What we all have learned from "Pretty Woman"

I have watched Pretty Woman over and over and over again as it comes on cable at anytime, in almost every circumstance, and I know that you do too. Those useless hours spent watching this 1 and ½ star movie have not been wasted time for we have learned a thing or two.


• Blonde wigs look bad on just about everyone. (Britney also solidified this point)

• That it IS “funny how we just remember the bad stuff,” when you think about what other people have said about you.

• What “This car drives like it's on rails,” means.

• That your foot is the exact distance from your wrist to your elbow, additionally that Julia’s legs are really 42 inches long each.

• That every girl you know really does know all the word to the song “Kiss” by Prince, and when she sings it makes her feel kinda sexy. Grrr.

• Everyone has encountered that one shitty bitchbag saleswoman and has waned to tell her off.

• The only ever happy ending that is like Pretty Woman in real life is “Cinda-fuckin-rella”

• Skinny Marie would be an awesome name for a band.

• If you want someone to steal your money don’t put it in your mattress, put it in your toilet tank in a plastic travel soap case.

• When eating in a fine dining situation, always remember to use the correct utensils by starting on the outside and working your way in. Oh, and avoid the escargots.

• Always get paid up front and never kiss on the lips.

• When guys find out you can drive a stick, they think you are 3 times sexier.

• Short stocky bald guys are all inevitably total perverts.

• That not all prostitutes get bitch slapped, and when they do get their “hair combed” they act like babies.

• That streetwalkers are good people on the inside, and as pretty as Julia Roberts.

• Every whore has her day.

• That saying, “pop a squat” is unattractive in any circumstance.

• Hookers like Lucy.

• Fucking on top of a piano would be awesome.

xoxo - m.

M. is the world's worst amateur DJ.

For years, M. and I have experienced music together. On cassette in her fiero in the lovely days of high school. This black and gold beauty came equipped with speakers in the seat head rests. It was built for maximum music enjoyment. And, as a two-seater, it was up close and personal.

She had the car and yes, I had the cassettes--a green and white striped canvas bag with a cinch top to hold our 100+ tapes. As we speak, she's trying to claim that SHE introduced me to the music, but I'll leave that alone for now. Let's discuss some of our favorites: Tangerine by Zep, Twenty Five Miles by Edwin Starr, Summertime by DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince, Let's Get it On by Marvin, Hunger Strike by Temple of the Dog (I was Eddie Vedder and M. was a stellar Chris Cornell), and dedicated to one of M.'s Exes - Mr. Big. There were many, many more of which in future posts, we'll wax poetically, but for now you get the gist.

In these younger days, I commanded the tunes and M. commanded the wheel. She without question was a BA of BA drivers. (for those of you that don't know what BA is first off you're stupid and secondly it means BAD ASS). I didn't drive at this point being the youngster of our group, but learned irreverently from her style ---cigs, big gulp, excessive speeds, a car that handled like it was on rails, and the tunes.

We were a team...a one car, two person, high impact duo equipped for a wide range of entertainment from drive bys to drive ins. As we got older, the fiero got traded in and the cassette tapes now affectionately reside in my storage shed--green bag and all. They were replaced by CDs and then of course tracks on the pod.

As the media changed, the DJ changed as well. Parties ensued and it was clear that m. and I had totally divergent styles. As she likes to say, my choices in music make her want to kill herself. And, for me....m. never leaves a friggin' song on for longer than 30 seconds. I get Bill Withers singing "Aint no sunshine when she's..." interrupted abruptly by Lyle Lovett ugly crooning "she's no lady, she's my wife."

It seems that with the ease of clicking forward a track, we are no longer accustomed to just waiting it out like we were with the pesky thread of cassette tape. Oh how I miss that sound....that high pitched, squealing of the tape as it rolled through the lyrics. Tapes made you work for it. And, when you wait, you get to know your music, you get close...intimate. Now, we can be careless about our transition and cut off songs before they've really had a chance to make their mark.

(she's actually doing it as we speak)

Imagine hitting the jump before you heard:

"you cant always get what you want, but if you try sometimes you just might find you get what you need"

or

that last clap in let's get it on before marvin closes it out. it's slight and small, but it's there and wraps it all up and puts a nice bow on it.

for m., none of this necessarily means anything. And, for me, as the recipient of her fickle DJ style, I am left feeling awkward and distant....like if I commit to the music and let it in, it's just gonna forget me in 30 seconds and leave me hangin'.

