People I Love

I love those women that you see on the street who wear every single trend known to man in one single outfit - God Bless Them and they're mis-matched thematic outfits, clashing colors, unseasonal shoes and gratuitous accessories.

Un-Veiling the Truth?

Email from Friend(addressed to 8 recipients): Does anyone have a veil that my sister could borrow for a bachelorette party? I can get it back for you after this weekend. I passed mine on after I had my bach party.

Me (to all): I do...think I have one at home. I sometimes play bride in the mirror on Saturday nights.

Friend (to me): Will you call me and let me know and I can come get it?

Me (to friend, thinking she was joking): :)

Friend: Call me when you are available and I can come pick it up…Please

Me: friend, you know I was joking, right?

Friend: Yeah but do you have a veil?


I'm sad to say that there were a few other exchanges beyond that point. First suggestion, when sending out an email about bridal veils, if you've already gone to the trouble to dwindle down the recipients to a seemingly targeted group - don't include 7 married folks and one single girl.

More concerning that the somewhat numbing exchange, is the fact that she thought that I actually could potentially be playing bridal dress-up in the mirror, on a Saturday night. Or she did have my sarcasm at "I do.l"

Baby's Got Her Boot Camp On

This morning I did something that I think I'm going to totally regret. In my sickly fog (my ears are stopped up, so I probably couldn't understand what my friend was asking), I agreed to sign up for Birmingham Boot Camp. Well, $210 and an anxiety attack later - I have agreed to meet with my instructor to take my measurements, determine my body fat, and take a before picture. I mean, I know all of these things advertise that they are for all fitness levels, but take one look at the women on the web site and you too might immediately regret your decision. I don't know if my ego can handle getting its ass handed to me by a 50 year old mom, who is better looking and in better shape than I am. More overwhelming than the word "boot camp", is the time "5:30 am", which is when I'll be standing at attention in the field of a local elementary school. Maybe I should really be offended that I signed up in the first place. I am a bridesmaid in my good friend's wedding this summer, and the bride is the one who in fact convinced me to sign up in the first place. Was she trying to tell me that I needed to be in better shape for her wedding? But not knowing what the after pictures look like, she's totally running the risk of me looking better than her at the wedding (i kid, i kid).

Maybe if the after results are as good as I hope they will be, I will put on a pink bikini, and re-enact Heidi Montag's "Higher" video.

Stay tuned for updates on my boot camp survival.

I'm Bringing Single Back (The Single Extinction)

Is the single female becoming extinct? I was briefly rapping with a friend about the upcoming wedding season (probably a conversation prompted by how our lives were not that far off from the ridiculousness of 27 Dresses - luckily I only have 8 in my closet), and in a tone of relief I exclaimed that mine was pretty tame with a total of 4 to 5 weddings between now and the end of the year. Let's face it, there really are no "seasons," just months with a higher celebration concentration. As I started to revel in the low-density of my wedding year I started to realize why there weren't as many. By the end of 2008 roughly 98% of my girlfriends will be married off. Maybe the Presidential primaries should focus their platforms on the rapid decrease of the 25 and over single-female in the human population. When age 30 hits there could be a legitimate crisis. This particular demographic could very well be climbing their way up the ladder of the extinction list, leaving only a select few to encourage and nurture a population increase. I realize that sometimes geography plays into the waxing and waining of this particular demographic - - but just like the chimpanzees in Africa, it's only a matter of time before we're forced out of our native territories into a foreign sanctuary, being taught how to socialize with our own kind.

Who's with me?

Irony Clad Banking

Whenever I need to check the level of funds in my checking account, I usually dial the 1-800 number for Regions bank. I always find it completely humorous when the teleprompter says: "to better protect your account information, please enter your social security number." What about protecting my identity people?

