You Must Be "Exhausted"

Photo here

So I've just heard about the umpteenth celebrity being hospitalized (and/or institutionalized) for "exhaustion."

Seriously?

I know celebs don't exactly have it easy, being in the public eye and whatnot. I mean, it does have to be somewhat crappy making sure you look good all the time, lest someone write that you look fat/drunk/old.

Side note: have you ever noticed that when someone calls a celebrity fat they're all, "Kiss my fat ass!" (ahem, Tyra) and lash back at the media for being so superficial and do interviews like, "I'm comfortable with my body," but the next thing you know they've done some miracle diet and dropped all these pounds "to be healthier?" Yeah. Christina Aguilera will be next: mark my words.

Anyway.

I have some difficulty mustering up any real sympathy for these people. I mean, seriously? They're exhausted from what, exactly - too many nights clubbing it up in the VIP section? Too many late dinners at fancy restaurants with friends? Too many awards shows, lugging around all those heavy swag bags? Too much shopping, or possibly jet lag from all those grueling private (or at least first-class) flights? I know ... it must be tiring trying to decide which car to drive today. Or attempting to remember whether the spa appointment is at two or four.

I'm not saying their lives are all peaches and cream but c'mon. Exhaustion?? They have nannies. They have maids. Hell, they have the financial resources to hire someone to do practically everything for them if they're so tired. Too "exhausted" to wipe your own butt? There's an employee for that.

It's not like they worked a double shift, or haven't have a day off in three months, or have to keep a second (or a third!) job to make ends meet. It's not like they just got home at the end of a long, craptastic day and still have to make dinner, supervise homework, bath, bedtime, and laundry, and takeout just isn't in the budget this week. It's not like they lay awake on scratchy Kmart sheets, irritated because their rough un-pedicured heels are snagging, worrying about what bills can be put off so others can be paid. Or that their kid's struggling in public school and would do so much better in a smaller class but damn, I can't afford private school. No, they don't have to worry about any of that at all, let alone deal with it for an extended amount of time. Months. Years. And, y'all? I'm just talking about the brand of exhaustion that we experience here in the comfy, cushy United States of Suburbia. I'm not even touching the exhaustion that undoubtedly comes from walking for miles just to get water, or living life as a refugee.

So, like, how exhausted can these pampered celebs possibly be? I know "exhaustion" is usually a euphemism for "anorexia" or "drug abuse" or "something else that would tarnish the rep" ... but calling it that is an affront to those people who truly are exhausted. That's like staying in a hotel and calling it homeless. You wanna see homeless? Go sleep in an alleyway somewhere.

I guess they're entitled to a crappy run of luck, and to deal with it in whatever way their resources allow. But to label it exhaustion? I call B.S.! At least own up to whatever it is that's making you so "exhausted!"

Hmmph.

It's a ... Gender Reveal!

So ... I didn't get pregnant with this baby just for blog fodder, I promise.

But.

If I ever thought life with my three little dudes was hectic and messy?

Just imagine how much I'll have to blog about when we add a fourth dude to the mix.

That's right: it's boy number FOUR! Everyone, meet Corbin Daniel. He's quite the hoss (already weighs a pound!) and will be plowing his merry way through my nether regions the first week of June.

And you know what? I'm totally, completely, unbearably excited. But I'm glad I have a few more months to prepare for the total overload of XY chromosomes in my house.

Oh boy!!!!


Keep on Frumpin'

Seriously?

SERIOUSLY??

You know how you get used to something and like it and then someone comes along out of the blue and changes it up and you're all grumpy, like "WTF??!" That's how I am today. I'm sending out a big "WTF" to the Google-verse.

Why's that? Because I hear Google Friend Connect - the method by which I subscribe to the majority of the blogs I read, and the method by which at least half of you subscribe to the Frump - is circling the drain. Soon, it'll be just a memory. And I'm freaking out a little bit.

I'm a creature of habit, y'all. When I come across a blog I like, I automatically "follow" it with Google Friend Connect. If it doesn't have that as an option, I usually don't follow at all because I like the ease and simplicity of following with Friend Connect: you just click, and then you're notified of new posts when you go to Blogger. Done and done.

But now, NOW, I've got to figure out how to read all these blogs that I like - and there are like a hundred of them - in another way. And I've also got to figure out how to get you guys to keep on top of my posts. Which sucks because I even though I do all this stuff for my blog - set up email subscription service, maintain a Facebook page, etc. - I do it in a burst of inspiration and then forget how I did it, my brain "helpfully" replacing the technical knowledge with stupid factoids such as how long Kim Kardashian was married to Kris Humphries (72 days. Ugh). So when I have to tweak my blog settings, I'm like, glazed and drooling and "Duhhhhh" and have to look everything up and whatnot.

