Did you read that book "Men Are From Mars. Women Are From Venus." ? Me too.
I know. Whatever.
Desperate times call for desperate measures. That is obviously a true statement, but it totally cracks me up because I think I read that book when I was 20. Like my summer romance of '95 needed some big awakening.....Ooooh yeah, 20 year-olds that don't understand each other. Super Desperate. Hilarious.
**Writing that, I just realized how dramatic I am. I must make my husband miserable.
Anyway! I did take one nugget from that book that rings true in my life. Big time.
Women are like waves. It was either that or rubber bands.
....... Something about a wave building, building, building to the pinnacle -----TA-DAAAA! Followed by the big craaaash ..... calm. Then build, build, build for the crash again. It was either that, or a rubber band expands, tighter and tighter and long and longer until it snaps. Same-same. Potato-Potato.
The point is, one day, hour, month, moment in time, everything is TOPS! Never more bountiful or beautiful. I have never been more patient, smarter, or funny. I am super structured and my cuticles are TOTALLY moisturized. My 401K bulges. I've lost 4 lbs. My hair glosses. I baked a bundt and parked in the far parking spot to get vigorous with my walking. I love kale. My husband is the most romantic, thoughtful, wise man that ever lived. My child? A cherub. WE HAVE DONE IT! I've created such an amazing life I think I will foster a child and have my own afternoon talk show.. What CAN'T I do?
In a nutshell, Katie Perry wrote "ROAR" about my fierceness. You're welcome Top 40.
8 minutes later, it's over. Done and done.
Everything's the worst. You're the worst. I'm the worst. It's the worst. I'm late to every dumb thing to which I don't want to go and can't believe I volunteered for such lameness. My tiny human is so super sassy that I'm ABOUT to ship him off to boarding school at age 5.5. That cruel old bag at Walgreen made me cry and "Spell Check" is such an arrogrant, foul, lazy person's scapegoat that it can't even guess what I'm spelling. Siri too. The phone. Not the Cruise kid.
No one even liked any of my Facebook posts. Not one. Not even my mother who reposts every goosey "I love my children and will repost this ridiculous poem" post she ever saw. EVERYONE from super power kick-start dance pilate candle light funk can suck my toe. Especially that spicy little Latina number in the front row. Oh go shake it all about what's-your-hips-moron-lips. I'm ordering pizza. Deep-dish, cheesy-filled crust that costs $58 so I can go broke while I gain 7 more lbs since I'm a fat, lazy cow that is never even surprised with a simple gas station carnation from that dimwit husband that acts like married a cleaning lady named Mrs. Cleaver. Well I can tell you one thing. He's not going to be seeing this Beave anytime soon. BLAAAAAHHHH
How does that happen? How does that happen in the span of 27 minutes? How can I be EVERYTHING and then NOOOOTHIIIINNNNG?
Was it a pre-congratulation on my part? Did I celebrate too soon? Did I assume that that 1 week was the new, all-the-time, adult me?
I do that ..... the whole premature celebration thing. Mostly when I'm making an awesome debatable point in the middle of a huge group of "important" people. I get so thrilled with my smooth sell that I forget what I'm saying and then my poignant point fades out into random words like "Summation ....... geriatric ..... socialization ..... organic?...... cheese curds ..... spearhead .... in so much as....enhancement .... pre-meditation .... Steve Harvey ..... prophecy?......whatevs."
I think I may be an extremist? (Enter huge gasp!)
Maybe in my mind I can't be both? Which, as I'm writing it, is ridiculous. Because I know, I KNOW, I am all of everything. I am fun and lame, smart and stupid, fancy and cheap. I know I'm kind and lousy, selfish and generous. But I don't want both. I just want the great. I just want the good-decision-making, parent-teacher-conferencing, fancy blousing, power lunching me. I don't want the depressed, dirty dishes me. No duh. The awesome me looks and feels, acts and accomplishes so much better and more.
I bet you it's the universe, or God, or Oprah .... maybe some sort of planet-balance thing? Probably for sure Oprah. She controls everything. Her and that squirrely Kardashian mom.
Nonetheless, I crash. When I do, I'm always left with, "What is my lesson here? What am I supposed to be learning? What, pray tell, is Oprah desperately trying to tell me?!".
