Elle Severe Presents

No Kids Allowed

In Bitch Please, Random, Rants, Uncategorized on May 3, 2013 by Elle Severe

To all the morons who think Vegas is a family destination: It’s NOT.

Not joking. Your children are not welcome here.

I’m moved to write this because every time I go to Vegas I see kids.  Everywhere.  I’m not sure why; absolutely NOTHING about Vegas screams “KIDS WELCOME”.    I apologize in advance for how judgmental this post will be, but the reality is that children do not belong everywhere and this is especially true of Vegas.  Before you get all over me about this, please note that I am both a parent and a Vegas lover.

I’m not saying you’re a terrible person if you bring your baby to Vegas, I’m just saying you’re a terrible parent if you bring your baby to Vegas.  Las Vegas is for adults, period.

In the early 90’s there was a push to make Las Vegas a family destination.  Three new hotel/casinos were built with  child-friendly themes: the pyramid shaped Luxor, the pirate-themed Treasure Island and the medieval castle, Excalibur.  The idea was to make it seem like children were welcome while drawing in the parents in the hopes that they would gamble, eat and drink.  It worked for a little while. Though both the Luxor and the Excalibur are still operating today, both have taken hard financial hits.  Because parents and children still flock there, they have lost out on other customers and clientele, so both hotels are suffering financially and are now a little more run-down than they should be.  This results in them charging lower prices and therefore attracting a lower economical class of hotel guest, thus ensuring the cycle of crappy hotel to continue.

You can hear The Sirens from a mile away…

Treasure Island threw in their cards pretty early and re-branded themselves as The TI.   They went from having a massive pirate show out front every hour, to having a Sirens of the Seas show.  The Sirens are scantily clad, obviously.  The only casino on the Strip that is full blown parent/ kid friendly that has survived long term is Circus Circus. I think this is because it’s further down the Strip away from the real action.  History lesson aside, the bottom line is that children of any and all ages do not belong in Las Vegas.  Ask yourself this, is it smart to take kids to a place known all over the world as the “Sin City”? At its most basic level, do you want your beloved progeny in place known for its debauchery? Las Vegas is called the City of Sin for a reason.  Several reasons.  Good reasons.

Believe it.

The first time I ever went to Vegas in the early 2000’s, 24 hours in I turned to my husband and said, “This is DisneyWorld for adults”.  Every vice you have, or want to have, or need to have satisfied, is at your fingertips.  Alcohol, drugs, gambling, food and sex are everywhere and for a price (both emotional and financial) you can have any of it, some of it, or all of it.  All you need to do is open up your wallet and you can eat at a buffet fit for kings, you can drink until you fall over, you can gamble until you are flat busted broke and you can watch naked girls dance on a pole until the sun comes up; in some cases you can do all of these things at once.  You can do this in moderation or in excess but believe me when I tell you it’s encouraged to do these things in excess.  Point blank:  Vegas is awesome – for adults.

Alaskan King Crab legs for days, son.

You will lose.

Personally I go to Vegas to get away from my kids.   I have found that there are times in my life when I need a break from them.  I love them, I want to be with them and pretty much everything I do in my life centers around them.  But sometimes I need a f*cking break.  I need to have adult time whether it’s alone with my husband or with a group of my girlfriends; the reality is that everybody needs a little time away, it’s that simple.  So when I see kids in Vegas I get annoyed for two reasons, number one, because they do not belong here and number two, because they are infringing on my grown-up time.  I will also be honest here and say that I am openly hostile to people with children in Vegas.  Yes I am.  Too bad.  Now if we’re at Storyland, I’m kind and patient and even try to pretend that other people’s kids are cute and charming (they aren’t), but in Vegas, you get the stink-eye.


This really happens; all day, everyday.


Let’s start at the very beginning: the flight to Vegas.

You’ll start out the evening classy, but you’ll end the evening a sloppy ho.

