WORDS TO LIVE BY

Or not.  Here are some words that, in the near future, I am going to attempt to snub:   Retarded (and derivatives of), the ‘F’ word, asshole and sure. The reasons are varying, but they are all good reasons, so the snub is appropriate.

It is  finally politically incorrect to use the word ‘retarded’ or ‘retard’ in contexts that do not involve individuals who actually have medically documented cognitive disabilities.   I am not usually a big fan of the ‘politically correct’, but I do agree with this one.  In this instance, it’s not like you have to avoid using an otherwise inoffensive word when accurately describing someone. Political correctness forbids one to use the word ‘black’ when describing or referring to an individual of African American decent. But both white and black people can be from Africa.  , I believe it is foolish to refrain from describing a person as being 'black' if they happen to be  Negro. If the person is Caucasian, then it would really be misleading to describe them as ‘black’.  They would be no more ‘black’ then they would be ‘white’. (Really, we are all varying shades of brown, from light tan to chestnut. Yeah brown!!!).

I am Caucasian and am not offended if someone describes me as ‘a white person’ (unless of course it is said as a ‘snub’, inferring that I am a really bad dancer. Which is not the case; I can shake my bootie till the cows come home.) I am offended if someone describes me as 'cheap',  'tawdry',  'unattractive' or  'really starting to show her age'.   If I were Negro, I doubt that I would be offended if someone described me as ‘a black person’. Where is the offense? There is nothing wrong with being black, and it could very well be said as a compliment if one were inferring really, really good dancing ability.  Now, I do see some inconsistencies here, because truly, I don’t refer to any of my Asian friends as ‘yellow people’.  (Hmm. My nieces take ballet lessons and I think they’re pretty good at it, and they’re Asian, so…..)

Anyway, I think the problem with using the word ‘retarded’ descriptively is that it is often  used to describe a person or thing that is not, has not, and will not be medically determined to be dealing with a developmental disorder such as retardation.   I am an offender. (Okay, I am a huge offender).  Just the other day on my way into work, I proclaimed numerous times, loudly, that those little high powered wheel chairs called ‘Smart Cars’ are ‘retarded’. I also said they were only driven by ‘retards’. I also declared that an arbitration panel that rendered a verdict that I was not completely happy with to be ‘completely retarded’.  I also told my husband that  his idea to get rid of our land line and just our cell phones  was ‘retarded’.   I will stop using the words 'retarded' and 'retard' in the wrong context.  (btw: I always walk in the Trisomy 21 fundraiser and this year will ask you all to double your donations to my team).

I use the ‘F’ word way too much, and I am pretty sure that my Mother would not approve.  I know that my husband doesn’t (though I do see him laughing a lot when I use this word.).  As cathartic as it may be to hurl a few 'F bombs' at the truly annoying,  it can become so habit forming that you end up throwing a few of the 'colorful explatives'  around at the wrong time, and the wrong place.   (No, I am not going to enlighten you with recent, somewhat unfortunate events involving said use of said explative).    However, as  sloppy as I have become in my cathartic releases,  there are some places twhere  even I would never use the ‘F’ word:  Church (other than those two times when it was completely appropriate), The Lilly Store and Tiffany’s.   I am sure you are wondering on what occasions saying ‘Fuck’ would be appropriate in Church.   Once was at my wedding when some assholes  guests felt it wasy okay to arrive  during the ceremony, as opposed to before the fucking thing started!  

Me:  Jeeze, it’s my fucking wedding and that little ho is late! If that bitch ever gets married we'll see how she likes it when I walk in twenty minutes late.

There was also the time that the Deacon giving the Sermon just made one too many mistakes about the equal rights struggle.   I gave him some creative liscence, but  when he said that Martin Luther King refused to give up his seat on a bus in Selma, Alabama:

Me: What the fuck? That was Rosa Parks, asshole.

Asshole.  That’s another word that I am going to try to snub.  Not because I want to, mind you.  But because my husband has been so fucking annoying  always nagging me about it so much.  He says that I use the word like other people use punctuation.

Husband: To save some money, how ‘bout we get rid of our land line and just use our cell phones?

Me:   I get shitty reception on my cell phone in the house, asshole.  That’s a fucking retarded idea.

