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'You heard me.' by Kate Ruppert

I for sure don’t have a column for you this week.  It’s been a week, y’all.  That’s all I can say.  Even trying to think about having to come up with something is tiring.  I think if I got paid to be here, I’d care more, but I don’t, and the job that does pay me is requiring a fuckton of my time.  I have dinner plans tonight that I’m about to cancel because I just want to go home and sit down for the day.  Sorry.  I’m not putting you off, promise.  Next week won’t happen either.  Don’t kill me, but I have a wedding in Indiana for my best girl, Alisha, and I can’t have multiple activities.  I get overwhelmed.  My Kidden is sick, and I just spent $300 at the vet to get her x-rays and an antibiotic; coincidentally, I also just spent $29 on a handle of voddy, and, much like people schedule sex, I schedule time without other people and that time is now.  I need to regroup and stay hush for a minute, and I’ll be back in a bit.  Aiite, you know how, in the old days, TV shows used to have a season finale, and then there would be a hiatus during the summer and there would be NOTHING to watch until, like, September, and there was none of this mid-season replacement bullshit?  Well, I won’t make you wait until September, but I will be taking a hiatus.  The Summer of Tennis begins tomorrow and there are bowls to be smoked and balls to be slammed into next Tuesday.  You heard me.  I need some leisure.  And you, no doubt, need time to yourselves, too.  I’ll see you pretty babies in a few weeks.  Behave and make some good choices without me.  Or don’t; I could use some inspiration.  

'You heard me.' by Kate Ruppert

'You heard me.' by Kate Ruppert

December 2, 2011

On Wednesday, I was talking to a coworker, and he made an astute observation.  To be honest, I don’t think it was his observation at all, as he’s pretty much a complete dunce, but whatever talk radio host he lifted the bit from was dead on:  Like the day after Christmas or the day after New Year’s, the day after the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show is a busy day at the gym.  Nailed it.  I asked him what the general age range at the gym was, and he said young.  Nailed it again.  The youth don’t appreciate the VSFS the way it’s meant to be enjoyed, and I wasn’t going to write anything this week, but then the show happened, and now I think we need to have a quick come-to-Jesus. 

The Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show.  It’s my most favorite televised event of the year.  I know it usually falls around Thanksgiving, which is cruel, but what can you do…?  And I usually watch with my friend Carissa, who, until this year, was the only other person I know who watches and is as enthusiastic as I.  And you can’t watch the show with just anyone.  Your fellow watcher must come from your camp—like, you can’t go for Mexican with a person on a diet—everyone’s gotta be on the same wavelength for success.  There are two kinds of VS camp: Y’all bitches who covet the life of an Angel; and the rest of us bitches who watch and only care about ever having a booty like that but knowing it’s just not in the cards so we don’t even try instead we get loaded on 80 proof booze and salads that are mostly oil-based and decide which wings we want and which kind of confident-slutty we would rock the shit out of in the bedroom, because that’s more tangible.  You heard me. 

Candice is my favorite, followed closely by Behati. Lily is a beast and Alessandra is in her own league. I think having an Asian Angel is reaching and Giselle forever owns my heart. These bitches are a force and I want whatever power they have. Not because they’re hot. Not because they have long-ass torsos. Not because they grow up to procreate with Tom Brady, who is the closest we’ve to superhuman. No, I want the power of their force because they OWN. IT.  All their insecurities are checked and they show up for the moment and exercise their power as a Lady because they know that only we possess it.  And when you’re the only one with a very specific, very necessary power or skill, it behooves you to learn how to use it.  I talk about using your Girl all of the time.  The VSFS is when a group of women come together and use their collective Girl.  We’re captivated.  My #2 Girl, Behati, said she felt like a real woman when she strapped on her wings and hit the runway for the first time.  Nailing it right and left.  Don’t get lost in the fact that they have lithe, inhuman praying mantis bodies.  Don’t get distracted by their hair extensions.  And don’t get hard on yourself when you realize you will never be that.  Those bitches are stomping down that runway because they are taking a deep breath and pulling some fierce confidence out some deep down place where every Lady’s confidence lies and they are owning the shit outta the beat.  And if you can’t make the connection between watching them, and understanding that you have just as much inside as they do—probably more, Ladies, don’t self-deprecate to the point of nonsensical—then fake it ‘til you make it.  Confidence is one of those things that people generally don’t question, and it’s one of those things that you’ll generally need to make it through.  You won’t find it at the gym, you won’t find it in a carb-free life, you won’t find it by cutting back on red wine, you won’t find it at your favorite store.  When this shit comes on TV again, you’re not gonna be in the gym flogging yourself the next morning, you’re gonna be sleeping in because your ass is hungthefuckover on account of your viewing party the night before.  

