Category Archives: Updates

Reality Check

Here’s what I’m supposed to be.

I shouldn’t have a line or a blemish on my face: a perfect FaceTune in real life. A full set of long, curled lashes. The perfect pout and long, shiny hair that never frizzes. My measurements should 36-24-36; not a bit of cellulite.

I’m supposed to be a runner, a weightlifter, a downhill champion skier, the girl who gets up a 5 a.m. to go to boot camp. I should eat kale, and quinoa, grilled fish and chicken.

Cultured. I would enjoy visits to a museum or an art gallery. Maybe learn a new language. I could take up the guitar.

I should be volunteering at the food bank or taking pro bono cases for those who can’t afford it. Maybe work at the community garden. I would never forget the reusable bags for the grocery store. And definitely bike to work three times a week.

I should work 60 hours a week, and if I have downtime, I should be studying articles about the law, my industry, management. I should create new projects and initiatives. I should work weekends. My job should be my passion.

If I were perfect, my husband and I would always hold hands, make love spontaneously and often. I wouldn’t ever go makeup free in yoga pants and sit on the couch. If I were perfect, I would have great friends, and a best friend. We would have these elaborate parties and get togethers and have great talks over coffee.

Here’s who I am.

I have cellulite on my thighs. I have lines on my face. My hair frizzes when the humidity hits 40%. But my husband says I’m gorgeous, sometimes in the morning when I’ve just woken up and I have not a stitch on, nor any makeup on my face. I have my dad’s long straight lashes, and my mom’s freckles. My grandmother’s dark brown eyes, almost black. Those lines on my face: some are frown lines, but perhaps far more are laugh lines.

I hate running. Lifting weights bores me. But I work out nearly every day. Sometimes, I get up at 5:45 am to go to a gym class that challenges me. (It usually involves weights.) If I don’t get up early, I go to the gym after work. I am one hell of a downhill skier. I am a pretty decent mountain biker. Each day at work when my Fitbit reminds me to get up, I walk the floor. Sometimes, I take the stairs.

I am flawed. I drink too much. I don’t want to learn French. I just want to sit on the couch and watch old episodes of Felicity. I tried the guitar once. But I meal prep on the weekends. I have a budget. I have a weekend checklist of productivity. My idea of a fabulous Sunday afternoon involves mimosas, and my husband, and some of our friends, and laughter, and my favorite wedges, and a hip new restaurant, or the one across the highway from our house where everyone knows us and we sit at the bar.

Every once in a while, I do take a pro bono case. Every couple of years, I take a family law case and help women free themselves from a marriage that stopped working long ago. Every once in a while, I volunteer to help green card holders apply for citizenship.

I don’t work 60 hours a week. When I have downtime at work, I pick up my phone and scroll through social media, or read an article in the Washington Post. I wasn’t in the top 10% of my class in law school. Sometimes, though, I read the bar journal magazine. Almost always, I do good work. Always, I am a good employee, a good colleague, a good manager.

My husband and I can go a whole day without touching except a quick peck on the lips to say hello or goodbye. But that’s not every day. We love each other with passion. We have fun together. We talk, we laugh, we plan, we dream. We are a true team, a partnership. We take care of each other. Perhaps most importantly, we are friends.

I invited a bunch of people to my fortieth birthday party in Vegas. Three people came. And sometimes people who I thought were my friends…aren’t. But my mom is my dear friend, and she is a wonderful person who is slow to judge and quick to compliment. I could not love that woman more. And I am still friends with a girl who lived across the street when we were just babies. Another one, from first grade – has a baby and lives in New Orleans and doesn’t drink anymore – but when we’re in the same room it’s like no time has passed at all, and we let each other be…each other. I found some wonderful ladies in a car group. I found an unexpected friend at a workout class. I have lovely friends who stood up at my wedding and who I’m confident will be by my side forever. And with all of these friends: we get together, and we laugh. Over booze, or coffee.

Sometimes, I eat the freaking cupcake.

Sometimes, I give myself a break.

