If I Were a Dude I’d Wanna Be Johnny Depp

Many of you have asked me about what YOU call my “Johnny Depp fixation”. I thought it was time to explain the lore behind  #whatwouldJohnnyDeppdo  -which is the phrase I often tweet on twitter and think aloud when ever I get perplexed by life’s daily dilemmas--you know, like which martini to try next at the all-you-can-drink martini buffet, which leg of my jeans I should put on first in the morning, or how to react when someone is ridiculously rude to me. This will also explain my relentless need to quote Johnny Depp. I am Him, He is Me, we are One, Ooommm, and all that shit. It’s a Zen thing. I’ve really just been quoting myself all along....

“You can feed hot dogs to the nurse sharks in the Exumas – but it’s best to not swim when doing it.” - JD

1. Johnny owns his own island and he will use it. 

In fact, I live on a small barrier island as well. Sure, there are 33,000 other people on it, none of whom can drive a car for crap. But I like to pretend like they all just work for me just so I can become one with my inner island-hopping Johnny. Especially when I see one of those golf carts driving by. #getarealcarbastard 

“If there's any message to my work, it is ultimately that it’s OK to be different, that it’s good to be different, that we should question ourselves before we pass judgment on someone who looks different, behaves different, talks different, is a different color.” -JD

2. Johnny doesn’t watch his own movies after making them.

A true artist isn't all that concerned with admiring the finished product, but is there to enjoy the process. I get that about Johnny and I’m exactly the same way. If I made movies and had to watch I’d be nervously twitching the whole time, thinking “Jeeesus, God! does my ass really look like that?  I’m never doing this again!”  I’d be out at the premiere bar the whole time, after having tricked my cousin to dress like me and be my seat holder. I’m sure he’s happy that people love his work. I’m thrilled that people like mine. It is very gratifying and humbling making people happy. But I don’t stare at it all day and tell myself how fabulous it is because I’m already onto creating the next necklace, painting, or pair of earrings. Shameless Plug: www.sueanneshirzay.etsy.com

I pretty much try to stay in a constant state of confusion just because of the expression it leaves on my face. -JD

3. Johnny wears the same pair of boots all the time

Johnny is not afraid to be a non-fashionista. I am guilty of owning 8 different pairs of cowboy boots. I just keep buying more so people won’t think I’m a complete idiot, but basically they all look the same, and it’s about all I wear from October to May. Then I  rotate to 20 nearly identical pairs of flip flops and sandals in the spring and summer. I have friends who call and ask me what color is “in” for a certain season. I always tell them “the one that looks good on you”. But the beotches keep asking me every season anyway. This cracks me up.

4. Johnny can pee standing up

This doesn’t need much explanation. I’d be a dude. This would make a lot of things easier. I could figure out how to make fuel from carrots instead of waiting in line at the bathroom.

"It was like an endless parade of, like, 'What?!' - JD

5. Johnny has a cool sense of humor.

Ever try to talk about yourself with someone taking notes and working a recorder?  It’s almost impossible not to sound like a complete jackass. I know, I’ve done it a few times and wished I’d never opened my mouth. Johnny gives great interview.  Laughing at yourself is what makes life fun.  But we have the same sense of counterclockwise humor.

“I don't pretend to be captain weird. I just do what I do.” -JD

6. Johnny looks like THAT

 I’d love to get up, not have to put on any makeup, and look smokin’ hot. The man is beautiful. Sure, I’ve been told I didn’t exactly get hit by the ugly stick, but I ain’t all that. Johnny is all that and change. 

7. Johnny gets to be a pirate and act drunk, while maintaining a kickass work ethic

Sure, come Saturday night I usually try to do my best imitation, but the local bars no longer appreciate me swinging from the curtains and usually assign a bouncer to watch me right when I come in the door. If I was Johnny they’d just say “Oh, look, Johnny’s here. Guinness, Mr. Depp?” 

“There's a drive in me that won't allow me to do certain things that are easy- JD

8. Johnny is true to himself

Lastly, this is the quality that I find most endearing in people who can actually pull it off, particularly Johnny Depp.  Not many can. Johnny does it the best. All I can do is try. 