Since 2002 I have been to Vegas no less than 12 times, each and every time, without fail, no matter what time the flight is, there is always a gaggle of people, guys or girls, who already drunk or seriously buzzed before we even board the plane.  These people have already indulged and that’s fine by me because they’re adults and we’re on our way to Vegas.   I personally have been known to take a couple of happy pills on my way to Vegas, ostensibly to prevent anxiety or a migraine, so even myself, a responsible party-er, is under the influence.   And if people aren’t already drinking before boarding the plane, you bet your ass they’re getting drunk on the plane.  I have to believe that the flight attendants heading to Vegas know that they are going to be on their feet serving drinks pretty much the entire flight.  Now children on a flight to Vegas is unavoidable.  Maybe you have family out there, or friends you’re visiting.   I have friends in Vegas and at some point I will be bringing my children out to meet them, so kids on the plane to Vegas is fine, I get it.  But be warned, you may end up sandwiched between a group of awesome bros who just can’t wait to get their drink on if they haven’t started already.  So already the ride to Vegas is a dicey situation and once you arrive in Vegas, shit gets real, and fast.

This is just the beginning.

Once off the plane and in the airport, which is very clean and welcoming, there are slot machines and bars.  That’s fine.  That’s not an issue.  However, once you leave the confines of the terminal and are in your cab heading toward your hotel, the billboards start.  These billboards advertise everything from Vegas shows to the hottest strip clubs to the raciest lounges.  There are ads for magic shows and buffets too.  But if you’re a kid, guess which ones are going to catch your eye? This can’t be helped, human nature is such that we are naturally drawn to the naughty.   In the back of the cabs there are free booklets that advertise these same things and inevitably there is always an ad for the latest Vegas showgirl cabaret with a picture of the lead dancer in the least amount of clothing possible.  And that’s just the ride to the hotel.

I typically order two of these upon arrival.

Check in areas areas at the hotels are clean and classy and smell nice, everyone is cheerful and happy to help you out.  Once you’re checked in, it’s time to head to your room.  Because Vegas wants you to gamble, it’s a foregone conclusion that in order to get to your room, you must pass through the casino, and once in the casino area, all bets are off:

Just a regular Tuesday on the casino floor.

1. Vegas still allows smoking in the casinos.   You cannot smoke in restaurants or clubs, but smoking is still allowed in bars and designated sections of the casino floor.  The casinos do their best to combat the smoke and the smell, and most do a great job, but the bottom line is that people are still smoking; smoke floats and lingers and hovers in the air and swirls around….so is it a good idea to walk your brand new baby, toddler, 7 year old, 12 year old or 15 year old through that? Simply put, no.  It’s not 1972 people,  smoking around kids is not okay.  Sorry.  We are better informed about the dangers of second hand smoke and more importantly, do you want your kids reeking of that? I don’t.  It’s gross.  If YOU want to walk through a smokey casino, by all means, please do so.  But since your sweet little baby can’t voice his or her opinion, don’t you think it would be best to make a good parenting decision for them and just not do that? Do you really need to be in Vegas so badly that you’re willing to have your infant’s brand new pink lungs exposed to that garbage? And I’ll be perfectly honest with you, when I’m in Vegas, I’m part of the problem; I will absolutely indulge in a cigarette or two or 50.  Hey, I’m in Vegas, in keeping with the “what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas” mantra, my rule is that whatever damage you do to your body in Vegas stays in Vegas and doesn’t count in the real world.

Go Go dancers be dancin’.

2.  In the casinos, in an effort to draw you in, there are scantily clad women everywhere.  These women are cocktail waitresses serving drinks to the masses, go-go dancers dancing on the bars, showgirls and Cirque performers and regular women of all ages wearing less clothing than they should.  The fact is, most of Vegas is scantily women.  Vegas is built on scantily clad women and that’s fine, for adults.  I’m old enough to know that the objectification of women is wrong and inappropriate, but if you think it’s okay for your 7 year old son to see that shit, then fine, but please don’t act surprised when he becomes a hyper-sexual 12 year old, a perverted 15 year old and a date-raping 22 year old.  I have no evidence or back-up, but my parental instinct and my gut tell me that it’s not okay for little boys and little girls to see sexual imagery coming directly at them for prolonged periods of time.  I have to believe that won’t end well.

Drinking is sport.

