tortious

it always rains like hell on the loser's day parade

Okay so here's the thing. I really do want to write this book. My problem is not that I can't think of anything to write about, nor is it that I can't find the words. To be frank, I just don't want to expose myself to a bunch of ass-tastic liability if any of the random assholes I might write about decide to get their panties in a bunch and sue me for libel. But then I got to really thinking about it and remembered what a very dear friend once said to me: "The goddamn truth is an absolute defense and don't you ever forget it." Good point he has there.

So. If you've ever made me really uncomfortable (by, say, sending me highly inappropriate emails on the firm network); or made a pass at me while your wife was in the next room; or hidden in a bathroom doing blow with my (then) husband at my best friend's engagement party while I was 6 months pregnant and drinking ginger ale; or blamed me for the failure of your marriage and the woeful state of your life after you broadcast on the internet your complete and total disdain for your husband and very well-articulated plan to continue using him for the purpose of subsidizing your existence . . . consider yourself warned.

We all make mistakes, and I have taken full ownership of mine. If you can't do the same, I suppose I may have to do it for you.

Game on.

is it really monday?

The part where I laughed so hard I couldn't breathe


Whatchu talkin' bout, Willis?


The part where I skipped the gym and opted for a 3-mile hike along the falls of the Towaliga River and then remembered that Georgia summers often involve unannounced late afternoon thunderstorms.


All dried off and enjoying dinner with the fam.


The part right before I lost to Dad in Trivial Pursuit. Although seriously? I totally ALMOST beat him. And besides, do YOU know who the first black Major League pitcher was, what French writer spent 27 years in prison for sex offenses, what was referred to by the U.S. government as an enhanced radiation weapon, and how many avenues radiate from the L'Arc de Triomphe in Paris? (Satchel Paige, the Marquis de Sade, the neutron bomb, and 12 - the most famous of them being the Champs Elysees. Don't hate on my vast array of totally useless knowledge.) Ps, the game is totally biased against me as my parents have owned their version since approx. 1982 when I was you know, like, FOUR YEARS OLD. I'm getting the updated version and there will totally be a rematch, bitches. Ahem.


The fine art of self-portraiture. Otherwise known as, ohai aren't we cute?

Hope you enjoyed the long weekend as much as I did!

inner monologue. i do not haz one.

Last night there was much excitement about the house with four short people clamoring underfoot, Kung Fu Panda on the PlayStation 3, one very riled up hound dog running laps around the place, and general tomfoolery of all sorts. McD alternated between video game guru to the boys and grilling a tasty beer can chicken while I made little people meals in the kitchen with babygirl as we sang along with Maroon 5 and discussed how pretty we are. At one point D got upset with his dad for leaving the room to go check on the grill. Seems the little man was in dire need of PlayStation guidance, and McD responded that it would mean more if he did it all on his own, with no help - that it would be more fulfilling that way.

As McD strolled through the kitchen on his way outside to the grill, I stirred the mac & cheese on the stove and said, "Oh really? Because personally I always find it more fulfilling when you do it for me." And then continued on with my dinner preparations, swaying babygirl on my hip and singing along with one very talented Adam Levine. I may not make it through the night, I won't go home without you  . . .

McD stopped briefly to look at me, and then at the floor, shaking his head with that ever-familiar look on his face. You know, the one that reads: Is there anything at all that you won't say?

okay seriously. no, really. shut UP I'm totally being serious.

K so y'all know how I'm always like (cue sorority girl squeal), "Oh my GAH I so totally want to write a book!"? And then y'all are all like, oh how cute, Cindy made a funny? Well, yeah. Step off. Cause it's totally happening. So THERE. I've got a bona fide publicist (who may or may not be a BFF), a skeleton pitch, and zero words written. But I do have a totally positive attitude!

I suppose what I really need to do now is umm, start writing?

Anyway maybe one of these days, you'll be able to get all of my snark, sass, and southern charm in book format and (like, right after monkeys fly out of my butt) you'll see something that looks like this at your local bookstore:

Squee!

