Cool People Do Not Hang At Starbucks

I've never been one to follow a crowd or a fad.  Okay, so I wear Ugg boots, bought an iPhone and drink micro-brews.  But, I didn't get all of these items because someone told me too.  I like warm feet, being connected to everyone and everything and I'm a beer snob.  I'm a girl with my own mind.....be it demented, slightly warped and maybe a little crazy.  This is why I never got into the whole hangin' at the coffee house with my laptop and venti skinny triple shot, no whip, mocha latte with caramel.

On Mondays, the cleaning lady banishes me to Starbucks.  Technically, she doesn't tell me where to go, but she really doesn't like me hanging out in the house while she's doing her thing.  She's never had to deal with me before.  I was always at the office when she was scheduled.  Now I'm jobless and don't have an office to go to.  The first job-free Monday, she arrived on site to find me sitting in my home office, wearing my pajamas, drinking a massive mug of coffee and eating oatmeal while cruising Eonline.com.  She seemed less than impressed at my appearance.  After all, it was 11 o'clock in the morning, she was about to clean my toilet and I looked like I'd just spent the morning with my head in a toilet.  So, just for her (I love her because I hate cleaning toilets), I get up early on Mondays. I take a shower, consider putting on some make up, and dress in clothing fit for general public viewing. Then, I hotfoot it to Starbucks where for three hours, I drink legal stimulates and use the free WiFi.

Cool people do not hang at Starbucks.  Let's just get that out of the way right now. Let me give you a little taste of my present company:

Couple #1 - This guy has been talking about his 14 pairs of jeans for the last 20 minutes and the woman he's with seems really excited about them too.  I doubt they have exciting sex. Actually, I don't think they have sex at all.

Woman on her Laptop #1 - She was sitting next to me, but moved.  I don't think she wanted my help reading her personal emails....not that they were mindblowing or anything.  She has been on the phone for the past 30 minutes talking about some friend behind her back.  The friend in question should really bitch slap this woman the next time she sees her.  I wonder if I can figure out the friends email from a distance and let her know this chick is a hose beast.

Guy with Laptop #1 - I know he is watching porn or surfing for some.  He's sitting in the corner, hasn't touched his coffee and has wiped his mouth four times in the past two minutes. I also think he's sweating. He looks nervous.  I'm gonna stare at him.

Old Couple - They are sitting down with their coffees and haven't said a word to each other.  No reading materials or distractions. It's been like this for a half hour. It's creepy.

Real Housewives of Cape Cod - These bitches have parked their Birkin bags on the coffee table in the "seating area" and are waving their bejeweled hands around while their children run unchecked all over the place.  One of the kids crawled under my table and tried to unplugged my laptop.  They're pissing off Woman on her Laptop #1 and making Guy with Laptop #1 cover his screen.  Please go to Gymboree next Monday. I beg you.

Woman on her Laptop #2 - She's totally high and it's 9 AM.  I've only been here for a half hour and she's decided we're friendly enough for her to ask me to watch her stuff while she goes to the bathroom.  I hate being the person with a trusting, smiley face.

Woman with Muffin - She has been working on that thing for forty minutes. It's a muffin, not a six course meal. If she doesn't start on the other half soon, I'm gonna get it.

Guy with Laptop #2 - He has an ear bud. Didn't that stop being cool like 3 years ago?  It's not like his phone is burning up.  He hasn't answered it once.

Student - She has books all over the place but hasn't set down her phone since she arrived.

Barista #1 - Has an enormous cold sore and hasn't bathed since 2001.  Thank God he didn't make my coffee.

Barista #2 - Has not stopped bitching about her boyfriend since I sat down.  Greg, if you're reading this....RUN!  This girl is nuts.

Barista #3 - Samples the drugs she sells....ALOT!  Girlfriend is beyond perky.

Guy with Massive Headphones and iPad - In his 50's and still a virgin.  I bet my life on it.

