Who do you think you're foolin'?

So last night I'm shopping in Lane Bryant for some jeans. You don't have to tell ME I'm shopping in the fat chick's store.

I know I am. I have not forgotten that here 28 is not a waist size but a regular pants size like 8, 10 and 12 are elsewhere.

I'm not that upset about it, because it actually feels kind of good to be somewhere where my size is among the tiniest things they sell. I'm practically svelte among the Lane Bryantites. I can actually get things that fit in "petite" at Lane Bryant, because petite is a length, not a size.

Which is why I think it hilarious and sad that they have this new way of folding jeans on hangers. The jeans hang as if you are looking on them from the front, but they pleat in the sides to reduce the width by half.

When I first saw it, I thought "WTF? Are these size 2s or what?? In Lane Bryant??"

Then I picked them up and saw the folding trick. Aha. The mystery of the missing yardage, solved.

Note to the display manager: don't. Just don't. Seeing how you think my thighs should look doesn't make me feel better about my size. Let Lane Bryant be the one place on earth where I can let my thighs romp wild and free. I have the whole rest of the mall to remind me how bad I should be feeling about my body.

Suebobian, translated.

When I think something is truly good, I say "No way! That is fabulous."

When I am being polite or politely complimentary, I say "That's great." Unless I emphasize the "grrrrr" sound AND the "t" sound ("GrrrreaTTTTT" not so much Tony-the-Tiger as a very mad person with very good enunciation skillz). At that point, you should probably look for an exit.

When I say "Fine," it is most certainly NOT fine. It is merely a substitute for another four letter word that begins with f.

You should tread carefully from that moment on. Think of offering red wine or chocolate. It may be your only hope to get out alive.

I blog because I care

Or maybe I blog because you care.

There's a whole lot of crazy going on out there AND IT IS OKAY. I love that we have this space to talk about it. Snot, piss, poop, sex, Paxil, effexor, kids behaving badly, judgment, weird co-workers, in-laws, manic-depressiveness...it all spills out and 99 percent of people say 'You're okay anyway." That other one percent can go screw themselves.

I think it is hysterical how many people don't "get" blogging. Do you have a story about someone not getting it? I'd love to hear it. This is my favorite from Red Stapler's archives.

New confession up at True Employee Confessions. You are welcome to submit yours: snackishblogATyahoo

A serious miscalculation

This time change thing. Yeesh.

I went out and got a chile relleno burrito and a licuado de coco (milky coconut milkshake) at what seemed to be a perfectly reasonable hour. About 15 minutes ago.

Now I am sitting here with 8 hours until I have to get up for work, feeling like I have swallowed a watermelon whole and wondering about the structural integrity of my pants buttons.

Urp.

I should be able to go to sleep in 3 hours or so.

Little green leaves

Sorry about the serious dearth of posts.

Spring has sprung and I have been busy rolling around naked in fields of tiny flowers as I ponder what to make with the big, fat, juicy green asparagus spears I bought at Farmer's Market.

I am thinking maybe they would be best simply steamed and eaten with fingers while they are just cool enough not to burn my mouth.

UPDATE: Asparagus all eaten. Put a fork in me. I'm done.