 

How Not to Pick Up the Hot Chick in the Convertible

"Chicks Dig Convertibles".  That’s what one of the car dealers said to me as I was shopping for my car--with a resigned sigh and a shrug.

The following is a little Labor Day Public Service gift to all of my favorite men out there, to the men I have flipped off for years, and to my posse of convertible-driving Hot Chicks.  

Fellas! Summer’s almost over. This is your last chance to pick up your local Hot Chick while her top’s still down. 

NEVER expect Hot Chick to look at you, let alone speak to you, without giving her a compelling reason to do so. Lord knows she’s way too busy sipping that latte, texting, taking two calls at once on her iphone, rummaging through her bottomless bag for a Bloomie’s coupon, tweeting at all the stop lights to tell everybody on Twitter she can’t FIND her damn Bloomie’s coupon, applying the non-sticky variety of lipgloss, (to avoid being plagued by hair sticking to her mouth while driving, texting and rummaging) deciding if her stock portfolio is overweight in tech (AAPL) and wondering why the hell her manicure only lasted two days ...again.

If you want to get Hot Chick’s attention, you had better make it good, you had better make it quick, and you had better make it creative, because lest you forget, Hot Chick drives fast. Why shouldn’t she, nobody in their right mind would ever give her a ticket. The rules:

1. DON’T Honk, DON’T Whistle, DON’T make *kissy kissy* noises.

Hot Chick will assume you are not old enough to buy her drinks, or smart enough to know the correct mixology behind her favorite Cosmo - extra lime, shaken no fewer than 12 times behind your head. Ice chips. By the way, Hot Chick never makes her own Cosmos--YOU DO.

2. DO sing. Sing Loudly, Sing Badly. Here are three of many acceptable songs to sing to Hot Chick: You’re Beautiful http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ztc4V3ttlso, You are so Beautiful http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wlDmslyGmGI , And the song from Top Gun http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bTvU3BELZEo&feature=related . I say to sing badly because if you don’t, Hot Chick will assume you do this all the time. Hot Chick can spot a Player from a very great distance. Pick an easy song so you don't screw it up.

3. DON’T ask "where’s the beach?"  unless you happen to be absolutely nowhere near a beach. Even then, you must have a large map draped over your steering wheel for this to be most effective. Hot Chick likes to be helpful because she thinks she knows everything.

4. DO throw that box of Godiva and Sueanne Shirzay Artisan earrings you bought for your Mom into her car with your business card attached. Remove note to Mom saying you hoped her liposuction was a great success.  http://www.sueanneshirzay.etsy.com

5. DON’T talk THROUGH the mom in the minivan driving in the lane between you who has her windows open. 

This is not  GOLF, you cannot PLAY THROUGH to get to Hot Chick. 

6. DON’T tell her "her hair matches the leather upholstery".

It DOES, of course, but Hot Chick doesn’t care what you think of her hair. If she cared anything about her hair, she wouldn’t be driving a goddamn convertible in the first place.

7. DO wrap your business card in paper, make a plane out of it and throw it into Hot Chick’s  car. 

Hot Chick may assume you own a private jet, but you can clear that up later.

8. DON’T say *nice car* and DON’T ask *what year the car is*

She already knows it’s a nice car and doesn’t give a damn what year it is. 

9. DO ask her for directions, but only to the local spa because *You Need a Day of Beauty*

10. DON’T block Hot Chick from getting out of her parking spot.

Hot Chick has 911 programmed into her iphone, (under the contact name ASSHOLE), and she WILL use it. Plus every cop in town knows her, even though they have never actually spoken. You really don’t want to meet them today, do you?

11. DO Take off your T shirt, attach it to a golf club, and wave it at her as a gesture of surrender. ONLY do this if you happen to be wearing a white t shirt and have seen the inside of a gym regularly for the last 6 months or more.

12. DON’T ask her if she's married or seeing anyone.

Hot Chick, even if ultimately unavailable for you, knows two dozen or more Hot Chicks who ARE available. Some are even hotter than she is. Hot Chick is a gifted matchmaker.

