What's in your purse?

So after a couple of years of cramming all of my crap into one of the smaller Kate Spade Sam purses that haven’t been popular in 15 years (I grabbed hold of that trend and refused to let go), I finally broke down and brought myself an incredibly spacious purse. I could easily keep a small dog in this purse. It’s practically luggage. And I love it, but it’s easy to lose track of all the stuff that I cram in there.  So in the spirit of voyeurism, let’s play, what’s in your purse today?

Keys

Wallet

A Hairbrush (not one of those little ones you get with free gift with purchase at the Estee Lauder counter either, a full size one)

Some really decrepit looking tampons

Glasses I never use

A ticket stub from seeing Dave Barry at the Granada several months ago

Some really cheap Cotton Candy scented body spray. It’s actually quite a refreshing scent. The brand is called “Body Fantasies Signature.” I know, I'm a classy lady.

My Weight Watchers weigh-in card

Inexplicably, some crumpled wax paper. I have no idea of the origin of this item

Birth control

Tweezers (when I’m bored at work, I like to break up the monotony by going into the bathroom to tweeze my brows)

Several receipts

Spare change

A Jiffy Lube coupon

A recipe for corn casserole (a DELICIOUS recipe, by the way. I know we hate Paula Deen these days, but she really does have a way with butter and sour cream.)

2 heart shaped lollipops and a Valentine ’s Day card from my favorite little friend, Kira.

Bubblegum flavored lip gloss (between this and the cotton candy body spray, this is starting to resemble the purse of a slutty 15 year old)

My Kindle (that I love, love, love. It’s amazing.)

Burt’s Bees lip balm

A Slinky (really. There’s a Slinky in my purse. Your guess is as good as mine. I mean, I know where it came from, but not why it’s in my purse. In case I need to do some spur of the moment slinkying?)

That’s all. I’m really glad we did this. Now my purse is clean and all of you got a little taste of what a complete slob I am. My purse on wheels (my car) is even more astounding in its messiness, but we’ll save that for another day. So, y’all, what’s in your purse?

Baby Showers, Pajama Jeans, 100 Calories of Sadness and Fabio

This is actually supposed to be for six things Thursday, but it’s Wednesday and I wrote it today so even though it doesn’t involve alliteration, this is 6 Things Wednesday.

1.       This weekend I went to a wedding shower. It was a lovely event if you enjoy quiche and miniature cupcakes, but it really got me thinking about a related issue. There were so many women at this thing because the bride is one of those charming social butterflies that everyone loves. I barely have enough female friends to support a doubles tennis game. Who’s going to come to my theoretical baby shower? I’m not interested in wedding showers, but baby showers seem almost like a necessity.  I’m going to have to have one of those weird co-ed baby showers and lure my male friends there with promises of beer. My baby shower is going to have a keg, I just know it.

2.       This just in: those Pajama Jeans I was so excited about? Well, they suck. The problem is that they’re a lot more jeans than pajamas. Really, just stretchy denim with a drawstring. What I was looking for was, I don’t know, denim colored sweatpants? Majorly disappointing.  

3.      . Tomorrow I am missing a Kenny Rogers concert because I have a midterm paper due in the one class I’m taking. This is more disappointing than Pajama Jeans. I have seriously considered dropping the class so that I can go, but I’ve already written the paper, so I think I’ll just accept the harsh reality that I will not get to see Mr. Rogers up close and personal. I will console myself with the fact that  all of his terrible plastic surgery has got to be distracting anyway.

4.      I’m on a diet. Again. Weight Watchers. Again. And I have more weight to lose than ever before so the 3.5 lbs I lost last week didn’t even really make a dent. I mean, it’s better than nothing, but if we’re talking percentages well…we’re not going to talk percentages. Anyway, this means that I think about food pretty much constantly and keep asking men what they’re eating and what it tastes like and to please describe it to me. It also means that I am dealing with the harsh reality of daily salads and 100 calorie packs, which are, no matter what is in them, 100 calories of sadness. I get to the bottom of one of those little sacks and am just shocked, shocked that there isn’t anymore.

5.     .  Game of Thrones is coming back on in just a few short weeks. This is the opposite of Pajama Jeans. This is terribly exciting. Also terribly exciting is that George R.R. Martin is writing another book and if we’re lucky, he’ll live to publish it.

6.      My friend Monica met Fabio at our local health food store and discussed the importance of high quality, nutrient dense foods and homeopathy. I am more than a little jealous that I was not there to get a picture so that this story would be “I met Fabio at the health food store”, but I don’t think that I would have found anything to talk about with him. I am interested in his hair care regime. 

Ain't Nobody Got Time For That (Okay, maybe some people, just not me.)

Okay, so I’m stealing the idea for this blog from Jenna Marbles who does relatively funny video blogs about how to put on makeup when you’re drunk and what a woman’s nails say about her. This is a short list of things I do not have time for. Now, these are things that some people have time for, but I am not one of them.

