I’ve been super upset and depressed (also inspired and just the tiniest bit hopeful) about Iran lately, but am trying to keep that off the blog, as there is no commentary I could provide that would be better than what you would read elsewhere. Instead, let’s be frivolous while the world is still slightly intact.
Four quick things:
Trust me, it looked worse in real life. Or, better, if you’re so inclined!
1) If you happen to have a shirt that is seemingly designed solely to show off your muffin top, do not wear it out in the world. It will take you two seconds to sew the side seams closed, and unless you do you will be quite openly horrified at your very healthy, very cheffy roll o’ flesh spilling over your jeans as you sit at your favorite outdoor cafe sipping an iced hibiscus tea and reading the New Paltz Times. (It will, however, inspire great posture.)
Speaking of said roll: Universe, can I ask you two quick questions?
1a.) How is it possible that I weigh 112 lbs (OK, this number seems a little weird to me, too. I don’t own a scale, but when I went to get my Lyme Disease all checked out they weighed me and apparently this is correct…and now you know the truth: I am 0% muscle.) yet if I am wearing jeans that fit properly enough to make my flat ass look even vaguely rounded, I have the ol’ flesh roll hanging out over the top? Could some of this lusciousness maybe migrate to my wrists, which are so weirdly thin that they seem to disappear when I turn them sideways? Or maybe my bony knees that knock together when I walk sometimes? Or even my extra tiny head?
1b.) How does Noodle the cat magically know every time I am taking a picture, and why does she have such a compulsion to be in every one? Should I talk to my vet about this? Between that and the super-intense foot fetish, she is one of the most bizarre cats I’ve ever known.
Now that the internet knows both my bra size and my weight (both of which I have also learned in the past month!), let’s move on.
2) I’d like to have been there when the name of this shop was picked out. Do you think it’s owned by the same people who named the Dress Barn? From the looks of the interior, the Cake Bin was probably opened in about 1965. This place was one of those 100% shortening bakeries filled with crumbly thick sugar cookies with sprinkles on top and those Italian cookies with the green maraschino cherries and things. It was charmingly un-artisanal, if that makes sense. And of course there was nothing vegan, or even appetizing. I’m still happy they are there, though, in a weird way.
3) The “your/you’re” typo is really really annoying me lately. This photo was taken while driving, but I think you can figure it out. “Your” for “you’re” seems to be all over Facebook, and I’ve come so close to screaming at friends of friends about it dozens of times. It’s so easy! If you are contracting “you are,” use “you’re”! People who are obsessed with things like the Oxford comma get annoying and are slightly elitist at times, I know, but REALLY PEOPLE.
4) What was the fourth thing? Oh boy, I lost it.
OH! Just a silly whiskey note: this looks sort of nasty, has anyone tried it? I loves me some Maker’s, but am wary of all premade drinks. (Sorry for the crappy iphone pic.)
5. One more for good measure: here’s an idea: NEVER READ THE COMMENTS TO ANY NEW YORK POST ARTICLE. Trust me. Better yet: never read any New York Post article, period.