Archive | February, 2012

Vacation update.

29 Feb

Last night we went to dinner at this place called The Ravenous Pig (aka the theme of our week) and I had moonshine but was very concerned because I heard people have died from that shit but Harry wouldn’t let me ask the waiter if any of the customers had passed away, or been hospitalized at the very least, because he’s mean and no fun.
Other examples of his mean streak are that he volunteered me to ride by myself on the tower of terror and he threw my right African Lady shoe in the garbage, insisting I replace it with a Mickey Mouse Croc.
Anyway, I had to ditch the food photo idea because our dinner last night was so good that we ate it before we remembered to take a photo.


Ps. We went to a bar that served strips of bacon instead of chips or popcorn.

Oh, and Harry and I decided that we’re going to start selling Butter Beer (this incredible yumminess sold exclusively at Harry Potter World or whatever it’s called) at the restaurant so get pumped.


day #1 (a painfully impressive collection of meals)

28 Feb

Ok, we’re off!

Breakfast #1, JetBlue terminal, JFK


Mission: FAIL

Snack #1, Somewhere over northern North Carolina, 35101 ft



Lunch #1, Columbia Restaurant, Celebration FL




Snack #2, Kilwin’s Ice Cream, Celebration


Lunch #2, AMC Fork & Flick, Downtown Disney



Snack #3 Ghiradelli free sample basket, Downtown Disney



Snack #4, Whatever bar was playing the Daytona 500, Animal Kingdom Lodge



Dinner #1, Saana, Kidani Village at Animal Kingdom Lodge



Total calories: 17,346.5
Beverage highlight: Sparkling Cava Sangria
Food highlight: The chocolate chip Mickey Mouse cookie I’m too embarrassed to tell you about


Leavin’ on a jet plane!!

26 Feb

I proudly packed for Florida in a bag compact enough to fit in a small microwave, that way Harry and I can make a mad dash out of the airport to begin our vacation without having to wait at the carousel (we’ll save that for Disney World). The bag has been sitting all by its lonesome since Friday because I knew I’d be glued to the Oscars in the hours before our flight and I’m reeeallllyyyy excited to get out of here and Harry’s a last minute kind of packer. So a little while ago Harry rolls his suitcase downstairs and it’s HUMONGO and I’m like “Har is that gonna fit in the overhead bin?” and he’s like “No I’m checking it” so I marched myself upstairs and added 3 weeks worth of outfits and 17 more pairs of shoes. No husband of mine is going to have a bigger wardrobe than me!!

Harry and I discussed how I’ll manage to blog because we’re gonna be really really busy doing things like riding Harry Potter (at Islands of Adventure, you perv) and eating and drinking and eating and drinking. So over course of the next four days, I will be documenting all of our meals and snacks, even though I am confident that it will sicken most of you because normal people probably don’t eat 2 breakfasts, 3 lunches and 3 dinners a day. That’s just one of the many things that make me and Harry an incredibly special couple.

Ps. We survived sunshine week! Thank the fucking heavens it’s over.


a post about nothing.

26 Feb

a post about nothing..

a post about nothing.

26 Feb

I went to Target today to grab some travel size anti-wrinkle cream and sunscreen and dry shampoo for Florida and lust after the impressive friendship bracelet selection. (Vocab of the day: A cross between baby powder and hairspray, dry shampoo makes it ok to not shower more than 4 times a week. I mean wash your hair.) By the time I approached the cashier I had an overflowing basket of cardigans, Kinky Curly hair stuff that’s really made for black people based on the website but I still like it and the March issue of every magazine in the store.

Me: Do you think it’s possible to spend less than $50 here?

Cashier (blank stare): …

Me: I was really trying to spend less than $50 today. I really don’t think it’s possible.

Cashier: Well you can apply for a Target card and save 5%.

Me (after crunching numbers in my head): Actually, it would sill be over $50.