3.  Other than war zones and South Central, Vegas is the most volatile place in the world.  Think about it, you have  thousands upon thousands of people in a condensed, overly populated area drinking and gambling and LOSING.  They are getting drunker and broker by the second.  I don’t know about you, but when I lose money, I get really mad, really quickly.  And if I’m drunk, forget it.  I will lose my mind.  Let me take a moment to tell you a quick side story: My first trip to Vegas I saved up a tidy little sum to gamble, I drank like a fish all day and at 2am decided it was time to gamble.  I got my quarters, settled into a slot machine and proceeded to lose every penny.  I was so angry and frustrated I hadn’t hit it big that I began crying so hard and for so long that security came over and asked my husband to immediately remove me or risk me being arrested.  My husband manhandled me back to my room where I continued to sob uncontrollably for two hours.  Then I ordered room service, ate a burger like I was David Hasselhoff and passed out in my own filth.  And I’m a nice, decent, fairly normal human being.  So imagine how everyone else is behaving.  I mean, you are relying on complete strangers to behave around your children.  That’s an awful big leap of faith.  I don’t even trust certain family members to behave around my children so if you think I’m going to chance it that people in Vegas are going to be mindful of them, guess again.  It’s about protecting your children, which is your duty.  Sure there is tons of security in the casinos, every corner and crevice of the casino is on camera and monitored, but anything can happen in a split second.  Think how good you’ll feel about yourself if your kid is hurt in a Vegas casino.  That will be a story for the ages…or DCF.

Ask yourself this, is everyone really getting out to pee? You already NO the answer.

You will get lost. And no one will give a crap.

4.  The pools.  At most hotels there are multiple pools with all kinds of people standing around either hungover or already drinking in the hot sun.  Do you know what it would take to set off a full scale bro brawl? I’ll tell you, not much.  Now clearly in the nicer, more upscale hotels that attract a high level clientele, your children will be more protected in the casino and pool areas, but they’re not anyone else’s responsibility.  No one is going to save your kid if he/she begins to drown while you’re off getting yourself a third Miami Vice (pina colada and strawberry daiquiri in one drink, delicious).  I’m a strong and avid swimmer, but if I’m drunk I’m not saving anyone.  Why the hell should I put myself at risk for your kid? I got my own, so no thanks.  Furthermore, don’t ruin my buzz, I’ve paid way too much for it. This past summer I celebrated my birthday in Vegas.  At the MGM pool with my husband and friends, two kids about 10 and 11, brother and sister, began fighting in the deep end.  At first everyone ignored them because we’re all too self-involved to give a shit, but as the screams got louder and louder, people started to take notice and get this, ready? Not one single solitary soul did anything.  Including myself.  On purpose.  Why you ask? Because those weren’t my f*cking kids and they don’t belong in Vegas.  More importantly, their mother was nowhere to be found.  When she returned, with her bikini top askew and carrying drinks, I had a brief thought that I should be calling some sort of protective services, then I remembered that I didn’t give a f*ck.  And that, my friends, is pretty much how everyone in Vegas feels. I should probably apologize for that but I’m not going to.

“I’ll trade you my TIffani for your Sabrina”

5.  The Strip.  On the Strip there are people hired to hand out what are essentially trading cards of hookers.  People grab them, look at them and either pocket them or drop them.  Take a second to think how cool that would be when little Timmy looks down at the ground and realizes that he can collect a full set of Vegas hookers to trade with his friends back home.  I’m not even going to expound on that.

Just because it’s a “dry” heat doesn’t make it less hot.

6.  The weather.  I’ve been to Vegas at all times of the year.  Here’s a real shocker for you, it’s hot most of the time.  And in August, it’s hot as Hell, as in actual Hell, as in Hades.  So no, I don’t think you should be carrying around your 3 month old baby up and down the Strip when it’s 110 degrees.  Last August my friend Claire and I saw a man holding his little baby in his arms, when I tell you that I couldn’t tell if the child was dead or sleeping I’m not exaggerating – the sight of that limp, sweaty little baby in his arms as he obliviously strolled down the Strip in the beating sun made my stomach sick.  Claire and I couldn’t even believe it.  What parent does that? There is NOTHING on the Strip so awesome that you need to have an infant with you.  That was not the only time we saw that.  We saw kids passed out in strollers and flung over shoulders and crying and hungry and tired.  It was sad.  All I could think of was, for what? I just don’t get it.  Is a visit to the M&M store worth the risk of of sun stroke?  All those poor kids needed rest, how about going back to your cool room and letting that baby sleep in comfort? I assure you that the cheap t-shirt vendors are not going anywhere.  I’m also not saying that you need to work your sightseeing around nap time, put the kid in a comfy stroller and just tour the hotels, inside,  where it’s cool and comfortable.  How about at least keep it off the Strip during the hottest part of the day?

