Tag Archives: fashion


Is errybody so happy it is FRIDAY!? I am!!

I’m real tired, last night I went out in the big city with Deena.  I knew it was a bad idea when she suggested it, and even though I only had 1.25 beers and was in bed before midnight (my usual bedtime) I’m still tired as all get out.

The night was pretty fun, although I’m starting to realize more and more that I’m just not a good time in social settings unless I am waste face.  The whole time I was standing in the first 3 crowded bars we went to I kept trying to think of excuses I could use to go home and lay in my bed (that didn’t include, “I’m missing Jersey Shore right now”, the REAL reason I wanted to go home).  The bars were hot, there were people everywhere, and drinks were getting spilled all over my suede booties.  Not ok. 

You see, High School Crush and I often talk about my suede booties, for they are my lucky booties.  I don’t know if it’s the fact that they make me really tall, make me look super thin and hot, the fact that they are just really cool looking, or maybe it’s just that I call them booties and he thinks it’s funny, but for whatever reason my booties are his BFFFL.

At the Christmas party, HSC and I were standing at the bar and he was asking me what I thought of his new loafers and he rose up his foot to show me.  When I noticed they had fur on the inside I gasped and said, “Well do they have zipper or do they tie or at least have a place to put your pennies?” and he was all… no, they just slide on, no pennies.  And I was all, oh you’ve been fake loafed, those are slippies.  No one likes to get fake loafed, so he was upset obvi, and demanded to see my shoes:

Bootied.  I couldn’t find the picture of my exact booties, but these are pretty close, instead of the ruffles in the middle mine have a giant oversized suede bow.  Super cute. Of course when I showed HSC the booties, I could see it in his eyes that he thought the booties were like the best shoe ever made, but he played it off all cool and was like, “Yeah ok I like those.”  But now they are kind of a running joke and have taken on a life of their own. 

When we met up at the festival a few weeks ago, we had hardly broken away from our hello hug when he asked why I wasn’t wearing the booties.  I had to be like, “Well it’s raining, and we’re walking a lot, so you know – it’s not the place for the booties.” He seemed upset, but I was like meh, whatever, the booties can’t always make an appearance that would make them less cool. 

But now I kind of think he likes the booties more than he likes me.  Last week when I was sick and told him I was going to OD on Nyquil and rom com’s to make myself feel better, the next day he asked how the booties were doing, and I was like oh they’re fine, but me? I’m dying, thanks for asking.  When I told him I was going out last night to meet a friend for drinks he asked if I’d be taking the booties along and when I said yes he was like, “Oh they’re going to have a great time!” What about meeeee? What about my great time? I take those damn booties where they go! They’d be nothing without me. 

He hasn’t asked yet today if the booties had a good time last night, but when he does I’m going to have to break it to him that they got spilled on last night and are now sporting a lovely jizz looking stain, right on the bow.  Booties got bow jizz.

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Chello kids.  In case anyone was wondering, Anth and the girl that stood him up rescheduled their date for Friday – so no funny stories to report on that mess, BLAST!


Today I need to discuss a serious issue.  Whore houses.  I’m pretty sure my neighbor is running one, and the right and left sides of my brain are having an all out civil war trying to figure out what to do about it. 


When I moved in with the boys last February they sent out an email to all of their friends inviting them to our super bowl party, and when they described how to get to our townhome in all seriousness they said:  “1234 Main Street Unit 5, 2 doors down from the whore house.”  I guess people were supposed to be like, “Hrmm… Main street… hmm… where is that?  OH the whore house, ok got it.”  At the time, I had only been living there for 2 weeks so I didn’t know what whore house they were referring to or if they were secretly talking about me in code with 35 of their closes friends while I was CC’d on the email, so I just left it alone.


Let me first say, our neighborhood has been described as “Posh” by the British man Betty forced me to bring home.  Our house is not posh, but the neighborhood is.  And for those of you that don’t speak British, that means nice.  So to me, it was rather unlikely that there would be an actual whore house on our block so all talk of the whore house the first 5 months I lived there got filed away in my brain.


When summer rolled around I started to notice random whorish looking girls hanging around outside of the condo 2 doors down looking like they had nowhere to be but on their backs. I took that and the comments with a grain of salt since I had never seen the person that lived in the apartment.  One night, I’m getting myself all tucked into bed around midnight when I heard someone right outside my door saying, “Marcy…Marcy…Marcyyyyyyyyyyyyy I need youuuu!!”  This was when I lived in the dungeon so I wasn’t about to flip on the light and find some cray cray staring in the window at me.  In the morning JM had told me he heard it too and was looking out his window and eventually saw the person go in the Whore House.   That was enough justification for me to believe it was actually a whore house.


