Hypocrisy

I am, to this day, befuddled that the fashion rags always send their issues a month in advance. The July issue arrives in early June, the August issue arrives in early July, and the January issue arrives the previous year. Perhaps it's with the idea that you can get a jump on the styles because you followed their advice or got the hot tip. Too bad I read them for a laugh as much as anything.

So I'm paging through my July issue of Glamour (less skanky than Cosmo, but doesn't take itself as seriously as Vogue) and I'm at the "Hey, it's OK!" section (page 106 if you're curious), where they ostensibly tell you things you already know but need to actually hear in order to get a grip and realize you're not a freak for doing/thinking/saying whatever. (Real life example: "Hey, it's OK.... to press 0 to speak to a live human every single time." Does anybody actually have a hangup about that?)

The last thing that Glamour has deemed it OK to do this month (June or July, I still don't know) is "to think the fireworks were a wee bit excessive. Ooh, ahh, how many small countries could that have fed?"

This, after recommending (in their Animal Prints spread on page 48/49) a $495 Nanette Lepore jacket from Neiman Marcus, a $268 Elie Tahari skirt, and a $495 DKNY dress. This, after recommending (in their Waterproof Stuff That Will Stay On! spread on page 40) a $57 YSL foundation compact and a $45 Sephora bronzer. This, before advertising (in their Wear White spread on pages 132 - 139) a $125 cocktail ring and a $128 cuff bracelet. This, before flaunting (in their 8 Style Ideas That Make Every Woman Look Sexy spread, on pages 140 - 149) "a dress that shows off your curves" to the tune of $4,995, "anything with a halter shape" for the bargain price of $5,290, "sleek casual pants" for $2,595, "sky-high heels" at $1,235, "your comfiest jeans" for $380, "a cardi[gan]" at a mere $495, a dress with "cutouts that show your skin" for only $1,700, and "a top that's cut low" - a steal at $2,450.

Those are just some of the highlights. Now, Glamour, we only shoot off fireworks a couple of times a year at very special occasions. You advertise items like this in every issue.

Now, what was that about small countries?

Happy Fourth!

Jamaica Recap

Yes I know I'm almost exactly three weeks late on this, but it's here, isn't it?

Obviously, Husband and I returned from Jamaica safe and sound and with sunburns fading. I've had worse burns, but I don't remember any quite so painful. Since the tops of my thighs were so badly burned, every time I bent, lifted, turned, or straightened my legs was agony. Activities involving these movements include sitting, standing, walking, dancing, climbing stairs, getting dressed, and sleeping. Yes, sleeping - how many times do you change positions, or even simply shift, while you're sleeping? Result: I went several nights with only a couple of hours of sleep, leaving a very tired, pained, and helpless Rosie. And if any of you make any Rosy Rosie jokes, I will officially ban you from this blog!

To add insult to injury, I also severely burned underneath my flip flop straps, making walking anywhere a trick. I've finally figured out how it happened: when I put on my sunblock, I put it on before slipping on my flip flops. The straps rubbed off the sunblock, and the sand sloughed off any remaining smudges of it; then I kicked off my flip flops when we sat in the sun, leaving those poor unprotected stripes on top of my feet at the mercy of the Caribbean sun. Now, what did we learn about sunblock-application sequence?

But, in the words of Kate Gosselin, I think that's enough negativity, don't you?

Let's turn that frown upside down.



That's a smile, not an upside-down frown!

Jamaica is always a good idea. For our first trip as a couple, now-Husband and I went to Sandals Royal Caribbean; for our honeymoon in 2005, we went to Sandals Whitehouse. In fact, to own it, Jamaica is the only place I've ever been outside the United States! While I hate to be a walking advertisement, we are fond of an all-inclusive vacation, and Sandals has treated us well in the past. This time we went to a side of the island we've never been to before, and tried the Sandals Grande Ocho Rios.

Ocho Rios is in the rainforesty, northeastern part of Jamaica so, while it did rain pretty much every day, the grounds were absolutely spectacular with bright gardens and lush foliage. Besides, it gave me a chance to catch up on the reading I'd been neglecting. I polished off Interpreter of Maladies (Lahiri), The Department of Lost and Found (Winn Scotch), and Mansfield Park (Austen), so I am now able to say I've read everything of Jane Austen. Admittedly, none of these were light enough to be called "beach reading," but that's just how I roll.

Our room was on the Manor side of the resort, which was a little more secluded and private. But not too private - we had the regular company of one of the stray resort cats who had deemed our villa and the ones adjacent to be her personal territory.



Once we got a chance to explore the resort, we found that there were actually two sides to it: the mountainside resort (the part where we stayed), and the beachside resort.

