Lets discuss driving, shall we? We may as well discuss driving because my goddamned diet has been in a bit of a holding pattern. Have I relapsed on Funyuns? Have I bought even one Boston Market pure sodium, mysterious meat like product frozen dinner? Have I eaten an entire bag of m&m's in one sitting? no. I have adjusted quite well to my new eating habits and have not gained or lost a goddamned thing. I am temporarily out of stock of stick butter. I'm too lazy to walk the dogs, and too distracted by the number of things that seem to be breaking, leaking, creaking and otherwise falling off recently. If I had a penis, I'd be checking it several times daily. I'm just sayin'.
So back to driving. I decided to listen to the weather forecasters and drive in to Frederick for coffee with Vicki. I was assured by the TV people who make an assload more money than I do, that the "intermittent snow showers" would not begin until the "afternoon" Silly me for not realizing that what that really means to us regular folks is blinding, blowing snow causing zero visibility, starting anytime it fucking feels like it". I'll know better next time.
Vicki and I are laughing and chatting away, oblivious to the snow event occurring outside. Once I see the snow, I know I need to get my bald tires home. "Just take it slow" Vicki says reassuringly. I promise to call when I reach home, or from whatever ditch has my name on it and off I go. Taking it slow is not a problem for me. The older I get, the slower I go. I swear I drop 10 mph off my comfortable driving speed for every month my period decides it's too tired to come. Menopause is a bitch.
So I'm cruising along at 40, thinking that it's just about the perfect speed no matter what the road conditions. I'm doing my standard, anxiety reducing singing which today included a medley from "West Side Story" "tonight...tonight...won't be just aaaany night....la la la la la laaaa la la laaaaaa" and "I feel pretty.....oh so pretty....la la la la la laaaaaa" Yeah....words have never really been a priority in stressful situations.
I'm happy. I have an excuse to drive slow. I let all the big, two-story, testosterone enhancing trucks with 30 inch wide tires for the man who has everything but a functioning penis blow on past me. I'm singing.....I'm driving slow.......I no longer have a regular menstrual cycle....I'm thinkin' I'm gonna be just fine.........and I was.
I think back to the summer when Hilary, who never lets me drive anymore, begged me to at least go the speed limit. I had a vision of myself barely able to see over the steering wheel, pulling in to oncoming traffic from the wrong lane. Hopefully by the time that happens, I'll be a retired weather forecaster who can afford someone to drive me where ever I need to go.
.........won't be just aaaanyy night....la la la la la laaaaaa la la la.....
What was I saying?
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Demon Romp
It's a rainy Sunday afternoon here in my world. I walked the dogs early this morning before the bulk of the rain set in. I came home and slept a little longer. There's nothing like coming out of the damp air and getting under a warm blanket. I made a large pot of beef vegetable soup without catching anything on fire. The sump pump is happily plugging along with it's check valve in place and all is right with the world. I have a new doorknob on the back door and the banister is now on the wall instead of laying on the floor.
You may be asking yourself at this point, why does she still feel like shit? The answer my friends is because it's 5:00 p.m. This seems to be the pre determined hour for my demons to have a little walk about before bed. So here's the deal guys. I'll give you your little time to remind me that I'm a failure and sinking in to the financial abyss, and I'll let you tell me all about how I lie...and my feet stink....and I don't love Jesus, and I'll let you reflect upon why I am currently painting yet another portrait of Nickolai when I'll never make any money painting my own freakin dog, if you'll pack your shit and be gone by 7:00.
I'm tired of fighting these demons. I'm going to give them their time. Party on fellas because despite what you say, the part of me that exists beyond my ability to completely fuck it up is firmly in charge. As my sister Ann reminded me this week......"that little voice can only yell so loud.......and for so long before it tires" A strange thing happens when you throw the door open wide for a little demon romp. They decide that now may not be the best time for them. Could you please call back to reschedule? It seems that inner demons like to break down doors that you think you've locked, but can't seem to walk through any that you've opened freely for them.
figures
they are a cowardly lot.
