Just Cause

I am a person who hates an injustice.

Recently I have discovered that it has been a theme in my life. I always fight for justice. Justice in myself and justice for others, I tend to stand up for the injustice of it all. So it was recently that I remembered that I was not always just in my life.

The memory came to me upon reflection. I was in 6th grade and I remembered bullying a young red headed girl in my school. I'm not proud nor am I exactly sure why it happened, but I definitely singled her out for whatever reason. She probably pushed some of my buttons, so I decided to make her a target of my anger.

I called her ugly. Daily.
I preyed on her because I considered her to be weak.
I intimidated her with physical threats like my brother had intimidated me, and I was good at it because he was a pro at terrorizing me.

As I reflected on this memory, I remembered her face. Scared and red from crying, she tried her best to let me know she wasn't going to take it lying down. But I knew she was and I wanted it that way. And I used it against her. It didn't go on for very long, as our parents were called and discussions took place between me and my parents and it was swiftly put to an end. And again, I'm not sure why I had chosen this innocent girl to unleash my special kind of terror.

Maybe I knew I was stronger.
Maybe I decided that she would be my target because I was sick of being his.
Yet I can't get the image of her frightened face out of my mind today.

So I want to say to you, Michelle, I am deeply sorry for any pain I caused you back in 6th grade, on the play grounds of the Sheehan school. I'm sure I was sorry then, but I am certain I am very sorry now. My hope is that you have forgiven me for my adolescent angst against you and that it may bring you some perspective to share with your own children.Maybe even a nugget of wisdom.

Because there must be some justice in that...

There Are Really Some Very GOOD People In This World!

So I have spent all morning, literally since I opened my eyes, trying to deal with the HACKING of my personal email. My Guy and I were sitting at the kitchen counter having coffee when he informed me that my email had been hacked.  The Email that went out to my contacts read:

From: xxxxxxxx
Date: January 16, 2014 at 7:43:18 AM EST
To: xxxxxxxxx
Subject: Please Help!!
Reply-To: xxxxxxxxx

Good morning,
 I am writing this with tears in my eyes, My family and I made a trip to Kiev (Ukraine) unfortunately we were mugged at the park of the hotel where we stayed all cash,credit card and cell were stolen off us but luckily we still have our passports with us.
I have been to the Embassy and the Police here but they're not helping issues at all the bad news is our flight will be leaving in less than 12-hrs from now but we are having problems settling the hotel bills and the hotel manager won't let us leave until we settle the bills, I will need your help (LOAN ) financially, I promise to make the refund once we get back home. Please let me know if i can count on you and i need you to keep checking your email because it's the only way i can reach.

Thanks,
Candace Evans-Lucas
The Candy Bar
20 Church Street
Wellesley, MA 02482
781-439-5899

Candybarcosmetics.com

Oh HELL No!

I have received this email before from people and never thought much of it. Pain in the ASS hackers-so I handled it and took the necessary steps to protect my email account immediately.

But then the most amazing thing happened....

People started emailing, texting and calling me. My phone blew up! My family and friends and my Facebook friends all letting me know I had been hacked! My blogger friends, Scope, Cora, Zibsy and BeckEye all contacted me-then people outside my circle started calling. Strangers and even Frack's school teachers!!! All checking to see if we were OK.? I couldn't believe it. People that I used to work with called me , people that I didn't even know reached out to let me know that I had possibly been hacked.

The most touching came from an acquaintance I had met through my son's athletic team. He called expressing his concern. I informed him that my email had been hacked and that I was sorry for any inconvenience it may have caused him and then he told me,
"Candace, I'm glad it is not true because if it were, we would have taken the proper steps to help you."

It's people like that that make me want to squash every single hacker's fingers into a million pieces. 

Their overwhelming kindness and the fact that they could have become a victim of fraud because of me??? I couldn't bear the thought. So I have been all over the place this morning trying to report, catch, intercede and do whatever I can to ensure that my contacts know that this is a SCAM!!! I seem to have lost my address book to send a bulk email, but I'm working on that too. I have posted on every possible social media site, Facebook Twitter and Instagram and now on the Daily Dandy! My apologies if any of you are inconvenienced.

For all the bad that it caused, it sure doesn't negate the good because the good is glaringly obvious.

You Can Insert "X-Husband" Too, Ya Know.

My ex-wife started taking flying lessons about the time our divorce started and she got her license shortly before our divorce was final, later that same year. Yesterday afternoon, she narrowly escaped injury in the aircraft she was piloting when she was forced to make an emergency landing in Southern Tennessee because of bad weather. Thank God our kids were with me this weekend. The NTSB issued a preliminary report, citing pilot error: Judy was flying a single engine aircraft in IFR (instrument flight rating) conditions while only having obtained a VFR (visual flight rating) rating.  The absence of a post-crash fire was likely due to insufficient fuel on board. No one on the ground was injured. The photograph below was taken at the scene and shows the extent of damage to her aircraft. She was very lucky.

 Happy Belated Halloween!!!

I Was Just Thinking....

What is it about a cat fight?

From an early age, our mothers taught us to act "lady like". Well, most of our mothers, but it was sort of an unwritten rule that a girl should act a certain way. They told us to act demure, speak softly and if we had a point to make, to speak succinctly and assuredly, so as to get our point across. Be eloquent and make people listen to our logic, and above all always keep our emotions in check. At least in public, for one would never want to be considered one of "those girls".

With the dawn of the new Millenium, social media and reality TV, those social mores, taught by years of mothers before us, have basically gone to the dogs...or the cats, because in this day and age, it's the "cat fight" that gets the attention. By today's standards it's the squeakiest wheel that gets grea$ed, and "those girls" are fast becoming reality starlets with publicists and posse's to prove it.I'm not saying this is the way to go, either. What I am saying is that it's a fact that a cat fight translates into TV ratings and magazine covers, and why?

Take for example the Real Housewives franchise. Bravo built an entire TV network on cat fighting, bad behaving, supposed "housewives" who look to have it all and then some. But that wasn't good enough or interesting enough, and the Bravo exec's quickly realized that it was the most controversial housewives, the ones who made those cringe worthy moments happen, that the viewers really wanted to see. They wanted to talk about their bad behavior on social media sites and in blogs and fan the flames for more bad behavior.

