Welcome
Welcome to my world: A world in which I am still finding my way and my voice; where the language is laced with dry humor; where stilettos and football games go together like peas and carrots; where happy hour starts long before 5; where I make mistakes, get angry and laugh my ass off; where I will never love anything as much as I love my cat; where no one knows your name and you like it that way; where comments are welcome and where strong women who fight for what they believe in are always adored.
Frankly,
On My Mind
Six Months of Short Sentences
Letter from my Father [Part 2]
My Greatest Fans
Brick Walls & Picket Lines
Kindred Spirits (Part One)
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© All content, site design, txt, graphics, bitching, moaning, ranting and general fabulousness are Copyright 2006 - Armageddon by The Scarlett Letters. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Any use of materials or dialogue on this website including reproduction, modification, distribution or republication without first asking nicely is strictly prohibited.
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Wednesday, November 29, 2006
Drumroll Please!
Lights, Camera...
On your Mark, Get Set....
5 - 4 - 3 - 2 - 1............
Pick your favorite preparatory phrase...twalk amongst yourselves...the freak show will begin shortly.
Brace yourselves!
Friday, November 17, 2006
Stalker Material
Saturday, November 11, 2006
Stalker Material
The following post was imported from my last blog...
Writing seems to be a bit like exercise. If you don’t do it every day or at least with some regularity your stamina, flexibility and strength begin to wain a bit. In the case of writing, I think creative ideas, personal expression, and general discipline tend to all fall victim to the inactivity of my keyboard to tasks other than IM’ing and looking for incredibly expensive shoes I cannot afford to buy.
Not that I’m ‘waining’ necessarily but I find it a bit less pressing to fill my blog with content now that it is passworded. I am eagerly awaiting the completion of “The Scarlett Letters” and as much as this blog is/was dedicated to life as a redhead, reds in the news, and general redheaded fabulousness – because I was well advised to leave the redhead thing behind, The Scarlett Letters will be devoted to difficult women. Women who are vilified in some way, difficult to deal with in all their feistiness, and in general punished for their outspokenness. I’m sure I’ll have pleanty of material to work with.
In other news: I have a date tomorrow night. A date. I met him while out with HP after the Blogger happy hour (which was great btw). Crazy times always seem to ensue when HP is present :) He was very nice, told me I was beautiful, blah blah blah. I think it was the redheaded sluts back at Macky's but I gave him my number.
He texted me on monday to say that he was watching the wizard of oz and i reminded him of dorothy (since that is my favorite movie of all time and he had no way of knowing this...well it was quite the compliment). He called me monday night and we chatted and he said 'i haven't been nervous calling a girl since i was 15 but I was nervous calling you.' (kinda dorky but sweet).
Anyway, he's a trader in NYC and he is flying down here for the sole purpose of taking me to the movies and dinner tomorrow night. Yes. he bought a plane ticket and is staying at a hotel and taking me out. He also said he got me something. Does this have stalker written all over it?
I'm also mildly guilty. With the Canadian in the picture and all. I CAN go on dates, we have an open dating policy....can't explain it. I also don't know if I feel really ready to date again yet. He was just so sweet...I couldn't say no. It doesnt mean I need to have a relationship with him...it's just one night...
ok i'm rambling now and the nyquill is kicking in. sweet dreams.
Thursday, November 9, 2006
Why oh Why?
Tuesday, November 7, 2006
Bad Boys Bad Boys Whattcha Gonna Do?
Sunday night at around 7:45 p.m., my phone started ringing off the hook – My father in Dallas, my mother in Michigan, my supervising VP, my best friend in Chicago…all to tell me “Russell Crowe’s coming up on 60 minutes! Thought you’d want to know.”
Well indeed I did. Why? Because I looooooove him! Why do I loooooooove him? Why do I think he is the sexiest man on the face of the planet? Is it the smirky smile? Is it the ice blue eyes? Is it the amazing talent? Is it those AMAZING arms in Gladiator? Is it the accent? Well….it MAY be the accent. But I think the biggest reason (much to my father’s horror) is that he is…the definitive bad boy.