Or

Comcast Customer Service Rep (in India):  if you are having trouble with your land line, we will schedule a service appointment for you between the hours of 8:00 am and 5:00 pm.

Me:   Look, asshole, for the fourth time, you already sent a service tech out here and he says we need a whole new line.

Comcast Customer Service Rep: What was the name of the service technician, please?

Me:  I don’t remember his name; he’s a tall, heavy set, black  guy driving a white van with the word: "Comcast "  written on the side.

Last but not least, I am snubbing the word ‘sure’.  And this one I really do mean to snub. This one gets me in more fucking trouble then calling some black guy an asshole.  Just this past week:

Snobby Woman (at snobby committee meeting):  Corky, since you haven't contributed anything of value to this meeting, can you contact these ten vendors and get the food donated for our Tea Cup Drive?
Me:  Sure, I'd love to (you fucking bitch)

Boss:  I need someone to give me a status on these three files by this afternoon.  Corky, can you do it?
Me:  Sure, right away (I'll just cancel my afternoon meetings so I can do your work for you 'cause you're too fucking retarded to do it yourself)

Husband:  Please stop calling me  asshole.
Me:  Sure.  Love you (just don't suggest we get rid of the useless, non functional land line)

And now a (shameless) plug for Arbonne Cosmetics, because 1.  I use these products.  2.  I like these products.  3.  They are cruelty free (not tested on animals cause only asshole companies do that), and 4. I have two friends who are Arbonne reps.   These two ladies probably do not want to own up to being my friend on this public blog read by, litterally, tens of people (maybe ten).  But, if you would like to try Arbonne, leave a comment and they can get in touch with you.   I like the peppermint foot cream and the mascara.   I buy the foot cream from one friend and the mascara from the other.  They know who they are:   the Foot Friend and the Mascara Friend.  Hopefully, they will both read this post and place the appropriate orders for me.  Otherwise, I will be a smelly footed, bald eye lid girl with a mouth full of soap.

RANDOM BITCHY RANTINGS

Since my last posting I have decided to give (that asshole) The Tax Man a brief respite from my diatribe and to instead focus my snobnotic rantings towards a few others.  Let this be a warning to people who drive 'Smart Cars',  wear obnoxiously stupid big hats to horsing events, dare to wear butterflies on their shoulders or go by the name of Sarah Palin, that they are about to be ranted upon.

Let me start with 'Smart Cars'.  You know, those (obnoxious) little vehicles that look more like a cold weather golf cart or something you'd let Barbie drive around your living room?  They have two front seats and that's it.  Cars over.   And the driver's of these little buggers seem to think that they are immune from the impact of large vehicles like, oh say, a SEMI.   Can we just be politically incorrect for a moment and give these vehicles a more accurate name?   'Moron Cars' would be good.   "Stupid Moron Cars' would be more accurate.   Yes, yes, I know.  This is insulting to morons, who undoubtedly would argue that they in fact drive Ford F150 pick ups with their hunting rifle stored (un)securely in the cab.   I would be okay with renaming these vehicles 'Shit Head Cars'.   Any Shit Heads out there that would find this insulting?  If so, now is your chance to start heaving up your objections. 

And since the law sees fit to allow these shitty little cars onto the highway, with all the really, really big vehicles called:   Tractor Trailors,  then why not let bicyclists share the travel lanes on the expressway, too!   Hell, lets let women pushing strollers out there as well.    Personally, I think I'd feel safer in a stroller then in one of those (shit head, moronic) Smart Cars.  At least there would be someone behind me to take the first impact from the Cadillac Escalade running me over as I weave in and out of traffic at 60 mph.  

Maybe the fact that anyone who gets into one of those stupid little peices of shit is probably already shy of the IQ borderline between slow and functional(hey, I gave it to the morons and shit heads first) is a good thing.  That way, once the dust settles and the peices are picked up and placed into the ambulance, the 'cognitive injury' claim will be deminimous since, as we've already declared, the occupants of the 'Smart Car' were already functioning at the level of a moronic shit head.

