Wednesday, March 31, 2010

It's my civic duty to convince the Ritz to offer pay-per-view porn. You're welcome.

I’m headed to our nation’s capital this weekend.   The success of the trip will be determined by (a) how much sleep I get, and (b) whether or not there are any cool and/or mildly psychotic protests going on while I am there.  I’m staying at the Ritz, which makes me happy, because I’ll be able to steal some more pens and, hopefully, replace the sad grey chocolate at the bottom of my purse.  

It’s been a month since I’ve stayed at a Ritz so they’ve had some time to get their affairs in order.  As previously discussed here, I was alarmed to discover last month that the Ritz does not make porn available to their customers.  They should know that porn is a necessary feature of all the best hotels, almost as necessary and important as the minibar.  Doesn’t the Ritz-Carlton know that people who stay at the Ritz can AFFORD porn and are likely repressed and not getting any at home and are probably ordering hookers up to their rooms anyway?

I’m really not unnaturally obsessed with porn.  I swear.  I don’t even (ok, hardly ever) order it.  It’s the PRINCIPLE of the thing.  Why can I get porn at the Holiday Inn, but not the Ritz?  The Holiday Inn doesn’t even have a minibar. 

My theory on the whole no-porn thing has something to do with a high-level executive of the Ritz-Carlton getting busted by his wife with a MASSIVE porn collection and after unsuccessfully trying to deny that the mountain of freaky porn in the basement was his, having to promise that he will never EVER be around porn EVER again and especially, for some reason, not at work.  But this is just a theory.
See? Even the phallic lion symbol wants it.

I consider it my civic duty to correct this injustice (and point out the obvious flaw in their business plan) so I sent a strongly-worded email to the Ritz Carlton “Contact Us” people.  It went something like this…

Dear Ritz-Carlton,

I recently stayed at your Key Biscayne property.  Good job.  The windows were really clean and sparkly.

But, seriously, why no porn?  This oversight might be enough to force me to take my business to the Holiday Inn.

Thank you.

(P.S. Love the pens!)

I’ll let you know if I get a response. 


Evidently, some of you were concerned about the enormous amount of crap that I carry around in my purse on a daily basis.  I deeply appreciate your concern and because I care that you care, I have consolidated my lip balms and now carry only one instead of three.  XO

Tuesday, March 30, 2010

Why I suck at tag and have month-old hotel chocolates at the bottom of my purse

So Jessica challenged me to go into the deepest darkest recesses of my inner being and disclose everything that I carry in my purse.  I said "why" and she said "because I tagged you" and I said "ok" and that was that.

(I should probably mention that I wasn't great at tag as a kid.  Some kid would come up and whap me on the shoulder and say "YOU'RE IT" and I would say "ok" and then just stand there.  Obviously, not much has changed.)

So I emptied out my monster bag and looked at the contents.

And it wasn't all that interesting.

What does this say about me?  Quite possibly that I just have too much shit in my purse.

Let's break it down, shall we?

(1) Two iPhones. (Yes, two. One for work and one for not work.  I believe in separation of church and state.)

(2) Ear buds for iPhone because you can't hold your phone and drive and talk and put on lip gloss and change the radio station at the same time in California.  So if you put in ear buds, you can drive and talk and put on lip gloss and change the radio station at the same time and that is completely legal and ok.

(3) Bottle of Advil.  Because my life requires Advil and I like to rattle when I walk.

(4) Mexican restaurant brochure that was handed to me by random street guy that presumably works for said Mexican restaurant.

(5) Hair spray.  Duh.

(6) Business card holder.  Not that my job is awesome or important enough to require business cards, but I like to have them on hand to put in glass fish bowls at local restaurants so I can "Win a Free Lunch!"  I've never won.  I think this could be a wide spread scam.  Dateline should definitely investigate.

(7) Tiffany's jewelry pouch which came with Valentine's Day present from the Boy.  Not sure why pouch is still in my purse.  Not sure Valentine's Day present was actually from Tiffany's.  Just sayin'.

