Thomas Cruise Mapother IV.

"You're, you're crazy, man. I like you, but you're crazy."
-Frank "Old School"

Tom Cruise is synonymous with lunatic, no?  Yes.  It seems that there is a correlation between Tom's success as a movie star and the deterioration of his sanity.  True story.  Like, scientology.  Is that for real?  Xenu, space opera, auditing? What the eff' Tom.  I get that we all resort to peculiar things to find purpose to our lives.  But, scientology?  Extraterrestrials?  We've over stepped my limit on delusional, outlandish fantasies.  And you had so much potential.  You took my breath away, Maverick.  My obsession with sliding around in socks? Well it is all because of you.  And, it's true, who can resist you, Lestat?Clearly not Mimi Rogers, Nicole Kidman, nor Katie Holmes.  But in his case, the third time is indubitably not the charm.  Tommy has taken a permanent holiday to the funny farm.  Sadly.  Yet, I can't help but like him.  It must be my attraction to short men.  Well, shorter than average men.  Strange?  Completely.  Not that I fancy short men.  My inclination towards Cruise, that is strange.  I just can't help myself.  He had me at "hello".
xoxo

Bittersweet Ryans.

"Have you ever wondered if there was more to life, other than being really, really, ridiculously good looking?"
-Derek Zoolander

Chances are if you are named Ryan I have had a crush on you (first name, middle name, last name).  For Serious.  I mean, unless you are "Paul Ryan".  Which in that case, NO.  No, no, and NO.

 What is with that name?  Like, for real.  It's as though if you are blessed with that name you are destined for hotness (most of the time).  Well, at least in my experience.  I could be completely, totally, absolutely off.

Do you mean to tell me that you didn't want to go for a ride in Sebastian's vintage 1956 Jag?  Sebastian I would have taken your cruel intentions on any day.  Don't tell me you didn't want to be invited to Van Wilder's over-the-top frat party.  Van, seven-year-plan or not, I'd be your gal.  And, don't tell me you didn't want Noah to hang off a ferris wheel while begging you to go out with him.  You didn't want to jump into his arms under the rain pouring sky?  Um, yeah, my thoughts exactly.

Blake, Paulina, Eva.  I think I speak for all women out there when I say, "You effin' lucky mother chuckers".  

And it seems like the Ryans are like wine.  They just get better with age.
xoxo

Note to Husband.

"If I get married, I want to be very married"
-Audrey Hepburn

Husband.  Oh, husband.  So, let us square a little something.  You are never.  Never, ever, ever.  Did I say never?  Allowed to go away for the weekend.  Nope.  I-do-not-think-so.  Like, what were you thinking?  What was I thinking?  On a weekend with 60% chance of rain.  Are you crazy?  You must be.  I must be.  Have we forgotten I am not a pool girl?  The pool and I, we are like frenemies.  Yeah, I said it.  I HATE, okay, maybe just really dislike the pool.  Or the rain.  Or the pool.  Yeah, the pool.  Definitely the pool.  Rain drizzles, wood chips flying, muddiness,  soggy mulch, ew, not my thing.  I think the house owes me a manicure.  So, honey, no more leaving.  Okay? Got it, good!  Plus, the Ziggles and I missed you too much.  Too much.  We like you too much, nah, actually we love you.
xoxo

Drooling over Dempsey.

"Now I'm just known as McDreamy, I've lost all identity as Patrick Dempsey, I'm now McDreamy."
-Patrick Dempsey

