Cyberlicious

So it’s Cyber Monday, and these are all just silly things I’m loving right now. Feel free to use the code NOTITGIRL for an extra 10% discount on any of these products. Just so you know that no such code exists because I am not yet getting paid to sponsor any of these products. So when you hit “Activate Code,” it will tell you that the “Code is Invalid.” But use it, by all means.

Rest up tonight. You’ll need it. Tomorrow’s post will be a doozy, and the toughest one I’ve had to share.

  • Bombas Shared Sesame Street socks: I can’t believe Bombas finally wore me down. I don’t even wear socks, but I was getting a minimum of ten ads a day on my devices for their socks. Well, they finally piqued my interest with Elmo, Cookie, Grovie, Oscar and other Sesame Street characters emblazoned across these primary color cuties. Bombas donates a pair of socks for every pair purchased to homeless shelters and community organizations. Oh my, they’re seriously too cute for words, now I just gotta figure out who to buy them for…
  • Goldbelly: Pour yourself a cup of coffee or wine and browse the products on Goldbelly. If you’ve never been, you’re in for quite a treat. I won’t ruin the experience for you, but imagine my surprise when I found out that the orgasmic banana pudding I once had from Magnolia Bakery in New York is available for home delivery through Goldbelly. I’ve been a fan ever since. If you have a craving, Goldbelly has it.
  • Etsy can do no wrong. Such a wonderful site, and they have the cutest 2020 ornaments. I’ll give you the link for this one. Etsy is addictive and the perfect place to shop for that person who is impossible to buy for: https://blog.etsy.com/en/etsy-ornament-guide-2020
  • American Giant Moto Full-Zip for your sons or hubs. Trust me on this one. (Pssst: all of my sons are getting one. Don’t worry about my lack of discretion, they don’t read my blog).
  • Werewolf Game: You’re either on the Werewolf team or the Villagers team. A party game of lying, bluffing and deceit that has a reputation for ruining relationships. Gimme. On Amazon.
  • Cameo– For $80.00, you can get the likes of Larry Thomas a.k.a. the “Soup Nazi” to send your favorite Seinfeld fan a shout-out. The website features shout-outs from a semi-sad variety of B-list actors and athletes, but it’s still cool to scroll through and see who is available. Last year my sons bought me a shout-out from comedian Ryan O’Flanagan, he of the “Dirty Dishes” skit on YouTube. It’s such a stupid skit, but it makes me laugh every single time I watch it. When I’m cranky, the boys know they can shove “Dirty Dishes” in my face, and in five seconds, I’m laugh-crying. The shout-out from RF was a great present, and I watch it all the time.
  • Cross Net Game– Four-square volleyball. As fun as it sounds, and easy to set up in the yard or beach (crossnetgame.com)
  • The Scrape-Around Car Ice Scraper at Walmart.
  • Peekatoy Family Wooden Hockey Game- Good family fun for $30 and fits right on the table (peekatoy.co)
  • Bushcraft Bundle knives from the Cooking Guild. Like food porn? Watch outdoor cooking in its raw form, as the chefs on Cooking Guild chop, slice, sautee and char on a plank of wood over an open crackly fire. It’s so satisfying to listen to and watch, as these chefs create five-star meals in an outdoor setting. Hard to explain. If you like to listen to animals crunch carrots and crucifers into a tiny microphone on IG (you know who you are), you’ll love this. And these knives are bad-ass.
  • Love Your Melon hats. Cuteness. Check ‘em out.
  • Forget Victoria’s Secret. VS is for little girls. Real women buy from Adore Me. How can you resist the red panty and bra set with white fluff embellishment? Get this Claussa Push-Up and give him your best Mrs. Santa impression. Tip: Get the matching garter belt for a little extra naughtiness.

Just FYI stuff:

  • Glenn Close and Amy Adams are in a Netflix version of the memoir Hillbilly Elegy. So so good. Glenn Close is knock-down drag-out brilliant as Mamaw.
  • There is a new Shakespeare and Co. bookstore in Philadelphia right in Rittenhouse Square. I’ve been to the one in Manhattan, but when the flagnod did this happen? I’m there.
  • Pete Davidson will be reading the part of George Bailey in a charity reading of “It’s a Wonderful Life.” The show will air Dec. 13 at 8 p.m. ET, and tickets are $50 for each Zoom code. Proceeds go to the Ed Asner Family Center, tickets available on Asner’s website.
  • Veteran TV director Tristram Shapeero had to post an apology to actor Lukas Gage. Did you see the video when Shapeero’s meeting with Gage took a down-turn when the director began complaining about the actor’s shitty apartment without realizing he hadn’t hit the “mute” button? “These poor people live in these tiny apartments. Like, I’m looking at his background and he’s got his TV and —” the director can be heard saying before Gage informs him that he can hear everything. “I know it’s a shitty apartment. That’s why you should give me this job so I can get a better one,” said Gage. Shapeero had no choice but to apologize after the video went viral. Boom roasted. By the way, it wasn’t Gage’s apartment in the background, it was a hotel room. Still.

Thaaaaaat’s all folks.

Dog-Eared Book Club

I know this post should be about blessings and gratitude. But I’m always talking about blessings and gratitude, so it almost feels anachronistic to do it today. Besides, I don’t need a plucked game bird and jellied cranberries to count my blessings. I do that every night.

But I digress.

So here are some current hot market books for the bibliophiles in your lives, especially since Black Friday is in three days, and Christmas psychopaths are ready. You Whovillians know who you are. But I guess if there is any year when holiday cheer is needed early, it’s 2020. So more power to ya. But forgive me if I don’t personally indulge. A study published in the Journal of Environmental Psychology showed that neighbors interpret you putting up Christmas decorations early as a sign that you’re sociable and approachable, and I don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea about me.

