Whatcha got in that bag, Lady?

My co-workers crack me up sometimes.

This conversation happened this afternoon.

My co-worker who we will call CA (because no one will figure it out) is cleaning her keyboard with one of those compressed-air cans.

Me: I need to do that too.  My keyboard is gross.

(My keyboard is gross.  I'm not lying.)

CA: Just fart on it.  Fart through a straw.

(We're classy)

Me: I'm pretty sure that would result in a much bigger, much more unpleasant mess in my keyboard.

CA: You can't do that, can you? That's right, you can't!

Me: I can't what? Fart?

CA: Yeah, because you got the [ostomy] bag.  Right?  I thought you couldn't fart anymore.

Me: I never got the bag.  Didn't I tell you that?  About a week before my surgery the doctor decided they could save my rectum so they just attached it to the small intestine.  I swore I told you that.

CA: I didn't know.  I thought you had the bag.

Other members of the Grey Carpet Area (hereby known as the GCA): Yeah, we knew.

Me: Yeah, no ostomy. Everything works about 90% the same as before.

CA: Oh jeez! I thought you had the other thing done, 'cause you always had that little red bag with you.

This red bag. From my awesome friend Sammi. Because Sammi is awesome.

CA: You're always taking it into the bathroom with you and everywhere you go.

Me:... that's my purse.  That's why it's with me all the time. Sometimes I'm on my period and need a pad and sometimes I just want to put on some lipstick.

CA: Holy shit! You're kidding me!

Me: (grabs purse and opens it) See?  No shit in here.  Well, okay, there's a lot of shit in here.  But no feces.

Me: That being said, if it ever does come down to an ostomy bag, I'd totally be into a Wonder Woman design.

(Fun Fact:  These exist.  Thanks for the link, SB!)

GCA: *hysterical laughter and smart ass comments.. including something along the lines of "Go for the Wonder Woman bag, because you don't wanna shit in a Gucci."*

CA:  Oh my god.  OH MY GOD.  The other day, when you dropped the plant..!¹  I was all worried because you left your bag on the floor next to all the dirt.. and you were nowhere near it.  I was panicking thinking something horrible happened to you, because you weren't with your bag!  That's why I picked it up and brushed it off and was all worried about getting it back to you!

(I had gone to get a broom. See footnote.)

Me:  I thought you were just being nice!

At this point, I have tears running down my cheeks, I am laughing so hard.  People are coming in from other departments to see what is going on and why we are laughing about pooh-bags and shitting in Gucci.

This must have been especially confusing to anyone who has joined our department since last January. I can kind of understand the confusion, because in all fairness, back when I was first diagnosed with colitis at the tender age of 18 and had the dreaded words "colostomy bag" uttered to me, I thought it would look kind of like a fanny pack.  At this purse, with its shoulder strap, does kind of sit over my hip, where an ostomy bag might go.

It's been a while since I've laughed that hard.  Cancer is bullshit, but poop jokes never get old.

---

¹The other day, coming into work, I attempted to carry two large spider plants, my tote bag, my purse and a coffee into the building in one trip and succeeded in dumping one of the plants upside down on the floor.  Considering I was carrying my travel mug in my cleavage, things could have gone much worse.

Gah. It begins.

My eldest spawn will be 12 in a month. She operates under the delusion that the digits are reversed and she's actually 21. For her age, she is a pretty confident with her self-image and has a pretty experimental sense of style.

This sounds awesome, but as the parent who has to step in and remind her that she is still only 11, it can be fraught.

The teen years are approaching and I fear its arrival the way others have feared Y2K or the end of the Mayan calendar. And like the four horsemen of the Apocalypse, various signs rear their head, signalling impending doom.

I took her and her stepsister (only a few months younger) shopping today. With their own money. When it's my money I usually have more control over clothing choices, usually by harness the power of being really, really cheap.

My kid has a predilection towards clothes that are not always age-appropriate. See aforementioned "12-going-on-21" thing. The challenge I find is explaining why something is inappropriate without resorting to shaming or telling her she's going to look like Jodie Foster in Taxi Driver.

