Tag Archives: blog post requests

Eggplant panties.

I opened my blog up for topic suggestions again.

The first came from Whitney: “going broke buying organic food because it’s ‘better.'”

The second is from Tori: “Underwear.”

The third came from me: “Using organic food as underwear?”

If there are two things I think are too expensive, it’s underwear and organic food.

But I can’t really seem to make these things work together, at least not in terms of a productive post. I do, however, have a story for you about underwear. So sit back (Tori) and enjoy. Your request is granted.

I don’t buy a lot of expensive underwear. I have a price limit set in my head for certain things so I don’t spend too much or go over my budget for each month. Most of these price limits are set on clothes, but it extends out to food, drinks, movies, CDs, memberships to organizations, and more things of which I probably haven’t even thought yet.

I broke my underwear price limit right before Christmas, and in return that item broke yesterday.

I hadn’t shopped at Victoria’s Secret in a long time, and I went with my friend Kelsay (suggester of this post) when she needed some new underroos. When I walked into the store I promised myself that I wouldn’t buy anything.

The last thing I purchased there was a strapless bra that turned out to be a total nightmare because it was — get ready for this — just a giant sticker. Girls with boobs over a B cup should not be wearing sticker bras. Sorry.

As I walked through the store and helped her pick out a couple of things, I saw a really cute bra that really seemed to fit my style. It was adorable, with stars and black straps and a satin-y fabric. The only problem seemed to be that it cost $52. However, after walking around a bit and looking at several other bras, I decided that I deserved it. It was my graduation present to myself.

Since purchasing the bra, I’ve worn it maybe five times. I’m terrified to wash it, and it’s the only bra I’ve ever owned that I don’t put in the dryer; I hang it up instead.

So you can imagine my dismay when I pulled the damn thing from the washer yesterday, hung it up to dry, went to put it on and found that one of the hooks is bent. In fact, it’s so badly bent that I can no longer wear the bra.

Thanks for nothing, Victoria’s Secret. Thanks for a bra I wore about five times before it broke. Thanks for making adorable, $52 underwear that isn’t as durable as my $35 bra from Lane Bryant. Most of all, thanks for proving to me that my budgeting works.

I’m super careful when it comes to money, and as a result I like to be especially careful with how I spend it. Every purchase is precious when you have $22 in your checking account, so that bra just kind of made me go off the deep end.

I have resolved to question every purchase I make with the kind of care I use when editing an article.

I bought a new type of deodorant, Dove Smoothing Effects or some such nonsense, and it makes my armpits smell like dry cat food by the end of the day, so I’m not going to buy it anymore.

I bought a new type of shampoo — actually, a shampoo/conditioner combo. It’s Herbal Essences, so I thought it would be of pretty high quality. I was wrong. It’s not of high quality. It leaves my hair flat and lifeless, which is odd considering it should be adding volume. My hair is flat and lifeless without the shampoo. I paid about $5 for that at Target, then went and bought a $1.50 bottle of Suave instead. The Suave works better. Go figure.

So now we come to the organic foods. Contrary to what we talked about on Facebook, I cannot condone using organic foods as underwear. Sometimes I have to take a stand, and right now I’m going to take a stand against organic edible panties. If anything wearable is going to be made organic, it should be candy necklaces. If you pay $7 for one eggplant, you should eat it in a grand way, not slice it up to use as pasties.

Any way you slice it — har har — I just can’t rationalize paying more money for something that essentially is the same as something else. And I don’t think I’m wrong. If you can prove to me that organic foods are worth the money Whole Foods wants me to spend on them, then by all means give me your proof. Until then, I will continue to buy locally-grown produce over something “organic” that’s grown in another state.

Wow … this post really is all over the place, isn’t it?

So what say you, readers? What’s the worst purchase you’ve ever made?

Randall wins.

I’m having another sleepless night, as I’m wont to do. Patrick of course is sleeping soundly in front of the television with his cow. Yes, seriously. We’re watching An Idiot Abroad.

