Still Crazy After All These Years

I've been obsessed.

It is part of my particular contiguous nature - meaning, in my head anyway, the pieces of myself that do form the whole. You know, the sum of the parts is greater than the whole.

Wah?

Yes, I think I mean that.

But, obsessed still. This is a long way of saying I do have an obsessive nature. So the latest in my obsessions is YouTube. The beginnings of this, as many of my obsessions, comes from my early morning rumblings and wanderings on the internet. It was bound to happen - so many times when a thing is researched that search will lead you to YouTube.

So now I'm finding myself down rabbit hole after rabbit hole. One subject with dozens and dozens of answers. I dig in!

• How to apply makeup, tightlining in particular
• How to create a messy bun
• How to pick an organizing system
• How to clean dirty grout
• How to make perfect coffee
• How to have the loveliest skin
• How to set up your 2017 agenda

Nothing earth shattering, but everything orbiting in my obsessions. I'm discovering that no matter how much of a nut I believe my doings and oooings, refoldings and holdings, disciplines and lack of disciplines - there is someone out there nuttier than I could dream of being.

Such comfort!

Is that bad?

And the community of women! Lovely lovely women! Talented, smartly spoken, beautiful, kind, knowledgable, sharing women. My search list is varied and long. I'm obsessed!

I think I want to join them.

I do confess things in my hidden delightful place, this blog. Because it's out here in scary, scary land, but it's also everyman's land. The land that time has forgotten. Because we don't, for the most part, read more than headlines (I'm not counting all of us book readers) so the actual words written here in this hidden place are safe and camouflaged. And I love a disguise!

Bisou my beauties.

Maybe I Am a Douchebag

Before I start . . . I heard the other day that Kelly Osborn of Fashion Police and Ozzy made mention (probably tweeted) that she wanted kids, but didn't want a flappy vagina. What the hell . . . doesn't she know that the vagina is the world's greatest elastic? Go to biology class Kelly. You douchebag . . .

On to my douchebaggeryness.

I'm in the middle of a pickle. Funny - pickles are made with vinegar - real douche bags are filled with vinegar sometimes. Hmm . . . the silence you are hearing is me thinking . . .

Back to my pickle.

Before I begin; can a woman be a douchebag? Maybe I should be going with asshole? Hmm . . . yet another thing to slow the process down with my thinking. We can't have that. Aha.

Again, the pickle

I'm in a tussle with a woman in my life. A woman in a leadership position. A woman who could be one of the women we think about and say, "She's a leader. She fosters communication. She delegates tasks with authority and clarity." Or maybe I'm the only one that wants to state things like this about women in authority.

Before I go any farther - I have no desire to be a woman in authority. I've known this all my life. I'm totally cool with this. I like being the workings behind the machine. It's how I am. So my intent is never to BE the woman in charge. But I have worked for many fantastic women in charge. Women that showed grace under fire and had the ability to nurture abilities rather than feel threatened by abilities.

This woman in a leadership position hired me to do some design work for her company. Our interactions have been puzzling.

My first meeting with her I brought a project I had been working on with one of her teammates. She took a cursory look and tossed it on her desk. Dismissed! I thought to myself, Well, let's listen to what she has to say about it. She had nothing to say. She was only dismissive.

And so it began. Ignored emails. Phone meetings set up and ignored by her. Criticism about the "verbiage" I used, yet I experienced her using it in other pieces. Proofs sent, call to action requested, and no reply.

This situation is working my nerves. I am using it as a test. A test to see just how I can contain my douchebaggeryness. I respond to emails slowly; I reread them to make certain I have let no hidden douchey get through. She discovers a kernel of douche and pounces. I respond. I'm frazzled.

Here is why I'm even talking about this today. Here is what I do not understand about my own gender. This will sound douchy to the max, but it is my experience. As my smart husband says, "your experience is reality." This doesn't mean it's right, just that it is right as YOU SEE IT.

Again, I do not understand why my own people, women, battle against each other. We fight about men, we fight about talent, we fight about situations. I'm sick. Sick sick sick. Let's allow each woman in our life to OWN their shit. Good shit and bad shit. Arg!

Let's foster ability. Let's foster a good job. Let's foster everything. Attractiveness, smarts, funny, mothering, creative, and every other damn thing I'm not remembering in my writing sprint here.

Be a douchebag if you must, but be a douchebag with vision.

