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Bitch’in Life

Labor Day – Work It! Edition

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Labor Day started not as the day that the country breathes a collective sigh of relief as white jeans (aka, the bane of all launderers) and white shoes (aka, the hallmark of the ultra cheesy and/or the ultra chic) get stashed away for another year, but as a celebration of the labor movement in America. That the economic and social significance of the day has been lost in the sauce — ketchup, mustard, and mayo — isn’t surprising. With unemployment hovering a touch over 8%, it’s hard to imagine an esprit de corps, never mind how cute we all looked way back when, wearing our Esprit shorts on that last day of summer.

Times have changed, but the opportunities borne of hard work that America has always afforded actually haven’t — and I know that not from trite political ads, but from real life.

This past weekend I went to a party thrown by friends who embody the American dream. They came here a decade ago, leaving behind everything and everyone they knew and loved. While the husband worked his way up in business, the wife adapted to our totally foreign lifestyle, up to and including  our society’s ridiculous idea that moms should do everything by themselves. Where she’s from, the government subsidizes childcare — not just for working mothers, but for all moms because… (insert incredulous gasp here)… being at home is hard work, too!

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Look into my eyes and say I AM A BITCH
Bitch’in Life

I Know You Are, But What Am I?

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If I asked you to finish the sentence, I am ________, what would you say?

I posted that challenge on Facebook, emailed a few friends, and got a landslide of responses.

The funny peeps hopped on board first…
So bloated right now that my breasts feel like saddlebags and i might actually MOOOOOO. Shocked Disney wasn’t selling ants-on-a-stick at Chimpanzee theaters’ concession stands nationwide. #missedopportunity. In a different time zone, and goin’ to lunch! 

Next were the literal folks…
Busy. A drama queen. Exhilarated by the spin class I just took. Exhausted. Walking. Hungover? French. Recommitting to yoga. Alive. 

Then there were those in touch with their feelings…
Grateful. Thankful. Loving. Resilient. Content. Fabulous. Fucking amazing. Hopeful. Stronger than my torn ACL!  Confused, heartbroken, terrified, on the edge.

Angry buggers…
Miss Money Bags… apparently to a handful of my son’s friends who consistently ask for him to pay for a drink here, a sub sandwich there. Sick of rude, crazy and moronic people.

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