Patrick loves his cow.

And of course, what would a late night/early morning post be without a picture of me looking sleepless and forlorn?

Sweet kiss of sleep, rain your blessings down upon me.

Ugh. That caption makes no sense.

In an effort to make my brain work and try to get a bit tired, I opened up the blog for suggestions again via Facebook. Randall suggested I start a petition to bring back old cartoons. I definitely dig this idea, but I know there are a lot of places online with these petitions already, so I’m going to tell you about my favorite cartoons from when I was a kid.

**cheerleader arms** Ready? Okay!

Let’s start with Rocko’s Modern Life, since it’s basically the epitome of Nickelodeon shows. The first time I watched Rocko and his pals farting around their hometown, I was hooked.

However, it was only watching it later and with a bit of life experience that I began to really notice all the veiled humor. RML (yeah, we abbreviate greatness ’round these parts) makes constant references to masturbation. And it’s not like you really have to think about it, either. Let’s examine one.

What always stands out in my mind is Heffer’s favorite restaurant, the Chokey Chicken. It’s just wrong when you think about it. The best part is that you know behind the scenes, the writers and animators were all snickering and elbowing each other. I picture the pitch meeting for the first episode where the restaurant is introduced as including a lot of effort to not just laugh in the faces of the Nickelodeon execs.

The Chokey Chicken was renamed the Chewy Chicken sometime later in the series. I’m sure this happened because parents were sending in letters (this was before e-mail) saying how inappropriate it was, and whatever genius from Nick that gave that name the green light was probably thoroughly flogged (unfortunately; in my opinion a statue should be erected in his or her honor).

Check out this scene I found that was later cut from the episode.

“You want room whole night?” Hah! Totally a reference to prostitution and one night stands. That Rocko, he just slays me.

I also love Conglom-O, the great corporate overlords of Rocko’s life. Their motto was “We Own You” or something crazy and very 1984 like that. And does anyone remember the martini glass on top of the Conglom-O building? I didn’t get that until I was 14.

Next favorite cartoon from when I was a kid: Animaniacs. Can I get a one-handed clap for my friends Yakko, Wakko and Dot? Are you clapping? … Okay, you can stop now, you look ridiculous.

I watched that show every day in elementary school. The entire show was built around puns and stereotypes, but laughing at animated pain never felt so incredible. The Goodfeathers were so awesome. Those pigeons could pull off anything.

That bit taught me the countries of the world. If only my brain weren’t fried from college I could actually remember them all. I can’t even remember the nine Supreme Court Justices. I can’t even remember to take a garbage bag out of my room … seriously, it’s been sitting there for about a week and a half now.

I’m actually starting to get tired, so we’re going to wrap this up with one last favorite: The Simpsons. I shouldn’t even have to include a link to the Wikipedia page. You should just know.

And please understand that I’m not talking about the Simpsons as they are today. Our favorite American family isn’t at their peak now. The best episodes are in the first decade, back when I would sit with my sister and watch the show while my mom yelled at us from the other room to do something more productive with our time.

There was a point in my life where it was a life goal to voice a character on the Simpsons. When we first started watching it, my mom saw the adult themes and humor and tried to occupy our thoughts with other things. She would usually ask us to finish our homework, but she had to start getting more creative when we got smarter, so the distractions started to get more fun.

“Hey girls, let’s make our own play doh!”

“Who wants to make ice cream sundaes?!”

“How would you guys like to go outside and make a snowman?!”

Eventually, I think she just kind of gave up when she realized that the Simpsons is a classically great show. Or at least it was. Sometimes it’s still funny, but ever since they put out the movie I’ve been disappointed. I’m just a Simpsons purist.

Here’s an added bonus, since I was starting to feel tired but I’m not anymore:

One of the first commercials for Family Guy featured Peter pulling up to a fast food place and ordering “six thousand chicken fa-gitas.”

