I can't believe you came to Philly for the Wings game on Saturday night and didn't want to hang out with me. I mean, come on! What could you possibly have going on for you that would be cooler than tossing back a few Buds with yours truly? I rock.
You know what was the best part of your visit to the game? When they announced you and put your mug on the big screen and everyone booed you. I saw you smile. You looked miserable right before that. The smile on your face was like the sun lighting up a cloudy day. It was like you came into your own. You haven't made it until a bunch of Philly thugs boo you.
Oh Eric. We could have done the Grind together. Twelve years later and I still remember the whole routine. I break into it every now and then around the house.
Not sure why the picture I'm trying to post isn't showing up here. It's my copy of The Grind - Hip Hop Aerobics.
Yeah, I'm totally kidding here. Like I'd hang out with Eric Nies.
Good news today! I received the following letter just in time for my annual review:
"Dear Ms. Schwoopie Eyes:
Congratulations!
It would be my pleasure to send a letter to your supervisor advising him/her that you have been awarded your MBA degree on January 15, 2007. If you would like them to be informed of your achievement, please complete the attached form and return it to the Graduate Business office.
Again, Congratulations!"
Well, guess that's that. Funny. I don't feel any different.
Saturday, January 13, 2007
Saturday, January 6, 2007
Shop Talk
For the first time ever I struck out at the Victoria's Secret semi annual sale.
I found absolutely nothing in my exact size. Sure, maybe a few things may have fit a little less comfortably, but for the most part I came up with nil.
And what's with all the padding? I'm a fucking D cup. Why the fuck do you think I need padding? All that stuff does is push my boobs straight out of the bra, thereby defeating the purpose. Please, for the love of God, stop with the padding on the D's and DD's!
And people really annoyed me tonight. Granted, people on a whole annoy me. But more so at the sale.
Usually when I go to Vicky's there's always some perky blonde chick dying to get me into the dressing room to feel me up and measure me. I hate those people. Tonight, as I was rummaging through the bins, pulling out things that I might consider wearing. As I juggled these monstrosities that looked like they came out of a science fiction movie while going through the panty bin, not a single perky bitch offered me a little tote bag to carry them.
And there was this almost middle aged woman there going through the DD bins with some guy who I swear was wearing a mechanic's shirt with his name on it. I mean, that's all fine and good if some divorcee is going through some sort of midlife crisis and want to show off her man. Good for you for getting back into things, sweetie. But for fuck's sake, leave him at home when you're buying your bras! He doesn't care. He's just going to remove it from your sagging tits after five seconds, because, let's face it, this guy will fuck anything he can get.
And more importantly, he was creeping me out. I mean, he seemed to know a little too much about where to find the panties and the colors that would match and shit.
Waitaminute...who were those panties for anyway?
I left with nothing. I looked online to see what was available and was less than impressed. Oh well, at least I'm not like that lady that was on Oprah yesterday with her 25 year old panties.
I found absolutely nothing in my exact size. Sure, maybe a few things may have fit a little less comfortably, but for the most part I came up with nil.
And what's with all the padding? I'm a fucking D cup. Why the fuck do you think I need padding? All that stuff does is push my boobs straight out of the bra, thereby defeating the purpose. Please, for the love of God, stop with the padding on the D's and DD's!
And people really annoyed me tonight. Granted, people on a whole annoy me. But more so at the sale.
Usually when I go to Vicky's there's always some perky blonde chick dying to get me into the dressing room to feel me up and measure me. I hate those people. Tonight, as I was rummaging through the bins, pulling out things that I might consider wearing. As I juggled these monstrosities that looked like they came out of a science fiction movie while going through the panty bin, not a single perky bitch offered me a little tote bag to carry them.
And there was this almost middle aged woman there going through the DD bins with some guy who I swear was wearing a mechanic's shirt with his name on it. I mean, that's all fine and good if some divorcee is going through some sort of midlife crisis and want to show off her man. Good for you for getting back into things, sweetie. But for fuck's sake, leave him at home when you're buying your bras! He doesn't care. He's just going to remove it from your sagging tits after five seconds, because, let's face it, this guy will fuck anything he can get.
And more importantly, he was creeping me out. I mean, he seemed to know a little too much about where to find the panties and the colors that would match and shit.
Waitaminute...who were those panties for anyway?
I left with nothing. I looked online to see what was available and was less than impressed. Oh well, at least I'm not like that lady that was on Oprah yesterday with her 25 year old panties.
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