Tylenol PM Should Probably be Outlawed

I do and always have suffered from insomnia.  When I was in law school I had no problem getting my hands on Ambien or the shit that has the massive butterfly in the commercial, so I was always sleeping soundly.  Sadly, after graduation those sleep inducing goodies have become been much more difficult to obtain (as are all other illicit drugs, but whatever) and I've found myself consistently plagued by sleepless nights.  It doesn’t help that I share my queen size bed with two (sometimes three) psychopathic dogs, one of whom has a statistically significant snoring problem.

Anyway, my recent sleeplessness has driven me back to my old high school vice…Tylenol PM.  Tylenol PM is undeniably at the bottom of the sleeping aid totem pole.  It takes at least an hour to kick in, and even then, it leaves me exhausted but internally jittery, which means I have a crappy night's worth of sleep and wake up with a sleeping pill hangover that leaves me groggy and irritated for the entire next day. Even worse, when I’m in that super sleepy haze a couple hours after taking Tylenol PM, I tend to make really bad decisions. For instance, I decided last night that I needed to buy a couple pairs of jeggings (since I don’t already own 5) from Bloomingdales (hey, at least I had the mental clarity to use a coupon) and $200 worth of God-knows-what from Forever21.com.  That is just super.  It's not like have tons of wedding shit I have to buy over the next 4 months and limited funds with which to buy it or anything like that.  Why not go and waste almost $400 on some crap I don't need?

This got me thinking about whether or not I might have a potential claim against Tylenol PM.  I'm pretty sure my AMEX bill would provide rock solid evidence for a products liability, failure to warn claim.  I mean, their bottle should clearly carry a warning like: THIS MEDICINE MAY CAUSE COMPULSIVE SHOPPING.  DO NOT ATTEMPT TO ACCESS THE INTERNET UNDER THE INFLUENCE OF THIS MEDICATION.  Then again, they would probably need to go ahead and slap that label on wine bottles too, since that tends to have the same effect on me.

You know what?  Wine is a much better sleep aid than Tylenol PM anyway.  I believe I'll pick up a bottle on my way home from work.  See y'all in my dreams (I'll be the one making out with Christian Bale while David Beckham gives me a back massage).

XOXO,

BlogMePretty

I'm a Sugar Addict

I have a fairly robust sweet tooth but over the past 2 years I have totally gone from controlled sugar-eater to complete sugarholic.  It doesn't matter what tasty confection you put in front of me...consider it consumed.  This all started when I was studying for the Bar exam and my boyfriend and I would take daily trips to TCBY (Vanilla and Oreo Shiver...sweet jeebus).  I began associating delicious frozen yogurt with relaxation.  I was like one of Pavlov's dogs...just in reverse and with sugar instead of meat powder...  Anyway, I'm pretty sure things started to spiral out of control when a gourmet cupcake shop opened up just down the street from my house.  Every time I would feel stressed about work or relationships, I would just pick up a delicious cupcake.  I mean, just try and tell me this doesn't make you hungry: 

If it doesn't, then you are clealy not a "sweets person" so you don't count.  Let me assure you, it is more delicious than it looks and I know from fairly extensive experience.

Well, one thing led to another and now I'm just a full-on sugar addict.  I can't make it through the day without candy anymore, which isn't a problem for me since we have a gift shop right downstairs that sells everything under the sun.  As I've been working my way through their sugar inventory I made a truly life altering (in a bad way) discovery...well, two: Coconut M&Ms and 3 Musketeers Truffle Bars.  These are perhaps the most delicious candies I've ever had the pleasure of devouring.  I eat one or the other (ok, both) every single day at work, which is a serious issue now that I'm trying to lose weight for the wedding.

I keep telling myself this is the last one I'm going to eat.  No more after today.  Yet every single day I find myself back in the arms of my candy lovahs.  In fact, I'm eating some coco M&Ms right now.  Don't worry though, this is seriously my last pack.  Seriously.

XOXO,

BlogMePretty

And I Thought Falling Down the Stairwell was Bad...

I'm going to preface this by noting that the subject matter of this post is absolutely horrifying.  I mean, so bad that this happened on Monday and I haven't even been able to admit it until today.  Read at your own risk!

So, I've been starving the past couple days, which is usually my body's way of telling me that "that time of the month" is right around the corner.  I really should have known something was up when I ate 1000 calories worth of candy in less than an hour Sunday afternoon but apparently one of the side effects of a sugar high is blissful ignorance.  Too bad for me. 