.....but they are my own, and in some strange, all together counter productive and genuinely shitty way, they push me to take chances and operate outside of my comfort zone. Lets face it people.......without a little nudge, or more accurately a resounding bitch slap, I might never push myself through the weeds en route to a new direction. They don't call it a "comfort zone" for nothing yanno.
OK.......so I'm painting another portrait of Nickolai right now. Whats your point?!?
Bastards.
You may be asking yourself at this point, why does she still feel like shit? The answer my friends is because it's 5:00 p.m. This seems to be the pre determined hour for my demons to have a little walk about before bed. So here's the deal guys. I'll give you your little time to remind me that I'm a failure and sinking in to the financial abyss, and I'll let you tell me all about how I lie...and my feet stink....and I don't love Jesus, and I'll let you reflect upon why I am currently painting yet another portrait of Nickolai when I'll never make any money painting my own freakin dog, if you'll pack your shit and be gone by 7:00.
I'm tired of fighting these demons. I'm going to give them their time. Party on fellas because despite what you say, the part of me that exists beyond my ability to completely fuck it up is firmly in charge. As my sister Ann reminded me this week......"that little voice can only yell so loud.......and for so long before it tires" A strange thing happens when you throw the door open wide for a little demon romp. They decide that now may not be the best time for them. Could you please call back to reschedule? It seems that inner demons like to break down doors that you think you've locked, but can't seem to walk through any that you've opened freely for them.
figures
they are a cowardly lot.
.....but they are my own, and in some strange, all together counter productive and genuinely shitty way, they push me to take chances and operate outside of my comfort zone. Lets face it people.......without a little nudge, or more accurately a resounding bitch slap, I might never push myself through the weeds en route to a new direction. They don't call it a "comfort zone" for nothing yanno.
OK.......so I'm painting another portrait of Nickolai right now. Whats your point?!?
Bastards.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
The beanbag chair
I'd like to take a moment to reflect on the concept of patience. OK....long enough......clearly I have none. Never is this more evident than when I gather up my courage to engage in social activities. In my world, this involves anything that may occur outside of my somewhat crappy townhouse. To say that I am comfortable with my own company is a vast understatement. Keep a steady stream of books and funyuns coming and a large control panel for my plasma screen that says "if you'd rather not listen to country music, please don't push this button" I'd never leave the house.
As it stands....I must interact, and as I interact......I reflect. I have plenty of time to reflect because this freakin woman is clearly taking a few moments to re-apply her nail polish after finishing her transaction at the drive up teller. Terribly hard on the cuticles putting her check in the slidey drawer actually. God give me the strength to accept the things I cannot change........and........and................however the fuck the rest of that saying goes.
Am I the only one in the world who takes next to no time for anything?!? You come out of a store, you get in your car, you start said car, and you fucking leave!!!! What is happening while I'm waiting for a parking space with my blinker on as the car in question just sits there. Just sits. I have to wonder what he's doing in there? is he steeped in silent prayer? is he balancing his checkbook? is he taking a moment for some much needed personal grooming? WTF!!!!!
Situations like this bring in to clear focus the fact that I am not of this planet. I am a fluke of nature......a genetic anomaly.......a beanbag chair in the formal sitting room of life. I can tell you that the Gods enjoy playing with us beanbags. Today, I noticed that one of my tires appeared to be a tad bit low. I'll stop by Sheetz with my handy dandy tire gauge and check the pressure and top it off a little if it needs it. I am after all, a modern independent woman and quite capable of operating most anything that doesn't look like a remote control.
I pull in and there's a line of 4 cars waiting for the air pump. The lead car is a large Buick who's tires are being tended by a large butt crack. Uhhhhhh.......hmmmmmm.......yup......thats all I saw. Stopped looking at that point. I'm waiting.......waiting.........trying to get the "Macarena" song out of my head. I finally give up and haul my ass to the grocery store. I'll swing back by Sheetz after, once the centennial air rush is over.
