Ritual Suicide

I'M IN FARMVILLE BUMBLEF*CK HELL! Where internet does not exist but for dial-up connections (where I play songs on the piano while I wait for pages to load). Where the nearest mall is 40 miles away. Where Sue Ellen leaves notes all over my room and refigerator which remind me to: "Quit Eating". And where my father watches nothing but Law and Order and the Fox News Channel.

I'M GOING OUT OF MY MIND!! SOMEONE PLEASE SAVE ME OR SHOOT ME THEM NOW.

My favorite Irish Boy (formerly of Detroit) is no longer my favoite having abandoned me for the mountains of Colorado. He did however offer this astute observation: This is why we all come back for the holidays....to be reminded of why we left in the first place.

Frankly, someone hand me the Kool-aid I'm ready to drink.

There’s No Place Like…

MY 14^TH FLOOR APARTMENT IN DOWNTOWN DC!!

Where i have a queen sized canopy bed (instead of my beautiful but small day bed which was oh so cool at the age of 16), where I have museums and public transportation, where I have a rite aid on the corner and where I am awakend at 3 am to the blaring of a motorcade or firetruck instead of crickets.

They say that home is where the heart is. In my case, home is where the insane and usually intoxicated family are.

My apologies for the silence although I suppose I get a free holiday pass? Yes? I’m sure the fact that I have been in the rural countryside, surrounded by family members, too much alcohol, the inevitable drama that follows and a DIAL-UP INTERNET CONNECTION provides some explaination.

I honestly don’t know what to say about the holidays except they began, as all family retreats should, with 36 hours of no sleep and a hangover the size of Texas.

However, the day passed in a somewhat hazy but lovely fashion – last minute Christmas shopping with the Dad while the rest of the fam who is not currently in residence within 5 miles of our childhood home (currently totaling two) were being picked up at the airport. Sue Ellen kept a low profile and didn’t even bat an eye when I said ‘I don’t want to go to church this Christtmas Eve’ (thought I was going to get a verbal slapping for that one) but instead she allowed my headonistic request and so instead of celebrating the virgin birth, I played poker with dad, mom and my little brother. A Christmas Eve without singing Silent Night amidst screaming babies, a mediocre choir and while holding the obligatory dime store candles dripping hot wax dripping down my fingers - I was in heaven.

Baby sis is huge. The baby is due in 3 weeks and she looks like she’s about ready to pop. She’s set the wedding date for August (eye roll). Please understand, I’m not NOT happy for her – definitely NOT jealous of her, but I find myself a tad disturbed. Normally I wouldn’t be this judgmental of friends and acquaintences for having an unplanned child out of wedlock and to be perfectly honest, respect them for having the courage to deal with the situation rather than 'avoiding it' which would be my imediate reaction. In that regard, I do respect her decision, but I suppose its because this is my own family – where things are supposed to be ‘normal’ (or at least any abnormal situations are quickly sweapt under the rug) – where baby sis and I would act out our fantasies of marriage and children (in that order) with Barbie and Ken dolls - where we do things in an orderly manner: ‘first comes love, then comes marriage, THEN comes…” (sing it with me now).

Oh I know I’ll love my new baby niece to be sure…I’ll just be happy when the baby is born healthy ‘I do’s’ are said and they begin their "happily ever after" scenario.

As for the rest of the brood: 24 first cousins, 12 aunts and uncles, 4 dogs ‘a barking', 5 nieces and nephews, 2 pregnant sisters – and a partridge in a pear tree. Insanity. Pure insanity.

Additionally I find that sadly enough, I have almost nothing to talk to these people about. Outside of the initial catching up "oh how are you? still in dc? how's the new job? what is it you do again? Seeing anyone special?" We have zero in common and zero to talk about. Not only that but they don't understand me. They don't understand the appeal of living in a big city, the ambition of climbing a corporate ladder, or the trials and tribulations of dating in your mid twenties - because, lucky them, they never got to experience it!

They're chatting about morning sickness, day care and epidurals and what do I have to contribute to this conversation?

'Speaking of children, my cat did the cutest thing yesterday?' ' I had amazing sex last night with a man I hardly knew?' 'My friends and I went to this black tie opening at the Corcoran?' 'Did you know they're raising metro fares!?'

None of these ideas, while favorite topics of conversation my cohorts, would be remotely appropriate or mildly interesting to this audience. And so I do what all middle children learn to do so well - disappear and blend into the scenery.

Thank goodness things are much quieter today, I’m on vacation and plan on taking full advantage of being out in the middle of nowhere, sitting on my couch (the scene of many an virginal sexual exploit whilst my parents were asleep or out of town), in a much lived in farm house, on a dirt road, where my nearest neighbor is my uncle, looking out on cornfields the stretch out until they touch the sky. Not a bad view but I feel it will become old sometime around tomorrow afternoon.

I hope you all had the Merriest of holidays and are looking forward to the New Year. I’ll be solidifying the proverbial resolutions that will inevitably be broken within 48 hours of the rining in of the new year and will of course be sharing them with you (like it or not).

Frankly, I can't wait to get out of here.

