I am dogsitting for my parents for the latter half of this week, which means staying overnight at their place to keep an eye on the beasties. An unfortunate side effect of this is that the cats are thus left with Speed at the house, where they inevitably will drive him to homicidal acts. The cats are definitely My Pets, and as a result they get kind of loopy and frenetic when I am gone. So this morning I emailed Speed to say good morning and also to share this crazy person's comment from True Bride Confessions:
I love animals, and though I know it won't happen, I still think it would be adorable to dress my cat up in a kitty tuxedo, complete with top hat, and my future husband's cat in a dress and train them to be our ring bearers!
Oh...my lord.
Anyway, a minute or two later I get the following response from Speed.
Hey about the cats... They tore open their catnip toy. Dust everywhere. Decided they weren't going to wait for me to get up. Knocked over bag, spilled food everywhere. But not done. Knocked over fish food. All over floor. Need to buy more now. Not done. Got at the fish filters too. Then once fed, ate so fast they puked. Dont bother cleaning the little box when you get home, there will be no cats around.
Oops.
Once again, the cats attempt to get themselves sold to gypsies.
A month or two ago, we got a new accounts payable chick, who is a total hot shit and has fabulous style...sort of a retro feel, but also very modern and put together, and maybe the best short (i.e. very slightly longer than chin length) bob I've ever seen. She just came down to drop off a bunch of assorted mail, and told me that I had "the cutest clothes."
I feel like pulling an Elle Woods, standing in the hallway all "...ME!"
I have such a hard time with fashion because I adore it...love looking at it, love talking about it, love fantasizing about blowing a mint on entire wardrobes. And yet I fall squarely in the midst of Plus Size Town, which is where fashion so often goes to die.
I would like to swear, here, in a public forum, that if I ever meet the idiot who told the fashion industry that big people want to wear sacks and sequins, I will kill them dead. This goes DOUBLE for whoever told the shoe people that people with big feet want hideous, cornea-melting shoes.
Whenever I go shopping, I find myself looking not for the most fabulous new looks I can try, but instead wading through scores of mysteriously tapered pants, tentlike shirts, horrendous dresses...of all the approaches that designers could have taken, how did they come up with this? I can only imagine how the brainstorming session went. "Let's see. I'm not really sure about how to deal with someone who weighs more than 100 pounds, so I guess we should just make a large fabric sack with no shape, which will make them completely spherical and thus avoid the problem." Yeah, all right.
This would bother me far less if I had not had many of the same issues at a size 14 or so. The smallest I have ever been was a size 8, and let me tell you, there is no planet on which my frame is supposed to be a size 8. I am overweight now. There is no argument about this. It's why I work out and eat right and am trying to get into better shape. However, I once sat with my fellow member of the Fabulous Redhead Club (from which I am now retired but feel I can declare myself an honorary member) and paged through my senior yearbook, and she told me she wanted to feed my photographed self a sandwich. I do not now, nor have I ever wanted pictures of me to prompt that thought. I think I was at my own personal hotness apex at around a size 12, where no one wanted to forcefeed me, nor did they want to take food away from me. I had the misfortune, however, to be this weight as a teenager, which of course meant I thought I was a giant burgeoning heifer. I look at pictures now from that time period and I would seriously shank near relatives to look like that again.
But even at a 12, half the time I would have to shop in the plus size sections! Why in the hell would that happen? Do they keep these designers in Undisclosed Locations, far far away from everyone who would WEAR CLOTHING? Because when I look around, it's not me against the supermodels out there. It's me and a bunch of people skinnier than me, and a bunch of people bigger than me. And remarkably, everyone is wearing clothes! I know this is surprising, but apparently I am some kind of observer savant, because the Fashion Establishment seems to forget that people larger than a size 6 need clothing too, and presumably would like it to LOOK GOOD.
Since reaching my current weight, I have learned some tricks...I shop online and experiment with different looks, but still I find myself working very hard to find stuff that I am happy with. It just always surprises me to find such crazy things in the plus size departments of the world. I'm not really sure who would want tapered pants in ANY situation, but let me tell you, the Fashion People want big people to have them. Tapered pants are STALKING me. And yet, all they do is emphasize your hips, which presumably your average plus size woman already is well stocked with. Same with these giant drapey shirts and dresses...larger women HAVE volume. Adding more is not going to help, it's going to make us look MORE round, and with roundness comes bloatiness, and that way ABSOLUTE MADNESS LIES.