The mountainside resort had the best pools - including this two-level wonder, complete with waterfall and waterslide:



Both Husband and I took a turn on it on our last day, and while it looks tame, it picks up speed awfully quickly! Husband made a fantastic splash on his run, and I cleaned my sinuses with chlorinated water on mine.

But who goes to Jamaica for a pool? (Other than the scads of people who spent literally their entire week camped out around it of, course.) No, no, you go to Jamaica to see this:



In contrast to most of our vacations, we took it pretty easy this time and mostly used our stay to relax beachside and to drink and eat entirely too much. (Ah, rice and peas! Ah, Jamaican beef patties! I shall miss you!) We did, however, work in three trips of snorkeling in water that looked like this:



That's right! Be jealous! The reefs were really beautiful too, full of colorful fish and bright corals. However, since we failed to bring an underwater camera and chose not to buy the underwater disposable camera at the resort gift shop for $25, you'll have to be satisfied with this above-water shot:



Look closely - there are lots of little stripey fish in there!

Every night we'd get drinks at one of the bars and walk out on the pier to our favorite evening spot and have our very own personal cocktail hour. Here's what it looked like (complete with the only picture of me you're ever likely to find on here, courtesy of Husband):



We also spent our 4th wedding anniversary there (Happy Anniversary Honey!), and celebrated with dinner at our favorite restaurant, complete with a full bottle of champagne. And then, just because we could - and because it was free! - we had a second dinner at the other evening-attire-required restaurant on the resort. How often can you go to Italy and Thailand in three hours?

However, as all things must, the week came to a close, and we bid goodbye to Resort Kitty, Banana Leaf, Colorful Fishies, and Waterslide Pool. Jamaica may always be a good idea, but sometimes you're just ready to come home.

Dispatch from Jamaica

OUCH!!!!

The sunblock! It does nothing!!

Yeah, so I have a hell of a sunburn going on right now. Oddly enough, it's primarily across the tops of my thighs... and where the straps of my flippy floppies cross my feet. Don't ask me what confluence of time, space, physics and sheer dumb luck brought that on.

All that aside, better to be sunburned in Jamaica than pasty white at home! Husband and I will be flying back on Saturday, so with luck and a fair amount of time wasted in the shady part of the swim-up bar, my scary burn should have mellowed to a rockin' tan, with which I shall make all my Rosie-fans jealous!

And now, I bid you, adieu!

And So It Ends...For Now

We’re now two days removed from the whoopee-cushion close of the Washington Capitals participation in the NHL post-season. I watched the game in the red shirt that I swore had brought us luck in Monday’s Game 6, watched as the eardrum-shattering roar that welcomed the boys onto the ice dwindled to a half-hearted clap-along with the stock arena music, watched as my beloved Caps were soundly spanked on a Wednesday night in Washington. It was a sorry thing.

If I’m honest, I’ll cop to it that I knew in my heart we weren’t going to see Round 3 this year. I hoped it, oh yes, but I knew otherwise. I just wish we had gone down swinging. As Buce Boudreau (I’ve redesigned his first name for easier pronunciation) said, “Whether we won or lost, I would never have thought it would have ended up in a game like it was tonight.” You couldn’t blame the officials – they were more judicious in their calls than I’d seen them in the entirety of the Playoffs, and we earned pretty much everything we were whistled for on Wednesday (I doubt the high-stick was intentional, but it was in fact a high stick and it did in fact catch a Penguin’s face). You couldn’t blame the ice – Verizon Center is infamous for its crappy ice and yet we dazzled crowds in both the regular and post season in spite of it. You couldn’t blame any one player – Varly collapsed, yes, but he’s also a 21-year-old rookie goalie who, until Game 2 of Round 1, was playing for the farm team and, in spite of his minimal NHL experience, managed to shock and awe us into believing from the moment he made his first block, so you can’t say the kid didn’t put on a show (besides, Theo let still two more go past him when they sent him back out). Only the team as a unit could be prosecuted for sleepwalking and fearing the puck.

That said, it’s a guarantee that even the Stanley Cup winners, whoever they may be, pulled a lemon at least a few times over the course of the season. Winning or not, the Caps gave us 13 edge-of-your-seat, down-to-the-wire, tooth-and-nail playoff games, 9 of which were decided by exactly 1 point (and of which, 3 of those were pushed into sudden-death overtime). The 14th game was a dud, yes, but it was A dud. The Penguins outplayed us. We very simply weren’t ready to progress. I can forgive the Capitals for that. I’m even a tiny bit glad it’s all over, as my blood pressure and anxiety can return to normal, my stomach can stop churning, my nails can grow back out, and I will suddenly have a glut of time on weeknights with which to punish Netflix for thinking it could make money by having me as a member.

