Pants, pants, PANTS!

Yesterday a friend mentioned lip balm addiction support groups to me because I sorta melt down when I don’t have mine. So I have them stashed everywhere. It’s not like I’d write a psychotic letter to Bonne Bell expressing remorse for the discontinuation of my favorite Lip Smacker. Er, um, on second thought….

I found this Lip Balm Anonymous website. They require members to adhere to THE 12 steps. (And I thought I Hate Dimes was weird.) After reading the self-evaluation it appears I have a problem. But I’m not quittin’, no way, you can’t make me! If I should quit anything right now it should be smoking. And well, I’m not quittin’ that either.

Gosh my lips feel chapped, where’s my lip balm?

Just mailed two checks to the girlfriend who fronted the hotel cost for an upcoming Vegas trip.

The check memo’s read:

SENSUAL FAVORS
and
Advance “Pink Taco”

Wish I could see the bank employee who runs the checks.

Last night a friend prefaced a funny story by saying, “You have to PROMISE not to write about this on your blog.”

However, another friend sent me this and it came with no such disclaimer. And a bunch of my friends are doing it! Am I gonna feel like the only third grader without Kangaroos?*

*I finally bought my own Kangaroos this year and they’re DAMN cute.

Baby Girl
Called my four year old niece when I realized I forgot her birthday, days ago. Felt like a #1 Craptacular Aunt when she asked which present I gave her.
Burn.
All four have birthdays within two months. I usually send a box with presents for all of them, long after their birthdays have past. Because that’s what Craptacular Aunts do.

Daddy
Called my parents, Dad answered:
Me: Hi Dad, it’s your Favorite Daughter!
Dad: Hi Favorite Daughter, it’s your Dad!
Me: Whatcha doin?
Dad: Watchin a movie.
Me: Let me guess, Kate & Leopold?!
Dad: (Silence) Here’s your Mother.
I was right. I don’t know why he likes that stupid movie but I swear to God he’s watching it every damn time I call. He gave me his old VHS copy at Christmas because he’d replaced it with the DIRECTOR’S CUT. (I don’t get it either.)

Zanny
An old friend from the days of Bop Magazine and Mark-Paul Gosselaar crushes was supposed to visit this weekend. But she has strep throat and an ear infection, doh!
Get better Zanny!!
After we got off the phone I sorted through books I’d like to sell. Looking through my old books is like reading old journals. I found two lotto scratchers, four photos and a letter from Zanny, dated December 1995. During that time she was away at college and expressed concern about growing up and getting a real job. Funny, we’re grown up now and I still don’t know what I want to be.

Little jewels from my professor…

…girls wear pants all the way down to their crotch…

…women smell the urine of the man…

…I told my girlfriend I’m not gonna wear underwear if you’re not gonna wear a bra…

…let’s skip the sexuality chapter, we all know what that’s about…

…one of the few times I dropped acid…

…I wouldn’t recommend taking it now, the acid now is horrible…

Why is there at least one person in every office with Cathy clippings tacked up in their cubicle? Why the nasty stained Cathy coffee mug?

Why do people like her? WHY?! She is a crap excuse for a comic strip.

There are Cathy cartoons in my psych text book. I realize my energy is better focused elsewhere but I can no longer resist putting xx’s over her eyes, drawing tiaras on the men and giving the rest of the fools in the strip devil horns & tails.

Today a casual friend shared that she and her husband are “trying” for a baby. That comment always strikes me funny. I’m no prude but hearing someone say they’re humping their husband sans birth control as much as humanly possible just seems odd. It reminds me of the school teachers’ wife in Election, Fill me up, fill me up, FILL ME UP!

Everyone at my office is pregnant or “trying.” Recently it was suggested there must be something in the chairs. I fucking hope not.

I know entirely too much about the birthing process for someone who’s never done it. Are you curious about:

• The necessary pussy acreage for vaginal birthing?

• Losing a mucas plug?

• Nipple placement for breast feeding?

I wasn’t curious either.

Last week I used a public restroom with a shower curtain in place of a door. The four other bathroom stalls, all with doors, were occupied. I’m sure you can tell where this is going…hell, I knew where it was going before I decided to pee behind the flimsy, unprotective, fabric curtain. But I figured it was just pee, I didn’t have anything embarrassing to take care of.

So this lady walked in on me mid pee. She didn’t make any effort to check for feet under the curtain or carefully peek through the side. Like a gymnast at the end of an exhilarating floor routine, she exposed me to the entire ladies room. Before I chose to use the shower curtain stall I realized this would happen. What I didn’t expect was the flashback to fifth grade sex education…

1986, fifth grade, ten years old
The boys and girls were separated for their respective films. I heard the boys film lasted all of five minutes before they were sent out to play tether ball. The movie I watched with the other girls was more like one hundred hours long.

There were the necessary scientific diagrams explaining the blessing (which I now understand to be The Curse) of menstruation, other joyless aspects of puberty and the wonders of sex. Literature, terrible literature. And creepy little boxes filled with female protection samples. Bleah. The most painfully awkward part was the dramatic, under budget, after school special, rip off filmstrip.

Camera is focused on the outside of a curtained dressing room in a department store. Two young girls are chatting while trying on their first bras.

Girl 1: It looks like one of your breasts is larger than the other!
Girl 2: It does?
Saleslady: Did somebody say the word brrrrreast?! (As she whips open the dressing room curtain exposing two young girls.)

I remember thinking how odd it was to hear two young girls referring to their tits as “breasts.” Then, there’s the matter of the creepy, stranger, saleslady bursting in with a ten minute puberty monologue starting with how normal it is for breasts to be different sizes. The whole thing reeked of a Ricky Schroder public service announcement about sexual abuse.

I’m hoping the rest will come to me in a fitful nightmare this week.

*Side note, I came up empty searching for the Ricky Schroder It’s Our Little Secret child abuse public service commercial from the 80′s. BUT, I discovered he converting to fucking MORMONISM! I can’t believe it, we lost The Ricker! I’m always amazed to hear of adults who purposely choose to be Mormon. At least I didn’t have a choice. Eh, oh well, can’t win ‘em all…

To the person who came here via google “exercises to reduce flabby camel toe,”

You may want to check this out.

Today in an attempt to avoid the sweltering heat I studied for hours at Barnes and Noble, then went to a movie.

At Barnes and Noble the lady sitting behind me had a very long (and loud) conversation on her cell phone about her period. Hello lady, you’re in a public café! As if we all couldn’t hear. Gross.

March of the Penguins was great, so great I cried. And unlike the crazy lady at Barnes and Noble, I wasn’t even having my period.

If we’re reincarnated, I want to come back as an Empire Penguin. They’re only monogamous one year at a time while rasing their chicks together. It’s all about survival. No worries about furthering themselves with higher education, getting therapy to work through childhood traumas, relationship troubles, internet dating, pressure from their families to have kids. Nature at work, they just do it.

Granted, they march seventy plus miles to mate through the coldest, harshest winter on earth….but the dad cares for the penguin chick until it hatches. And I must say, little baby penguin chicks are about the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.