When I got up Monday morning my brain had completely erased the memory of my candy massacre.  I went to my closet only to realize that I only had two pairs of clean pants left.  A smart pair of skinny black pants or new pair of fresh white cotton trousers (thanks to my skillful use of foreshadowing I'm quite sure everyone knows exactly where this is going).  I decided that I was feeling a little too chunky for skinny pants and opted for the alabaster beauties.

That morning at work was painfully slow so I decided to go out for lunch with two of the partners, one of which was the asshole who saw me fall down the stairs.  I didn't REALLY want to go to lunch with them but I figured that had to be better than sitting in my office bored to tears.  Well, as it turns out I was wrong.  Really, really wrong.  I just didn't know it yet.

Lunch was delicious and it was a beautiful day for our long walk back to the office.  When we finally got back I scurried off to the restroom since I had drank 3 huge Diet Cokes at lunch and felt like I was seriously dying.  What I encountered in the bathroom literally made my heart stop.  Sometime between when we left for lunch and when we got back, I had started.  My white pants were totally ruined.  Holy sweet Jesus.  I walked back from lunch with my bosses with my pants like that?  OMG!  How much did they see?  I mean, i always walk in front of  them because...you know...ladies first in the South!  I was mortified.  Worse than that, I was a prisoner in the Ladies Restroom.  How could I leave?  Someone was going to see my pants for sure!  I gathered up my courage and raced back to my office.  There I sat until 8 that night.  I was literally stunned just sitting in my chair.  Once I was sure the coast was clear I took the freight elevator down to my car (I couldn't risk taking the regular elevator and having anyone see me).  When I got home, I promptly took the longest shower of my life.  If I had thought it was safe to use bleach on human skin, I would have.

Since Monday, I have refused to look anyone in my office in the eyes.  I anticipate this will continue for at least the next month or so...

XOXO,
BlogMePretty

I Hate Everything About Campaigning

So my fiancee is currently campaigning for State Representative and I couldn't hate it more.  The reasons for my disdain are literally endless so I'm only going to hit y'all with the good ones.

(1) Everything isn't all about me and it should be, regardless of what else is going on.  I mean, I'm a bride-to-be for christ's sake!  I'm at my absolute pinnacle of self importance right now and nobody cares.  This makes me furious.  I'm trying to send out Save the Dates but of COURSE my FMIL says they can't be sent out until after the election..."wouldn't want to offend those voters not invited."  I mean, does my FMIL not realize that I don't give two shits about potential voters?  All I care about is the fact that Emily Post told me Save the Dates needed to go out this month and FMIL is quickly becoming public enemy number one by refusing to send over her guest list.  No worries though, I fully intend taking it by force if it is not handed over this weekend.

(2) I abhor solitications and I've quickly learned that "campaign" is just a fancy word for "solicit."  Whether you are soliciting people for their vote or hitting up friends for campaign contributions, you are spending all your time hustling someone for something.  I can't even properly solicit money for cancer research (case and point: http://main.acsevents.org/site/TR/RelayForLife/RFLFY10MS?pg=team&fr_id=22744&team_id=719730), let alone money to pay off a burgeoning campaign debt (aka. my nest egg's funeral). 

Even more fun, this coming weekend I get to go door-to-door campaigning, just the thought of which makes me want to take a sledgehammer to my legs Misery style, so I have a valid excuse for staying home.  Of course I'm not brave enough to do anything like that but the fact that it popped into my head as a legitimate option is troubling enough.

Anyway, I'm off to consider some less permanent solutions for hobbling myself...maybe a brisk walk in those LAMB shoes of mine will do the trick.

XOXO,
BlogMePretty

Alcohol is Definitely Making me Dumber

I have a history of poor decision making when I have been drinking.  This is compounded by the fact that alcohol tricks me into believing that it's a smart idea to tackle difficult projects around my house when tipsy and/or drunk.  Generally these projects are just a hilarious discovery when I wake up and find them the next morning.  Last week, for example, I woke up to find that I had somehow mended a huge pile of clothes that had been sitting in my closet for at LEAST two seasons now.  Don't ask me how I was able to operate a needle and thread (or find the missing button to my favorite jacket) after 6 glasses of wine because I have no idea.  But I was.

Then there are other times where my HGTVism causes my drunken alter-ego to tackle projects that I wouldn't be capable of (stupid enough to try) sober, let alone after drinking.  Last night was perhaps, the coup de grâce...

I got home from dinner with a friend to find a huge box waiting at my back door.  Imagine my drunken delight when I opened it and saw the stereo receiver I had ordered a couple weeks ago!  Now, the smart idea would have been to leave this expensive equipment safely tucked away in its box, however, the wine I drank convinced me to pursue another course of action.  I gleefully pulled the massive receiver onto the floor and started wiring it up.  Shockingly enough (and this really is shocking all things considered) I turned it on and it was working perfectly!  I was so pleased with myself I could have just died.  That is, of course, until I went outside and found that none of the outdoor speakers were working.  Mother of God.

