Thursday, October 26, 2006

So I have this $25 gift certificate to DSW, and I decided I was gonna find me some knee-high black leather boots with some sexy heels. They would go well with my slutty Halloween costume, in addition to being useful for various other outfits.

Anyway I go there, I see there are probably about 15 pairs of knee high black leather boots, probably three or four of which meet my requirements. I try on the three or four I like, and to my horror, I am unable to zip them up.

My apparently HUGE CALVES will not fit into these fricking boots. I'm sitting there tugging on the zipper like I can squeeze my giant leg into these boots, my face is turning red, I'm sweating, I'm embarrassed. It's like trying on something that's too small when you're in a dressing room at a clothing store. Except you're out in the open and everyone and their mother can see that you are TOO FAT for the particular item you are trying on.

So I become indignant. I am thinking: My body is not giant. It is about average for today's American woman, who we know is not svelte, but also not a complete cow. My calves are in proportion to my body. Therefore, I feel these flipping boots are not made for the average woman. In my opinion, these addlepated bootmakers are missing out on a significant opportunity to sell their crappy, overpriced boots to us normal-sized women, who I guarantee far outnumber the slim-shinned bunch.

So I decide I am going to try on every damn pair. And I did. And about half of them zipped. The uglier they were, the more likely they were to zip. Needless to say, I left empty handed, extremely disappointed and with an even worse body image than I had when I walked in the damn place. Who knew shoes could make me feel fat??? I thought shoe stores were a safe haven!!

Anyway apparently I need to embark on another ego-bruising boot hunt if I want to find boots I can wrap around my jiggling ham hocks.

Tuesday, October 17, 2006

Well, it's my birthday and apparently this is the year that I lose my mind. The events of the day so far do not bode well for me.
I woke up at 3 a.m. and took a shower because I thought my alarm had gone off. Midway through showering, my confused husband walked in to ask me if I was ok, since it's sort of unusual for me to be showering at that ungodly hour. I can't even tell you how pissed off I was.
I guess that's really the only out-of-my-mind action I've taken so far today, although last night I was a completely panicked mess about getting older and not doing anything meaningful professionally. My emotional state may have been exacerbated by my level of drunkenness and the fact that I'd spoken recently with some highly, highly incompetent people on the phone for my job, resulting in extreme frustration.
At some point my husband was trying to distract me by saying amusing things, which I then wrote down on a piece of paper, which I then stuck in my pocket this morning and as I'm looking at it.... I can't fricking read it. Drunken ramblings is what it is. One sentence definitely says "Sting has too many neck veins." Because Sting was on Studio 60 last night playing the lute, and he's got lots of neck veins.
Then there's a sentence here.... I think it says "I just remember the good old days when you could play with your plastic toolbench."
If memory serves correctly, this was inspired by a commercial for a toy toolbench, which B then waxed poetic about for quite some time while I sulked in the corner of the couch, continuing the whole wallowing-in-self-pity routine.
Also at the top of the paper (this is after half a bottle of wine and before I started in on the beer), I made a list of all of our nicknames for the bachelorettes on the new "The Bachelor," which I still assert is fantastic this season. Lorenzo finally got rid of "Paris," real name Erica, a stuck-up socialite.
Here are the other names and the reasons they are named the way they are:
The Plan, because she has a plan for her life (kids at 30, etc)
Baby, because she calls everyone baby.
Crazy eyes, this is self explanatory.
Sourpuss, always making a sour face. She was also eliminated last night.
The Virgin, also self explanatory.
The Italian, ditto.
Texas, ditto
B's wife aka The Teacher, she's a teacher and also B's favorite.

So anyway, now that my pity party is over, I am concentrating on birthday activities, namely eating. I specially purchased this cinnamon bread from Greenlee's, which I am hoarding nearby and sharing with a few lucky coworkers.
Lunch will be light since we are planning to eat fondue for dinner and will likely gorge ourselves.