Cashier: Oh, I guess that’s true.

Me: Maybe I shouldn’t have bought those prenatal vitamins considering I’m not pregnant.

Cashier: So why are you buying them?

Me: Because if I decide to get pregnant I’ll have them already.

Cashier: Here’s your receipt.

I really bought the vitamins because my nails keep breaking and my hair is super flat lately. When I was pregnant my hair looked ridiculously fly every single second of every single day. So I bought them to get a good hair day and long-lasting manicure, not to feed my fetus proper nutrients. So don’t get any ideas.

The moral of the story is: If you don’t take a shopping basket you won’t fill it up.


if sunshine week doesn’t end soon i’m going to scream.

24 Feb

Tonight, being the first Friday of lent, was not the busiest at my steak-centric restaurant so I had time to ponder really important things going on in my life, like how I want to live in an airstream (just for a couple years) and what color I’m going to get my nails painted on Sunday before the Oscars and whether Riley is ever going to smile showing her top teeth and what kind of tattoo I’m going to get because I finally came up with where on my body I’m going to put it but now nothing that I had planned (Mrs. Potato Head, Cheshire Cat after he’s disappeared, the sheet music to “These Days” by Rascal Flatts) seems fantastic enough.

Mostly the motor home thing.

My in-laws rented a house in North Carolina for a couple weeks this summer with all the siblings (4 couples, 3 little girls & Austin), and I’m in the process of trying to convince Harry to rent an RV to take down there, just in case we all get cabin fever and I need to escape with Riley, perhaps to Nashville because that’s really where I want to spend my summer vacation but surfing and drinking sangria and playing cards and watching my babygirl frolic joyously in the sand will have to suffice. I mentioned the idea during Thanksgiving at my parents’ house and my little banker brother shook his head and said “Can we please discuss something serious?” and my dad hissed “Grow up Shelby” and my mom wept “How did I raise such a weirdo?” and Harry grumbled “Why did I marry such a freakazoid?” and Riley shouted “Mommy, you are not only so fucking beautiful, but you’re also a Super Genius Fairy Princess and I think that renting a motor home is the ONLY way to go to North Carolina!” (Riley’s like that baby in Look Who’s Talking and her voice sounds like Roseanne Barr. So cool.) And I hugged Riley so tight and told her stories about how much fun it will be to sleep in Walmart parking lots (bet you didn’t know that you can camp there for free!) on the way down and how the table will turn into her big girl bed!!!!

The interesting thing about my dad’s inability to support my camping desire is that he used to take me camping. He also can play campfire songs on the guitar. And he grills a mean hot dog. Maybe the reason he was putting it down is because he ordered a custom VW Bus with a Winnebago interior and peace sign spare tire cover for my birthday and he wants to throw me off by discouraging the clearly incredible lifestyle that camping offers. Thank you, Daddy! I love you soooooo much! Unless you didn’t buy me a motor home for my birthday, in which case I can’t mention how I’ll feel because it’s still Sunshine Week!

my kid’s favorite snack is a condiment tray.

23 Feb

Something really awesome about being a Restaurant Family is that you get to be those people who bring their baby out to dinner at an inappropriately late time. Harry left work early tonight (9:15) and he called on his way home to tell me to get Riley ready so he could take us out to dinner (we shipped Austin up to visit his grandparents in Lake George for the week so stop worrying that we just left the kid home). He said to choose anyplace I wanted, because we were getting to eat so early tonight more than two options (Cheesecake Factory or diner) were available to us. We briefly discussed going to Italian or Mexican or Sushi, but by the time we made a decision (we’ve got issues…) we were already in the parking lot to Cheesecake so that’s where we went. All I brought with me was nothing, so I was really counting on the banana slices and sourdough bread and iPhone apps to occupy Riley’s time while we noshed. She was perfect, as expected, because she’s grown quite accustomed to our fancy schmancy lifestyle.

