I am mad fresh. I know it. And, unlike most people, I know exactly why. How did I get to this place of absolute awesomeness, you ask… With the help of Mr. Big’s possibly senile grandma.
Mr. Big’s mother came over before Christmas and was talking to us about what all of the plans were as far as where we to be and when. Then she got a very serious look on her face and said “Please, no matter what you get, please act excited. Your grandmother is very old and is going rather nuts. I went shopping with her the other day and noticed that she got like 5 huge jars of pickles. I think she intends on giving them as presents. So, if you open a jar of pickles, please thank her and act very excited.” By this point, I am rolling on the floor laughing. FINALLY! It was Mr. Big’s family that was insane, not mine! Just like the little old lady in Christmas Vacation who wrapped up her cat and a Jell-O mold, she was going to wrap up random things from around her house and give them as gifts!
So we get to her house and settle in. After the dog finished humping my head (seriously, they have a 100 pound lab. I had to sit on the floor and he took a liking to me. What was bad is I was like “Aw, Jack you are so sweet” while trying to push him off of me and his grandpa says “You have a way with dogs, he really has taken a liking to you.”) we all got ready to open our presents. I watched, trying to hold in my giggles, as Big opened his gift. If I am lyin I am dyin, he got a carton of Marlboros and a huge jar of pickles. After we exchanged glances, it was my turn to open my gift. Realizing it wasn’t very heavy, I was thankful in knowing I wouldn’t have to pretend to adore pickles (they make me want to die just thinking about them). I opened my box and pulled out what I thought was a muumuu. Just when I started to plan out a response like “man I ADORE muumuus!” or “Who has time to wear real clothes, anyway?” I realized it was in fact, a house coat.
A lovely pink and white floral house coat.
Sadly, at the age of 26, I loved it! I could see on Mr. Big’s mom’s face she thought I was just playing along, but in fact, I wanted one!
Because I am bringing the house coat back.
You can bring back sexy all you want, Justin, but I am bringing back true sexiness. What is sexier than an article of clothing that can cover everything up and doesn’t even have to be worn with anything under it?
Just ask my neighbors…I let the dogs out in the back yard every morning, wearing my house coat. I know they have all seen me. I bet I am that person that everyone talks about over dinner. “Did you see that crazy girl over there in that get up? I wish she would put some damn clothes on!”
Usually these items are reserved for old women, but I think it is time the younger generation takes it back! Why can’t we just jump out of bed and pretend we are wearing a trench coat…all FBI style? Why can’t we enjoy the freedom of a garment that you don’t even have to wear underwear with? Loyal readers…the time is now! Take back the forgotten robe of hotness. Oh, I wear mine all the time. I don’t know how Mr. Big can keep his hands off of me!
So, if you are looking to be just as stylish as your girl here…pop on a stylin house coat, waltz out into the back yard…and just know that you are the hottest thing around for miles! (Except for old Mrs. Jones down the block. From here it looks like hers is neon green polka dotted. You go Mrs. Jones!)
**I would like to thank my girl Boo for inspiring me to tell my story of my love of house coats..
Check out her etsy page for awesome cuffs, hats and anything else badass she knits up! (and she has an awesome mohawk. I bet she would look fab in a house coat!)
http://seebooknit.etsy.com
Friday, August 1, 2008
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Meet My Dogs! and **Check Out My Sale**
Let me preface this by saying…I work at a doggie daycare, so I get to see hundreds of different dog owners every week. Plus, I am a dog owner myself. I have two furry little critters that run my house and think they own me.
Let’s face it, us dog people are crazy! What other type of person goes around talking about balls, and anal glands, and carries bags around to pick up poop with. I have two dogs, Won-Ton, a chow mix and Skeeter, a dachshund mix. Won-Ton is a lover of everyone, and Skeeter is a momma’s boy with a severe hatred of his dad, Mr. Biggs.
My dog knows that when his dad pisses him off the best revenge is to poop in his aquarium room, right in front of the tank. It never fails. That right there, is pure genius. Forget helping the blind, opening doors for me, or fetching a beer, my dog knows revenge. Sometimes I wonder what my dogs are actually thinking…and saying about me when I am not around. Call me crazy all you want. I think that if he knows what to do when he is angry, I am sure they sit around and talk trash when I am at work…
Skeeter – “Did you see that big one I laid in dad’s room last night? That will teach him to tease me with the last Doritos!”
Won-Ton – “Dude, you keep doing that and he will keep blaming his farts on you.”
Skeet – “That’s true. Man does he have some bad ones! What does he eat! I can’t see what mom sees in him!”
Won – “Hey, don’t complain! The kibble has gotten a lot better since we moved here…and the backyard is always full of rabbits!”
Skeet – “Plus we have that crazy cat to chase! “
Won – “Man, that cat is full of crap. Did you see how it chewed up mom’s shoe and acted like we did it! I am going to bite it in the ass the next time it comes out from under that bed!”
Skeet – “And it gets to sleep in the bed while we have to sleep down here on the couch. That is pure BS.”
Won – “Oh God, there they go again!”
Skeet – “I know! They get my balls taken off…but no, not dad!”
Won – “Hey, I feel you! I know, let’s go mess with them!”
Skeet – “OK! I will put my cold nose on dad’s butt, and you jump on the bed and get in mom’s hair; she hates that!”
