Get Me Murray!

**** This is one of my favorite blog memories. It still cracks me up to the extent that I wanted to share it again. For what it’s worth, Trixie is now 10 and occasionally wakes up of her own volition. ****

I was dead serious when I posted last week that getting the children up-and-at-’em is akin to poking two bears.

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Trixie (5) has taken to wearing sunglasses in the A.M, which overall channels a strong 1990s Courtney Love vibe.

Here she is enjoying a nutritious breakfast of Fruity Pebbles, which was immediately preceded by her barking, “Where are my Fruity Pebbles? I ordered Fruity Pebbles! And why isn’t anyone pouring the milk?”

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Note that the picture quality is poor since I had to surreptitiously take them to avoid her wrath. Frankly, I’m scared of her.

Spouse has also worked out a whole backstory to her behavior that I find hilarious (and a helpful coping mechanism), namely that she’s an indulged, out-of-control socialite/actress/musician.

He’ll pretend to be Trixie (out of earshot, of course), and routinely provides bon mots like:

  • The sun! It burns!
  • I don’t get out of bed for less than $10,000 a day. And I don’t see any bags of cash in your hands.
  • Get the G6 gassed up and ready to go! I’ll be at Teterboro in 20.
  • See you in Ibiza.
  • Where the hell is my agent Murray? He was supposed to be here 10 minutes ago! Murray! Get me Murray!

 

 

 

Saving Good Things

Do you save good things?

And by this, I mean do you consider some items so precious that you rarely use them, lest they get, well, used?

I do. And this is not a Good Thing.

Recently I realized that I hoard some of my nicest stuff, ostensibly protecting it from wear so that it will be (mostly) pristine when I want to use it. Which is often never.

This Prada bag is a great example.

bag

 

I bought this a couple of years ago with the idea that it’s a classic and an investment piece.

By “investment,” I also mean in my image and not in potential re-sale value.

This bag was supposed to say something about me: polished, luxe, sophisticated.

Of course I am often not any of those things, so it mostly continues to live in a box in my closet.

When I do take it out, it’s usually to go to a work event, like a conference, and then back the bag goes into its protective home.

I probably feel this way because I didn’t grow up with designer anything around our house and luxury items still sometimes feel irreplaceable if ruined despite consciously telling myself they’re Just Things.

To me, true decadence is having something nice and not really caring at all about it.

A former coworker used to sling around this giant Vuitton bag given to her by her boyfriend like it was a hobo’s bindle. She would carry (and spill) her lunch in it. Toss it in the corner of Labor and Delivery at our hospital. Drag it behind her. I couldn’t imagine ever being that carefree about something so spendy, but the more I think about it, maybe she had the right idea. It’s Just a Thing, and a practical one that’s meant to be used.

My weirdness for saving nice things also extends to travel.

I hate taking worn-out things on trips, so I practically have a whole separate wardrobe of things to wear on vacation.

There are swimsuit coverups and sandals that only see exotic beaches. Cashmere scarves and cardigans that are only meant for drafty airplane coverage. White tees that stay unworn so they can stay white. Delicate clutches for nights on the town. A Kate Spade wallet that I only use for foreign currency (!). You get the idea.

While it’s unlikely that I’ll ever get to my coworker’s carefree state of mind, I think acknowledging the problem is step one to solving it.

The tricky part is that I still am waiting for a personality transplant where I stop ruining everything I touch. Wish me luck.

What about you? Do you save your best stuff or use it with abandon?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Saving Good Things

Do you save good things?

And by this, I mean do you consider some items so precious that you rarely use them, lest they get, well, used?

I do. And this is not a Good Thing.

Recently I realized that I hoard some of my nicest stuff, ostensibly protecting it from wear so that it will be (mostly) pristine when I want to use it. Which is often never.

This Prada bag is a great example.

bag

 

I bought this a couple of years ago with the idea that it’s a classic and an investment piece.

By “investment,” I also mean in my image and not in potential re-sale value.

This bag was supposed to say something about me: polished, luxe, sophisticated.

Of course I am often not any of those things, so it mostly continues to live in a box in my closet.

When I do take it out, it’s usually to go to a work event, like a conference, and then back the bag goes into its protective home.

I probably feel this way because I didn’t grow up with designer anything around our house and luxury items still sometimes feel irreplaceable if ruined despite consciously telling myself they’re Just Things.

