Victoria’s Secret: Not Just for Human Stick-Figures!

I hate shopping.

Like most women, who are shaped like women, finding clothes that fit the way they should is a hassle.

My professional career is progressing, and my avoidance of shopping for nice-ish clothes leaves me with maybe two different outfits I feel are appropriate enough to wear during “professional times,” like networking gatherings or meeting with clients.

My Body Breakdown is as follows:

  • I’m 5’4″, which means I’m on the tall end of “petite.”
  • I have long legs for a short girl (32″ inseam.)
  • I have a short torso, meaning there’s only about an inch of space between where my boobs stop and my high hips (muffin tops) begin.
  • I currently weigh in at a fairly fit 145 lbs, and wear anywhere between the SUPER helpful numbers 6 and 10.

I decided to forge ahead with an experiment, spawned by a previously ebbed curiosity regarding the clothing sold online from Victoria’s Secret (when I ran this idea by the husband, he said, “Victoria’s Secret sells clothes?” Apparently he uses x-ray vision on that section of the catalogue.) Don’t red-squiggly-underline my spelling of CATALOGUE,  WordPress! Ha, WordPress gets a red-squiggly too.

I spent a good deal of time considering all of the options (styles, colors, etc.) and picked out a handful of “essentials.” I have a tendency to buy a lot of fun things piece-by-piece without planning actual outfits, so the careful consideration was mandatory in this case.

I purchased the items featured below, and took advantage of a few sweet offers from the cataloGUE (free shipping, pink duffel bag!) Here are my current reviews:

Lace-Inset Legging

  • Arbor Olive, color is accurate to link (at least on MY computer screen…)
  • Leggings sit at my natural waist, like most leggings. Yay for not cutting my muffin tops in half!
  • Legs are looooong. There is quite a bit of scrunched up-ness at my ankles, but I’m not bothered by it.
  • Size M in accordance with size chart (BODY MEASUREMENTS, not other bullshit industry-made-up numbers.)
  • Good fit, good quality, would buy again!

Lace-Trim Cami

  • Torso is long enough to cover the leggings-booty. Awesome.
  • Lace straps are not wide enough, nor do they sit in the right place to cover bra straps. The lace is also very stretchy, which makes the shirt too low cut. Showing cleavage is not a problem in my book, but showing half of my bra is not really the look I’m going for.
  • Size M is in accordance with size chart (measurements.)
  • Colors are accurate.
  • Would not buy again, because I’m too damn busy (or lazy) to alter my own clothes.

Relaxed Blazer

  • White, size M.
  • Completely sheer tri-blend tshirt material. Unacceptable for a $50 blazer! Not even a cute enough style to justify keeping. Good news! All items are refundable IN-STORE. Yay!

Linen Beach Pant

  • Black, size 10.
  • Most draw-string pants have elastic in the back of the waistband to allow for a better fit, but these do not.
  • They are fairly low-rise, the lowest I can wear, really, but the overall fit is great.
  • They are a tad long, and since I will be wearing them with sandals I will need to hem them about an inch.
  • I was worried about sheerness of the linen (which is why I chose black,) but they are much less sheer than that stupid blazer. May buy again should I ever feel brave enough to choose another color.

The items I am keeping have all been washed, and have all held up nicely (no shrinky.)

The hunt continues for an acceptable Liby-style blazer.

Work is Hard

This month has been rough.

I’ve been working with a team of other people in regards to a convention coming up, and the actions/attitude of one these people has turned this whole process into a nightmare.

The ordeal is almost over (I hope,) so long as I can get through this convention without turning green, tearing my clothes off, and smashing anyone to bits. My bullshit-ometer is at capacity. My plan of attack currently consists of: buying a new outfit, drawing on my “cut-a-bitch” eyebrows, and carrying a flask.

I’ve been pressured, manipulated, and lied to–three things I won’t put up with in a personal relationship, so why the hell do I put up with them in a job where I’m my own boss? I left an abusive boyfriend, I’ve quit more than one job under corrupt management, and this blog has proven that I’ll de-friend someone for acting a fool. I can only blame myself for ending up in this situation AGAIN.

Unfortunately for you, I’ll have to leave out most of the details, since I try to keep this blog fairly close to anonymous. I live in a small town and I don’t want everyone knowing what I really think.

If you haven’t figured it out by now: I’m self-employed. I own a small business in let’s say, a genre of arts and crafts, take your pick. In theory, I have my dream job, but it feels less-than-dreamy a lot of the time, and I think I’ve finally (with help) discovered the reason (and the cure.)