Dad – “WOAHHH!!!!”
Can you tell that Mr. Biggs is none to fond of the pups sometimes? I think with opposable thumbs, Skeeter could take over the world…
Let’s face it, us dog people are crazy! What other type of person goes around talking about balls, and anal glands, and carries bags around to pick up poop with. I have two dogs, Won-Ton, a chow mix and Skeeter, a dachshund mix. Won-Ton is a lover of everyone, and Skeeter is a momma’s boy with a severe hatred of his dad, Mr. Biggs.
My dog knows that when his dad pisses him off the best revenge is to poop in his aquarium room, right in front of the tank. It never fails. That right there, is pure genius. Forget helping the blind, opening doors for me, or fetching a beer, my dog knows revenge. Sometimes I wonder what my dogs are actually thinking…and saying about me when I am not around. Call me crazy all you want. I think that if he knows what to do when he is angry, I am sure they sit around and talk trash when I am at work…
Skeeter – “Did you see that big one I laid in dad’s room last night? That will teach him to tease me with the last Doritos!”
Won-Ton – “Dude, you keep doing that and he will keep blaming his farts on you.”
Skeet – “That’s true. Man does he have some bad ones! What does he eat! I can’t see what mom sees in him!”
Won – “Hey, don’t complain! The kibble has gotten a lot better since we moved here…and the backyard is always full of rabbits!”
Skeet – “Plus we have that crazy cat to chase! “
Won – “Man, that cat is full of crap. Did you see how it chewed up mom’s shoe and acted like we did it! I am going to bite it in the ass the next time it comes out from under that bed!”
Skeet – “And it gets to sleep in the bed while we have to sleep down here on the couch. That is pure BS.”
Won – “Oh God, there they go again!”
Skeet – “I know! They get my balls taken off…but no, not dad!”
Won – “Hey, I feel you! I know, let’s go mess with them!”
Skeet – “OK! I will put my cold nose on dad’s butt, and you jump on the bed and get in mom’s hair; she hates that!”
Dad – “WOAHHH!!!!”
Can you tell that Mr. Biggs is none to fond of the pups sometimes? I think with opposable thumbs, Skeeter could take over the world…
Moe-Skeeter
Won-Ton
On another note...I am having a huge sale in my store! Buy 4 items or more and get 20% off! Also, there are tons of items I just marked for clearance...these are available at a huge savings!
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Road Rage, and Why I Should Never Be Behind the Wheel
When I was younger I loved to drive everywhere. If mom needed some milk (more realistically, if mom needed a diet coke) from the store, I was off in a hurry to go cruise around and get it for her. Mind you, I grew up in a small little town (that just yesterday got alcohol…woohoo) so it wasn’t like I had a lot to do. I would drive by ex’s houses to see who was there (stalker), I would cruise through the McDonald’s parking lot, and basically just waste gas (which wasn’t a big deal then seeing as how it was 80 cent a gallon).
Now, I hate to drive. I hate it with a passion. It isn’t because I have a hoop-ride (piece of junk car) because my car is pretty tight. It isn’t because the air conditioning is broke, because it is working just fine. And it isn’t even the cost of gas that has me cringing at the thought of getting behind the wheel (I hate lots of other things and people because of gas).
I have road rage.
When I get behind the wheel, it seems as if everyone else on the road slows down about 10 miles per hour…especially when I am late. I find myself yelling at them. I yell at them from my own car, with the windows up, because I am not such a bad ass that I would get out and beat someone down (or get beat down myself). I am actually, pretty much a weenie.
If there were a secret camera in my car, like on reality shows…this is what they would see.
**All the while I am on and off of the cell phone…I get lonely when I drive J
Someone stops COMPLETELY to make a right handed turn – “Yeah, that’s it! Stop all the way! Don’t wanna flip that Buick there Granny!” (No matter the age, everyone in my way is Granny or Grandpa.)
Someone pulls out in front of me – I stay on their butt with a mean look on my face (cause they can really see that…) for at least a mile. “Yeah, didn’t see me huh! I am back here!!! Hellloooo! Hi!”
Someone pulls out in front of me then turns off not half a mile later – I do all the previous then flip out ten times worse when they go to turn (usually without giving a turn signal) “Yeah, you would do that! Jackass! You just own the road!”
Someone turns suddenly with no turn signal – “Nice signal there jackass!!!!”
Someone is in the fast lane while going slow – “Move it gramps! Fast lane means GO FAST! Don’t make me push you down the road!!! Move it over!!! You are lucky my car isn’t bigger. I would run over you!”
Two cars going the same speed are riding beside each other and you can’t pass – Ride the butt of one car then move to the other lane and ride the butt of that car. Repeat this and yell “MOVE!!!” repeatedly until you exit comes up and you eventually slow down and get off.
**Lets not forget all the times I lay on the horn. I do that a lot. And I drive a Honda, so the horn is this little pathetic foreign deal. I need one of those air horns. That would scare the hell out of someone… (Puts on shopping list)
So, as you can see, I hate to drive. It is entirely too much pressure! I don’t see other people in their cars yelling and about to have a spasm because someone cut them off. Maybe it is just me…
So if you ever see a crazy person in the car behind you, shaking nervously, screaming, throwing up hand signals (hopfully not gang ones) and acting a complete mess, don’t get mad at them. Just move over, while using your blinker and speeding up. This person is most likely just afflicted with road rage (or some other serious ailment that might need psychiatric medicine)….and would probably just like you out of their **effing** way.