Fashion Anorexia No More: A Triumph for T&A

Italy finally got it right! This is not only a triumph for self-esteem and a cry to stop the madness but also a validation for those of us who actually have the fabled 'Tits & Ass'. Frankly, It's about damn time!

ITALY ISSUES NEW CODE TO STOP ULTRA SKINNY MODELS
Tue Dec 19, 2006 7:48 AM ET ROME, Dec 16 (Reuters Life!) - Italy's government and its fashion chiefs issued a manifesto on Saturday to crack down on the use of ultra-thin teenagers on the catwalk, requiring models to show proof of their good health or be barred from fashion shows.
The charter also bans the use of models who are under the age of 16, saying they risk "sending the wrong message to girls of the same age in the delicate pre-puberty stage."
The manifesto, which will be officially signed next week, was drawn up as pressure grows on the fashion world to promote healthier looks.
Spain barred models below a certain weight from Madrid fashion shows in September. Earlier this month Brazil also launched a campaign to ban underage, underweight models from its catwalks in response to the death of a Brazilian model from complications due to anorexia.
"The government and fashion associations have sealed a strategic partnership to launch a common fight against anorexia," said Youth and Sports Minister Giovanna Melandri.
Powerful Milan fashion houses at first resisted calls to follow the Spanish example, with Italian National Fashion Chamber head Mario Boselli saying in September that only "maybe one girl in a hundred" could be defined as too skinny.
But Boselli, whose lobby represents big names like Armani, Versace and Prada, later agreed to work with Melandri on a self regulatory code of good practice.
The manifesto requires models to produce a health certificate and says those with "apparent eating disorders" will be barred from fashion shows.
The criteria used will include the body mass index -- a ratio of weight to height squared. The World Health Organization classifies women with an index of less than 18.5 as underweight.

Dancing, Assult and a Jumbo Slice

Well to make a very loooong night’s story short – Saturday evening I went out with VT, her brother and Argyle (so called because of the argyle sweater he was sporting – it was actually kind of cute…but just too easy to make fun of and me being, well, me …I did!) to Adams Morgan.

I had met argle and VT’s brother (VTB) on Halloween. They came over to my apartment for a pregaming party I was throwing for Barbie #1 as she was moving the next day. Because Barbie #1 has been my best friend my first year as a DC resident – I went all out: bought bottles of Champaign, cooked. Ok, I didn’t technically ‘cook’ – I chopped up vegetables, mixed up some low fat dip, put some salsa in a bowl and cut up cheese. Anytime the food preparatory process is more complicated than open, microwave and eat - I consider it cooking.

And so I opened the door in my oh so cute costume – took a deep breath and assumed the role of hostess with the mostest J I served, refilled, shuffled and smiled and since I did not end up going out with the bigger party – I hope I did my part to give Barbie a proper sendoff (this IS relavent information...keep reading). Apparently it made quite an impression on these young gentlemen (you'd think they'd never seen cubed cheese before) and they though I was the most charming, calm, sedated and accomidating gal they'd ever met. (snicker)

So imagine VTB and Argyle’s surprise when they saw me out in true Saturday Scarlett form – buying rounds of Jell-O shots, going drink for drink with the boys, cracking jokes, making the bitchiest of observations and dancing like Fergie’s London Bridge was a comin’ down.

Half way through the evening, they expressed their surprise – their very pleasant surprise that I was not, in fact Martha-F*cking-Stewart which VT and I thought was the most hilarious thing we’d ever heard (and I’ll bet it will give many of you a chuckle as well).

Anyhoo… we started out the evening at the ever popular Reef, followed by the afore mentioned Jell-O shots at Millie & Al’s, a trip to the ever div-y and fabulous Dan’s Café and ending the evening at Nola's.

I was a Nola’s virgin at the start of the evening, now I feel like ….well….like I’ve been around the twist and back.

As I walked in…a cute guy started staring and smiling – being a bottle of wine, 2 jellow shooters and lord knows how many miller lites in, I smiled back and a few minutes later he came over and full on GRABBED MY CHEST. I’m sorry, is there a culture in which people say hello in this fashion? I was so shocked, my involuntary, knee-jerk reaction was, in fact just that: an involuntary knee-jerk reaction.

I kneed him ('where it counts') so hard that…well…he doubled over and I thought he was going to cry. Did I mention that my therapist says I have anger management issues? Well, I walked away without apologizing and felt…very un-sorry. And kind of good.
The evening perked up when the cutest guy I had seen in a very long time walked into the bar. He wasn’t good looking ala Brad Pitt or Clive Owen…but more along the lines of adorable ala Chris O’Donnell and looked just like Michael Ball (for those who are theatrically non in-the-know, please see the attached picture). The cute, teddy bear type you just want to curl up with forever.

*Sigh*

He smiled. I smiled. He came over – there was no uninvited gropage, and he said, “I’m sorry, but you are so cute”

(blush…big, Scarlett smile)
“Thanks, I was just thinking the same thing about you”

Friendly banter,blah blah blah, I live here, I live there, I do this, I do that, and then... he kissed me – soft, sweet…weak in the knees kind of kiss.

“What was that for?”