So much for no column.  Whatever, in my sleep.  Anyway, I have to get on up outta here as my weekend hinges on ending this day.  I have a full couple days of tennis, and there’s no way I could adequately describe my joy about that here. Also, if I’ve learned anything this week it’s that people’s red flag warnings are telling and irrevocable, and not learning from your mistakes will be the end of you. I hope that shit sounds dire because bad choices tend to have a domino effect, and it won’t be over until you’ve dealt with the issues that came out of the issues you never dealt with as soon as they presented themselves as issues that need dealing with. Now, g’on, getouttahere and make the kinds of good choices you’d want someone making on your behalf. 

'You heard me.' by Kate Ruppert

I have the privilege of writing this column on Thanksgiving.  All my thankfulness is fresh in my mind.  Thankfully, being direct is one of my strong suits and quitting while I’m ahead is my forte, so I’ll just jump on in and keep it short.  Let’s go be thankful.

I’m thankful for tennis…every single thing about it.  I’m thankful the gear is so damn cute and the skirts are so acceptably short and I’m thankful that NikeID makes tennis shoes, and I’m thankful my new pair will be here in 3-4 weeks.  I’m thankful that I managed to find a tennis partner who plays exactly like I play, the way I want to play, with a perfectly matched skill level.  I’m thankful that—for whatever reason—I thought I would take Bossie up on her suggestion we play together, and I’m thankful that I was WAY better on that first day than I ever remember being.  I’m thankful that two of the laziest, non-committed people in the universe found something that not only redefined  our weekend, but something that allows us to spend the perfect amount of time together, solving the long-standing problem of not spending any time together.  I’m so very thankful for the MSS Ruppe.  When I got rid of the MSS Wolfie, I didn’t think there could ever be another automobile I’d love as much.  The Wolfie came along at a point in my life that marked incredible change, and to let him go was a huge loss.  But then I saw the Ruppe.  A magnificent display of German engineering and the perfect vehicle (no pun intended) to leave the past 4 years behind, and roll into a new phase.  Urano Grey.  I’m so thankful for that color.  It’s the most perfect color any car could ever be.  I’m thankful that I can control my iPod from my steering wheel, because while I hate the way the controls work and the almost painful process required to find songs and playlists, I love the fact that the iPod is put away in the glove compartment and it doesn’t crap up my cup holder.  I’m thankful I didn’t send the car back the second I found out that it doesn’t have a sunroof, because then I wouldn’t have discovered that I can drive with both my driver and rear passenger windows completely down, and my hair won’t move.  There is nothing in the universe better than driving with the windows down and not getting mussed.  So thankful.  I’m so thankful November is almost over so all the Mans can shave off they damn mustaches.  You look like little whimpy bitches, every single one of you.  And any girl who tells you she thinks it’s cute is lying to your face…a bold faced lie.  She just wants to make you feel good about yourself so you’ll keep paying attention to her.  Promise.  She’s lying to you.  I’ll bet you even tried to apologize for the mustache or say how much you hate it, and she talked you out of it, and reassured you it was great and that made you feel good, so you spent some extra time with her.  Yeah, she’s full of shit.  Fucking Movember…so thankful.  I’m thankful for continuous spray Febreze.  I’m thankful for Kimmie; we’re different kinds of crazy, but we’ve same awareness that it exists.  When you’re friends with someone who is honest with herself about what needs to change, you’re more prone to committing to changing things about yourself.  I’m thankful we didn’t have the best friendship the first time we met, because we may not have gotten to this point 10 crucial years later.  I’m thankful for my French Press.  I love walking to Starbucks so much that I never thought my weekends could exist without it, until I wrote a telling letter to Starbuck corporate about a c-bag barista who treated me like shit in my favorite store, causing me to buy a French Press, and I discovered that making coffee in my kitchen, before I wash my face or put on a bra could be the most liberating experience in the world.  I’m thankful for Coffee Mate hazelnut creamer because it makes my coffee perfect.  I’m thankful for Aleida for so many reasons, but currently, and ongoingly, I’m thankful she challenged me to take a Centrum Complete vitamin every day in 2011—I can’t commit to doing anything on a daily basis.  I’m thankful they sell these vitamins at Costco, and I’m thankful there are 365 of them in the bottle just to make it easy for fools like me.  I’m thankful for Centrum vitamins because, immediately, my hair started growing like a weed, and I don’t just love weed, but I love great hair.  I’m thankful for South Beverly Grill.  I’m thankful it’s owned by Houston’s, I’m thankful it’s a quarter of the size of a real Houston’s, I’m thankful it’s walking distance from Bungalow Ruppe, I’m thankful they have live music—mostly because it’s unnerving to be anywhere, a house or a restaurant or a store, and not have background noise—but I’m most thankful that the geriatric, martini-swilling demographic who eats at South Beverly Grills is far more My Land, My People that Houston’s ever was.  I’m thankful I love to make decisions as much as I do.  Inability or fear of making decisions is why your life stands still.  I’m thankful that standing still is my worst nightmare.  I’m thankful for my Dyson handheld vacuum.  I’m, of course, thankful for vodka.  I’m thankful for Alisha because she gives me the freedom to meet you brats here every week and say whatever it is I want to say.  And then she likes me still afterwards.  