In the period of less than an hour I found myself having to talk my not-yet-twelve year old out of:

- Neon pink short-shorts. This was easy enough to argue, since closer inspection revealed we were in the size 4-6x section. She's a 12. Easy Peasy

- 3-inch spike heels. Vetoed on the basis that heels are really, really bad for you. I have no doubt they fuck up the spine and legs of any grown woman. I don't even want to think of what those kind of heels would do to someone who is still growing.

- A yellow string bikini. Oof. I sputtered and stammered at that one and suggested trying some other styles. The other styles were all more expensive (probably due to the greater amount of fabric) and thus out of her limited price range. Finally, I appealed to her sense of broke-assedness and reminded her that I had already planned to take her and her sister bathing suit shopping next weekend. What kid wants to spend their own money on something mom was going to buy them anyway? She reluctantly put the suit back. Near miss on that one.

This is what I'm dealing with already and we haven't even hit high school yet. Gord help us all.

Is it wrong to play "Another Brick In The Wall" to your kids on Labour Day Monday before bed?

1,985 kilometres (that's 1,233 miles to those on the Imperial system) covered over four days and here I am, home once again, just in time to send the kiddies back to school with lunches containing food I bought tonight at roughly 9pm after realizing "Holy shit! School starts tomorrow! These kids are going to want to eat!"

Back to school doesn't much alter my routine, other than causing my mornings to require a little more structure.  Since the girls go to their dad's during the day, in the summer, getting them ready in the morning consists of little more than ensuring they have pants on their butt, and something in their stomach (and even this is kinda/sorta optional, as their stepmom informed me that whether they eat breakfast here or not, the usually end up helping themselves to cereal when they get there in the morning anyway).

Now it's make sure they're fed, teeth brushed, hair brushed, lunch made, school bag packed and they're dressed.  Not just dressed, but appropriately dressed. 


There's a brief period of about three to four years where you can safely leave your kids to their own devices when it comes to getting dressed.  Around grade two they stop insisting on wearing pajamas to school, turtlenecks in 30°C weather, flip flops and/or Crocs in the rain and can *usually* be consistent with the wearing of underpants.

The years previous to these are the ones where you can use praise to deflect the blame on poor fashion choices away from yourself, the parent.

"Oh.. what an interesting outfit little Millie has on..."
"Oh, yes, I know.  And she picked it out all by herself, didn't you honey??  ALL BY YOURSELF.  NO HELP FROM MOM AT ALL," 


That's right, distance yourself from the purple cordouroy pants paired with the three-sizes-too-small shirt that you kept trying to donate but they kept pulling it out again when you weren't looking, and decided to put it on when you were already fifteen minute late so there was no time to change.  Other parents will nod knowingly.  They've seen the same horrors you have.

My oldest, having just turned ten, is reaching a stage where once again I feel it necessary to police her wardrobe choices, mainly for the reasons that A) she still hasn't gotten that 'color-matching' thing down and B) children's retailers and the school officials who write the dress code have wildly differing views of what is 'age appropriate'.

Have you recently trying buying shorts for a ten-year-old girl that are not more than three fingers above the knee?  Don't bother.  Really.  Save the time, save the effort and make cut-offs.  Or shop in the boys section (where, incidentally, all shorts seem to fall three fingers below the knee).

But basically yeah, we've reached the early stages of that joyous time where her fashion sense may clash with my desire to keep her in outfits that can be described without the use of the term "prost-i-tot".  She's a big fan of the Disney set, whose imaginary tweenie characters seem to have clothing allowances that would probably pay my car insurance and my cable bill together.

Evenings require a bit more structure now as well.  There is the ceremonial unpacking of the school back, signing of notes, throwing out of half-empty containers of pudding that the school, under their so-called "litterless lunch" mandate insists on having the girls put back in their lunch bags.  This is especially pleasant after they've gone to their dad's for the weekend, and the lunch bags don't get unpacked because I like to keep my plastic sandwich containers, thankyouverymuch.

There are showers to be had, on a regular basis even.  In the summer there'd be conversations like this (keep in mind that they often bathe at their dad's for hygiene, and sometimes simply for something to do)

"When was the last time you washed your hair?"
"..."
"Did you have a bath at your dad's today?"
"No."
"When was the last time you had a bath or a shower?"
"..."

*sigh*

"Okay, here's some advice.. if the answer to any of those questions is 'I don't know' then just go have a shower."