But really....what is it about the "bad boys" that I find so irresistible?
After all, I'm not the only gal who has ever suffered from the bad-boy-bug – women everywhere, throughout history have flocked to these arrogant jerks at their own emotional peril. The dusty, yellowed pages of literature are filled with them (From the sullen Mr. Darcy to the oh so charming Rhett Butler).
They enchant us on the silver screen – James Dean, Colin Ferril, my boyfriend, Russell.
Even on the Broadway stage – Danny Zucco, and The Phantom of the Opera. Incidently, Gerard Butler’s portrayal of the Phantom in movie version is – easily the sexiest pice of film ever created.
But seriously, what is it? Is it that they don’t NEED us? Is it that there’s something just inherently sexy in arrogance, is it their ‘badness’ that makes them special? Is it the fact that they're somehow off limits? That we still need to rebel against our parents in some way? Is it their uniqueness - the fact they stand out in a crowd? Lets face it – we ALL want someone ‘special’ because it increases our real estate value by association. It’s more challenging. The thrill of the hunt and the chase. I’m sure it stems from much the same reason as the Men love Bitches mentality. But really it’s ultimately masochistic. Think about it. The badder they are – the more you want them.
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While watching the Russell Crowe interview I realized how long and sordid my history with ‘bad boys’ really is. In fact, he reminds me, much to my father’s shigrin, of not one, but many of my exs.
His eyes with their impish sparkle and intense blue-ness reminds me of my high school boyfriend – TOTAL bad boy. Punk rocker, brilliant, crazy, an Olympic athlete, piano prodigy, wore combat boots, anarchy t’s, introduced me to the Sex Pistols, Russian poetry and Marlboro Reds.
His accent and long hair remind me of the South African ropes instructor, take charge attitude (be still my heart)…amazing sex....crazy sex...(and 
to think he was a virgin when i met him) . He's actually visiting the states right now - and I may see him next weekend...wouldn't that be interesting after 6 years.
His physique - completely reminicient of the football player of 2005 – athletic, cocky, competitive. Besides the punk rocker, I eventually came to my senses and broke up with all of them.
Maybe I'll come to my senses one day but until then....I'm sure I still have a bad boy or two in my future.
Saturday, November 4, 2006
Fashion Contraband
From 7th grade through high school I wore a skirt 5 days a week. At 'Notre Dame Prep' we wore 'black watch plaid' kilts even in the freezing Indiana winter - with only our navy blue tights to keep us warm (bbbrrrrr). Since we wore these skirts (made of 100% polyester – fabulous, I know) 5 days a week for the entire school year, they naturally took quite a beating – from paint splatters in the art room, to running around at lunchtime – we routinely held the falling out hems together with safety pins, or my personal favorite, duct tape. But we were careful in our mending as there was a rule that skirts had to be no more than an inch above the knee. And to in force this nazi-esque restriction, in the event there was any question as to whether a violation had taken place, teachers reserved the right to make us kneel down to see how far our skirts were from the ground. And so from 7th grade – 10th I lived in fear of tape measures and was careful to make sure that I was not in violation of any kind, at peril of my immortal soul. What? (gasp!) You didn’t KNOW that the 7th circle of hell is reserved for good Catholic girls who show too much leg? 
Now here’s something you may not know about me: I was a late bloomer (something out of a Molly Ringwald 80s movie I’m afraid). I basically woke up on my 16th birthday, the acne had cleared up, the retainer came out, the hair de-frizzed and I had grown 3 inches and 2 cup sizes overnight. So with my Neutrogena-clear complexion, aligned smile and new figure boys noticed me for the first time (go figure). And so I came out of my very, very shy, reserved shell and became the vibrant, outgoing, smart *ss you all know and sometimes love. I noticed and rather enjoyed the attention (who wouldn’t after 16 years of being made fun of and ignored??) So now if the hems in my skirt were to come unraveled I would attempt to realign them by the same tried-and-true methods, however, the hems began creeping up with every re-attachment. An inch here, a centimeter there. And then there was the rolling. What is ‘rolling’ you may ask? No, it’s not verb used to describe the assembly of a joint but all of you former uniform clad school girls know it…oh you know it well. ‘Rolling’ is what we referred to as folding the tops of your skirt up over and over until you reached the desired skirt length. We would then untuck our white, oxford shirts to hide the bulky waste-line we had created and voila! Instant mini-skirt. 