“Just felt right”

“Yes it did”

Blah blah blah – and he asked for my number. And I gave it to him and kissed him good bye.
I doubt he’ll call. Boys never call. Right? It's been 24 hours already and I suppose if he were going to call...he would have by now.

Ugh – this is why the giving out of numbers is never good – because they never call and you wonder why and then you’re disappointed, and it all culminates in one big therapy bill and a year's supply of anti-depressents. No. No. Much better to just cut and run.

So to recap: There was drinking, shattered images of domestic goddess status, physical assult, romance and a jumbo slice. Frankly, it was just the recipe for a wonderful Saturday evening.

I've Gotta Crush

My favorite wino brought this to my attention!

And so here it is. My chance to come clean - my chance to admit my undying affections and admit that I do, indeed have a crush on....

Texpundit: Yes, I have a thing for Texans, and this one in particular :) His hysterical, yet somewhat misguided theories on women are usually guaranteed to illicit a hot-tempered response from yours truly

Hipster Dork: What can I say? His musical tastes get me weak in the knees. And he is even more charming in person :)

DC Viking: Hasn't posted since...well...a LONG F*ING Time! Oh, how I miss you.

Chronicles of a Bachelor:Dustin, you're sometimes silly, sometimes crude, mostly cute and always hilarious and your love of cats will endear you to me forever!

K Street: This is a love/hate relationship - you've developed a singular knack for pissing me off. I hate your politics, but I must admit, the blog is a guilty pleasure.

Disturbingly enough it would seem that I am a crushing slut! Oh well - there you have it! The blogger boys the I luv!* I encourage all those who have yet to participate - come out of the closet and reveal your love to the world! (coming from me...this is quite hysterical)

Blush....Swoon...(somebody catch me please!)

* Please know that I also have a crush on my favorite irish boy...formerly of Detroit :) A crush since the 8th grade....is there really any other kind? But sadly,...he does not blog :-(

The Elf

There's an elf in my office - and not the kind sent from Santa. He's a scary little man that roams the halls of my work building. He is about 5’1, has an odd looking, pointy gotee, and speaks with unnerving, low-volume formality such as ‘greetings’ and ‘have a stupendous day.’ and this strange little person has developed a fixation on me.

He's asked me out three times. The last time, after trying to be nice to the previous two offers, ‘sorry, I’m busy that day.’ ‘I really don’t think I can’ to no avail. And so, I finally had to lie:

‘I have a boyfriend, I really can’t’ .

To which he replied: ‘ahhh…I see. Is it a deep relationship?’

‘oh ya. The deepest.’

But now he’s resorted to full-on stalking and it’s wierding me out.

He works in the suite next to mine and as I was walking to the ladies room this morning I spotted him down the hall, walking into his suite. Then coming out of the ladies' room...he was waiting for me!

And he smiled and said ‘hello, Scarlett'.

‘hi’ (still walking...trying to get away)

‘you’re looking particularly luscious I must say’

(I kid you not – those words came out of his mouth). Keep in mind that I woke up 20 minutes before I had to leave the house. My hair air-dried all curly, I have on NO makeup, jeans, and a big, bulky sweater. ‘Luscious’ is NOT an appropriate term for me at this present moment.

He then inquired as to my holiday plans.

‘I’m going home....far far away...to dallas ’.

‘oh. I thought you were from the south’

‘um…texas IS the south’

I'm not scared of this man - i could drop kick this little midget from here to Philly - it's just creepy and now I am a prisoner in my suite scared to roam the halls for fear of encountering this elf.

Frankly, I think this officially makes me a freak magnet.

They’re coming to take me away…HA HA

I was reading the ways in which hey pretty is fabulous - or rather fabulously quirky and got to the bottom of her post and pouted and thought: HEY! why didn't she tag me!? I all of a suddent felt 7 years old again, in the public school gymnasium and standing there waiting to be the last selected in a game of kickball.

And so I drug my pouty, rejected self off to read Candy Sandwich, who always cheers me up - and there I was! Tagged for the quirky quiz! Silly me - HP didn't tag me because I had already been tagged. Silly, Scarlett.

So I apologize, HP, my dear dear friend, for about to pen a desperate email something along the lines of: ‘I thought we were FRIENDS (sniffle sniffle)’. WHY DON’T YOU LOVE ME ANYMORE!?!?

OK since I’m officially tagged as a ‘cool kid’ (insert sigh of releif) I will indulge Candy Sandwich and innumerate the ways in which, yours truly, needs to be put forth whit, into the loony bin (and truth be told, it was hard to narrow it down to 6)

1) Please see the above statements - these are not the thoughts of a 'normal person' - its a stupid email tag for cryin out loud! But I often think that people are mad at me when they've no reason to be - the result of too man wacko's in my life? Or maybe I'm just paranoid. But you know what they say...'Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean that no one's after you!' (Cicero)

2) I have a set morning ritual that really doesn’t begin until I leave my house. And it goes something like this: push the elevator button, put on headphones. Wait in elevator, put on headphones, walk across the street to the metro, put $1.00 in change on the hotdog vendor’s tray, say ‘good morning’ to the vendor and take a diet dr. pepper. Take an Examiner from the lady at the top of the escalators, say ‘thank you and have a nice day’ run down the escalator, through the turnstile, park myself at the third bench in and wait for the train. I then sit backwards (two seats in if I can) ride the train to work and time myself on how long it takes me to finish the Sodoku puzzle. Don't worry - I'll shake things up sometimes – I’ll buy a Diet Mountain Dew instead.

