the REAL, real housewives

were i (and assorted photojournalist/social worker/museum development director girlfriends) to be fortunate enough to play the role of real, 'real housewives', it is highly improbable that there would be much video footage of us camped out at the botox doctor taking tennis lessons while learning the finer points of jewelry making.

the question is: what would we do?

"shopping" could really only soak up the first few days of housewifedom, quickly becoming tedious (and expensive). no matter how much stock in the portfolio, REAL, real housewives are still more inclined to go to tj maxx than t. hilfiger, because let's face it, REI has only so much north face going on closeout per season. yet like our mcmansion living counterparts, we too enjoy activities that keep us lean and 'not puffy'. rather, my fellow ladies of leisure would be filmed engaging in a regimen of anything but: yoga/pilates/zumba related exercise, and other pursuits that don't involve launching an organic moonrock make-up line or sexually ambiguous pop career. afternoons can then be dedicated to volunteerism and fundraising (doing what we did pre-R,RH status, except for free, rather than just peanuts), because as far as i'm concerned our less fortunate brethren have the same right to access crap reality tv and a shopping basket full of organic soy milk and puffed oat cereal at whole foods.

staying classy in the 04240

small(er) town living means being on a first name basis with your mail carrier, facebook friending- and donating farm animals to- the postmaster at the down town building, and being given your very own nickname ("fred") by the postal workers in the back sorting office. it also means contributing to the max. capacity for fire safety statutes at 'maine's very first gay bar's last night in business'.



preconceived notions that a new england drag show is just an endless stream of leggy blonde lovelies twirling ski poles on their adam's apple, or at the very least a puffy jacket striptease down to the long, silk undies, are about as false as their fleece lined implants.



these are: thepeopleofwalmart.com(afterhours).

pret a porter

inches of glossy airbrushed magazine space are dedicated to the practice of minimizing and streamlining your purse, paunch, relationships, refrigerator and wardrobe. my own closet is not porcine with "two less cartons of edy's a month and i'll get into that" outfits. it certainly doesn't give that malnourished, nasal fashionista hosting 'what not to wear' anything more than a tinkerbell t-shirt from target to get her diamante calvin klein knickers in a twist over; there are plenty of outfits 'waiting to happen'. unfortunately, my assembly skills are also the same when i have a trolley load of shopping. fresh basil, sun dried tomato, garlic and olive oil should activate that meg ryan moment from "when harry met sally", however, in my mixing bowl, it all falls a bit bland, or just-- odd (this may also explain why i have a collection of recipe books that outnumber a family of mormons, and yet the weekly menu has only 7 of my own bastardized dishes on rotation). i need a clothing equivalent of the spinach, dried cranberry and aged gorgonzola "kit", or trader joe's needs to start making outfits.

generally a dinner that is prepared by someone who is being paid lots of money to artfullly drizzle things on my pan seared scallops and butternut squash risotto should warrant more than the default 'navy-old-navy-trousers-and-black-gap-sweater-my-mum-got-me-for-christmas' uniform. in an effort to make one, i browsed the graveyard section of the closet. i can match colours- except on rubik's cubes, there's always one little bugger that mucks up the gestalt.

right.....pink courdroy skirt and grey sweater. a skirt in winter needs tights- grey (for some reason i have a lot of these, probably because i never wear them, so i buy another pair, and continue to not wear them). scrap that, no shoes to go with pink and grey, definitely not wearing black ballet flats, too much like my old boarding school uniform.

right...pink skirt, brown tights and 'brown-boots-from-my-mum-from-four-christmases-ago-that-still-haven't-been-worn'. except these boots came too high for an a-line skirt. change skirt to 'a-line blue-grey-skirt-also-from-mum-at-xmas'. change tights (black tights are ok with blue/grey?). change top; 'another-black-sweater-from-gap-from-mum-at-xmas'. forgot about the brown boots. shit.

right...dark blue jeans, 'first-black-ballet-wrap-gap-sweater-from-mum', but RED (mini) HEELS to make it 'scallop worthy'. except this is maine, you cant go 'skin on shoe' in february. definitely not wearing tights under jeans. further rummaging in the hosiery drawer revealed only one pop sock (black), oh well, it would have looked too minnie mouse. i have yet to master; 'dressy-casual, the 22 degrees version'.

