I Used to Be Funnier…
Calendar of Awesomeness
Better than anti-depressants! … Sort of.
Let me tell you about the nice little conversation I had with one of today’s prized youth. Who I should mention was all hopped up on Mountain Dew (or something) and had eyes as wide as teacup saucers.
Basically, I wanted to jump over the counter and strangle him but then I remembered that I would never survive in prison because I could not be someone’s “bitch” and I’d end up saying something stupid (shocker there) and get shanked.
7-11 boy: You look tired
Me: *eye roll* Gee thanks. I am.
7-11: you also look cold… but you’re getting a Slurpee?
Me: well you’re just an everyday Sherlock Holmes now aren’tcha? (you little crack head)
7-11: Who’s that? oh well my mom taught me to always comment women. Nice huh?
Me: For Fuck’s sake. I think she meant COMPLIMENT and by the way that doesn’t mean you should be Captain Obvious.
7-11: (head tilt)
Me: and also, “you look tired” actually translates directly to “you look like spilt fuck” … just FYI. Did your mom teach you that? Did she?
7-11: umm no. OH!!! I LOOOOOVE this song. I sang it at prom with a bunch of people around me. They were throwing roses at me even. That was the good old days. I miss them!!
(great now I’m being served by Justin Beiber with bad grammar)
Me: I hated high school but it’s good to know that there are actually people out there that enjoyed the experience.
7-11: Yes it was great. I was really popular.
Me: oh…. (long pause)… yes…. because that’s what’s important.
7-11: Yes it is REALLY important. You don’t understand the pressure on kids these days.
Me: as opposed to the pressure when?
7-11: you know, when you were a kid.
(don’t strangle him, don’t strangle him, don’t strangle him)
Me: give me my goddamn receipt. NOW.
7-11: Have a nice day! I hope you get some sleep
(Me too kid, me too)
* Note to self: Slurpee addiction must be fulfilled at a DIFFERENT 7-11. For eternity.
If you are my Mother-in-law, I’d just like to say HI! Stop here now. There is nothing further to read. At all. No really. Go have some ice cream. Bye!!!
(And also, if you KNOW her… don’t you go telling her that there’s anything beyond “Hi” here for her. Or I will find you. I will find you and cut you. Hard. Because I’m like Charlie Sheen. Except without certain anatomy and a little less drunk (did I mention I WISH I was drunk though?))
Ok now that she’s gone I have to tell you about the fact that she thinks I’m a whale. A fucking whale. I know right? Ok here’s how it goes:
freaking out about learning about this pregnancy and baby stuff. I know, I know, you’re going “Duh” right about now. I get it. But seriously, you don’t know the torture involved and as if I don’t feel fat enough? My mother-in-law actually tells me I am. We she didn’t say it but you know, she did something that basically says “you’re one huge slurpee away from going to fat camp”
So you’re wondering what she did? Sigh… she goes out and buys me a couple maternity tops. Awww, bless her heart, that’s so nice and shit. Yeah shit. Precisely how I feel. You see I am not yet quite fat enough for the Queen Latifah clothes – she looks good now, I know but think back a few years ok – I’m just making a point here. So I don’t look pregnant I just LOOK like I had too many deep fried corn fritters.. Hmm… corn fritters. Oh.right.get.to.it…. anyway… So I hadn’t gone out and even looked at maternity clothes yet but her being the nice crazy lady that she is, she buys me some.
Well, I don’t know if she got the memo about how you buy your PRE-PREGNANCY size or what, I’m hoping that she doesn’t know that because otherwise she has some sort of asshole preconceived notion that I am hiding a very large woman in me somewhere. She buys me 4 tops, all extra large. Ok before you get all offended, please know that I find nothing wrong with XL at all. I admire curvy women – well except when you bitch and complain that you can’t wear a bikini while you gargle a Big Mac and suck down a Big Gulp-sized chocolate shake… I digress again…
Here’s the part where I have to swallow my pride. When I got pregnant I was between 130 and 135lbs. Not anorexic but definitely a happy size 3-5 (oh my god… yes I STILL buy my clothes in the juniors section, I’m struggling with the fact that I’m older than 25…BITE ME) So here we go. According to nearly every single maternity sizing guide I can find I would be a medium at most. Now I don’t know if you know this or not, clearly my MIL is part of the not… but apparently there is a big difference between medium and extra large in maternity world. By that I mean that the tops she bought me, would be big for DRESSES on me. I look like I’ve devolved into a 6 year-old dressing up in my
mom’s Dad’s clothes. Exactly how big does this lady think I am?!?
The best part is that she told me that when she shops for clothes for me she “just holds them up and looks at them and goes with what “looks right’” so I’m wondering what the fuck must be going through her mind when she holds up this muumuu and thinks it will look great on me? Well… looks like I’m on my own for maternity clothes because my MIL thinks I’m a big gigantic cow. Moooooooooo.
p.s. – I bought some maternity clothes for myself, all sized medium of course and you know what?? They FIT. Not like a glove or anything because they aren’t made for people in the ‘awkward’ stage but they FIT nonetheless and you won’t have to search for me under YARDS and YARDS of fabric like a macaroni noodle in a table cloth.
p.p.s – If you did actually read this Marty, please don’t take me out of your will. I need your lifetime supply of dollar-bin gifts and also your coupons. Just sayin’