Why ask why...try Bud Dry....(which totally tastes like shit, but that commercial was popular for a while, I guess....or not....)

Why is it that the social norms of adults in the workplace so closely mirror that of 13-year-old girls in junior high?

Why is it that I can purchase a single beer which you totally know I'm going to drink as soon as I get in my car, but I can't buy an open container?

Why is it that nobody on the face of the planet (except maybe the people who work in the factory and package them) knows how to fold a fitted sheet?

Why do all MapQuest directions start with you getting out of your driveway? I'm pretty sure I've got that down, thanks.

Why don't obituaries tell you how the person died? Because you know that's totally the only reason people read them. (Okay, maybe the only reason I read them....)

Why is it that, when people call me and I just barely miss their call on the last ring, they never answer when I call them right back? What? Did you drop your phone as soon as I didn't answer and run away??

Why is it I never see anyone important when I'm dressed in a killer outfit, have perfect hair and great makeup, but if I run to Target in my pj's and no makeup without taking a shower, I see 87 people I know?

Why is the #2 pencil THE pencil you must use on the forms with the little bubbles to fill in? Can they tell if it's a different pencil?? Do they even make pencils with other numbers?

Why do old men grow hair out of their ears, but lose hair from their head? Is it actually getting sucked back into their scalp and then pushed out of their ears instead?

And finally:

Why am I at work when I haven't actually been "working"? Does that still count as a "workday" for me?

Did you hear the one about the couple who were parking and heard this noise on the top of their car and come to find out it was a dead body!?!?

I'm a little scared of big boobs.

Really...I am. Especially naked ones because they have huge scary nipples. *retch*

Boobs don't run in our family, so it's not something I grew up with, you know? In my family, we're more "ass girls", which in turn, makes our men "ass guys"...which is as it should be.

Why do I have boobs on the brain?? Well, I went to happy hour yesterday with a group of girls from work. One of the women there was talking about her big boobs and complaining because insurance won't cover her breast reduction. (which is total bullshit in my opinion, but I don't really understand insurance, so I am not sure I have an argument as to why it's bullshit...it just is.)

And it occurred to me....I will NEVER have to worry about this. EVER.

And then I got curious and wanted to know just how big these puppies were. I mean, I could see them (nicely covered in bra and shirt...not naked....with big gross nipples *retch*) and they didn't look overly gigantic or anything....so how bad could this be??

Um, I'm going to go with "pretty fucking bad".....BECAUSE HER BRA SIZE WAS A "G"!!!

A "G"!?!?!

Wow. I honestly didn't even know such a thing existed. Honestly.

Then there were terms thrown around like "under-boob sweat" and "double G" and "barnacles"....and I've got to admit, I got a little scared.

And then the boob urban legends started.

"A "G"!?! G's not so big. I knew this girl in high school whose older sister was a triple F!!!" or "I knew this girl who had to special-order her bras because her boobs were so big and they cost like $2000 EACH!!" and then "OHMIGOD! You should have seen my girlfriend's when she was breastfeeding! She's normally like a DDD, but she told me her nursing bras were a HHH and that her husband used to put them on his head and run around the house screaming that the alien invasion had finally happened!!!!"

"Boob urban legends".....you don't hear that everyday, now do you?

It's totally awesome that you can wine-taste, sample foods, buy toilet paper and go to the doctor all in the same place.

It's been a while, I know...it's just hard to be funny when you're sick. Which I have been....and still kinda am. And I mean, like sick sick--like fever, chills, sneezing, coughing, stuffy head, fever so you can rest medicine (sorry....couldn't help but throw the Nyquil commercial quote in there). Which was funny...and true. Sidebar: how fucking great is Nyquil?? If you take Nyquil, you can sleep through sex with your husband, your kids screaming in the middle of the night and a terrorist invasion into your house. (Which I may have done in the past couple of weeks of being sick....well, not the terrorist invasion part, but the other parts--maybe.)

But I was totally saved by modern medication and the oh-so-convenient-grocery-store RediClinic. Yeah...it kinda felt like going to the doctor's office in a McDonald's or something, but hey...the antibiotics and allergy meds worked, so this girl ain't complainin'.

I did try to get in with my regular doctor, but the dude who answers his phones was all "Um so what time would you like to come in on Tuesday?" and I was all "Dude. It's Friday morning...I'll be dead by Tuesday....and then that shit is on your conscience for, like, ever." And he really had no response to that, so I totally won.

Anyway, so RediClinic, it was.