So in my home, my boys open their traditional first gift of Christmas on Christmas Eve, and it is always the same thing. I will not share this, because some things must just be ours. But I will tell you that the first gift my sons open up on Christmas morning is a book personally handpicked for them by me. As little boys they loved getting their books, and once Christmas festivities were over, they could be found, tired and happy, curled up in the corner with blankets and juice cups, reading their little books. But times change, as they do, and the books inevitably got tossed aside for sporting equipment and video games and electronics. Some years they never even read their books, but I always say the same thing on Christmas morning:

“If you insist on being ignorant troglodytes, that’s your choice. But I’ll be damned if I will participate in your literary nescience. I will never stop giving you guys books for Christmas.” (They are never insulted about being called “troglodytes.” It’s part of the tradition). I work hard every year on choosing books that mirror their personalities and interests.

So enjoy the following list that includes a little of everything. I researched tirelessly and only consulted Amazon once (Suck on that, Bezos). Note the lack of fiction. Not really a fiction gal, sorry. You want great fiction? Read the Elena Ferrante novels. They will KNOCK. YOU. OUT.  Moving on.

  • Literary Listography by Lisa Nola. I am getting this for Christmas from myself. Over 70 entertaining and thought-provoking list topics make this illustrated journal a unique autobiography and reading log for bibliophiles. Try other Listography titles, too.
  • The Best of Me by David Sedaris. I have read every published word this man has ever written, or haven’t I mentioned that? I would read his cocktail napkin skritches if he published them. This is stuff of his that has already been published, but where’s the flaw? It will be mine.
  • Procrastibaking: 100 Recipes for Getting Nothing Done in the Most Delicious Way Possible by Erin Gardner. We’re coming up on hygge-season, folks, and what better way to waste time than by baking delicious treats like Fear-of-Success Snack Cakes? Looks like tremendous fun.
  • Alright, Alright, Alright: The Oral History of Richard Linklater’s Dazed and Confused by Melissa Maerz. Director Linklater just thought people might like to watch a movie about high school kids hanging out and listening to music on the last day of school in 1976. He was right. And while not every person liked this movie, certain kind of people loved it, and made it a cult classic. My sons love it, and it made Matthew McConaughey a household name.
  • Greenlights by Matthew McConaughey. More Matty Mac here. Anyone who will listen has heard my story of my buying Matt McConaughey a beer in the VIP lounge of a 76’ers game. Yes, he’s as cool and nice as he seems. He also happens to have a unique literary voice, and his book is #1 in all its categories. Treat yourself to this ASAP.
  • The Last Great Road Bum by Hector Tobar: As quoted from avclub.com: “This book follows the wild, peripatetic life of Joe Sanderson, who dropped out of college in the ’60s to hitchhike across the globe, visiting, by his estimate, 70 to 80 different countries throughout his short life. Traveling from Jamaica to Vietnam to Nigeria, Sanderson would ultimately die fighting with the guerrillas in the civil war in El Salvador. Inspired by writers like Thoreau and Hemingway, Sanderson wrote prolifically, leaving behind a significant archive of letters, notebooks, and journals, which Tobar used to write the Great American Novel that Sanderson himself could not.” This is my Christmas reading book, can’t wait to dig my teeth into it…
  • Wow, No Thank You by Samantha Irby. I think we could all use this series of essays by Irby for a laugh. Anyone who hides past due bills under her pillow has my approval.
  • The Eye of the Elephant by Mark Owens. My sons always say that one day I will visit an elephant orphanage and never return. They may be right, because in my opinion, anything unrelated to pachyderms is irrelephant.
  • Anxious for Nothing: Finding Calm in a Chaotic World by Max Lucado. Lucado’s book is in the top ten of every category on Amazon. Everything he writes turns to gold. Can’t wait.
  • Buy Yourself the F*cking Lillies: and Other Rituals to Fix Your Life by Tara Schuster. Supposedly we will want Tara to be our best friend once we read this book. It sounds like something I would write, and I think I’ll be mad at Tara for being published when I’m not.
  • A Little Life by Hanya Yanagihara. Here’s your fiction. Your bibliophile will love this. Phenomenal.

See you Monday, and enjoy whatever Thanksgiving you are celebrating. Here’s hoping that on New Year’s Eve, at 12:01, it will turn to January 1st, 2021, and not December 32nd, 2020. Time to usher this bad boy out.

Turkey Day Tips

Taking a cue from The Onion’s tips on how to cook the perfect Thanksgiving turkey (https://www.theonion.com/how-to-cook-a-perfect-thanksgiving-turkey), here are my tips on how to shop and prepare for Thanksgiving with as little stress as possible:

  • Leave for grocery store. As you drive, you try to recall what day of the week it is, then laugh, remembering that the concept of time has ceased to have any significance since March 2020.
  • Arrive at grocery store without your list, consider turning back, but assume you’ll know what you need when you see it.
  • Pass by the supermarket pie table, scoffing at the browsing customers who obviously don’t bake their own. Immediately buy 20 Granny Smith apples.
  • Head to the baking aisle. See an older lady buying cream of tartar and evaporated milk. She looks like she knows what she is doing, so you buy them too, having no idea what you use them for.
  • Follow the traffic and buy all of the products at the prominent end aisles, no matter what they are, figuring since everyone else is buying them they must be important.
  • Buy another turkey baster and make plans to misplace it as soon as you get home, as you have every year. Make a note to place “turkey baster” on your list for next year and make concrete plan to lose the list too.
  • Spend an hour in the magazine section looking at People magazine’s “100 Most Beautiful People,” noting that you have missed the list yet again.
  • Buy frozen puff pastry, happy it is on sale, and wonder as usual as to its general purpose. Make plans to freeze it until summer when it is finally freezer-burned and you have to throw it out to make room for freeze pops.
  • Buy way too much butter, sour cream, cream cheese, heavy cream, eggs and cheese because you always run out of something.
  • Buy apple pie on way to register. Return Granny Smiths.
  • Checkout and see that you have spent $200 dollars on groceries, then agree to meet your friend for decadent lunch.
  • Arrive home, unload your groceries and leave all random non-refrigerated items on side counter, hoping they will assemble into something coherent by power-of-suggestion.
  • Wake up disappointed to see that the strange ingredients have not organized themselves into a recipe on the counter.
  • Read sixty articles on how to defrost the turkey breast, wondering again why there are so many rules. What makes them so fragile? Leave turkey out on counter for a few hours then go to bed, forgetting to put it back in fridge.
  • Wake up and realize what you’ve done and become afraid the turkey is now tainted. Call the country club and order take-out.
  • Donate all dry ingredients.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Results Are Inconclusive

Only three posts this week, frens, so much to cook. Thanks for the emails about my “Class of 2021” post. Glad I could help. And no, I will never have a Twitter account. My sons and I have decided that it would be a very dangerous thing. And I have no interest in making the strange and bizarre Jack Dorsey richer than he already is.