School time comes and it's every-other-day whether you feel like you need it or not.  No one wants to be the smelly kid.

So begins another year.  *pours a shot.. or four*

Being a T-Shirt Whore on the Interwebs is like being a Smack addict... well, anywhere there's a lot of heroin lying about.

Remember a while back when I told all y'all about my T-Shirt collection that is slowly taking over every-drawer in my dresser?

I'm finding blogging is leading me to a whole new world of T-shirt whoredom.  I'm not necessarily talking about 6 Dollar Shirts or the unfortunate but appropriately named T-Shirt Hell, but I refer to a recently discovered genre of T-shirts.

The Blog-Inspired Inside Joke T-Shirt.

I kid you not.  This year for Christmas, I may populate my entire Christmas list with Awesome T-Shirts I've See Around The Web That No One Will Get But Me And Other Blog Readers.

First, from Josh at The Comics Curmudgeon (along with the help of the other 'mudges, and the writers of Apartment 3G) is this gem here - The 'Too Fancy For Hoboken and Too Hot For Church' design:

Source

The fun one about this one, is you can get matching underpants.  UNDERPANTS.

Actually, I may bypass the T-shirt and arrange to have "Too Fancy for Hoboken and Too Hot for Church" engraved on my Tombstone.  How kickass would that be?

This next one is the handiwork of The Bloggess:

Source

I'm not sure if I like the shirt so much as I just love the story behind it.

But.. I'll admit, I have an ulterior motive behind writing this post about Awesome T-Shirts On The Web.

I do, it's true.  I am not proud.

Here it is.

Source

Sometimes I just can't wait for Christmas.  And I'm cheap as all hell, and I love, love, love me some free stuff.  And now, right now, right this very minute, the famous-as-well-as-infamous Aunt Becky of Mommy Wants Vodka is holding a contest to win one of her profanity-laden T-shirts.

And i want that one.  In purple.  Because it's true, purple should be a flavour. It's my second favorite color behind red.  If it was available in red, I'd get in in red, honestly.  But I like purple a lot as well.  When I'm old, I'm going to be one of those Red Hat Society ladies, and just wear a shit-ton of red and purple.  ALL THE FRIGGIN TIME.  and drink tea laced with bourbon with my red-and-purple-wearing friends, and man oh MAN is it going to be a kick-ass time.

So yes, go check out the contest.  In the meantime, until I can be a red-hat lady, I will be happy to wear my Aunt Becky T under my work clothes at my customer service job and when I am on the phone dealing with people who by rights shouldn't be capable of driving or owning property, I can look down my own top and think "Yes. 'Shut Your Whore Mouth, indeed."

And I will smile.

Thoughts on this years Juno Awards, keeping in mind that I didn't actually watch them, not having cable.

... But I've enjoyed reading the tweets and looking at the pictures.  And even though I generally hate award shows, I wish I had watched.  In reviewing various photos and blogs and articles, I have a few thoughts.

What the fuck is with Win Butler's hair?  And why doesn't he have eyebrows?

Emily Haines consistently manages to look dead on the inside.  Even when smiling.  She has that coked-out life-beaten dead-eyed prostitute look about her.  It's sad and disturbing, because I really really like her as a musician, but when I see the pictures I just want to hug her and go "Be happy, Emily Haines.  It's not so bad as all that."  The only picture I saw where she looked truly happy (nay, blissful) was the one that was posted on Metric's twitter feed.  She's hugging Buffy Ste. Marie.  And smelling her, it looks like.

I wonder what Buffy Ste. Marie smells like?  For some reason I imagine she smells like fresh tobacco, cookies and Grandma.

I heard so much on Twitter last night about how great Jim Cuddy looked that I was actually kind of disappointed today when I saw pictures.  I mean, he looked good, dapper, as he generally does, but I don't know, I was kind of expecting radiance, I guess.  I thought he was going to be sparkling or something. It's like that Simpsons episode where Homer sees the sign for the world's biggest cookie, then he buys it and is like "Oh.. well I guess it's pretty big."  but you can tell it didn't live up to his expectations.

Well... he looks pretty good, I guess.

It's okay though, I still love you, Jim Cuddy.
Neil Young gets scarier looking with every passing year.