This method actually proved to be much more effective than the hemming because #1. It was easy to adjust quickly, should a sour-faced nun come marching down the hallway on her quest to stomp out ALL individuality and sexuality from the sacred academic environment #2. It didn’t require the use of a needle and thread, safety pins OR duct tape #3. Made a mini skirt out of an otherwise ugly, unflattering piece of cloth. Oh, I still got caught, to be sure. And my pushing of the dress-envelope played a substantial role in my title of ‘most detentions of any other girl in her class’ distinction. And even though my kilt was eventually set aflame at my graduation party as a symbolic, ritualistic burning of religious school confinement, I will always keep a soft spot in my heart for that makeshift-mini-skirt that caused so much scandal. And so it is with pride that I stand in solidarity with the women of Korea – who are about to embark on a new era. An era where they will no longer fear the repercussions of their fashion choices but wear their skirts freely and strut their legs with pride. That era begins today – as South Korea moves to legalize miniskirts. It’s one small skirt for women – One giant leap for fashion kind. Friday, November 3, 2006
Dallas
- None of their other children are going as they will be with in-laws or are pregnant, or are working
- Sally's not had the easiest year and she's looking forward to hanging out
- DK's* working - so our annual turkey-fest doesn't exactly fit into his schedule
Let me take a minute to introduce my father's wife - have you seen the 80s soap opera, 'Dallas'? Well the woman is Sue-Ellen reborn, only strawberry-blonde and perhpas slightly more maternal. Now really, it’s not that I don’t love these people or want to see them and have lots of turkey with a hefty helping of parental bonding…I just do much better with them one on one rather than as a singular unit. I predict the bondage…I mean, bond'ing’ will go something like this: - Sue Ellen will pick me up from the airport, tell me I’ve lost weight and then say something along the lines of “only 20 pounds more to go, right?”
- We will arrive at the condo to a barking dog (I will have already begun to miss my cat…) and be greeted with a warm hug by my father, who will be happy to see me. It will be late, dad will open a bottle of wine and Sue Ellen will stay up for a little while and chat before going to bed around midnight but not before she reminds me that I should do the same to prevent dark circles under my eyes
- Dad and I will catch up and chat about everything from music, to history, to the latest political issues of the day. And we will drink until around 3 or 4 a.m. (as is our reunion ritual) until we touch on the subject of family matters such as Princess or pregnancy or the family feud I've created in the past week
- The next morning, we will watch the Macy’s Day parade and I will long to be in New York (not AT the parade but waking up in DK’s* Harlem Loft) where it’s cold outside, where it is urban, where I do not need to borrow a car.
- Thanksgiving is the one time of year when I cook something other than lean cuisine, and my culinary efforts are welcomed and appreciated by DK and his friends. Instead I will be sequestered in condo-hell and forced into culinary slavery in Sue Ellen's kitchen where she will comment on what I choose to eat at dinner and how much.
- Knowing Sue Ellen, ever the social maven, the next day or evening we will inevitably be scheduled to attend some club event, horse race or black tie affair (none of which are entirely unplesant - in theory). However, Sue Ellen will criticize my outfit, ask me to change, disapprove of that, and then whisk me off to the stores the to get me something ‘appropriate’. We will chat in the car and while shopping and she’ll casually mention the benefits of Botox and that maybe I should consider it as “Ya know, darlin," (in a hushed tone) "26 is the age that fine lines start to appear”. But "don't you worry your pretty 'lil head because I know the cutest lil' boutique we could stop at on the way home! And do you know you don't even need an appointment?"
Sorry, don’t feel like injecting my face with toxins, but thanks for thinking of me! I do not believe there are enough Margaritas in the state of Texas to get me through the pending weekend.
Frankly,
*DK (Drama King) is my little bro, the struggling artist