I needed to make a pit stop while at Target this afternoon, so I made a beeline for one of the restroom stalls, and just before I pushed open the door, a woman at the sink grabbed me and said, "Don't go in there. I just saved you." I answered, "Say no more," and found another stall on the opposite side of the restroom.
Seconds later I heard another woman bellow, "What the hell??? SICK!!!!" And then there was some mumbling, which included, "It's everywhere in there." I have to admit, at this point, I was getting rather curious about the horror behind door no. 2. Thank goodness there were other women still in the restroom, because they kept me from sneaking a peek, knowing they all knew that I knew to stay far away from the poo.
What's even more pathetic? That was the most interesting thing that happened to me all day.
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Friday, October 17, 2008
Tell Me What I Shouldn't Know
Fabulous news! Katie Holmes is doing fortunes at the 7-Eleven down the street. I'm throwing on my turban and heading over now to see if she needs an assistant.
Monday, October 13, 2008
Right Feeling, Wrong Timing
Saturday was supposed to be my great day. For once, I wasn't going to work, instead basking in the glow that is my Michigan football team. Frank got us tickets, and we drove to Ann Arbor, where things started to quickly go wrong.
First, we parked about a mile away from the stadium. I was wearing flats, and still, the walk was exhausting, especially because we were walking much of the way along a gravel path, right against the road where traffic was flying by, making it difficult to sidestep the broken glass on our trail.
Second, we got to the stadium, and some guy told me my handbag was too big to bring into the stadium. I can walk into any stadium in the state with this bag, it is so not very big. Yet at the Big House? If it's not a fanny pack (uck), it's not allowed. He gave me two options: walk back to the car (not happening) or check my bag at some stop on the other side of the stadium (totally not happening). My Survivor side must have clicked in just then, because I guided Frank to another entrance, waited until the bag police stepped away, and walked in. I would like to mention that on our stroll to our seats, I saw a number of bags just as large as mine, including a backpack. There's consistency for you.
Third, the heat was unbearable. Who expects heat stroke in October? Not me. But the sun was relentless, there was not a cloud in sight and we were very, very exposed. The result? SUNBURN. Oh, and swamp nuts. During the second quarter, Frank stood up and declared, "Man, I've got massive swamp nuts." That's when the lady next to me slowly turned her head in his direction and stared, jaw dropped. Frank laughed for the next 10 minutes.
Four, my team SUCKED! We lost to TOLEDO? Who loses to TOLEDO? It was an embarrassment. We were hot, sunburned, tired and humiliated. What else could go wrong?
Five, a bug went wrong. Somewhere along our long walk back to the car, the nastiest bug ever took a rest in my hair. I didn't find this out, however, until we were driving back home, and I ran my hand through my hair, meeting Mr. Bug. If you know anything about my ability to kick over a table at the sight of a bug, you can only imagine the freakout that took place in the car. I whipped the bug out of my hair and ducked, looking for it. It came to rest on the passenger window - way too close to me. I practically had a panic attack, as I leaned over far enough to put my head in Frank's lap (certainly an erotic scene to the car in back of us), and reached my hand back to roll down the window. That's when Frank yelled, "You blew it into the back of the car!" Now I had all the windows down, plus the sunroof open, and yet, every 10 seconds, I was sure there was a bug on my body. Finally we had to pull the car over and inspect every square inch to be sure the bug had actually escaped.
I should have stayed home and worked.
First, we parked about a mile away from the stadium. I was wearing flats, and still, the walk was exhausting, especially because we were walking much of the way along a gravel path, right against the road where traffic was flying by, making it difficult to sidestep the broken glass on our trail.
Second, we got to the stadium, and some guy told me my handbag was too big to bring into the stadium. I can walk into any stadium in the state with this bag, it is so not very big. Yet at the Big House? If it's not a fanny pack (uck), it's not allowed. He gave me two options: walk back to the car (not happening) or check my bag at some stop on the other side of the stadium (totally not happening). My Survivor side must have clicked in just then, because I guided Frank to another entrance, waited until the bag police stepped away, and walked in. I would like to mention that on our stroll to our seats, I saw a number of bags just as large as mine, including a backpack. There's consistency for you.
Third, the heat was unbearable. Who expects heat stroke in October? Not me. But the sun was relentless, there was not a cloud in sight and we were very, very exposed. The result? SUNBURN. Oh, and swamp nuts. During the second quarter, Frank stood up and declared, "Man, I've got massive swamp nuts." That's when the lady next to me slowly turned her head in his direction and stared, jaw dropped. Frank laughed for the next 10 minutes.
