Botox, baby

I have never claimed to be a fashionista, or an advertising maven, or costuming expert. I have my basic uniform of t-shirt and jeans that I wear most days, swapping out for a tank in the hottest days and a button down shirt or plain sweater in the winter. It's pretty basic (but not BASIC, uhm-kayyyy??).

So even though we have now thoroughly established I'm no clothing expert, I am appalled every time the Botox for migraines ads come on TV. The lead gal they cast is *basically* (pun intended) beautiful, and does a reasonable job pretending to walk around migraine-free.

"I need a venti soy half-caff extra hot PSL stat!"

But. Her. Outfit. It is the most unflattering, ugly, horrendously dated frumpy thing I've ever seen. Boxy, blousy, too-big, droopy button down shirt tucked in to frumpy, pleated, too-big, cankle-length khaki pants.

Maybe if I put my hands on my waist you'll know I have one...

They have taken a reasonably attractive woman who likely has a "perfect" body under that mess and made her look like a lumpy dumpy homely frump-meiser. That costumer should be fired! S/he obviously has a grudge against this poor lady who is just trying to make a dollar for herself by doing a really stupid Botox ad.

*just think about the paycheck. smile for the paycheck. moneymoneymoneymoney*

I mean, look at this woman! She more than likely has a body most women would kill for and you can't even see it under all those pleats and poufy clothes. She might not have migraines anymore but she has a headache from looking at herself in the mirror.

new chonies

I got an email this week from a popular sweatshop-made underwear store (I'd tell you the name but then it wouldn't be a Secret...) telling me I could get new underdraws for the bargain price of 5 for $15! Three bucks a pair? Extending the time between laundry drudgery by five glorious days?

Plus, Vicki usually charges $28 for five pairs of drawers. I am a frugalista at her finest, and saving $13 was enough to make me brave the mall and all the trolls and kids and other horrible excuses for humanity that reside there.

I head straight to the undie store and weave craftily among the women with strollers and toddlers, the ladies clutching their winning scraps of fabric, only to realize that the "deal" underwear was a clever ruse to get me in for their semi-annual sale. And since the sale has been going on for a while all that was left of size medium were the strangest, ugliest chonies you ever saw in your life. And far too many "bride" rhinestone encrusted lacey bits. I even looked through the other sizes to see if somehow some magical set of size medium cute (or even wearable) skivvies were hiding from me. Not a decent foundation garment to be found. F*ck you Vicki, you lying vindictive little con artist. (Bitter Betty, underwear-less party of one)

Since I was at the mall, I figured I should at least stroll around to a couple of the stores and see if anyone had any wayyyy after Christmas sales where a thrifty princess could find some swag. As I swiftly mall-walked I realized if anyone heard the thoughts in my head I could be put away in jail, nay, solitary confinement in jail.

The middle-aged couple stumbling along, managing to take up the entire walkway weaving about, would have been stabbed in the head to be out of my way. The angsty-goth twenty-somethings I mentally shoved into the cement fountain. The darling elderly couple who stopped completely blocking the path between sweaters at the Gap would have been punched in the neck. The women unwrapping the noisiest hard candy in Macy's would have had the mint shoved down their throats and choked to death.

I'm a really nice person. Ask anyone. Super nice. So when I was mentally cursing the designer of the escalators and their insignificant pea-brain for installing them opposite of how I would have I knew it was time to leave.

This is why I rarely go to the mall anymore. This is why online shopping is great. I like being not in jail. And slow, inconsiderate, annoying, f*cktards can still go to the mall in peace.