Over and over again my, “You’re Not Alone,” theory is proven!!  I’m a genius I tell you, sheer genius!! You may have an embarrassing moment, but someone out there is eating a gallon of ice cream with their eyes closed because of a kindred pain. I eat a gallon of ice cream simply because I know someone is feeling pain over embarrassment and I want to be supportive. So…. my cottage cheese ass is all your faults… but, apology accepted… I’m just a good person.

Most of us, feel embarrassment from an encumbering moment almost immediately…. we find ourselves running to the computer, going to THIS website, searching through the archives for a similar incident to laugh and find instant solace. OKAY - I made up the last part, but I’m trying to brainwash you to come to this website everytime you’re embarrassed!! 

However, some of us have a delayed reaction by, let’s say, I don’t know…. 5 to 10 years…. but the rest of the world sees it and winces for the victim of denial.

CASE IN POINT: the different varieties of  “The Real Housewives.”  For some reason, a few of them believe being featured on reality TV magically gives them the ability to sing and dance. I have no doubt, well….. I do have doubt, but I also have hope…. that one day in the future they will look back, see these videos,  then lock themselves in a closet for a week.  WHEN this day happens… they can rest assured… Reality Star That Made an Ass of Yourself, YOU ARE NOT ALONE!! You have each other!! I propose a reunion where you get together, burn your singles and hug it out while sipping champagne because you’re born-again classy.  Please refer to the below Exhibits for evidence…

Exhibit A: Kim Zolciak from “Real Housewives of Atlanta”

 

Exhibit B: Countess LuAnn from “Real Housewives of New York”

Exhibit C: Danielle Staub “Real Housewives of New Jersey”

Girl, you’re not alone if having a bitch moment isn’t just an attitude… it’s a freakin result!!  A result of all the things, as women, we juggle everyday with more items on our TO DO list than minutes in a day.  I’m single with no children.  I struggle with just my sole commitments.  I faint at the thought of throwing a husband and children into that mix………………… okay, sorry, I just did it…. I fainted. I’m still on the floor… I’m typing from the floor with one hand because I can’t get up from the thought of adding other people to my plate…. wait… I fainted again. Please call 911 and send a hot EMT with a bottle of vodka.

I don’t know how you mothers do it!!  Red boots and invisible planes for all of you Wonder Women!! I actually have a Lasso of Truth and gold bracelets in transit to a fellow GYNA gal, Johanna. After a 15-hour day of hell, she sent the below post. I love the phrase she used, “Bitch Holiday.” Hang in there, Johanna and by all means, get your bitch on… but make sure you’re wearing stilettos!

Why is it that when you’re in a bad mood, people ask, “whats’ wrong?” or “is everything okay?” I mean, if you are in a bad mood, doesn’t that tell you that “something” is wrong or that “No, everything is not okay?”  Why can’t I just be in a bad mood, just to be in a bad mood? Maybe, I just want to be cranky and bitchy, or maybe, I just woke up not wanting to put up with shit.

Let’s see, got up at 6am, I rush take a shower and wake up the baby. I then feed, change him and go straight to daycare. I rush again, try to beat traffic on the I-495 only to inch my way to work.  While I’m inching my way to work, my company cell phone rings, one of my staff called out last minute.  Phone rings again, my boss looking for paperwork I submitted 5 days ago. 10am - walk into my office and rush to grab a cup of coffee, only to find there is no coffee. Why couldn’t the last person that made coffee, get some more coffee!!

11:30am - reviewing reports while answering calls when, I pull out my pen from my bag only to find a liquidity jelly-like substance on my hand and oh, now on my shirt. The pen exploded. WTF! Whatever! I then go for a break with my left-eye twitching from coffee withdrawals. I drive up to 7-11 to grab some coffee and a sandwich, “15 minutes miss, coffee coming fresh” My first thought, “give me a shot of whiskey instead, please.”  After I finally grab coffee, my husband, Lou, calls to ask about my day…… he really wanted to know if I was making something for dinner.  Since I am a good dutiful wife, I always have last minute dinners for those hectic days. Tonight, ham and cheese sandwiches, potato chips and  kool-aid.

Back to work, my boss calling again for paperwork, which again, I submitted a week ago.  “Please fax them again” he says.  “Sure”, I respond.  Fax machine “Out of Order.”  Okay, thats’ it!! UGH!! I’m back in my car, driving him another copy of the report I already submitted.   I get there, and he says, “Oh, thanks, but I found them.”  WTF? “Is everything okay?” he asks, I’m sure I appeared a little agitated. I leave, back in my car and into traffic.

My phone rings, daycare is calling. Tired and hungry, as I still didn’t eat the chicken sandwich snuggled in my bag, I’m now rushing to pick up Franco from daycare as he is not feeling well. I pick him up, he is crying. I put him in his car seat and I call Lou and his doctor. Finally, I see Lou waiting for me as I pull up to his pediatrician’s office. He takes the baby out the car, he is still crying, and hands him over to me so he can get his diaper bag. I hear gurgling sounds and feel some hot liquid on my breasts.  Okay, where is the liquor store!!!! I now have vomit in between my breast and I smell like a rotting mouse. I go into the my pediatrician’s office when I see eyes of disgust on me. Like these people have never had vomit on them before!  I try to clean myself up with little resources then wait in the waiting area. “What’s wrong?” Lou whispers.  I just take a deep breath and blankly stare at him. 6:30pm - Franco is fine, just a stomach bug. Give him liquids, liquids and oh, more liquids.

