OK, I'll admit it. Though I often hide behind a shy and proper alter ego, the true HC is one catty bitch. This won't come as a surprise to those who know me best, of course. My earliest meow moments were shared with my best friend J. We've known each other since 9th grade, and when it comes to the fashion faux pas of our high school and college classmates, we have looooong memories. To the boy named Kelly who wore the Z. Cav balloon pants well into the mid-1990s, I want you to know that you've provided many hours of giggles, and for that , I want to extend a hearty thanks to you and your fabulously huge pants.
Naturally, we show little mercy towards one another, either. Mostly we laugh about it, but I think J may still harbor a touch of resentment for the time I told her that her new brown lipstick was perfect if she wanted to look like she just kissed a turd. And truthfully, it stings a bit that she still brings up the Perm Disaster of 1998 and asks if I still run from the perm smell near the mall salons. Yes. Yes, I do run. And my perfectly straight hair looks gorgeous fanning out behind me as I seek solace in Nine West.
These days, I have to fulfill my snark cravings online or by phone, as my mostly Amish neighbors don't seem to share my love for all things bitchy. Or maybe they do and they're cracking on my Old Navy yoga pants in German. I hope not, because where could I go with that? Return fire with a dig about the apron being so last season? Besides, which is the bigger sin - yoga pants or bloomers?
One of my favorite ways to get a catty chat fix is checking in with one of the many celeb-mocking blogs. I have a soft spot in my cold, cold heart for Snarkywood, because I've known contributor Martha through Delphi forums for a few years now. Not only is she wicked funny, she's teamed up with two others who share the love of verbal celebrity smackdowns, and the result is extraordinary. If I could snark with these women all day, I think I'd die happy. If you're ever in need of a little pick-me-up, I highly recommend the Snarkywood piece on Donatella Versace, in the March 05 archive. If you can look at Donatella's smooshy collagen lips, incredibly tight and not at all flattering wardrobe and bleary but happy heroin eyes without laughing, there is no help to be had for you.
Wednesday, May 18, 2005
Friday, May 13, 2005
Back, and Badder Than Ever
OK, don't know about that last part, but I am back. You may remember me. The one who hasn't blogged in about 107 years? Yeah, that's me. Time flies when you ignore your blog, apparently.
I'd like to start off with a plea to the powers of the universe. Please stop the rain. Just for now. The crops have plenty for the moment, and dry weather would be good 'cause mama needs a new basement. The rain may fall again in August after the irrigation lake is pumped down and my husband is freaking about losing 900 acres of soybeans (and after the new basement is cured!). Thanks.
I was talking with some friends today about what life would be like if you were a phone sex operator. I'm told I have the voice for it, but alas, I'm a prude. Couldn't do it. Probably would laugh and ruin the moment. I guess some guys find laughter sexy, in which case I'm like Bridgitte Bardot times a hundred, but I digress.... If you were a phone sex operator, it would probably be really hard to find people that you could talk to about your work. And you know that phone sex operators have some seriously funny, and nasty, stories to tell about work. How could you keep silent? On the flip side, though, picture Thanksgiving dinner, the family gathered round the table, your cousin Tom telling hilarious stories about his shenanigans in the accounting office. You decide to share a work story of your own. "So, the other day at work, I was talking to this guy, and I said 'Oooh, yeah, baby. I like that. Spank me again, you bad boy.' And then the guy yells 'chocolate pie!' And I was all, like, what?"
Also, would it be hard to remember to answer the phone normally when you weren't working? You know how if you work at a place where you have to answer the phone with the business name, after a while it's hard not to do that at home, too? What if you're on the city bus and your cell phone rings, and you answer,
I'd like to start off with a plea to the powers of the universe. Please stop the rain. Just for now. The crops have plenty for the moment, and dry weather would be good 'cause mama needs a new basement. The rain may fall again in August after the irrigation lake is pumped down and my husband is freaking about losing 900 acres of soybeans (and after the new basement is cured!). Thanks.
I was talking with some friends today about what life would be like if you were a phone sex operator. I'm told I have the voice for it, but alas, I'm a prude. Couldn't do it. Probably would laugh and ruin the moment. I guess some guys find laughter sexy, in which case I'm like Bridgitte Bardot times a hundred, but I digress.... If you were a phone sex operator, it would probably be really hard to find people that you could talk to about your work. And you know that phone sex operators have some seriously funny, and nasty, stories to tell about work. How could you keep silent? On the flip side, though, picture Thanksgiving dinner, the family gathered round the table, your cousin Tom telling hilarious stories about his shenanigans in the accounting office. You decide to share a work story of your own. "So, the other day at work, I was talking to this guy, and I said
Also, would it be hard to remember to answer the phone normally when you weren't working? You know how if you work at a place where you have to answer the phone with the business name, after a while it's hard not to do that at home, too? What if you're on the city bus and your cell phone rings, and you answer,
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