So I received a quiz from a friend recently. I never take these things, but since I was bored (defined as “having a million responsibilities but in deep denial”), I went for it. The directions:

Go to your Instagram account and copy into the quiz the first twenty posts in your Saved section. In ten seconds, based on your saves, we’ll send you a personality analysis!

Mmm k. My friend told me she had received the most coveted “Golden Goddess” rating. Sounds fun, I thought, so I entered my twenty posts:

  • Latest Pat McNamara “Basic Dude Stuff” video
  • A video of a Gymshark athlete who bearwalks to-and-from work every day in support of mental health awareness
  • A Nathan McCallum workout
  • The perfect isolated cabin in Wyoming
  • Historical timeline of women named Perpetua
  • Met soprano Sonya Yoncheva singing her favorite arias
  • Baby elephant Kauro getting tucked into his stockade at Sheldrick Elephant Orphanage
  • The Balconette bra from Cuup
  • Quote from Dr. Jordan Peterson: “You may come to ask yourself, ‘What should I do today?’ in a manner that means ‘How could I use my time to make things better instead of worse?’”
  • Recipe for Whipped Coffee Mochaccino
  • Kevin Hart comedy clip about married calendar sex
  • 5-Bone Dissolving Foods Seniors Must Avoid
  • A funny post from #hoegivesnofucks to share with a friend
  • Shower Margarita Machine
  • Pup socks
  • A festive Christmas display of lit-up penises with accompanying ball-sacs
  • Rose-gold ski goggles and helmet from Smith Optics
  • The Chanel Black Fishnet Bustier
  • Braving the Narrows of the Virgin River in Zion National Park
  • Compilation video of babies’ reactions when they get new glasses

Submit.

Ten seconds. Twenty. Thirty. That wheel spun for a full minute. I crossed my fingers, hoping to get “Golden Goddess” or at least “Naughty Vixen.” Finally…:

Results were inconclusive. Please try again at a later time.

Story of my life.

To the Class of 2021

As Thanksgiving looms and gives off its yummy feel-good vibes, I can’t help but feel for the senior high school students and athletes who won’t be able to enjoy their annual Thanksgiving and fall activities. You’re missing your Thanksgiving Day football games, hot dogs and hot chocolate from the concession stands, skipping class for hallway decorating, pep rallies in the gymnasium, NHS bake sales, homecoming parades, and even food drives. Bummer.

Some high school seniors are in-person, and are lucky to be getting the full senior experience. But not many. Most are either completely remote or hybrid, with sports and clubs and classes decimated with distancing and crowd rules. My heart aches for these seniors. And there are no qualifiers in my sympathy- no “I’m sorry, but there are worse things,” no “I’m sorry, but these are strange times,” no “I’m sorry, but think of all of the people getting sick,” no “I’m sorry, but everyone has missed something.”

NO. I taught high school seniors for thirty years, so I am intimate with how they think and how they feel about their senior year. And let me tell you, the class of 2021 knows perfectly well what they are missing.

Do you?

I know the schools, PTA’s, coaches, teachers and administrators are doing their best for these seniors. But no matter what we do, it’s not the same. It’s just not. And so, to the class of 2021, I would like to issue my own personal apology:

  • To the Senior Athletes who have been waiting their whole lives to perform in their sports as seniors. Whether you were waiting to be captain, to win State, or simply to finally get off the bench, we are sorry you are missing that. So sorry. You are missing the screams of a packed crowd, you are missing the thrill of performing in front of your parents, your family, your girlfriend, your entire community. You’re missing the opportunity to sink that three-pointer or pin your opponent in front of a packed sweltering gym filled with screaming fans. To cheer for your football team in front of the senior section on the sidelines. To make that tackle, to score that touchdown or goal, to swim that butterfly in record time. To be miserable in Saturday morning practices, to do homework on the bus ride home by the glow of your phone, to eat the stiff cold concession stand pizza after your match. Regardless of your current situation, seniors, I’m sure it does not resemble what you envisioned your whole life when you dreamed of your senior year. Even finally being able to drive to early Saturday morning practices with your friends instead of getting dropped off by your mom maybe has been stolen from you. And we’re sorry.
  • To the Senior Students who have been waiting their whole lives to shine academically. You are missing the competition of in-person academics and the drive for the highest GPA. You are being denied the opportunity to excel in the classroom. The honor of taking Calc with that really tough teacher who is so funny in person. Bopping into the guidance office to discuss college choices with your guidance counselor. Being in gym with your best friends. Taking Advanced Woodwork and making cool pens, doing tireless research on World War II in the library, taking AP tests in the spring after a long year of preparation, straggling into SAT’s dressed in sweatpants with a cup of coffee at 7:30 a.m. on a Saturday. You are missing sitting in a safe warm classroom with your friends and laughing uproariously at the class clown. You are missing listening to your favorite playlist in that laidback Art class. You are missing sneaking texts to your boyfriend in the back of the room. You are missing sculpting, painting, creating. You are missing group work in AP English, lab work in Chemistry, and field trips to museums for history. You are missing the hands-on face-to-face activity that brings one’s education to life. We know no amount of screen time can take the place of what you are missing in the classroom, and we’re sorry.
  • To the Senior Club Members who are missing their social and academic clubs. Maybe you were finally ready to beat the #1 player in Chess Club. Maybe you were going to run for president of the Student Council or Leadership Club. Maybe you wanted to run for class office. Maybe you were looking forward to finally standing on that auditorium stage for that NHS ceremony. Maybe you were going to travel for DECA or FFA, maybe you were excited about getting your work published in the school literary journal, maybe you were going to travel to states with Debate Club, maybe you were ready to build that robot in Robotics club. Whatever club you’re missing, we’re sorry.
  • To the Senior Drama Kids who are missing performing their art. If drama was a place of escape for you, a place for you to shine and show your distinctive talent in dance, song or theater, we are sorry you’re missing it. If you knew you were a shoe-in for the lead this year, we’re sorry. We are sorry that you’re missing those late-night rehearsals, the thrill of the stage, and the feeling at the end of a production when you know you have nailed it, because people look at you differently in the hallway the next day. You are missing the camaraderie with your fellow actors, breakfast at dawn before an early morning rehearsal, the smell of the theater and the stage, sweating under the lights, but knowing it is where you are born to be. Missing showing the people in school that you are not just that quiet shy waif who sits in the back of the classroom; rather, that you are a person with a voice so majestic that it can reach to the top of the auditorium rafters. Missing not being able to see but being able to sense your parents, friends, family, whomever, in the audience, feeling their love and pride seep through the dark and into you. If you’re missing any of that, we are sorry.
  • To the Senior Rest. Maybe you don’t play sports, you don’t like going to class, and you don’t care about clubs. So maybe you just miss your friends and know you will never experience complaining about senioritis in the parking lot with a buddy as you walk into school in the morning. Maybe you wanted to go out for the annual talent show because you’re funny as hell, and you were going to perform a comedy routine with a favorite teacher. Maybe your heart is broken because you missed your junior prom, and it looks like your senior prom is in jeopardy, also. Maybe you had assembled a kick-ass dodge ball team, and you were looking forward to winning the intramural tournament. Maybe you were going to lead the spirit section at football and basketball games. Maybe you were looking forward to wearing “beer goggles” and “crashing” the golf cart in the drunk driving assembly in the school parking lot. Maybe you’re a snappy dresser, but there’s no one to dress for at home. Maybe you were looking forward to sleeping in once a week for senior privilege. Maybe you were just looking forward to finally sitting at a senior lunch table. Maybe you were going to be in charge of senior prank, and now there won’t be one. Maybe for your whole life you hated school, but now you’d give anything to go back. For all of you, we are sorry you are missing it.

Someone had to say it.

Widdle Ditty

Think this one is bad? Wait until tomorrow. Told you, I have a week.

Deck the Roads

Deck the streets with all road closures

Fa la la la la la la la la

‘Tis not the season for locals, no sir

Fa la la la la la la la la

Make a left NO make a right

Fa la la la la la la la la

Driving straight is our plight

Fa la la la la la la la la

See the “Road Closed” sign a’blocking

Fa la la la la la la la la

The one door I need to go a-knocking

Fa la la la la la la la la

Make a left to get around

Fa la la la la la la la la

Around the block the traffic’s wound

Fa la la la la la la la la

This roadwork will continue on

Fa la la la la la la la la

Till Mother’s Day is close upon

Fa la la la la la la la la

Then the tourists will return

Fa la la la la la la la la

And for quiet streets they will yearn.

FA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LAAA!

#powerofshe

I just saw the commercial where the Hershey kisses play “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” like they’re Christmas bells. I also saw the one where Santa slides down a snowy hill on a Gillette razor.

Time for another gift list.

I won’t expound on how devoted I am to the Athleta clothing brand. I won’t tell you how I have been wearing Athleta since before my sons were born, when Athleta was just a catalog. I won’t bore you with details on how much I loved working there, loved my bosses, my co-workers and my clients. I won’t even tell you how there was never a day or a shift where I didn’t walk in that store and feel proud to work for such an amazing brand that does so much for the planet and for women all around the world.

Nope. I won’t do that. What I will do, however, is share with you the top Athleta pieces that I wholeheartedly recommended to my personal clients. This is a special list, one I normally wouldn’t share. But I want to talk about them. And while we have good stuff all year long, winter is Athleta’s greatest season. We kill winter. And the answer is yes, I own every single one of these products. I have been wearing them, testing them, and approving them for 25 years.

So here are my Athleta All-Stars: (Reader note: Athleta ain’t cheap, but guess what? I still have Athleta wear from 1998, and it still looks brand new. Can you say that about anything you own from Target? Kohls? Marshalls? Doubt it. You get what you pay for).

  1. City Tights: We are finally in black tights, fuzzy sweater and boot weather. Yay!

All-Star: Delancey tights. They’re more like really casual pants. Pull these on to go get the Christmas tree, to walk around and look at neighborhood Christmas lights, or to watch your kid’s soccer game. You’ll also look gorgeous when you’re out to dinner in them, with a loose silk blouse tucked halfway-in and wearing some strappy heels. Yum. They come in Moto (my personal favorite), Herringbone, Street, or Gleam. The Sculptek Light™ fabric will suck you in and make you look polished as hell. Tights just don’t get any better.

Runner-up: Headlands

2. Workout Tights: I’m not a runner, just a hiker, walker and gym-rat. If you want compressive tights, go to Athleta and ask for Contenders. I go for butter to swing my kettlebells.

All-Star: Elations. One word is all it takes. The best tights I have ever worn in my life. Made from buttery-soft Powervita™ fabric, they will make you look a size smaller and hide your flaws, not that you have any. They come in a variety of yummy colors and lengths like crop, 7/8, and full tight. I get mine in Ultra-High Rise to hold in my tummy, but you can get regular rise, too. If you’re short like me, consider getting petite online. It’s best to go in store and try them on, but if you must order online, size down. Athleta is a company that celebrates all body types, and Elations give. And give and give and give….