I come back to Sheetz, and there is now a line of 4 different cars waiting for the air pump. I'm in the twilight zone. William Shatner is in the car in front of me right?? with a gremlin in the passenger seat?? So I wait. This will be a good exercise for me. the line moves. No one is behind me. No one will be behind me. I'm last.
I'm up next. The Camry in front of me pops his trunk. OK.......bicycle tires.......this ought to be quick. 5 minutes....10 minutes.......How can he fucking take that long for bicycle tires!?!? He then checks each car tire with the pressure gauge 5 times after each blast of air. His life partner walks in and gets a bottled water and a tastycake which he eats as crumbs cascade down his cashmere sweater vest. He swigs greedily at the water with his mouth overflowing with tastycake. I can only imagine the backwash and cringe.
Finally it's my turn. There is still no one behind me. There won't be either. Hell will freeze over before another person needs that air pump. I'm sure that if I camped out all night....no one else in the tri state area would need that air pump. I check my suspected tire and the gauge doesn't move. Hmmmmmm....not even enough pressure to register. Yup......a tad bit low indeed. Us beanbags can see the inevitability of death in a smoldering cigarette butt, but won't necessarily notice a FREAKIN FLAT TIRE!!!!!!
Thank heavens I'm home now.
"OK....which one of you mongrels pooped in my shower!"
As it stands....I must interact, and as I interact......I reflect. I have plenty of time to reflect because this freakin woman is clearly taking a few moments to re-apply her nail polish after finishing her transaction at the drive up teller. Terribly hard on the cuticles putting her check in the slidey drawer actually. God give me the strength to accept the things I cannot change........and........and................however the fuck the rest of that saying goes.
Am I the only one in the world who takes next to no time for anything?!? You come out of a store, you get in your car, you start said car, and you fucking leave!!!! What is happening while I'm waiting for a parking space with my blinker on as the car in question just sits there. Just sits. I have to wonder what he's doing in there? is he steeped in silent prayer? is he balancing his checkbook? is he taking a moment for some much needed personal grooming? WTF!!!!!
Situations like this bring in to clear focus the fact that I am not of this planet. I am a fluke of nature......a genetic anomaly.......a beanbag chair in the formal sitting room of life. I can tell you that the Gods enjoy playing with us beanbags. Today, I noticed that one of my tires appeared to be a tad bit low. I'll stop by Sheetz with my handy dandy tire gauge and check the pressure and top it off a little if it needs it. I am after all, a modern independent woman and quite capable of operating most anything that doesn't look like a remote control.
I pull in and there's a line of 4 cars waiting for the air pump. The lead car is a large Buick who's tires are being tended by a large butt crack. Uhhhhhh.......hmmmmmm.......yup......thats all I saw. Stopped looking at that point. I'm waiting.......waiting.........trying to get the "Macarena" song out of my head. I finally give up and haul my ass to the grocery store. I'll swing back by Sheetz after, once the centennial air rush is over.
I come back to Sheetz, and there is now a line of 4 different cars waiting for the air pump. I'm in the twilight zone. William Shatner is in the car in front of me right?? with a gremlin in the passenger seat?? So I wait. This will be a good exercise for me. the line moves. No one is behind me. No one will be behind me. I'm last.
I'm up next. The Camry in front of me pops his trunk. OK.......bicycle tires.......this ought to be quick. 5 minutes....10 minutes.......How can he fucking take that long for bicycle tires!?!? He then checks each car tire with the pressure gauge 5 times after each blast of air. His life partner walks in and gets a bottled water and a tastycake which he eats as crumbs cascade down his cashmere sweater vest. He swigs greedily at the water with his mouth overflowing with tastycake. I can only imagine the backwash and cringe.