Speaking of moronic and (shitty) things on ones head,   I will now sequeay on to women who wear big, silly hats to horsing events.    Is there something about a horse that begs the attire of something like this:

I see it, I see it.   Horse.   Hooves.  H-H-HAT!!!.  And while we're at it, lets have a contest to see who is wearing the Most Beautiful Hat!!!   Probably won't be the horse, cause, gee, all the other horses would laugh him out of the stable, because, ya know IT'S SO FRIGGIN' STUPID!!!

Sampling of random comments regarding Ladies Hats at a horse race:

Horse 1:   Wow, look at that beautiful hat.  Boy now I really want to run fast today, how inspiring.
Horse 2:   Personally I find this years hats to be a let down so I am refusing to take part in todays race.

Husband 1:  Gimme another double vodka - I'm gonna need a lot of liquor to deal with these stupid hats blocking my view of the race.
Husband 2:  Too bad they don't block my view of the women's face.

Creepy Stable Hand:   Wow, these beautiful hats really turn me on.  I'm sexually aroused.


Speaking of silly things to wear, my rant now comes to poor ol' Siobhan Magnus.  I really thought this uber talented Cape Cod gal had a good chance of winning the American Idol contest this year.  Alas, her song choices have befuddled not just Simon, but me as well.   And as if seeing the title float away on a lilly pad weren't bad enough, now poor Siobhan has Kara saying that she wants to hang out with her.  (but not buy her record, which is probably how Kara sees friendship since undoubtedly none of her friends have ever bought her record).  

Last night, Siobhan performed wearing another weird outfit.  This time she also attached several butterflies to her arms and shoulder.  Simon thought they were leaves and said:

Simon:   I found the leaves distracting.
Kara:   They're not leaves, they're butterflies.
EDITED BY AI:
Siobhan:   These butterflies are my friends.

I think Siobhan is turning into Tinker Bell.

Last but not least....um, change that, she is definetly least.   Okay, lastly I will rant about Sarah Palin.  But first I will thank her because, she makes me sound informed and intelligent.   Hell, she makes 'Smart Car' drivers sound informed and intelligent.  

Sarah:  Our Founding Fathers did not want a separation of Church and State.
Me:   Uh, yeah.  They did.   They did it kind of specifically, too.   In fact, they put it first.   As in The First Amendment.   Adams signed the Treaty of Tripoli.   Jefferson was a Deist.   But, since you now want the Government to get involved with the citizens lives, then I guess you'll be changing your whole stance on limiting government.   Or, do you just want Government to be involved in dictating our religious choices, but not to get involved with our ability to have life (health care), liberty (choise of faith or not faith) and pursuit of happiness (Gay marriage)?

THE TAX MAN COMMETH (and the Tax Man Tooketh Away)

In horror of  honor of TAX DAY, I have decided to drink myself silly and then crank call everyone who works for the IRS.   

They can't take away my dignity (cause I hid it in the toilet)

GIVE HER THE BOOT

Kara Dioguardi must like me.  Or this blog.  (or she is still rushing my fictitious sorority - see Trolling Along below).  She continues to supply me with snobalog material.  Easy, paint by number, connect the dots kinda material.   Why, I don't even have to try to be funny (which is good, cause I'm almost as tired of my humore attempts as you are).

Last night, Kara apparantly borrowed the boots worn by Julia Robert's hooker character in Pretty Woman, and wore them for her gig on American Idol.   Alas, those boots were made for talking.  And as we (painfully) know, that is just what Kara will do. Thankfully, the producers booked 30 fewer minutes of time last night and reigned in Vivian Kara.   With a show running short on time from the word "This", all of the Judges seem to have been told to make a face, and then go with one of the following four standard AI phrases:

*  It fell short for me;
*  I didn't get it;
*  I don't know who you are as an artist, or
*  Another solid performance.

Since it is obvious that Kara's contract states that she is paid by the word, she was understandably pissed and as such, refused to wash her hair for the show.  She did manage to get all of those words out following each performance.   ("It was another solid performance, but it fell short for me and I don't know who you are as an artist.  I didn't get it.")

Even worse for Kara then the lack of word time - Casey James once again shivered from ick-factor when Kara (un)addressed him.  That's a boy who will never take off his shirt again.  Unfortunately, the same cannot be said of Kara.