Probably the most notorious example of a  Real Housewives cat fight moment was when controversial New Jersey housewife Theresa Guidice famously flipped a table. It was the flip heard around the world.
This clip is NSF and contains expletives.

Theresa then  went on to become even more famous with her "Fabulous" empire of cookbooks and products, and she continues to cash in on her notoriety today. Look at NeNe Leakes from Real Housewive Atlanta. She's parlayed her bad girl, no nonsense, "oh no she didn't" image into a full on Hollywood acting career.

But before the bad behavior on Housewives, there was the man who built his image and fortune on cat fights.  In 1991, a then almost unknown Jerry Springer launched "The Jerry Springer Show". I'm sure the intention of the show's original premise was good info, interviews and discussion, but it's producers soon realized that the shows about tawdry, controversial subjects were leading them to much higher ratings and bigger revenues. 22 years later, the show is simply nothing more than a cat fight boxing ring, complete with bells going off and hair weaves and wigs flying.

With topics like. "You Stole My Man and Then Had His Baby!" and "Bad Girls Oiled Up", it's just a matter of minutes before the fist-a-cuffs come out. Security is present, but they are more like the referee's in the ring, "keeping it clean". Springer even admitted in 2000 to Reuters in an interview, "I would never watch my show. I'm not interested in it. It's not aimed at me. This is just a silly show." Yet he cashes those silly checks.

Is the phenomenon of good girls gone bad enough to keep this detrimental behavior alive in the public eye? The answer remains to be seen. But one thing is for sure. I am part of the problem, not the solution. As long as I continue to watch these train wrecks happen, they will continue to produce them for my/our viewing. And I'm not quite sure how I feel about that.

Foxy Brown

EDITOR"S NOTE: Today's post is not a political endorsement of any candidate running for office or any political party. Today's post is just an observation/opinion on physical appearance and has no political agenda whatsoever.


Ok, so can we talk freely?

When did Scott Brown become so foxxy?? I'm watching my TV and I spy a Brown for Senate ad and I'm suddenly thinking. 'damn, that Scott Brown is handsome'. Of course, the ad portrays him as an everyday kind of guy who folds laundry and takes to the road to speak to the people, but I can't stop thinking that the guy is hot. Shame on me.

As a political figure, I'll keep my Scott Brown opinions to myself, but if he's speaking to a group of ladies, I'll wager that he's got ALL of their attention. I'm not sure that is a good or a bad thing, because during that speech, I'm sure 90% of those ladies aren't quite getting his whole message. Yeah, they're thinking what I was thinking and, "What was that you said again? Never mind."

It's true that Scott Brown got some mad swagger these days. Is it because he is a US Senator and he splits his time between Washington and the state of Massachusetts and has tons of photo ops with important and influential people? It can't hurt, and that's what I'm talking about here today. Physical beauty=opportunity. Shallow, but true. Now with all that attention, I have to ask the question if attention=votes? And in an election year, when the women's vote is highly respected and sought after, I wonder if Foxy Brown here has a slight advantage in the voting booth.

As my dad would say; maybe yes, maybe no.

I'd hate to think that women were that shallow.

What A Bit*h

I woke up this morning with a memory I'm not proud of. I decided to share it with you so that I may find some forgiveness for the sin I committed.

Back in the early 80's, I was a high school freshman, just beginning to feel my oats as a young, pretty girl. I was finally one of the "coolies" as my dad used to tease us, and with my new found status, I had several choices for a date to the Freshman Semi-formal dance. For some God forsaken reason, I decided to listen to my mother and let her fix me up with her friend from work's little brother who was the same age as I was. I remember the excitement that would build every time my mom assured me that "Carl" was handsome, sweet and fun. After all, his sister Marina was gorgeous, she had dark hair and I remember her big brown eyes and flawless make-up.

I told all of my friends about my special date, and how nice and handsome he was. Soon word got around about my mystery man, and my friends were curious and inquisitive. All I knew was that this guy was great, and I could hardly wait to meet him. I made arrangements to attend a pre-dance party at one of my friends home and then to drive over to the school dance with another couple. (our parents would be driving, of course) Soon the night came and I could hardly wait to meet my Prince Charming. It's funny, I don't remember the dress I was wearing, (I think it was white) or what anyone else was wearing, but I remember everything about Carl.

My heart was racing when I saw Marina's white car pull into the driveway. I waited in the kitchen and as I heard my mom answer the door and invite them in. My pulse quickened as a huge smile crept across my face. Then Carl walked in. It was as if the band in the soundtrack of my life had just played a rousting rendition of the blooper music, because Carl was nothing like I had imagined. He had dark hair, like his sister, that was perfectly coiffed in a Deney Terrio style and he was wearing a dark suit and tie, but all I saw was his NOSE. And it was that big.

My heart, the one that had been giddy with school girl anticipation, dropped into my stomach and stayed there for the rest of the night. I greeted Carl, exchanged pleasantries and we soon left for the party. I remember being PISSED. I felt like I had been duped, and what I did next I'm not proud of.

When we got to the party, I ditched Carl faster than The Flash and left him to the dogs. You see, all my friends were curious about my mystery man and so when we arrived, he was pretty popular from all angles. Everyone questioning him about this and that. But when the questions had been exhausted, Carl and his NOSE were left alone in a strange place, all alone, to sit and wonder what his sister had gotten him into.

I think I must have talked to Carl again at the party, because he left with me, but once we got to the dance, my super hero powers were working over time, because I ditched that guy quick. WHAT A BITCH. And looking back now, who the hell did I think I was? Poor Carl. I'm not sure if he had a good time or not, because I hardly saw him at all that night. I think I saw him dancing with someone, but I can't be sure. Anytime Carl came near me I jetted off in another direction and quick. And the hardest part for me to swallow is that I didn't care. I somehow felt justified for my actions, because I had been duped. WHAT A BITCH.  Poor Carl was a complete gentleman, in the five minutes of my time I granted him that evening and I was that cold-hearted, stuck up bitch I so hated.

Looking back, Carl was not bad looking at all. His nose was big, yes, but if I think hard enough, he looked exactly like a large nosed Ralph Macchio and I remember him being polite and sweet, even after I treated him like dirt. Was looks all that mattered to me at that time? I guess so. What a tragedy.