Now, I hate to drive. I hate it with a passion. It isn’t because I have a hoop-ride (piece of junk car) because my car is pretty tight. It isn’t because the air conditioning is broke, because it is working just fine. And it isn’t even the cost of gas that has me cringing at the thought of getting behind the wheel (I hate lots of other things and people because of gas).
I have road rage.
When I get behind the wheel, it seems as if everyone else on the road slows down about 10 miles per hour…especially when I am late. I find myself yelling at them. I yell at them from my own car, with the windows up, because I am not such a bad ass that I would get out and beat someone down (or get beat down myself). I am actually, pretty much a weenie.
If there were a secret camera in my car, like on reality shows…this is what they would see.
**All the while I am on and off of the cell phone…I get lonely when I drive J
Someone stops COMPLETELY to make a right handed turn – “Yeah, that’s it! Stop all the way! Don’t wanna flip that Buick there Granny!” (No matter the age, everyone in my way is Granny or Grandpa.)
Someone pulls out in front of me – I stay on their butt with a mean look on my face (cause they can really see that…) for at least a mile. “Yeah, didn’t see me huh! I am back here!!! Hellloooo! Hi!”
Someone pulls out in front of me then turns off not half a mile later – I do all the previous then flip out ten times worse when they go to turn (usually without giving a turn signal) “Yeah, you would do that! Jackass! You just own the road!”
Someone turns suddenly with no turn signal – “Nice signal there jackass!!!!”
Someone is in the fast lane while going slow – “Move it gramps! Fast lane means GO FAST! Don’t make me push you down the road!!! Move it over!!! You are lucky my car isn’t bigger. I would run over you!”
Two cars going the same speed are riding beside each other and you can’t pass – Ride the butt of one car then move to the other lane and ride the butt of that car. Repeat this and yell “MOVE!!!” repeatedly until you exit comes up and you eventually slow down and get off.
**Lets not forget all the times I lay on the horn. I do that a lot. And I drive a Honda, so the horn is this little pathetic foreign deal. I need one of those air horns. That would scare the hell out of someone… (Puts on shopping list)
So, as you can see, I hate to drive. It is entirely too much pressure! I don’t see other people in their cars yelling and about to have a spasm because someone cut them off. Maybe it is just me…
So if you ever see a crazy person in the car behind you, shaking nervously, screaming, throwing up hand signals (hopfully not gang ones) and acting a complete mess, don’t get mad at them. Just move over, while using your blinker and speeding up. This person is most likely just afflicted with road rage (or some other serious ailment that might need psychiatric medicine)….and would probably just like you out of their **effing** way.
Monday, July 28, 2008
Skank TV, Tonight at 10...and Why I am A Reality TV Whore
As the funny lady that I believe I am, you all probably think that I spend my free time throwing out banana peels and wait for people to slip, poking squirrels to see if they will pee themselves, and spitting on people from high buildings. But I don’t. I spend all (and I mean all) of my free time, sitting in my jimmies, on the couch, watching bad reality TV, and yelling at the top of my lungs, because all the characters can totally hear me. I have all my shows mapped out during the week that I have to watch. If Mr. Big changes it to some “sitcom” I freak out. I just don’t have enough time in my viewing schedule!
Oh and how he hates to watch “my shows” with me. I act as if I know all the moral-less heathens. “Oh my God, are you KIDDING ME! He was just all over Destiny and now his hand is up your shirt!” Seriously, I need help.
I love reality TV because where else do you get to see such a variety of insanity and promiscuity in one place?
The Ever-So-Clueless Advocate of a Cause
They are always there, wearing the T-Shirt of the new “IT” cause. Weather it be PETA, Jesus, or Lesbian Mother’s Who Are Against Red Dye #5, they always feel the need to preach their cause to those not willing to listen, who could totally care less, which make for an awesome freaking fight!
The Much Too Old to Be Here Person
This is a favorite of mine. This person isn’t really that much older than everyone else, but for some reason all the other people want to talk about how they should be in a home somewhere wearing adult diapers. This person is always completely trying to act much younger than their age and always has a look of shock and awe when someone around them shows off their new vagina piercing while dancing nude on the pole. This person always get kicked off with the note of “they were so sweet, but just not at the same place as me”…when in reality said person was younger than the person who kicked them off.
The Porn Star
I don’t care what show you are watching there is ALWAYS a person who does porn! And they always lie about it like “No, I am a serious actress”. And I am like “No, you seriously have sex on camera for money.” And they are so shocked when someone finds out and it is the topic for the whole show. I mean if you have sex on camera, that is all well and good, but don’t be shocked when someone sees it; that was the whole reason you got paid for it…unless you are a prostitute, and that is a whole different reality show character all together.
The Wanna-Be Musician
Ever season, not matter the show, there is someone there who is willing to kiss, or whatever, with anyone as long as someone listens to their demo. This wouldn’t be so funny but this person always sucks, hardcore. So really it is more of an embarrassment than anything else!