A couple nights ago I was looking for pants, because 40 lost pounds later, the perfectly fitting pants I bought no longer fit so perfectly. Oh, the aggravation. Speed reacted to my meltdown by asking when my period was due...he was doing this in a manner that involved actual concern and desire to avoid crying, rather than in a "oh women are crazy, what with their EMOTIONS and BLEEDING" tone, but ugh, I'm sorry, Men of the World, but you'll never know the agony of women's pants. Not only is the sizing system in general a complete farce, but there are also all kinds of lengths and waists and other things waiting for you to pull them off the shelf so they can proceed to make your body look TERRIFYING. I once pulled all of my dresses out and put them on the bed, lining up the waists and shoulders...all generally the same, what with having bought them to fit my body, but then I looked at the tags. 10. 8. 10. 12. 12. 13/14. 10. WHO IS IN CHARGE HERE? It does not help that once you leave the relative safe haven of dresses you enter the demonic level of separates, in which I wear a different top than I do bottom. AWESOME. I looked at roughly 100 pairs of pants online and NONE of them looked to be both the right length and the right waist.
SO, when the Rockin' Accounts Payable Chick told me I had cute clothes, I just about wet my pants out of joy because I work SO HARD to find great stuff that looks good, and having that effort recognized is straight up euphoria. Thanks, PAPC!
As part of my job, I process rebates for refrigerators. One of the things that boggles my mind on a routine basis is the phenomenon of people getting IRATE, seriously irate, when I send them a denial letter because they were missing information. Let's simplify - you want me to give you, as a reward for doing something that will a.) help the environment and b.) save you money anyway as your electric costs go down, $150, basically for free, or if you'd like, the 41 cents it costs to mail your application. I am willing to do this. However, I would like you to send me a couple things, all of which you have in your posession. To wit:
1. Completed application form.
2. Receipt from your purchase.
3. Yellow EnergyStar label which comes attached to your fridge.
Again, YOU HAVE ALL OF THESE THINGS. This is what an EnergyStar label looks like. You will notice that when we say "yellow," we are not messing around. We mean yellow of the retina-scorching variety.
In order to complete your application form, you need to know or find out your address, your name, and some information about the fridge you just spent probably upwards of $400 on. I have learned, even at the grand old age of 24, that although I will make damn sure I know everything there is to know about anything I am spending $400 of my own personal money on, this is not true of everyone. Luckily, we have the Retinal Demolition Device that tells us all about the new centerpoint of your kitchen. The important part of the form looks like this.
Sorry it's small. However, you may notice that while you may not know this off the top of your head, you can easily locate the information. Observe.
Again, I know this is small, but my god people it's full size in real life and WHY ARE YOU HAVING TROUBLE WITH SUCH A SIMPLE FORM? It says in at least eight places on the application that all information can be found on the yellow EnergyStar label, and that's even before you take into account any times that the person giving them the form mentions it. I understand some confusion about the icemaker, because the form means "is there an icemaker in the door" (...which would save energy because you are not opening the door to get ice) but is not very clear about it, so people often think that having an automatic icemaker inside of their fridge counts, but instead, about half the applicants just...don't circle anything. I don't get it.
My favorite though is when people circle MULTIPLE TYPES of fridge. The categories are: side-by-side, top freezer, bottom freezer, and single door. Why on earth would you review these choices and then circle BOTH side-by-side and bottom freezer? I mean, yeah, some of these fridges have two sections, and one is half fridge, half freezer, but...do the choices not indicate that we want to know basically how the doors are oriented?
I hate to get all philosophical on y'alls asses, but I learned how to fill out a form pretty early. I also learned to READ the form before letting pen touch paper pretty early. I wish I knew when and where specifically I learned this, so I could be all snide and start with the "my momma taught me" lines but...it was just a survival skill. I sort of start freaking out when think about how many people's forms come in completely discombobulated and screwed up because somehow, some of these people filled out college applications. All of these people probably filled out job applications. And you know what, I bet that those applications, for school and work, were FLAWLESS, because "those matter." Why not apply the same level of detail to your whole life? What is wrong with that? Ick.
I used to watch this video when the election was going on and wind up in tears half the time. The combination of both the sentiment and the tangible evidence of SOMEONE, ANYONE, reaching out to the apathetic MTV generation just makes me want to go out and riot. I have a well documented fascination with Eminem, because I find him such an interesting, complex person and respect the hell out of his willingness to put his considerable Issues out there in the light, but this just totally seals the deal with me. Love it. This video was made in conjunction with GNN, which is an interesting alternative news site that's worth a check...I know all you hippies I hang out with will be all over it.
Anyway, for anyone who can't catch all the lyrics or wants to ruminate on them a little bit, here they are...this is just one of the thousand reasons that it is so important to get out and VOTE. VOTE EVERY CHANCE YOU GET! This is not a dress rehearsal, it is not inconsequential,
THIS IS YOUR LIFE! YOU ARE IN CHARGE OF YOUR LOT IN LIFE! GET TO THE POLLS AND TELL THEM TO GET THEIR ACT TOGETHER!
Ahem.
I pledge allgience to the flag of the United States of America. And the to the republic...