Thursday, October 12, 2006

So right after I got married, I purchased this sleeping mask to cover my eyes at night since I wasn't used to having someone else in the bed and any noise/light would wake me up right away. So I bought the mask from this company called PeeperSleepers and it showed up and was great and all that. But today I got this email from PeeperSleepers informing me that they are unfortunately going out of business because apparently Mrs. PeeperSleepers is leaving Mr. PeeperSleepers and the latter can't just run the business by himself. Here's what the email said:

Dear Sir and Madame, Dear Customers of PeeperSleepers:
My Name is Marco Miehe and I am the Co-Owner of PeeperSleepers and created this business with my "Ex-Wife to be" Stacia Sekuler Miehe in 1995. After 13 years of marriage my wife and I have decided to divorce ourselves! A decision was made after Stacia adandoned this company in August to move on and the company PeeperSleepers will be closed. All inventory will be sold off at a Discount. Please visit our website...
Sweet Dreams,
Marco Miehe, Co-Owner of PeeperSleepers

I feel kind of bad for Marco. But I feel even worse for Stacia (what a romantic-sounding couple: Marco & Stacia, together forever...) now that her divorce and abandonment of PeeperSleepers is being broadcast to all of the PeeperSleepers customers.


So I have this coworker who has a bad habit of grabbing my butt. It's a chick, no worries. I have not done anything to encourage this ass-grabbing that started I guess a few weeks ago... i've worked with her for about a year. The first ass grab was a full two-hander that took place in the office in front of coworkers and God knows who else. There was another grab that took place later that same day. Today as I happened to be standing in line at Starbucks I got a one-handed grab, and the scary thing about this one was that I didn't know she was there, so I just sort of stood there for a moment considering the situation. Say it was the guy standing in line behind me. An obviously inappropriate move on his part, but how to react? Does such a grab warrant maybe a shove to the chest region, a la Elaine from Seinfeld (get OUT!)? It occurred to me it was likely S, this ass-grabbing coworker of mine, and as it turned out, it was. I don't entirely mind, although I myself have never been much of an ass-grabber with members of the same sex. Such grabs from me would typically be an indication of a high level of inebriation. So anyway. I guess I'll just keep monitoring the situation and reporting back on each incident. Maybe I should attempt a reciprocal grab? Perhaps that would nip it in the bud.

Wednesday, October 11, 2006

I have decided I hate the word "hyperbole" and all of its various mutations: hyperbolic, especially. I think that's due to its association to trigonometry, although apparently it also means: extravagant exaggeration. I just want to say, that word annoys me, especially when people use it in a question as a comment to something you have said. Ex.: "That's just hyperbole, right?"
Irritating.
A 49er was on the radio this morning, I think his name is TJ Slaughter or TJ something. He was being interviewed by this schmucky dude who works for 97.3 and they asked him who is sexier: Paris or Britney. And he said Britney "because she look thicker." I just LOVED that.
I cut the hair off yesterday. 12 inches. Which is apparently enough to donate to Locks of Love, a charity that makes wigs for children going through chemo. I also dyed it very dark, it looks almost black. So I went back in to work and people were treating me like I was a different person. The receptionist actually looked at me and asked me if I was who I was. Since then I've gotten nonstop comments about how nobody recognized me, etc. After a while I was thinking, do I really look so different? So different that people aren't sure it's me? Because to me it's not that drastic.
So I just told Katie that something she just emailed me is fodder for my blog. That is my new thing to say, since last night when I was speaking with a friend who was explaining the ridiculousness of the 24 cent an hour raise she received as a reporter. Anyway here's what K said: Yes, the first thing to good homemaking is the toothpick supply.
Because I don't have any toothpicks. You know that you are a good wife/homemaker/all around well-prepared person if there are actually toothpicks in your cupboard. Needless to say, there are none in mine.
Anyway my friend C called me last night and I honestly think it's the first time she's ever called me! She says "I'm turning over a new leaf." Because we're birds of a feather, we just don't call or return calls, it's not in our nature. We mean no ill will and actually I think we harbor a lot of guilt about the not calling and we think about Gee I should call this and that person, it just doesn't happen. Anyway I find her new leaf-turning inspiring. Almost inspiring enough to start calling people, hahahaahaa....