Oh yes, fearing that channeling her inner hooker in the Julia boots was not trashy enough,  Kara also channeled her inner Lindsay Lohen by (dis)gracing the pages of Allure magazine wearing nothing but her skin and (scrawny) bones.  I'm so glad my fictitious sorority gave her the boot dropped her like a dog biscuit.  Quite possibly, this is a face saving move strategic move to help sell tickets to Kara's first live concert at Atlantic City's Borgatta Casino.   Since promotors are finding it difficult to give these tickets away, including them as part of a Bachelor Party Combo Pack may work.  Really,  what self (dis)respecting, drunk ass tipsy bachelor would want to listen to a singer who wears clothes?

And just like Lindsay Lohen, forgetting to wear clothes for photo shoots often leads to even bigger, even more commercial projects.  Commercials.  Word has it that when the AI contestants film their Ford commercial this week, it will feature Kara being packed up and sent off on her way.  (well it could!)

Where, you may wonder, would Kara end up?  Since hearing her sing and seeing her naked aren't really on anyone's top 500 things to do list, it's clear she must find another Reality TV show to latch on to  employ her.  

She could work out well on The Jersey Shore, since, like the rest of that cast she is  A. Not from New Jersey, and B. Not very classy.  The wardrobe could work there, too.  But I just don't know how long she would remain above the boardwalk once she tells Snookie  "I don't get the hair.  It's confusing to me.  It doesn't tell me who you are as a slut bag".

Maybe Paris Hilton could resurrect The Simple Life with Kara as her new BFF.  Since the rest of Paris' BFFs went off and found real lives, that position is available.  And since Kara is so much older and skankier, Paris should, in theory, really like how good she would look next to Kara.  On Kara's end, she would be able to talk over Paris and push her around a whole lot and Paris would never know what Kara was talking about.  ie.

Kara:  I don't know who you are as a performer.
Paris:   I'm not a performer.  I'm an icon,  like the Sears tower, or gumby.
Kara:   But I want more excitement from you.
Paris:   What's more exciting then watching me poll dance in my living room?
Kara:   You're all over the place.  It's like you've got two sides to you.
Paris:   That is not true, take that back.  I am very one dimmensional.
Kara:   That just makes you sound too old.
Paris:    Take that back you skanky old bitch.   I don't even read my own mail.

BTW:  Did you know that you cannot send beer to Georgia?  Now what am I gonna get my brother for his birthday?

LECTURING YOUR SPOUSE JUST GOT EASIER

Try installing a podium in your living room - it will make lecturing your husband so much easier.  As you can see, there is space for you to keep notes so that you can remember to lecture him about everything.  Yes, absolutely everything that has crossed your mind during the day.  (just jot those notes down and place them on the podium - and you're all set)

As you can see, podiums need not be unattractive and sterile.  Take the podium pictured above - it would go well with almost any living room decor.

WHAT IS THIS?

What does it do and how does it work?

NEW SPECIES OF SUB HUMAN DISCOVERED - I call him The Tax Man

ABC news is reporting that Archeologists in South Africa recently discovered the skeletal remains of two sub humans they believe may be a part of the preverbial 'missing link'.   The archeologists have yet to name this new sub species, but it is obvious to me that this big handed sub human monster is/was THE TAX MAN.

They look like this:

IRS AGENTS

The good news is that hubby (who insists that he is better at handling our finances then Jerry is) has been able (with the help of Mr. Accountant) to reduce our outstanding Government Sponsored Crisis to about $7,400!!! (Yeehah!   Target here I come!).  First, there are a lot of legitimate deductions that Jerry knew nothing about.  For instance, did you know that parking tickets and late fee fines actually are legitimate tax deductions?  So is the internet bill (since hubby uses his  computer for  legitimate work related work.). 

And we are actually getting a small refund on our state taxes, because, obviously this snobby ass state doesn't think we make that much money.  I would be offended if  I weren't in such a Government Sponsored state of financial crisis. 

Hubby had a whole slew of reciepts that Mr. Accountant deemed legitimate.   I think Mr. Accountant knows that I was trying to replace him with Jerry the handy man, cause he flat out rejected every single freekin' reciept I gave him!

Mr. Accountant:   What is this?

Me:   A reciept from Dunkin' Donuts.

Mr. Accountant:   How is this work related?

