StatisticalOutlier

I have to hand it to her for going on the Slip'N Slide. I know almost nothing about her, but she didn't seem like the type to do that.

Sorry to burst your bubble, but it's being counted, whether you watch it on cable or satellite or internet. It's my impression that the only way to get around it is to have a satellite receiver that is never connected to a phone line or internet connection, so there's no way for the data to be transferred back to the mothership And actually, the TVs themselves are doing it now, not just the cable and satellite companies, so even over-the-air channels aren't safe. The website said the outfit Muffyn didn't envy was by "Lover's & Friends." It's actually "Lovers + Friends." Maybe they can shift that apostrophe over to where it says "Envy by Melissa Gorga is a fashionistas dream come true." I noticed the $110 doesn't include the matching shorts. Not that I'd want it to.

Oh, I agree. I just thought it was interesting that there was a practical reason for not thanking one's servants even though it always seemed kind of rude to me. But I've never had someone who I pay to do things for me constantly. And in Bethenny's case, if I were Kevin I would prefer that she do a little more looking down on me and a lot less confiding in me. That man is earning his salary.

I saw a thing on PBS once, probably in connection with their shows like Downton Abbey, where they were explaining relationships between people and their servants. It seems a lot of us commoners think it's rude that they never say "thank you" to their servants, but it was explained that if they said "thank you" for everything the servant did it would get kind of ridiculous, so they just went with the never-say-thank-you scheme. I don't think that means Bethenny isn't an asshole, though.

Great minds think alike! Just minutes ago I told Mr. Outlier that I should change my screen name to Pedantic One. I find the people who post here to be so incredibly literate and well spoken (written?), especially compared to the rest of the internet. So you may have a point--if WE can't be bothered to use the correct words, then there's definitely no hope for the people on reality TV.

The appearance of such is, which was popularized in porn. This is why Brazilian waxes/laser are the norm. Come on, folks. Vaginas are on the inside and are naturally hairless. But that's not to say Jules doesn't want her actual vagina to be like a 16 year old's. Hey--maybe she got it right that once. Maybe that's what made Michael stray. A correction, and only because someone reported in the Botched forum, after seeing a patient do it on the show, that sticking straws up your nostrils does make it easier to breathe, and I therefore believe PTV can be a great source of unintended education...a living will is the one that says whether you want to be kept alive via artificial means; it has nothing to do with a last will and testament. I now kind of wonder if Bethenny understood the difference when she fell apart at the mere mention--if she thought it had to do with her money instead of life-and-death decisions.

In the OC's defense (!), I assume they're using the words correctly. Saying "vagina" when referring to either a "uterus" or "vulva" is the same as saying "penis" when referring to a "testicle." It's just wrong, and I'm kind of pissed off that women do this. No man would ever bash his testicle and say he'd hurt his penis, and that's even though they're both on the outside, right there next to each other; we somehow manage to keep those straight. But Jules bashes her outside and says she injured her inside (and that plastic surgeon agrees!). And Bethenny is relocating her fibroids from inside an organ to an orifice. Think for just one second, Bethenny (if you can shut up that long): If fibroids were vaginal problems, you wouldn't need to be cut open to have them removed. And I'm still waiting for Jules to explain how she used her phone to take the photos of her vagina. (And...I'm old so I'm not scared of pubic hair, but Jules is young (just ask her) and I wonder if those photos of not-her-vagina have the pre-pubescent look that is popular these days. Ew.) Like you, delicatedee, I'd like to hear less of all of it, but if they are going to use these words, they should at least use them correctly. (I notice with relief that the PTV recaps have improved in this respect.)

Jules didn't do anything to her vagina.

You won't even have to actually use it. Just see if he reacts to the tape measure like a vampire does to a cross. If he does, subtract two inches.