And we did the whole doctor routine. EXCEPT! She didn't weigh me, but asked me how much I weighed! I know! Isn't that awesome?!?! So of course, I was totally honest and said "Oh, well I used to be 130, but you know having kids and all.....so now, let's see...I'm probably right around 145." AND SHE BOUGHT IT!!!! I don't think I've weighed 145 since middle school....but Ms. RediClinic was all "Oh, okay cool". Hell to the yes!!!

But then, she got all stalker-ish (probably because I have only gained 15 pounds since having kids and am still a total hottie...duh) and called me on Monday to "see how I was feeling and if there was anything else I needed". Um....are you going to like ask me out or something because this is a little weird for me?? I mean, you looked up my nose and shit.

And, as Heather from Fuckbook can tell you, that's just really not how I roll.

There is no title for this post....once you read it, you'll understand why.

Okay, before I start today's posting, I need to tell all of you faithful readers that for some reason, I "double blogged" on Friday, January 15. I don't know how or why this happened...the best I can figure is that I started one blog, but decided I didn't like it, so when I went back to fix it later, after posting the 2nd blog entry, it appeared with the same date. Clear as mud? Yeah, so anyway, read the 2nd entry for 1/15 if you haven't yet. Double your pleasure and all that...it's like a double-mint commercial without twins....

Next thing I need to let you know is that this post may not be so entertaining for dudes. So if you're a dude and you don't like to talk about vaginas--here's 2 things:
1. You might be gay....I'm just sayin'. What straight guy doesn't like to talk about vaginas?
and 2. This post is all about the va-jay-jay, so feel free to pass on by this blog post. I won't get pissed, I swear.

So ladies....here's the question for the day: When did the girly wallet go bald??

Seriously.

I missed this newscast or fashion trend or whatever you want to call it. Back in the day, the vagina came complete with it's own 'fro. Now? That is a huge faux pas. At the very least, women are expected to be neatly trimmed (which is my personal preference...fyi.....and you're welcome).
Regardless of your opinion on natural vs. shaved, I'm just curious to know HOW this all came about?? Do we blame the supermodels?? (skinny bitches...they're just so easy to blame for shit) Or female athletes becoming more publicly recognized?? (no one wants to see the swimmers or gymnasts with a little pube action coming out of their suit--I get that). Or was it something else?? Did all the dudes in the world suddenly get together and say "Hey, we're tired of the whole 'hair in the mouth' thing...we should tell our girlfriends/wives that we think it would be totally hot for them to shave down there".

Why did we fall for THAT?!?! Did we not stop to consider the consequences of said shaving??

As in: RAZOR BURN!!!

I think we did this to ourselves ladies. We have now set up the expectation of the hairless hoo-ha and we're paying the price.

Don't even get me started on all you crazy-ass mother truckers who WAX. The privacies should never be exposed to anything hotter than bath water. I saw 40 Year Old Virgin....not just "no", but "HELL NO".

Thinking in my head: Steve Carell yelling "Kelly Clarkson!!" when they ripped the wax off his chest! LMAO!!!

I'm pretty sure this is proof that I'm in charge--I'm the only one who can find shit in our house

So my husband texts me this morning.

Him to me: Where are my ski pants?
My thoughts: Ski pants? WTF? Are you suddenly in Colorado on a mountain somewhere and find yourself lacking pants? I have no fucking clue where they are...nor do I care because you've obviously taken a vacation without me and I'm totally stuck at work. Jerk.
Me to him: I think they're in your drawer with your socks.
Him to me (a bit later): I just found them in the top of the closet.
My thoughts: Oh yeeeaahh...that's where I put them. Now I remember....I was in a cleaning frenzy because we were having company and I needed to get all the shit off the floor so I could vacuum for the first time in like 6 months so I threw a big pile of your clothes into the top of the closet. But when did you even GET ski pants?!?
Me to him: I told you they were in the top of the closet.
Him to me: Yeah, I guess I just forgot what you said.

I think I detected a hint of sarcasm in that last text.

Enjoy your ski trip, asshole.

We're gonna party like it's 1999!

Oh I love Friday....it's my favorite day of the week. Really. I know, I know...most people prefer Saturday or Sunday because you have nothing to do and get to sleep in or whatever. Not me. Friday is my day!

I was born on a Friday, so we've like had a thing since 1979.

And you know what's weird? My sister was born on a Friday, too! No wonder we like to party so much. It's in our genes, man! (Yes, I know that the day you were born on has absolutely nothing to do with your genetic makeup....duh....what do you think I am? An idiot?? Dude. I watch CSI and shit.).

