scenes from a sunday
in the words of martha & the vandella's, it was a heat wave!
hh, the beast and i took to the streets to keep cool and soak in the seaside life.
i love many things about my street: the big trees, the wide blocks, the whites pickets, but even after 12 years of residency, i still gallop giddy over the front door, ocean view.
we took our favorite loop with the beast: a jaunt down to pacific coast highway to see what newport's fanciest were up to.
we never quite make it passed our A market without a stop for "provisions".
nourishment.
hydration.
bottom-feeder.
we capped off a sunday dinner down at the sand.
louie the crab.
a hot august night indeed.
and just like that it was gone: today we woke to a thick, fog bank so heavy our neighbor's front door has disappeared.
share with me the snapshots of your weekend m'loves? you know how much i adore hearing from you.
weather-a-stir
while our kin on the east are bracing for that nasty girl, irene, temperatures here in the west, are smoldering chaud.
the heat feels thick and heavy; like an invisible, clear fog has seeped in to bake us. skirts are short and skin is bare. hair is worn high to avoid sweaty necks and shoulders, stiff from an all night losing game of finding the cool in a un-air conditioned california king. last night a cold, wet washcloth provided a most heavenly pillow for me ...for the beast too.
yesterday my movements, my speech, my thoughts-they all carried a slight, sleepy slur. this heat wave washes in a gauzy net of slow-motion, almost tipsy-like air, of which i find myself breathing and walking around in.
this weekend i'm going to saturate in the sticky hot of the last of summer. i plan to roll my warm, languid friday, saturday and sunday nights out, like a kaleidoscopic rainbow of faces and places of the people i love most; a pot of gold at every port.
linger, linger, linger.
that will be my word of my weekend.
finding my slower back beat, i'll relish in summer's final, simple pleasures that too often go amiss in my interval driven world: the sound and sight of my backyard bees liquoring up on bushels of lavender, jasmine oil baths so heady with summer scent i'm perfume free all day, breakfast coffee in the yard: early enough so the moon's still out, but warm enough to be robe free. i will set my alarm a bit earlier so i can hang longer with the my garden friends.
losing my psycho, good girl, quick-to-wipe-away-the-first-sign-of-mess, disordered self, perhaps i'll let a dribble of our soon-to-be gone, gummi-bear sweet, local nectarine juice remain on my chin for a self-deprecating chuckle or two, before i whisk it away with a napkin. or maybe i'll finally eat those strawberries right off their stems, right out of the basket, after buying them from stand #14, like i've been wanting to all season.
how will you be soaking up these last bits of summer m'loves?
sending all my good vibes the east coast. miss irene sounds like quite the diva; which is ironic because we irene's {my middle name} mean peace.
oh, yeah....speaking of divas....priscilla would like to say "goodbye."
[vimeo http://www.vimeo.com/28177088 w=480, h=480]
my favorite summer meal
we've had some delicious food this summer, eaten at some spiffy restaurants, but so far nothing beats this 5-ingredient masterpiece.
tomatoes, candy sweet, fresh from my dad's garden.
aromatic basil snipped directly from my patio pot.
the creamiest burrata in town.
and a 25-year-old aged balsamic, so honey-thick, its olive oil sibling is left unused.
put them on plate, add a couple of toast points, and voilà! you have the best tasting meal, in my opinion, of the summer.
bon appétit m'loves.
we are now boarding.....
last week as i waited for my plane back to california, i was wide-eyed and open- mouth as i watched the various tents of the circus they call ‘terminal 3’.
for the most part when i travel, i trek happy, my skies are almost always friendly. following in the shiny-shoed footsteps of my parents, i always dress for traveling: a frock fit for sunday best. or rather, in my case, saturday night close second.
more often than not i’m in a skirt or dress. public restrooms are phobias of mine, and the thought of a long-legged trouser skimming a bathroom floor sends me screaming to pharmacist for beta-blockers.