Just Pretend I'm A Man

I recently took an impromptu trip to the Nail Salon with a friend of mine. As a nail biter, I rarely get manicures. A couple of years back I tried going once a week to rid myself of the habit. I lasted a good three months, but then the whites above the quick just kept calling to me "bite me." So, when I do take these rare visits, I often just get the pedicure. Besides, the pedicures are a much better experience for a single girl - - vibrating chairs that massage your neck and back...and then those incredible foot and leg rub-downs? Anyway, the only problem with an impromptu pedicure in the winter is the status of your leg hair. Actually, the status of my leg hair is always questionable. I both love and hate shaving. I only love shaving after several weeks of letting the leg hairs go. I hate shaving on a regular basis because it's too time-consuming. Well this particular day was quite the experience for my nail technician. Not only are my legs pasty, white, but I probably haven't shaved them in nearly a month. It started to remind of when I was in Europe for a semester, and for the fun of it decided not to shave my legs for 3 - 4 months (when in Rome, people). The technician really wasn't horrified until came time for the ritual leg massage. She immediately started talking in Vietnamese to the rest of the technicians which made me completely uncomfortable. They all started talking and then a few of them would look my way and start laughing...it was awful. I looked down at her, apologized for my unkempt legs, and then just told her to pretend that I was a man. This made her giggle awkwardly...I'm sure communication was lost and she probably thought i said that I was actually a man in women's clothing. The pedicure was completed with success. My only question is, what is an appropriate tip for a nail technician who just gave Chewbaca a pedicure?

It's a Twister, Mister

One of the things I love most about the South is the thunderstorm and other inclement weather phenomenons- namely, the tornado. Just last night I sat on my front porch admiring a lightening storm moving South over downtown. But the visual affects are not the only things I love about a good storm. One mention of a tornado watch or warning and the whole entire city shuts down. Work closes early, shops send their employees home, suddenly you're second-guessing whether or not you should get in your car and drive home for fear you may get caught up in the eye. And even at age 28, my parents think that I would be 100 times safer at their house during a storm, than I would be in my own condo.

K-Why?

There are few things more disturbing than seeing your 70 year old female neighbor purchasing KY Jelly at the local drugstore.

Resolve and Evolve 2008

"So this is the New Year, and I don't feel any different." - Deathcab for Cutie

It's that time again. Time to jot down some resolutions that I might actually adhere to in December 2008 just so i can have some sense of accomplishment. I seriously don't feel that 2008 will feel much different than 2007, but I am a) trying to set expectations low so that they have a chance of being exceeded, but also because b) 2007 wasn't really a bad year. I started a new job in April that I genuinely like, have made some new friends, have become slightly more financially stable, and yes, it took some serious patience, but I have even been nicer to my mother. So with the fundamental resolutions of 2007 having been somewhat met, it's time to dig a little deeper for 2008. So here's the list, Resolve and Evolve.

1. Do not judge a man on the first date, and if asked on a subsequent date, take it. They say that you should go on 3 dates with a person before making up your mind (who the hell do "they" think they are?). I have a hard time not passing judgment quickly, but am willing to be more open-minded and open to opportunities. This resolution is contingent upon a man putting his car in park when dropping me off, keeping his clothes on (unless taken off by me), and not whipping out a joint within the first 30 minutes of meeting. I guess this is somewhat a continuum of 2007's "go on more dates."

2. Confront confrontation. I have a serious problem with confrontation. Whether it be someone confronting me, me not being able to confront an individual, being a part of a group that is being confronted, or even watching confrontation on television, I literally have to get-up and walk away. Take the movie Borat for instance, probably saw 1/3 of the movie because I left the room anytime they confronted him on his antics, pathetic. From this point forward I vow to confront those that done me wrong, to stand up straight whilst being confronted, and to keep my ass glued to the sofa if watching an uncomfortable situation on the t.v.

3. Buy new bras. What is the average lifespan of a bra? I'm not really sure if there is an answer to that question, but I'm almost positive 99% of mine have passed their expiration date. It's like I'm in complete denial that my boobs have grown, and for the majority of women (and men), that should be a good thing, but to me it's like the whole Peter Pan syndrome of not wanting to grow up (or out, in this case). Like my bras carry any real memories worth clinging to.

4. Delete all sentimental text messages in phone after one month. That seems like a long-time still, but honestly I just deleted some text messages that have been sitting in my phone for 2 years. They were there to remind of days gone by, but all they were really doing was taking up storage in my Inbox that could otherwise be filled by more text-flirting with new, potential text-partners. A stored text, is not the safest form of text.


This is my list for now, but I have a feeling that it will continue to grow (much like my boobs).

