RHOBH Recuperation from Shark Tank (& Wine) Hangover

Too much Shark Tank? Or wine?

My Thanksgiving weekend with the family has ended. We had a feast every night for three days, and the last one was a real ding-dong doozie. My family drank 9 bottles of wine, and the next day our tombstones were resting in the front yard. I am still dehydrated, tired and bloated as fuck from eating a large pizza to cure my hangover. I am thankful to be back home and I really need a night of recuperation, complete personal time. Since my family watched Shark Tank for a total of 15 hours over Thanksgiving weekend, I need of some light entertainment. Shark Tank is a great show but the music gets me too tense. I find myself hiding behind the couch cushions anticipating Mr. Wonderful assassinating someone’s dreams by calling them a greedy pig and telling them to get the hell out of his sight. I put on Real Housewives of Beverly Hills because I guess a bunch of grown ass women screaming in each other’s faces and crying over a broken nail relaxes me.

We are bursting with Shark Tank potential

I watch RHOBH because of the little dogs, these women have about 4 each, and they are cute little fluffiness, the only kind of dogs I like. My neighbors have pit bulls, which are fucking terrifying. They look like the type of dogs that roam around junkyards and have spiked collars. I know, “Pit bulls aren’t bad dogs!” screams every person who has a pit bull (before that pit bull attacks someone.) The thing is, I am afraid of dogs, and dogs smell fear, so they know I am the easiest one to pick off and pit bulls are the most effective at picking off. When I walk into a room with a dog, I am the first person the dog goes over to, sniffs my lady parts as I try and shield it as best I can with my hands. I laugh from the awkwardness but in my mind I am thinking, “this dog is going to kill me, and he is starting at my vagina.”

Dog lovers are a special kind of people. They don’t seem to notice how dogs smell, or that male dogs have a slimy penis that shoots out as they look you in the eyes with their tongue hanging out. Owning a dog would be a good appetite suppressant for me though. One year I worked at a distribution center and one of my friends was an older hippie lady. We ate lunch in the employee lounge and she always wanted to watch Animal Planet. I probably lost ten pounds that summer because I can’t manage to get a bite down while I am watching a hairy ass gorilla scratching its exploding butthole on TV.

I like my dogs to be self-cleaning and defecate in a litter box, or Yorkshire terriers. I have a soft spot for those little fur balls. My mom’s dog is a 12 year old Jack Russell.  For the past 4 days I had to follow my 1 year old son around screaming, “Nooooooo!” as he toddled to her dog repeatedly shouting, “Dog! Dog!” Jack has a life littered with trauma; he was attacked by a coyote, ran over by a house boat, almost drowned when he fell through an icy pond, and dognapped for over a month (this was the darkest time of my mom’s life, and then one day he was tied to the door knob. She must have been doing some crazy visualizing.)

The face of a dog who can't be trifled with

The dognappers probably returned Jack because he is such a little shit, and my mom enables his shit behavior. Jack flips his dog bowl over and spills his food across the kitchen floor. We think it is because he would rather have prime rib, but for fucks sake, he is a dog! When Jack gets his psycho growl and begins barking at my little defenseless baby, my mom looks at me and says, “Jack has arthritis, and the babies hurt him, so keep them away.” This would be fine if Jack didn’t follow the kids around anticipating the cookies, crackers and cheese that fall from their little baby hands.

I am glad to be home and spared from the duty of keeping my kids away from my mom’s dog. I am the master of my domain, and can spend the next couple weeks recuperating from Thanksgiving by watching awful TV. By the time Christmas rolls around I will be able to do it all again, as long as I have not been eaten by my neighbors pit bull first. My mom and I will stay in communication daily with our brilliant ideas for Shark Tank (keep your eyes peeled for ice cream croutons). We are modern day Thomas Edison, thinking up crap that can be made in China for cheap. No matter what we think up, we know Daymond is the perfect shark for us!