Here are key qualities of being a Restaurant Kid:

  1. They keep late hours. Riley’s bedtime varies between 8:45 and 11pm, depending on whether it’s a weekend or not. Tonight she napped from 5-7, which I hear is when many babies go to sleep for the night. Not this party animal. Every now and then she hits the sack at 8. Like maybe every Monday so I can watch Pretty Little Liars.
  2. Bar condiments make excellent meals. Riley’s favorite food right now is olives. Specifically the kind that come in martinis. We make sure to shake them off really good, so don’t get all freaked out. She also enjoys lemon slices and oranges. Austin’s favorite is maraschino cherries. He’s allowed to eat them because I have to do cool things like let him rot his insides in order to be an acceptable stepmother. I’m not going to be that nice to Riley, she has to love me unconditionally.
  3. They sleep in. My kid wakes up at 10am. The other day she woke up at 7 and Harry and I got in a fist fight trying to decide who would wake up with her. He accused me of keeping him up all night with my snoring (I’m a lady, I obviously don’t snore) so I had to let him get more beauty rest. I spend 3 hours glaring at Riley while she climbed on the ottoman and dove off into a pile of Yo Gabba Gabba stuffed animals.
  4. They speak Spanish. Riley says “Hola” and “Adios” to all of her Central American amigos in the kitchen. They, in turn, give her papayas and mango slices. I will insist that she learn fluent Spanish, because when I was growing up in the back of the restaurant, all I knew is that they were talking about me (“Ella” in a room full of dudes and me pretty much narrows it down) but I never actually knew what they were saying. By having her learn a second language just after birth, I’m saving her years of therapy, or at least one less thing to talk about.
  5. They greet EVERYONE.A table of 5 sat down next to us towards the end of our meal and Riley said “Hiya” to each of them, and asked them what they wanted to drink while she dropped a cocktail napkin in front of each of them. I’m obviously exaggerating, she’s 1 and a half, her pockets are too small to keep cocktail napkins in. She also said “Bye” to EVERY SINGLE PERSON WHO PASSED US and blew each of them a kiss. What a charmer, just like her mama. The only difference is that when I blow all these people kisses they look way more confused.

As you can see, being a restaurant kid is really really stressful. Luckily I have years of expertise to help Riley along with the many obstacles she’ll face down the road, such as how to get your homework done while you’re flirting with the waiters, and stuff like that.

no one will ever compair….

22 Feb

… to my leopard Michael Kors heels that have won more compliments than any other aspect of me combined, including my dreamy blue eyes (but maybe not including my beachy virgin hair). A more practical work shoe simply doesn’t exist, and building an incredible outfit around them is as simple as black, black, black (tights, skirt, long sleeve tee). The shoes make my life simple and outstanding.

R.I.P. my lovelies...

But the leopards are growing old. Their spots are fading. My toe is peeping through the front and they are not peep toe shoes. (See here for more information about shoe needs as a restaurant owner, if you haven’t already done so). I fear they might disintegrate while I’m seating a table of women who are coincidentally fawning over my feet and my face will turn redder than my heels (from being stabbed by the rickety old shoe, of course).

It is for these reasons that I decided it’s time for some new shoes. This may not be a biggie to some of you. But for me buying shoes gives me hives. When I told my mom that I’m blogging about my shoes tonight, she got confused and shouted “But I thought it’s Sunshine Week!” That pretty much sums up my relationship with footwear – less than smiley. Alas, the replacement was inevitable, and so I trekked to the lovely DSW (I’d call it my own personal hell if I weren’t trying to be super positive this week) in search of a pair of black high heels with perhaps a little buckle or something mildly blingy to replace my lovelies and carry me well into spring/summer/fall/next winter.

Please enjoy the following results of a quite nerve-wracking day for me:

  • SNAKE –  These would be ideal work shoes if the heel weren’t a stiletto. Usually I justify these purchases by saying that the heel is so teeny tiny that it won’t get stuck in the kitchen mats, and then cursing incessantly every time I wear them and trip on my way to the dirty linen bin.