My coffee house experience is beyond excruciating.  It's cliche....right down to the annoying French jazz that  is piped in through strategically placed speakers hidden behind fake jars of Italian roast.  I'm embarrassed I have been reduced to hanging out in this dive.  I fear I have become a stereotype and I miss my sweatpants. If you want the true coffee house feel, hit up a local place.  I bet the cool people are there.  Stay away from the corner franchise.  Trust me.  I've lived it.

20 Lessons From A Really Bored Person Who May Or May Not Be Drifting Into Insanity

1.  Stare at your cat. He is the best instructor you will ever have on everything you need to know about only sleeping and eating. This can be done for hours as he sleeps for over 20 hours a day.

2.  Stay off of Pinterest.  It will make you feel bad about yourself because you lack motivation to do the projects.  It will give you recipes for things that will make you fat. It has life lesson quotes you will put in the scrapbook you just started.  In short, Pinterest is the devil. Don't go down that road.

3.  Ease up on the coffee.  Just because your coffee maker can make 12 cups at a time does not mean you need to drink them all within the first 3 hours of waking.  What do you plan to do with all that caffeinated goodness.  You don't have a job, remember?

4.  Stop watching Hoarders.  I know the A&E channel keeps running "marathons".   It's causing unnecessary cleaning, purging and crying over memorabilia.  (The coffee is giving you the energy to do this too)  You are not a hoarder.  You are a "collector". It is not wrong to have every back issue of Fine Cooking from 2006.

5. Do not try to be the queen of the group #sweatpants on Twitter. These are students talking about school and being late to class.  They're not a pathetic 35 year old over-caffeinated pre-divorcee suffering from PTSD at the hands of her in-laws (Totally true. Validated by a professional).  You will scare them.  Stay off that group. Let them keep their innocence.

6.  Tell your mother You will call Her when seeking advice or a heart to heart conversations.  This applies to text messages and emails as well

7.  Keep your spa appointments.  A single eyebrow is not attractive.  You should not be receiving calls from the spa because they haven't seen you in over a month and they're worried about you. (Thank you Jenny at Beyond Beauty - Hyannis)  Just because you have become a hermit over the past month does not entitle you to start resembling Frida.

8.  Go outside and get some color on your face.  This does not include trips to the library, liquor store, grocery store or lunch dates with friends. I don't care if it's 5 degrees with a windchill of -10 and snowing. (which is about what it is right now).  Your sweatpants will keep you warm.  You're starting to look pasty and it's highlighting your uni-brow.  Your friends have noticed.

9.  Stop thinking your neighbors are interesting.  Once you starting looking for "the fat lady with the dog" every day at 3 o'clock, it's time to find a household project. (Do not look for one on Pinterest.  See Lesson #2)

10. Stop Tweeting the cast of Chelsea Lately.  Just because a couple of them Tweeted you once or twice does not make you besties.  It makes you a stalker.

11.  You can get dressed before 1 pm.  I know you're just moving from pajama pants to sweatpants/yoga pants, but it can be done.  You could also try brushing your teeth and maybe moving a comb through your hair.  Really.  You're kinda disgusting.

12.  The wine aisle is your friend. So is the chip aisle, the bakery and the french bistro which makes those ham and cheese stuffed croissants you love.

13.  Do not watch the sex documentary's on HBO.  You're not having sex right now, remember?  Last time, you started crying during a girl on girl scene and you don't even like lesbian porn.

14.  You do not need to watch Titanic....again.  In fact, turn off the fucking television all together.

15.  Write your book.  People keep telling you to do it. You always said you didn't have the time or talent.  Um....what's going on right now, genius?  That's right.  Time.....time....time.....more time.

16.  Do not get involved in the dramas of celebrities.  Your friends lives are much more interesting and that stuff is really happening.  Just because your pregnant best friend isn't posting hourly pics of her baby bump like Kim Kardashian doesn't mean you should knit a baby blanket for Kim before you knit one for your friend.

