Vikings Rule

Just so you know.

I love Deadliest Warrior on Spike TV. Yes, really. Right now they’ve got a marathon going, and I’ve got to get back to that, but I’ve just got to put it out there that the Viking vs. Samurai episode was completely wrong. No way could a Samurai take on a Viking at close range and survive.

Just had to get that off my chest. Gotta go, they’re examining who would come out on top in a terrorist showdown: IRA vs. Taliban.

The Princess Bride Attacks!

I’ve been watching a lot of TV lately that I have no business watching. I never realized that there were so many shows that focused on weddings and babies. Since I have no immediate plans for either, I have no idea why I’ve been watching this junk.

WeTV has this show about weddings called Platinum Weddings that showcases obscenely expensive weddings. Why anyone would spend upwards of a million dollars on what is essentially one big party is beyond me. And the people who have these weddings are ridiculously normal.

Sure, if you’re a Hilton or a Trump or a Celine Dion, I could see you having a wedding that costs $2.5 million or so. But the people on these shows are everyday schmoes living in efficiency apartments, driving Civics, and working at Starbucks. I guess it pays to have a wealthy Papa. Though, why anyone would want that wealthy Papa to spend that much money on a wedding instead of, say, a house or college or something is also beyond me. Maybe they do both.

Then there’s this other wedding show called Bridezillas about brides who are completely out of control. Never in the history of mankind have so many selfish, loud, dimwitted women worn so many Bedazzled velour hoodie lounge sets declaring themselves Princesses. It’s enough to put a woman off of rhinestones for life.

You’ll find fewer self-proclaimed Princesses at the Disney store than you’ll find foaming around the mounth in front of the Bridezillas cameras. Why are these women on this show? They know what it is about. Why showcase their poor behavior to the world? I don’t understand.

And what is this whole Princess thing about? Do these women think calling themselves Princesses excuses their poor behavior? Who perpetuates this princess nonsense? It’s cute when the “Princess” is five years old, but a thirty year old woman wearing a tiara (everyday, not just for the wedding) with a rhinestoned tee that proclaims her a Princess, is just beyond sad.

Getting to the Bottom of It

A Fat Woman’s Lament

“Fashion victims, you’ve crashed the wrong party!” — the Tick

Shopping for pants is always a trial. First off, I shop in what the fashion industry so lovingly calls “plus size” stores. This is where the fashion industry lumps all the women above a size 12W and below a size 32W. I’m not fond of the term “plus size.” Though, I suppose it is better than what this particular size range (and the one above it when they were lumped in together) used to be called: “queen size.” Panty hose manufacturers still use this terminology, which absolutely makes me burn. I don’t know why. It’s an illogical, irksome irritant without reason. Though “plus size” is infinitely better than the name of the size range for women wearing 32W and above: “super size.” I kid you not.

The selection of clothes in these plus size stores is always sketchy. One of the largest of the plus size stores is Lane Bryant. In the past few years, Lane Bryant has shown a particular bent towards clothes that are, shall I say, not quite my style. To put it bluntly, I’ve avoided shopping at Lane Bryant in recent years because I haven’t wanted to be tarted up. Other plus size stores seem to have developed the same style as Lane Bryant. It seems that where Lane Bryant goes, so do other plus size stores.

Department stores such as Macy’s, J.C. Penny’s, and Dillards have the opposite problem. These stores each have plus size departments, usually called the Women’s Department or Shop for Women. Never seen them? There’s a reason for that. They’re insultingly located in the back of the store. Macy’s at Town Center Mall in Kennesaw, Georgia has located their plus size department on a completely different floor than all the other clothes departments, behind the kitchen-ware section. [Snerk.] As one spokeswoman for a department store once said, “Who wants to see fat women grazing around in the front of the store? It would hurt business.” Lovely sentiment. (If you want to know which store it was, email me and I’ll tell you. It wasn’t one I mentioned and I don’t shop there. Well, I wouldn’t shop there if they were still in business. But they closed shop a while ago. Ha. My one-woman boycott worked!)

Hello topic: These department store women’s departments sell clothes that look great on my grandmother. Though to be perfectly honest, my grandmother would eschew at the old-fashioned selection at these places. From the styles at these stores, I can only conclude that department store think that all fat women are 1) great-grandmothers, 2) completely unconcerned with their appearance, and/or 3) tasteless slobs.

