Buying Underwear (and other things that lead to anger)

I remember when I discovered Victoria’s Secret. I felt as though a veil was lifted and a whole new world of delicate, lacy, beautiful unmentionables were waiting to bridge the gap between my clothes and my lady parts.

From that day forward I swore off the multi-pack of Haynes from Walmart that never fit quite right and went unashamedly with arms wide open to the store men dare not enter. I joined the secret club of women who could dress like a train jumping dumpster diver on the outside knowing that underneath the slouch was a feminine tiger ready to pounce.

Back in the early days of my discovery the process was simple: walk in, sift through the drawers to find my size, make sure no lady juice is on them from someone gross trying them on, take my purchase to the counter, pay for said purchase, get my receipt, walk out. Simple. Straightforward. Anonymous. Now, however, the game has changed.

These days I’m already frustrated by the time I walk in from dodging the super-aggressive (albeit very flattering) mall kiosk guy with the long, greasy black ponytail, black slim-fitted shirt unbuttoned to showcase his nipples asking if I flat iron my hair and the guys demo-ing the bouncy balls that my kids HAVE TO HAVE! I make my way to what I need, get to the counter and then it happens: “What’s your email for rewards?” The lady behind the counter stares at me while I contemplate the consequence of not answering her question. I finally decide it’ll probably be quicker to just give it to her.

Me: “Erica”

Lady behind the counter: “Is that with a ‘c’ or a ‘k’?

Me: “‘c’ And then a ‘d’

Lady: “Did you say ‘v’ or ‘b’?”

Me: “‘d’. As in ‘delta’ and then my last name. From my card. Just copy that.

Lady: “Please verify from the screen.”

Me: “Nope. It’s Erica with an ‘E’ not an ‘A’. That’s not really a thing. And you didn’t get the middle initial.”

Lady: “You can just type it in.”

Me: “So I could have saved the last 10 painful minutes of my life and typed it in all along?”

Lady: “I like to help my guests out. You’re total today is $150.”

Me: “What? I only got 5 pair of underwear. Isn’t it 5 for $25?”

Lady: “You have premium panties that aren’t a part of that. Also, it’s now 5 for $35.”

Me: defeated, walks out. “Kids, let’s go get ice cream. Mommy needs sprinkles.”

So now I hate shopping for underwear. And soaps. Thanks, Bath & Body Works. Can we all agree that stores need to STOP ASKING FOR EMAILS?????????? Listen, if you want my info, put out an app and scan it like Starbucks. Or Chick Fil A. Cuz my mental well-being can’t take it. And I don’t want to kill people. I’m frustrated. But at least I’m pretty.

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I Didn’t Clean the House Today… but I’m still tired.

Today I woke up 30 minutes later than I should have. I woke my kids up 15 minutes later than I should have. I sat in traffic for an hour and a half in just one leg of my commute. I sat in meetings for most of my day listening to mind-numbing discussions about “innovative” wellness programs for employees. Then I drove home. I worked a little longer. I didn’t even cook dinner. My family had left overs. I drove my daughter to ballet. Sat around waiting on her. We got home, I got the kids to bed, I got myself clean and went to bed myself.

My home is not clean. I’m pretty sure Bella didn’t bathe before bed. Roman’s sheets don’t match. I didn’t wash dishes. My trash cans are full. The only reason there’s no dog hair downstairs is thanks to my husband. I didn’t touch laundry. The only clean pair of socks Roman has are on his feet.

Guess what?! I’m ok with all of this. The sun still rises, my kids still love me, I’m pretty sure my husband still loves me wink, my doggies definitely adore me. It’s all gonna be ok.

My only question: WHY AM I STILL SO TIRED???

Oh well. At least I’m pretty.

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Don’t Wake the Day Dreamer

Every once in a while (probably four times a day) I catch myself day dreaming.  {The rest of my day is spent not realizing I’m in a dream-like state in the daytime}.  What do I think of when I’m lost in day dreams?  Funny you should ask:

What if Joan Jett never cracked the music business and had to get a “real” job?  Would she eventually concede to the norms of society and wear cardigans and drive a minivan and volunteer to be the team mom for her kids’ soccer teams?  What would her job be?  Would she work at a bank?  Or would she be exactly as she is now and just not care?  Would she bust up in her kids’ school wearing chains, tats, and feathered hair?  Gosh, I hope so.

What if unicorns were real?  Would they use their horns as a defense mechanism?  Would they try to stab people with it?  That would be a bad dose of reality.

