Is it not the duty of our local newspapers to run the appropriate warning headlines once we are blessed with weather north of the 60 degree mark? Would it not be considered a moral duty to give those of us who give some thought to what we really look like to the outside world a friendly shout out to avoid certain places? And, isn't it a health risk to have the retina's of one's eyes exposed to the Fashion Don'ts (FD's) that the General Public (GP) feels is necessary to don once the weather turns a tad warmer?
What is your diarist referring to this time you ask? She wishes to warn the well dressed citizenry (and it ain't a lot from what she can see) that (drum roll please) the 'Shirtless Wonders' have arrived at Nantasket Beach. And when she says wonders, she means wonders....
"What fun house mirror they are using before they step into the public domain"?
"What could possible be gained by exposing your expanding mid section to the world"?
"What makes you think we want to see 'all that'?
I nearly drove off the road last week at the sight of 'all that'.
And what is 'all that'.? That would be the bikers who congregate on the wall, tattoos and big belt buckles a-blazing (and really, amazing). The regular 'ladies' who despite their advancing age and girth feel it is still ok to wear any type of bathing suit and display it on the boardwalk on their loungechairs for all the world to see. The younger set that seems to think it's ok to wear an itty bitty even though they are most definately not. And boys? Pull up your damn pants.
Note to 95% of the general public: What Not to Wear. Watch it. Please. I'm begging you.
Has your diarist committed a fashion faux pas every now and then? She admits to Teal and Mauve at her wedding (it was 1989). She admits to shoulder pads and wild prints (ditto, 80's but it was fabulous). She even admits to having once owned a pair of overalls (she cannot think of an excuse for that at the moment). However, under the iron hand that was her mother, she learned that "less is indeed more". She learned from her first boss to 'dress for work as if that is the day the president of the company will show up and ask you to lunch'. And she understands she is not her daughter, that time has passed but another, still fashionable one is available and will not cause acid reflux or temporary blindness to others.
Why are these simple concepts lost on a great deal of the GP? Forget National Health Care (don't get me stahted), there should be a National Fashion Policy. And, should the General Public adhere to it, there will not be a need for National Health Care. Since we will all look mahvelous, we will feel better. And those of us that are suffering from the exposure to toxic fashion will be cured! It's a brilliant concept. It needs to be implemented. Now.
The only upside to the current state of fashion affairs is the entertainment factor it provides. For this you need a pair of dark sunglasses (Camilley's Closet, $10), your very best poker face and a flask of good wine (medicinal purposes, protects the eyes in the event the glasses aren't strong enough. Take my word). You find yourself a good parking space where you can get a wide (all puns intended) view of the sideshow. Cue the circus music, open the flask and enjoy. To sober up for the ride home, simply remove your glasses. That should do it.
As I always say, there's an upside to everything!
Friday, May 14, 2010
Thursday, March 4, 2010
dear "ooh baby, baby" diary....
I'm known for coming up with many clever and humorous sayings (or at least I think I am) and I've come up with a new one for my repetoir. To wit: At this age you couldn't pay me to have more kids but you can pay me to watch yours. Welcome to the new economy. My latest endeavor? Why, a nanny, of course. And by of course, I don't mean the fact, for those who know me, that due to my fondness for babies and children coupled with my daughter in college and my son ready to graduate high school (you are graduating darling aren't you?) that perhaps I am filling a maternal need to keep my little nest feathered. Ah,no. For inashmuch as my heart aches on a daily basis when I think of both my little chickens going off to college this year it also goes pitter patter at the thought of this next chapter of life.
No, dear reader, your diarist returns to the diaper, bottle, napping trenches in response to the smack down our little economy (but oh so ginormous deficits)has dealt her. She has re-enlisted not so much out of sheer delight over the afore mentioned duties but out of financial necessity. Business at the closet is off nearly 50% and a girl has to make ends meet. Enter SitterCity, the child care equivalent of Match.com and Voila, I've met my match. Er, matches.
