Monday, July 25, 2005

lights down you up and die

Ya know I STILL dream that stupid dream about South showing up at my trailer. (That's Mike South, not the ENTIRE South.)
You know, the one in which I totally panic and refuse to let him in?
I BLAME YOU, Beater!!

I can't WAIT for the day when I can pet Holly and with a clear conscience, say, "You're a good gurl," WITHOUT having to add the "when you wanna be" part under my breath.

(1 p.m.) My family is so screwed up in the head. I talked to my mother last night and she's been trying to get me to take some shirts with three quarter length sleeves from my oldest sister. I keep telling her to give them to Goodwill, which is what I always do with them after my mother wears me down from her overbearing insistence. I have enough junk that I don't wear now. She insists they're lightweight "for summer wear." I said, "Mom, why in God's name would I want to wear three quarter length sleeves during one of the hottest, most humid summers on record?!"
Her answer is a BIG CLUE as to why my family is so fucked up: "They make your arms look thinner." I swear to God if she thought stocking caps made your head look thinner, and wool scarves made your neck look thinner, we'd all be wearing them in July. It's all about the appearance, people. That's all my mother cares about.
Try being the ODDball in a family like that. Getting and maintaing
a sense of self isn't easy, let me tell ya.
She then went on to tell me that another one of my sisters wears them all the time for that very reason--the whole thinner arms thing.
(It's the old conformist trick, one of her most oft used tactics. "ALL of your other sisters do it, what's WRONG WITH YOU that YOU aren't doing it, too?")
There's only one problem with her equation: the sister she's talking about is short and at least 60 or 70 pounds overweight. I would think that making your arms look thinner at this point is the least of her problems. It's like trying not to
get your hair wet when you're drowning. What. is. the. point?
I said, "She can wear them all she wants. I have SUFFERED ENOUGH for not having a size 2 body and if I want to wear sleeveless shirts, you better believe I'm going to. Besides all she has to do is slap on some of that fake tanning stuff if she wants to make her arms look thinner." Where is it written that because you're not a skinny minnie you have to wrap up in swaddling clothes in the dead of summer?
Why sweat and stink and be miserable all so somebody can say,
"Oh look at that fat chick. Yeah, the one over there with the thin arms..."

Just when I think it can't get any worse,
Holly chews up one of my good bras. Grrrrrrrrr....
For guys who don't know the difference, a "good bra" is one that makes your "gurls" proud to be called "tits". If the occasion arose, we'd be thrilled to be caught wearing a good bra should some handsome cop...I mean "guy"..suddenly sweep us off our feet and into bed on our way back home from a trip to the 7/11. If he ripped off our clothes and we were wearing a good bra, we'd be proud to push those puppies in his face. Hell, we'd even do the pulling the nipples out while leaving the bra on thang.
By contrast, if we were wearing a bad bra--a "holey," raggedy bra-- he'd never get to first base. Bad bras are every bit as protective as metal bras, they're what you wear to keep yourself chaste because you know no matter how much you want a dude, there's no way in HELL you'll let him remove a stitch of your clothing while you're wearing a bad bra or bad underwear, for that matter. You'd die first, taking your screaming O with you.
Now good bras and good underwear should not be confused with "lucky" underwear. That's an altogether different category. That's underwear we wear when we want (or expect) something good to happen. That something may or may not be that we get lucky. It's usually worn for a job interview or a first date kinda thing.

Mr. G and I were watching boxing Friday night and the announcer was welcoming back one fighter, who he said had gotten into "a little mischief." I asked Mr. G what the announcer was referring to and he said the dude had kidnapped his own daughter at gunpoint. Damn. I'd hate to see what the announcer thinks "big trouble" is.

I'm still trying to figure out a way to make a fast thousand bucks so I can get my laptop NOW instead of having to wait till I pay off our credit cards. I've thought about prostitution, but with my body, it might take longer to earn the dinero by 'tuting, than it would by paying off our credit cards.
I thought about selling drugs, but I'm fairly honest, so I know I'd be all, "Sure I can sell you this crack cocaine OR you get it from the supplier down the street and save 20% by eliminating the middle man. Or in my case middle 'woman'." Sigh.
I sent a flurry of INCREDIBLY humorous stuff to Reader's Digest, but alas those bastards never even bothered to send me one of those form "not what we're looking for" letters. Pretty sad day when you're pissed you DIDN'T get a form letter.
So NOW I've decided to write greeting cards. There's a company that will pay $300 a crack. So all I have to do is come up with four decent cards and that friggin' laptop is MINE!! Now, like every woman, I've spent a LOT of time in the card aisle trying to pick out exactly the right card for exactly the right person, only to have them chuck it into the garbage can five seconds after they yank the birthday check out of it. So I am WELL QUALIFIED for this job!!!!
Here's a sample of my greeting card writing "talents":
"Every once in a while we meet someone so extraordinary that it changes the fabric of our entire life. We are filled with a joy so profound that it explodes within our soul, filling us with love. The day I met you, I met that someone.....he was the tall black haired dude standing right behind you. So, yeah, I'll need you to be out of the apartment by Monday so he can move in. Adios."
Ok, here's another one:
"I've watched you change so much over the years. Through growth and challenges, you've weathered every storm, struggling to be the best. You're a bright, shining star. It takes a special person to run the Zamboni machine and that special person is you! Don't ever change;)"
Sooo, whadda think?? It's a slam dunk, people. I was born to do this job.

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