Blah,Blah,Blahg

WANTED: FRIENDS-ONLY LITERATE MAY APPLY...

I am still ruminating about my brunch and so called 'friends' (I can say that about my only two friends because I know they don't read my blahg and I feel free to talk smack when I know no one knows I am doing it.)

Anyways, this is what is bothering me.  First, they are more new-'agey' than I am.  I am about as New age as the Stone age if you catch my drift, I think that self-help books are brilliant for their marketing but they annoy me more than girls that can eat all they want and never gain weight.  So these 'friends' wanted to hear about my new job and since they don't read my blahg they were surprised when I said I work for a terrorist.  They thought I had developed some sort of instant racism when they found out that my boss could be considered for ethnic profiling, "No, he's an emotional terrorist"  I thought I was talking their lingo, jiving with the girls, but they looked shocked. When pressed for examples, I gave them a laundry load and they both screwed their pretty little faces and said, "So why don't you just leave?"  Wha?  Who are these people?  What kinda life do they lead?  Do they actually have emergency savings accounts or saving accounts period?  "I am not in a position to do so at this moment," was my answer.  They went on and on if they were me what they would do.  If they were me, they would have to stay at a job that kills them because their Fancy is in school, they would have no inheritance or family financial aid and they would have to stomach the reality of the situation.  If they were me they would have to be on medication to keep them from checking door knobs and pilot lights, etc. and have a bad hair cut. 

I don't need advice such as 'why don't you leave?'  I need my peeps to understand that leaving is not a viable option and to join me in my Pity Party, help me brainstorm the anti-self help book those kinda things.  Anyways, I am already running late as it takes me hours to look 'natural' these days.  I will be sure to expound on that subject another day....

SHE BANGS...

I went to brunch with my 2 best friends and my best friends' best friend-a homophobic gay man -J.  I don't usually brunch, nor do I usually see my friends.  I was quite surprised actually to find out I still had any.  My list of requirements for friendship is quite low but very focused.  My main requirement is that if I should become suddenly homeless that they would offer me and my dog a sofa to use until I become un-homeless.  I think this is very important and if I feel this is not an option then the friendship is revoked.  The other requirement is that they must feel comfortable that I am basically a shut-in, sort of like the unibomber without the bomber thing attached.  I am available once every six months for the most amusing 4 hours of the year and yes, if they needed a place to stay should they become suddenly homeless 'mi casa su casa'.  That's pretty much it, the rest is just icing on the 'ol cake of life, like the fact that they think I am funny.  I used to be the 'pretty' friend in my youth, slowly I became the 'stylish' friend (hide flaws with good clothes and shoes), now as life progresses I will take the 'amusing' friend role, as long as they are laughing with me and not at me I'm fine. 

I do want to mention no one had said anything about my 'Moe' bangs.  Now  this is a very drastic hair 'don't ' and I would think it would have caused tire screeching and comments along the lines of "uh-oh, what have you done now?"  Instead no one mentioned it, which was perhaps a way to make me feel more comfortable but in fact illicited the reverse feeling of comfort.  I finally mentioned it to Candace, "Did you notice my hair?", she suddenly needed to sip her coffee and divert her eyes and with her thumb and forefinger pinched together I heard a mumble, "A little short".  Why this bothered me so much I don't know.  They are short and I expect my friends to tell me things like you have something in your teethe, or you're drinking too much or your pants are too tight, I dunno, but I guess it bothered me because it's not something I could solve with a toothpick, A.A, or  sweatpants, they are going to have to grow back and it's going to take some time, maybe that's why they weren't mentioned in the first place.  I have decided to expand my list to include--'my friends need to be good liars in inordinately awkward situations that are out of ones control.'  That's not asking for too much, right?

THE WRITINGS ON THE WALL....

I saw these first signs on a bathroom wall and found them quite amusing and then I thought that perhaps you may find them amusing as well.  Also, if I tried to explain them I would get that dull vacant look when I try to explain things or better still if I hit the right pitch then I would get that look that reads 'this nut is a big fibber' (yeah, I know you know that look).

The best part was that the above sign was found in the loo of a very swank publication (I dare not name).  Can you imagine asking your co-workers to use a tissue and then wash their hands afterwards?  I've only been at my job a couple months, but I can't imagine asking anyone but my immediate family to do something like that and they would probably ask me if I have been skipping my O.C.D. medication again.

What's weirder the below sign, or that I am some random lunatic taking photo's in the ladies loo?

I think this would make a very cool t-shirt for some irreverent hipster type.  If you look closely those are not suds my friends but little vicious germ monsters.

Do you think the luxury brand that has hired me to be the public face of their company would be horrified to find out that I spend my time contemplating things like the above and have the audacity/insanity to let the world know?  How much does one get on the dole anyway? (For those that don't know the 'dole' is a very affected/effected way of saying welfare). 

I really liked this last image below, for one it meant I didn't have to spend time in a public bathroom and for two I felt it was almost prophetic, as if saying 'You Miss B.are going to heaven in a handbasket' as opposed to the other more popular version of the saying which isn't as nice.  I am planning on doing something with the image that will garner great fan fare and acclaim.  I will go on Oprah and let her know how I saw the signs and they changed my life....