Here are my top guesses:
1. I better check myself before I wreck myself! As in, get yourself some humility, Boo.
2. Give credit where credit is due. I didn't get my cuticles moisturized all on my own. That is a fact. My mom bought me some fancy cream.
3. Be grateful in the moment and enjoy it. Because it can be taken in 30 seconds by1 flippant cosmetics clerk's comment. Or muuuuch worse.
4. Learn to swear in Russian.
5. My "best" some days isn't as great as other days. That's ok. Just do my best. Which, every time I tell myself to do that, I feel like I'm in some weird after-school special starring Kirk Cameron.
6. Learn my lessons as easily as I can, so my world doesn't have to implode for me to catch on to whatever it is I'm supposed to be learning, giving, supporting.
7. It's not all about me. UGH. That's the worst. Because I kind of totally think it is.
Really, I guess the major, over-all lesson I'm supposed to learn, in all things, constantly, is to get over myself.
How does one do that? I'm actually asking.
I hope it happens at some point. I know it's for "the best". But man am I going to be mad when it does. Because honestly, what happens after I get over myself? THEN who am I going to think about!? All I can say is he/she/they better be infused with issues or I'm going to be wicked bored.
Monday, January 26, 2015
Crimson Carpets and Sequined Dreams
It's AWAAAAAARD SEASON! And I love it. I LOVE IT!
I love it because every screwy, thrice divorced, self-obsessed thespian will show up looking ravishing and elegant. I love it because someone can wear a vial of blood around her neck for 3 years, marry Billy Bob Thornton, and make out with her brother on live TV, then show up in a stunning dress, pose with her leg out, and all is forgiven. She's now qualified to be an International goodwill ambassador and wax on and on about the world's welfare.. Hilarious!
I love the snarky queens and spectacular dresses, the flowing hair extensions and over-the-top clutches. I love the opulence and design, thoughtfulness and detail that goes into a striking look. I love it when a movie star is a MOVIE STAR! A scintillating, show-stopping being dazzling from afar.
Clearly I am speaking of times long ago, as, thus far, 2015 has been a superbly anti-climatic award-season. We've been seeing just the opposite of high-glamour on the red carpet. It has been jaw-droppingly lame. Disappointing. Uninspiring and embarrassing. Almost gross.
I am yet to gasp from gorgeousness.
I was looking forward to sophistication and elegance. I was hoping for ingénues dripping with diamonds and lovers, and celebrities dressed to the tens. I assumed they'd put forth some effort and bring at least a taste magnificence.
Assumed, because that's part of the gig! Being untouchable and "more" is part of the job.
It’s a celebrity's job to make me think there is a lavish world of which I know naught. A world filled with beautiful people and Cartier, soirees, art, and magic. It's their job to lead me to believe there is a secret society where George Clooney is the president and forever playing hilarious million dollar pranks on the unsuspecting Matt Damon. A hush - hush, rich and famous beach full of cabanas and chilled glasses, secret A-List stuff, and private choppers going unheard of places. I'm an easy sell.
Make me pine for the posh package your supposed to be pushing.
I detest this “stars they’re just like us” business. No!! I don’t want to know Charilze Theron buys dish soap and Sandra Bullock's arm pits' sweat. I want to imagine those black baby adopting darlings know nothing but glamour and sophistication . I want to imagine they wake up rested in silky robes and feathered high heels, taking off their jeweled Lucci clip-on earrings only when the phone must be answered for it's "that pesky press".
My movies stars need to dazzle and full of so much charisma it hurts. They must bare superior gifts of looks and charm, flare and glow. If they are in public, they should BRING IT. ESPECIALLY on the red carpet. Even more so on the red carpet during awards season! The red carpet is a fancy feature film all it's own. And if Sharon Stone shows up sloppy sans glam, wearing flats and wilted hair, then what's that home-schooling mom going to be wearing next? A long jean skirt with tennis shoes, French braid, and chin whiskers?!
Movie stars should be hair and make-up, sequins, heels, and bags, hats, sunglasses, furs, boas, capes, and jewelry. Always. The only allowance is for face-lift recovery. And there's no allowance for no face-lift. I can see my mother age naturally. I don't want to see Gwenyth do so..