All day long…

One one of my last trips there I was walking through the new Cosmopolitan at around 11pm when I noticed three young women dressed to the nines walking through the casino pushing a carriage.  These young ladies were decked out in club gear; 6 inch stilettos, full make up, coiffed hair… these girls were workin’ it.  The only thing throwing off their ferocious game was that pesky stroller with the infant in it.  So where the hell were they going with that baby?? Da club?  I’m going to give them the benefit of the doubt and assign them the following back story: they, and the rest of their family and friends were in Vegas for a family wedding.  One of the girls just had a baby but still wanted to attend the wedding so she brought her baby with her.  This works out because her parents are also there for the wedding.  Having not drank or otherwise misbehaved for the last 11 months, New Mommy decides she just needs a night out with her girls.  She and her sister and girlfriend got all dolled up and were walking through the casino heading to Mom’s room to drop the baby for the night while she and the girls had some good old fashioned clean Vegas fun (which is an oxymoron).  That’s the story I have assigned her because nothing else is acceptable, nothing.

I have a friend who wants to bring her children to Vegas because she heard they have a nice aquarium at Mandalay Bay.  I had to gently tell her that firstly, that aquarium is busted and secondly, no.  You want a good aquarium especially for kids? SEA WORLD.

I allow for the fact there are times and situations where your child might have to be in Vegas.  The family wedding I mentioned up above, or maybe you’re there on a day trip as you head to the Hoover Dam, or you’re in town visiting friends and just wanted to bring the kids over to the see the pyramid or the Eiffel Tower…fine, so be it, that’s cool.  But anything longer than a day in Vegas and you are asking for trouble.  Not only will you not have a good time, but neither will they, and neither will I.  And be prepared to have to answer questions you had hoped to not hear until they were in their teens.  Kids grow up fast enough these days, I’d prefer they don’t do it on the Vegas Strip.

I’m sure you have your own opinion on this, and it may differ from mine, but I will tell you right now that I will not be swayed.  While I was writing and researching for this piece I came across an article that said “Vegas as a Fun Family Vacation!”, I didn’t even spend 2 seconds reading that nonsense; I stand firm in my belief that children do not belong in Vegas.  Bring them to DisneyWorld, that’s where children belong.

A Little Taste of Masshole

In Bitch Please, Life, Musings, Random, Rants on April 6, 2013 by Elle Severe

There’s a writer on Gawker.com named Hamilton Nolan who absolutely hates Boston.  He hates Boston like I hate rats – with the passion and fury of a thousand suns.  He hates Boston the way I hated the Yankees prior to October of 2004.  He hates Boston so much that every time he writes about Boston it’s so angry that it borders on the absurd.  It’s become comical.  I can’t even begin to try to understand having so much hatred for a city that has done nothing to you.  I’m trying to think if there is a city I hate…I do hate Providence a little bit.  But that’s more my fault than Providence’s fault.  I mistakenly bought a home across the street from drug dealers.  I have to believe if I had bought a home elsewhere I wouldn’t have such terrible memories of Providence.  And in fairness, Providence has fantastic food. And Pauly D.  So Providence isn’t all bad.  I certainly don’t hate it enough that if I were a blogger I would devote more than maybe passing mention of my dislike for Providence, unlike Mr. Nolan who spends wayyyyy too much time badmouthing my beloved little seaside city.  HamNo’s hatred of Boston leads me to believe that at some point in life Boston somehow broke his little heart.  Maybe he and Boston were dating and Boston slept with his best friend? It’s certainly possible, Boston IS a sassy little minx.  Whatever the issue, he claims that all people from Boston are jerks.  Obviously I disagree.  I’m from Boston and I’m not a jerk.  My friends are from Boston and I’m not typically friends with jerks, so again, I have to disagree.  Also worth noting is that Mr. Nolan is from the Florida panhandle.  I’ll be honest, I have no idea what that means but it sounds poor.  I could take 10 minutes and Wiki it, gain some knowledge, but I honestly couldn’t be bothered.  Maybe that makes me a Boston jerk.  All I know for certain is that anyone from the Florida panhandle (is panhandle supposed to be capitalized?) needs to relax a little bit about Boston.  Moreover, HamNo lives in NYC and writes for Gawker now, so congrats! Leave Boston alone and enjoy your hipster self.  Why am I writing about this you ask? I’ll tell ya why: because last Sunday I had a little taste of Nolan’s Boston Jerks.  And it really bummed me out.