Not content to merely do a little after school stint with the grade school set, I've let myself be courted by a younger 'team'. I work three ten hour days taking care of (drum roll, glass of wine, electro shock therapy) Jonah who is 3 and Jackson and Lily who are 11 months (ok, add a cosmo or two to that last list). Never a dull moment comes to mind. This is so not the way I outlined this particular chapter of my life is another. However, considering my other option was going back to a cleaning business (my motto then, post divorce? I used to have one, now I am one.), not only am I beyond the age limit (self imposed) I don't speak the language.
So, I spend a few days a week mired in the daily routines of your typical nutty three old and the double trouble that is twins. They are a sweet little bunch and I do have some fun and funny moments. I also have the luxury of knowing that I'm done at 4:30, have weekends and nights off and (so unlike when I was a full time at home mother) get paid for it! Considering my strong emotional and child rearing constitution, it's the easiest gig I've ever had. Time has not withered my conviction that you don't negotiate with terrorists (read: kids), I'm bigger so I always win and you don't like it? Ha! Too bad, you'll get over it, trust me!
Time has also not taken away my inability to stay in the house all day. Once the morning routine is over (diapers, breakfast, diapers, nap, diapers, snack, diapers...) we are off and running. I have the family truck with car seats at my disposal. I feel as if I should have a class A or B (whatever the 18 wheel drivers use) license as this thing is a beast. I think it would make a fairly humorous YouTube Video to watch me getting them all in their car seats. If nothing else, my core appears to be getting stronger from all the lifting and hauling and getting into that rig.
Recently I took them all to Derby Street. It was a mild day (ok it was 35 degrees but it was not snowing) and I felt a little fresh air would do every one some good. Our first stop is the book store and apparently Jonah has been here. Several times. He bolts for the kid section and I'm still trying to navigate the damn stroller through the doors. HEY retailers! If you're going to blatantly cater to the mommy set, coudja make the doors a tad more stroller friendly? By the time I find him he's already hauled a dozen books out and is flipping through the pages like a madman. I put my foot down that he can only do one book at a time (prompting the first threat of leaving the building in response to an attempted meltdown). The babies are just happy to be out in public. Just looking around is a workout for them at this age. Very entertaining. I'm so done with the routine in about 10 seconds. Ok 15 minutes. I suggest we walk around and oh, looky, a Starbucks is in the store. Of course, Jonah's many ventures to the store lend him some knowledge about the place. He knows about the pretzels (I never even noticed) they have as well as the chocolate milk.
Babies, again, are quite happy with the baby food snack and checking everything out. They are quite dazzled by it all. Jonah is his own entertainment and chatters on and on, laughing at himself. I amuse him and laugh along and pretend to know what he's saying. I realize, too late, that one of the things he is saying is to go back to the kids section. Ah, negative private. The Captain is giving the order to clear out. Another attempt at a breakdown, another thinly veiled threat to go home now and we are off and strolling outside.
I then find myself in a place so alien to my personal senses and affronts every aspect of financial practicality that I am momentarily frightened that I have left the planet. Where is your diarist? A place called Magic Beans. My first thought? WTFW? My second? How long have I not had young children? My third? WTFW?
Are you kidding me folks? High chairs that look like something out of the Jetsons at nearly $200 (rut roh astro!). AND, and they have swatches of fabrics to pick from. And they come with review from magazines:
"Work of Art", "A stylish baby chair for todays generation of parents" (who the hell is sitting in the contraption?), "Sleeker lines that go with the rest of the furniture giving baby a head start on good taste". "Puts baby in command". I repeat. WTFW?
Don't get me stahted on the strollers. Floor models on sale from $400-$800? Want a lower priced newer model? Pick a color from the swatches at $274. But if you want the Paul Rich design that will cost you $299. You've got to be kidding? While I'm busy taking notes on all this on my blackberry Jonah is running around yelling out all the things he wants for Christmas and the twins are attempting to pull down anything they can get their hands on. My head is ready to implode or explode (or both) with all the things that I can think of that are so very wrong with this picture. And, don't even get me stahted on all those how to books. You want to know how to? I'll come to your house and let you know. Better yet, I'll send my mother and my ex mother in law. You'll never need another one of those books again. By the time I leave I am actually feeling bad for today's generation of mothers with little ones. It appears that the great machine of capitalism has wormed it's way quite nicely into their heads and is playing the mind game of the century on them.