Me:   I give my secretary donuts so that she'lll like me and maybe even do some of my work.  

Mr. Accountant:   This isn't work related.

Me:  To hell it isn't!   Without those carbs she wouldn't even answer my phone!

He also shot down my subscription to Women's Day magazine, claiming that was not a legitimate financial journal.   My trips to the outlets were also summarily dismissed. 

Damn.

TROLLING ALONG

Today I was going to  blog about my plan to give the dust bunnies in my house (really snobby) names and then claim them as tax deductions to combat that Government Plot to Destroy me  (ie tax bill).  But as it turns out, there is something far worse then the IRS and my $10k bill:  Today's (potentially snobby) luncheon.  The luncheon in and of itself really wasn't so offensive.  But, some (all but one) of the speakers were.  In fact, I came close to accepting free tickets to a Kara Dioguardi show just to get out of listening to them.

To begin with, my nails looked good (I mean who the hell really knows, I didn't get my glasses repaired so I'm trusting my manicurist when she tells me they look good), I found a skirt that fit my ever growing ass AND matched my new shoes and my hair turned out reasonably well.   I rehearsed some acceptable small talk (no cursing, no cussing, no cursing out wait staff) and came prepared to buy lots of silly raffle tickets.  The country club where the luncheon was held is gorgeous.  It wasn't raining.  I immediatly met up with my friends.  Things were going well.

So well, I decided to buy even more silly raffle tickets.  I even bid on a gorgeous necklace in the silent auction.  After all, the money raised is going toward scholarships for women.  Sorority women to be exact cause this was a Panhellenic luncheon.  For those of you who are unenlightened (like my husband) - that is the governing board for all of the really important sororities.    Not that any of this matters, but a brief bit of background info can be found in this exchange:

Hubby:   So what organization held this luncheon?
Me:   The National Panhellenic Conference.
Hubby:  And where are they located?
Me:  Everywhere.   This was the local.
Hubby:   So the National Conference is held right here?
Me:    No.  The National Panhellenic Conference is the governing board of all the National Panhellenic Conferences.
Hubby:    Were they all there today?
Me:   Was who all there today?
Hubby:    The people from the National organization.
Me:    No.   This was the local.
Hubby:   So it was just your sorority?
Me:   No, it was all of the local sororities.
Hubby:    I thought you said this was the National board?

Lord of all frat houses!  Didn't I make memorizing the Greek alphabet and the names of all of the really important sororites a condition of this marriage!!!

Anyway, alumnae members from lots of the different sorority alumnae chapters came together today for this luncheon.   (hence the potential snob appeal)  Really, most people were very friendly - that is until the speakers began.  Then I realized that the sorority that was hosting the event decided that today was the day that they would exact revenge on every other sorority out their that labeled them the campus pound.  We were held captive in our chairs, not one of our tables was close enough to an exit to be able to leave without calling a lot of attention to the fact we were ditching.   First, they made us stand and applaud THEM for doing 'such an outstanding job'.   (what the f!   They booked the room.   Handy-man  Jerry could do that, once he's finished doing my taxes.)   Next,  they explained again in finer detail just how special they were for doing 'such an outstanding job'.  (Honest to God, they gave an award to one woman's daughter because, despite the fact she was in a different sorority, she babysat for one of their members so that said member could attend a meeting.  Holy Cow Shit!  Is that the best they can do?)

Things started going down hill when the salad arrived.   Thats when they began picking the winning raffle tickets for the many prize baskets (I got suckerd into buying 35 raffle tickets so I was hoping to AT LEAST bring home the week old Easter basket).   One by one, the winners rose to accept their prizes and one by one they were ALL members of the hosting sorority (and their friends at the next table over that dressed themselves completely from the Sears catalogue.)

But wait, they weren't through with us yet.   Lunch was yet to come. And yet to come. And yet to come.  (it became necessary for me to steal the dinner roll from the old lady sitting next to me.)  During the wait to be fed (how silly to expect food.....AT A LUNCHEON), they regailed us with how special their sisterhood is.  They had a lifetime bond.   They understood the true meaning of sisterhood.  They supported one another through thick and thin.   At this point, I felt  compelled to say what everyone else at my table knew:   There was a lot more thick then thin.

But true vengance was yet to come.  