Patrick, no worries, my obsession/admiration/love started way before you fell into the role of McDreamy.  Cupid shot me with the Dempsey arrow the first time I watched "Can't Buy Me Love" (I was ten).  Baby faced Dempsey captured my heart.  As I am sure he captured yours.  There was just a little something about that sweet face.  Nerdy boy be mine.  Then came "Loverboy".  Why wasn't he my lover boy?  Mine, mine, mine. How come I never got a pizza delivery boy that looked like that?  Apparently in the real world pizza delivery boys look nothing like Randy Bondek.  Nothing.  Reality?  Pizza delivery boys are about 10-15 pounds overweight with teen acne.  Truth.  Yes, yes, Patrick.  We all love you as Dr.Shepherd.  Yes, you are totally dreamy, McDreamy, totally.  I may or may not daydream of running my fingers through your hair.  What do you do to that hair?  Seriously.  I may or may not have daydreams of being Meredith Grey.  But in actuality I loved you way before that.  Way before.  Ronald Miller you had me at, "Cools, nerds, your side, my side, man it's all bullshit.  It's just tough enough to be yourself".  I couldn't have said it better myself, Ronald.  And, Nick Cannon what the eff' were you thinking?  Your attempt at a re-make of "Can't Buy Me Love" with "Love don't Cost a Thing" was simply a knock off-a second rate version-a Pucci not a Gucci.  And, you are right Patrick, with a face like that plastic surgery is not a necessity.  You darling are aging ever so gracefully.
xoxo

There we go again.  Perfection in a suit.  Suits.  They should be effin' mandatory.  Everywhere.  Seriously,everywhere.

Hello there, Spence.

"I have an obsessive need to be the best at everything. I even have to win at yoga"
-Spencer Hastings

It was the third grade spelling bee.  There were only two of us left.  Myself and my fellow classmate.  A third grade boy.  It was his turn.  The word was vulture.  He spelled it wrong.  I spelled it right.  I also spelled the next word correctly.  Then I heard it, barely a whisper, but I heard it.  "I can't believe I lost to a girl".  How rude!  I had always been competitive.  Always.  But, in that moment, I realized just how competitive my inner goddess was.  I basked in the glory.  I proudly carried that trophy around the entire day.  That evening the trophy even joined the family for a celebratory dinner.  And, little Miss.Perfect emerged.

Enter Spencer Hastings.  Spencer is my fictional representation.  Well, my teenage representation.  At first, I didn't want to admit it.  She's a bit bossy, a bit overbearing, a bit up-tight, a bit too competitive, a bit too perfect.  On the other hand, she is intelligent, beautiful, loyal, tenacious, and has just the right amount of sass. She's the kind of girl you want as a friend.  She's the kind of girl that would do anything and everything for the ones she loves.

Not one, but two friends mentioned the resemblance.  I didn't really see it.  Until the episode that she was having a melt-down.  The cause?  She was failing.  Her grade, a B.  It took me back.  Way, way back.  My first B ever.  I was on the verge of a full on mental break down.  There were tears, there were sobs, there was some yelling.  I made myself physically ill.  I kid you not.

As much as I wanted to be more of an Aria, Spencer is more true to my being.  What can I say, I am the girl with just the right kind of attitude.

Are there any fictional characters you would say match your personality?
Let me know who.
xoxo

Ed vs. Chuck.

"I'm Chuck Bass.  Even Europeans must know what that means."
-Chuck Bass

Ed.  Edward.  Mr. Westwick.  Whatevs.  You are undoubtedly extremely good looking.  Yes.  You are.  You may have that whole English accent (swoon), musician (swoon harder), actor thing going on.  Which, yeah, makes the ladies melt, but, you are no Chuck Bartholomew Bass.  And, like, I totally love the whole "laid-back" I don't give an eff" look (the art of not trying but absolutely succeeding).  A man in a suit, is a man in a suit.  Forget the year old man in uniform.  Embrace man in suit.  Man in suit, super bueno.  And Chuck Bass, he fills that role well.  So, sowell.  And, he is one of my favorite bad boys.  Well bad boy with a soft side.  Charming, alluring, seductive, romantic.  I think we can safely say he is one sexy mother chucker'. Am I right, or am I right?  I am effin' right. Where can I hook me a Bass? In a parallel universe, of course.  In this universe my heart belongs to a real boy.  And, in the end, there was never really a competition.  Like, Ed vs. Chuck, really?  What was I thinking.  Chuck you're the only fish in the Hudson for me.
xoxo

Today.

