Ring Shout Out and Martha's Towels

Dear Jen,

While every good DomestiGal must obviously pray to the gods that are Martha Stewart, I must say one thing.

Are her towels funky? Or is it just her towels that are sold in Target that are funky? It certainly can't be that my hands and other body parts are absurdly dirty. I'm staying with friends right now in San Francisco, and we've been discussing (and using!) her towels. For some reason, we've all experienced them getting randomly bleached and color-funky after a few times of using them. It's a bit peculiar, but surely more people other than New Yorkers and San Franners have noticed this?

Anyway, back to a more important matter at hand: Inaugural Wedding Fabulosity Fest! Most excellent idea, Jen, specifically because I could go on and on about Colin Firth and/or Mr. Darcy though they don't have abs that extend from here to England like our joint boyfriend, Michael Phelps.

Ahem. Jen -- I fear we (i.e. "mwe") might both have to put the kabosh on Michael Phelps' references... perhaps we'll leave it up to our DomestiGal readers to elect the newest DomestiGal boy crush.

Ladies? Any nominations?

Now, while I've tried to ignore my darling friend Jen's comment that my Potential Partnership Rings reminded her of ones she used to wear in middle school, I would like to send a shout-out to Kathryn, Bekah, Bayjb, Renee (Renee -- I love Etsy, especially Shoda Design), Tiffany, Blablovers and Jamie Lovely for commenting on their favorite rings and my peculiarly tiny Asian fingers. (Never fear ladies -- these hands can still tickle the ivories of pianos like every other good Asian gal's!)

But, alas, I do tend to really doubt my taste. And here's the perfect example why.

This afternoon, while taking a lovely walk in Dolores Park here in the Mission District of San Francisco...


Photo Courtesy Parkopolis

I asked my friend, Bill, for his secret coffee recipe. He practically rolled into the street with laughter. "Sue," he said, "In 35 years, no one has *ever* told me that they liked my coffee, and I trust that no one will ever tell me that again. The secret, my dear friend, is Folgers."

FOLGERS?



How pathetic did I feel?!! Why do I go around buying tasty, organic, expensive brands like Trader Joe's, Mud, etc., when I like a basic coffee that's been commercial and in every American household since the 19th century?

This is why I simply can't trust my taste in rings. I'm going to have to let The Doctor decide after all. And, yes, I'll probably be wearing a ring at your wedding, Jen, while doing the pastoral prayer. (Damn, I so hoped to be knocked up with a bastard child while marrying you to The Lawyer).

I'm going to go join the Folger's Wakin' Up Club and throw out my Triple Threat Espresso now. :(

Love,

Sue

A Michael Moment

Sigh. Just - sigh...

Fabulous cover shot courtesy of Sports Illustrated and - in poster size! - Fine Art Limited

Ah yes, now that's what I'm talkin' about!

Sue, please do not bring poor, sweet, innocent, Alltime Olympian Michael Phelps into your discussions about sex toys. Until they make one in his likeness, that is.

Also, is it me or is he not wearing pants in this photo? AMAZING. Maybe I should order one of these posters for my dorm room?

(Yes, you heard me correctly: dorm room. But that's fodder for another post... especially since I'm still in denial about the fact that I will be sharing a kitchen with my fellow nerdy grad students in less than a month! Ack!)

Love,

Jen

Who is the Smokingest Olympic Hottie?

Dear Sue,

This is rather a sad day, no? The Olympics are ending, which means it will be four more looong years before we are once again able to so easily gaze upon the vast torso of Michael Phelps. Sigh.

Indeed, the only thing bringing me comfort and solace today is anticipating the improvements in television technology - I mean HD is so great, imagine how crisp the swimmers' abs will be in four years! That, and the fact that I will finally be able to get a full night's sleep again. Are you as Olympically sleep-deprived as I am?

Before we bid the games a final adieu, I would like to ask you and our fabulous readers a very important question:

Who is the smokingest of the Olympic hotties?