I grabbed my flashlight and went outside to investigate.  I was determined to get those speakers working if I had to rewire them myself!  Well, maybe not.  During my investigation I came across something I hate more than almost anything else in this world.  A red wasp's nest!  OMGOMG!  I am freaking terrified of bees!  Even the fat bumbly ones that can't sting you.  Hate them.  I mean, bees are such territorial little assholes.  What other bug would try to dive bomb your face just for walking past them?   

(Ok, this is where I would have stopped if I was sober.  I hate bees and there is no way I would tackle a nest of them in the dark without some serious liquid courage.  Anyway, read on...)

Screw that! I wasn't going to let those buzzy little f**kers ruin my outdoor audio experience!  I ran inside, grabbed a can of raid from out from under the kitchen sink and sprayed that nest until the bottle was empty.  Spoiler alert!  Raid for ants does not work on flying insects.  Now I have an empty bottle of Raid and an enraged nest of wasps on my hands.  Clearly this seek and destroy mission has fallen off course.  Time to abort.  I was moving so fast that I literally flew back into my house. 

On my to-do list for today: Call exterminator and electrician.

XOXO,
BlogMePretty

I'm About to Pink Slip my Brain

I am notoriously bad about excessive nickname use.  I have a nickname for most of my girlfriends, the majority of my coworkers and all of my (and my friends') ex-boyfriends.  All nicknames are cleverly crafted to reflect the true essence of the person to which they attach and most would probably get me get me sued for intentional infliction of emotional distress if anyone but me and my inner circle knew about them.

Now, normally these nicknames are harmless and exist for the sole purpose of giving me and my friends something to laugh hysterically about over wine; but they have been known, on occasion, to come back and bite me on the ass.  Unfortunately for me, one such occasion was just this past weekend.  I was out for drinks Friday night with friends when I saw this attorney from my office that I've lovingly dubbed: Douchebaggins.  Generally speaking, Douchebaggings is a nice guy; he's just a loser with no friends that has the terrible misfortune of bearing a striking resemblance to Bilbo Baggins from the Lord of the Rings movies (I know this reference makes me a loser too but I really don't care). 

I tend to feel sorry for the guy, so I invited him to join us for a drink.  That was when things went really, really bad.  "Hey there!  This is my friend Elizabeth.  Elizabeth, this is Douc...um...ummmmm...uhhh." Oh my god, I can't remember his real name.  What is it?  notdouchebagginsnotdouchebaggins.  I was totally frizzing out.  Thankfully he stepped in and introduced himself but the damage was already done.  Thanks a lot brain.   I tried to play it off like I had just had too much to drink and totally blanked out but I could tell he wasn't buying it.  For a split second, I felt really bad.  Then I realized, this is Douchebaggins.  What do I care if he thinks I'm the biggest bitch on the planet?  Can I get another glass of wine?

XOXO,
BlogMePretty

How do you Have a License?

Like I've said before, I have pretty severe road rage.  I think this stems from learning to drive on I-85 in Atlanta where there are 7 lanes of speeding cars, most of which are oversized SUVs driven by hyper-caffinated (or medicated) wealthy housewives who are driving like Neiman Marcus is having a 75% off sale.  Who can blame them though?  In Atlanta you never know if you are suddenly find yourself in 3 hours of bumper to bumper traffic trying to get across town, so when traffic is moving, you best be hauling ass.  This would be a reasonable excuse except that I haven't lived in Atlanta in six years, and where I live now it takes 20 minutes to get across town during "rush hour."

Needless to say, that hasn't stopped me from turning into the incredible hulk of road-ragers at even the slightest vehicular misstep.  This is particularly true when I encounter that which I find to be the most egregious of all driving errors...someone driving below the speed limit.  In my opinion, there are only two legitimate reasons for driving under the speed limit: 1) you are drunk or 2) you are lost.  The rest of the miscreant drivers out there better speed up or prepare themselves for a barrage of expletives (with accompanying hand gestures). 

Seriously though, why would anyone want to drive slower than the speed limit?  Busy taking in the scenery (fugly strip malls) or something?  I honestly cannot envision a scenario where I would need or want to drive below the speed limit.  As far as I'm concerned the actual speed you should be driving is always the posted speed limit + 10mph.  If you have all the free time to get where you are going, you should have stayed where you were five minutes longer and saved me the trouble of hastily passing you.  I'm obviously more important and actually have someplace to be!