The Canadian music industry is a sea of Buddy Holly Glasses.

This is common in most music award shows, but I hate when performers/presenters/nominees/whathaveyou can't be bothered to dress up a bit.  It's a fucking award show?  If I was at one of these things, I'd be like Cinderfrigginrella in my princesseyness.

I mean, Shania Twain is one of my least favorite people in the world, but at least she knows how to dress for an awards show.

Shania loves our bushes, apparently.

Meanwhile, on the other end of the spectrum, Classified looks like he's on his way to an inner-city basketball court,

and Hollerado couldn't be bothered to brush their hair

Hey, Hollerado.. try and look a little more greasy, please?

 And hey, to that guy from Barenaked Ladies whose name I can't remember, but I know you replaced one of the Creggan brothers.. well, this MIGHT just be the kind of occasion that warrants remembering to shave, mmkay?

At least Tyler attempted a suit.. kind of?

There were many who managed to clean up rather nicely, both young and old (Ben Kowalewisz, I'm looking at you, baby.  That's right)

I guess this post is mostly about my irritation with music award shows and their distinct lack of glitz.  I know, I know, it's a 'too cool for school' mentality which is prevalent in the music industry (especially amongst rock genres.. frankly, a lot of the hip-hop artists in attendance looked pretty smashing.  Kardinal Offishal's orange suit was a thing of beauty).

Maybe as someone who doesn't get a chance to dress up very often, I wonder why more people don't take the opportunity.

Oh?  The actual awards?  Meh.  Arcade Fire won, the Biebs won.  No real surprises.  Matthew Good was confused as to why his album Vancouver won Best Rock Album when it was released in 2009. I'm sad I missed the Canadian artists tribute.. I'm sure it'll show up on YouTube.

Photo Sources:
www.zimbio.com
www.torontosun.com
twitter.com/Metric

half-assedness and artistry

crafting is good for the stress levels so I thought I'd share some of the stuff I've completed lately.

But first!!

Guess what came in the mail today?  I won a blog challenge a week or so ago over a it's never too late to save a hopeless case and today I received, care of one ms. steph gas, this lovely tote bag from her store Rule 42 Inc.  You should go check it out, especially the custom t-shirt bags that I would love to make myself if I wasn't ridiculously intimidated by my sewing machine.  Seriously, it scares the shit out of me.

sexy, no?

I'm pretty stoked that she also addressed me the package with my full name and title, as requested:

click to enlarge.  my thumb is covering my address to prevent stalkers.

In the meantime I've been working on some fun stuff and in honor of the half-assed weekend post, I'll share:

This is a mirror that my friend gave me that had been kicking around her basement for the last four to five years.  It was originally a plain blond wood mirror.  I sanded the frame down and painted it with a bright red acrylic, then decided to do the inside perimeter in black.  I had inteded to do the entire frame red.  Then I used an enamel glass paint to do the zebra stripes in the corners.

It was pretty time-consuming, and I had to do it twice since the first time I used a brush-on varnish instead of a glaze (turns out there's a difference.. who knew?  I know, everyone but me.)  The varnish peeled half of the paint off.  I guess it hadn't quite settled.  So I had to scrub it all off and try again.

The second time around I used a spray-glaze that claimed to dry 'crystal-clear' so I just kind of sprayed the whole thing in this stuff and much to my chagrin, this resulted in a nice frosted-glass mirror that wasn't of much to anyone who actually wanted to, oh, I don't know.. look at themselves.  Out came the Windex and before it dried too much I managed to scrub most of the glaze off the reflected surface.  There's still a bit of a sheen from it though.

Next:

This is the completed frame that I had mentioned doing a few weeks back.  Finding a plain frame was a pain in the ass. I searched the salvation army and finally tried the Dollar stores, as usually they have plain frames in the arts and crafts section.  No luck though, couldn't find them.  So this is kind of a cheap dollar store plastic frame painted red, with black on the interior rim, and polka dots.

I still don't know the photographers name.  I'm thinking my dad might know.

Update:  So I was at the gas station the other day and I saw the guy who took the Betty Boop photo and remembering this entry and my earlier one, I ran up and asked him his name again for the sake of being able to properly credit him for his work.  His name is Corey Ramsbottom and he does a lot of scenic and landscape photography.  Check out his website here.