13. DO make a small sign with a large heart on it , with the word LUNCH, NOW? written inside the heart. Show credit card so Hot Chick knows you don’t mean Mcdonald's. And smile. This works especially well on Valentine’s Day. PIE? may be substituted for LUNCH, NOW? only if there is a really great PIE STORE around. 

14. DON’T ask her if her Daddy bought the car for her

Hot Chick went to college, and her I.Q. makes yours like an effing Mets game score. She didn’t get to be a Hot Chick by being stupid. (note to self for next blog: why baseball is stupid)

15. DO throw your wallet into Hot Chick’s car. 

No, Hot Chick doesn’t need your money, as she already makes more than you. But nothing says I GIVE THE EFF UP, better than this. If said wallet contains any velcro though, it will promptly be thrown over her shoulder into the nearest storm sewer. So make sure it’s a nice one if you expect her to stop the car and return it to you.

16. DON’T say "Here Comes Trouble".

It’s just tacky to call Hot Chick by her middle name before you have been properly introduced. So don’t do it.

Good luck to you all. A BIG thank you to my talented photographer friend @shelibilavender on Twitter for a conversation we had that inspired to me to write this post, (LOL see #5) Her webiste: http://photographyaffairs.com/ and all of my other convertible-driving Hot Chick posse. There are too many to name, I love you all. Mwah!

My Love Affair. With Pie.

I Love Pie.

Blueberry, Cherry, Coconut Cream, Key Lime, Strawberry, Apple, Pecan, Banana Cream, Lemon Meringue, Mincemeat, Pumpkin, Italian Cream Cheese, and, yes...even Chicken Pot. 

If in fact, the world ended tonight and there was nothing else but me and pie left in the world, sitting on the roof of my house, waiting for a chopper that never arrived, I would be perfectly okay with that...as long as I had access to pie.  I know that sounds selfish. What about your kids? What about your Husband? Your Mom? Your Dad? Coconut, your dog? (named after pie) You can’t kiss a pie goodnight, Sueanne. Uh, yes, yes you can. At least I’d have pie. And over the years my family has come to accept and understand this.

My hot steamy love affair with pie started when I was a little girl. My grandma on my mom’s side was a wonderful southern lady. When ever we’all visited she’d have at least 5-6 different kinds of desserts waiting for us--sometimes more--and and least three of those would be pie. She did coconut cream, cherry, banana cream, and lemon meringue the best. You name it, she could bake anything, and she was amazing.  

My mother took after her and in fact got an undergrad AND graduate degree in Home Ec. Not only can she sew like Giorgio Armani, she is like the Martha Stewart of Muncie, Indiana when it comes to the kitchen. She has every kitchen gadget you can imagine. She makes my father birthday pie. Not birthday cake. That’s how good her pie is.

As I was the only daughter, pie, cake, and cookie baking fell into my lap at an early age. I knew what a pastry cutter was when the other girls were still fighting over which Barbie Ken would shag that night at the Dreamhouse. So I had a lot of practice when I went out in the world. There are many things you can do in life if you can knock out a variety of tasty pies.

Then it happened. 

I married outside of my faith. That’s right. I married a cake eater. And gave birth to three more cake eaters. I know. How did this happen? Is this because I wouldn’t let that really annoying girl sit at my lunch table in 7th grade? Because I already said I’m sorry. I’M SORRY!!!  I soon realized that too many pies would go to my thighs. So I stopped baking pies.

This was all okay because If I looked really hard, I could find good pies at a bakery. But they mostly sucked. Then one day I stopped at a farmstand in upstate NY and... lo and behold, what did I see? --- A cherry blueberry pie homemade by Me-Oh-My Pies. The sun came out from behind a cloud. I could hear the sound of angels singing. I didn’t care about the $13 price on the pie. I grabbed it and never looked back.

This sucker was almost as good as Grandma’s. Knock wood, throwing salt over shoulder. For three years I’ve always bought those pies whenever I drive upstate. 