Over the last year, I’ve been listening to an audio podcast called “Jay and Silent Bob Get Old,” where Kevin Smith and Jason Mewes regale the audience with tales of their lives-so-far in the movie business, heinous sex-acts, and other interesting things. If you know anything about either of these characters, you know they make a living being as raunchy as possible, and if you knew what I did for a living you might find it ironic that I listen to two dudes talk about blumpkins and intravenous drug-use while…well…doing what I do. If you can get past that, or are devilishly entertained by it as I am, the underlying message is this: Do What You Love. 

It’s not as easy as you think. Fortunately, Mr. Smith elaborates:

Don’t sell out. Don’t do something just because you think it will make money–and what’s more relevant in my case: Don’t do something just because someone else wants you to or thinks you should. If you channel your energy into doing what you want to do because you love it, because doing it is like breathing, because doing it makes your life complete–people will pick up on that, and they will buy whatever it is you’re selling.

I’m tired of people telling me what to do. Even though I’m sure they’re just trying to be helpful, my friends and peers are quick with suggestions for what I should be doing “because it would be so popular!” or “because it would make sooo much money!” The majority of these ideas focus on something that would target such a concentrated, commercial, or specialized audience. What about what I want to do? Isn’t that why I went in to business for myself in the first place? Yes.

I’m calling this my New Year’s resolution. I’m going to focus on doing all of the things I’ve put off for years because I’ve always been too busy working on something for somebody else. What’s the point of being an artist if I can’t express my creativity?

I hope you aren’t too distracted by the vagueness of my field, and that you can find pertinence in this message for your own work.

Do. What. You. Love. and

Hug it! Chug it! Football!

Lady Business

In addition to curling, synchronized ice dancing, and ancient astronaut theory, I’ve added another sport to my list of favorites: arguing with strangers on the internet.

Generically speaking, this could mean one’s participation in this particular sport might involve trolling the web for controversial articles, political news stories, cat videos, or whathaveyou. 

Now I firmly believe that adding to the already exhorbinant amount of time I waste online would be highly detrimental. I tend to focus on the rare occassion when after reading a post by a fellow Facebooker, I just. cant. leave it be.

Let me set the stage:

This Facebook friend is a trainer at a gym. This Facebook friend is also female. This Facebook friend is someone I am very close to, and therefore, very protective of.

We will call her K, because yes, her name begins with a K, and I really don’t feel like getting that creativegetoffmyback. Other names have been changed, and “likes” may have been augmented at times, and by “may have” I mean definitely have, but it’s entirely obvious. 

Oh, and sidenote–My political standing on women’s issues is roughly this:
No Vagina = NO VOTE. **There are rare exceptions**

Back to our story…

K has just returned to her beloved gym after a long recovery from a serious injury. This is the post that followed–

K:
Why are people so creepy? Good to be back so I can be productive but seriously people here are such creeps!

Random Girl #1:
Stay away from the creepers!
· Like · 1

K:
Everywhere I go! I would like to go ONE place where I don’t get hit on for crying out loud.

Random Guy: Its cause your cute. And a girl who lifts lol
(stupid, but harmless.)

K:
I dress like a slob and it still happens! I would like to be taken seriously and like I have a brain!
· Likes · 1

Me:
Have you seen the episode of HIMYM where Robin goes to the gym? That’s me. And that’s why I don’t get hit on. By men.
· Likes · 2

K:
Bah hahaha yes! Totally me too! HOWEVER there are lot of times where it’s not appropriate for me to dress like that so it’s either be eye fucked or again not be taken seriously because I look homeless.

DICK:
“Oh woe is me, I’m hot.” Try living a “not attractive in society” life for a while…sheesh. lol.
· Likes · negative 15,000
(vision. blurring. with. rageHULKSMAAASSSSHHHHH…)

Me:
It’s not about being “hot.” It’s about not feeling safe during basic daily activities. Try that for awhile. lol.
· Likes · 1
(ha. “lol.” I’m funny.)

K:
I know I shouldn’t complain but it’s degrading. I don’t like the attention. I get pegged as a bitch if I ignore and don’t smile at people or look them in the eyes but it’s the only way to get people to leave me alone. Exactly Liby! I just want to go to the damn grocery store or the bank and just go about my daily life without being ogled and/or followed.
· Likes · 1

Random Girl #2:
‘Shouldn’t complain’? Nah girl, you do what’s right for you. The gym should be YOUR PLACE to make YOUR SELF better. Go in stone cold and let them think you’re icy. Better to be seen as icy than having dudes thinking you’re there for THEIR enjoyment.
· Likes · 2
(we like her. she used “your,” “you’re,” “there,” and “their” correctly.)

