Any day of the week we all ask ourselves the same questions... do I look fat in this outfit, is my hair ok, can I afford that pair of heels, where in the h-e-double hockey sticks are my keys, did I have kids to torture myself, is my cat/dog on crack, why did I do that?????????? Well, in the true spirit of being southern I invite you to get a load of the misadventures that may or may not happen to you, but you will be able to relate to! Myself and my bff if you would, my Schmoopie, have had the most amazing incidents happen purely by accident and are going to sacrifice our pride to bring a good laugh or make you understand that if you are in fact a klutz, you are not alone. All those bad days you've had and all those moments you thought to yourself "this would never happen to anyone else but me", guess what... it's happened to us too!!! So, visit us at thescreamingpig.blogspot.com and have a chuckle on us, we have one on ourselves! Laughter after all is the best medicine!

Friday, May 20, 2011

Norton’s, Kryptonite, the Muffin and Perfect on Paper

The four types of men that haunt every girl’s life and ruin her perfectly thought out course of action.

Norton. I’m talking Edward Norton.  There is just something about him that I can’t put my finger on. Not particularly my type, but there is something attractive about him.  There is always that one guy, who for whatever reason, when spotted will turn your face 23 shades of red. I don’t have many “Norton’s”, but when I do it’s a doosey. On occasion we get a specific UPS guy that delivers to our office, who sorta, as luck would have it, looks like Edward Norton. I am not the kind of girl who usually loses her composure, so when this UPS guy first showed up at the office, my co workers were utterly amused and delighted to see my unusual reaction of turning fire engine red.  So much amused, in fact, that they would send him around the building each and every time to locate me to sign for the delivery. As the girl who doesn’t like to loose her composure, I had to be in the presence of said Norton as little as possible. So Id sign for the delivery as fast as humanly possible and minimal eye contact and zero verbal communication. He must have thought I was some sort of rude anti-Christ. As the years progressed, and I’d find Norton somewhere around the building walking my way, thanks to my great friend and co worker who loved to see my face when this event occurred. Nowadays, I have gotten as used to this particular Norton as much someone can. I now just allow myself to turn beat red, sign for the delivery and smile and tell him to have a nice day. He smiles back, with a smirk indicating that he knows something is amuck, but maybe not quite sure what.

Kryptonite. You know the type. Hot. I’m talking ridiculously hot. This is the type of man that a girl does just about anything to stay away from (or at least possess some sort of knowledge that she knows she should). He’s not good for you in any way, shape or form- yet there is an uncontrollable attraction.  He’s irresponsible, employment challenged, a complete womanizer, dons at least a  few tattoos, possibly has a criminal record,  a pony tail and occasionally a “baby mama” or two. 
 It’s clear from the start that nothing good could come from any encounter with this man, but you can’t seem to help it, because he’s kryptonite. In his presence you are too weak to rationalize the situation and remove yourself from it. You’re apt to go along with whatever Kryptonite is up for. The general rules that apply to most men don’t apply to him.  Kryptonite can get away with more than most men ever could. He doesn’t call when he says he’s going to, and usually never follows through on promises, yet you can’t stay mad at him. His Kryptonic eyes and smile will make you melt into complete submission making you forget why you were ever mad at him in the first place.