Carl, if you are reading this today I want you to know that I am sorry and that 30 years later I am still sorry for the way that I treated you. I hope that God gave you a reward for withstanding what was probably your worst date EVER and if I ever meet you again, I OWE you one. A BIG one.

Who knows? Maybe somewhere, Carl has his own blog and he's already told the story of his bitchy and horrible date. I'm sure all his readers assured him that she was just not worthy of him.

The Epilogue

Now that I've had some time to reflect on this tale and go back in time, I thought I'd wrap things up with the "where are they now" part of the story. Upon closer reflection, I realized that out of the 7 other people in this story, I no longer have a relationship with 5 of them.

K and J, my dear college friends, are still my dear friends. K and I went to undergrad together and we always had each other's backs. That night just solidified it. He caught the garter at my first wedding, and we spent a lot of time hanging out in college. We've seen the years come and go and through those years, done some crazy, fun things. His wife J, has always been my friend, but more recently she has become part of my inner circle. K and J are my peeps and I hope I never have to go through life without their friendship.

L and A, my dear local friends, are a little more complicated. Both Russian Americans, we became acquainted when our children went to the same Montessori school when they were little. Land A were never at a loss for money, ever. They were the kind of people that didn't hear the word "no" a lot and if they did, they didn't like it. We somehow became pretty close; probably because I established my boundaries early on and I think they respected that. We experienced a lot together. L and A's marriage disintegrated at precisely the same time that mine did, and talk about crazy? L and I experienced some crazy shit at the hands of our Ex Asses during the first few years. Let's just say that BOTH our boys were never really on the up and up. For all the madness, I always had a soft spot for A (and not in a sexual way) Around me, he was kind of a gentle giant. I got to know his soft side; the father who adored his children, the intelligent side (he was a successful man and had a inventor deep within his soul) and he even showed me his extensive gun collection. It was the first time I had ever seen a real gun up close, much less an AK-47, and they scared the hell out of me.

A was found dead by his girlfriend in 2007 at his summer home on Cape Cod. Police said it was a suicide, but we have our doubts, and that's all I'm going to say about that. L decided in July 2010, just before my wedding, that she no longer wanted to be my friend. We were at the Foxwoods Casino in CT celebrating my bachelorette party with several of my friends and family members. I spent the last hours of our time there with L and another friend in their hotel room, ordering room service and giggling till 3am. The next day she decided to text me to tell me that she wouldn't be coming to my wedding "after the way I had treated her that night". I was floored.. Something tells me that the date of my wedding was too inconvenient for her scheduled trip to Moscow, so she must have decided to pick a fight with me, get out of the wedding, then work it out when she came back. Her plan had one fatal flaw; she picked the wrong girl to do that to. Forgiveness is not my strong suit. What I realize now is that she did me a big favor.

Which brings me to C and T, ah yes, my neighbors who we had become very close to who were at the crux of that fateful night. C and T were always pompous. I live in a very monied community, so pompous people are a dime a dozen, and one is only interested in the next if they think you have more money than them. I suspect that is what C and T saw in us. They wanted to impress us with their summer home, their country club, their charity events, their fancy parties and gain access to my inner circle. Thing was, I liked them. They were fun and hip and they had kids the same ages as my kids. We live right down the street from one another, and we spent some time together, good times, but I never rally saw their true colors until that night.

The day after the debacle of the Ex Asses birthday, C came to my house in tears. She apologized profusely and blamed the alcohol (I hate that) and begged me to forgive her telling me she "loved me and hoped that this wouldn't effect our friendship". I don't remember exactly what I said to her, but I forgave her even though I would never forget. I never saw C nor T again, socially. Occasionally, I will see her or him drive by. I always wave and they do too. I heard they are now on to these other, ludicrously rich people in the neighborhood. Good luck to those people cuz they are going to need it. I even heard that my down on his luck, criminal, bad karma Ex Ass has been seen hanging out with them recently, which does not surprise me at all.

Which brings me to my Ex Ass. Oh My, where do I begin?That's a story for a best selling memoir and while it was happening to me, I kept repeating it like a mantra. I will tell you that the story will be written someday soon. It is one heck of a story, too. I like to think of myself as intelligent and smart; someone who has heart and compassion, but all that was called into question in 2005 when he decided he could no longer keep up the charade. It's a lesson in what happens when you believe in love only to find out that what you thought was love was really just lies. And what happens when your carefully constructed house of cards comes tumbling down.

This Phoenix rose, rest assured, and I lived to tell the story.

Part III:The Eye Of The Tiger

This is the third and final installment of the Daily Dandy trilogy entitled "Why I will never discuss politics in mixed company." As has been previously stated, all of the events described in Part I HERE, Part II HERE, and Part III today, are factual events, and I have the police reports to prove it. If you missed any of the trilogy, scroll down to the beginning and get caught up, or click on the links above. You'll need the background for what lies ahead.

"Oh no she didn't," was my first thought. "Ok, maybe I just hallucinated," was my second. Did she really just? Truth is, she did, and the instant my brain recognized her words, my foot spiked the perfect pivot and spun me around to her direction in a flash. Why is it that when evil strikes, its always preceded by a smile? Because when I walked over to Little Miss Jean Jacket, the exorcist I had hours earlier expunged, was now present and flashing a big, wide-ass toothy grin.

"Oh, you said that cuz you think we're old," I quipped sarcastically . "You're hilarious," my blood now coming to a steady, rapid boil. I then got myself good and close to her and I went there. Yup, I went where no man should ever go, and I'm not proud of it. But the Italian/Irish Catholic girl, born and raised in Beantown, not very different from the ones I've shown you in those "Boston girl" videos, reared her racist head and she spoke these fatal words:

"Listen doll, why don't you go back to Thailand or wherever it is you belong and back under the rock from where you came."

She jumped down from the stone wall and stood in front of me and said, "Really?"
My face now so close to hers, I could smell the brand of vodka she had been drinking. (Stoli) Stone faced and calm I replied, "Really..."
For the record, I think what I said was more to sting her quickly, and I admit, it was below the belt, but I don't want/like to think of myself as a racist. Anyway you look at it, what I said was wrong and it set into motion the next set of crazy events.

