18 Sep

“I could tell you what he looked like- his height and physique and the way the contours of his body felt close to mine in the dark; the shape and exact color of his eyes and how they looked when he was happy, sad, pissed, or passionate; the lines of his forearms, biceps, shoulders, and elbows; the curve of his lips and the feel of his mouth against mine; and what his back, and hips, and legs felt like beneath my fingertips. I could tell you what he smelled like and what he tasted like. I could pick his voice out in the crowd at Times Square on New Year’s Eve”.

This is an excerpt from Beth Harbison’s book, Always Something There to Remind Me. And it spoke to me so profoundly, that I decided to sign into my forgotten blog and share it with all of you. This quote was written by someone else, someone I don’t even know, yet it came from my heart.  Every boyfriend I have ever had, I have studied and observed and known on a level that was too hard to explain, until I read this excerpt. I always thought I was kind of crazy that I have always been such an expert on my man’s hairline and the way his fingers grasp a beer.  Or how his teeth shape his lips and if he had different teeth, he would look entirely different. I am always acutely aware of how his body feels next to mine while he is lying next to me in bed. I frequently take note of how his breathing sounds different when he had a good day and how he must be having good dreams, instead of nightmares. Are all women like this? More importantly, are men like this? I think many women would admit to actively knowing their men on this level, but many men would be hesitant to. Why? Do people only take this kind of care to notice their significant others when they truly love them? As you can see, I have a lot on my mind and many questions. Anyways, I only hope that I have been loved and noticed like this in my relationships…


Girls and Boys

19 Mar

If I hear my boyfriend complain one more time, one more time, about how long I take to get ready in the morning, I will cease to shave my legs and Virginia forever. I swear it. Someone, preferably a man, tell me why men still do not understand that women have far more obligations in the morning than they ever will? Men have a saying that explains their daily grooming and it’s: The Triple S: Shit, Shower and Shave. It sounds simple and it is and they can do all 3 in 10 minutes. If women were to have a saying about their morning routine it would be so long, it would need to be a mnemonic and it would be the longest damn mnemonic ever.

My boyfriend has lived with me for around 3 months and he is still baffled at the amount of time I take to get ready for the day. I would say I take about as long as any woman who actually cares about her appearance. I suppose if I stopped all of my grooming and I had legs as hairy as his and hair that looked like I brushed it with a greasy pancake, he would stop complaining and beg me to go back to my usual routine. If I had the guts, I would actually test this theory…

I think instead of complaining, men should bow down to the women in their lives for the painstaking effort it takes to look good. Now, if you are one of those “natural” beauties who slap on some lip gloss and run your fingers through your hair in the morning and you look  as good as Gisele Bundchen, you are not allowed to read my blog anymore and you are not welcome in the club. With that, I will detail what men need to do in the morning and what I, a woman, needs to do.



Slap on some deodorant

Brush teeth

Throw on wrinkled clothing and a hat and voila!


Can’t shit because you’re constipated from the diet food you consumed the previous night

Shower, which includes shaving every area on your body, minus the head. Speaking of the hair on your head, in order to get the bouncy shine you covet, you must shampoo then condition several times with various expensive products that really just end up down the drain

Continuing with the shower, must pumice feet so they don’t look like your grandfather’s elbows

Still not done with the shower…washing your face with a serious face wash is very important. The shampoo that runs down your face when you rinse your hair does not count as washing your face, FYI

Once out of shower, lotion feet, then apply special conditioning socks. Continue lotioning entire body

Brush teeth, put in contacts, apply a very liberal amount of deodorant

Start on the process of makeup. I won’t bore you with every detail, as the process includes primers, concealers and contraptions that look like weapons to most men

Once done with makeup, begin blow-out on hair that has been towel drying for 30 minutes

Allow flat-iron to heat up

Begin 20 minute process of flat-ironing hair

Once hair has been straightened, hair sprayed and sheened, must begin the inspection

Oops, is that a black hair coming out of my chin? Tweezers! Stat!

Shit there’s another hair under my chin…

While inspecting chin, it is found that makeup blending was not very thorough. Work on blending make up so you don’t look like a tan addict

After some time, it is decided that decent will just have to cut it

Try on various clothing items. The first few outfits show off the constipation bloat too much

Once finally dressed, the accessory adornment process begins (this can take some time, as there are many options and you do not want to regret your decision once at work)

When your shoes and accessories finally work with your outfit that cleverly hides your belly, it is time to spritz on some Juicy and walk out the door

I think I rest my case. What case? Well, the case that you (men) have to do nothing to look decent, whereas it takes women a whole hell of a lot more. Get used to it. It is never going to change. Go play some video games or something. Thank you and good day.


