WHAT'S SO HAPPY ABOUT LABOR DAY?

Essentially we're celebrating the official end of summer.  

Why are we celebrating this?  The end of summer means back to school, back to work, and no more white apparel.  The last depresses me the most.  Who came up with the "no white after Labor Day rule”?  I'm guessing it was a New Yorker.  Do you know how hard it is to sell white skinny jeans in September, even when they're on sale for only $48 from an original $175?  It also saddens me that it’s no longer appropriate for me to sport my light denim jean jumper.  This rule needs a little more explanation.  No white what? Shoes?  Dresses? Jeans?  Hot pants?  Spandex?   Is off white okay?  How about cream?  What about winter white? And how does this rule pertain to LA?

Another issue I have with Labor Day is this whole important things being closed.  What an inconvenience.    To quote my friend Dara's clever tweet earlier today, "It's called LABOR day, not Do Nothing Day."

Okay, I get it people need a day off.  But at least keep the important businesses open ... like nail salons.

I start a new job tomorrow, and for the past few days my mom has been bugging me, "Gabriella make sure you get your nails done before your job." To her this is the most important thing I could do before my job.  So I did it, partially to make my mom happy, and also because my hangnails were starting to hurt and the dirt under my nails were becoming offensive. 

After having a very difficult time parking, what else is new, I rushed up to my salon only to discover…….it's closed.  I almost cried.  Then I called eight different salons near my apartment, thank you iPhone.  Only to discover all were closed too.  Finally I found another salon, only to discover there was an hour wait.  Seriously?! You have less of a wait for a Sunday brunch than that.  I was starting to feel rejected. 

This felt a lot like Saturday night when I drove through four drive-throughs on the hunt for a shake, only to discover that two Carl Jr’s, A Jack In The Box and a McDonald's shake machines were all "broken".  I tried to fight it, but it didn't work. So, I went home and made a half-baked Quesadilla on whole wheat tortilla.  It definitely did NOT hit the spot.  I was not going to let these closed nail salons turn my nails into a half-baked quesadilla, which is what my nails would look like if I did them myself. 

After walking up and down Main Street for a solid twenty minutes in the hot sun, I finally found an open salon.  Thanks a lot Labor Day.   

Perhaps this Labor Day resentment comes from the realization that this is my first Labor Day in 18 years that doesn't mark the start of school.   This is the first year I haven't gone back to school shopping or had mandatory summer reading to finish, which I of course left to the last minute.  But what saddens me the most is this is the first time I haven't gone back to school supply shopping.  I love office supplies. I go gaga for a vast variety of brightly colored post-its in different sizes and shades of neon.  And don't even get me started on pens, pencils and highlighters, oh my!  

Do you know what's on my shopping list at the moment?  

"Swiffer wipes"

How depressing is that?  I am officially an adult.  And worst, I'm my mother. Because I swifter my floor 2-3 times a day, even though nobody sees it but me.

So I guess this is the "real world".

I CAN'T SPELL FOR SHIT

No seriously, I am disabled when it comes to spelling.

I'm not sure how. I was never hooked on phonics.  My private catholic school probably thought Jesus would teach us phonics or something, so I never learned.  Then when I moved to Westport they were more concerned that I pronounced, "ask" as "axe" due to my New York accent.  I would often “axe” my friends, "Hey can use axe your mother if you can come ova after school?" This is what happens when your Brooklyn-ese Grandmother who calls a waffle ice cream sandwich a “light snack” raises you.

They wanted to put me in speech therapy for being "too New York" for Fairfield County.  My parents flipped a shit and taught me "ask” sounds like "task" and within seconds my accent was cured.  

Back to phonics, I was looking back at my posts with embarrassment noticing how I misspelled the simplest words. Note to fellow bloggers, blogger does not have the best spell check.  Be sure to triple check in Word.  So glad I discovered this 50 posts in.

Of course my mother realizes this as well.  My mother notices everything.  The nearly invisible stain on my shirt, lint on my pants, even uneven make-up.  I never forget the day my mother told me my blush was too bright as she stared up at me in her bright coral lipstick.  Love you Mom.