Lunch finally arrived and in between the lunch and the dessert, my dear friend Sharon dragged me to the silent auction table and coaxed me into erasing my winning bid from the gorgeous necklace.  Her overriding compassion for my dear hubby in our time of Government Sponsored crisis compelled her to curb my spending.    This actually has nothing to do with the obscene way we were about to be treated, but I felt it worth mentioning.

Ah yes,  today's debacle  included what this unamed sorority deemed:  entertainment.  No, the entertainment wasn't something obvious like one of the collegiate members playing the violin, or an A Capella group serenading us, or even a stripper from the bar down the street!  (male stripper, please)    No, it was some short, squat, troll like woman from their sorority that gave a speach lecture on the history of sororities!!!!   (I think note taking was required) Did I mention that she looked like a troll!   What I really meant to say was that she looked like one of those rubber troll dolls that were, for some ungodly reason popular a few years back. 

The ones with the bright purple hair.   Well, her hair wasn't purple, but it was in dire need of a good cut and condition.    Really, her sisters should have allowed her to win the prize with all of the make up cause she kind of needed it.   And maybe a stop watch, too.   That way, she would have known when she went over her allotted ten minutes.   Or even her allotted thirty minutes.     Forty f'n minutes later I made a brake for the bathroom.   I would have kept on running, but my ride was still trapped at our table.

So Madam Speaker droned on (while her husband worked the slide projector - yeah thats right, Power Point had not yet made it under their bridge so they had a slide presentation).  The old lady sitting next to me (who missed out on her dinner roll) mumbled something about being afraid she might die before this lecture finally ended.  Madam Speaker lectured on talked about how women were not accepted by men when they first entered colleges and how they had to band together and form sororities just to support each other.   And that is great stuff.  I really do mean it.   Great stuff.   It almost makes me ashamed of the fact that I joined solely to get invited to parties at Delta Kappa Epsilon.   (almost, I mean how long do you have to be indebted to the suffragettes?)  But here is the thing - it only took me ONE SENTENCE (what I meant to say was one F'n sentence) to make that point.   It took her FORTY FIVE MINUTES.   And she got it kinda screwed up, too.   She had the founder of our sorority founding SOMEONE ELSES SORORITY!!!   (I"m pretty sure they're pissed, too).   She had Kappa Alpha Theta being the first sorority, which seemed to annoy the hell out of the Pi Phi's and the ADPi's - cause they both think that they're the first sororities.    She completely forgot to say anything at all about my sorority.  (other than mentioning our founder in the wrong context)  I figured that was probably cause she was jealous, cause we're just so fabulous.   And then I realized:   You do not necessarily have to be 'fabulous' to be snobby.   Quite possibly, this group of highly intelligent, exceedingly intellectual (if badly dressed)  women were snubbing some of the other, shall I say, more fashionably inclined!!   Hmmmm, an intellectual thought for another day.   During my forty five minutes of hell, my mind began to wander (well, that's actually it's favorite exersize).   I considered the various styles of the groups present.    We were definetly the 'Talbots Table'.    Next to us was the 'No-Food-For-Me Table'.   They sat next to the 'Boscovs Table'.    And then I began to form my Perfect Sorority in my mind.    I held mental recruitment and am so proud of my new sisters.    They incude:

Reese Witherspoon - of course, because she is fabulous and she IS El Woods.  (plus, rumor has it that her cousin is a Tri Delt)

Caroline Kennedy Schlossberg - she's a Kennedy for cryin' out loud.  And she also has the distinction of being the inspiration for everyone's favorite summer time sing-a-long song 'Sweet Caroline'.

Jackie O

No explanation required

Kristen Davis

She was just so good as Charlotte on Sex In The City.  Really,  Carrie was a bit of a ho and Charlotte was so classy (well, most of the time).

Michelle Obama - there is no one who channels her inner Jackie O quite as well as Michelle Obama.   And she really does rock a mean strand of pearls (not to mention just how fashionable it is right now to be 'of color')

Supreme Court Justice Sandra Day O'Connor

Every sorority needs some really smart girls to help keep the house GPA high.  And Sandra is always so classy, to boot.  Another gal who rocks the pearls (and rumor has it that she actually is a Tri Delta)

Kate Spade

Any girl who designed the Noelle pattern is IN, as far as I'm concerned.  Technically, she is already a Kappa - but thats okay because 1.  Kappa's are cool, and 2.  remember her striped tote?

