Spend $200 and buy a skimpy hippo skirt.

everyone knows a good wasp sips her g&t's and keeps her bj's on the dl. everyone knows a good ivy leaguer keeps her slutty behaviour (that's right, behaviour) under wraps. everyone, that is, except lilly pulitzer, the creator of the hamptonite uniform. recently, lilly must have realized that underneath that martha's vinyard exterior, a vampy jersey girl is just dying to come out! lilly now makes scandalous clothes--patterned with pink hippos and green monkeys, but still. prepsters must be rolling in their graves. classic prep giving way to sluttiness for a buck? so unpretty. but kind of funny. and cute too. mumsy, i want one!

Taboo Tattoo

you know what they need to add to the interior of every tattoo parlor? a sign that would read something like:

WARNING: Unless you are wealthy and don't have to work for a living, you may want to think twice about WHERE you choose to get your tatty.

alas, this sign exists only thy mind and unfortunately, i have a tattoo in a very prominent place-the inside of my ankle...IDIOT!

when i got my tatt, i was 18, an art student and oblivious to how this would affect me in the future. the whole concept of "the future" didnt really even occur to me...the future was more like me saying to myself, "hmmm, I wonder what bar we can sneak into next weekend...i can't wait until i'm 21!" did i think for a hot sec that i would one day be working in corporate america, in a company where displaying tattoos is totally inappropriate and taboo? obviously not. i was instead thinking of the look on my mother's face when she would see what i did (cue the sneaky, hissy laugh).

now that the summer is here and i am wearing skirts more often that pants, my stupidity bites me in the arse nearly everyday. i have resorted to covering up my tattoo-a Japanese character which SUPPOSEDLY means "creative" (ironic, right?)-with two different layers of foundation. nice...real nice. really artsy too, huh? but, if i don't do this i have to run the risk of my boss seeing my mistake or worse, deal with co-workers who always say the SAME EXACT THING when they notice i have a tattoo:

"Huh!? You have a tattoo!?...Wait! I didnt know you had a TATTOO!? What's it mean???"

its gotten so monotonous, that i don't even answer them half the time. i just sort of shrug and smile and make them feel as awkward as they make me feel.

exposed tattoos at work....so unpretty.

Mmmm, Mmmm, Good!

boy did i stumble on a little gem this past sunday and its called the M Room (or the Manhattan Room) at Frankford & Girard Ave. in Fishtown. it used to be the old Manhattan Grill, known mostly for its horrible meatloaf and even worse decor of cheaply framed posters of the NYC skyline-uh, did they not realize they were in friggin philadef?

well, goodbye meatloaf and hello hipsters. M Room is now a club/bar and i danced my tush off as DJ deejaay spun only MMP (Madonna, Michael, Prince)...and the dance floor was littered with souls who either wanted to "express themselves", because they "can't stop till they get enough" or they just wanted to "party like it was 1999".

yes, it was always a fantasy of mine to go back in time to the late, great 80s and be just old enough to hit the clubs and dance to the awesome songs of the time. sunday night at M Room was the closest thing i've experienced to that fantasy---minus the high hair and ripped fishnets.

songs that riled people up the most: "Dress You Up (in my love)" by Madonna, "PYT (pretty young thang)" by Michael Jackson, and "When Doves Cry" by Prince.

www.manhattanroom.com

Dear Mr. Levin.....

It is a truth acknowledged statewide that there are certain things that Delawareans love and hold dear to their hearts: the Blue Hens; the beach; the Italian/Greek festivals; the News Journal; scrapple; the part in Wayne's World when they say, "Hi, I'm in Delaware,"; and most of all, Happy Harry's. For those readers who have not been privy to the glory of the East Coast's best kept secret, allow me to explain. Started by Harry Levin (now owned by his son, Alan) Happy Harry's, in short, is the bomb. We love it. Located in countless locations in Delaware, Pennsylvania, and maybe Maryland, they have everything you could ever want: a pleathora of greeting cards, cosmetics, shampoo and conditioner, magazines, t-shirts and even birthday presents in a pinch. One of the best presents I have ever received was a Happy Harry's gift card. It is so well-known that Happy Harry's is a one-stop shop for sundries (love that word!) that their tagline is: "Happy Harry's has it!"

Well, this morning, they DID NOT HAVE IT. As much as I hate to admit it, my pink eye came back in a big way. I went to the doctor in a box yesterday and they gave me a "more powerful" prescription than the one I was first prescribed. So I trotted down to the Happy Harry's near my workplace and waited patiently for my eye drops. The pharmacist called my name and waved me over. I half-expected her to laugh and ask, "I'm sorry, this is for pink eye. No one YOUR AGE gets PINK EYE, YOU DIRT BAG!" But alas, I was wrong and spared the shame.

"Miss, we had to special order this. No Happy Harry's carries this. It'll be ready tomorrow." Dumbfounded, I agreed to pick it up tomorrow, turned on my heel, and left. And I am actually wondering what kind of acid they are giving me to burn whatever this is out of my eyes?

I can't believe they failed me. I did buy all new eye make-up, though, which took me an hour because they have such a wide selection of mascara.