XOXO,

BlogMePretty

Why do I do This to Myself?

I'd been looking for the perfect pair of nude strappy sandals for the past couple of months and I finally found them this past week. I stumbled across a gorgeous pair of lovlies from LAMB, which wouldn't normally be my style but they had sky high heels and glorious looking leather, so I decided they would do. I searched high and low for them online and eventually found a pair in my size-ish, so I had to buy them. Ok, so they were 1/2 too small, but I was determined to make them work since they are sold out everywhere. When they finally came in I pulled them out of the box and they were everything I could have hoped for and more! Well, almost everything I could have hoped for...

Putting them on the first time was only slightly traumatic and soul scarring. They were obviously way too small. Oh well, I wasn't going to let a little (lot of excruciating) pain stop me from looking fabulous! I looked at my feet. They looked ridiculous. It was the shoe version of a size 8 in denial trying to fit into size 4 pants. I didn't even know there was such a thing as shoe muffin top until this point. Oh well, they would stretch out. I was going to wear them come hell or crippling foot deformity (which was highly likely).

It's now two weeks later. The shoes haven't stretched at all. It's funny because they are probably the only pair of leather shoes I have ever owned that didn't stretch at least a little. I've come to the conclusion that 1) I don't need to buy shoes that are too small ever again (no matter how adorable they are) and 2) Gwen Stefani is the devil and LAMB is a ridiculous brand name. This shit is bananas. Ba-na-nas.

XOXO,

BlogMePretty

Sex and the City 2

So, today is shaping up to be the best day I've had in the past month or so, due in no small part to the release of the SATC 2 Movie Trailer! I've seriously been waiting for this with bated breath for the past two years. Sex and the City is practically a religion to me (and every other 20-something on the planet). Who cares that they are all in their 40s now and this movie could potentially destory all that is holy about the franchise? At midnight on May 27th, I'm going to be at the Rave theatre with my "I'm a Carrie" tank top on (y'all know you had one too) and a screw top bottle of white wine strategically concealed in my purse. That will, no doubt be the highlight of this year (and yes, I know I'm getting married. The statement stands).

This has got me so excited, I'm off to have a delicious cosmo (ok, 2) for lunch and I'm not even going to think about how many calories it has in it. Ok, that's I lie, I totally will be, but I'm drinking them anyway!

See for yourself: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5v7mE9ocFGs&feature=player_embedded

p.s. OMG, I was always team Aidan, which makes this trailer all the better!

XOXO,

BlogMePretty

Attic Fan = Huge Mistake

When I got home from work last night my house seriously felt (and smelled) like a cheap disgusting sauna. Both of my dogs were panting like crazy and giving me the stink eye for leaving them in that hot hell-hole all day. So I do what I always do when the house gets too hot, open a window and put the attic fan to work. I refuse to use the A.C. yet because 1) it's only April and it's beautiful out, and 2) I need that electric bill money for some other ridiculous frivolity (the real reason being the latter). I had some friends coming over to drink a couple glasses (bottles) of wine with me, so I just let the fan run while we enjoyed the patio weather (See, I told you. Patio > Allergies).

Ok, cut to two hours later. I clean everything up and head inside. Hmmmm, why do my countertops look so strange. I touch them. God, they feel gritty, gross! I would swear I just cleaned them. Then I'm struck with the horrifying realization of what that is all over my countertops. Pollen. Tons of yellow toxic dust is literally coating every inch of my house. It is everywhere. F**K me! The stupid attic fan sucked it in and distributed it over everything I own. Oh my god, my closet doors were open. My clothes. Oh god, I can't breathe. Too much pollen in the air. Why did I fire my maid!?

What am I going to do about this? I was exhausted so I decided it sleep on it (it, being a layer of pollen). I woke up this morning and (after I pried my pollenetically sealed eyes open) think I've come to the only rational decision. My maid is getting re-hired. Today.

XOXO,

BlogMePretty

I'm a Professional Liar

I just got accosted on my way back from the Coke machine by a gaggle of screeching secretaties, who were WAY too excited about some purses they had found at the local thrift store (I'm being serious). Now, I've been in this office for over three years and I know better than to give my honest opinion on anything, unless I'm just really in the mood to get constant side-eyes for the next month. So I feign interest in their fugly purses, commenting on how cute (hideous) and practical (plain) they are. They seem pleased, although I detected a bit of suspicion from one of them. I've always had a hard time hiding disgust (which was especially troubling during rush) and I think the little one is on to me. This prompts me to mumble something about a deadline and hustle back to my office.

