Douche, Nipple Gate & A $300 Purse Giveaway! (What More Could You Ask For?)

Work has kept me on my toes lately so I recruited Jeni to help me out here, and boy did she deliver- not only with some great tips, but also with the chance to win an amazing handbag.

On a recent sisterly excursion into Beverly Hills for a fun day of shopping, Karri-Leigh asked me for a piece of gum- preferably one without flavor reminiscent of a spring smelling douche.

I told her to go into my purse, as most sisters would.  She was appalled, to say the least.  Why?  My name is Jeni Elizabeth, and I am a hoarder.

I am a girl that hates emergencies.  I am accident prone, and have the worst luck.  So, I come prepared.  And like any skilled hoarder, I feel the need to justify my behavior.  Therefore, I bring you, the contents of my purse.

First off, the idea of not carrying a large tote at all times literally gives me panic attacks- and mine is a gold mine.  My handbag may be worth more than your monthly grocery allowance, but that’s because it doubles as an armoire.

The essentials?

* An empty wallet, because apparently I am too busy to every return my credit cards or cash where they belong.

* An eos chapstick egg (or 6) because my lips are always dry.  (And not to sound dirty, but I enjoy the egg a little more than I should.)

(you can't see the egg that well here, but I prefer Chuck Bass whenever possible, which is a tad creepy because he reminds me of my brother)

* A tiny (tightly sealed) jar of olive oil.  It’s the perfect solution to cuticles much in need of a mani.

* My magic eraser.  It’s a small craft sponge, perfect for deodorant or make-up stains, and dries in a pinch so it’s safe to return to your purse.  You can find one in any major craft store.

* My day planner, despite the fact that I haven’t ordered a calendar fill-in since the Spice Girls were popular the first time around.

* A Tide stain stick because I work in fashion and cannot stomach stains.  (I also can’t stomach someone else’s stains, and will totally judge you for them.  So if you need to borrow, just ask.)

* Double sided tape.  Screw Nipple-Gate… I once used it to fix my windshield wiper!

* Two phones and an ipad, which give me a wonderful reason to get rid of voicemail.  If you still can’t get me, I am avoiding you.  Obvi.

* A checkbook.  For what, I am not quite sure.

* And for the grand finale, let’s be real.  Pills.  My brother once told me that the best way to spell classy is with a fancy (and well-filled) pill case.  I also love the pretty colors and glitter that that case brings to my bag.  (Although my dog Coco’s accessories accomplish the same thing.) 

Bottom Line: My purses feel great, look better, and sound like a Salvation Army Santa Claus shaking a bucket of beer caps, which my nieces love. Evident of hoarding or not, I love them, and am willing to spend my hard earned money on them (or at least my boyfriend is).  They are my best friend (sorry Karri…), my lifeline, and most importantly- me.

But, in my opinion, no fabulous women should be without an incredible (and oversized) tote.  So, without further ado...

WIN ONE OF OUR FAVORITE PURSES!

This one of a kind hobo from ZEYZANI retails at $300

To enter, leave a fun comment here regarding what you carry in your purse (or murse)!  Jeni will decide the winner.

http://www.facebook.com/karrileigh.mastrangelo

Even Jason Priestley Has Hoes in Different Area (& Zip) Codes

I can’t drive by this:

Without thinking of this:

The gang has been on my mind even more lately, as Jason Priestley’s children are in summer camp with my 4 year old daughter.  We totes hang.  I mean, not together, but on the same playground.  I am wearing my acid washed denim jacket all over again, and I love it.

My zip code is a hike from the 90210, but any woman my age who won’t admit that at some point she wished she lived there, or dated Dillon McKay, or wanted Kelly’s hair, or drove Steve’s car, or shouted "Donna Martin Graduates!" or had Brenda’s.... (I’m stumped, but you get the point) is lying.

But, you don’t need to have your personal assistant print the famous zip code on your Black: American Express statement to feel like a welcomed part of the Peach Pit crowd.  Babies lucky enough to have been born on September 2, 2010 will be writing 9/02/10 on documents for decades to come.