Kate Middleton - she's about to become engaged to the future King of England.  I would absolutely die if she joined another sorority.   She has GOT to be in mine.

Sara Blakely because she invented SPANX and that should get her anything she wants.   (she actually is a Tri Delta, which means she is way cool)

My friend Chuck - because he is really cool and I promised him he could be in my fictitious sorority.  (And, he serves as the Minister of Content for this blog so he should have his mug somewhere on it)

Oh yeah - there is one (heinous bitch) person who has rushed about 5 times and my fictitious sorority has shown her the (back) door each time:

Have a wonderful day and beware of trolls.

Real Estate 101

There's nothing worse then a well dressed, snobby realtor (driving a BMW).  Okay, obviously there are some people who are worse, like people who perform torture or the folks at the IRS.  But at least the water boarders and IRS crew are up front about just how heinous they are.   Snobby ass Realtor's do that whole condescending thing, and make you feel like you are a worthless slob if you don't buy the peice of crap they are allowing you to buy.

gem in search of savvy buyer

Snobby-ass Realtor's Ad

Location, location, location.  Sought after Upper Snobville address and Upper Snobville school district.  This quaint and cozy gem is just waiting for that savvy buyer with an eye for detail and decorating.  Lovely mature lot, eat in kitchen, master suite with potential for separate sitting area.  This one won't last long.  Sophisticated buyers only.

My translation

It's a dump, it's a dump, it's a dump.  Abandoned Upper Snobville address and tax code.  This tiny peice of shit is just waiting for you to take a sledge hammer to it and knock it the hell down.  A farmer with a bull dozer would be a good candidate  Lots of manure in the yard, no one would eat in this kitchen, other then the moldy mattress on the floor there is no room for you to sit anywhere.  Once the March winds arrive, this one won't last long.  Must be old enough to enter into  a binding contract.

THAT'S WHAT HE SAID

My husband and I recieved a disturbing call from our accountant the other night. We owe taxes. Now, obvioulsy getting a refund always trumps owing taxes, but we really weren't shocked that we owed taxes. We were shocked, earth shatteringly (or at least subdivision shatteringly) shocked, thought with the amount of taxes we owe. "How could this be?" my husband kept asking our accountant. I have no idea what the response was, hubby keeps me far from Mr. Accountant for fear I'll discover just how bad hubby is at handling our finances. Hint to husband - I ALREADY KNOW THIS!

And that is why I decided to take the matter into my own hands. By that, I certainly do not intend to fill the forms out myself. God no - this is not the time for me to master multiplication of percentages. (and I am pretty sure that most snobby women would refuse such a task) However, I'm pretty sure I am more creative then hubby and Mr. Accountant, who, at this point I think are not creative AT ALL. And let me be perfectly honest hear (because I intend not to be perfectly honest from now until April 15th) - this is a BIG tax bill. It will more than put a dent in my plans to proceed with full snobbery. It will more than set me back - probably an entire fashion season - in aquiring the wardrobe needed to gain admission to The Snub Club and into the Snobberia.

First, I do believe in hiring people who are good at doing things that you are not good at doing. Hubby hires accountant. I hire manicurist. We both hire Jerry-the-sometimes-unreliable-but-always-talented-handy-man. Jerry is the best (when he actually shows upl). He does a great job, and is very creative in his billing. So creative, I don't think I even know what his hourly rates are. He just comes up with a number and asks for a check and I hand it over to him. And here is the truly genius part of his whole thing: IT'S UNDER THE TABLE. Yeah, I seriously doubt that Jerry pays taxes. So it occurred to me, maybe Jerry should do our taxes. I cannot immagine he'd tell us we owe an extra $10,000!!! (yes, you read that right - 4 zeros after the big 1.). And Jerry's no dummy, either. He would quickly realize that this would be ten thousand fewer dollars we'd be giving him for doing things like carving closet space out of thin air for us. (that was pretty much the last job we asked him to do). Yes, Jerry's our man. The only problem I foresee is the possible situation of an audit. Mr. Accountant says he accompanies his clients on audits. With Jerry, we sometimes have trouble getting him to 'pop round and finish a bit of paint and trim' for weeks on end. Once, I went a month with a master bathroom that had ALMOST been completely redone accept for the new faucets. Jer just got busy. (It was nice weather and he went to the mountains for awhile)  I used the kitchen sink.

