Filed under: Middle Age, Misc. Humor | Tags: amazon, clothing, fashion, jockey, Kohls, lingerie, Macys, Panties, shopping, Target, underwear, Victoria's Secret
Ummm…yeah…that was a question somebody asked me at work.
Lately I’ve had a few cringe-worthy moments, but the worst was a couple of weeks ago in the cube farm as I tried in vain to figure out why the underwear I had ordered from Amazon was apparently in shipping’s no-man’s land.
Wait, you ask… You ordered your underwear from Amazon?
That’s right bitches, I had to order my undies from Amazon because my regular suppliers apparently don’t carry it anymore. And no, I wasn’t trying to buy any Victoria’s Secret lacy, scratchy-but-so-sexy-he-likes-it-so-I-guess -I’ll-get floss. I just wanted to get my fave jockey string bikinis, a.k.a. my Granny Panties, and Target, Kohls and Macy’s failed me. I’m now down to 4 pairs, and each one has bare elastic at the waistband (bad enough that it’s actually irritating my skin). Even Daughter #2 recently threw a pair away while I was at work and sent me this text:
So, I finally gave in and ordered them from Amazon.
At my desk.
At work.
Let me tell you, it’s pretty embarrassing when:
- You’re shopping for underwear at work;
- The underwear you’re shopping for is cotton granny panties; and
- Your co-workers happily stop by to chat and gleefully discover what kind of underwear you wear before you can clear your screen.
But that was just the beginning. After seeing what was on the screen, co-worker Stacie asked, “Do you think maybe they didn’t send it because you’re not an 80-year-old woman?”
After I finally finished trying to justify why I was ordering underwear at work and why I like my comfy cotton Granny Panties instead of something sexier, I placed the order. Of course, it has to be delivered to the office because Holly, the most expensive “free” dog in the world, has now destroyed over $700 worth of merchandise delivered to our house, including two prom dresses (see previous blog).
The package was due to arrive at the end of June. By the middle of July, no underwear in sight.
Between UPS, Amazon and Jockey, no one seemed able to find it. I had to figure out how to stalk Jockey (the seller), which required asking my cube neighbor Lacy for help. Then Hubby walked up (he works in the same office – no judging, please), followed by another co-worker Stacie, all of whom were very interested in the status of my underwear order. So, there we were, all staring at the Amazon page displaying my pink and white Granny Panties as we tried to figure out the best way to find the package and get free stuff from Amazon.
Hubby, God Bless that man, didn’t even bother trying to persuade anyone that I wear other underwear (I do on special occasions).
I finally got my panties in a wad (c’mon, you knew I had to go there) and called Jockey, who of course didn’t have any record of receiving the order from Amazon. So, I called Amazon. All I can say is thank God it was a girl who answered. Humiliation is having to clarify what the order was for to someone who clearly had never worn Granny Panties in her whole 20-year-old life; and then have her exclaim, “Oh, well at least the vendor was Jockey and not some random dude.” Yeah sweetie – that’s where I’d choose to order my underwear from – some “random dude” on the internet.
In the end, I re-ordered, and after 4 weeks, I finally got my undies delivered (right to my desk). Note the appalled look on the screen saver guy.
Helpful Hints in Case This Happens to You:
- Don’t Google women’s underwear and think you’re going to not have creepy stuff come up on your screen
- Don’t get a dog that eats packages
- Don’t Google “missing underwear” – you’ll lose hours of your life reading weird articles
- Don’t click on random blog sites when Googling slang for underwear for your blog
- Don’t order your underwear at work (it’s frowned upon) – your IT guy might have something cheeky to say to you.
Filed under: Misc. Humor, Travel | Tags: Cats, dogs, holiday, Pets, travel, vacation
Thanks for taking care of the babies and the house! Here’s what you need to know:
The Cats:
We have 3 cats (because we’re stupid), but usually only 2 of them hang out at the house:
Izzy is our 14 yr. old weird orange tabby. She’s very vocal, so don’t be surprised if you find her nagging you to feed, water or be her personal slave in every way. This is usually indicated by a bitchy-sounding meow or by her repeatedly slipping her head under your hand as you try to work on your computer.