The Sloppy Drunk
Always in full force, this person came on the show for free booze. They have a drink in their hand for each episode, no matter what is going on. Always a riot when this person has a misunderstanding with one of the other skanks. This person pukes, on the regular. This person also finds a way to stick around for quite a while, just so everyone else understands that they too should drink and be slutty. This person never wins though, because no one can be closer to them than their real soul mate, the Jagermeiester.
The Stripper
There are an increasing number of strippers on reality shows, which makes me worry about who is manning the strip joints? Also, if the cream of the crop are here vying for the attention of the crazy old pervert on this show, then I would hate to see the back ups on the pole now! What I love about the strippers is that they are incapable of keeping their clothes on. Every episode all you see walking around is blurring spots where big fakes boobs are bouncing about. And the best part is that they call themselves “dancers”. They forget to mention the part about how their dancing focuses mainly on their nudity and less on the actual dance.
And last but not least…
The Dried Up Old Rocker/Rapper
A lot of shows are based around this person. It is always someone who “used to” be really hot and really famous. Don’t get me wrong, I love Brett Michaels as much as the next groupie, but don’t you find it a bit odd that hits came from an era that most of these women weren’t even born in? Kind of like making out with your middle-aged, tattooed, perverted uncle. But what I love best about the old rocker/rapper angle is that they get mad when these young contestants don’t know all of their old work. Like they really don’t realize how old they are compared to how young the clueless hoes are.
And the fact that after the boot off, all the former contests get all modest and act like they are better than the old hag whose heart (private parts) they were fighting for and how they totally never shower naked, sucked toes, or issued blue balls with this person, makes me laugh even harder. Much the same as the porn star must learn, it is all on tape, buddy; the entire world has saw you suck her toes and tell her you like to eat boogers…or whatever, you can’t deny it now.
I can’t really tell you what the appeal of all these skanks is. I just know that for some reason, it works. I love to see the downfall of humanity happen, every night around 10. I mean nothing goes better with my evening bowl of Count Chocula or Boo Berry than some slutacious skanks humping a hopefully recently STD tested, questionable old man, while simultaneously threatening to bitch slap some butt naked, serious actress, who has a liking for kissing other female contestants when she is bored.
And the thing I love to say every time it goes a bit beyond the previous skank-fest…
“I bet their parents are SO proud!”
Oh and how he hates to watch “my shows” with me. I act as if I know all the moral-less heathens. “Oh my God, are you KIDDING ME! He was just all over Destiny and now his hand is up your shirt!” Seriously, I need help.
I love reality TV because where else do you get to see such a variety of insanity and promiscuity in one place?
The Ever-So-Clueless Advocate of a Cause
They are always there, wearing the T-Shirt of the new “IT” cause. Weather it be PETA, Jesus, or Lesbian Mother’s Who Are Against Red Dye #5, they always feel the need to preach their cause to those not willing to listen, who could totally care less, which make for an awesome freaking fight!
The Much Too Old to Be Here Person
This is a favorite of mine. This person isn’t really that much older than everyone else, but for some reason all the other people want to talk about how they should be in a home somewhere wearing adult diapers. This person is always completely trying to act much younger than their age and always has a look of shock and awe when someone around them shows off their new vagina piercing while dancing nude on the pole. This person always get kicked off with the note of “they were so sweet, but just not at the same place as me”…when in reality said person was younger than the person who kicked them off.
The Porn Star
I don’t care what show you are watching there is ALWAYS a person who does porn! And they always lie about it like “No, I am a serious actress”. And I am like “No, you seriously have sex on camera for money.” And they are so shocked when someone finds out and it is the topic for the whole show. I mean if you have sex on camera, that is all well and good, but don’t be shocked when someone sees it; that was the whole reason you got paid for it…unless you are a prostitute, and that is a whole different reality show character all together.
The Wanna-Be Musician
Ever season, not matter the show, there is someone there who is willing to kiss, or whatever, with anyone as long as someone listens to their demo. This wouldn’t be so funny but this person always sucks, hardcore. So really it is more of an embarrassment than anything else!
The Sloppy Drunk
Always in full force, this person came on the show for free booze. They have a drink in their hand for each episode, no matter what is going on. Always a riot when this person has a misunderstanding with one of the other skanks. This person pukes, on the regular. This person also finds a way to stick around for quite a while, just so everyone else understands that they too should drink and be slutty. This person never wins though, because no one can be closer to them than their real soul mate, the Jagermeiester.
The Stripper
There are an increasing number of strippers on reality shows, which makes me worry about who is manning the strip joints? Also, if the cream of the crop are here vying for the attention of the crazy old pervert on this show, then I would hate to see the back ups on the pole now! What I love about the strippers is that they are incapable of keeping their clothes on. Every episode all you see walking around is blurring spots where big fakes boobs are bouncing about. And the best part is that they call themselves “dancers”. They forget to mention the part about how their dancing focuses mainly on their nudity and less on the actual dance.
And last but not least…
The Dried Up Old Rocker/Rapper
A lot of shows are based around this person. It is always someone who “used to” be really hot and really famous. Don’t get me wrong, I love Brett Michaels as much as the next groupie, but don’t you find it a bit odd that hits came from an era that most of these women weren’t even born in? Kind of like making out with your middle-aged, tattooed, perverted uncle. But what I love best about the old rocker/rapper angle is that they get mad when these young contestants don’t know all of their old work. Like they really don’t realize how old they are compared to how young the clueless hoes are.