Later that day I googled, “1234 Main Street Whore House” and found, “Marcy, PhD, Sex Addiction Psychiatrist -1234 Main Street Unit 3” AND “Barry’s Salon and Massage Parlor –  A Happy Ending Massage 1235 Main Street”  So I don’t know, this is either really smart or really mean on Marcy PhD’s part, but it explained a lot.


Apparently at the following home owners association meeting someone filed a complaint that Marcy PhD’s coo-coo birds were littering in the courtyard and you know having a business out of her home was illegal in the association, but they’d look past it as long as the crazies kept their condoms and their cigs off of the lawn.  Fair enough, right?


Everything was all good in the hood until last night when I heard that familiar song, “Marccccyy…. Marcyyy… I need you!!”  Now that I don’t live in the dungeon I had no problem flipping on my light and sticking my head out the window to see what all the commotion was about.  And when I did, I saw a full grown man, I kid you not, dressed in women’s lingerie.  I get that I live in a big city and I do live near the neighborhood that houses all of the gay bars and some of those gay bars have drag shows so I shouldn’t really be surprised to see a man walking around in lingerie.  Except that it was snowing, and it was 4am and we are a good mile from said bars, and he was barefoot, but you know I probably still shouldn’t be surprised because I’ve seen weirder things in my life.   It was a hard argument for me to not call the cops at 4am on this wackadoo, but I thought… you know Marcy PhD is doing a good thing, she’s trying to help these crazies out and if this guy goes to jail it’s not going to help his disease to get gang banged in the butt all night.  Plus, I don’t want Marcy PhD to get kicked out of the association; I need her to stay there in case I ever get addicted to sex.  Right? It’s a reasonable worry for someone who is 18 months celibate.   


And then he reached around into his little knapsack on his back and I thought, “Oh good, he’s going to put some clothes on.  I did the right thing not calling the cops.” And he pulled out a big giant black dildo.  Christ.  There are children in this neighborhood! The children man!!  Honestly, this was so cray cray I could’ve been dreaming, I’m still having a hard time believing I actually saw this happen.  I just couldn’t watch anymore, I turned on my fan to drown out whatever noises he would surely be making and went to bed.  This morning I saw trace amounts of red lace strewn about the lawn, I never heard the cops show up so I really don’t care to know what else happened outside my window last night. 

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Sweater Vest

It’s here! The long awaited story of Sweater Vest! I’m sure you guys are all on the edge of your seats in anticipation…

The year was 2007, also known as the year I got dumped by Douchearoo for no good reason.  School was in full swing and I was out with Dina one night drowning my sorrows in a vat of vodka tonics.  I’m standing at the bar sobbing when her friend who I knew of but had never officially met walks up, and that friend’s name is Sweater Vest.

We all chatted for a few, I told him, much like I told everyone in the fall of 2007, my sob story about Douchearoo and how I was heartbroken.  He reacted the same way most strangers would/did, bought me a shot and gave me a pat on the back, I said I needed to go home and cry so I left.  

Not 1 hour later I got a text from a number I didn’t know… “Hey this is Dina’s friend Sweater Vest (not yet called Sweater Vest), you should come back to the bar and hang out with me!” Or something of those sorts.  I didn’t reply until the next day and I don’t really remember how it happened…. but we started dating.

He was a good on paper guy, he was going to be an aeronautical engineer (and is one now), he didn’t live close to the bars, his ex-girlfriend was 2 hours away, and he was really, really, nice.

One of the first times I did meet him out at the good ol college bar he walked in and I spotted him from across the bar, I hid under the table because he was wearing a sweater vest.  At a bar.  He eventually found me and forced me to take this photo:

I mean I don’t know.  Maybe it’s not that bad and I was just looking for things to find wrong with him.  But every time I saw him after that he wore sweater vests just to bug me, hence the name, Sweater Vest.  The funny part is that Lucky and I actually called him Sweater Vest when we talked about him, I’m not even sure she knows his actual name.

Anyway, we casually dated for a few months until Douchearoo decided he’d take me back (I’m embarrassed just saying this).  I was out with the D-Roo one night when Sweater Vest approached and was all, “Gizzy, what are you doing? He’s a DOUCHE! Just walk away from him and come hang out with me.”  Then I went off on the poor guy, basically saying he didn’t know me and just needed to step off, I loved Douchearoo and I was going to do what I wanted and he needed to know his role and get out of my business.  