America.  I remember.  New York.  I remember.  

To all of the loved ones left behind.  We remember.

I can barely recall what filled my schedule two days ago.

Yet, I can vividly recall every single detail of what happened on the morning of Tuesday September 11, 2001.  Every-single-moment.  From where I was standing to every article of clothing I had on.  I was 15.  A sophomore in high school walking towards my Spanish II class.  It was an early release day and like every early release my day had been meticulously planned out.  But, in an instant all that changed.  And, on that tragic morning marked the most horrific event of my generation.  I stared.  We all stared.  Bewildered.  Young eyes locked on the television as we witnessed a tragedy unfold before our eyes.

All I could think of was the innocent people.  The people.  All of the people trapped.  The thoughts that were running through their minds. 

 The panic.  The suffering.  The sorrow.  The grief.

 Fathers.  Mothers.  Sons.  Daughters.  Brothers.  Sisters.  Lost. 

 Taken away before their time.

We will never forget.  The lives taken away.  The lives sacrificed.

My sincerest thoughts.  My warmest wishes. 

 My heart goes out to all of those whose lives were forever changed.

xoxo

Modern Day Mary-Poppins!

"I'm thinking balls are to men what purses are to women. It's just a little bag, but we feel naked in public without it"
-Carrie Bradshaw

On a good day this is what the inside of my bag looks like.  A good day.  I have to clean it out every other day.  How I accumulate so much junk is beyond me.  There are moments where I believe I am the mother of a three year old with the amount of snacks I find hidden away in the crevices.  The other day I went to take out my wallet and found that there were cookie crumbs stuck to the side.  Cookie crumbs.  Yes.  Gross.  I know.  I know.  How it got there, I haven't the slightest clue.  Obviously it isn't a "little" bag.  The husband always says, here can you carry my keys in your luggage.  Always exaggerating.  During the week my bag truly is almost like luggage, almost.  There isn't a reason I should ever wonder why my left shoulder hurts.  Ever.  The bigger the bag the bigger the obsession.
So, here is what is currently taking space in my black quilted satchel:

My blue wallet purchased at Tj Maxx for $20 bucks.  Such a Maxxinista.  A Bottle of water.  Sometimes two bottles of water when I forget I already have one.  Yeah.  That has happened.  Several times.  Hand sanitizer.  A must.  For like everything.  I even use it to disinfect my cellphone case.  Works like a charm.  Burt's bees "Milk & Honey" lotion.  Usually it is Bath and Body Works "Vanilla Bean Noel".  A Monogrammed note-pad with book mark pens (bought at Barnes & Noble, I don't recommend them, the pens, not the note-pad).  Hair clip (there are actual multiple hair accessories at any given time).  Clinique make-up pouch that carries my Burt's Bees lip balm (I live on chap stick), Stolen Kisses lip gloss by Nars, Schiap lip stick by Nars, and Benefit mascara.  The keys to the office.  BCBG Perfume.  A bag of half-eaten almonds.  A pack of trident.  Cellphone.  And a pair of Ray Bans.

As I said before.  This is on a good day.  On an every day there would probably be a muffin and a bottle of "Naked" juice.  Some receipts and three or four other types of lip stick.  It's like I'm a hoarder for all things bag.

So, tell me.  What is inside your bag?  Do you prefer smaller bags?  Big bags?  No bags?  I'd love to know!
xoxo

Oops, I did it again!

"That awkward moment when..."

