun fact, my mom got a Twitter before I did and I mocked her by saying “Who the f$%& would want a social network that was just a constant stream of Facebook statuses?” the joke was definitely on me.
  5. The Wine Mom: BIG fan of inspirational quotes, puns, and slightly naughty/sassy references to their spouse, kids, and of course, wine. They joke with their friends about things like bringing White Zinfandel (which they probably refer to as “white zin”) to playdates, and love posting pictures of wine with captions like “I drink wine because the doctor said I shouldn’t keep things bottled up!” The wine mom is generally harmless, and much like your actual mother doesn’t really bug you unless she goes off on some sort of preachy tangent.

I guess I just yearn for the days when Facebook was simpler, and I had to create a fake college email as a high school freshman to be able to join. Instead, I’m now living in a time where someone was able to share a post from “Minions Quotes” that was then able to find it’s way int0 my newsfeed (without any sort of trigger warning), and, quite frankly, after that, all I really have to say is, I’ll see you in Hell, Mark  Zuckerberg.

 

Flashback Friday: The Suspect Wore Louboutins

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If you’ve had even the most minimal of interactions with me, you are probably aware of my affinity and love for all things reality television. When I say reality television, I don’t mean “I enjoy Top Chef and The Amazing Race,” no, I mean “I can recite Teresa Giudice’s entire monologue from the iconic Danielle Staub provoked table flip scene from Real Housewives of New Jersey.” Unfortunately, when your love for trash runs as deeply as mine, you’re often faced with the devastating predicament of the shows you’re so fond of only lasting 1-2 seasons. It happened with MTV’s “Fat Camp,” and then again with Bravo’s “NYC Prep” and “Gallery Girls,” but none of these shows were, for me, gone too soon as E!’s “Pretty Wild.”

The show followed the Neiers sisters, Tess (who is actually adopted, her last name is Taylor), Alexis, Gabby, and their mother Andrea, who in my opinion, was the breakout star of this series’ one magical season. The two older girls are both “pursuing modeling careers” which back in 2010 I rolled my eyes at, but hey, Kendall Jenner is on the cover of the September Issue of VOGUE, so, anything is possible I guess. Gabby honestly wasn’t that memorable,  mostly because she didn’t get in trouble, and the biggest drama surrounding her was her decision to stop being homeschooled and start attending public high school. Yawn.

I feel like it’s important to note that the girl’s mother centered her homeschool curriculum (I use the words “school” and “curriculum” VERY loosely here) around the book, “The Secret.” If you’re unfamiliar, “The Secret” is a self help book (based on a movie, so, you know, completely credible) and the premise is basically that you get back whatever type of “energy” you put into the world. For context, let’s just say if I had to guess, Spencer Pratt was probably super into this book during his “crystals” phase. She also wakes the girls up by screeching “GIRLS! IT’S TIME FOR YOUR ADDERALL!” she’s literally Amy Poehler’s character in ‘Mean Girls’ brought to life.

The drama came to a peak (this is like episode 2-3 by the way) when the LAPD showed up at their house, demanded Andrea “contain her dogs” (aka like 4 unidentifiable toy dogs; this was mid 2000s Los Angeles after all) and asked that the cameras be shut off. We find out later that she was a part of the “Bling Ring” aka the group that stole from Orlando Bloom, Audrina Patridge, and most notably, Paris Hilton. Naturally, Andrea and the other girls act like Alexis has been unjustly detained and spend hours hysterically crying outside the LA County Jail. Eventually Nelson Mandela, I mean, Alexis, is released and they all weep, hug, and have one of their bullshit energy prayer circles or whatever.

Now, let’s get to the most iconic part of the entire series aka the Nancy Jo Sales phone call. Alexis is PUMPED because she’s approached by Nancy Jo about doing an interview about all the Bling Ring legal drama for Vanity Fair. She’s all giddy and excited because (allegedly) Nancy Jo gives off the impression that the article is going to paint Alexis in a positive light, redeem her, show that she was just a victim of falling in with bad friends, blah blah. Spoiler Alert! The article doesn’t even do that a little bit, like nowhere close, literally could not even be interpreted that way. Naturally, the whole fam gathers to confront NJ over the phone,  they get her voicemail, and proceed to make several attempts to leave her a scathing message, but between Alexis’s cry-talking/screaming and Andrea intermittently, randomly yelling “YOU LIED!” into the phone, I’m not sure if they ever succeeded to be honest.