17.  Don't tell everyone how pathetic you are.  You're suppose to be a sex goddess wrapped in the athletic (and 17lbs lighter and more toned, Bee-yatch!) body of a domestic diva who can cook like a dream and is suppose to be running a marathon in May.  No one wants to listen to you whine....unless it's about wine. Then, they will drink with you.  Be positive or they will start pitying you like they pity Lindsay Lohan. (Shit!  See Lesson #16 again)

18.  Start to cook again.  Something other than eggs, oatmeal, soup or toast.  You can make the ham and cheese stuffed croissants from #12.  That way you will save the $3 you spend to buy one.  You don't have a job, remember!

19.  Stop stressing about the job thing.  So, you've found there is nothing good out there so far and you're too old to donate your eggs.  You know you're a kick ass employee no matter what your evil ex-bosses (a.k.a in-laws) think.  Just ask your old, old boss Partner #1 (my older fans remember him).  Now get out there and sell yourself - not your body, just your mind and skills.  It's not that bad......yet.

20.  Be happy.  Seriously.  You're bumming me out.

The 1001 and the Blessed Silence.

There is only so much you can do when you don't have somewhere to go everyday: a job, a place, a purpose.  After breakfast has been made and eaten, after the coffee has been drunk and the pot has been cleaned, what do you do?  The house is tidy beyond recognition and you've cleaned out every closet - twice, boxes have been packed and labeled, items have been sorted, cataloged or discarded. You've bagged and donated all the clothes that fit you 17 lbs ago.  You canceled your gym membership and allowed your yoga studio contract to expire.  None of the 103 people you've "friended" on Facebook have posted anything in hours; probably because they have jobs and responsibilities. You've already had the same argument about your failing marriage with your Mom that you had the day before.  She still thinks you should move to Ohio so you'll be "nearby". (shudder at the thought).  You've visited all the memorable places from your childhood: the house you grew up in, your high school, Scargo Tower, Nauset Beach, Princess Lake, Nickerson State Park.  You've hiked for hours on the nature trails and run for miles down historic Route 6A.  Your passion for cooking and food, which use to border on obsessive, has been reduced to homemade soups, oatmeal and the occasional inventive sandwich.  You.Are.Bored.

What do you do while fate decides your next step?  Well, I'll tell you I won't be sitting in Starbucks listening to bad jazz and whiny housewives - like I am right now.

Before the apocalypse, (aka - quitting my job, the removal of my soul by my in-laws and the eventual destruction of my marriage), my mother had asked me what I wanted for Christmas.  I always have to think of an item because asking for a gift card to a clothing store is wrong in her book.  You cannot "open" a gift card.  She cannot watch you enjoy a gift card.  So, to appease, I asked for a book I'd been eyeing;  "1001 Books You Must Read Before You Die".  This was something I could accomplish unlike the "1001 Place to Visit."  I am not going to Antarctica. I don't care how cool it would be.  

I've read over 20 books in the past week.  Mostly cheesy romances with a few thrillers thrown in.  I recently donated my entire collection - minus a handful of favorites - to a local library.  Over a thousand titles in mint condition are currently shelved for public pleasure courtesy of yours truly.  How the hell could I pack and move that many books anyway?

The other day, I cracked the spine of 1001 to see what it was all about.  I thumbed by pictures of classics, foreign novels and new age hooey.  I noted the ones I had read in my youth - my grandmother was a teacher so summer reading lists weren't so much "suggested" as they were mandatory. Books have always been my first love.  They were a means of escape, a chance to have different lovers, to visit the unknown and to be someone else if only for a few hours. This past month they have been a sanity saver.  As I work to unravel, pack and put to rest the last 14 years of my life, books have been there to soothe me.  The well known characters have welcomed me into their complicated lives.  I  have been present while they work through their problems - more often than not, these problems are more complicated than mine. After all, I didn't just find out there is a murderer on the loose who is stalking me while I'm trying to figure out the dark and complex past of the mysterious stranger I just met at my new job as a fashion photographer.  And I thought my life was stressful.

The most important part of this literary therapy is the silence.  The calm, cool silence.  During the past few months, I have been overwhelmed with advice from every person I know.  Everyone has an opinion and each person has taken a side.  Everyone knows someone, who knows someone who has been through something similar but not quite the same thing as what I'm going through.  Won't I listen to their advice?  Maybe I should see the same marriage counselor they used.  You know, it really worked for them.  Well, it worked for 6 months and they eventually got a divorce and are married to different people now.  But, you never know, it could work for you.