To me, true decadence is having something nice and not really caring at all about it.

A former coworker used to sling around this giant Vuitton bag given to her by her boyfriend like it was a hobo’s bindle. She would carry (and spill) her lunch in it. Toss it in the corner of Labor and Delivery at our hospital. Drag it behind her. I couldn’t imagine ever being that carefree about something so spendy, but the more I think about it, maybe she had the right idea. It’s Just a Thing, and a practical one that’s meant to be used.

My weirdness for saving nice things also extends to travel.

I hate taking worn-out things on trips, so I practically have a whole separate wardrobe of things to wear on vacation.

There are swimsuit coverups and sandals that only see exotic beaches. Cashmere scarves and cardigans that are only meant for drafty airplane coverage. White tees that stay unworn so they can stay white. Delicate clutches for nights on the town. A Kate Spade wallet that I only use for foreign currency (!). You get the idea.

While it’s unlikely that I’ll ever get to my coworker’s carefree state of mind, I think acknowledging the problem is step one to solving it.

The tricky part is that I still am waiting for a personality transplant where I stop ruining everything I touch. Wish me luck.

What about you? Do you save your best stuff or use it with abandon?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

If It Makes You Happy

I’m doing the solo parenting thing this weekend.

Spouse is re-living his glory days with his college buddies, and from the picture he sent of his feet in front of a campfire (with a caption that Friday evening was fueled by 25 year-old Scotch and Nicaraguan cigars), it sounds like he’s having a blast.

Back at Fancy Pants Ranch, I invited my dear friends J. and B. over last night. We had a lot to catch up on and a few things to celebrate, so this happened:

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My Recycling Bin, which is going to be *quite* heavy to take outside

The three of us also had a blast, but I was feeling a bit rough this A.M.

Fortunately, both kids were also interested in sleeping late and spending the rainy morning as couch potatoes…

Which led me to spend two hours pursuing on of my more embarrassing hobbies: watching corny made-for-TV movies.

Since this was “Hallmark Channel” and not “Lifetime,” it was about two seemingly mismatched strangers falling in love despite obstacles (versus Lifetime’s Woman In Danger trope).

Here’s a screenshot of “Stranded in Paradise,” starring Vanessa Marcil and James Denton.

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Actual screenshot, as this is my TV

There was one part of the film that leapt out at me. Laid-back James (LBJ) is having a conversation with Uptight Vanessa’s (UV) character about Life With a Capital “L”, and it went something like this:

LBJ: The last I checked, you only get one Go Round here. I figured it’s a shame to just go through the motions or live somebody else’s dream. You gotta find your own.

UV: You know, just so you know, it’s not that easy to drop everything and change your whole entire life.

LBJ: I think you’re making it a little harder than it is. You just ask yourself: Am I happy?

And if not, is there something that might make me happy? It’s not selfish or narcissistic. It’s just honest. 

But you have to find it yourself.

Laid-back James, you had me at hello!

Lately I’ve had so many moments to contemplate this exact question, and it’s something I’m determined to figure out.

A few weeks ago at Rock Retreat Run (read about it here), I made this list of things I value:

  • Authenticity
  • Family
  • Friendships
  • Independence/autonomy
  • Laughter
  • Happiness

Fortunately, I think the script for my Hallmark Movie is still being written (and let’s just hope that the plot doesn’t go all Lifetime on me).

 

P.S. Spoiler alert: In the end, Uptight Vanessa and Laid-back James fell in love.

P.P.S. It is almost 1 PM and I still have not brushed my teeth. I know.

Big Sigh For My Life, October 2015 Edition

A few funny things are going on lately. I mean weird, not ha-ha.

Seriously, what’s in the water?

weirdness

First of all, I’ve been struggling with a nagging running injury. More on that later this week, but it’s really becoming a drag. I’m rightfully worried about the half marathon I have coming up in a few weeks and the full marathon I’m training for in January.

Work-wise, I owe everybody something. Argh! I agreed to give several talks and am woefully behind on getting the presentations ready. This does not feel good.

Speaking of work, there’s really a yin and yang going on. I don’t like to talk too specifically about my job, but I found out last week that I have an exciting and unexpected trip to a very exotic location on the horizon, which is awesome.

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Hint

 

 

 

 

 

 

And then I immediately got a brutal rejection for a paper that I submitted to a journal detailing a research project that I’ve been working on for over a year. The rejection email was cringe-worthy. Crying would be a legitimate response.

