Monday, March 24, 2014

Gravy mix and cigarettes cause muffin tops

We bought some gravy mix at the grocery store the other day. My boyfriend stuffed the packets in his coat pocket since we didn't get any other groceries at the time (after paying of course - we're not hooligans). Once we got home, he asked me to get the gravy from his coat because he had forgotten. I did as he requested and, once in the kitchen with said packets of gravy, I said: "Is that gravy in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?"

I really like low-rise pants because I have a short torso and my waist is fairly close to my boobs. I also have really square hips so I look like a... well, like a big square. I like to think of my figure as more "athletic" than "hourglass".

The problem with low risers is that they give me a muffin top when I sit down. I find this strange because I'm of perfectly normal weight so nothing should be hanging over my pants, you know? If the pants have a somewhat higher waist, I can just tuck my tummy under the pants and pouf! flat abs.

I can only conclude that I need a personal seamstress since mainstream fashion cannot possibly begin to address my unique body shape which I have aptly named "the square", as shown in this lovely illustration:
I came across some old Johnny Carson interviews on TV the other night and immediately got the warm fuzzies. I used to watch the Tonight Show back in the day, before I became a soulless peon engulfed in what Henry David Thoreau described as "lives of quiet desperation". The interviews were mainly from the 70s and 80s, when I was young and my greatest worry was missing an episode of the Dukes of Hazzard on Friday nights. 

I couldn't help but feel nostalgic and long for the days when one could smoke on television. I mean, when George C. Scott lit up a cigarette and recited a monologue from a play he'd done 25 years prior, he personified cool. But I'm a reasonable adult, and I get that the whole cancer / death thing put a kaibosh on that. 

Another hallmark of the 80s for me was getting away with wearing the same clothes every day at school. If I came across a piece of clothing I found particularly comfortable, I would wear it all the time, like my black harem pants in grade 6, or my favorite sweatshirt in grade 4:
I think I won a prize for that hat
The stripes, the ruffles - that thing killed. Somehow, I don't think my office attire could consist solely of pajama pants and sweatshirts which is unfortunate because I would be much more productive in flannel than hosiery.

A few days ago, I was complaining about something or other and the boyfriend says: Crimea river. 

We were at the grocery store, once again, and the boyfriend orders a prosciutto and pear panini but he pronounced it "pros-kiutto". I said: "Honey, it's pronounced proshiutto. The "s" and the "c" make a "sh" sound." His response: I'll "sh" you.

Friday, March 14, 2014

How corn dogs blew up my blog

So I kind of, accidentally, completely redesigned my blog. All I wanted to do was replace a few old pictures with new ones. Then, somehow, as a result of my technical ineptitude, I ended up deleting my super-cool background, which clearly was not my intention. I tried to restore it, but alas, it would not work. It was in the attempted restoration process, however, that the website where I got said super-cool background suggested it would work better with one of the newer Blogger templates. So...

I was perusing some templates and clicked on one which I guess meant "apply". Holy. Shit. So yeah, guess what? Whole new look. I was seized with panic when I realized I had forever altered the look of my blog. It kind of felt like jumping off being pushed off a cliff. However, I'm warming to the new look, although quite unexpected, and somewhat traumatic.

Perhaps this laps in judgment was caused by my frequent ingestion of corn dogs and mayo for breakfast this week. I'd like to think I have a refined palate and prioritize healthy foods over synthetic junk but every time I spot them corn dogs in the grocery store, I can't help myself. I must have them. This surprises me because I've never lived in a trailer park. 

I feel equally guilty about adding flavoured coffee cream to my morning joe to give it that authentic fancy coffee house, foamy, non-fat, hold the whip, latté flavour. It's so bourgeois. Or do hipsters still occupy coffee houses? In which case, I'm too hip to care.

I vowed not to purchase one piece of clothing this year so I could start to address my tiny debt problem and the lack of space in my closet. I then proceeded to buy a very expensive purse. I'm not sure what it means. Sublimation via Italian leather? I do, however, use this purse everyday, so I did need it.

The final season of Mad Men starts in April. I'm concerned about this since I fear the end of this great series will stymy my campaign to have hard liquor readily available in offices across the country. I believe it will increase productivity while lowering stress levels. If you have statistics to support this hypothesis, please send them to me.

Tuesday, March 11, 2014

Chicken soup is a bad influence on asymmetrical ears

Can I still eat my salad if a few flakes of dandruff fell into it when I scratched my head?

The boyfriend and I watched some of the special features on our Season 3 Game of Thrones DVDs after finishing the season. We realized we should have done this sooner since we now finally understood what was going on. It's a testament, however, to the quality of the show that we keep watching even though, most of the time, we're thoroughly confused. But the characters are engaging and the stories compelling, and we seem to know enough to piece together some kind of incomplete, yet coherent narrative.

I suspect some Walking Dead writers must have recently read a volume of Chicken Soup for the Soul because the latest episode was surprisingly schmaltzy. Teen girl looking for her first drink in a post-apocalyptic Zombie nightmare; her white trash adult caretaker refusing to let her drink Peach Schnapps in favour of good 'ol Moonshine. If you're gonna do it, do it right. Then they got into some real movie-of-the-week crap with "Let's heal our past wounds by setting fire to this house as a symbol of rebirth." Puke. More zombies please. Or bring back the Governor.

I recently realized my skull is not smooth but quite ripple-y. This surprised and perturbed me. What if I'm deformed? What if my skull is gradually caving in on itself? I asked my boyfriend if I could feel his skull. Also ripple-y. Is this a biological fact I simply wasn't aware of? I guess I always figured my head was spherical, and I suppose it kind of is, in the way the moon is round but has craters.

I also realized my ears are not symmetrical. One of them sticks out more than the other. When I pressed my finger into the side of my left ear (why? who knows), I felt a tiny piece of cartilage that isn't on the side of my right ear. I never knew this until now. I had to stop pressing my finger into my ear though because I was getting a headache, and I was in a shopping mall.  

I had a unicorn once. I named it Horny.

So we're watching the Bachelor finale and the host, Chris Harrison, who's always been my fave, is gettin' all up in Juan Pablo's grill because the dude didn't want to propose to his chosen one but instead wanted to date her. Chris was completely flummoxed by the fact that Juan Pablo wouldn't say he was in love with Nikki (his winning contestant). He even enlisted the help of last season's Bachelor, Sean, and his new wife, Catherine, a saintly couple if there ever was one, to validate his ire. Bewildered, I watched this glaring display of American puritanism which so proudly showed little to no tolerance for alternatives.

I mean, think about it. Not everyone is ready to get married after knowing each other for 10 weeks, AND, all the while one of you is dating other people. So Juan wants to date Nikki and see where that leads, now that it's just the two of them. He likes her a whole lot but he's not sure he's in love with her. That sounds like a perfectly honest and reasonable situation to me. Shame on The Bachelor. Maybe your next season should air on the Christian Television Network - a more appropriate home for ill-founded dogma.


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