Bloggerstock -Do-Over

This month I decided to participate in the Bloggerstock, thats where someone else posts on my blog and I post on someone else's ...blah, blah, blah. My uuest posterrr for our Bloggerstock is Mr. Manor. Thank you very mucho for participating in this ish.
To find my guest post check out

http://www.booyabobby.com

Without further ado here goes my guest.


♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀♀

Blog: The Titan Project
Link: http://thetitanproject.wordpress.com/
Turn ons: Turkey burgers and people who speak Elizabethan dialogue
Turn offs: Veggie burgers and people who don’t speak Elizabethan dialogue

One Stop Away
by Jonathan Manor

I was riding with my sister one day when she decided to park on an empty street. Out of the dozens of parking spaces we could have taken, we ended up parked 2 feet away from a used condom that laid open on the street right in front of our car. Everything always went wrong. Nothing ever went up to plan. I would always question everything, how the world worked to leave me stranded in places wondering how much it could have been easier. It happened all the time, more than it should. I would place titles on my life labeled “regret,” “redo,” and “time machine - out of order.” I would wonder what was the plan the universe had with me. What did it want with me? Was there really a whole magnificent plan of things? I figured bad things happened to me because better things would happen in the future. Those better things? I never saw them. Those better things never made it to the picture. It was all wrong. The whole system was wrong. Nothing ever went the way it was planned to.

A few weeks ago, my girlfriend and I were on the bus in the city. We should get off at the next stop, I said to my bubbly happy girlfriend. When we got off, I saw the two people in subway officer suits waiting to meet us at the top of the escalator. It was our first time taking public transportation in San Francisco. One of the officers asked for our ID’s. It didn’t matter what we said, how we said it, or what we would do to fight back. The officer was a dick. We were in the right. A previous bus driver told us we were in the right. Now all of sudden people trying to do their job won’t listen to you. When the officer told me that my girlfriend would end up with a warning simply because she was from another state, I told her to meet me outside the station so I could try to negotiate with him without adding more problems. While she was gone I tried to reason with the officer, but he didn’t budge. Cops have too much legislative power and not enough listening power. I got the ticket. 

To think this guy was trying to make money on both of us. Obviously, if one person was wrong then they might probably wrong. However, if two people are together walking around, both wrong, then that there is miscommunication. It doesn’t matter though. What matters is that I was the one that chose to get off at that stop. Out of the dozens of stops we could have got off at, I chose this one. This one! Nothing else! This one!

The universe was playing it’s sick twisted game with me. And no matter how I looked at it, I would fail. I called my girlfriend to see where she was. She was disappointed when I found her. The once joyful dipples and inflated cheeks that I saw in her earlier today was taken by the unmoving hand of the law. I wanted to see her smile again. I wanted this whole fiasco to be behind us. I stared into her honest sweet eyes when she asked, “So how much was the ticket?”

I smiled. “I didn’t get the ticket,” I told her.

I told her I ran my mouth just enough to get out of the ticket. The ticket was indeed in my bag, but I couldn’t let her know that. I just wanted to walk around the pier in San Francisco, talk about sunsets, and just how much we loved each other. So I told her that I didn’t get the ticket. She didn’t jump for joy or anything. I just knew she would end up offering to pay for the ticket the whole night, and the ticket would’ve been the whole theme for the rest of the evening sinking it’s teeth into our backs. 

We should’ve just paid him, she told me, take the ticket and paid him because he was just doing his job. I said no, he was just taking advantage of his job by forcing it on innocent people. She said, that’s how life goes. And I looked at her and her, the life of her taken away from her, overwhelmed, and exhausted. I told her how much life was about fighting for things. That the more we fight the more we become better. The more we become focused on who we want to be. The more we know about who we really are. “How much can you know about yourself if you’ve never been in a fight?” She sort of understood what I was saying. What was more important was that I understood what I was saying. I was the one who’d been fighting all their life. I was the one where nothing went right. As my girlfriend and I got up from the bench we were sitting on, I smiled and kissed her. Everything that was ever bad, awful, regretful, and painful didn’t matter. Because I was the one taking her home tonight. And right now, in the present, that’s all I care about.