This one I'm pretty proud of:

Once again, dollar store frame which I happened to find while searching for the frame above, plus paint, and podge, and comic book leavings.  I love the way it turned out and I'm thinking of going back for a few more of these frames, because I'd love to make more of these.

A few weeks ago Facebook had a meme going around where you take the first five people on your friends sidebar (no refreshing!) and they become your team for the Zombie Apocalypse.  I got three of my best friends and two co-workers, whom I happen to like and respect.  Got bored so here's my rendering of my zombie apocalypse team:

I'm third from the left

So that's about all.  I'm off to enjoy the rest of my weekend.

this has been a half-assed weekend post, brought to you by a Simple Dude in a Complex World

Numbers are just so.. Arbitrary.

I have a new weight loss goal.

So some may not know, but over the last four years I've lost about 60 lbs through Weight Watchers, and just better eating habits and more exercise. 

I stopped going to Weight Watchers this past January because I got pissed off with yet another corporate giant milking consumers for all they are worth.

Since then, I've been attempting to at least maintain, but some of my clothes are telling me I've not been doing a bang-up job on that front.  Mostly everything still fits, but a couple of things aren't looking as nice as they did a month or two ago.  Not owning a bathroom scale, I'd wager a guess I've put on maybe 5-10 lbs tops.

I intend to go back to tracking and attending meetings at a local group that costs a dollar a week rather than the 15 that weight watchers gouges you for.

As mentioned, I also have a new goal, one far less arbitrary than a silly number on a scale (which was, by the way 150 lbs.. at my lowest I was still 20 away from that). 

awesome

The coolest fucking pants on the planet.  I'd say universe because aliens may have the technology to make pants more fantastic than these, but if they do, I don't need to know about it.  I found them today at the Salvation Army for seven dollars.  Never worn.

So yeah.  My goal is to fit into these pants.  Numbers be damned.  Okay not totally damned, some numbering is involved.  These are a size 11.. I'm currently hovering around 12-13.  I think getting to a point where I can fit the most fucking spectacular awesome size 11 plaid pants is an admirable, yet reasonable goal.

So here we are, week 1.

I see London, I see France...

I haven't decided on weekly, bi-weekly or monthly updates yet.

**********************************

In other news, last night was the final Midland production of the Vagina Monologues.  The show went over fantastically and we sold around 400 tickets which means a lovely wad of cash for our local women's shelter.  Great show, great ladies, great cause.  I'm both sad and glad to see it done, because although I get my life back now, it really was a lot of fun and I met so many awesome people.

***********************************

Chloe's plumbing is all gone, finally got her spayed.  Still dealing with evil demon kitties I currently have, but at least it's without threat of more to come.  She looks truly pathetic right now though.

Hiding under the table as the boys still don't understand "Closed for Business"

Coming soon.. Tsunamis, Fangirlishness and Rape Culture (in unrelated posts, of course).

WWWednesday - or not.

So you may (because I like to pretend more people care what I write than probably do) have noticed a dearth of WWWednesday posts.  This is because I haven't actually been to weigh in since they changed the program and I'm really struggling with whether I want to go back or not.  I'm afraid of backsliding but I really have a bad taste in my mouth as far as the rampant corporatism goes.  Sigh.

I made banana bread tonight but I think I may have under cooked it.  It's a bit mushy.  I made a pretty cool comic-themed headband which will not be going on the Etsy store - no, this one will be for my own personal use.

jealous?  *nods knowingly* You're jealous.

Taking a cue from Saskatchewan's sexiest blogger, Tyler, I've had this song stuck in my head all day:



Apparently this is the song the Scott Pilgrim books and subsequently the film Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World film was named after. I can't tell if she's saying "I've liked you for a thousand years" or "I've liked you for a dozen years".

A quick Google search tells me it's thousand. This is comforting. I hate to think I've been singing it wrong. all. day. long.

Yesterday's post was pretty heavy...

...and right now I'm tossing around thoughts for a post on mainstream porn and feminism in response to Kissie Catastrophe's post at Ethecofem - basically expanding on some thoughts I posted in the comments section.

So to break up the uber-serious monotony, here's a few random awesome things I've found kicking around the internet.  Some are new, some are things I've known of for some time.