And the fact that after the boot off, all the former contests get all modest and act like they are better than the old hag whose heart (private parts) they were fighting for and how they totally never shower naked, sucked toes, or issued blue balls with this person, makes me laugh even harder. Much the same as the porn star must learn, it is all on tape, buddy; the entire world has saw you suck her toes and tell her you like to eat boogers…or whatever, you can’t deny it now.
I can’t really tell you what the appeal of all these skanks is. I just know that for some reason, it works. I love to see the downfall of humanity happen, every night around 10. I mean nothing goes better with my evening bowl of Count Chocula or Boo Berry than some slutacious skanks humping a hopefully recently STD tested, questionable old man, while simultaneously threatening to bitch slap some butt naked, serious actress, who has a liking for kissing other female contestants when she is bored.
And the thing I love to say every time it goes a bit beyond the previous skank-fest…
“I bet their parents are SO proud!”
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Customer Dis-Service and Why I Hate To Go Out In Public
Let me just preface this by saying…
When you go out in public it may be a divine experience. The cashiers may be the friendliest, nicest, most professional people you have ever met. Cars may go the right way down the isles in the parking lot. Heck, customers may even smile at you and steer clear of you with their cart, while their children, with snot free upper lips greet you with warm wishes.
Let me go on record as to saying, none of these things ever happen for me.
I don’t know what it is about me. Friends tell me that I have the “bitch look”. If I am not super smiley and laughing about myself, I must be in a bad mood. Again, you know how chubby people should always be jolly! None of this is true though. Sometimes, when I am spending massive amounts of money on things that I will eat (two things you don’t mess with, my money or my food) I need to focus all my attention on the task at hand. Just because I am over 6 foot tall doesn’t mean I automatically work at the store and will help you get down the 5 gallon can of Wesson Oil on the top shelf (I get asked that all the time! Standing there in normal clothes, shopping cart in tow. “Do you work here? Can you get those Depends on the tops shelf for me?”). Maybe because I am in “the zone” when I shop makes me the target for the craziness. Let me share with you some true to life experiences.
**Grocery store with wild safari animal in title, close to house**
Walking down the isle, searching for just the right scent of laundry detergent, a mother and her child walk past me in one of those huge race car carts. The child, full on snot dripplets leaking out his nose, some dried on his lip, looks at me and goes “Ew, your Ugly!” His mother just looked at me and laughed and gave me the “isn’t he adorable” look. If I were a meaner person I might have told the child that he wasn’t much too look at himself and he should save his judgment until he was old enough to groom himself and blow his own nose without mommy saying “Now blow! Just a little harder, let’s get all those boogies out!”
**At same grocery store, days later**
Just as I am about to check out, after I check my buggy to make sure I have the essentials (Bread, check. Soda, check. Ice cream, check. Liver mush, double check…don’t judge me) I see that I have lucked up. There is a line with no waiting. As I wheel up to the counter, I notice that the cashier is standing, leaned up against the register, talking to the teenager in the next lane, with his back to me. I begin to put my delightful food choices on the belt and see that he still has not turned around to acknowledge me or began to check me out. I then start to put my food down a little more loudly…but without being too rough with it. It is way too fragile!!! After all the contents of my cart are on the belt, said teenager has still not stopped his conversation and asked me for my MVP card! Damn him! He must be destroyed! Doesn’t he know that the longer he waits, the longer it will take me to get home and sample these new, ever so excitingly packaged, Pringles? So I get my card out, put it towards him and say, “Ah hem”. He then looks over his shoulder at me, rolls his eyes, looks back at the other teen and says “hold on just a sec”, then finally takes my card and begins to check me out. I mean I am SO sorry I made you do your job!
The absolute best EVER
**Ghetto-Mart (I call this Wal-Mart that because I feel as if I might be shanked every time I go there)
Again, I check to make sure I have everything on my list (was already stocked up on liver mush, needed some oatmeal though) and wheeled the buggy up into a line. You always have to wait like forever to get checked out at this Wal-Mart because people are beating their kids in line and running out the door with 15 pregnancy tests that they didn’t pay for and everything else. So when I put my items on the belt for “Desiree” I noticed that she was in a full on, hands waiving in the air, finger snapping, neck popping, conversation with the cashier behind her. Let me just preface this conversation by saying, I am white, I go to an HBCU (historically black college or university) and I could care less about race. Also, I was wearing my NC A&T SU tee-shirt, complete with “Aggie Pride” logo.
Finger Snapper 1 (Desiree) – I know girl! I had to take my weave out!
Finger Snapper 2 – Oh no you didn’t! Why!?!? Girl I like those braids! (Let me remind you that all of this is being said “quite” loudly)
FS1 – Cause! He just kept wantin to pull on it all the time!
FS2 – No he didn’t! Girl those braids were mad fresh!
FS1 – I mean I like when he pulls my hair when we are gettin down, but dayum, that is just too expensive! I was like, you must be crazy. Pullin on this weave like that!
FS2 – Ooooh! I know! When he pulls your hair, that’s hittin it right!
FS1 – I might have to get it again, I ain’t feelin it without it!