And I’m thankful that she’s allowing me the honor of being in her super dope wedding, and—as if it couldn’t get better—she’s letting me wear a dress that’s pretty much over the top and not exactly in keeping with her aesthetic and I’m thankful she knows me, and knows how much it means to me to be able to express with a dress.  Which brings me to my next point:  I’m thankful for dresses.  I’m thankful for everyone in my life who comes from the Improv world, as they’ve taught me that saying ‘yes’ is the only way to get through the day.  I’m thankful that I’m able to have the patience needed to go for a DP in the park where people can’t seem to understand that the path is a two-way path—one person in each direction—and not a one-way path for two people in one direction even though 99% of the time, it’s men who should be getting off the path completely so a Lady can pass, but instead remain firm, and run me off because they can’t be bothered to envoke manners at a time like the park.  I’m thankful for grosgrain ribbon (I think I was thankful for that last year, too).  I’m thankful for Honey Skouras because she saw what her Corioliss tool did for my hair, and she told me I could keep it.  And that, paired with the vitamins Aleida challenged me to take, led to the greatest confidence booster a girl could ask for :  A great lid.  I’m thankful for my parents.  Not in a cheesy way, but because they are as legit as two people get.  They have no idea what to do with me, they have no idea how to understand me or relate to me, but it’s all an incredible testament to who they are and how they raised me—I’m a reflection of their insistence on assuming responsibility, earning my own money, coping with my own problems and the understanding the complaints aren’t received very well, so it’s best to lock them up.  I’m also thankful that neither one of them is boring, because as much as they have no idea how I got the way I got, it’s all in the genes, and I’d rather be dead than boring.  I’m thankful for my new found hobby of getting a Thai massage; turns out there is no other way I’d like to spend an hour or $35 ($45 after tip).  I’m thankful for my older brother because, as adults, it turns out we have a great many similar personality traits, and, as kids, I only ever wanted to be like him.  I’m thankful for Facebook.  I hate pretty much anything and everything that’s trendy or cool.  Mostly because I dislike and disrespect most of my peers, so anything they like, I question.  Except for Facebook.  I didn’t know I needed or wanted such a mainstream outlet for my quirks.  I love the interaction, I love the dumb shit y’all post, I love the behavior patterns, I love the pictures.  I’m thankful for the simple and legitimate validation I get from the little red asterisk at the top of my screen.  I’m thankful for Michael Buble because He. Is. Sexy.  I’m thankful I’m funny.  I’m thankful I neither need, nor want, fancy things.  I’m thankful for my Kidden.  I’m thankful for her personality, mostly because I’m fascinated by the fact that I actually get to watch a cat be a bitch.  I’m thankful for TV—from Nightly News with Brian Williams to General Hospital.  I’m thankful for my screen door.  Not just because it’s the most amazing addition to Bungalow Ruppe since the Polaroid, but because it’s made my perfect little Kidden so very happy, and it allows the air to remain fresh inside while I smoke bowl after bowl.  I’m thankful that Rebecca Leib comes to me for advice because it makes me feel special.  I’m thankful I have self-control.  I’m so very thankful that tennis is very unexpectedly, but very welcomedly, causing me to lose weight because it allows me to eat and drink the way I’ve always dreamed of eating and drinking—and for someone who used to tip the scales at 180ish el-bees, you can imagine what a joy this is for me.  I’m thankful for Alicia because she just gets me like no one else does.  I’m thankful for Kim Kardashian’s rapid demise.  I would do anything in the world to keep her name out of the news, her face off the covers and her family out of the public eye; it’s during a situation like hers that I’m thankful America has such a short attention span.  Speaking of short attention spans, I’m thankful Obama’s term is almost up.  I’m thankful for Gelson’s and I’m thankful for the odd satisfaction of being able to navigate the Censch parking lot with my eyes closed.  I’m thankful that I discovered the “Bedside Mode” setting on my phone.  It’s the perfect combination of phone and alarm clock—and I love perfect combinations of things in the name of efficiency or convenience.  I’m thankful my cousin-who-is-like-my-sister had her second baby, named her Olivia and then asked my parents to be the Godparents because now they can puke out their need to have a grandchild on this Godchild.  I’m thankful for gel nails.  I’m not thankful for the havoc they wreak on your real, Centrum-grown nails, but I’m thankful that my #2 red looks salon shiny perfect for three weeks, no questions asked.  I’m thankful for Clorox.  I’m thankful for weed.  I’m thankful for subway tiles and painted hardwood floors.  I’m thankful traditional baby names like Charlotte and Lydia are back.  I’m thankful for my job.  Not because I love working—I don’t, I’m super lazy—but I’m thankful that of all the jobs in the world for which I’m most suited, it’s a mother of some sort.  Further, that being a difficult objective in my case, I’ve stumbled upon a situation where I’m extended the honor of being the mother to 130 people, 40 hours a week.  Not only am I thankful that it’s not a skill-based job, but I’m thankful for the interaction it provides, the conversations it begets and the frustrations it promises.  I’m thankful for the repeated personality stress-tests because it’s equipped me for anything and everything.  I’m thankful that my job satisfies such a huge part of my social quotient, I’m thankful that my job allows me to assert a huge part of my bratty quotient, and I’m most thankful that my job encourages me to present my personality.  It’s a blessing, and I’m thankful that, being in the same 9-to-5 kinna place for the past 4 years, I’ve only not wanted to get out of bed because I hate my job, probably 5 times ever.

