Sunday, August 8, 2010

A Summer at the Spa

Bon Sunday, mon amis, my dear, sweet dumplings. I'm sure you've been lost without Lady B's daily directives about gracious living---fumbling around trying to artistically drape your cowhides and organize your white ironstone without my words of wisdom and pretty (pretty enough to have published in the finest decor magazines!) pictures. I'm also sure my dear lady blogger friends have also been deeply concerned about my health and safety, as well as the Angel Baby and BooBear (I'm sure it's some technical glitch with my e-mail provider *note--call the Geek Squad* that has left my in-box as barren as Jennifer Aniston--I know my readers must have been desperately trying to reach me over the past few weeks). Never fear, darlings, the powers that be decided that Lady B was overwhelmed and "strung out" from her crushing schedule of daily Pilates, weekly mani-pedis, monthly client meeting (the BoHo condo may only be 650 sq. feet, but it won't decorate itself!), not to mention curating her carefully chosen and extensive vintage tea towel, cake stand, and ironstone collections. There's only so much a lady blogger can fit into one day! Sure Lady B is blessed with the occasional helping hand, but it's not like I can trust the nanny, the maid, the after school tutor, or BooBear with selecting just the right Circa lighting pendant for my polyvore mood board. Just because the client is imaginary, doesn't mean they don't deserve the best!!!

Anyhoo, Lady B has spent the summer recharging at a resort, one mentioned in the pages of Living magazine, and one in which Martha has been rumored to have personally visited. True the cuisine, accommodations, and routine were a touch spartan, but I really feel cleansed and reconnected with my fellow women in a totally new way. And, I learned a couple of fabulous new crafting techniques, I can't wait to share with Lady Blah Blah's fans. Viva le spa!!!!!

Now, off for some cuddle time with BooBear. Kisses, sweeties.

August 8, 2010,

Dear Diary,

Just been paroled; waiting for that asshat, BooBear to pick me up. Ironically, today is probably the first day that ignoramous will remember to bring the carton of cigarettes I've been requesting.

True, when I blew the guy from the Geek Squad to trace the i.p. address of that anon troll that keeps hounding me (how could anyone object to yet another post on seagrass and ironstone? how? why? I just don't understand some people.) to her home address, I only planned to send her a personal note, tactfully asking her to "Shut the Fuck UP!!, but when she referred to my Belgian linen (the best!) slip covered George Smith sofa ( and I can't even begin to tell you the sex show I had to put on for BooBear to convince him to allow that purchase) as "shabby shit," i knew it was time for the bitch to be taught a lesson Lady Blah Blah style, especially since I discovered she lived in Atlanta. Well, I may have had to serve a little time in the big house, but it was worth it: it's awfully hard for an internet troll to type anon comments with 10 broken fingers.

Actually, it wasn't that bad. I lost a little weight, reconnected with some hobbies from college (I'll miss you Big Bertha), and learned to make a shiv out of a bar of soap, a paper clip, and a gum wrapper. Luckily, I only had to shank one bitch, but she made a play for Bertha, and I had to teach her to respect my authority. No, the only thing I regret is the prison tattoo, but I was drunk on homemade hootch (a slight adaptation of one of Martha's own recipes), and it seemed like a good idea at the time. If only I hadn't gotten it on my neck. Oh well, at the next Junior League meeting I'll cover it up with some chunky beads alal Mrs. Blandings until I can get in to see my dermatologist.

I just saw the Hummer pull, i gotta go make BooBear my bitch.

Peace out >, bitches