I met Mr. Outlier online in 1998, on a site called matchmaker.com, which I don't even know if it's still in existence. We're coming up on 18 years. One thing I liked about that site was that it was more local than match.com. I didn't want a long-distance relationship, and it turned out Mr. O lived about 5 miles from me. We both had very wordy profiles and it was clear that we had both read each other's thoroughly before communicating. My photo was of me in the first grade; his was from his Malibu Grand Prix driver's license. Not exactly Tinder material, from what I gather. We corresponded via email (lengthy ones) for about 3 weeks before ever meeting; our first phone call (this was before texting) was to set up meeting at the putt-putt course in an hour (it was at night, but we needed to wait for the thunderstorm to pass before going out with long metal sticks). We hit it off and extended it by going to dinner. I was in contact with probably over 100 people, from what I remember (some of which I initiated), and went on just a few dates before meeting him. A bad one was with a man who had a very high "match" score or whatever it is. We met for lunch and it was no fun--sitting there looking at someone is just too much pressure, and that's from someone who was once described (by a friend!) as a lifetime .500 talker. About halfway through, the guy revealed something that would need a lot of overcoming not to be a deal-breaker, and I think I didn't do a very good job of hiding that. I learned not to give much credence to any sort of "match" score, and to use my gut instead. I met a few others, usually to go skating or mountainbike riding, or to come out to the lake if I was going to be out there. Always some sort of activity to make it easy to be together. I don't know if it was self-selection, or just the way things were back then, but I got only a few messages that only said, "Let's meet" or whatever. I responded to every single one, though, just to be polite. And sometimes that was hard, like when, in spite of my saying I didn't want kids and I didn't want to deal with anyone else's kids, one guy kept insisting his kids were great and I should reconsider my position. Or to get rid of the men who were much older than I was, and didn't seem to exhibit anything that indicated they would be a good fit for someone who had just turned 41 other than their claim that they looked and felt much younger than they were. I finally changed my age range to 36-40 just to try to keep the maximum age down to below 60. That became a little awkward when I met Mr. Outlier and he looked about 12. It turned out I was 10 years older than him, and that was fine with him. At first I resented these geezers stereotypically going after much younger women, but then I realized that this was the ONE place you could totally specify what you want, so why not? If you're 60 and want a woman in her 30s, go for it. I guess. All that said, I can't imagine trying to attempt online dating these days. I'm more of an 84 Charing Cross Road type, not a Tinder swiper, and it's really rare to find that in a man, even ones who are as old as I am. But I'm grateful for what being online gave me. There's no way in a million worlds that Mr. Outlier and I would have crossed paths. And I'm not naive enough to think he's the only one for me on the planet, but he's a good one and I'm very happy to have him. That has got to be a first. Check his shoes for lifts.

WTFuckery indeed. I think they did show them briefly unblurred, as a reflection in the mirror when she first saw them, but then went to blurring them. And what they did show didn't look 3D to me (what is 3D tattooing, anyway--massive layers of ink piled up?), but I have a crummy old TV. Hmm...maybe those of us with old TVs should be able to sign a waiver with the networks that allows us to see things unblurred because our TVs do it for us. Yes. The lesson is that saving your life is not worth it if you're not going to have good boobs. They took a little bit of rib for use in restructuring her nose, so presumably they wanted to check that incision for healing, too. My recollection is that she had her shirt off for the consultation as well, because I remember wondering why that was. Then during the surgery they said something about taking part of the rib, and I thought that must have had something to do with it, but then wondered what exactly they needed to examine on the rib, from the outside, during the consultation. I guess they couldn't just assume she had ribs?

I can't find the post, but I recall that a nurse upthread reported a similar injury on a six-year-old girl, from crawling through a window. Other people have noted that in NYC, it's not uncommon to go through windows to get to fire escapes and the like, maybe to smoke a cigarette. It's Bethenny who's going to be in the hospital for three days. Jules had her brother? brother-in-law? take her to the E.R.; Michael was in the Hamptons and not returning her calls. I assume Jules went home after the E.R. visit, and she said Michael got home later, at something like 8:30.

No, but perhaps that's because it's not her vagina that was injured. Or if it was her vagina that was injured, I would like to know how she got her phone up in there for the photos.

So imagine my surprise when I was riding my bike around Columbus, Indiana. I went down a street to try to peek at the Miller house and saw a house with a swimming pool and no fence. It had a low-ish hedge, and no gate on the walkway into the back yard with the pool. See if this google image works: https://www.google.com/maps/@39.2263688,-85.9226324,3a,75y,311.72h,77.47t/data=!3m6!1e1!3m4!1s67btwiIEW1yw8m7A6Eb4Lg!2e0!7i13312!8i6656 This is a very nice neighborhood, and I just can't believe the owner is leaving himself open to that kind of liability. Or the heartache if a kid drowns in your unfenced pool.