Doc: So, what brings you in to the ER today?  I’m going to assume it’s that gaping hole in your abdomen.

Me: I got stabbed by a unicorn.

Doc: Huh.  I thought unicorns were nice.

Me: Yeah.  Me, too.

Would you gain magical powers if you were stabbed by a unicorn and survived?  That might make it worth the pain…

What if the custom used for naming babies and pets was to allow kids to pick the name?  My little sister would be David Cholesterol.  My son’s name would be Flame.  My niece’s name would be Little Baby.  Our female Lab’s name would be Mr. Farty Pants.

If you notice I’m deep in thought, please interrupt me.  Because chances are, I’m not solving for Global Warming or the world’s energy crisis.  I’m considering a world in which dragons are the main mode of transportation.

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Determined Destiny

I just read a post about how to determine what you should be doing with your life.  It said to write down what you like to do.  Well, I like to do a lot of things. Maybe if I eliminate what I DON’T like to do, it’ll help. 

Here’s my first attempt.  I think I nailed it.

Traffic sucks.  I don’t like doing anything that requires traffic.  So driving to work is out.
Mean people suck.  I don’t like doing anything that requires mean people.  So driving to work is out.

Stupid sucks.  I don’t like doing anything that requires me to interact with stupid.  So driving to work is out.

My family doesn’t suck.

I don’t suck.

Funny doesn’t suck.

Most of my friends don’t suck.

Don’t question whether or not you suck.  That was a joke.

Starbucks doesn’t suck.

Alcohol doesn’t suck.

Too much alcohol definitely sucks.

The beach could never suck.

Unless there’s a hurricane.

Hurricanes suck.

The word “moist” sucks.

The word “suck” kind of sucks.  Really, it’s just weird.

Puppies don’t suck.

Puppy poo sucks.  Especially when it’s on the carpeted stairs.

Movies don’t suck.

Not true.  Some definitely suck.  Ever seen Satiricon?

Drugs suck.

Bad drivers suck. Slight tangent alert on my tangent: this point could be related to the first point above but not necessarily.

Flying rocks on the interstate that hit my new windshield suck.

Wait… I totally forgot why I’m doing this.  Something about finding my destiny… oh well.

Happy Tuesday!

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Guilt Share

The name “Geoff” confuses me. I get that it’s pronounced “Jeff” but I still internally say “Gee-Off” every time I see it.

I hate the guilt-share Facebook posts. “Like if you love Jesus”, “Share if you love your kids”… Stupid. Don’t guilt me into doing what you want. According to my inactions on Facebook I’m a wretched person who hates puppies…
I love taking quizzes on Buzzfeed but I don’t understand “Pick a Disney Villain” or “Pick a pet” or “Pick a favorite flower”. Why am I picking? Do I pick what I don’t like, what I do like, what I wish I were? Ugh…

Having almost black hair means that any time I use dry shampoo it has to be tinted so that it doesn’t look like I have cocaine in my hair. It also means I leave a trail of brown everywhere.

Why do my kids act like they’re being water boarded every time I wash their hair in the tub but happily dunk their heads in the water when I ask them not to get their hair wet???

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Random Intent

To anyone creating a “New Parent Boot Camp” I’d like to offer my children as Drill Sergeants.  Anyone who can discipline my kids with a straight face automatically graduates.

Rick: “Roman, why did you hit your sister??”

Roman: “Because.”

Rick: “Bella, honey, are you ok?  Roman! Tell her you are sorry!”

Roman: “I just farted.  I gonna play my dwums now.”

Me: “Bella, you’ve been in your room for 20 minutes!  We have to leave for school, why do you only have ONE SHOE ON???”

Bella: “Yesterday at school I had sausage for breakfast.  It was the color of wheat.”

I recently read an interview with the lead singer of Def Leopard about how aging rock stars still kick ass.  And he’s right.  My hubs and I saw Aerosmith a few months ago (my fave band EVER!) and they still ROCK.  At dinner Saturday night the SAME topic came up which lead to us pondering what it would be like if Axl Rose rolled out on stage in a Rascal… you know it’ll happen.  And I want to be there when it does.

Is it common knowledge that you should avoid a gas pump where someone is already using the pump on the other side, if possible?  Every time I pump gas in that situation the gas pumps sooooooo sloooooowly.  I feel like this might be something I’m supposed to know? Side note, you’d think I would have learned by now to go to another, unused pump.  Obviously, I need more time.