Perfect on Paper. Smart, Check. Funny, Check. Good looking with great manners, check. Owns his own car, buys you dinner, has a great job, sends you flowers for no reason… Check Check Check!!! But…No butterflies, no sparks, no danger, no panties flying off when he says your name or winks at you, no putting on extra perfume just cause you’re sweating from nerves, no checking in the mirror 150 times to see you look the exact same, nada. It’s a no go. This is the man your mother thinks you should marry, in fact she pleads with you to find some sense and prays in not only your religion, but in every other one she can find that you make her grandchildren with him as well! She has the date set, the invitations for your wedding picked out, hell the printer is on notice, this is her dream guy for you… He’s perfect on paper and generally in every situation you can think of, but somehow, he’s not for you... What went wrong here? Where is the spark? Where is the flame? It has to be around here somewhere, did I misplace it in my car, is it lost in the bottom of my purse with my lipstick? What did I do with it?? This is the guy you French kiss a thousand times digging deep to clear your mind and focus on finding the spark that will make this perfect man be a must have only to find that you ultimately make out your entire grocery list, plan your next day, rearrange your furniture to Feng Shui your life and mentally check to see which shows are set to record on your DVR...  By all accounts, you and POP should line up perfectly, but you don’t. It’s like a rubix cube, and you just can’t get all of the colors to match up. Even if you attempted to take off the stickers and rearrange them manually, it still wouldn’t work; they would just peel and fall off… don’t even think about gluing them either, you’ll just end up stuck to the proof that Karma is such a B word and she has it out for you!  This is the guy that is sort of the filler food, the safe zone, the I should really like him but that loser over there with the tattoos and no job makes me want to walk off and leave him guy… This is the prison on planet bullshit which is in fact the perfect man that does absolutely nothing for you except for teach you how you should be treated in order for you to totally disregard it for someone with no sense! You search, you try, hell you go on dates, you watch countless movies, you fake smile, you fake laugh, please dear Lord if you fake anything else just shake your head, it’s ok, it’s part of the process… You search everywhere high and low only to the dismay of your mother and your forehead from where you’ve banged it against the wall… We’d like to place a want ad for some spark, if anyone knows where this spark is, please let us know asap! We would be glad to send you a self addressed stamped envelope and you can pop it in the nearest post box.  We would greatly appreciate it.

The Muffin. Have you seen the muffin man? He’s somewhere off of Druiry Lane, which you can never get to of course, no matter what you do. Maybe, it’s because Druiry lane is not meant to exist for you- at least not in this lifetime anyway. He is… well… amazing in every way. So much that you would like to hate him, but you can’t.  Each time you talk to him, he becomes even more amazing.  The man that at some point in your life set the bar so high with whatever he did that all who came after would love to beat him to a pulp!  The Muffin Man is the mythical creature that got away, the one that no matter where he goes, no matter what he does he will always be your true north, home, silence and peace.  He’s the one that makes you scream in your car and honk your horn with your hands while simultaneously crying and singing along to your song… the one who if it’s been 25 years can say hi and you’re right back where you started, the eternal butterfly in your stomach maker, the one who can kiss you and make your toes curl up to touch your arse, the one who can brush your arms and give you chills, the ache in your soul that makes it impossible to breathe.
He’s your Paul Allen of American Psycho. His business card is better than yours, bearing the infamous watermark and at times you’re compelled to start laying down the style sections to cover your carpet and lecture him on Huey Lewis and the News- It’s hip to be square in your rain slicker. He’s everything you ever wanted, and he’s not yours. He’s unattainable. He’s either engaged or married or somehow otherwise unavailable thanks to the universe making it number one priority to mock you.  Each time you see him you are more smitten than the last (is that even possible?). You remember when and where you first met, every conversation you’ve have, and well, every word he’s practically ever uttered to you.  He is everything from a modern day romantic, yet tragic Jane Austen Novel. I’m talking full on Willaby here.  Even worse, he’s kind and interesting and makes you want to be a better person.
            Ok, enough with the sap and lets go a little deeper. The Muffin is enough to make even the most refined lady step into psycho. This bastard is the reason you’re a crazy bitch who by all outside appearances has it all together, you dress sharp, you’re intelligent, you’re going great in your career, you have it all going for you… you’re on top of your game right?  Yea… one mention of this person makes the horns grow, the fangs appear, the eye twitch, the tear ducts to work overtime and your body to fling into convulsions usually involving arm gestures and aerobic exercise jumps while screaming out your hatred… (or I’m a little more crazy than you are, it’s ok… I own it, French kiss it and tuck it in at night… don’t be frightened)
Daily life all of a sudden is a constant reminder of him somehow, and you are slightly convinced (although you would never admit it to anyone but your overly understanding bestie) that there has to be a conspiracy of some sort or maybe your even the focus of some reality show being broadcast from a distant planet – surely it’s a hit somewhere in the universe and they are all laughing. Someone has to.
You try to avoid the Muffin, but he just pops around every corner it seems. He is the rare soul connect that you know when he is in the building or lingering around the corner, because you can just sense it. To add insult to injury, the Muffin is usually armed with his significant other, aka green cafeteria jello with suspended peaches.  She is nothing you would expect her to be. You can’t help but wonder why he would choose green jello when tiramisu was clearly on the menu. One thing is for certain about the Muffin- his green jello with suspended peaches better be good to him. She better be everything he wants and needs her to be. If she knows what’s good for her.
The Muffin is rather permanent, unfortunately. There is nothing all you can do to get over him. One can attempt anything form an exorcism to a muffinectomey (a lobotomy that numbs the muffin part of the brain).  He’s permanent, like a tattoo imprinted on your psyche and no amount of tantrums or tears will remedy the situation.