1.   Putting on makeup every day. So I work with basically one person who sees me every day and he is a middle aged man that I don’t much care about impressing. This is why when I recently ran out of good foundation, I started using old shitty foundation instead of buying more and because it isn’t exactly the right color for my face, I just sort of stopped wearing makeup to work. Plus, I really prefer to sleep those extra five minutes
2.  Car Maintenance.  My car is like a giant purse on wheels except with more empty McDonald’s bags.  There are no fewer than four different outfits and three pairs of shoes in there at all times. I inexplicably have a box of books in the trunk that have been there for months and I don’t know who put them there or where they should go. I have a reusable shopping bag that theoretically serves as a trash bag, but so does the rest of the car.
3.   Consistently dealing with hair removal. Used to be, I shaved my legs once a week, on Friday morning. This was because I didn’t usually see my boyfriend during the week, so I’d do it Friday morning, and as far as he knew, I was smooth and hairless all week long. We just moved in together and I am suddenly facing a lot more hair removal than ever before. If I wasn’t so poor, I would consider just lasering it all off. I also used to get Brazilians on a semi-regular basis but a. that shit hurts and b. it went largely unappreciated, so I stopped. And let’s not even talk about my neck hairs. 
4.  Returning the grocery cart to it’s original home. So most of the time, I do this because I don’t want to seem like a total asshole, but every time I go grocery shopping, I am tempted to just shove it up onto the nearest center divider and calling it a day. 
5.   The top sheet. When my boyfriend and I first started dating, he used a full set of sheets. But since then, I’ve proved to him the futility of that exercise  when you’re sharing a bed with someone who flails around as much as I do. Now  it just gets skipped  all together. 
6. Telemarketers. You know, I get it, it’s their job. Their terrible, awful job. I know, because I’ve done that job. People hate you and that can really weigh on a person. But that doesn’t mean I want to talk to you. So if I by chance accidentally pick up the phone, thinking that perhaps that you’re one of my many bill collectors (most of whom I avoid as well) then realize you’re trying to sell me something, I’m probably just going to hang up.

I feel like I should add something poignant or at least something like “flaky people” because most of us shouldn’t have time for flaky people but the truth is, most of the things I don’t have time for involve grooming and cleaning. So basically the point of this pointless post is that I am a lazy person. I couldn’t even come up with an even 10 things. I mean, I could have, but I'm not going to.  

Say it loud and say it proud: I AM NOT TOO PROUD

Disclaimer: Don't expect to learn anything from this blog. It will most likely be non-stop self-indulgent poppycock. 

Though my lifestyle involves considerably more pride than it did in say, the early 2000’s when I lived primarily on vodka and Boca burgers and co-parented a dog who was like a crystal ball of how fucked up my children were going to be, I still think a fair amount of Not Too Proud living is a good thing. Say it loud and say it proud (because it’s the only thing I’ll be doing with any amount of pride for a while): I am not too proud to admit the following: 

 I love me some Michael Bolton. And not ironically. Not even in a "Oh he's a terrible singer...he's one of my favorites" sort of way. No,  I think he’s very talented and am very much looking forward to seeing him in concert with Miss Beckie Bohannon on my birthday day! I was going to try and guilt my boyfriend into going with me, but it will be a lot more fun to go with someone who isn't planning my demise the entire time for forcing him to go see A LIVING LEGEND.

On weekends, I rotate between like four pairs of “yoga pants” or as I like to call them couch-sitting-vodka-drinking-pants. In a tight spot, I also occasionally dress them up with a cardigan and some jewelry to disguise them as professional wear and wear that shit to work. Which is also what I plan to do once my pajama jeans arrive. Yeah, you heard me PAJAMA JEANS (Jeans that are also pajamas. I know, I can't believe my luck either). 

If the love of my life wasn’t allergic, I’d already be well on my way to collecting a full set of cats. I am cat lady, hear me meow. And I know he can’t help it, but I consider his allergy to be a character flaw.

I recently learned that Mississippi was the most obese state in the union. Then I considered moving there because it might help me look thinner by comparison. Some day, I'd really like to be skinny. If only for a couple minutes of my life, I’d like to know what it feels like. I know I will never be one of those people who eat whatever they want only when they’re hungry and stop eating when they’re full. I am one of those people who will eat the entire dozen Krispy Kremes (or two if it happens to be Two Dozen Tuesdays), or the whole wheel of Brie, and all four rows of cookies, and keep eating, like a goldfish, even after I feel physically ill. I think about ancient Roman royalty and how they used to have huge feasts where they’d eat and eat and eat and drink and drink and drink and then excuse themselves to the Vomitorium (which I know isn't it a real thing, but I can still pretend, can't I?) with their gold-plated vomiting wands, and then come back to the table refreshed, and ready for another round. Part of me realizes this is just culturally accepted bulimia, in the same way that the Greek-man-boy relationship was basically culturally accepted pedophilia, and part of me thinks it is completely ingenious.


I have seen every last episode of Law & Order Special Victims Unit (or as I like to call it: Law & Order: Molested Corpse) and am currently rewatching them all in order because it seems like too much work to commit to a completely new program with a new plot and characters that I don't know as well as Benson and Stabler. I also pay the $7.99 for Hulu Plus (which is otherwise a total rip-off. Why do I still have to watch commercials?) solely so I can have access to all 333 episodes. I like a lot of other terrible television shows, but none with the passion of this particular romantic procedural.

I have never met a sentence that I didn't think could be improved by a good parenthetical (really, I just love them.) If this makes me a lazy writer, so be it. 

Okay, that's all I have for now, but I really just wanted to get this blog started, so I did. I promise they'll be lots more from the Not Too Proud Life Archives.