But. Since I don't wanna lose any of you, and because I know you're dying to a.) hear about baby #4 (whose gender, by the way, will hopefully be revealed here this Friday), and b.) you love a good poop story, I've compiled a couple of different ways you can follow me now that Google Friend Connect is going to be obsolete. (Again: WTF, Google?!) 


#1: Subscribe to my feed. I have no idea what this is, really, only that I once messed it up and nobody could get my stuff for a hot second. Oops. But if you're brave, try it out by clicking this little button:




 Subscribe in a reader



#2: Get Fighting off Frumpy in your inbox. I think this works. I hope so. If it does, you'll get new posts right in your email. If not, let me know and I'll bang my head against my desk in despair figure out a way to fix it.


Enter your email address:


Delivered by FeedBurner

#3: Follow me with NetworkedBlogs. It's like Google Friend Connect, only different. Sort of. Try it out! (PS - I can't figure out how to put the widget in this post, so just go to the lefthand sidebar over there and click.)


#4: "Like" me on Facebook. I know this works (because I "liked" myself, duh), so if you click below, you'll be notified of new posts whenever you obsessively check your Facebook page.





#5: Follow me on Twitter. Don't miss out on my posts OR the occasional 140-character blurb of wittiness ... just click the birdie!






#6: Pin Fighting off Frumpy on Pinterest. ... Which I promise, I will figure out someday soon. Until then, let everyone know they too should keep up with the awesomeness.



Pin This Shiz




Okay. So that makes me feel a little better. Now it's off to make sure I don't lose track of any of my faves. Damn you Google ......

Your Fashion is Clashin'


I've never been "into" fashion. That's not to say I'm unfashionable, exactly - it's not like I'm sporting a Spongebob t-shirt and plaid polyester pants or something - but let's put it this way: more often than not, it's me saying, "Oh, I love that outfit!" instead of it being the other way around.

It's just ... jeans are easy. And go with almost everything. And accessories are confusing.

Like, I don't follow any fashion blogs. That'd be like me following a blog about auto mechanics or sports: two things I don't exactly get, and don't exactly care that I don't get them. But occasionally, a couple of the bloggers I read sashay into fashion-blog territory. They'll post pictures of themselves wearing an outfit and say, like, where each piece came from. And each time I see this type of post, I can't help but wonder if I'm missing some sort of crucial "fashion gene."

I trust that these outfits are actually stylish, because Lord knows these women have more fashion sense in their pinkie fingers than I do in my entire body. And they always do look cute, in a put-together sort of way. But I never quite "get it." If I did some of the things they do, fashion-wise, I'd just end up looking funny. I don't understand how some women can combine, say, some furry boots and a zebra-print scarf and some shiny leggings and a crazy hat and be considered fashion-forward ... because when I try to combine items to make a stylish outfit, I just end up looking like a bag lady who threw on everything she owned to avoid having to carry it. What is the difference between these chicks and myself? Why is it okay to mix this pattern and this pattern, but ohmygawd no you did not just mix that pattern and that pattern?

My favorite magazine is Marie Claire - and while I obviously don't subscribe for the fashion tips, that's naturally a part of any women's mag. And there's a perfect example of what I'm talking about in this month's issue. In the "Luxe Looks for Less" article (page 66 if y'all are reading along), dead-center of the page, there's the following outfit:

-A hot-pink-and-black-striped shirt
-A pair of bright green, like GRASS green, pants
-An orange belt
-A pair of black heels with bright green toes
-A ... tan purse. With dark-brown tassel-y things

Okay, seriously? Call me completely inept but HOW ON EARTH DOES ANY OF THAT CRAP GO TOGETHER? Except for, like, the green jeans and the green toes of the shoes. Otherwise it just looks clashy to me. I'd say it was the bright colors that unify the outfit, except the demure tan purse blows that theory out of the water. And I know if I went into the store, and tried to pull together a similarly random outfit, that I would look like utter poo and people would be all, "WTF? Did she get dressed in the dark?" Yet here is this outfit, gracing the pages of a fashionable magazine, billed as a "luxe look" that I should run out and buy right now in order to be cute. How do you put together these seemingly unrelated pieces and make a "look" out of it ... and why does the "look" still not look all that fashionable to me?

What am I doing wrong here?! What am I not catching onto?! Sometimes it makes me feel like I should just turn in my girl card and start growing out my armpit hair (oh wait, I'm already doing that) and burping and scratching myself in public. I'm a frustrating mix of androgyny: not-quite-girl and not-exactly-dude.

But whatever I am, if you see me wearing an outfit that's considered "cute" or "trendy," and it's fashionably accessorized, that's because I saw it on a mannequin somewhere. Trust. Because until someone slaps me upside my head with some fashion sense? I don't think I've ever going to get it.

Blog Widget by LinkWithin