3) I enjoy sleeping on couches. While in a sorority I would routinely fall asleep on the quad couch and sleep there for the night. For no particular reason, just preferred it to my own bed. Today, when my roommate is gone for the weekend, I still sleep on the couch with the tv softly going in the background through the night. I think it has something to do with I sleep less soundly on the couch and therefore its easier to get up in the morning??

4) I always have music playing either through my headphones as I walk down the street, in the radio in my shower, or in my office throughout the day. My tastes are ecclectic – everything from the beatles, to folk artists, indie rock, punk rock, opera, jazz, britney, Snoop, you name it – its in there. But especially when I’m walking around, riding the subway, in CVS I find myself thinking – if my life were a movie this song would play after such and such would happen. Or coming up an escalator to ‘Blower’s Daughter’ thinking: this could be a scene/sountrack to the beginning of a hugh grant movie…although this daydream is shattered when instead of a tall dark and handsome brit waiting for me with a dozen red and yellow roses at the top of the escalator as scripted in my head, I’m greeted by the homeless men sleeping in the subway station. Ah – eternal disappointment.

5) My closet is in color order beginning with all white garments on the left, blending into cream, then tan, followed by pink, red, orange, yellow, blue, indigo, violet, brown, and then black on the far right. My hangers all match as well. No, I am not hyper organized and most of the time my clothes are strewn about on the floor rather than hanging neatly in a spectral order. However, this is the on part of my life that I am extremely particular about. Nowhere else. I just think it looks nice in …color order.

6) I need crave my alone time. Whether its sitting myself in front of a marble statue in the National Gallery’s east wing, with the dulcet tones of Sara Brightman in my ears and sketch, sitting at a dark, corner booth in my favorite pub ordering a grilled cheese sandwitch with chedder cheese and tomato while writing nonsense in a journal, or just relaxing in a hot bubble bath with a book and a glass of wine - I need a considerable amount of time for reflection and quality time with …well…me.

7) I KNOW I was only supposed to write 6 BUT….I can recite both Gone with the Wind and The Wizard of Oz verbatum songs and musical cues from start to finish.

And there you have it. Now that you know that truth about my deep seated wierdness...I will be accepting friendship resignations directly. And I do apologize if I leave anyone out - it doesn't mean I DON'T LOVE YOU but I feel compelled to tag My Blog Twin, Crazy Redhead, DCVita, and the termanilly cool Hipster Dork. Have fun, kids.

Frankly, its scary to think just how wierd we all are. If we weren't though, I suppose we'd have nothing to write about.

Oh Christmas Tree....

It’s official. For the first time since I moved out east for college in 1998 I have my very own Christmas Tree. Ta-Da!!

NoNo – It’s not a real one (much to my father’s horror). For those that don’t know, and really many don’t…I grew up on a farm. A Christmas tree farm to be more precise. Sure we had the usual farm fare in some fields…corn, soybeans, wheat….but the majority of the 2k acreage was dominated by a sea of green trees. Quite pretty, actually.

And yes, I would love a real tree – however, let’s be realistic here, folks. I live 14 floors up in downtown DC sans car and sans boyfriend to do the heavy lifting. You do the math. So for now, this plastic, five foot replica of an evergreen will stand in my living room as a reminder of my childhood, a beacon of seasonal light a holder of candy canes and a consistent source of entertainment for my cat as she tries to knock down the ornaments.

While we’re getting into the proverbial Christmas spirit here at TSL, I have take the liberty of compiling a list of must have i-pod tunes (in Oxymoron: Hipster Dork style though I will not even aspire to give you the eclectic and fabulous musical lineup that he provides weekly) guaranteed to put a smile on your face, bring on cravings of hot cocoa and eggnog, induce uncontrollable urges to write letters to Santa and grow even the Grinchy-ist of Grinch hearts!


Scarlett's Holiday Music:

1. Its Beginning To Look a Lot Like Christmas (Bing Crosby)
   
   
2. The Nutcracker Suite (Brian Setzer Orchestra)
   
   
3. Santa Baby (Madonna)
   
   
4. All I want for Christmas (Mariah Carey)
   
   
5. Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer
   
   
6. Christmas Time (Alvin and the Chipmunks)
   
   
7. Grown Up Christmas List (Amy Grant)
   
   
8. My Only Wish (This Year) (Britney Spears)
   
   
9. Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas (Frank Sinatra)
   
   
10. The Christmas Song (Nat King Cole)
    
    
11. Christmastime (The Smashing Pumpkins)
    
    
12. We Three Kings (Patti Smith)
    
    
13. Come Home for Christmas (Bon Jovi)
    
    
14. Marry Christmas Baby (Bruce Springsteen)
    
    
15. When My Heart Finds Christmas (Harry Connick Jr.)
    
    

In slightly related news, I hope I will see you all at the Happy Hour this evening at Science Club. I can’t promise how long I’ll be there, but it will definitely be long enough to buy KassyK a birthday drink, and say hello to some fabulous friends. I have incuded the info below. For more details please see I-66, our tireless social chair. I'll be the one with the Santa hat and mistletoe!