"our reservation is for 5, are you ready?" [sorry, surely you must be talking to one of the dogs, i am not familiar with that particular phrase].

that's it...blue jeans, 'gap-ballet-wrap-from-mum', wool bike socks, and the clumpy black shoes with 'snow tred' underneath. contact lenses, mascara and flat ironed hair is "effort", and 'scallop worthy'.

"good evening, welcome to fuel, where even our crisp, white table linen is infused with truffle oil. would you like to check your [puffy, hooded, baby blue north face] jacket?"

weddings and celebrity red carpet events, albeit infrequent, are obvious. it's the next rung down of apparel that is more complicated than packing a TSA approved carry-on.

what can brown do for you, when there's anal bleaching available?

if you are trying to find that special something for the person in your life who owns 90% of skymall's merchandise, then a gift certificate to a salon offering anal bleaching, is the perfect way to express your love and unconditional commitment.

for those cave dwelling troglodytes that are a little self conscious because their sphincter falls on the higher cocoa content shade of brown, relief is available for a mere $75, and just 10 minutes out of a hectic schedule. busy jet setters, can even take care of bothersome brown bum holes while transiting the duty-free at schipol airport.

however, maintaining a whiter than white sphincter requires return trips to the salon for touch ups- fortunately, unlike bleaching your hair, there are no tell-tale dark roots to out you as anything less than a "natural". of course, if your pay cheques are not issued by 'red light movies', and an albino anus isn't mandated in the contract, then less expensive solutions are within reach for anyone on a tight budget.

dress code

i haven't had to wear an official uniform since i left boarding school, at 18. however, the wardrobe du jour for the past 3 months has comprised of pj's, running wear, and a standard painting outfit.



i am back to being 5 (again), where choices in multiples of 3 or more are extremely overwhelming, and the suitcase for an upcoming trip to florida is packed with enough knickers to last me 6 days.

-and my new running shoes.

becoming a woman, or just not being a cheapskate

i am tighter than a duck's water proof arse when it comes to spending money. however, there are some things that necessitate a wallet probe. i recently ended a dissatisfying and unfulfilling 15 year relationship-- $19.99 on a flat iron from the local walgreens-- it's like upgrading from florescent cheese in a can, to fresh mozzarella, doing the backstroke, in a tub of water.



and they're pink! goodness golly girly gracious. the only thing that would make these tongs for the trichologically challenged even better is if they had glitter, lace, and my little ponies cavorting all over the handles.

i have been born again. if my "just put fingers into plug socket" frizz can be tamed, then these things are probably powerful enough to straighten ru-paul.

desperately seeking...

it is a well recognized fact that certain professions attract specific personality clusters. the controlling type A's seeking endless gratitude and accolades- also the same individuals who are complete failures in the (lower levels) of the military because they can't stand being told 'what to do'- are usually found sitting at the helm of a 747, or wielding a bloodied laparscope. meanwhile, the field of engineering is replete with childhood victims of playground wedgies, whose only goal as an adult, is to be entirely self-sufficient-- and left alone. or the bleeding heart/co-dependent/self-sacrificing/self-deprecating doormats, eagerly providing the thermal baselayer to the entire social services/mental health profession (with the exception of psychiatrists- refer to previously cited cluster on "pilots" and "surgeons"), and can't stand to be left alone.

