The Year of Getting Shit Done and an E True Chez V Story About the Internet

Onwards and upwards, as they say.  2013.  Boy am I glad to see you.  Let’s get on with it then.  I’m told people love lists.  I do lists.  Sometimes I even check things off my lists.  Mostly though, they contribute to one of the ever growing piles near my computer.  But whatever, the point is I feel better if I write something down regardless of whether not I cross it off my list.  So in the spirit of year-end reflection / new year delusions I am making a list of things that need to get done this year.  I do declare 2013 the year of getting shit done (GSD). 

To kick off GSD, a little nip/tuck action is happening to the blog.  A new year, a new look, a new me, a new chez V.  Changes will happen gradually as I transition to the new digs.  Got myself a right proper address a while back and it's high time I put it to use.  Forgive the rubble and any interruptions in the broadcast.  For this construction phase, you get a little tasty taste of the streamlined V in my banner above.

And speaking of streamlining my world, the mrs is going to get her pooper and home back in fighting form this year.  No more drooping poopers or sagging floorboards.  MFAMB must have sensed this need because to my delight and surprise I won her giveaway at the end of the year - I never win anything.  A lovely box arrived on my doorstep the other day filled with perfect things. It was like getting a care package from a dear friend who knows just what a girl wants.  What a girl needs.  Which I must say is NOT more Brittany.  This girl wants to streamline her mind, her bod, and her home in this year of GSD.  Coincidence that each and every item Jenny included in the box helps to support this desire?!  I think not.

I busted open all that goodness and tried everything immediately.  Just like a teeny bopper sporting her new Rick Springfield tee the day after the concert which, for the record I never ever did.  Never.  Except every time I went to a concert which was like twice.  And by immediately, it went something like this:

 

slice open the gold duct tape - nice – and promptly hand over empty box to child for hours of rocket amusement; meanwhile, light the my-most-favorite-awesome-smelling-ever candle; high on delicious Diptyque fumes, gawk at new painting and run around the house test driving spots; speed read new cookbook – weird, how did she know I have a minor obsession with cookbooks?  pick out recipe to make  for dinner; do some of the yoga because I don’t want to appear over jealous which was oddly enough, a lot like my dancing – singing indecipherable words, moving unwieldy body parts in opposite directions and hyperventilating while the breath of fire escapes from my nose or maybe my butt;  shower off the fire sweat so that Jeff Lewis can massage my head – because using Chaz Dean’s hair products is  close enough of a degree of separation for me;   with re-vitalized tresses and great smelling skin - that shit really worked on my tangly, color-stressed hair and I know about hair because my mom is a hairdresser – whip up that new recipe, a super fresh frittata using veg that I just happen to have in the crisper - not really, but really wishing I was the kind of gal that had a ton of veg on hand is a lot like it really happening; feeling like a better, more streamlined me, I greet my husband at the door with a smile, fresh face, smooth hair, sore butt and dinner on the table.

After spying the healthy fare on the table, sensing my glorious good mood and detecting the bounty of natural aromas all around me, he accused me of spending the afternoon at Whole Foods. A hard and fast no no in these fiscal times.  Conversation ensues:

‘no, no, Jenny sent me all this amazing stuff.  Isn’t it totally awesome?  She totally gets me.’

‘Who the hell is Jenny?’

‘my friend, the one from the internet, you know, the one with the really funny blog.’

Snorting, ‘Boris sent ya stuff, did he?’

‘real funny. not everyone on the internet is a russian robot.’

‘I would really rather you just admit that you shopped at Whole Foods then make up some story about how your internet ‘friend’ just happened to send you a box full of stuff that you just ‘happened’ to want.’

‘well, she didn’t just send it to me.  I won a giveaway, like out of a ton of people who entered.  I won.  This is the stuff I won.’

‘gee, really?  you won?  A painting, a cookbook, a candle that happens to cost more than my shoes that you have been going on and on about for months, a yoga dvd to reduce stress and anxiety. Did this ‘giveaway’ happen to ask for a few numbers at the bottom, you know, to ensure shipping? And perhaps your social security number and passwords to our bank account?  You know, to ensure your ‘identity'?’

‘Jenny is NOT a russian robot.’

‘Pieti, what did you and momma do today?’

‘we went shopping and Momma got a box from the mailman and we watched a movie with some lady who told momma to shake her body and talk crazy words like chinese or something.’

‘nice try.’

‘no! wait!  I mean, I know how this looks.  We did go shopping, but not at Whole Foods, and I definitely didn’t buy THIS stuff.  I might have secretly bought some other stuff still in the car but not this stuff.’

‘Sure hope Boris enjoys my identity.  Won’t get him very far.  Next time you waste my money at Whole Foods at least come home with some meat.  You know I hate sticks and berries.’

For the record, he loved that frittata.  So thanks Jenny Boris for all of my goodies.  You know just what a girl needs.

kisses,  mrs. V