Excuse me while I readjust my Depends.

this inaugural weekend at the beach had many fun moments--like illegally nightswimming in the atlantic, learning about "the body committment" and the definition of "easter bush," and swing dancing to big bad voodoo daddy for free. but one of the more memorable times was watching 4 18-year-old boys run after bikini-clad chickadees on the beach and ask them if they wanted to "hang out." (they were continually refused.) then, on our walk down the beach, my pal and i walked past said boys who, before asking us to hang out, called out "how old are you guys?" (friend retorted, "old enough to buy your beer.")

now, we took this as a compliment, first, that they could think we might be young enough for them to hit on. then we realized it could have been an insult... we weren't quite sprightly enough for a harrassment. then, to make us feel better, i concluded: "it's because we have mature bikinis... they aren't hawaiian print or hot pink or anything that looks young."

five minutes later, a 5-year-old ran by me wearing my same moss green, wooden beaded suit, so that theory went to shit.

being hit on by highschoolers? somewhat disturbing but at least amusing. being reminded of my impending 26th birthday while on the beach? so unpretty.

I Don't Wanna Work....

...and I don't necessarily want to bang on the drum all day, either, but I am bored. No one is at work. My friends are already at the beach, making memories and saying funny things without me. It stinks.

I am forced to DO STUFF and not reply to the stream of emails that distracts me from intranet metrics, Powerpoint revisions, and returning voicemails. I hate when I achieve things in the workplace. Well, that's not true, either, because I am a work brown-noser like no other.

(I did manage to hit up the mall at lunch and buy a celebratory party shirt for this weekend.)

Go Mandy!

everyone knows that even though i love my husband very much, i have a huge girl crush on the lovely, talented and very smart Ms. Mandy Moore. i think she is the best thing since crest white strips.

and i can't tell you how proud i am of her recent response to the scabby wilmer valderama's brag session on howard stern. he listed mandy as one of his many sexual conquests and then even proclaimed that he took her virginity...let me repeat that: he told THE WORLD that he de-virginized the innocent and sweet Mandy Moore on friggin HOWARD STERN.

and you thought your ex was a jerk!

she gave it right back though by basically calling him a desperate liar and scumball. and good for her. i know people say its better to "not justify" incredulous accusations/remarks with a response, but sometimes you just got to call a dog a dog. MEOW MANDY, meow.

Dirty Laundry

sorry to air my dirty laundry on ya, but i just had a troubling revelation occur to me as i do yet another load of wash...it will never end.

how sad and depressing. i know the environment is in bad shape and all, but disposable clothes seem so appealing when you realize that for the REST OF YOUR LIFE there will always be clothes to wash.

the very notion of repeating the same chore over and over again with no end in sight, makes me want to increase my wardrobe tenfold...then i could probably get away with doing wash just once month; that means only 12 times a year and if i only live to be 70, then i only have to do wash 528 more times. i could live with that.

Ode to a spiny food.

today i would like to sing the praises of the artichoke-- or, shall i say, la alcachofa. is it a fruit? a veggie? no tengo ningun idea. but i do know that its tangy, savory taste improves my paninis, my salads, and my life.

la alcachofa is quite complex. it has both a "heart" (its good side) but also a "choke" at it center (its evil side). and i bet you didn't know you could peel off the leaves and dip them in butter! and everyone loves butter.

(which leads me to a little story: at one of the first dinners with my highschool boyfriend's family, i was nervous, on my best behaviour and so polite--then i was faced with a plate full of pointy leaves and told to mangia. well, mangia i did... and i've been eating artichokes with glee ever since. the boyfriend is long gone, but the artichokes have stayed.)

Age = Hair Length?

as i sat slumped over in my seat on the trolley this morning, exhausted and spirit-broken (i hate taking public transportation to work in the a.m.)i noticed a weird phenomenon...

it seems once women hit their late thirties, early forties, it is common practice to chop all of their hair off and sport one of those weird "matronly" hair-do's (see pic).

is this an unspoken rule? will i have to lose the locks one day because of my age? how unpretty that would be...

Tape Me Hard

my tape dispenser that sits on my desk has been empty for a little over two weeks now. for some reason, i refuse to re-load...i have even stooped so low as to seal envelopes with my tongue.

gross. i know.

but for some reason (be it laziness or stubbornness) i have decided to go without. i think i am just waiting for the blessed day when someone comes over to my desk, notices the absence of tape and says "oh, damn, you're out of tape; let me get you a new roll..."

it never hurts to hope.

I Love the 90s

Every so often, I find myself laughing hysterically at the deadpan commentary of the personalities on "I Love the 90s." And then I realize that the 90s were kinda, sorta, awhile ago and I feel old. But that's neither here nor there.....

Someone this morning sang me a few riffs of Anita Howard's "Freak Like Me," and I responded with, "That was on one of my MTV Party to Go" CDs. Second only to the wonder that was "Jock Jams," we laughed about the whole idea of a "Party to Go" CD. Forced to have a birthday party in your parents basement? No problem! Just put on a little Rob Base and you will be a-ok.

I remember so vividly opening up that CD one Christmas morning and being completely psyched. Yes, I said psyched. It may have come on the same Christmas morning as "In Utero."

If I could find my combat boots and body-suit, I would be totally money.