The universe could have taken away all it wants of me, but if it somehow sent me over to meet my girlfriend one day while standing in front of a library 3 months ago. . .

Then somehow, I think I’ll be fine. 


Guest post by Jonathan Manor from The Titan Project. 
Link: http://thetitanproject.wordpress.com/

Guest post was a result of Bloggerstock
http://bloggerstock.net/

Jonathan Manor is the author of The Titan Project, a blog about taking short cuts, breaking traditional systems, making complicated things more relateable, and chasing hearts and dreams. He currently talks a lot about his darling love for his girlfriend which is probably annoying to some people. Jonathan Manor is a laid off website content writer who spends most of his time going to rock shows, meeting awesome people, and eating really great vegetables put together by his girlfriend. He loves blogging and reading all sorts of online literature. -Description written by Jonathan Manor

Jonathan Manor guest posted for the website of Roxy Pants at:
http://canyousmile.blogspot.com

Jonathan Manor hosted a guest post for Tanzim Damji on his website at: 
http://thetitanproject.wordpress.com/

Tazim Damji’s website is: 
http://www.beingtazim.com/

Introducing the Period

I have introduced "the period" to my 8 year old. 


Fuck, I know. Your telling me. Do you know how hard it is to explain to my baby girl that some day soon she will be intentionally bleeding from her front butt (as she calls it)? You have no idea.


Here is how that chat of ours went.


First I went out and had to buy one of those books that explains and has pictures/drawings of all of what puberty has to offer a young lady.
Which in itself is quite disturbing. 
I get this book and truly want to ease her mind for when that moment of becoming a women comes. Because that shit is scary when you have no clue what the fuck is happening or what is going on. There is nothing worse than a screaming 8,9 or 10 year old that she is dying because her body is cut somehow but she can't find the source of abrasion. Nothing worse I'm telling you. 


My monster is starting to bud some boobs. WTF? 8 years old. That is wrong, WRONG, WRONG!!!!!!
So I thought I should get all of this other shit of of the fucking way since it is inevitable. 
I sat her on my bed and started reading out of this body book. I explain to her about hygiene, brushing her hair and teeth, feet odor, growing breasts, pubic hair, body odor, and all of the glorious things us women have to face. 


As I was getting deeper into the conversation and more serious about the issues there came a picture of budding breast.
Which she found to be extremely funny. 
She kept on laughing and giggling because of the drawings of said boobs.
This wasn't working out the way I planned.
I told her that yes, she will grow boobs at some point. 
Hell she was at stage 2 according to the illustrations. 


~This has nothing to do with this story but at some point last year while I was getting ready she asked "Mom, am I going to have no boobs like you?" I look down and wanted to punch her and cry. I didn't do either if your wondering. Awww fuck you know it's bad when your child can tell that you have some of the smallest boobs ever, IT'S NOT FAIR WORLD. "I don't know Monster, you will have to wait and see for when you grow your own." Is all I said.~

                                                            *They used to call me tiny tits*




Then came the part about pubic hair. 
I thought it went well until I asked her:
"Do you understand about the hair that will grow on your vagina?"
Monster looks at me with complete confusion
I asked "Do you know what a vagina is?"
Again she looks at me with those puzzled eyes "No"
I had to keep from punching myself in the head.
I was getting a tad bit frustrated. This was going to get awkward.


I point to a triangular patch drawn on a cartoon girl. "Do you see that?" I ask
"Well that front bootay is your vagina in real life"
"Is that hair?" Giggle, giggle
"Yes, that is hair, you are going to get hair there and in you armpits..OKAY?" 
"Am I going to have to shave it off?"
"Not unless you want to become a cave-woman or French, you know what....don't even worry about that right now just know that soon enough you will start getting hair in these places...okay just be AWARE!" 