And that about wraps it up.  Not just because I have a tennis game I gotta get to, but because I could go on for hours.  Truly.  I hope all y’all are enjoying your Thanksgiving and your Black Friday (insane tradition).  I’m gonna go freshen up and get on about my day.  Today, I’m thankful, very specifically, that all you kids read this drivel and—for whatever reason—you encourage me to keep going at it.  Whatever, it’s your life, and Mama loves to talk about it, so I guess we all win.  Happy kick-off to the holidays.  Don’t get all wrapped up in the material of it—remember, trends don’t last, and always make you regret spending the money—so how about you focus on the people in your life instead.  Or, and here’s a cray idea, how about you focus on yourselves and how you’re not going to continue to fuck shit up in 2012.  You have 5 weeks to come up with a game plan.  And, since I’m perfect, I have 5 weeks to figure out what to do on New Year’s….  Keep in mind that the holidays makes drinking very acceptable—for that, I’m thankful, too—but also keep in mind that alcohol leads to mostly poor decisions.  Stay ahead of the game, and make good choices.  Santa’s watching.  And by Santa, I mean me, and I’m way more of a bitch than he is.

'You heard me.' by Kate Ruppert

I have nothing funny to say actually.  But I’ll definitely feel much better once I say it; you’ll just probably be annoyed by me once you read it. I’m about to puke out some serious white girl problems.

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