WTF? Where did my year go? Someone asked me what my plans for Labor Day were, which is impossible because Memorial Day was last weekend. This is so not fair.

A first. I went for a (see blog title) tonight, and a woman came in for a pedicure with an ankle bracelet. Not the gold or silver kind, but the "I can't leave the state" kind. She hiked up her pant leg, and I immediately thought she just got out of prison and was confined to her home. But she looked way too pixie cute to have served hard time, and if she was on house arrest she would not be at Glam Nails with me now would she? Not to mention, she was getting a pedicure (not that prison bitches don't like nice toes, but I don't think Aileene Wuornos spent much time in a nail salon). Turns out, it's a bracelet that detects alcohol or drug use--to the point where she can't even take Nyquil. Who invented this piece of crap, and how much fun do you have?! She is a DUI offender, and violated her probation, which was to not be in the presence of alcohol. DUI is pretty damn stupid what with cabs, safe rides, sober & pregnant friends (I mean, take your pick...

Tis not the state from which I hale that I refer to this morning. I came to work in jersey knit and flip flops today. Nothing like management setting a stellar example. There is a reason, truly. We were at the lake this weekend (feeling like a broken record here), and on Friday when I packed we had every intention of coming back to the condo on Sunday night--after TruBlood of course. My man, staying true to his nature, tells me Saturday morning that his parents are coming in Sunday night--to the lake. In all fairness, I do recall him mentioning this a week or two ago, but it somehow escaped all future conversation. Kind of like the getting married thing. I had two options: 1) drive all the way back to ATL on a perfectly nice lake day and potentially rush having to make dinner and miss TruBlood (not to mention maybe becoming roadkill on 400) or 2) make the jersey knit work. Naturally I chose option two. I just couldn't take that risk. ...

Can you believe I actually wrote a post about Jessica Simpson?

Really. Who the hell eats salad because they enjoy it? Let me rephrase that--who eats salad less the cheese, bacon and dressing that make it just as awful for you as any other food? A good friend of mine made this point the other day when asked about lunch, and I could not agree more. The supermodel line is in fact hers, and yes, I stole it. I have never been one of those girls who orders a salad because women should. Most women are in fact not supermodels. I know, it shocked me too. If I eat like a bird, it's potato skins less the entree. The older I get, the more difficult it becomes to eat like this and not see the consequences--mainly in my gut. I look like I'm five months pregnant, and despite the popularity of this fad around me, I am not. But I still cannot consider salad for every meal. Ten pounds, that's all I want. I need a good flu or something to start the process. This accomplishes shrinkage of the stomach so that I can still eat the food I love, j...

I really wanted it to work. I thought it was love. It wasn't always rosy, but things seemed to be going well and marriage was even discussed.  And now, it's over. I can't believe Jessica and Tony split up.  I didn't think it was real on the cover of the US magazine my sister brought to town this weekend, but People online confirms it today. Oddly enough, I was really pulling for them. I say odd because I do not even like Jessica Simpson.  I could care less about football and Tony Romo and especially dislike the cowboys. Yet somehow I have a soft spot for them. I liked them. Together. I think it may have been because she had an entire legion of fans of her boyfriends livelihood hating her and blaming her for poor game performance. She couldn't even walk into the stadium. Just imagine that for one minute. Totally sucks. But she overcame it and he supported her. Then everyone called her fat. Ok, maybe a little coupled with very poor choice in clothing. This too...

Loser. That's me. Subconsciously I think I forgot the milk at the grocery store yesterday so I could go out early this morning and get some...only to drive my new ride.  When you see me rollin' in my Volvo with the radio cranked to Snoop and my Gucci glasses on (booster seat and gallon of milk), just honk once if you love me.    I love being a contradiction.