(8) Business card from sales person in Louis Vuitton.  Just looking.

(9) Three pens.  I steal hotel pens.  Don't judge.

(10) Wallet, tissues, ponytail band, checks (do people still write checks?), and fortune cookie fortune from three months ago.

(11) Way cool electric blue iPod Nano purchased on Sunday to replace poor, sad, broken iPod Classic that died right after I tried to upload Neil Diamond song.  May be a connection there.

(12) ClubBev! membership card.  No explanation needed.

(13) Lip gloss, three lip balms, two eye liners, hand lotion, perfume, hand sanitizer, deodorant, mints and plastic baggie for all of the aforementioned in case I get a call on the Bat-Phone and have to go through airport security on a moment's notice.

(14) Memo book for super-fly blog ideas or grocery store lists.  Actually contains only grocery store lists.

(15) One open DayQuil packet.  Left over from Florida debacle.

(16) Ritz Carlton pillow chocolate from A MONTH AGO.  Possibly provided by Ritz Carlton as consolation prize for not having porn.

(17) Motrin packet.  (See also Florida debacle.)

(18) Gas-X.  For those special times when I'm shopping for greeting cards (and if you don't already know this story - forget it - I'm not repeating it).

(19) Movie receipt from Alice in Wonderland.  Trippy.

(20) Face blotters that don't really work but I carry them JUST IN CASE I am ever confronted with an emergency face-blotting situation.


So I think the rules say that I'm supposed to 'tag' some other people and challenge them to empty out THEIR purses, but since I suck at tag and am generally lazy and would secretly be devastated if I tagged somebody else and they were all like "fuck off", I'm not going to do that.  If you feel the urge to disclose your purse-type secrets and write about it, please let me know.  I'm always into looking behind the blinds of other people's lives - in the same creepy way that I love it when people leave their curtains open at night.

Personally, I think we should all dump out and talk about the contents of our bedside tables.  Or not.

By the way, in case you hadn't noticed, there is no Honey, It Ain't from Target Tuesday today because, yah, um, I don't feel like it.  Try to get over it.

Sunday, March 28, 2010

Random stuff I've learned over the past 2 years at 67+ baseball games

I hate hotdogs.  I can’t repeat this enough.

Don’t wear white pants on a hot day.  Your ass WILL sweat in the stadium seat and then, when you get up to go to the restroom, it just looks like you couldn't wait and pee’d yourself.  The Boy calls this ass sweat phenomenon “swamp ass”.  To wit, “Baby, wear dark shorts today cuz it’s gonna be swamp ass-y.”

Yankee Stadium will let you bring in a really really REALLY big purse, but will make you leave a backpack outside.

Always keep a baseball hat in your purse.  Frizzy hair looks good on no one.

Denver gives me headaches.

I should never drink in Denver.

Minute Maid Park in Houston has a great bar in right field.  I sometimes go there and watch the game on the TV above the bar.  I can turn around and watch it live, but there is some satisfaction in not doing that.

Taxi drivers in New York City do not know the difference between Yankee Stadium and Citi Field.  No matter what, they will take you to Yankee Stadium.

Actual conversation with NYC cabbie...

Me:  Citi Field please.
Cabbie:  Huh?
Me:  You know, Citi Field?  Mets?  Shea Stadium? Baseball?  Citi Field.
Cabbie:  Ohhhh…baseball.
Me:  Yes, Citi Field.  Mets.

(Minutes later we pull up to Yankee Stadium)

Cabbie:  Baseball here!
Me:  OTHER BASEBALL.  You know, the one that is at least another $35 from this one?
Cabbie:  Yes…Mets.  I take you Mets.

If it starts to rain, throw your body over the fabulous purse first.  Keeping the rest of you dry is optional.

Have I mentioned I hate hotdogs?

At Yankee Stadium, you can drink beer in your seat, but mixed drinks and wine have to stay behind a steel barrier in the bar area.  

