HAPPILY EVER AFTER!

Once upon a time lived a deluded Disney Princess, who had a wrinkle-free face that always had a smile on it because she had no clue what was really going on in the world.
     Her only desire/goal/ambition/aspiration/prayer/yearning/begging/determination was to find a Prince Charming to get married to.
     POOF!
     And the Fairy-God-Mother clad Universe granted her wish (because The Secret says if you want something badly enough for long enough you will eventually get it... or something like that).
     Anyway, so it happened: the Disney Princess met her handsome Prince Charming, had the big plush wedding and lived happily ever after... until about six days after they returned from their honeymoon.
     That's when the Disney Princess discovered that Prince Charming had to go to work to fund her lifestyle, and she was left home alone all day with the vacuum and her thoughts... then later in her marriage, the diminishing bottles of wine and packets of Marlborough Lites.
     This is because nobody warned the Disney Princess that the “Wedding” and the “Marriage” are only used synonymously by real hard core romantics (who themselves have never been married).

Wed-ber's Definition of Wedding:

“Paying thousands of (name your currency) to feel special and perfect and overindulged for one day without ridicule”.

Wed-ber's Definition of Marriage:

“Realizing that the person who seemed perfect at the wedding actually does all the things that you do like fart, grow hair, cost money, smell, eat, snore, get dirty, have needs, make demands and have an opinion”.

It is usually at this point that a Disney Princess decides to become a Real Housewife... because Disney kicks them out once they stop smiling and start complaining.

Ella Roberts,

www.ellasbooks.blogspot.com.com

 

WHAT IS PERFECT ANYMORE?

As a teenager I was an awkward little lump, with big eyes, big lips, thick knees and a drowning sensation into the shame of being me!
     Plus, it always seemed like I was surrounded by pretty people.
     You know the types who flutter around life with effortless grace, while all my round self could do was waddle.
     Of course this twisted reality of teenage-dom has resulted in my inability to stop believing that anyone who has beautifully shiny hair, perfectly applied make-up and a flawless silhouette without the presence of Spanx has no problems in the world.
     I think this is why I still watch The Real Housewives; I'm waiting for an announcement that all the drama isn't real.
     So I nearly fainted recently when I tripped over a piece of information that severely bothered me when it should have actually soothed me:
     Not everyone who portrays herself as such is perfect!
     “Well duh!” you say.
     But you see, I am the forgiving individual who will not question whether those freakishly large E-cup boobs on a size 4 frame are real or whether those lips that look suspiciously like dead animals are collagen injected.
     However, when I walked in on one of the Mrs. Perfects that I know personally while she was changing, I saw a naked truth that destroyed my illusion.
     Like me, she had thighs that touch, two stomachs and an extra set of elbows for boobs!
     I used to idolize this woman.
     I used to skip dessert and exercise with the hope that one day I would look like her, only to find out that she looks like me!
     Now what am I supposed to do with this information?

Ella Roberts,

ellasbooks.blogspot.com

 

I THOUGHT THERE WERE NO MOSQUITOS IN VEGAS!

When I first arrived in Las Vegas over three years ago during the height of the cloying summertime heat I got two surprises!
     One pleasant and one unpleasant.
     The unpleasant surprise was that the heat took away my ability to blink comfortably without breaking into a sweat.
     The pleasant surprise was the absence of mosquitoes, or rather my making it through the summertime without falling victim to these greedy little parasites!
     For two magical summers I (rightfully) kept my blood to myself but for reasons unknown to me, in the summer of 2013 a gang of stray mosquitoes has magically appeared in my house and I have spent more time than needs to be admitted chasing them around, trying to get rid.
     Sometimes I glimpse my murderous face in the mirror as I smack every surface trying to kill, kill, KILL one!
     You see, I have always considered mosquitoes to be the lowest form of severe irritation since I, myself was a source of annoyance to my parents' insecure attention-seeking friends.
     This is because for some reason every mosquito in whatever country, finds my blood to be a particularly tasty treat.
     Meaning, I have to wake up with an average of three new bites every morning... though I wonder if it is one little drain bag doing all the work or it is a collective dogs-in-heat situation, where if one gets a go then everyone else has to mark a spot too!
     Usually I feel guilty when I kill a bug even accidentally, but I will gladly hand mosquitoes over without a second thought!