Kiwi is the long-haired, gray tabby. She’s the in-house terrorist, taking swipes at you as you walk by and plotting your death. She truly believes that when she stares at you she is stealing a portion of your soul and selling it to the Devil – it might be true. The vet is scared of her – just feed her and back away.
Escobar is the black male. He’s super friendly to people and loves to lay around on his back and show you his junk. He’s also an asshole to Izzy, especially when he’s hungry. Escobar wanders the neighborhood looking for…c’mon, that’s too easy. He occasionally graces us with his presence when none of the neighborhood cats are in heat. He’s our neighborhood’s version of Barney from How I Met Your Mother. Don’t be surprised if you don’t see him at all.
Food and Water: Izzy and Kiwi get one scoop of dry food 2x a day. Escobar gets the same when he shows up, but it’s like going on a date – don’t put out unless you’re ready to use it. The cats get fresh water in their bowl when I remember, but Izzy usually drinks out of Larry the Fish’s bowl anyway, and Escobar never really learned how to drink successfully out of a bowl – I can’t even explain how ridiculous he looks when he tries. Kiwi drinks out of the toilet – don’t ask. I think it was part of her ISIS training.
Meds: Izzy gets a half Zyrtec in the morning. She has allergies, so her lips get really fat like Angelina Jolie and it makes her scratch. That’s also why her stomach is completely bald. There is something so sad (and hilarious) when she sits on the kitchen floor and her bald tummy rests on the tile like Jaba the Hut, or when she compulsively licks, muttering to herself, “So bald, so pretty!”
Cat Litter: I’ll change it before we go. There are two boxes – one in the downstairs bathroom and one in the hallway upstairs. I usually scoop the funk out every couple of days into plastic grocery bags (Reduce! Reuse! Recycle!). If it’s really nasty, feel free to just dump the whole thing into a trash bag and put it in the outside bin. Just don’t be like me and forget to add more litter to the box – that doesn’t end well.
Larry the Fish:
There’s no reason Larry should still be alive, so don’t worry if anything happens (he’s like 5 years old and came in a Ziploc from Field Day of the Past). He gets a small pinch of food every day.
The Dogs:
Disclaimer: You said you wanted to do this!
We have 2 dogs.
Lily is the strange brown hound that is terrified of everyone. We’re pretty sure she was Rufied when she was a puppy, and never had therapy to deal with it. She won’t walk through any door except the one off the deck, and will lurk around the corner looking like she wants to come in until you open the door. Then she’ll disappear faster than America’s middle class. But also like the middle class, she’s perfectly happy to ignore the world around her and snuggle on the couch watching Dancing with the Stars.
Holly is an attention whore and a klepto. She loves people and cars – so much so that she will jump into moving cars through the open window. Then she’ll take your stuff as she exits the car, and all you’ll find are chewed up bits all over the yard. She also eats packages delivered to the house, so please sure they are picked up immediately. So far, our running total of delivery destruction is around $700 – that includes two prom dresses we ordered for sizing purposes only. If you know anyone who might want them, they’re hanging in the laundry room. I’m told the kids are now wearing clothes with holes in them.
They can go outside during the day. There is an electric fence (it was so cute that we thought that would keep them in). Our neighbors have taken pity on us and when the dogs escape, frequently leave our wayward girls in the driveway like a bad one night stand.
The Pool:
Enjoy! If you can clean out the skimmer basket every couple of days that would be great – usually there’s just frogs, spiders and beetles in there. Sometimes there’s a snake or two, but not to worry, they’re more scared of you then you are of them. Ha! That’s such bullshit! I’m hate them and call Hubby to come get them out. You’re on your own there. I dump the skimmer critters out in the grass over the fence. The dogs LOVE that.
Oh yeah – I threw in enough chlorine in there to give your face a chemical peel. Enjoy your week of being wrinkle-free.
Other:
Plants: Good luck. They’ve sucked all summer.
TV: We have Xfinity for cable purposes. Turn the TV on using the large remotes (either one will do). Ignore the other remotes sitting around – I’m pretty sure they’re just dog toys at this point and that they don’t work any of the electronics in the house anymore, but SOME PEOPLE won’t throw anything away. All other TV questions – ask Hubby. I have no idea how any of that shit works.
