04.27.2003 - 4:07 p.m.
The ominous tickle that has
lurked in the back of my throat for the last few days has finally
emerged as a full-fledged cold. Joy. Thank you, fate, for sending
a virus my way right before I go on vacation. I sure hope it's
the nice long lingering sort of cold, I mean I wouldn't
want to be healthy on our cruise or anything. Oh no, I'm sure
being driven away with sticks at boarding time from SARS-fearing
officials would be ever so much more fun than lounging around
drinking banana daiquiris for a week.
Well, as of 3 PM today I've
- Odwalla "C Monster"
- 4 zinc lozenges (mmmm, ass-like!)
- 3 echinacea capsules
- some weird cold medicine JB bought in China
- 1 raspberry flavored "Emergen-C"
Plus I bought a lime for our
beer later. Shut up, it's fruit.
So it's a beautiful day outside
and all I'm doing is shuffling around blatting into handfuls
of kleenex. At least I got my shopping done yesterday. Which,
I would like you to know, was a lengthy and festive experience
I intend to repeat quite soon, such as perhaps the year 2430.
I went to the Bellevue Square
Mall, and entered through the Bon entrance - where I had to walk
by an enormous swimsuit display. Now, I have two swimsuits, which,
if you're thinking in terms of Number of Swimsuits One Truly
Needs If One Is Not Say An Olympic Swimmer, is probably enough.
But in the light of these new swimsuits, these cute frothy
little concoctions that just begged to worn while beckoning for
yet another daiquiri, pineapple this time please, it really seemed
like one might need three swimsuits to really enjoy a vacation.
At this point I can only say
that shopping for swimsuits must be like childbirth. It's so
unpleasant, so completely painful and horrid, that afterwards
you block the memory and eventually start thinking "Hey,
Junior could really use a sister." DUMBASS.
I tried on four hundred and
fifty thousand suits, all of which revealed my body in an utterly
unique and appalling way. My boobs need major support, so that
strikes about 99.9% of all bathing attire in existence. The remaining
suits alternate between having inexplicable teensy tennis skirt
type things for a bottom, which may look cute on Anna Kourniwhatshername
but not on me, or they expose weird poochines under the arms
that I swear was not there before, or if they are tankinis the
emphasis is more on the "ini" than I would like - etc
I bought one that frankly I
am not very fond of, simply because after having put so much
effort into the process - struggling in and out of suits, feeling
frighteningly close to bursting into loud howler-monkey sobs
of frustration - I couldn't bear to walk away without having
So that was a good solid hour
and a half of sheer hell. Then, in what I can only attribute
to a latent streak of masochism, I walked directly to the dress
department. And I embarked upon a mighty search, to weed out
the tasteful black cocktail dresses from the spangled horrors
The Bon was having some big
dress sale, so there were about 50 other women rooting around
like truffle pigs with me. Many of them had teenage daughters
in attendance, popping gum and whining "Moooom? I don't
liiiiiike that one." (Graduation outfits? Is it prom?) I
piled dress after dress over my increasingly aching arm, because
I knew one thing - once I had entered that dressing room there
was no way in hell I was going to come back out and try to find
Trying on dresses isn't quite
as traumatic as bathing suits, but it IS tiring. Wrangling with
zippers, dragging yards of fabric on and off while your hair
snaps and hisses, Medusa-like, with all the static. I ended up
liking the neckline and bodice of one dress very much, while
lusting after the hemline of a completely different dress,
and stood there staring at my disheveled self in the mirror wondering
vaguely if I could rip them each in half and sew them to each
It was then that I realized
there are two different kinds of shopping: Fun Shopping, where
stuff fits and looks good and is totally affordable and whee!
And there's Shitty Shopping, where the fluorescent lights and
the fat-exposing mirrors and the slyphlike salesgirls and the
general demographic of the mall all get to you, until you're
left standing forlornly in a little room surrounded by a pile
of ill-fitting dresses, contemplating some kind of fabric Frankensteining
Well, I bought the one with
the cute hemline, and modeled it for JB when I got home. "That
looks awesome," he said, earning a Blowjob Point
(which he later blew, so to speak, by refusing to watch Sex and
the City with me).
Bring on the formal night!
Hopefully I won't be sporting a steady rivulet of SNOT as an
accessory by then.
Just because I'm all
cruise-focused - a picture of JB and me totally eating like a
vat of food on our honeymoon cruise. Like my hat? It's because
my hair looked like ass the whole entire time. I'm bringing that
mofo on this trip, too.
go back :::
comments so far.
I have moved. - 1.03.2005
Obviously, a work in progress. - 12.27.2004
Happy holidays! - 12.24.2004
Listen, I am not a complete dick, it's not like I want Joe to die alone surrounded by cats or something. - 12.23.2004
Plus I am convinced my butt is extra big when it's upside down. - 12.22.2004