Retail Therapy Should Be Covered By Insurance Companies And Here’s Why…

There are a few things you need to know first. I am single. Not single as in, “What lovely invitation shall I choose to accept this weekend?” I’m single as in I don’t date EVER very often. I have been single by choice for a long time. I have been single not by choice, but because the men I meet are reeeeaaally CRAZY for a reeeeaaally long time.

So, after many of my wonderful friends, both male and female, badgered me to near death by suicide, I joined eHarmony. Don’t judge. I’ve actually met some really interesting guys. Some local, some I couldn’t find with a map, longitude and latitude coordinates, and a geography teacher standing over my shoulder. I travel a lot too. Sad. Can you find Victoria, Mahe, Seychelles without help???

Ok. Talk to great guy. Great guy asks me out. Make plans with great guy. Great guy does not confirm plans or cancel or call or e-mail or anything. Seriously, not a word. I roar sadly, loudly and privately because that’s what Leos do. Now, were this an isolated random event I’d have ignored this social misstep as an anomaly of rude behavior and went on my merry way. But no. One joker after another has come crashing into my world like some kamikaze, lunatic, crack-head just released from a psych ward sent with express orders to mess with my world. Why? I wish I knew. I have been cursed with an idiot magnet chip embedded somewhere in my ass and I can’t find the right doctor to remove the damn device. Believe me. I’ve tried.

The Leo roars (sobbing loudly at the injustice of it all…I mean he asked me out not vice versa for goodness sakes!), and then proceeds to lay on the couch by an awesome fire (there are still some good things in the world) and continue reading Murder On A Girls Night Out (see what A Leo Reads) and drink an entire bottle of wine. Alone. The ENTIRE bottle. I licked the inside of the glass…

Fast forward to Saturday morning. Okay, I’m lying. I didn’t even crack an eyelid ‘til noon. Still. Saturday afternoon I drag myself out of bed purely through the power of the sacred mantra: Men Suck. Men suck. Men Suck. Arrgh. Men Suck. I got dressed, went out and proceeded to go buy five pairs of new shoes.

Yes, that may seem like a lot, but I was really bummed. So I get back in the truck and am literally absolutely giddy over my purchases! Seriously! Giddy I say! Here’s the best part. I felt NO (read: ZERO) guilt over spending a bunch of money I really didn’t have to spend. (Who does these days?) I was actually feeling guilt-free and awesome! A couple hours in therapy or one hour in the shoe department. I will be wearing those shoes for a while. Therapy would have just made me sad. In fact I am wearing some super cute sandals I got Saturday right now! I could not have brought a therapist to work. Well maybe. I do actually work with doctors all day. Whatever.

I ask you, what’s better? Being depressed, going postal, and living in a semi-permanent funk or a little retail therapy? I think I should have been able to show my Rx card for a discount. I'd even settle for submitting my receipts to an insurance provider. Mental health is supposed to be really important.

So, as I sit in my truck for a moment basking in all that is the glory of retail therapy and feeling very smart for knowing exactly what I needed…

He called.

Blame The Bloggess

It's ALL her fault! her fault! her fault! (see below for blame...)





that I wasted time at work today. She claims to have ADD, but I have OCD and I COULDN'T stop until I made one too.

Oh, well. Thank you Bloggess. You're kind of my hero.

Aaarrrrggggghhhh!!!!!

I HAVE CRAMPS AND I AM ON BLOG STRIKE!

Salutations From The Purple Lion...

1.Your rock star name (first pet, current car)
– FiFi Explorer

2.Your gangsta name (favorite ice cream flavor, favorite type of shoe)
– Rocky Road Stiletto

3.Your Native American name (favorite color, favorite animal)
– Purple Lion (I love that!)

4.Your soap opera name (middle name, city where you were born)
– Michelle Cleveland (Sounds like porn to me)

5.Your Star Wars name (the first 3 letters of your last name, first 2 of your first name)
– Monle

6.Superhero name (2nd favorite color, favorite drink)
– Black Amaretto (Black Sour sounds like weird 80’s candy)

7.NASCAR name (the first names of your grandfathers)
– Otis Denver / Denver Otis (This scares me a little…)

8.Dancer name (the name of your favorite perfume/cologne/scent, favorite candy)
– Aspen Carmel

9.TV weather anchor name (your 5th grade teacher’s last name, a major city that starts with the same letter)
– Van Tilberg Vienna (This should totally Vienna Van Tilberg. Now that's a name!)

10.Spy name (your favorite season/holiday, flower)
– Autumn Sterling (Sounds more like a romance novel heroine to me!)

11.Cartoon name:(favorite fruit, article of clothing you’re wearing right now)
– Grape Stiletto

12.Hippie name (what you ate for breakfast, your favorite tree)
– Pancake Willow (I’m totally using that for something!)