with hunkiest’s delta status of late, we’ve been getting bumped into fancy class quite frequently. i would hate to feel schlumpy in sweat pants and tennis shoes while downing my sixth, hot from the easy bake oven, chocolate chip cookie...although the elastic waistband is nice.
summer airports feel different from their colder, more bundled, rushed siblings of fall and winter. less coats, more visors and hats of straw, t-shirts of states and cities visited. there are more families which can mean more childhood meltdowns {and one father}, more lil’ ones to watch for underfoot, and less politesse when boarding the plane.
the gate line up seems to always produce a giggle fit from me. there's something about getting onto that plane for some people that completely erases every manner learned or awareness of self, and turns them into hogs gone wild. suddenly their ticketed, undersold plane to orange county becomes the last flight out of saigon, with only three seats left open, and 300 caged fighters clamoring for spots.
one grown woman {in age, not maturity} told the flight attendant she was filing a complaint for the incompetency of the pre-flight boarding: she had to wait too long in the jetway, she was getting hot, hungry and her legs were tired. mind you, this was after she had already cut in line, knocking into a woman holding a baby, and bag-rolled over an open toed sandal without so much as an acknowledgement, let alone an "i'm sorry." within earshot i told the same flight attendant i, too, was filing a complaint about said complainer's ugly pants......making friends wherever i go.
the pre-boarding show wasn't as infuriating, mostly just families in various stages of energy levels:
there were the sun-burnt kiddies at gate 67, buzzing around like meth’d up bumblebees, sword fighting each other with their day-glo mini roller bags, knocking over fellow travelers’ laptop cases and starbucks trays. their mom, neck-deep in the latest issue of us magazine, starting the, i assume at one time threatening, count down of “1......2......3......” and then quickly losing count and interest upon turning the page to details of the upcoming kardashian wedding.
meanwhile dad, sitting two rows behind, practically at a different gate, alternating between a furious game of angry birds on his iphone and napping; oblivious to both his wife and precious baby bees.
in the northeast tent {gate 63} i watched the sweetest, young, first-time parents from tempe, travel, for the first time, with their darling bundle of gooey yum. taking their shifts on bucket duty, both dying a slow, little death over every cry and gurgle-still in disbelief noises could be so adorable. dying another slow, little death over those same cries and gurgles, worrying that fellow passengers won’t share their same affinity. baby, oblivious in his happy, fat-thighed, baby world, cooing back at his parental stress monkeys, flashing a tooth-less, gummy grin melting the tension and hearts of all of us fellow travelers. cry all you want baby boy you’ve just endeared 41 more for bucket duty.
but the family who took center ring took my heart as well. on a layover back to ohio from disneyland, emma cinderella still sporting her gown from the ball, danced charmingly and happily upon dad prince charming's toes as he fought off the urge to yelp and wince. exhausted from a week of non-stop disney intervals, dad, sprawled out in his terminal chair, let his cinderella stomp dance to her heart's content as momma sleepily looked on, and clapped to the imaginary orchestra who had been playing for the last two hours of their wait time. sucked dry on princesses and pool time, these dear parents nevertheless quietly continued the magic for their angel girl.
a fitting grand finale.
wednesday happy m'loves.
twitch-gate
so twitchy has officially been with me for 6 months. if she were a baby, i'd be easing her into solid foods {oatmeal and rice- since they're more fiber rich and less constipating}, and introducing the sippy cup.
but she is not a baby. she is not something i birthed from the bliss of my happy marriage. nor did she stem from a deep need to create new life in the genetic ice blended of my husband and me.
this hooch just showed her unwelcome, irritating self in and up into my lower, right eyelid. she settled in, pulled up a chair, ordered a pizza, watched a little direct-tv, went through my clothes and made herself at home. and she's been there, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, save for a couple of hours, post mexican vacation bliss.
attempting to rid this unwanted houseguest, i went through a solid round of acupuncture. although soothing and calming, the needles were a bust. it was a bit confusing when my persian doctor would extol the merits of chinese medicine, but then tell me she was praying to jesus for my recovery. my meridians didn't know whether to make the sign of the cross, bow or kneel.