While my mother will point out my flaws (which are many) she also tries to make me feel better.  She thinks this comes by comparing me to Kim Kardashian.  In her e-mail to me she writes: 

Hey Gabi,

You are right up there with Kim Karadishian!

She twittered how much she loves to Mediate and everyone should mediate.

E News said " we all should Mediate...  Kim you should check your 'spell check'

before you twitter!  It's Me d i t a t e.!"

Gabi, she left out the " T " ...Meditate! Thought this was funny after we talked last night!

You are a great writer and all great writers can't spell because they think faster than they write!

So Gabi, you're normal and a funny and great writer, too... so there E news!

Loved your BLOG!!!

Love ya baby, MomXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

I’m right up there with Kim?  Is that a compliment? Last I checked the only thing “great” about her was her ass. 

The sad thing is, I had to read that twice to realize "meditate" was spelled wrong.  And I do yoga. Kinda…

 

Spelling is hard!  Am I alone on this?

ALL SHE WANTED WAS JUSTICE, ALL I WANTED WAS A MILKSHAKE

Honestly this whole "PC" shit is getting out of hand.  I'll never forget when that evergreen tree that appeared middle of town hall just before December 25th, decked with lights and topped off with an angel was called a "holiday tree" because in the Westport World "Christmas Tree" was not politically correct.  

Of course, my former hippie mother protested, and I was the innocent bystander. 

It all happened after she picked me up from a party at 2AM.  She wanted justice. All I wanted was milkshake.  

She dragged me to the bridge that leads into our town's main street, aptly called "Main Street".  The streets were empty.  After all, it was 2AM in a town that shuts down at 8PM.  A fact that made my New York mother cry upon our big move to the suburbs ten years ago.

We pull over.  She unleashes her weapon.  A 8X10 sign reading "Keep Christ In Christmas" written in glittering bubble letters.  She proudly places it on the bridge, straightening it about 4-9 times.  At last she stands back as to say, "That'll show them!"  

The next day the sign was taken down and The Westport Minute Man news still refereed to that tree as a "holiday tree".  I never got a milkshake, and my mother never got justice.  

Life According to My Mother

My mother writes great e-mails.

And by great I mean absurd.

Don't get me wrong.  I love my mother.  But her daily e-mails are getting a little out of hand. Topics of these e-mails have contained such "breaking news" as: "you know, texting and driving is deadly"  or "Did you hear, Megan Fox has a flaw.  She has hammer thumb!  I just saw it on TMZ." or my favorite "Good News!  I just read in Allure Magazine that's it's completely normal for your boobs to be lopsided" 

I'm pretty certain my mother would equate informing me about the normalcy of my uneven rack with the same urgency of notifying me that a distant family member has died.  

Here's the epic unabridged e-mail she sent me today entirely about the pros and cons of garlic:

Hey Gabi,

I forgot to mention as I ran upstairs to brush my teeth and gargle!

You have to definately brush your teeth and gargle with mouth wash

after having a delicious slice of garlic bread...because iif you don't no

one will talk to you! ( If your by yourself don't worry!)

You cannot smell garlic on your breath but believe me everyone will!

Also ( from my dental hygienist days) do not eat garlic if you have an

appointment or a hot date the next day because garlic seeps through

your skin pores the next day otherwise enjoy!!!

Love Ya, MomXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Oh, Mom.  At last clarity.  The answer to why I am still single.  Garlic breath.  That's the last time I order escargot on a date. 

I'm kidding I don't go on dates and if I go on one they're certainly not "hot".  Well at least my mom believes in my love life.  

Don't get me wrong, this email does have some breaking news.  Sadly it's buried in her garlic gab.  This is the first time I ever heard that my mother had experience being a dental hygienist.  I'm shocked.  Instead of sending me on those painful visits to the dentist, my mom could've just done my annual cleanings herself.  Thanks a lot Mom. 

So I gave my mom a faux hawk

Trendy right? She loves it.

She then was mad at me for not giving her a proper homecoming hug.

To which I responded, in the metro world giving someone a faux hawk means so much more than a hug.

I really think this suits her.