Um, yeah.  Apparently, I am not that great at remembering names.  Or faces for that matter.  Not-at-all.  Sad. Let us have a moment of silence for my once stellar memory (Insert moment of silence).  I was always under the impression that I had the memory of an elephant.  Clearly, that isn't so.  Okay, so, I AM SURE this has happened to all of us.  Hopefully.  Like yeah, I am SURE it does.  Okay, let me just get it out.  So, this past Saturday the husband and I went out to dinner at 32 East (amazing food, super betchy hostess, ew, no, more like double ew).  As we finish our evening and are walking towards the exit the husband decides he must use the restroom (seriously, now? yeah).  I am already at the door and just decide to wait out front for him.  There I am standing outside the door looking absolutely fabulous as I do a little pinning.  Suddenly someone shouts out my name.  Okay, maybe not ashout.  I dunno, it was loud and in my face and left me completely startled.  This person goes, "Well, Renata Barbosa (yes, first AND last name), I can't believe it".  I look up and staring at me is a complete stranger (to me that is).  I am no stranger to him.  Stranger says, "Wow, when was the last time I saw you, 2002, 2003?".  My response, "Really?  Are you sure?  It hasn't been longer, like middle school?" (I still think he looks like the kid that sat across from me in my 8th grade science class, Dan it isn't you?).  He smiles as he looks at me confused, and says, "Loggers Run, no, definitely not".  Yeah, definitely NOT.  I didn't even go to Loggers Run.  WHO ARE YOU?   As this dude is rambling I am doing a quick but complete mental hunt as to who the eff' he is.  But, nothing, NOTHING, comes to me.  WTF! Mind you, we had a 55.5 second conversation and he really did know me.  Weird, absolutely.  I must have come off as a betch (dude, if you are reading this, I am so very sorry).  Ugh.  Oh, and this is not the first time this has happened to me.  Awkward, always.  My husband then walks out and sees me talking to this man and I can't even introduce them because I DON'T KNOW HIS NAME.  I then do what every girl would have done.  I wish him a good night and gracefully walk the eff' away as my hair flips in the wind.  Um, and, honestly, I still have absolutely no clue as to who that person was.  And, it is driving me mad.  Mad.  Dude, if you are reading this, what is your name? And how do you know me?
xoxo  

I Love Lucy.

I know I've said this before, but, honestly, there is nothing more that I love than a kid on a leash or a dog in a stroller.
-Lucy Hale

Hello, Miss. Steele.  Anastasia Steele, that is.  Seriously,  just look at her.  Big eyes-dark hair-petite, she's got the naive look nailed.  And, let's be real here.  It is much easier to just give her a pair of blue contacts than to have some blonde dye her hair.  Oh, and if you are on the Kristen Stewart train.  Jump off.  Now.  Like, this instant.  Ew.  I just can't with her.  This girl likes emotions.  That girl.  She has but one.  And, I am over it.  Though I can't be as sure of who should play Mr.Grey.  Matt Bomer, Ian Somerhalder, Matt Bomer, Ian Somerhalder...Matt Bomer? Ugh.  The indecisive mind, she's a tricky thing.  Lucy Hale is Anastasia Steele.  Okay, I may be a little biased (I heart Pretty Little Liars) and Aria she's the ish.  I adore Miss. Lucy Hale.  Standing at a whooping 5'2 she irrevocably represents, "You're little, but you're big" as Spencer would put it.  And, she would bring some depth to the whiny, demure, naive, self-absorbed pawn of Christian Grey.  The best part?  Lucy has shown interest in playing Anastasia on more than one occasion.  Um, yes, please.  Honestly, the anticipation is torture. Can we get on with the casting, jeez (in honor of Anna).  And, not the "Red Room of Pain" kind of torture, if you know what I mean.  Who are your choices for Anastasia?  Do you agree that Lucy would be "the" perfect choice?
Laters, baby.
xoxo

Smoothie, Smoothie, Smoothie Rockin' Everywhere.