We didn’t talk for a good year after that.  After Douchearoo and I were long over and I was on to Bi-Polar Ex I finally saw Sweater Vest out.  Obviously I was embarrassed about how I had acted a year prior so I just ran passed him, said “Hi how are you?” And went on my merry little way.  Sweater Vest has made it a point to tell me Happy Birthday every year since then and I’m pretty much the biggest bitch in the world.

I found out that after I told him off he got back together with his ex that lived 2 hours away.  Then they moved to Miami together.  THEN, he started texting me again last Christmas to see how I was doing and alas a few months ago I found out he just moved to The Big City.  Now, he’s all on Dina telling her to set something up so we can all hang out.   So that’s supposed to go down on Friday, everyone get excited!

I mean, yeah, if I was a smart girl I would put the fact that I’m not that attracted to him aside and date marry him.  He is a cute guy, but he’s not my type (by that I mean he’s not a raging Douche, obvi that’s what I like), and doesn’t get me going like that… if ya know what I mean.  Because clearly the guy would treat me like a queen since he’s still the nicest guy ever to me after I treated him like shit.  But I just can’t make myself do it.  I’ll hang out with him and I might even throw him a drunken make out or pity date him for a few months again.  But I won’t like it!

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Plain Jane

One of my favorite things about having a blog is looking at the things that people google that gives them this blog as a search result.  Some of the better ones lately:

zit on vagina – old bitch in boot – why won’t he respond to friend request – kelsey grammer’s penis – italian sex fucking style – semen cocktails

Anyway, has anyone seen the show Plain Jane on the CW?  I caught it last Thursday while I was at the gym running, it kept my attention and the next thing I knew I had run like 6 miles.

The show stars Louise Roe, who apparently is a big fashion guru and looks strikingly similar to Kelly Bensimon from the Real Housewives of New York.  She picks a girl who is, you guessed it… a plain Jane and transforms her into her own little mini-me who is confident, sexy, fashionable, and all that other stuff you want to be.  Now there’s a twist, each “Plain Jane” has a crush that has put her into the friend zone and after their life changing make over and “confidence building exercises” (the episode I saw, they made the girl do a burlesque dance to find her femininity, and ask guys for their numbers at a dog park to give her confidence) they tell the guy that they want to set him up on a blind date.  There he is waiting for his blind date and in walks BFF plain Jane looking sparkly and new.  They’re all… Omg bet you didn’t guess it was me for like 10 minutes then they sit down and start talking about how they have had crushes on each other for like ever and live happily ever after. 

First, I am going to watch this show every Thursday for 2 reasons #1 I’m a dork and #2 not every episode can end happily ever after, right? I want to see one where the guy is like, well… I’ve kind of been banging this playboy model on the side and yeah, I can do better than you. 

Like most shows, this got me thinking.  If I were selected to be on this show and got a makeover to impress some guy who would the guy even be?  I have absolutely 0 prospects.  Like, I don’t even have a crush.  I guess for this reason alone they would never pick me to be on the show.  I’d have to pay Anth in fake boobs and blondes to have him pretend to be my crush so that I could get a free makeover.  This is what my life has come to.

On that note, I got asked out for coffee today at work.  I don’t know if it was in a romantic way or in a friendly you do a lot of shit for me at work so let me buy you a cup of joe to make you feel appreciated way.  Either way, I agreed.  So, the guy’s name is Alex he is decent looking and funny, but the downfall is that he is dumb.  I don’t know how else to put it nicely, the guy is just not the brightest crayon in the box?  When he sees a round hole he puts a square peg in it?  I don’t know what you want me to say.  I guess you’ll have that, but it’s a big turn off for me – which is why I wasn’t interested in him when I met him.  Yes he’s attractive, but in my world dumb trumps attractive.

At this stage in my life I’ve got to give a guy the least amount of reasons to cheat on me.  Because apparently just being my awesome self isn’t good enough.  I’ve begun to realize that it’s pretty much all about power with guys, the better they feel about themselves when they’re with you – the less likely they are to go looking for someone else to make them feel better.  Now don’t get me wrong here, I would never change who I am just to get a guy or to make a guy feel good about himself, fuck that, but let’s cut to the chase… I want a guy who is smarter than I am, and if he’s not, he needs to at least be on the same level as me.  I don’t want a guy who is going to be all… “Well she’s smarter than me, and makes more money, and half of the time I don’t know what she’s talking about so I’m going to go find a dumb girl to bang so I don’t feel like a loser.” NO!

And this guy makes comments about how I am smarter than him, so I wouldn’t even go there.  Whenever I have to do work with him I honestly have to explain what we’re doing about 50 times and then he still doesn’t get it and I just have to do everything myself.