The Muffin Man is the person who touched your soul and if you didn’t have the fortune of marrying said Muffin, you lost him.  Maybe at the time it didn’t seem like a loss, maybe you were young and stupid, maybe you were angry and didn’t give a crap, maybe he walked because you didn’t have yourself in order or maybe you were unlucky in time and chance passed by. Unfortunately one of us stood there with a smile of encouragement and a hug and watched him leave without ever having the courage to even say a word, while the other sat there and watched him slip away slowly, too afraid to .  So, today, the moral of the story is that Muffins are the devil and if you’re going through it, welcome to hell!  Say something if it’s not too late! Voodoo doll if it is… Unfortunately for us, most muffins passed up the Crème Brule and ended up with green jello. P.S.- Dear Muffin, I love you.

Friday, April 15, 2011

Meet and Greet

Ambivalent Rubbish
 This all came about 6 years ago in a law district in Georgia… two people meeting who from all appearances had nothing in common.  Fast friends and thousands of emotions later here we are with our own shops, doing festivals together and working 40 hours a week together on top of it!  We have a lot of fun and enjoy our work so much that we not only wear it ourselves, but give it as gifts for holidays, birthdays and different occasions!  With two styles meshed into one booth, it’s really a treat to find how well they work together.  Jenny Brochu is the artist behind Ambivalent Relics www.ambivalentrelics.etsy.com which is a Neo Victorian style of jewelry, while Jen Fowler is the hippy chic behind Refined Rubbish www.refinedrubbishllc.etsy.com which is a Retro/Vintage/Mod style of jewelry with plenty of color!  Together we offer a wide variety of jewelry from cufflinks, cardigan clips, long, medium and stud earrings, necklaces, bracelets, cuff bracelets, rings, brooches, keychains, you name it we usually have it on hand!  We use vintage parts for most all of our jewelry and take custom orders as well. We have a lot of fun putting together our pieces and our main goal is for our work to bring happiness and smiles to all who wear them. 

Jen & Jenny
Ambivalent Rubbish
Two Friends, One Passion… Jewelry!  

Just a few things that you will find in our shops.  We hope to see you around soon!

Friday, August 27, 2010

Low Road Jigging

I was raised in Germany by a wonderful extended family that harped on being morally and ethically correct at all times. During times of conflict or when someone was just being plain nasty, I was reminded to be the “bigger person” and to “take the high road”, which I always did, and it always resulted in me feeling not quite fulfilled. There was always something lacking by taking the high road. A feeling of missed opportunity to make it known how you were really feeling about said person or situation. There was no thrill in taking the high road, being the bigger person or attracting more bees with honey.

 It just so happened that thousands of miles away in Tennessee, there was another Jennifer being raised in a similar manor. Her morally inclined mother, with a hint of southern charm, made it known to her to never be ugly to anyone, no matter what.

Fast forward twenty-five years or so, where Jennifer and I meet. Its love at first sight. She has the hair I have always dreamed of, and I have the height she so desires. I get her olives from pizzas and salads and such, since she can’t stomach them, and in turn, she is privy to and endless supply of fungus (or some of you might call “mushrooms”). She completes me. She had me at “Hi Ya’ll”. Together we are one fully functional person. Our one true passion in life- Carbs- of all sorts. Delicious bagels, breads, pastries, biscuits….you get the idea. (This random mention of our shared passion becomes relevant further down the line.)