Baby D decided to ruin my mother daughter moment by interrupting our conversation with loud  yelling. No daddy in sight. 
"STOP IT BABY D!, SHUSH!!!!!!"
To this he is yells louder, probably to piss me off then takes off running as soon as he knows I  will get my ass off my bed. 
UGH. "DEREKKKKKKK!!!!! WHERE ARE YOU? GET THIS BOY OUT OF HERE!!!!!" 
No Derek. fuck. 
"BABY D!!!!!!!!!!!! STOOOOOPPPPPPPPPPPPP!!!!!!!!"
Jevas. What a nightmare he is that boy. I am not doing this puberty talk ever again.
Fuck that! Derek will have to take care of Baby D's part on puberty. It's only fair. I have no penis therefore I shall not have to conduct any sort of conversation about anything that includes my son and his junk. 


On with 'the dreaded talk'
"Soon your going to bleed from your vagina and I don't want you to freak out because every girl goes through it"
.. "Oh ok"


"EVERY GIRL...unless she is a freak okay. So you understand what I am saying?"
"Yes"
"Are you sure?"
"Ummm, yeah" 
"There are different things to use when you have a period, there are pads and tampons. Have you seen them, in your bathroom before?" 
"No"
"Well they don't look like this drawing here, this looks like a mattress not a pad."
This fantastic book had a depiction of a girl sitting on a toilet shoving a tampon inside of her. 
This confused, probably traumatized Monster for any future tampon wearing. 
She asked pointing to the va-who-who "What is that?" 
REALLY? I just asked if you know what a vagina is! "That is her vagina! You know what just forget the drawing." 


At this point I am done talking to my baby girl about all of this shit. 
She gets her book and turns back to the page with the boobs and starts shrieking with laughter.


I tell her to get the hell out of my room and to take a shower before bedtime. I had reached my threshold of bullshit for the day.


I go into the living room for some long awaited Grey's Anatomy that was waiting on DVR for me. 
Baby D comes rolling into the living room, body book in hand and says while pointing "Look mom Chi-Chi's!"  


OMG. Really?  
Boobs fascinate this young boy like no other. 
Now he has a book of colorful drawing of boobs to entertain him. 


I give up. That was round one of introducing a period. As I am sure there will be more explaining to do with this child. 


I am exhausted thinking about it. 


I don't think she got it one bit. Failure at introducing vagina and period into her vocabulary is what I should have titled this post. 

Incoherent B.S.

I always tell friends of mine to recommend readings that they loved. Because I don't like to read shit. I love to cry to a good book, hell even better is when they make me laugh so hard I cry. My friend (who I recently turned into a avid book reader) Mel told me about this motivating book she got done reading. I thought hells yeah, hook me up! 


What happened was she read this book and was inspired. In fact she was so inspired by this wondrous piece of work that she went on vacation to New York City. Alone. By herself. She left her man here in AZ. And just went. To go ride her bike in Manhattan.  


I thought wow, I want to read some of this good feely book. Like, who wouldn't?


Since I am cool and have a Kindle I don't need to travel anywhere to go buy said book. Whispernet delivers within seconds. Like magic right? 


My dear Mr. Kindle. I love you so. His name is Benedict by the way.


Anyway. So. About this book.
I started reading it and got through the first couple of chapters. Then some terrible shit happened.


You are now thinking I dropped my precious Benedict, spilled some h2o on him, or a goat chewed him up to pieces or something even more horrible right? No.


This book was actually putting me to sleep. Literally. I would try to read it and alas I found my sleeping aid.  Namely "Eat, Pray, Love" 


What a piece of shit. 


I thought I would have a book burning event to destroy that monstrosity of a book and was even going to invite those that wanted to destroy some other material that they wasted precious time on, books like Wuthering Heights or anything Anita Shreve for that matter. 
Then I remembered it is in Mr. Benedict and I can't go burning my Kindle. 


What to do in a sticky situation as such? 
I can:
A) go after friend that referred this crap to me and teach her a lesson.
B) Complete book and never again in my life read anything from same author. 
or C) Go out, waste money and buy the book and conduct book burning in my backyard as planned.


C sounds so tempting. 
Nothing against you praying lovers that like to eat or anything. That book was baloney. 
Boring ass baloney.