Unfortunately, the last time I stopped at the farmstand, there were exactly ZERO pies. I’m told the baker now has Lyme Disease. It’s common up there. I pray for her speedy recovery. Every day. Twice a day.

Until then, could somebody hook me up with some kick-ass pie? 

#WTFHappened CSI Interstate 87. Jewelry Giveaway Contest

#WTFHappened? CSI Interstate 87. My first Jewelry Giveway Contest.

Driving back downstate from the Catskill mountains, as I often do, you’re bound to see many things. Deer crossing the road. Deer who didn’t cross the road ON the road. Puke in the backseat of the car if you get stuck in stop and go. Lots of pick ‘em up trucks. Ski racks with kids tied to them.

My 15 year old son and I have the exact same sense of warped humor. We have this odd way of saying the same random punchline at the same time. We just think the same things are stupid. I’m not sure if he has a woman’s brain in his head or if I have the brain of a 15 year old boy. I try not to think about it.

Fact is, we both started laughing like two drunk VIPs at a redneck tour show when we saw this minivan next to us. We didn’t just see it for a minute. We were stuck in traffic on 87 for 2 hours. It stalked us. And we just kept laughing. Because..look..that’s just some weird-ass mud splatter pattern you have there. This van was perfectly clean in the back. The whole front was an insult to OCD-you’re-not-eating-THAT-in my-car van driving mommies everywhere. It was thick and it was strange. We saw somebody else taking pictures of it too. Which made us laugh even longer. At least we were classy enough to keep the camera INSIDE the car.

Have some fun with me. Tell me what happened to this Honda Odyssey, license plate beginning in XXL (not kidding) and ending in 8. Tweet it @sueannesjewelry and please use the hashtag #WTFhappened so I can keep track. No dms please. 

The most random and creative answer will win a $50 gift certificate for my jewelry. Winner will be announced Tuesday Morning. Two entries per person is cool.

And if the person comes forward who was driving that van, they get a $50 G.C. too. Virginia Plates.

You have 36 hours.... Get out your swabs and black light and GO!

And the winners are....Miss Shelbi Lavender @Shelbilavender:

There was a mud wrestling contest happening that night.  Tons of people all around and up struts this cupcake fat girl, she just wanted a chance to play.  Well the skinny hot mud wrestlers wouldn't have that so a fight broke out.  Fat cupcake chick was tossin skinnys all over the place then more skinnys started comin.  Cupcake fat chick was losing steam she had to get away, she started running.  The skinny chicks knew they couldn't take her down so one of the skinnys got in her honda minivan and before fat girl knew what was coming SPLAT!  She hit the minivan and dropped like a fly.  

Skinnys tied her up and sat on her while eating cupcakes!  it was sweet!

ANDDDDDD.

Runner up: @beerisgoodfood   :   

Never park next to the Immodium tour bus.

Since nobody came forward as the owner of the fabulous minivan, I decided to give out 2 $50 gift certificates. 

CONGRATULATIONS!!!!! And thanks to everybody for playing.

Nurturing Your Inner Bitch

I’m a Bitch.

Oh, puleeze, Sueanne, you’re thinking. Get serious. You’re one of the nicest women.... You open doors for freakin’ everybody, you’re encouraging, supportive, helpful, friend to many. You practically have a therapy couch set up in the living room, for crissakes... This is all true. I am from the Midwest originally, which makes it even harder to believe I am capable of being Queen of all Bitches. You would never know what I am capable of...unless you have made the mistake of pissing off the Redhead.

Let me just say I consider it a compliment to be called a Bitch and I would encourage everybody to both

rejoice in and learn to bring out your inner bitch. Forget about the inner child. The inner bitch is way more fun. The inner child needs a binky. The inner bitch needs tequila. Do you see where I’m going with this?

Why be a bitch? Because we all love bitches. Who loves a doormat? NOBODY except a muddy shoe.

Does this mean you yell and scream at people and are a miserable and unhappy person? No. Do you make other people unhappy? No. Discovering your inner Bitch means you know who you are, are at peace with that, and you expect and demand other people to respect you. When you learn to love your inner bitch you will in fact be at the happiest and most content place in your life. 