  • ZEBRA – Finding a sensible work shoe is no easy task. These puppies have heels wrapped in some sort of hemp-y rope that are literally going to last no more than 3 hours in the restaurant. Luckily I’m a crafty gal with a glue gun and black spray paint, so I should be able to increase their shelf life by at least 3 days.

  • AFRICAN TRIBAL WOMAN – These are not actually made of an African tribal woman, they just look like something she might wear while she carries a basket of fruit on her head. Seeing as I scored so majorly on shoesies, I photographed these in secret so that Harry wouldn’t get suspicious that I blew all our Disney souvenir money on footwear. I wore them to the children’s museum the other day he asked me if they were new. “Oh, these ole things?” I giggled, and shuffled away to the African Drum Room with Riley.


Even though none of these shoes are black, or remotely close to black, my shoe jungle feels pretty complete. Perhaps I’ll meet a fairy shoemaker who will put my dear Leopards back together again and we can all live happily ever after.

BLOGGER’S NOTE: I meant to spell compare wrong. It’s supposed to be funny, so refrain from commenting on my poor grammar.


how to have a (bouncy) ball!!

21 Feb

Today I was craving Chipotle for lunch, but nobody wanted to go pick it up because we’re all really lazy and nobody else wanted it except me, and I had already left to pick up Mr. Clean Magic Erasers and Pledge at Target (Proudly, I left with ONLY those two items… the first time I have ever stuck to a shopping list!!!) so naturally I didn’t feel like getting back in my car. Harry kindly recreated my burrito bowl, going so far as to make me guacamole. I liked it so much that I spilled it all over my shirt, staining it pretty severely right between my boobs which is a really difficult place to conceal schmegma so I had NO CHOICE but to go to Old Navy next door and pick up an emergency replacement.

I scored the only remaining long sleeve shirt (didn’t you hear? It’s summer in retail-land) and used the quarter I got as change to get a bouncy ball (bet you didn’t know that Old Navy has the best bouncy balls in town!!!). Let me just tell you, I have put a lotta quarters in a lotta gumball machines, andnever in my lifehave I gotten such a marvelous ball!!

my bouncy ball is the size of 2 peeps!

The ball me jump for joy and want to sing and dance, so I compiled a list of songs that compliment the wonderful feeling of bouncing something you love on the pavement. (While I realize this positivity makes many of my readers want to puke, I am completely devoted to Sunshine Week so far, so deal with it. It’s already Wednesday.)

The Official Shelbytown Playlist

  1. Into the Great Wide Open,Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers
  2. Flourescent Adolescent, Arctic Monkeys
  3. Popular Mechanics for Lovers, Beulah
  4. Without You, David Guetta & Usher
  5. You’re Gonna Make Me Lonesome When You Go, Miley Cyrus
  6. Catch a Grenade (The Hooligans Remix), Bruno Mars
  7. Cold Day in the Sun, Foo Fighters
  8. Come to Me, Koop & Yukimi Nagano
  9. Canned Heat, Jamiroquai
  10. Hip to my Heart,The Band Perry
  11. Cruel and Beautiful World, Grouplove
  12. Goodbye Kiss, Grace Potter & the Nocturnals
  13. For the Good Times, The Little Willies
  14. Drowning, Armin Van Buuren
  15. I’m Not Gonna Teach Your Boyfriend How to Dance, Black Kids
  16. Runaway, Love and Theft
  17. Johnny Got a Boom Boom,Imelda May
  18. Wonderful, Adam Ant
  19. Fast Cars & Freedom, Rascal Flatts
  20. Young, Wild & Free, Snoop Dogg, Wiz Khalifa & Bruno Mars
  21. Fuck You,Lily Allen

POETRY TUESDAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

ode to my bouncy ball 

bouncing ball of spots and yellow

you’re my very favorite fellow

when I feel down you get so high

you make me laugh and slap my thigh

I love the way you bounce and roll

but please don’t fall in any hole

I don’t know how I’d get you back

I need you for my game of jax

thanks for leaving the ball machine

and for being yellow instead of green

the next time I’ve got an extra quarter

I’ll hit Old Navy to buy your daughter

how to be raised by a cougar.