Where is the tragedy? Where is the gruesome bloody murders? Where is the afflicted emotional teenager? Where is all of the sex?  Where is the mystery? Where is the romantic guy swooping his mistress off her feet and onto his bed? Where is the love? Ok, not so much for that last one as weird people interpret love for some spiritual voodoo that one can obtain through meditation or whatever they believe in. I don't know. Don't go quoting me.  


Sorry Nel...but what was this tomfoolery you were trying to pull on me with this crap someone published? 


If talking about oneself excessively is the accomplishment publishers are looking for to publish then why not promulgate this debauchery that is my blog?


Seriously, I couldn't even get through the whole book. It is stuck at 82% on my Kindle. I was almost to the end. I just couldn't bring myself to waste anymore time on it. I rather watch a roll of wet shit paper dry, than finish reading Me, Me, Me.
Cant.finish.crappy.book...it was like every time I looked at Benedict that fucker taunted me with his contents. 


Finish, he whispered to me. "Hell NO Mr. Benedict, I WILL NOT!" I replied throwing him onto my book shelf. 
What a fucking dick that Benedict. Teasing momma like that. Of course I am not going to finish Benedict do you want be thrown out on your ass? HMMMMM??... Silence....Yeah that is what I thought. 


I really tried though. Tried and tried. I just kept on thinking "What the fuck is this shit I am reading?" The funny thing is I read trashy ass novels galore even some dirty stuff, but this was some retarded ass fucking piece of absurd bullshit that no one should be subjected to. 
What kind of stupid do you have to be to actually like this? No offense, but REALLY? COME ON! 


Just when I though it was over I saw a preview for the movie. Ugh. Really A MOVIE FOR THIS SHIT?!!! 
Good Lord please help those people that actually never read the book and defer them to a different movie. PRETTY PLEASE. 
People out there in the world DO NOT FALL FOR THIS. Trust, if movie was as bad as the book you will want to conduct a book/dvd burning of your own and I don't think cities/towns like when people administer book burnings of their own. If they've read it though that might be a different story, they might just supervise the affair. We can send smoke signals to the gods to tell them about this catastrophe called "Crap, Bullshit, Fuck!" 

Fuck that book. Right in the ass, I am sure that is all she needed anyway. A real nice, good pounding then all of that "finding herself" would have been fulfilled or just her filled. Bwahaha. 


This is just my review of this stupid time waster. If you feel differently fine, GOOD FOR YOU IF YOU LIKED THAT SHIT!


Now Mr. Benedict is tainted for life. FUCK!

Seven what? I Don't Know!

Just when I thought no one reads this blog.

Thank you That Ain't Kosher at That Ain't Kosher for presenting me with:

                                     

I don't even know what I am supposed to do. Write some shit and get it over with I suppose. Random, things you didn't know about me, or whatever it is. So I will just do one with random stuff. Sounds easier.  

Vlog form. Since this is the new trend. So I heard. I hope I don't fuck this up. Don'tlaughatme! 

Don't think I am a freak. Remember keep a look out for the video if intoxicating people. Coming Soon! Do I sound how you thought? Maybe not. I sound like a white girl I realized. ALSO, I am NOT Asian. I feel like I should never do this again.



Update* 
Oh I guess I was supposed to pass this on, but no one reads my shit so here goes just in case by some awesome miracle someone passed by I am passing along the award to these fine folks:


Cashier @ Confessions of a Cashier  


Stephanie @ The Single Slant


And well I have no one else. Why? Because I don't! DON'T YELL AT ME!

Oh Mother

I found this suit case filled with pictures of my childhood.


I don't even know where to begin. 
I have decided to write a letter to my mother. I will print out and hand it to her. (Don't worry, she doesn't have glasses, so her bad vision wont be able to distinguish between fuck and frock.)


Dear 80's, 90's Mother,


Why did you feel the need to afflict us children with the dreaded clothes we wore? How come my hair was never brushed? Was it because that shit was always tangled in masses of curls? If that was the case why didn't you put conditioner in it? I found that if you throw a bunch of conditioner in my hair, let it settle for about 4 minutes, wash, it is like silk.




