Good Deed For The Day

So today I am not going to talk about fashion faux pas, or tanning your flab, or even about the annoying folks I encountered on my way to work. Today I am going to attempt to do something nice...yeah, I know this is a little out of the box, but bear with me.

You may have received an email on this from someone, it's making its way around the Internet, it's about a little boy named Shane. So Shane has this horrible kind of leukemia (as if all kinds of cancer weren't horrible, but this one is particularly hard to get rid of) and he's been in treatment for a long time, but it's come back. You can read all the details at Shane's Wish
...have your tissues ready, something about little kids with bald heads really gets me.

So the deal is, the Make A Wish folks came in and instead of a trip to DisneyWorld, Shane's wish is to break a world record by receiving the most birthday cards ever! His birthday is May 30, so we've got just over a month to help him out and I am just sure that my readers are the kind of folks to help.

Now I don't care if you don't send birthday cards to anyone else, your sister can have one next year, for Shane I think you can make the effort. I bet you even the Queen Mum, who has never sent a card on time in her life, can get herself together for this one. I have already done your homework for you, as he lives in Canada....a standard 1-ounce letter needs 63-cents worth of stamps. Many a nice gesture has been lost to insufficient postage, so pay attention! According to the US Postal Service, Airmail Letter Post takes 4-7 days to arrive so plan accordingly. In fact, just go today and mail the card.

It's funny cause you often get these chain emails and you never read them cause they're usually a bunch of crap, but once in a while you come across something unexpected. I mean imagine, an elementary school kid whose one wish is to collect birthday cards, to be touched by millions, and touch them in return. You forget sometimes in the madness of modern society about the enormous capacity of the human spirit, and the capacity of a child's spirit...well, there seem to be no bounds.

So let's do this little thing together, our good deed for the day (or for the month, whatever). People think being a good person is about the grand gesture, but so often it's the small gestures that define the kind of person we are, and this one only costs the lick of a stamp.

Reunion Re-cap

Here I am, back from my voyage into the past and I am please to say I have returned unscathed. The reunion really went very well, no stabbing of eyes or drunken fall-downs. Those girls prone to skinniness got skinnier (dammit), though I'm certain their eating disorders will catch up with them in their 30s. There's only so much your teeth can handle before stomach acid begin to erode the enamel. Those of us prone to roundness got a bit rounder, but no one really looked bad, I'm sorry to report. Fattys are so much more fun to talk about than regular folks who look just fine.

I would like to congratulate all those "Buns" in the oven- y'all were of course exempt from any weight watching.

So basically, though I was as fabulous as you'd expect, I have no real "I grew up better than you" shit to talk....and for that, I sincerely apologize. So let's discuss people we don't know and therefore won't be offended by anything I say...

I will say that one big downside of visiting a college campus would be the college students. So, they're fun to watch at first and reminisce about your glory days when you too started your night at 11pm. But then they begin to take over and suddenly all your preparations for looking fabulous are negated in a single instant by some 19-year-old bitch in a $29 sundress wearing flip flops, a natural tan, and barely a dusting of blush. I mean you can't walk down the street without runnin' across half a dozen girls who just rolled out of bed and dressed for the day in shorter shorts than you wear to sleep in, eating an ice cream cone, not a jiggle in their thigh as they prance down the street to sunbathe in the middle of campus. This is after spending their evenings drinking sugar-filled cocktails and ordering pizza at 3am before passing out and waking to an egg and cheese biscuit and a sweet tea. And they're everywhere, these tiny stick-people; they are what's wrong with America. Because you see, at some point their bodies will figure out that calories=weight gain, and they will put on a few pounds and begin the yo-yo diet cycle that has kept Jenny Craig in her Jimmy Choos for the past 25 years. Until then of course, they will continue taunting alumni with their lack of cellulite, while blissfully eating lard.

And while y'all will never believe me, there was a time when I could run with the best of em, short-shorts and all. Basically I peaked my junior year and it's been downhill since, gathering speed with every birthday. But then you know, everyone's gonna peak at some point, most folks in college, and then it's just about figuring out how to reposition your fabulousness in an older demographic, touting your spring break photo albums as proof of your once visible abs.

Alas these Pretty Princess dolls remind us of our new level of maturity, our belief in the importance of inner beauty and of course, the power of old pictures!

Wish me luck!

Okay, so I'm packing for the big reunion trip....

1) fabulous flattering yet insanely overpriced outfits - check

2) ridiculously uncomfortable yet totally calf-enhancing shoes - check

3) flask containing salvation from every official reunion event - check

Right, so the whole "reunions are all about seeing who got fat" thing is really funny, yes I know, and I stand by my assertion that "what they look like now" is really the first thing that runs through everyone's head when confronted with the past.

