We are living in a material world, and I am a material girl.

I had hoped this day would never come.  Sadly, I knew deep down that it would.  It was inevitable.  I'm just too shallow and materialistic to resist the temptation that is overpriced, designer clothes.

The day has arrived when my new love for what I now do, which subsequently comes with a very small paycheck, has caught up with my old love for all things designer.
I tried not to click on that Neiman's e-mail.  I really, really did.  But it was automatically delivered to my inbox, advertising the most beautiful, new spring items which my current wardrobe lacks.

I think I even made it through two whole weeks of spring e-mail advertisements before finally giving in.  But, just like an addict who needs that next fix, I really, really need those new Louboutin's, a Fendi bag, and that Chloe dress.  And, not necessarily in that order.

Spring has sprung, signifying all things fresh and new.  Flowers are blooming, babies are being born, and Easter is almost here.

Jesus does want us to be happy...

Reality Check: Happiness comes from loving what you do while carrying the new Fendi peek-a-boo tote.

Sigh.  And yet, another reason why I'm not a nice person.

People of Wal-Mart

I know most of you are familiar with this little gem.  I rediscover it about every month or so.  Nothing, I repeat, nothing makes me happier.  

www.peopleofwalmart.com

Enjoy!

Three Cats.

There are three categories of people.

1. Funny.

2. Nice.

3. Boring.

Period.  

*Note, these categories do not include those with diagnosable personality disorders.  Thus, sociopaths, those with borderline personality disorders, and anyone with the last name Peterson is specifically discluded from this analysis.

*Also, note, that this extremely scientific model has no room for Punnett squares.  For example, there is no such thing as a nice/funny person or a funny/boring person.  You are either a) funny; b) nice; or c) boring.

Period.

Let's have a moment of silence for the difference between funny, ha-ha, and funny weird...

Now, for all of you funnies, there is, in fact, a big difference between nice and boring.  The nice ones are watching over, taking care of, and praying for your kids, whilst you down that martini.

These people are not boring.  They just simply aren't funny. 

Even our dogs, Abby and Whisky, fit within these categories.  Abby=nice.  Whiskey=funny (ha-ha).  

Not too long ago, I had a particularly poignant conversation with a funny friend about wishing that I was nice.  You see, I've been able to let go of a lot of stuff.  But damnit, I'm still not an honest to god, nice person.  I mean, when you secretly (or not so secretly) wish someone would shart their fancy white pants in public, or come down with a raging case of the clap, you can't be a nice person.

Or a boring person.

See?

Same said friend informed me that nice was a core character trait that few actually posess.

Eureka!  That's when it hit me.  Funny.  Nice.  Boring.  Period.

And, that's why all of my friends are funny.  Not nice.  Or boring.

Even though nice people don't judge, funny people are scared of nice people.  Boring people just don't....well...

For example, all funny people fancy themselves nice (boring people couldn't give a shit), but when it boils down to it, they're not.  I mean, funnies aren't pulling puppies' eyelashes out for fun (I fully support capital punishment for anyone that does such a heinous crime), but, at the core of each and every funny, they'd rather make someone laugh than make them happy.

Now, on to nature v. nurture. 

I believe that you are born either a) funny; b) nice; or c) boring.

For example, when I was 3 years old, I slapped my nanny, Ruth, across the face when she wouldn't buy me french fries at McDonald's.  I mean, she had the audacity to require me to behave prior to purchasing said fries.  I had a better idea: bad behavior AND french fries damnit! 

Now, I know what you're thinking...my behavior could be a product of consistently and constantly watching the Young & the Restless.  From the womb on.

Yes, nurture, I hear you knocking...

However, nice people don't slap each other across the face at the age of 3, for the shear story value.

Even back then, I knew the value of a good story.  As such, I went home and told my mom all about the fact that this mean ass woman had the nerve to refuse me french fries.  And, on top of that, spank me after refusing me said fries.  Puh-leez call Child Protective Services, STAT!

Sadly, at the ripe 'ole age of 3, I lacked the cognitive skills to discern that just because  you say it's so, doesn't mean that it is, in fact, so.  Or that anyone will believe you.  Even if daytime television proves otherwise.

They had my number.  Crap.

God I was an effing brat.  Ok, still am.  BUT, if you've ever slapped someone, thrown a drink in someone's face, or drawn a penis on someone while their passed out, welcome to the world of funny.

And Puh-leez, call me stat, so we can be friends.

Fri-toes

It's almost time for open-toed shoes.  Being that it's ALMOST time for open-toed shoes, I had not closely inspected my toes of late.  That is, until I went to pilates today. 

I removed my shoes and socks, boarded my mat, inhaled, and did a swan-dive towards my toenails...which I briefly mistook for 10 Fritos scoops. 

Maybe that's why my dog tries to lick them?

Am making a pedicure appointment.  Stat.

F-A-T. Forget the PH.

You know what seriously sucks?   Looking fatter than a 7-month (I have no clue how many weeks that translates to) pregnant girl.

My pregola sister-in-law looks bananas.  I, on the other hand, look like a sack of potatoes.

You know how you think you're totally f-i-n-e until you see a picture of yourself?  Wow.    

Dime bag of extra lbs.  Check.

Bad hair cut (or haven't had one in way too long).  Check.

Inadequately applied self tanner.  Check.  

Ugh.  I know.  Self loathing isn't very attractive, but I mean neither am I right now.  

If there was a diet that involved savingnon blanc and butter, I'm bout it bout it.  For example, tonight, I've had wine, fried calamari, bread, hummus and butter for dinner.  Wine for the antioxidants, calamari for the protein, bread, because I did work out today and need those carbs, hummus and butter for...well, aren't fats and oils part the food pyramid? 

Oh, not by the gallon?  

The same goes for wine?  

Well, Shee-it.

Top 10 Signs You're Getting Old

10. You get mamm'ed.  By someone in their 20's.

9. You are excited about going to bed a 9:30.  On a Saturday.

8. You realize that people born in the 90's can vote.  

7. And legally buy cigs.

6. The cast of Friends is totally old (Have you see Joey lately?).

5. You realize that you've been on birth control longer than you haven't.

4. Scott Disick reminds you of every "cool guy bully" in every movie you watched growing up.  

3. Without realizing what you're listening to, you find yourself humming along to the Christian Rock station on the radio.  

2. You have yelled at someone driving on your street to "SLOW DOWN!"

1. You get mail from the AARP.  (No clue how I got on that mailing list.)