The beach! The beach! I'm going to the beach!

out of the dark, cold, unforgiving east coast winter...comes the promise of the beach, the glorious beach! nothing makes me happier than the smell of copportone, g&t's on the back porch in the sunset, jean skirts on sunburn, bud light cans at the cork, outdoor showers, big fat bike wheels on pavement, ogling 19-year-old lifeguards, corn on the cob and hamburgers, tan lines, naps on the beach, smooches with randoms in dewey who turn out to be that 19-year-old lifeguard who saw earlier in the day (who lies about his age), white chocolate mousse tcby in "town," the fake hippy stores, the sound of cars on driveways paved in stones, fantastically messy bookstores, and sand, sand, sand...

i can't wait for this weekend! living in middle america must be so unpretty in the summer.

My hips tell the truth.

i'm no music snob. i don't claim to have "discovered" the kaiser chiefs or pearl jam or the four non-blonds or snoop dogg or david gray or blue merle or your mom. i don't pound my fists, wail and trash my cd's if my favorite indie band sells out and goes commercial. for me, obscure music does not mean better music. however: i'm not completely cheesy. i don't buy into the clay aikens and ciaras and ashlee simpsons that clearchannel tells me to like.

but...every so often there is a Q-102 type of song that gets me to the core. one is toxic, by britney baby-dropping spears (poor girl). that song will forever make me want to tear my shirt, put on a serious-sexy face and step-ball-change all over the place. and lately... i say god bless you, shakira, and bless your honest hips. cause those truth-telling hips make my own shimmy and shake like i'm in chemistry nightclub, baby, even when i am just tooling around town in my mom-car.

am i the only one who falls victim to this throaty-voiced latina, shaking shakira??

ps: i also like forever and for always by celine dion, but that is better served by a whole 'nother posting...

Unpretty is so ahead of the curve.

everyone talks about the blogosphere as the next big thing in journalism. yea, yea, bloggers are sitting at their computers, wearing last week's underwear and posting away about the secrets of the world that all the college-educated journalists are oblivious to, or something like that. well... i have to say... this morning unpretty had a serious blog-kicking-media's-ass moment today.

this morning, one month (minus a day) to the day of so unpretty's post (see april 24, 2006) nbc 10 reported on www.zillow.com. come on, man, that's not news! so unpretty broke the story! (actually, that's a lie. i copied it right from newsweek. but it's small triumphs that count, my friend.)

It's a little e-gift to myself.

as my cell phone bill will attest, i abuse 411. because of the yahoo yellow pages, no one keeps actual hard copy yellow pages around... and since i am living in the dark ages with no internet connection* i rely on the ol' phone information.

well, the past few months i have been turning a blind ear to a most amazing gift of audio technology. i have repeatedly ignored the robotic lady (julie from amtrak's cousin) who says she can send a text message of the number i am seeking to my phone. and get this: as she says, "standard messaging rates apply." well, dogg, i have a shizah-load of text messages in my plan, so doi! why wouldn't i have them text me? now my phone is becoming my yellow pages, thanks to the beauty of the text.

please, kids, please don't ignore this sweet little technology gift. embrace it. you'll love it, i promise.

*...and if i have no internet connection, how am i writing this post, hmmm?

Hi, My Name is Frank, and I'm a Dunk-Aholic

while i will fully admit to you all that i am addicted to many things this tempting life has to offer (smoking, biting my nails, anything on Bravo or MTV, most cheeses) one thing i was always proud to proclaim that I WAS NOT addicted to was coffee.

that was until i tried Dunkin Donuts Iced Latte Lite in French Vanilla.

before D.D.I.L.L.F.V. i could take coffee or leave it. i really did not see what all the fuss was about. when co-workers would shake watching the coffee pot brewing in the kitchen at the top of the morning, i would laugh. when people would drag their tired asses out for an "afternoon pick me up" at starbucks, i would shrug and say "what's the big deal?"

but now, oh now i know. damn the day i tried D.D.I.L.L.F.V. because of a book of Dunkin coupons my husband gave me that he found in the newspaper last sunday because now i'm hooked. i have one at least twice a day and i fear for my check book once these coupons run out.

Freebie Skank

i just sold my soul and the souls of ten of my co-workers to the devil for chinese food.

let me explain: i dropped my business card at a chinese restaurant a month or two ago, innocently assuming that it was for a free lunch with no strings attached...think again. i get a phone call two weeks ago from a perky financial advisor named Jennifer who exclaimed that i won a golden opportunity to learn about her services and enjoy a free lunch at the same time...er, can't we just skip that golden part and just gorge ourselves?

in any case, i'm going because i can't turn down anything free and i don't mind dragging my colleagues along for the ride.

i'll let you know how it turns out-unless Jennifer may make me a ba-jillionaire...then you'll never hear from me again!

what's on your iPod?

ok, let the first unpretty poll commence...

so what's on your iPod bitches?

me...a little bit country and a little bit rock n roll. be specific though! share, learn, grow...jerks.

