It's 9:25 In Tuscany

Do you know where your parents are? Mine are in Tuscany. Mom took this with her cellphone from her hotel room, where she's hugging the bowl because she's come down with the flu that my Dad had last week. At least one of them is having a great time.

How To Save Money and Lose Weight Simultaneously

It's been said that you can reduce your electric bill significantly by turning off unnecessary lighting and appliances around the house. It's also been said that you can cut calories in half by simply switching from beer to whiskey.

To put these theories to the test, for one month, I have committed myself to an extreme daily regimen of sipping whiskey in the dark. Other than the bruise on my shin, so far so good. 3 days in, and I don't really even crave electricity or beer anymore. Only when I dance. Anyway, I'll make sure to record my progess and share some anecdotes as I morph into a fithy rich skinny broad.

Never Say Never

I've always said that I'd never have plastic surgery on my face. I guess I thought I'd be young forever, and that the plastic surgery craze has gone too far. When I used to sell pharmaceuticals, I had to call on plastic surgeons, and I remember blowing off to one about how I'd never need it. And he disagreed: "Your face will start to cave in on itself in your 30s." As I type this, the mirror that's supposed to make the wall look bigger only makes my frown lines look bigger. I guess Dr. Douchebag was right afterall. Since smiling more is not an option, and neither is removing the frown lines (too long of a hospital stay), I think I'll opt for a simple outpatient treatment, something that can be injected to plump and distract the eye from the frown line. It's all about distraction. I've chosen these lips to do the trick:



And once my lips are nice and distracting, I'm sure I'll continue to f*ck with myself until I look like this:




The End.

P.S. For more fun, go to www.awfulplasticsurgery.com and see if you don't get fired for cruising it all day.

P.P.S. Liz sent in this picture, because it is "terrifying." Indeed. La Toya can't stop toying with herself. This time, her tummy. Eeeeeew.

My Future Was So Bright

And now it's got razor wire around it. Why did I not choose a banking career? Years ago, I used to lament: "I'm going to wind up in a trailer." Meaning: owning or renting my own trailer. That dream now seems like an unaffordable possibility. My new future: "I'm going to wind up in somebody else's trailer. Dead." Lame. Because you know it's going to be tacky inside.

Linebackers Need Love Too

And apparently they also try Menacing Speed Dating. It's more effective than regular Speed Dating. There's only a few more months until football camp, afterall.

#1 Reason Why I Can't Keep a Pet Fish

Doodle Cat is a piece of work. If any of you have reaplayer and want to see more of Doodle Being Doodle, check out my links section under: Doodle. Enjoy.

Storage

These Mini Storage Bags are advertised as "Versatile for storing everything from paprika to paper clips." I usually see these bags on the sidewalk early on Sunday mornings and I've yet to see any paprika or paperclips lying about. The bag is usually empty, but the condom it's lying next to is not. Interesting. What people won't do for a bag of paprika these days! It's a damn shame. What has the world come to? We should just legalize paprika again. And paper clips. Enough already.

Hilarious!

I left my digital camera (with all my new pictures on it) on the Boston Commuter Rail a few weekends ago. Hilarious! And it as of this afternoon, it still has not been returned to Lost & Found. Even more hilarious! I'm still cracking up about how funny this all is. HAHAHAHAHA! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HA HA HA Ha. Ahem. Here's a photo taken at the Get Mortified! show moments after I realized I had lost my camera. You can tell I'm laughing so hard. If you squint, there's probably a little pee somewhere. Clearly it's a picture taken with someone else's camera. Her name is Brandy Barber, and she finds that keeping her camera on her person is hilarious, but that's where we differ in opinion. Hers actually is quite slim, and it hangs from a cord around her neck. Bitch thinks she's so great. Thanks for the photo, Brandy!



Here's me again. This time, on my way to Drunk Town at Jacob Worth's (supposedly Beantown's oldest bar or something like that) with the babes from Get Mortified! Giulia and Sara and I were just discussing how goddamn funny it was when I left my camera behind on the train. Oh my God! SO FUNNY! Heeeee heeee heeee! Not good times, great times! So glad someone had a camera to record that hilarous moment.