Healing

Holiday Season Glitter Metallic Suit of Armor

Suiting Up

Ding ding dong, or, dong dong dong. Either way (ding with a side of dong, or dong with a side of dong), holiday season has officially begun. It is Thanksgiving. The next month is an absolute shit show of endless parties, and the fun of dressing up for the festivities. Now is the time to wear all the metallic and glitter in your wardrobe, and by the time January 1st rolls around there will be metallic burn out. Nonetheless, by next Thanksgiving an insatiable jonesing to dazzle in head to toe glittery sparkly shit will come out of nowhere.

I hate this time of year because on the surface it is the time to let loose and show all your office friends the “real you,” but in reality it is the only time hob nobbing with the higher higher ups is acceptable so its time to pull on the serious pants and act like a career oriented bitch. Not going to happen because of the open bar. I am the person who goes to a party to drink, so a holiday work party is my worst nightmare. I am the woman dancing with a lampshade on her head as all my colleagues look on in judgmental pity.

The face of a woman about to go wild!

The two months following my inevitable scenes of embarrassment are usually filled with shame and regret which add to the post holiday blues, but at least I know I was dressed for the occasion. Maybe my “dancing by myself” dance moves made it a little too clear to my boss’s boss’s boss that I am le freak. The mask comes off this time of year, and I guess the “real me” might be a bit much for all my stuffy ass office mates.

Holiday parties suck balls because the concept of letting loose is really all a sham and there are expectations of being supremely proper. The open bars always do me in and I end up a source of gossip for months. Bad publicity is still publicity, and Im looking good while I act like a fool, so ha! Plus, I am having loads of fun, even though it comes off as desperate and sad to people who seem to have their shit together. But they are just jealous, and I really mean it! They can’t ever let loose, it’s a control problem. The real them is buried too deep under their cute little business suits. I put it all out there, and it might be ugly to see, but I wrap it up in sparkles and glitter to make it a little more dazzling than disastrous.

Happy holidays!! Let the shit show commence!

Glitter looks good the next morning

#FreeTheNipple Cost Savings

I ordered the Christmas presents for the kids today from Amazon. Online shopping really takes the stress out of “Christmas Stress.” I am going to hide the toys in my closet for a month and start wrapping them the day before Christmas just to put the stress back in “Christmas Stress.” Of course, I had to look at some things for myself as I picked out Play Dough, Magic Dolls, and other things kids are wildly impressed with for 15 minutes before they decide to fight over a whisk they found in the kitchen.

A couple months ago I found a really cute bathing suit on Etsy, and followed the link to an independent retailer’s site where the suit was listed for $90. Its online, so I assumed the retailer must be high end because the suit looked pretty no frills, thick straps, no bra cups and simple print, a cosmic scene with purples and silver. I pinned it, and moved on. Since I am off to Mexico in a month, I thought I’d look at bathing suits, and I remembered the cosmic suit from Pinterest, so I type a description in the amazon search engine, and wham, there it is. The exact same bathing suit for $18 with free shipping!!! I almost fell out of my chair. The fucking audacity that a retailer is likely buying the suits from this Amazon source, and then turning around and selling them for $70 more. All they probably do is take the suit out of its plastic wrap, cut off the made in China sticker, and let the factory smell air out with a couple spritzes of Febreze.

Merry Christmas to me; I am getting my bathing suit at the straight off the loading dock bargain rate. It might be a bit fusty getting a one piece, but the shrinkage on my stomach has not fully recovered from the gaining and loosing of 85 pounds during each pregnancy. My kids were each 9 pound babies, and they can thank me because this is an actual factor in determining intelligence (well, until they’re 30, so relax parents of tiny babies, your kid will catch up after they have settled into a life based on their menial intelligence). My tummy looks a bit like a wrinkled balloon that has been blown up and deflated but it is all for a greater good! Hopefully in a couple years I can manage dealing with a two piece again, but who wants to fuss with that at a Mexico all inclusive resort. You start your day at a fucking breakfast buffet and then drink Corona all day long. A bikini would only take away from the level of nirvana I am trying to attain.

Here is a ink to the bathing suit on Amazon. I am not sure why they didn’t Photoshop the nipslip, but I guess those costs would only make the suit more expensive. Good on them for passing the savings onto the customers. #freethenipple