If you’re sweet to the official-looking “bar guard guy," he will let you sneak your drink out of the bar prison.  Just don’t then get caught on national TV with a big ol’ cup of wine in your hand (true story…oops).

More to come....maybe.

Friday, March 26, 2010

Dr. Drew has driven me to this...

I just discovered Paintbrush and am WAY excited and had nothing else to do tonight except watch Sober House with Dr. Drew and drink wine.

I apologize in advance.


Thursday, March 25, 2010

Dateline needs hookers!

I was lucky enough to have my camera with me when I saw this sign on a major street in a town south of San Francisco.

My first thought was...GET OUT!!!  My second thought was…DATELINE!  Where are they?  Are they hiding?  Are they watching to see what I'll do when I see the sign???

So following is my theory on the sign…


Dateline Producer: OK, this “To Catch a Predator” thing is PLAYED.  The predators are on to us and the last poll showed that Americans think that Chris Hansen is waaay annoying and slightly creepy.  We need us a new idea. 

Keith Morrison: How about a story about a dead blonde white girl?

Dateline Producer:  We’ve already done all the dead blonde white girl stories.  We’d have to wait for another blonde white girl to die and we need something now.

Keith Morrison:  Um, how about something to do with sex?

Dateline Producer:  Fantastic!  Sex!  I love it!  Ok…what’s the angle?

Keith Morrison:  Prostitution?

Dateline Producer: Genius!  Let’s do something fresh, new, exciting, ground-breaking. 

Keith Morrison: We could call it “To Catch a John”.  We could bait potential johns with the promise of hookers and then when they show up, we POUNCE with the cameras and chase them and try to ask them really embarrassing questions.  I could run after them with a microphone yelling “I’m Keith Morrison with Dateline NBC!  Come talk to meeeeee!”

Dateline Producer:  But how are we gonna find us some johns to pounce on?

Keith Morrison: We could put up a REALLY BIG SIGN letting the johns know where the hookers are going to be.  And they’ll just…well…show up.

In reality, this sign is probably the handiwork of somebody with too much time and too much tape, and a fabulously warped sense of humor.

The sign usually says, “WORKERS located at 5th Avenue at Railroad”.

I’m afraid that if Dateline and their potential johns actually did show up at 5th Avenue at Railroad, all they found were some confused elderly Hispanic gentlemen who were just hoping that somebody might want help building a deck.


I am an idiot.  I was all inspired by the fabulous bloggers that I met tonight in San Francisco and totally came home and was all like "I need to change things up" and then I started fucking with the comments settings and lost a bunch of comments.  I'll get it figured out, but until then PLEASE DON'T BE SCARED AWAY BECAUSE I'M A MORON.  I'm really not an idiot all the time.  Just some of the time and especially after tequila.

Tuesday, March 23, 2010

Clips from a Facebook Cat Fight

Monday made me sad, but was pretty damn entertaining.  Is that possible? 

Let me see if I can explain. 

As a rule, I try to stay away from ANYTHING CLOSE TO POLITICAL on Facebook.  I think the most ‘out there’ thing that I’ve ever done is to stupidly post a clip from The Daily Show – which elicited comments from both sides of the ideological spectrum, condemning each other for the other's egregious misunderstanding of healthcare reform.  By the end of the day, I felt battered and bruised…and pissed off….and I wasn’t even involved in the discussion!  I really just thought Jon Stewart was funny.

It is this type of thing that has nudged me into a self-imposed Facebook ban.

I have been skipping along under the false impression that Facebook was supposed to be, I don’t know, fun?

Monday, I couldn’t resist.   I knew the healthcare bill was going to cause apoplectic fits.  I quietly logged in and assessed the war zone.

Following is a small sampling off of my friend’s FB page…

(Actual quotes edited for length and coherence…I seriously couldn’t make this shit up if I tried.)