"I have more healthy cravings than my normal eating habits, like I crave fruit and cold things like smoothies"
-Kourtney Kardashian

Do not get any crazy ideas.  Yes, Kourtney may have been preggers when she made that comment, but, I-am-not.  I am going to venture to say that my recent  obsession with a smoothie for every occasion has to do with the weather.  Honestly.  This heat is driving me mad.  I-cannot-take-it-any-longer.  Yeah, it may be nice to wear sandals, shorts, and sleeve-less shirts, but, enough is enough.  Who would have thought the blistering sun would have such a huge effect on my appetite.  Certainly not I.  The only thing that prevents this girl from a meal is heartache (I am not a sad binge eater) and trust me, there has been none of that.  So, it has to be because it is so elfin' hot.  All-the-time.  Which is why I crave all that is cold.  And, fresh.  So, I choose smoothies.  All flavors.  I don't discriminate.  Strawberry.  Papaya.  Pineapple.  Raspberry.  Banana.  Peach.  Mango.  Blueberry.  I've actually consumed so many blueberries I may transform into Violet Beauregarde.  And, blueberry is just not my color.  I am on a first name basis with everyone employed by Jamba Juice and every smoothie shop in my vicinity, almost. And, when I don't stop for my regular Berry Raspberry I fantasize about its icy cold goodness all afternoon.  I am even putting serious, serious thought into waking up earlier than necessary (which is not a usual occurrence) to have a smoothie for breakfast.  Okay, let me put this into perspective for you.  I-am-not-a-morning-person.  Not yesterday.  Not today.  Not ever.  Waking up with time to spare is simply not my M.O.  Eh, what can I say?  I'm an after nine kind of gal.  So, to think that I am even considering waking up before I must, is effin' HUGE.  HUGE, I tell ya.  Which is why I invite all of you to share your favorite smoothie recipes.  If it has blueberries, even better.  

xoxo

The History of Me.

"Be yourself; everyone else is already taken."
-Oscar Wilde

Here we are again.
I don't make promises I don't keep.  And, because I intend to keep it that way here are just a couple more things that will allow you to get to know me a little bit better.  I am making an attempt to stray far, far, far away from anything negative (I am trying).  So, this time around there will only be "likes".  I'm also trying to keep the word hateout of my vocabulary (I'll let you know how it goes).  And here just five more things you-just-didn't-know.

The husband and I pulled a Carrie and Big.  We did not have a wedding.  And, before you even think it, no, I absolutely DO NOT regret it.  It really isn't every little girls dream.  Trust me.  And, if it is your only dream, well, maybe you should consider an intervention.  Honestly, there are just other ways you should spend all that money.  Um, don't be upset.  I am not judging those of you who had the elaborate, fancy, let-us-show-off-to-others kind of wedding.  Really.  I am just not for that.  Plus, the only individuals who are really concerned with the happiness ofour marriage is us.  To me that is a moment too intimate to share.  Plus, we are happily married.  I've witnessed those of you who HAVE had a showy wedding cheat on your spouses (before and after the "happy" day), get divorced less than a year later, and go absolutely-devastatingly-completely broke.  But, hey, you've got some gorgeous photographs.  Thanks, but no thanks.  

I have said it before and I will say it again.  Autumn is so dear to my heart and soul.  My favorite season, ever.  Pumpkins, pumpkin spiced lattes, crisp weather, the smell of apple spice, scarves, boots, pretty leggings, good hair days, dark nail polish (not that it stops me from wearing it all year round), Thanksgiving, the mark of the commencement of the holidays.  It doesn't hurt that I was born in November.  Daddy, why is it that you didn't stay in Boston again?  Seriously.  My feet were meant to walk through burnt orange leaves.  Paradise, I am sorry, we are so over.  Take me to New England. 

Starbucks and I are like peanut butter and jelly.  Hot coffee, iced coffee, hot tea, iced tea.  After the large amounts of cash I spend there on a weekly basis I should be a platinum member.  I go there at least once a day.  It's an addiction.  It really, really, really is.  I've tried.  I've tried to stop.  But, I can't.  What is it about them?  Do they have some sort of MSG for lattes? I even forgive all the times my name is misspelled.  Speaking of Starbucks, I am beginning to have an intense craving for a venti-iced-white-chocolate-mocha.  It is about damn time they delivered.  For real.