Little Miss Jean Jacket, clearly insulted, stepped back and sent her tightly clenched fist flying right at my vulnerable left cheek, fast. I got lucky and managed to pull back just far enough to dodge her punch, but as I was pulling back, my left hand grabbed a firm hold on the t-shirt she was wearing under the jean jacket. All is fair in love and war, because as I was dodging her punch, I pulled back further and further, taking her t-shirt with me; ripping it right off her body. I don't remember much else, because at that moment I sort of felt like I held the coveted brass ring in my hand.

I think my Ex-Ass grabbed me and pulled me away and I then saw the guys getting into the melee; both hers and ours. I saw A take a swing at what he thought was Little Miss Jean Jacket's guy, but he ended up hitting Little Miss square in the face, and A is a 6'3, big Russian dude. At this point, the rest of the group had broken the whole thing up and we each went in our separate directions. The six of us quickly continued down Boylston Street, even more incredulous than before at what had just taken place. We could not believe our luck because all night it was consistently bad. Was there a full moon tonite, we wondered? I now couldn't wait for the evening to end and to get the hell out of there and go home. No one was laughing any longer, in fact, I believe we all were in different degrees of shock.

We turned the corner onto Dalton Street and got about half way down, just in front of the multi level parking garage where our cars were parked. All of a sudden from out of nowhere, about 6 screaming Asian youths came running and screaming around the corner. It was like a bad production of West Side Story, and the Jets were clearly gunning straight for us. One of the guys yelled, "Get inside, NOW!!" which was meant for us girls because we were standing just in front of the glass doors to the entrance of the parking garage. J, L and I ran inside the glass doors and watched helplessly as the guys literally fought off the youths in the street. Needless to say there was a hell of a lot of screaming going on.

Now we were in the middle of a raucous street brawl! It turned out, that there were about 5 of them, but those three "f*cking forty year olds" were kicking some serious ass! They were each in the middle of the street, brawling and punching and I saw my Ex Ass punching one in the face and kicking another that was down on the ground.(which I later found out is a felony because in MA the foot is considered a dangerous weapon) J ran out to the middle of the street where her husband K was now on top of an Asian youth, pounding the shit out of him. She was trying to pull him off of the kid, and we then tried to pull her off of him. Quickly, the Jets started to retreat and soon, they all hobbled away, except for the one Ex Ass had kicked in the head. He was still down on the ground.

We ran for the door and took the stairs to the floor where the cars were. So we thought. There was blood and screaming and craziness still going on between us, and for the next few minutes we walked around lost. There was no logic or sanity amongst us at this point. We then heard the sirens. And the thing with the sirens was that they were suddenly getting louder and louder. I can only speak for myself, but I know that my pulse was near triple time it's flutter capacity, so panic was not far off. By some miracle, we arrived at our cars parked side by side and I watched A take a gun (none of us knew he had) out of his holster and stash it in his trunk. (incredibly, he never once pulled that weapon during the events of the evening) We stood together and debated our next move.

We were cognizant enough to realize that the police would be waiting for us down below and because there was no escape, we decided to walk down the stairs and confront our reality. Sure enough, when we got downstairs the flashing red lights were blinding. There were 3 cop cars and one ambulance, blocking the front of the garage and I saw Little Miss, standing in front of the ambulance, in her jean jacket and bra (completely visible) with an ice pack on her face. A few members of the Jets were sitting on the back of the open ambulance, ice packs in hand and bloody bandages, but the one that had been kicked by Ex-Ass was lying on a stretcher.

The police were waiting for us and two cops came directly for us, intent on keeping us a safe distance from our enemy. "You wanna tell us your version what happened here?" the cop said. All of us, now stone cold sober because adrenaline and fighting will do that to you, looked at each other and the Ex-Ass began to talk.( he was always the best liar) I then heard the cop say that this was a racially motivated incident and that the Jets were going to press assault charges on the guys and that Little Miss wanted to press charges on me.. We went forth with the, "she struck first" thing and for the next hour there was a lot of back and forth between the cops that were talking with the Jets and the cops that were talking with us. Finally, they let the Jets go, they then took the kid on the stretcher away in the ambulance and they let us go. They told us they would be contacting us tomorrow about the charges.

Who the hell knows what time it was when I reached my home, but I was never more happy to see my house than that night.

That fateful night.

What we all decided later was that all of that craziness would have NEVER transpired, had the scene with C&T in the restaurant not happened.

We never heard a word about the charges, nor heard from the cops again.

And that, my friends, is why I will NEVER discuss politics in mixed company.

Part II: Me Love You Long Time

This is Part II of a three part Daily Dandy trilogy entitled "Why I will never
discuss politics in mixed company." As I stated before, the following events are
both true and unbelievable. The further you get into the story, the harder it
will be to believe but trust me, it all happened. You don't want to miss this
one, so to read Part I, scroll town to yesterday or go HERE.

I stood alone at the picnic table, red faced and fuming, as everyone watched T&C slink out of the silent restaurant in shame. Once they were gone, all eyes turned to us, or me rather, as I had just pushed the exorcist that had momentarily invaded my body back down into submission. The volume quickly returned to the restaurant, and I sat down to ponder what the hell had just happened. I think some one of us even said, "What the hell just happened? "but I can't be sure because the adrenaline that was pumping furiously through my veins was drowning out any sounds from inside my head. All I could hear was the steady pace of my quickened pulse.

I was still shaking and so was everyone else. God love him, A grabbed the check immediately and paid it without asking questions and we got the hell outta there as soon as possible. It was spring time in Boston, which meant it was a gorgeous night, but after the events that just took place, no one was ready to go home. We decided to walk up Dalton Street to Boylston Street where there were lots of bars to choose from to try and salvage the evening. While walking, we passed by lots of watering holes until we decided on Abe and Louies, an old gentleman's kind of steak house, complete with dark oak tables and floors and red velvet upholstery seating. The bar at Abe and Louis was, and still is notorious.

We got a table and immediately the hard liquor stated flowing. Now six of us, we could talk of nothing else but the events that had taken place with T&C. Had that really just happened? We did a shot. Did they both just act that way? We did another shot. Did I just act that way in public? We did still more shots. What the heck was that? Shot after shot, the conversation kept trying to make sense out of what had happened. Several hours and several shots later, it didn't matter because we had successfully numbed any of those bad feelings from our bodies. When it was time to rise to go home, we as a group, were now comfortably blurry and grateful to have survived the night.

