We all need fanny packs!!! I think my running career is over too!!! AMERICA!!!!!!!

Your purse just bit you and got you robbed. Who's dorky now?

We definitely have a mixed bag of things to discuss here, or should I say bags?  Or should I say waist-fastening bags?!  YYYYYYYYYYYYYYYIIIIIIIIIIIIIIPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!  Fanny packs.  Let’s talk about them.  We had our first “discussion” about fanny packs back in may when I discovered the distance runner’s dirty little secret.  It’s not even that dirty…it’s just a link to my Camelbak blog.  It wasn’t a discussion either that’s why there are “”s around that.  Well time has progressed since ye auld fanny pack monologue, and we are in October.  In the moons twixt now and then I have learned many things.  I have learned that I can still lose things regardless of this incessant sobriety, and that things need to be carried around, AND things need to be carried around around my waist but not in an ugly way.  I know you’re wondering ‘why the waist?’  The reason you’re wondering that is the same reason why you would buy a bag just because it says the word ‘Coach’ on it.  You don’t think!  I’m going to make a whole list of reasons that fanny packs are better starting with number one…..

1.  Fanny-packs are theft deterrent.  Have you ever heard of anyone getting belt-snatched on the street?   NO you haven’t because it’s not easy to steal a belt.  Also, belts aren’t even that great.  Why don’t you just get pants that fit, and you won’t have to worry about people stealing your belt.  Jesus.

2.  You don’t have to put it down to do things with your hands.  Have you ever done anything with your hands?  It’s easier when you’re not holding something.  Hands-free, people!  don’t they make everything hands-free?  Why not our bags?  I’ll tell you why.  Sexism.  It’s true.  Men meet up in secret cigar rooms and plan this shit.  “Oh hey, how can we slow down those uppity dames?”  “I know!  Make them carry something at all times so that they are super slower when we are trying to chase them down the street.”

People are getting chased.  Not chaste.

3.  You’re dance moves are way better when you’re not holding a bag, and it makes everyone less (and more) nervous.  Have you ever been to a party and just didn’t want to put your purse down but needed it for one reason or another?  Annoying right?  At a club and you and all your girlfriends leave your purses in a pile while you dance?  That’s pretty stupid and nerve-racking and distracting enough to make you a target for being chased later when all the cigar-smoking males have become sex-crazed from lurking on the dance-floor.  Not chaste.

4.  You can hold your bfs hand while walking down the street without having to switch sides with your purse.  I don’t know why this is so annoying.  It just is.  I hate my shoulder bag, you guys.  But also I hear that I might not have to worry about hand-holding activities while wearing a fanny-pack because of the ‘dorkiness factor,’ and this is where I need all of you to come in and unite for a better future of being able to carry things without arms.  While we’re at it, think about the people without arms.  Don’t they deserve more attractive fanny-packs?  Don’t we all?

Also while we are on the subject of being chased, I have to put this out there in the hopes that maybe a doctor reads it.  This is my new form of seeking medical attention besides google since I don’t have health insurance.  I have not really been able to run for the past few weeks because of a pain that extends from the right of my lower back down to the front of my knee.  Because of this, I am experiencing a terrible sadness and many lower back pain google sessions.  I wish I had health care, America.

to be continued…

Real men have curves

No…they have curses.  No…they wear purses.  NO!!! They read about my trip to the mall!  My coworker who is male and takes food to people and sets it in front of them told me that I should stop writing blogs that were so focused on women.  So, I’m here to tell him two words right now in front of the Internet and everybody:  ‘anorexic vagina.’  Now shut-up and find out what happened to me when I bought a crop-top.  

I just have to share this because I’ve had a trying experience in the world of commerce…or a trying few experiences.  It all began with the want of a crop-top.  I noticed that I needed one for incentive to groom my happy trail (manly enough?).  Unforrtunately, H&M Ventura is putting me through layer upon layer of failure.  After I returned home with my Croppy, I discovered that the security tag had been left on my shirt.  This means that both the employee who rang me up and the security system that’s supposed to alarm when that shit leaves the store forgot to do their jobs.  When I took it back in, I didn’t make a big to-do about finding the receipt because the crop-top fiasco was a secondary reason for my trip to the mall, and I just wanted to get the damn security thing taken off…I mean it was their fault it was still on right?  You would think.  So I go in to get it removed yesterday, and the cashier asks me for my receipt.  I don’t have it because I’m not returning or exchanging the damn shirt and she’s like, ‘well we have no way to prove that you bought it.’  Let me tell you why I think this is so stupid:  I still leave with the shirt.  They are basically accusing me of stealing a twelve dollar shirt and then coming back into the store with the stolen item to ask them to help me steal it.  Since they have no outright evidence that I stole the shirt, I’m just in crop-top purgatory where I have this item that I can’t wear because it’s going to set off alarms everywhere but guess what I was thinking I would just wear it with the security tag still on and make-believe like I’m a thug. 