Ella Roberts,

ellasbooks.blogspot.com

 

 

TRAUMA IN GROCERY STORES, Part 2

CONTINUED FROM:TRAUMA IN GROCERY STORES, Part 1

 
See I am one of those pitiful individuals that know nothing about grocery store placement logic, in fact where stuff is placed makes no sense to me and the only reason I may know where something is is because I've seen it there before!
     So there I stood shaking at the entrance of aisle one on a Saturday afternoon, holding onto the un-sanitized cart for dear life, trying not to drop my list, afraid to ask for help or move in case someone knocked me into the cat litter.
     Whoever said “necessity is the mother of invention” must have experienced this situation, because in my terror I resorted to creativity.
     An overwhelmed father of two came running towards me, chasing his over hyper twin boys and leaving a well stocked cart at the other end of the aisle.
     In his cart were six magical items from my very own list and since I didn't know where he'd found them and was too afraid to ask in case he asked me to help discipline his boys or something, I reached in and shopped in his cart.
     And I would have gotten away with it too if the previously absent mother hadn't suddenly appeared, holding a block of cheese and a bottle of wine (drunk!), asking what I was doing – like she didn't know!
     I was going to argue on principle, but having witnessed her over hyper boys and assuming they didn't get their unruliness from their dad, I replaced each item slowly (hoping she would say “it's okay take them, we know where to find them”) back in her cart, I smiled, muttered a resentful “I’m sorry” and almost ran down the aisle, knowing she was looking at me with disapproving disgust.
     Don't judge me; you would have done the same thing!

Ella Roberts,

ellasbooks.blogspot.com

 

IS THERE REALITY IN REALITY?

I can proudly say that I don't watch much television anymore due to being so busy, but in the same sentence I have to shamefully admit that when I do get a minute, my drama antenna seems to instinctively know which channel to find a reality show on.
     And there has been word of late that reality shows are staged and scripted and are not really reality, which offended me to no end the first time I heard this news but the truth has since slapped me and now I am “in the know”.
     This happened while I was watching a particularly noisy episode of (surprise, surprise) The Real Housewives of Atlanta and admiring the professional make up job of one Amazonian 5”10 creature who still wears the highest of heels... when a disturbing vision popped into my head – of her without any make up on!
     This is when it dawned on me that every time I see these women – any one of them that lives on a reality show – they are always fully dressed and made up.
     No I don't want to see them without any clothes on, I want to see them without any make-up on!
     Particularly in those moments when their sleep has just been disturbed (after a heavy night of Chardonnay guzzling) and they have yet to roll out of bed and start the day.
     I know exactly what I look like before my make-up bag turns up so I am stupidly curious to see how they look too, especially the ones who already look “interesting” with make up on.
     As much as I can sit there hour after hour, mesmerized by this nonsense I can thankfully say that I could not allow myself to be made a spectacle of like that.
     I simply have too many issues already!

Ella Roberts,

ellasbooks.blogspot.com

 

GASTRIC BYPASS - WHY?

So I came across an infomercial cleverly disguised as an interview with a woman who weighed less than a bag of fruit but claimed she used to be obese and that she lost all the weight by having gastric bypass surgery.
     First, she tells us about how great it has made her life and how she got all her confidence back and how she just feels happier thinner – good for her!
     Then she adds that some of the side effects of gastric bypass are: Excessive bleeding or drainage from the incisions. Redness. Unusual pain or swelling in the lower intestines. Fever. Chills. Black stools. Diarrhea that is pure water...
     Now why did she feel the need to share this? She nearly had me!
     Next, she delivers her most offensive piece of news yet: “The great part is that the surgery makes your stomach smaller and allows food to bypass part of the small intestine, meaning you'll feel full quicker and the amount of food you can eat at one time is greatly reduced...”
     Say What Now?
     You're telling me that I have to pay thousands of dollars to have my stomach thrown away so I can “lose weight”, not through discipline and exercise but by going for a quick fix that will interfere with my ability to go overboard at a buffet?
     No thank you ma'am.
     I'll just stick to the cabbage soup & keep my elasticity.

Ella Roberts,

ellasbooks.blogspot.com

 

MASS TRANSITS & FOWL ODORS!

Depending on which city one lives in, public transport (or mass transit systems in some circles) can be classified as one or a combination of four things:

1. A luxury - 2. A necessity - 3. An adventure - 4. A what...?

 
Having lived in London, served my time in Washington DC, Los Angeles and now happily settled in Las Vegas, I have sampled each city's attempt at accommodating the mobile but car-free/car-less population.
     Which has brought me to one conclusion: mass transit systems undoubtedly boast a complete and diverse buffet of interesting characters, odors and goings on that private transport couldn't even begin to live through.
     From the harassed looking twenty-something with a stained shirt, to the over-worked middle aged two jobber who snores and drools on horrified foreign exchange students.
     “People watching” on trains, buses and even on planes can keep even a seasoned Attention Deficit Disorder sufferer occupied for days.
     There is however, a downside to being sardine stuffed in enclosed spaces with individuals one wouldn't otherwise invite to a pajama party:
     Odor!
     Mass transit systems are notorious for harboring some of the most offensive smelling individuals that any city has to offer.
     You know, the types who dare to leave their homes without honoring their showers with a visit but love to share odors that slide up one's nose and make it hurt!
     Basically, if a living human being's odor can justifiably be labeled as “rotten” then that is a situation that promptly needs handling with a scenty bar of soap!
     I complain about this because many a time I have found myself unceremoniously trapped with pungent individuals who are otherwise blissfully unaware of the stink they are causing.
     Seriously, at what point does one's nose become immune to the power of smell?

Ella Roberts,

ellasbooks.blogspot.com