Little did we know we hadn't seen the half of it.

We leisurely strolled out into the mild evening, the burden clearly lifted and with a new spring in our step. As we walked back to Dalton street, where our cars were parked in the multi level garage next to The Summer Shack, we might have even been laughing; dare I say it, we were clearly enjoying ourselves. We were walking in twos on the sidewalk, and we soon passed the Rattlesnake Bar, another famous Boston watering hole with a much younger crowd. Outside the Rattlesnake sitting up on a stone wall, was a young Asian girl and her guy. They were dressed casually; she in a jean skirt, t-shirt and jean jacket and he in flip flops and ripped jeans.

They were talking really close, almost kissing and to tell you the truth, I hardly noticed them, but J did and she playfully said, as we walked by, "oh go ahead, kiss him." Little Miss Jean jacket didn't find this to be playful or funny at all because she yelled out as we passed by, "Fu*k you! Mind your own business." She then added. "What are you, like fu*kin' forty?"

It was as if the record of the sound track of my life had just audibly screeched to a halt. Her words hit me like some long painted nails down a chalkboard and I stopped dead in my tracks. Any other night, I might have quipped a snarky remark and kept going, but not this night. She picked the wrong night to mess with this group and more specifically me, because I was ready for her.

I'm not proud of what happened next. I'm not even going to try to reason that tensions were already high, so I'll just take responsibility for my actions and tell you that what happened next had to be seen to be believed.

Part 3 Tomorrow: When You're A Jet, You're A Jet All The Way.

Why I Will Never Discuss Politics In Mixed Company: Part 1

Today I'm going to tell you a story.

This story is so legendary that I'm thinking it's going to take three blog posts to complete. The subject matter so unbelievable, that I know you'll be coming back for more over the next few days. What I'm about to tell you is 100 percent true. I may color an outfit or an expletive or not remember the exact words that were used, but the facts are the facts, both true and unbelievable. I couldn't make this shit up.

This story begins 8 years ago in May 2004, back when I was married to an asshole. It was said asshole's birthday, and being the Queen of the birthday celebration that I am, I decided to mark the occasion with a proper celebration. EX-ASS's birthday falls in May and I planned a dinner out with some of our closest friends. I decided to go to a new place in Boston called Kings, which is a bowling alley with a nightclub type atmosphere. You can get drinks while you bowl and listen to music under disco balls and black lights. At the time it was waaaay cool and very busy, so the plan was to have dinner first, directly above at Jasper White's Summer Shack-a great seafood restaurant, then go down to bowl.

I had invited 3 other couples: We will call them:
K&J, very dear college friends:
L&A, very dear local friends and
C&T some new friends with whom we had become VERY close with, who lived in our neighborhood.

I invited all three couples to my home before heading into Boston for margarita's and chips and dip. It was a spectacular warm spring evening and needless to say there were a lot more margarita's going on than chips and dip. I might have even had a heavy hand with the tequila because by the time we got to the Summer Shack, we were all having a grand old time and feeling GREAT. Let me just set the scene: The Summer Shack is one of those celebrity chef restaurants with great food, but the Summer Shack has a casual, beach like atmosphere. The tables are picnic tables with table cloths and benches. Mini tin buckets are on the table tops so you can discard lobster shells and crab legs and bibs are a pre-requisite. The dress code is flip flops, t-shirts and shorts.

We, on the other hand, are all dressed to the nines. My friend L, of L&A, is a Russian and NEVER is dressed down. Casual is a dirty word in her vocabulary. Her winter boots are Christian Louboutin 7inch heels, and that night she was wearing skin tight leather from head to toe. We sat down to eat; girls on one side of the picnic benches and boys across from their spouses on the other side and immediately ordered more margarita's.

The good times were flowing. We were laughing and talking and just when you thought things couldn't get any better, someone brought up the P word. POLITICS. This was right around the time of the Iraq prisoner abuse scandal, and what transpired next is true. Whether you agree with me or not is irrelevant to the story and not something I choose to debate at this time.

These are just the facts:
I was sitting in between J and C, with L on the other side of C. J says something about the Iraq prisoner scandal like:

"You know, we don't really know what motivated the Americans to abuse those Iraqi soldiers," she said. "They could have said things about killing and torturing other American soldiers that possibly provoked the abuse."
To which C responds,"Are you kidding me? What are you a FUC*ING moron?"

The table goes silent.

Now remember, I'm sitting in between the two ladies, on one side of a picnic bench. These ladies don't know each other, having just met for the first time this evening. I could hardly believe what I just heard. As hostess, I calmly say to C, seated on my left.

"Whoa, whoa..no need to name call here, C. Calm down. We are just having a discussion and I believe J is entitled to her opinion."

To which C responds, "What? Are you a FUC*ING moron too."

I think the blood drained form my face as I then looked over at C's husband who launches into a whole, "don't tell me you are a Bush supporter, because if you are than you are a FUC*ING MORON too." J is speechless, and I let this sit for a brief moment, because I think I was in shock, when I see L, looking like a Russian Lolita, get up and walk over to T to ask him to not make a scene and ruin the night. I am now sitting between K and J and K is spewing forth all this bullshit about what a moron J is for saying what she said with her finger pointing in J's direction.

To say I was SHOCKED would be an understatement. With my face contorted into an angry expression I did not recognize, I launch into a tirade on C about how this is a free country and J is entitled to her opinion and who the hell does she think she is. Out of the corner of my eye I see T and L fighting and I hear him say, "you're a FUCKING MORON too. You're all MORONS." And with a wave of his hand he says, "Now get the fu*k outta my face."

Not a good move. At. All.

I snapped. And, like my big brother, I never snap unless provoked but get me there and it ain't going to be pretty.

Just as the table is about to erupt into some kind of ugly, fist-a-cuffs bar brawl, I stand up, completely red faced with steam coming from my ears, and I slam both of my hands down onto the table as hard as I could. The entire restaurant is now silent and all eyes are on me.