We leave. I struggle, once again, to navigate the double stroller out the door. It has not ocurred to Magic Beans to take some of their obscene profits and put in stroller friendly doors. Hello, irony? Good bye overpriced and mostly unnecessary objects. Puts baby in command? I. Don't. Think. So. I do think I need a drink and it's only 11am. Next stop, Panera.
Again, the nightmare doors and I've broken into a sweat by the time I get us all in. I inhale a soup while feeding the babies and watching Jonah, once again, totally entertain himself. It occurs to me, a tad late in the morning, that I should not have ANY liquids when I am out with them. Why? Minor detail. How would I possible get a double stroller and a 3 year old into the ladies room? I whisk the team out of there but not without Jonah walking off on me into the busy restaurant not once but twice. Yes, that was me walking out of the joint holding a 3 year old sideways at my waist and navigating a double stroller out of yet another nightmare door.
Due to my liquid intake I have the need to really get them home. Now. It is nearing noon time, which is nearing nap time. Ok for the babies as they are in the stroller. Not so much Jonah. He has become the poky puppy. I'm attempting to go into power walk mode but he's bobbing and weaving on the sidewalk as he chats to himself, giggles, whines, cries, giggles again. It then occurs to me that this is the equivalent of many a night out in town back in the day, with one of my best friends who liked her vino and was hugely entertaining in her post vino persona. I was with a three year old drunk. I would have burst out laughing at the thought but was, by then, having pressing bladder issues.
And that, dear readers, is a typical day in these not so typical times.
Ah, the exception. Many times over the past couple of months when I'm out and about with my little team I hear the following: "Oh, twins, how lucky for you?" "Look how quickly you got your figure back", and on and on. I realized early it wasn't worth it to explain the deal and it really is quite amusing. Until. Well, until. A moment please while I refresh my drink....
I'm coming back from a walk the other day and am pushing that double stroller up the hill. A woman comes out of a neighbors house (she is the dog walker) and I recognize her and say hello. She utters the words I have been expecting and dreading.
"Oh hi, are those your grandbabies?"
WTFW? Would I not have mentioned that in the past gazillion times we have run across each other in the past few years. (Hello? Irony again? She works at the local wine store)
Well, dear reader, truth be told I have been waiting for that comment. I have been bracing for the impact. I knew it was going to happen. But still, wtfw?
A little advice to the world via a story:
In one of my past lives I was a closing paralegal. During the wild west real estate days of the early 80's I was doing 20 closings a week (those were some fun times!). One in particular was postponed due to (so I thought) a baby, or a child care situation, something to that effect. They show up a couple of days later. The woman is rather large. I inquire as to when she is due. She replies (and keep in mind she is British so it is that more scathing) "I beg your pardon, I am not pregnant".
Moral of that story? Unless your giving birth in front of me, I ain't asking. Ditto for anyone I see with young children that looks like they could've known Lincoln. Assume nothing.
Now really. I must go. The heavily padded room is beginning to get to me and I'm thirsty.
No, dear reader, your diarist returns to the diaper, bottle, napping trenches in response to the smack down our little economy (but oh so ginormous deficits)has dealt her. She has re-enlisted not so much out of sheer delight over the afore mentioned duties but out of financial necessity. Business at the closet is off nearly 50% and a girl has to make ends meet. Enter SitterCity, the child care equivalent of Match.com and Voila, I've met my match. Er, matches.
Not content to merely do a little after school stint with the grade school set, I've let myself be courted by a younger 'team'. I work three ten hour days taking care of (drum roll, glass of wine, electro shock therapy) Jonah who is 3 and Jackson and Lily who are 11 months (ok, add a cosmo or two to that last list). Never a dull moment comes to mind. This is so not the way I outlined this particular chapter of my life is another. However, considering my other option was going back to a cleaning business (my motto then, post divorce? I used to have one, now I am one.), not only am I beyond the age limit (self imposed) I don't speak the language.
