Tag: Lifestyle

Oops!…I Did It Again

Leave a comment

Before the one person that actually checks to see if I’ve updated this blog (Hi Mom!) tries to come for my wig over the lack of posting, let me plead my case, as there are several legitimate (at least in my eyes) reasons why I stopped writing here. (Sadly, none of them involve fulfilling my lifelong dream of becoming a C-List celebrity that has been hospitalized for “exhaustion” and/or “personal issues”).

  1. Work. Can you believe that actually performing well at work requires time and effort? The tiny entitled, insufferable Millenial that lives inside me finds this astoundingly disrespectful and rude, but real life me mostly finds it exhausting. Honestly, once my day is over I have little energy to do much more than order Seamless and watch half a Law and Order: SVU episode before passing out face down in whatever packaging my food came wrapped in.
  2. On April 23, 2016, Beyonce Giselle Knowles-Carter Dropped Her Visual Album “Lemonade.” No explanation necessary, as I can only assume that everyone else reading this was also left as bald headed/temporarily robbed of their fine motor skills as I was.
  3. Calvin Harris blocked me on Twitter, so I obviously had to find time to adjust to my status as a professional A-List Celebrity Shit Poster. Following the release of the totally organic not at all staged photos of Taylor Swift and Tom Hiddleston canoodling on a Rhode Island beach (which somehow managed to look more like photos of a man taking his aging nana to the shore than anything romantic) a mere 2 weeks after her breakup with Calvin, I tweeted the World’s Highest Paid DJ the following..Screen Shot 2016-07-16 at 2.24.27 PMScreen Shot 2016-07-16 at 2.24.15 PM Screen Shot 2016-07-16 at 2.32.41 PM
  4. I HAD AN IDENTITY CRISIS OKAY?! 

giphy.gif

For awhile I ignored this blog because I had absolutely no idea what I wanted to write about, and while I totally recognize that this blog was always destined to be a bit of a clusterf%#$ I still wanted to have some sort of consistency theme wise. Now that I have that a bit more narrowed down, I’ll be having you all saying “WTF? Why is Grace like this?!” a lot more often..

So, in conclusion, I will be more consistent with posting about the things I’m truly passionate about (ie: commenting on CeLeBriTy dRaMa, reality television, early/mid-2000’s pop culture, and bitching about all the weird things that annoy me). I promise, and not in a “Scott Disick promising for the millionth time he’s going to sober up” kind of way, but like, actually.

Hello, It’s Me..

Leave a comment

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..

12346427_10205289434571626_1814258232215424451_n

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

That Time I Planted Crops in My Ear..

Leave a comment

                                      1936204_1138663663020_3377084_n

Sometimes I have to wonder if the combination of my parent’s DNA resulted in an actual, functioning human child, or something more akin to a genetic science experiment where *something* went a little bit wrong. Everyone makes questionable choices when they’re older, but I apparently decided, I being the tiny, mom jean wearing, drunk adult pictured above, to start making them early. Allow me to elaborate further.

Out at a movie one night (The Prince of Egypt) with my dad and brother, I got bored (I guess the animated story of Moses just wasn’t really grabbing me). After bored-eating an inhumane amount of popcorn (a practice I still keep up to this day #consistency) I decided that it would be fun to stick the kernels in my ears and then dig them back out. I know, but to answer your question, no, I hadn’t accidentally/intentionally ingested any Crystal Meth. After a few successful rounds of this weird ass game, the kernel didn’t come back out. Knowing that my parent’s reaction would be less than stellar, I chose to keep this to myself, figuring that nothing “bad” could really happen from me sticking corn into my ear.

Cut to me taking a bath post movie, completely submerging my head, and successfully watering the harvest I had just planted. Not long after, s#$& started to hurt, almost like something was trying to sprout and root itself to my ear drum. I know, weird, right? I finally had to confess to my parents, and they took me to urgent care where the only thing accomplished was the doctor making my eardrum bleed. This clown concluded that my bath had “softened” the miniature replica of the “Signs” movie set I had built in the side of my head, and that it would probably just dissolve on it’s own.