Happy Monday, loves. If you can't be good, make me proud and be good at it.

call me ishmael: help me name my epic novel

So, while many of you know I am crazy passionate about practicing law (ask anyone who saw me in trial last month); I've always wished I could con someone into letting me write for a living. I got a little excited this morning about the faint possibility that might actually happen, and realized I'd have to come up with a pitch. I'm not sure what I could write about with any authority. Here's what I've got so far:

Mommy Has a Hangover: An Illustrated Cookbook for Four Year-Olds

Thank You Sir May I Have Another: My Eight Years in Law School

Financial Planning for the Broke: Because Yes, They Really Will Turn Off Your Electricity

I Can Squeeze in Drinks Next Thursday: Never Be Too Available, or How to Play the Field Like It's Your Job

Hair of the Dog: Bartending for Kids or

Get Mummy A Drink, Love: The Fine Art of Bloody Mary's for First Graders

Tossing the Baby and the Bathwater: Divorce is Expensive Because It's Damn Well Worth It

Because Even Dior Waterproof Eventually Runs: A Cosmo Girl's Guide to Grieving, or Why Funerals Are Better Without Dates

Yes, She Really Will Find Out: A Cautionary Tale (take that where ye shall, darling freaders); with the much anticipated follow-up:

He Just Might Be Worth It: But Love Is Still a Battlefield

PMS: It Doesn't Stand for Pack My Shit; A Field Guide for Boyfriends and Husbands

The Fun Monkey: How to Love Someone Else's Children, or Who Wants to Go to the Toy Store with Cici? 

Neosporin & Whiskey: Emergency Medical Treatment for the Uninsured

No, YOU Fuck Off: How to Argue with a Trial Lawyer or

Stop F*cking Cross-Examining Me: How to Articulately Piss Off Your Lawyer Boyfriend

Sometimes It's Okay to Live Beyond Your Means: Even the Fattest Ass Looks Better in High-End Denim

 . . . thoughts, my darling freaders?

it happens

Wanna know what happens to people who start the day by announcing via their facebook status that their morning will be spent debating wardrobing choices (Susana Monaco v. ella moss, to be precise) and that Mondays are much more tolerable with a dinner date in New Orleans?

Shit, that's what. Shit happens.

I woke up feeling a little bit like leftover ass and then noted a damn near fatal mild pain in my jaw, so I decided to call my dentist, who kindly offered to work me in over lunch. I arrived around twelve hoping to be on my way in a few short minutes with an anti-inflamatory prescription, an appointment for later in the week, and best wishes for a romantical evening in N'awlins. Unfortunately I left at five after one with a numb face, a mouth full of gauze, and one less tooth. As it turns out, those of us with heart conditions and severely infected jaws aren't allowed to have appointments later in the week. (I definitely argued, at which point they agreed to let me leave against medical advice after I signed a waiver acknowleding the risk of death by way of endocarditis. Foregoing tasty crawfish and my Tuesday morning coffee on the French Quarter sucks large, but actual death might be a touch worse.)

So McD unceremoniously left me all alone here with a stack of gauze, some Gatorade, and a cheek the size of a grapefruit. (Btw, does anybody actually like grapefruit? Eww.) I do have some pain medicine though, so that's fun. Somebody get me a Maker's Mark, will ya? (How would I like it? Oh, how very kind of you to ask. I'd like it . . . in a glass, please and thank you. No rocks, no water. Just bourbon. In the south that's what we like to call sippin' whiskey.) (On second thought, make that a plastic cup. I'm sorta lit and don't wanna go breaking anybody's nice wedding registry crystal highball.)

So it's just me and the dog here. Oh, before I forget, I do not recommend reading Top Chef: The Cookbook when you are high and cannot eat. Just thought you should know. (What? Don't act like you're not the kind of people who get high and read cookbooks.) Also, grape soda is tasty. Finally, you should give your dog the new Benefuls doggie lamb and rice stew. It's like Lean Cuisine for dogs. I just gave one to Ella and she was like, Cici? I love you. Hold me. Call McD and tell him to not to even bother coming home. The puppeh is officially spoiled and I am officially all alone and suffering and hi honey, I hope you feel like a huge assh*le.