Open House

27 Feb

I have always adored looking at homes. One of my favorite weekend activities is to drive around my favorite part of town, fingers crossed, that I will come upon an “open house” sign. The best open houses are the ones you are sometimes lucky enough to come across in Old South Reno. There you will find homes with original brick facades and stucco’d walls that house stories that I would pay to hear.

This afternoon my boyfriend and I were walking around our neighborhood for an idea of the kinds of houses and duplexes that would be available to us when we move out of our apartment in a couple of months. We saw one that was four bedrooms and only $825 a month! Incredible deal! The only downside, it looked like a former meth mansion…We passed.

A couple streets over we came upon an adorable two bedroom Craftsman that was recently remodeled. It was a little too close to a pretty seedy street than we preferred and it was also $1500 a month. We decided there was no way we were going to pay that much for a house that shares an alley with the Crisis Pregnancy Center and a tenement house that rents by the week. No thanks.

On the way back to our apartment we passed an apartment complex I’ve always thought was interesting. The building looks like it belongs in 1940’s Florida with it’s salmon-colored stucco and vintage-style lettering on the apartment sign. All it needs are some palm trees and some old people in Hawaiian shirts and the vision would be complete. As we walked up the street we noticed some balloons and an “open house” sign. I felt a little tingle of excitement go up my spine. I could not wait to see what these apartments looked like inside!

Just as I had suspected, orange linoleum, old hardwood floors, built-ins and an old “icebox” style refrigerator. It reeked of vintage charm and I adored it. As I be-bopped around the corner to the bedroom, I stopped in my tracks. There, laying on the green carpet, in the bedroom, were three dog turds in a nice, neat pile. Now, let me stop here… Why? Why in the hell would you open up an apartment to show to people and not clean up your dog’s shit first? Nothing says home like a steaming pile of feces at the end of the bed!

I was so astonished, I couldn’t form a complete sentence. “There’s poop”, I somehow got out. He responded with, “You have to poop? I don’t think you should do it here”. I answer back, “No, there is poop…shit…like, there is poop, on the carpet”.

That did it. We were out of there and didn’t even ask how much the place cost. I really, really wanted to ask if it would be furnished with or without the turds, but I didn’t feel like embarrassing my boyfriend.

I don’t even know how to end this post, there are way too many ridiculous, cliched poop jokes I could make. Instead, I will make the plainly obvious statement that apartments decorated with poop generally aren’t received well. Good luck getting someone to overlook your dog’s droppings and actually rent the place.

Apparently, among the gems in Old South Reno, there are a few shitters…

Co-Habitation Deux

12 Feb

Yes, yes…I am doing it again. After months of simply adoring my solo living arrangement I have decided to take in a member of the opposite sex, again. I am either a masochist or I secretly love sharing my life with messy, stinky males. However, this time around I will be doing things differently.

First things, first…no men under the age of 30. Why? At the age of 34, my boyfriend is almost as mature as twenty-nine-year-old me. It is all a numbers game, people and I am no longer interested in babysitting.

Compromise, compromise, compromise. In order to keep my amazing leopard print mirror, I had to agree to a ginormous framed zombie named, Nigel. What my boyfriend doesn’t realize is that with this deal I kept a lot more of my decor than just a mirror and Nigel is hot, despite his decaying flesh.

I have decided to only live with men who admire my decorating abilities. This way, there are very few compromises I have to make in the home decor arena (see above). He likes the pin up and vintage and his Bettie Paige gets along well with my Gil Elvgren models. So, I can still get pedicures when I please and I can drag home shopping bags of clothes and shoes and he can’t say anything about it. As long as I have my half of rent and utilities, it doesn’t matter that my clothes are taking over the 1/5 of the closet that I left for him.

Once again, I found me a man who can cook, but this time I am taking notes, er… he makes me actually touch the chicken. I just figure that if I am ever left to fend for myself I can make more than a frozen Smartones. I actually made a marinade for pork the other day (I won’t mention he sent me a detailed text with directions and measurements down to “only a PINCH of salt this time”).

Also, I was careful to pick a man who can actually do the dishes. I made careful notes the first time he invited me over for dinner at his place, “Wiped the counter down? Check. Scraped dish before putting in dishwasher? Check? Used actual soap in said dishwasher? Check.” My kitchen has never been cleaner.

No more hairy men. I swore I would never clean facial hairs as long as the ones on my head (and legs in the winter) out of the bathroom sink again and I meant it. My boyfriend can barely grow facial hair and this goes along nicely with my new rule.