Have a lovely weekend!

Frankly,

So long and Thank you.

So Long, farewell, auf Wiedersehen, good night....

Sniffle - oh how I will miss you, A Taste of Red - with your vibrant wine glass, sounds of my favorite song (THE taste of red) ringing in my ears. With your slighly cluttered but lived in feel. And with your archives filled with nonsense past.

My new blog is up and running! It is bittersweet, I must admit. But I am looking forward to posting with some regularly again and engage onece more without the fear of censorship or termination.

And I just want to say...thank you, darling readers of red. Thank you all for your support, help, advice, humor, comments and friendship. I would have never ever thought when I jumped into the DC blogging pool ya'll would not only teach me to swim but keep me afloat.

Who'd have thought I'd meet some of the most amazing people and be lucky enough to now call many of them friends. Please permit me to say a special thank you to:

HP - I am in perpetual awe of you. Your strength, your humor, your talent. There's no one else I would rather sit in a smokey corner and trade bitchy (but funny) observations with. I'm so lucky to have you as part of my life.

Tink - My darling blog twin and fellow cinema junkie. Who else would help me sneak out of the back of a restaurant to get away from a bad date on a moment's notice and then run into your ex-fiance who I made out with many moons ago and who happens to be the best friend of 'the little sh*t' that almost got me fired! Just remember - it's all about following the lessons that lifetime television teaches us.

Allen - My vino guru. Thank you for being a sponge to soak up my rants and reassurance that nice guys do exist.

66 - Without the cajoling I'd have never had the guts to step out from behind the blog. I'm so glad I did. Thank you.

Travel Girl - Woman, there are no words. Just 'cheers to that.'

VK - My movie buddy. Who knew such a cool guy could really be so sweet?

Last and NEVER least my fellow redheads - I'm still with ya gals - just gimme time to find my grove over there.

Bug Hugs! Please update your links give me a week or so and yours will be up and running as well.

See you around and feel free to email me at for links to the new site!

Stalker Material?

Writing seems to be a bit like exercise. If you don’t do it every day or at least with some regularity your stamina, flexibility and strength begin to wain a bit. In the case of writing, I think creative ideas, personal expression, and general discipline tend to all fall victim to the inactivity of my keyboard to tasks other than IM’ing and looking for incredibly expensive shoes I cannot afford to buy.

Not that I’m ‘waining’ necessarily but I find it a bit less pressing to fill my blog with content now that it is passworded. I am eagerly awaiting the completion of “The Scarlett Letters” and as much as this blog is/was dedicated to life as a redhead, reds in the news, and general redheaded fabulousness – because I was well advised to leave the redhead thing behind, The Scarlett Letters will be devoted to difficult women. Women who are vilified in some way, difficult to deal with in all their feistiness, and in general punished for their outspokenness. I’m sure I’ll have pleanty of material to work with.

In other news: I have a date tomorrow night. A date. I met him while out with HP after the Blogger happy hour (which was great btw). Crazy times always seem to ensue when HP is present :)

He was very nice, told me I was beautiful, blah blah blah. I think it was the redheaded sluts back at Macky's but I gave him my number. He texted me on monday to say that he was watching the wizard of oz and i reminded him of dorothy (since that is my favorite movie of all time and he had no way of knowing this...well it was quite the compliment). He called me monday night and we chatted and he said 'i haven't been nervous calling a girl since i was 15 but I was nervous calling you.' (kinda dorky but sweet).



Anyway, he's a trader in NYC and he is flying down here for the sole purpose of taking me to the movies and dinner tomorrow night. Yes. he bought a plane ticket and is staying at a hotel and taking me out. He also said he got me something. Does this have stalker written all over it?



I'm also mildly guilty. With the Canadian in the picture and all. I CAN go on dates, we have an open dating policy....can't explain it. I also don't know if I feel really ready to date again yet. He was just so sweet...I couldn't say no. It doesnt mean I need to have a relationship with him...it's just one night...



ok i'm rambling now and the nyquill is kicking in. sweet dreams.

'Miss Scarlett' on the Web with the Blog

Thank you all for the advice and support.

The little shit has actually screwed himself – he will never be offered a job now after his internship as he has proven that he’s a vindictive little skank who is NOT to be trusted. Hmm…maybe I will take up with a politician or an IRS employee, have him audited someday or something. Allen and I actually talked about starting a ‘buy the intern a herpes infected hooker’ fund.

So today I said about 4 ‘our fathers’ while riding the train to work – in English, Latin, French, Irish Gaelic – just to cover my bases. It’s the most praying I’ve done since Notre Dame Prep.

The little shit wasn’t there today – but the gal I blogged about was and she was pretty hostile. To be expected I suppose. Oh well. I faced it – I kissed a LOT of ass, smiled and did my best and I hope it will be better tomorrow. What else can I do?

