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.

Mortal Kombat

In my quest to find fun new ways to workout, I have been trying the classes at the gym. Tonight's class was a pseudo boxing-karate-MMA workout called Bodycombat. I have to say there were more men in this group exercise class than any other class I've ever taken.... and I can understand why. It was like we were in a real-life version of a video game.

Imagine kicking and punching to this soundtrack:

The songs played didn't have the actual words "Mortal Kombat" to them, but you could use your imagination. And clearly these dudes were imagining themselves as such.

Hiiii-YAH!!

and

HUUUUHNAHH!!!

and

I am fierce ninja warrior!

so that they could ultimately (never) get this

Who, by the way, in reality would look more like this

Why do the women in video games always have huge inflated fake boobies that always seem to be missing nipples? Either that or the doc botched the job so bad the nips are no longer in the center of the boob...

I think I will file that with the questions of why some men think porn is real, why some people watch Fox News and think it is real, or why some people think global warming isn't real. *shakes head* *rolls eyes* *eats a cookie*

Douchery: Part Two

Remember that one time I joined Tinder? I was flabbergasted by the number of atrocious profile pix I encountered in the first 24 hours of membership. There were so many I didn't want to overwhelm by putting them all in one entry. You can see Douchery: Part One here, and read on to see the rest.

These are by far more horrifying than the ones you've already seen. *shudders*

Y'all keep in mind this is his MAIN PHOTO used to attract members of the opposite sex. Eww. I do not want to see your little black curlies peeking over the top of your pants nor do I need to see the outline of your manbits in the fabric. This is so much more offensive than your standard shirtless picture. Dear darling idiot Jacob, I almost hope you thought you were posting on Grindr not Tinder, because that is who it looks like you are trying to attract.

My guess is Sergio has a small penis. Why else would your main profile picture be a phallus gun? Also, if I were to go out with him I would be more than a little scared. If you advertise yourself as a gun, I worry that you are abusive, controlling, and an asshole. No, no, not all gun owners are these things, just like #notallmen rhetoric. But not all gun owners put their gun in a place their face should be.

Look, I am not a prude (well, maybe a little) and am cool with whatever y'all want to do to each other consensually in the privacy of your homes. But in "public"? In the everlasting world of the internets where things NEVER DISAPPEAR??? Obscene. And what is it with guys with armband/tribal tattoos wearing women's things? (see my prior post if you haven't already)

Yes, that is a man wiping his ass with the American flag. It was so unbelievable that I had to look twice too. Let me be clear - I am the first to fight for free speech. My mother is a librarian, for chrisssakes. I have never been through a nudescope at the airport because I feel it violates my rights. I have the most extremely opposite views of Westboro Baptists but would fight for their right to speak their minds; and I love that we live in a country where we can all say what we want and not go to jail for it. All that being said, I do not want to see someone basically taking a dump in front of me on a dating site.

So maybe it is reallyreallyreally important that you let me know you own a gun, or that you shit on America. You can have up to six pictures, put it in as number three or four. Or even better, write about it in your bio. I know, you only get 500 words in the bio section and a picture is worth 1000, but sometimes brevity is best.

This guy

Several friends told me I had to open my search a bit for some new manmeat, and actually join a 'pay' dating site. (sigh) FINE.

I've been on about three weeks now, and after the initial flurry emails and winks from being the new girl, I'm now down to searching and doing the winking myself.

Here's (nearly) every dude's profile:

Down to earth driven guy who loves being active, I love staying in and watching Game of Thrones and I love going out with friends. I love hiking, working out, and I love staying in and cuddling on the couch. I'm looking for a fun laid back girl, who loves to have fun and also loves to chill. She has to be fun, but also fun. We have fun together. She has to be laid back, but also exciting. I also want her to be gorgeous and pretty, but doesn't take long to get ready. And we have fun and are laid back together. 

In reality, he's overweight and ugly, and probably boring. OK, that last part about being boring, I don't know unless I meet you. But your profile is boring.

Until... this guy.

First of all, 41??? Bahahahahaha right, sure, uh-huh, buddy. Let me buy you some sunscreen, because obviously you have never used it. Like, ever. Secondly, you're looking for someone 18-27? Gross. You have kids. You could even have a kid that was 18 and it wouldn't be weird. And you're not even divorced. Berf.

I'm already sickened. But then I read your biography section.

Thanks for telling me what I like, buddy because as a little lady, I sure as hell didn't know on my own. We females don't have that many brain cells.

Just so we're clear, if I were to ever tell you "I won't sleep with you" it means if you were the last person on earth and the human race depended on us procreating, I would feel very sad that there would be no more people.

Let me tell you Mr. Rape Culture Embodied, you are part (and in fact, perhaps even the spokesperson) of the "freakishly large percentage of loser guys," which is why you hear "I won't sleep with you" so often. You are an affront to women everywhere.

Tell me, did you write your profile as a "how to" for men or to try to attract women? I can see why you prey on younger girls. You are looking for women that don't know any better than to allow themselves to be manipulated by a misogynistic asshole looking to set a poor example for his children.