So once I decide whether I want to dress like a tart or a great-granny, the most difficult part of the shopping experience must commence. I speak, of course, of the Trying on of Clothes. [Cue appropriate Psycho shower scene music here.] For any woman not shaped like a poofy-lipped, stick-figured supermodel, this step is traumatic. For women (such as I) who are peculiarly shaped, this step is one that should be accompanied by chocolate, a good friend who is larger than yourself, and a bottle of muscle relaxers.

So how am I shaped peculiarly? Oh, I don’t have an extra arm or bulging eye or anything like that (despite being vaccinated). I just have peculiar proportions. I am tall for a woman (5′ 9.5″), but my height is not in my legs as I would wish. No, my height is in my torso. So I’m long-waisted and short-legged – not the best configuration for a fat woman. I’m a tall woman with a short woman walk. To make matters worse, as one earnest young bard once said, I have “junk in the trunk.” This does not help to make my legs look longer.

Having a big butt isn’t something you can deny. And it’s not something you can readily camouflage. Take my last trouser-shopping expedition as an example. The earnest young, poofy-lipped, stick-figured salesgirl assured me that her newest, greatest pant was exactly what I needed to help disguise the width and breadth of my overly large butt. I was skeptical. What does a poofy-lipped, stick-figured little slip of a girl know about camouflaging my rather large asset? As it turns out, she knew nothing.

These latest, greatest trousers had tapered legs. Tapered legs! Why she suggested tapered-legged trousers, I don’t know. Tapered-legged trousers look good on no one – even poofy-lipped, stick-figured little wisps of salesgirls. In addition, they were cropped. Oy. Cropped trousers only look good on Twiggy cerca 1960 when she’d starved herself a good week or two. So I wasn’t enthusiastic about the trousers. But I gamely tried them on anyway despite my misgivings, hoping that the fashion industry had perhaps stumbled upon some miraculous cut of tapered-legged, cropped trouser that would magically make my butt disappear.

With my butt towards the mirror in the dressing room, I looked over my shoulder to see what the tapered-legged, cropped pants accomplished. Only I couldn’t see; a barn magically appeared in my dressing room behind me! [Ba-dum.] Okay, it wasn’t a barn. It was my butt, and it looked as big as a barn in those pants.

I suppose I relearned a lesson in this experience: never trust a skinny girl to know what looks best on a fat woman. I mean, I knew this. I just haven’t seriously shopped in a while. Sigh.

I finally found trousers I like… at Lane Bryant of all places.

[Note: I’m exaggerating here. Lane Bryant has a better selection for this season, thank heavens. And Macy’s at Kennesaw’s Town Center Mall usually has a pretty nice selection in their plus size department, even if it is behind the kitchen department on a different floor than all the other clothes departments. Ahem.]


It’s probably a good thing I don’t have children. I’m the type of woman who would dress her kids up for Halloween to make a political statement.

You know I’d totally dress my kids up like plague victims with fake boils and sores and blood and make then carry signs that read “My Mommy Didn’t Get Me Vaccinated” or  “My Mommy Stuck It To Big Pharma And All I Got Was This Lousy Plague” or “My Mommy Believed Jenny McCarthy Over My Pediatrician And Wouldn’t Let Him Vaccinate Me” or some such shit. I’m sick that way.

And then there’s the potential for Tea Party fun. I’d stand the kid up at a protest and give him/her a sign that read “Obama Took Money From My Piggy Bank” or “Obama Stole My Lunch Money” or “I’m Going To Pay For Your Retirement, You Lazy Bum” or “Because You Bailed Out Detroit I’ll Never Go To College” or something.

Yeah, probably better I don’t have kids.

Blizzard Blog 2009

Looks like our little pre-Spring is over. Today we had snow showers.

My father braved the wilds of  Wal-Mart this afternoon. And yes, people were grabbing all the water, milk, bread, and toilet paper they could handle. If it weren’t Sunday, they’d have grabbed all the beer, too.

(Georgia is dry on Sundays. I’m fairly sure that includes beer. I could be wrong.)

I would have taken a picture of the winter slush for your winter weather porn pleasure, but I slept through it all. Alas. We’re due to get round 2 of the snow showers tonight, so maybe we’ll get enough to show up on a camera later. We’ll see.