Out with the old, in with the new, Sharky for awhile, Ginsburg forever true!
Cheesefest.
new blog! GrowingUpGinsburg
I’ll still post here on occasion, but checkit out!
Growing Up Ginsburg
Mar 9
I dunno what the deal is with kids today. I sound like a gramma but it’s true. They flounce around in skimpy outfits (with their guts hanging out because they play Wii instead of playing outside – not that there’s a thing wrong with playing Wii!)
On a PostSecret TMI Thursday, I mentioned wanting to kidnap obese children. It’s true. But even more so than being sad, it’s these friggin teens who drive me insane with their muffin top hanging over their hipsters and wearing teeny tiny tank tops. You are not Miley Cyrus. More specifically, you are not Miley Cyrus’ size. And her clothes are made for people her size. And she’s roughly the size of my thigh.
Well I’m not completely judging. I won’t act like I didn’t dress like that. Especially in college – the Austin summers at a toasty one-oh-four on average. Soffe shorts, tank top, hair still wet from the shower and in a ponytail. It was really the only way to stay alive walking the mile or two to wherever summer classes were being held.
But the difference is, I was really skinny. Seriously. Pole. I didn’t wear a bra till my senior year of college, except for sports bras during dance practice. That had to change once I put on around 20 lbs following graduation, much to the hubs’ disappointment. But yknow why I don’t still dress like that? Because it’s gross. Nobody wants to see my pasty pale cellulite hangin’ out the Soffe shorts. And if they do, they’re seriously disturbed.
Do these kids not have mirrors? I mean, I look in the mirror and go hmmmm SHOULD NOT WEAR. Can they pull their shorts down a little? tops down a little? Wear a larger size? I’d much rather buy a size larger than look like creme filling bursting out of a size 2 twinkie. Metaphorically speaking of course. Though if I DID have an outfit made of twinkies, it would be nothin but pure delicious unkosher goodness.
So anyways, I hope my kids are cute. You can guaran-damn-tee they won’t be sitting on their asses watching TV, playing video games, etc. Sports, dance, get up and move, jeez.
Somebody mentioned that I talk about fat and skinny a lot. Well, I think it’s just the way I was raised. This is fat and this is skinny. If you don’t want to be fat, you have to eat right and exercise. I really don’t think that there’s nearly as much pressure from society to be rail-thin these days. I don’t know anyone who’s dying (literally) to look like Kate Moss. I’d rather look like ScarJo – curvy and h-h-h-hot. Moreso I feel that people are shoving down my throat, “accept your body the way it is!” Well, no. I don’t like it the way it is. I got on the scale today and was happy for the first time in awhile. I was all, “hellooooo, 120s, good to see you again, my fat ass has missed you!” because that’s the weight I’m comfortable at. What about yall? You wanna look like a supermodel? Bleh. They’re all bones – I could break em in half with my pinky.
And while we’re on the subject, can we talk about what Hubs and I like to call “front ass”? WHAT IS IT? How does it get there? I’m so perplexed.
That’s all I guess.
Ok, I don’t know why HomeAway says my review didn’t meet their guidelines. It IS in my own words, jeez. So it’s getting posted on here. This is from our ski trip (dets posted on new blog to be released soon). This is for COPPER RIDGE IN BOONE, NC. Just so when people google it they can get my not-watered-down version.
381765 – “Great place, if you can access it!”
“The Copper Ridge cabin was really nice inside – just like the pictures! What the website doesn’t tell you is you HAVE to have a four-wheel-drive car, otherwise you won’t make it five feet up the driveway (which is about a quarter-mile long). And even if you do have one, you could get stuck (another tenant had to get his truck towed out). It would definitely be a worthwhile investment to pave the driveway. Every time we left, we had to walk the quarter-mile to the car – not to mention unpacking. Also, needs a shovel for tenants to use. There was a sheet of ice right in front of the front door, and I slipped and fell hard – it was two weeks ago and I still have a bruise on my hip. For what we paid, I would expect to be able to access the front door without hurting myself.
Make sure to BYO handsoap – there’s none. Dishwashing detergent and laundry bags, but no handsoap.
All in all, it’s a good place to stay, and I would give it a better review if the owner weren’t so rude to my husband, informing him that they “aren’t a five-star hotel” and did we “expect a fully-stocked fridge, too?” No. We’re not pretentious city yuppies, we brought our own food, thanks. But when you’re shelling out that much cash, you expect a freshly plowed drive (obviously it needs to be plowed everyday, though we were informed it had been the day before) and minimal amenities (c’mon – handsoap?) Who packs the softsoap pump in their bag? Nobody. Luckily we received a partial refund (though, no apology). As a business, it’s their responsibility to keep the customers happy and make amends – could have gotten a stellar review had they been a bit more polite and accommodating – just like one expects when they pay for accommodations. One plus – it’s pet-friendly for $20 – I’d say our dog quite enjoyed his stay.