Runner-up: Salutations

3. Snuggly Tights for Cold Weather: Wear these to make a snowman, to wear on your sled at the Iditarod, or simply to go for a run in the cold weather. Just for snuggles or runs, folks, they’re not to ski in.

All-Star: Altitude Tight in Polartec® Power Stretch®. Fuzzy on the inside, sleek on the outside, super cozy and flattering. I own these in four colors and wear them all winter long for everything. But for God’s sake, hurry. They’re already disappearing online. A super popular product that you will never regret.

Runner-up: Rainiers (no fluff on inside, though).

4. Work Pants: I’m not much of a pants person. Pants tend to make me look either like a snausage or the bottom half of a Lego. However, if pants are required, I have my go-to’s.

All-Star: Stellar trousers. Euroluxe fabric gives great stretch, and they look great with a black blazer. They come in tights too. Looks like they’re going quick online, so don’t procrastinate.

Runner-up: Skyline Pants. Super cute, tapered at the bottom, with a cute tie at the waist.

5. Cozy Top Layer: Just to throw on to walk the dog in the morning or to grab the mail. Before it starts getting really cold, this is a nice mid-weight layer to hang out in.

All-Star: Polartec Funnel Neck. Again with the Polartec® Power Stretch®. This comes in white and black and again, you’ll never regret the purchase. I didn’t. I wear it and wear it and wear it, then wash it, then start all over again. Great zippers too, for all your stuff. Also again, please hurry. These sell out quickly, so shake your tail feather before Santa grabs them all first.

Runner-up: Cozy Karma Side-Zip Funnel Neck

6. Cold-Weather (Lighter) Jacket: Anyone I have ever worked with knows that I have no willpower when it comes to Athleta jackets. They just do them so good. Here are two lighter-weight choices.

All-Star: Whisper Featherless Jacket. Oh my. I brought this unassuming little puffy coat on a hiking trip, and when it got warm on the trail, and I had to shed layers, it compressed to the size of an iPad, and fit in my day pack. When I took it back out, it popped out looking just as sharp as when it went in. A fantastic product that uses Lightweight 3M™ Recycled Thinsulate™ material. But this is not your boyfriend’s puffy coat- the Whisper has a feminine design and a longer back hem to cover your bum. Git it before it’s gone. To freaking die for.

Runner-up: Flurry Force Insulated PrimaLoft® Jacket. This is a really light jacket, and more form-fitting than the Whisper. It’s very distinctive, look it up on the website. The bodice is like a vest, and the arms are like ribbed material. I use it in early fall and spring to go to the gym and run errands. It looks great with my Delancey tights. I have it in black and blue, and my son already got it for me in red for Christmas.

7. Cold Weather (Heavier) Jacket: RDS FeatherDry down will keep you warm, but there’s no need for you to look like an Oompa Loompa.  

All-Star: Rock Ridge or Inlet Jacket. I can’t decide. They are both fabulous, and Sarah and I agreed last year at work when we both bought the Inlet that it made us look skinny.

Runner-up: Downtown parka or jacket

8. Bra: Again, despite my large ta-tas, I don’t need the highest compression, because I’m not a runner. I’m looking for medium compression, comfort and encapsulation.

All-Star: Conscious Crop bra. Using our famous Powervita™ fabric, this longline bra cups and covers you everywhere you need to be cupped and covered, and even covers those chicken cutlets at your armpits. Smooths you everywhere, and makes you feel beautiful. You can get it in A-C or D-DD, and then you can choose XXS-XL. A wildly popular bra in every color from camo to candy apple red to snakeskin.

9. Workout Tank: Athleta fans have their favorites. No runners-up here, just gonna list ‘em.

All-Stars: Get the Speedlight if you like form-fitting tanks, the Foothill if you like to tie your tank to your own fit-preference, the Uptempo or Vapor if you like slightly boxy and cropped tanks, or my personal favorite, the Cloudlight Relaxed Muscle Tank, if you don’t mind your sports bra peeking out from the low-cut sides. Me-likey.

10. Rest of the Best: These would be put in the category of: “Mary, will you circle the store and just bring me your favorite products? Bring me one of everything in my size.” God, I miss my clients. Anyway, these don’t really come in any specific category, but need to be mentioned for their freaking awesomeness.

Mala Hoodie Dress: I don’t get cold until it goes below 50, so I make great use of Athleta hoodie dresses. They’re so fun and comfortable and make you look so pulled together with a pair of Birkenstocks. If you like hoodie dresses, American Giant makes good ones too, and in fun colors.

Foresthill Tank and Turtleneck: You need to try these on to believe them. Seamless merino wool that stretches over all of your gorgeous curves, and with thumbholes in the turtleneck sleeves to boot. The tank looks great with summer skirts, black pants, and shorts. The turtleneck can be tucked into leggings or a leather skirt and will give you instant GLAM. I’m telling you.

The-One-The-Only Renew Racerback Tank: My bosses knew this was coming. If someone told me I could only keep ONE ATHLETA PRODUCT, one piece that I could not live without, my black Renew Racerback would be it. I don’t know why. The Renew is like…tank crack. It’s like an all-purpose tool. It is without a doubt my most adored Athleta piece in my closet. I wear it and wash it, wear it and wash it, wear it and wash it. It looks just as good now as it did the day I bought it. I try to convince every client to buy it, and once they try it on, they usually do. The Renew is like magic. Size up.

Power to the She!

Apple Corp

5:00 a.m. at Apple headquarters. Top staff from the Apple Corporation arrive for early staff meeting. Among those present are Katherine Adams, Eddy Cue, Craig Federighi, John Giannandrea and other assorted senior VPs. They are surly about being woken up so early. Most sip DD coffee and wear Costco sweatpants. Tim Cook bursts through the door.

TC: (Settles in, folds hands in front of him dramatically, and glares at everyone assembled around the table). So, gang. How long? How long has it been?