Finally it's my turn. There is still no one behind me. There won't be either. Hell will freeze over before another person needs that air pump. I'm sure that if I camped out all night....no one else in the tri state area would need that air pump. I check my suspected tire and the gauge doesn't move. Hmmmmmm....not even enough pressure to register. Yup......a tad bit low indeed. Us beanbags can see the inevitability of death in a smoldering cigarette butt, but won't necessarily notice a FREAKIN FLAT TIRE!!!!!!
Thank heavens I'm home now.
"OK....which one of you mongrels pooped in my shower!"
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
The cable button
So maybe things were going just a little too well. I'm not accustomed to, or designed for too much good fortune. I will find a way to fuck it up. I'm not terribly happy about this little twist of my nature. God knows if I ever hit the jackpot, they'd have to revive me first, then haul my ass to the unit for observation. The good news here is that I'm making it a priority to address it. The bad news is that I have no fucking idea how to address it.
Stress and I have a rather dis functional relationship. There is no one better than me in a crisis. I'm calm, collected, efficient, and my emotions are on the back burner until the crisis has passed. I am the one you want to call in the middle of the night with an emergency. I'm on it. That being said..........ask me how I handle good news. I'll paint you a picture of a middle aged fat woman with a large Acme anvil suspended over her head by a tattered rope a la Wile E. Coyote. I'm a mess and a half. "really?........you expect something of me now?........can I live up to that? It's got to be a fluke right?...a 25 year long fluke pursuit.....I'm not really that good at all"
I'm sure there's a reason for this little character flaw, and given the time and inclination I'm sure I could ferret it out. The honest truth is that I'm going to have to be satisfied to have named it for now because I don't have the time or inclination. Too much introspection can be a dangerous thing for me. Given the proper motivation, I can talk myself in to the disease of your choice, be it mental or physical. I'm quite gifted this way. Give me 24 hours......I can become a hyper thyroid manic depressive with trench mouth and prostate cancer. Like I said, I walk a fine line introspection-wise.
Please wait while analogy loads............
I have two televisions in my small and somewhat crappy townhouse. One is the stuff of legend...a monstrous plasma screen, high definition, space-shuttle of a television. I keep the dust off it religiously because it's just so preeeetty. I almost never watch it. My other television is a vintage 1983 19 inch Sanyo with imitation wood grain on the sides from back in the day when marketers figured that state of the art electronic devices should be made out of wood. Juuuust fucking brilliant. It has an unholy collection of wires cascading down the back that make it possible for my museum piece to operate. OK......so the sound tends to quit whenever a Keanu Reeves movie is on......I'm fine with that. This is the one I watch. It makes me happy......I'm comfortable with it. I'm used to it.
I'm thinking maybe I should make a little more of an effort to bond with my plasma screen. It's great for football games and grand slam tennis. I will even brave the remote control every now and again. I recently discovered that if I push the "cable" button......my guide will pop back up without blasting country music. It was a breakthrough. baby steps people........baby steps. I'm learning.
I sold two paintings this week
I haven't lost anymore weight but I haven't gained either.
I'm just lookin' for my own damned "cable" button.
Stress and I have a rather dis functional relationship. There is no one better than me in a crisis. I'm calm, collected, efficient, and my emotions are on the back burner until the crisis has passed. I am the one you want to call in the middle of the night with an emergency. I'm on it. That being said..........ask me how I handle good news. I'll paint you a picture of a middle aged fat woman with a large Acme anvil suspended over her head by a tattered rope a la Wile E. Coyote. I'm a mess and a half. "really?........you expect something of me now?........can I live up to that? It's got to be a fluke right?...a 25 year long fluke pursuit.....I'm not really that good at all"
I'm sure there's a reason for this little character flaw, and given the time and inclination I'm sure I could ferret it out. The honest truth is that I'm going to have to be satisfied to have named it for now because I don't have the time or inclination. Too much introspection can be a dangerous thing for me. Given the proper motivation, I can talk myself in to the disease of your choice, be it mental or physical. I'm quite gifted this way. Give me 24 hours......I can become a hyper thyroid manic depressive with trench mouth and prostate cancer. Like I said, I walk a fine line introspection-wise.