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It wasn’t until Kimberly Noel Kardashian-West exposed Taylor Swift in July 2016 via Snapchat that I’ve been so invested in a piece of investigatory journalism as I was Nancy Jo’s Vanity Fair article. Honestly I don’t think I’ll ever be completely over the fact that the show that partially inspired “The Bling Ring” only got one season,  but, I suppose that when you strike reality television gold within the first season, it’s sometimes best to just cash out and go home (or, as the case may be, to Paris Hilton’s house). I’m not completely sure what the Neiers sisters and mother of the century Andre are up to these days, but I imagine that they’re probably in a West Hollywood bar somewhere, talking about how Alexis helped to launch Emma Watson’s career or something equally ridiculous.

We Need To Talk About Statement Necklaces

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If there’s one word I feel pretty safe omitting from the “Adjectives to Describe Grace’s Personal Style” list, it’s “trendy.” This probably has something (everything) to do with the fact that you can usually find me dressed like a suburban, Connecticut soccer mom, who “maybe, probably, most definitely” has Gin in her Dunkin Donuts coffee cup. The only exception to this tends to be on more formal occasions, when I instead choose to take my style cues from rich, older, Upper East Side widows. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not anti trend, I’m just self aware enough to know that while some people might look chic in a pair of adult overalls, I’m more than likely going to fall somewhere in between “First Grader with a Thyroid Problem” and “House Painter.” That being said, there is one trend I just can’t wrap my head around, and that is the Statement Necklace.

I know what you’re thinking, Statement Necklaces, aren’t exactly new, so maybe they don’t fall under the whole “trend” umbrella, maybe they really have withstood the test of time. This is exactly why I consider them to be the herpes of the accessories world; even if they aren’t everywhere/all up in your face like they were in 2009/2010, all it takes is an accidental trip into the jewelry section of Target to be cast down into Bubble Necklace Hell. Would I classify myself as completely anti statement jewelry? No, in fact, I’m not being dramatic at all when I say that I would literally die for Madeline Albright’s pin collection, but as far as people trying to pass off giant collars comprised entirely of bright chunks of plastic/shards of glass as “chic” and “fashion forward?”

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Maybe it’s because I just don’t get wanting to “glam up” a t-shirt and jeans ensemble with what essentially appears to be the grown up version of those spray paint dry pasta necklaces children make in pre school. If I’m in casual clothing, you can bet the last thing I’m going to do is hang an art deco albatross around my neck. The more likely scenario is me trying to blend in with the shadows like the soulless, pale vampire my makeup-less face and the doughnut glaze stain on my shirt suggest I am.

At the end of the day, apart from the aesthetic assault the majority of these pieces of neon hued nightmare jewelry inflict on me, I think the name is really just what makes my eyes roll all the way into the back of my head. Exactly what “statement” are you trying to make? That you have the word(s) “classy” “belle” and/or “sassy” somewhere in your Social Media handle(s)? That you’re the type of person who’s favorite cocktail is Diet Coke with Vodka (it’s absolutely not a cocktail by the way, it’s high school/freshman year of college desperation, don’t get it twisted)? That you’ve referred to yourself as a “future housewife” at some point, and were completely serious?

Please, enlighten me! Just what is your giant, brightly colored, gaudy neckwear trying to tell me? Because the only thing it’s communicating to me, before you even open your mouth, is that it’s incredibly likely that I am going to find you absolutely insufferable.

Hello, It’s Me..

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It’s been awhile since I’ve had the time to even really think much about this blog (literally though, I had to reset my password just now..). My real life job got really busy, plus Adele’s new album came out, which rendered me pretty much emotionally crippled and non functional for a few weeks, so, you understand.

