Entries in Sarcasm (8)
I feel like a bag full of assholes1 today and wasn’t planning on writing anything. The Cedar tree pollen is raping my face. The Candyman is suffering as well. New state, new spring allergies to fuck with us both. FAN-tastic! So I’m already a might bit surly, with nastiness running down the back of my throat, occasionally pit-stopping in my mouth. Nice, right? Y’all are lucky I’m not feeling more descriptive today.
I was tooling around the interwebs and happened across a planner’s blog. I’m not going to link the tool because I certainly don’t want to encourage traffic there. The mystery blog’s post was in regards to tiaras, Princess Kate’s borrowed Cartier (can you imagine that conversation? “Yo, HRH! Can I borrow some bling?” OK, maybe not…) and a description of “What’s Hot and What’s Not.” From the post…
…eschewing my earlier warning. Now that we’ll see trends pouring out of the UK and into mass retail for brides to consume with utter abandon, take heed and avoid the tiara . . . we advise against the fake-it-till-you-make-it adage here, girls. Your $32 Moissanite version ain’t. cutting. it.
OK, so in the less than 10 minutes I spent on this blog, I saw the word “eschew” no less than 3 times. OK, Mr. Fancy Pants. We get it. There were some pictures of tiaras that the author posted as lame. Were they lame? Yeah, kinda. But they also looked like they were circa 1998.
I definitely left a “shame on you” comment because what I think is LAME is the attitude. There ain’t a damn thing wrong with a fake-it-till-you-make-it approach to weddings. I mean, holychristonabike, that’s what my wedding was ALL ABOUT! My favorite blogs are the ones that gave me inspiration that wasn’t Cartier or Stuart Weitzman or letterpress invitations or Lily of the Valley bouquets or Vera Wang. And to this very day, I look back at my wedding and think I did a damn fine job of faking it, thank you very much.
So in a retaliation post of sorts (here I go, starting a ruckus again), I’m going to feature TIARAS, mothereffers. Pretty ones. Ones that don’t suck. Ones that aren’t Cartier. That WIC planner can suck it.
Jenny Packman via Studded Hearts
My advice to this planner (now that I’ve calmed down a bit) is this: how about constructive criticism versus leading brides away from a trend they really might want. How about, “avoiding dated ribbon curls or pointy buns or tiaras that don’t seem to fit?” How about helping the bride with her wedding day hair and talking about options? Ask how she really wants to look and feel on her wedding day. How about researching the look for affordable unique designs that don’t have to smack of tacky? Sheesh.
So there. Go ahead and get your princess on.
1Feeling coined by Marie, the day after my wedding.
OK, I'm gonna take back my snarky comments about the planner. He wrote me an email regarding my comment on his blog and explained his "slightly acerbic and tongue-in-cheek" approach to "Hot or Not."
Having been misunderstood a-plenty on my own blog, I gotta give the guy props for writing me and explaining himself.
I'm going to blame tree pollen and sore throat for my tiara-tirade. To the planner? Props, dude. My bad.
Never has a black cloud followed me so persistently! I'm trying to think back over the long list of my dastardly deeds to see what has generated such a string of bad gu-gu. Generally fate and I go tit-for-tat and I'm cool with that. However, recently the scale has been weighted heavily on the negative karma side and I'm totally not down with that. At all.
Over the last 2 months I've had the following episodes occur:
- Massive sinus infection that left me incapacitated for a week followed immediately by...
- My first encounter with Preparation H. Yes, that. Several doctor's appointments and lots of uncomfortable situations and 2 weeks later I was finally H-free. Yes, it's gross. Yes, it made me feel like a freakin' decrepit old codger. No, I'm not pregnant.
- Car vandalism.
- Roof leak.
- Insurance bullshit.
- Internet access denial.
This last one is the latest. See, I just wanted to get a new cell phone. We have been encouraged to use our work cell phones as our personal cell phones. I have been okay with that scenario for a while, but really haven't been happy with it recently. I mean, my company has access to all the personal calls I make. Not so sure I like that. The Big Brother aspect just started to smell stinky. I decided that I'd add a line to The Candyman's Verizon plan since AT&T cell service pretty much sucks at our house. You have to go upstairs to the back bedroom just to keep the call from dropping. Lame, right? So I call up Verizon, we figure out the best plan and I'm good to go, right? Well, I happened to mention canceling my home land line to the Verizon lady and she's all, "Well, we can port over your land line to your new cell line and you can keep your home number as your cell number." I'm all, "Hey! That rocks! Yeah, let's do that! What do I need to do?" And she tells me that I don't have to do anything and that it will just take a few days for the number to port over.
