Me: Women’s shit should be free. All of it: make up, feminine hygiene products, Midol, Prozac, tampons, razors…FREE, FREE, FREE! If men had to buy all this crap, it would be discounted or there would be special payment plans so all they had to do is walk up and pass it over the scanner. The readout would say “you’re a guy. So sorry it’s THAT time. Here’s a coupon for free beer and sports all day. No charge!” Ugh.
I’m reading the saddest book ever. Not sad, like ugh it’s boring and sad, but SAD like tragic and totally depressing. I picked up this novel-of-misery probably because it had a one word book review from STEPHEN KING blaring on the front cover, saying it’s a ‘TRIUMPH’. A triumph?! REALLY STEPHEN??!! A kid’s mother dies in a bomb attack while they’re at a museum of all places! He’s dumped off to his rich neighbour’s where they merely tolerate him until his estranged father returns and moves him to Vegas! VEGAS?! Then the kid gets into drinking and drugs and left alone for days while his father gambles away any money he has….It’s one thing after another….I’m not sure how much more I can take. Next time Mr. King reviews a book, he should add more words like “only read this if you like tragedy and kids struggling to survive”…then, perhaps I could be a better judge on what I’m about to invest large quantities of time and valuable anti-depressants. Thanks, Stephen. I blame you. If it wasn’t for your recommendation, I may have picked up something a little more upbeat like War and Peace, or finished Jane Eyre… I’ve now taken to stabbing myself with mini cocktail forks until I have tiny puncture wounds all over my arms.…it somehow eases the pain from the book which I am forced to finish BECAUSE I HAVE TO READ A BOOK I START NO MATTER HOW AWFUL AND TRAGIC IT IS. I’ll be over here with the cocktail forks and a bottle of Merlot…
I wore a dress to work today. The first one I’ve worn in a while. The comments are a little over the top. Nice, but a little bit too embarrassing. Maybe I should stop wearing jeans every day, and then people would get used to me wearing something different. The only problem with having to actually work at dressing up is the work. And the dressing up. Shoes other than flat running shoes, bother me. The undergarments I must wear to hold in the giggly bits, bother me. Especially this one since its one piece with the bra and everything all attached. The ‘bra’ part actually flattens the boobs, so wearing another bra underneath is recommended. And it hooks in the crotch area so when I have to pee, I have to unhook it THERE. It’s a tad difficult because of its location. I have to bend over to see the invisible hooks which is ungodly in its design in that I have to stare at my vajajay like I’m inspecting a flat tire. It’s also tragic when trying to re-hook. I can’t see what I’m hooking and I miss (no I don’t hook THAT, because if I did the loud swearing would ban me from the washroom altogether) and I swear and it takes what seems like forever…. it must seem strange to anyone who glances under the stall to see my feet so wide apart and all the swearing and wondering what’s going on over there… Ugh. Of course, if someone is looking under the stall in the first place, that’s questionable behaviour and I’d have to reconsider the public washroom thing, but then I’d have to hold it all day and that’s just not possible. I could do the alternative to the unhooking which would be pulling off the girdle-from-hell entirely, but then my dress would have to come off and then I’d be naked just to pee. I’m now George Costanza. So, really the logical part would be to just do the slutty unhooking bit, but it’s tedious and a little risque for an office environment washroom, don’t you think?
THIS is why I don’t wear a dress.