Weather.com Addict

Lately, I have been worried about my dependency on certain things and their effect on my quality of life. I am not talking about my love of alcohol, my need for nicotine or my unhealthy obsession with "Real Housewives of Orange County." Only recently have I realized that I need weather.com to get through my day. I practically stalk Mother Nature. Once is just not enough. I estimate that I check the Web page about four or five times throughout the course of the day. Why not just have it posted at the bottom of my screeen, you may ask? I have come to enjoy the ritual of checking. Waiting for the Internet to open on my screen; quickly typing the address (yes, I have to type the whole address instead of just clicking it when it pops up); waiting again; typing the zip code of my choice; and then looking at the hour-by-hour, the 10-day and the month. On my house computer, the weather is at the bottom of the screen, but I don't even look at it. I still click on the internet icon and go through my routine. I also check multiple zip codes, even if they do not apply to me. Work zip, home zip, seashore zip and former college zip. If my workplace ever blocked weather.com, I would probably have to find another job.

"I'm a CoverGirl, Mommy!"

so, danielle beat joanie in america's next top model last night. despite her honky tonk accent (per tyra banks), she rose above her "hard-knock" life and will win an elle girl photo shoot, a bajillion dollar contract with ford models, a cover girl ad, and a case of herpes from marcus schenkenburg. oh, woops, i made that part up. i liked little go-go-dancer joanie, and i would have been happy had she won, but between the two i didn't really care...

...because what I am really happy about is that jade lost. i can't believe she got to the top three in the first place. she speaks about herself in the third person, for chrissake. "jade has got it going on." "jade is a biracial butterfly." "i don't know why people think jade is arrogant." well, jade, your complete lack of touch with reality and your fake crying is annoying, and no amount of cover girl cover up can change that. jade=so unpretty.

sorry to those who don't watch antm. but i have no cable, so i have limited options in the tv shows i can discuss.

Word 'em up, part deux.

my favorite term today is gefilte fish. a goy through and through, my most intimate experience with gefilte fish has been in the supermarket, peering at the odd, floaty white fish through a jar. i've always been intrigued by this stuff. my impression is that it is a kosher fish, used in traditional hebrew meals. but how does it taste? would people eat this on a non religious holiday? i can't see little aaron or zach running home after school and begging mom to fry (?) him up some of that gefilte fish so he can snack on it in front of nickelodeon. can someone please help me see the light? maybe convince me that this gastro-wonder is not as unpretty as it seems?

Save me from my bitterness, please.

i know several good men. one has stars on his arms. one hates yankee traffic. one aspires to do a "senior idol" and saves lives each day. one rocks a football field, loves poker and calls doors "whores." i know two good men who are handy with a hammer. nothing brings me greater comfort than knowing my dear family and friends are involved with these good, solid men.

but something else is bothering me lately... i continually hear of husbands, boyfriends, and especially fiancees who are cheating on their women. from inappropriate text messaging to bare ring fingers in a bar to an extra-inappropriate romp in the bed...men are cheating all over the place! i can count 8 cheaters that i've recently heard about off the top of my head. all men, too, coincidentally or not.

so riddle me this: please, please convince me that cheating is not as rampant as it appears. give me your honest men, your loyal men. convince me not to be a bitter old woman at 25. because cheating is the worst form of unpretty behavior.

Is Wal-Mart the devil?

is it just me or has Wal-Mart become synonymous with satan in the last few years? i'm not sure why, but i am supposed to HATE them, PROTEST them, spit when i hear thy name...ok sure, but why am i doing that again?

i hear stuff like "they're taking over the world" and "their CEO is an evil genius".

i sorta buy it because when you hear so much bad about a person/entity/corporation you just begin to believe it. but i just realized, that i honestly don't know if any of this stuff is true.

now if US WEEKLY or IN TOUCH tells me to hate them (and if they have a really juicy picture of Wal-Mart drunk at a Hollywood club) than i'll believe it! until then, i choose to not hate an entire corporation just because everyone else does. instead, i will hate them just because they have a pretentious smiley face for a mascot.

My Dog Plays Me

does anyone else have a pet that totally controls them? i never thought i would say this, but my dog completely owns me; no BONES about it (corny pun intended, thanks).

this little princess has THE LIFE. not only does she have full run of the house, routine grooming, gourmet pet food, a wardrobe any dog would die for, but she also has 1/3 of my bed. my husband and i are lucky if we can get through a whole night without coming dangerously close to rolling off the edge because although she's only 33 pounds, she needs to stretch her skinny little ass out just so in order to get a good night's sleep.

i complain, but i love it. she is, after all, the most ADORABLE DOG ON EARTH.

Howie or No Howie

i am sure most of you have seen the ridiculously melodramatic game show on NBC that's "sweeping the nation", Deal or No Deal.

if not, let me warn you-the only thing more annoying than watching these idiot contestants agonize over which friggin suitcase to open is HOWIE MANDEL, the host.

does shaving your head and wearing pirate earrings make you an evil genius? apparently, he and his stylist thinks so.

i'm not buying it bucko. you were more scary when you did the voice over for Bobby's World.

so unpretty.

Are Chicken Pox Next?

I don't know what it is, but my immune system is simply not the disease-fighting powerhouse it once was. Walking outside with wet hair? Never a problem! Sharing a drink with someone that has a sinus infection? Bring it on! I used to laugh in the face of sneezes, sniffles, and the rumored flu bug.

But not anymore.

As I began the next quarter of my life, I started to get sick like a mofo. This year alone, I had two sinus infections, the flu (horrid), and a boatload of colds. And today...the most embarrassing of them all.....conjuctivitis. That's right my friends, pink eye. Am I seven?

