Okay, I woke up feeling like I was three months pregnant. All hurly and curled up and nauseous at the thought of dry toast. As the day progressed, I moved on to feeling less pregnant and more weepy at the sight of Regis Philbin (you know he's not going to live forever ::sob::). Then I moved on to violence, where the need to punch random people in the throat was almost too much to squelch. With that mood I took myself to my local Safeway where I hoped to hang out near the cheese counter and gather both cheese and gossip. I failed on both counts.
Then you happened. Yes you, gracing us with your presence man. There you are with your thirty dollar hair gel, whipping around corners with your urban size grocery basket. You know that little basket doesn't make you cooler than the rest of us. You have nine dollar blueberry juice in your cart. Dude, you are freaking wearing espadrilles. I am not going to take you seriously. But then, you, yes you of the hemp baggy pants and murse, decide that you just can't wait behind me one more second at the seafood counter. Flashing your veneers and state, not ask, that you're sure I wouldn't mind if you cut ahead since you only want to get on salmon chop. Well I got news for you, I mind. So when I call you "Little Mister Smacks-My-Gum" after this, I don't think you have the right to look like a wounded puppy. Let's get this straight: today, the way I feel, you are lucky I didn't start beating you with a bag of chicken breasts. I see you over there texting about my bad behavior. See me over here texting about yours? Yeah, yeah, that's right. Fat, middle aged, roots showing badly, thrift store t-shirt lady didn't let you cut in front of her after you bestowed upon her your I Have Really Good Dental Insurance And You Don't smile. I so hope you're texting your mommy.
And while I'm at it, can I just tell you how very ticked off I am at the manufacturers of feminine hygiene products? Well I'm going to anyway, so don't try to stop me. I don't want wings. There, I said it. I don't want to feel like my underwear can fly. To me the little sticky flaps just give two more opportunities for things to go horribly wrong. And there you are, standing in line, accidently getting a mini-Brazilian. And why, WHY can't you make one package design and stick with it? Every time I go to buy pads it's a new wonderland of euphemisms. How 'bout we just call it "Spotty," "Normal," "Might Be Dying," and "Don't Want to Mess Up the Bed?"
I'm done now. I'm going to go play Farmville and eat some dry brownie mix from the box. Don't try to stop me. I'll beat you with a bag of chicken breasts.
TIP:
Enter the amount, and click "Tip" to submit!
Tom King
Mature Student
Beth Mann
Linda Seccaspina
Saturn Smith
HenryR
Salon.com
Comments
Yeah, see . . . here's the deal . . . some of us will read it, no matter what you title it, simply because we like the things you write, including this venting of spleen . . . or bile . . . or . . . or something.
So, having said that, I'm laughing with you, because none of it is funny, but it's better than being assaulted with bags of poultry. Although it would probably just tenderize the poultry.
And you are completely in the right . . . on all counts.
(that's a catholic joke)
first (but probably not so i won't do it in BIG ASS CAPS)
so not first.
Hope tomorrow is better too!
**Real Tears** Oh don't get me started on that, DON'T DIE REGIS!!!!!!! YOU AND DICK CLARK HAVE SOOOOO MUCH TO LIVE FOR, LIKE UH, A REUNION SHOW WITH KATHIE LEE!!
Sorry, I digress.
I think I'm going to go write Regis a letter....
**wanders away**
((Deven)) I could be cute and say something about just wait until menopause, but I'm fearing that bag of chicken. Give the bull a few pets from me.
Every single day I count my blessings... about not being born female. For the stories sake though, I'm wishing you would have cracked, and bashed out the veneers of the froot loop with three pounds of frozen chicken breasts.
I hate those wings, too. And now I want some fried chicken. Thanks a lot, Deven. There is NO CHICKEN IN THE HOUSE!!!!
but at least it isn't buggy... farmville must have fishnet coding
With wings.
{[R]}
Finding this place was better than any hormone therapy my ob/gyn is peddling._r
but, umm, I kinda like the wings.
RATED
Oh, and a salmon chop is a salmon steak, no skin. Which makes no sense to me. There's salmon every four feet here, in every form.
I usually have a nice long fuse. It's just been a day. Brownies in the oven now.
BTW, you are going to adore menopause. Tally up the cost of a year's worth of those bewinged feminine supplies and start planning your trip to the sunny Bahamas! Not to mention, no more "bad" underwear drawer!
Oh man did Good Teeth and Espadrilles deserve what he got...
It was absolutely delicious! And brownies make everyone happier! Now come get a hug.
Dry brownie mix, huh? From the box you say. Putting that on my list.
I also understand about the wings. I never ever ever could get those things to do whatever they are supposed to do. I always ended up with weird and unfortunate configurations that pretty much defeated the purpose of the product.
Finally, on behalf of middle aged fat women in sloppy clothing everywhere, I want to thank you for striking a blow against smugly superior line cutters. I just wish I could have been there to help you whack him with frozen poultry.
Yes Susan, I believe that Stellaa has made a binding agreement to play Farmville. Let's go neighbor her now.
Daniel brought me a tiny bottle of Disaronno.
ROTFL!!!
My cousin Shawna keeps trying to get me to Farmville. I refuse. She's wants me to try it just once. That's how they get you. I will be strong.
R
Yes, please! And Thank you!
Who knew you could sync up with people online?
Funny piece. R
Funny piece. R
That guy pisses me off on a good day! Love ya, Devon!
I never understood why women put up with a product that has double-stick tape and is designed to be worn nearest a sensitive spot that has hair. I mean, who designed these things anyway? The Marquis De Sade?
Just saying. Now you go ahead and enjoy that brownie mix.
Rated
A tip in order here: uterine oblation. I had it done several years ago as an alternative to bleeding my guts out once a month or having a hysterectomy. Ask your doctor. I hope it is still an option.
impossible to talk to MD doctor.
I's grouchy when docs make me ill.
I am not pregnant and have a prostrate.
I tell everybody I know I no wino-doctor.
I only took the Lamaze class with lollipops.
My wife almost broke my neck at the 3rd birth,
That was when I knew I need no doc vasectomy.
The Mother of three children read`Untouchable.
If I keet to the VA cafeteria I'll order`Pheasants.
I promise to behave, wash my hands, ay`Touche.
I hope I find a male-man to mail a Mallard duck.
I send it to Chinas be-nice to human committee.
I feel like some monkey hopped up and down.
Nothing serious. I dream a alligator bit neck.
Seriously. This is what makes it possible for me to live semi-normally (ie, I don't have to run to the bathroom every half hour because I'm about to go through a supermax tampon AND a "don't want to mess up the bed") the first two days of every month.
I cannot praise this thing highly enough.
I'm better today, though still burst into tears during "Regis and Kelly." Of course I do that even when I'm not in, as my mom calls it, red attendance.
Having dropped the 'red attendance' (that's hilarious too) for over a year now, I can testify that you can STILL have the homicidal urges; STILL get the incongruent weepies at the drop of a.
It's a bitch, bein' a woman.
::jet flyer in pants just took off::
Brilliant!
Peace.
R.
Can you save some brownie mix for me? Does it go with red wine?