Everyone shifts uncomfortably in their seats, each looking to the other for the answer.

KA: (Shuffles some papers) Fine. I’ll start. Four years.

TC: Four?

KA: Well, four going on five. Almost five. Nearly five. (Small sigh). Five.

TC: (Pauses in disbelief) Five years. Five. Years. What’s the client’s name?

Eddy: (Glances down at notes) Mary. Mary Oves.

TC: Mary Oves. (Gets up to walk around the conference table. Apple Heads squirm visibly). So what you’re telling me is that Mary Oves hasn’t had a phone upgrade in five years? She has been using the same iPhone for five years? Will someone please explain to me how this can be happening?

CF: Listen, Tim, she’s difficult. Ask anyone.

TC: I don’t want to ask anyone, Craig. That’s your job. What condition is the phone in?

CF: (Consults a small legal pad) Excellent condition. No cracks. Same rose gold phone case as when she bought it, with the same baby elephant sticker on the back. Rarely dropped, and even then only on soft carpet. She doesn’t risk taking it near water or sand, and keeps it charged. She takes care of it, Tim. Makes it tough.

TC: (Sits back down) What have we done to motivate her?

JG: I have that information here, Tim. Let’s see…(Consults his notes, realizes he is on wrong page, and flips around. Someone coughs uncomfortably).

TC:

JG: Ah, here it is. Well, we started by making sure her battery drained as quickly as possible.

TC: And?

JG: It had no effect. She is just not a hard user, Tim. Some music, a little Instagram, texts to her sons, a few pictures. That’s it. Then she charges it overnight. It’s working for her.

TC: Yeah. I know the type. (He shakes his head dejectedly) Then what?

JG: Same stuff we always try. Made her camera screw up some pictures. Made sure she couldn’t import pictures onto her laptop. Moved stuff to “Settings” so she couldn’t find it. Nothing phased her. We had to move on to more draconian measures.

TC: Such as?

Heads swivel to Katherine Adams.

KA: Well, we forced an update on her while she slept. I still say it was wrong to do that without her consent.

Eddy: Silence IS consent in this business! Listen, she won’t listen to reason! She had plenty of polite requests to do it during the day, but she refused. We told her we would give her the new update while she charged her phone, and damn if the bitch stopped charging her phone at night!

TC: (Shakes his head again) I don’t believe this. I don’t believe what I’m hearing in this room. Apple is a two billion-dollar company. We can’t be outsmarted by some smarmy little bitchy blogger in New Jersey.

KA: I hardly think the situation necessitates name-calling….

Eddy: Fuck you, Katherine. Typical woman, thinking with her vagina…

JG: Eddy, that was out of line, and I agree with Katherine. No reason to let the situation deteriorate….

TC: (Interrupts). So she got the update. What happened then?

CF: (Perks up) She was unhappy. Very unhappy. She hated the changes. We thought we had her. First we gave her phone a glitch when she used voice text. Our best day was when she was driving and we changed a voice text she sent to her new supervisor that went “Sorry, I am driving and on my way to Turnervsille to get my oil changed” to “Sorry, I am driving to tit-conscious to get my mulch embedded.” And to a new male boss! But…

TC: But?

CF: She laughed.

TC: Laughed?

JG: Laughed. The woman has a sick sense of humor. She’s sick, Tim. Sick.

TC: (Nods) Eddy?

Eddy: Yeah, that’s when I stepped in. Tim, I have tried everything. I deleted her favorite driving playlist. It’s gone. It took her three years to make that playlist. But after the shock wore off, she just didn’t care. Then I rearranged the icons on her screen. Nothing. Then I made sure that now if she wants to answer the phone in her car, she has to hit three buttons to answer it instead of just one. It’s dangerous.

TC: And?

Eddy: She just stopped answering the phone when she drives.

TC: Fuck.

Silence.

KA: Don’t worry Tim, we have a few things left we can do. We’re going to keep having her phone battery deplete earlier and earlier in the day. We’re going to hide her calculator and her clock, because she uses them a lot. If nothing else works, we have one final card to play.

CF: You don’t mean….

KA: Yes. We’re going to make sure Google maps doesn’t configure. The girl has no sense of direction, she uses Google maps for everything. If she doesn’t have Google maps, she can’t travel. She’ll have no choice. She’ll come running and screaming back to us, begging for an upgrade. (Looks at Eddy). How’s that for thinking with my vagina, Eddy?

Eddy: (Impressed and a little afraid of Katherine) Yeah, that’s good. That’s real good.

TC: Alright people, let’s wrap this up. You all know what is at stake. We can’t have this random woman making people think iPhones last for five years. If this gets out, our stock will plummet. I want Mary Oves with a new iPhone by 2021, do you understand? What’s the timetable to force her hand?

KA: We’re thinking right around the holidays, Tim. She’ll be getting ready to travel, and she’ll need her phone. The last upgrade we forced on her in 2016 was the day before spring break. We made sure her phone just DIED. She forked over the money for a new phone, a new case, a new charger, the whole shebang.

JG: (Smiles fondly) I remember that day. That was a good day. She was the perfect Apple client that day- furious, confused, desperate. She didn’t understand one thing the phone salesman said to her. Remember what she said that day, Craig?

CF: How can anyone forget that? I saved it in my notes. She said, and I quote: “Fuck it, I don’t care how much it costs, I’m in a rush, just charge my account and let me get out of here. This is bullshit.”

Everyone, Tim Cook included, smiles warmly.

TC: Yeah, those were the days. (He moves to leave). Let’s get Mary Oves back on track, people.

Eddy: Don’t you worry about it, Tim, we’ve got this handled.

TC: (Slams door behind him).

They all look at Katherine.

Eddy: Are you crazy? How do you expect to kill her Google maps, genius?

KA: (Stalks toward her office) Can someone please get Sundar on the phone for me?

Smooth is Fast

So this is my last adventure post for 2020. And it sucks. But some weeks you have the magic, some weeks you don’t. I guess I lost my “mojo” in more than one way. Until I get it back, let’s just get through this, I have a day. A week, actually.