Tuesday, October 10, 2006

I can only say that The Smiths' "How Soon is Now" is something like a spiritual experience for me. I blasted it on the way to work and after I listened to it I felt like life was divine and I could lay on the grass all day and be fine with the very little that I'd accomplished. However, then the next song came on and if one thing can be said for The Smiths it is that their music is not uplifting and I promptly felt depressed.
That might be tied in with other things going on as well. I am having my hair chopped off today. I have never, ever been one who has grown attached to my hair. It has, however, reached extraordinary lengths these days out of my simple procrastination in making the appointment to get it cut. Today I was drying it and then stood there stroking it all self-absorbedly and wistfully. I think my stylist is going to be appalled when I tell her to cut it all off. She's all about the long hair. And I am not. Anyway I might miss it for a minute, but the convenience of the shorter 'do will be so worth it.
Also I am preparing to accept a job today with another company. I am sad about leaving some of my friends behind. I am not one of these types who stays in touch so... I suck.
Anyway.

Thursday, October 05, 2006

My monthly bill has arrived and I want to sit in the Red Tent. I was reading this book, The Red Tent, and in biblical times when a woman was on the rag she got to sit in the red tent and no one bitched and moaned at her and she didn't have to wait on people hand and foot and instead she got to rest and eat. So far I have done my version of sitting in the red tent: We went out for dinner last night instead of me having to make it and this morning I didn't make any breakfasts or lunches. And then B calls me up and he's like, there are no breakfasts or lunches. And I was like, yes, this is true. Sorry bub. You want it, make it.
Anyway I feel particularly bloaty and bitchy today.
Yesterday was interesting: I was doing a lot of driving for work and i heard three fantastic songs on the radio: Sister Christian, Papa Was a Rolling Stone and Lovin' Touchin' Squeezin' (JOURNEY!!!). It was just an unusually good song day in the car. And Sister Christian got me thinking: What the hell is that song about? So I have copied the lyrics below:

Sister Christian, Oh the time has come
And you know that you're the only one
To say O.K.
Where you going What you looking for
You know those boysDon't want to play no more with you
It's true
You're motoring
What's your price for flight
In finding mister right
You'll be alright tonight
Babe you know You're growing up so fast
And mama's worrying That you won't last
To say let's play
Sister Christian There's so much in life
Don't you give it up
Before your time is due
It's true It's true
Motoring
What's your price for flight
You've got him in your sight
And driving thru the night
Motoring
What's your price for flight
In finding mister right
You'll be alright tonight
Motoring
What's your price for flight
In finding mister right
You'll be alright tonight
(repeat)
Sister Christian Oh the time has come
And you know that you're the only one
To say O.K.
But you're motoring
You're motoring

So basically I think it's a song about her keeping her coochie closed. But what does motoring mean? Am I too dense for classic rock? Probably.

So I received my Halloween costume in the mail and despite initial belief that it would not be too skimpy, I am now thinking that my ass cheeks might hang out of it. I am going to need to do something about that. Patty, my temp admin, insists I can wear lacy boyshorts underneath and who cares if someone gets a flash of skin since it'll be dark anyway. I just have visions of people getting flashes of WAY TOO MUCH as I live it up in the bouncy house, which K&R Enterprises may or may not have at their party.
I'm going to peruse the Frederick's of Hollywood site now for ideas...

Tuesday, October 03, 2006

Unfortunately there's another show on TV that I now must add to the already too-long list of shows I watch. The new Bachelor started last night and I am so hooked. For the first time in that show's history it seems they may have chosen a bachelor with half a personality. Slightly goofy looking, definitely a past nerd, he's a nervous wreck with strange-ish hair and interesting taste in women. He managed to eliminate something like 14 women out of a group of 27, and picked a few we'd nicknamed for some rather unattractive qualities (ie. Sourpuss, Crazy Eyes, Slutty Pants, etc.). Although some were totally cute of course.
Unfortunately the two hour premier forced me to miss another show on my must-see list -- Studio 60, which is also fantastic and luckily saved on my DVR list.
So anyway. On the way to work I heard that K-Fed is out there making a complete fool of himself again. He apparently went to Vegas with his friends, got drunk at Tao (nightclub/restaurant), jumped into one of these tub thingies in which naked chicks with strategically placed petals are sitting and proceeded to piss in it. Mind you, Britney just pushed another child out of her vagina three weeks ago. Anyway K-Fed got kicked out. What a dumb, dumb man. He gives Fresno ... Well, he gives it the name is deserves. :-)
I was lucky enough to eat at Tao in March during my bachelorette party. The earliest dinner we could get was at 10 p.m. and while the food was good, the place was LOUD at that hour. And yep, the naked chicks were there... It's a little odd. You're just walking through the entrance/exit area and there're these bathtubs with naked chicks! Ah, Vegas.