I could catch you up on everything that has happened in my life since the VMAs, but that would put all of us, including me, to sleep (and I took an Adderall this morning so that’s saying something) so instead I’m gonna go ahead and fill you in on the most important things that have happened since I last abused the internet with my non-sensical ramblings.

The Love of my Life, the Paris to my Nicole, Benjamin came to New York for a visit..

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All you really need to know about this reunion is that our first stop was the DASH Store in SoHo to purchase matching beanies. We then proceeded to walk to Benny’s Burritos in the West Village while shouting “DASH DOLL REALNESS” at people on the street. The rest of that day was spent throwing shade, and reminiscing about simpler times, like the night we refer to as our “Ke$ha Night” where we concluded an evening puking bright pink vomit, thanks to the high class bottle of Peach flavored Andre Champagne we had consumed a few hours before. Aaaah, youth*

Basically the next few days were spent doing pretty much some sort of variation of that day’s activities. That is until Monday, which was Ben’s last night in town. Anyone who knows me (us) knows I (we) am (are) a total slut for any and all of the Real Housewives franchises, but Atlanta holds a special (ie: ratchet) place in my heart. Maybe it’s because I also grew up in the peach state, or maybe I just really appreciate some good old fashioned wig snatching, shade throwing, and tea spilling, either way I am an absolute hoe for RHOA.

So, most of these ladies, in addition to their “work” on the show, have other “business” ventures. You have such entrepreneurial endeavors as “She by Sheree” and Kandi’s music career (rip). Then you have NeNe Leakes, who you may remember from the iconic moment in history when she referred to Kim Zolciak-Biermann simply as “wig.” What is NeNe doing with her time these days you ask? Oh, you know, casually joining the cast of “Chicago” as Matron “Mama” Morton. So, what do two cultured divas do with a free Monday night in Manhattan? They obviously buy (overpriced) tickets, and pre game at a Blockheads down the street.

Let me just hit you with a few highlights from that evening..

  • NeNe’s “When You’re Good to Mama” performance. Ya’ll I kid you not when I say I was brought to life by this performance, not because there was any real vocal talent involved, but mostly because I can clearly picture NeNe singing it to Greg in real life after he brings her a frozen daiquri poolside. Also a fun fact, I literally screamed “YASSS MISS LEAKES SNATCH MY DAMN WIG!” at the end of the performance.
  • NeNe looking bored the rest of the show, and her reactions to things other cast members were doing. I want a set of emojis entirely made from her facial expressions during Chicago, and then I want said set of emojis tattooed on me, that’s how priceless they were.
  • I am pretty sure the cast in it’s entirety was wasted, messy boots ya’ll, believe you me. Luckily, the people in the audience who had come to see an actual Broadway musical were all European tourists who didn’t know WTF was happening anyway, and Ben and I literally only came to see NeNe, so, it all worked out.

Flash forward to after the show, I hustled my ass to that stage door faster than I have done just about anything in my entire 25 years on the planet earth. My program was ready to be signed, my phone was ready to take selfies, my wig was ready to be snatched. So, NeNe comes out, and I #expose myself the minute she walks up to me, nervously (shouting) “I was the bitch that screamed ‘Yasss Miss Leakes snatch my damn wig!’ at the end of ‘When You’re Good to Mama..” She gives me her best “this white bitch” face and says “You tweeted that at me to, didn’t ya?” RIP me.

12301649_10205311815091125_7002576338040755576_n.jpgA fun fact about this #iconic photograph we took is that I am actually planning on having it commissioned as an oil painting at some point to hang in my home. After all, can you really describe it as anything but modern art? No, I didn’t think so. 

So there you have it, the most exciting thing to happen to me in 2015 (and maybe forever, I hear you get pretty attached to a baby if you have one, and apparently getting married is pretty cool, but I can promise it’ll at least be in the top 5 for the rest of my life). Also, I promise to update this bad boy more often, if I ever go radio silent again, go ahead an assume that I’ve fulfilled my dream of becoming a B-list celebrity, and I’m being hospitalized for “exhaustion” and/or “personal issues.”

*low standards and even lower budgets