Climber Emily Harrington climbed her way into the history books on November 10th by becoming the first woman to free-climb the Golden Gate route of Yosemite National Park’s El Capitan in less than one day. She topped the 3,000-foot mountain last Wednesday in 21 hours, 13 minutes and 51 seconds.

That’s pretty badass. I envy her reckless streak. I want it. Harrington says she has this constant itch to be on the move, and has to constantly remind herself to be still, take her time and breathe. Her mantra is “Slow is smooth, smooth is fast.”

I can relate to the itch part.

One morning in Scottsdale, my friend Laurie and I were lounging by her pool. I felt anxious. Unsettled. Twitchy. It was 9:00 a.m., a chilly desert morning, and we were settled in snugly on deck chairs with blankets and hot cups of coffee. I could see the mountains in the near distance, and I think I muttered something along the lines of “Urmmph.” Laurie looked up from her book.

“What’s wrong?” she said.

I slammed my book shut.

“I’m bored. I don’t feel like sitting here. I came here to hike.”

She closed her book.

“That’s fine,” she said, “then let’s get ready. It’s early, though, we have all day. I thought you wanted to read for a bit.”

“I did. But I’m bored. I can’t take sitting here anymore.”

She stood up and looked at me steadily.

“Mary, you’re like a toddler I have to tire out to get any peace in my day. Let’s go.”

(Wow. But she’s not wrong. Bad things happen when I have nowhere to channel my energy. I twirl my hair. I bite my cheeks. I eat doughnuts. I apply for crazy jobs. I threaten large conglomerates and the federal government. It’s best to get me out).

Two summers ago I visited my friend Tracey in Vermont, and we played around in the Adirondacks- hiking, zip-lining, you know, the ilk, and one day, after a full days’ play, we stopped at a bookstore.

The greatest bookstore.

Once you’ve been to a really great bookstore, you realize that Barnes & Noble sucks ass. Hey, I patronize B&N too, but the fact that they cater to only bestselling books published by the same three or four gigantic book publishing houses who happen to publish 90% of all books published in the world just irks me. My statistics may be off, but you get the idea. So many great books do not get the attention they deserve and ultimately, die small deaths, deteriorating in anonymity.

This expansive Adirondack bookstore featured only nature, travel and adventure books, which tells you something about the wonders of the Adirondacks. I stood in the women’s adventure section for an hour drooling all over my adventure heroines- Cheryl Strayed, Robyn Davidson, Dervla Murphy, Isabella Bird, Martha Gellhorn, Wanda Rutkiewicz, Anne LaBastille…

Anne LaBastille’s book Woodswoman chronicles her life in the Adirondack Mountains. After her divorce, Anne built a log cabin with her own hands, and her independence and self-reliance cause me to pause and reflect on my own. Well, lack of my own. Anne says on page 91:

Camping has become one of my most beloved pastimes. I take a fierce delight in swinging a pack on my back or into a canoe and heading for the hills or lakes. In my opinion, camping can be the greatest expression of free will, personal independence, innate ability, and resourcefulness possible today in our industrialized, urbanized existence. Regardless of how miserable or how splendid the circumstances, the sheer experience of camping seems a total justification for doing it.

You said it, Sistah.

I love slinging my backpack across my shoulders and taking off on a hiking trail alone, with only the most rudimentary of resources and my own common sense. But there is a problem with that theory.

It turns out I have no common sense.

(Pause for a laugh and a head nod from everyone who knows me….)

I almost got lost on a desert trail in Sedona five hundred yards from my chalet. I panicked when I lost the trail, and the roof of the resort office was barely out of sight. Just this past weekend I mistakenly left the groomed path and somehow ended up on the Appalachian Trail. On the AT, white blazes are the standard color while a blue blaze represents a spur/offshoot of the main trail. I must have been admiring the scenery, because I missed the insignia. I walked an hour in the wrong direction before it occurred to me that I hadn’t seen another living soul on a well-trafficked trail on a perfect weather Saturday morning. The backtrack was brutal.

I have dozens of these examples.

I am working on my self-reliance not only in nature but in life. And until any woman has tried going out alone into the wild as a vulnerable female, she can’t possibly grasp the badass insanity of what Cheryl Strayed did in the book Wild. I love this book so much, I love Cheryl Strayed so much, and I love her writing so much, that I throw it across the room when I am re-reading it for the umpteenth time, because her talent and bravery not just in the wild but with the written word just overwhelms me.

I don’t think, no, I know for sure, that I do not possess that kind of courage.

Yet. But as I said, I’m working on it. The push-pull thing. The east-west thing. The sunrise-sunset thing. The fear thing.

So that will be my goal for 2021. Letting go of the last set of fears I have. Most have fled, as you know, if you read my blog. But I know there are still a few, hunkered down in there, just waiting to cripple me when I least expect it.

The rest of this year will be filled, as it is every year, with family. Food. Celebration. Giving thanks. Looking forward to a new year. Many people rue 2020. But I don’t. I started it as one person, and I have ended it as another. Stronger. More grateful. More able to withstand life’s blows. Resilient. Strong. Sure. And in 2021, I will keep up my pace, and look for those markings.

Slow is smooth, smooth is fast.

Frankie

A wrong turn led me down Memory Lane recently. Lucky you, you get to come along, if you so choose.

(I know my posts this week have been shockingly self-absorbed, so if you’ve been reading, thank you for putting up with me).

This past weekend, I was trying to locate an obscure hiking trail a local had recommended to me. Right on Paradise, left on Bliss, he had said, trailhead begins after third tree on the left. But no trail met me, just another gated fence.

Story of my life.

I had turned around to head back to my car when I realized I was smack-gob in the middle of the resort where I had worked as a cocktail waitress in college. I had forgotten it was out here. I decided to treat myself to a walk through the grounds.

