Acronyms Deuce

• DMID: Don't Mind If I Do
• FML: Fuck My Life
• IFHML: I Fucking Hate My Life (This can also be IFHMJ-Job- or IFHMS- Spouse-pretty much you can put whatever you want at the end depending on how angry you are)
• IFLML: I Fucking Love My Life
• FYK: For Your Knowledge (You know who you are)
• YAS: Yo Ass Stanks (You know who you are)
• WIGMST: When I Get My Shit Together
• IWKY:  I Will Kill You
• YAS: Your Acronyms Are Stupid (You know who you are)

Red Lipstick: A Warning For The Ladies

Red lips are really only hot on the right woman, at the right time.  Marilyn Monroe totally pulled it off.  Beyonce totally pulls it off.  Women who have olive toned or darker skin can pull off most darker shades of lipstick, most of the time.  If you are pale, you can wear it, but you have to do it just right.  You don't want to rock it like it's hot just to have it wash you out.  And you have to be careful when you wear it during the daytime.  Personally I love red, mauve, hot pink, maroon--shades that many can't wear, I can.  Or I guess I 'll just say I do, and  have been since I was fourteen.  But here's one instance that it doesn't work (outside of gritty porn)-after too many drinks.  Here's what happens:  you go out to the bar, and you have your lips all done right.  Lined with the lip liner, color in place.  For the first few drinks, your lips are super hot and on point (and you go to the bathroom to check and then remind yourself of this in the mirror).  Then you slowly change from drinking vodka drinks out of a straw to beer or maybe wine, and your lipstick gets all over your glass.  As it wears off and you take more trips to the bathroom, you reapply.  This works well for a while.  And then, somewhere in between, you forget about your lipstick.  It fades and you don't apply gloss, or chapstick (regardless of the fact that you have a mouth lined in red, but the rest is devoid of color).  You could care less, because in reality you are sooooo hot by this point you don't even need it!  Then you head to the ladies room and realize with a shock that your lipstick is totally not on anymore!  So, you whip it out and apply liberally.  Armed with your luscious Marilyn Monroe lips, you head back out.  Then you forget about it for the rest of the night.  Dance, drink, laugh, fall, cry, whatever it is you do (or apparently what I do).  It isn't until the next day that you take a look at: 1) your shirt that is covered in red lipstick smears, 2) the pics that your friend posted on Facebook where there's lipstick all over your mouth and teeth but not quite on your lips, 3) your pockets, which are now lined in lipstick because you didn't put the cap back on and/or 4) your lipstick, which is covered in lint, tobacco, hair, liquor; and then you realize that maybe, just maybe the lipstick wasn't such a great idea after all.

Thimble the Fairy

Recently I went to a kids birthday party with my husband and daughter.  It was for a four year old, I was slightly hung over, and it was in Evergreen (about a 40 minute drive up the mountain).  Nothing says Awesome like driving to a party on the weekend, in bad weather, hung over and tired, where I only know a handful of people.  We arrive and instantly I am disappointed: looks like many of the wives have "opted out" of this party--whereas the husbands all know each other and are all Hi-Five Happy (no matter that my husband gave me an opportunity to opt out and I chose not to).  I get some food for myself and my daughter and squeeze into a tiny chair at the kids table, since that's all that's available.  The hosts have done well by their daughter, with fancy party favors and an immaculate woodland-themed cake.  I finish eating and realize that since no one is acknowledging me, I will go to the basement to take a tour of the new play room.  As I am standing at the top of the stairs trying to figure out the baby gate, I see a woman at the bottom of the stairs.  This full grown woman (I mean, she's probably pushing forty and that's being generous) is wearing an outfit of all white, with boots that lace up her legs.  Her brown hair has pine cones hanging from it and a wreath of leaves and flowers at the crown of her head.  And she's wearing wings.  She pulls a small wooden flute out of her pocket and starts to play while ascending the stairs.  In the mental state I'm in, I am thoroughly confused until she asks for the birthday girl.  I backpedal, and start to call for the girl.  Turns out this lady is actually a fairy!  Her name is Thimble, and you can Google her if you want more information.  She comes into the party and proceeds to gather all the children around, speaking softly and offering sweet trinkets to the children: packets of bird seed to put on their windowsills; scrolls with "wishes" on them; glitter, I mean fairy dust to sprinkle on their heads.  My favorite was when she was asked if her wings were real, she replied, "of course they are!  Are the toes on your feet real?"; and when asked if she could fly for the kids, she said the police told her she could only fly in her own forest, otherwise she might get hit by a car (according to Zoe-I was too busy making smart remarks to hear her response). Naturally she was a huge hit with the little girls.  I will admit, I was somewhat mesmerized, but for very different, slightly judgmental reasons.  A few nights after the party, I stayed up late cleaning the house while the rest of my little family slept.  The next morning, my husband gets up and after a while makes a comment to the tune of "oh looks like someone cleaned last night".  Always prepared with a sarcastic remark, I say "yeah it would appear that way.  SOMEONE cleaned the house.  Matter of fact, it was probably the magical cleaning fairy".  My daughter, who always has such perfect timing, says "I know who it was!  It was Thimble!  Thimble the Fairy came to our house in the middle of the night and cleaned!".  Yes, darling.  It was Thimble.  The Mother Fucking Cleaning Fairy.  Now watch out before the shoe I was just putting on lands in the wrong place.