I could feel it coming on Saturday morning, but I insisted that the eye itch was the result of ignoring a much needed face wash when I passed out Friday night. So I tried the old "pull your eye lid over your eye and rub" trick. No dice. Flushed it with water (i.e. shot glass of Wilmo's finest over my eye). Nada. Visine? SURE! Ben Stein wouldn't let me down. He most certainly did. At my wit's end, I did what any desperate woman would do. I went to see my doctor.

And she hates me. She does not think I am funny AT ALL (sin of all sins!) and her nurse was lame. The nurse was mid-twenties and when I remarked that I wanted to rip my eyeballs out, she chirped, "Don't do that! Only Spongebob can do that!" Wha? Anyway, the McDoctor got me in and out, no smile, certainly no lollipop and threw me a prescription. I took it to my nearest Happy Harry's and they sent me home with cough medicine. No joke. The wrong one. I marched right back in there, stated my correct name and merely because I was p.o.ed at the entire medical industry added, "You really need to check your prescriptions. You could've had a lawsuit on your hands."

Being a b*tch? So unpretty. But my eyes hurt. If my Dad was around, he would ask if my face hurt......drumroll, please......because it's KILLING HIM!

Word 'em up.

my fave word this week is "busking," you know, the age-old practice of street performers playing for money. first of all, the word is just deliciously british sounding. it almost sounds like a dirty word, which is always fun. and the actual busking itself is so much nicer than strict begging. who hasn't stopped to enjoy a trash can band or to take pictures of a man painted gold acting like a robot? they are bringing joy to the world, one street performance at a time.

sadly, i haven't seen much of one of my favorite buskers, the blind woman who has been playing recorder on the streets of philadelphia for years. in the 90's she was on south street; in the 2000's i saw her in rittenhouse square area. but in the past couple of years i have seen her no more. i hope she's ok. in her absence, i will have to enjoy the guys that breakdance in the square. the busk the best.

Did you know...

that flamingos are pink because of the amount of shrimp they eat on the daily basis.

no, i'm not kidding.

source: snapple fact #11

Happy Mother's Day Yo!

that one day of year when we observe the sixth commandment (or is it the seventh...or is it the fourth...never mind) "HONOR THY MOTHER" is almost upon us; thats right, this Sunday is Mother's Day. so, if you haven't already done so, you better make your plans now on how you will show mommy dearest how much you care.

my suggestions:
1. take mom to brunch at a place you know she's never been-don't pick any place that has drag queens or sushi unless you are sure your mom can handle both.
2. take mom to a sunday matinee of a romantic comedy or feel good flick-and don't be cheap and try to run past the concession stand...i think you spare an extra $5 for a popcorn...after all she did give you food, clothing and shelter for 18 years.
3. buy her something that you know she would NEVER buy herself-not because its perverted like a sex toy or dangerous like a knife, but something that you know she wants but would never spend the money on.
4. make her a card-its corny, but moms eat that shit with a spoon!
5. try and wear matching outfits-this might throw mom into a coma induced by pure joy, but know that she will die the happiest woman on earth-everyone knows that all moms want is to feel like you look up to them and imitation is the best form of flattery!

good luck bitches and dogs-don't let mom down. if you do, your children will be ten times more disappointing...what? its a known fact. thats what my mother told me.

Quarter Life Crisis: Exhibit 9,986,564

Ya know what I'm going to do this afternoon? I'm going to leave work a whole 15 minutes early. And then, I'm going to head to the Wilmington Flower Market and ride the Zipper. And maybe the Gravitron, too. I am laughing at my desk thinking about how funny being inside the Gravitron is. You move your arms like the Lollipop Kids. And that is truly hilarious.

One question, though, am I too old to ride rides? Probably. But I really frigging want to.

Sidenote: My best pal once punched a girl on the Zipper. The reason? A mutual crush. And if you knew the evolution of said girl's life, you'd wonder how my best pal didn't end up in cement shoes.

Well, I Hope She's Cute Then.

Apparently. my workplace did not get the memo that the work to time ratio on a Friday should be approaching zilch. To further procrastinate and avoid the rapidly approaching deadline "close of business," entails, I decided to walk over to my ultimate favorite lunch spot and spend ten bones on a salad. I know this is not a shock for those working in metro areas, but I work in Dela-where.

Anyway, this is a place I frequent (they know my order) and I have exchanged pleasantries with half of the servers, including the owner. Today, I walked in and the owner says to three of the other gals, "You know she's Kimmie's sister." They all glance at me and smile. I say, "Who?" and another answers, "Kimmie. You're Kimmie's sister!" and I shake my head and say, "No, I'm not." They all stared at me, incredulous.

I paid for my grub and as I was leaving, one of the airheads asked, "How is Kimmie?" and I retorted, "I don't know who she is!!"

Idiot.

In praise of the real live letter.

i know i am the fajillionth person to reminisce about the real live paper letter coming via postman, and to extol the letter as far more valuable than the dashed off, sometimes impersonal email. but i am going to throw my two cents in. the smell of the paper, the design on the stamp, the actual handwriting that tells so much about the writer... all those things make real letters so a-some. luckily, one of my best pals is a letter writer, as is my mama and my da. they know the joy of opening the mailbox to see a 2-D rectangular box of personal-attention goodness. since i am mid-twenties, however, i've been experiencing a lot of postal service blue balls. that's when you open the mailbox and see the tell-tale signs of a letter. your heart pumps. you rip open the envelope. and alas--it's an invitation (graduations, showers, bachelorette parties, engagement parties, weddings). those things are great, and they have their own special place in the mailbox of my heart, but it's nothing like a real live letter. postal service blue balls = so unpretty.