Okay, I'm now off to leave my cellhphone somewhere, with all my numbers in it, never to be seen again. Where? I don't know, but when I figure it out, it'll be too late to do anything about it! It's going to be hilarious!

I Need Eight Thousand Dollars

And now I need 8 thousand and NINE dollars, because I just found out that some douche threw my lunch away from the office pantry refrigerator on the 41st floor. Or, stole it. Either way, I wish total ass blow on that person, because there is no excuse that I will accept for this crime. So read up, thief: I make less money than you, AND, my lunch wasn't fouling up the fridge like that opened can of clam sauce that I threw away last year at another firm. Plus, why are you going around dealing with someone's salad. It's not like it was a yogurt or a jello snack pack, something worth stealing. So, you're a jerk. Enjoy your ass blow. And please, if you're a lady thief, I do hope you work on another floor, because if you're the same broad who messes up the john, I'm going to be really bummed. It just might push me to write something terrible about you on this very public blog that millions of people read everyday, and you'll never steal lunch or pee on the seat in this town again, Missy Pissy, I promise you that much.

And incidentally ,since you're so into the fridge contents, I thought you mightlike to know that the container in the fridge that says Breast Milk? It's full of sweet Hazelnut Coffeemate. Oh, and that bottle of Hazelnut Coffeemate in there? The one you've been sneaking pours out of for your morning coffee everyday? It's actually Half n' Half. Half sweet Hazelnut Coffeemate n' half breast milk. Hope you liked it.

Half-Assed Boycott Seems To Be Working For Now

Recently, I was forced to stage a personal boycott of my beloved local neighborhood pharmacy. I was using their crappy self-serve copy machine in the back of this cat pissy little place on my block a few months ago, and I got into an argument with the mean substitute manager. Or rather, he got into an argument with me. Not the regular manager, who is young and nice. This is the old one who closes and fills in and has the "I'm the Lesser-Known, Part-Time Manager and I'm Old and Get Paid Shit Complex" and he was all up, up, up in my piece about the copier.

Minutes earlier, I was the only customer in the store, peacefully making photocopies, and he was busy sitting on a stool eating chicken wings. As soon as heard me open the drawer to fill it with paper, he comes flying over and says to me, "Can I help you with something" but he said it in a way which doesn't mean an actual offer of help but instead means "Don't do that" to which I replied, "No, I'm fine, thank you." And then he said "OK, but don't do that." And I go, "Do what?" and he's like, "That. Don't do that without asking a manager." And I go, do what? "Fill it with paper?" and he was like, "Yes. Read the sign."

And the sign said nothing about not filling the copier with paper, and he goes, "Yes it does." And I go, "No it doesn't" and he goes, "Yes, it does" and well, clearly he was being a huge dick. Long story short: My last words in that store were, "WELL, SIR I SPEND 200 DOLLARS A WEEK IN HERE AND YOU JUST LOST MY BUSINESS, YOU JACKASS!" and I flipped him the bird.

It felt good, because a hot guy had just walked into the store and heard my dramatic exit. But I was kind of bummed, because although it was satisfying to yell at that old man, I loved my cat pissy store, and I wasn't prepared to take my business elsewhere. I hate Duane Reade. The spending "$200 dollars a week" thing in there was a lie, but it's probably not too far off--for ten years, it had been a convenient and pleasant shopping experience, minus aforementioned back corner carpet odor, of course. So, I boycotted them for about 2 weeks. Maybe three. Until last week, Sunday and tonight. Just had to pick up a few little items, cat food and whatnot. But here's the thing, I'm not a scab, because the manager I brawled with doesn't even recognize me. Plus, I pull my hat down and run around the aisles quickly, always with my back to him. Maybe Toussaint would do things differently, but I'm still techincally boycotting. I'm boycotting eye contact.

Brilliant!

