Domestic Supply Stores = Depression

So, not sure if I mentioned this to anyone, but I am getting married in less than 3 weeks.

Ya know, no biggie. It's not like I am the stressing-type.   /sarcasm font

So I moseyed ("mosey-ed"?) on down to the local Home Outfitters to add some stuff to the registry. You know, some reasonable kitchen crap instead of the overpriced pots and pans.

Holy shit.

Want to feel inadequate in the kitchen? Roam the stemware aisle (that's, like, fancy glasses and wine goblets and the like. You know, gold chalices. What every household needs. Like cowbell. MORE MORE MORE).

Want to feel inept in food preparation? Glance at the food combustion/chopping/processing/flame-throwing Cuisinarts. Read their boxes and STILL walk away perplexed at their actual purpose.

Want to feel overwhelmed? Try selecting JUUUUST THE RIGHT garlic peeler and press. Out of 20. All overpriced and looking similar to what I assume torture devices look like.

Then I come across the devices designed for the ridiculously lazy. Or those phallic plastic banana cases. $7... really? I think I will just take the extreme risk of a bruised banana. I'm crazy like that.

Strap sheets to "ensure your bedsheets stay attractively flat". Yeah, um, there may or may not be dog pee currently on my bedsheets right now. That are half off the bed. I think I'm fine without the straps.

And don't even get me STARTED on the Martha Stewart shit out there. Soon enough she'll have suppositories and lubricant. (What?!? She WAS in prison, folks, regardless of her ridiculously fake I-have-a-team-but-I'll-make-you-feel-less-than-inferior domestic skills.)

I came home and made soup from a can. I stirred it with a metal spoon, in my metal pot from Walmart, and didn't have a fancy spoon rest. *gasp*

I may or may not have eaten it straight from the pot. I'm not telling.

Domestic mastering is just not my thing. What a depressing "shopping" outing.

*sigh*


________

Pin It Now!

Embarrassing Realizations (Part 3 of ∞ )

All in the same day....

Realizing, as you arrive late to hot yoga, that you have no towel to sop your sweat/keep your clammy, slimy hands from slipping and letting you face-plant/wipe off your appendages so you can actually hold on to them.

Oh, LOLcats, is there anything you CAN'T do?

Further realizing the closest thing that will have to make due, out of the trunk of your car, is a sweater of grandmotherly proportions and quality that you purchased at a thrift shop in 1996 and have left in your trunk "just in case".

I think the layering was cool, a-la-Nirvana, circa 1996. I could be very, very wrong, though.

Upon implementation of said granny sweater, realizing that NEITHER your rubber yoga mat nor your acrylic/polyester/synthetic knit sweater stops hands and feet from slipping.

Then realizing that your I-only-wear-these-capris-when-I-haven't-washed-my-workout-clothes-and-they-are-all-that's-left purple capri pants display, quite clearly and nicely for all to see, that you sweat excessively in your groin.

You know, like this, except not nearly as nice, probably from circa 1987 or else free from the Goodlife Gym. What?!? It was free.

Fast forward to the end of a painful hot yoga class. Throw on a pair of jeans that happen to be in your dufflebag (does anyone under the age of 50 refer to these things as dufflebags, or is it just me? Just me. Okay.).

Go to the pet store, and shop at the grocery store for over an hour before realizing that your zipper is down.

Totally down. Completely open.

And, well, you just came from being drenched in hot yoga and therefore removed your sw-assy underclothes and put the jeans on as a temporary sweat cover until you were able to go home and shower.

Also noting that you are allowing a certain amount of... erm.... growth, in order to facilitate honeymoon sugaring (much like waxing).

Finally get into your car, giving yourself multiple, much-needed facepalms.

Awesome day and it's only 12:20pm.

Grin and bear it, folks. You've got another 12 hours of awake time to suffer through. Well, if you're me, that is.

______

Pin It Now!

Carry-on Luggage BLOWS MY MIND.

I was a cheap bastard one time when I was flying with Delta. Okay, the only time I ever flew with Delta.

Why? Because those buggers charge $25 USD for every checked bag.

And a worrier like me ALWAYS overpacks, thereby immediately costing herself $50 USD for a round trip.

And also ALWAYS visits a Marshalls or T.J. Maxx, thereby requiring even MORE luggage space that doesn't exist.

Well, with some finagling I was able to switch my luggage with Feyoncé™'s. No, I didn't pack his bag without knowing, (I hear those terrifying airport security warnings, c'mon people, some credit here!) we just switched, and he had to carry back a bunch of my crap with his. (Okay, so maybe that meant I did pack part of his bag. Shhhhh). In my BIG suitcase. On Air Canada, before those buggers started charging for checked bags. *cough* Bastards! *cough*.

I would just like to say that standard-size carry-on luggage with that little expandable zipper BLEW MY MIND.

This is all the shizz I fit into it. Into the CARRY-ON only:

That's right - 5 pairs of pants, 2 pairs of workout bottoms, 6 bras, 2 workout bras, 8 shirts, 3 dresses, 3 sweaters, 2 pairs of heels, 1 pair of casual shoes and a bunch of toiletry-crap.

I still can't believe it.

That shit is MAGICAL.



Yeah, shitty blog post, but so what?? I'm putting off doing important things.


_____

Pin It Now!