my potassium, magnesium, b-vitamin, and caffeine levels have all been checked too...i'm a big time supplementer as it is, but now, just for good measure, i'm a mega-supplementer. i'm my own GNC store these days. yet it's done nothing for the party bus in my eye.
two weeks ago, after a three-month wait, i finally was able to get in to see the wonder woman of eye specialty. doctor eye-fix-you-up was going to cease the six month mardi gras in lower right peeper.
as i was lead into the exam room i had to harness my deep, diaphragmatic breathing. i was excited and anxious. i was hopeful doctor-sight-for-sore-eyes was going to find twitchy a new home. i snuggled down into the large, vinyl reclining chair and waited to be cured.
three hours and 48 minutes later, i was still in the chair, still had not seen doctor-eye-have-better-things-to-do and was one month's salary poorer. rather than kill the wait time with the provided woman's day and runner's world magazines, i killed my bank account with ipad shopping. new shoes from net-a-porter, a doo-dad from 1st dibs and some potions from beautyhabit.com. i was getting confirmation receipts as well as s.o.s alerts from my bank wondering if my credit card had been stolen.
when doctor-eye-get-waiting-room-kickbacks-from-american-express finally appeared, i was so grateful for the shopping intervention, i couldn't get angry for the wait; and after all this was the woman who was about to work a miracle.
she shined blinding lights in my irises, checked my vision {20-15 thank you very much}, squirted some drops which made me cry, not tear, cry, and finished with 2 rounds of what felt like ping-pong paddles to my eyeballs. afterward, i had the disposition of declawed cat who had been given a cold, wet bath.
i was not a happy kitten. even with new fancy shoes coming in the mail.
dr. kiss-my-ass had determined that my twitch issue wasn't of a vision origin, and decided that the best solution was to inject botox into the trouble-making party. she also decided that somewhere down the line i should come back and get a "very simple, out-patient surgery, to remove the deep, puffy bags under {my} eyes."
doctor, you also should decide what kind of, in-patient, surgery you will need after i break your face!
although i was not exactly thrilled with the botox idea {a giant needle of botulism into my bottom eyelid?}, i signed the waiver agreeing to possible permanent disfigurement and loss of vision, betting my money {what was left} that this woman knew best.
in went the needle. i silenced my scream, but not my tears. twitchy did her version of a scream, and twitched in hammer-time. i actually felt a bit guilty for my 6-month old, baby twitch. doctor-i -hate-children told me the botox {did you know botulism means sausage in latin} takes a couple of days to take effect.
i stumbled out, hand covering my right eye, protecting my now beloved cub.
coming home, exhausted from the ocular rape, i fell into bed, and tried to nap my morning beating, to my bank account and my eye, away.
waking up, the first thing i felt was the absence of twitchy. she was gone! hand to cheek, that reverberation down my face had vanished. something felt strange though. was it just that i was so used to my eye fluttering, that "normal face" now felt odd. i ran to the mirror to check out my miracle:
yes, my twitch had fled my lower, right eyelid.
but the little minx had journeyed her way up to my upper, left brow.
awesome.
it has been three-plus weeks post socket assault. bitch twitch continues her artist in residence status. she's partial to my lower, right barker lounger, but occasionally spices it up in the high, left loft.
i'm at a loss. i go back to doctor-my-numbing-cream-sucks in september. stay tuned.
monday happy m'loves.
and scene..take II...
i promise not to make this blog into auditiongirl.com, but some things just need to be committed to paper post.
yesterday's grocery-store mom audition was yet another episode in the twilight zone of the hollywood shuffle.
by now, i have accepted the fact that any part i'm up for has the adjunct "ethnic" specification written in the role description:
ethnic mom, ethnic yoga girl, ethnic driver, ethnic girlfriend, ethnic wife.....ethnic food.
yesterday's casting was no exception. it was a bevy of dark-haired, dark-skinned, exotic looking honeys, and judging by the multiple countries represented, it would have made a kick-ass potluck.