For your consideration, I obviously must submit Michael Phelps. While he may not be classically handsome, he is humble, well-spoken, and an overall cutie patootie.

But I must also nominate Ryan Lochte (next to Phelps up there) for our Smokingest Olympic Hottie Award (or SOHA, obv). 

I also think that other guy with the bare chest should be considered (sorry, Unisuit Guy, but we can't include everyone).

I'm not sure who else has been generating hottie buzz in the US, but here in the UK there are these two hunky rowers who are bringing bling back to Britain, Mark Hunter and Zac Purchase:

Who else are we feelin', ladies? Or has Michael Phelps just swum away with all of our hearts? Who will bring home the SOHA?

Sue, eager to hear your thoughts. Gals, leave your votes in our comments section! 

Adieu,

Jen

This is about YOU, Sue.

Oh Sue,

I do not even know where to start with you.

First of all, please tell me you only forgot to blog about your anniversary, but that you did in fact remember to celebrate it with your beloved. And if you did forget to wish him a happy anniversary, I don't want to know. I mean I have been planning The Lawyer's second anniversary present since, like, the week before our first. But this is not about me.

Also, you got the correct season and year of our wedding, but the wrong month, my dear. Not that I am prepared to spill our actual date into the blogosphere, as I fear the sans-ring-jinx-potential, but I just want to make sure you are properly preggo at the right time.

Aha! Bet you thought the vision of you with The Good Doctor's spawn in your womb and no wedding ring on your finger presiding over my dream nuptials would scandalize me! Alas, no.

What is slightly unnerving, however, is that it seems you and Jewish George are starting to veer in quite different directions when it comes to turning the DP into a big M. I thought you were both cool with being in a post office worker-sanctioned Domestic Partnership. I mean, you're like my token alternafriend. All my other friends are or want to get married. I need someone in my life who adds a little diversity (and I don't just mean your half-Asian hotness).

But this is not about me. I just want to make sure that you are continuing to be true to yourfabself and that the lines of communication between you and Save-the-Children-Man are open and functioning as efficiently as Michael Phelps' freestyle.

I have enough things in my life to worry about right now, from starting my MBA to picking out wedding favors. Please do not add to the load.

(Not that this is about me.)

Love to you,

Jen

Confronting the Pap - as in Smear, not Arazzi

Dearest DP,

First of all, I must clarify the following: I would not qualify my crush on Michael Phelps (and possibly Channing Tatum, and, okay, Colin Firth too) as adulteress! Or even adulterous! Crushes are healthy. They keep life interesting. Besides, you should feast your eyes upon The Lawyer these days. Colossus has him looking waaaaay hot. So. Just wanted to clear that up, you pheisty Phelps phanatic you!

Now then. In the interest of TMI, I would like to fill you in on how I spent my morning (now that Mr. Phelps is no longer gracing our big screen TV with his mile-long abs).  Today marked my first foray into the world of British private healthcare.  'Twas time for my annual physical, so now that I am a dependent on the Lawyer's Insurance of Dreams (For real! Everything gets reimbursed! It's so much better than the crap insurance I had when I was actually employed.) I made an appointment at a local private clinic.

Going to a private doctor in the UK is like going to a hot tapas restaurant (and apparently much more palatable than the alternative: the National Health Service). You pick and choose from their menu of services, each of which comes with its own hefty price tag.  Today, besides the usual dishes, it was necessary for me to indulge in a pap smear, which - I was rather gobsmacked to discover - was conducted by the general practitioner himself. Um, awkward! 

My doctor was perfectly nice - very British, very proper. His wedding ring shone handsomely on his ring finger. He was wearing a gorgeous bespoke suit with a pink and blue striped tie. His office had big windows and a beautiful fireplace, with nice art on the walls. I felt like I was in his living room. Pretty darn swankified.

Also in his office? The examination table. 