So Gay It Hurts

NewBlueBaby sent me this fantastic video of Doug Henning gaying it up in the countryside. My dial-up is slow, but it did save me from death by laughter. The video conked out just as the disco wood nymphs came flyin' out of nowhere to join in on the shimmy--and it's a good thing too, because I do not know if I would have survived...I had seen enough.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cRC7LtikmqU&search=doug%20henning


Seen enough what? Standup Keyboarding? Hell no, I don't think so! Look what internet dating hopeful WestchesterScott thought would be a great photo to attach to his email to me because it says "Sensitive, talented, Renaissance man" and Standup Keyboarding is so hot, and Yanni does it, and ladies can't resist a bald middle-aged man, jammin it up in black denim and black sneakers, on the tiered keyboard, in front of tens of people, in Westchester. Delete.

Gregg Allman and Me

Here's a picture of me and Gregg Allman at the ABB show last night at the Beacon-- snapped right after I proposed to him with a bouquet of pink roses and a copy of his own band's DVD. He was polite about it, and acted all surprised and stuff. He was like, "Wow, thanks for the DVD, want me to autograph it for me? Oh, and yes, of course I'll marry you but not until you lose the mustache."

Oh, well. Marriage is all about compromises, you know. Cher didn't understand this, and that's why he repeatedly beat her. But he won't lay a hand on me. This kind of abusive behavior doesn't tend to repeat itself. Plus, my love for Gregg is stronger than my love of my mustache. And everyone knows just how much I love facial hair, so it's really saying something.

People already call me Anne Allman, so the whole name changing thing isn't going to really be an issue. But, our love for each other is so strong, that we've decided to mutually hyphenate.

Love,

Anne and Gregg Allman-Altman

or

Mr. and Mrs. Gregg Altman-Allman

or simply,

The Altman-Allmans

(we haven't really decided yet how our stationery is going to look)

TGIF Absurd Photo

It goes without saying, but I'll say it anyway, I'm in love with HBO's new series, Big Love. Two episodes in, and I'm hooked. Incidentally, when you google the term Mormon family, this is what pops up. Can you see the family through all the hair and denim? It helps if you squint. Nice socks with sandals, pal. Hey, Smart Denim Vest, who said you could wear a vest? You think you're better than your sisters? Nice stool, toots, it showcases your ass quite nicely. Hey, you next to the stool. Get a haircut. The Jane Seymour thing doesn't even work for Jane Seymour, so not going to work for you, Frizz Bangs. Fellas? You're dressed like toddlers. Here's an idea: Why don't you all stop breeding for a damn second and get a good look at yourselves in the mirror? Thanks.

Mini Michael Jackson

This is Mini Michael Jackson. He was on the Dave Hill Explosion a few weeks ago and dazzled us with two sets. Isn't he cute? I'm in the background in the front row there, loving every minute of Mini Michael beating it to Beat It. Aren't I cute? The tall guy in the front row next to my friend Julia tried to hog 3 front row seats with a sweatshirt and a "These are saved" type of bullsh*t. Saving them for whom, your imaginary friends? Please, I wasn't having any of that. Anyway, Mini Michael Jackson has nice triceps and can do one-armed pushups. No, I did not pick him up, but Dave did, quite respectfully.

FYI

Total sleep deprivation in rats leads to death in around 28 days...

The Allman Brothers Friggin' Band, People

This is the Allman Brothers Band at the Beacon Theater last night, rocking it out for their fans.

These are the Allman Brothers Band "fans" at the Beacon Theater rockin' it out in appreciation*.

Dear Jerk-offs,
You were at the Allman Brothers Band concert last night, not Lame Fest '99. Was the smell of weed not a clue? Now, I understand that at Lame Fest '99, the crowd likes to sit in their seats the entire show, give dirty looks to those who dance, throw ice at those who stand, and bitch about people interfering with their faggot taping equipment. But you weren't at Lame Fest '99, you were at the Allman Brothers Band. Did you see any t-shirts in the lobby emblazoned with Lame Fest '99? No, you did not. Were they selling any CDs titled Lame Fest '99? No they were not. Did the sign on The Beacon Theater say Lame Fest '99? No, it did not. You are lame.
Love,
Anne

p.s. For all you real fans of the Allman Brothers Band, my suggestion is to buy a ticket on the floor. The balcony is for the infirm.

*(This is not actually a photo of the audience, but it gets the point across. I don't know who the hell these people are but they're hedonists compared to last night's crowd)

Yarmulkes, The Lame-Maker!