So, I spend a few days a week mired in the daily routines of your typical nutty three old and the double trouble that is twins. They are a sweet little bunch and I do have some fun and funny moments. I also have the luxury of knowing that I'm done at 4:30, have weekends and nights off and (so unlike when I was a full time at home mother) get paid for it! Considering my strong emotional and child rearing constitution, it's the easiest gig I've ever had. Time has not withered my conviction that you don't negotiate with terrorists (read: kids), I'm bigger so I always win and you don't like it? Ha! Too bad, you'll get over it, trust me!
Time has also not taken away my inability to stay in the house all day. Once the morning routine is over (diapers, breakfast, diapers, nap, diapers, snack, diapers...) we are off and running. I have the family truck with car seats at my disposal. I feel as if I should have a class A or B (whatever the 18 wheel drivers use) license as this thing is a beast. I think it would make a fairly humorous YouTube Video to watch me getting them all in their car seats. If nothing else, my core appears to be getting stronger from all the lifting and hauling and getting into that rig.
Recently I took them all to Derby Street. It was a mild day (ok it was 35 degrees but it was not snowing) and I felt a little fresh air would do every one some good. Our first stop is the book store and apparently Jonah has been here. Several times. He bolts for the kid section and I'm still trying to navigate the damn stroller through the doors. HEY retailers! If you're going to blatantly cater to the mommy set, coudja make the doors a tad more stroller friendly? By the time I find him he's already hauled a dozen books out and is flipping through the pages like a madman. I put my foot down that he can only do one book at a time (prompting the first threat of leaving the building in response to an attempted meltdown). The babies are just happy to be out in public. Just looking around is a workout for them at this age. Very entertaining. I'm so done with the routine in about 10 seconds. Ok 15 minutes. I suggest we walk around and oh, looky, a Starbucks is in the store. Of course, Jonah's many ventures to the store lend him some knowledge about the place. He knows about the pretzels (I never even noticed) they have as well as the chocolate milk.
Babies, again, are quite happy with the baby food snack and checking everything out. They are quite dazzled by it all. Jonah is his own entertainment and chatters on and on, laughing at himself. I amuse him and laugh along and pretend to know what he's saying. I realize, too late, that one of the things he is saying is to go back to the kids section. Ah, negative private. The Captain is giving the order to clear out. Another attempt at a breakdown, another thinly veiled threat to go home now and we are off and strolling outside.
I then find myself in a place so alien to my personal senses and affronts every aspect of financial practicality that I am momentarily frightened that I have left the planet. Where is your diarist? A place called Magic Beans. My first thought? WTFW? My second? How long have I not had young children? My third? WTFW?
Are you kidding me folks? High chairs that look like something out of the Jetsons at nearly $200 (rut roh astro!). AND, and they have swatches of fabrics to pick from. And they come with review from magazines:
"Work of Art", "A stylish baby chair for todays generation of parents" (who the hell is sitting in the contraption?), "Sleeker lines that go with the rest of the furniture giving baby a head start on good taste". "Puts baby in command". I repeat. WTFW?
Don't get me stahted on the strollers. Floor models on sale from $400-$800? Want a lower priced newer model? Pick a color from the swatches at $274. But if you want the Paul Rich design that will cost you $299. You've got to be kidding? While I'm busy taking notes on all this on my blackberry Jonah is running around yelling out all the things he wants for Christmas and the twins are attempting to pull down anything they can get their hands on. My head is ready to implode or explode (or both) with all the things that I can think of that are so very wrong with this picture. And, don't even get me stahted on all those how to books. You want to know how to? I'll come to your house and let you know. Better yet, I'll send my mother and my ex mother in law. You'll never need another one of those books again. By the time I leave I am actually feeling bad for today's generation of mothers with little ones. It appears that the great machine of capitalism has wormed it's way quite nicely into their heads and is playing the mind game of the century on them.