from far away it looked like roll call for the united nations. in fact after our audition we all had to get back, and vote on what to do with syria.
the ad which will run in pakistan, china, india and singapore, will promote a very popular deodorizing body wash.
in the spot, ethnic grocery mom does her best to convince ethnic child to wash dirty, stinky self with said soapy sanitizer.
signing in, i was promptly given a call sheet where i listed my measurements and contact information. having received my completed and somewhat truthful form {cup-size wishes it were an A} i was then asked by the casting director, which language will you be speaking?
shall i give you more time to read that sentence again?
yes, which "language" would i be delivering my two lines in?
um, is english not an option? - i asked.
oh, it is. but most of the girls have another language they speak, and it's easier to assign them to a country.
is jive a country?
crickets.
giving me the once-over, 5 times(!), she decided i was best suited for the pakistani group.
if you've haven't seen me in person let me just clarify, if ever there was a country in which i do not look to originate from, it's pakistan. i had clearly pissed her off.
as i moseyed my way over to the pakistan bench, i couldn't believe my eyes when i saw one of my fellow pakistani sisters sitting there with an actual, real live, diaper-wearing baby!
clearly, she was taking this "grocery mom" thing to a whole new level. she actually brought a fucking baby in! did she think this was going to better her chances?! to show the director that she was, in fact, a real, post-partum mom!? i was furious.
had i known we could bring in our own props, i would have marched in a genuine, 4-wheeling, cart from albertson's.
take that lady! you may be a real mom, but i'm a real muthafuckin' grocery shopper; here's my frequent shopper card to prove it. wanna see my coupons?
hollywood is a dog eat dog, dog eat baby world m'loves. you sometimes have to stoop. apparently this lady was stooping with her baby.
fortunately the director wasn't having it. baby was not allowed into the audition. but rather than take the loss and skip the chance to hawk smelly soap, pakistan grocery mom #1 pleaded with the bench to watch her baby while she went in and read.
i'm not a mom, but i have been around actresses and one thing i don't think i'd ever do is leave my baby with a bunch of hungry, hollywood competitors.
it didn't really matter because none of these bitches {a room 20 plus} offered to help.
so, you guessed it, ethnic grocery mom #2 {ME} got my childless ass up, and watched baby "krishna" while his mommy probably stole my role.
we ran, we spun, we played with my phone, he played with the buttons on my sweater and tried to eat my ponytail. although he was too young to walk, he weighed enough to get his driver's license.
by the time his mom came out i was a sweaty, drippy mess {i was now offering to buy the soap we were trying to sell}, my makeup had melted into my bra, and krishna had fallen asleep from exhaustion.
as grateful as she was, her gratitude is doing nothing for my aching back.
and as for the audition, it went great.
well, that is if it were running in hawaii.
weekend happy m'loves
a photo of baby krishna and i playing in the halls. he loved looking at himself on the camera-phone
and scene...
last week’s adventures in groveling actress-land involved a last-minute {aren’t they all} audition for a fancy-nancy german car.
the role called for a woman in her thirties: ✓
casual style: ✓
ethnic: {pfft, whatever?} ✓
5’6”-5'9”: ✓
and a cute personality:…..it’s called acting.
with a face full of makeup, i lurched up the 405 freeway, my beast riding in the backseat, her smiling head out the window for the entire commute.
the waiting room consisted of 17 fellow 5’7”-5'9", lindsay price look-a-likes; all frantically mastering high-eyebrows, the duckface model pout, and furiously arranging and re-arranging shaggy, layered, over-razored bangs, in the desperate hope that a 1/16th of inch follicle placement to the right or left, will make or break a 20 second interview.
print auditions are my favorite. they’re lightening quick. you're in and out.
a couple of photographs face on, turn to the left, turn to the right, and you’re finished. what i imagine being arrested is like....without the cavity search....unless you're auditioning for certain film schools.
this audition was a bit different. the casting agent wanted to film me talking “in a natural, normal manner.” so in order to get a “natural, normal” dialogue he asked me a "natural, normal" question:
"katie, tell me what sort of stuff are you doing with your summer? hanging with your friends? going to the beach?, movies?"
um, wut?
did i misread the number on the door? was this an audition for icarly?
how old does this guy think i am?