The Caps have made unbelievably huge strides in the past season-and-a-half, compared to where they were in the beginning of 2007. I am immensely proud of them for that, and you'll catch me proudly donning my old-school Number 8 sweater to the Phone Booth as often as Husband can stand to take me next year. I think we can expect great things from the Caps in the coming years, and I can’t wait to see it.

The Break Up

I just do not learn. How many times do I get burned and yet I go back? Does some strange, warped part of my withered raisin of a brain believe that, maybe this time, we can make this relationship work? That it won't happen again? That it will all be worth it? That I won't feel so cheap and cheated?

Fear not, Husband and I are great. I'm referring to my nearly decade-long love/hate relationship with Newport News.

I freely admit that I am stingy with myself and I am lazy and my tendency is toward that of a hermit. All of these factors contribute to my abhorrence of going to the mall to spend untold quantities of money on things I likely won't be wearing in 6 months, and that's IF the crappy lighting and scary mirrors and nasty dressing rooms don't reinforce my countless body issues and result in me sprinting back to my car, sobbing like a teenaged girl who didn't make the cheerleading squad. Thus, I am oft tempted by the siren song of catalog and Internet shopping. What's this? I can stay seated in jeans and a sloppy sweatshirt, paging through stacks and stacks of fashion-rag approved yet affordable items, selecting colors and styles at whim, and that these finds will be brought to me practically on a silver platter? Let me just get my card...

Newport and I have had some good times. I remain devoted to their 3 1/2" pumps, especially in my beloved charcoal gray, although I will admit some difficulty with the sizing these days (do they make a size 8 3/4? Because that would be sweet!) I receive nothing but compliments on the black maillot swimsuit I ordered six years ago and that they don't sell anymore. I sincerely love my gold and onyx earrings. And their semiweekly catalogs offer endless chuckles - especially from their Together line.

But oh, we have had our bad times as well.

I offer you Exhibit A, the two-piece suit (dress and jacket) I bought in 2002, which arrived with a shapeless nothing of a shift that was supposed to be the dress, and a jacket with one arm a solid two inches shorter than the other.

I offer you Exhibit B, the red lace stretch camisole (lined, Mom) I bought in 2008... that arrived with one strap sewn on twisted. No, seriously, after attaching the first side of the left strap, the seamstress accidentally twisted the strap before anchoring the other side; in other words, I have no way to untwist it without disassembling the entire upper seam.

And I offer you Exhibit C, my very first Rosie post.

I've tried to break up with Newport before. I thought they'd get the hint when I even cancelled my Club Membership. (To become a Club member, you pay $25 up front, then for the succeeding 12 months, you receive 10% off each purchase. If, over the course of those 12 months, you do not save a net minimum of $25 - thus saving you back your buy-in price - Newport sends you a store credit for the remainder, valid for a year from the time of award. This sounds like a no-lose plan, but counts on you being able to find anything to spend that store credit on within that year. Sometimes you have to push yourself and you end up with more returns.)

Yet through it all, my denial is strong and my will power and checkbook weak, and I come crawling back to order yet another disappointment. It happened again just last week.

Husband and I will be celebrating our fourth anniversary at a resort in Jamaica from May 16 to May 23, and the resort requires patrons to dress up a little for dinner at the nicer restaurants. Thus, I need an army of pretty warm-weather dresses, and my go-to wedding attire is just a little too fancy. Thus I found and ordered the pretty outfit at right.

Tropical, flowy, resort-y, downright pretty. The waist is low enough to not effect hippo-hips, the bodice tight enough that I won't have to worry about showing more than I ought, the skirt is graceful yet hemmed high enough for beach walking, and the colors bold enough to contrast well with my pasty complexion.

I knew it Newport! I knew you'd come through for me! I knew I could count on you! You won't let me down this time!

Feeling all was right with the world, I also ordered a red stone necklace much like that in the picture, some hot pink strappy wedges, and a pretty green/blue/violet swimsuit.

I know I'm probably setting myself up for a crash with that swimsuit because there is no way in hell anyone would mistake my figure for that of the lovely Yamila Diaz there, but hope springs eternal.

I received a shipment notice earlier this week, indicating the sandals and the necklace were being shipped and that the swimsuit and dress were slightly backordered. No biggie, they often backorder things at Newport.

