Tuesday, May 28, 2013

Come on, Bra

So this weekend my Facebook feed was filled with links to some study that says bras are bad for boobs. And I don't know about you, but I do not like where this is going, trend-wise.

Look. I don't know jack about the history of bras. I don't know why they were invented. Maybe they ARE oppressive and DO cause sagginess. (I mean, probably; if I could ride in a stroller all day I bet my legs would just atrophy into two delicious string cheeses.) All I need to know is my history of bras, and why I'm glad they're here. To wit:

c. 1991: Left breast buds, training bra purchased
c. 1992: Right breast buds, training bra justified!
1993-2011 The long march from AA cup to sort-of-B cup. Lopsided, but mostly okay.
2011-2013 Upgrade to C cup but then cruelly sucked dry (still lopsided)

BT-dubs, I don't mean "lopsided" like my breasts are two different cup sizes or anything. I just mean ol' Leftie has always had a leg up on Rightie, ever since 1991, and by "leg up" I actually mean "nipple down." Because me without a bra looks like Shannen Doherty's face from the nose to the forehead:


Here is an artistic rendering:


(Incidentally if you separate out the nipples and their connecting line, you get my approximate face when I see my free-boobing self in the mirror...)


So, please ladies, let's all try to collectively ignore this new science, okay? Just let our eyes droop away from the headlines, like someone's hypothetical non-dominant-hand-side aureole. Some of you might have perfect boobs, but think of those poor wretches like me who turn to bras not for sexy style and comfort, but for justice. Don't all nipples deserve to be viewed equally, at least in the eyes of a bubble level? Also, how are we ever expected to go running? Not that I run, but just in case. Right?

You know me, always thinking ahead.
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Thursday, May 23, 2013

Scenes From a Marriage: Love Means Never Having To Say...

Once upon a time, in a living room probably not all that far away, depending...

Me: I feel like I apologize too much.
Jeff: [side-eye]
Me: I'm serious. I'm always saying sorry [ed note: often deservedly]. Can we come up with something else I can say, that still means "I'm sorry"?
Jeff: [after zero seconds of hesitation] Poop stain.
Me: Oh. Um. Haha. Okay. I was thinking something more inside-jokey and less skidmark-y, but okay. What about you?
Jeff: [side-eye]
Me: You should have to say something when you're sorry, too. Something you would never normally say.
Jeff: Fine. What?
Me: You have to say.... Rachel Zoe.


...And they never apologized to each other ever again.

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Thursday, May 16, 2013

Shameless Begging Brought to You By Robyn, Bedhead and a Box of Wine

It's the day of the show, y'all!


I mean, sorry, the day of the book, y'all!

(Confession: I don't even know what day it is, I've been wearing the same jeans for over 24 hours, and I made Jeff bring my toothbrush to bed last night so I wouldn't have to get up.)

(That makes me sound gross, like someone who sleeps on a pile of dead pets on Hoarders. I'm not. But I turned in the first draft of another YA book on Monday, and so now I have the emotional fortitude of Buster from Arrested Development combined with the hygiene of Britney Spears circa 2007.)

Anyway. The point of this post is to beg you, if you haven't bought a copy for yourself or some adolescent girl you know, to make like an elfin 90s Swedish pop star and...

Do the earrings distract from the teeth or vice versa? I can't decide.
You can order the book through Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Walmart, or Target. It should also be in real bookstores if, unlike me, you ever go outside.

OKAY THANK YOU I LOVE YOU. To show you just how much, here is a serenade I recorded for you just now with weird, asymmetrical bedhead:

video

[Faceplants into a pile of frosted donettes.]
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Sunday, May 12, 2013

The Mullet Doesn't Fall Far From the Fright Wig

This is my mom after she scalped Phil Spector and ran amok in an abandoned motel. I think it was the early 70s. Times were simpler then.

Why yes, she DID go to art school. Funny you should ask.

Not too many moms would pose for this photo. Mine did. Hence why she is BADASS.

Happy Mother's Day to all the mamas out there, but especially to those who let their freak flags fly on the regular.

Not that I know anything about that...

We learned it from watching YOU, Richard Dean Anderson!

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Friday, May 10, 2013

Final Five Summers Giveaway, and Pre-Order Prizes!

I first announced that I had a book coming out back in December, and literally at least once a week ever since then someone I know in real life will say, "Hey, congratulations on your book release!" and I have to say, "Oh, yeah, haha, no, it's not actually out yet. It just FEELS like it's been out for six months because every five seconds I have to tweet about it or else a Care Bear gets a wedgie."

But YOU GUYS. The book is actually coming out next week. And Care Bears don't even wear pants, so don't stress.

OK, below you'll find the final giveaway widget. For the first two giveaways I chose two winners, but this time I'm taking it up a notch, Emeril style. This time, I'll choose one winner for every 100 entries this giveaway receives. So go nuts, share it around, tell your friends. I only have 5 copies left and I REALLY want to be forced to get more just to fulfill these prizes.