Mary’s (FB Page Owner) Post: And the health care reform bill passes!!! (Sunday, 7:52 pm)

Bill:  “That is very bad....might as well plan your funeral...there will be a waiting list for treatment...most will die before treated...this is so bad :(“
Translation: YOU ARE GOING TO DIE (with a super sad frowny face).

Sally:  “I just pray that you or family has nothing seriously wrong.  Good luck getting the treatment that you properly need and quickly get it administered. Remember how happy you are today...because you and your daughter and daughter's children will be paying for this for years to come.”
Translation: YOU ARE GOING TO DIE, but I would like to express insincere concern for you and your family.

(Omitted - several Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire posts)

Bill: “What's next? Maybe take our guns away…that way the government can totally run us and we won't be able to make a stand. I guarantee that's coming...its a constitutional right, but the current administration doesn't care.  Its their way and no other way...I'll be waiting to say ‘I told ya so’"

Mary’s next post: Well Rush...can I send you any boxes?? (Monday, 3:10 am)

(Oh, no…sweetie…didn’t you learn from the last round?)

(This conversation starts with several anti-Rush sentiments, dissolves into the next logical chain of thought - WMDs and WHO STARTED ALL THE WAR-TYPE STUFF and ends with….)

Elly: “All lies! All lies! All lies!”

(Ok…catchy.  We’ll run with it.)

Mary’s third post: I am once again AMAZED at the venomous hateful comments directed towards our PRESIDENT! Not being in agreement with his choices is one thing and I can respect that, but there are so many disrespectful things being said that it's just ridiculous! The folks that refuse to call him by his TITLE (President) (Monday, 5:06 am)

(Please stop.  Darlin’, I love ya, but omg.)

Terry:  “He is black, educated and the President.”

(uh oh)

Sally: “I can say the same thing for you and all of your friends about Bush. And quit being so racist Terry.  If anything, you voted for him because he is black...not because of issues!”

(Oh, no she di’int)

Elly: “All lies! All lies! All lies!”

(Not sure what Elly stands for, but I’m starting to like her.)

Mary:  “I said his being Black had NOTHING to do with why I voted for him. Yes, that was a plus, however my decision was based on my thoughts and feelings. I was not raised to have color issues, thank God. You're taking this to a whole other level with me. It does NOT have to be this way! I feel let down. TRY to have a nice day.”

Sally: “I don't like the man, his beliefs or what he stands for...PERIOD! Nothing to do with his color!”

Elly: “And I didn't like Bush because of his beliefs or what he stood for. Nothing to do with his color!”

Mary:  “I believe in's MY FB page, I can say what I want. I don't even have a problem with folks who disagree with my opinion. However, I DON'T agree with going to another person's page and causing drama because you don't agree with what they said. Again, healthy civil debate is fine, but otherwise, spew it elsewhere...But that's just my opinion.”


And THIS I believe is the crux of the issue.

When did it become ok to conduct comment drive-bys on other people’s FB pages?

I don’t give a rat’s ass what side of the issue you come down on.  I’m still gonna like you.  But PLEASE don’t feel you need to comment on my ideological stupidity EVERY time I post something.  If you want to post on your page in big sparkle letters that you hate the President, that’s between you and the Secret Service.  I don’t give a shit.

But if I write in big sparkle letters on my page that I like macaroni and cheese, don’t post 101 reasons on MY page why I’m a dumbfuck for liking macaroni and cheese.

I emailed Mary yesterday to check on her mental state.  Good news: she is doing just fine, thank you very much.  Bad news: the 20-year friendship between Mary and Sally is OVER (or maybe this is good news, depending on how you feel about it).

And Elly has started taking her meds again. 

Honey, It Ain't from Target Tuesday - Follow-Up Edition

This is going to be a follow-up HIAFT Tuesday and a brief one, since it seems there is a smack-down going on over at Facebook over the new health care bill and I hate to miss a good cat-fight between friends.

I was asked how I would style my Vince “2legit2quit” pants (as they were aptly dubbed by Jessica) that I featured last week. 