“what was I doing with my summer??????” suddenly I was back at villa park high, telling my 11th grade english class my june, july and august adventures.
“ummmmmm…….i’m like, totally going to the beach alot, and um, hanging out with my friends, and ummm, seeing movies and stuff, working on my keg stand at kristin's house, my setting for varsity volleyball, and just being chill, ya know. but, like don't worry, i'm totally doing my required reading and all, so it’s like way cool, and stuff.”
{heel-ball change, finger snap, smack palm……heel-ball change, finger-snap, smack palm}
or something like that...
judging by the nodding of head as i gave my summer dissertation you'd think that i'd not only landed the spot, but that they were throwing in a brand new convertible too.
time will tell. as i said before it's called ahhhhhct-TING.
today's call is for grocery shopping mom. ethnic, of course.
i brushed up on my character by buying ralph's out of their pink & white frosted animal cookies.
i like to be prepared.
thursday happy to you m'loves.
top of the hour: hunkiest!
no post on tuesday. i had a whirlwind trip to arizona to support hunkiest as he made his television début answering questions about the recent arizona fires. his company helps re-seed the land devastated by these natural and sometimes, manmade disasters. all in an effort to bring the beautiful country and wildlife back to what is was.
i have been to scottsdale many times, but i never get used to how stupid pretty it is...even through a car window.
although it's never a style i'd choose for my house {i accent color my all-white house with various shades of 0ff-white}, the hotel did have a cool, southwest aesthetic. these chairs were digging me.
to ease pre-camera jitters, we had drinks and two rounds of flirting at the onyx bar.
coaster riddles: hunky picked food, i picked rest. he won, we followed with dinner at talavera, and called it an early night.
h.d. tv isn't kind to sleep-deprived, puffy eyes.
we were up before the roosters rattlesnakes, to get to the studio before 6am.
i was supposed to be checking on the microphone placement. i was....sort of.
my man in action: he was superman handsome and batman cool.
i couldn't stop taking pictures. i was like a mom at a swim meet.
a romantic goodbye in terminal 3, and i am now back in southern california.
wednesday happy to you m'loves.
scenes from a weekend
how do you do m'loves?
it was a weekend happy indeed. oh my goodness, i hope yours was too.
here's a glimpse of how mine went down:
i added a new rung to my wrist affair.
saturday night i had the honor of attending my lovely friend, jill grogg's, lululemon, ambassorship party. yoga, pilates, spin, boccaccini appetizers-you name it. the girl does it all! with incredible kindness, grace and beauty....it's amazing we're friends. in fact, i may have to drop her. there's just too much wonder woman going on in that tall-drink-a-water for me. and she really is that nice. i'm hoping, behind closed doors, she's a weirdo hoarder or wears the same socks for weeks.....but she always looks and smells fresh as april to me.
pfft.
on sunday morning david hockney returned to southern california. palm trees in jewel-toned green against a sky of bahamian blue, hunkiest and i brunched outdoors to soak it all in.
tea for him, coffee for me, and omelets of asparagus, artichokes, mushrooms & gruyère {mmm hmmm}.
post brunch binge, we walked off our glut with some shopping at one of our favorite stores.
new shoes for katie and hunkiest bought a shirt which brings out the golden in his eyes.
i must say, out of all the sunsets, shorelines and mountaintops in the world, this view beats them all for me.
okay, enough about me. tell me about YOU! how was your weekend? don't you KNOW how much i love hearing from you?
monday happy m'loves.