Where the fuck did you find that ugly ass sweater at? Sweater Mart? 

Ok so the jeans were in style at least. Right? 
I fucking hope so! 
Jesus, look at the antenna that is bigger than out tv. Did people not use wire hangers to fix that shit back then? Guess not. 

Jesus..... I look like a cute clown here. See puffy hair? FUCK! Did they have frizz reducers in store? If they did how come you didn't have any for yours and my out-of-control fluffy hair?
Mother, Why did you not supply us kids with bad ass shoes? Did I ever ask for shoes? You must have not been into having your offspring be the cool kids, because I never was, probably for the lack of cool shoes. THANKS a lot. 

Look at my feet mother! Those shoes were busted and dirty. Come on!!! 
Thanks for the great remembrance of the person I used to be. You have lead me to a better path for my kids. I will swear they have some bad-ass shoes as to become fellow cool people at school and the community. All though I cannot speak for the yellow rain boots that Baby D refuses to leave the house without wearing. 

Mom, thank you for the mismatched clothing. Please tell me that I picked this out myself because I was a 'big girl' and wanted to do it myself and you didn't grab whatever was around and threw it on me? PLEASE. 
Regardless of the way you dressed us children, I would like to say you stayed very fashionable back then. Bravo for staying up to date with all of your attire. Hallelujah, with your padded shoulders dresses and poofy hair and giant earrings. 
Why did you throw those humongous earrings out? They would have worked with my outfits of late. That's all mom, thanks for making my childhood a lonely one. 


*Sidenote - I didn't forget about about my Vlog for the award.ThanksKosher. Stay tuned for that.

Hypochondriac

I am a parent of 2 children. 
If I screwed it up the first time at least I have another chance to redeem myself.


Well that is until grandparents step in.
Hypochondriac freaks.

Every little bite, cut, vomiting, constipation or anything that is "out of the norm" for them, they think that my babies have some life threating conditions.


A mosquito bite: "That looks infected lets spray Baby D down with this anti-bug medication just in case he keeps getting bitten. If the bite gets worse take him to the clinic."


Constipation: "I am so worried about him, I researched online and talked to the pharmacist and they said to get this stuff that helps. Or take him to the clinic." 


Rash: "I think that is some kind of flesh eating bacteria you need to take him to the hospital. "


Crying being a brat: "Oh my god there is something terribly wrong here. I am going to call the ambulance to come check him out. "


It never fucking ends. 


For everything they want to take Baby D to the hospital or clinic. 


Of course they don't know that mosquito bites just need a bit of TLC. Constipation, just keep off the naners for a bit, Rashes come and go and him crying is because he is not getting what he wants. 


Sheesh. 


I swear people drive me crazy when they think they know what is best for my kids. Quit freaking out man! 


It's just a cold not a disease! 


It is sooo funny because I think they look for signs of anything and everything. 
They (grandparents) watch way to much medical shows. Mystery diagnosis seems to be a favorite. 
Shit on crazy medical conditions or parasites in intestines or any other weird goings on.
I'm not kidding. When we go visit them there is something like "I didn't know I was pregnant" or something like it on. Damn you medical television! 


"What is that? Is Baby D scratching his head? It must be psoriasis or some skin disorder. Take him to the doctor!" 


It's out of control. 


I got an email the other day saying that grun is going to send $$ for me to buy some medication for my son who does not like to shit in the toilet. I don't see how medication is going to help him poo in the loo. But apparently medications cure all. A fact that I was unaware of. 


I was thinking it would be funny to get grun "The Hypochondriac's Pocket Guide to Horrible Diseases You Probably Already Have" by Dennis DiClaudio, but then it wouldn't be so funny for her to be using it on my kids. 


Derek thinks that I am a hypocon too. Only because I refuse to touch any surface of a escalator or stairwell I rather fall and tumble down. They are sick. I don't care if you think they are safe. Fuck that, people are nasty. They touch parts of their bodies and touch the railings afterward all of the time. While I know there are germs everywhere lurking waiting for me to be vulnerable I don't really care about those ones. Just about the railings, the sick, sick railings. Ewww. 