Internet: We live in the country. It’s often slow or doesn’t work at all. Read a book.
So there you have it – feel free to call us if you have any questions and have a great week!
Filed under: Misc. Humor, Posts | Tags: art, entertainment, game of thrones, history, history channel, hobbies, lagertha, movies, ragnar, television, travis fimmel, tv, vampires, vikings
Let’s talk Vikings. More importantly, let’s talk about why they are sexy and appealing, and why I can’t stop binge watching shows like the History Channel’s Vikings and BBC America’s The Last Kingdom.
It’s not because I have a thing for burly, unwashed guys with long hair. In real life I tend to go for the clean-cut, naturally athletic type (you’re welcome, Hubby.) In fact, that probably explains why I also binged on Vampire Diaries – they were all athletic and clean-cut, even if they did have a habit of drinking other people’s blood. But there is something viscerally appealing about the characters in these blood-thirsty shows, despite the fact that they regularly do horrific things to people and display the darker sides of humanity. Hardly an episode goes by that some form of lopping or evisceration doesn’t happen, or when greed, naked ambition and revenge aren’t acted upon.
So what exactly is the appeal?
Well, first, let’s get the obvious out of the way:
But what else?
When you watch a show like Vikings, you live vicariously through those characters as they do things that are unacceptable in today’s society like taking what isn’t yours just because you can, killing those who clearly deserve it, and having sex with royalty or a slave. And let’s face it – we’re a bit jealous, so we keep watching. In real life, when another driver on the road does something exceptionally stupid, I want them to reap what they’ve sewn. Since it’s not acceptable for me to help them with that by nudging them Fast and Furiously into the guardrail until they flip over 17 times (and of course come out unscathed – I’m not an animal, people!), I watch shows like Vikings where the characters can actually act on their baser desires. At least in their case somebody’s getting something done – there is retribution.
Plus there’s this:
Does that mean that everyone who watches the weekly torture fest on Game of Thrones secretly wants to torture people? Probably not, but there are plenty of messed up people out there who should only be allowed to watch episodes of Sesame Street and work on their people skills. But Game of Throne’s emphasis on torture and the show’s popularity does make you wonder. Maybe lots of people have a need to feel empowered – if you can’t get it in your own life, watching someone else act on it in the extreme satisfies that need. Or, maybe they just like seeing people in pain. Whatever – the point is, these shows feed some baser need in their viewers.
Should we change our rules to accommodate these baser needs? Absolutely not. Should we dress in animal heavy wool, grow out our hair and still have unrealistically good teeth – maybe, if you can look like this:
But wool’s scratchy and hot, my hair never looks like that and my teeth are marginally better than a 800 A.D. Viking’s teeth; instead, I’ll keep watching these shows, keeping my baser instincts at bay…at least until the next NFL season starts.
Filed under: Posts
Although my timing may be poorly chosen based on recent events in the news, I couldn’t help but rolling my eyes when I heard for the hundredth time “Guns don’t kill people – people kill people.” I was eating a giant bowl of cookie dough, and all I could think was, “Spoons don’t make people fat – people make people fat.” In fact, while I’m a proponent of limited gun control, I was shocked when I saw the difference between the number of gun-related deaths annually vs. the number of deaths attributed to obesity. Guns may do the job more quickly and messily, but apparently obesity kills 10x the number of Americans than guns do. So, I thought…and that always gets me into trouble….
If we’re going regulate guns, we should regulate cutlery.
Oh, I can hear those of you against gun control screaming already. Save it.
This is a fun blog, not a political one. And before everyone gets all up in arms (Get it? Up in arms?) about me picking on obese Americans, I’m fully aware that government regulation and changes in our behaviors as a society have been major contributors to the foods we are encouraged to eat and the rising obesity levels in the last 6 decades. Not everything is our fault. I get it.
Relax – I’m going to dish up some fun.
Let’s face it – regulating the food industry has failed miserably. We can’t even keep unhealthy food out of our schools, and that’s where we have the most control over what our children eat, besides in our own houses. Hell, we even suck at regulating water – just ask anybody in Flint, Michigan.
