Too Fabulous for Words

WANTED: Underwear that Don't Have their Own Agenda

To say that I've been having some issues lately with my underwear* is an understatement. It appears that ALL the undies that I own have devised a diabolical plot to ruin my life. They've gone all passive-aggressive on my ass (literally) and have decided that rolling down to around my knees is where they should reside.

WTF?

So.

I walk around all day constantly yanking them back up, only to have them slide down as soon as I go up the stairs. Or down the stairs. Or through the grocery store.

When I was pregnant I didn't run out and buy maternity undies because I was pretty much all belly and I really didn't want to be seen sporting voluminous underwear. Ever. So I'm thinking that perhaps they are just a wee bit peeved and perhaps, oh, I don't know, stretched? And this may be why they are acting up in such a evil manner.

Damn them.

To just royally piss the whole lot off, I'm going to get a whole new underwear wardrobe and throw the dissenters OUT. I usually shop at Victoria's Secret, but I don't think we are going over to Buffalo any time soon. Any suggestions? (just don't mention Wal-Mart brand or I'll have to smack you.)

*To all of you who have been clicking here over and over looking for fresh content, I apologize. Profusely. Y'all don't want a half-assed (heh) post about the State of My Underwear, but it's all I got. I've been too damn busy pulling my underwear up.

Whoa, that Last Margarita Was a Killer!

Hola, my Dear Internets. I have returned from my drinking binge and nacho-covered hiatus. All I gotta say is, Viva El Mexico!

Actually, no. Just. NO. My Dear Internets, I have been swamp-ola-ed with writing. And taking care of kids. And the baby. Sheesh, she like needs attention ALL THE TIME. I now have no time for my hula dancing lessons or watching ABC Worldwide News whilst swilling cheap vodka (with a hint of pomegranate, which you know, cancels out the vodka part.) I just learned about this thing called global warming the other day. Oh, and I just found out that Britney Spears is bald, y'all.

So, yes, I've been writing, and writing and then banging my head on my desk because of the rewrites because Editors? They are SO picky. Just because I wrote figolema (totally made up word) instead of fecaloma (dried, hardened feces in the instestine which might be construed as a tumor) doesn't mean that I'm totally IN IT TO WIN IT, DUDE.

Guess what? Emmersen now stands up. Holy Shit. Like I didn't have a hard enough time before chasing her around the floor as she stuffed fistfuls of cat fur and my fecking shedding wool rug into her mouth, now I'm expected to write paragraphs that aren't riddled with made up words while keeping an eye on her as she sways to a standing position? And they don't make helmets for 8 month old babies, either. I looked.

And now? I'm having more issues with my underwear, people. Yes, it's happened again.

Happy Cinco de Mayo!

Hola! Como esta? Muy bien!

To celebrate today, I had a burrito for breakfast. Wheee! Authentic and muy delicioso!

And now I must go vacuum because the baby finds everything on the floor muy delicioso. My life is so very glamorous.

A Diatribe on the Elderly

Okay, don't get me wrong, I love old people. They smell a little weird sometimes, but they tell great stories like when the old bank on 53rd and Chestnut used to be a whorehouse and how in their time, presidents didn't have affairs. Just look at that fine Mr. John F. Kennedy. And we have them to thank for keeping the leisure suit industry alive and well. Where would the chemical companies be if the older generation stopped buying polyester? Millions of people could be out of jobs. Yes, most old people are on a whole, great and one day I hope to be one.

No. it's the other old folks I'm talking about. You know the ones that a) drive and b) go to the grocery store.

As a complete digression, do you know how many hits I've gotten since I posted about the Mr. Barky von Schnauzer commercial? A shitload, that's how many. Who knew? Maybe I should write about commercials ALL the time. My favorite one right now is the cat food commercial where the guy is in the laundry room and is squatting in the litter box and then he gaily calls out, "I even covered it up for you!" Heeeee. Almost as funny as the older one from the same company that had the tubby guy in a ratty robe lounging on the couch. "Boris, the neighbors are here!" And he yawns and says, "Did they bring any food?" Loved that one.

God, I'm lame.

Digression #2, as I'm typing this Basil the cat just walked by and STARTED LICKING MY LUNCH. Yes, that's right, MY LUNCH. The same lunch that a) I wasn't finished with yet and b) took me 1/2 hour to make. Apparently she likes Penne with Tomato and Garlic Cream Sauce that I totally slaved over. Grrrrr. Stupid cat. I'm sure Boris wouldn't have licked my lunch.

#3, Licked my lunch sounds sorta dirty, doesn't it? Like you're dishing with the girls about this hot new guy you dated and you're all, "And after he made me a fabulous dinner we went into the living room and he, you're not going to believe this, totally licked my lunch."

Oh God, where was I?

Right. Old folks. Last week I was driving home from dropping the kids off at school. I came up to a stop sign where there was another car already stopped opposite me. It had its blinker on, so I wait for the car to turn. Which it doesn't. I give a little wave that essentially says, "You were here first so please step on the gas." And still it just sat there. I edge up a little bit (perhaps I was just a mite impatient) and marvel at why this car will not move. So I wave once more, wait and decide that the driver is either blind/has never driven before/dead. I then decide that I shall go, because otherwise I could still be sitting there until July. I start driving through the intersection and I notice that the car is moving towards me at an alarming rate. I slam on my brakes. HARD. And I notice the car is filled with four old ladies, all of whom are staring out the windows at me with a look of fear and surprise like I was the one who was endangering their lives. WTF? Were they in the car debating Depends versus Attends?

Then the other day I was out on a walk with the baby and being the smart person that I am, I chose to walk near the curb and not in the middle of the road. You know, where all the asshat university students walk. I hear a car approaching me from behind so I scooch even closer to the curb. The car then slows, so I assume that it's turning into a driveway. But. No. It slowly drives behind me despite the fact I glace over my shoulder a few times. Once to say, go around me! please! and the next to say, what the fuck, old man! Is my ass really that big that you can't go around me? He followed me down to the end of the street and then finally creeped around me and made the SLOWEST left turn I've ever seen. AGGGH.

As for the grocery store, after typing the above paragraph, I don't even want to go there. All I have to say is if you are retired, why do you go to the grocery store at night and on the weekends? WHYYYYYYY?