Splish Splash I’m costing you a shit-ton!

My four year old son is obsessed with the Duckboats.  We actually live in Boston so whenever we’re out and about, we see them and he goes bananas.  We’ve been wanting to take him on a Duckboat for a while now, but those bitches are pricey.  $33 for adults, $22 for kids 3 to 11 and $10 for 3 and under.  These people are not kidding around.  For my family, that’s going to cost $98 for 80 minutes of entertainment.  That’s a lot.  We’re in a recession.  And sure I spend $98 on stuff all the time.  You could argue that I can drop $98 inside of 8 minutes, nevermind 80, in a Christmas Tree Shop.  You would be right.  But I would respond to your argument by politely explaining that I will be using those frames and plastic flowers and paper goods and candles and mason jars to make fun things for the family.  Thus my dropping $98 on crap is entertainment far beyond an 80 minute history lesson that I can repeat verbatim in my sleep at this point.  When you live in the city of Boston, the cheapest, easiest “field trip” your grammar school can afford is putting you on the Red Line, trotting you downtown and taking you on the Freedom Trail.

5th grade field trip. Hahahahaha, you don’t know which one I am!

Therefore I know my Boston history already, thanks.  Combine that with my innate cheapness, the Duckboats are not happening.  That is until last Friday when Living Social offered a sweet little deal that I quickly snapped up.  I was so excited.  I couldn’t wait to tell this kid that we were going on the Duckboats,  I just knew he was going to shit his little pants.  As an aside, my kids make me nuts, but there is nothing more satisfying in the world than making them happy.   I love when they get excited, it gets me excited.  So I bought the reduced tickets (take that Duckboat mafia),  and then I pulled two rookie parenting maneuvers back to back:  that Saturday after baking cupcakes and decorating eggs, I told the kids we had a surprise for them (wrong number 1) BEFORE reading the fine print on the tickets (wrong number 2).  Parents are already groaning because they know exactly what I did wrong.  For those of you who are not parents yet, allow me to explain this major parenting faux pas:


1.  I told the kids that we had a surprise for them. When pressed, I caved and told them it was the Duckboats.  This got them excited.  The first rule of Parent Club is that you do NOT EVER, UNDER any circumstance, EVER, tell your kids about an event until you’re pulling up in the parking lot of said event.  Even DisneyWorld.  Don’t tell those kids you’re going to DisneyWorld until you have your  new sneakers on and your fannypack strapped tight and it’s chock full of Magic Kingdom passes and Mickey dollars.  Seriously.  Tell them you’re going to visit a sick relative or something.  It’s too long to get into the ‘why nots’ of it, just please trust me on this one, for the love of God.

2.  I didn’t read the fine print.  Every idiot on the planet knows that when you get something on Groupon or Living Social or Eversave, you need to read the flippin’ fine print.  Chances are your 72% reduced mani/pedi/laser bikini line hair removal is good only on Tuesdays at midnight when the moon is full.  And yet, I didn’t read the fine print.  The fine print where it said “…excluding Saturdays…”.  I am what the French call Les Incompetent.  Or what my mother would call a moron.

So I got the kids all jacked up and then immediately deflated inside of 15 minutes.  That’s not good parenting.  Not because you’re torturing them, no…because you’re torturing yourself.  I now have to make good on that somehow, some way and immediately.  Kids are not stupid and they have nothing else to think about except what’s happening to them in that very moment so they are obsessive by nature.  Believe that.   To right this horrific wrong I perpetrated on my beloved children, I set it up for the next day, Easter Sunday.  We would have brunch with the family in Cambridge and then head to the Duckboats at the Museum of Science.  Win win.  Wrong wrong.