WELCOME TO MY PITY PARTY!

I have been very conscious of not using my 'blahg' as a dumping ground for my emotional basket case of an existence, but when I was on the plane from NYC last night I decided that maybe if I shared some of my inner turmoil that perhaps I may be able to have guests attend my Pity Party.  You see, I feel awful when I complain because I have a roof over my head, food in my belly, a perfect (for me) love, my health, well, physical (mental could be disputed).  My middle class dilemmas seem so lame in the grand scheme of things but unfortunately (or fortunately) this is my life and I am going to spill my beans because maybe someone out there is as neurotic as myself and is feeling like no one understands them or you can read this and let out a sigh of relief that your life is so much better than mine.  So just like that my little ditty of a blahg is going to go from D.I.Y to C.R.Y and then some.  Don't feel sorry for me, I already feel plenty sorry for myself.

So my boss, the devil, uhm, no that's too kind, shoot, what if I get Googled and then he knows my true feelings?  Okay, my 'friend's' boss sent me to New York (isn't that what all your friend's bosses do?), and really it's NOT as glamorous as it sounds.  I will tell you ALL about it when I have recovered from the actual trip.  Now I need to tell you about my flight last night because it was particularly bananas:

I don't know why I am so easily annoyed, but I just am. Why would it bother me on a cross country flight that my seat mate would decide to play marathon air keyboard the entire time?  I know this shouldn't have bothered me and I tried to ignore him but I kept getting glimpses of his blur of fingers in my peripheral vision, why this made me want to break his knuckles was beyond me.  The real proverbial cherry on top was the snack that people were buying for this five plus hour flight--TUNA.  Yes, TUNA, who thought this was a good idea?  Is the person that suggested this snack and got the thumbs up still a part of the snack picking team?  I mean, I am no snack expert per se, but even I would know better than to have tuna ordered for a 3,000 mile flight in a metal encased thing with recycled air. Lest you think I am making this stuff up (I really am not that creative), I took a photo of the offending snack for posterity:

I apologize for the shoddy photography, I wasn't sure if flash was allowed in-flight and didn't want to risk that photo documentation of said bad snack idea was prohibited. 

Anyways, back to me, just Joshin', I miss you all really I do...

GOODWILL BLOGGING...

I have come to the grand conclusion that being a good blogger consists of a couple very basic concepts that I have yet to grasp.  The biggest one by far being the ability to remember ones password and/or email adddress used to open said blogging apparatus when ones computer has crashed and erased all the saved passwords that one couldn't be bothered to remember previously being there was some sort of blind faith in technology and the idea that Macs never crashed therefore safe for never having to remember anything (except every shoe and handbag designers names and collections by heart).  The other is time.  I am not talking commitment because one here is committed (or some may believe should be committed), but t-i-m-e.  I believe the best bloggers actually get to take a break at work making it possible to blog or best case scenario can actually blog during work hours without being detected OR are not so tired after work that they need toothpicks on their eyelids to stay open.  There are also the lucky bloggers that are self-employed and can find time to sneak in some witty repertoire.  I seem to not fall into any good blogging skill category, which I must apologize for in advance as my blogging has been so sporadic. 

Does it count that I have thought of you all daily?  That I have had a million ideas to share with you?  Well, it's true, I miss you and I can't wait to blab about my now side design business as Bella Bella has had to take a back seat to my current gainfully/full-torture employment.  So this my lovelies is to be continued....

MAYBE ANNA NICOLE REALLY WAS IN LOVE AND OTHER MYSTERIES SOLVED...

You must know by now that I have a love for good branding and marketing.  I feel the same way about a good campaign as some feel about shoes, chocolate or a new love.  When I see a great campaign en force, my heart skips a beat or two, my stomach does a somersault and I sigh with light head onto my fainting couch.  That my dears is how I feel about the campaign of Katie Lee Joel.  You don't know who she is?  Oh she's Domino mags cover girl and a newly published cook book author and yes, the girl that married the old guy (you know you are  thinking it...):


Why is this campaign so successful?  Well, even though you want to be a hater she is so likable.  How is that possible?  Well, I have a few ideas, the major one is she hasn't been assoicated with her 35 year senior husband in any of her recent press.  The 'pitch' being that he doesn't get involved with her career.  Brilliant!  What you can't see won't hurt you. On her own she is a charming dopelganger for the young Ali McGraw. She dresses age appropriate unlike Mrs. Cruise, who should hire Mrs. Joel's people pronto.  I like it.  The whole thing is brilliantly executed.  Whomever these people are, they are worth every single penny.  I  remember being 21 (believe it or not), I was VERY mature for my age.  I started my own company at 18 and I had been self sufficient since 'Nam.  I can tell you this much if a gentleman older than 29 tried to date me I would have been grossed out.  If a guy 40 years old tried to date me I may have called the police.  There are certain generational gaps that can not be closed, no matter how mature you are.  So, the fact that I would even be interested in her after all this rigamorale is amazing.  She's like a car crash, you know you shouldn't be looking but you just can't help yourself.  This my pretties is some good a*%$ PR...