Yeah. She fails to mention (or ask me) if I have a DSL line that also goes through the same land line number. And guess what "port over" means? It means "cancel your entire phone service with your current carrier." So, buh-bye to my DSL on Friday night. So after three straight weeks of calling the insurance company to get shit figured out, I now have to call Verizon and figure out the fuck up. And they can't do anything because they don't do DSL. So now I have to call AT&T and to get it worked out. And let me tell you how HARD it is to get the right phone number to get that set up when you don't have the internet. I actually had to call Verizon back to get them to look it up. How freakin' lame is that? So, now we have to set up a whole new account for our DSL, which we won't get until Wednesday.Such a silly, stupid little mistake that just makes life so crazy and inconvenient.
And let me tell you how TIRED I am of pressing this number or that number and entering my account number fifty-seven million times in order to get a live, living person to speak to. And no, hitting zero doesn't always accomplish that. Companies have gotten wise to that move and now don't allow you to do that. Asses.
AND WHAT? ALL WEEKEND WITH NO INTERNET? You try it. Suckage. Although, I have to say that I have gotten a ton of stuff accomplished in the last three days. No blogs to distract me. No Netflix to suck my time. I have felt totally cut off though. To add fuel to my blazing fire, my office had a "catastrophic failure" and we have been without internet access there as well. I asked The Candyman if he would do a guest post today for me and I think that request may have come a little too early in the morning as I got a big fat negative on that one. I won't even tell you what I've done to gain access. It's kind of sad, really.
But by Saturday morning I'd had it. So had The Candyman. We were cleaning up the house for a viewing (oh, did I mention we're selling our casa?) and the poop hit the fan, so to speak. I was banging around upstairs, The Candyman was banging around downstairs and I heard him leave. Generally, we don't part ways unless it's a super-gruesome brawl and generally, we communicate the need to retreat to our respective corners. So I'm thinking, "What's he so pissed about? I'M the one who should be mad!" About the time I'm thinking this, I hear him come home. He walks into the bathroom I'm scrubbing and holds out a fist full of money. He says, "Here. I got this [meaning the cleaning of the house]. You need to chill. Go shopping. Go get a pedicure. Go buy some fabric. Take this money and go."
So I did.
Retail therapy is just the best. I went and got a mani-pedi and I didn't even have to wait for my favorite mani-pedi chick. She was free and ready to go. I went to Kristin Steele's open house to celebrate her full-time launch into full-time photography where I met up with Sharon of Jonathon Campbell Photography. I ran into Jessica (aka The Budget Savvy Bride) and just hung out at Wedding 101 for awhile. I twisted Sharon's arm and made her go have a cocktail with me afterwards!
I got home late, swung by Blue Coast Burrito first and pigged out on cheesy taco goodness. Then I ate left over cupcakes that Kristin had sent home with us.
I think Karma and I are about even. Um, so Karma? You can stop fucking with me now. Thanks, I appreciate it.
[Before I start my rant, I'd just like to say that The Candyman is currently singing "I'm a Wolverine! I'm a Wolverine!" downstairs in the kitchen and I'm not really understanding that at all.]
I am so irritated. So irritated. I get these email listing updates from a guy who is probably going to be our realtor only because he is the least annoying out of all the other realtors who have crossed our path in the last few weeks. I mean, holy shit. We looked at some open houses last weekend and it was all we could do not to smack the shit out of each realtor we met. And why is it that most realtors are 50+ women with helmet-hair, too much make-up, acrylic nails and the inability to shut the fuck up? Why is that? Just curious, that's all.
So anyway, this dude emails me a listing at 8:30pm on Sunday. It was listed yesterday. The house just happens to be in the fancy-pants area of our neighborhood. I show The Candyman the listing and he's really interested, as am I. We throw on our shoes and actually walk over to take a look at the house last night. I call Mr. Realtor and make an appointment to see it at 7pm tonight.
He calls us at 6:20pm and tells us it's sold. SOLD. TODAY! WHAT is going on? I thought this was a down economy. I thought no one was buying houses. What is going on, I ask you? This is not a "first-time buyers" kinda house, so I don't think it was a tax-credit sale. This thought pisses me off even more.
We are just so upset. We didn't even get to see the inside and me and The Candyman are just so sad