This is one way, which I realize is a little Flashdance-y...but hey, if I can rock MC Hammer pants, I can channel Jennifer Beals. 

Top - Vince
Tank top - James Perse
Pants - Vince
Shoes - Juicy Couture

I just ordered the same Vince top in khaki - which I think will actually work a little better.   You can easily substitute the black booties for pumps.

I think it needs a more substantial necklace though.  I'm on it!

And I did track down the J Brand Skinny Cargos from two weeks ago…and I LOVE them. 

Top - Vince
Pants - J Brand
Shoes - Juicy Couture
Bracelet - J Crew

I really don't know why I felt the need to take the picture in this exact place.  I guess I wanted to show off my super cool electrical outlet.  Jealous? 

I also wanted to mention that I found the Joie Soft line that I mentioned previously and HOLY CRAP - it's soft!  Thus the name, I guess.

OK...I'm off to catch a little more Facebook cage match.  

Sunday, March 21, 2010

How to volunteer in Africa without taking babies

This afternoon, I stopped by my friend Bethany’s bon-voyage party.  Bethany is a much better person than I.  She would do anything for anybody and I adore her spirit.  She and I have bonded over mutual friends, shoes and red gummy bears (long story).  And now she has decided that she wants to give a year of her life to volunteer in Africa.  And not in a Madonna-buy-some-babies-from-Africa kind of way.  She is actually GOING TO AFRICA and NOT COMING HOME WITH SMALL CHILDREN. 

"Bitch makes me wear stupid overalls, but gives me junk food.  Viva America."

At least that’s her goal.

It turns out that actually becoming a volunteer is tougher than one might think.  Bethany networked, she made phone calls, she set up meetings with organizations who do fantastic things in third-world countries.

She said, “Yo, I have a year I’d like to donate please.”

And the volunteer-y people said, “Um, ok, it will only cost you $(enter large dollar amount here).

And she was all “GET OUT?!”

(I’m totally making up this conversation by the way…but you get the idea.)

It turns out that there are a lot of people out there who like to do volunteer-y type vacations.  I certainly don’t want to dis the volunteer-y vacations (it’s slightly more noble than an all-inclusive, drink-yourself-silly, fall-off-the-pool-bar vacation), but it evidently makes it more difficult for people who want to dedicate a significant chunk of their lives to volunteer service, like Bethany.  Who knew?!

So she said, “Really – a year, you can have a year.”

And they said, “OK…six weeks.”

Bethany leaves tomorrow morning for six weeks in Africa (South Africa, Rwanda and Zambia).  She is going to be working with two organizations – Seeds of Empowerment and TeachAIDS.

Have I mentioned that she is a MUCH better person than I?

You can follow her story over at her blog: "Hanging Up My Manolo Blahniks for Humanitarian Service”.  She has promised lots of pictures (and she is a FANTASTIC photographer).

I told her that while she’s off making the world a better place, I’ll be home writing about poo and shoes and to try not to miss me too much.

Saturday, March 20, 2010

How to not lose to a cat in the NCAA tournament pool

Every year, my brother puts together a family pool for the NCAA basketball tournament.  No money, just fun and bragging rights.  Everybody mother and father, my brother, his wife, his 3 kids, the Princess, the Boy and my brother's cat.

Now you may wonder how the cat makes it's picks.  I'm not quite sure about this myself.  My brother says it has something to do with purring and picking all the low seeds.

Regardless, up until today, I was getting my ass handed to me by the cat.

I like to take a more scientific approach to my picks.  One year I chose based on superior mascot, another year on locations that I would most like to visit.  My mother, I think, choses her teams based on "prettiest uniforms."

This year it was all about the coin-flip.

I flipped a coin for every pick.  Heads for the higher seed, tails for the lower.

And I'm in second place bitches!

Granted this probably won't last long.  The coin decided unwisely that Robert Morris was going to the final four.

The coin says "Go Xavier".

The cat is goin' DOWN!