ROAR, you’re about to go on a nightmare ride, ROARRRR!

Even though we are literally down the street from the Museum of Science, we’re late to the Duckboats.  I guess they ask you to arrive 30 minutes before departure time.  Not sure why, but I’m sure it’s in the fine print.  My husband drops us off so he can go park and I take the kids and get in line.  We’re the last people in line.  This does not bode well.  A family arrives behind us.  I’m psyched because this means that we’re not going to get the bad seats up front.  Nope, these poor losers behind me are getting them.  And they are all tall so they are going to be cramped and miserable, yay! Just kidding, that’s Boston Jerky of me.

Here’s where I blow it AGAIN.  While in line, anxiously waiting for my husband and busy trying to keep my kids from doing something dangerous and/or stupid, I spy what I think is a check-in area.  I panic.  I proceed to have a full blown argument in my head with myself.  It goes like this:

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Bitch, Please: Memo to Miley

In Bitch Please, Rants on October 5, 2012 by K. Vargo

I know you think you are totes rebelling against the packaged piece of crap that Disney made you into with that new ‘do of yours but I have some shocking news for you: You look simply fucking ridiculous.

How edgy is a haircut that probably cost about $400 and is styled by a professional every time you step out in public? It is also a little hard to swallow your whole new found “screw the man” thing when you do it in designer clothes that cost what could feed a few poor families for a month.  Also, that new haircut and designer clothing money was provided to you by Disney, isn’t it weird to rebel against the very people who are financing you? And instead of rebelling against them, why don’t you rebel against your parents who allowed you to be bought and sold for large sums of money? If Disney did not tell you what to think, would you think at all? No, you would just be some dumb slutty teenager who sexts naked pics of herself to her boyfriend who then shows everyone at school.

Remember a few years back when you wanted to Party in the USA? And a Jay-Z song was on? And then you admitted that you’d never heard a Jay-Z song? Yeah. That was gross.  No self-respecting musician, or anyone involved in music on any level, for that matter, doesn’t know at least ONE Jay-Z song.  Even my 67 year old MOTHER knows 99 Problems…But that was wrong for two reasons: 1. You should have heard at least one f*cking Jay-Z song by now, you tool. And 2.  That just goes to show how deeply embedded you were in the Disney machine that you just sang whatever was thrust into your ugly little muge.  How you going to call yourself a singer and not even know ONE Jay-Z song?

I am going to need your 19 year old self to go away now.  But before you do, I have one more suggestion. Why don’t you take some of those millions and get your fucking tooth to gum ratio fixed up? Seriously.  Your gummy smile is revolting.

FYI, you wearing “cuh-razy” leggings and bleached hair will not give you a soul or a brain. That is all.  Dismissed.

PS. This new look of yours that you think is so hot and original? Yeah, well, Agyness Deyn’s been rocking this for years…and much better I might add.

Bitch, please.

Akin to the Republican Party

In Bitch Please, Life, Random, Rants on August 29, 2012 by WhiteBread

Though I know a week has already gone by since Republican Senate nominee Todd Akin spouted his ignorant absurdities on the connection between rape and pregnancies, the indignation I felt after reading his words still has not subsided.  And hey I may be no Eve Ensler, (my monologues are not even close to Eve Ensler’s), but I too have an opinion on this matter that I’d like to share.

First, since more than a week has passed since this incident, let me refresh your memory on what Mr. Akin had to say on this topic:

“It seems to me, from what I understand from doctors, that’s really rare,” Mr. Akin said of pregnancies from rape. “If it’s a legitimate rape, the female body has ways to try to shut that whole thing down.”

Ok, listen, Todd, first and foremost, when you’re talking to my lady parts, please refer to them by their actual names.   They feel completely disrespected when you just allude to them especially when they’re in the same room as you.  They have feelings too, you know.  Who am I kidding, if anyone is aware of my vagina’s ability to feel it’d be you, right, Todd, all knower of all things female genitalia?

Secondly, Todd, you need to get new doctor friends.