*once i got a letter from a minivan driving boy when i was 16. that was nice. too bad i was a jerk to him. he had a really good idea about taillights that i shat on (the idea, not the lights).

Neuroses unite, part deux.

styrofoam peanuts rubbing together, nails on a chalkboard, a microphone screeching... none of those hideous sounds have anything on the worst noise in the world: the sound of pulling a blow pop wrapper off its stick. ugh... even as i write this i am clenching my jaw and various other body parts in revulsion. something about the cellophane-y wrapper and the paper stick rubbing together for that split second chills me to the core. so far i am the only one i know that finds this noise so unpretty. does anyone else agree? or am i truly neurotic? (or truly amazing, like jem?)

To Wash or Not To Wash

that is the question...and i ask myself that every morning as i drag my tired self out of bed. its always with baited breath that i tip toe into the bathroom, flick on the light, and with squinty eyes, take a look at my bed head. to wash or not to wash usually has a three point analysis: is my hair going in more than four different directions? are my roots three shades darker than the rest of my hair because of the oil/product build-up? and last, is there something important happening at work today? if i can answer yes to any of these questions, i moan with utter despair because i have just added at least thirty minutes to my morning routine.

there's the shampooing, the conditioning, the leave in treatment, the combing, the spritzing, the mousing, the drying, the sculpting, the flipping and the flopping. its just too much.

maybe one day i will be rich enough to afford my own man servant who will wash my hair for me using expensive things like otter milk and lavender...or maybe i'll be so rich that i can just walk around in one of those gaudy rich lady turbans...then i'd never have wash my hair again.

Its Friday!

...and here's to stating the obvious, right?

oh well.

get over yourself and celebrate the dawning of a new weekend. get out there today and do something fun like walk into a fancy hotel just to use their bathroom. or even better, walk into a bar and order everyone a round of drinks and than walk out. go skipping in Rittenhouse Square or tubing on the Delaware-i don't care-just do something out of the ordinary today. you never know how many Fridays you have left, so make the most of it starting today. just look at the ladies in this picture; i challenge you to have more fun today than they are (i mean, they're obviously rock stars).

Give Me Your Tired, Your Poor....

...your chapped (or simply exhausted) butt cheeks yearning to be comforted. There is something to be said for the glory of the full-butted unders. And by unders, I mean underwear. You feel me? Unmentionables? I won't say the "p-dash-dash-dash-i-e-s" word because I loathe it.



I typically am a th*ng, th*ng, th*ng, th*ng, th*ng, gal, but recently I have been sick and tired of it all. Full-butteds had been the stepchild of my underwear drawer, relegated to the confines of pre-laundry days. But I was recently seduced by a particularly adorable appliqued three-pack at Old Navy and I threw caution to the VPL (visible p*nty lines) wind. Yes, in white pants or other light colored pants, th*ngs rock and roll, but who am I kidding? They are not comfortable and sometimes, my cheeks need a break. I mean, they need to comforted by a little cotton covering. And I don't think that's too much to ask. I think there is an absolute place for briefs -- if you will -- in a woman's underwear vocabulary.

My only hesitation comes in the recollection of a conversation my (former) roommates and I had once with two men about town in regard to the girl crush known as the tap pant. We attempted to explain that they were cute and adorable but received the response, "They're granny panties."

And no one wants that. It's -- dare I say -- unpretty?

Here Goes Nothin'.....

Via some pushing and prodding and complete and utter email harassment, I have been convinced to post about the inner workings of my completely neurotic -- albeit endearing -- mind.

So today, it begins. I can't promise there will be many posts, as I am a pretty big deal (i.e. work for The Man) and have many demands on my time, but I am going to gd try my hardest. Although I have been accused of being slightly half-*ssed in the past (wow! A poet and I didn't know it!), I promise to give y'all 97%. Because if I didn't, that would be unpretty. And who wants that?

So here I go....

Stupid America.

i just read in usa today that it costs the u.s. of a. $0.123---that's 1.23 cents---to make and distribute a penny. is that not the dumbest thing? blame the rising costs of metals, which in turn (as a jeweler told me the other day) is due to the iraq war. i have no solution, but i still like to blame bush, of course. dumb minting procedures = so unpretty.

Six Feet Under

is it weird that i still cry every time i realize that Six Feet Under is really...well, six feet under?

this show was in my opinion (which, less face it, its the only thing that matters) the best thing on cable. i know many of you will be scratching your ______________(insert head, butt, or gut here) and say "uh, were you not just singing the praises of mtv like three posts ago?"

well, the simple answer to that is yes. but forget that for a moment and lets just focus on the here and now because thats what really matters and time is all relative anyway.

hands down and shoulders back, Six Feet Under was the most powerful, innovative, brilliant and touching show on television. each week they explored the meaning of life and death in such a pure and realistic way without being condescending. i could relate to some part of each beloved character on that show because they were so multi-dimensional and not just cookie cutter stereotypes. my faves would have to be Keith, the strong, man's man black guy who happened to be gay and a police officer and in love with David, a weak, cynical and nervous white guy who was drowning in his own self-hatred most of his life. there was also Clare, the selfish, restless, creative younger sister who finds herself in more trouble than lindsay lohan on holiday in vegas. and then there's the tragic love of Brenda and Nate, star crossed lovers who just can't seem to get their acts together.

certain episodes made such an impact on me that i find myself reflecting on them years later. now, who can say that about will & grace? ...please don't answer that!

thank god this series is still on comcast on demand or i don't know what i would do. if you've never watched the show before, you haven't lived...or should i say died?