We leave. I struggle, once again, to navigate the double stroller out the door. It has not ocurred to Magic Beans to take some of their obscene profits and put in stroller friendly doors. Hello, irony? Good bye overpriced and mostly unnecessary objects. Puts baby in command? I. Don't. Think. So. I do think I need a drink and it's only 11am. Next stop, Panera.
Again, the nightmare doors and I've broken into a sweat by the time I get us all in. I inhale a soup while feeding the babies and watching Jonah, once again, totally entertain himself. It occurs to me, a tad late in the morning, that I should not have ANY liquids when I am out with them. Why? Minor detail. How would I possible get a double stroller and a 3 year old into the ladies room? I whisk the team out of there but not without Jonah walking off on me into the busy restaurant not once but twice. Yes, that was me walking out of the joint holding a 3 year old sideways at my waist and navigating a double stroller out of yet another nightmare door.
Due to my liquid intake I have the need to really get them home. Now. It is nearing noon time, which is nearing nap time. Ok for the babies as they are in the stroller. Not so much Jonah. He has become the poky puppy. I'm attempting to go into power walk mode but he's bobbing and weaving on the sidewalk as he chats to himself, giggles, whines, cries, giggles again. It then occurs to me that this is the equivalent of many a night out in town back in the day, with one of my best friends who liked her vino and was hugely entertaining in her post vino persona. I was with a three year old drunk. I would have burst out laughing at the thought but was, by then, having pressing bladder issues.
And that, dear readers, is a typical day in these not so typical times.
Ah, the exception. Many times over the past couple of months when I'm out and about with my little team I hear the following: "Oh, twins, how lucky for you?" "Look how quickly you got your figure back", and on and on. I realized early it wasn't worth it to explain the deal and it really is quite amusing. Until. Well, until. A moment please while I refresh my drink....
I'm coming back from a walk the other day and am pushing that double stroller up the hill. A woman comes out of a neighbors house (she is the dog walker) and I recognize her and say hello. She utters the words I have been expecting and dreading.
"Oh hi, are those your grandbabies?"
WTFW? Would I not have mentioned that in the past gazillion times we have run across each other in the past few years. (Hello? Irony again? She works at the local wine store)
Well, dear reader, truth be told I have been waiting for that comment. I have been bracing for the impact. I knew it was going to happen. But still, wtfw?
A little advice to the world via a story:
In one of my past lives I was a closing paralegal. During the wild west real estate days of the early 80's I was doing 20 closings a week (those were some fun times!). One in particular was postponed due to (so I thought) a baby, or a child care situation, something to that effect. They show up a couple of days later. The woman is rather large. I inquire as to when she is due. She replies (and keep in mind she is British so it is that more scathing) "I beg your pardon, I am not pregnant".
Moral of that story? Unless your giving birth in front of me, I ain't asking. Ditto for anyone I see with young children that looks like they could've known Lincoln. Assume nothing.
Now really. I must go. The heavily padded room is beginning to get to me and I'm thirsty.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
dear WTFW? diary...
Ah, the diarist returns. And from whence has she been (whence? apparently she has been drinking). Well, it's been a busy year treading the financial waters of life. I am officially out of the mortgage business. I don't feel that I was ever in it so to speak and really, truth be told, it's out of me. Miss it? Not a bit. Who would miss a business where one can never shut off one's cell phone. Horrors if you A) miss a client B) miss a client freaking out about rates or C) miss a rate change. C'est la vie I c'est. The only regret? That i did it to begin with. Real estate? Ok if you don't have to be the bread winner. It got me through every now and then. I did not have to do the day care thing with my kids as i could work from home. Have cell phone and calculator? You're working. Have a financial meltdown that topples the economic system you rely on? Not so much.
Enough about all this water under the bridge. I've got enough still coming in my basement (that's another blog!)
Thank Goodness for that little side biz I started to provide the masses with 'oh so' affordable cheap knockoffs from china. Our not so cheap little hamlet needed something to offset the other boutiques selling cheap knockoffs that were over priced. It went from being a fun place to do my mortgages out of and have some pin money while all my 'commissions' (ha!) went to paying for that rehab that had to be done (to the house not me, however......) to, gasp, a full time job. Well life has a way of throwing curve balls and the "Great Recession" was a series of fast balls that I never saw coming. Who Knew? Well, we all do now. Note to self: Pay much better attention.