Non Blogging was not a condition of employment and they said I could keep my blog. I just think there are too many people from work reading now so…I’d have a hard time posting what I want to post I think. Oh well. I like ‘Scarlett Letters’ – I don’t think anyone in my office is especially internet savy and would take a lot of effort to find my new blog. Not to mention the fact that I will be careful not to write about work on it and I probably won't post my archives for awhile.

So on to the next chapter and ‘The Scarlett Letters’ it is! It’s got the red thing – it’s got the whole – ‘you’re evil and have been branded’ literary connotation which is somewhat accurate now I suppose. The new posting name will be ‘Miss Scarlett’ (either of the Miss O’Hara persuasion –got the irish thing in there too, or the vampy Clue character – take your pick). Too cliché do you think? Or cute and creative?

I’m really sad to leave A Taste of Red Behind! It’s like saying goodbye to a friend or personae. I’m a dork…I know. Well I hope you will all still love me when ‘Miss Scarlett’ makes her debut. I’ll still post all protected n’stuff here until its ready.

I will let you know when it’s up and running. On to better things I suppose. I’m taking this as a chance for doing something new.

Big Hugs to ya'll!

I'm Movin' On

Hello, friends.

I am posting this to let you know why I am now passwording. On Friday I was almost fired for my blog.

A few weeks ago, my intern (who I will now refer to as 'the little shit') hooked up with a friend of mine. The friend told me just that he happens to have a lot of woodden crosses in his bedroom and it freaked her out. In a gossipy, ill advised mood, I shared this information with some of my collegues. Last week, after too much to drink, the collegue poked fun of the little shit.

The little shit reads my blog. And the little shit showed my VP wednesday's rant as it was about her.

Long story short - I had to beg for my job on Saturday morning.

I am not fired but I do not think it would be wise to keep blogging on this site. Without passwording everything and that's just no fun.

But I will be passwording until I decide where I'm moving. Right now all that's hindering the 'move' is a new name. I love "a taste of red' so much and so it will be sad to leave. But any suggestions about a new name are welcomed and certainly appreciated. I'd like to keep with the Red theme though. So far I'm thinking either 'The Scarlett Letters', 'Red Tape', 'Redheaded Phoenix', or 'A Red Light in the District'.

Big Hugs to All!

30 is the new 20!

This post is dedicated to the most fabulous newly 30 person I KNOW!!!

And remember - this is YOUR day! Drugs, Strippers, Alcohol - you name it, and I'll make it happen!!!

Hey Pretty:

And you can wish our darling HP well tonight at....

Hosted by the UBER-fabulous I-66. I can't wait to see you all again!

Why oh Why?

I’m hung over, boys and girls. So ….because of my throbbing head and the fact that my eyes are half open, we’re resorting to updates in the form of bullets:

• Why oh why are boys so weird? I was out Saturday night with my blogging partner in crime and as the night was winding down at 1 AM, we were definitely more interested in food than in any of the men around us and as is the case when I go out with HP, I’m usually having so much fun talking to her that I don’t even pay attention to the men around me. Anyhoo….we’re eating, chatting and plotting the deaths of boys who don’t return phone calls and all of a sudden a man walks up to me and says “you are beautiful, you know that?” (surprised, and speechless) “wow, …um…thank you?” “Stunning!” “thank you again?” and he walks out the door.
  
  What would possess a man to do this? Tell a girl she’s ‘stunning’ and then don’t ask her for her number!? Very odd. Don’t get me wrong. The compliment was disarming and very nice – especially after complaining about all the hordes of blonde, skinny bitches that seemed to follow us into every bar we went to.
  
  So here’s a tip for the menfolk – if you call a girl ‘stunning’, chances are she’ll want to talk to you – so STAY.

• Why oh why oh why can’t I just shut up? I was on the phone with the Canadian last night after many many drinks and had to mention yesterday’s post – as we have a running joke about stupid people….and why is this a bad thing you ask? Canadian doesn’t know I have a blog. Canadian doesn’t know a lot of information that he would discover if he were to peruse A Taste of Red. So I made him promise not to go looking for it, and so far no Canadian flags have popped up on my site meter. So here’s hopin’ he WON’T look for it – or if he does, hopefully it won’t be ALL that easy to find. After all what could he search for? The name of my cat? Probably the subject of yesterday’s post? All of which I have googled and blogger-ed and this little web space is nowhere to be found.
  
  But why did I open my big mouth? Truth be told I’ve been dying to talk to him about the blogging – since I love it and get the occasional positive feedback. I’ve also wanted to tell him because he has a blog as well – so yes – I wanted to say, look at me! Look at me!
  

• Why oh why do I feel the need to talk to Exs? SA is in the states – in Miami actually. And we have talked every night this week. He’s not good for me to talk to. He can be sweet, charming, etc. But he’s a manipulative little something-or-other and ….well…its best if we don’t speak. Will I heed this bit of self-advice this evening? Who knows.
  

• Why oh why am I dateless? The Canadian is NOT coming to take me to the wedding next weekend. So unless my favorite Irish boy in Detroit comes through….it’ll be me alone on a military base…hmmm…that could actually be kind of fun – but a definite recipe for trouble.

And Lastly….

• Why oh why did I drink so much last night???

