I love going to my dad and stepmom’s country club. They have awesome events from seasonal wine tastings to summer volleyball to Sunday barbeques. The thing is, we don’t fit in. We don’t have money and it shows. We drive our dented, wheezing, on-its-last-breath car into the vast parking lot and the valets smile politely because they have to, but you know they’re thinking, “What is it, coupon day?”
Since I haven’t lost my baby weight yet, and I was 25 pounds overweight before I even got pregnant, my wardrobe is sadly lacking. At the country club, the men can dress for golf, but the women are stylish and iced up. I was wearing my Old Navy long orange maternity sundress with my Indian embroidered tunic from a Santa Barbara beach street fair, and flip-flops. We made the very embarrassing to my father mistake of walking through the main building to the outdoor area, because I’d never entered the club any other way. The looks on the faces of the people having appetizers in the bar area said it all: FAUX PAS.
When we arrived, my sister and her friend from college were dressed appropriately. She in a cute little cocktail number with heels, and he in a suit, jacket off, with a brightly colored button down. Odie and I looked like we were… well, dressed for a day at the pool – which we were. But we forgot we were dressing for the COUNTRY CLUB pool. My sister Brooke grew up coming to this place and she has an ease about her while there that I will never have. She does, however, have bright blue hair. She rocks.
I don’t feel bad that I crashed a child’s party on the lawn because I wanted my daughter to be able to run around on the grass. It’s not like I ate their food, jumped in their bouncy house, or invaded the petting zoo. Maybe I have no class compared to these people, no 10 carat diamond tennis bracelet to remind me of my affair with my tennis instructor, but so be it. Baby V had a wonderful time swimming and chasing after other children. The children didn’t seem to notice her onesie was from Target.
Next time I’ll pull on a nice dress and some strappy sandals, so I don’t embarrass my father. We’ll come in through the back service entrance. And I’ll have a very strong martini.
The Friendly Pedant by Mrs. Odie 
Why We Want Lindsay Lohan to Rot in Jail
The first thing I did this morning was turn on the TV to see if Lindsay Lohan was going to surrender to jail, or if my girl Judge Marsha Revel was going to send the squad cars after her. To my disappointment, Lindsay showed up to court. It goes beyond Schadenfreude. This entitled little spoiled bitch got trashed out of her mind, then kidnapped two innocent people while hijacking their car, and chased after someone she was mad at. I swear, I think it was her assistant’s mother and the reason was probably “She was talking shit about me.”
I work with teenagers as a high school teacher and 98.4% of the time their fights stem from “so-and-so said shit about me” or “about my mother,” and so on. One of my favorite conversations in the assistant principal’s office after a fight went like this:
Angry kid: “He called my mother a fucking bitch!”
Assistant Principal: “IS your mother a ‘fucking bitch’?”
Kid: “NO!”
Assistant Principal: “Then go back to class.”
But I digress.
I hate Lindsay Lohan because I live in Los Angeles and it could me MY family that druggy, drunk asshole kills. When Nicole Ritchie was arrested for driving the wrong way on the 134 freeway in Burbank because she’d gotten stoned and popped a Vicodin, my heart fell into my stomach because I drive that section of the freeway all the time and so do people I love. This isn’t just spoiled rich teenagers destroying themselves, which I’m all for. When they get behind the wheels of cars, it becomes personal.
I love Judge Marsha. In 2002 I served on a jury and she was my judge. She loved the show “Monk” and loved to talk about it with the bailiff and the court reporter during breaks. Even then, we jurors speculated she was wearing a wig, but didn’t know why. My guess was alopecia, but some jurors thought maybe she was a Hasidic Jew. Give us a break – we weren’t allowed to discuss the details of the case and we had to spend a LOT of time together.
She sure put Lindsay in her place, I’ll tall ya.
The biggest reason I hate Lindsay Lohan is because she reminds me of those “the rules don’t apply to me because I’m so pretty and sexy” girls I went to junior high and high school with. The ones who tortured me because it was FUN for them. Usually they did get away with more than the rest of us because they’d bat their pretty little eyes at the ones in charge. They were, and according to high school reunion pictures on Facebook still ARE, genetically blessed and they think it gives them license to be mean and treat others like servants. Lindsay Lohan is their queen.
Well, enjoy the clink, your majesty. I hope you like the food.
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