Tantrum Warehouse
Tact Free Since 2003

What Smells? Oh, me.

Sometimes I am completely ridiculous. My evil twin, Monica, and I were walking down the hallway at work when I practically yelled, "WHAT SMELLS?!?!?!"

Usually I am very quiet while at work. Especially since people might be trying to do actual work. But this was loud enough that I am sure the entire floor heard it. And of course I used this nasal-Valley-girl-accented voice that sounded like Fran the Nanny just spent a couple of semesters at Sweet Valley High. Why don't I just draw more attention to the potentially offensive comment I just made?

Is it sick that I have a school girl crush on Ted from Queer Eye? Sicker than my serious relationship with TV boyfriend Ephram from Everwood? I need to not watch cable anymore.

Saw this woman walking down the street this afternoon. Middle of the day--gold metallic skirt with a red sequined halter top. Three inch stilettos. Hair bleached to the point it could barely hang onto her scalp. Walking with a guy in sweatshorts and a HUGE tank top. We don't have hookers dressed that well here so she must have been a tourist. Or a hooker on vacation?

Had a dream last night that J's goddaughter was really his daughter. And that her mother was forcing him to divorce me to marry her and she was moving into my house. The first thing she did when she moved in was paint my beautiful apple green bathroom this awful pink. And she kept the fugly-ass brass light fixture downstairs. Proves she has no taste at all. I woke up literally shaking from this dream. Not shaking with tears but shaking from rage. And pissed at my poor husband because he dream lied about being the daddy and then dream divorced me. Fucking bastard. Even after he said he was sorry (what a champ) I was still pissed. Seriously, who wouldn't want to stay married to a woman who is as reasonable and level-headed as I am?

Pulling my own version of Queer Eye for the Straight Guy. A kind of Friend's Wife's Eye for the Pathetic Guy if you will. Not nearly as melodic sounding and a lot more expensive. Travis is going to give me $50 so I can create a "going out" outfit for him to wear. I can do this. I have totally remodeled my husband. He used to wear pleated pants, white socks with dress shoes and acid washed jeans so believe me it was more of a remodel than a makeover. Now I have him wearing Kenneth Cole and looking so much better. Not that this couldn't backfire. At any rate, Travis wears black faded taper-legged jeans and novelty t-shirts (with attractive sayings like "Tickle this Elmo" and "I'm Going Nucking Futs" on them) out to bars and even dinner. Often he tops this outfit with a trench coat. I call this look "child molester chic" (if I get a google hit from that I will freak out). I have tried to explain to him that no woman is going to give him her number if he looks like he would rather be fucking her paperboy. Once he borrowed one of J's Hawaiian shirts and was really upset with me when I wouldn't let him tuck it in. I can't really fail with this makeover, anything would be an improvement. Even "lives with his mother chic."

While riding the bus home we hit this really rough patch of road. The bus jolted up and down and it made my boobs bounce. On one hand, I am embarrassed that they bounced because it was really noticeable and the guy across the way from me was totally watching. On the other, I was so proud that my breasts are now big enough to bounce. MLH will be so impressed.

6:15 p.m. :: comment ::
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