This really got me wondering about what is going on in those secretaries' heads. Best case scenario is that they buy all this ugly shit for the sole purpose of engaging me in ridiculous banter about it, knowing it makes me uncomfortable. The worst and most likely scenaio is that when you become a secretary you suddenly become completely devoid of any taste whatsoever (I'm talking fashion, not food...which would be obvious to anyone who has ever seen my secretary). That's a little sad. I wonder how many of these secretaries used to know the difference between tapered jeans and skinny jeans...

Note to self: never accept a secretarial position, no matter how dire the situation.

XOXO,

BlogMePretty

I'm Definitely Losing my Battle Against Seasonal Allergies

I figured I should share this now in case I perish at some point today (which feels practically inevitable at this point). Anyway, I suffer from some pretty heinious seasonal allergies. Lucky for me, my allergies' "season" generally runs from about March 1st until the end of October, which I'm pretty sure means that I'm allergic to every single plant known to man (super). Now, generally my seasonal allergies are fully controlled by the double assault of Zyrtec D and Flonase, however this year my usual arsenal is proving no match for the massive yellow dust cloud engulfing the city.

My living hell is only precipitated by the fact that I love nothing more than to sit outside with a delicious bevy on a well positioned patio. I seriously know how drug addicts feel. It might be killing me, but I can't stay away from patios. Who cares that I wake up feeling like someone replaced by contact solution with siracha sauce, that I'm pretty sure I'm suffering from allergy-induced chronic fatigue syndrome, or that my body feels so sore and exhausted you'd think I fell down a flight of stairs or something (oh, yeah)? I need those patios and their proprietiers need me.

Besides, I can't avoid this pollen anyway. It is everywhere. Inside my house, my car, my office (ok, I don't know if that last one is true but it feels like it is), all over my dogs... So, like they say, if you can't beat them, join them. I think I'll spend tonight staining my new white pants yellow on a hyper-pollinated patio somewhere.

XOXO,

BlogMePretty

Today Just Became the Worst Day of my Life

So, this morning did not start out particularly well for me. I decided to stay in Nashville with my fiancee last night (translation: I was too comatose after eating my weight in deviled eggs and potato salad to drag my ass off the couch and into the car last night), which meant that I had to be up at an ungodly hour this morning to drive the two hours home. To add insult to injury, I have the worst road rage on the planet (second only to my mom who literally becomes a psychopath the second she gets behind the wheel) and I swear that people were being especially terrible drivers this morning just to aggravate me (because the whole world revolves around me if you hadn't figured that out yet).

I finally get home (20 minutes behind schedule) and I have to hussle to get changed and get to the office. Of course, nothing I'm trying on will fit over my fat ass (thanks alot Easter feast), so I go for the fat pants and an oversized spring jacket. Nothing says skinny like pairing two pairs of oversized clothes together. To make matters worse, I have to wear open toed shoes because the pants are too short and I haven't had a pedicure in a month (and it shows).

I finally get to work and resolve to keep myself locked in my office all day...that's until I realize I forgot to go pick up my dog from where he was being boarded for the weekend. Perfect, just perfect. So I'm hussling back out of the office when one of my bosses gets on the elevator with me. Great. I make small talk with him for 20 floors (kill me) and thinking I can finally make a break for it, I head to the stairwell, since all my bosses are far too lazy and important to be bothered with stairs. Well, today is not my day because he proceeds to follow me to the stairwell down to the parking garage. At this point it's clear to him that I'm noticeably uncomfortable and trying to get out of the stairwell as quickly as possible, but in case he didn't get the picture, I went ahead and made it real obvious. By falling down the stairs. Yeah. I was in such a hurry to get away, that I forgot to use my feet. Whoops.

So let me paint this horrifying scene for you...I'm tumbling face first down a flight of stairs in fat clothes and my boss is watching the entire thing go down. I try and stop myself but it's no use, momentum has bested me once again as I tumble down the filthy stairs. I land at the bottom and try and get up as fast as possible, like maybe if I did that my boss would think I'd fallen on purpose (you know you do this too). Before I can even get to my knees, he's next to me trying to help me up and rather than say "thank you" I tell him "if you mention this to anyone, I will tell them you pushed me." Yes, I said that. To my boss.

Now, in my defense, the guy that I fell in front of is not just any of my asshole bosses, he is the king of the asshole bosses. He's only 8 years older than me, in his mid-thirties and still decent looking. However, he was clearly a tool in college and now spends his time making those of us less-toolish than him, look like idiots as often and as painfully as possible. I knew I would never hear the end of my fall unless I came up with something good. I was under pressure and he was walking behind me, so claiming I'd "been pushed" seemed like the natural response. Strangly, he doesn't seem phased. He clearly thinks I'm just a crazy bitch.