NO PRARIE DRESSES or gunnysack misshapen what-nots! No cruise-ware purchased at Cache'. This isn't the Des Moines charity Gala! This is award season in Hollywood and that isn’t breath-taking one fat bit.. The world doesn't want to see you in blue satin that looks like you’re going to the South Beloit Prom ....... Alone. I can find that in MY closet. Pull it together man. Stop talking about world affairs and do your job! Be the fantasy of exquisiteness. Have a plunge. Go backless. Get dewy. Look the part. When some CW actress shows up in something I saw in the Venus catalogue, I am outraged and insulted. How dare she? Here's a hot tip: If you just might, maaaaaaybe be on TV for anything having to do with creativity, performance, or beauty, then HIRE someone to dress you. Get a personal shopper at Nordstrom for all I care. It's enough of the thrift store finds and everyone trying to get on a worst dressed list. Up your game dude. If you are a movie star, then be one! Be everything and make me hate you because you are so gorgeous. Be flawless and exciting. Make me believe that your life is better, brimming with brass and ballrooms, beauty and bounty. Sell me your suave. Make me practice my pose.
You have NO RIGHT to show up in something comfortable. I’m NEVER comfortable in my clothes and rarely do my plans include a red carpet sponsored by Mercedes Benz and patrolled by the fashion police. If they do, I can GUARANTEE you 1,000,000%, that I’m not so lazy as to be comfortable in what I’m wearing! That’s sacreligious. If the shoe boasts crystals, 7 inches, and a red sole, you better shove your foot in it and act like it's a long lost lover.
Take off your mint green halter dress that shows a panty-line for days. Have your hair done by a professional, not your sister's roommate. Get a look that isn't "Ehhh. Whatevs." I don't care if you're from abroad. You're in America now sweetheart, and we like excess. If you're an artist, then create already. It's called a fabulous look.
I'm not kidding. If there's not something that makes want to die from shock and awe at the SAG awards, I'm chartering a G6 to Burbank for the Oscars. Don't make me get out my Spanx and show you how it's done. Seriously don't, my water pipes broke, and I doubt I can afford it.
I love it because every screwy, thrice divorced, self-obsessed thespian will show up looking ravishing and elegant. I love it because someone can wear a vial of blood around her neck for 3 years, marry Billy Bob Thornton, and make out with her brother on live TV, then show up in a stunning dress, pose with her leg out, and all is forgiven. She's now qualified to be an International goodwill ambassador and wax on and on about the world's welfare.. Hilarious!
I love the snarky queens and spectacular dresses, the flowing hair extensions and over-the-top clutches. I love the opulence and design, thoughtfulness and detail that goes into a striking look. I love it when a movie star is a MOVIE STAR! A scintillating, show-stopping being dazzling from afar.
Clearly I am speaking of times long ago, as, thus far, 2015 has been a superbly anti-climatic award-season. We've been seeing just the opposite of high-glamour on the red carpet. It has been jaw-droppingly lame. Disappointing. Uninspiring and embarrassing. Almost gross.
I am yet to gasp from gorgeousness.
I was looking forward to sophistication and elegance. I was hoping for ingénues dripping with diamonds and lovers, and celebrities dressed to the tens. I assumed they'd put forth some effort and bring at least a taste magnificence.
Assumed, because that's part of the gig! Being untouchable and "more" is part of the job.
It’s a celebrity's job to make me think there is a lavish world of which I know naught. A world filled with beautiful people and Cartier, soirees, art, and magic. It's their job to lead me to believe there is a secret society where George Clooney is the president and forever playing hilarious million dollar pranks on the unsuspecting Matt Damon. A hush - hush, rich and famous beach full of cabanas and chilled glasses, secret A-List stuff, and private choppers going unheard of places. I'm an easy sell.
Make me pine for the posh package your supposed to be pushing.
I detest this “stars they’re just like us” business. No!! I don’t want to know Charilze Theron buys dish soap and Sandra Bullock's arm pits' sweat. I want to imagine those black baby adopting darlings know nothing but glamour and sophistication . I want to imagine they wake up rested in silky robes and feathered high heels, taking off their jeweled Lucci clip-on earrings only when the phone must be answered for it's "that pesky press".