And my shoes fell apart.

After 8+ years as my trusty OR clogs, my worn Danskos quite literally rotted away. I guess they’d seen one too many liquid spills and splashes of all sorts of nastiness.

This turn of events was unpleasant, but I used my new Amazon Prime membership to score this rainbow pair within a cool 48 hours.

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New shoes – love!

Last work-related item: We conveniently have meetings Every Single Day during the time that most people would, say, go out for lunch or procure something lunch-y to eat, so brown-bagging it is pretty necessary lest there be no sustenance at all.

Due to my propensity to rip, spill and otherwise ruin things (see rotten shoes above), I go through a lot of lunch totes, some cooler than others.

I recently purchased one for MGM (8) at the start of the school year, which I thought he would love based on his TV viewing habits.

Instead, he deemed it too baby-ish (although an R2D2 lunchbox apparently is the height of third grade chic), which is why I am a now 42-year-old accomplished physician carrying my sandwich and apple to work in this:

scooby

Big sigh for my life.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Arc of a Stitch Fix Relationship

Dear Stitch Fix:

We’ve had our good times.

We’ve had our bad times.

But can we make this relationship work?

Doubtfully yours,

Fancy

stitchfix2

So, I’ve noticed a pattern in many Stitch Fix relationships, and mine is no exception.

  • Stage 1: Infatuation. After flirting with the idea, you order your first Fix. And when it arrives, it’s love at first sight. Your stylist *gets* you! You adore some of the pieces and convince yourself that the others are taking you out of your comfort zone in the best possible way. You keep the whole box, delighting in the buy-it-all 25% discount.
  • Stage 2: Understanding phase. You still get each other but tiny little flaws start to become apparent. You overlook the ill-fitting skirt for the keep-it-all discount.
  • Stage 3: Doubts. You receive yet another flowy printed sleeveless top. Which you absolutely don’t need.
  • Stage 4: Arguments and make-ups. WHY DID THEY SEND SKINNY JEANS WHEN YOU’VE EXPLICITLY MENTIONED SEVERAL TIMES THAT YOU LOOK TERRIBLE IN SKINNY JEANS? The whole Fix is sent back. You bitterly stew over the lost styling fee. But then the most perfect lightweight sweater arrives in your next Fix and you’re back hoping that the relationship can be saved…
  • Stage 5: Decision time. Should you stay or should you go? 

I’m definitely in Stage 5. My friend P. recently divorced Stitch Fix, and believe me, I’m almost ready to figuratively lawyer up, too.

I’m also wondering if Stitch Fix jumped the shark, meaning that they’ve peaked and are heading downhill.

Did they get too big, too fast? For my last three Fixes I’ve had different stylists, leading me to wonder if they either have a lot of new, inexperienced stylists or major employee turnover.

I’ve also noticed a disturbing trend in other bloggers where they seem to be ordering Fixes solely to review them and then repeatedly send everything back, despite trying on all the clothes in multiple elaborately staged blog photos. Without naming names, I saw one blogger who purchased exactly one item over the course of nine months. Not cool, people. 

So what’s a girl to do? I can’t decide, but a notice from Stitch Fix tells me that Fix #9 is on its way.

We’ll see what happens.

This Disney Character…

A couple of weeks ago, Trixie started asking us to play a game called “This Disney Character.”

The game is simple: one person gives clues to the identity of a Disney character and the others guess. The person who gets it right does the clues for the next round.

Sample: This Disney Character is a snowman who loves summer.

Please don’t make me answer that one for you.

However, last week the game took a dark turn.

As I’ve mentioned before, Trixie is not the up-and-at-’em type in the morning.

She’s more like a mid-90s Courtney Love forced to meet a parole officer in the A.M.

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Undoctored photo

Last week the two of us were alone in the kitchen and the usual morning scramble to get out the door was in full swing.

I can’t even recall the precipitating incident, but all of sudden she snarled, “This Disney character is chubby, sweaty, stinky and is standing next to the sink!”

Ok, I *was* next to the sink, but really, the rest of that is not true.

(Is it? Sniff. My self esteem is destroyed by a six year old).

Once I recovered I was able to come back with one for her:

This Disney character is about to lose iPad privileges for the rest of her life.

It only took one guess.

P.S. Here’s another Disney game that is a lot of fun.