Fast forward three days later (aka Christmas, can’t imagine why my parents were pissed off at me about all this) and apparently it’s harvest time, because it feels like someone is driving a tractor down my ear canal. My mom takes me to the ER where, yet again, nothing gets accomplished because anytime someone looks in the general direction of my ear (just looking, not inspecting, touching, examining, literally ) I scream like I’m being savagely beaten. They send me home, and make an appointment for me to see an ear, nose, and throat doctor two days later.

December 27th, 1997 is the day I now like to lovingly refer to as my “Exorcism Day” because apparently, the doctor at urgent care was right, my bath did soften the kernel, but instead of “dissolving” it, it just broke into pieces that were now rattling around in my head. It took four nurses to pin me down while this sadistic SOB ENT doctor shoved a camera and a vacuum down my ear, finally freeing the tiny pieces of kernel from the bastille that was my head. To the nurse I scratched and bit during my exorcism, sorry girl.

So there you have it, another tale to file away in the “But, like, Grace is actually the weirdest person I’ve ever met..” evidence box I’m sure you all keep, at least mentally. I’d also like to think that this incident is the reason I can’t really do a whole lot of math past a second/third grade level, but I’m no scientist.

The Things We’d Actually #ShareADietCoke With..

Leave a comment

diet-coke

It might shock you to discover that I am not someone who is all that impacted by the feel good campaigns that brands tend to run in order to make our world a better place*. Obviously I’m kidding about that shocking you, anyone who has spent more than a few minutes with me knows that unless it deals with animals, I don’t care, and more often than not perky ad campaigns will just leave me feeling nauseous.

Case in point: Coca Cola’s #ShareACoke campaign, which encourages consumers to Share a Diet Coke with BFF, VIP, a couple hundred really random first names, Mom, Dad, the winky “DTF? slash U Up?” emoticon etc. Maybe it’s because I never found my name (#StillBitter), or just because I find the premise ridiculous, but I’ve taken the liberty to compile a list of things that most people are more likely to #ShareADietCoke with.

#ShareADietCoke with Delusions of Grandeur

#ShareADietCoke with Your Abandonment Issues

#ShareADietCoke with Self Loathing

#ShareADietCoke with that “I forgot to take my Birth Control” Panic Attack

#ShareADietCoke with that Plan B Pill

#ShareADietCoke with those Wine Induced Texts You Sent Last Night

#ShareADietCoke with Your Hangover

#ShareADietCoke with Commitment Issues

#ShareADietCoke with Your False Sense of Entitlement 

#ShareADietCoke with That Think Piece You Just Read

#ShareADietCoke with Curated Social Media Accounts 

#ShareADietCoke with That Super Informative Buzz Feed Quiz You Just Took

#ShareADietCoke with the “Still Watching?” Message on Netflix

#ShareADietCoke with Sallie Mae

#ShareADietCoke with the Downfall of JCrew

#ShareADietCoke with Your Seamless Delivery Guy

#ShareADietCoke with that Person from High School you’re stalking on Social Media

#ShareADietCoke with Your Fleeting Mortality

#ShareADietCoke with Your Tinder Matches

Just kidding about that last one, you’re never sober around those!

*sell their products

A Few Choice Words regarding Kitten Heels..

2 Comments

unnamed

Where do they get off? Look, I get it, the fifty-something, sad divorcee crowd needs a shoe to cram their cankles into when they’re heading to their local California Pizza Kitchen for yet another E-Harmony date, but they have absolutely no business on the feet of any individual under the age of 45.

Kitten Heels were developed (by Lucifer) in the 1950’s, and since most fashion trends from that time period are dead, it’s pretty disturbing that people are still trying to pass them off as legitimate footwear. Also, the name couldn’t be any worse, I mean, Kitten Heels? The phrase makes my skin crawl, almost as much as the words “moist” and “panties” (don’t worry, that chill that just crawled up your spine? I felt it too).