My movies stars need to dazzle and full of so much charisma it hurts. They must bare superior gifts of looks and charm, flare and glow. If they are in public, they should BRING IT. ESPECIALLY on the red carpet. Even more so on the red carpet during awards season! The red carpet is a fancy feature film all it's own. And if Sharon Stone shows up sloppy sans glam, wearing flats and wilted hair, then what's that home-schooling mom going to be wearing next? A long jean skirt with tennis shoes, French braid, and chin whiskers?!
Movie stars should be hair and make-up, sequins, heels, and bags, hats, sunglasses, furs, boas, capes, and jewelry. Always. The only allowance is for face-lift recovery. And there's no allowance for no face-lift. I can see my mother age naturally. I don't want to see Gwenyth do so..
NO PRARIE DRESSES or gunnysack misshapen what-nots! No cruise-ware purchased at Cache'. This isn't the Des Moines charity Gala! This is award season in Hollywood and that isn’t breath-taking one fat bit.. The world doesn't want to see you in blue satin that looks like you’re going to the South Beloit Prom ....... Alone. I can find that in MY closet. Pull it together man. Stop talking about world affairs and do your job! Be the fantasy of exquisiteness. Have a plunge. Go backless. Get dewy. Look the part. When some CW actress shows up in something I saw in the Venus catalogue, I am outraged and insulted. How dare she? Here's a hot tip: If you just might, maaaaaaybe be on TV for anything having to do with creativity, performance, or beauty, then HIRE someone to dress you. Get a personal shopper at Nordstrom for all I care. It's enough of the thrift store finds and everyone trying to get on a worst dressed list. Up your game dude. If you are a movie star, then be one! Be everything and make me hate you because you are so gorgeous. Be flawless and exciting. Make me believe that your life is better, brimming with brass and ballrooms, beauty and bounty. Sell me your suave. Make me practice my pose.
You have NO RIGHT to show up in something comfortable. I’m NEVER comfortable in my clothes and rarely do my plans include a red carpet sponsored by Mercedes Benz and patrolled by the fashion police. If they do, I can GUARANTEE you 1,000,000%, that I’m not so lazy as to be comfortable in what I’m wearing! That’s sacreligious. If the shoe boasts crystals, 7 inches, and a red sole, you better shove your foot in it and act like it's a long lost lover.
Take off your mint green halter dress that shows a panty-line for days. Have your hair done by a professional, not your sister's roommate. Get a look that isn't "Ehhh. Whatevs." I don't care if you're from abroad. You're in America now sweetheart, and we like excess. If you're an artist, then create already. It's called a fabulous look.
I'm not kidding. If there's not something that makes want to die from shock and awe at the SAG awards, I'm chartering a G6 to Burbank for the Oscars. Don't make me get out my Spanx and show you how it's done. Seriously don't, my water pipes broke, and I doubt I can afford it.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
I am not one to be up late.
It's 11:58.
PM.
That's right. Almost midnight.
And I'm almost 37. Ish.
Ish I wish.
No wonder I have those bags under my eyes.
Normally I'm like .... it's 9:30?! Beeegaaaahe?!?!?! NO WOOOONDER!!!
Tonight it's late.
I'm a total late night Fox with a Daschund, Husband, aaand ... some actual real live foxes in our yard ....
The point is I'm a TOTAL LATE NIGHT FOX. Not to be confused with a silver fox.
Or a cougar.
Pass It On.
(Sidebar, I used to looove that song. I mean. It really only does take a spark to get the fire going.)
It's midnight. Let's just call it.
It's gorgeous outside.
I just watered my plants.
Not PANTS.
PLANTS, people ..... plants.
Plants!
Plants. Mums. Lots of them.
That is sooo not me.
It's so not me to be in bed watching Chelsey Lately *Who ROOOCKS by the way ....
And then be like .... hhhmmm ... think I'll toodle around barefoot and way too bra-less....which I know sounds uber sophisticated and totes sexy but really isn't. Just imagine me in my pajamas (A Wonder Woman Costume sans headband) watering plants.