sports and athletics are not exempt. the man you see driving a noisy car around (and around) a race track in florida, has something altogether different to prove, than the one wearing a mouthguard, or even a codpiece. on the opposite side of the testosterone coin are the abundance of women who ride (or race) mountain bikes, each exemplifying oodles of unresolved daddy issues. typically, the attention never bestowed from an absent papa, or the recapitulation of an intoxicating, undivided, 'daddy's little princess' relationship, as an adult. it is a no-brainer that the single ladies get into the sport for the male/female ratio (note: this does not work for men and professional cheerleading). less competition and an easy (stand) out, is naturally manifested, whether adopting the 'helpless female waving her bike glove in the air', or the 'i am woman, watch me use this tool, and hear me grunt/fart/belch'. these ladies appear to view anyone else with an x chromosome sharing their trail, as the enemy. and much like any other setting with two or more women, there is an ever present, but unspoken pecking order (usually related to whether it's a S, M, L, or god forbid, XL in your spandex). however, team affiliation appears to be the primary demilitarized zone, as my person, my bike, and my greetings ("hello"), have been routinely ignored by multiple "bella's" wearing full kit. apparently, with the pink jersey's come the prehistoric social skills of neanderthal man. however, while this fair and gentle minority is adamant about keeping up with the guys, they also want you to know that they "ride like a girl", as evidenced by their enthusiasm for t-shirts/coffee mugs/nalgene botttles/bumper stickers emblazoned with this catchy little dictum.

i was 18 years old when i used to tag along with my dad and his friends if they went out riding in the desert. everyone is looking for something, whether it is mr. wonderful, the top of a trail head, or the rear brake cable.

pubic wigs

i have inherited my father's penchant for perseverating on a particular word for an indeterminate period of time (sometimes years). it is always a noun, and generally not something that pops up in the GRE, or middle school spelling bees for that matter.

merkin (no, not something the muppet's swedish chef might say); false hair for the female pudenda. use in a sentence; "my merkin is becoming a little crusty and needs laundering".

merkins were originally worn by prostitutes in the 1600's, and because pubic lice predated pfizer and eli lilly, shaving one's nether regions was the primary course of "treatment". obviously brazillians had not gained in popularity during this period of "feminine" design history.

this brings up many questions (for me at any rate). does one go to the beautician to have a merkin waxed, just to feel "normal"? what adhesive is appropriate to ensure a long lasting hold for even the most robust and lengthy of couplings; eyelash glue, superglue, denture glue, or epoxy? is there a special line of shampoo products to clean and condition your merkin, and if so, how often should this be done? is it like your grandma's silver (once a year), or as frequently as dentists reccomend you actually floss? do they come in different sizes? mattell could have tried a little harder to make barbie more realistic with the addition of a mini merkin. and if you donate your own personal "hair" to merkin manufacturers, can it be included as part of a charitable tax write off? perhaps even be used to celebrate and recognize a loved one- sort of like naming a star after them, or engraving a brick in their honour.

on-line investigation (home, not work computer) yielded pages of specialty designed and themed merkins; hearts, smiley faces, or for those wanting to pubic-ly (as long as it's not publicly) display their loyalty to her royal highness; a union jack.

use in (another) sentence: "it's only a couple of dirty dishes sweetie, don't get your merkin in a twist".

she pushed me!

having worked with emotionally and behaviorally disordered children/adults for 9 years, i really should know better. whether it's obeying the "15 items or less" rule (and no, "two for one" does not count as one of the fifteen), or pocketing all the blank tiles in scrabble; people do not always conduct themselves as they are "supposed" to.

flag football was initially presented to me as the 'non-violent/non-physical' alternative to the slow paced carnage that seems to be on every bloody tv channel; daily. however, during today's game i was shoved aside by one winsome wench only to be barreled into by another freight train of a female (aaah, more girls with something to prove). in stressful situations we all regress emotionally to a younger state; like 5.

i wanted to smack her across the face (with my strawberry shortcake lunch box).

laura ingalls or sarah jessica?

i prefer pigtails and tripping through fields with a fluffy dog, to smoking, non-fat venti lattes, and recycled 80's fashion. during the height of it's popularity, i practiced my own personal boycott of "S&tS" (when i had illegal HBO) because i found the 30-something characters quite irritating (not to mention, how cliche, as a female in her 30's, to admit to watching it).

