Showing posts with label Just Sayin. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Just Sayin. Show all posts
6.21.2009
Awesome by Proxy
My friend Jenn has a website on Blogger, in which she records one of our conversations for posterity.
12.05.2008
Getting to the Bottom of Things
I posted this one one Myspace on Nov 21, 2008. I know! This year, even!
There may be some other old blogs and postings that I come across, which I will post if I get to it. Heaven knows that I have written enough and I like to have it all in one spot, rather than five or more random spots with too many passwords for me to remember comfortably.
Anyhoo...
Today, while cleaning, I noticed something which disturbed me and I feel the need to share. Be warned, for this is not a topic for the faint of heart. I was picking up my laundry and I noticed a camisole which seemed unfamiliar to me. It was wadded up a little bit, and I bent over to pick it up.
That was when I made The Discovery. This was no camisole. This was a PAIR OF UNDERWEAR. I cannot describe to you the abject horror which pierced my soul as I took a good long look at my Granny Panties, for Granny Panties is the only word which could possibly describe them. They were gigantic, a veritable sail's worth of material. A pair of underwear which could conceivably be cut up and turned into somewhere between five and seven thongs. Which could cover a teenager from shoulders to kneecaps. Which could....which could be the reason why I'm not getting any.
At what point did this happen? When did I become the woman who buys her underwear in a six pack? Why didn't I notice? When did I put my sexuality on the altar of comfort and slit it's throat? I mean, it obviously happened, but why didn't I notice it?
I have been thinking a lot about it, though, since The Discovery. I have come to realize a few differences in my life since my shift into the second of the two great eras of a woman's life: Before Granny Panties and After Granny Panties. I'm comfortable. I am no longer fighting the war of attrition between my butt crack and an overly inquisitive piece of fabric. Granny Panties glue to the backside in such a way that this sort of rabid curiosity is impossible. I win. Granny Panty Elastic, try though it might, cannot pull random hairs from an area which does not appreciate the element of surprise. I cannot say the same thing for my previous sexy looking panties which would pluck anywhere from one to four hairs daily.
So maybe I shouldn't cry foul just yet. I know that in the halcyon days of my youth I swore that I would never ever EVER wear Granny Panties. Ever. But when I was in kindergarten, I think I said the same thing about eating paste.
There may be some other old blogs and postings that I come across, which I will post if I get to it. Heaven knows that I have written enough and I like to have it all in one spot, rather than five or more random spots with too many passwords for me to remember comfortably.
Anyhoo...
Today, while cleaning, I noticed something which disturbed me and I feel the need to share. Be warned, for this is not a topic for the faint of heart. I was picking up my laundry and I noticed a camisole which seemed unfamiliar to me. It was wadded up a little bit, and I bent over to pick it up.
That was when I made The Discovery. This was no camisole. This was a PAIR OF UNDERWEAR. I cannot describe to you the abject horror which pierced my soul as I took a good long look at my Granny Panties, for Granny Panties is the only word which could possibly describe them. They were gigantic, a veritable sail's worth of material. A pair of underwear which could conceivably be cut up and turned into somewhere between five and seven thongs. Which could cover a teenager from shoulders to kneecaps. Which could....which could be the reason why I'm not getting any.
At what point did this happen? When did I become the woman who buys her underwear in a six pack? Why didn't I notice? When did I put my sexuality on the altar of comfort and slit it's throat? I mean, it obviously happened, but why didn't I notice it?
I have been thinking a lot about it, though, since The Discovery. I have come to realize a few differences in my life since my shift into the second of the two great eras of a woman's life: Before Granny Panties and After Granny Panties. I'm comfortable. I am no longer fighting the war of attrition between my butt crack and an overly inquisitive piece of fabric. Granny Panties glue to the backside in such a way that this sort of rabid curiosity is impossible. I win. Granny Panty Elastic, try though it might, cannot pull random hairs from an area which does not appreciate the element of surprise. I cannot say the same thing for my previous sexy looking panties which would pluck anywhere from one to four hairs daily.
So maybe I shouldn't cry foul just yet. I know that in the halcyon days of my youth I swore that I would never ever EVER wear Granny Panties. Ever. But when I was in kindergarten, I think I said the same thing about eating paste.
Maybe a Bit More Sleep Is In Order
Oct 15 2005
I caught myself in the process of putting deodorant on my toothbrush.
I'm amused by the porn subject lines in my inbox (sexy baby and bad erection).
I'm beginning to think I should have gotten up even earlier.
I'm almost enjoying the flavor combination of orange Listerine and my beet flavored organic toothpaste (This is a total lie. Combined, they taste much like the pall of the grave...with a citrusy tang.).
I'm wondering what I should go as for Halloween this year. I'm tired of being a witch, a devil, or wearing black vinyl. Well, I still like wearing black vinyl, but I'm tired of it being my standard Halloween costume, capice?
