Sunday, March 25, 2007


I read a post the other day on LegalEagle's blog-which is by the way very funny-I think it was a "dear so and so" letter-a good style of writing.

Well the post was about Walmart and a woman breast feeding her kid who was still in the cart seat-whips it out and then the kid latches on after it hung and swung for the kid to get-the whole thing is sick to begin with, which brings me to relate my own Walmart story of today.

Walmart. Sometimes I wonder if it is really worth it to even go there. At my local Walmart, they now have the Greeter back-do I have to be annoyed from the get go before I even get into the damned store? I am just trying to stay away from the riff raff that is also trying to get into the place.

It was crowded today-screaming kids- I mean screaming-this one little girl with parents who where not only floppy fat, but who let her scream all over the store-the husband was holding her but since he was smaller than his wife [that gargantuan] I figured he did not wear the pants in that family.

You could not get into any aisle without some idiot with a cart rushing in the other end. I kept "bumping" into a white trash mother with her daughter whose stomach was proudly falling over the waistband of her denim mini while wearing black stockings and the ugliest 1970's styled backless shoes with a thick heel. The gross part was when she walked, you saw that one of her heels was so filthy, it showed right through the black stocking. I guess that was her going out to Walmart outfit.

Also I have to deal with the snooties-you know those fugly prunes roaming around with their noses up in the air and their Mercedes shoved in between two Neons in the parking lot. When they show up, they expect you to immediately move-yeah right. I just plant myself idly looking at crap I would never buy so not to cow tow to them, even when they squat and reach over the front of my calves to pull something out. During these times, do you think the white trash come in the aisle? No. No where to be found when you need them.

So there you have it- Walmart; but today was a day that took the cake. I was at the check out with the crap it took me 1.5 hours to find and with an oriental checker who could barely, and I mean barely speak English, when she starts to freak out-holding her shirt over her nose.

I was like WTF-my batteries rang up wrong, I tell her, and she sticks her nose in her shirt and her eyes are wide as saucers?

She begins to point-and I see above me, coming from the back of the store, this smoke like mist coming fast towards the front. I don't smell fire, but the oriental checker is now screaming she is going to leave her register while furiously smashing her call button-the only time I understood her was when he yelled out she was not going to breath in that poison.

I was pissed. I was now faced with not even being able to buy the crap I wanted. I was gauging how fast the smoky mist was moving while like an idiot breathing deeply to see if I smelled anything. By this time, the oriental checker was out of there. I leaned up on the check out bag rotary; by this time the air above me was filling in with that white stuff that really did not smell.

Figuring I was not going to check out because someone came to the register to cancel my sale, I walked out of the store. A few minutes later, the firemen came.

Gossip at the front had it that a fire extinguisher was dropped and went off. HA! It must have been like 20 because that huge store was filled pretty quickly.

I am now just waiting for my body's reaction to whatever I breathed to kick in because I would then, thanks to Walmart, be calling LegalEagle and not ever be shopping there again.........

Monday, March 19, 2007

Bottoms Up

Hey girls, ever run out of acrobatic moves to impress your man, or just to keep it lively?

I thought I would post this photo I saw on the web somewhere. It looks impossibly uncomfortable.

Not only can you tell them to kiss your a$$, you can show them how to do it.

I can't imagine anyone is flexible enough to do this anyway.

Friday, March 16, 2007

Too Hard to Figure

It has been somewhat of a phenomenon. Or maybe I was just too self absorbed to have noticed. No, I think I was just busy doing my own thing.

A lot of women, girls, females or however we want to be addressed, stress over what we look like, what other women think we look like, or to most, more importantly, what "THEY" think we look like or don't look like. By "they" I mean those irritating yet captivating MEN.

First of all, ALL (well, MOST) men are just basically, plain and simple, pigs in a lot of ways. Even those goody goody types have the same thoughts as those evil slime balls a lot of us women have dealt with one way or another.

So we basically torture ourselves to ends, that in our later years, we will find unimaginable. We starve, sweat and drag out sorry asses to where THEY will notice us, or where we hope they will.

How discouraging is it when you are avoiding any guilty pleasure in the name of keeping it together, when you see it-there it is, plain as day?

Oh woe are we. Now don't tell me not one of you have seen it-you can't miss the contrast.

The most handsome and attractive man with the most unlikeliest of women. A good personality can only go so far. But its very prevalent. Its depressing and wonderful at the same time, yet I have a hard time accepting the whole thing.

I have heard stories of men who are personal trainers whose girlfriends are out of shape-they like a woman with some meat on her bones they say- you see the young stud with a woman who looks like she could be his mother or with one who is so unbecoming its almost revolting ( the variety is amazing- bucky beaver teeth, or, leatherette skin for example).

You see a slender or well built man, helping an obese girlfriend into the booth at the local buffet, tending to her as if he had grabbed the golden ring-the nice looking man at the beach who can't get his eyes off a woman sitting at an outdoor bar in a bikini with fat rolls openly showed off-I just don't get it, and such sightings are more commonplace than not.