Blister, Blister Who's Got a Blister?

that burning, throbbing, sour smelling atrocity that is a blister...oh how i hate thee.

you make me squeam everytime i have to walk down a long hallway. sometimes i can hardly stand it!

oh how sweet it is when i can finally find relief at my desk when i kick off my shoes and let my pigs breath the stale office air...but oh, how horrible it is when your co-workers start to smell something funny or worse-your boss walks up and immediately hesitates before telling you something important because they are captivated by your bare naked feet.

so unpretty.

Ode to a fleshy fruit.

i want to take a moment to sing the praises of the avocado. in a world of cheeseburgers and tofu, the avocado is the sustenance of the gods. it's fleshy. it's green. it tastes great with a sprinkling of salt (preferably eaten right out of the skin, while sitting on the side of the road in the hawaiian sun while you are wearing just a bathing suit*). mash it up and you have guacamole, a cinco-de-mayo-esque mush of garlicky goodness. and avocado is good for you! all that fat is the "good fat." (what? you say good fat is a myth? that's crazy talk. so unpretty.)

*sorry for the digression... a little reminiscing never hurt anybody. or does it?

Unpretty Reader of the Week

congratulations to j money mad skillz for being s.u.'s first ever Unpretty Reader of the Week!

j money: your sarcasm and sick wit never go unappreciated.

thanks for being such a jerk (and we mean that in the nicest way possible).

keep the comments coming-you're second only to ourselves (how pathetic, right?)

Since she can't get a cigarette, can she get an amen?

i just want to take a moment to congratulate unusual suspect for making it one week without smoking. yes, you have threatened to bash my head in with a dustbuster. yes, you have ground your teeth down to nubs. but you are on your way to being completely tar and nicotine free! only 6 baby years and 51 little weeks until your lung tissue is completely sparkling new. keep it up! you are great. and you smell better too. smoking is so unpretty.

Blaine's Bubble is Finally Popped

ok, i'm a sucker. i totally watched the TWO HOUR david blaine special "drowned alive" last night.

please know that i am not proud. every five minutes i asked myself why the hell was i watching this crap; but i just couldn't help it. i will say that i had no idea that this would drag on for two hours when i tuned in...i thought it was only going to be an hour tops. when 8:55 p.m. rolled around and the show was still exploring his "journey" to being drowned alive, i realized what a trap i had fallen into.

now i was sucked in. i was watching footage of what appeared to be a man trapped in a giant breast implant. then finally the end was near. the finale was to be david holding his breath a record 9 minutes while wiggling out of heavy chains and handcuffs. but, fate had something a little different in mind for the man trapped in the giant breast implant...yes, he got out of the chains, but he was only able to hold his breath for 7 minutes and 8 seconds - not the 9 he promised...and then he had the nerve to cry about it.

its hard to impress someone like me (being as perfect as i am.) and i think i can hold my breath for like-well, i can't hold it for longer than 30 seconds, but thats just because i recently quit smoking...give me 7 years and i'll be kicking blaine's ass!

i want those two hours of my life back please...uh, so unpretty.

This would not go over well on Sex and the City.

i was in my best friend's room the other day as she was mid-sheets-change. on her exposed mattress was the simmons beautyrest logo, with the tagline "better sleep for the two of you." hello? she had noticed it before too, and we were both incredulous. i mean, that tagline cuts out the entire single population. it's outdated! should single people only sleep in twin beds? do single people not deserve better sleep?

and what about the menage a trois? do they not deserve a better night's sleep after all that activity? stupid tagline. how unpretty!

I Want My MTV Damn It!

what make MTV so god damn irresistible?

let me count the ways: laguna beach, real world, 8th & ocean, true life, made, my super sweet sixteen, punk'd, date my mom, jackass...the list can go on and on.

the hills, starring L.C. of laguna beach, starts this week. when i heard the news, i peed.

my husband hates my infatuation with this channel and its many delightful shows that i can consume like chocolate; but it has not stopped me for a hot second. i know i'm not alone. i was especially happy to find out this afternoon that even though my husband loathes MTV, his best friend admitted to me today that he too loves this channel and indulges in his sinful desire to watch it just as much as i do.

here's to you B-Money. you prove my point: men, women, cats, dogs and even parakeets love MTV...its just a matter of admitting it to yourself and then finally, you can join the party and bask in the eternal sunshine of MTV!

p.s. secret fantasy: if bravo, E! and MTV could all morph into one channel, i would die a happy woman.