Hey, all you hot guys out there who are tired of being objectified by women and stared at like just a piece of meat? Slap a yarmulke on your head! You'll go from Hot to Not in seconds. To me, anyway. I won't bang ya. Hell, a foam Wisconsin Cheesehead hat trumps yarmulke in the sexy department, are you kidding me? I was burned a few times on my way to work this morning. From a distance, I see a seemingly hot guy strutting down the street. Upon closer inspection, the dude's wearing a yarmulke. Lame. Ditto for Pope beanies, turbans, hijabs, habits, burkhas. Is someone going to come after me because I have a yarmulke cartoon on this post? Bring it. Your hat's lame.

Until Recently The Bride Worked

Investment bankers have bad breath. They do. If they didn't, I'd marry one. Why? Because I'm single, I'm old, I'm tired, and I don't feel like working anymore. But one thing lies in front of the gravy train. The dragon breath. I just can't deal with the breath. Can't. Deal. So rather than deal, I hereby resign myself to a short life of cutting coupons and eating cat food.

Principles, people. Principles.

Knock-Knock Jokes with a Tool

Knock-knock
Who's there?
Alpha.
Alpha who?
Alpha Romeo can't believe you don't remember it...

~

Knock-knock
Who's there?
Banana.
Banana who?
Knock-knock
Who's there?
Banana.
Banana who?
Knock-knock
Who's there?
Orange.
Orange who?
Orange you glad I didn't ask you about my Alpha Romeo?
Yeah, but you did. A bunch of times.
Want to get together this week for another drink?
Uh, I'm good. Thanks.
Knock-knock
Who's there?
I'm a tool.
I know.

Worms and Perms

I'm a pack rat. A horrible slave to sentimentality. Because when I was young and thought life was going to be great and that I'd grow up to be somebody pretty incredible--a real somebody, that even nobodys wanted to know--I found it necessary to save all my "important" correspondence and mementos for my children and their children and my presidential library. Stuff like the break-up note from Glenn Peterson. What a worm. I wonder if he remembers asking me out. We were a couple for about two days. He said "Will you go out with me?" nervously by my locker on his way to the boys room on Friday afternoon, called me on Saturday, and broke up with me on Monday morning. In a note. Which he didn't even give me himself, but instead first to Aaron Perlow, who passed it along to me sheepishly with an "I'm sorry..." in French, and I hyperventilated during the whole class, and Mrs. Michaels asked me if I wanted to see the nurse but I was too embarrassed to that, so instead I bawled my eyes out in the girl's room. He asked me to "go out" with him and we didn't go friggin' anywhere before he dumped me. What the hell is that sh*t? Anyway, I read some of this sh*t at Get Mortified's Boston Debut on Saturday night and --save for the 20 drunk Massholes who thought they were there to see Andrew Dice Clay--it was friggin' awesome. It would only have been more awesome had I drank champagne from my actual 1980 something junior prom champagne glass emblazoned with our prom theme Wishing on a Star. Back then, I had fantastic, dewy skin. I also had 15 extra pounds, a huge perm, and no clue. Oh, youth is wasted on the young, isn't it? It sure is.
www.getmortified.com

New Headshots

Just got my new headshots done. This is my favorite. I find that it showcases my grace under pressure. Not to mention my long arms and sweet f*cking ass. Incidentally, how many of you knew that I was also an accomplished dancer? Not many of you. Add it to the list, folks--add it to the list.

My Grandmother and Your Grandmother

I'm thinking about dedicating a blog to the subject of grandmothers. "Why My Grandmother is/was Better Than Yours. My Grandmother punched Your Grandmother right in the Nours." Because everyone and their grandmother thinks that their grandmothers were the best, even though you know that they couldn't possibly be as great as your grandmother, right? Remember when you were a kid and your friend would constantly rave about how great his grandma was and then you'd meet her and you'd say to yourself, "Please, my grandma is so much better." Or "Wow, I'm so glad I have my Grandmother and I don't have that grandmother, she is a bitch!" So, tell me why you think your grandmother was better than mine and I'll tell you do you one grandmother better and prove you wrong.

*Please note that this photo is not of my grandmother. She looks nice and all, but please, my grandmother was way better than this broad. And besides, Grama had too much class to be talked into Geriatric Glamour Shots.