(I have no idea when this child was born but would love to find out, because I've got a feeling he's a Virgo)

Then I realized that tons of dates mimic postal codes.  So I googled the date of my discovery, 7/10/12.  The postal code that came up was for Rodi Garganico, in the Italian city of Foggia, less than 100 miles from Panni, where I took this very photograph:

I visited the tiny mountain town with my family so I could experience firsthand and forever remember the village my father-in-law left behind (in geography only) to raise his family in America.  Thank God that he did...

I hope encouraged you to waste a bit of time googling numbers today... If you discover anything cool, let me know.

Seeking: A Comment, A Wig & A (Tall) Shot of Vodka

Some people watch reality television because it's an escape from their own reality.  Not me.  Reality television is my reality.

(Bachelor Pad, Season One, Roughly 4am)

The average viewer experiences love, passion, fantasy and creativity.  Don't get me wrong.  I feel those things as well, but they look more like the magical room seen below (coupled with a side of exhaustion, and a tall shot of vodka):

A Pretty Standard Control Room: This One is For an Upcoming Show on VH1 

Instead, my escape is the leaning tower of paperbacks on my nightstand.  One of my latest reads was the insanely eloquent Eleanor Brown's, "The Weird Sisters".  Here's an excerpt that really resonated with me, and I've searched for the answers to her questions ever since.

"How old were you when you first realized your parents were human?  That they were not omnipotent; that what they said did not, in fact, go; That they had dreams, and feelings, and scars?  Or have you not realized that yet?  Do you still call your parents and have a one-sided conversation with them, child to parent, not adult to adult?"

I'd love to hear your thoughts on this... (comment section below: hint, hint)

I believe most of my conversations with my mom are adult to adult, but I definitely reserve the right to revert back to the decade of my choice at any point in time, which I am sure she enjoys.

As for my chats with my little ones, I hope to keep them one-sided for as long as humanly possible.  I mean, honestly, who wouldn't want to receive the latest voicemail I marked as 'saved'?

"Hi Mommy.  It's Emilia.  I don't like your new colored hair, but... um.... I love you anyway.  

Now come home."

Too bad "save forever" wasn't an option.

It Was The Best Of Times, It Was The Worst Of Zzzzzzzz's

I swear when Charles Dickens wrote the line “it was the best of times, it was the worst of times” in his masterpiece A Tale of Two Cities he was referring to the struggle to which so many can relate… that of putting a young child to sleep.

Undoubtedly some of my most precious moments with the girls have been at bedtime.  Just the other night I was cuddling my four year old when she whispered, “buckle me”.  A split second of confusion later, I realized she was asking me to wrap my arm around her belly, to hold her close.  I filed that under “best of times”.  It was a jewel, sort of like this:

Miley Cyrus’ engagement ring.  A one-of-a-kind thing of beauty, way smaller than you might imagine for all that fuss, but cherished more than anything else in her collection-- just like my “buckle me” moment.  Isn't it crazy how one little gem can cause such a wave of emotion?

But before you get all warm and fuzzy, remember there are two tales here, and the other isn’t nearly as heartwarming…

I’ve always blamed myself for my kids' poor sleeping habits.  As a working mother, I’ve tended to adjust their schedule to accommodate mine- not out of selfishness, but out of a desire to be the last face they see each night (which now that I put it like that, sounds incredibly selfish).

As a result, my bed hasn’t been my own in years.  I’ve been drooled on, rolled over and kicked in the face.  (Whether the foot of a toddler or an adult, either reserves a spot in the "worst of times" category.  Just ask Drake.)

So, I put up with this:

(note the king size wingspan)

And let the ladies of the house sleep better than I do.

 

Even the king reigns supreme.

Still, each morning, I wake up more and more thankful for the miracles beside me- both figuratively, and literally.

I'm Ready To Love Giuliana (& I Finally Let Someone Put ME In The Hot Seat)

I am biting my tongue, and it's not because I used the word cl*t in a recent post.

A few weeks ago, I admitted here that "I prefer several E! News correspondents over Giuliana Rancic.  In fact, I’d rather listen to the stage security guard on the mouse that ran under the catering table than Giuliana on just about anything… other than her recent baby news".  Shortly after, I was offered (and jumped at) the opportunity to work with Giuliana & Bill on their upcoming NBC reality show, "Ready For Love".

Since shooting began, I have been nothing but impressed with them. They are talented, dedicated and hard-working professionals, sincere with and compassionate toward both talent and crew.

