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


  1. You poor darling. Wondering if you match your beads to the ink if it might blend better. Also, after wearing them for a long time they tend to make my neck ache a bit. Popping a few vicodin seems to do the trick. Never mind that bothersome warning about combining with alcohol; that's for sissies.

  2. Thank you so much for the bead wearing tips. As for the rest, I learned long ago that nothing washes down vicodin like a splash (or two) of vodka. Bon Monday--J'adore.

  3. seagrass and ironstone????? actually the correct pair are slipcovers and seagrass. S&S. Better than S&M. And that crazy bitch lives in NJ not Atlanta. She hates my mother in law's flannel pajamas too. Just ask her.

  4. Bon jour Joni. I always say, "let your haters be motivators" ---especially when they motivate you to beat an anon troll bitch down.

  5. May I hire you to educate the anon camel toe trolls who regularly stalk me? It will mean a trip to Los Angeles and New York, but I will gladly pay your expenses.
    Big Bertha needs to become one of us and start her own lady blog. But perhaps she can't read or write. She could just shop lift pictures like we all do and post them sans words.
    xo xo

  6. None of the young, pre-menopausal bloggers seem to realize thatI am the pioneer here. Without me you all are nothing. I have done it all: childhood dance prodigy, Warhol party girl, rock star with a famous band, and now Senior Designer at the important decor/retail centre Felch. It is true that as part of my duties as Senior Designer, I on occasion sell my Clients foo-dog key rings. And take out the trash, and clean the toilets. But make no mistake: I am a Designer. With Clients. Unlike that H...

    Getting back to my New York days: Of course I was the Darling of the Warhol set. And Mapplethorpe begged me--BEGGED me--to pose nude for him, with a pair of giant swans, to symbolize the AIDS crisis. And of course I was BFFs with all the greats: Andy, Bianca, Liza, Nureyev... I would ride into Studio 54 on a pure white mare. They would throw rose petals down on me, while all around, the golden boys would clap and clap, under the spinning mirrored ball...

    When I left New York, I was a broken thing: Sad, used up, loved too much. And then one day I wandered into a YWCA, and I ended up taking a polka lesson, and my Real Began...

    More to come.

  7. Dear Vascular,

    Lady Blah Blah hates to have to remind another lady blogger of lady blogging manners, but please remember that it is downright tacky to hi-jack the comment section with what is, in essence, an uninvited guest post. God dammit, whatever happened to mother-fucking good taste and decorum.

  8. omg. polka lessons. i wish i was that funny.

  9. Vascular is a dirty rotten identity thief!!!
    Or my long lost twin sister.
    xo xo