On an average day in the midst of my late twenties, I once again was presented with the cross road of taking the high road or as I like to call, the “Low Road”, as an individual provoked me on a social networking site and was being belligerent about someone I really cared about. I had had enough of the high road so to speak, and for once, I wanted to frolic about on the low road, in fact…I was going to do it, I was going to plain JIG on that low road. Low road jigging, a fanciful dance that is done right as you know you’re about to do the wrong thing. Ethically you know better, way better. And you weigh the consequences to make sure it will be worth it. My schmoop and I don’t low road jig often, and when we do it has to be merited, and we are well prepared for the consequences…..as our karma is almost instant.

As I low road jigged into my festival of retaliation back on that very same social networking site, I felt instantly relived. My schmoop of course, assisted in the poking, prodding and making a mockery out of that person, who had purposely sought me out to provoke me and or to get the attention of the person they were speaking ill of. I felt elated and did a proper jig on that low road- arms extended and fingers pointed as I did what is similar to the twist with bizarrely added marching bit at the end. I do believe the individual it was aimed at got my point!!!!!!

Later that day, schmoop and I picked up a pack of our favorite bagels so that we could enjoy a wonderful breakfast at the office for the week- Everything Einstein Bagels from Costco. We were excited about our impending carb binge for the next morning. We arrive the next morning ready to partake in our carbathon, only to realize……that the bagels we had just gotten……WERE MOLDLY, as our joint slow motion “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” escaped our lips… we knew what had just happened. It was the revenge of the low road karma, because we knew better and did anyways. We looked at each other with a look of defeat, and knew we had just been punished in a way that only the universe would. Horrible and cruel, it took our beloved bagels from us that day as we uttered “dam nit LOW ROAD!!!!!!!”

Nowadays we do try to prepare for such an occasion. We assess the situation wisely, making sure it will be worth every consequence before we dare Low Road Jig. Sometimes we put the bagels in the freezer, they can’t mold there…(can they?) but we know our karma will find us where ever we go and no matter where our bagels are. Whenever we get the urge to low road jig, we just give each other that glance and nod with that devilish look on our face….Hide the bagels!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Monday, August 23, 2010

Cuffed Pant Kryptonite

Once upon a time in a land not so magical live two far from fairy princesses. While seemingly put together with big shades, pearls and fierce shoes they had one undeniable downfall, their kryptonite you might say… cuffed pants… These delightful looking, outfit making, ingenious ways to accent shoes are in fact the reason for the bruises, bumps, scrapes, coffee stains on the wall, swearing in the office at 8:00 a.m., tears for broken shoes, and utter and complete humiliation. One false move in these babies and these vixens are toast!! How you might ask?? I will explain the karmatic occurrences that have led to the tossing of the fashionable prisons into the trash, sewing the cuffs shut and/or being reduced to flats.

First I think I should introduce myself… my name is Jen aka Grace. I didn’t get that nickname by chance ohhhh noooooo I EARNED IT!!! I’m the sweet southern grit of a girl with big hair, big booo..ts, blue eyes and a knack for falling. In fact I think instead of those charming falling rock signs you see on the side of the road I should be adorned with a watch for falling idiot bumper sticker at all times! I have managed to just about start a comedy act by purely trying to get from point A to point B. Oh yes I am that girl, the girl you see and smile at and then immediately wonder where she went only to find yourself tripping over her while she picks up whatever she’s dropped or dusts off her knees from doing the superman move without the magical flying talent… I’m a klutz, I can admit it, and it is after all the first step to recovery!
My partner in crime, as you might say, the other half of this blog, is Jenny. Yes we are 80s babies, the decade every girl was named Jennifer it seems, that way we could all graduate together and get whiplash in the halls from someone yelling Jennifer… Around the office we are Jenny squared, to each other we are Schmoopies (we are Seinfeld fans). My Schmoopie is a German Lass tall and long legged, green eyed, with all the poise of Audrey Hepburn and the vintage of a great 20s flapper.