Dr. Proper took my family history, checked my height, weight, blood pressure, and listened to my chest. Then he left the room as I dropped my pants and put the loveliest, softest towel over my legs. Upon his return, I spread 'em as he requested, and the deed was done swiftly. No stirrups (woohoo!).

But still. I am a little weirded out by this, you know? I miss the linoleum floors, fluorescent lights, paper gowns, and general sterility - both literal and figurative - of my NYC gyn's office. I felt bad for having to drop trou in the middle of this guy's gorge digs. He seemed fine with it, but afterwards I had to fight the urge to apologize for exposing myself to his collection of ancient Roman coins and plush furniture.  Not to mention sullying the silky-soft Egyptian cotton towel. 

Still feeling a bit sheepish, but I know I'll recover. Maybe I'll go watch some creepy stalkerish vids of Michael Phelps on YouTube. Not that I would know how to find them.

Love from papland,

DG

Michael and Me and our Adulteress Crushes

Dear Jen,

Well, since The Doctor is currently out of town, I guess it's okay for me to talk about Me and Michael Phelps. Apparently we're not the only gals talking about him and whether or not he has a girlfriend!

Check out this site here:

They include comments from girls that include "We love you Michael!" to "Dude, that guy needs his teeth fixed." (Damn the girl who wrote this!) Then, of course my favorite comment was the following: "I do not understand how Michael Phelps can be straight. He is too deep and has too much soul to be a straight man. I find it hard to believe this. The straight press at the begging of American girls and young women with their pants on fire will provide lots of smoke to satisfy them in their heat, but I wonder if Michael isn't gay."

Um, I love gay men assuming all good looking guys are gay. Actually, I must admit that here in NYC I tend to think, "Gay until proven straight." But that's another posting.

Regardless, let's take a DomestiGals moment to watch him and this Michael Phelps Sexy Tribute, courtesy YouTube. (DomestiGals Disclaimer: We are tres anti-exploiting people for their looks since people always exploit us for our own sexiness; however, we are keen observers of human anatomy, which is why we watch this video on repeat with a tall glass of milk)



Jen. I have a burning question. Is Michael Phelps sexier than Colossus, your personal trainer? Or is it a hot and heavy competition??

Just a few more hours before my Domestic Partner gets home; until then, I'll be pretending to swim in my bathtub while watching all the Michael Phelps music videos that have come out in the last week. "Accidentally in Love" may or may not be one of my favorites. But shhhh... don't tell anyone.



xx,
Sue

5 Reasons to Marry Michael Phelps

Sue,

You and I may be happily off the market, but for all the Domestic Divas and Domestic Bachelorettes oozing fabulosity out there in the blogosphere, I have a proposition. Nay, a plea.

Please, please, one of you - find, date, and marry Michael Phelps!

Watching the Beijing Olympics has been inspiring and moving on many levels. Perhaps chief among them is witnessing the Olympic idol that is Michael Phelps, and daydreaming about eating Nutella off his torso.

Sigh.

Ok, so his ears stick out a bit and apparently he's a little awkward on land due to his innate fishiness, but here are the five reasons that he is super dreamy Olympic husband material:

5. Considering his penchant for gold medals, he clearly appreciates bling. Bodes well for an engagement ring, wedding band, and assorted anniversary gifts, no?

4. And hello endorsements! This guy will be rollin' in the dough after these Olympics. Snag him now, so he'll know to put some of that money away for your Ring of Dreams. And what a ring it will be! (See reason 5 above.)

3. How cute is he with his mom and sisters in the stands? Beware of his mama's boy potential, of course, but he clearly appreciates fabulous women.

2. One (aforementioned) word: torso.

and the Number One reason to marry Michael Phleps:

1. He is the greatest swimmer and Olympian of all time, and truly seems like a nice guy to boot. Need I say more?

Get on it, ladies! And please keep us posted on the conquest. I'll supply the Nutella.

xoxo,

Jen