Saturday, July 25, 2009

Had Retail, Now Need Therapy

Dear Old Navy,

May we talk? Just us girls? I don't mean to be rude, but your jeans...THEY ARE STUPID! Why on Earth would you take perfectly normal descriptive labels and exchange them for totally cryptic and meaningless words? Relaxed boot-cut, I know exactly what that means. The Dreamer? WTF?!?

I am neither a 'Diva,' a 'Flirt,' nor a 'Skinny-assed Bitch.' Not only did I purchase a pair of jeans called, 'The Boyfriend,' but also one called 'The Diva.'

{Which, may we stop here and just address how ridiculous idea of 'Boyfriend Jeans' is --I would NEVER wear my boyfriend's jeans. Because my boyfriend is taller and, um, not 'curvy,' and that's the way it is supposed to be. Boys have junk in the front, I have junk in the trunk. There IS a difference.}

Now to 'The Diva,' which also happened to be 3 SIZES BIGGER than the pants I wore INTO the dressing room! This does not make me feel like a Diva. Unless you mean 'Diva' in the Opera Singer kind of way. Then yes, I do feel like a very large woman wailing in hysterics.

Now look what you made me do, Old Navy. You made me say hurtful things about Opera. Now I need to write Opera a letter of apology.

I try to tell myself that it's just a number, but I know the first time I wear them in public I'll imagine my thighs rubbing together in rhythm to "fat.ass.fat.ass." Which is sure to earn 'The Diva' a permanent spot in my closet.

I hate to say it, but your cheap prices may not be enough to heal the hurt I feel.

And now I sound like a country song, It never ends with you, Old Navy!

Thursday, July 2, 2009

Call Me Stigmatized

Over the last two years, I've been subjected to two bridal showers, two bachelorette parties, two weddings, and two baby showers. And at each one of them I had a moment where Four-Year-Old-Me is sitting in a chair kicking her feet and watching someone I'm related to open presents, and thinking "Aww, why don't I get PRESENTS!? I want presents!"

What a scam. Find yourself a man, throw yourself a party and you get cool free shit that YOU PICK OUT FOR YOURSELF. C'mon, who's idea was the Gift Registry anyway? "Here are the things I want, if you bring them to this place, at this time, I'll be waiting. Oh, and I might feed you some cold cuts and that weird ambrosia salad Aunt Mable makes. You know, the one with fruit AND cottage cheese. No, really, it's delicious. I'm not sure why it's that color."

And then you get knocked up, and you get to throw yourself another party where you get super cute stuff for a human that no body's even met yet. "I mean, I'm not sayin' your baby is gonna be an asshole, but I got you the kid-cage complete with leash--the sales' person called it a 'pack-n-play'--cause you just never know. Am I right? Huh? Wink, wink."

Well, I had myself a little brainstorm; Cut out the middleman (fiance, baby), and you can get cool free shit you pick out for YOURSELF, that you can actually use YOURSELF. I think I might just throw myself a Spinster Party. What better excuse for a party could there be? "I can barely keep a house plant alive, much less find a husband and hope to bring a child into this world, I NEED those dryer balls because the idea of soft, fluffy towels is the only thing I've got to look forward to."

Google the term and you get a mixed bag. From Wikipedia--"Until the advent of feminism, spinsterhood was generally portrayed as a condition to be pitied or mocked" Huh. You know all the mean stuff people say about couples, what they would say about a single couldn't be much worse. Mock me all you want, as long as I get the booty.

Obviously, I'm not the first to have thought of the idea, as there is no such thing as an "original idea," but I think I might just start a movement. I'm planning on registering at Target and JoAnn Fabrics for things like cat food and yarn. And did you know Barnes & Noble has online wishlists!? Perfect! 'Cause after throwing yourself a "Spinster Shower" you now have an image to maintain.