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Gigi Update

When we last left Gigi, it was 2007. She had been married a year and was the mother of a brand new baby boy, born via c-section, so it hardly even counted. She was trying out Stay at Home Motherhood, but figured she’d be back to the glamorous world of library science and writing Gorgeous & Sassy articles with Shakira as soon as the kid could get his own snacks.

If you recall the earlier days of Gorgeous and Sassy, you may remember that Gigi was a fun-loving librarian who lived with two fat, ornery pugs. She’d had one ill-fated Vegas marriage, but who doesn’t have one of those in their past? She half-heartedly went to the gym, but enthusiastically went to bars, watched horrible television or worked on G&S in her spare time. She and Shakira masterfully reviewed many Lifetime movies, pageants and a certain male strip club so that you didn’t have to investigate for yourself. Or you could know before you go. Or something. You’re welcome. They may have exaggerated some of their adventures and they certainly made fun of their many ex-suitors, by creating trading cards with their likenesses and vital statistics. Not as many of the ex-suitors were 5’3, 400 lbs and plagued by erectile dysfunction as they may have intimated. Oops. #sorrynotsorry

Wow, it has taken nine years for Gigi to write anything new for Gorgeous and Sassy! What has she been up to? Let’s find out!

We’ll start with some good news: Gigi has made her re-entry back into the work-a-day world and she’s still in the library sciences. She is an Archivist! Hardly anyone really knows what that means and Gigi’s not about to explain it. She likes a little mystery.

Gigi is the mother of three (boy) children, who are all fairly close in age. She was pregnant from mid 2006 until late 2010. She did not glow, but resembled an angry weeble. She would sit on you and steal your food if you looked at her the wrong way or attempted to rub her belly. For the love of everything, please stop rubbing pregnant women’s bellies! That is how you get your throat punched.

Did Gigi mention that her children are all boys? When Gigi was young and pictured the possibility of children, she envisioned one small, quiet girl, who would bake muffins with her or sit next to her on a comfortable couch while working on crafty projects like embroidery. Gigi’s sons do not enjoy baking and only eat the tops of muffins. They just throw the rest of that shit on the floor. They hate crafts and Gigi would be a damn fool to let them handle embroidery needles. Gigi’s no fool. On the plus side, these boys all love a good fart joke. They are funny and wild and the best thing that ever happened to Gigi. It’s not what she expected, but she has no regrets in that area.

Gigi really got into running after the birth of her third son. Such a surprise for someone whose other favorite hobbies can successfully be completed while laying down. She’s run two half marathons, plus several other races of varying lengths. She’s not fast, but she’s not as slow as she thought she would be. She is training to run a half marathon with her sister on her upcoming birthday, because she’s just going to get old anyway, so why not run while her legs still work? She drinks a margarita or eats a doughnut for every mile she runs, so don’t worry about her wasting away. NOT GONNA HAPPEN.

Gigi recently finished her second marriage. Things did not go swimmingly in that department. In fact, they went horrifically and spectacularly wrong. It is an interesting story, but please don’t ask her about it right now, because that can make her have sudden, unexpected crying. Nobody likes that. It makes us all uncomfortable.

Gigi drives a vaguely colored, ten year-old minivan. It might be tan but it might be silver. Nobody knows. It’s the Absence of Color. It is a whale of an automobile with an unexplained dent on one side, that totally adds character. As does the missing hub cap.

Gigi’s pugs both died in 2011. She now lives with the aforementioned boy children and her crazy little rescue doggie, Josie. Josie is a bitch in every sense of the word. Sorry, but Josie probably wouldn’t like you, at least not at first and maybe never. She’d bark at you for a good ten minutes straight upon meeting you. She’d pee if you tried to touch her. Then she’d bark more. Josie particularly hates men. Gigi is somewhat ambivalent about them at present, so this works just fine.

Gigi is putting her life back together. She runs several times a week to stay sane. She drinks copious amounts of wine to stay loose and hydrated. She laughs many times a day with her crazy kids and her crazier crew of friends. She watches a lot of Netflix and reads memoirs of interesting women. She’s still a bad ass. Maybe she’ll write something funny while she rebuilds. Stranger things have happened.

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