Taylor’s Faux Pas

My beloved Taylor is having a rough month.  The cat has a wax belly and the dog peed on her Chistmas deer.

I had the pleasure of meeting up with Taylor for dinner, where she shared to stories of her week.  Enjoy.

Bad Dog!!!

If you’re single, we all have that item of clothing (or outfit) we wear for comfort and would simply die if anyone saw.  For me?  It’s a pair of blue pants I wore after back surgery.  The elastic in the waist is worn out so it gives me continual plumber crack.

Taylor hasn’t felt well lately, so she put on her comfort attire (which I will define shortly in detail).  I was envisioning her comfort attire as….well…. nothing heinous honestly.  She seems too put together to have comfort wear, but I suppose they say the same about me.

Anyway – Taylor’s comfort outfit is a salmon color tshirt that says ARUBA in nasty turquoise blue letters.  No bra.  Tucked into grey sweat pants with an elastic cuff, and big blue socks that have little balls on them.  Observe:


Now THIS is sexy….

Taylor was laying on the couch trying not to die when her doorbell rang.  Mortified that she was in her comfort wear, Taylor weekly made it to the door and squeaked “Who is it?”  Turns out it was a concerned co-worker there to bring meds and soup.  Awww.

Taylor told her to leave the materials at the door and she will get them.  No one would see Taylor in this outfit if she could help it!

A few minutes later, Taylor opens the door to get said items.  Call it slow reactions.  Call it bad dog.  Call it fate.  But something made Taylor’s dog Max make a mad dash for the outside world at this point.

Max is young and is not an outside dog, thus Taylor had to plow down the street of her neighborhood….. in her comfort-wear.  Here is how she said it went down, verbatim.

Taylor: YOU FU*&ING BASTARD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! GET BACK HERE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Max: yelps and runs – this is a game for him now

Taylor: SON OF A BITCH!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Max: gives her a look like… um actually? Yes.

Taylor: STOP! BAD DOG!!!!!!!

Max: cuts through a neighbor’s yard and proceeds to poop on said yard

Taylor, winded from having run and scream, while sick, scooped Max up, pulled some toilet paper from her pocket (apparently she has a cold), and cleaned up best she could.  Max seemed pleased, but Taylor feels she now has to move because her street has seen her comfy wear.

God Bless Taylor.


A few days later, Taylor went back to work.   At lunch, Taylor went to the little grocery by her office where all the earth-friendly people go.  People were giving her the once over, and she thought it was because she hadn’t brought in her re-usable grocery bag.  She felt guilty, but kept perusing.  After many scowls, Taylor began scowling back.

At the check out, Taylor’s checkout guy was also giving her the eye.  Then he asked if she’d like to buy a bag. And then this happened:

Taylor: THAT’S IT!!!!!!!!!  No.  I don’t want a bag.  I’m sorry I forgot to bring my reusable bag in, but I feel like crap and I’m on cold meds.  Whatever.  Just give me my stuff.

Bagboy: Gives her the once over and says: Really?

Taylor looks down.

Taylor: Oh shit.

Then she quickly grabs her bag and runs out.

Why?  Taylor was forced to  participate in her office Ugly Sweater party.  Apparently, Taylor forgot she was wearing said hideous sweater and THAT was what folks were looking at…. not her lack of earth-friendly carry alls.

So in the course of a week, Taylor, has gone from pulled together cutie to What Not to Wear.  God BLESS Taylor.  Hope she feels better soon.

Merry Christmas-Happy Holidays! Stay out of the ugly sweaters and off the cold meds.



Taylor Had a Bad Day

Remember Taylor?  My sweet little polly-pocket of sass?    Well, she recently went all Martha Stewart on her place and bought awesome decorations, lovely smelling candles, etc.  She also has two pets: a cat named Lila and a dog named Max.  Lila is a devil in a very long fur coat.  She doesn’t mind and she doesn’t care.  Max is young and dumb.  Bless.

Today was one of those days where I’ve done nothing but meet.  I do that here.  We meet to decide when we meet next.  It’s extraordinary what people do with time on their hands…..what they deem important now vs. what they did when they were actually in jobs.  But I digress.  After my meetings I drug myself back to the desk to check my never-ending inbox.   I see this email from Taylor and almost pee my pants.

Re: Saturday plans

Okay-  let’s see how it goes…I may need to crash.  Lila got a wild hair to jump on the microwave.  When she did, her belly hair drug through the candle wax in my wax warmer.  I’m not sure how many times she did this as I was at work.  All I know is there was no more wax in the warmer and Lila’s belly is coated in candle wax.  F*%king a…because I’m going to have to shave her tomorrow…

Max is on my shit list too.  He peed on and humped my Christmas Deer and also peed on my tree skirt, so it’s just been a nightmare at the apartment.  I need a vodka or a Valium.  Maybe both.

I hope you have a good day and I will see you later.