Finally, once my anger sufficiently subsided, my curiosity was sparked.  I got to thinking, if that’s what Todd inferred from doctors when they discuss a medical procedure (of which he knows absolutely 0 about) then what the hell else was he getting out of conversations when listening to other folks with specialized knowledge he doesn’t possess?

So, allow me to share what I think Todd Akin understands in a little piece I like to call: Todd Akin…Understands.

Todd Akin Understands

On natural disasters:

“It seems to me, from what I understand from seismologists, that’s really rare.  If it’s a legitimate earthquake, then God and the earth have a way to shut the whole thing down together and everything turns out fine.”

On being Lance Armstrong:

“It seems to me, from what I understand from Lance Armstrong, that’s really rare.   If it’s a legitimate doping, the blood tests they give you have ways of not exposing the performance enhancing ways you’re using to cheat.”

On Zumba instructing:

“It seems to me, from what I understand from Zumba instructors, that’s really tough.  If it’s legitimate Zumba music being played then the belly has a way of dancing independently of all of the other parts of your body.  Then a rainbow appears outside.”

On being a minority:

“Now correct me if I’m wrong, but it seems to me, from what I understand from being African American, that it’s really great.  Cops treat us like everyone else, health disparities are a crazy myth and employers are throwing jobs at us left and right.”

On fine dining:

“Look I’m no connoisseur of fine dining, but it seems to me, from what I understand about taco bell, that if you get a taco or burrito without lettuce, your body has a way of processing the food in a way that you literally shit gold bars.  I have already produced two since Sunday.”

On crime:

“Yes, I’ve never fought crime directly.  But it seems to me, from what I understand about the volumes I’ve read on the Gotham City case study, if its legitimate crime, Batman will show up.  If it’s illegitimate, then it’s just a waste of Batman’s time as well as the taxpayers’ money.”

On music:

“It seems to me, from what I understand from Little Richard, that’s really a fine line.  If it’s a Bop bopa-a-lu bop a whop bam boo than it can never be the whole boba loo bop wham chu.  It just can’t.  Ever.”

You know if this whole Senate thing doesn’t end up working out for Todd, I’m sure Fox News will be looking to hire some new folks come November.

Extra Bucks = Flowers: My Abusive Relationship with CVS

In Bitch Please, Life, Musings, Rants on August 8, 2012 by Jacey Prescott

Let me be clear in saying the intent of this passage in no way condones or pokes fun at any form of domestic violence or abuse in any relationship.

That being said, The Consumer Value Store and I have had a long, ugly and yes, dependent, thus, abusive relationship.    No matter how many bad experiences, mistakes, annoyances or let downs occur, I continue to go back to the one that hurts me…and more than the typical person, I might add.  Hello, My Name is Jacey, and I am addicted to CVS.

One might call this relationship addictive or abusive and I may even categorize it as dependent.  I NEED CVS!  They screw me every time and I keep going back.  I always believe their intent is good, until I need to go back.  And I ALWAYS need to go back!

Prescriptions:  too much of a pain to change pharmacies.  Get this:  the reason I won’t change? Other pharmacies are not as convenient.  WAIT…NOT AS CONVENIENT AS WHAT?!? Will I seriously not change pharmacies for that reason? The convenience of staff acting completely shocked when I tell them I have more than one script to be picked up? The convenience of 10 people in line and one really slow cashier and 7 people behind the counter standing around? The convenience of my script not being filled, even though I called to check and drive there and they then tell me that they didn’t fill it and now I have to wait (as I cough and hack and prepare to keel over).  Side note: I can be a little dramatic and also may tend to have a short temper.


So anyway, they get me on the scripts.  To this day, every time I go there I think to myself, “this time it will be different”. Sign Number One you’re in an abusive relationship.