Anyway, no bruises thus far, aside from those to my ego. Updates to follow.

XOXO,

BlogMePretty

Step One is Admitting You Have a Problem...

Or in my case, problems. Namely, wine and shopping. I'm literally one click away from bankruptcy and one glass away from a rehab facility, but I'm not too worried about it (denial). The humiliation of personal insolvency can't be that bad, can it? Surely not. I mean, if I'm not embarassed by the fact that I usually arrive at the office smelling like hot trash (think Bourbon St. in July), then I'm pretty certian Chapter 7 isn't going to faze me. Besides, wine and shopping are my only two joys in life (rationalization). Honestly, the only reason I show up at work at all is to get money to support my shopping habit, and it's not like I could make it through the work day if I didn't have a delicious glass of wine waiting for me when I got home. I have a symbiotic relationship with wine and shopping. Take one out of the equation and God only knows what would happen (I would be thinner and I wouldn't cringe every time I got a CC statement).

I know I'm not alone on this one, but listen ladies, it's not our faults! I mean, addiction is a disease. Right? Right. On that note, I'm off to spend the rest of my day nursing my hangover and online shopping.

XOXO,

BlogMePretty

April Fools Day Sucks

I do and always have hated April Fools Day. While this might sound counterintuitive since I generally enjoy orchestrating pranks, I cannot handle pranks being pulled on me. I even considered staying home today because I know my idiot loser bosses think there is nothing funnier than toying with the associates' emotions/self esteem/self worth (and I deal with enough of that already the other 364 days of the year).

Even worse, April Fools makes me acknowledge two of my biggest flaws (and clearly I would prefer to think of myself as flawless). First, that I'm incredibly gullible and second, that I'm a vengeful bitch. So, if someone pulls a prank on me, I will fall for it. Guaranteed. Then I will spend the next couple weeks wasting my precious time, planning an appropriate revenge which is 1000000 times worse than what you pulled on me. I have to, it is the only way to restore homeostasis.

Today is especially bad because I have been needing to call the bridal shop that has been handling my wedding dress cleaning (don't ask), since they have had my dress for two months now. I've been worried (of course) that something is wrong since they said it would only take two weeks to get it cleaned. I've been blowing up their phones once a week for the past month and they ASSURE me everything is fine, it's just taking "longer than they expected" (holyshit). So, I really need to call and harass them today but I'm worried they are going to tell me something went wrong and I am going to flip my shit. How am I supposed to know if they are being serious or they seriously played the meanest prank known to man on a bride-to-be on the verge. They better hope the dress is actually ruined, because the revenge needed to overcome a prank like that would be extreme (burning the store down). I mean, hypothetically speaking, of course.

XOXO,

BlogMePretty

Holy Aioli!!

I went out to dinner with one of my girlfriends last night to enjoy the patio weather. I decided I needed to order something a little more healthy than I normally would, considering my conspicuous consumption over the past week (month). I decided to order the Mahi Mahi, which is one of my absolute favorites, but I wanted to sub out the butter based sauce it came with for a healthier alternative. Ok, I didn't want to. The tightness of my pants at that point compelled me to.

Now I have been to this restaurant a bunch in the past. One of those times was when a couple associates and I took out our summer clerks. We had some special that came with a magic orangish sauce that was literally like condiment-crack it was so good. Of course I was too drunk at that point to remember anything about it other than how delicious it was. The next day I asked one of the other associates I was with what that sauce was because I HAD to find a recipe for it and he told me "chipotle aioli."

Needless to say I'm actually very lazy and so I never followed up on finding a recipe for the aioli. If I HAD I would have known that it's a mayo-based sauce that isn't healthy. At all.

So, I'm at this restaurant and I asked to sub out the butter sauce for their delicious chipotle aioli instead. What came out on top of my fish was definitely not what I remembered. In fact, it looked something like:


Now I was REALLY confused because I remembered the crack-sauce being orange and salsa-ish. So, the lack of texture was my (the wine's) fault, but the color really was WAY off. What in the gelatinous hell was on my fish!? I took my fork and pushed the blob off my fish and decided I was too hungry to send it back. I would just ignore the slime trail it left on my delicious Mahi Mahi. Lesson learned.

This morning though I was still vexed about the clear disconnect between what I thought my fish would be served with, and what it was actually served with. After an extensive Google images search I've determined that I got aioli, it just wasn't of the delicious chipotle variety. Clearly I am still craving that crack-sauce, so I'm headed home tonight to make it and I've included the recipe below.