Thursday, March 18, 2010

So you thing your sh*t don’t stink?! (Part Two)

Well, my shit don’t stink.  Take a whiff…it’s true.

For you innocents out there who haven’t been party to the riveting poo-related discoveries we’ve been making over here, go here for a recap.

So the Poofdrops arrived here a few days ago.  I apologize for the delayed results, but YOU CANNOT RUSH THESE THINGS. 

Poofdrops Clinical Trial Recap:

Clinical trial parameters: one participant (n=1).  (The Boy is waiting on the findings before committing to post-trial activities.  Coward.)

Clinical trial questions:

(1) Does my poo smell of Japanese Mint?
(2) What does Japanese Mint smell like? (like poo?)
(3) Does the subtle, fresh and clean aroma of my poo take me to a far away, exotic land?



Clinical Trial Observations:

Box is very cute and in relaxing poop-inducing shades of soft green.  Box also contains very very important warnings. 


There must have been problems with this in the past in order to necessitate such dire warnings.  It really is too bad that you can’t drink Poofdrops and shit Japanese Mint.  The world would be a much more pleasant place.

Directions for use: "Immediately before using toilet, squeeze one or two drops of Poof into toilet bowl water to release a refreshing scent.  Wash hands thoroughly with soap and water after each use."  (Interpretation - don't put directly on ass - and if you have to be reminded to wash your hands after taking a dump, you are too stupid and gross to live.)

Marketing promise on box: "Poof was developed with the bathroom conscious in mind.  This innovative liquid toilet deodorizer will provide a new way of doing your business."  (haha…”doing your business”)

Packaging: Poofdrops bottle is covered in a thick plastic seal that requires scissors, nail clippers, box cutters, a torch and an axe to open.

Clinical Trial Findings:

Question: Does my poo smell of Japanese Mint?  
Answer: No, my poo actually smells of Wrigley’s Spearmint gum.

Question: What does Japanese Mint smell like?  
Answer: Evidently it smells like Wrigley’s Spearmint gum.

Question: Does the subtle, fresh and clean aroma of my poo take me to a far away, exotic land?  
Answer:  Almost.  But neither does Wrigley’s Spearmint gum.



So my opinion...

I followed the directions and heeded the warnings.  I did not put it in my eyes. 

AND IT FUCKING WORKED!  It’s delightful.  It’s fresh.  It's minty.


I swear I’m buying 10 more bottles.  I wouldn’t recommend it for the day after tequila, chili and corn on the cob, but it holds its own with bran muffins and Activia.  It also can't help with farts.  That's a market gap that is still waiting to be filled.

I know that some of you out there are all "Well I don't want my shit to smell like gum."  My response to you...the alternative is that it smells like, well, SHIT.

Wait and see people…Poof is going to make the world a better, gum-scented place.

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

My name is Jane and I am a baseball widow

I am a baseball widow.  And I have earned that title.

Let me start by saying that the Ex was a college baseball coach.  We moved to a different state every time he landed a better job.  I went to hundreds of games to be supportive.  I went to Lamaze class by myself because I was inconveniently pregnant during baseball season.

The irony that the Boy works in baseball has not escaped me.  When he told me what he did for a living I said “Oh, cool!” and thought “Oh, holy hell!” 

Life with baseball is a constant for me.

Sometimes it’s cool.  Often it’s not. 

I get free tickets.  I can hang out in the family lounge if it rains or snows or gets so cold you can’t feel your ass anymore.  During the playoffs, they loosen the rules and let girlfriends fly on the team plane.

And I love love love baseball (thank gawd).  You will rarely hear me complain.

The downside is the distance.  I have a job and a child.  The Boy travels 9 months out of the year.  I fly to games when I can, but it’s often hard to get away.   Sometimes I can take the Princess.  She loves it.  She has recently learned that baseball has 'runs' and not 'points'.  I’m so proud!

I spend A LOT of time in airports.