13.Movie (or porn) star name (first pet, first street where you lived)
– FiFi David

That's all for now folks. This is Vienna Van Tilberg signing off...

My Thoughts And Prayers Are With Natasha's Family...

As an avid skier and mother, this story breaks my heart. The simplest thing can turn into a life-altering decision. It may not be sexy, but please wear a helmet.

For more on her stellar career...

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/03/19/us/19richardson.html?ref=arts

Where Has All The Silence Gone?

Why do we live in a society of noise? I don’t mean, “Oops, a car just backfired” (do they still do that) or “Wow, did you hear that door slam?” noise. I’m talking about the incessant, banal, utterly unnecessary, this-shit-makes-New-York-on-New-Year’s-seem-quiet, would you pleeeeease shut the hell up! noise.

Seriously, what is that about?

I have Chatter Box who talks to herself all day and intermittently throws a comment at me and is surprised when I don’t respond. No, I didn’t hear you. My earplugs are lodged so far into my eardrums, my brain itches and my nose tickles. Then I have the Wind Chime Screamer with musical accompaniment. Yes, she literally screams when she’s on the phone or talking to anyone for that matter. Yes, she actually has wind chimes on her desk that she PURPOSELY and strategically placed so her fan blows on them ALL DAY. And the tiny little cherry is the musak she plays on her radio that is the same as our “hold” music. She says all of that is to (I swear to God…) “drown out the noise.” She said it with a straight face.

What could I do other than turn slowly and walk away?

I would choose to be deaf except I know for a fact I’d still feel the vibrations of their hostile assault on serenity. I’m so grateful I have a job to go to even if the people are (super sweet) but noisy as hell and nuts!

I want to die.

With my luck some fool would hire a marching band to play at the funeral.

Happy St. Patrick’s Day Friends!

Weekend Update: For my midgets scout meeting Sunday another parent and I thought, “Hey, we have a GREAT idea. Let’s give eight-year-olds power tools!” Sure. Fantastic. We all agreed. No, we were not drunk when we had this brainstorm. Having just survived amputation while carving Pinewood Derby cars we thought it would be a great way to tempt fate. They’re little people. Their stuff will grow back. I was okay with the hand saw, but I thought between the table saw and the compressed air nail gun, surely someone would puncture or chop off something. Alas, it was to be a blood-free event. The boys managed to build an entire (enormous) bird house. This thing is HUGE. A not so small child could fit into it quite comfortably. Next week we paint and decorate the mini condo. As long as no one drinks paint, I think this project will be a complete success.

Speaking of a mini condo… I may need one for my breasts. My very dear friend “The Inebriated One” is trying to get into heaven with good deeds. She bought me a $70 Spanxx bra. 38D. It doesn’t fit. Mind you, the band width was fine. The cups were like… well, think back to the last time you tried on your favorite jeans from junior high school. Enough said. I know Spanxx run strange to assist with the feat of elastic engineering meant to suck, smooth, and tuck, but if this bra is any indication I need an H cup. “Muffin tops” doesn’t begin to describe it. The girls shall swing low yet another day.

Lastly, I REALLY miss Ireland. One of the most beautiful lands I have ever had the honor to walk. So, homage to the Irish in us all…

May your neighbors respect you
Troubles neglect you
The angels protect you
And Heaven accept you.

Friday The Thirteenth

Who starts a blog on Friday The Thirteenth? Who starts a blog nowadays at all? Is it passé? Who says “nowadays”? Doesn’t everyone and their mother already have a blog? What happens to abandoned blogs? Is there an expiration date on blogs? Where do they go when they die? What if you think you have a great idea, and then you decide to kill it yourself? These are things a complete blogovice (that’s a “blog novice”) like me wonders. I’m not even sure I’ll have anything terribly exciting to say. I guess we’ll see. Wait. That is not a good lead-in…

THIS WILL BE THE MOST FANTASTIC BLOG YOU HAVE EVER READ. I AM A BLOG GODDESS!!

Really I think I’m just blogging because everyone in my office is grumpy and/or sick today and they are all women and they are being kinda bitchy. More than kinda. At least that’s MY perception. Can’t we all just get along? I’m in a great mood. It’s Friday for goodness sakes! How cranky can you be?

When I’m feeling like Cranky Agnes (thank you God for Jenny Crusie and Bob Meyer http://www.crusiemayer.com/), I just keep it to myself – not unlike a fluid schizophrenic state – and we work it out. By “we,” I mean me. And the voices. If you don’t like what the grumpy-ass biotches your co-workers are saying, just give them the finger behind their backs plaster on a pretty smile and be on your way. You love my smile? Thanks.

I think this qualifies as a Mood Swing.