the reality is; i still wear my hair in braids, but i also sit around with my girlfriends agonizing over the internal fracas of 50's american housewife versus 'feminist with a fetish for monogrammed accessories and pilates'-- only to agree to blame it all on our mothers, middle school perms, or taking a rainbow brite lunchbox to school one year longer than socially appropriate.

obviously, "half pint" then goes home to pore over the synonyms for flatulence, fornication, and foot fungus (on her laptop), to summarize the preceding "cocktail conversation".

redemptive disclaimer: i have thrown out all of my pixie boots as well as any belts that are wider than an ironing board.

playing the pregnant card

every (?) woman's biological and procreative destiny and ambition, apparently, is to push a thrashing object the size and weight of a kitchen aid appliance, out of her hoo-hoo (i just learned this word last week and have been waiting for an opportunity to use it). and until you can claim bragging rights to; splitting, stretch marks, and passing plugs of mucous, there is no "get out of [jail] free card". pregnancy is now a politically correct "state of being" that must be respected ad nauseum; to cater to: 'she who is with child'. let it be known that i do not have a problem giving up my seat on the train, or holding the door for a woman struggling to get her SUV style baby stroller in and out of buildings. i will even give sympathetic looks to mothers and screaming babies in adjacent aeroplane seats, although after 2 hours of caterwauling (into a 7 hour flight) and i will begin to experience migraine induced homicidal tendencies.

circa. the flintstone's era, cave women were pushing out little cave bundles of joy to the thuds of charging dinosaurs. today there are still women, bent (ish) double, labouring in rice paddies until their water breaks, creating that unique flavour of placenta infused long grain. however, in addition to cell phones that can locate the nearest dairy queen (in hong kong), expectant mother's of today are also a breed unto themselves; adopting an anti-nursing bra burning "fetch me my smelling salts" fragility. if a job description requires certain physical movements (god knows i was fearful watching the 'safe back while lifting a ream of copier paper' video during orientation) then perhaps women need to stop having unprotected sex, or stay home, kick off their shoes, and start making meatloaf in their "given-to-me-by-my-mother-laura-ashley-floral-sailor-dress", and work on the stereotype a little harder. HR no longer recognizes "maternity leave". having a child now qualifies a woman as "disabled". however, if an employee is asked to fulfil part of their duties and counters with a "but im pregnant", perhaps they need to go home and crochet a new job.

on that note, i would like to cash in my "i'm 5'1/blonde/foreign/compulsively anxious/a firstborn child/terrible cook/product of an intact marriage/makes the bed every morning/non-washer of vegetables or rinser of dishes" card.

i'm not dyslexic, i'm just a crap typer

in much the same way that i was not designed to iron clothes, cook 4 course meals with lots of demi glaces's, and blanche hand grown vegetables, i was never destined to be a secretary, support person, administrative assisstant or any other port wine reduction of an office wench that has a 'words per minute accuracy' requirement. not to bang on about it again, but i'm completely crap at multi tasking, cannot operate a phone to transfer a call to save my life, and i frankly do not see the point in spending my time (and money) commuting to the drycleaners to collect my overpriced blouses and pencil skirts from express or the limited (when i could be productively wasting it in a variety of other ways), to be the gateway (bimbo) face of a company. the accent should be enough.

i have been asked (aggressively confronted) on why it is that i am able to type a narcissistic narrative to anyone in blog format, but am incapable of composing an email, that appears to have been written by an illiterate eastern bloc native, to friends and family. have you people not received that forwarded harvard study on mistyped words, where the first and last letters are the key components in receptive language comprehension?

admittedly my brain is operating at jeff gordon or dale earnhart warp speeds, while my fingers are functioning consistent to nancy reagan's perplexing tempo at the plastic surgeon's office. i find it quite unfair to have had emails returned with demands of spell check before a response (dad) is issued. ultimately these nitpickers should not be complaining, because the fact is; im a bloody good pen pal- consistent, with lots of interesting information- like the bbc world service news. only juicier.

teh edn.