Now that we have that out of the way, let’s get back to the topic at hand…
Cuffed pants-any style of pant with the big rolled upwards thick or thin strip of fabric.
Let me first say that these pants are phenomenal looking! If you have shoes you want to get noticed, put a pair on, if you have thick anything put a wide leg pair on, if you have a great jacket and need great pants, guess what, yep, these would look fabulous! They are really an asset to your wardrobe. Okkkkkkkkkkk, now that I’ve given them a compliment, in true southern fashion I will now tell you what I think of these sadistic, twisted, masochist, assisted suicide machines. The typical pair of cuffed pants means that the rim is secured on two sides, the left and right side of your ankle by a strip of carefully planned thread… the other part of this is left unattached to the pant. Let’s talk about that… the typical shoe obsessed woman has in her wardrobe the pointy toed 3-4 inch beauties with the spiked heels. Put this together, loose flap of material, 3-4 inch spiked heel. 2+2=4. One step that isn’t carefully planned on a staircase leads to the banister act of Tarzan proportions while tossing whatever you have in your hand into the wind, screaming for your life, and of course, my favorite part of all… this all getting caught on camera for people to later watch laughing as hard as they can with popcorn probably wearing 3-D glasses and repeating it in slow motion.

Then there are the times these dastardly creatures have wide legs, these are especially dangerous to my kind. Wide legs swing when you walk… let’s discuss my shoe obsession again, pointy, tall, thin heels. Now let’s go back to the pants and put this equation together… pointy heels + swinging wide non-secured cuffs = certain death. For example: along with fantastic feet decor I’m also a coffee addict, it isn’t pretty, but it’s the truth, I love my cup of Joe, I treasure it, it completes me… Let’s go back to the equation portion of the hour… steaming hot lovely cup of Joe + pointy heels + wide cuff (did I mention not sewn all the way around) = stains from your head to your feet, smoldering eyeballs, humiliation, 30 minutes with Windex and resolve and endless amounts of unprofessional verbiage. I can bet you that if coffee stains show up on with a black light this office looks like a scene from the goriest horror film ever!!

I’d like to mull over a little thing called Karma to end this rant about my uncertain demise brought on by fashion. My Schmoopie would be the key player in this, she is learning the Karma clause, and it’s a tricky one, pay attention. When you see an unfortunate soul like me who is more concerned with looking great than my physical well being do not under any circumstances giggle at their misfortune! For example, I wore my favorite pair of Jen killers into the office, they are light beige with a thin stripe, along with my favorite heels, and I got a cup of coffee on the way to the front office. Are you with me? I’m minding my own business walking up the hallway and apparently all those years I’ve walked didn’t do me a bit of good, I now manage to step wrong and into my cuff and ladies I’m telling you it’s like putting your heels in tar it AINT coming out… I wiggle I try to get my foot out, I now look like I’m in a straight jacket from the knees down and then it happens, the last wrong move… I lung forward while flinging my coffee (which does the most impressive somersault Olympians would be jealous of) I try to step again, I fail, I land with a thud on the carpet covered all over with coffee and humiliation. Whatever pride I had left after I scraped myself out of the carpet was immediately erased when I realize that I even have coffee stains UNDER my cardigan. Mind you this is 8:15 a.m. and I don’t get to change, my outfit that was a confidence boost has now turned into my worst nightmare, never mind the fact that it’s early and I want to suck the caffeine out of my attire just to get a fix. Anyhooooo… Karma… Jenny decides that this is the funniest show she has ever seen and proceeds to laugh hard enough and long enough for me to clean the walls, floor and have round spots all over my body from desperate scrubs with soft soap/dial and water to try and salvage my clothes. Needless to say I, not being amused, get to work and as soon as she can gather herself she goes downstairs to where she will be plunging through the day. After her giggle she steps off the stairs, TRIPS, and flings her head into the wall… I love instant Karma, it happens every time. Beware, it’s easy to cackle at the less fortunate but unless you are a high wire phenomenon you best mind your Ps and Qs because that laugh could cost you!!!

To end this tale I will confess that the two of us are no longer allowed, yes allowed, by our bosses to wear these angels of death. We have to prove the cuff is sewn all the way around or have a pair of flats to be permitted to leave our seats! In my defense I have only splattered coffee all over the entire office, fallen up the stairs, back down them, in the hall, leaving the restroom, walking from my chair to the copier and there was that one time I ended up in the street. It’s been 8 months since I’ve quit the cuffs and other than a few jitters and shakes I can say that it has been an overall good decision and that my ankles, wrists, pride and wardrobe now thank me. As far as Schmoopie goes, she keeps her giggles brief and walks with certain concentration.
And now you know all about how two seemingly put together people have met their certain confidence demise with these wickedly nifty kryptonite devices.