Me:
The only things I have tried that worked (and I’ve tried a lot of things to get “unnoticed”): 1. dyeing my hair black, 2. having serious bitch-face.
· Like · 1

DICK:
I fought in the Kosovo War. THAT is not feeling safe during basic daily activities. Yes K, it IS degrading, but the fact of the matter is that you’re attractive, and you’re going to continue to be so. And not JUST to the people you want to be attractive to, but to EVERYONE who finds you attractive. Unfortunately, most people are socially crippled, and as such, would never approach you in a non “creepy” way because of your looks…which is unfortunate because of the awesome person on the other side of the skin.
· Likes · negative 37,582
(oh no you di’int…)

Me:
Oh, you’re right, that’s totally an appropriate comparison.
· Likes · 1

K:
Just because I’m not in a war doesn’t mean someone couldn’t do me harm in the middle of the day. I can’t afford a body guard!
· Likes · 3

DICK:
Psh…you lift…do you even NEED a body guard?
(ok, lighthearted humor. rage blackout narrowly avoided.)

K:
Yes, I lift and I’m strong but I’m not a man. A large dude could easily beat the crap out of me or worse.
· Like · 1

DICK:
But that has nothing to do with your looks. It has to do with power and control. Someone who would do something like that to you would likely do it to someone else as well. A large dude could easily beat the crap out of me or worse too…which is one reason I never plan on going to prison.
· Likes · negative 91,674
(oh no…..no…..)

K:
I’m talking trying to abduct or rape me.

Random Girl #2:
See DICK, for you it’s an ‘only in prison’ argument. For K, that’s something she has to deal with daily With EVERY dude. And saying ‘it’s degrading, but deal with it, you’re attractive’ is just a really bullshit thing to say.
· Likes · 3

DICK:
It’s not bullshit…she completely changed the whole scope of the discussion from not liking being ogled to being abducted or raped. Huge difference. I wouldn’t tell someone who’s afraid of being raped when she goes to the gym to “just deal with it.”
(except that you just did…)

K:
Being ogled can lead to it. And I’m not talking just the gym. It’s everywhere.

Me: (hold back, reign it in, dumb it down…)
If you’ve never been a woman, you don’t know what it feels like. To be on edge 24/7 because the “way you look” or the “way you dress” could get you in trouble is super fun-sauce.
· Like · 3

Random Girl #1: (back in the game!)
Women have to be vigilant and aware of their surroundings. That is the reality… oh and DICK, you have no fucking idea what it is like to be a woman. You served in Kosovo….? Try being a woman serving in a war zone…
· Likes · 742,599,653
(PWNED! Hail to the V!)

The End.

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How I Met Your Mother, season 3 episode 10

Nerd Alert

Today I bought a dress at one of those cheap, skanky stores at the mall simply because it reminded me of the uniforms from Star Trek, The Next Generation, and I couldn’t bear the thought of it living out the rest of its life in the back of some unappreciative sorostitute’s closet, buried under a pile of UGG boots, tights that aren’t meant to be worn as pants but were anyway, and sheer high-low tank tops (the mullets of the fashion world.) Also purchased: a cropped sweatshirt with GEEK printed on the front and 2 shirts with cat faces on them, none of which will be worn ironically.

Now, if I can just get my hands on a communicator pin…

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“Motivational” Posters

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When I first saw this poster on Pinterest a few months back, I almost threw up. The statement itself isn’t too terrible (other than the term “fat” clearly being used as a negative,) but slapping it onto a hyper-thin model is, in my opinion, completely detrimental. To me, this woman is NOT the picture of health. Just looking at her makes me hungry.

In only very recent years, I have begun to suffer from crazy-good self-esteem. I imagine this has almost everything to do with the people I surround myself with, people who at least promote loving your body even if it is something that they continue to struggle with. I don’t think I had ever met a woman who even claimed to love her body before.

I focus on my own health and fitness without comparing my goals or results with those of others. I wear clothes that make me feel good about myself rather than pining over an unrealistic size tag. I don’t watch reality tv or celebrity gossip shows, and I don’t look at beauty/fashion magazines. We are surrounded by a ‘standard’ that is anything but, and I refuse to live my life by it.