I have got to stop going out in public. It's too depressing. Really, it is.

Wednesday, March 14, 2007

Wiped Seats

"If you sprinkle when you tinkle, please be neat and wipe the seat"

Can you imagine? I am sure many of you have seen this ditty in the home toilettes of friends or that you have the same sign hanging in your bathroom in vicinity of the toilet.

Now, does this posting make me feel assured your toilet seat is cleanly and safe? It does not.

What am I to think when I see this? I tell you what, it makes me squat above your toilet, hoping like hell the backs of my thighs will NOT TOUCH your assumingly wiped toilet seat that was probably sprinkled on more than you know or apparently care.

Since the placquard is usually done up with a white lace border, or with a sweet cartoon child emblazoned next to the instructions, many find it a wonderful little craft to adorn the throne area.

Apparently, its directed at men and women. Men who do not lift the seat to pee-yes, they are out there and women, who do God Knows What when they enter the facilities. And all these bathroom indiscretions, are merely wiped away, as instructed to do, without any care about what lingers on that seat after the wipe.

Are there homeowner's out there that are so lazy they have their guests responsible for what they feel is toilet cleanliness? Apparently the answer is a resounding YES.

I find this entire bathroom mindset particularly gross but also it has a much heeded warning: don't sit on the seat, it has only been merely wiped when peed on, nothing more, nothing less. EEWW.

Where the HELL is the LYSOL?

Sunday, March 11, 2007

Split Hoofed Animals

I was at a baby shower today. I was sitting down, minding my chips and dip they had out to munch on while I was chatting away with the person next to me, trying to avoid the puffs of bad breath coming out of their mouth while I was dipping my chips. The less than fresh breath is not the point of this post.

Intermittently, I would turn my head while eating the dipped chip, to catch some halitosis-free air. This went on for a while, enough so that I had to switch from sour cream and onion chips being dipped into sour cream onion dip, to regular Lays which held their crisp shape while dipping. I was quite enjoying the snack.

Since I was sitting there, turning my head every now and then, I noticed another of the girls at the shower. She was standing on the other side of the table chatting with someone standing next to me. She was dressed casual, in jeans. That was the problem. The jeans.

Well, it was not the type of jeans or the color or anything like that.

I was dipping and munching by myself at that point, with the one who was stinking up my little area with her breath that could have used a swig or two of Listerine, sitting quietly next to me, with her mouth SHUT.

The jeans had caught my attention. The camel claw was quite evident. With every shifting of weight, every twist of her torso or crossing of her legs. Now, had I not been sitting there, enjoying the Lays, and had she not decided to stand in front of me to talk to the other behind me, I would not have had that middle-eastern moment. Really.

Well the shower was over and I was here tonight, thinking about it, since its like when your sibling's other half decides to tell you about their sex life and gets in a disgusting detail before you can shut them up. It sticks in you mind, most annoyingly.

So I was wondering, what is the point of wearing jeans, to a baby shower, without underwear? What is that all about? Is it necessary? Is it obligatory? Is it comfortable having that denim all caught up in there? Oh, its not caught up in there? Then tell me, the claw or cloven hoof if you will, is a figment of the imagination?

I don't appreciate being put into the position, even if "accidentally", to bear witness to that!

Girls, do me a favor-save it for the men, if you are desperate, save it for your cat night out, but put on the underwear, on a regular basis. I am begging you.

Thursday, March 8, 2007

Phone Etiquette

I really don't get it-and I have given it some thought. After that effort, I really do not have an answer, nor an acceptance of such behavior.

I am talking about people who PEE while talking on the phone. It's sick, really, it is.

I have this one particular girlfriend who does it on the "sneak", or so she thinks. She refuses to politely and discreetly end a conversation and call me back in order to use the "facilities". She prefers to keep talking and give herself the bum's rush on the john.

Like I can't her the tinkling in the toilet? Like I can stop from picturing her squatting on the toilet, releasing herself? Like it's NORMAL?

Talking louder or faster to me is not going to disguise the pee sound, nor the flush when she is done. EEWW.

I think I will have to use drastic measures with her-and clink as soon as I hear the tink.

I do love Ham....

I stumbled upon a wonderfully sweet blog, if a blog can be sweet, via the Blogs of Note.

What I liked best was the illustrations of the animals-reminded me of the orignal Winnie the Pooh, which I love.

Saturday, March 3, 2007

Robin "Ech" Miller

This is Rachel Ray and Sandra Lee AGAIN. And she is another one who thinks her dopey dishes are worthy of some sort of recogniztion only because they are hers.

Her kitchen is pretty ugly too and she has these bony veiny hands.

Her bug eyes are annoying, especially when she opens them wider while shoveling the food into her big Rachel Ray like mouth.

She actually looks like a bobble head, now that I think about it-on a bony neck.

Why does she even have a show? I don't know. I don't know.

She needs the boot.