21 Feb

The other day I went to the mall with Riley and we were in American Eagle looking for cutoff shorts for me and Harry’s trip to Disney World next week, and the Zac Efron-ish salesguy called me “Ma’am” at which point I sat on the floor indian style and wept. On that very same day in a town nearby, my mom wore a leopard blouse to work and a guy walked in to get a table for four and told her she looked more like a Cougar than a leopard. Luckily, there’s one thing in life that’s always true.

Cougars raise cougars!

So I may be in the awkward early-ma’am zone right this second, but tomorrow is a whole new day.

My mom is aging so impressively that I literally am excited to get older. Some people dreaded 30. I figured I’m getting closer to my 50s and my momma looks better than ever so I welcomed that day happily! I figure if genetics have anything to do with it, I’ve got no worries. Plus, I’m totally down with Botox or whatever those fancy girls pump into their wrinkles. What’s the opposite of screwed? That’s what I am. It’s starting to kick in a little… I’ve got a kid now and I wear short skirts to work and my hair is AMAZINGGGG and I just got new eye shadow that makes my eyes looks super duper blue. I’m entering MILF mode… like a pre-cougar. Quite an interesting place to be.

About a month ago my mom gave me a thing of Chanel foundation as a gift because she said that I’m too cheap to buy it for myself but I really need to be wearing it because I’m not getting any younger and it shows. Only it was the wrong shade for my skin (I’m literally the palest shade they make before ghost white) so I brought it to the counter at Bloomingdale’s to exchange it.

“Oh, I remember your mom. She was here with a young guy.” the Chanel lady told me as she gave me a full makeover.

“Yeah, must have been my brother,” I explained, figuring that she took him for some sort of shopping spree because he, too, is so cheap that he doesn’t buy himself necessities like shirts and socks.

“Um…No. That was definitely not her son…”

“Oh my gosh! You just outed my mom and her boyfriend! My dad is going to be so pissed!” I watched her face turn green, then whiter than my foundation. I couldn’t stop laughing.

My customers refer to her as “My Beautiful Mom” and my dad definitely scored bigtime when he hooked her because she’s really hot. Strangers constantly ask us if we’re sisters (do they know that is a TOTAL insult to me?? No offense, Mom). The bartenders and waiters at Mom’s Restaurant constantly have crushes on her, along with a handful of regular customers.
That being said, there’s no doubt in my mind that the Chanel Lady is a confused moron (I KNOW IT’S SUNSHINE WEEK BUT I’M BEING REALLY NICE ABOUT MY MOM, DON’T YOU THINK??). My mom was obviously not at that particular mall with her 23 year old boyfriend, she’s not that silly. She would travel to someplace like out of the county for sure, she knows way too many people. Plus she tends to not have 23 year old boyfriends.

“Mom, did you buy my makeup while you were you were on a date with your boyfriend?” I whispered.

“No, I was with Riley. I don’t have a boyfriend. I just have Dad.”

“Ok, just checking.” I smiled at my dad and winked back at my mom. She really is a Model Cougar.

I asked Harry how he feels to be married to a future Cougar and he said he’s proud. Who wouldn’t want to be married to me? I’m awesome. He’s so lucky! Next week I’m going to follow in my mom’s foosteps and brush my hair and put on some lip stuff and go to American Eagle and get hit on Zac Efron.

In conclusion, for the first night of Sunshine Week, I’d like to dedicate my post to Harry and my dad, who love us for the hotties we are.