It went on from there. But I was so shocked about the topic of conversation while being checked out; I have tried to repress it.
So in closing...as my cashier, or fellow shopper, just smile at me. I will do the same back. That is, as long as you don’t force me to listen to what gets you off, sexually.
When you go out in public it may be a divine experience. The cashiers may be the friendliest, nicest, most professional people you have ever met. Cars may go the right way down the isles in the parking lot. Heck, customers may even smile at you and steer clear of you with their cart, while their children, with snot free upper lips greet you with warm wishes.
Let me go on record as to saying, none of these things ever happen for me.
I don’t know what it is about me. Friends tell me that I have the “bitch look”. If I am not super smiley and laughing about myself, I must be in a bad mood. Again, you know how chubby people should always be jolly! None of this is true though. Sometimes, when I am spending massive amounts of money on things that I will eat (two things you don’t mess with, my money or my food) I need to focus all my attention on the task at hand. Just because I am over 6 foot tall doesn’t mean I automatically work at the store and will help you get down the 5 gallon can of Wesson Oil on the top shelf (I get asked that all the time! Standing there in normal clothes, shopping cart in tow. “Do you work here? Can you get those Depends on the tops shelf for me?”). Maybe because I am in “the zone” when I shop makes me the target for the craziness. Let me share with you some true to life experiences.
**Grocery store with wild safari animal in title, close to house**
Walking down the isle, searching for just the right scent of laundry detergent, a mother and her child walk past me in one of those huge race car carts. The child, full on snot dripplets leaking out his nose, some dried on his lip, looks at me and goes “Ew, your Ugly!” His mother just looked at me and laughed and gave me the “isn’t he adorable” look. If I were a meaner person I might have told the child that he wasn’t much too look at himself and he should save his judgment until he was old enough to groom himself and blow his own nose without mommy saying “Now blow! Just a little harder, let’s get all those boogies out!”
**At same grocery store, days later**
Just as I am about to check out, after I check my buggy to make sure I have the essentials (Bread, check. Soda, check. Ice cream, check. Liver mush, double check…don’t judge me) I see that I have lucked up. There is a line with no waiting. As I wheel up to the counter, I notice that the cashier is standing, leaned up against the register, talking to the teenager in the next lane, with his back to me. I begin to put my delightful food choices on the belt and see that he still has not turned around to acknowledge me or began to check me out. I then start to put my food down a little more loudly…but without being too rough with it. It is way too fragile!!! After all the contents of my cart are on the belt, said teenager has still not stopped his conversation and asked me for my MVP card! Damn him! He must be destroyed! Doesn’t he know that the longer he waits, the longer it will take me to get home and sample these new, ever so excitingly packaged, Pringles? So I get my card out, put it towards him and say, “Ah hem”. He then looks over his shoulder at me, rolls his eyes, looks back at the other teen and says “hold on just a sec”, then finally takes my card and begins to check me out. I mean I am SO sorry I made you do your job!
The absolute best EVER
**Ghetto-Mart (I call this Wal-Mart that because I feel as if I might be shanked every time I go there)
Again, I check to make sure I have everything on my list (was already stocked up on liver mush, needed some oatmeal though) and wheeled the buggy up into a line. You always have to wait like forever to get checked out at this Wal-Mart because people are beating their kids in line and running out the door with 15 pregnancy tests that they didn’t pay for and everything else. So when I put my items on the belt for “Desiree” I noticed that she was in a full on, hands waiving in the air, finger snapping, neck popping, conversation with the cashier behind her. Let me just preface this conversation by saying, I am white, I go to an HBCU (historically black college or university) and I could care less about race. Also, I was wearing my NC A&T SU tee-shirt, complete with “Aggie Pride” logo.
Finger Snapper 1 (Desiree) – I know girl! I had to take my weave out!
Finger Snapper 2 – Oh no you didn’t! Why!?!? Girl I like those braids! (Let me remind you that all of this is being said “quite” loudly)
FS1 – Cause! He just kept wantin to pull on it all the time!
FS2 – No he didn’t! Girl those braids were mad fresh!
FS1 – I mean I like when he pulls my hair when we are gettin down, but dayum, that is just too expensive! I was like, you must be crazy. Pullin on this weave like that!
FS2 – Ooooh! I know! When he pulls your hair, that’s hittin it right!
FS1 – I might have to get it again, I ain’t feelin it without it!
It went on from there. But I was so shocked about the topic of conversation while being checked out; I have tried to repress it.
So in closing...as my cashier, or fellow shopper, just smile at me. I will do the same back. That is, as long as you don’t force me to listen to what gets you off, sexually.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Spandex and Boob Padding, A Curvy Womans Strife
What happened to the good old days? No, I’m not talking about back when gas was 80 cent a gallon, or when everyone practiced free love, or even back before they did away with Crystal Pepsi.
I am talking about back when curves were fabulous and women were voluptuous.
I have always said that I was born in the wrong era. I stand 6 foot 2 inches tall, with full on curves. Not so much in the front, but I have booty for days…and the middle just does what it can to even the two out. In the old days, artists used to paint women of my shape. Curves were the ultimate sign of beauty. Used to I would joke and say that I was built more like a black girl, but lately when I watch the 50 cent videos, even the black girls are tiny!