I made this poster, and I hope that sharing it will genuinely inspire you to do something healthy. Turn off the Kardashians, cancel your subscription to Cosmo, and do whatever it is that you need to do to stop shaming your body and start focusing on YOU.

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A Letter for Daniel

I heard that kids are calling you names. I know it hurts your feelings and makes you angry, because you don’t know why anyone would call you those things.

When I was in the 3rd grade, a boy named Jerald called me stupid. I knew that I wasn’t stupid. Jerald was the one who didn’t get good grades. Now I understand that Jerald was feeling stupid, and he picked on me because he was jealous that I was smarter than him. I felt sorry for Jerald after that, and I didn’t let his words bother me anymore.

If someone calls you stupid or weird, it is because they feel stupid or weird.

When I was in the 4th grade, two boys both named Alex threw worms in all the girls’ hair. My friends all screamed and ran, but I only felt bad for the worms. Later, my mom told the boys that if they ever picked on us again, she would hold them down and let the girls kiss them. We wouldn’t really have kissed them, but it was the grossest thing my mom could think of. The boys left us alone for a long time because my mom came to school a lot and they were afraid of her.

Don’t be afraid to tell your mom if people are messing with you. Moms can be pretty scary—in a good way.

When I was in the 5th grade, one of the Alexs was being mean again. One day he threw big rocks at me, and one hit my ankle really hard. I had to walk home from school with a hurt ankle and tell dad what happened. Dad took me to Alex’s house and told his mom what he did. We found out that Alex didn’t have a dad. They lived in a tiny house and didn’t have any nice things.

Some kids are mean because they don’t have good families. Sometimes they get picked on by their brothers and sisters. Sometimes they even get picked on by their parents. 

Everybody gets bullied sometimes. The best part is–You don’t have to put up with it!

If you are being bullied:

1. Walk away. If you can’t get away, protect yourself any way you have to. You won’t get in trouble if you are protecting yourself.

2. Tell an adult what happened. If the bullying doesn’t stop right away, tell LOTS of adults until someone makes it stop.

3. Never stop being yourself. Make friends with the other kids who get picked on. Weirdos are awesome!

Being Married is Fun: Sexting, Part One

Another fun fact about me: I’m awesome at Microsoft Paint. Don’t let the edit-job on the following screen shot convince you otherwise.

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Love ≠ Unconditional Bullshit Tolerance

I was in an abusive relationship for almost 4 years.

Eventually I may get into that in greater detail, but for now there is only one message that needs to be shared.

On one hand it feels like a bit of a cop-out to post from another blog or online article, but on the other hand–why spend time writing my own when someone else has already so effectively put this important message into words?

http://www.theferrett.com/ferrettworks/2013/10/why-unconditional-love-will-destroy-you-usually/

If you don’t want to read the entire piece, let me at least share a few things:

“Unconditional love, in my experience, is what abusive parents try to tell their kids in order to justify the damage they feel like dealing out. We love each other no matter what, they say as they’re insulting and undermining and destroying you, And that’s why we don’t leave one another.

In other words, “Love” becomes twisted into this sense of “You enable my behavior no matter how bad it gets.” (Usually with a healthy dollop of “If you don’t stay with me, then you don’t know how to love and are hence a bad person.”)

And so what you wind up with are people endlessly swallowing huge gouts of abuse they should never put up with, because they’ve tied the concept of “love” directly into “enduring.” For them, unconditional love means that no matter what happens, I’ll be there for you.”

Many of us are bound to end up in an abusive relationship at some point in our lives, due to the poor examples that were set for us growing up, or otherwise. In my experience, most of us don’t even realize that we’re in an abusive relationship until we’re not in it anymore.

Unconditional love should NOT feel like guilt or shame. If your excuse for staying with this person revolves around the idea that he/she puts up with SO MUCH from you, you need a wake-up call. I don’t care if you’re bat-shit crazy–if you’re in a relationship with someone who tells you that you’re weird, or wrong, or even abusive yourself (in other words: manipulative, moody,) or invalidates your feelings–GET OUT. Believe it or not, but there are people out there who will put you on a pedestal for all of your “negative qualities.”

“If you have internalized the idea that “unconditional love” means “unconditional support,” then you become a resource and not a human being. And while there are wonderful people who won’t abuse you, they aren’t the ones who’ll seek you out. An abuser doesn’t care about you, he cares about what you can give him… and so, to an abuser, what you perceive as “love” he perceives as “an all-you-can-eat buffet.”