HOWEVER, I want to state for the record that I am very excited about my date with destiny...or alumni, as it were. Yeah, yeah, I run on about what to wear and I admit to completing 5 tanning sessions, but let's get real, my white ass could use a good coating of color- reunion or no reunion.

I realized today that during this entire process of preparing for my first voyage back to my alma mater since graduation, I may have failed to communicate m, my titillation and instead, focused upon a generic smear campaign against my fellow graduates. In fact, nothing could be farther than the truth. Contrary to popular opinion, Queenan does wish well on her friends and even her non-friends with whom she spent a great deal of time. Oh for god's sake, I want them all to be happy! There, I said it, and I won't take it back! (But don't go spreadin' it all around, you'll ruin my reputation.)

And I realize, as I sit here in a moisturizing mask to combat the effects of my tanning sessions, that I have given you no reason to believe that my upcoming trip is one with the best of intentions, seeing as I've spent the past 2 months obsessing over my clothes and hair and weight and pigment. But I've got to tell you that in my real life- you know the one where I sat happily on my couch in my Target PJ's with a plate of pasta in my lap, without makeup, suntan, or a care in the world about the size of my jeans- in that life I really can't wait just to be back in that place where I first began to figure out who the hell I was gonna be with the people who helped me figure it out.

This is not to negate my preparations. It's true that I've planned outfits to accentuate or diminish as my assets require. And it's true that the energy I've put into my appearance for the weekend probably surpasses that on the day of my wedding. But please understand it's really not so drastic. My self-esteem does not hang in the balance, but if my time in New York City has taught me anything friends, it's that every once in a while it's just fun to be FABULOUS!

The Turban

Okay, we need to have a talk. It has come to my attention that this season's designer headgear of choice is the turban. Now, typically this word conjures up images of taxi drivers or screen sirens of the 1930's, but here we see a sleeker version from the fashion deity, Prada. But this trend is not just a blip from some crazy Italian, I have also espied the same questionable headdress in our homegrown boy, Ralph Lauren's, spring collection.

I can't tell you how this disturbs me. Not so much the turban itself, you can see how it might work on Norma Desmond, but the fact that they are being made available to the public- and in shiny purple- well that is downright terrifying! Come on now, you know most of society can't be trusted with their own fashion choices, and I fear the combination of an American Express card and a misguided sense of adventure could spell tragedy for a Manhattan socialite. It's a very short step from fashionista to penis head where a turban is concerned, and these in particular have a very prophylactic look about them.
And really, what is the appropriate occasion on which to wear such a thing? This chick looks like she's heading to the office for a day of board meetings or paper-filings. Can you honestly imagine such a look being well received at your local attorney's office?

Now Fashionslave holds a deep and abiding love for all things Prada, and at last check was somewhat on the fence regarding the turban revival. We await her comment in the Great Turban Debate of 2007.

Reunion Update

Well here we are, T-minus 4 days until the big reunion trip. I have survived 4 whole tanning sessions, which have left my buns a neon pink while the rest of my body has undergone no discernible change. Excellent.

I was successful in my jeans shopping this weekend (thanks to the help of my stylist, Fashionslave). Turns out, when you pay enough money for your jeans, they actually flatter your figure...who knew? Of course, the addition of an extra-long top to cover your assets can't hurt matters; the strategy being to distract from the enlarged areas with accessories like belts, earrings, and of course, shoes. You would really be amazed what the right heel can do. It's all about lift and pitch. The right angle can make a big butt perky and give a flat one some shape. For all the pain and suffering a night in pumps can bring, it is occasionally worth biting the bullet in the name of ass elevation.

So for the next 4 days, I will be consuming hard-boiled eggs, deli-sliced turkey, celery and yogurt. I will also be drying out after my alcohol-infused weekend and in preparation for the coming weekend, during which I will be sustaining my sanity through the consumption of copious amounts of margaritas. And yes, I know that the week of an event is not the optimal time for beginning a diet regime, but you know I can't be bothered with an actual diet. I've accepted that I won't be going down a dress size or anything, but I feel that 4 days of good livin' will ensure I can at least wear the pants I have without flubbing out over the top of them.

If only I had such an event to inspire me every weekend. Alas, Mimosa Saturday and Bloody Sunday don't inspire much in the way of physical fitness, as long as you can remain upright, you're good to go!

What Would Queenan Do?

So now here's the question... how do you get out of sayin something nice to someone when you know you don't mean it? Y'all know ol Queenie doesn't often have this problem, as I make niceties the aberration not the norm, but friends of mine sometimes have this issue. We've all been in the situation where you feel forced to comment on the dress, weight, hair, etc of someone whose eyeballs you've been longing to stab for years. We all know the easy way is to just give the unfelt compliment and call it a day, but when you just can't stomach the hypocrisy, you have to go 'round the matter rather than through it.