So I discuss this situation - the taxes that is - with Jerry and he agrees, this is an awful lot of money and we should "come up with something".  (he's good, I tell ya)

Jerry: "how much of your income did you declare?"
Me: "All of it."
Jerry: "ohhh. That's your problem."
I told you this guy is sharp.

He tells me to come up with a bunch of deductions. Deduct everything, he says.   This is great.   Parking tickets, late fee fines for getting behind on lisencing requirements (I get lots of those), anything connected to work.   Deduct the dog, for crying out loud!!  Genius, I tell ya. I quickly start gathering everything and anything that could look like a dry cleaning reciept. Afterall, I need clean clothes to go to work so this is a work expense. Nails - gotta have a nice manicure for work, too (not just that potentially snobby luncheon on Saturday). My glasses! My contacts! All work expenses. My job requires me to see what I am doing.

Jerry mentions Martha Stewart (another of my personal heros).

Jerry: "Just be careful. Remember what happened to Martha Stewart - she went to jail for tax evasion"

No Jerry, she went to jail for obstruction of justice. But Oh Lordy!!! Leona Helmsly DID go to jail for tax evasion! And, SHE WAS A SNOB!!! (not to speak ill of the dead - as you know, I look up to snobs and aspire to be one)

Maybe I should get Mr. Accountant to work with Jerry.

LOOK GOOD OR SEE WELL? WHAT WOULD A SNOB DO?

I have a (potentially snobby) luncheon to attend on Saturday and a bit of a time crunching dilemna. The time dilemna is that I have none. Time that is. The remainder of the dilemna involves my nails and my new glasses.

Some time ago I finally got around to getting a new prescription for glasses. I usually wear contacts, but I do see much better with glasses (some countries may consider me legally blind without corrective lenses but thankfully this country allows me to drive un aided.) I will occasionally wear them (the glasses) in public or to work, particulary if I have something specific that I need to see. Anyway, sometime after finally getting a new prescription, I got around to ordering new glasses with that new prescription. This timed out well, since I had just broken the arm on my existing frames. (no, not the little pin thing - the arm actually broke and is now being held together with some scotch tape) So, this pretty much means that I am only wearing my glasses in the house so as to avoid people seeing me in my glasses and assuming I'm a homeless person who cannot aford a pair of glasses and aquired these via some recycle-your-eyewear campaign. (No self respecting snob would speak to me if she saw me in these scotch taped glasses)

Anyway, I picked up my new glasses the other day. I was wearing my contacts so could not try the glasses on at the store and confirm their acceptability. When I got home (and removed my lenses) I excitedly tried on my new and unbroken glasses only to find they were the wrong size. They would be fine, really, if my left eye were situated about an inch away from were it is currently situated. But this is not about a search for a plastic surgeon or a qualm with the genetics I was handed. This is a quandery over whether to march down (drive fast) to the eye glass store, loudly berate inform the eye tech that he fit me with glasses better suited to Giant-Head-Abe (Lincoln), or whether to get my nails done.

You see, at almost precisely the same time that I picked up my useless new pair of eye glasses, I also broke an acrylic nail. (totally unrelated) Did I mention that I have a (potentially snobby) luncheon to attend this Saturday and also must squeeze a trip to Talbots into the remaining available hours this week? Obviously, neither of these two tasks (3 if you include shopping at Talbots) can be delegated to another. (Me: Secretary - go and get your nails done for me! versus Me: Secretary - go and have these glasses sized to fit your face for me while loudly hurling insults at the incompetant eye tech!)

So, what would a snobby woman do? Would she use her limited time to get her glasses fixed so that she could see clearly when in public (and at work), or would she make sure that her dominant right hand was perfectly manicured? (That is the hand I use to hold a fork and a wine glass. Did I mention the potentially snobby luncheon on Saturday in which forks and wine glasses will be used?)

This would never happen to El Woods.