FYI...I plan of serving it with my Gordon's fisherman tilapia squares. Who is high class now!?!

1 cup mayonnaise
2 tablespoons finely chopped chives
2 minced garlic cloves
2 teaspoons fresh lime juice
1 teaspoon chipotle chile powder or chipotle hot sauce
Salt and pepper

XOXO,

BlogMePretty

Someone in This Office is Going to Perish...

I clearly have a very short fuse when it comes to people in my office (because I abhor each and every one of them) but I think that I generally do a good job about keeping myself in check. My bitchery is reserved for special occasions...like today, for instance. So, today I was forced to endure what we in the "legal community" refer to as a CLE. CLEs are mandatory classes that attorneys have to take to stay abreast of the law, but what they REALLY are, are mind numbing torture devices meant to strip your soul of it's will to live.

Now, I have been to plenty CLEs in my day, but this one was hands down the worst. The speaker's voice was literally the auditory version of sleeping pills. He also, apparently, controls the time-space continuum because I would swear I had been playing 30 minutes worth of Miss Pac Man on my Iphone when in reality, I had only been there for 10 (greuling) minutes. I actually had to get up and leave, despite the glares from the partners around me, so that I didn't pass out and slam my head into the table in front of me. I don't care. I'm not taking a disfiguring blow like that for this thankless job.

To make matters worse, the weather outside was GORGEOUS and we were inside a room with no windows. While this might not bother some people, I have this complete obsession with being outside (preferably on a patio, imbibing) when the weather is nice. Because of all this, I'm going to have to leave work early and go find a patio and a margarita. My bosses have nobody to blame but themselves!!

XOXO,

BlogMePretty

I Gave up Meat for Lent

Ok, so I'm not a Catholic anymore (I converted last year) but for some reason I still felt compelled to give something up for lent. Last year I gave up shopping (I know, I know) and that lasted all of about a week and a half. This year I decided to give up up meat (not fish as I have a serious sushi addiction). I knew this was a fairly large undertaking but I have been trying to eat healthier lately, so why not? Well, I'll tell you why not. Picture this for a minute...You have been on a little bit of a drinking binge one Saturday night and you wake up incredibly hungover. How delicious does fish tacos sound? How about some sushi? Oh, really, the thought of crunching on roe doesn't help your hangover? Yeah, didn't help mine either.

I went to a fabulous wedding this past weekend and I woke up Sunday morning feeling like I would throw up if I so much as attempted to brush my hair. The couple my fiancee and I were staying with are the greatest ever, and to help us all feel better they ordered the biggest most delicious meaty pizza I've ever seen. How was I supposed to resist that? I would probably still be laying in a crumpled ball on their guest bathroom floor if I hadn't had a slice (or two). So, I did, and it was seriously a life changing moment. You know how it is. When you are so hungover you might die and you eat something that magically makes you feel 100% better. I feel like I should write a thank you note to the dude who made us that pizza. Hmmmm, perhaps I will.

XOXO,

BlogMePretty

My Love/Hate Relationship with White Wine

I went out last night after work to catch up on office gossip and vent about how much I hate working with (translation: for) a bunch of fat fools. I had good intentions. I was only going to have a glass or two. Seriously. Anyway, fast forward 11 hours...

It's 5am. I'm just now going to bed. What had I been doing for the past 11 hours? Apparently a lot, including drinking all the white wine that was ever produced in the whole history of the world. Based on the clues I pieced together this morning, I gather my night went something like this...

I left the bar around 7 or 8, after 4 glasses of wine. Status = Drunk but functioning.

I got home and opened a ginormous bottle of white wine that I have had in my fridge for months (not like 1 or 2, we are talking more like 9 or 10). You know the bottle I'm talking about. That one that is reserved for parties only because it is FAR too much wine for one person to drink by themselves. Spoiler Alert! That bottle is, in fact, not too big for one person to drink. Of course, that is only if you don't care about your liver, personal safety or will to live.

Somewhere through that bottle I get the clever idea that I should build a fire. How do I know this? I woke up and my entire bed smelled like I'd been rolling in a bonfire. It's pretty safe to say that one should never attempt to build a fire when 1) you have no firewood or kindling of any kind and 2) you just drank the alcoholics equivalent of an all you can eat buffet. I, however, certianly wasn't going to let my lack of kindling or gross motor skills thwart my dreams of a raging fire. I think outside the box....box.....boxes....shoe boxes would make the perfect kindling! Who cares that I have nowhere to store my gorgeous new Louboutins now because I had an awesome fire last night (I think).

What'as the moral of this story? I don't know, but if there was one, I drank it.