Let’s all be strong men and women. Don’t settle for crap. I’m not saying you need to be mean. I’m saying suck it up, be strong, ask, no ...demand...  what you want and need, and don’t stop until you get it. You determine what it takes to make you happy. So be a fucking bitch when you need to be. Life’s too short to wonder what would have happened IF you had done something differently. Just do it differently to BEGIN with.

Whether that’s demanding better behavior from your significant other, or a better table at the new restaurant in town, or that your idiot professor change your grade because you deserve it... Be a Bitch. Hate your new haircut? SAY something. Be a Bitch. Need a raise at work? Tell them why you deserve it. Be a Bitch. 

You will quickly see that once people figure out you won’t put up with their shenanigans, they will give you the respect you need. Then you can tone down the bitch and just keep her on the back burner for emergency situations.

And, contrary to popular belief, there is nothing wrong with men being bitches. It really is a more masculine trait, when you think about it. Men get what they want, and so should my Bitches.

I'm the Man

This summer I became a man. 

That’s right, I mowed 3 acres of 2 ft high grass on a riding mower, twice. And I’ll do it again.

But let me back up, or put it in reverse.

The grass in question is in upstate NY in the Catskills. You know, log home, great for tubing, skiing, summer campfires with raunchy lyrics made up to the tune of Kumbaya, bears, deer, rampant lyme disease, mosquitos the size of Rhode Island, that kind of thing. The kind of place that just makes you want to drink non-lite beer and see who can burp the loudest.

There is no cell service up there, because the residents are stupid, I mean stubborn enough to want to keep it that way, I guess, so once my right hand stops twitching toward my iphone and  twitterfon button, I kick back, start relaxing, stop wearing makeup, crank up the Carrie Underwear CD, and make a lot of jewelry. 

And it’s quiet. So quiet. Not only can your hear yourself think, you can hear everybody on the entire street think. They aren’t too bright, so once I stop listening to them think after 10 minutes or so, I notice how the stars are huge at night and the air is perfect.

The kids even get along better as they have nothing to do but watch TV, play outside, and bust my chops. We do have cable internet access, but In a brilliant move I decided to go for the slowest kind of service available. Did I mention there is no cell service? There is no cell service. That means no iphone. No cell service. There is no cell service.  

We’ve had this place for about 4 years and were usually able to find somebody reliable to mow the grass and plow the snow. That ended with this guy Brendan or Brenden, never quite did get his name, who bailed on us so many times we finally bought a riding mower last summer.

Back to the Lawn. Mowing the lawn has always been my son’s job, But, because we decided at age 15, it was time for him to learn the value of a dollar, My Dear Boy just got a job at a swanky beach club locally as a cabana boy. This is a very difficult job requiring heavy lifting (moving beach chairs) customer service (learning how not to gape at everybody’s daughters) and food management (delivering fries and burgers to the members without eating any). So he’s out of the picture as far as the lawn goes.

Just one problem with his fabulous new job. We forgot about the grass. And it rained alot.

As I pulled into the long driveway the horror awaited me. 2-3 ft tall weeds and grass. 3 acres of it. For sake of argument, I guess you could call it a lawn, but really, the place looked like redneck hell. All that was missing was an abandoned rusted out pick up truck on the front lawn and shotgun shells near an old wooden post.

After I stopped swearing in front of my young impressionable daughters, I unpacked the car and went out to the shed to get the mower and get down to business. And then I started eating grass. I mean mowing the lawn. 

To my credit, I did not utter more than a dozen curse words as the wind blew everything in my face and contact lenses, or gag as something that was still moving flew up my nose. I did instead choose to retaliate by  singing every song I know as loudly as possible and changing the words to curse my husband, who was “working” that weekend.  

 Three hours later, I did not even cry when the mower got stuck in a little ditch and it took me half hour to throw my entire body against it to inch it out because there was nobody to help me. Did you know  AAA doesn’t cover riding lawnmower towing service? They don’t. No, I remained a good role model for my daughters and sucked it up. 

After all, my middle daughter will be old enough to mow the lawn in 2 years. Mama didn’t raise no fool, honey.