So here’s my proposal:
Limit the Types of Cutlery Available: First, you have to get rid of the “big guns” of the cutlery world – your ladles, ice cream scoopers and anything disposable. Why make it easier for people to overeat by making cutlery bigger? And why make it so we don’t even have to wash what we use? And whoever invented the spork should be shot, er, jailed, because that was just a crime in itself. It’s either a spoon or a fork, people – not both. The tines aren’t big or strong enough to spear lettuce and the spoon part isn’t big enough to scoop anything worth scooping.
Tax the Ammo: Tax the unhealthy foods, and lower the price on healthy foods. Twinkies should never be cheaper than apples. Ok, you can tax kale. I hate kale.
Perform Background Checks: If you’re on medication for obesity-related issues, have a severe heart condition or a history of eating irresponsibly or emotionally (like a giant bowl of cookie dough), you should be allowed minimal cutlery purchases, including basic utensils for cooking and a knife and fork. Of course, now that the health industry’s records are all becoming automated, this should be easy to track. I’m sure there won’t be any mistakes.
Registered Cutlery: If you purchase cutlery, you must register it. Unregistered cutlery will result in a fine. By doing this, three new economies will be created: engravers to put serial numbers on each piece, the government will hire people to inaccurately keep track of all the data, and the black market will thrive as picnickers struggle with the idea that they will have to carry their utensils around after they eat. Restaurants, of course, will have special dispensations, in the same way shooting ranges have special licenses.
See? It wouldn’t be too hard, and I’m sure the results would be similar to our successes with gun control. I’m off to eat my own cooking and put down my spoon. In fact, I’ll eat an apple with my bare hands – it’s healthy and only taxed in my state at 4.5%.
I used to try hard to be that perfect wife (although Hubby may beg to differ), the perfect mom, the perfect employee, the perfect owner of this body, and a good citizen.
It was so cute that I thought those things were actually achievable. But as I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized none of these perfect people exist.
The perfect wife doesn’t exist – based on what I’ve heard men talk about, that’s actually an impossibility, considering we are generally out of commission for a week every month, and it’s illegal to marry your mother. Those socks aren’t picking themselves up off the floor, My Love.
The perfect mom doesn’t exist either. I tried (briefly) to be the organic mom, but I just don’t have the patience, I shave my legs and I don’t wear Jerusalem Cruisers every day. So Daughter #2 lived off of Nestle Quik in the womb. As a parent in a world where kids have porn at their fingertips, I’ve tried to tell my kids the right amount of information, but not too much: “No, I will not tell you the worst things I did in middle school,” was me being protective of all of us, but telling them “Tea-bagging is…” may not have been the best move. Nope – not perfect.
I also tried to get the fam to church so the kids can at least make an informed decision when they are old enough. But like many people with kids in sports and crazy schedules we fell off the wagon. We used to go at least once a month and felt pretty self-righteous by 11:30 am on those Sundays; then we became “C&E Christians,” only going on the BIG DAYS. Now we’re pretty much just “W&F Christians” – Weddings and Funerals.
Yeah…so not perfect there either. That actually might be a C- or a D.
As an employee, I’m probably a B- (if only that brain-to-mouth filter actually worked).
I even try to be good to my body, but let’s face it – you’d have to have the discipline of the Dalai Lama to turn down all the yummy treats that float by every day. Plus, that whole middle-aged bike tire that recently wrapped itself around my waist has made that goal frustrating. Why starve myself if it’s just going to hang around my waist like a boa constrictor that’s too lazy to finish me off?
Yeah, I’ve become pretty comfortable with the fact that life is a lot like school – C’s get degrees.
Don’t get me wrong – I’m grateful for those of you who are A and B achievers in life – you make my “C” life possible and comfortable. So, here’s my pledge: I’ll try not to always be that kid sitting in the back of the classroom, flicking spit balls at people and making drip noises with my cheeks while you all run the world. I’ll try to pay attention and contribute, even when I’m not called upon.
I might even get my own recycling bin.
Subourbon Mom 