Another Way Boogers Can Be Awkward

Once I introduced myself and a friend to this dude known as "booger". Since I'm terrible with names, and this one was way easy to remember, I said booger like 1,000 times: "Hi, Booger! I'm Anne. How are you, Booger? Hey, Booger, I'd like you to meet a friend of mine! Booger, meet Jay. Jay? This is Booger..." and so on. Later that evening, I came to find out that nobody calls him Booger-- to his face. Ah, well. Ouch. Poor Booger. He must have been so confused.

Wacky Spring Weather Wardrobe

Today, I dressed completely wrong for the weather. Tomorrow I will wear the following--and nothing else--to be comfortable but not overheated:

One pair of ski boots
One tool belt
Two bobby pins

The Definition of "Tool"

Yesterday, a colleague asked me to define the word tool. Here's a good definition.

I went on a date last week with a guy who happened to go to my college. We had established that he had graduated before I had arrived, missing one another by a year. We ordered a few drinks. Then we had the following conversation:

Him: So, do you remember my Alpha Romeo?
Me: No, I don't think so.

Him: You don't? It was hard to miss, you know? The only one on campus.
Me: Yeah, but you graduated before I got there, so I never saw it.
Him: Oh Yeah.

Me: Yeah.

....10 minutes later....

Him: So you don't remember my Alpha Romeo?
Me: No, I don't.

Him: You're sure.

Me: Yeah.

Him: Oh.

Me: Wait--what color was it?
Him: Blue.
Me: Blue? (long pause)..... Nope, don't remember it.

That guy is a tool. See also: lame.

Top 17 Reasons to Visit the Mutter Museum

1)Skeletons of a giant and a midget
2)Broken bones
3)Pott's Disease Skeletons
4)Skull Collections, including the Muniz collection of trephinated Peruvian skulls (trephinated means 'holes cut in them' folks)
5)"Brain Of A Murderer" - John Wilson hanged in Norristown, PA
6)"Brains of epileptics"
7)Longitudinal slices of the head, showing brain
8)Brain of animals arranged from tiny frog to man, often with eyes attached
9)Large collection of baby deformities (stay away from Accutane, ladies and try Proactive).
10)Hearing apparatti of mammals in butterfly collection-like cases.
11)Photo of Lyndon Johnson lifting his shirt to show off his gall bladder operation scar
12)Wax Renderings of Eye Disease Problems
13)Iron Lung in the polio exhibit
14)The Big Colon
15) Objects swallowed and removed
16)The thorax of John Wilkes Booth
17) The secret tumor of Grover Cleveland

Pick a favorite! It's almost impossible to narrow it down!

A Winning Combination

Talkin' to myself and feelin' old
Sometimes I'd like to quit
Nothing ever seems to fit
Hangin' around
Nothing to do but frown
Rainy Days and Mondays always get me down*.

What I've got they used to call the blues
Nothin' is really wrong
Feelin' like I don't belong
Walkin' around
Some kind of lonely clown
Rainy Days and Mondays always get me down*.

Funny but it seems I always wind up here with you
Nice to know somebody loves me
Funny but it seems that it's the only thing to do
Run and find the one who loves me.

What I feel has come and gone before
No need to talk it out
We know what it's all about
Hangin' around
Nothing to do but frown
Rainy Days and Mondays always get me down*.
-The Carpenters

*(If I'm at work. If I'm home, please note I have no complaints about rainy days and Mondays. I actually think they're friggin' awesome)

Ridiculous Thang for Friday

I found this lovely on a website called www.itsablackthang.com.
But is it a black thang or a ridiculous thang?

Sticker Shock

I'd like to take this opportunity to address the ladies in the readership. Ladies, if you don't want people to know that you bought your shoes at a discount retailer (where it is likely that you had to hop around the aisles like a runner in a potato sack race to try them on because the pair is connected with a plastic ziptie), then remove the friggin' price tag stickers from the bottoms before you go showboating them around. Newsflash: when you walk, the stickers are exposed, outing you as the cheap discount shopper that you are. In one word? Tacky. I don't care how coiffed your hair is or how nice your nails are, or how convincing your Burberry knock-off looks, if you have stickers on the bottom of your shoes, you might as well have a piece of toilet paper stuck to them as well. Get your sh*t together. Thank you.