The characters in the novels never ask me questions.  They never take sides.  They don't want me to move to Ohio. The only advice they offer is their experiences.  They are blissfully silent.  Comfortably silent.  Soothingly silent.

967 to go. I have started with "The Elegance of The Hedgehog" by Muriel Barberry.  Paris....here I come

Operation: Sweatpants

2 1/2 weeks.  That's 18 days.  Or it's 432 hours.  More seconds than I can figure out with a calculator.  It's a hellava lot of time.  Something close to forever.  That's how long I've been free.

People handle major life changes in numerous ways.  Some curl up in a ball and hide from the world.  Some become so depressed they eat the left side of the McDonalds menu on even days of the month and the right side on odd days.  Many go on drinking binges until their friends cart them off to AA.  Some go about life appearing unmarred until they have a nervous breakdown in the cheese section of the grocery store because they are suddenly out of Jarlsberg. (To the staff and onlookers at at Trader Joes, I'm so sorry...again).

I wear sweatpants.

To be fair, these aren't just any ordinary sweatpants nor are they those ridiculous things from Victoria's Secret with "Love" or "Pink" splashed across my derriere in rhinestones.  Don't pretend those pants are comfortable.  Sitting on a rhinestone barb is not a thing I want my ass to experience.  Those little teeth catch on everything and I don't need to dislodge myself from the afghan every time I need to refill my glass of Merlot.  These sweatpants are years old and perfectly broken in.  Some are stained with red wine, chocolate or some other mystery food that I found myself craving on a dark and stormy night.  My favorite pair has a hole in the crotch and the draw string is missing so I need a safety pin to hold them up.  They were once bright red but have faded beautifully to a soft, rosy pink.  They fall perfectly to my ankles leaving the tiniest amount of skin showing in between the hem and my slippers.  They look smashing when paired with my sisters college roommates sweatshirt. (Honey, you are never getting it back). They have the sex appeal of garlic breath and make my ass look misshapen. Sometimes you need to be comfortable to let your mind do some serious thinking.  The rattier the pair of sweatpants is, the better.  Throw your hair in a ponytail, wear your glasses instead of contacts and don't wear make up.  Allow yourself to cry when you want to, laugh when you feel insane and eat whatever the hell you want.  Healing is hard.

Why sweatpants, you ask?  Well, I might relate it to the episode of Friends where Chandler is in his sweatpants stage.  Here it is if you haven't seen it.

I've been back from my Florida vacation for exactly one week.  Or as I like to call it: Eternity While Babysitting Your Friends' Pet Rabbits and Living in a House You Use to Call Home But Now It Is More Like A Place You Live With a Guy Who You Use To Call Your Husband But Now He's Really Like a Roommate You Avoid Because The Sight of Him Makes You Angrier Than Lindsay Lohan At Last Call.  Yes. That is my current life situation.  At this very moment, sweatpants and wine are a staple and my God given right.

To quote the biggest, whiniest bitch in history: "After all, tomorrow is another day".  It may or may not include sweatpants.


Photo credit:  Who knows.  Found it on the internet when I Googled "depressed woman in sweatpants"
Video credit:  Youtube.com

Admired... Shamelessly So.

I have a friend whom I admire.  Not only is he an impossibly talented writer/blogger, but he is responsible for introducing me to his wonderful wife, who in turn, introduced me to her two friends.  The four of us have become the best of friends and every day I am thankful I have them in my life.  They accept me for all of my flaws and love me for who I am. They also get me into loads of trouble, convinced me it was a good idea for everyone at a party to do jello shots out of my belly button and just this weekend, helped me drink most of the alcohol in Rhode Island to celebrate my bravery as I left a horrible situation and entered a new chapter in my life.  They are diamonds in the rough. 