I have zero, yes, zero tattoos.  It's not that I don't like them.  I do like them.  Just not on me.  I just can't come to terms with the idea of forever branding my body.  There isn't anything that I find belongs on my skin forever. And, even if I did it wouldn't be an object, or a picture, or a design. It would have to be a word.  And, I am yet to discover the one word that I need to be forever linked to.  Who knows, perhaps one day.  Till then, I'll keep the "tatted" up business to you.

I wanted to have been a hippie, okay, a showering hippie.  Ugh, I just can't do without showers.  And neither should you, or you, or you.  Showering is a must.  Like daily.  Not weekly.  Gross.  And that goes with all the wonderful things included in being hygienic.  But, yes, I feel like I was born to be part of a Revolution.  And, this girl, ahh, I cannot get over how beautiful she is.  Woodstock why did you happen in 1969?  Or better yet, why am I an eighties child?  All these questions and no answers (at least none that I am satisfied with).  Oh, and I am not speaking of the "wannabe" hippies of today.  Prada sunglasses, clothing that cost hundreds of dollars, and a louis vuitton bag does not make you a hippie.  What, you think that if you add a flowered crown or a wrap-around headband to the outfit daddy bought for you makes you an insta-hippie?  Not-at-all.  Tell me, which institution are you rejecting, exactly?  Pathetic.  Truly.  You are just making yourself look like a clown (we are all laughing at you).  Ugh, I told myself no negativity.  But really, I just can't stand posers.  And I won't pretend to.  But, yes, if time traveling were possible to the hippie era I'd go.

And, there you have it.  Five more pieces to the puzzle of me.
xoxo

Here is my confession.

"I have a bronze statue of myself, naked. I have these really big curls and water comes out of every curl. It's hot."
-Macy Gray

Soulful singing is where it's at, sista.  Which is why I prefer the voices of Macy Gray, India Arie, Estelle, Norah Jones, Corinne Bailey Rae, and Lauryn Hill (to name a few).  And, though it may be nice to look at Britney, we should all just admit once and for all that the girl, cannot sing.  Yeah, she's a performer, blah, blah.  I've heard it all before.  And, just like glitter nail polish, I am so over it.  My ears should not be exposed to bad singing, ever.  Neither should yours.   But, sorry they have yet to invent the "Renata's way of life pocket-guide".  I already have to deal with mundane occurrences day-to-day, my music shouldn't have to be one of them.  

Okay, back to my confession.  Because, it's obvious that this isn't really about how my musical preference is most likely better than yours.  I am feeling a little on the thankful/grateful side this a.m. and felt like I should thank the woman whose vocal melodies helped me post-break up.  Yeah, they say you shouldn't listen to depressing music when you are depressed (okay, not depressed, more like really sad) but who the eff' wants to listen to "The Macarena" when your heart has been smashed? Not I.  So, Gray, thank you.  My heart thanks you.  My family, well,having to listen to your song blaring on repeat for a good two hours at least once a month, they probably don't thank you (SORRY).   And, though I was like, I dunno, 14, every ending felt like the world was crumbling.  Again, so dramatic.  I know.  I know.  I missed my calling as an actress.

Which is why I had a playlist (you didn't?), with the most sad/depressing/I want to rip my heart out songs you can imagine.  I would sit surrounded by lavender walls, as I wrote some sad, sad, ridiculous AIM status, and let Gray erase all the hurt.  And, two hours, a phone call to my best friend and a bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream later, I was fine.  Because, let's face it, a pretty young girl is resilient.  And, we have an innate ability to move the eff' on.  But, no worries, memories, last forever, right?  Or, like Kenny Powers would say, "I've had a lot of memories in my life.  Sometimes the smaller ones get dumped to make room for the bigger ones".   And that is how the cookie crumbles.

xoxo