1. Brandon Bird.  I love this guy's artwork.  It's what I wish mine could be, a twisted parfait of surrealism and pop culture.  Since I don't personally celebrate the soul-sucking mindfuck that is Valentines day, part of me really wants to buy the complete set of Law and Order SVU Valentines Cards (sorry, you're going to need to scroll a bit) and have my kids distribute them amongst the other little hooligans in their class.  I'm pretty sure that might warrant a call from their teacher though.
   
2. This Post from Aunt Becky at Mommy Wants Vodka.  I was in tears reading it, especially when I am reminded of how my now-10-year-old nephew, upon entering Junior Kindergarten and discovering the world of literacy, decided to label everything in his room.  In black Sharpie.  His bed.  His Sheets.  His pillow. Everything.  It also reminded me of how up until recently everything I owned seemed to be covered in a layer of stickers, courtesy of my little one (who also seems to have a tearing/ripping/otherwise destroying paper goods fetish.)
   
3. Nirvana-Themed Ballet Flats.  I rarely drool over shoes (okay I sometimes do..  but I rarely trying to mentally justify 80+ bucks for shoes) but these are too freaking cute for words.  This woman's store also has some wicked cool Wonder Woman wedges. Sweet Jesus.
   
4. This friggin van that was in the parking lot at work today:
   
   
   Is that not one freaking sweet flame job?  Do you think they paid for that?  Or do you think the guy got a stencil and did it himself (or herself, let's be fair).
   

In other news, the mirror I was given to recondition is coming along nicely, but I have to lament the lack of a decent craft and/or art supply store in the vicinity.   Michael's is a good 35 minutes away, and that pretty much leaves the Quest Art Gallery, which has limited selection, or Wal-Mart, which is.. well.. you all know my opinion on Wal-Mart.  Plus there's still a lot of stuff they don't have either.  So yeah, travelling for art supplies is crap.  But my mirror is going to look awesome.  Will post pics when done.  I wish I had thought to get a picture before i started this project.

This is going to be a quickie...

My days are all messed up.

Seriously, I was doing a quick post and I almost declared it a Half-Assed Weekend post, then I remembered it was Wednesday. Sweet Jebus, do I ever love being on holidays.

I got the call today that my ticket to the Dominican Republic all ready to be picked up. Oh yes, one sun and alchohol fuelled week with two of my best friends. Happy Belated 30th Birthday to me because really, who wants to go to the DR in AUGUST? You go in JANUARY so you can laugh at all the people who are stuck in here in -30 Canadian winter weather. Suckahs.

Went thrift-store shopping with my mom and sister today and it was fabulous. I had not one but two OMG experiences. I bought a pair of jeans for thirteen bucks that when I put them on, I swear, I heard a heavenly chorus. I've never had a pair of pants that fit so well. You KNOW it's a good pair, when you put on your previous 'favorite' pair and well, they just don't feel right.

I also picked up fabulous strapless party dress for New Years (which will also be wearable in the tropics) and a wicked cool Mad-Men style 50's secretary dress for work. Gotta work off some of my ass for it to fit properly, which I know goes against my thrift store shopping rules, but I really couldn't bypass this one. It was way too cute.

Awesome new years dress.  I don't care if I go out by myself, I'm going out in this.  Fuck you, New Years Eve.

Awesome 50's Madmen type office dress.  Little tight in the butt-area, but I'll get on that.

In other news, I started some new projects that will be getting added to the Etsy store when i get them done.  Awesome set of Johnny Cash coasters, and one of my friend's gave me an old mirror she had kicking around for the last four years or so.  On the way home from her place I was already thinking of things I could do with it, and it's coming along nicely.  I'll post pics when I get it done.. need some extra supplies before I can continue on it.

I really need to remember to get creative when I'm feeling like shit.  I was in such a crud mood yesterday but getting my hands dirty and listening to loud music just made everything go away.

Anyway, I'm off, dinner and movie night at my other friend's place tonight.  Looking forward to it, we haven't had much time to hang out with the holidays and all.

these boots...

When I was 18 I was hospitalized with my first bout of colitis and one big motherfucking blood clot in my left leg.  It stretched from behind my knee, right up into my abdomen.   The hospital I stayed at said it was the biggest clot they had seen anyone survive.