Que sera sera. Enough of the maudlin 'how did I get here' nonsense. I'm here and it's time to do something different. Why not something I actually like? (that would be writing) Along with our little closet full of bits and baubles, perhaps this could work? It certainly ain't paying the rent right now but I've found a solution to that as well (more later on my other 'job').
It was a hectic holiday season right down to the Christmas Eve wire. I'm not sure why the general public waits until that last minute to get er done as they say. It's a bit trying on the nerves all that frantic running around with the clock ticking. But it did bode well for the Closet as we were not just the venue of last resort, we seem to be finally getting a reputation for the go to place for inexpensive fun 'stuff'. I had to do my usual forays into NYC every week in December to stock up so as not to overshoot the retail runway.
You may ask yourself, how does one do that without a car? (it was a temporary situation, like the war) The train? Way too expensive. Flying? Way too invasive. I'm bound to be arrested at some point for my complete and utter disdain for the TSA. Enter the Fung Wah Bus. Yes, dear reader, you heard that right. Me, moi, Miss B, the gal who won't wear sneakers in public unless it's to the gym. I boarded the 2am bus not once, but twice in two weeks.
Yeah, yeah, yeah, I heard about the accidents. Who hasn't careened off Route 95 doing a buck ten? In the middle of the night? For $45 dollars round trip ($30 of that was the 2am luxury liner cruise time) who could say no?
Thankfully, I can report there were no live chickens (well, I did not hear or see any), or anyone traveling with everything and the kitchen sink. There were about 15-20 of us daring souls. With the exception of the bus driver who spent the entire ride chatting and laughing (both in Chinese) it was quiet. It was also disturbing (in an envious way) to make it to Chinatown in 3 hours, 20 minutes. That whole city that never sleeps stuff? It's out like a light at 5:30am. That's why God invented Starbucks. And WTFW? Why that's my new and soon to be saying: What the Fung Wah?
Shop, shop, shop, and back on the 10am bus, in the store at 4pm. Ah, the holidays.
And now, a new year, a new outlook, etc? Time will tell. In the meantime, a new car (well, used, but new to me) and just in time as once the snow fell, the Vespa had to be retired until the spring.
That collective snapping shut of the wallets across the land I predicted after Christmas? Oh, yeah, it happened and ouch. A good time to have our first EV-VER Closet Cleanout Sale and it was music to my ears this past weekend to hear someone ask if they were in line at the store and to see so many people shopping!
How to fill in the (massive) gaps in income due to the retail slump? Hmmm, let's see. No college degree. 25 years toiling in the real estate business. Lot's of personality and style (ok, if I do say so). Ding, Ding, Ding. I am now a nanny. Seriously. Well, many who know me would not be surprised as I seem to never run out of whatever it is that makes one uber maternal. That whole caretaking thing, it's a blessing and a curse (note to self: in next life, go. to. college.). Actually I like my friends job description better Professional Child Development Councelor.
A delightful family with three little ones, a 3 yr old boy and 10 month old twins (boy/girl). Yes, crazy even for me. However, it's a snap for me and a great little salary to keep me going and with 3 ten hour days I can still run the store and do my thing . Also, let's face it, who doesn't want to get paid to hang at the beach in the summer entertaining the troops? Not too shabby.
Life is funny. It has to be because the alternative is not pretty. And we don't do 'not pretty' in the closet, or anywhere else. Tomorrow is always another day and the glass is always half full. Which is not to say I don't have my moments of questioning those notions that I try to hold onto like a buoy in the middle of life's ocean. Besides, treading water is good for the legs and glutes so you gotta keep going.
Keep it simple, but keep it stylish. On the outside and the inside.
Happy New Year.
Enough about all this water under the bridge. I've got enough still coming in my basement (that's another blog!)