If your excuse for staying with this person is based on the possible fact that he/she could not make it without you in some sense–maybe he/she’s depressed and you don’t know how they’d handle a breakup. Maybe they hate their job or can’t find work and you feel it’s your responsibility to stick around and be supportive because you’ve convinced yourself that when this one thing is resolved, all of your other relationship problems will just magically disappear…

“Unconditional love trains too many people that it’s somehow wrong to tell our loved ones no. Me? I tell my loved ones “no” all the time. 

No. My love is thoroughly conditional in the sense that if you want to keep my love within an accessible distance, you’ll need to treat me with respect. I may still love you if you treat me badly – but I’ll love you from wayyyy over there, where you can’t get your toxic little mitts on me.

I think that’s sane. I think that’s healthy. And I think that’s the kind of love we should strive to teach as a community.

I think that is, in all ways, the best kind of love.”

Take note. Be present. Get help.

And for everyone’s sake, if you’re unhappy in your relationship, DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT.

The Saga: Continued…

So, I take back what I said about leaving things with “Roomie A” amicable.

It had been weeks since I heard anything from her, until the other day.

I was just leaving my hair salon downtown, when I got a text from her stating that she was at a consignment shop a few blocks away, and how hurt she was that I sold all of her great-grandmother’s things there rather than give them back to her. WHAT?!

While I fought off a heart-attack, I sat down on a street bench and tried to remember all of the conversations we had that lead up to me selling these things. My first reaction was guilt, for what must have been a terrible misunderstanding on my part. My second reaction was “I can fix this!” since I know the owner of the store where said items currently reside.

Moments later, reality set in–the memories came flooding back: the day she brought the items in question to my house, she said she found them in her mother’s closet, and that they may or may not have belonged to her great-grandmother (they may have just been things her mother collected, having a good eye for anything vintage.) She said that I could keep them, re-purpose them into other things (e.g. turn a dress into a pillow, that kind of thing,) OR sell them in my Etsy shop. After I verified that she would not regret parting with any of these objects, I said that I could compensate her for the items if they did indeed sell. She then asked me if I could instead give her a credit for the items, so that I could in turn do some sewing for her. I agreed, and that was that.

Several months went by and I held on to the items in case she changed her mind, but every time we spoke, she asked if I had had any luck selling them. Eventually, I decided to close my Etsy shop so that I could focus on more important things, like blogging (kidding,) and I sold most of my inventory to the shop downtown. The only conversation Roomie A and I ever had after that involved her asking what the shop bought, I said everything, and she seemed to be thrilled for me!

Now that I’ve enlightened myself back to the here and now, I text back,

“I sold everything months ago, I told you about that. I’m sure I can get it all back for you.”

(At this point I would even be willing to buy it back if need be, just to be out of the woods.) She says,

“All I’m asking is that if you have anything else I gave you in your possession, I’d like to have it back.”

It seems strange to me that she doesn’t take me up on my resolution, so I say,

“Ok, I have the brown coat. I’ll drop it off in a few minutes.”

She asks me to leave it on her porch since she’s not home, so I take a few steps in the direction of the shop with the intention of picking up the missing items and returning everything to her. Then I freeze, the clouds part, and heavenly cat-shaped aliens telepathically deliver to me a message from Jesus.

This is not what she wants. What she wants is another reason to throw a pity-party. She gets to blame me for something she can say that I did, just like she had done a hundred times before in our micro-friendship. Any time we went out and our experience was less than perfect, she would say things to me like,

“I can’t believe you talked me into doing this!”

On the other hand, if our experience was good, she would say,

“Aren’t you glad I made you come here?”

Stupidly, I always gave her the benefit of the doubt and assumed she just had an odd sense of humor.

The holy feline messengers fade away, and after a short rage-blackout, I jump in the car and head to her place, leaving the coat on the front porch before I stop at a near-by friend’s house for lunch and a much needed bitchfest. I make the decision to stay off Facebook for the next 24 hours, lest I sign in and see some post accusing me of theft or what-have-you, which would then send me into another fit of eye-bleeding, HULK-SMASH, your-mother-sucks-cocks-in-hell kind of rage.

The next day I check in and sure enough, at the exact same time of our text conversation…

“When I’m upset, instead of wallowing I try and find things I’m grateful for….”