People! This is it! It feels so good to be back...mosh with me now; I scrutinize every word, memorize every line; I spit it once, refuel, re-energize and rewind; I give sight to the blind, my insight's through the mind; I exercise my right to express when I feel it's time; It's just all in your mind - what you interpret it as: I say to fight, you take it as I'ma whip someone’s ass, If you don’t understand, don’t even bother to ask, A father who has grown up with a fatherless past, Who has blown up now to rap phenomenon that has, or at least shows, no difficulty multi-taskin' and juggling both; Perhaps mastered-his-craft slash entrepreneur; Who has helped launch a few more rap acts, Who’s had a few obstacles thrown his way, Through the last half of his career, Typical manure, moving past that, Mister kiss-his-ass-crack, he’s a class-act, Rubber-band man, yeah, he just snaps back.
Chorus: Come along, follow me, as I lead through the darkness; As I provide just enough spark that we need to proceed; Carry on, give me hope, give me strength; Come with me, and I won't steer you wrong. Put your faith in your trust, as I guide us through the fog; To the light at the end of the tunnel - we gon’ fight, We gon’ charge, we gon’ stomp, We gon’ march through the swamp, We gon’ mosh through the marsh. Take us right through the doors, come on...
All the people up top, on the side and the middle; Come together, let's all form this swamp just a little; Just let it gradually build, from the front to the back, All you can see is a sea of people, some white and some black; No matter what color, all that matters we're gathered together; To celebrate for the same cause, no matter the weather; If it rains, let it rain, yeah, the wetter the better; They ain’t gon’ stop us, they can't, we're stronger now, more then ever. They tell us "No," we say "Yeah," they tell us "Stop", we say "Go," Rebel with a rebel yell, raise hell we gon’ let em know; Stomp, push, shove, mush, fuck Bush; Until they bring our troops home, c'mon, just..
Chorus: Come along, follow me, as I lead through the darkness; As I provide just enough spark that we need to proceed; Carry on, give me hope, give me strength; Come with me, and I won't steer you wrong. Put your faith in your trust, as I guide us through the fog; To the light at the end of the tunnel - we gon’ fight, We gon’ charge, we gon’ stomp, We gon’ march through the swamp, We gon’ mosh through the marsh. Take us right through the doors, come on...
Imagine it pourin’, it's rainin’ down on us; Mosh pits outside the Oval Office; Someone’s tryin' to tell us something, Maybe this is God just sayin' we're responsible For this monster, this coward that we have empowered; This is Bin Laden, look at his head noddin’; How could we allow something like this, without pumpin' our fists? Now, this is our final hour. Let me be the voice, and your strength and your choice; Let me simplify the rhyme just to amplify the noise; Try to amplify it, times it, and multiply it by sixteen million people, All equal at this high pitch, maybe we can reach Al Qaeda through my speech; Let the president answer a high anarchy, Strap him with a AK-47; Let him go fight his own war, let him impress daddy that way. No more blood for oil, we got our own battles to fight on our own soil, No more psychological warfare to trick us to thinking that we ain’t loyal, If we don’t serve our own country, we’re patronizing our heroes. Look in his eyes, its all lies, the Stars and Stripes, have been swiped, Washed out and wiped and replaced with his own face, Mosh now or die - If I get sniped tonight, you’ll know why, ‘Cause I told you to fight.
Chorus: Come along, follow me, as I lead through the darkness; As I provide just enough spark that we need to proceed; Carry on, give me hope, give me strength; Come with me, and I won't steer you wrong. Put your faith in your trust, as I guide us through the fog; To the light at the end of the tunnel - we gon’ fight, We gon’ charge, we gon’ stomp, We gon’ march through the swamp, We gon’ mosh through the marsh. Take us right through the doors, come on...
And as we proceed to mosh through this desert storm, In these closing statements, if they should argue, let us beg to differ! As we set aside our differences, and assemble our own army, To disarm this weapon of mass destruction, That we call our president for the present, And mosh for the future of our next generation. To speak and be heard. Mr President...Mr Senator.... Can you guys hear us?
Dear Everyone Driving on 290 At About 7:43 This Morning;
The State Police Officer standing on the side of the road, pointing a radar gun at the oncoming traffic, knows you're not doing 45 on the highway. The speed limit of said highway is 65. In recognition of this face, please refrain from slamming on your brakes and reducing your speed from 85 to 45 in a half second, causing everyone behind you to panic and slam on THEIR brakes.
Sincerely,
Chick in the Dodge Stratus
******************************************************************************* Dear Dickwad in the Cream Magnum on 290 at the Same Time;
It's not the speed that will eventually get you nailed by the State Police.
It's the speed, combined with the weaving in and out of traffic, combined with your policy on never entering a lane unless you're three inches off someone's bumper, combined with your phone conversation, combined with your tilting your head all the way back to get the last dregs of your beverage, combined with your choice to drive an ugly car in a weird color.