For example: It is the birthday of someone who's existence is an infringement on your air space, someone who is judge, jury and executioner of all morality and feels deemed by God to save your wayward soul. Of course this person whores it about in the tightest damn clothes she can get her hands on and the shortest skirts her tree-trunk legs can support. Legs which, by the way, are not locked tight at the knee as she would have everyone believe.

So here you are, surrounded by her lackeys who are all wishing her a Happy Birthday and the obviously polite thing to do is wish her one as well, only you don't want her to have a Happy Birthday, you want to rip the extensions out of her nappy head. And you think, "What Would Queenan Do?" Well friends, much as I would like to rip a bald spot in her scalp, you know Queenie would never behave with such impropriety in public, for you never have the upper hand if you sink to trashy behavior. Rather than head straight into the Happy Birthday territory, you skate around it with a, "oh it's your birthday?" Once you've passed the window for the well-wishes, you go in for the kill..." wow, another year older...guess it's time to get rid of all those clothes from Forever 21 (or similarly trashtastic store). You may have to replace your whole closet, you'd better get busy," tossed over your shoulder as you walk away.

Now you see what you've done, you've managed to insult her taste, her wardrobe, her age, and get yourself outta there before you scratch her eyes out. By the time she figures out what just happened, you're at the other end of the bar on your third cocktail.
**By the way, I suggest confronting these situations during your first drink so as to communicate clearly. The upper-hand is also lost if you're slurring.

Additional resources:

**For the skinny bitch who ain't so skinny anymore - "Well, don't you just look so healthy!"
**For the fashion atrocity who thinks she's hot-to-trot - "Well aren't you somethin'!" (you never have to say what)
**For the one showin off highlights that are the worst bottle-job you've ever seen - "Aren't those just the cutest shoes, wherever did you get them?" (this also allows you to stare at her head while she looks down)

For specific situations, just give me a shout at queenan@dearqueenan.com and I'll help you find just the right words NOT to say!

The Patriot Returns

So here I am back on my native soil, and I couldn't be happier. You know the first thing I did was run right out and eat a slice of New York pizza! You'll be happy to know I didn't starve while in the UK, in fact I survived quite well on the country's two best meals - Indian and Thai. No beans-on-toast for me, no sir. I prefer my beans of the Pork-&-variety, and toast is best served in the French style. Nevertheless, I didn't miss a meal, as you most certainly would have guessed.

I did, however, discover the most fantastic bit of British culture in their metric system. Yes, I have been aware of the metric system for some time. It was the part of 7th grade science class I dutifully ignored for an entire chapter. I mean, I figured if you already knew how much something weighed in pounds, why the hell would you need to know how much it weighed in kilograms? Ah, but I was a foolish lass. Of course you want to know how much something weighs in kilograms because the number is so much smaller!! I mean to tell you, I stepped on a scale in the hotel gym and nearbout fell right over! Lord, in kilograms I need to be checked into the eating-disorder ward of the nearest hospital! Of course, if you were to convert those kilograms to customary measure, I would still need to begin a diet program, but then, I have no idea how to convert metric measurements and I have absolutely no intention of finding out.

So, other than a few near-death experiences with speeding buses on the wrong side of the road, my trip abroad was completed without great incident, and I have returned to America, where the promise of life, love and the pursuit of carbohydrates still rings true for all who land on our shores. Two things never lost on a Southerner: patriotism and pastry.

Happy Monday!

Queenie Abroad

Off again tomorrow to the Motherland for a week of horrible coffee and inedible dinners. Y'all know I have to complain every time I travel to London because it's just so damn hard to get a descent meal over there! I think this time I'm just gonna give up and order what England does best - curry. Seriously, they should just go ahead and make chicken tikki their national lunch meat. But, when you're options are beans on toast or kidney pie, cumin becomes considerably more appealing.

I have checked the weather report, and believe it or not, there's a smiling sun face over the next few days! Well, I don't really believe it, I mean at some point the meteorologists have got to just start flat-out lying about England's weather, lest tourism grind to a halt. I have never seen a blue sky in London, in fact, I'm not sure little British school children even bother to draw outdoor scenes in kindergarten, rainbows and sunbeams being song elements with no practical application.

And of course, I'll be taking a small fortune in my purse. You think New York is expensive until you encounter the Great British Pound. Imagine, you board a plane long enough to watch 2 and a half feature films and eat microwaved chicken parm and then you land and suddenly everything in your wallet is worth half the value! It's totally insane how expensive things are when you're on the losing end of the exchange rate. Of course the damned Brits come over here and everything's on sale!

No good food, crappy weather, and astronomical price tags - I've said it before, and I'll say it again...it's no wonder the Brits lost the colonies.

Not that everything there is bad...they do like to drink quite a bit, so at least we have that in common, and not even those backwards drivers can screw up Vodka.