A few months back, I wrote about the explosion of plastic surgeries among my peer group. In the post I mentioned my first cousins, Libs and Woze, whom, in this arena at least, are much more liberated than I. Rightly so, my hilarious and beloved cuzs have caught the imagination of at least one of my readers.
As children, there were four of us: Woze, the eldest; Libs, nine months her junior; me, six months later, and John, six months behind me. We four spent many days and nights together at my grandparents’ house. As the elder princesses, Libs and Woze were always in charge. John and I were the young rebels. When he and I were nineteen, John was killed in a car accident.
In losing my compatriot, I became the younger sibling in the ongoing Libs and Woze battle for influence. Libs and Woze call me “Granola Girl.” The fact that I actually like to camp, occasionally wear Birkenstocks, and chose to live four hours from Buckhead drives them crazy. If I’m granola, they are clotted cream. These are the women who, when they walk around their ritzy Buckhead neighborhood, actually wear their rhinestone tiaras. Woze drives a red Porsche Boxster and Libs’ new baby is a Maltipoo puppy named Sophie, whom I’m betting already has a personalized Kate Spade carrying case.
Libs and Woze have been inseparable pretty much forever. They lived together after college, have both dated the same guy (though not at the same time) and since being married have lived within about a mile of each other. And as much as they drive me nuts, and as different as they are from me (they’re convinced I’m adopted), I adore them.
When Enviro-spouse and I were married, we were lucky enough to have our rehearsal dinner at Aspen’s exclusive Caribou Club (my celeb connections–sort of). The Caribou Club is just the kind of place that Libs and Woze adore. They found a big, beautifully upholstered sofa in the middle of the club, sat down, glasses of wine in hand, and held court. They then decided that they should start a talk show, set in the Caribou Club, called, “Come on Over, ‘Cause We’re Not Getting Up.” Oprah’s got nothing on these chicks.
I e-mailed Libs and Woze and asked if they’d consider writing the occasional guest blog for me. Their replies:
Woze: I don’t think I understand blogging, but I can always try. I guess I’ll need a new outfit for it.”
The Glenn family motto on the coat of arms that hangs in my living room reads, “Ad Astra.” However, I’m considering having it updated to Libs’ and Woze’s more contemporary motto: “No sense in doing something yourself if you can pay someone else to do it for you.”
Their other favorite saying? Payback is hell. I’m ready and waiting.
Sounds like you were born into the right family:
http://www.ad-astra.org/.
Hoo boy, this is going to be good. Okay, Woze, for openers: What SIZE Birkenstocks?
Did you ever read “Cherry” by Mary Karr?
Ash’s Dad
You’re right, Ash! Although I seem to be the only sci fi geek the Glenn family has produced (I guess John Glenn counts, although I don’t think he’s a direct relative). Ash, call your Dad and talk him through getting his own profile set up.
Hoss, are you offering to buy Birks for Woze. That would be soooooo great.
No, AD, haven’t read “Cherry.” Should I?
It’s Edgy. There is a sister involved. I thought of you.
Ohhhh- I love the prospects. I just love the names! I would like to hear some first hand accounts of adventures in plastic surgery. More, more, more please.
This has the makings of a book.
I want to meet these ladies, they sound like my type of ladies!
Oh, Eddo, you would love these girls.
Good work, AD, on the profile. No more potential anonymity. So, do you have two profiles now? “Dad” on Ash’s blog and “Ash’s Dad” on everyone else’s? What if you want to comment with a blogger who doesn’t know Ash?
Good point. I’ll have to work that out. I’m proud to be Ash’s Dad so I’m thinkin’ I’ll stick with that.
You should be, AD. He’s a great guy–smart, sweet, supportive–and doesn’t let me get away with too much.