Voter Hangover

I would like to clarify a few things before you proceed, dear reader, with this morning's rant:

#1. You know I don’t generally pursue topics of a political nature on A Taste of Red. I leave that to many Democrats, Republicans and the just plain brilliant bloggers in the DC area who are much more inclined to wax philosophical on these topics daily.

Whether or not I agree with them, they are good at what they do – and so I leave it to them to do it. Don't get me wrong, I certainly have, cherish, and am passionate about my political opinions and leanings, however, I find my rants on the subject are much better placed to my father over the phone or yelling and throwing the occasional pillow or nail file (as was the case Monday night) at political commentators and elected officials who appear on my television screen and speak faster than I can hit the mute button or change the channel (hey – I’m a Redhead! We get fired up!) - to be more personally cathartic for me than posting it on here. Revelation: I am more than just a big smile and a short skirt….Gasp!

#2. If you have an opinion, that you can back up with substantial evidence, thought and rationality…I will happily listen, discuss and perhaps disagree – but I will respect your views.

Ok, let’s get on with it.

Never mind what I think about this morning’s election results. Unimportant. I have conservative friends, liberal friends and my best friend in the world is a card carrying communist – who my father refers to as ‘his favorite Bolshevik’.

I don’t hate Republicans…..I don’t hate Democrats…..I hate Stupid People. And for the purposes of this rant, I classify the ‘uninformed’ as stupid. Not only should stupid people not be allowed to reproduce…more importantly, they should NOT be allowed to vote. It is an absolute abuse of the system. They should make you take a test before they even let you come to the polls and if you cannot identify at least 3 people on the ballot which you will cast, you should not be allowed to cast it.

Someone walked into my office yesterday and said, “I voted.”
“Good for you.”
“I voted [PARTY] all the way down the line.”
“Well that’s smart.”

I promise you, if you put a gun to this woman’s head she couldn’t tell you WHO she actually voted for, just what side of the ballot she checked. Furthermore, she couldn’t tell you one reason behind her professed political affiliation other than something as arbitrary as ‘I’m pro life’ or ‘Bush sucks’ (see…it happens on BOTH sides of the aisle). No wonder we have such perverted idiots in office – NO ONE KNOWS WHO THE HELL THEY’RE PUTTING IN OFFICE!

This is unacceptable - ESPECIALLY if you live in Washington, DC! We are in the middle of this governmental ball of string we affectionately refer to as 'inside the beltway'. Our neighbors, friends, family, bosses, significant others, the dirty old man that hits on you at the bar - are the one's being elected. If the people who live here, are immersed in the political culture, are inconvenienced by political motorcades for crying out loud, can't even pick up the most basic pieces of information through informational OSMOSIS - what HOPE does the rest of the country have!?

If you have any questions of my personal political leanings, just be happy in knowing that I KNEW who I voted for yesterday, and more importantly, why.

Bad Boys Bad Boys; Whatcha Gonna Do?

Sunday night at around 7:45 p.m., my phone started ringing off the hook – My father in Dallas, my mother in Michigan, my supervising VP, my best friend in Chicago…all to tell me “Russell Crowe’s coming up on 60 minutes! Thought you’d want to know.”

Well indeed I did. Why? Because I looooooove him!

Why do I loooooooove him? Why do I think he is the sexiest man on the face of the planet? Is it the smirky smile? Is it the ice blue eyes? Is it the amazing talent? Is it those AMAZING arms in Gladiator? Is it the accent? Well….it MAY be the accent. But I think the biggest reason (much to my father’s horror) is that he is…the definitive bad boy.

His irreverence, his temper, his womanizing (until his marriage in 2004 – a tragic day I've yet to recover from), his talent, his intelligence, his ….rugby uniform?

And while we're on the subject, what is it about rugby players that gets me every time? I think it's the fact that they're all beefy (i mean, really, have you ever seen a scrawny rugby player?) and so tough - they don't even wear padding. Plus they USUALLY have accents - and who doesn't love a good accent?

But really....what is it about the "bad boys" that I find so irresistible?

After all, I'm not the only gal who has ever suffered from the bad-boy-bug – women everywhere, throughout history have flocked to these arrogant jerks at their own emotional peril. The dusty, yellowed pages of literature are filled with them (From the sullen Mr. Darcy to the oh so charming Rhett Butler).

They enchant us on the silver screen – James Dean, Colin Ferril, my boyfriend, Russell.

Even on the Broadway stage – Danny Zucco, and The Phantom of the Opera. Incidently, Gerard Butler’s portrayal of the Phantom in movie version is – easily the sexiest pice of film ever created.

But seriously, what is it? Is it that they don’t NEED us? Is it that there’s something just inherently sexy in arrogance, is it their ‘badness’ that makes them special? Is it the fact that they're somehow off limits? That we still need to rebel against our parents in some way? Is it their uniqueness - the fact they stand out in a crowd? Lets face it – we ALL want someone ‘special’ because it increases our real estate value by association. It’s more challenging. The thrill of the hunt and the chase. I’m sure it stems from much the same reason as the Men love Bitches mentality. But really it’s ultimately masochistic.

Think about it. The badder they are – the more you want them.

While watching the Russell Crowe interview I realized how long and sordid my history with ‘bad boys’ really is. In fact, he reminds me, much to my father’s shigrin, of not one, but many of my exs.