Why else do I continue to go back? Besides blaming myself, (‘I should known better than to go at 5:00′, ‘I really shouldn’t go on the weekends’,’ I should have called first’) see also: Excuses, the Second Rule of an abusive relationship.  But I go back because I continue to convince myself that CVS is far more convenient than any supermarkets or other bigger drugstores (don’t get me started) and I CANNOT begin to discuss the woes of Walmart or other such places (another blog for another day).  But I do insist that close/easy parking and the amount of in-store traffic, navigation and distance is much less to handle at CVS than the other aforementioned stores.  I used tell myself this over and over again, until I am in the midst of it…in the midst of a pharmacy line 8 people deep, or get the disgruntled old lady who LOVES to yell at people who want to buy Claritin and she IMMEDIATELY assumes they are drug addicts so she needs to see their ID “Ya know!” (Seriously happened.  I’m not sure where that lady went, she was pretty old).

Why I oughta…

Now the old lady is not a pharmacy worker, she is (was?) a store employee…completely different breed of cat here.  The CVS workers are either 10 or 85…no in between.  Either end of the spectrum, they have no idea what is going on or how to problem solve, almost always resulting in my waiting over 5 minutes for them to “go check” on one of the three small items I picked up, only because it was on sale, but it’s not ringing up on sale.  (To be fair, the old woman may have known somewhat what was going on, but took it a little too seriously.  Or maybe she did have NO IDEA and thought she was a cop, perhaps?) There is never a cashier at the counter if there is no line BUT there are 7 signs, one at each register reading “next register please” and then someone half mile away looks at me like I am dumb when they irritatingly state from the photo counter “I can help you right here”.  I then put on my battered woman face, smile and sheepishly say, “oh, OK”…as if it was my mistake.

Oh I’m sorry, am I bothering you?

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In Bitch Please, Rants on August 6, 2012 by K. Vargo

I cannot tell you how many times this has happened to me, but specifically only in DC:

You are out.  It’s crowded so naturally people might bump into you on occasion.  But that’s not what I am talking about.  I am talking about standing there and having somebody physically touching you.  You wonder, “is this not bothering them?”, so you move the half inch that is possible to move and guess what? So do they.  The person is on top of you.  And they don’t care.  And if you kept moving, so would they.  They are completely oblivious to your presence and could care less that they are elbowing you and totally encroaching on the tiny piece of real estate you have managed to occupy.  When this happens, I get a look in my eyes that prompts a “don’t go Dorchester on them” from my best friend.  We don’t spend much time in places like this because I just end up seething and frankly, it’s not enjoyable.  I realize being from New England that I have an inherent aversion to being touched, but this encroachment issue makes me mad for another reason altogether.  It is a metaphor for a prominent personality type in DC:  The Oblivious and Entitled.

There was one time I did actually lose my shit.  My friend and I were at Duffy’s across from the 9:30 Club just hanging out until it was time to go over to the show.  I am sitting on a stool and this guy with fluffy blonde hair, an oxford shirt and blazer is standing next me.  Let’s call this guy Georgetown.  Picture a younger version of Christie Brinkley’s ex husband, Peter Cook.  There is plenty of space – really, there is – but you know, he is the most important person in the room so he encroaches on mine.  I move my stool over.  Fine.  He moves over again, and now he is elbowing me.  I move over one more time.  So does he,  you know, just cause.  Cause that is his right and he does not care or feel that he is elbowing me.  After I move the third time I turn to him and say, “Can you stop touching me? I have moved over three times” to which he says, in the most condescending tone ever, “It’s fine.”  That’s when I lost it and said to him “Don’t you dare tell me what’s fucking fine and not.”  My friend had the pleading look in her eyes that says “please don’t get in a fight.”  God I wish I had a dollar for every time a friend shot me that look.  Anyway, I try to calm down so I don’t ruin our night and Georgetown stops encroaching – until he leaves.  This asshole backs up close to my stool, elbows me one last time and leaves.  To be honest, the end of the story is a little fuzzy to me because I was so mad that I went into a blind rage but I clearly recall that one last shot he got in.  What a classy guy.

This is one of those stories that makes me mad all over again whenever I think about it (you know you have one of those stories).

I did not experience this in Boston.  Maybe it is the aversion to being touched leftover from the Puritan days.  Maybe we’re just assholes in a totally different way.  DC is one of the wealthiest, most educated populations in the country but apparently there is an inverse correlation between that and courtesy in some circles.  Next time someone willfully, purposefully encroaches on my territory, my fist is going to encroach on their face.  Okay, not really but I am going to daydream about it and then talk a big game.  So yeah.  You’ve been warned.