That is all.

Sugar and Spice vs Bossy and Brave

Boomba

Not our kitty. We rescued this little (ha - nope, he's kinda huge) from a family situation, denutted (Pup's word) him and gave him to Lorenzo and her boy. They have fallen in love with him. Yes, we are cat people (sorry George!).

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But that's not what I'm thinking about today. I'm thinking about bullying.

There's lots of talk about it all around me. Reactionary-type talk mostly. Some of it that is labeled bullying mostly seems like a difference of opinion. Some of it is flagrant and mean.

I was bullied only for one short period of time in my childhood. I mentioned in a previous post that I played the trombone. When I first started playing I was in the 5th grade and actually had to carry that thing to school every day. I bet it wasn't as far as my memory is telling me, but it was a bit of a jaunt.

It was winter and I was in the 6th grade. And carrying my trombone to and from school on a daily basis. By this point I was fairly used to the walk, but I had caught the eye of a couple of my classmates. Let's call them Bubba and Goofus.

They started following me and poking fun at me. Running around me, saying incredibly clever things like, "Uh, a GIRL playing trombone! Bet you can't slide that thing in here." Following too close, running in front of me. Just being little assholes.

Up until then I had been pretty happy playing the trombone. I was first chair (can you even believe?) and enjoying the whole thing very much.

These two little miscreants were making me miserable though. And making me second guess my choice. I started wishing I played the flute. Something I could tuck safely and securely into my book bag.

But after a week or two of this shit I slugged Bubba hard with the damn thing. Right in his ass if memory serves. His momma called my house that night insisting I was mean and had "broken blood vessels" in her poor boy. I got in pretty bad trouble with my parents. I later finally figured out that he had a bruise. Poor little bully. But I never did see those two on my walk again.

I felt terrible about the whole thing though. Even though those two had made a couple weeks of my life fairly miserable, I felt guilty that I had struck back. My dad had said something along the lines that "ladies don't behave that way." I never really figured out what I was supposed to do. And what I had done was effective wasn't it? But I still felt guilty.

There's a book that was recently published I want to read, Lean In, by Sheryl Sandberg, COO of Facebook. I haven't read it yet, but it was pointed out to me that one of the things she's been saying is that as a young girl she was told that she was bossy. It made me think of the messaging I had received as a young girl.

I have always loved to lean in. A few times in my life I have totally leaned in. I joke constantly that I am bossy and controlling. I know what I like and like what I want. Deep back in me I wasn't certain if this is the way I should be. Girls are soft and nice and not bossy. Guess what? I'm soft, nice, and bossy. I temper my bossy with humor, self-deprecation, and underlying smarts. Yes, I am smart. I am bossy. I am a woman.

I don't like it when I see women back down from an opinion because they are reticent to look less than nice. Sometimes we need to step up, lean in, and hit that damn bully with our trombone. If it leaves a few bruises, well then that guy can lean in.

GNO Instead of HBO

Simply Jane Studio

One of my new friends from my, as Pup loves to call it, gristly little job, is Alli-baby. A gorgeous, vivacious, 40 year-old woman who is CHUCK full of ideas, sass, and exploding laughter.

She and I took one look at each other and kinda fell in love. Which is way fun because, even though I could have given birth to her, it's fun to make new friends. And, as a side-note, it seems hard to make new friends the older you get. Why is this btw? That's a post for a different day.

This post is about an idea Alli-baby had for GNO (girl's night out).

She and I are aficionados of the Bravo Housewives franchise. Go ahead and judge, but I do like to turn on their nattering and fighting and crazy-faced escapades. Pure entertainment. And a great chance to feel better about myself because . . . well because I am not one of them. I'll own it and not tone it!

So, yes, she was watching the Orange County version and they were having a GNO at a painting studio. Alli-baby thought, "kachinga! Let's do this thing!"

She did all the research and planning and found this charming and lovely art studio right in the neighborhood (their's, not mine), Simply Jane Studio.

Nine of us collected at the studio Saturday night, wine and appetizers in hand, ready to have a lesson and some fun.

A great group. The owner/artist had canvases for us with an outline of the painting we'd be creating. Paint, brushes, and basic instruction was provided. We started painting.

Nine women with nine different points of view. Some very careful. Some (me) not so careful. All of them wonderful to look at in the end.