When we went to NYC I was so grossed out about touching everything in the subway. Even though I was a trooper and you couldn't tell, inside I was dying. 


2 days ago in the mail there was a letter from Grun addressed to me and D...
*Queue scary music*
I open it up thinking it was a letter from her concerning our son who hates the shit monster that creeps out his bum. 
WELL... It was a print out of some constipation issues from some internet site. She jotted down notes on these 4 pages of info she so kindly provided us with. JESUS CHRIST SUPERSTAR! REALLY? She is terribly worried that it could be something more horrific and we are causing our son pain. No I didn't read it all. Derek said to toss it. So I did. 


If she had it her way I am almost positive that the hospital would have a private room set up just for my kids for every time Grun felt uneasy about her self diagnosis. Doctor's would know us by name. Insanity.  


I think the internet is no place for old or crazy people. Can I get an AMEN TO THAT? 


Damn crazies. 

Patron

So as you know from my post from not so long ago, Patron that sneaky little bastard wanted to hang out again. 


Being it was a 3 day weekend I thought oh hell why not? So I went to the store and picked his ass up. 


It was me and Patron for the weekend. 

Of course Derek wanted to go to Ajo. For those of you who don't know where or what this place is let me just say that it blows. Big time. It is located about an hour and a half outside Phoenix. I only went because I heard that there was going to be some hard core dranking amongst friends and you know I can't pass that shit up. 


Off we went to Ajo. 
Got to our destination. Party was started.
I started off with a light beer. (I need to watch my weight) Then another light beer. A friend there had a ice chest full of these Alabama Slam-ma shots (not to bad) and Four Loko's in all sorts of flavors. Oh my! 


This guy was trying to give me the third degree of how smashed I would get after drinking the 12% alcohol content of Four Loko after drinking those beers. HAHA *eye roll Little did he know. 
I soon forgot about my amigo, but out came Patron to play. A shot down I was feeling great!  


So great in fact that I started hearing things that should have not been heard. Maybe I shouldn't post this. 
Oh what the hell.....
There I was in my drunken state, feeling fantastic making drunk calls to my friends. Talking about drunk matters. When I head back to the crowd. There's lots of laughing going on and all of the sudden I hear a slurred "Ever had a threesome?" I see from the corner of my eye who it is and am in shock. We will keep this person anonymous for safety reasons. 


I stand there like a tard acting like I did not hear this. Yes Rox, it was your imagination. HAHA Yeah right I am not that creative! 


This ménage à trois comment was then followed by a "I wanna fuck you"
........
...
..
....
..
..
Whaaaattttt? 


Trying hard to concentrate to find an escape I quickly down my beer and head out to 'use the potty'. Quickly to save face I do not go near Derek until I knew it was safe. I then whisper to him what was said and he gives me his "Are you on crack?" look. 
No fuck face someone told me they want to do me and their other persons in the nasty way. 


Oh man, this just got weird. 
I want to say that even in my befuddled state there was no way in hell that the transaction this person was trying to conduct with me was going to happen. 


Really? What the hell was that about? 


Thankfully that was the end of that. 


We drank the night away and of course the night would have not been complete unless I injured myself in some way.


See this always without fail happens to me. I come home obliterated and next morning I have some sort of bruise, cut, bite or something that I did not have the night before.


Lucky me I got not only one but three cuts on my legs! WHOOO. Told ya. 
Stupid ice chest got in my way and reached out to cut me!  mother fucker. 
Now my poor legs will be forever scarred. 


I did not realize how drunk I got until I woke up a couple of hours after passing out and looking around and asking myself:

Who's room is this? 
Where the hell am I?
What the fuck?


Then remembering that I was in Ajo in Derek's grandma's spare room. 
Only then was I able to get some more shut eye. 


Silly Patron, he tried to pull a fast one on me. I am on to him. 
Next time I am getting him back. 
Again this weekend? 