Please wait while analogy loads............
I have two televisions in my small and somewhat crappy townhouse. One is the stuff of legend...a monstrous plasma screen, high definition, space-shuttle of a television. I keep the dust off it religiously because it's just so preeeetty. I almost never watch it. My other television is a vintage 1983 19 inch Sanyo with imitation wood grain on the sides from back in the day when marketers figured that state of the art electronic devices should be made out of wood. Juuuust fucking brilliant. It has an unholy collection of wires cascading down the back that make it possible for my museum piece to operate. OK......so the sound tends to quit whenever a Keanu Reeves movie is on......I'm fine with that. This is the one I watch. It makes me happy......I'm comfortable with it. I'm used to it.
I'm thinking maybe I should make a little more of an effort to bond with my plasma screen. It's great for football games and grand slam tennis. I will even brave the remote control every now and again. I recently discovered that if I push the "cable" button......my guide will pop back up without blasting country music. It was a breakthrough. baby steps people........baby steps. I'm learning.
I sold two paintings this week
I haven't lost anymore weight but I haven't gained either.
I'm just lookin' for my own damned "cable" button.
Friday, January 8, 2010
the super morbidly obese...and my hair
So I sat down last night to write an entry here. Three hours later, I deleted the whole mess. When I can't write about whats on my mind because I'm too distracted by what's really on my mind, it's time to step back and breathe. My plan was to write about those "super morbidly obese" programs on TLC that I can't look away from. You know the ones where they surgically remove a hundred pound "fat pad" from some guy's inner thigh after they cut a hole in his house to crane lift him out of bed? As wonderfully thin and waif-like as those programs make me feel by comparison,(and I do feel guilty about that) it was not the uppermost issue on my mind.
This blog is nothing if it's not honest. Painfully honest. I'm just a little ashamed to admit that the big issue of late has been............my hair. That being said and effectively off my chest, lets take a brief moment to condense the history of my hair shall we?: pig tails as a kid, curly and dark as a young woman ( and quite fabulous at the time) and wavy graying now. I've worn it pulled back in a ponytail for the last.......hmmmmmmm.....25 years maybe.
Suddenly on a whim, Hilary took a flat iron to it and my thinning hair with the curl steadily failing, fell flat as a board. I looked like Jennifer Aniston if she was a middle aged fat woman. The most recent hair compliment coming from the girl at the pharmacy who gave me my blood pressure medicine. Who'd have thought that my hair, grey and getting greyer as it is, could garner such response!? I got a thumbs up from the freakin' bag boy at the Food Lion!
So here's the deal.....my hair has been the same for so long, that one little change has set me center stage. What does this say about my life? I can hardly believe I'm about to say this, but I've been more confident and self assured. I smile more. I've begun marketing my paintings and they've started selling. un-fucking-believable. Seems I've been in a hairstyle rut for the last 25 years and now that I've emerged.......the sun is shining and little cartoon blue birds are singing around my heralded head.
So how long do you figure I'll need to flat-iron my hair before I'm a wealthy painter/writer being profiled on "Lifestyles of the Super-Fabulous"? Do you suppose if I get my eyebrows done, I'll get a book deal? 'cause I'll do that yanno. Is the universe really this ridiculous or is it just me? Do you think a 24k toidy is a little over the top? Damn people!!!.....if I'd have known all I had to do was straighten my hair, I'd have done it two.......or even 3 weeks ago!!
"Airing next on TLC......Nancy's story......the tale of a woman who's hair remained unchanged for 25 years. See how she finally gets her life in some semblance of order once she tames her ragged lockes. See how she smiles a lot and thanks clients and cashiers for the compliment. Watch as the world finally accepts her.......and her hair."