So as curvy women, we try to find ways to transform into what society currently deems as sexy. When we go out in our fancy dress, we can’t possibly walk out the door without our butt and tummy shaping panties. They call them panties, but they are more like full on 80’s biker shorts. So, after we put on our spanky pants, we then have to worry about our chest area. We need those suckers up and perky! So we put on our Wonder Bra, or if we are really unlucky, our fancy dress requires a strapless bra. We then have to change gears and put on our gel filled strapless torture device that guarantees to pump us up one full size…all the while making it quite impossible to expand our ribs while we breathe. This is made all the more horrid because of the tight little shorts digging into our stomach and beginning to roll. Some women might opt for the even more horrific corset. This pretty much guarantees that we will not sit, laugh, or breathe for the entire evening. After all of these things are on, hoping that we don’t have to put on panty hose, we have to wiggle your way into the fancy dress, trying not to mess up our perfectly styled hair (just because we are curvy women doesn’t mean our hair isn’t flipping fabulous) or our just right makeup. Then comes the fun part. We have to manage to get into those too high sexy heels that make us taller, longer, and take attention away from our rear. The shoes in question do cut off circulation and make us fall when we walk, but damn, aren’t they cute? So as we make our way down the stairs(trying our best to not fall, not let the shorts roll, keep our bra in the upright position, and smile, because you know big people are supposed to be jolly) to our impatient man who has been calling our name for about 30 minutes, we ask how we look.
“Fine.”
Fine?!?!? Are you freaking kidding me!?!? It took us almost 2 hours to squeeze and shape and mold ourselves into this outfit! The whole way to the party we refuse to talk to him, partly because we are mad at his disregard for the obvious knockout that we transformed into and partly because we are unable to breathe enough to form words in the sitting position with all of our restrictive undergarments on.
When we get to the party, we feel totally sexy and mad fresh. But then we start to see all the little skinny bitches that have on these flowy little dress that we are positive have no spanky pants underneath. We immediately hate these women and begin to plot their demise, all the while smiling. Don’t want to let the skinny bitches think that they are bothering us. We drink, converse, and have a relatively good time.
When we get home, we look in the mirror. We have suddenly turned from the sex goddess we were when we left the house into a puffy, red faced troll. We begin to wonder how long we have looked like this. As we peel off all the layers of restriction with our sweatpants and t shirt in plain sight, our spirits lift as we remember there is some new ice cream in the fridge. Just as the ice cream does it job and cheers us right up, we remember…
We stay warmer in the winter time and those skinny bitches freeze.
…and if we are lucky our man will remember how hot we were tonight…
I am talking about back when curves were fabulous and women were voluptuous.
I have always said that I was born in the wrong era. I stand 6 foot 2 inches tall, with full on curves. Not so much in the front, but I have booty for days…and the middle just does what it can to even the two out. In the old days, artists used to paint women of my shape. Curves were the ultimate sign of beauty. Used to I would joke and say that I was built more like a black girl, but lately when I watch the 50 cent videos, even the black girls are tiny!
So as curvy women, we try to find ways to transform into what society currently deems as sexy. When we go out in our fancy dress, we can’t possibly walk out the door without our butt and tummy shaping panties. They call them panties, but they are more like full on 80’s biker shorts. So, after we put on our spanky pants, we then have to worry about our chest area. We need those suckers up and perky! So we put on our Wonder Bra, or if we are really unlucky, our fancy dress requires a strapless bra. We then have to change gears and put on our gel filled strapless torture device that guarantees to pump us up one full size…all the while making it quite impossible to expand our ribs while we breathe. This is made all the more horrid because of the tight little shorts digging into our stomach and beginning to roll. Some women might opt for the even more horrific corset. This pretty much guarantees that we will not sit, laugh, or breathe for the entire evening. After all of these things are on, hoping that we don’t have to put on panty hose, we have to wiggle your way into the fancy dress, trying not to mess up our perfectly styled hair (just because we are curvy women doesn’t mean our hair isn’t flipping fabulous) or our just right makeup. Then comes the fun part. We have to manage to get into those too high sexy heels that make us taller, longer, and take attention away from our rear. The shoes in question do cut off circulation and make us fall when we walk, but damn, aren’t they cute? So as we make our way down the stairs(trying our best to not fall, not let the shorts roll, keep our bra in the upright position, and smile, because you know big people are supposed to be jolly) to our impatient man who has been calling our name for about 30 minutes, we ask how we look.
“Fine.”
Fine?!?!? Are you freaking kidding me!?!? It took us almost 2 hours to squeeze and shape and mold ourselves into this outfit! The whole way to the party we refuse to talk to him, partly because we are mad at his disregard for the obvious knockout that we transformed into and partly because we are unable to breathe enough to form words in the sitting position with all of our restrictive undergarments on.
When we get to the party, we feel totally sexy and mad fresh. But then we start to see all the little skinny bitches that have on these flowy little dress that we are positive have no spanky pants underneath. We immediately hate these women and begin to plot their demise, all the while smiling. Don’t want to let the skinny bitches think that they are bothering us. We drink, converse, and have a relatively good time.
