One Smarmy Mama is the carefully selected winner of the WTF contest from a few days ago. If you send me your address, I will gladly mail you a Somewhat Valuable Prize!! Woo hoo.
Second, (edited) please remember my new blog, True Employee Confessions email your stories to snackishblogATyahoo.com and/or send out some link love to get this thing rolling. I can't wait to read everyone's wacky work stories.
Third, Elizabeth of Table for Five has a great post on feeling like a grownup - or not.
I think she nails how so many of us feel - here we are, at our advanced age, and we still have some seemingly basic skills that we cannot seem to master. We can't save money. Or we can't put together a cute outfit. Or we can't seem to get anywhere on time. Or to find a job that satisfies us. Or to stick with a commitment to get in shape. It's always something.
I have a whole laundry list of these things, but tonight, because Mr Stapler is on his way over, I have been thinking about my lack of Feminine WilesTM. I just missed out on that whole thing.
When he said he was coming over, I brushed my teeth and then went on folding laundry. I thought about how some women would be doing makeup, fixing their hair, deciding on what to wear.
So I went in and put on some brown eyeliner and a tiny bit of eyeshadow. One of my makeup fears is that I don't want people to think I am wearing makeup. Because that would mean what? That I'm trying to look pretty? Well, yes! And I am a smart girl, not a pretty girl. Everyone must love me for my brain and my brain only. What am I, Barbie?
This logic has taken me to some stupid extremes that I hesitate to write about lest you realize how messed up in the head I actually am.
There was the time when crazy crazy stylist Billy Yamaguchi "feng shui'ed" my hair and decided, with all his assistants swarming around, that I needed to dye it a shade darker. At that point I had never dyed my hair.
So I promptly burst into hot, furious tears. I was embarassed in front of a boatload of hairstylists that someone would think I was so vain as to want to dye my hair. Like that is a new concept to them and that they would be shocked! shocked! that someone as unvain as me would stoop to such a thing.
What a ninny.
At least I got over that. Hair dye in a box is my best pal now. I buy it on sale in bulk to save a couple bucks.
But I still can't dress myself or make my hair work or pick out clothing to save my life. I am usually just content if my naughty bits and cellulite are covered, nothing has a big stain on it, and it isn't so terribly, awfully wrinkly.
I think I have to set my standards higher. Of course I have been saying that for years. And I am sitting here in my baggy ass jeans, waiting for Mr Stapler to arrive.