All I can say is, no wonder you are separated, and I hope that your wife gets those divorce papers signed soon.

nail job

This weekend I'm going to participate in my fourth year at the charity event Yoga for Hope. It benefits the City of Hope Hospital, which is a bastion for research, recovery and treatment for a variety of diseases including cancer, AIDS, diabetes, and other life threatening diseases.

I got invited the first year by my bestie Claire, a breast cancer survivor and the keynote speaker the first year. I had such an amazing experience that when Claire then took on chairing the event, I continued to attend. Her fundraising group's color is blue, so I figured I would commemorate the weekend with blue toes and fingernails.

This is a big 'ole heap of exposition just so I can tell you about my experience in the nail salon tonight....

Wellllll, the person doing my toes was a dude. I really really try not to be judgemental about dudes working in the nail salons. I have had some seriously good mani/pedi's from men.  However. I was really editing in my head, trying not to be worried about how my toes would look.

First, he was wearing a mask. Not uncommon in a nail salon. They inhale so many fumes, it can be really really toxic.

But this was no ordinary mask. First, it was much more rigid, like the ones men sometimes wear in constructions sites.

And he had taken an industrial sized piece of elastic and stapled it to the sides of the mask about six times on each side with which to strap the mask to his head. Then, he had also stapled a ziploc baggie to the inside. And oh yes, it was Ziploc, you can tell by the red/blue seal that was folded over the edge of the mask.

Then, there was his manicure toolbox. It was a super-size of the regular one that the ladies usually have. His cotton was stored in a large container that used to hold bungee cords from home depot. How do I know? I have that container of bungees in the trunk of my car. His emory board was easily the size of a ruler.

I'm pretty sure instead of using the regular cuticle cutters he used some needle-nosed pliers. And when it came time to paint, his giant man-paws were holding the little paintbrush like it was a very tiny pencil, but then instead of even paint strokes, he was making these little stabby motions toward my toenails. I was a little worried, to say the least.

stab, stab, stab.

stab, stab, stab.

He was just so... stabby.

The end result was pretty OK. The lady who did my hands did give my feet a very close stare-down and seemed to deem them satisfactory after only a minor touch up. Overall, not the best pedicure I've ever had. But Bear-Paw-Magee did the best he could with his giant mitts.

I mean, if you had grabbers like that, could you do this?

the masochist's diet plan

For those of you who are looking to lose a few pounds and don't mind a little torture, have I got the diet plan for you! I lost four pounds in 24 hours! All you have to do is eat some spoiled, pooped on, e-coli, salmonella food!!

*berf*

The only thing I can pinpoint that might have caused my unexpected weight loss was a bagel and cream cheese. It tasted fine. Maybe a fly pooped on it. Maybe the lady didn't wash her hands. Maybe I touched a door handle with bad germs. Whatever it was, a few hours later I was shopping for my boss in Target and all of a sudden that awful feeling came over me...

Uh oh...

So I'm in the seasonal area, and I can barely stand up without seeing stars. I have to sit down. Oh dear. I sit and wait, concentrating on breathing, for an employee to come by and ask where the bathroom was. "oh it is just on the complete other side of the store about as far away from here as possible - might as well be on the moon!" Greeaaaat.

I stumble about one aisle at a time, pausing only to keep myself from passing out. I finally make it to the bathroom... and it is being cleaned. Seriously.

Anyway, the bad news, I couldn't leave that Target for about an hour and had to stop twice on the way home. The good news is after about 24 hours I was good as new, and about four pounds lighter.

So next time you need to fit into those skinny jeans or wear a swimsuit tomorrow, just eat some tainted turkey, curdled cream cheese, spoiled salami, or gross gouda!

Who needs Weight Watchers!?

patchouli.

aka barfouli. aka stinkouli. aka gagouli. aka worse-than-old-lady-perfume-ouli.

I apologize to anyone that might wear the stench perfume patchouli, but the malodor feels to me like someone hot boxed some incense in my nose and the hot box was made of stabby things up through my nostrils to my brain. And for some reason 99.99999% of the people that wear patchouli put so much on that you can smell it from about a mile away.

granted, any perfume that you can smell from over 20 feet away is an affront.  I think this every time I pass an old lady that has been wearing the same perfume her whole adult life and now can no longer smell it/takes a bath in it. But for some reason, when someone has slathered themselves in patchouli (as happened this evening) I feel as though I am being assaulted.

Tonight this woman was wearing being owned by patchouli and it was all I could do to be around her without gagging. I tried as politely as possible to keep my hand around my nose so I would smell my own hand rather than her, and also kept as far away as possible, taking care to hold my breath around her and then make sure to breathe OUT first before breathing IN after I had left her general vicinity (and by general vicinity I mean a 25 foot radius) so that any smell that had snuck up in my nose might be expelled before I had to breathe in.

seriously, I want to tell anyone that thinks patchouli smells nice. just don't. If you must enjoy it, buy the incense sticks and burn out in your yard/patio/balcony/wooded area. But PLEASE, PLEASE keep it away from me. It smells so fucking foul that it makes me want to run away from you. And you might be a very nice person.

gahhhh I feel violated...