"The Post It Always Sticks Twice"

My cleaning lady broke up with me today on a post it note. A POST IT NOTE. No call, no text, no heads up. It was stuck to my kitchen table with my name at the top, ( spelled wrong), that reeked of Soft Scrub . The note went a little something like this: " This is my last week working for you. I don't like your vacuum. Thank you for all the years". ( Six plus years, thank you very much, we were closing in on the seven year itch). I sincerely understand how Carrie Bradshaw felt when Burger left her high and dry and ended it all on a " small square that could fit into one palm as you angrily crush it into a ball" post it note. My now "ex" told me a few weeks ago that she missed the family/our family ( cry me a river) when she was on vacation. And now we were yesterday's recyclables. With a last quick swifter sweep of our apartment and the last swipes of organic cleaner ( Eco friendly for the love of my child), our flame is out. I thought we had something special. We had our every other week stand in , I only supplied cash for her services and my god she had a key! She always had something to say and enjoyed commenting when I looked fat in spandex, when I looked skinny in jeans, or would throw me a dirty look when I was lurking around on her turf during clean up time.

Breaking up is hard to do but on a post it note? After so many years how can one convey what they feel on a post it note, you can't for Pete's sake fit more than 20 words on it! The post it is the "mini me" of the paper family, ( I have nothing against little people/"mini mes", let the record stand) . Not to mention,  this size note barely sticks to any surface and most of the time winds up on the floor or on the bottom of some stranger's shoe.  The post it note feels like a cop out, a stationary after thought that embodies some meaningless, unreadable scribble.  AND lets remember this breakup was over a vacuum! So the vacuum wasn't her dream model. Hell she picked this one out herself 2 years ago when she warned me things weren't "working" and we were disputing over the older model. But the vacuum wasn't cutting it anymore because in her head she had already moved on and was leaving my square footage behind.

On my recent LifetimeMoms.com biography ( link attached for those that have missed it), http://www.lifetimemoms.com/contributors/aly-organek when I was asked what the name would be of my own Lifetime Movie, I said I would call it  “The Never Ending Crazy Seinfeld Episode (You Can’t Make This Stuff Up).” What I meant was you can't make this shit up! Its ludicrous, its insanity, and is almost as bonkers as Carrie Bradshaw's sickness for shoes mixed with Kramer's mangled coif . I'm dealing with crazy peeps and situations more often that not these days. Maybe that's part of NYC living, but the post it note is forever tainted !

So farewell Victor/Victoria, its been swell, didn't we almost have it all? Looks like the sheets just weren't aligned for us.  Oh and for you matchmakers out there, I enjoy long walks on the beach, candle lit dinners for two and any Dyson vacuum model that will have me...

Too Much Drama For Your Mama...

Why are people so quick to talk smack on other people? Why does it make people feel better to make poor attempts to wreak havoc on others accomplishments and happiness? Listen, I'm guilty of some nay saying too, I’m no angel, however, every time I think about what I have said,  I need to check myself before I wreck oneself because I always regret being the Debbie downer of the bunch, always. Who has time for it really anymore? Kids? Work? Laundry? High school is long over and has been left in the dust between the awkward middle school years and the best college years of my lifeJ  

Something made me angry this week and it takes something very unnerving to make my blood boil.  Someone was talking ignorantly about me (and throughout the years has made talking about me a second language). Being the busy body that she is, she told another girl and hence, through ten games of telephone it got back to me. I can take criticism and welcome it to the fullest especially being a novice at this whole blog “ exposing my life and feelings” thing, but to say something one dimensional that is downright cruel simply to hear yourself talk reflects a strange, non fixable insecurity that I can’t even begin to touch.

Ladies and whatever gents are reading, this blog is about laughing out loud, honest mistakes, FEELING SOMETHING and most importantly connecting with other peoples trials and tribulations.  The blog is deeper than simply talking about the pair of jeans I bought yesterday on sale. If you can’t take the heat please step out of my kitchen or have the balls to speak up and dive in and start cooking. Raw criticism is welcomed, I love it, we can all grow from that, but snide side marks are just plain stupid. 

So I’m raising my half empty champagne glass to the people with a tainted sense of perspective, a rejection to feather ruffling and an impressive level of senselessness. This is my “Toast to the douchebags”, (thank you, Kanye). Didn't your mama ever tell you if you have nothing nice to say don't say anything at all at least not to people with big mouths? Or at the very least, fess up to the pettiness. Ladies, let’s be each other’s biggest fans! Step up to the plate and start playing fairly like the adults we all claim to be . BUT! I can take on a mean girl, been there, been that, done that, try me… 

Attack Of The Shellac, Hear Me Roar

GRRRRRRRRRRRR, that's right

Mes amies would say I have a rather addictive personality.  (I'm told my toddler does as well thanks to the preschool academic powers that be, yes, the "beauty" of MY genes) .  I'm routined and regimented and I like consistency in the sickest sense.  When I find a summer cocktail I like, it sticks,( Skinnygirl ). When something fits, flatters and zips, (while strategically squeezing in each love handle at a time), that "something" becomes a sure new favorite and works in as " my regular".  Incorporating a shellac mani into my beauty regimen has become just that.  The shellac manicure is right up there, becoming as addictive as a supportive sports bra ( god knows I need it), as essential as gel eyeliner when leaving the house ( top and bottom lid) and as necessary as the handful of baked cheetos I work into my daily lunch routine, undoubtedly . While it saddens me to part with Essie's marshmallow and to have to put OPI's strawberry fields on the shelf, these iconic nail polish brands have taken a quick back seat to the attack of the shellac, thanks to Creative Nail Design. 

The shellac is a mommies manicure miracle. It's a manicure that won't chip for weeks and safely allows you to scrub the crud off your dishes, hit the playground slide or pull your hair strands out one by one when your day can't get any worse,  all without any harm to the polish. You can still choose from a pleather of colors from neutrals to neon's and it dries like wildfire with the help of UV lights. While it can cause your nails to soften like the thinnest paper and slowly break your nails off one nail at a time, well,  eh so what? Beauty hurts, shellac is my crack and you do what you need to do to look your best for the sake of efficiency.  I'm not injecting botox and I haven't gone under the knive ( yet) , so for now this is my guility beauty pleasure, sad but true, this is it, take it or leave it but try it.... Zou Bisou Bisou...  

I want to be Megan, just for one round of Zou Bisou Bisou with a shellac mani and with Don Drapper, not Jon Hamm, Don Drapper thrown in...

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