One of the biggest arguments for Kitten Heels is made by tall girls who don’t want to tower over everyone around them, but still want to wear a heel and s#$%. Here’s a newsflash, if you’re already really tall, a couple inches added by a pair of pumps isn’t going to be something I notice. What I am going to notice is the creepy baby heels you’re wearing look like the should come with a complimentary set of varicose veins.

The other argument for these atrocities is that they are more comfortable than their taller, more legitimate counterpart. Guess what? Those blisters will fade, and chances are you’ll be too intoxicated to realize that they’re there until you sober up the next day, but do you know what won’t fade? Wearing shoes that make you look like the type of girl that claps and says “Yay!” when her pancakes arrive at brunch. Either way I’m going to be judging you, because you’re in Kitten Heels, and because we both know you consumed plenty of calories in liquid form the night before.

Some might say that my anger and disgust for Kitten Heels is excessive and misplaced, after all, “they’re just shoes.” If you’re spending your time psychoanalyzing my hatred for a particular genre of footwear, you should probably find a hobby, and then remember we’re discussing shoes that get their name from an animal that takes it’s s%&*$ in a box.

It takes a lot to get me to commit to something, and there aren’t that many cases in which I choose to do so. Exceptions include, my job, ordering iced coffee even when it isn’t seasonally appropriate, refilling my Adderall prescription, and avoiding the bars in my hometown like a rampant case of herpes when I’m visiting my parents.

There’s another area of my life I choose to make definite commitments in, and that’s footwear. There are heels, and then there are flats, heels are generally always appropriate, unless I’m scraping myself off of my bed on a Saturday morning long enough to go out and get food, then I’ll throw on a pair of flats. What I’m not going to do is put on a pair of shoes that make it look like I’m being held up by two infant thumbs, and you shouldn’t either.

TBT: RHOC Season One

Leave a comment

                                    rhoc-cast-s1

Close your eyes and take a journey with me, no, not some awful breakup induced spiritual journey, but one back to the year 2005. A lot went down in ’05; Brangelina was born, Dina and Michael Lohan finally got divorced, and Prince Harry went to a Halloween party casually dressed as a Nazi.

Perhaps the most monumental event of 2005 came when Bravo/Andy Cohen bestowed upon us perhaps the greatest blessing in reality television history, known to most plebeians as The Real Housewives franchise. As soon as the gates to Coto de Caza opened, I was hooked (and wondering when the f%$& Kirsten Cohen was going to show up). I don’t know why I was so enthralled with these women, after all, they were old as s@#^ and didn’t really “do” anything, but something about the fact that they fought like Middle Schoolers really grabbed me.

On a recent Saturday, when I was operating at what I like to refer as a “diminished capacity” and had no plans to move anytime soon, so I decided to watch RHOC from the beginning, please don’t ask me why. Not two seconds into the intro and I found myself saying “What the actual Hell?” Who had dressed these women? Someone had to pay for all the ill fitting tops and flare jeans I was seeing, justice had to be served. Not long after, I fell asleep face down in a Taco Bell Crunchwrap Supreme wrapper and forgot all about it, until now. So in honor of #ThrowbackThursday I’m going to dissect the outfits the women of S1 wore in their intro, because first impressions are everything (which means I’m screwed, but whatever).

Vicki: As much as I’d love to cut Vicki some slack for entertaining me with her bat shit crazy antics in later seasons, I just can’t. This is mostly due to the fact that I would feel less threatened by someone trying to rob me at knife point then I do by her impending camel toe. Also, I don’t understand her top, and I won’t respond to it.

Jo: There isn’t much I can say about Jo in this get up, it did however serve as a nice reminder that she wasn’t always a human Bratz Doll.

Lauri: Lauri is the type of woman who goes into Forever 21 with her teenage daughter, and ends up only buying things for herself. No explanation necessary.