I look over at T an C and with my entire body shaking with anger and my mouth scrunched into an evil scowl I say:

"I WANT YOU TO LEAVE." I then added so that there was to be no confusion, at all. "AND I WANT YOU TO LEAVE NOOOOW!"

Not another word was spoken. No one moved, except for T&C who quietly got up from the table and left the restaurant in complete silenced shame with everyone watching.

My heart was racing and everyone was in shock. Including everyone in the restaurant.

Part II tomorrow: Just the tip of the iceberg.

Three Strikes And You're OUT!

They say the third time's a charm but sitting here today at my computer screen, wincing in pain at the slightest of movements on my left side, remind me that there is nothing charming about Tuesday night's tumble down the front stairs. Yeah, I fell down the stairs, yet again. And it wasn't a small fall. No, this one was a loud ker-thunk, ker-thunk, ker-thunk, kinda tumble that made everyone in my household appear all at once. The fact that it left me gasping for my breath notwithstanding, it took me a good 10 minutes to finally catch my breath and gain my composure enough to laugh at myself.

WTF? Am I a klutz? I wouldn't say that is generally the case. No, I trip here and there, just as much as the next guy. Forever fashion obsessed, I wear the most ridiculously high heeled shoes on a regular basis, yet I never have mishaps or falls. But I can pin point three monumental falls, down entire flights of stairs, in my life time and I was wearing either no shoes or flat shoes each time. Let's see if we can make a case for clumsiness:

THE EXHIBITS:

1. Fall 1 was at my first bachelorette party back in 1992. I was at one of Boston's most notorious night clubs; Zanzibar, with a large group of my girl friends. I know EXACTLY what I was wearing. It was late August and I was wearing a white linen, color block pant suit (quite chic, I might add. It was part of my trousseau) with simple white flats. I may or may not have been completely wasted because of the shots that people were buying for "the bride". At the entrance of the club there was a grand staircase, probably about 3 or 4 regular flights high that we had started to descend for our exit. I don't really remember what the hell happened or how it happened, but I took the entire decent on my ass, from top to bottom. The fact that I had twice the legal limit of alcohol in my bloodstream was more than likely my saving grace. The girls collected me in a pile at the bottom of the stairs and we continued to laugh, whole heatedly, for the remainder of the night. The laughter that ensued may have just been my fondest memory of the evening. I believe I still had bruises on my back on the day of my wedding. (In retrospect it was a sign of things to come, for sure)

2. Fall 2 I shared right here with you on The Daily Dandy. Fall 2 was no laughing matter, in fact Fall 2 included an ambulance ride to the hospital and a serious concussion. Read Part One here and Part Two here . Fall 2 was on a short stack of 4 stairs and I was wearing a pair of Ugg slippers at the time. It was early morning and some deadly black ice had covered my front stairs. That fall was a wake up call for me, to be aware of my footing and my surroundings at all times. It could have happened to anyone in that situation.

3. Fall 3. Tuesday night. I was upstairs with Frick, after dinner, just shooting the breeze. I left her room and went to go downstairs. I was wearing a pair of FAB True Religion bell bottomed jeans, that I wear with a kick ass pair of wedge heels. I had taken the heels off when I got home, so I think I might have tripped over the bell bottoms that were now too long, without my shoes. I did not hit my head at all. This time my ribs or my lungs took the brunt of the fall, and I toppled down directly on my side. I scared the beJesus out my family because I was gasping for air when they came running. After I composed myself, we had a good laugh, but yesterday was a big day at my store and I couldn't afford to be hurt. So I Spanxed myself up, like a brace almost, and plunged ahead all hopped up on Advil. Today I think I'll call the doctor cuz right now I don't feel any better, and maybe I might feel a little worse. I might have pushed it a bit yesterday...but it was worth it.

So you tell me bloggers...klutz or not?

Where Is Jimmy Bastard When You Need Him?

*read in a Scotish accent*

Why do Scottish men wear kilts?


Because the sheep can hear a zipper a mile away.

Got Commercial?

So I spent half of the morning searching for a STUPID commercial on YouTube that I saw about business that totally reminded me of myself. I wanted to share it with you today so that I could cheap out on a quick post and finish my year end stuff, inventory and taxes for 2012 and at least give a legit excuse for said cheap post.

Like I got nothing better to do??

Now, completely frustrated, this made me laugh so I'm posting it instead. AND I have no audio, so I have to post it then play it on my iPhone to get the audio.

And it probably wasn't worth it.

Smart Is As Stupid Does

Visit us and buy fine wine for the holidays.

So I have a confession to make. And I feel kinda bad about it because, you know, it's kinda like a "who the hell do I think I am" confession.

Quick version:
Frick had her senior pics take by a professional.(all the seniors do this) They're great and we have the disc to produce copies. Frack never brought home the order form for his school pics that were taken at the high school this fall, so I never even saw them, much less ordered them. This is the first year that this has ever happened, and to be honest, we all kind of let it go.

Fast forward to now. It's Christmas and Frick has these gorgeous, commerative senior pictures to frame and give as gifts to the grandparents and her father. Frack has none.

Enter: Catholic Guilt. Bad Mother. You name it, I deserve it.

Now, I can't have Frick giving everyone these great photos with Frack having none to give. Being the kind of person who kills herself with guilt over stupid shit like this, I panicked and called the school first thingy this am. I got the number to the company that took my son's shots and proceeded to ask the customer service rep if I could pay for a digital image to be emailed to me, or pay to overnight a package of his photos to me. And here's where the confession comes in..

The customer service rep wasn't smart. I feel awful for saying this, but she just wasn't. I mean, maybe this company is sort of "mom and pop" and maybe not, because she asked me what state I was from, but she tells me that, "because of security purposes they cannot email me a image of my son's photos". Now in this digital day and age, I'm not quite sure how this is possible, and I ask her to explain it a little further. Poor thing just couldn't and it really wasn't her fault. She just wasn't equipt with the correct information and she just wasn't articulate enough to navigate her way through this conversation.

Then she proceeds to tell me that their photo lab is closed for the holiday's and that I would not be able to access the photos until January 4th. A photo lab? I don't know about her, but I was just looking for the digital image of my son, which I would gladly pay for, and use the photo lab at Target.(where I can also buy the frame) I was not rude, I swear, but I nicely asked the flustered girl if I could speak to her supervisor, which put her in even more of a frenzied state. She put me on hold for a good 10 minutes and during that time, the guilt started to creep up my whole body.