Food Confession

Putting a 6 oz cup of Stoneyfield Farm french vanilla yogurt in the freezer, is not the same as eating Vanilla Frozen Yogurt. Just sayin'

The Bathroom Stall

There are few things more annoying to me than walking into the bathroom at work, seeing a co-worker also in the bathroom, and as soon you enter the stall and sit down she starts talking to you. I mean, could you have not started the conversation before I went into the stall? Then you have to make the decision on whether or not you want to hold your business and finish the conversation, which can become painful if it's a bathroom emergency, OR start your business and have the conversation over trickling noises. All in all it's just very uncomfortable. Even worse is when said co-worker also enters a stall and your forced to have the stall-to-stall conversation.

You're Never Fully Dressed

Sometimes what you’re wearing from head to toe is what matters.

I recently found myself back at a guy's apartment sharing a beer after we had been watching football with friends at a bar. This is a guy, who I have been on one date with, enjoyed his company, and since he doesn’t live far from me, was willing to share a night-cap. I was fully aware that he could potentially plant one on me. The evening took it’s usual course – open the beer, sit on the couch, listen to music, make conversation, and then pick your right moment to go in for the kill. Kissing not too aggressive and not too awkward. He stood up at one point, which was the sign that he wanted to go into the bedroom. I was fine with a little bit of horizontal action, PG-rated horizontal action, that is. Anyway, after drinking copious amounts of liquid, one usually finds themselves in need of some relief, so I said “I have to use the restroom.” Please note, that this was not said in a seductive, sexy way. Nor did it have the tone of “wait right there, mister. I’ll be right back.” It especially did not imply what I found when I came out of the bathroom.

I opened the door only to find that this guy had taken off ALL of his clothes. Okay, he left the boxers on, but what? It was wrong on so many levels. My gut reaction, an honest reaction, was to burst out into laughter – which I did, in his face. And I said “Oh my God, you just took off all of your clothes.” And he said “yeah,” (as in what’s the big deal), and too confused for words I just said “so we’re clear on one thing, my clothes are not coming off.” And then he's like, "you can at least take off your sweater." I know this story brings out my prudish side, but come on, there are signals and signs that a woman gives off if she wants to get busy. None of which were emitted by me that evening. I don’t even think I have that capability, period (sad, but true). It was a very presumptuous move and makes me wonder if it has worked for him in the past.

So, your clothes may be Beau Brummelly, but leave them on for a while, cuz brother three-fourths of the fun is getting to take each other’s clothes off! (when appropriate signal applies)

Stang Operation

I recently rented a car to drive from Nashville to Birmingham. Little did I know that when selecting a “Midsize” vehicle (read: cheaper) on my reservation form, that I would actually be stepping into the biggest ride of my life. The perfect early-fall weather had arrived which already made me excited for the road trip, but when the Hertz Representative asked “will a Mustang be alright,” I grinned from ear to ear and told her that I wouldn’t accept any less. And then when she told me it only had 54 miles on it, I suddenly had a flashback to Ferris Bueller - “You guys got nothing to worry about, I’m a professional.”

Once our transaction was complete she pointed me in the direction of Parking Space No. 12. Behold, the bright cherry red brilliance, and its seamless tan cloth interior that cleverly and continuously reads “Mustang” on each seat - just invisible enough so that one might think it a design, but in a way that only a true believer could see the scripture. This car needed no introduction, but just in case you’ve been couped up in a mini van your whole life, the geniuses at Ford had “Mustang” lettered on each side of the exterior. Coincidence that the words Respect and Mustang have the same number of letters? You do the math.

Once I got on the highway I had an out-of-body experience, the ‘Stang was in control. For the first few minutes leaving Nashville, the Mustang had to listen to the rest of the Colts v. Titans game. As you can imagine, the Mustang celebrated the Colts’ victory, kicked the speed up about 10 mph, and turned its radio dial to any station playing Lynard Skynard, Aerosmith or hard-core country. And soon my 3 hour trip, was taking much longer than expected. Who knew the ‘Stang would have so many important stops to make:

Everyone eating the Mustang’s dust.

Will you ‘mare’y me?

An empty bottle of dark liquor on the floorboard is a staple accessory in any Mustang. But Mustang’s don’t drink and drive – alone.

A Mustang in its natural habitat. Can you really take a man out of the Mustang?