All kidding aside, this new journey I am embarking on is setting out to be exciting, but I am aware of the realities of co-habitation. As fun as it is to wake up to his face every morning, the sleepless nights get taxing and the long work hours we put in leave little time for us. Despite the apparent difficulties of sharing space with another, I am finding my life feels more complete than it has in a long time.

In ending, how can anyone NOT want to live with a man who gets on the dishes right away in the morning? After I acknowledged this miraculous act, he responds, “I wanted to do the dishes to prevent feeling guilty for playing video games while you are gone getting your hair done”. No, ladies, you did not read that wrong.

Coralye June

3 Jan

I have succumbed to the Facebook peer pressure to engage in a “Photo A Day Challenge”. Every day I must post a picture in a certain category. Tomorrow is something that I adore. I thought all day about what I adore. I love a lot of things. It is just a given that I love my family and friends. On the more superficial level, I love shoes and kooky-colored nail polish. I adore getting pedicures and I simply can’t say no to a bowl of cake batter ice cream. All of these things are great, but what is even better, what I love even more is my baby cousin, Coralye June. I adore this child more than anything. She is the smartest, cutest little girl I have ever known. She is incredibly witty and perceptive for a little person only on this earth for two years and a handful of months. She can count to ten and she can tell you, “No, I don’t want that either”. What two-year-old understands the meaning of either and can use it in a complete sentence? She’s brilliant. When I am around her she holds me in the palm of her hand and I am totally OK with that. She is spirited, strong and already fiercely independent. She pretty much tells me what’s up and most times she is right and I am wrong. She can work my Iphone better than I can and she teaches me new style tricks, like how a purple shoe and a blue shoe can look fierce with a green dress.

This Christmas she was old enough to get the gist of presents. She knew that what she unwrapped was hers to keep. What we thought she didn’t get was that what was someone else’s to unwrap was actually, not hers. My aunt was given a few stuffed dolls from my mom and…you can pretty much guess what comes next. Coralye got to them before my aunt and when she finally unearthed them from the tissue paper she exclaimed, “Oh, so cute!” and faster than a jackrabbit she hid them in her gift bag. That little pistol knew they weren’t hers, but she wanted them all the same. As someone who works with children, my first instinct was to reason with her or to teach her that she can’t have it all, but who am I kidding? What I decided to say instead was, “The world is yours doll, take it”.

I have been weakened by her very strong powers of persuasion (in the form of innocent grins and giggles), so there really is no denying that this child will be spoiled by me. I will spoil her with love, attention and however many “loshies” (lotion) or “lips” (lipgloss) she wants. Besides, spoiling someone you adore is too much fun.


3 Jan

As most of you know, my blog began as a way to release, creatively, my difficulty with living in Elko. The Elko bashing posts really took off and were almost just too easy. Teasing Elko is really quite elementary. Since I have been back in Reno I have been wracking my brain for ways to make fun of Reno like I did with Elko (it’s really only fair), but I am having difficulty. I can’t really write posts about the transvestites or pimps and ho’s that are rampant because they aren’t any better or kookier than the ones you see on any given street in San Francisco. I also can’t reasonably write a post about the special-ness that is Sun Valley, because everyone knows, we all know. Also, “Scum Valley” bashing is so 1998. Along with this, how could I even find a way to make fun of the shopping choices Reno has? Sure, there isn’t a Barney’s Reno (like I could afford even half a belt there, anyways…), but hell, there are several malls to choose from. I can also shop at Target whenever my little heart desires, so there really is no story there.

Reno isn’t a culturally diverse city like New York, nor does it have the history that Edinburgh or some other fabulous European city has, but Reno does offer a lot more than Elko. THAT, I know for damn sure.

I really can’t bash a city where I can walk to my favorite bagel shop, because I live in the hippest part of town where said bagel shop resides. I really can’t validate insults for a city where I can scour my favorite antique shop in the morning, shop the deals at Victoria’s Secret during lunch, then, in the afternoon, rock my cute new Pink sweats at Rancho San Rafeal Park, where I feel like I am no longer in a polluted city, but somewhere beautiful.

For me, Reno has it all, at least for now. I am happy to be in a city that is more culturally diverse than old-cowboy and young-miner Elko. I am happy to be where I am close to fabulous family and friends. I am happy that there are at least a few tattoo shops that won’t give me the clap and if I don’t like my experience at one Port of Subs, I have 50 others to chose from.

Reno isn’t beautiful, perfect or my favorite place in the world, but it suits my life right now and that is all that matters.

Sorry Elko, I tried to make it fair, but Reno doesn’t have quite the “uniqueness” you offer…

Resolutions Are Crap

1 Jan

Resolutions Are Crap.