His eyes with their impish sparkle and intense blue-ness reminds me of my high school boyfriend – TOTAL bad boy. Punk rocker, brilliant, crazy, an Olympic athlete, piano prodigy, wore combat boots, anarchy t’s, introduced me to the Sex Pistols, Russian poetry and Marlboro Reds.

His accent and long hair remind me of the South African ropes instructor, take charge attitude (be still my heart)…amazing sex....crazy sex...(and to think he was a virgin when i met him) . He's actually visiting the states right now - and I may see him next weekend...wouldn't that be interesting after 6 years.

His physique - completely reminicient of the football player of 2005 – athletic, cocky, competitive. Besides the punk rocker, I eventually came to my senses and broke up with all of them.

Maybe I'll come to my senses one day but until then....I'm sure I still have a bad boy or two in my future.

Your French Name is:

Aurélie Achard

What's Your French Name?

You Are A Fig Tree

You are very independent and strong minded. A hard worker when you want to be, you play hard too. You are honest and loyal. You hate contradiction or arguments. You love life, and you live for your friends, children, and animals. A great sense of humor, artistic talent, and intelligence are all gifts you possess.

What's Your Celtic Horoscope?

Fashion Contraband

From 7th grade through high school I wore a skirt 5 days a week. At 'Notre Dame Prep' we wore 'black watch plaid' kilts even in the freezing Indiana winter - with only our navy blue tights to keep us warm (bbbrrrrr). Since we wore these skirts (made of 100% polyester – fabulous, I know) 5 days a week for the entire school year, they naturally took quite a beating – from paint splatters in the art room, to running around at lunchtime – we routinely held the falling out hems together with safety pins, or my personal favorite, duct tape.

But we were careful in our mending as there was a rule that skirts had to be no more than an inch above the knee. And to in force this nazi-esque restriction, in the event there was any question as to whether a violation had taken place, teachers reserved the right to make us kneel down to see how far our skirts were from the ground. And so from 7th grade – 10th I lived in fear of tape measures and was careful to make sure that I was not in violation of any kind, at peril of my immortal soul. What? (gasp!) You didn’t KNOW that the 7th circle of hell is reserved for good Catholic girls who show too much leg?

Now here’s something you may not know about me: I was a late bloomer (something out of a Molly Ringwald 80s movie I’m afraid). I basically woke up on my 16th birthday, the acne had cleared up, the retainer came out, the hair de-frizzed and I had grown 3 inches and 2 cup sizes overnight. So with my Neutrogena-clear complexion, aligned smile and new figure boys noticed me for the first time (go figure). And so I came out of my very, very shy, reserved shell and became the vibrant, outgoing, smart *ss you all know and sometimes love.

I noticed and rather enjoyed the attention (who wouldn’t after 16 years of being made fun of and ignored??) So now if the hems in my skirt were to come unraveled I would attempt to realign them by the same tried-and-true methods, however, the hems began creeping up with every re-attachment. An inch here, a centimeter there. And then there was the rolling.

What is ‘rolling’ you may ask? No, it’s not verb used to describe the assembly of a joint but all of you former uniform clad school girls know it…oh you know it well. ‘Rolling’ is what we referred to as folding the tops of your skirt up over and over until you reached the desired skirt length. We would then untuck our white, oxford shirts to hide the bulky waste-line we had created and voila! Instant mini-skirt.

This method actually proved to be much more effective than the hemming because #1. It was easy to adjust quickly, should a sour-faced nun come marching down the hallway on her quest to stomp out ALL individuality and sexuality from the sacred academic environment #2. It didn’t require the use of a needle and thread, safety pins OR duct tape #3. Made a mini skirt out of an otherwise ugly, unflattering piece of cloth.

Oh, I still got caught, to be sure. And my pushing of the dress-envelope played a substantial role in my title of ‘most detentions of any other girl in her class’ distinction. And even though my kilt was eventually set aflame at my graduation party as a symbolic, ritualistic burning of religious school confinement, I will always keep a soft spot in my heart for that makeshift-mini-skirt that caused so much scandal.

And so it is with pride that I stand in solidarity with the women of Korea – who are about to embark on a new era. An era where they will no longer fear the repercussions of their fashion choices but wear their skirts freely and strut their legs with pride. That era begins today – as South Korea moves to legalize miniskirts.

It’s one small skirt for women – One giant leap for fashion kind.

***

SEOUL (Reuters) - Hot pants and miniskirts will soon be legal in South Korea.The country is in the final stages of revising an indecency law that prohibits people from wearing revealing outfits and was once enforced by ruler-wielding police during authoritarian governments in the 1970s, officials said.

"The law for excessive exposure does not match our current society," said Kim Jae-kwang, an official with the Korea Legislation Research Institute.Under authoritarian rule, police could arrest or fine women for their fashion choices. They also took scissors to men whose hair they felt was too long and tossed people in jail for unauthorized dancing.The rules stayed on the books as South Korea moved to an open democracy in the late 1980s, but were no longer enforced.

Now miniskirts are about as common as traffic jams in the capital of Seoul and police have long given up on measuring the distance from knees to hemlines.