Four, my team SUCKED! We lost to TOLEDO? Who loses to TOLEDO? It was an embarrassment. We were hot, sunburned, tired and humiliated. What else could go wrong?
Five, a bug went wrong. Somewhere along our long walk back to the car, the nastiest bug ever took a rest in my hair. I didn't find this out, however, until we were driving back home, and I ran my hand through my hair, meeting Mr. Bug. If you know anything about my ability to kick over a table at the sight of a bug, you can only imagine the freakout that took place in the car. I whipped the bug out of my hair and ducked, looking for it. It came to rest on the passenger window - way too close to me. I practically had a panic attack, as I leaned over far enough to put my head in Frank's lap (certainly an erotic scene to the car in back of us), and reached my hand back to roll down the window. That's when Frank yelled, "You blew it into the back of the car!" Now I had all the windows down, plus the sunroof open, and yet, every 10 seconds, I was sure there was a bug on my body. Finally we had to pull the car over and inspect every square inch to be sure the bug had actually escaped.
I should have stayed home and worked.
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Million Dollar Idea?
As you know, many high-end designers are creating more affordable (read: crappier fabrics) lines to bring in additional revenue. How about every four years they add an election line: Lots of reds and blues, cute Art Deco elephant or donkey prints and silk screened evening dresses, featuring the faces of our presidential candidates? Think anyone would buy such wares?
Maybe if it included a matching line for geese...
Maybe if it included a matching line for geese...
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Calgon, Where the Hell ARE You?
You know I'm working too hard when I can't get up enough energy to be funny. Starting this new fashion magazine has sucked up all my creative juices. Thank God I have a LOT of black clothes in my closet, because I've even lost the ability to combine colors. Just a few more weeks and this issue will be done, and hopefully my workload will level out. Ha! Did you see that? I made a funny! Workloads don't level out in the magazine world! EVER. See? Did you ... see? Yeah, not so much, huh. I'll just rest my head now.
Friday, October 3, 2008
Why We Love Men
My husband is in Paris this week, and since I couldn't go along this trip, I put in a request for a great Parisian scarf. My only specifications were that it had to be a purple color and it couldn't come from a street vendor. It had to be from an authentic Parisian boutique. So, Frank called me as he came out of a shop on the Champs Elysées, with scarf in hand. From Benetton.
That sweet man paid almost twice as much to buy me a scarf from a chain store that is just a few miles away from our home. Men. They don't necessarily get fashion, but they sure do try.
(I did find this scarf on the Benetton Web site, and I must admit, if it looks like this, I'm really not going to be disappointed.)
That sweet man paid almost twice as much to buy me a scarf from a chain store that is just a few miles away from our home. Men. They don't necessarily get fashion, but they sure do try.
(I did find this scarf on the Benetton Web site, and I must admit, if it looks like this, I'm really not going to be disappointed.)
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Stop That Now! Or, Why Brights Really Aren't Slimming
It's time for another round of Stop That Now! - my findings of fashion don'ts that must, in the name of all things good, be stopped immediately.
Today:
Why black should be your bottom's best friend.
You have to be thin as a toothpick to wear light colored, extremely fitted sweat pants and not look like a sausage trying to squeeze out of its casing. Obviously, there is a lot going wrong with this outfit, starting at the top with the too-tiny tank that has to be cutting into her lung capacity. But those pants. Those pants! Wrinkled rears are not attractive. On that, I think we can all agree. So why share yours with the world?
Clothes are meant to accentuate our finer points while camouflaging the areas that don't scream runway model body. And yet, I see so many women making their "hiders" the main attraction for the viewer. Loosen up the material a tad, sweetie. And turn to darker colors for your lower half. You don't look like sex, sex and more sex, as I believe you are trying to convey. You look like you fell asleep in those clothes after an all-night Ben & Jerry's binge and woke up three sizes larger.
Today:
Why black should be your bottom's best friend.
You have to be thin as a toothpick to wear light colored, extremely fitted sweat pants and not look like a sausage trying to squeeze out of its casing. Obviously, there is a lot going wrong with this outfit, starting at the top with the too-tiny tank that has to be cutting into her lung capacity. But those pants. Those pants! Wrinkled rears are not attractive. On that, I think we can all agree. So why share yours with the world?Clothes are meant to accentuate our finer points while camouflaging the areas that don't scream runway model body. And yet, I see so many women making their "hiders" the main attraction for the viewer. Loosen up the material a tad, sweetie. And turn to darker colors for your lower half. You don't look like sex, sex and more sex, as I believe you are trying to convey. You look like you fell asleep in those clothes after an all-night Ben & Jerry's binge and woke up three sizes larger.
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