 Except I found the receipt when I got home, so I’m going to go in there Pretty Woman style today like when Julia Roberts moted that Rodeo Dr. shop girl who wouldn’t help her buy fancy clothes.  I’m going to mote H&M for sloppy service, having defunct security alarms, accusing me of theft and almost making me into a poser of a clothing stealer. 

I’ll be like, “hey are you the store who wouldn’t take this tag off this shirt for me?”

And they’ll be all, “I don’t know.  Probably.  We have crop tops.  Do you have the receipt?”

And I’ll stick the receipt in their faces and rub their noses in it and be all, “You have internet, right?  Check out stupeh.com where I just moted you.  Big mistake! Huge!”

I also purchased a pair of work shoes from the comfort shoe store.  Remember when I went on and on about farmville’s ugly sandals?  Well I have bad news for everyone who ever believed that I cared about what I slide my feet into.  Well you know I’m a double waitress, right?  So I had to get these shoes based on the fact that I’m on my feet for extended periods of time, and they are starting to feel numb by the end of my double shifts.  I know this is no consolation for what I’m about to show you.  I bought orthopedic slip-ons.   

  Ha hahahahahaha.  Oh the butterfly.  How’s that for female centric?

  I don’t know, man.  They feel good, and my pantleg will be covering most of them.  And by the way, no one’s going to be looking at my feet because hubba hubba.   

The Conclusion of Summer Footwear

So, I’m always right.  This time I’m right about the dangers of sandals.  I’m showing you something that might be disturbing, and you should ask any small children to leave the room and stop being interested in the internet. 

now you know. Now you know.

It’s my foot, and a piece of its toe was cut off because I did not take my own advice.  See, my child is harassing me every day to get a pedicure with her.  We can be mommy and daughter and have Chinese ladies wash our feet.  Do you know that pedicures make your toenails cute, but they also make you feel really creepy?  I also think that the tiny little Asian ladies think I’m a big bulky American with nasty toenails, and they feel sorry for themselves that they have to clean the monsters.  Regardless of all that going on in my head, I told my munchie that we could get pedicures together.  To justify my pedicure and also because it was hot and I went to the beach in boots and thought how much more convenient it would be to wear sandals, I bought some sandals.  SANDals.  You wear them in the sand.  The sandals I bought are an okay pair except for the fact that it’s a full-on 24/7 toe-flash when I wear them. 

So I was wearing my new fuglies at this strip mall yesterday where Munch and I were about to get our toes done.  I went to the ATM because of the need for some nice hot machine-cash.  Someone had left their leather planner book/giant wallet-looking thingy at the machine, so I made sure to be extra-awesome and bring it into the bank for someone.  BAD IDEA.  On the way into the bank, I misjudged the distance between my foot and the door, and when I let the door swing shut, it totally shaved off the top of one of my toes.  The worst part is that toes have all the nerves in your body located inside of them.  I was in so much pain that I handed the teller the planner with a bitchy attitude which was the opposite of the hero/sweet/looks really young for her age attitude which I had planned on using.  I barely enjoyed my accolades and hobbled out of the bank to my daughter who was standing in front of the nail salon looking like someone cute who was about to become someone who was disappointed. 

I told her I couldn’t get a pedicure because I hurt my big toe while we walked in the nail salon.  There were already two ugly American monsters sitting on toe thrones, and only one tiny little Asian lady tending to all of their piggies. 

“Hi ca I hep you?”

I said, “we want pedicures,” even though I knew I wasn’t getting one.  My toe was bleeding, and I wasn’t about to put it in a toe-bath and end up with the top of my toe floating in blood water in this strip-mall nail salon. 

“Okay!  Pick colo.”

So Munch and I stood in front of the wall of nail polish discussing what we were going to do.  “I can’t get one.  My foot is bleeding.”

“Well I’m not getting one if you don’t get one.”

“We can come back after the lake and get one.”  So it was decided.  We left the nail salon without saying anything to the nail-lady.  After we were about thirty feet away, I heard someone yell, “Miss!”  I turned around, and the nail lady was standing at the door with her arms out like, ‘what the fuck?’

I yelled back at her, “I hurt my toe!” and pointed down at my foot. 