Suggestions are welcome, because if I'm trying to brush my teeth with Secret Invisible Solid, I might not be in the best mental position to make a decision this important.
Lovies!
I caught myself in the process of putting deodorant on my toothbrush.
I'm amused by the porn subject lines in my inbox (sexy baby and bad erection).
I'm beginning to think I should have gotten up even earlier.
I'm almost enjoying the flavor combination of orange Listerine and my beet flavored organic toothpaste (This is a total lie. Combined, they taste much like the pall of the grave...with a citrusy tang.).
I'm wondering what I should go as for Halloween this year. I'm tired of being a witch, a devil, or wearing black vinyl. Well, I still like wearing black vinyl, but I'm tired of it being my standard Halloween costume, capice?
Suggestions are welcome, because if I'm trying to brush my teeth with Secret Invisible Solid, I might not be in the best mental position to make a decision this important.
Lovies!
Note To Self
Jun 9 2005
Stop with the prunes.
I mean, really.
Don't you remember the last time?
You know, when you were chained to the toilet for about 3 hours?
When you peed, except it was brown and came from your butt?
Don't make me tell you again.
Stop with the prunes.
I mean, really.
Don't you remember the last time?
You know, when you were chained to the toilet for about 3 hours?
When you peed, except it was brown and came from your butt?
Don't make me tell you again.
Mister Manners on Halloween
Oct 30 2005
Last night, a guy came up to me and said."Great titties!" (My Halloween costume showed an abundance of boobage.)
A male friend of mine, upon overhearing this, turned to me and said,"That guy shouldn't have said that. He should have said,"Great CLEAVAGE!", because it means the same thing, but sounds a whole lot nicer."
Last night, a guy came up to me and said."Great titties!" (My Halloween costume showed an abundance of boobage.)
A male friend of mine, upon overhearing this, turned to me and said,"That guy shouldn't have said that. He should have said,"Great CLEAVAGE!", because it means the same thing, but sounds a whole lot nicer."
An FYI
Nov 12 2005
It's impossible to take yourself seriously when you go to the bathroom at work and realize that you had put your underwear on backwards before leaving the house that morning.
Not seriously.
Not once.
All day.
It's impossible to take yourself seriously when you go to the bathroom at work and realize that you had put your underwear on backwards before leaving the house that morning.
Not seriously.
Not once.
All day.
Today
Jan 26, 2006
Today I will drink tea and eat oatmeal.
Don't even try to stop me.
I will primp.
I will listen to Sirius Coffee Shop on my computer and sing along with every word.
I will question authority...even if it's my authority.
I will smile at everyone...and tell them exactly what's on my mind anyway.
I will go to the zoo and sunbathe through my car windows.
I wanna.
I will.
Today I will drink tea and eat oatmeal.
Don't even try to stop me.
I will primp.
I will listen to Sirius Coffee Shop on my computer and sing along with every word.
I will question authority...even if it's my authority.
I will smile at everyone...and tell them exactly what's on my mind anyway.
I will go to the zoo and sunbathe through my car windows.
I wanna.
I will.
On Mondays When the Sky Is Blue
February 01, 2006
I went grocery shopping...I bought prunes, 4 cans of organic legumes (pinto, kidney, black, and chickpeas), 3 boxes of oatmeal...and no toilet paper.
Welcome to life on the edge at 32.
I went grocery shopping...I bought prunes, 4 cans of organic legumes (pinto, kidney, black, and chickpeas), 3 boxes of oatmeal...and no toilet paper.
Welcome to life on the edge at 32.
And now, an important announcement
April 4, 2006
I wanted to announce that it is officially warm enough to start saying things like "twitterpated" and "smitten". Once again, you are allowed to "meander" and "lolligag", as the weather will allow it.
You aren't allowed to say these words until spring....and not official spring, but real spring, when you don't have to worry about losing fingers when you just want to hold hands.
Conversely, you still aren't allowed to "mosey" for at least another three months. Don't make me pull out the strap.
Lovies!
I wanted to announce that it is officially warm enough to start saying things like "twitterpated" and "smitten". Once again, you are allowed to "meander" and "lolligag", as the weather will allow it.
You aren't allowed to say these words until spring....and not official spring, but real spring, when you don't have to worry about losing fingers when you just want to hold hands.
Conversely, you still aren't allowed to "mosey" for at least another three months. Don't make me pull out the strap.
Lovies!
The Horrifying Truth
April 06, 2006
Yesterday I bought a pack of Dubble Bubble bubble gum, something which I hadn't chewed since I was oh...about ten years old. I noticed that they still have the little comics printed, much like Bazooka Joe, around the gum.
Upon closer review, I noticed that most of the comics revolve around the life of a litle boy. And what would his name be, you ask?
Pud.
Personally, I'm thinking about immortalizing it with a tattoo or something. The joy I feel has no words.
