Mitzi Moments

Good lord, the pink toes never cease to amaze do they?

First they were shopping in secret and now that, surprise, surprise, this whole “recession thing” hasn’t gone away, they’ve formed an anonymous support group for the girlfriends of finance guys!! No really, I’m not even kidding. I swear I couldn’t make this up if I tried…

According to the NYTimes, the group of NYC women refer to themselves as Wall Street Widows and the name of their support group is Dating A Banker Anonymous. And in case you were wondering, there’s an open invitation to any woman who fits the following criteria: “if your monthly Bergdorf’s allowance has been halved and bottle service has all but disappeared from your life.” Seriously? Just so we’re clear, you’re complaining about the change in a lifestyle that you’ve become accustomed to BEFORE you even got married??? Oh my goodness, that is so gangster!

The members meet once or twice weekly for brunch or drinks at a bar or restaurant to commiserate on how the plunging stock market and depressed economy have turned their former type-A, cocky, super human, richass finance boyfriends into whimpering, needy, erratic BROKEASS nightmares. Talking about, they’re moody, up all hours of the night checking the Blackberry and wait on it- aren’t exactly performing in the bedrooms. YIKES.

Good luck Becky Sue…

I hear you on the mixed race, but if you ask me, Obama ain’t nothing but Black.

When questioned about the noticeably more relaxed dress code in staff meetings (apparently there is a whole brew ha-ha about the President being photographed dong official work sans suit jacket), his chief-of-staff insists they’re not being intentionally lax but apparently the temperature in Oval Office is hot enough to “grow orchids in there.” Talking about, “He likes it warm.”
Now Barack, you know, them folks in the White House don’t know nothing ’bout that heat! All I can say is, Jesus be the heating bill after the first month of the new administration.
But it gets better… Turns our the Obamas running about five minutes late for all the events on the Inauguration Day was jsut a warm-up. Apparently, President Obama now shows up at the Oval Office shortly before 9 in the morning. For those who don’t understand what the big deal is.. that’d be almost two hours later than Dub-ya. Um-hmm, Barack better be readjusting the start of the workday…
But don’t let the haters get it twisted, the man also works well into the night- with aides reporting that he stays as late as 10p to review briefs for the next day unlike his early-to-bed, early-to-rise predecessor. So take that…
Not for nothing, we really, really love that the reason his day starts so much later is because he takes the time to have his morning workout — weights and cardio — read the papers, eat breakfast with his family and help pack his daughters, Malia, 10, and Sasha, 7, off to school before making the 30-second commute downstairs.
And what they’re not printing (but we all know) is that he’s also probably tryin’ to get some from Michelle right quick too…. Okay?

Don’t get me wrong, I believe in the old saying: Beauty is only skin deep. Howsomever, while we’re on the surface there are a list things that I’m just not equipped to deal with… Severe acne as well as a noticeable unibrow are definitely amongst the number. But for the sake of a good arguement, if I had to choose one, I’m going with the unibrow all day every day.

Why? Simple. I’m willing to gamble that like the 71%, I will eventually (read: long, long time from now) grow accustomed to the extra facial hair. Mind you, growing accustomed is a far cry from LOVING but at some point, I would hope, I’d be able to train myself not to oogle at my partner’s never ending eyebrow. You know, the same way I trained myself not gag when I see pink toes kissing their dogs on the mouth. Feel free to gag.

Now the severe back acne? Not so much. I can barely stand the pimples on my own face and I only see that when I’m facing a mirror.

And in all fairness, perhaps the 28% who opted for severe back acne are just more concerned with public perception than I- afterall, there’s really no way to escape your crew’s clowning (and you know they will) when the mess is smack dab on the middle of the face. And thanks to Facebook, it ain’t just your peeps that’ll be leaving comments about you and your ‘interesting’ looking boo…

Yet and still, I’ll still take my chances with the peanut gallery. Cause I know me, and I have a serious issue with picking. Mmm-hmm, I ain’t never seen a pimple I ain’t wanna pop. Lord knows, if I see a whole bunch of blackheads on my man’s back what will happen. It might get real primative… And even if I’m able to control my urge to dig all up in his skin, there’s always the first time I run my hand along his back and it inadvertantly bust a bump. Oh. God. Ooze stains on my 600 thread count sheets?? EEEWWA, it’s a wrap. Like forreal, forreal.

Love you more than cooked food but you gots to get the hell out not now, but RIGHT NOW.

Question: why do owners of small and minature dogs think its appropriate to stand by and watch their pet attack a larger dog?

Every time I take Drama for a walk through the park, somebody’s little foo foo dog comes running up to growl and snap at her. Luckily, Drama could care less about other dogs so for the most part we just keep walking and eventually the little mo-fu will get tired and return to its owner. No harm, no foul. (Of course, there was this minature Yorkie that nipped her nose and drew blood… I won’t get into the specifics of what I promised the owner would happen if her pissant dog ever came near us again but let’s just say, it hasn’t happened since.)

So lemme tell you, my neighbor Glaydys owns two minature chihuahuas, Ruby and Brownie; as well as two pitbulls, Mindnight and Hannibal. (I know, I know it’s a lot but try not to get sidetracked with the details.) Anyhoo, Ruby hates Hannibal. Like, every single time Hannibal walks near by her little basket/ home, she jumps up, loses her little mind and attacks his legs, tail, nose, or whatever else she can reach. It’s a mess.

For the record, on numerous occasions I’ve warned Glaydys about letting Ruby run amuck. But everyone in the apartment laughs me off because she’s so tiny and Hannibal doesn’t pay her any mind.

Well you know what they say- all good things must come to an end.

I guess Hannibal was in a bad mood last night and finally snapped back. Don’t you know he grabbed her up by the neck, shook her around and tossed that little ass straight across the room. Mmm-hmm, just like that. There was no blood drawn but poor thing was shaking leaf for at least an hour afterwards.

Now you know… if you have a little nosiemaker for a pet, you better act like you love it. Cause they can get it.

Why am I being held hostage by UPS?? No, seriously, I’m not even playing with you. Any other day, when I’m NOT expecting a package, this dude is ringing me bell off the hook at 9.01am. But just because I’m expecting something important- and really need to get it no later than today- he’s a straight no-show. I swear this fool is gonna drive me to drink. Jerk.