She still just stood there like that, but I didn’t want to go back and explain because my toe hurt, and I’m a jerk.  Munch said, “We should have not even gone in there.  She looked really upset.”

A lot of people were hurt by sandals yesterday.

The blog that pooped on your face, and being a mean mother.

I was going to write about waiting tables because that seems to be all I do anymore, and you’re supposed to write what you know.  I know something besides that though.  I know my daughter.  She is a female child that I made all by myself with my biology kit and an assistant primate.  Daughter wanted me to post this drawing on my blog, and she asks me whether I’ve done it or not at least once a week.  I was so unnecessarily cranky at her this morning for putting her damn swim clothes in the washing machine and thereby ensuring that they would not be ready to wear in time for jr. lifeguards.  I was such a bitch mom about it that my guilt has compelled me to publish her campaign poster for the office of World Ruler.  The unfortunate thing about her declaration of world tyranny is that it happened in the middle of a country highway where the cars have oversized bumpers that drag on the road and are about to run her over. 

Bangs, botox, or grace.

RELAX...I mean PARALYZE your forehead, Hag.

Since deciding to grow out my bangs, I’ve uncovered the secret of my forehead.  My forehead has been hiding the fact that I’ve been surprised or interested or concerned often in life.  Its says this with a series  of horizontal lines and a couple of verticals.  There’s this great invention called Botox which will paralyze the muscles responsible for this tragedy.  I suggested this as something I might need to a coworker and she freaked out on me.  

She yelled,  ”People with Botox are ugly!  Their faces don’t move!”  But she’s only 22, so I don’t have to listen to her.  PLUS I have never been able to identify a person with Botox myself.  Maybe being expressionless makes people somewhat invisible.  Like some big tragedy strikes and everyone is making all these crazy facial contortions and the person with botox is just standing there with a blank face.  Maybe our eyes refuse to register their faces because it’s like a missing arm or leg.  It doesn’t seem right, so your eyes just pass over it and move on to something more interesting like the river of wrinkles on my forehead. 

The best thing about me considering botox is that I don’t have the money to throw into vanity purchases.  Should I just fly my hag flag high?  In the same way I plan on letting all my grays stay that way once they appear, so goes my face.  I know the answer.  This all falls under the same category as the push-up bra, Bra.  It’s a SoCal obsession to get all wrapped up in being the perfect package.  I’m pretty funaffected by it.  Being funaffected means that you are affected by something but don’t want to be, so you pretend you aren’t by making fun of it.  I’m funaffected by many things. 

If I was a botox doctor, I would call my business ‘Beautifully Aloof.’  I’d have commercials with beautiful women getting slapped in the face with raw steaks, and they would just be standing there all stoic like marble statues.  The slogan for my patients would be, ‘make me care.’ 

The slogan for everyone else would be, ‘make me care that you don’t care.  I can’t even see you.’

Daughters and lingerie manufacturers prove to be less than supportive.

Look under your shirt to find out what you're worth. Mkay.

So after I decided to save the boobies and the babies, I took my number one future person with boobs bra-shopping with me so that she could witness the importance of embracing one’s God-given form.   I told her what I was looking for and why, and my daughter helped me as I searched the lingerie section of Macy’s for a bra with no lining, padding, or any sort of other contraption which would make my breasts seem more of a foreign object on my chest rather than just what they are.  We found two kinds of bras which fit my criteria.  Ugly ones that were too large, and pretty ones that were too large.  It seems that the powers that be do not believe that a small-chested woman would not want some kind of padding.  Even when I went to Victoria’s Secret, the bras with ‘no lining’ had lining.  Also, while shopping, I googled ‘bras without lining’  and what I learned is that Victoria’s Secret has started making nipple-bras…these are padded bras with fake nipple-erections built-in.  Guess what, though!  I already have built in nipples, and I think it would be more cost-effective to just go somewhere cold or think about something sexy in a bra that doesn’t have any lining!

I finally found something similar to what I was kind of looking for in the girls section of Target, and at the one time when I really needed my daughter to be there, she decided it was cooler to look for stretchy pants for herselfish.  This meant that I had to have the attendendant unlock the dressing room so I could enter alone with little girl bras and feel like a supercreep.   Unfortunately, tween bras do not provide adequate support for thirty year-old boobs.  

I found one at Khol’s which was the last place I looked because finding one meant I no longer had to keep on looking.  When I tried on the final bras, I had to shrug my shoulders and say “it’s just me,” in Hillary Duff’s voice.  My unhelpful mini-person told me to stop doing that.  She also kept telling me how cute the padded ones were and that I “should just get the padded ones.”

I’m not wearing push-up bras anymore, and neither are you.