I received the shipped items on Tuesday, and inexplicably, that sinking feeling I often get when their gray plastic bag shows up at my door returned. I didn't even open it until Wednesday, perhaps subconsciously trying to stave off what I've come to recognize as impending disappointment. It arrived nonetheless. The necklace was entirely too long and too heavy and looked way cheap. I guess you get what you pay for, and I've always had issues with dimensional perception, so I have no one to blame but myself for the length problem.

But as ever with their shipments, they included a solid pound of additional Newport catalogs, featuring on the cover the Dress of High Hopes. I was about to throw them away when something caught my eye and caused me to look just a little closer... In disbelief, I paged quickly to the product description. My fears were confirmed.

This is what I saw:

No, no, that is not a glitch in the graphic, or an optical illusion caused by the bold pattern.

That, my Rosie fans, is a PATCH POCKET! On a FLOWY SKIRT! What reason could there possibly be to place POCKETS on a FLOWY SKIRT!? WHAT COULD ANYONE IN THIS DRESS POSSIBLY NEED SO DESPERATELY TO CARRY THAT IT SEEMED CROMULENT TO INCLUDE BIG AWKWARD PATCH POCKETS?

The illusion is shattered. Suddenly the dress has become the upsetting love child of Carmen Miranda's closet and an apron. Disgusted, I looked up my order summary, intent on cancelling the dress before anyone wasted postage on it. Since it was backordered, I could probably head it off. It's a good thing I checked: "BACKORDERED. EXPECTED TO SHIP MAY 23."

That's right. It wouldn't even ship until after we returned from the vacation for which I had ordered the dress in the first place. What others have pointed out to me, and what I find even more disturbing than this latest heartache, is that the fact that the dress is backordered at all means that so many women were similarly duped by the Patch Pocket Dress that Newport actually ran through its entire stock.

So Newport, we need to Talk. I'm breaking up with you. It's not you, it's me. ... Okay, it's you. We're through, once and for all. Send me my guaranteed-to-disappoint swimsuit so that I can send it back with the necklace and maybe the sandals. I'm not angry, just sad. We can still be friends. I know you'll keep sending me catalogs in hopes that I'll forget again. And I can't swear I'll never buy another pair of your pumps or earrings. But never again shall your synthetics hang awkwardly from my frame or display VPL for the world to see. It's time. Goodbye.

Bet You Didn't Know

As if you needed another reason to buy foreign!

According to Vocabula Amatoria, by John Farmer, 1896,
the definition of "corvette" is "a young sodomite."


Admit it - you always thought Ken was a little fruity.

It's A Major Award!

I won something! I seriously won something! I never win anything!

In what I normally consider a Crappy Team Meeting, I was called up to the front of the class and bestowed with a Performance and Team Award "in recognition of [my] exceptional and on-going efforts to ensure the Program is seen as the model for high-quality products and timely delivery." The neat thing is, if I do my job right, my efforts are supposed to be invisible to the client, so I never expect recognition, which is why it's exciting to me now.

I rule!

I also received a teeny gold plastic mini-trophy and cold, hard American Express Gift Cheques.

This is a red letter day!

Musings on Politics and the Economy

I know I've been sparse in my current events-related postings of late. It's partially because I've been a bit self-absorbed with my moods and my interpersonal relationships. And it's mostly due to the fact that the news and current events have been bad, worse, and worst. So bad, in fact, that I don't even feel the need to do a quick overview because seriously, pick a topic, here's the summary: BAD. I don't even want to educate myself on how bad, or to what extent, or the on the details of the actions we're chancing to fix the situation because it is just... oppressive. After two or three paragraphs of negativity, you lose the energy to keep reading. Really, it makes me sad.

This is the topic on which I found myself musing last night as I tried to fall asleep after going to bed an hour early. (Thanks daylight time switch!)

The economy sucks and I'm not positive that the moves we're making now to rectify the situation are the right ones. But is that because they're not the right ones or is it because I know jack about economics?

Is it because my politics are changing or is it because I'm surrounded largely by people with conservative opinions and am being bombarded with their vitriolic rebukes of the present path and assignments of blame? Would I feel better about it if similarly vocal liberals were around me to balance the equation? Are liberals happy (or at least, secure) in the present path? Do they believe that these moves will eventually be our saving grace, given the length of time economies tend to require in order to move? Or do they have their doubts too?

Are we even qualified to make determinations about it? According to the news media, the economy is in its worst state since the 1982 recession. Do you remember the 1982 recession? I don't. In fact, in 1982, I didn't even know what money WAS. (Ah, to go back!) What moves did we use to get out of that? And considering the fallout over the ensuing 27 years, do we even want to repeat those moves? Do we need a whole new choreography? How do we know we're making the right decisions and taking the right actions?