Our table of four held myself, my Shelley-belly (another job friend), and two other girls. One who regaled us with her story from the summer wherein she had a hot and thought-provoking fling with a pool boy. We were enthralled and poked for details. The next time I see this woman I'll get even more details. Love them details!

When I am in a group I am easily distracted. Reminds me of being in school. Instead of concentrating on my own project I'm way too busy checking out everyone else's project, listening to stories, and generally letting my adult ADHD (not professionally diagnosed, but yet, it's there in full swing) derail me.

Here is my creation. I think she looks a little bit like a vampy, blonde, Wilma Flintstone.

While I was having at it, my girl's hair turned green. For some reason our table was treated like the ugly step-sisters and didn't get too much instruction. Either we seemed competent, the other table needed way more help, or we scared Jane. Who us? But luckily Shelley-belly is an artist herself and helped me help my girl.

Alli-baby is already busy planning our next GNO and I'm excited to be part of this new group.

We're thinking paint-ball!

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If you live in my area, please check out Jane's studio, Simply Jane, for a similar event. She also does birthday parties. Simply a blast.

I'm a Believer

I went to a women's party Friday night.

You know the kind. The hostess gets a present and the larger the sales the larger her bonus.

Pampered Chef

My best friend was having it. One of her friends is a new sales consultant for Pampered Chef and my friend Reechie wanted to help her out since she's been having a rough go in her personal life. I generally would rather poke out my eyes with hot sticks before going to one of these parties, but I love my friend and applauded her desire to help her friend so I wanted to go.

What would I buy I pondered? I don't cook anymore. I have that husband that only eats four things and half of them don't need to be cooked. I thought there wouldn't be anything I would want or need.

But after a glass or two of pinot noir the need changed. I needed everything in the catalog.

Oh! Look at this cute as hell avocado peeler? I sooooo need that.

Hey! Is that a pizza stone? I know I have sworn off of wheat for the most part, but I can learn how to make gluten-free pizza!

Look at these adorable and tiny little glass cups with the pour spouts. There must be something small in ounces that I need to pour. SOMETHING!

I managed to spend over $100 on stuff I will enjoy. Don't judge. Sisters need to support each other!

I mean, who doesn't need a $40 glass bowl to put on her dining table?

BTW - I booked a party. The distributor was a darling girl and I want to help as well. I'm certain I'll be getting out hot sticks when the time comes so I can poke out my own eyes.

:)

Consigning Women

The best part of working in a consignment store, for me, is all the women.

I love men, but hanging out with women every day is great.

Good and bad. We're an awesome bunch.

The pain-in-the-ass women I see come in and out of the shop I can easily dismiss when the joy-to-be-around women outnumber them so.

I could talk about the consigner who said to me in a voice dripping with bitchitude after I had to ask her last name for a second time, "Sweetie, did you skip lunch today"? She wasn't worried about my blood sugar, she was just a bitch. Next! lol

Or the woman who said to me yesterday while she was picking up a few of her items that were expiring from her contract, "Oh I'm so exhausted! I can't possibly find these. Where are the blazers?" Here they are woman, you can do it. What? You won't recognize your own blazers? How would I recognize them?? And I promptly made myself scarce. (Store policy is consigners have to find their own property; we just don't have time to pull everyone's consignments at the end of their contracts. They know this, but manipulation is the name of the game.)

I'd rather talk about all the other women.

The ones that are in the middle of losing weight and dropping off one size of clothing to consign while shopping the store for a smaller size.

The ones that are young mothers and just want a minute to shop. A minute to find something cute they can afford because they're SAHM's and the budget is a bit tight for cute stuff.

The ones that come to me to ask for help, guidance, color advice, fit advice, styling advice. So open and appreciative.

The mothers and daughters that shop together. The daughter helping mom stay current without looking crazy. The mom pitching in on a few items the daughter wants just because she loves her.

The husbands and wives that come in where the husband is truly interested in watching her try on a few dresses. How awesome is that hubby?

The best friends that shop the store, calling out to each other as they find something incredible for the other one. "Roxanne! You have to try on this top! It will show off your twin sisters perfectly! You have the boobies for it!"

The ones that are just joys to meet and you get to chat for a hot minute with them. Laugh with them. Some days, even cry with them.

I just love women!

Smooches to all of you and I wish all of you could come in my store and we could laugh and cry and shop and look adorable.