Where is my oversized hat?

a steeplechase is one of the few events outside of nantucket where anyone can wear seersucker, boat shoes lilly pulitzer, madras, jack rogers or linen with wild abandon. even an ascot, if your butler irons it for you in time. but be forewarned-- as you stir your mint julep and bet on your favorite horse (say, "candy kitchen" or perhaps, "sugar diddy") you must speak about your cracker barrel stock through clenched teeth and laugh at all the plebians showing their breasts in the infield. don't forget to get wasted, as all good WASPs do, and pee on the side of the land rover. then go home to your children (madeline and trip), pay your nanny, and pass out early. you have preschool interviews in the morning, and it's sunday after all.

for all my sarcasm, i have to admit, it is pretty fun to completely prep it out for one sunday each year... it's like a college bbq for grownups. with matching vera bradley.

Trashpick'n Fools

we recently discovered that our next door neighbors stole (or trash-picked) an old air conditioner that we tossed over a year ago. true, it still worked when we chucked it, but it was also 40 years old, smelled like dead cat and was dirtier than a jenna jamison movie.

and yet, the freaks took it!

we saw it in their backyard today, rotting in the sun. now we wonder what exactly they plan on doing with it...and we also have a strange desire to take it back. it was trash, not charity. is it normal to be territorial over trash?

Where the hell is Chevy Chase?

when you feel smarter than you actually are and you're so wrapped up in yourself even your reflection is rolling her eyes at you, turn on anyone of the 4000 different HBO channels and watch a Chevy Chase movie...specifically the National Lampoon movies. they are so stupid and funny that i find myself asking "self, where the hell is chevy chase now?"

if you know, please post a comment.

"Agent. AGENT!"

every time i hear someone clearly annunciating "agent. AGENT!" into their phone, i know that that person probably has julie from amtrak on the line, and they are probably boiling inside. most of us have had a frustrating experience with julie, the automated ticket agent, through no fault of her own. julie is perfectly pleasant, albeit robotic, and it's not her fault we want to speak to a live agent before dropping hundreds of bucks for a train ride. julie's always double checking that she heard us correctly, which i appreciate, and she's always saying "ok" with finality before moving on to her next question. very nice. dear julie tries very hard, she really does, to win us over and answer all our questions. but does anyone really book a reservation through her without resorting to yelling for an "agent"?

(not that i've done this, but... calling our gal jules a "motherfucker" is actually a more direct way of reaching a live agent. if you drop the mf bomb, jules drops all pretenses of politeness...she doesn't even ask if she's heard correctly. she just sends you to a live amtrak agent so they can receive your abuse instead. again, not that i would stoop so low as to curse a robot.)

Used book, schmoozed book.

i hope i'm not the only one who has discovered the beauty of ordering used books on amazon.com. yesterday i ordered one for $.013--that's thirteen measly cents. plus, of course, about $3 shipping, but getting a book for under $4 is a-some. amazon makes it so easy to order that you can forget you've ordered just as soon as you hit "proceed to checkout." so when the book arrives at your doorstep, it's like a gift you didn't even know you gave yourself! i assuage my guilt about ordering from a big tom-hanks-in-you've-got-mail conglomorate too, because i know the books come not from amazon, but from indie sellers all over the country. and the books come in pretty good shape--a sticker here, a dog ear there, heh.

here's the rub: careful when ordering more than one used book at once, though. they come from different sellers and you'll pay shipping for each book, rather than one lump sum for shipping.

then, do your duty as a reading citizen and pass on the book when you are done. everyone deserves a little used-book loving now and then.

23 is So Unpretty

I am sorry that it has taken me so long to publish this, but it is not a subject that I enjoy talking about. I know everyone has to go through it at some point, but it is just one of those things that you never actually think will happen to you. This past weekend, I turned 23. I know I know. Some do not view it as the end of the world. But, I feel lost. I have effortlessly mastered every other stage in my life - infacy, childhood, adolescence, and college student (ok, that's not a real stage, but I am petitioning the American Psychological Association). This has been a rough one though. I'm not a girl, not yet a woman. Ok sorry for that, but I'm serious. I think a lot of things that I do in my life will now be viewed as inappropriate because I am 23. Also, what am I doing with my life!?!?!?! So far, here's what I have going: after four years of virtual independence, I have moved back in with my parents; I have practically no money; my friends refuse to move out because my town breeds wastes and West Chester low-lifes...Oh yeah, and I have skin cancer. So, while pondering all of this on Sunday after the three-day celebration had come to a close, I decided that there is only one real solution to my problem. Moving to Hawaii.

Unprettiest Freak of the Week

you may not have heard, but "magician" David Blaine is at it again.

this freak has been buried alive for seven days, frozen for 61 hours, perched 90 feet up on a pole for 35 hours, and suspended for 44 days.

now, he has been submerged in a human aquarium and plans to stay there for a week.

"My system is completely empty," he said before being submerged. "So that way in the sphere I don't have to use the bathroom. I have a catheter in case I have to do No. 1, but I don't intend on doing anything else."

i don't think i even have to comment on how gross that statement was...

for the finale, Blaine plans on holding is breath for up to 9 minutes while he tries to escape from chains and locks (think Houdini and recall how well that turned out).

the only thing i find remotely interesting about this fiasco is that while he was preparing for this final part of the stunt, Blaine said he had lost 50 pounds while practicing holding his breath.

suffice to say, i have been holding my breath while writing this post. maybe by summer, i'll be able to wear shorts again...so unpretty.