The 5-star hotels that the Boy stays in definitely don’t suck.   But he has to leave me at the hotel to go to the park at the crack of dawn .  I’m usually left to explore cities (or, um, shop) on my own.  I get a cab to the stadium, pick up my tickets and hope that the game ends early enough that I’ll get to spend a few hours with him after the game.  We've been in so many cities together that we can recall a good memory and have NO idea where that memory actually originated.  

Sometimes I know a few faces at a game.  Sometimes I don’t.

I hate hotdogs.

The Boy collects awesome signed baseballs for me.  I don’t have the heart to tell him that it’s actually the John Cusack ball that’s my favorite (I worship at the shrine of Lloyd Dobbler, after all).  

(My Lloyd Dobbler ball)

I sometimes get to meet the legends in person.  I get to go to cool parties.

I miss him. All. The. Time.

I saw the Boy last week in Florida.  I won’t see him again until mid-April when the Princess is on Spring Break.

I have it good.  It’s fun.  It’s exciting.

It’s really, really lonely.

The Boy is worth it.

I’ve earned my title.

Tuesday, March 16, 2010

Honey, It Ain't from Target Tuesday (and exciting poo-related announcement)

I’m spending this Tuesday on a few things that I have happily added to the closet recently.  Clothes make me happy and Tuesdays make me grumpy – so I’m hoping the clothes outweigh the Tuesday.

I bought these Vince pants on a whim in January.  They kind of have that low/saggy/harem-ish looking crotch thing going on – which I am adamantly opposed to – but I bought them in a smaller size and the saggy (“I took a dump in my pants”) thing went away.  (This is not the poo-related announcement.)  They’re great fat/skinny pants.  The elastic waist makes them perfect on ‘fat days’ and the black cargo style make your ass look bitty.

(Vince Cargo Pant $185) 

The Boy bought me this bracelet after watching me practically lick the jewelry case in the J Crew store.  I love it paired with my Timex military watch, jeans, a t-shirt and ballet flats.

(J Crew Large Crystal Colletto Bracelet $68)

Speaking of ballet flats…these Lanvin flats are quite possibly the best shoes I’ve ever owned – and the best Christmas present EVER.   I wear them constantly.  The ankle strap keeps the shoe from having a tough elastic band that cuts into your heel and looks cute with cropped jeans.

(Lanvin Ankle Strap Ballet Flat $565)

I mentioned my obsession with Me & Ro jewelry a couple of weeks ago.  When I was in Miami last week, I stopped by their very tiny, very cute store in the Shore Club on South Beach…and I walked out EMPTY HANDED.  First time ever. 

Very very sad.

BUT, here are a few pieces that I have purchased there on past visits which make me very very happy. 

Me & Ro pieces (2, 3 and 4) from Miami
Silver Tiny Hammered Disc Pendant – 28 inches
Silver Square Earrings
10k Gold Band with Heart


Poofdrops are in da house!  Clinical trial about to begin!

Clinical trial readiness phase – eating bran and Activia.

Monday, March 15, 2010

And don't forget to remove your hose...

Florida is a visual treat.  If I lived there, I would have something fun and interesting to comment on every day.  As it is, I am back home in San Francisco and left with only fun and interesting remnants.

Speaking of fun and interesting...let's talk gas stations.

Residents of Key Biscayne are evidently so forgetful that local gas station owners have been forced to remind customers that one must REMOVE THE GAS HOSE FROM THE CAR after one is done pumping gas.

(This could also be a sign in a gay gym.  Just sayin.)

But this is obviously a problem in Key Biscayne, and it's enough of a problem that it requires a sign.   Many gas stations have signs warning of a horrible death if you use your cell phone while pumping gas.  Not here.  That's too complex.  Maybe the Key Biscayne Jaguar/golf cart drivers forget that they are at a gas station...or alive for that matter.  Maybe they just doze off while gas is pumping.

Which brings us to our next station...

The ever-popular gas station/orthodontist/sleep apnea specialist.