So if anyone wants to come over and make me some scrambled eggs, I'll be here. Oh! And don't forget the bourbon.

thought for today

in which I let you read my email

My weekend can be summed up quite nicely by this email I sent my BFF in NYC at 10:22 last night in response to a sweet and thoughtful note she'd sent me.

*Names redacted to protect the innocent*

"Currently exHAUSTed from father's day festivities. Up til 3 am cleaning house (top to bottom scrub was one of [McD]'s presents), wrapping gifts, running to store at 1:30 in the morning for corn on the cob which I forgot last night, making the egg custard to set overnight for [McD]'s fave dessert - creme brulee, natch; and strategically placing smartly wrapped goodies with heartfelt cards and bud vases filled with freshly snipped daisies about the house; and then up again this morning to make bacon and eggs, receive [D] and [babygirl] (who had to be transported to target with me in the middle of the day because [redacted] keeps sponging all the panties i stock up on over here and not motherfucking returning them) (Tarje, btw? yeah they had no fucking 2T/3T panties in store today because they are commie rat fucking bastards); presenting [McD]with presents to include snoopy boxers and a lovely framed print of some kind of airplane he likes; serving a late lunch of baby back ribs, corn on the cob, and a right tasty cilantro potato salad; shipping [D] and [babygirl] back off, picking my boys up, schlepping them over to see my father for 7.5 minutes, bringing them back home for q.t. with [McD] (playing the new kung fu panda game he got them), fighting them into bed, and now wishing for a martini but unable to summons the requisite energy to prepare one so instead sitting here with my mello yello watching 24 on the couch with [McD] and debating whether to accept an ex-boyfriend's recent friend request on facebook."

For the record, I did friend the ex. Ps, he's gotten fat (no really). And his wife has probably the worst flaming red bottle dye job I've ever seen in all of my life (scary). Plus his kid has the same name as my dog. So there's that.

Happy F*cking Monday.

(No srsly I love you guys, have a great week.)

summer has yet again snuck up on my fat a**

Forgive my extended absence. Sometimes I just get way too caught up in the glamorous day to day happenings of my ever so charmed life. Like the other night, for example, when I was sitting on the couch talking to McD about fondue, and I discovered that "fondue" really is a very funny word, and if you say it lots of times fast you will realize just how funny and weird it is. Fondue fondue fondue fondue fondue fondue. See?

Honestly, not all that much has been going on around here. We wrapped up the trial in a week, and the jury came back on a Friday night with a verdict that was not in our favor. And then me and my dreamy boyfriend drowned our sorrows in large margaritas and deliciously fattening tamales at Uncle Julio's. And then I fell asleep in the car on the drive home from Atlanta, drooled on the armrest, got home, crawled up the stairs, and slept on top of the covers with all of my clothes on for twelve solid hours. So. That's that. As my little bro reminded me upon hearing my disappointing news: Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose, and sometimes it rains. You really just can't win 'em all.

I have recently purchased three new bathing suits in anticipation of our beach vacation next month. For the record, I have not purchased a new bathing suit in many moons. I have two bathing suits, one of them is five years old and the other is not far behind. So this was a pretty monumental occasion for me. When the UPS man brought them on Tuesday, I tried them on immediately and shock and surprise! I was actually not horrified with the way I looked in them. Then I tried them on for The Boyfriend, hoping he'd really like at least one of them, and be all like Damn baby you are so hot and sexy; and instead he was kinda like, "Meh."

My latest excuse for not going to the gym has been that I lost my key card. So I went yesterday and got a new one. Discussed with McD the proper weights and exercises to target my "problem areas" and have vowed to drag my ass to the gym as often as possible, and also put in several hundred crunches a day until it's time to go to the beach. (Of course, with four crazed children in tow, I'm not sure who I"m kidding in thinking that I'll have time to notice how I look in the bathing suit, but still.)