Who the hell did I think I was? Again, I was never rude, I just kept thinking how stupid she was and herin lies the confession. I may have been talking down to her....

OMG, I was one of them....

While I was on hold, I kept thinking about how it wasn't her fault she wasn't trained properly and how I was the one in a pickle because I never ordered the photo's like I should have in the first place. The poor thing was probably in the bathroom crying or possibly going postal in the break room with the coffe pot as her weapon, and I was the catalyst. I then decided to take my own digital pictures of Frack today, in the backyard or something, which would probably be better that the school ones anyway, and I quietly hung up the phone before the supervisor could be located.

And I thought, Who the hell am I, thinking I'm all smarter than her? Shit, I do stupid stuff all the time and on some days I can sound like a complete moron, but I was blessed with a sharp tounge and a quick mind that usually gets me out of those situations right quick.

In the end, I am sure it will all turn out fine. I'm neeting Frack here this afternoon to snap some shots, and if they don't come out good, I assure you, I will be the only stupid one.

What A Twat

So I got a Twitter virus yesterday from Knucklehead. I'm sure it's not his fault, but who knew you could get a virus from Twitter?

Now I gotta worry about Tweeting viruses?? Cut it out.

It was all very cunning too. I got a notification the other day saying that my blogger buddy, Knucklehead, had tweeted some "bad stuff about you" here (web address). So, since it was the week of Jet/Pats, I'm thinking Knucklehead, a bleedin, stinking Jets sympathiser, was trash talkin My Tommy and the boys. I clicked onto it but couldn't open it, so I just left it and went on about my business.

Yesterday, I was reading some emails and I saw the notification again and I decided it was time to find out what this was all about. When I clicked the link on my computer, I saw a warning that said it could be from an "unprotected source". Since it was from someone I knew, I ignored the warning and clicked the link.

Big mistake. I still couldn't open it and it gave me some bullsh*t about how Twitter was having some issues. I, again, left the site and again went about my business. About five minutes later, my iphone started to blow up. Ping after ping of text notifications kept coming and wouldn't you know I was working with a client at the time.
"Is that your phone?" my client asked.
"Yes, it is. Excuse me for a second," I said, thinking it was one of my kids with something urgent.

It was my nephew, my other nephew, Zibsy, and a whole cadre of my Twitter followers, (I don't have very many), asking me to re-send the Tweet or asking if I had a virus. Then poor Sybil left a comment here that my Twitter account was sending her crap all day too. I spread a deadly virus unknowingly. It was news to me but evidently not to them as my nephews knew right away it was a virus hacking into my account.

MY NEPHEW: Did you mean to send me the Twitter message bout a bad blog about me or is it a virus.

CANDY: Ooooh, bad twitter virus

MY NEPHEW: That's a good one a lot of people will be dumb enough to click that lol

Ha ha, yeah, I was one of them DUMB people.

Later, I was able to log onto to Twitter and Tweet that I had a virus and that I was so sorry. Again, Who knew? Not me. I hardly use my Twitter as it's mainly for The Candy Bar.

Bottom line, I'm super sorry I'm a SUCKER and I hacked your accounts, unknowingly.

I'm sure Knucklehead's sorry too.

You Get What You Pay For

I learned my lesson but good this weekend. When it comes to razors, the old adage is true; you get what you pay for.

Frick asked me to get her some razors, so being the stellar mother that I am, I bought her the cheapest, bagged up by three's, pastel colored, piece of shit disposable razors I could find. You know, the kind you would buy because you think that $12-15 dollars is too much to spend on a razor for you teen aged daughter. I figured, what the heck, she's just shaving her legs, and I remember having those razors in my high school gym bag when I was her age.

What I forgot was that when I was her age, we didn't have better disposable razor options like we do today. I was under the impression that a razor is a razor any way you slice your fricken skin when you are shaving. I somehow forgot that razor companies were built on quality so much so that they now own major sports stadiums in cities where 3 time Super Bowl champions play and sexy MVP quarterbacks showcase their superior skills. How could I have forgotten?

You see, Frick is waaay to smart for me. She immediately poo-poohed the cheap razors I bought her and went straight into my bathroom and took my Gillette Venus razor. (a razor so important that it's ad campaign is built around the goddess that is JLo)

I thought, "whatever" and happily took the cheapy, pretty razors up to my shower. No big whoop, I decided, a razor is a razor.

Herin lies my problem. I was DEAD wrong.

Now, shame on me cuz this ain't my first time at the "shaving" rodeo. I've been shaving this body for over 30 years, and yes it hasn't always been a cake walk. Somewhere along the way I must have learned this lesson and I guess that's why I have the Venus razor, but I must have forgot. Armed with my new razors I took to the showers.

First try, I nicked BOTH my arm pits, (and that fricken hurts) and one ankle.

Next day, I re-injured the arm pit scab, and I won't even tell you what other parts of my body now have nicks and cuts. (Holy crap! that hurts)

Ooooh nooooo, I learned my lesson here. Never again will I buy cheap razors to shave my tender, sensitive skin. Never. If it's the last $20 bucks in my wallet, it's going to a quality razor because now I know better. The new dog, Frick, taught the old dog, mom, new tricks, and she was right.

You get what you pay for in the razor department and I've got the nicks and cuts to prove it.

Mean Old Mrs. Reeves

I had this third grade teacher who was just plain old mean. I'll never forget the bitch because I think my eight year old self might have taught her a lesson.

She was the kind of teacher that yelled...a lot. We were petrified of her and if she was nice to you, you strove to keep things that way. Nobody wanted to be on Mrs. Reeves' bad side. She was teaching us our multiplication times tables and she would shout out randomly, "Candy, what is 5 times 6?" She gave you all of two seconds and if you didn't know the answer in a mili-second she would ask someone else. I swear, I still can't call those multiplication times tables to mind quickly because I was traumatized by her back then.

Well, the end of school came and it was the second to last day of school. We had field day, when all the classes competed against each other for ribbons in stuff like the egg toss and tug of war. I think it rained on our field day, because it was in the school gym. We were in a single line, passing by the library for our treat, a big m&m cookie, when I tripped over my untied shoe lace and skinned my knee.