While I admire my friend for his life partner choice, I also admire him for other reasons.  He is not afraid to be who he is and write about what he believes in.  For as long has I've known him, he has tackled the tough subjects and controversial topics which have affected his life.  He has covered abortion, the death of a child, depression, politics, the harassment of his parents and other heavy topics.  He has written his unfiltered thoughts down with unapologetic honesty and shared it with the masses.  He's received hate mail and threats. He's made his wife angry - once enough that she threw something at his head - and has annoyed his friends on numerous occasions. But never, in the past 4 years that I've known him, he has never been ashamed of who he is and what he stands for. That is to be admired and respected.

I write under a pen name.  I don't see it as an act of cowardliness, but more of a safety measure.  I write about sex.  I get some interesting mail.  Some of it can be a little sketchy.  Sometimes I think the writer could be a good candidate for "stalkers anonymous."  I like sex alot.  But I do like to chose my partner and I would like to be the only one who posts nude photos of myself on line. (No, I'm not going to do that.  Don't even ask. Not for all the bacon in the world). I'm really a very private person who likes to entertain the masses with little snippets of my life. So sue me.  It makes me happy.

Today, I found out there are a bunch of people in my professional life that know about my little blog and Facebook page.  In fact, they've known for years.  How they found out is unimportant and the source is next to ridiculous.  But, they know and they think it's awful.  They've been sipping coffee with me all while knowing the scorching details of my sex life, my drinking exploits with friends and every other personal, heartbreaking and utterly sinful thing I have written about.  Everything.  When someone told me this fact, I was shocked and slightly horrified.  But then I felt something that scared me the most; I felt ashamed.

Now, we all know the saying "If you don't want anyone to know about it, don't put it on the internet".  More people have been fired, divorced, dumped, humiliated and scorned by a simple status post on Facebook.  We all have been there.  You can't take it back. Even if you delete it, someone has already seen it. It's etched in stone.  Everything I've written is up for the world to see. I cannot hide it.  Even if I delete it, more than likely, there is a copy somewhere. 

I am proud of what I've written. The momentary feeling of shame was quickly replaced by anger then pride.  I like what I've written.  It makes me happy.  Many of my ramblings may be silly and mindless. You may find them disgusting, stupid, insulting, ridiculous and poorly written. But, for every person who has a negative thing to say, I can find 5 people who think I'm brilliant, talented, funny, thoughtful, honest and sexy. I have been overwhelmed at the passionate, positive responses to my posts. While I write for myself, it is fun to think I write for others as well.  Someday I hope I'm admired by someone the way I admire my friend.  Coincidentally, I met him because of my blog.  If I had never started to write, I would have never met his wife.  Then I would have never met her friends. There would have been no jello shots and the wonderful night in Rhode Island would have never happened.

It's funny how life works out.

Wisdom of My Ages

I was just running through some old Twitter postings (yes you should follow me on Twitter @Utterlysinful.)  I gotta say, I'm a funny bitch.

• Up close pictures of a penis are never attractive.  EVER.  Yes, even when manscaped.
• A warm toilet seat should not be trusted.  You never know who was there before you and what they did to stay so long they managed to warm a piece of plastic.
• "Butt-load" load is an acceptable unit of measurement.  Still not sure if it's metric or standard.
• Bouncy castles are ageless.
• You never see a person with a hot body streaking. Sadly, there is a website dedicated to these idiots.
• Office assistants were put on this earth for me torture and sexually harass.
• People who don't masturbate don't know what they're missing.
• Do not wear a shirt that says "Free hugs" if you don't want me to try.
• Remember when you hated spankings?
• The number "69" will always make me laugh.  Every time.
• Bacon makes everything better.
• So does coffee, cake and things made with cheese.
• Standing up for yourself is awesome. Always be brave.  Always be ballsy.
• You're still thinking about masturbation, aren't you.
• People are all pissed about Instagram having the right to sell their pictures.  We should all start taking crotch pictures and see what happens then.  (See first item)
• I will always stay at a Doubletree because they give you a cookie when you check in.  Best marketing idea EVER!
• Stalking someone is a sign of flattery.
• Underwear is overrated.
• The best part about airports it the ability to drink at anytime of the day.
• Some days its fun to rip off the mask and show people what a true psychological mess you really are.
• It's fun to mark mundane voicemail messages with "Urgent" just because.
• I had my first french kiss in a movie theater, watching "Pretty Woman".  Ironic.
• What your staff doesn't know, won't hurt them.
• Never work for your in-laws.  It's like working for Satan and he comes over on the weekends for brunch and makes comments about your life choices..
• Everything in your fridge looks delicious after 4 glasses of wine.
• If you're ever on the phone with a chatty tech support person, tell them you have to pee.  Makes them work faster.
• You also believe you can cook anything in your fridge after 4 glasses of wine.
• Yup.  Still thinking about masturbation.
• Never be afraid to order bizarre food combinations.  It's fun to freak people out when you admit to liking a sandwich with breaded eggplant, bacon, mayo, lettuce and avocado.
• When you hug someone, wrap one of your leg around their legs in a "leg hug".  Totally freaks them out.  You can try it with the t-shirt guy too.
• Um....masturbation.