We All Fall Down

It's not a birthday party unless the birthday girl falls down and goes boom. I fell down and went boom. However, let it be known that I did not spill my drink, and I did not drop my glow sticks.
I gracefully resumed tearing up the dance floor, so put that in your bing bang and smoke it.

I did not fall down at my Sweet Sixteen party, as it was all very innocent. With one exception--the cake. I requested a Prince Purple Rain design. I was so ahead of my time. I do have photos of the cake somewhere, but I was into photography and shot them in artsy black and white. And let me tell you something, black and white does not convey the rich combination of sweet purple and brown bi-sexual frosted goodness.

A Birthday Song I Wrote

A Birthday Song I Wrote

(Sung to the tune of "Camptown Races")

Oh, if you're bummed 'cause you feel old
Doo-dah, Doo-dah
Buy a bunch of sh*t for yourself
All the doo-dah-day
Buy some shi*t all night
Buy some sh*t all day
If you're bummed 'cause you feel old
Shoppin' makes you feel ok
Ok!

A Question For You

Dear Readers,
Have you ever felt like taking a friend to small claims court just to retrieve a book that you've had to pester him about returning for 6 months so you can lend it to someone else? The one that you lent him over a year ago, that you know he hasn't even read, because you realized later on into your friendship that he's not a reader he was just posing as one, and you shouldn't have lent him one of your favorite books in the first place, because he was never going to read it? Really? Me too.
Love,
Anne

p.s. The book is Waiting for My Cats to Die by Stacy Horn
p.p.s. Don't ever lend a book to Jimmie
p. p. p. s. Yeah, I ratted him out; he'll never read this

Heartland America Gifts

This magazine has some great gifts for the American of the Heartland--take for example, your very own Coney Island Popcorn Machine! Is it not like a dream gift or what? And a must-have for every real American? The thing is almost 5 feet tall! Excited about that? Wait 'til you hear about this. If you click the popcorn machine on Heartland America's website, it shows you other gifts you may be interested in too and Americans who bought the popcorn machine also bought 101 Knives. Ever get a lousy 100 Knife Set? Lame, right? Well, you won't feel short-changed with this beauty. Is there anything more American than owning your own popcorn machine and 101 knives? Ok, probably some other stuff. But picture this, you can invite 101 of your closest friends over for some movie theater quality popcorn and a look at your dagger collection. Then you can stab each one of them in the back with a different, beautifully handcrafted knife. Made in China. Decidedly American!

The 2006 Oscars Wrap Up

Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah I'm so great
Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah You're so great
Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah We're so great
Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah Isn't this great that we're so great?
Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah
Sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

(the sound of smoke being blown up everyone's asses)

ps: This does not apply to you, Dolly Parton. I love you.

Dear Upstairs Neighbor

Dear Upstairs Neighbor,

Your constant vacuuming makes me feel not only like a terrible housekeeper, but it also begs the personal question: Do you and family suffer from some sort of genetic disorder that makes you uncontrollably shoot breadcrumbs out of your asses?

If so, my sympathies--no doubt a terrible affliction like this is so rare, that not only is there no name for it, but there must be little or no research devoted to a cure anytime soon. Nobody's wearing little tan ribbons or doing Walk-A-Thons for this one just yet.

But while we hope and pray for that cure, might I suggest perhaps switching to a low-carb diet? I'm no doctor, but there's a chance it could save your life, your carpets, and quite possibly my sanity.