The Mustang always pays homage to man-made marvels, fabricated out of steel, built to overcompensate shortcomings, and equipped with inter-galactic horsepower.

The Mustang breaks for DQ dip cones and an Alabama Terd Bird at Stuckey’s…obviously.

The Mustang only stops to refuel because the oil industry forces it to. But then again, this is America. Coincidence that the words America and Mustang have the same number of letters? You do the math.

Haley's Tip of the Month (yes, we're going back to the original title)

Going out to a bar after a dinner date is like a call option. Only when your stock is up should you exercise your option. If you exercise when it's down, you're going to take a loss.

Cruel Joke

Picture this: Three girls stuck in Labor Day traffic traveling from The Gulf back to Birmingham. Car moving at an average of 30 mile per hour in a 70 mile per hour speed limit. The inevitable happens - - all three of us made of the mistake of renting one too many diet cokes and now had to turn them in. We finally arrive to Greenville where every filling station was equally as packed as the Interstate. We find ourselves about 10 ladies deep in the bathroom line (of course, that's 10 persons more than the men's line). We're standing there, and all you can hear is a steady stream. It sounded like the world's longest urination...and it only made me have to go to the bathroom worse. And as it kept going, I kept thinking how unusual until I saw that some Jack-Ass had decided to spruce up the bathroom line by placing a FOUNTAIN in the hall by the restrooms. Are you joking? Either the manager of the Shell in Greenville is either incredibly clever, or devastatingly dumb.

The Act of Inaction

It’s never surprising to my friends when they come over to hear “don’t mind my bedroom, I forgot to pick it up.” The running gag, is that I never pick it up – or any other room for that matter. I HATE cleaning. I don’t know if it’s that I don’t like the smell of cleaning supplies, or the space the equipment takes up in my small apartment, or the energy you have to exert while actually picking up. It’s pure laziness, and I’m not ashamed to admit it. When you live by yourself, it becomes even worse because you don’t have to share a space with anyone; however, I’m sure many to all of my old roommates would agree that I probably had very little regard for public space as well.

Today, folks, I’m coming clean. The truth is, the act of inaction is much more exhausting, costly, time-consuming and unhygienic than the actual task itself.

Inaction #1: Cleaning your sheets, but never actually putting them on your bed.
Result: Sleeping for many weeks either on a bare mattress, or on your couch. This really disturbing result needs no explanation. Sleeping on the couch can result in a bad back, a poor night’s sleep, and a permanent indention between the far right and middle cushions where your ass laid to rest.

Inaction #2: Keeping a dry cleaning bag full of clothes, but never taking them to the dry cleaners.
Result: Either a really pricey dry-cleaning bill when you eventually decide to go, or, a limited days of the week wardrobe consisting of faded items that can only be put through the wash.

Inaction #3: Pretending to be healthy and fit by signing up for a gym membership, but never actually picking up your membership packet or stepping foot inside the door.
Result: Throwing $75 a month down the drain, and achieving the opposite physical results.

Inaction #4: Feeling hungry, looking into the empty fridge, and not going to the grocery store to buy normal food.
Result: Scrounging around for change because you don’t have any money after you wasted it on a pointless gym membership or new clothes because you don’t want to wash the ones you have, and hitting up the dollar menu at McDonald’s, or the convenience store for 8 packs of Ramen Noodles for a dollar (genius). Suspected physical results.

Inaction #5: Coming in from a weekend away and never once unpacking your bag except for the essentials like your toothbrush, and occasionally your hair brush.
Result: Wasted time looking for your favorite t-shirt in your dresser when it’s crammed at the bottom of one of the 10 unpacked weekend bags in your living room. Eventually turning your living room into the walk-in closet you always wanted.


I’m making myself stop here.

Charlie the Unicorn

I don't do drugs, but honestly I can see why it would be fun to do them, and then watch this video. Actually, I felt like I was on drugs just watching it, so if you don't have access to any illegal substance, don't worry, this will do the trick. Please don't let the length or the way the other unicorns say "Chaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarlieeeeeeeeeee" deter you from sticking with it to the bitter end.

Check it: Charlie the Unicorn and the Trip to Candy Mountain

How The Fuck Do You Think I Am?