Yesterday I bought a pack of Dubble Bubble bubble gum, something which I hadn't chewed since I was oh...about ten years old. I noticed that they still have the little comics printed, much like Bazooka Joe, around the gum.
Upon closer review, I noticed that most of the comics revolve around the life of a litle boy. And what would his name be, you ask?
Pud.
Personally, I'm thinking about immortalizing it with a tattoo or something. The joy I feel has no words.
12.04.2008
This is why I should stop getting emotionally vested in anime
Feb 2007
Today I learned that drinking Amp'd energy drink causes moderate to severe hallucinations. I learned that by watching one of their commercials, the one where a guy [hereafter named Our Hero] takes a drink and begins hallucinating that he is being attacked by a ream-of-wadded-up-paper-demon.
Rather than spitting out the psychotropic beverage, our hero opts to take the road less travelled by forcing the paper demon into a shredder, assurably gaining many experience points for the next level of adventuring which must assuredly take place at our hero's crummy desk job.
One thing I noticed during this addle pated fever dream experienced by our hero was the total lack of used tissues within the demon dustbin. I found the lack kind of disturbing, actually.
If there had been tissues in the garbage can, that demon would have won. No one wants to touch ABC gum or post nasal drip oragami which a real waste basket would have certainly contained.
Not even our hero, intrepid, resourceful and tweaked out though he may be.
Just a thought.
Today I learned that drinking Amp'd energy drink causes moderate to severe hallucinations. I learned that by watching one of their commercials, the one where a guy [hereafter named Our Hero] takes a drink and begins hallucinating that he is being attacked by a ream-of-wadded-up-paper-demon.
Rather than spitting out the psychotropic beverage, our hero opts to take the road less travelled by forcing the paper demon into a shredder, assurably gaining many experience points for the next level of adventuring which must assuredly take place at our hero's crummy desk job.
One thing I noticed during this addle pated fever dream experienced by our hero was the total lack of used tissues within the demon dustbin. I found the lack kind of disturbing, actually.
If there had been tissues in the garbage can, that demon would have won. No one wants to touch ABC gum or post nasal drip oragami which a real waste basket would have certainly contained.
Not even our hero, intrepid, resourceful and tweaked out though he may be.
Just a thought.
There I go thinking again
Feb. 2007
In the living room there is a small bust of the face of Michaelangelo's David.
Yes, that David. But just his face....no little fig leaf to make you wonder what his business looks like.
The bust is kind of cool and all, and I'm all right with it being there and everything, staring at me from on top of the entertainment center.
The problem being that today I looked at him, and maybe it was the lighting, but he had this look of intense concentration, like he was trying really hard to grow a mustache.
In the living room there is a small bust of the face of Michaelangelo's David.
Yes, that David. But just his face....no little fig leaf to make you wonder what his business looks like.
The bust is kind of cool and all, and I'm all right with it being there and everything, staring at me from on top of the entertainment center.
The problem being that today I looked at him, and maybe it was the lighting, but he had this look of intense concentration, like he was trying really hard to grow a mustache.
FYI
February 2007
Tonight I went to Walgreens, on the premise of picking up some Rolaids for Laurie, hapless victim of one too many shots of Rumplemintz.
Of course, I had given up straight shots of Rumple years ago, because after the second shot you realize that the first shot is the biological equivilent of boric acid.
Any successive shot is just for spite.
Anyhoo, Laurie was fit to keel over from her tummyache, and as the sober one, I volunteered to run to the store.
While I was there, I noticed something which I thought I would share with all of you: Snickers Creme Sport Egg.
It's called this because it's a Snickers bar in the shape of half an egg, and there are soccer balls on the package.
I would like to point out to all those who could be confused by this label that this is not, in fact, an energy bar. I checked. More than once.
Okay, just the once, but I'm pretty confident that the results would be the same no matter how many Snickers Creme Sports Eggs I consume.
Cadbury Creme Eggs are also not sport related, but I had one of those just in case.
Tonight I went to Walgreens, on the premise of picking up some Rolaids for Laurie, hapless victim of one too many shots of Rumplemintz.
Of course, I had given up straight shots of Rumple years ago, because after the second shot you realize that the first shot is the biological equivilent of boric acid.
Any successive shot is just for spite.
Anyhoo, Laurie was fit to keel over from her tummyache, and as the sober one, I volunteered to run to the store.
While I was there, I noticed something which I thought I would share with all of you: Snickers Creme Sport Egg.
It's called this because it's a Snickers bar in the shape of half an egg, and there are soccer balls on the package.
I would like to point out to all those who could be confused by this label that this is not, in fact, an energy bar. I checked. More than once.
Okay, just the once, but I'm pretty confident that the results would be the same no matter how many Snickers Creme Sports Eggs I consume.
Cadbury Creme Eggs are also not sport related, but I had one of those just in case.
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