With cast, Bill shares anecdotes from his time on the first season of The Apprentice, while Giuliana compliments their beauty and their shoes (like these incredible Alejandra G's):

Most importantly, they both radiate when celebrating the anticipation of their baby boy.

In my career, as in my personal life, I continue to learn many valuable lessons.  Still, whether right or wrong, I will fight 'till the death for what I believe.  Sometimes it backfires, and I am left wishing I had conceded sooner.


I am learning that the two worlds often go hand-in-hand.  For more on how, please read this interview with Candace Anderson (@CandaceRose).  


P.S. It's the very first time I let someone put me in the hot seat!

http://www.candieanderson.com/2012/06/interview-reality-tv-hit-producer-and-blogger-karri-leigh-mastrangelo.html

Thank You HelloGiggles.com for Sharing My Words with the World!

I've always loved to write.  My mother says that when changing my childhood bedsheets, she'd find scraps of paper scribbled with poems and stories crumbled at my feet.  From those experiences, in the 3rd grade came a "book" that I wrote and illustrated.  Page turner that it was, "Floating Hearts & Stars" won a statewide contest for young writers.  At 18, the book was a cherished treasure that I sent with my Dad when we buried him.  Years later, I still make notes at my bedside, although I now text them to myself.  "Dirty Laundry & Dirty Diapers" is a continuation of that story.

My life is a busy one.  Between my family, my career and the hobbies that I'm passionate about, there's little time left to reflect upon all I have become, and all that has been given to me.  Writing helps me to put this all in perspective, and it is an honor to share it with you.

With such diversity in the world, there is one relationship we all share: that of a Father and Child.  For my thoughts on this topic that I hold closest to my heart, please enjoy "A Father By Any Other Name: Is It Really The Same?".  I am so thankful to HelloGiggles.com for sharing my words with the world.

Happy Father's Day!

Here's the link:

http://hellogiggles.com/a-father-by-any-other-name-is-it-really-the-same

In Support of Free Miley: My Most Embarrassing Moment

Poke fun at Miley Cyrus all you’d like, but each of us has had an incredibly embarrassing moment (or nine).  So in support of my Free Miley movement, as I'm pretty sure I am the only one participating, I have chosen to over share.

In college, I was your typical blast in a glass… or make that keg.  As a proud Boston College Eagle, my friends and I were die-heard supporters of the blood, sweat and tears our athletes lost for our Alma Mater.  It is for that and that reason only that we got very, very drunk at Dick’s Last Resort the night before a big football game.

For those of you that aren’t familiar with Dick’s, it’s known for fine cuisine like Hooters is famous for wings.

The plates are paper, the wait staff is rude, and the most you can look forward to is an enormous paper hat folded into the shape of a penis.  The only problem is, you aren’t supposed to ask for one.  I learned that the hard way.

(Looks like these people did too...  Bon appetit!)

After requesting the party favor, a waitress told me I was going to have to “work for it” (never a good sign).  Then, “have you ever heard of a muff dive?” (also, never a good sign, btw).

She brought me (and a crowd of supporters with cameras) over to a big group of guys.  Long story short, she seated one of the guys down, placed a mug of whipped cream between his legs, dropped a shot glass into it, and I took it down.

Yes, I took a muff dive.  And in return, I got the coveted paper penis hat.  “But,” the waitress added, “I don’t want you to look at the hat”.  Distracted as I was by the hoards of people anxious to take photos with me, I obliged.

Several hours and conga lines later, it was time to go.  On the way out the door, I noticed a table of suits, one of whom looked very familiar.  And I never forget a face.

I removed my hat, tried to straighten my hair, and compose my self enough to say hello.  As it turns out, he was an old family friend and respected businessman, who just happened to coordinate a memorial golf tournament-- in my father’s name.

“I thought I recognized you, Karri-Leigh”, he said.  “But I wasn’t sure if I was staring because I knew you, or because of that hat you’ve been wearing all night”.

“Well, then we’re even”, I replied.  “You’ve seen my hat, and I’ve seen your golf game”.

As I walked out of the bar, I read the hat.

It said “Lick my cl*t, it’s juicy”.

So, because we’ve all made mistakes, be sure you do something special for your Dad this weekend.