I’m apologizing in advance to all of the male readers, but honestly, if you haven’t yet dealt with a woman and her “time of the month” then I must ask – where have you been hiding? By the way, I would also like to say that I loathe the phrase “time of the month.” I can hear some Southern woman somewhere using that as an excuse to her friends because she has just been ashamed of her child’s unruly behavior.

“I do apologize for LuAnne’s un-lady like behavior at the dinner table.
She seems to be a little bit testy. You know, it’s her (voice turns to
whisper) time of the month” – then you hear all of the “poor dear” and “bless
her heart” responses.

Well, a few weeks back, it was MY time of the month. And, per my normal routine, I marched my aching back and writhing ovaries down to the CVS to make my “monthly purchase.” Now, normally when I go to the CVS, I usually get stuck with the same check-out clerks each time: the sweet, young African-American woman; or, the tall, gangly, middle-aged white guy with balding blond hair, a pony tail, and thick horn-rimmed glasses (let’s just call him Ron b/c in all honesty, that’s what he looks like). In these kinds of situations, you’re always hoping that you a) don’t run into somebody you know, and (b) that you fall into a line with a check-out clerk of the same sex. To me, buying tampons is equally as embarrassing as buying condoms. I guess I’m stuck in my junior high mentality of not wanting anyone to bust me with a box of tammies b/c then everyone would know that I was a woman – blasphemy! And with regards to the condoms, I wish I could actually get busted buying some these days, because that would mean that I was in deed having sex – boooooooooooo.

Okay, so a few days before this particular day I was in Ron’s check-out line buying some cleaning supplies. Noticing the abundance of chemicals I was purchasing, Ron says “you going home to do the dirty?” Which I have to say was pretty freaking hilarious, and replied “it’s only dirty if you get down on your hands and knees.” Okay, so I didn’t say that to Ron, but if Ron were better looking I probably would have. Well, it also happens that I ALWAYS fall into Ron’s line when I am buying my feminine products. I typically don’t like to stereotype menstrual moods, but sometimes you just flat out feel uncomfortable, sweaty and irritated - thus morphing your otherwise charming personality into the devil. So I get up to the front of the line with my purchase, and as Ron rings me up he says “Is everything right with the world today – how is it treating you?” Gee Ron, I’m not sure, I just threw down 20 bucks for 72 fucking tampons – how the fuck do you think I feel today? It took every ounce of my being not to hurl my Playtex Sports in his face. But then I thought, maybe Ron is in that 1% of the male population who just doesn't know what it's like during that "time of the month." So kudos to Ron for his ignorance and his positive attitude in curing PMS with one bitch at a time.

Shop Mere!

One of my best gal pal's just launched a site to show-case her FABULOUS talents in the world of handbag design. I have seen them in person, and they are made of soft, beautiful leather - so they are WORTH EVERY PENNY!

Check out MERE, and spread the word!

The Professor's Playlist (Introducing)

This morning I received an email from my old DC roommate, Jenny, recommending musical stylings that she's been digging recently and asking us to do the same. While those of us copied on the message have always had discriminating musical tastes, a particular line in her email had me thinking:

"can you guys tell that I'm missing music banter with Pat?"

I should mention that Pat was recently demoted to ex-Pat. I think all music-mavens can relate to Jenny's predicament. There's nothing worse than discovering new tunes that you know yesterday's news would love; and probably worse than the inability to share your finds, is the newly denied access to his musical library. I would say that close to 90% of the music on my iPod was downloaded from an old boyfriend - and I'm one of the lucky ones, as I got the thing three months before I was forced to open my on account.

So in an effort to (somewhat) take control of our own musical destiny, I will be starting a column known as The Professor's Playlist. This column will share all of the music that the Professor shares with me, enabling you to turn that neon vacancy sign off. Who is the Professor you ask? Well, not only is he the most recent player in the Nickname Game, he breaks just about all of the rules in the contract; however, the Professor has excellent taste in music. And every time we visit eachother he either makes me a melange of melodies to listen to before he leaves, or for my trip home. I know what you're thinking? I'm contradicting myself by saying we need to seek and scour for musical scores on our own - not rely on men to provide the music for us. And to answer your question...yes-I-am. So when the Professor is no more, what will happen to this column? Fear not, for I will face the music and find someone else to dance.

Stay Tuned for Playlist #1