ALSO: If you have already pre-ordered the book, please forward your e-receipt to fivesummersbook@gmail.com for a personalized token of my appreciation. Because I live to love you guys. Also to drink Prosecco and bitch about midriff tops (HOW? HOW are they OK again? NOT COOL, fashion). But mostly to love you guys. a Rafflecopter giveaway
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Monday, May 6, 2013

10 Fictional Restaurants I Fantasize About Eating at Probably More Than is Normal

10. Captain Hook's Fish and Chips, Fast Times at Ridgemont High


I don't even really like fish, but Judge Reinhold dressed as a pirate seals the deal.

9. The Max, Saved By the Bell


Not so much for the food, more for the subtly elegant decor and frequent impromptu dance performances.

8. Chotchkie's, Office Space


Because Stan and his sexy ice cream tie are the hotness. And I like finding pieces of flair in my food.

7. McDowell’s, Coming to America


When the janitor is wearing a plaid bow tie, you know you're in for some fine-ass dining.

6. T.G.I. Friday's... but ONLY the one from Cocktail 



Get Donald Glover to make quesadillas while twerking, Applebee's and I might reconsider.

5. Jack Rabbit Slim’s, Pulp Fiction


A boring choice, maybe, but who can resist eating in a CAR? (And no, McDonald's in the backseat of our family's 1979 Datsun trapped in 1-95 traffic does not count). Also, in today's economy that much-maligned $5 shake seems like a deal.

4. The Peach Pit, Beverly Hills 90210

Because I would like fries with this, please:


I  love a good high-top on a white boy.

3. The Landford Lunchbox, Roseanne



I actually think about this one way more than anyone needs to. What does it say about me that I'm basically dying to be served a sloppy joe by Roseanne? Is this as obviously sexual as the dream I had in 8th grade about flying on a plane with David Duchovny?

2. Ziggy’s Ice Cream Parlor, Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure


I'm 99% positive I could finish the "Ziggy Pig" but there's only one way to find out. And it's killing me a little bit inside that I can't.

1. The Italian Restaurant, Defending Your Life


Anyone who's seen this 1991 Albert Brooks gem knows that when you're hanging out in between life and afterlife, calories don't exist. The conceit of the running gag is that you can eat as much as you want of the most delicious food you've ever tasted and you'll never feel sick or gain weight. So, yeah. My vanity and gluttony both want me to go to there. Forever.

OK, there are literally about 200 more of these I could list (and I want your fictional food festishes in the comments!), but I have to stop somewhere and be a semi-productive human being today.

***

Actually, one more thing before I go try to recreate the timpano from Big Night instead of working: If you pre-ordered Five Summers, please forward the e-receipt to fivesummersbook@gmail.com for a personalized token of my affection! I want to give you Internet high-fives! And if you haven't yet, there's still time to get a steeply discounted price on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Walmart, or Target.

And check back Friday for the last giveaway before the book finally comes out and I can stop harassing you. Now go eat something delicious.

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Friday, May 3, 2013

An Open Letter To My Boss, Re: Benefits Package

Dear Sam,

I am sick. Perhaps you noticed that during this morning's episode of Yo Gabba Gabba I was gagging more than usual, and not just because of Brobee's freakishly long arms and Toodee's inability to stay on key.

Anyway, I want to talk to you about your sick day policy. It's... lacking. I might even call it "archaic." You might be surprised to learn that even in today's struggling and increasingly competitive job market, it's standard to give at least five sick days per calendar year. Traditionally these days are spent in bed (ahem... by oneself) watching marathons of, I don't know, say, The Mindy Project and eating pudding cups. The Employer is not invited, and it is considered rude to drop peach yogurt onto the sick Employee's newly laundered jeans. It's also not common for the Employee to take the Employer to the zoo for the duration of the illness. Instead, the Employee generally sends the Employer emails assuring him or her that he or she is still checking his or her work email.

While we're on the subject we might as well discuss vacation time. While I do appreciate the 30-minute blocks you allow me on a daily basis to clean and feed myself while you fall unconscious, I have long felt that these can not fairly be counted towards "vacation." Let's call them what they are: NAPS. And drinking frozen margaritas during "naps" is generally frowned upon by "child protective services." So you've got me there.

Finally, let's discuss the ever-elusive personal day. Sometimes, the Employee needs to lie in bed with his or her eyes closed and sigh heavily for thirty minutes before s/he can summon the will to put on pants. We strongly feel that the Employer should be more tolerant of this behavior, especially seeing as his overhead is so low.

(That's right, WE. I formed a union! Daddy's in on it, too!)

On a positive note, we find the hugs, kisses, high fives, giggles, and general delightfulness to be more than sufficient compensation, and we really do appreciate the "401(k)" of Cheerios you've been collecting in the salad spinner.

Love,
Mama
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