Bitter Patter

Thanks for all your great comments on
the one-year anniversary of
I CAN'T BELIEVE I'M NOT BITTER®!

When I'm not writing blogs, I sometimes actually cook.
I also drink wine. (A girl does not live by martinis alone.)
So, I'm happy to direct you to a great new blog about food and wine
to help you eat better and not become bitter:
grapesandgreens.blogspot.com

DID YOU KNOW?
Puppy Mama & Daddy
have decided what to call their precious pooch.
Click on Name That Puppy! Then scroll down to the last comment.

One-Word
Movie Reviews:
Hurt Locker: "Nerve-wracking"
Ghost Writer: "Engrossing"
A Single Man: "Poignant"
Julie & Julia: "Delicious!"
Whatever Works: "Doesn't."
Paris: "Magnifique!"

Go to "Welcome to My Blog" under MENU
to leave a comment about anything in
BITTER PATTER.

I CAN'T BELIEVE I'M NOT BITTER®
is a registered trademark of
Pat Fortunato

Upcoming Articles

COMING SOON:

A Special "Encore"
Post In Time For
St. Patrick's Day —
MEN IN SHIRTS:
The Short Version

WATCH YOUR LANGUAGE!
Ladies and Gentlemen,
I say inaccurately,
your vocabulary is in the toilet!

MULTI TASKING:
The Saga Continues
By A Guest Blogger
To Be Announced

Pat's Favorites

The Letter You Can't Refuse
FIREWORKS 'R US
Nothing Is Simple: Wedding Bell Blues
With A Thong In My Heart
Decorating Disaster: It's Curtains For Me!
MY LIFE ON POST-ITS
My Night At The Pussy Cat Lounge
Yo, Universe!
Oh! You're Supposed To Toss COINS!
Life By Lottery
Men In Skirts
I've Lost It! (AKA Law and Disorder)

My Friends

Woman around town

Bill McCay

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Sat

Jun

2009

THE LUV GUVS

Written by Pat Fortunato

Governors: What the hell is up??

Let me rephrase that: Why are governors all over America running around like rabbits in heat, and why are they not even smart enough to cover their tracks?

Right here in the Empire State, we had Elliott Spitzer. Or someone had him. Whatever. The press had a ball with this story: articles in the Post and News used every pun and innuendo known to man, including the line that Spitzer refuses to disclose his position on prostitutes. And even though he was never all that lovable to begin with, he’ll always be the LUV GUV to me.

And now we have Mark Sanford down there in South Carolina, or someplace south, the man who couldn't decide where to say he was when he went missing for a week. Pick a continent, any continent! You gotta have a story first before you say I'm sticking to it.

Okay, the guy fell in love. I know this for a fact because David Brooks said so. On PBS! And we all know that being in love makes you act in weird and mysterious ways. If you’re lucky, you yourself have had a What-Was I-Thinking moment or two—all in the name of love.

But stop! (And where is Diana Ross when we need her?) These people are elected officials. Other people, citizens who actually gave a damn, went into to their polling places and pulled a lever or poked a chad for them. So not for nothin’, but shouldn’t they at the very least have enough self control to avoid Gallivanting Governor Syndrome, affectionately known as GAGS . . .

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I Wanna Wear White!

Written by Pat Fortunato

Will it ever be summer this year? I mean real summer, as in wear-white-pants-summer? Sandals-even-at-night summer? You-dont-even-care-that-your-arms-are-bare summer? Don’t know. So far, it’s been “unseasonably cool,” as the weatherpersons like to say. What's cool about it, I say. As for the amount of rain we've had in June: when you start to see animals going two by two down Fifth Avenue, you know you're in trouble.

Weeks ago, I took out all my summer clothes and laid them on the bed. It’s a big bed. My goal was to sort them out, hang them up, and move the winter stuff to the other closet.