I’ve tried several times to reply and all I can do is sit here and laugh til tears stream down my face.  I picture Lila with a shaved belly looking pissed off.  I picture Max (a small-medium dog) thinking the Christmas Deer is now his girlfriend and being all sorts of mad when she no longer smells like him.  But most of all I picture Taylor coming back to a home she left looking like something out of a magazine shoot.  Fully believing it would be as she left it, but instead, seeing a cat with a wax belly and a Christmas Deer that wreaks of pee and Max.  I picture the look on her face.  The grasping of the pearls.  And the string of obscenities that inevitably flew from her lips, followed by a mortified look around to ensure no one heard her utter such words.

God bless Taylor.  She’s had a rough day.



Holiday Recap 1

Happy New Year Blogland!!!

I hope you all had a great holiday.  The holidays were spent with PIC of course!  I spent mine doing absolutely nothing but indulging my inner hedonist.  I ate too much, drank too much, laughed too much (is that possible?) and well… anything else that tickled my fancy.

I apologize for being absent of late, so this is a two part post to catch you up.

Holiday Shopping Godzilla Style


Fearless shopper I am, holiday time at the mall still kind of scares me.  And, for my PIC, holiday shopping at the mall is wholly unbearable.  She needed to buy some things from our mall though, and I volunteered quickly to help her out.

Our adventure started out innocently enough.  The true adventures didn’t begin until we were almost done shopping.  PIC’s mom wanted a toaster oven. After scouring many stores, we finally found one….at the store clear across the other end where we parked. This, to novice shoppers, would have deterred buying.  But nay. I make even shopping pros look like gangly beginners.  I mean, who else for added difficulty wears four inch heel boots, still outpaces flat-shoe wearing friends and never stops for a break once? Me. That’s who.

So, I convinced PIC that it was a bulky item, but I could carry all the other purchases if she could navigate the path in front with the toaster oven.  We made our way over screaming toddlers, the army of kiosk vendors (BACK OFF SEA SALT MAN!) and old ladies who stop mid stream to dig through their purses. I was so proud of PIC! She trudged through like a trooper!

Around the “vicky’s clearly out of secrets at this point” store, PIC stops short. Then I spy what she’s seen.  A woman, bless her heart, who weighed no less than 400 lbs. She was scarffing down Dippin’ Dots, yelling loudly that she wanted a chair. Her hair was matted up in long, greasy strands. She was clad in festive green tights…or maybe those were stretch pants?, tennis shoes and a white bejeweled and bedazzled shirt.

PIC: Son of a

Enter son child of said lady.

PIC: Blimp!

I began laughing so hard I cried. Son of a Blimp has become the new catch-phrase. Go ahead and use it – you’ll laugh ridiculously loud, or at least PIC and I do….or maybe you just had to be there.

We entered the last leg of our journey, and then this happened:

The escalator ascending to the final exit was stopped. PIC looked at me with an emotional mix of fear and anxiety. So, what did I do? The “fix it” part of me took over.  I snatch the toaster oven and go tromping. Tromping up the escalator, in the four inch boots, with bags lining up and down my arms.  PIC is yelling for me to stop, but by the time it registered that I was literally making like Godzilla, it was too late – I was already in too deep.  I had to finish.  Small apologetic look to the lady I almost decapitated, snarly look to the teenager who looked at me all haughty and self important…. and I was done. Up the stairs, all bags accounted for and my PIC behind me.

Me: And that’s how you shop Godzilla style.

PIC: Stay put, I’ll get the car.

Back in the car, PIC and I decided to celebrate with some dancing. If you’ve read long enough, you know PIC and I have a proclivity to dance at will, and car dancing is almost 100% guaranteed when we are together.  Today was a particularly beautiful day, so we had PIC’s t-tops out.

My happiest dance song EVER came one.  Moves like Jagger.  And baby, PIC and I do have the moves like Jagger!  Then my next favorite song came on: Sexy and I Know It. Around the lyric “Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle, wiggle, wiggle yeah”, PIC stops dancing.

I look over at her, she’s looking up.  I look up and see a woman in a big SUV peering into PICs car, giving us a wholly disapproving look.

Me: I forgot your windows weren’t tinted.

PIC: Yeah.  They aren’t and neither are the t-tops.

The woman in the SUV looks at us over the brim of her glasses and I felt instantly transported back to third grade.

Hands folded in lap, ankles crossed, looking sweet, I exclaim: Son of a Blimp!!!

PIC and I laughed….and danced….the rest of the way home.

Tomorrow’s post: Meet Marci.


One of my favorite Christmas memories involved an emergency room.  Yes, you read correctly…an actual emergency room.

Before I begin my tale, here are some things you should note:

1) My mom is Ms. Claus reincarnate. Seriously, she would have Christmas rooms (plural) in the house if allowed.  The trees go up on NOVEMBER 1.  By November 3, it looks like Christmas threw up all over the house – inside and out.  The Griswold’s have nothing on us!