Another topic that came up Saturday night at dinner was Taylor Swift.  The hilarious consensus was that if you say you don’t like Taylor Swift, you’re lying to yourself.  After a brief survey over Facebook (the statistically accurate and scientifically accepted way to survey the populous now) it appears this hypothesis holds water.

That phrase makes me think of this:
Which makes me think of this:
Then I can’t stop laughing and my makeup runs and I look like a disaster and I need to go home because I’m useless for the rest of the day.

Happy Tuesday… I hope it has been random and pretty (pretty cray-cray!).


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Questions Against Humanity

These are some of the questions that keep me up at night and the answers I have so far:

Have I told you lately that I love you?

Yes, you tell me all the time.
Do you wanna build a snowman?

No, I hate cold weather.

What’s love gotta do with it?

Nothing.  Let’s keep her out of this, shall we?
Are you gonna go my way?

No, Starbucks is the other direction so I’ll text you when I’m                     finished.

Who let tha dogs out?

Ma bad.

Why, Georgia, why?


What does the fox say?

I say, do it.  Thanks for thinking I’m foxy.  And for considering                   my input.
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College Roommates Forever
My freshman year at UGA I had the most amazing roommate ever.  Someone I’d known since I was in the 5th grade.  We saw each other through middle school, high school, cheerleading, revenge pranks… we shared a special bond.  So it was fate when we chose to room together.

I knew we made the right choice when a pattern began to emerge during our frequent talks at 3am.

Me:  Kate!  You still awake?

Kate: Yep.

Me: What would you do if you walked in the room and all you saw were my feet inside the window and the rest of me was hanging out of the window?  And then when you looked down you saw I had a bag of oranges in my hand.  And you realized I got myself in this predicament all because of a bag of oranges?  Would you save me?

Kate: I’d open the window under the pretense of helping but really to see what happens.  What if I try to save you and grab your feet but then that pulls me out so I’m hanging by my feet, holding on to your feet and you still have the bag of oranges?  Then someone calls the fire department.

Me: Then 3 hot fire fighters show up and we each marry one.  One would be left over… that would be sad.

Kate:  I’ll take 2.

Me: You’d have to move.  But I’d move with you.  Just to see how that plays out.

Kate:  What would you do if you knocked on my door to borrow a cup of sugar and I answered the door dressed like a fairy princess and my firefighter husbands were both dressed like Peter Pan?

Me: I’d go back home and change into my costume.  But I wouldn’t tell you which one.  It would be a surprise.  Then I’d bust in your abode wearing a police costume and arrest you for being awesome.

Kate:  Something smells.

Me: Oh, that’s probably the old bowl of milk sitting on my desk.  It started off with me just being too lazy to take care of it but now it’s become an experiment.  Don’t touch it.

Kate:  I won’t.  I have my own experiment involving Chinese food in our fridge.

Me:  We should document this.  And turn it in to Myth Busters.

Kate:  That guy Adam is hot.

Me:  I like his hat.  Wait, is he the one with the hat?  Or is that the other one?  They’re both hot.

Kate:  Jon Stewart is hot.

Me:  Hells yeah he is.

And, thus, the humble beginnings of Tangent Tuesdays…

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Strong Suggestions

My favorite color is red. Maybe that’s why I’ve been “red flag” challenged in the past. I suggest we move to “face slaps” instead of “red flags” to note that someone should reconsider a decision. I know I would respond better to that.

If Tom Shane says something is “en vogue” I will not buy it. If he says something is “on trend” I will not buy it. I don’t trust a nasally white guy to tell me what is in style.

There is a city in Georgia named “McDonough”.  It is pronounced “mic-don-uh”, not “mic-dun-uh”. There is no “u” between the “d” and the “n”. While we are on the topic of pronunciations, water is pronounced “wah-ter” not “wutter” and deal is pronounced “dee-al” not “dill”. I could go on, but I’ll stop.

To all news outlets: please don’t interrupt me with breaking news that anyone who is older than 90 has died. That’s not breaking news. It’s a duh.

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Keep Your Head Up

Keep your head up.  Not so you can let your hair down.  So you can accurately counter Life’s punches with a kick to the throat.  AAAAAnd so that everyone can see how pretty you look while you kick arse.

I wonder if Mother Nature has sought treatment for her bipolar disorder…

There’s the way it’s supposed to be done, the way you tell me to do it, and the way I’m going to do it.

Washi tape is amazing.

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