weekend happy
this weekend i'm making an effort to change where and how i look at my world. i will try to un-fix my stubborn lenses so that i don't miss out on all the beauty to be had, even when just walking to the mailbox. i tend to cartwheel and spark over the shiny and grand, rather than the dim and wee. i have a feeling there are micro moments of lovely passing by, right under my nose, capable of inducing the deepest of belly laughs, the widest of smiles and the kind of tears which reaffirm my capacity to love fierce and unyielding. there's a magical dance party of experience and emotion going on, and i am outside, circling the block in my car.
this weekend i'm going to shimmy.
see you on the other side of sunday m'loves.
scenes from an audition
two fridays ago i thought i was home free: my classes were taught, my clients were whipped tight and firm for the weekend's scantily clad endeavors, the beast was shiny clean.
the first afternoon off in months, and just as i pulled polly into her cool, ensconcing garage my phone started blowing up like an illegal, fourth of july firework.
mayday! mayday!
i had a last minute commercial audition.
my role? ethnic mom #2. not #1, number TWO, and they needed me to be up in west hollywood an hour ago. which according to google maps traffic alerts yielded me there in 2.12 hours.
always armed with an emergency makeup kit, i threw polly in reverse and thanked the satellite radio gods.
here are some shots of the afternoon:
hair. check!
makeup. check!
land rover was casting a commercial as well. i had to share a waiting room with rugged, navy seal-looking model types.
note to self: next time bring my single girlfriends.
my post-audition reward.
my favorite coffee bean: sunset & holloway. more star sightings than a lakers' playoff game, ample parking and the baristas always remember your drink and name.
one caveat: even the filthiest, crack addicted, would-do-anything-for-a-buck-vagrant would still, even for a thousand dollars, not use their restroom. although shia lebouf......did.
i'm still waiting to hear about ethnic mom #2. i don't know think my scowl at crying baby #4 helped my chances. but for the record, camera wasn't rolling during said prima donna's subsequent meltdowns, so the kid should have kept it together.
i don't care what kind of "method" actor he was.
stop and stare
a poor life this if, full of care,
we have no time to stand and stare.
~william henry davies
bellicose beguiles me
so here it is, after a hilarious and rife response to words that give us the ick, i give you:
~words that make me capsize with happy~
words when uttered or heard, wrap me 'round like a soft blanket of baby, mewing kittens.
like my earlier post, these words aren't necessarily about what they denote or depict.
for instance, as delicious as the confection is, fudge and brownie aren't terribly ambrosial words.
and, as pretty as it looks in a bouquet, an aster, feels rather artless rolling off the tongue.
fortunately our language pot brims full and redolent.
for example, i'm not a giant fan of popcorn, but i'll order it just for the opportunity to say it.
i'm not exactly sure what an apothecary is, but i love to work it into conversation:
"your honor, i believe the weapon was purchased at THE a-poth-e-ca-ree."
not certain we do it properly, but the beast and i prefer to frolic rather than promenade when out on our evening walks.
balls. love the word balls. always have, always will. a great replacement to my too oft' used f-word.
and just like sneezing with your eyes open, it's impossible to say fancy without smiling.
try it.
meadow, cotton, dulcet*, scamp, tomfoolery, noose, rabbit, bush, vestment, bandage, bongo, piglet, all words i wish i could bake a potpie {another favorite} out of and scarf down, no sharing.
and dap. dap is an all-timer for me. so cool. so classic. stand alone--no accessories needed; often the subject of scott schuman's shutter.
so here's your turn. tell me your favorite words....again, doesn't matter what they connote or define. they just feel good to say.
and don't you know how much i love hearing from you? maybe just tell me "hello".
monday happy m'loves.