"......and at 9:00, The One Ton Teen...... Watch as David spends $40.00 a day on chocolate bars. Watch as the surgeons remove 170 pounds from his abdomen so he can finally sit upright. Watch as he loses 400 pounds in 4 months because his mother has stopped enabling even though all women are evil"
Where do I sign
This blog is nothing if it's not honest. Painfully honest. I'm just a little ashamed to admit that the big issue of late has been............my hair. That being said and effectively off my chest, lets take a brief moment to condense the history of my hair shall we?: pig tails as a kid, curly and dark as a young woman ( and quite fabulous at the time) and wavy graying now. I've worn it pulled back in a ponytail for the last.......hmmmmmmm.....25 years maybe.
Suddenly on a whim, Hilary took a flat iron to it and my thinning hair with the curl steadily failing, fell flat as a board. I looked like Jennifer Aniston if she was a middle aged fat woman. The most recent hair compliment coming from the girl at the pharmacy who gave me my blood pressure medicine. Who'd have thought that my hair, grey and getting greyer as it is, could garner such response!? I got a thumbs up from the freakin' bag boy at the Food Lion!
So here's the deal.....my hair has been the same for so long, that one little change has set me center stage. What does this say about my life? I can hardly believe I'm about to say this, but I've been more confident and self assured. I smile more. I've begun marketing my paintings and they've started selling. un-fucking-believable. Seems I've been in a hairstyle rut for the last 25 years and now that I've emerged.......the sun is shining and little cartoon blue birds are singing around my heralded head.
So how long do you figure I'll need to flat-iron my hair before I'm a wealthy painter/writer being profiled on "Lifestyles of the Super-Fabulous"? Do you suppose if I get my eyebrows done, I'll get a book deal? 'cause I'll do that yanno. Is the universe really this ridiculous or is it just me? Do you think a 24k toidy is a little over the top? Damn people!!!.....if I'd have known all I had to do was straighten my hair, I'd have done it two.......or even 3 weeks ago!!
"Airing next on TLC......Nancy's story......the tale of a woman who's hair remained unchanged for 25 years. See how she finally gets her life in some semblance of order once she tames her ragged lockes. See how she smiles a lot and thanks clients and cashiers for the compliment. Watch as the world finally accepts her.......and her hair."
"......and at 9:00, The One Ton Teen...... Watch as David spends $40.00 a day on chocolate bars. Watch as the surgeons remove 170 pounds from his abdomen so he can finally sit upright. Watch as he loses 400 pounds in 4 months because his mother has stopped enabling even though all women are evil"
Where do I sign
Sunday, January 3, 2010
The orange soda rebellion
What do you suppose it means when I have to stop and do the math in order to tell someone how old I am ? I guess on one level it means that age has no great meaning to me and that I'm oh so terribly comfortable with who and where I am in life. OK.......that was fun.......now as to reality, I think it has more to do with the general decline of my workable brain cells. I feel like with each new strand of gray hair, my IQ drops a few points, and my awareness of the ridiculousness that surrounds me sharpens.
Today I had to go to the grocery store to get orange soda. Don't judge me people.....it's not like I have much else in the way of self destructive habits. Orange soda is my small act of defiance in the face of all those exercise bunnies with rock hard abs that dominate late night television, although I must concede a reluctant two thumbs up to the inventor of the patented hair toss workout routine. All I need is heavy make up, low rise lycra, a boob job, hair extensions and a shit-load of liposuction. I'm on it!
I really have to wonder again and out loud if this marketing technique really works for the fat girl demographic. Am I alone in thinking that fat girls like me don't want to booty pop and slap their asses and throw a seductive look to the camera as a means of weight loss? I wonder how many calories are burned in slightly parted lips and a look of wanton desire? Do you suppose they have a disclaimer that says "results dependant upon willingness to purge" Maybe I'm the freak. Maybe fat girls think "I wanna look like her!" and dial up with their credit card number. I seriously hope not. I would hope that God would give us a little savvy seeing as how he couldn't give us all long blonde hair to toss back and long sooty eyelashes to flutter. It's the fucking least he can do.