My point is:
The weather is so beautiful.
The breeze is so nice.
It's almost Autumn, but not quite.
It's heaven in my back yard.
Why not dance a bit to one's own song?
I did.
And no, you can't see my moves. Or hear the words.
But just for the record, they're awesome.
It's 11:58.
PM.
That's right. Almost midnight.
And I'm almost 37. Ish.
Ish I wish.
No wonder I have those bags under my eyes.
Normally I'm like .... it's 9:30?! Beeegaaaahe?!?!?! NO WOOOONDER!!!
Tonight it's late.
I'm a total late night Fox with a Daschund, Husband, aaand ... some actual real live foxes in our yard ....
The point is I'm a TOTAL LATE NIGHT FOX. Not to be confused with a silver fox.
Or a cougar.
Pass It On.
(Sidebar, I used to looove that song. I mean. It really only does take a spark to get the fire going.)
It's midnight. Let's just call it.
It's gorgeous outside.
I just watered my plants.
Not PANTS.
PLANTS, people ..... plants.
Plants!
Plants. Mums. Lots of them.
That is sooo not me.
It's so not me to be in bed watching Chelsey Lately *Who ROOOCKS by the way ....
And then be like .... hhhmmm ... think I'll toodle around barefoot and way too bra-less....which I know sounds uber sophisticated and totes sexy but really isn't. Just imagine me in my pajamas (A Wonder Woman Costume sans headband) watering plants.
My point is:
The weather is so beautiful.
The breeze is so nice.
It's almost Autumn, but not quite.
It's heaven in my back yard.
Why not dance a bit to one's own song?
I did.
And no, you can't see my moves. Or hear the words.
But just for the record, they're awesome.
Friday, October 8, 2010
O M G
Someone's grandma was just telling her about this place in San Francisco where you can send "the gays" to get "cured".
HOLY!
I cannot believe people still talk and think like that.
It's almost humorous.
If it wasn't so disturbing.
And the thing is, I really like this old lady. If I didn't, I think I would be fuuuuuuming. But she's normally so lovely.
Bizarr-o.
Guess we'll just chalk it up to "dementia".
HOLY!
I cannot believe people still talk and think like that.
It's almost humorous.
If it wasn't so disturbing.
And the thing is, I really like this old lady. If I didn't, I think I would be fuuuuuuming. But she's normally so lovely.
Bizarr-o.
Guess we'll just chalk it up to "dementia".
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Supa
All I want to be is....
Supa
Skinny. Rich. Gorgeee.
And famous.
Is that too much to ask?!
Oh yeah ....
I forgot.
Smart. And healthy.
Organized and fabulous. Clever. Handy and artistic.
Motivated.
I guess that's it.
I am Stephanie Wasemiller and I approve of this message.
Supa
Skinny. Rich. Gorgeee.
And famous.
Is that too much to ask?!
Oh yeah ....
I forgot.
Smart. And healthy.
Organized and fabulous. Clever. Handy and artistic.
Motivated.
I guess that's it.
I am Stephanie Wasemiller and I approve of this message.
Friday, October 1, 2010
To Be Old And Not Give A Hoot
Dude.
Yesterday I was driving on a fairly busy road.
It gets QUITE a bit of traffic.
It really does.
OOOOH! If I'd only had my camera.
I see a clothes line....like the old square ones. The ones where you hang items on all 4 sides.
What do you think was hanging on the "street side" of the afore mentioned clothes line? The side for half of the city to admire?
OOOOOOH! If I'd only had my camera.
About 30 pairs of ginormous white granny panties!
OOOOOOOH! If I'd only had my camera.
Aaaaah to be old and not give a hoot!
Yesterday I was driving on a fairly busy road.
It gets QUITE a bit of traffic.
It really does.
OOOOH! If I'd only had my camera.
I see a clothes line....like the old square ones. The ones where you hang items on all 4 sides.
What do you think was hanging on the "street side" of the afore mentioned clothes line? The side for half of the city to admire?
OOOOOOH! If I'd only had my camera.
About 30 pairs of ginormous white granny panties!
OOOOOOOH! If I'd only had my camera.
Aaaaah to be old and not give a hoot!
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