I am feeling restless and icky today and I am in a mood to VENT and RANT and RAVE. So fasten your seatbelts. Here's the deal.
It's my deeply-held belief that pantyhose were invented by the devil. Who decreed that a woman's legs have to be one uniform taupe color all the time? Where does it say white legs with spider veins must not be viewed in public? I am proud of my veiny legs and my gray hair. I gave up trying to look like a model many years ago.
God shaped me like a pear with boobs and SO BE IT. I embrace the pear.
Now if we as a society would simply embrace the idea that bras are not necessary, I would be a happy camper. If I needed to move quickly I could just tie 'em down so they didn't fly up and knock me unconscious.
Just think, 100 years ago it was considered scandalous for a woman to show her bare ankles in public. Now women will slop into Walmart showing their bare butts. Somewhere along the line we went too far.
There was a woman who worked at the office where I was temping last week who looked like a witch. She has to be over 60 and she had on so much makeup I could've painted my room with it. I've learned the hard way that makeup migrates to your wrinkles and by the end of the day you will look like the Bride of Frankenstien with PMS. She had long hair that was all one dull brown color, too, a bad dye job. yikes.
Lesson? Either find some makeup that doesn't boldly march into your wrinkles or just don't wear it. And don't color your hair with stuff from the clearance bin at Walmart.
Why is it that the only way to get my daughter's attention is to TEXT her?!? We cannot have a conversation verbally that's free of drama so I've decided from now on to just text her every.single.thing I need to say. This will eliminate all talking in the car and I will be free to listen to my oldies music and sing along.
The Bee Gees and Neil Diamond sound MUCH better when I sing along.
If she doesn't like it she can send me a furious text.
I will text her back at my earliest convenience.
Don't you hate that phrase?! I called someone recently and their voicemail message was a haughty "I will return your call AT MY EARLIEST CONVENIENCE." That's offensive and rude. How about I leave you twenty voicemail messages of me whistling Sweet Home Alabama at MY convenience?!?
We were in the car this morning and I told my daughter that she better count on $200 for gas and insurance when she buys herself a car.She was not happy to hear that. She keeps thinking she can go buy a car when she only makes about $50 a week slinging custard.
I pointed out that when I was in graduate school and had to pay all my own bills, I worked 25-35 hours a week and took almost a full class load and I had NO social life. She became furious and jumped out of the car as soon as we got to school.
I would like to tie her to a chair and tell her, in my best drill sergeant voice, LIFE IS HARD KIDDO! THERE'S NO WAY AROUND IT!
She hates hearing that the way to success is through HARD WORK. Anybody out there have a magic pill that will make her instantly wealthy?!? No? Then pray that she will get a clue one of these days.
My son's preoccupation these days is tanning. When will the pool open? He asks me that 5 times a day. He was incensed yesterday to see the swim team actually using our neighborhood pool. I suggested he join the swim team. He glared at me.
"I was on a swim team for years, Dude. You will not relax and have fun. You will be swimming LAPS until it feels like your arms and legs are made of lead. Then you will practice diving, and flip turning. Then you will get out and look like a red-eyed freak, stinking of chlorine, wishing cellulite had never been invented." Oh yeah, good times. Don't get me started on Swim Team Traumatic Memories.
My swim coach was going through a divorce for a long time and he liked to scream at us. 'LOOK AT THE BOTTOM OF THE POOL!! / TWENTY MORE LAPS THOMPSON! / MY GRANDMOTHER IS FASTER THAN YOU! / KICK THOSE LEGS!" I remember seeing the movie An Officer and a Gentleman and having flashbacks.
I digressed. Let's see, what else ticks me off?!?
Everyone just assumes when Coco makes a mess on the floor that I am going to pick it up.
My children want to leave glasses on the table and drink out of the same filthy glass forever.
Some evil varmint eats all the strawberries I grow before I can get them picked. It's not one of the kids, either. The varmint eats half the berry and leaves the other part of it to taunt me, peeking out from beneath a leaf. I reach to pick the beautiful berry and pull out a chewed half berry.
That's a metaphor for my life. That's what I will call my autobiography, "The Half Chewed Berry."
I am going to start taking every single catalog we get, from any source, and instantly putting it straight from the mailbox into the recycling box. I am tired of finding catalogs everywhere. We have no money to order anything right now anyway so what is the point?!
The yard guys came yesterday, so today the magnolia tree in my backyard decided to dump all its leaves in protest, all over my back yard.
I am trying to think of it as nature's decorating faux pas.
The IRS is making all adoptive parents prove every penny of their adoption expenses, for the first time in recent history. I can prove it, of course, but not everyone is fanatic about saving receipts as I am. This is ridiculous. Shouldn't we get a break for taking children out of foster care or an orphanage??! The tax credit never covers even half the cost of an international adoption.
I'd like to rant some more but I have to go write a poem about the number 100. Don't ask.