Finally, home and I see the mess, boxes and crap everywhere. We are moving next week.  I shower and pop a bottle of apple juice in Franco’s mouth. Next, Sandwiches and potato chips for Lou. I now begin to pack boxes. Lou helps but, takes a lot of breaks in between. 9pm - exhausted. I finish the last of the boxes only to find, that I need more boxes. I go into the bedroom to see if Lou is finished but, find him and Franco are asleep.

So, now I sit here writing this post, wondering why people question our mood, our “bitchiness,” as if they didn’t know!  Most likely we are bitchy because we are tired, sleep deprived and overwhelmed. We get up, and as women, mothers, wives, run around all day to make sure everything and everyone is taken care of.  Are we not allowed to have a bitch fest here and there? Are we not allowed to roll our eyes, grunt, yell, scream or take a stiff drink when the situation calls for it?

Tonight, right now, I embrace my bitchy side. So, on those days I don’t feel like enduring all of this, well, that is my Bitch Holiday.  I’m entitled to be a “bitch” when I want to!

As a side job, I’m a freelance makeup artist. I’m currently doing makeup for an artsy fashion show. Last night, I met with the team designing the garment and we started discussing the makeup they wanted to achieve. The model wasn’t able to come to the meeting so they were concerned I wouldn’t capture their vision. Here’s how the conversation went:

Heidi -  So are you good with what we’re wanting on the makeup?

Me - No problem. I’ll play around with some ideas before the show.

Heidi - Well, how will you do that if the model isn’t around?

Me - Oh, I really don’t need the model initially, I’ll just play with myself… I do it all the time.

silence..

CENTRAL NERVOUS SYSTEM, SOME HELP….PLEASE!!!! For the love of no filter! What I meant was, “I’ll experiment with the makeup on my own face before I do a run-through with the model.”  Because I blab before braining, I communicated that I would just masturbate until I met the model. I guess every artist has their own way of  procreating brilliance.

I  have no doubt she knew what I really meant, but it’s just embarrassing that I couldn’t mold my thought into an intelligent reply. My slips are always sexual implications to strangers or clients, rarely to friends or family that would dismiss it as a Lauren Moment. Ahh…. Freud.. I am the poster child of your life’s work.

Some ladies want extensions in their hair. I want extensions on my bills. Maternity leave. Vacation. Credit limits. Leases. The amount of time the hot guy at the gym helps adjust weight on the arm machine with his rock hard chest pressed against our back… ahh…so many things we want extended with no control. BUT…. today, I do have control over an extension…. the “Age She’s Such a Beotch” Story Contest!!

I’ve gotten emails asking for stories to be accepted after August 18th, which was the original due date.  Ask and you shall receive,  ladies!! Wish granted! The new deadline to get those stories in is September 1st! Please click the image below for all the details.

The best part of submitting your embarrassing stories about aging is the chance to win one of  THREE copies of A “My Formerly Hot Life,” by Stephanie Dolgoff which launched TODAY!!!  It’s already getting love from the media - Stephanie was on the Today Show, this morning. Click on the video below to view.

Visit msnbc.com for breaking news, world news, and news about the economy

If you’re happy with wrinkles and you have them, clap your hands….. clap…clap… WHAAATEVER!! I like wrinkles as much as I liked my 9th grade English teacher. She would read my papers aloud, correcting openly as she read. Suck it, lady! She was just upset because donning 80’s flybacks in ‘92 with yellow hair/grey roots lead me to believe she was much older. At 14, I didn’t have mouth control, so when her 7 year old daughter visited class, I very politely said, “You have such a cute granddaughter.”  She corrected me immediately then hated and tortured me for the rest of the year. I didn’t know how I felt about wrinkles at 14, but I do now… and with experience, I realized my loathe for her and facial lines were the same.  I have a problem with harboring feelings…..

ANYWHO..to my point… At 25, we all start freaking out about age. At 33, I like it’s ridiculous that someone at the age of 25 doesn’t realize how young they are, then again, my girlfriends at 43 keep telling me I don’t realize how young I am… and so on…. and so on. Regardless of the decade  inhabited, we have an embarrassing story with age involved.  Whether someone got our age terribly wrong, we wore something too old or too young or we wet our pants from sneezing … most of us have a funny, embarrassing story attributed to age.

Tell us your story! I’ll sweeten the deal. With the help of  Stephanie Dolgoff, blogger and author of  “My Formerly Hot Life,”  I’m able to offer THREE lucky winners a copy of her book! It launches on August 17th which means.. the winners will be lucky owners of the book as it hits book stores!

Here’s the deal:

1) Submit your story here by August 18th or email your story to lauren@girlyourenotalone.com.  In the “title” or “subject” line please put “Contest - INSERT YOUR STORY TITLE.” **

2)Please keep entries to 700 words max!

3) Please make sure to add your full name, email address and home address at the end of your story to ensure winners receive their books!

4) Winners will be announced Sunday, August 22nd!

5) Share with as many of your friends as possible! Encourage anyone you know with a perplexing age story to SUBMIT! Regardless if your submission makes the Top Three, it is likely to be used for future posts and related GYNA publications.

6) What are you waiting for? Pour yourself a little vino, make a litte ice cream sandwich and start writing your experience! Get it in by August 18th! Don’t worry about grammer/misspellings! It’s the content we care about!

** By sending entry via email, you submit your story to girlyourenotalone.com, and it is understood that your story may be posted on girlyourenotalone.com or any future GYNA publication with no monetary compensation.