XOXO,

BlogMePretty

I Came out of the Blogging Closet...

Only to realize that the closet I was in, is jam packed full of people. So, I was at dinner last night with two of my girlfriends and I don't know if it was the wine or the excitement surrounding the start of patio-season, but I felt compelled to share the fact that I had started this blog. It felt like I was at an AA meeting because rather than being shunned for my blogging transgressions, I was embraced! Both of the friends I was with had blogs too (although honestly, I was a little put off since both of their blogging ideas were substantially more clever than my own)!

I feel like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders and I'm free to shout my blogging tendencies from the rooftops...or maybe just within a group of close personal friends who won't judge me too harshly for my tomfoolery. Moral of the story...Come on out bloggers because I know that blogging closet you are in is just about at capacity.

XOXO,

BlogMePretty

Highwater Pants

I was in a hurry to get ready this morning (perpetually), so I didn't really notice until the last second that my pants were way too short and I look totally ridiculous. I mean, it's not like I'm trying to impress any of the idiots in my office or anything, it's that I have a fundamental issue with highwater pants. If I see you, and you are wearing highwaters, just know that I'm mentally belittling you and you deserve it.

What's worse is that I don't know how I got to this point because I would swear the last time I wore these pants they were longer (maybe I should have skipped those last 20 trips to the office candy stash). Either way, when I slipped them on this morning, there was FAR too much foot exposure for my liking. I changed into a pair of flats. Nope, now the pants look to long. Fail. I tugged on the legs to see if they would stretch out at all. No such luck.

Now, most reasonable people would have just changed their pants at this point, however, I'm one of those neurotic girls that when I have my outfit picked out, that is that, and no highwater pants are going to stop me. So, I put on a pair of kitten heel sandals (it's only 50 degrees out but I had to make due somehow), sagged my pants a little, and strolled out the door. I feel vulnerable, like these pants have stripped me of my womanly superpowers or something. I'm going to avoid making eye contact all day and keep to my office. All lunch and dinner dates are hereby cancelled.

XOXO

BlogMePretty

Why I was Running Late this Morning

I got to the office this morning at 10 (mind you, I was supposed to be there at 8). I overslept because I was up late taking care of some seriously important business (watching re-runs of the Real Housewives of New York that I've already seen 100 times and shopping for honeymoon outfits online). Of course, I couldn't let anyone in my office know the real reason for my tardiness or they would think I was a worthless pleb, so I concocted an elaborate, unverifiable lie to cover my ass. "I was at the court this morning! I had a bunch of filings that had to be done today!" What court you ask? That doesn't matter. My bosses work in "the corporate group" and they don't know the first thing about courtrooms or filings. Even if they were curious to follow up, my bosses have too much pride to grace me with a follow up question anyway. I knew I was golden.

To my great dissapointment, when I finally got in (looking exhausted from running around "courts" all morning) my secretary told me that it had been a slow morning and nobody had been by my office. Hmmmm....oh well, I can save that excuse for the next time I'm running late (aka. tomorrow morning).

XOXO

BlogMePretty

My Search for the Perfect Job

So, I'm a corporate finance attorney and I hate my job. My job satisfaction is nonexistent and my attitude generally ranges somewhere between crippling depression and homicidal rage. What's worse is that I told myself for years that this was going to be the greatest job ever. I mean, mergers and acquisitions, that's totally hot, right? I imagined myself being this super powerful female attorney whose prowess made grown men crumble at my stilettos...

Unfortunately, I totally forgot the fact that I'm a huge procrastinator and I have no interest in drafting purchase agreements or reviewing SEC documents. In fact, I spend the majority of my day now fantasizing about how I'm going to quit my job (needless to say, that fantasy involves countless obscenities and a very dramatic exit) and spend the rest of it in retail therapy. What's worse is that almost every girl I know spends their day the same way (most with less graphic quitting fantasies, but whatever).

This all makes me wonder what job I can do that involves shopping and/or decorating, a glass of wine at 4-ish and little to no stress. So far I haven't come up with anything reasonable (other than becoming a socialite or the housewife to a hot billionaire, of course) but I'm working on it!


XOXO

BlogMePretty

The Trials and Tribulations of a Twenty-Something

I'm new to blogging. In fact, I'm pretty sure I've made fun of every single person I knew who operated a blog. I mean, my opinion was always, who cares? Do you really think that much of yourself that you feel the need to post your incoherent ramblings and sub-par grammar online for your friends to read? Why would I care to read about your wedding/baby/divorce....

The truth is, I still don't care to read anything you have ever written, but I AM that self important that I think that you should care about what I write. Enjoy!

XOXO

BlogMePretty