Mrs. Reeves, being the bitch that she was, yelled at me and sent me to the nurse for a band-aid and told me in an exasperated manner that she would get my cookie and put it on my desk. Off I went to the nurse who gave me some TLC and a band-aid and I was sent on my way. When I returned to the classroom, everyone was laughing and sharing in a celebration with punch and cookies. There was no cookie on my desk. So I went up to Mrs. Reeves and quietly asked her if she had gotten me a cookie.

For whatever reason this set her off, and she hailed a barrage of screaming at me that literally caused wind burn on my face. I was mortified, embarrassed and pissed off at this injustice. And I was fed up with her. She told me to go sit at my desk and as I walked over to my chair, instead of sitting, I slammed the chair as hard as I could into the desk and I took off!!

Eight years old and I was free!!! Free of that rotten bitch Mrs. Reeves and free out the door of the school. I was going home. I wasn't going to take her abuse for one more second. I think I might have been laughing as I ran up the street towards home, but I felt good knowing that I had taken a stand against mean old Mrs. Reeves.

I kept going, triumphant in my quest to get home, until I saw our school Principal's car pull up beside me. Now if you think Mrs. Reeves was a bitch, then Ms. Hadelski was Osama Bin Laden and I knew I was screwed. Panicked, I began to run faster but she caught up to me, except she wasn't mean at all. In fact, she was nice. She told me that we needed to talk and that she would love to give me a ride back to school.

So I went with her, all the while, talking. She was calm and clear and not at all threatening. But I was ready for her and old Reeves, fists clenched. When we got back to school, I sat in her office while, get this, Hadelski got me a cookie and some punch. She never called my mom and I got into no trouble. She told me I didn't have to go back into my classroom if I didn't want to and I didn't want to.

When school was over, I went home on the school bus and awaited my punishment because by now I figured my mom had been called. But she never said a word. How could this be? My mom never brought it up and neither did I. I went reluctantly back to school, the last day and Reeves was waiting for me when I got there like a predator waiting for her prey. She took me out into the corridor and began yelling at me about how dangerous my behavior was, blah, blah blah. She asked me if I had told my mother about what happened, and I was silent. I think I was paralyzed with fear because I couldn't speak, but what that bitch did next was unforgivable.

She grabbed me by the arm, hard, and began demanding that I answer her. All I could feel was pain in my arm from where she was squeezing me, and instinctively I kicked her as hard as I could in the shin, multiple times, until she released my arm. At this time other teachers in other classrooms came out to see what the commotion was in the hallway and there we were, standing with heaving breath and red faces looking at each other.

Reeves went back into the classroom and so did I. She never came near me again, and the rest of the day went peacefully. I was kind of a celebrity with the boys and I enjoyed a pleasant last day of school. I thought for sure I would be in trouble when I got home, but my mom never said a word about it. They never told her.

Looking back, I think I know why. Reeves was an abusive teacher and she had been a problem throughout the year, and not just with me. I think I was the only one to stand up to her, me in all my eight year old bravado. I never saw Mrs. Reeves again, but I will never forget her.

I'm sure some where in the depths of her mind she will never forget me either. I took a stand against her abuse and she messed with the wrong kid.

Of that, I am certain.

The Lies That Bind

"Any story sounds true until someone tells the other side and sets the record straight" Proverbs 18:17

Lies.

They mess with your head and your life and when you live with lies, the lines between truth and falsehood become blurred. Somewhere along the way the lie becomes a truth to the one who tells it. It's a commitment both powerful and pathetic and like a drug you need to tell more to keep it going. The truth so terrifying, the lie must be given new life. It is in that commitment that the liar finds solace, comfort and conviction in the lie that is now their reality.

Now it looks like a truth.
Now it sounds like a truth.
So if it looks and sounds like a truth, then it must be the truth. Right?

Wrong.

It's still a lie and a bigger, fatter lie at that, more destructive than a plague as it eats away at your soul.

Don't be fooled by the fool. The fool makes bad choices and continues to tell you lies to save face. Like the sage gypsy once said, "In a previous life the fool gave you up to the enemy to save himself."

Lucky for me, I survived. I am stronger than the enemy, the fool and a lie.

If you digest the deception and believe, you are doomed. It's that simple. Karma is a pit bull and it will come back to bite you. So if you take the bait, knowing all that you know, you are deserving of the destruction. As pathetic as he and living in the wake of the lying destruction. Don't say I didn't warn you. It is here in print.

Good luck.

You will most certainly need it.

The Queen Of Quandary

I am the Queen of Quandary. Somehow, someway, I usually find myself backed into a difficult situation that I have no idea how to get out of. How did I get myself there? I usually try to make every one happy, which by now I should know, never works and usually ends up in a shi* storm.

I entered into that shi* storm today and here I am trying my best to climb out of it. What do you do when you try to fit a square peg into a round hole?? The quandary here, is that I offered a job to someone, who out of loyalty, squeezed me into their busy schedule. Then, just before the job was about to begin, I found someone who had no schedule constraints. Now what do I do???

I know that the original person was actually squeezing me in out of loyalty, and that the other person is perfect for the job and has no schedule conflicts. Here's where I FAIL as a person and an employer. I don't want to rumple any feathers, yet I don't need both people. Somebody has to go, and I feel terrible.

Long story short, I left it up to both players to figure it out, like a coward would do, and now I have a bigger shi* storm than when I started, and too many people to do a one man job. What the HELL is wrong with me? I've now got to fix this problem I created.

SO bloggers, you think you got the answer? What would you do?

Flatulence Is Funny

Just so you think I am not a complete crackpot, I'm going to explain my entire thought process this morning. I was originally going to blog about this commercial that I saw last night that made me chuckle. The commercial was about some giant in a supermarket, so I go to YouTube and search with the key words: Funny commercial, giant, supermarket.

Somehow, this commercial came up under the heading, "Funniest Commercial Ever". Of course I clicked on it.

I actually had to watch it a few times because I was laughing so hard I missed some of the best dialogue.

I apologize for my sophomoric mentality, but this one really made me laugh. I love it when that happens....