2) My dad is a trooper.  He always complies, bless him, with all of her holiday demands.  All I see is a small roll of his eye as he unfurls the 500th strand of lights, trips over a random plush snowman or hears the dancing Christmas tree sing for the bajillionth time.


In this story, I was 7 years old.  My sister was 5.  Mom decided my sister and I needed some extra holiday sparkle to keep us happily believing in Santa.  She concocted a plan.

My sis and I were in the living room playing when we heard some stomping on the roof…. and some bells!  It was Christmas Eve, so that meant one thing: Santa was here!!!

I look at my sis and we exchange the “Oh crap! We were supposed to be in bed and now we will not get our presents” look.  I fled straight to my room because, in my estimation, Santa didn’t leave presents for kids if they weren’t in bed.

My sister, bless her, is quite precocious and was rebellious even then. She came to my room, grabbed me off the bed and said let’s go see him! I explained my whole bed = presents philosophy, but she declared good = presents regardless.  I couldn’t argue that.

We sneak to her bedroom window.  We keep hearing the bells and stomping and a conversation similar to this ensued:

Sister: Why is he still stomping?

Me: Maybe because he knows we are awake and he can’t come in until we are sleeping.

Sister: glares at me

At this time, mom appears and says: Actually, Santa’s stomping because there is snow up there.  He doesn’t want to track it in the house. (side note:  if anyone comes to the house, be they repairman or Senator, Mom makes them take their shoes off. NO ONE wears shoes at mom’s house. EVER.) This made sense to my sister and I Mom disappeared around the corner.  Her plot to re-energize our Christmas seemed to be working!

Sister: Let’s look in the fireplace!

I nod in some covert spy “we got this” manner, and we stealthily creep to the fireplace. Then, the most repeated line in my family’s history occurred:

HO! HO! OHHHH!!!!!!!!! AWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

We hear Santa crash hard!

Convinced that we’d killed Santa, we look at each other in terror.

Ding Dong!

It was the doorbell!  My sister and I tumble over one another to get to the door, Mom right behind us.  It was my neighbor. Behind him? My dad.  Looking nothing near holly nor jolly.


Neighbor: Um.  I was on my porch and I saw your husband…. um…. trying to… catch Santa.  Santa startled him, and he tumbled off the roof.

Dad: owwwww.

Mom: Sweet mother Mary….. are you ok?!

Dad: I hate Santa.

Side notes:

*Dad was fine, just banged up.  We rushed to the ER and my sister proceeded to tell everyone that daddy almost caught Santa, but the he fell off the roof.  Looking back, the responses ranged in expression from “bless” to “um-hm…I bet he was drunk.”

*Dad promised my crying sister that Santa would return with presents.

*Mom and Dad didn’t really speak that holiday.

*Santa never visited our roof again.

Merry-Happy-Holiday Bloggland!


Where’s my Wine?

I think today is going to be one of those special kinds of days….you know, the kind where it’s 5pm and you go WHAT the hell was that about – and where is my wine???

First of all, its Monday….in my busy season…and the holidays are coming. This calls for all sorts of trouble.  The first call of the day was from a young lady seeking contact information about another member.

Me: What’s the last name?

Caller: Levine, Lavato, Lava, Lobotomy

Me: Pardon?

Caller: Yeah. I can’t pronounce it or spell it.  It starts with an L and it sounds kind of famous.

Me: Ooo…k  then….

Note: The real last name was something like Lazavo. When I told this to PIC, she said, “She should have just said lasagna, that’s way closer than lobotomy.” I love my PIC…. 


Second call of the day:

Me: May I have your name, please?

Caller: Arian – like the nation, but spelled different.

Really??!? I don’t even know where to start with this one….


Third call of the day:

Caller: I have a problem with my portical.

Me: Login portal?

Caller: POR-TI-CAL, did I stutter?

Me: no ma’am


Before I share the last memory of my day, there are some important things to note: I am a ballet dancer (was for almost my whole life thus far) and have been in the Nutcracker and played all the lead rolls for more years than most people have even seen the Nutcracker. My boss knows this, hell – everyone I know knows this about me.  Even if this wasn’t the case, I swear to God I have not lived under a rock for the last 30 something years.

Me: Clara submitted a birthday on the OP calendar – she was born December 24. That’s pretty cool!

Boss: I bet she is named after Clara…in the Nutcracker.

Me: Haha- yes, I can certainly see that!

Boss: Because the Nutcracker’s main lead is a girl named Clara.

Me: pause: Yes….

Boss: And the Nutcracker takes place at Christmas.  Like our Clara’s birthday.

Me: longer hesitation pause: Um… yes.

Boss: So that’s the reason our Clara may be named Clara.

Me: insert big, fake pageant grin, voice dripping in sarcasm: I totally get your point now. Thank you.

Boss: You are welcome. (And she’s serious y’all- she came and hugged me and warmly patted my arms.)

Me: continue to smile, all the while thinking OH MY GOD ARE YOU REALLY THAT FREAKING DENSE…or do you think I am?


Where’s my wine?