The continuation of the summer shoe problem and escalation of it to a summer toe nightmare which includes a problematically long blog title. SHUTUP!

Wtih the understanding that exposed toes are a way of life that I’m going to have to deal with for a few months, I decided to replace my recently absentee toenail clippers and give the piggies a little trim.  But HOLD ON.  I forgot that Korea is trying to ruin my life and didn’t remember until after I clipped that first big toenail with my new clippers.  Just an FYI.  I got them at Pro Beauty in the Vons shopping center on the corner of Borchard and Main Streets.  I am mostly satisfied with that store and am not using this as a forum for trashing them.  I just want to warn everybody about this particular product because it is one of the most retarded things in my day.  See how the blades are curved so that they cut the opposite way from the natural shape of the toenail.  Guess what that does?  It makes my toenails look super stupid.  That’s what.  Here I will show you how.

Its a crown of inglory.

The thing is that I have naturally ugly feet which may or may not account for my no foot fetish.  My toes are all seperate and spread out so that when I’m standing barefoot and square, they appear to splay.   Anyone who has every had my foot splayed out before them knows that I’m not going to be the subject of sexy foot-love fantasies, and honestly that’s fine. The thing is that when I’m trimming my toenails, I would like for the instrument that is trimming them to not shape them into a scallop or ruffle or fringe. In the world of toenail fashion as well as function, peaks and valleys are not the ideal.I used them anyways because the only thing worse than ragged toenails is really long ragged toenails. 

 I just want it to be noted that these were made in Korea, as were Farmville’s rubber uglies.  Coincedence? 

We are on the same toenail schedule. Copycat.

Oh God Almighty. I almost forgot to also include a picture of my cat’s toenail clipping. I found it when I was cleaning up my toenail clippings.

Half woman/half camel. Eat your peanut butter and jealous sandwich.

The sisterhood of the absorbing bullet and where the fuck are my tampons?

I'll find you, O.B.

On the way home from a sister sister sister sister bike ride, my sister and I were travelling along and the next thing we knew we became two close girlfriends talking about our periods! And these guys came up chawing and yaking and said,  “I don’t trust anything that bleeds for seven days and doesn’t die.”  And we were like, “oh that’s funny.  I’ve never heard that joke before.”  And then we started laughing all sneaky like  while I pulled my secret sword out of my hidden Raleigh sheath, and I yelled, “Trust this!” and stabbed both of them.  The meadow of Watching them bleed to death was a good place to stop and talk about tampons, so that’s what we did, and we kept it classy by making sure to overpronounce our ssssssses. 

Anyways she brought something up which proved to be and which remains very disturbing.  Our distinctive and amazing brand of tampons is in a crisis.  I had no idea and was under the assumption that the last couple of times I had to buy them, that I had somehow wound up at the one retail chain that does not sell them.  But no!  This had been  happening to her too, so we googled it and found out that there is an O.B. shortage.  In this article, O.B. tampons are described as having a cult-like following.  Reading that made me realize how cool and indie our vaginas are.  They’re so gaddamn cool, that their tampon of choice is having some mysterious shortage and boxes are being sold on the black market for four times the retail value. 

I thought about all my friends who refuse to make the switch and take the O.B. road, and realized that I needed to write this.  They say,  ”EW! there’s no applicator!  What do I do?” It’s easy to use your finger.  I mean my finger is better friends with my vag than a piece of cardboard.  Everyone knows that.  My finger ORIGINATED in the general area of the vagina and had to actually pass through a bloody one to become a part of the Earth.  People are all about getting “back to nature” and returning to the “homeland” and “masterbating,” so now what’s your finger’s problem?    Nothing.  I bet your fingers now have a problem with you having a problem with O.B.s.  Also, tampon applicators are destroying the Earth. 

How do you like your precious pearls now?

<–This statue is made out out of 4,000 washed up tampon applicators.  You don’t see a bunch of fingers washing up onto shore do you?  Nope.  Because fingers stay attached to your hand!  Why would you flush a finger down the toilet?  You would have to chop it and then find something to stop that from bleeding.  Doesn’t make any sense!

Something else that makes the little bullets wonderful is that they actually do what they are supposed to.  Blood is sneaky and every other tampon ever just lets it by like that suck-ass security guard failing at his job again.  That’s exactly what those applicator tampons are like. 

I guess in the end, none of this matters because it seems like my tampons are lost to me forever.  From what I see in the stores, it looks like we are going to have to be like everyone else and settle for run-of-the-mill menstrual protection.

At least we went and got feather extensions in our pubic hair. 

Why did you read this?