Thank Goodness for that little side biz I started to provide the masses with 'oh so' affordable cheap knockoffs from china. Our not so cheap little hamlet needed something to offset the other boutiques selling cheap knockoffs that were over priced. It went from being a fun place to do my mortgages out of and have some pin money while all my 'commissions' (ha!) went to paying for that rehab that had to be done (to the house not me, however......) to, gasp, a full time job. Well life has a way of throwing curve balls and the "Great Recession" was a series of fast balls that I never saw coming. Who Knew? Well, we all do now. Note to self: Pay much better attention.
Que sera sera. Enough of the maudlin 'how did I get here' nonsense. I'm here and it's time to do something different. Why not something I actually like? (that would be writing) Along with our little closet full of bits and baubles, perhaps this could work? It certainly ain't paying the rent right now but I've found a solution to that as well (more later on my other 'job').
It was a hectic holiday season right down to the Christmas Eve wire. I'm not sure why the general public waits until that last minute to get er done as they say. It's a bit trying on the nerves all that frantic running around with the clock ticking. But it did bode well for the Closet as we were not just the venue of last resort, we seem to be finally getting a reputation for the go to place for inexpensive fun 'stuff'. I had to do my usual forays into NYC every week in December to stock up so as not to overshoot the retail runway.
You may ask yourself, how does one do that without a car? (it was a temporary situation, like the war) The train? Way too expensive. Flying? Way too invasive. I'm bound to be arrested at some point for my complete and utter disdain for the TSA. Enter the Fung Wah Bus. Yes, dear reader, you heard that right. Me, moi, Miss B, the gal who won't wear sneakers in public unless it's to the gym. I boarded the 2am bus not once, but twice in two weeks.
Yeah, yeah, yeah, I heard about the accidents. Who hasn't careened off Route 95 doing a buck ten? In the middle of the night? For $45 dollars round trip ($30 of that was the 2am luxury liner cruise time) who could say no?
Thankfully, I can report there were no live chickens (well, I did not hear or see any), or anyone traveling with everything and the kitchen sink. There were about 15-20 of us daring souls. With the exception of the bus driver who spent the entire ride chatting and laughing (both in Chinese) it was quiet. It was also disturbing (in an envious way) to make it to Chinatown in 3 hours, 20 minutes. That whole city that never sleeps stuff? It's out like a light at 5:30am. That's why God invented Starbucks. And WTFW? Why that's my new and soon to be saying: What the Fung Wah?
Shop, shop, shop, and back on the 10am bus, in the store at 4pm. Ah, the holidays.
And now, a new year, a new outlook, etc? Time will tell. In the meantime, a new car (well, used, but new to me) and just in time as once the snow fell, the Vespa had to be retired until the spring.
That collective snapping shut of the wallets across the land I predicted after Christmas? Oh, yeah, it happened and ouch. A good time to have our first EV-VER Closet Cleanout Sale and it was music to my ears this past weekend to hear someone ask if they were in line at the store and to see so many people shopping!
How to fill in the (massive) gaps in income due to the retail slump? Hmmm, let's see. No college degree. 25 years toiling in the real estate business. Lot's of personality and style (ok, if I do say so). Ding, Ding, Ding. I am now a nanny. Seriously. Well, many who know me would not be surprised as I seem to never run out of whatever it is that makes one uber maternal. That whole caretaking thing, it's a blessing and a curse (note to self: in next life, go. to. college.). Actually I like my friends job description better Professional Child Development Councelor.
A delightful family with three little ones, a 3 yr old boy and 10 month old twins (boy/girl). Yes, crazy even for me. However, it's a snap for me and a great little salary to keep me going and with 3 ten hour days I can still run the store and do my thing . Also, let's face it, who doesn't want to get paid to hang at the beach in the summer entertaining the troops? Not too shabby.
Life is funny. It has to be because the alternative is not pretty. And we don't do 'not pretty' in the closet, or anywhere else. Tomorrow is always another day and the glass is always half full. Which is not to say I don't have my moments of questioning those notions that I try to hold onto like a buoy in the middle of life's ocean. Besides, treading water is good for the legs and glutes so you gotta keep going.
Keep it simple, but keep it stylish. On the outside and the inside.
Happy New Year.
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