I am going to talk about my bra now. This is as fair a warning as was ever issued.

So, for my  birthday (which is on Thursday yay birthday) my very amazing boyfriend took me to Victoria’s Secret and bought me bras. This is a big deal because fuck if I can ever really afford Victoria’s Secret (fifty dollars for a bra. That is one sixth of rent. Jesus.) and because my boobs are not the quiet little fit sweetly into whatever happens to be around kind of boobs. They are picky. Like my car tires. Le sigh.

I went in for a fitting, and the girl tape measured me and said, ‘ok so you’re a 32-c.’ I was skeptical. If I am a 32-c, why do my boobs not fit into the very cute c cups I have now? However, hope springs eternal and I will always be on board with anything that sounds remotely like smaller boobs to me, and maybe it’s the 34 inch bands on my current nonfitting c cups that makes them suck. So I took the huge box of varied and mostly cute bras and I tried on some 32-Cs, and my boobs guffawed. Literally. Exploding out every possible side of a few c cups is the most fun ever for my boobs. Irony slays them.

I called the tape measure girl back and she remeasured me and was like, ‘oops no you’re totally a d cup’ and I was disappointed but really, what could she do about it? She tried to make my life better by lying to me, and her kindness was overridden by the truth, and so I gave up and tried on a bunch of d cups. Now here is where this story becomes exceptionally unfair. Not only did the box of bras shrink, there were fewer of them and they were not remotely as cute. What is worse, though, is that these were not fitting either. We were almost there, in terms of coverage and comfort and all, but there were still some tell tale signs that the perfect fit had not yet been achieved, namely that a significant amount of side boob was still riding triumphant yelling FREEEEEEEEDOOOOOOM, needing only a bit of blue paint to be utterly anarchistic. I looked at my boobs and the defiance of them, and I had a great big sigh and I called the girl back and just gestured, and she was like ‘oh god, you must be a 32-double d, I hope we have something like that,’ and although I’m sure she was being as nice as she could under the circumstances and it is totally unfair to blame her, I did kind of want to hit her with my boobs or smack her with a bra strap or something.

She came back with box number three, a sad little box containing a couple of stupid huge, mostly ugly bras. Seriously, there were like four total, and two of them were a pukey beige satin stuff that I couldn’t even look at further than the cursory glance-shudder. I tried on the two decent looking black bras, and what do you know they fit beautifully and my boobs suddenly stopped tyrannizing the countryside and were fairly meek and sat ridiculously high up on my torso and I felt like I had won a war. Also like I had lost a battle. Also like I would give anything to be able to have nice little boobs and wear cute bras. Also like ‘fuck. Now I have to wear specialty sized bras forever and ever. Boo.’

Moral of Story: ignorance is bliss, although my back sure hurts a lot less.

In other news, this thumbtack was in my shoe this morning, like so. I suspect foul play.


Thoughts On Cooking A Turkey

November 26, 2009

Salmonella fingers.

Salmonella sink.

Salmonella apron.

Salmonella steak knife (story in own right, and currently a sore topic)

Salmonella water faucet.

Salmonella toe tops.

Salmonella birth control pill.

Salmonella coffee cup (albeit with flamingos)

Salmonella coffee table.

Salmonella life. Short pause. Salmonella death.

*Mind: pop!*

oh my golden gods, you guys!

November 26, 2009

Today is the first day in so long that my top searches do not include the TH! Not in any of its properly or not spelled forms! Another holiday miracle! Ooooh yeah.


So suddenly the toilet water is purple this morning. It’s a holiday miracle apparently, as I never got around to putting in that backup disc. I say yo you say woop woop.

Also apparently, it takes longer than one overnight in a chillin’ cold apartment to thaw an eleven pound turkey, so Hortense the turkey is currently sitting in her roasting pan in the bathtub (with the wrapper still on, don’t have a salmonella conniption) soaking in hot water, which will hopefully persuade her to abandon her icy nature and warm up to me a little. I named her Hortense for Mimi Smartypants, who dared someone to name their child Hortense, I forget why. Clearly I have no child and so a turkey is the best I can do. She is a very nice turkey, if a little prone to the cold shoulder, and, unlike other turkeys of other years (I am looking at you, Matilda, damn ye) she has a roasting pan and will therefore hopefully be easy to cook if I can just get her thawed. Ok. I am done talking about my dead pet turkeys.

Also I have a tie dyed apron. Do you have a tie dyed apron? I thought not.


Happy Thanksgiving, everybody! I am thankful for my family, and all the wonderful people who feel like family, especially my beautiful well behaved cats. Also I am thankful for purple toilet water, it is just as great as I thought it would be and possibly is even worth waiting for. Also I am thankful for hot bath water.

the end is nigh

November 23, 2009

Augh! They’re big enough to handle certain automatic weapons for real now!

jus’ a lil’ runaroun’

November 23, 2009

Are there really so many people out there looking for teddy bear hamsters? I don’t even know what a teddy bear hamster is. I’m tempted to google them to find out but apparently I’d only wind up back at my own page as my top searches for the past fucking decade or so have been a fistful of alter-spelled graspings for these undoubtedly cuddly balls of uselessness. I do not even really like the whole rodent pet concept. I liked a rat named Yoshi once, but that was a sad story. I liked another rat named Zelda, but that was a sad story also. Other than those two, rodent pets are not so much of interest to me. They tend to just sit in some sort of box or other and scrabble. However, I love them a lot more than I love snake pets. Snake pets as a whole boggle my mind and make me chuck my feet up under me so fast you can’t even see the movement. Also they make me never visit your house. Ever ever ever.

Oh Jesus, now I am thinking about snakes and that is such an unfair way to start your morning. At least now all of you are thinking about snakes, too. Come and find me, all you who are crazy and seek teddy bear snakesters. Seriously. If snakester is ever in my top searches, I will singlemindedly forgive all the hamster people.

Good morning! Hi. I am writing for no other reason than to appraise you of the fact that I am wearing a sequin skirt. It is not one big sequin, as that sentence might lead you to believe, but neither is it the few paltry sequins scattered hither and yon that would excuse my calling it a sequined skirt. It is a largeish band of sequins, stretchy and fabulous, and I had utterly forgotten its existence for months and months and I have never worn it before and so I am excited. Probably I should not be wearing it at all because it’s a) Sunday morning and this is a day of rest and reverence, not suited to sequin bomasticness and b) cold as balls dipped in the Oregon portion of the Pacific. Moot points, both, as there is no way I can wear anything else right now. This is the most sequins I have ever had access to at once, and they are all over my butt like a disco ball and there is no saying no to a disco ball butt. 

The Grateful Dead are fucking amazing: ‘such a long long time to be gone and a short time to be here?’ Nothing like that thought to put all sorts of shit right and effectively into perspective.

Yay cart! Way to not be clumsy or tinkle at inappropriate times!