Sincerely,

Your Downstairs Neighbor

I Puked Here

Even More Absurd Photo For Friday

Hair Cutting Umbrella

"This handy hair cutting umbrella catches those annoying hair clippings that fall down your neck, into your clothes and onto the floor. Imagine no more sweeping or vacuuming. No more itchy, irritated skin. Great for kids or adults. Fastens comfortably but snuggly with a "touch" closure. Made of wipe-clean nylon. Folds for compact storage. 22" diam.
Rests on Shoulders Like an Upside Down Umbrella to Catch Messy Hair Clippings"

Absurd Photo for Friday

3-Piece Pant Set

"You'll look like a million in this elegant 3-piece pant set. It features a slimming, hip-length royal blue tank top and matching straight-leg pull-on pants. Topped with a gorgeous, sheer floral jacket with flowing scalloped edges. Sophisticated, comfortable and so easy to take care of in machine wash-and-dry polyester. Imported. Specify 1X, 2X, or 3X"

More Reasons Not To Eat Dominos Pizza or Go To Florida

http://www.alternet.org/blogs/peek/32989/

Stuff + Cats = Awesome

For centuries, humans have been putting stuff on cats. And the more they hate it, the more we love it. When your infant grows out of her "Meat is Murder" onesie, throw it on your cat. http://www.stuffonmycat.com/index.php?catid=12&blogid=1

Refrigerator Shopping

Just for fun. I'm on my way to Home Depot, with my tape measure in hand. It is going to be a friggin' blast! Or should I say, a fridgin' blast!?!

E-bay An-cay Oh-blay E-may

I'm suffering from Ebay Melancholy this morning. For the last couple of days, I've been cruising this particular collection of crap currently up for auction with the intent of swooping in via a last-minute victory bid. It was a present for myself for my birthday, because at this age, cake isn't gonna cut it. And this wasn't any old crap, like an iPod or something that you can find on the sidewalk(that's where I found mine), this is crap that I was convinced only a freak like myself could be interested in: a collection of assorted 1870's ephemera from Swampscott, MA. In other words: a dead guy's stuff (see photo). Unfortunately, some other last minute-swooping jerk was interested in my birthday present too, and clearly not interested in buying it for me. My victory dance was short-lived, consisting of a single hand clap, one "I'm awesome!" and one "You suck!"--before I saw the big red X and the message: "You have been outbid. Bidding has ended for this item." I'm a swooper who was out-swooped. And to add insult to injury, my underwear is going right up my ass today giving me a serious wedgie. What a loser.

Mannequin 2: Headless, Nippleless Variety

Everyday is Casual Friday at Casual Corner!

~RIP~

Casual Corner

1950-2005

Ash Wednesday: Awkward at the Office

I mean no disrespect, but I find the "ashes on the forehead" thing is always startling to be confronted with, especially in the morning. It takes a second to realize that it's not soot from a coal mine but actually ashes put there on purpose in a holy setting. I'm just a Catholic on paper, and I don't entirely understand the whole thing, so I'm not going to feel guilty about not getting ashes on the forehead today. But the woman at the office here is a nice, God-fearing lady--unlike myself--so she's got a big blessed smudge. Anyway, I just overheard an interesting (and possibly even enlightening) conversation between her and a non-ashed woman that I would like to share:

Non-ash: What is this thing on your face? I see it a few times this morning. (heavy Italian accent)
Ash: What do you mean? It's Ash Wednesday! You're Roman Catholic, aren't you? (heavy Long Island accent)
Non-ash: Yes, and as you know, I grew up in Italy.
Ash: Rome, of all places, if I'm not mistaken, correct?
Non-ash: Yes, Rome. And we don't see this there. Never. You wear this on your face all day? (points to smudge with wide-eyed disbelief)
Ash: You're an Italian Roman Catholic from Italy, and you're telling me you've never seen ashes on the forehead before.
Non-ash: Never. Never in my entire life have I seen this. All day in the office with this black on your face?
Ash: You're kidding me. I mean, the Pope himself, has ashes on his forehead, I'll find a picture of him. The good Pope. The old one, the one who died. He was the good Pope. Are you telling me you don't get ashes on Ash Wednesay in Rome, Italy?
Non-ash: Well, yes, we do, but you know maybe what I think, it's that it's white ash, and they just sprinkle gently around your face, not a big black smudge that you wear on your face all day. This is Manhattan, no?

I Did Not Win Lotto

Some lady in Ohio won. If you're reading this, Ohio Lotto Winner Lady, I recommend you that you take a look at the link on how to deal with your fame and fortune, because--no offense--I predict questionable and quite possibly disasterous money management in your future.

(Please note, this is not the exact lady who won this particular Lotto, but she might look something like this. Thrilled.)