I Think It Might Be A Little Depressed

Quite recently, I had a friend call me a nympho.  I can hear you all sighing a proverbial "Duh", under your breath.  It's OK.  He hadn't seen me in awhile.  Sometimes people forget.  But, what he said is true.  I am.

Nympho: from nymphomanic from nymphomania: Excessive sexual desire in and behavior by a female.

Yup, guilty as Charlie Sheen in a whorehouse.

I love sex.  Sex with a partner, sex with myself, talking about sex, thinking about sex, dreaming about sex, watching sex....you get it.  I'm as crazy as a horny teenage boy who finds his older brothers stash of skin mags.

Buuuuuuuut, things haven't been all rosy, romantic and lovey-dovey lately in my life.  In fact, I'm currently not speaking to the person that is suppose to be giving me the sex.  By speaking, I mean having normal, human conversations.  Screaming matches?  That is something we've been having regularly and I have to say we may reach Eminem and Kim Mathers level.  We're getting very good at it. So we're not having sex.  Not even make up sex.  Everyone's had dry spells before.  And what do we do, Lovers?  We reach for our favorite box of goodies.  We keep ourselves satisfied until the storm blows over and we are free to fornicate again.

Well, nobody relayed that information to my crotch during this whole ordeal.  My brain must be spending all its power working on my lack of appetite (you know I'm depressed when I don't want to eat) that the naughty messages were being stopped around my spleen or something.  I've got nothing going on down there. Not even a twinge, twitch or tickle. I saw a picture of a shirtless VinDiesel and nothing.  Nothing!!  Usually the sight of him makes me go crazy and I'm breaking out the big toys.  I've tried everything.  I've Googled every hot actor with "shirtless" proceeding his name in the subject line.  I even tried some Salma Hayek for the hell of it.  I'm pretty sure this little ordeal hasn't made me line up for the other team, but Salma is usually good for a quick hit.

Nothing.  Nada.  Ziltch.  Zero. Dwiddly Squat. No Dice.

I have come to the conclusion that my VaJay must be depressed too.  Something must be wrong if it's not bothering me constantly to put things in it.  The first sign should have been when I wore sweatpants to the mall last week.  I know it's not against the law to do that.  But, I usually make the outfit cute.  Last week's ensemble told everyone at the mall my Vajay was depressed.  I'm pretty sure it let everyone know I'm boycotting sleep too.  I looked so bad the make up ladies at Macy's didn't bother me.  They're probably still gossiping about the girl with the scary hair, bad makeup and depressed vagina.

So I'm wearing sweatpants in public, I'm not having sex and my VaJay is on strike.  I'm still not a Lindsay Lohen level.  I may be dangling around the Britney Spears zone. Maybe more towards the Tara Reid. I've passed Amanda Bynes ranking but did not chose the driving option.  I did a David Hasselholf last week with a cheeseburger - but I did not do the drinking before hand.

Thank God I'm terrified of needles or I would have tattooed something ridiculous by now. But, not on my VaJay. Maybe I should.  It might wake her up.