But we are partiers in our family. Sidebar: I'm not even sure that "partiers" is a word...maybe it's "partyers"....no, that doesn't look right. Oh well, whatever...I can use made-up words if I want to.

Moving on. So yeah, we do like to party, have fun, get down with it, or whatever you want to call it. Pretty much my rule is simple...if it's not going to be fun, I'm not in. That's it. Bottom line. It's a pretty sweet rule...and was much easier to live my life by when I was single. Now, I have to think about responsibility or whatever. Which has led to us going out less, but you know, they still don't let you take kids in a bar....(that's it, I'm writing my legislator! Yes, I'm totally kidding....).

Then: going out meant black shirt or tank top and jeans--this totally still applies today.
Then: we were always in separate vehicles because my husband worked until 8:00 some nights and we would meet at the bar. Plus, it was totally convenient that he happened to have a job that involved a car-hauling trailer hooked onto his truck. That way, when I got shitfaced, he could just load my truck up onto the trailer and take me and the truck home. But I swear Mom, that only happened like once....
Then: the plan was always to spend the least amount of money possible--this sort of still applies. But then, I was skinny and hot, so this referred to me getting as many free drinks as possible from other dudes in the bar. I know....I'm awesome. That's just economical drinking right there.....(what's that you say? "Tease"? Me?!! Never!!!)
Then: close down the karaoke bar at midnight, the pool hall/dive bar at 2 am and then after party at the strip club (hey, don't get all "hoity toity" with me....they serve beer until 4 am dude!).
Then: home at daylight, sleep for a couple of hours and go to work.

Now?

Our house (so we don't have to drive anywhere), friends over, case of beer, food, spades/dominoes/football/bullshitting by the fire or any mix of those activities, done by 11:00. And then we have to sleep late the next morning because we stayed up soooo late!!!

Dammit. Now I feel old.

Go tweet yourself....or don't....because I don't think anybody's really reading that shit anyway.

I totally have "Party in the USA" stuck in my head right now...the curse of being down the hall from the dance room.

Which has absolutely nothing to do with anything, but is what is going on with me.

And let's face it, that's what this whole flippin' blog is about, right?

Is that selfish of me? Probably. I actually think that "presumptuous" is a more apt description. I'm presuming that you want to read shit about my life...and worse? I'm presuming that you'll think it's funny! Which, if you think about it, is kind of lame of me. I mean, everyone hates that guy at the party who is so freakin' amused by himself you feel like asking if him and himself would like to be alone because no one else seems to get his jokes. No one wants to be that guy...

...and I think I've become that guy. Or girl, actually.

Maybe I'm not so bad off yet...I do blog and I do Facebook, BUT I don't Twitter...which I think is the top of the "I think that everyone wants to know what I am doing or thinking about RIGHT THIS VERY MOMENT" mountain. Seriously. Okay, okay....I'll wait to rant until you "TwitFreaks" or "TweetFreaks" or whatever the hell you call yourselves have left the building.....

da da da da, da da daaaa, da da da da DUM, da da da da da da.... (um yeah, this is totally the Jeopardy song from the Final Jeopardy thing. Doesn't so much translate to typing, does it?)

All gone, then??

Okay good. So Twitter. How self-centered is this whole thing?? Like everyone wants to know what you're doing every minute of every day??!?! WTF??!?! Like "I just went to the bathroom" is newsworthy?!?! "I just went to the bathroom and now I am walking back to my cubicle at work. That is all." or "I think that I will eat Chinese food for lunch because noodles sound tasty right now." or "I just got out of class and am now going to my apartment to take a nap." LAME.

I happen to think the only people who might actually need a Twitter feed are celebs. I mean, let's face it...how many of you could Tweet "Had a blast in Vegas partying at Tao for my b-day. Flying to LA for a photo shoot and then headed to NYC for a movie premiere--OMG! Date with Taylor Lautner!" Yeeeaah, I didn't think so.

But even then, I'm not sure why I need up-to-the-minute info. I mean, does reading that Britney Spears just took her meds for the day and is heading out to get some new hair extensions make you FRIENDS with her?!? Or does it somehow make you closer to her?? No. It just makes you a lame-ass who needs a hobby....besides reading Britney's Tweets.

DISCLAIMER: If you are on Twitter and update regularly, this blog is totally not about you. And you should all know that this post/rant is just the result of jealousy because I don't have Internet on my phone, so can't tweet throughout the day. Plus, I'm like, totally too wordy to Twitter so my tweets would read more like paragraphs....I mean, I have a hard time keeping my FB status from being too long for Pete's sake. So really....just jealousy talking here....