So I'm in the store and I'm taking in all the diet displays. The overpriced diet foods are all moved to the front of the aisles in order to take advantage of all that resolution sparked emotional duress that most people are walking around with. Sorry guys.....I'm immune.....I've been on this road for 6 months. If I haven't bought Snackwells by now, chances are I'm not going to. I've seen the stock boys dusting the cobwebs off the rice cakes. I know the drill. I may not know how old I am but I still know bullshit when I see it.
While I'm picking up orange soda, I might as well pick up some other staples like yogurt and string cheese and a lovely chewy loaf of french bread with real butter. Sorry.........just a quick little fantasy. I didn't really get the bread and butter......but I had the dream. My little siesta was interrupted by a hearty greeting and hug happening right next to me. I had to stop and listen a little just to hear the recipient of the greeting scramble to explain that she had just "rolled out of bed" as an excuse for her appearance which seemed fine to me....miss brown sock black sock....for what that's worth.
I wanted to stand on the dairy case and yell "STOP APOLOGIZING BECAUSE YOU'RE NOT CINDY FUCKING CRAWFORD!!!" We may not be beautiful and sexy and we may not live a charmed life, and we may not have buns of steel but we still have value.......and we don't need store clerks to display and stack us into feeling guilty about our saddle bags and cellulite, now wheres that orange soda!!!!......WHO'S WITH ME?!?!.......and.........what else did I need??
crap......I can't fucking remember.
Today I had to go to the grocery store to get orange soda. Don't judge me people.....it's not like I have much else in the way of self destructive habits. Orange soda is my small act of defiance in the face of all those exercise bunnies with rock hard abs that dominate late night television, although I must concede a reluctant two thumbs up to the inventor of the patented hair toss workout routine. All I need is heavy make up, low rise lycra, a boob job, hair extensions and a shit-load of liposuction. I'm on it!
I really have to wonder again and out loud if this marketing technique really works for the fat girl demographic. Am I alone in thinking that fat girls like me don't want to booty pop and slap their asses and throw a seductive look to the camera as a means of weight loss? I wonder how many calories are burned in slightly parted lips and a look of wanton desire? Do you suppose they have a disclaimer that says "results dependant upon willingness to purge" Maybe I'm the freak. Maybe fat girls think "I wanna look like her!" and dial up with their credit card number. I seriously hope not. I would hope that God would give us a little savvy seeing as how he couldn't give us all long blonde hair to toss back and long sooty eyelashes to flutter. It's the fucking least he can do.
So I'm in the store and I'm taking in all the diet displays. The overpriced diet foods are all moved to the front of the aisles in order to take advantage of all that resolution sparked emotional duress that most people are walking around with. Sorry guys.....I'm immune.....I've been on this road for 6 months. If I haven't bought Snackwells by now, chances are I'm not going to. I've seen the stock boys dusting the cobwebs off the rice cakes. I know the drill. I may not know how old I am but I still know bullshit when I see it.
While I'm picking up orange soda, I might as well pick up some other staples like yogurt and string cheese and a lovely chewy loaf of french bread with real butter. Sorry.........just a quick little fantasy. I didn't really get the bread and butter......but I had the dream. My little siesta was interrupted by a hearty greeting and hug happening right next to me. I had to stop and listen a little just to hear the recipient of the greeting scramble to explain that she had just "rolled out of bed" as an excuse for her appearance which seemed fine to me....miss brown sock black sock....for what that's worth.
I wanted to stand on the dairy case and yell "STOP APOLOGIZING BECAUSE YOU'RE NOT CINDY FUCKING CRAWFORD!!!" We may not be beautiful and sexy and we may not live a charmed life, and we may not have buns of steel but we still have value.......and we don't need store clerks to display and stack us into feeling guilty about our saddle bags and cellulite, now wheres that orange soda!!!!......WHO'S WITH ME?!?!.......and.........what else did I need??
crap......I can't fucking remember.
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