In the major leg artery there are valves that are pushed open each time your heart pumps blood through your system, then close when at rest.  These valves serve to distribute the blood in your leg evenly because otherwise, all the blood pools in your ankles

 

The anticoagulants I was given to dissolve the clot in my leg, also served to dissolve these valves.  As a result, my left calf is perma-swollen and about 1.5cm bigger in diameter than the right.  It's not a huge side effect other than being vaguely unsightly, especially if I am on my feet all day.

Boots, however, are a problem.  

I can't find boots that fit me, especially dressy kinds.  High boots.  It's kind of disheartening, especially with winter here.  I want to get dressed up, don't want to freeze my little toes off in pumps or sandals.. feel like a jackhole dancing in running shoes (weird I know).. and some days, especially now being lighter than I was, I want to wear some nice, tall, shit-kicking hooker boots.  But if I find one that fits one leg, chances are they won't fit the other leg.

One day, when I am independently wealthy, having married and divorced a number of rich benefactors, or having won the lottery that I never play, or having patented some brilliant invention, I will have a collection of high-boots, custom made for my wonky-assed legs.

One in every color, baby.

Hooker boots up to HERE    ----------------------->

I'm gonna have boots so high, I can go friggin' TROUT FISHING in them.

Hip waders?  I don't need no hip waders. Got my hooker boots, thanks.

"What's that baby?  You want me to keep the boots on?  I'm glad you said that, since it'd probably take me three hours to get them off."

Mine will be the greatest high boots ever known to man.  They shall rule over all other boots, who will quiver in the face of their mighty tallness.

Gross generalizations that will likely annoy and/or offend, Part one.

I happened to noticed something the other day that got me thinking, as I was having $30 worth of gas put into Betty, my little Aveo. I noticed that most full-serve stations I go to are employed by a number of late-teen/twenty-somethings, most of whom are sporting a wide selection of facial jewellery, tattoos and asymmetrical hairdos.

Now first, let me point out that I'm generally a fan of these things, so this is by no means a rant against self-expression or 'whatever happened to decency blah blah blah'. One has nothing to do with the other in my honest opinion. But it struck me funny that of all the different types of service-sector industries, gas stations are the only ones that seem to employ no dress code whatsoever. (although there have been times when I've wondered if maybe there IS a dress-code that specifically states the requirement of silver appendages. Either that or the hiring managers have punk fetishes)

Some might argue with me "well, what about CD stores, and used clothing stores?" These places are different, as the clientele are most likely the types of people (like myself) who tolerate, if not encourage, such adornment. The people in front of the counter making their purchases are most likely not much different from the folks ringing them up.

Fuelling stations (thank you, Thesaurus) however, cater to pretty much every walk of life you can imagine, with the exception of the homeless (who, one would assume, don't have vehicles, unless they are living in them) and shut-ins (who generally lack need of vehicles, as they don't really go anywhere anyway). With such a wide clientele, one would expect that there'd be many who are not at all sympathetic and even hostile towards such forms of self-expression.

What does it mean? It seems to me like an interesting indication of the type of hold that the fuel industry has on society. It's a neat little 'fuck-you' type of aesthetic, really. "We don't have to make our employee adhere to some kind of socially acceptable dress-code or uniform just to please you, the consumer. I mean, what are you going to do... NOT BUY GAS???"

Frankly I think most consumers are too pissed by the prices to care, anyway.

Ladies and gentlemen who are or have been in the industry, please feel free to tell me to STFU if you feel I don't know what I'm talking about. but please, elaborate on why. Discussion is FUN.

On Aging...

The definition of becoming a grown-up:

A) An increase of 'Hand-wash only' articles of clothing

B) Actually hand-washing said articles as opposed to saying 'eff it' and tossing them in the machine.

C) Taking extra care not to dirty said items, so that you can avoid hand-washing them.

Attention Fashion Industry!!!

LAY OFF THE CRACK!!!!

Seriously, it's time for y'all to put the pipe down, put your collective heads together and come up with some sort of universal sizing system, because it's getting effin ridiculous.

How is this:



a medium, yet this:



is a motherloving 3XL?

Laundry Day.

I've given up on matching socks. I'm willing to settle for common themes or elements.

Almost done the 'D's'