Polyester Posse.

Dear Blonde Blogger,

Thank you for your recent letter containing suggestions for improving one of our new shows, Cashmere Mafia. While we would like to address all of your concerns in our response, frankly, the list was so exhaustive, we are just going to touch on the ones you specifically marked "Urgent: Must Address Immediately!"

First, while we sympathize with you that the "other show" you love is no longer on the air, unfortunately, since the season has already started, we will not be able to change the character's names to Carrie, Miranda, Charlotte and Samantha.

Second, to answer your rather pointed question, no, we do not have a problem portraying assistants/secretaries as competent or good looking. Zoey's former assistant is arguably competent, she just makes bad decisions in her personal life, which gleefully resulted in a well-deserved promotion. And Mia's secretary is not fat, she is big-boned. And I am sure, as the legal scholar you proclaim yourself to be, that you are well aware that assistants/secretaries are not, in fact, a protected class, and as such, are not entitled to Constitutional protection. Good luck on the bar exam, by the way.

Third, in an attempt to appeal to the "real sistah's" as you call them, which presumably is the demographic we prefer to call "everyday women," we will take into consideration your suggestion that not every restaurant that the ladies frequent be a white linen, four-star establishment. Yes, there is a Baja Fresh location in Manhattan and we will make every effort to make our characters "real peeps."

Finally, NO, we blatantly refuse to change the name of the show to Polyester Posse. While we promise to work on Caitlin's intermittent Bronx accent, she is not "ghetto," nor are her clothes made of polyester.

We certainly hope we have put some of your concerns to rest and that you will continue to be an avid viewer of Cashmere Mafia. We are not currently looking for a legal consultant and please know that, going forward, any attempts to contact our legal department or enter the building in any manner, will be considered trespassing and we will avail ourselves of all legal remedies.

Thank you,

The People Who Bring You Cashmere Mafia.

I am Going to Wow You with My Legal Prowess...

Just FYI.....

Testimony given in court by a parrot (that can presumably speak) in court is not admissible.


However....

Behavior by a trained dog (such as a service, drug or cadaver dog) is admissible.


My advice?

Pick your pets wisely.


Just a little nugget to take with you and put in the ol' vault for future use.

Top Ten Reasons Today Sucks.

10. It's a holiday and I have to work.

9. It is raining.

8. It is cold outside.

7. I feel guilty that I didn't study for the bar this weekend.

6. My boss is IRRITATING THE SHIT OUT OF ME.

5. It is really cold outside.

4. I am so far behind at work, I wish I had never asked for time off.

3. I wore a skirt to work; see #5.

2. I don't want to study tomorrow. (But I will.)

1. Perfect Husband is at home on the couch...without me.

Don't Cha Wish Your Husband Was Hot Like Mine?

So, in a stunning display of memory retention, focus and consideration, Perfect Husband gifted me with several items that I really, really wanted for Christmas. The first is this really warm and fuzzy blanket that I wanted for our bed from Target. This was especially considerate seeing as how we now have 4 blankets on the bed, in addition to the sheet and the comforter. I am constantly cold and cannot stand to be cold at night, and apparently my husband just deals with it, like the trooper he is.

But the really fun and special gift was dance lessons at a really cute little dance studio near our house. Last night was the first lesson and we decided to learn East Coast Swing. This is the really easy, Playskool version of swing; it’s not like he is gonna be throwing me all around; after all, I am not trying to paralyze the man.

Our instructor was a really nice lady who had clearly been a dance instructor forever. She knew just what to say and how to describe what you need to do. She had a cute outfit on with cute dance shoes. I, myself, was looking pretty fly with a new outfit, my shiny new Mary Janes, and curly hair with a flower behind my ear (in the event we chose a Latin dance.) Perfect Husband was hot in his snappy little outfit as well.

However, while Perfect Husband was congenial and friendly to the instructor, for most of the lesson he looked like Dead Man Walking. He was so serious and so determined to do well, he was either looking at his feet or at the ceiling, in an effort to go down the list of steps and hand movements he had made in his head. I kept smiling at him and laughing just so he would know that we were here to have fun and learn something together and that there would be no test at the end of the evening. I think I saw smoke wafting from his ears, he was concentrating so hard. And believe you me, this is all brought on himself. Its not like I am some control freak that’s gonna go all bunny-boiler on him if he messes up and causes Bruno and Carrie Ann to give us 5’s. It’s all good. I am only a control freak about my own shit. I felt bad for him and was trying to let him know how well he was doing. Until he says:

“You know, the music is really distracting; it is much easier to dance without the music.”

Interesting theory, Chief, seeing as how most of us usually like to dance WHEN THERE IS MUSIC PLAYING.

I think I’m gonna get him drunk next time.

I Should Run For Office.

Dear Everyone in the Frickin' Universe,

If you are waiting for an elevator, when it arrives, kindly step away from the doors AND WAIT TILL THE PEOPLE ON SAID ELEVATOR GET THE FUCK OUT BEFORE YOU TRY AND GET IN!!!

I cannot even tell you how blatantly bitchy I have been when this happens to me. I stop, wait, let the people get on, sigh dramatically, press the "door open" button and hold everyone's shit up until I can walk out of the elevator without having to fight my way through the crowd like Britney going to Starbucks.

This is my number one pet peeve in the entire universe. Perfect Husband cringes every time this happens when we are together because he knows I am about to make a scene and possibly expose him, as well as myself, to physical assault.

Parents, forget about "please" and "thank you" and remembering to place a napkin on your lap. Teach your peeps the proper elevator etiquette. It just might save their life. Plus, that will be one less person for me to talk shit about.

Love,

Blonde Blogger