I thought Jews avoided writing "God" and did "G-d" instead. I mean, this is someone who plunged her hands in an ice bucket after touching shrimp. Also, that pillow wasn't even all that stained. I've known women with fibroids who passed clots that looked like chunks of liver. Back in the day, a very good friend was giving a talk about transmission of the AIDS virus as a pool of blood formed around her feet. That pillow looked more like someone had gotten back on the teeth flossing train after a layoff and then drooled. My beef with Bethenny is that people who aren't familiar with fibroids are going to see this and get the wrong impression. Millions of women have fibroids. Fibroids don't turn into cancer, and there's no reason to even treat them if you can live with the symptoms. And a living will? FFS. There will be one among the rest of the paperwork when you check in to the hospital--just sign it then; no need to enlist the National Archives to get yours. And her comment about how alone she was, that she didn't have any siblings. Bethenny of all people should know that just because you're related doesn't mean you're connected, so she can take that out of her quiver of "woe is me"s. I can't believe she has no friends. Well, of course I can believe it, but I really doubt even she literally doesn't have any friends. And even if she doesn't, she has a staff that is paid to care about her, if for no other reason than they want to keep their jobs. If she needs an agent for health care decisions, appoint Kevin; when I had my fibroids treated, I appointed my boyfriend of three years as my agent and I guarantee you he knew less about me and my girly problems and opinions on sustaining life than Kevin knows about Bethenny and hers. Bethenny may have many sadnesses in her life, but she needs some perspective. How about single mothers with no father in the picture and a true worry about what would happen to her children if she died. Or a woman whose job won't allow her to take six weeks off to recover, or whose insurance deductible is a bankruptcy-inducing $10,000. Money doesn't solve everything (rich people have problems, too), but it can go a long, long way toward making things more manageable. She's actually lucky that she's facing a very common and relatively small problem with a lot of resources. She should shut up.

What does it say that my first thought was fentanyl lollipop?

If the pal and I are on a Real Housewives show, then I think the latitude is there. It may actually reach the level of obligation. Why not? I think it's stupid, but is it harmful?

Off-topic tidbit: About 15 years ago, Tito Beveridge (his real last name!) brought some vodka over to a non-profit I was working at for an auction. He was really handsome.

An apt reference, because some liquor laws are relics of prohibition. In Colorado, the only beer you can buy at grocery stores is 3.2. Well, except a grocery chain can have ONE location in the state that sells full-strength beer. WTF? As you'd expect, the major grocery chains want to change the law. Also in the mix is the craft beer industry. Some people claim the current law makes it easier for craft beer to get into retail because they don't have to have the distribution necessary to serve large grocery chains, and other people worry that allowing craft beers to be sold in grocery stores will harm "mom & pop" liquor stores. As usual, many competing interests at play. A bill was passed that would allow for a 20-year phase-out of the restrictions on full-strength beer in grocery stores--in a state where marijuana is legal. But the governor, who himself founded a craft brewery, hasn't signed the bill. I hate that I can't pump my own gas in New Jersey or Oregon. When I'm in Portland, if I'm planning to cross the border to Vancouver, Washington, I try to do it with an empty tank so I can fill it up myself over there. I can't stand sitting helplessly in my car while someone inefficiently moves among four cars he's filling up. My pump clicks off and I sit and sit and sit. It drives me insane. I'll admit that in really terrible weather I've been almost glad somebody else pumped it for me, but I actually feel sorry for the guy and regardless, it's nowhere near enough of a benefit to make up for all the other times I would have vastly preferred just to do it myself.

I'm rethinking my childhood. I not only learned Indian style for sitting cross-legged, but my science teacher in junior high once said (apropos of what I can't imagine) "Indian underwear--you know, it creeps up on you." Then again, it was Texas.

I found the "official" video of that song on youtube and I actually prefer the version on GN. Something about the gray outfits, maybe.

I've seen Jockey for women at Kohl's. If you find them, buy 30. You'll thank yourself later.

Well that's just crazy. :-)

Do you mean lotus like the feet are on top of the legs, or Indian style where the feet are under the knees? If it's Indian style, I'm doing it right now, sitting on a dinette bench. I also do it in the chair I read or watch TV in. I know it's terrible for my joints and circulation, but even when I try to sit normal, before I know it, my legs have curled themselves up without my realizing it. For some reason it's more comfortable for me, even though sometimes if I've been sitting long enough, I'm almost crippled when I try to get up.

Enough with Bridget and her "go ahead and"s. She always does it, but today when making cinnamon rolls it seemed like a lot even for her. So I re-watched and she said "gonna go ahead and..." THIRTEEN TIMES. Well, actually eleven times; two of those times were "I've gone ahead and..." I can't take it.