People often ask me why I’m so obsessed with the 1960s, and the truth is – I have no idea. I think I have an old soul, first of all, and I also think I really do long for peace, and I think the tune in, turn on, drop out mentality speaks to me (minus the drugs part). I think that time period is a close parallel to this day and age. You read about student protests, the rejection of the three-piece-suit lifestyle, and I totally get it.
Saw Hair in NY last month and it’s possibly one of the most phenomenal performances I’ve ever seen – and that says a lot. Found a couple of clips with the same cast on YouTube.
Enjoy.
And…cast singing good ol’ fashioned Bob Dylan. Seriously – I don’t think I’m weird for being obsessed with the 60s, I think you’re weird for NOT.
Out with the old…part I.
Feb 28
Sorry yall. But there’s a NEW AWESOME BLOGGITY BLOG coming out soon.
Stay tuned.
Shameless plugging, gals.
Feb 25
While watching our favorite TV comedy-that-doesn’t-mean-to-be-a-comedy, Secret Life of the American Teenager, two of the girls were taking pictures with the baby and sending them to their boyfriends. One of the chicks was of the African-American ethnicity.
Hubs: Well, her baby’s not gonna look like that. It’s white!
Me: You wanna have babies, right?
Hubs: Ummmm….can we have a black baby?
Me: Depends. Are you gonna let me sleep with a black guy?
Hubs: A-nooo.
Me: Then our only option is to adopt a Haitian.
Hubs: Can we just kidnap one? You know how I feel about paperwork.
Me: No.
Hubs: Then forget it. We’ll just have *sighhhhhhh* a white baby.
My two newest pet peeves in the English language.
“I know, right?” or just, “Right?!”
Huh? Yes. Right. That’s why I just said what I just said to make you say, “RIGHT?!” and sound like a Clueless cast member. Or worse, Jersey Shore cast member. Usually the convos go something like this.
“Mmmm, these cookies are so good.”
“I know, right?!”
Yes. YES. That’s why I JUST SAID IT. Oy. A simple “mmhmm” with your mouth full of cookies will suffice.
NEXT.
“Loves it.” I know so many people guilty of this one. As in, “hahahah that snowboarder just fell on her face. Loves it.”
Who loves it? Are you speaking in third person? Like, Sharky loves it? Or are you saying “I love it,” and adding a cutesy wutesy s? Either way, I can’t tell you how annoying it is. HATES IT.
asl;dfkjsodfisjofisidfsodifu *headkeyboard*
No pooping allowed.
Feb 18
Hey kids. So I usually don’t participate in TMI Thursdays, only because I estrange people with little to no effort as it is. Why make them more uncomfortable? But I figured hey, I’ll go crazy! In celebration of my three-day weekend.
I went to visit New York last month and spent one whirlwind night with my close friend Brooke. We met up at Arlo & Esme on 1st, between 1st and 2nd. While waiting a friggin month for everyone to show up, I entertained myself by fraternizing with several drug dealers (not a joke) and when they left, just for kicks I tried the NYPD Crimestopper hotline. Nobody answered. Shocker.
So I’m standing there for probably only 15 minutes but I had come from Crocodile Lounge, where I pounded two beers and ate my free pizza. I have to potty. Like…bad. Brooke and co. arrive, we head in (super crowded) and I desperately search for a bathroom. Of course there’s a line of approximately 10 girls – and only 2 stalls in the tiny bathroom. I’m shaking, my eyes start tearing up. Ordinarily I’d beg my way to the front, but I’m just a lil ol’ Texan in the big city (right). I musta still been shaken up from being offered tabs of X and an eight-ball.
Brooke tells her man to go check out the little boys’ room and see if it’s kosher to go in there. But then finally, finally it’s almost our turn! The chick in front of me just got her stall and we’re waiting on the other one. And waiting. And waiting. I turn to Brooke.
Me: What the hell is she doing in there? Pooping?!
B: Haha, we should go up to the door and stage-whisper, “we know what you’re dooooing in there!”
Me: Hahahha. Oh shit, don’t make me laugh.
B: Or just slip a note under the door that says Poopers with an X over it. No pooping allowed!
And that’s how I peed my pants. Just kidding. But it WAS awesome. I have to say, is there anything better than peeing when you really really hafta? Sheesh.
And this is what happens. This is actually the last time I was in NY and we hung out – since it takes her a decade to post new pics, this one’s going up. I THINK we were pretending to drive a pedi-cab. Or as I like to call them, petty cabs. Could be we were just dancing.
My Dell (um, born in 2003) is officially crapping out. I know they say Macs have a longer life than PCs, but I defy anyone to show me their Mac that’s lasted 7 years. Are you kidding me? 7 years?! Jeez. Average life span is 3.
So here’s a pretty and new 17″ Dell in an OPI color – No Room for the Blues. I like that it can match my nails! And it’s $734, plus $12.95 for 7-day shipping. Excuse my ghetto crop.
OR
Here’s a 15″ MacBook Pro – standard. And it’s $1700, with free shipping, ooooooo.
I mean, seriously. $1K more? What can this thing do, make me coffee?
What do yall think?