It was built-up, but not much had changed. There was employee parking lot B. I remember that short sweet walk into work under those summer lights like it was yesterday. There was the entrance into the concert hall, where I met The Smothers’ Brothers. They were sweet but pervey, with a reputation for groping waitresses. There was the night club. I remember George Michael’s “I Want Your Sex” pounding through speakers so loud I would hear echoes for days after a shift. If we were caught up with drink orders, we were allowed to dance with the clients.

There was the outside bar, where my much older boyfriend broke up with me. Even then I liked older men, and Tom was the 42-year old bar manager. We saw each other most of that summer, but by the end, his old girlfriend Ann the bartender asked him to end it. She thought I was too young for him. Well, duh. He didn’t want to end it, he said, but he was going back to Ann, and he was sorry. I distinctly remember laughing in his face. I was 21 and drop-dead gorgeous, with men lined up out the door to date me. I don’t think he appreciated how well I took it, and my friend Ann the bartender never spoke to me again. Humph.

There were the basketball courts next to the employee office. I remember one early summer night walking past those courts on my way to punch in and a large group of men playing basketball stopped to give me a round of applause. I was 21 years old with really big blonde 80’s hair and even bigger boobs, I was tanned golden from the sun and had a short skirt wrapped around my tiny waist and sky-high heels on my feet.

Good grief, do we ever appreciate the sexiness of our youth?

I had taken the job at this resort when spring semester had ended. My roommate and I had agreed to stay at school together, take classes and make some money. I had an easy schedule since all I had left to graduate was student teaching in the fall. So during the day I sailed, ice-skated, rode horses, and analyzed iambic pentameter in my Advanced Shakespeare class. At night, I strapped on my heels, threw on a black skirt and a white tank top, and carried a tray for up to eight hours a night. I made beaucoup bucks.  

That was one of the most carefree summers of my life. I loved everything about that job.

Memories of the people I loved came flooding back. Dennis, the young, overweight, jolly, bespectacled general manager, who was more like a friend to everyone than a boss, and who was universally loved by every employee in the resort. James, every waitress’s favorite salt-and-pepper haired bartender, who no matter how busy it was, stayed calm and kind when filling our orders. Sheila, the old salty abrasive hostess, who yelled at us for wearing such high heels. “You wait,” she would say. “One day all you girls will have bad backs, and you’ll say ‘Sheila was right!’”

Sheila was right.

Craig and Alex, dinner waiters and best friends, locals who lived on the grounds. They were inseparable, and often let me stay over in their apartment if a night ran late. One day we got word that Craig had gotten into a terrible motorcycle accident and was in a coma. I visited him in the hospital every day for a month, but Alex never visited Craig once. Not once. Craig recovered, and when he arrived home six weeks later, we had a Welcome Home! party ready for him. I can remember like it was yesterday, Craig wobbling back into that apartment on those crutches, his face and body a mass of scars. Alex wouldn’t come out of his room, and when I went in to talk some sense into him, I was shocked to see him climbing out of his window. Coward.

(I remember being confused and upset about that, realizing for the first (and not last) time in my life that people respond to life’s tragedies in different ways).

And as I gazed over the grounds that day, I remembered someone else from that summer. I stood in the middle of that parking lot, and I smiled.  

Frankie. Of course. I hadn’t thought of him in thirty years.

The local help, the workers who worked there all year round, had their own living accommodations on the resort property, much like in the movie “Dirty Dancing.” The waiters and bartenders called the cocktail waitresses their “College Girls,” and invited us to their fairly intense parties. I was just a young innocent sheltered brat, newly 21, and this one swarthy Italian dinner waiter, Frankie, a boy only a few years older than me, grew especially attached to me.

Frankie worshipped me. He would kiss my hand, tell me I was beautiful, help me on and off with my jacket, rub my feet after my shift. But surprisingly, he never made a real pass at me. Not once. He idolized me. He never let me drink to excess, he steered me away from people sniffing cocaine and smoking pot, and he wouldn’t let any guy near me. He never let me walk to my car alone, and sometimes followed me in his car to my apartment to make sure I got home safely. I still remember waving back at him as he waited in his idling car to make sure I got safely in the door.

To this day, someone waiting until I get into my house safely melts me into a puddle.

No man had ever treated me that way before, and never since. And let me tell you, once a woman gets a taste of being treated like that, it never quite leaves her. Over thirty years later, I still remember Frankie’s ballet-dancer grace when carrying a dinner tray, his gruff voice, his Fu Manchu, and his ringed fingers. He treated me like a fragile princess, a woman so precious that he didn’t even dare touch her without permission. And any other man who dared approach me was also brutally rebuffed.

“She’s too good for you, she’s too good for you, back off,” he would say, in his thick Italian accent. The other men seemed to be afraid of him. He would hold my hand at parties, just stroking my knuckles. He would stare at me from across the room, only looking away when I met his glance and nodded that I was fine. He would check on me during my shifts, to see if I needed anything. He once told me that he could never be with me, because his background was too embarrassing.

“I’m not good enough for you either, Princess,” he would say.

(Hold up, skeptics. Of course I know this is the thing of fairy tales and mafia movies. Being treated like an idol of worship can never really last, not in modern and sustainable relationships. It’s all about give-and-take).  

Right? Sigh.

I wonder whatever happened to Frankie, and if he will ever know that he instilled in me a deep and intense feeling of self-worth. Just the thought of him makes me smile, thirty years later. I hope every woman has had the joy of at least one Frankie in her life.

As I drove away from the resort, I wondered what it would be like to return and work there for another summer. To try and conjure those feelings again. I mean, can the past be repeated? Can Memory Lane ever be accessed again once it is gated off?

So this weekend, ladies, if you’ve never had a Frankie in your life, be a Frankie to yourself. Treat yourself like you are the sole object of your own desire. Check on yourself, make sure you’re safe and well-treated. I have a million suggestions on how you can treat yourself like the queen you are. I’ll share some next week.

Because if we can’t treat ourselves like royalty, how can we expect anyone else to?