Sunday, June 27, 2010

Jury Duty

I received a Jury Summons in the mail and the first thing I thought was, Me? They want ME to decide the fate of someone on trial? Me, who gets then/than mixed up? Me, who considers Lindsay Lohan 'misunderstood'? Me, who spent over 45 minutes last night rolling the towels in her bathroom and placing them in a wicker basket to create a 'spa-like experience'?

I was honored, and really, Jury Duty has lots of benefits:

Get out of work for a day!
Sit around and flip through fashion magazines!
Pretend I'm Tom Cruise in The Firm!

Reality set in as, bored, I was shuffled from room to room and was asked a ton of questions. Crap like, "Have you ever been sexually assaulted?" (I wish.) Do you know the person on trial today? (Depends- were they at Flow Nightclub last night? Because if they were, they saw me both flash my tits on the dance floor and vomit on a bar stool.) "What do you do for a living?" (Suck corporate dick- why do you ask?)

The kicker was that I kept making it through the next round. I couldn't help but wonder why- I mean, I smelled like a candy factory (read: Sugar-Vanilla Body Spray), was wearing a hot-pink Juicy Couture jumpsuit, and was reading Paris Hilton's Confessions of a Heiress. I couldn't have appeared any dumber if I tried.

On the final round they actually reviewed the trial, and while part of me really tried to pay attention, I ended up day-dreaming about being on trial myself.

Prosecutor: "Living Shallow Living Well, did you spend over 22 hours last weekend downloading clips of The Vampire Diaries from season one on You Tube- in nothing but your underwear and a blue halter top from 1998?"
Me (behind the witness stand, looking quite attractive in a navy pencil skirt and cream-colored blouse): "I actually think that halter top was more of a turquoise."


Prosecutor: "Living Shallow Living Well, did you drink three glass of pinot noir and then order over $400 worth of sheepskin throws online to give your 600 sq. foot condo a more 'cozy, cabin-like' feel?"
Me: "Those things were $400? Fuck!"


Prosecutor: "Living Shallow Living Well, did you cry when you found out that Kim Kardashian and Reggie Bush broke up?"
Me: *sob*


The judge slammed her gravel down and I jumped out of my daydream. Luckily, I was not selected for the final jury, and was excused. I hurried home to a hot bath and glass of wine.

And you know- those rolled towels in the wicker basket? It really DOES look like a spa in here!

Monday, June 21, 2010

The Hooligans

I live in a 30-unit condo unit in downtown Denver. I like living downtown because it gives me major bragging rights. At work, I say things like, "The suburbs?! Oh, I could NEVER live in the suburbs. There's just no culture. My god, aren't you bored?!"

The co-worker I am speaking to, usually a white middle-aged man (probably works in either Data or Finance)with thinning hair and pleated khaki pants (dear god, does he not know that flat-front khakis are like, 100% more slimming?!?) just stares at me. He doesn't mind the fact that I am blatantly insulting his home, because he's staring at my (relatively younger compared to his wife's) tits.

So I go on. "I just really love the grit of living downtown, you know? The people are so much more interesting. I mean, ugh, the suburbs?" I popped my gum and flipped my hair, enjoying the fact that he probably thinks I'm 27 and not 33-(bitches, I use a ton of sunscreen, okay? Don't hate on me).

Well, I got my comeuppance the following night when three hooligans moved in next door. There's one girl and two guys- kind of weird, because it's a one-bedroom condo. Do they all sleep together? Is it a girl/guy couple and the second guy sleeps on the couch, or are the boys together and the girl is on the couch? And their clothes- the guys are in Ed Hardy knock-offs, looking like a mix between Vanilla Ice and Kevin Federline. The girl has more tattoos than Mike Tyson and looks like J-Woww from MTV's Jersey Shore.

"I'm scared," I whispered to my husband, peering through the curtain, watching J-Woww out on the porch scream at somebody on the phone while her two male roommates smoked and stared off into space. It was like watching a really disturbing episode of My Two Dads.

"They're just kids," my husband said, his legs primly crossed, reading the paper and sipping organic coffee. Seriously, look up "effeminate heterosexual" in the dictionary and you'll find a picture of him. "Plus, I thought you were really into the 'grit' of living downtown."

"Well, right, but..." What was I supposed to say?! That I was actually repulsed by sketchy-looking 19-year-olds in baggy pants? That I associated tattoos with prison inmates? That when I see people smoking, I automatically think 'throat cancer'? That maybe, deep down inside, I am actually a judgmental conservative housewife with no real grit, no real exposure to anybody other then college-educated corporate pricks? Was I a snob?!?

"I'm going to go introduce myself," I said, snapping the curtains open dramatically. "I will NOT judge a book by its cover." I flung open the door and walked out to the porch. I talked with them, and all three of them were, naturally- extremely nice. They offered me both a cigarette and beer, and as I sat there, drinking and (awkwardly) pretending to smoke, I thought- wow- I was wrong. I was really, really, wrong.

Now I need to go fish my jewelry back out of the flour canister.