Jeana: Clearly Jeana thought that some weird, dream catcher statement necklace would make us forget that she has the worst bangs in the history of bangdom (actually,wait, that might be me circa 1995-2003). Bangs and atrocious necklace aside, the cap sleeves on her top make me so nervous I feel like I might pee myself when I see them.

Kimberly: I know, who the hell is Kimberly? She only survived one season, probably because she was so boring/irrelevant, but judging from her leopard print top, it could be she just ran off to join The Cheetah Girls.

As much as the OC Housewives and I have grown apart over the years thanks to more interesting cast members from other places (ie: Kim Richards, Milania Giudice, and Kelly Bensimon) I will be forever in their debt for letting Bravo film them throwing wine on each other, thus paving the way for the Beverly Hills, Atlanta, New Jersey, and New York housewives, and though their outfits circa S1 may make me cringe, I’ll always think of them when I hear the line “I’m not like, a regular mom, I’m a cool mom!”

A Strongly Worded Letter to My Eyebrows..

Leave a comment

Dear Eyebrows,

I wasn’t always so aware of you, you furry little bastards. There was a blissful period of my life where I wasn’t clued in to the fact that there were two thick, wool socks permanently stuck to the area above my eyes. But, nothing good can ever really last, can it? The fact that Pretty Wild only lasted one season is definitive proof of that fact.

I’ll never forget riding in the car with my dad around age 12, when out of nowhere, he turned to me and said, “We have to do something about those Fu Manchu eyebrows of yours.”  Per my default response to my parents for most of the early 2000’s, I rolled my eyes and muttered “whatever.” I got you waxed, and as with every other aspect of my appearance didn’t really give a s$%& about you again until high school.*

Recently I discovered that you both grow up, not out like you’re supposed to. Instead you choose to grow more in the direction that a box topiary does. I would imagine this is due to the fact that I shaved you off around age 6, but I honestly don’t thank that constitutes this level of betrayal.

Why can’t you behave more like my mother’s eyebrows? Due to a combination of her OCD over-plucking and scowling she was able to create a hostile forehead situation where no hair grows anymore. Prominent brows are in you say? Cool, but you two look more Sloth from The Goonies than Cara Delevingne. Take several seats.

I don’t even know why I bother with you anymore, honestly. Despite the waxing, and the constant plucking, you still insist on growing like an invasive plant species. I guess there really isn’t anything else left to say, except that I’m sure I’ll take about you in therapy someday.

Regrettably Yours,

Grace

*college, if we’re being honest

1 Comment

                                          11745547_10204579652827526_2663099797721525342_n

I’ve known I wanted to start blogging for awhile, not about anything in particular, but I suppose if I was forced to describe my personal brand it would be a hybrid lifestyle blog full of cynicism, delusions of grandeur, an ever so light sprinkling of sarcasm, and more than likely an overabundance of reality television/pop culture references.

I feel like those elements make the above picture a perfect introduction. That dime piece holding the parasol? That’s me circa 1998, having just participated in a Parisian themed ballet recital. Anyone who’s ever seen Dance Moms will clearly be able to see that I’m more of an Abby Lee Miller than a Maddie Ziegler, and anyone with eyes, Dance Moms savant or not, can see that ballet probably wasn’t my “thing.”

Yet despite the fact that my dancing showed about as much promise as your aunt’s drunken performance to FloRida’s “Low” at your Bat Mitzvah, I took it until I was 17, because I’m convinced my parents had children so they would have free, albeit terrible entertainment.

Honestly, Twitter is my usual platform for spewing my nonsensical ramblings about the Real Housewives franchise, avocados, my short lived (yet somehow way too long) career as a ballerina, other people’s fashion choices, and a whole bunch of other random absurdities. Twitter cages me in though, at 140 characters I can’t really say everything I want to say about these very important topics, and like Miley Cyrus, I can’t be tamed.

I’d close this out with something like “So come on this journey with me..” but the word “journey” is way too “Eat, Pray, Love” and Julia Roberts is the worst, so instead I’ll leave you with some immortal words from the one and only NeNe Leakes.. “Bye Wig!”