Monday, October 02, 2006

I totally cursed myself by even mentioning wasps. Because I came back from my delicious carb-free lunch and there was a work order for me mentioning that wasps are flying into someone's suite via the air vents. Of course they are.
And then this chick I work with said she was on the "epileptic" machine at lunch. Yes, working out on the epileptic machine. I've used the elliptical machine before, but this must be its cousin that's prone to seizures.

Joining the blogosphere

And so far, I have been amused. Well, occupied at the least. I've spent at least 15 minutes in the setup process, and that's 15 minutes that I didn't spend staring at my empty coffee mug or compulsively checking email or news sites.

Oh excuse me, I just did some work. Apparently a men's room door does not shut somewhere and somehow that is my problem. I love how every time a toilet backs up or a nest of wasps appears or the air conditioning stops working, those are also my problems.

Part of my problem today, for sure, is that I didn't get enough sleep, in large part due to the fact that my husband (who no longer snores due to losing some weight) now apparently talks in his sleep. At least if it made any sense I could be amused but it's just nonsense mumbling. Maybe the problem was the pizza, which is probably the most unhealthy thing we've eaten in three weeks due to having been on the Southbeach, which is a slightly torturous and yet effective diet. Today we're back on the wagon, in particular because I've just ordered my Halloween costume (another 15 minutes wasted at work -- success!!) and if I don't de-carb my meals from now until the 31st I will be scaring people for whole new reasons. The costume is a secret, as is Hubs'. It's the first time in 10 years that we've had a couple's theme for Halloween. We hated each other for most of the first 9, so...

Why do fat people insist on having their backs tattooed? Right above the butt crack? One must ask. Were they, at one time, not fat? Somehow, I doubt it. I am thinking they thought that was a good place for a tattoo of, like, a fairy or a flower or a bird or an insect because it makes them dangerous or something? Maybe it makes them adventurous. It is unexpected, for sure.

A good friend who greatly assists me in not losing my mind at work by emailing me throughout the day has informed me that she also wants one of these tattoos. Above the butt crack area. I momentarily considered self-editing the above ramblings but have decided instead to say: It's OK if she does it. She is going to be my one exception. I personally would not do this due to stretch mark action I have in that particlar area, but I do not believe we share this problem.

I saw "School for Scoundrels" this weekend. Word to the wise: Skip it. It ain't worth $10. Hubs and I unwisely read the reviews AFTER seeing the movie (couldn't believe we hadn't heard something negative about it after witnessing its terribleness) and it's true: Critics hated it as well. I have two words for the writer(s): PLOT DEVELOPMENT. It was like a really, really lame version of Anger Management. I felt robbed. John Heder is good in it, but only as good as an actor can be when he has shit to work with. Billy Bob is irritating. Netflix gave it an average rating of C-. The Boston Globe says it represents a waste of a perfectly good title (so true!) and the Chicago Tribune said it rolled over and played dead. Hubs and I agreed that we kept expecting it to get funny and then as it was ending we realized, "Nope, it's just gonna end like this, isn't it?..." Oh here's a good comment from the New York Post: A lesson in how not to make a movie. hahahahahaha! Rolling Stone is smoking crack: Uproarious and unexpectedly biting. Both lies. The audience was so not in an uproar. And I was never like, ooh that was unexpectedly biting. The San Francisco Chronicle (always super-harsh) is more accurate: "It would require a near-lethal injection of nitrous oxide to induce laughter." Lastly, USA Today says the movie might possibly shave IQ points off the viewers, LOL!!!

All right, I'm tiring of being bitchy. Nice to meet the void that is Blogger.