Sincerely,
CinDS
*********************************************************************************** Dear Statie Radar Gunning People By the Side of 290;
We can all see you.
Park further back.
Love,
The Public
************************************************************************************ Dear Cheap iPod Car Adapter I Bought On eBay For Roughly Three Cents;
I don't particularly care that you don't work all that well, but I would appreciate it if you would man up and malfunction the same way every time. We had things all figured out until I took my iPod inside for about a week to charge it and put new music on it.
I realize you may just be frustrated with my insistence on using the "what's this? It says 'ip-odd'" line from House every morning but seriously, if you saw the episode, you would understand that the line was sublime and SHOULD be used every morning.
If it's really an issue I am happy to negotiate. Let's talk.
Love,
Me
************************************************************************************ And two bonus letters unrelated to the commute. ************************************************************************************
Dear Cop From A Jurisdiction I Didn't Catch Who Passed Me On 290 Today,
I'm going to go out on a limb here, never having taken the police exam and thus not knowing whether or not "leading by example" is actually on said exam, but I'd just like to float the idea that MAYBE as a police officer it would be best if you didn't tailgate three people until they switched lanes, get to me, ride my bumper, then once I got out of your way, blow past me at about 90 miles an hour, ON YOUR CELL PHONE and proceed to tailgate the person who I had been following.
I'm just throwing it out there.
Love,
Me
PS - The same theory and recommendation applies for each separate time you followed the same pattern with every car in front of you from exit 26A on 290 through somewhere around exit 29A on 495. I'M JUST SAYING.
I went to a whole bunch of schools to check them out when I was a senior. One of them was Dickinson College, which is very nice and a good school although it didn't happen to resonate with me (mainly because it wasn't in DC). We were touring the cafeteria when someone wandered past us wearing a shirt that said, in giant, college athletics style lettering, "GO HARD BIG DICK." That? Is awesome, and improved my opinion of the fun factor of Dickinson by a factor of about seven trillion. Regrettably, I did not purchase a shirt of my own, which haunts me to this day. Anyway, for some reason, now whenever someone says "go hard or go home," what flashes into my head is "GO HARD BIG DICK." And then there is inappropriate giggling and an embarassing explanation. Why am I LIKE this, you guys?
So anyway, the "go big or go home big dick" theory is currently being applied to the bathroom redo, which started with a burning hatred of the fake plastic tile on the first day we saw it. I am seriously amazed that the tile has not just melted off the walls from some of the angry glares I have sent its way over the time we've lived in the house. It's hideous and too high and stupid and icky...whatever, I don't like it. At some point, we freaked out and ripped all the tile off the wall, so now our bathroom decor is "mastic effing EVERYWHERE" which leaves a little to be desired. Let me explain how the thought process went.
Problem: Bathroom is ugly as sins perpetuated by people who clean sewers for a living.
Solution #1: Josie and Speed will rip down tile, prep walls, and paint bathroom the stunning color that Mom and Dad painted their kitchen. A new mirror/medicine cabinet will be installed, and we'll buy a silvertone light fixture so that the charming Our Shower Door Is Silver By Why Not Shake It Up And Get Gold Light Fixtures And Medicine Cabinets decor is eradicated.
Problem: Bathroom is so ugly even the cats hate it.
Solution #2: Josie and Speed will rip down tile. CONTRACTOR will cut wallboard out where the mastic is, put in new greenboard, spackle/sand/whatever to prep walls, paint. Pedestal sink, new shower door, and TILE FLOOR will be installed, also by contractor. Contractor will carry out his BRILLIANT idea of cutting a little door that opens into vacuum cleaner closet so bathroom supplies can be stored and accessed there.
Then we went to Home Depot and Lowe's to pick out tile, a pedestal sink that was both attractive and would fit our teeny midget bathroom, and a new shower door. In the process, we walked past jacuzzi tubs.
Problem: Bathroom is so ugly it sat on a rainbow and Skittles popped out. Final solution: Josie and Speed rip down tile. Contractor cust wallboard blah blah blah new painted wall. Pedestal sink. Tile floor. New shower door. Supercool access door. NEW JACUZZI TUB, since they now make them so they fit in the space taken up by a regular tub.
"But Josie," you may be saying by now, "this blog only shows me part of your life, and much of it is babble about makeup and politics! How can I more completely observe your existence??"
Excellent question, gentle reader! There are several options available to you. You can follow me on Twitter at @TheOutlawJosie or on tumblr at outlawjosie.
You will also have learned that I am a poor grad student. If you would like to help with the poor part - there's just no helping the academic self-flagellation part - you can buy books from Pink Narcissus Press or lovely jewelry from my Etsy store, Lost Sheep Gardens.
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