Dear Capri Pants:

Why do you hate women?

Aren't things difficult enough without you? Some of "us" are still occupied with scrunchies, mom-job jeans, and carpool sweatsuits. I do not even need to mention those curious shirts made of synthetics that conveniently decompress into tiny, puckered poly-balls.

Yes, you're right. You were for a time an answer for those who used to fold and roll. And, for that sweet, sweet gift, we will always remember you. But now, like those gone before you: Members Only, leg warmers, mesh, and the singular glove phenomenon. You're time must come to an end.

I don't care if you can change - denim, floral, sport, zip-up, tie-waist, elastic, or suit pant. It's all too much or perhaps precisely not enough. You never really give me what I need ---full length. I have enough problems without you taking me from a 30 inch inseam to a 16.

Many of us may do not even know how bad you are for us. Toxic really. One thing is for sure - YOU NEED TO GET OUT OF OUR LIVES FOREVER.

No, there is nothing that makes you look better on me, not a heel, a boot, or a flop. And you are an immediate bust with a sock.

You've tried. But our time is done. Maybe we can see each other over some lonely stir fry, and have an old romp. But I am officially over you.

LYLAS,

c.

House Hunters

DING DONG. I love that sound. Oh, How I love House Hunters.  I love the houses, the realtors, and I love Suzanne Wang.  And I love to hate all the people who are looking for their ultimate dream home, starter home, or condo in the city.  I follow these dillweeds on the edge of my seat waiting for them to pick out of the 3 big ones.  I watch intently the cliched southern couple with the subservient wife and the creepy husband with the 4th grade education (who by the way insists I mean INSISTS on getting in all the bathtubs in all the houses they look at). Yum, can't get enough of 'em.  And I can't stop watching the middle aged couple looking to downsize.  Even though I am cringing inside, I watch the whole episode all the while the woman keeps repeating in literally every room in every house how she just "loves the light in this room."  And I will continue to get my fix because at the end I get to guess which house they pick - my pulse pounds and I can't change channel until I know.  And then to top it off - I get the reveal.  The longer they have the house the better.  Then you can see the entire country kitchen remodel in its infancy!  Oh sweet release.  Ding Dong I'm satisfied.   

By the way this does not include House Hunters International.  Are all Europeans that weird?

m.

I'm 30+, therefore I think.

So, we're in our thirties. Yes, we're no longer just thirty...we're thirty with some meat on the side--like 33 and 34. m. being 34 (had to be said) and i, c., being almost a FULL year younger.


With that out of the way, we're choosing to be not older, but in fact wiser. I know I've got some shit on those young wanna be hipsters. We can still throw down in cool...because we have history and because we get it. We have not resigned to the undefinable "it"...we haven't given in or traveled on the long road to the middle. Collectively, we have a kid, 2 cats, 2 dogs, one mortgage, one rental by the tracks in the hometown we never wanted to go back to, a significant other with no job, one who works for "the man", and a distinct and perhaps disjointed point of view.


Who exactly are we? Your worst nightmare, your fondest memory, your most horrifying adolescent embarrassment, your immoral compass, your fashion consultant, your dirty little secret, and your best friend because we lylas 4ever.


Some caution for the wary.


If you didn't sign all your study hall letters with the above in-the-know sign off you may be in the wrong place. And for that matter, if you don't have embarrassing prom pictures that wouldn't go with the theme "Moonlight and Roses" than you should probably look elsewhere. And, while in that hideous prom dress, you didn't get down and felt up in the worst way to "Baby got Back" while seemlessly transitioning into "Hunger Strike", then feel free to find the next blog that details every moms-n-tots class in your area. Or, if you weren't thin as all get out in high school because of the daily diet of ramen noodles and mini-thins in the convenient blue tear off packages from your local truck stop, then perhaps you should walk on by.


Don't be dismayed...we're an equal opportunity blog. We invite and encourage you to wax nostalgic (or, wane according to m.). For the adventurous types, we invite you to get on the train. We'll move forward, backward, with sarcasm, with laughter, and sometimes even with salty, bitter tears of regret. But, dont even think for a goddamn second that you can read this blog if you were one of those bitter, chip on your shoulder nerds that wouldn't share your fucking homework assignment because of some moral obligation to Jesus. We weren't nerds, and we were hella smart and had no problem sharing our homework.


Otherwise, we're here, we're 30+, go fuck yourself.