It seems to me that politics and economics consist largely of trial-and-error actions. Is that any way to run a country? On the other hand, what choice do we really have?

This is Why People Contemplate Suicide

For about two weeks now, with a few blessed breaks (also known as "sleep"), I have had Spice Girls songs cycling through my head.

Let me say that again, in case you skimmed and didn't really get the full effect of the horror.

For two weeks.

I have been suffering through.

An almost endless cycle.

Of the Spice Girls.



The Spice Girls.

THE FREAKING SPICE GIRLS!!!

I didn't even like them when they were popular! And I passionately hate txt-speak, which makes it that much more painful that the primary culprit has been - kid you not - "2 Become 1." Vomit. Occasionally, they have chosen to torment me instead with...shudder... "Spice Up Your Life."

This is the sort of thing that pushes people to jump off of bridges, or walk in front of a bus. Unfortunately for me, the suburbs do not offer much in the way of bridges (overpasses will only leave you mangled) and it would be my luck that the DC Metrobus would manage to swerve out of the way in time to miss me, while taking out that nice humanitarian on the sidewalk.

I would ask that you pity me. But instead - admit it - it's happened to you too. Feel free to join me in my personal hell. It's been a little lonely in here.

It's a Blogthings Extravaganza!!

I have nothing to do today. No revisions, no document prep, nothing. I guess I technically *COULD* start flipping through our template stockpile and determining which were duplicates and/or outdated and/or don't serve a purpose anymore. Then again, I *COULD* also spin around in my chair until I throw up. Besides, the contract is up for rebid and we may not get it, so killing time on that may be a wasted effort, on top of which, it will take me all of one hour to do the whole task, so there's no rush.

I tried killing time on Wikipedia, but even the Random Article link let me down on my interest-engaging mission. So instead, I'm playing around on Blogthings and frankly having too much fun learning arbitrary and meaningless things about myself. As a giver, I feel the need to share all my results. So today, Rosie-fans, I present to you:

!!!THE BLOGTHINGS EXTRAVAGANZA!!!

As a Keyboard Key:

You Are "Tab"

Some people might try to say that you're always spaced out. You do tend to be a dreamer, but you're also a great multitasker. You work quickly and efficiently. So it's no problem if you goof off a little while you're working. And if people want to think you're flaky, that's fine. You're getting more done than they are.

What Keyboard Key Are You?

As an Aphrodisiac:

You Are Vanilla

You are incredibly sexy and sensual - yet still sweet and innocent. You have an exotic, mysterious vibe. You leave people wanting to know more. You know how to make lovers relax, calm down, and be vulnerable. You draw people in and make them addicted to you. You're a lot more potent than people think.

What Aphrodisiac Are You?

In a past life:

You Were a Skunk

You carry yourself with sensuality and a flowing energy. You have a great reputation, and you follow your own (good) advice.

What Animal Were You In a Past Life?

My Friendship Style is:

Your Friendship Style is Independent

You love your friends, but you don't always need them as much as they need you. You like to do your own thing. Sometimes this means taking a break from your friends and carving your own path. As long as your friends give you the space you need, you are happy to be there for them whenever you can. Your friends lean on you for advice and problem solving. You tend to be "the rock." You and an Empathetic Friend: Go well together. Your Empathetic Friend understand and accepts you... but may be too needy sometimes. You and a Gregarious Friend: Get along well, as long as your Gregarious Friend is happy to only see you occasionally. You and another Independent Friend: Have a love/hate thing going on. When you agree, things are blissful. However, more often than not, you butt heads. You and a Philosophical Friend: Are somewhat a matter of opposites attract. You're both thinkers, but you think very differently.

What's Your Friendship Style?

As an Office Supply:

You Are a Red Pen

You have an eagle eye for detail, which often means you end up finding mistakes in people's work. You may seem quick to criticize or correct, but you think accuracy and truth is important. You like to be involved in every project. You feel like you put the polishing touch on things. You would make a good editor, detective, or accountant. When facts matter, you're the person to call on.

What Office Supply Are You?

My Communication Style:

You Communicate Honestly

You don't mince words. You are to the point and all about the facts. However, you are charming enough to tell people the truth yet still not offend them. It's likely that you have a hilarious, no holds barred sense of humor. And you sure tell an entertaining story! You're also quite open. People can ask you anything, and you don't shy away from controversial conversation topics.

What Kind of Communicator Are You?

As an Ice Cream Flavor (you keep your Wayne's World lines to yourselves!):

You Are A Mint Chocolate Chip Ice Cream Girl

Creative. Expressive. Unique.

What Flavor Ice Cream Girl Are You?