As we all know, these resolutions are easy to make and hard to keep. I really need some external accountability. And that's where you come in, my darling freaders. This I pledge to you: We leave for the beach on July 19. On July 18, I will post a picture of myself, in a bathing suit, on this blog. You heard it here first. I might even let you guys pick the bikini. (For the record, even after two babies, I do not own a one-piece bathing suit. Yes, I'm an idiot.)

Anyway, I would say busting out in a bikini on the world wide motherfreaking web should be incentive enough to drag my flabby ass to the gym. And before you all start in about OMG you're so skinny shut up; I want you to know that I have gained twelve pounds in the last month. Twelve. And also, I am not really looking to lose weight, but rather just to tighten up my fat jiggly ass certain areas. I'm not going on a diet (although I do need to lay off the nachos and such); I'm just going to do some hardcore weight training and crunches and be sure to get a run in more than once a week.

So, Ghetto Bootie Blogger here is off to clean the kitchen floor, do some laundry, get my therapy on for an hour, and take my babays to the pool for an afternoon swim before they leave me for the weekend. Hope you all have a great one. Oh, and Happy Father's Day, Dad! Also Happy Father's Day to Mike and Egan!

Big smooches, loveys!

Each of the Two: on motivation. and naughty undies. (duh.)

Hi hi Ladies and Germs! This is Each, and usually I am HERE.  But today I am here, see below…

Because I am Mature and One Classy Broad, the first thing I thought of when I read Cici's story about heading to court was, "I hope she is planning on wearing naughty undies while in court,  I know I would."

And I am so happy for her and proud, so I wanted to convey what a strong and wonderful and beautiful woman she is and how she is a true roll model for mothers and women everywhere.  So I wrote her, "I hope you are planning on wearing naughty undies while in court, I know I would."

I should be a motivational speaker.

When I was in Grad School (hardest 3 years of my life, Woot! to all those that make it!), I was, howyousay, poor?  On top of that I was not allowed to work, my Department "forbid it", despite this I got a part time job.

I needed a job that my Professors, my male professors, my  GAY male professors would never catch me in, would never come in to, so this obstacle combined with the two factors, need for proximity to where I lived and the afore mentioned "class", found me hocking my wears (literally and figuratively) at the much fabled Victoria's Secret.

Is anyone surprised by this?  If so, you are borderline mentally impaired if not completely so and I am impressed at your ability to even turn this computer on, good show!

Victoria's Secret taught me many a thing, some I will save for another time, but suffice to say:

• Never question a man who is at a lingerie store looking for gifts for his Mom, his Girl AND his Baby Momma.  Just smile and grab a flannel set, some perfume and a pair of crotchless panties.

• I hate people and thank GOD I became BFF with the store manager and she let me act on my OCD-ness and work processing and the back room organization.  Oh and goof off with her gossiping in the back room, drinking Starbucks and talking about poop and which fireman we were, uh… playing cribbage, yeah, cribbage with that weekend.

• No one needs over 20 bras.  No One.  Ever.  And yet, if they are free, you just keep racking them up!  (like the pun there?  Rack! Racking!, yeah I'm just re-DONK-ulously funny.  No?)

• And finally, naughty underpants make even the worst situation easier to deal with.

Got a massive test?  Red G-string.

Year End Presentation that the whole company is counting on?  Black lace.

Huge accounting review?  Hmmm…  Aqua thong with sequins.

Big court date, Judge staring down at you?  Lace detailed booty shorts, with a hint of under ass cupping out. Yeeeeeahh, that's hawt!

Professors want to rip you a new one in front of the rest of your class, enough so other students actually ask you about it later, the professor's sole reason seeming to be because you are a woman and they hate women.  So much so that later on they laugh in front of their studio assistant that all women cry in their program at some point, ALL of them, well all but Each… Yeah, that studio Assistant?  My boyfriend.  And yeah, You guys never did get my to cry (in front of you) did you?  Nope.

Uhh, well that one might take some binge drinking and therapy along with some nipple tassel twirling lessons.

Where was I going with this?

Oh yeah, Cici's response to my hearty and Mature (remember mature? Sure you do, its like my calling card) encouragement?  

"Umm,  I TOTALLY wore my naughty undies in court (you KNOW this)"

Atta girl.