Monday, June 14, 2010


I just finished reading It by Stephen King, his very popular 1985 horror novel. The book is definitely scary- it's based around Pennywise, an evil, murderous clown that lives in the sewers of a tiny town in Maine. He lures young children into the gutters, where he rips the limbs off their bodies, feeds on their intestines, and then tosses their bones. While the book was horrific, all I could think of when I finished it was- Pennywise reminds me of my ex-boyfriend.

Seriously. The resemblance is uncanny.

1. Pennywise Lures Children To Their Death With Promises of Candy And Balloons.

Totally. My ex would do this all the time. He would tell me things would be different if we got back together, that he loved me, that we'd stop bickering and arguing and end up in a happy place- a place where we lived under a circus tent that smelled like cotton candy. But then- when you took a bright red balloon from Pennywise/My Ex- you realized that your arm was going to get ripped off, or that you still fought over his mom's control issues.

2. Pennywise Lives In The Sewer.

Sewer? I wish my ex lived in a sewer- his place was far, far worse. Dirty twin bed, roommate with questionable hygiene, no toilet paper in the bathroom- god, his apartment made a homeless shelter look like a four-star hotel.

3. Pennywise Gives People Nightmares.

Oh, god- how many times have I lain awake at night going, Why did he tell me he sees a future with me someday? When is 'someday'? Next week? Next year? And what was that about him not wanting kids....? Like, he really doesn't want kids, or he's just trying to confuse me? Would he be cool with getting a dog?

4. Pennywise's Face Is A Rotting Corpse Behind His Clown Mask.

Actually, I think this is just Pennywise- although sometimes my ex did have bad breath.

5. The Only Way To Kill Pennywise Is To Recognize Your Own Internal Fear And Fight Him With It.

While it's always scary dumping someone you know isn't right for you and becoming single again, in the end you know you made the right choice. Also, like Pennywise, my ex had a really bad haircut that the shallow side of me just couldn't deal with.

I think that every woman in America should read Stephen King's It as a reference on what types of guys you should avoid. And let's be honest- each of us have been on a date with somebody who resembles a murderous clown- it's when they invite me back to their sewer for a night cap that I know to politely decline.

Sunday, June 6, 2010

Dating Scene Amnesia

I didn't meet my husband until I was in my thirties, which means my twenties were comprised of dating- lots and lots of dating. I remember the hardest part wasn't meeting men- it was keeping track of them all. When you're single, your life is comprised of two things: getting drunk and hooking up. Which means things get confusing sometimes.

One of my friend's phones rang the other day.
"Oh, god, Mick is calling me," she moaned, staring at the cell phone screen.
"Who's Mick?" I asked.
"Um..." her brow furrows. "I think it's that guy I hooked up with at that bar last night- I don't think I liked him."
"You mean Mike?" I questioned. "And we weren't at a bar last night. We were at a house party."
"His name is Mike? Oh, god- what did I drink last night?!"
I took the cell phone from her and scrolled down her list of guys she meet while drunk and exchanged phone numbers with- Joosn, aadammmm, Rrn, and Mick where all in there. Somebody shouldn't text while drinking.
"I have a date with Max tonight," she said.
"Matt- his name is Matt," I replied.

I have another friend who was making out in her bedroom with a new guy, and he noticed a used condom on her floor. He froze mid-kiss.
"Um....whose is that?"
"Hmm...?" She looked over to where he was pointing at. "Oh- that isn't yours?"
"No." Stony silence.
Apparently, used condoms are like snowflakes- no two are alike. My friend quickly back-pedaled.
"One of my girlfriends- she- spent the night over here- because her place is getting painted- and brought home a guy- I was passed out on the couch- 'cause I was drunk- from- drinking- and-"
"Okay." Apparently he had shrugged and returned to the making out, which means he either didn't care or actually bought it.

I have another girlfriend who is dating three men- all named Brian. So it's Brian Red Shirt (because that's what he was wearing on their first date), Brian With The Weird Friend (because his friend is really, really, odd) and Brian Bad Idea (because he's an asshole).
"Ugh. Brian Red Shirt wants to go out tonight, but I made plans with Brian Bad Idea," my friend complained over the phone to me.
"I thought you were breaking up with Brian Bad Idea," I replied. "Plus, you know my favorite is Brian With The Weird Friend- he's super cute."
"I know, but he has that weird friend," she countered.

My idea? We need some type of website tracking system- like:

Greg Greggory
Met At:
Megan's Birthday Party (80s theme)
His Info:
Computer Programmer, kind of looks like Kevin Spacey, tall-ish, did a really funny impersonation of his mom, has a roommate (yuck).
You two met for drinks four days after Megan's party and he wasn't quite as funny as you remember but did tell you he liked your shirt and paid for the drinks so maybe he gets one more date before pulling the ripcord?

This would solve a bunch of confusion issues and end awkward used-condom encounters. And I could get that guy, the graphic designer with the blondish hair that my friend is dating- to create the website.....damn, what is his name?