The task was so daunting (it seems I have more summer clothes than winter clothes, which makes no sense), that I gave up, took the stuff off the bed and put it all into shopping bags. I figured that I would go back to sorting it out when the weather got warmer, it stoppped raining, or the clutter made me crazy— whichever came first. Guess which.

But with the clothes out of the bags, I discovered that I have seven pairs of white pants. Yes, seven. And I can rationalize this in a heartbeat.

Of course, women can rationalize anything when it comes to their wardrobes . . .

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Nothing Is Simple: Wedding Bell Blues

Written by Pat Fortunato

I just got an e-mail, The ABCs of Living Well, the letter S standing for "Seek Simplicity.” Oh yeah? Listen closely. Seek all you want, my lovelies, nothing is simple.

As you may know, I got married after living with my guy for 19 years. (Confessions Of An Encore Bride) I wasn’t afraid of marriage (hey, I really know this man), but I was afraid of the . . . wedding.

Be afraid, be very afraid.
At a time when spending thousands on flowers is not considered unusual and you are expected to have a virtual coronation —an engagement party, a rehearsal party, bachelor (and bachelorette) parties, an elaborate reception, an after-the wedding breakfast — I got hives just thinking about it. You are pressured to have the best wedding dress ever seen on this or any other continent, and must orchestrate an affair that rivals the royal wedding of Princess Diana. And, may she rest in peace, we know how well that turned out.

I did get a great dress! Not a white, full length gown (What do I look like, the virgin bride?), but this fabulous silvery sheath dress and beautiful short jacket from Teri Jon. And, you won’t believe this, but I got it first shot out of the box on a day that Lord & Taylor was giving away coupons. With free alterations! This had to be an omen that everything else would go along just as easily.

As you probably guessed, it wasn't . . .

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Petites Are NOT Skinny Bitches!

Written by Pat Fortunato

Ladies of the View, listen up. You said that stores are catering more and more to small women, AKA “skinny bitches,” and are phasing out bigger sizes.

Oh yeah? Well, first of all, smaller women, AKA petites, are not all “skinny bitches!” Maybe you have us confused with the size 0’s in Juicy Couture: but that’s not what being small means to most of us. Petite sizes go up to 14, so we’re not necessarily thin, just, you know, not very tall. Okay, short. Or my personal favorite, Vertically Challenged.

Whatever you call us, we’re mad as hell at department stores
After I heard on the View that small sizes were in, I went directly to Saks, the only rational thing for a girl to do. But not so fast, Shorty! The space on the 9th floor that used to be the Petite Department is now Plus Sizes. I realize that larger ladies deserve their own place to shop, but isn’t there room for us petites? A little room? We don’t take up very much space.

And yet, Petite Departments all over are closing faster than you can bing Behar or Walters, “bing” being the new google, in case anyone wants to know.

And even if you're not petite yourself, surely you know and love someone who is tiny. Someone who — before the advent of Petite Departments — had a very deep and meaningful relationship with her tailor, when she much preferred that cute guy in Human Resources.

The thing about tailors is . . .

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Is Archie Marrying For Money?

Written by Pat Fortunato

After nearly 70 years of noncomittment (an impressive record even for an American male), Archie Andrews finally chose between the two cartoon characters in his life, Betty Cooper and Veronica Lodge. Fortunately, he is a cartoon character himself, or this would be a truly weird story. But Archie's picking Veronica over Betty took many of us by surprise, and inquiring minds want to know what's up. We wonder if it might have anything to do with Veronica's millions.
I have a personal interest in all of this . . .

When I was in book publishing, my partner (a blonde) and I (a natural brunette) were known as Betty & Veronica. The great comic artist Dan De Carlo, who drew many of the Archie Comics, autographed this drawing of “us,” which we proudly displayed in our office.

Then, when the business was sold, I grabbed the picture (being Veronica, and all), and it now hangs in my den, a few feet away from where I’m sitting. When someone visited the other day, I pointed it out, but instead of being suitably impressed, he wanted to know if I was the “bad” one. The brunette, you see, is never the "good" one. . .

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