When we get home, we look in the mirror. We have suddenly turned from the sex goddess we were when we left the house into a puffy, red faced troll. We begin to wonder how long we have looked like this. As we peel off all the layers of restriction with our sweatpants and t shirt in plain sight, our spirits lift as we remember there is some new ice cream in the fridge. Just as the ice cream does it job and cheers us right up, we remember…
We stay warmer in the winter time and those skinny bitches freeze.
…and if we are lucky our man will remember how hot we were tonight…
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Cleavage, Humiliation, and Hairspray...I Smell a Wedding!
I HATE that old adage “always a bridesmaid, never a bride”. I hate it mainly because it applies to me. This weekend I will be a bridesmaid for the third time. I won’t count the numerous weddings in which I was involved in other ways…flower girl, registrar, server, hander-outer-of something.
Weddings are really hard when you are single. Well for me they were. I know there are some people out there who use that as an excuse to try to bang a bridesmaid or have their way with a groomsman. I saw the movie! I know how it works! I, being the funny one, not the slutty one, usually just found them depressing cause everyone is in love and finds it a great excuse to give and receive many open mouthed, full on tongue, kisses, while you are standing there talking to them about the weather. I would eat a lot of cake and die a little inside, while all the while smiling really big and posing for all the pictures. Then of course I’d go home and tell my dogs all about it while saying things like “I just can’t believe it, I was the hottest one there” or “Being married is lame-o anyway”. The dog was probably thinking “Yeah right mom, I’ll be a bastard forever”.
Well, now I am not single, but I might as well be, because in the world of weddings, I am not married, or engaged yet. I am worthless! What is worse is that my man has to work and will not be attending all the wedding festivities with me this weekend. He is totally bummed about it; let me tell you (YEAH RIGHT!). So I have to see all the love goings-on while not having a date. Also, I know practically no one. So it should be an exciting weekend out for me.
I tried my dress on yesterday while talking to the bride-to-be on the phone. I am pretty sure that someone will have to use a clothes hanger to zip this dress up. On a good note though, as tight as the dress is, it gives me great cleavage; which is nice because it is a sweetheart top and all I see when I look in the mirror is my football player shoulders. It looks as if I might walk down the isle and proceed to tackle the preacher. That could make an interesting wedding though! Seeing as how this is a ritzy wedding, they might not like that. Oh, and I can’t forget that the bride has requested that I wear flats so I don’t tower over everyone. I’m going to look like a big kid! (A big kid with great cleavage, who could possibly tackle you).
You can believe that with all this wedding talk, I am sweating my Mr. Big pretty bad. We are kind of still living that poor college kid buys a house life, so we are saving for the whole thing. I know that, but you get me around a wedding and I want to throw plates and shoes at him and scream about how I am always a bridesmaid, NEVER A BRIDE! I think he is quite looking forward to this being over. But then I have like half a dozen friends that are pregnant, so that is a whole new fight!
So, as I walk down the isle, and possibly take out a member of the clergy, remember…choose your bridesmaid dresses wisely, cause one day, there may be a dress with a big butt bow and puffy sleeves planned for you, in revenge.
Weddings are really hard when you are single. Well for me they were. I know there are some people out there who use that as an excuse to try to bang a bridesmaid or have their way with a groomsman. I saw the movie! I know how it works! I, being the funny one, not the slutty one, usually just found them depressing cause everyone is in love and finds it a great excuse to give and receive many open mouthed, full on tongue, kisses, while you are standing there talking to them about the weather. I would eat a lot of cake and die a little inside, while all the while smiling really big and posing for all the pictures. Then of course I’d go home and tell my dogs all about it while saying things like “I just can’t believe it, I was the hottest one there” or “Being married is lame-o anyway”. The dog was probably thinking “Yeah right mom, I’ll be a bastard forever”.
Well, now I am not single, but I might as well be, because in the world of weddings, I am not married, or engaged yet. I am worthless! What is worse is that my man has to work and will not be attending all the wedding festivities with me this weekend. He is totally bummed about it; let me tell you (YEAH RIGHT!). So I have to see all the love goings-on while not having a date. Also, I know practically no one. So it should be an exciting weekend out for me.
I tried my dress on yesterday while talking to the bride-to-be on the phone. I am pretty sure that someone will have to use a clothes hanger to zip this dress up. On a good note though, as tight as the dress is, it gives me great cleavage; which is nice because it is a sweetheart top and all I see when I look in the mirror is my football player shoulders. It looks as if I might walk down the isle and proceed to tackle the preacher. That could make an interesting wedding though! Seeing as how this is a ritzy wedding, they might not like that. Oh, and I can’t forget that the bride has requested that I wear flats so I don’t tower over everyone. I’m going to look like a big kid! (A big kid with great cleavage, who could possibly tackle you).
You can believe that with all this wedding talk, I am sweating my Mr. Big pretty bad. We are kind of still living that poor college kid buys a house life, so we are saving for the whole thing. I know that, but you get me around a wedding and I want to throw plates and shoes at him and scream about how I am always a bridesmaid, NEVER A BRIDE! I think he is quite looking forward to this being over. But then I have like half a dozen friends that are pregnant, so that is a whole new fight!
So, as I walk down the isle, and possibly take out a member of the clergy, remember…choose your bridesmaid dresses wisely, cause one day, there may be a dress with a big butt bow and puffy sleeves planned for you, in revenge.
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