If they have drive-thru service, it might be the coolest idea EVER!

I love Florida.

Saturday, March 13, 2010

The Ritz-Carlton wants me to watch porn

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No, seriously...let me explain.

So I'm in Key Biscayne, Florida for a business meeting - at the Ritz-Carlton.  Yes, I know...I SWEAR...real business-y things happen in Key the Ritz-Carlton.  Things besides Eliot Spitzer-type things.  (Get it out of the gutter, people.)

(My Ritz)

(My dinner)

(My view from my margarita/dinner table)

(My view from my crappy non-ocean front balcony)

Yes, yes...beautiful, blah blah blah.  What really matters to me in a hotel is how comfy the bed and how many channels are on the tv.  So last night after a long day of travel delays, I turn the thermostat down to sub-zero, burrow down under the super fat Ritz comforter, turn on the tv and get this....

...which normally would not be cause for alarm, but THIS IS THE ONLY SCREEN I CAN GET!  No HBO, no reruns of Law & Order, no weather channel. WTF?  The "*" does NOT WORK!

Ok, fine, back up plan.  Let's see what funny porn titles they have?  You know, cuz I'm sure the Boy would like to know what the Ritz is playing for future reference.  And I am the best girlfriend EVER.

No porn?

There is no porn at the Ritz.


Eliot Spitzer would not approve.

I'll stop here and not go into great detail about how I then set up camp on the balcony with my computer and a comforter, and then, upon deciding that wine was needed, walked face first into the glass door cuz the f*&kin' Ritz-Carlton maids keep the glass so f&#kin' clean. 

It turns out that face plants on glass turn out especially well with flash photography...

(My face)
I'm leaving an extra big tip.

Friday, March 12, 2010

Mommy...I wanna go to Cooters!

Now this sentence has never actually been uttered by the Princess, but I’m pretty sure that’s only because we do not live in the greater Tampa/St. Pete area.

It all started a couple of evenings ago when the Boy and I were taking a leisurely stroll down the main street of one of the many beach communities in the area.  We stopped in a local wine bar, and as we were waiting for our drinks, I picked up one of those “Come see all of the really cool shit that we have within a 100 mile radius of where you are sitting this second” magazines. 

(Flip Flip) “Does every place have a cartoon shrimp in their ad?” (Flip) “Hey, if I get a tattoo at the place next door, they’ll validate our parking.” (Flip Flip)  “Haha, this shrimp has a muscle tee and sunglasses.” (Flip Flip Flip) “What the…!”

I did a double-take.  I sat quietly and thought about this for a moment.

Me: “Baby, what exactly IS a cooter?”
Boy: …
Me: “I mean besides the guy on the Dukes of Hazzard.”
Boy: “Sweetie, it means exactly what you think it means.”

Except this is the problem.  There can’t POSSIBLY be a vagina restaurant, can there?  And a “Family Friendly!" one? 

So I decided that there must be something, some definition somewhere, that would make it ok for there to be family-friendly Cooters. – don’t let me down…

Hee hee...“beef curtains” makes me giggle.  Sorry...ahem.   Funny, but definintely NOT helpful here.  I do, however, appreciate the very handy list of synonyms at the top of the page in case I use the word ‘cooter’ one too many times and need several dozen other options to chose from. was a little more helpful.
“Cooter - –noun Chiefly Southern U.S. any of several large aquatic turtles of the southern U.S. and northern Mexico.”

Whew, it’s a turtle!  But then I scan over to the side of the page at said and see the ‘related searches’:

So is it a vagina or is it a turtle?  Both, I guess.  This place must haul-out the turtle to the kids and the vagina to the grown-ups (on the website it advertises "Cooter’s fresh raw bar"…wink wink...and don't forget "Super Grouper Thursdays").  If I give them the super-secret password, will they give me a Cooter's t-shirt with the vagina on it, instead of the turtle?  

Or maybe it's just because I can make anything seem dirty if I try hard enough.