a day of (with) dependents

4th of july, i cant really wax lyrical about a holiday dedicated to patriotism, however, i can get into the burnt meat in bread communion ritual. ever in search of a "first time", i attended a cookout at the park, where the ratio of under 7's to over 27's weighed heavily towards those with footy pyjamas (you guessed it, a work cookout on my day off, do i want them to like me or what?). there were capri suns and goldfish crackers in place of frozen salty drinks that could push your blood alcohol level over the age of consent.

women are rumoured to be able to cook, however, grilling is definitely not in the "girl handbook", although it is a sub-heading in the chapter on 'when to look helpless'; changing tyres, oil, wiper fluid, in fact anything to do with cars, including washing them. four women were in command of the grill. several trips were made to walgreens/kroger/valu-market for things we didn't know we needed; charcoal, lighter fluid, matches, tongs, chocolate for s'mores (yes, we should have our uteruses rapped for forgetting the chocolate). once we had safely negotiated the grill and blackmailed the children into taking a bite of their hot dog (what child doesnt like hot dogs?) if they wanted a stars and stripes cupcake, it was a free for all in the sprinklers, followed by time outs, tantrums and the confiscation of water pistols.

someone please confiscate my uterus.

barbie is a hoochie-mama

part of my job description involves re-stocking the playroom, and our barbies appear to be holding a nudist convention in the rubbermaid container, so it was time to get them some clothes. the toy aisle enlightened me to the fact that barbie of 2007 is qualitatively different from 80's barbie. the trademark hair, boobs and legs are all present and accounted for, however she now sports tattoos on her plastic back, hip, and belly. *

i am not puritanical, despite being raised in 'cover up to your elbows and mid calf' muslim countries. however, i do not see the advantage in providing little girls with 'pole dancing barbie' unless this is some new and X-treme politically correct phenomena to demonstrate that even the worlds 'oldest profession' is OK; if thats what you want to be when you grow up.


* accessories are sold separately: miniature money to tuck into her undergarments.

and people think kentucky is backward and boring...

i was recently talking to a friend of mine who told me that one of her friends (who is a lesbian) is in a comitted relationship and wants to have a child. her (the committed lesbian's) mother is a midwife, and has been coming over to inseminate the daughter with a turkey baster.

i bet the story of the sperm donor is an interesting one too.

gender bias excuses

when i see a woman driving a convertible lexus/mercedes/bmw i automatically assume that her boyfriend/husband/ex-husband/sugar daddy/daddy must have bought it for her. it does not enter my head that she could be a successful, self-made business woman earning mega bucks. perhaps this is why i only make $18.00 an hour, despite having a master's degree.

the promise of the ring

heads up; this is going to be a soap box moment, so you may want to go back to trawling your friend's friends list. it is so interesting how much energy (and 4 months worth of pay cheques) is invested into what is essentially metal and rock. their is an entire lexical set that is involved with these "accessories of love"; cuts, clarity and carats. it is obviously important to the wear-er that it be of a certain type to match personality, price bracket, or size so as to eclispse the sun. anything less than substantial can apparently bring out "demanding" and "whiney". i had not realized that some wear-ee's egos were also on the line when their beloveds flashed about what equates to the size of their penis (wallet) personified for all to ooh and ahh over. these small, but loaded items have been used as tools of bartering and manipulation. i know a girl whose ring was lobbed at the microwave (the ring made it, the glass door was not so fortunate). their are also the stories of motives behind certain behaviours being questioned as a way to elicit a forthcoming ring/proposal. this rather belongs in the category of life mistakes that involve "having an oopsy" to save a marriage.

ultimately, i too fall into the category of picky female; these are my criteria. i cannot wear the burden and responsibility for something that costs as much a a car (or would expect somebody else to burden their bank accounts). i am flighty, forgetful and accident prone. i cannot deal with an accessory that requires babysitting; remembering to take it on and off when washing dishes or wearing riding gloves. my father has accused me on several of occasions of being cheap (with a slight note of pride in his voice i might add), but i would rather re-frame it as practical, but then he has also seen the plastic casio watch ive been wearing since childhood.