So anyway, he called me up this morning to talk about a project we’re working on.  At the end of the call he asked if I ever make my way near his building.  I said not that often, but I occasionally walk over to the Starbucks in the morning for coffee if I’m feeling frisky, then he asked if he could buy me a cup of coffee Friday morning.  I said sure and he said he’d call me Thursday so we could set a time to meet. I said okay, he said okay I’m looking forward to it I’ll talk to you Thursday.  Done deal. 

So we’ll see what happens.  I need you guys to help me think of some exit strategies if things go awry. 

P.S. 300th POST! Wahoo!

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FOX stole my life

Did everyone just luuuurrrrveee the JERSEY SHORE last night? I did, I know it wasn’t very eventful but it was a good teaser.  My new goal in life is to get PaulyD to retweet my tweet or write me back.  It’s going to happen.  And when it does it’s going to be… AWESOME!

While watching the Jersey Shore last night I saw a preview for a new show on fox… “The New Girl”  It’s about a girl starting over and moving in with 3 guys.  Sound familiar? Yeah, that’s because it’s MY LIFE!! WTF FOX!!!

Yes Fox, you’re welcome for your new smash hit.  Do blog entries count as a poor mans copyright?  Think I could get them to hire me on as a writer?  Like hey guys, been there done ALL OF THIS! You know what though, I bet they don’t make her live in the basement for 6 months to earn her keep before giving her 4 walls and a door.  I’ll be curious to see how the story pans out, I would put money on 2 seasons from now she’s dating one of the roommates.  We shall see.

What do we think about people in the office who make their email signature look like an actual signature.  For example:

Dear Gizzy:

If you are ever in need of my services please do not hesitate to contact me.  Thank you.


Pooper Scooper

Executive Director of Scooping Poopies

Personally, I’m not a big fan of it.  I think it’s unprofessional and makes you look like you have a lot of time on your hands.  But I’ve been noticing like EVERYONE that I email with at work does it.  Am I retarded and missed the memo that creating a fake e-signature is in? Like if you’re going to go to this much trouble why not type out the whole GD email in word, print it out, sign it, and then PDF or fax it to me? I just do not understand the purpose of using a different font for their name.  Baffling.  Granted they’re all old and amazed at all the cool things computers can do.  Just know that I had to look up how to do HTML coding in order to make this point and get that handwriting font to show up, so appreciate!  There’s more where that came from, friends.  

The best part of this is that I wrote all of the above about people being big gay wads with their cursive email signatures last night (Thursday) and a few minutes ago (on Friday) we received this email from CFO:


Staff should use an e-mail signature on e-mail correspondence.  We have chosen the standard e-mail signature format below and include instructions to create a signature.  Please create or update your existing e-mail signature to reflect the e-mail standard example below using Calibri font, size 10, black, with no background, color or graphics.  At your department manager’s discretion, you may be asked to include department specific information.

Standard e-mail example

Jane Doe

Department Administrator

Company XYZ

Department ABC

123 Main Street- Suite (your suite number)

Partyville, USA 12345

T (555) 123-0000


Looks like I wasn’t the only one that noticed all the tool bags making us look unprofessional.  Touche my good man CFO.  Touche.

Speaking of work, it’s been far too long since anything embarrassing happened to me while on the job.  Until today.  I’m walking to the copy machine with a pile of $1,000,000 checks to copy and my heel gets stuck in the cuff of my oh so stylish pants, the express flare leg dress pant.  I go to take a step and I felt it happening and said… “OH NO!!!” as I went down using the file cabinent to brace my fall.  It held me up so I didn’t completely faceplant.  But while I’m using all my strength and will to hold myself up using the file cabinent and while simultaneously trying to get my heel unstuck from the cuff of my pant leg a group of businessmen walk by to go to the conference room for a meeting (Little Mikey included) and the old asian man is standing there watching my struggles and asking if I’m ok.  It’s really a wonder that I’m still here and not off in a corner somewhere ugly girl crying.  So this has taught me a lesson, I’m officially too old and too clumsy to try and look stylish and cute while at work.  If I had on my high waters this wouldn’t have happened, or if I had been wearing flats this wouldn’t have happened.  It’s what I get.

Happy Friday everyone!  Thank god.

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Ladies in Lit.

According to my new favorite blog, Chick Lit is Not Dead, May is Chick Lit Month.

Umm…can I get a holla?