*love that mrs burns uses this too.
weekend happy and a message from the beast
priscilla was feeling a bit neglected from goodniteirene of late, and has a few things she'd like to say:
[vimeo http://vimeo.com/27314400 w =600 h=400]
there.
her voice has been heard.
satisfied, for now, she has retreated into her pocket of priestess where she plans her next business of monkey.
victories: priscilla= 367, mommy= 0.
signing off for the weekend m'loves.
the beast and i plan to shower hunkiest with kisses and .......errands.
what's in your filofax of fun?
see you on the other side of sunday.
love,
katie and priscilla
one or the other
car?
or hair?
they both are filthy, both are in dire need of a washing.
i only have time for one, and yes my hair takes just as much time as a trip to the car wash.
which should get the bath today?
where do you weigh in m'loves?
it's getting hot in here....
it finally happened.
last night, summer cast her spell of hot fever over our house.
ceiling fan on cyclone, every window open wide, and my bedroom still felt like a sticky, humid louisiana swamp.
how are y'all keeping cool?
coastin'
monday happy m'loves.
today is a busy day of spinning, tucking, twisting, curling, and smiling.
the fall silhouette is long and lean {tuxedo suits and long skirts} and i'm off to get my clients ready.
a giant "THANK YOU" to coast magazine for my recent write-up, and an even bigger "THANK YOU" to ralph palumbo, magician photographer, for making a flu-ey katie camera ready.
weekend happy
i have been in a constant state of giggles for the last 2 days. i had no idea how much conversation safe word would spark. along with the comments, friends and family have been, emailing, texting, calling, and face-booking with their ick words; so many of them which i say on a daily basis. it's baffling what words drive y'all to drink.
here's a partial list of some of them:
fruitcake
doily
rally {as in to get up and go}
party {as a verb}
pork
soften
caramel {but only when pronounced “care-ah-mel”}
authentic {used as a describing someone}
pop-up store
freckles
mozzarella {but only when giada de laurentiis utters it; my friend this as ammunition to NOT learn how to cook}
jiggle
clog
encrusted
dollop
panties {especially when said by a man}
enjoy {when food is served}
golden
mastication
donzo
chill-alxin
ointment
oriental
scaly
now these aren't technically words, but there were big problems with the sayings: "it is what it is," and: "bring it in for the real thing," which apparently means "give me a hug".
then there were the more bodily ick words:
phlegm, pus, mucous, secretions, john boehner, and of course: vagina.
on that note, weekend happy to you m'loves. wishing you an ick free 48 hours.
see you on the other side of sunday.
safe word: cute
do you have some words that give you the ick? i don't mean profanity or bodily functioning words. i'm talking about completely acceptable words {to some} that for some reason, when you read, hear or say them, your body becomes a histamine releasing, shoulder shimmying, un-hostess-like vessel, sending you into bonkers-ville.
i do.
for example, i have a friend who cringes over “bev-nap”. we both share a disdain for “moist”.
i have recently launched an offensive against the use of “sunnies”, an absurd term seeming to have swept through the fashion blogosphere whence referring to one's sunglasses. i cannot control my own bile when i read this word.
face. i’m not a fan of the word face. it’s just so...... facial. although, for a word i dislike so much i will say i use it often.
trough. i detest this word. but more because of my incapacity to remember how to properly pronounce it. when read out loud i want to say “trou” as in rhymes with “cow”…as in “drop trou”. or i want to rhyme it with “tough”. if i see it up ahead in a sentence….even if i'm just quietly reading to myself, i'll start jonesing for ativan just to quell the rising anxiety of getting through the silly passage. i mean, come one? do we really need this word any more? when was the last time you actually saw an actual trough? lemme guess? were there pigs? can’t we just call it a feeding bin?
but the end all, banned from the house, say it and you’re sleeping in the car word is: sexy.
hate it! hate it! hate it!
always have. i’d rather hunkiest tell me i have an ass-face then tell me i am or look sexy.
just typing this, my hair follicles {ew…another non-fave} are starting to prickle, and my shoulders are trying to dodge right and left away from the discomfort i’m feeling writing said banned word.
i have others: soda, sneaker, preserves {more of a husband thing…he won’t have a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, it has to be peanut butter & preserves wtf??}, guac {as in guacamole}, nudity.
not to worry m'loves. i see a psychiatrist regularly. two of my favorite words are: " i see."
do you have words?
wednesday happy to you.