My mom was outraged. She didn’t want us to watch … but we did. That’s right, young’uns, I watched the first episode of Family Guy when it aired, before it was resurrected by Adult Swim.

On a possum.

Sorry about the lack of recent posting. This is one I started a while back in response to a request. I finished most of it, then left myself the last paragraph to finish (for some reason, I just didn’t feel I could get out that last graf).

I like this whole “taking requests for blog posts” thing.

Today we have a suggestion from Kerry, who asked me to write about possums. Apparently, her husband likes to play Billy the Exterminator. One of his recent catches was a possum. Those marsupial guys are just so darn cute, with their big eyes and big ears … and their little pink bows.

I didn't Photoshop this. I found it this way.

When I did the last request post and Mely had already submitted her request for tea, Kerry suggested that I write about possums. So here we go.

Possums aren’t just cute. They are also very talented at getting into places where they just should not be. A friend of my sister’s tells a story about how she found a baby possum in her air conditioner’s intake. I once knew a guy who would pull over on the side of the road and pick up dead possums to take them home to “study them.” (We don’t talk anymore.)

My possum story is a simple tale of a young woman who goes to take out the trash, but instead finds a deceased mother possum in the bottom of the garbage can. The deceased mother possum, of course, is surrounded by her babies, all of which are trying to feed off of nothing in their attempts to survive.

Apparently possums like to chill in cylindrical objects.

That young woman? That’s me as a high schooler, taking out the garbage as always. The garbage cans were right outside my room, and I had heard some odd noises outside my window the night before, but there were always raccoons and other troublemakers getting into the garbage. I just hadn’t thought much of it.

After finding the possums — and the incredible stench that accompanied the mother’s death — I went back inside to consult with my mom and sister as to how we should attack this problem.

Me: There’s a dead possum with her babies in the garbage can.

Mom: What?

Sister: She said there’s a dead possum outside.

Me: Not just outside. It’s in the garbage can. At the bottom. It’s not moving so I’m pretty sure it’s dead.

Mom: Did you poke it? (snicker.)

Me: (almost in tears) No, Mom, I didn’t poke it.

Thus began the Odyssey of the Dead Possum and Her Babies.

My mom looked up a place where we could take the babies. First we called Animal Care and Control. All they told us was that they couldn’t do anything. They would take the babies and euthanize them; there was no one to take care of them. We called a trapper, and he wanted money to come out and pick up the possums to take them to a refuge.

Then a brilliant idea struck my mom. It was a beautiful collision of inspiration and her brain, like a Mack truck hitting a pianist: she asked the trapper where he would take the baby possums, then resolved that to save money, we would take the baby possums there ourselves.

With my mother in the driver’s seat and my sister positioned next to her, I was stuck in the back seat of our white 1991 Lincoln Town Car with a garbage can full of dead/dying possum sitting next to me. The smell is unparalleled to this day, and I’ve stood on a landfill.

It was 20 minutes of sticking my head out the window, inhaling fresh air, pulling my head back inside the car and holding my breath. By the time we made it to the refuge, I was light-headed and barely able to stand. My mom and sister thought it was great. They laughed the entire way over while I was smothered in possum stink in the back seat.

We left the baby possums with the kind woman in Wellington who apparently totally digs digging baby possums out of their dead mother’s pouch.

She didn’t have a way to dispose of the dead mother, so she left it up to us. The garbage can was no good; once a possum dies in the bottom of your garbage can, you just can’t get that stink out. (I swear the Town Car smelled like it until we got rid of that awful car.)

So we dumped the garbage can/Momma Possum combo on the side of a dirt road, and as we drove away, dust kicking up from the spinning tires as my mom sped away, the vultures were already beginning to congregate.

The circle of life. A wheel of fortune. A dead possum in a garbage can on the side of a dirt road in suburban Lake Worth.

Thus ends the greatest possum story ever told.

(Actually, it ended later when we had to explain to my dad why his garbage can disappeared.)