Garb

After shoving in all of my excess weight into the trunk of my jeans, I check the mirror and change yet again. This is not working for me. I almost saw a cooch pooch there. 


FUCKING WHY CLOTHES DO YOU HAVE TO SHRINK WHEN I WASH THEN DRY YOU????


F-U-C-K!!!!!


Usual Night: Derek zips up that cute shirt I bought and with a quick glance says "That looks good, let's go" but fails to see the flab of flubber sticking out of my tight top. Again I look for something more appropriate and makes us later than later than usual. 


I fuckin hate looking at clothes on mannequins because that IS NOT HOW THEY LOOK ON PEOPLE, particularly me! This is very VERY stressful. This is why I change approximately 5 to 16 times a day to make sure that what I have on will not leave me in an uncomfortable sucking.it.in.every.fucking.minute.of.my.long.ass.day. 
I sometimes have that button from those semi-fitting pants imprinted on my belly. No Bueno. 
I love LOVE LOVE to shop. Sorry my dear family I do love you but let me be, with my shopping addiction to go shopping alone. No I do not need an assistant to hold my bags I can do that myself. I do not wish you to wait 45 minutes while I try on several articles of clothing. Trust me on this one. I become this strange, disturbed, frustrated maniac that no one needs to meet or see. I also become a sweaty mess in the dressing room. It is so gross. My hair becomes matted to my neck and my cheeks get flushed and it seems that I gain about 10 pounds upon entrance to the magical dressing rooms. Medium then becomes a extra small and does not want to go over the hips. Really Medium? I thought we had a plan you and I, No? You want to screw me over now? Fucking stretch, I know we can do it! I then give up after I know it will take a miracle to pry that shit off. 


Articles of clothing I cannot and should NEVER attempt to wear in public (or private for that matter): 

•  anything spandex
•  tight bras that make the lumps in my back look like extra tits < I have bought some before but this was when I wasn't in my right mind 
•  Ed Hardy - Come on! Need I say more? 
•  Anything that makes me look pregnant
•  Leggings (I'll tell you why in a moment)
•  Moo moo's
•  Those god awful floral shirts like the ones I had in 6th grade
•  Anything florescent 
•  Colored hot pants
•  Loin cloth 
• Mis-match anything
•  a frock ... wait what the fuck is a frock? 
•  Lip liner with frosted lipstick - this is not clothing but either way it should NEVER be worn

I'm sure there is a lot of shit that should not be put on my body as clothing but I will keep this list minimal. For now anyway. 


By god do not, I REPEAT for emphasis DO NOT wear those tight-suck-the-life-out-of-you leggings that look "oh so adorable" on my 8 year old but are not made for mommy's or fat people nor are they made in the non-sheer type that people think they are. 
I bought a pair of these thinking that sure I could pull that shit off anytime. 
Umm mistake.
After packing my bottom into these 'leggings' I twirl around my restroom mirror and low and behold...ASS. 
Everywhere.
All ova tha place. like nobodys bizness.  


If I had a tattoo on my ass I am pretty certain that all of the world would be able to see it, even the details. (Yes my ass tat would have plenty of details) And you do not want to get me started on the cameltoe situation.  
I hear people talking about epic fails. Well I would like to include this one to the list.
I tried these bad boys on and OK yeah they suck in fat like no otha BUT I did not expect for my chubbiness to roll them down every time I moved from my sucked in posture. Quit rolling down damn it!. Sitting down was out of the question. 
After this betrayal I extracted these fuckers off me and threw them in the deep of my closet.
Now they just sit underneath all of the clothes that stopped fitting me a kid ago.  


God damn clothes, just fit already! Let's stop playing this game and just be seduced by my body and fit like a normal ensemble should! 


Maybe I should just go shopping to cure this mad sickness called fuckmeclothesdoesntfit. 
Why isn't this sickness on WebMD or some shit? 
I know a lot of people it affects and they just need to know that shopping helps settle the madness. 


Why doesn't someone just buy me a new wardrobe already?


By-the-way, I wear a size 8 in shoes.