It was about my junior year in college when I entered the English/creative writing program at my school. It was something I held off doing, not because I didn’t like writing, just because I thought English majors were pretentious assholes who thought they were beatniks, wore berets, black turtlenecks (think Doug’s sister Judith), and snapped their fingers instead of clapping or laughing.

When I showed up for my first advanced-level English course, literary critique, my nightmares came true. Our professor, who obsessed over Lindt chocolates, asked us to go around the room and say our favorite book.

Students were rattling off the works of Aristotle and Nietzsche. I, on the other hand, was the sex-columnist for the school paper, so I often read columns and books by other sex writers. At the time, my favorite book was Chloe Does Yale by Natalie Krinsky (Yale’s first sex columnist).

I immediately felt like an outcast, but I didn’t let that stop me from loving chick lit. Now, I read all the time. I love memoirs, some fiction, true crime, biographies, and of course, romance.

So, in honor of Chick Lit Month, I thought I would share with you some of my favorite titles (in no particular order):

LIPSTICK JUNGLE BY CANDACE BUSHNELL—I’m sure this is no shocker after you all witnessed me swooning over season one on DVD…

AT FIRST SIGHT BY NICHOLAS SPARKS—Ah, I’ve read four novels by Sparks, and they are definitely a guilty pleasure. This one has a shocking ending!

MURDER AT THE ACADEMY AWARDS BY JOAN RIVERS—did you know comic Joan Rivers wrote? I found this book in a gift shop on a cruise with Buttons. It’s a murder mystery laced with celebrities and high fashion.

THE LAST SINGLE WOMAN IN AMERICA BY CINDY GUIDRY—this is the book that made me want to write a memoir. It’s absolutely hilarious.

WHY MEN LOVE BITCHES BY SHERRY ARGOV—if you’re that “nice girl” and always get screwed in dating, you must read this book! I am still learning lessons from it.

LA CANDY & SWEET LITTLE LIES BY LAUREN CONRAD—these are the first two books of a three-book series by ms. Conrad, and they are just that: candy. I just gobble them up!

THE LAST SONG BY NICHOLAS SPARKS—I saw this movie, then read the book and it was the first Sparks’ book I read. Seriously, it was so good. Emotional, but good.

ONE FIFTH AVENUE BY CANDACE BUSHNELL—last summer, I was on a mission to read all of Bushnell’s novels. This is my favorite one!

HOLLYWOOD WIVES: THE NEW GENERATION BY JACKIE COLLINS—ah, Collins, the original Chick Lit author. This was my first Collins’ novel and I loved it. Super sexy.

JULIE & JULIA BY JULIE POWELL—I saw this movie first, loved it, then read the book. They are both very different, but both good.

STRAIGHT UP & DIRTY BY STEPHANIE KLEIN—I read this book not too long ago and was literally laughing my ass off.

NIGHTS IN RODANTHE BY NICHOLAS SPARKS—I remember coming home from work one evening, cracking open this book, and drinking an entire bottle of wine. I finished the book that night, and had a nice lil buzz.

THE TIME TRAVELER’S WIFE BY AUDREY NIFFENEGGER—My mom loaned my this book, she kept saying she loved it, but it was sooooo graphic. It isn’t. It’s a wonderful read.

SEX & THE CITY BY CANDACE BUSHNELL—People often forget the fabulous television series is based on a book. And it is very, very different from the show.

CHASING HARRY WINSTON BY LAUREN WEISBURGER—from the author of The Devil Wears Prada, comes another book about fabulous, powerful women!

A WOMAN TRAPPED IN A WOMAN’S BODY BY LAUREN WEEDMAN—Gizzy loaned me this book, and it was hilarious!

LOVERS & PLAYERS BY JACKIE COLLINS—my second Collins’ book and it was just as sexy as the first.

MY HORIZONTAL LIFE BY CHELSEA HANDLER—this was Handler’s first book, released before she was popular. Each chapter is a different one night stand.

Now that you’ve seen the Chick Lit books I’ve read and loved enough to recommend, here are some that are on my current wish list…

CLEAVING: A STORY OF MARRIAGE, MEAT, AND OBSESSION BY JULIE POWELL—all I know is there’s an affair and food involved…



YOU’LL NEVER BLUE BALL IN THIS TOWN AGAIN: ONE WOMAN’S PAINFULLY FUNNY QUEST TO GIVE IT UP BY HEATHER MCDONALD—she is one of the comics on Chelsea Lately and I’m curious if she can write…


AUDITION: A MEMOIR BY BARBARA WALTERS—my grandmother loved Barbara Walters, so I’m interested to learn more about her.









Well now that you know all my Chick Lit obsessions‚ I’ve got to know about yours! Let’s hear it…

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