That’s it, I’m done. I delete her from my list of friends and hope to all that is good in the world that she’s smart enough at this point to stop contacting me. We still have 5 Facebook friends in common (actual friends of mine who she met through me.) Continuing to beg for attention through status updates wouldn’t be a good idea, unless she plans to irk my friends into sharing them with me, like so:

“I’ve gotten several messages about why haven’t I shared more pictures from Gencon(1). Thanks everyone for wanting to see my awesome amateur photography skills(2), I’m so grateful to how supportive you all are(3), but the truth is I had a truly miserable time and trying to pretend it was a blast is disingenuous. I was made to feel very unwelcome by someone who is no longer my friend(4) and her husband who spent the entire Gencon trip in a crappy mood(5) which I unfortunately caught the backlash of over numerous days as we shared a hotel room. Throwing up two dinners(6) out of stress and fearing more verbal abuse(7) doesn’t constitute a good time. So, let’s just move on(8) and I’ll show off pictures of fall instead. Allonsy!(9)”

1. It’s two words, Gen Con. GEN CON.

2. Haha!

3. There were just so many people asking to see photos over a month after Gen Con that she had to address them all through a status update? Not to mention the fact that she did already post the photos…

4. Hey, that’s me!

5. It’s hard to stay positive when your wife’s friend makes you run numerous errands for her, then she complains endlessly and points out all of your faults including (in her words): your “Hobbit belly.”

6. Oh, it’s two now?

7. As someone who’s been in an ACTUAL abusive relationship, I’m annoyed with myself for ending up in another one–with her.

8. It seems like she’s really moving on, not “wallowing” at all…

9. Douche.

I encourage all of you to read the following article, then re-read all of “The Saga” posts:

http://shrink4men.wordpress.com/2009/01/27/is-your-girlfriend-or-wife-a-professional-victim/

I also encourage you to take the author’s advice, but in my own words: If you find yourself in a relationship with someone like this, run for the hills.

REAL Moral of the story: I might be a bitch, but she’s a terrible person.

The Time I Got Fisted at the Nail Salon

After my regular chiropractic appointment the other day, I decided to try out an unfamiliar nail salon for a pedicure. It makes sense, you see, to follow a spinal adjustment with a massage, even if that massage is delivered by a chair–and if my toenails get dealt with in the process, so be it.

I should inform you that I am on an unofficial mission-of-sorts. My mission is to seek out and find the least ghetto–while simultaneously MOST convenient–nail salon in my area. Why do they all have to be so ghetto? I watch enough tv shows to know that I will get flesh-eating bacteria and die if I choose the wrong salon.

Now today’s salon was NOT the least ghetto salon. It came with the usual overpowering smell of whatever-the-hell-chemical artificial nails are made of, the wall-mounted tv permanently set on the daytime talk show channel, and the people working there that look like they hate their lives/hate you.

The lucky fellow who got to do my nails had to be a body builder, which was weird but also meant he was probably going to scrub my feet like a BOSS. When I sat down in the pedicure chair my new ‘roided-out friend turned on the massage feature, in which the chair normally goes through a “massage sampler”, if you will, starting at the neck and working its way down. This time, it went WAY down…

Suddenly, a fist-sized something thrusted upward…and punched me right in the crotch.

Now, I’ve had several pedicures, none of which resulted in an assault of this manner. Initially, I figured that I was sitting incorrectly, and that the area meant to be massaged was near the tailbone, or maybe even the upper thigh. No matter how I adjusted my position, that damn thing continued to punch me in the you-know-what. I looked at the chair’s remote, at the little diagram of what seemed to be a vaguely human form wearing a baseball helmet (are you supposed to wear a helmet on this ride?!) and watched the highlighted bit that corresponds with the area of massage slowly move down the spine until it reached a small circle located directly below the helmeted-being’s seated form, when it punched me again.

At this point I’ve already gotten more than I bargained for, so I nonchalantly turn the chair off with a loud “beeeeeeeep!” Mr. Olympia looks up and asks if everything’s alright. I take a moment to decide whether or not I want to explain my issue, but then I figure the comedy in what’s happening with my crotchal region would probably be inappropriate.

The rest of the pedicure was uneventful. I got a good foot-scrubbin’, and was mildly entertained by the steady hands of the Muscle Man as he painted my little toenails. My over-all review sided too near the “Ghetto” end of the scale for me to revisit this particular salon again, but if you’re ever in the mood for a mani-pedi-fisty, and assuming I don’t get flesh eating bacteria…

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Hoping to inspire people to do cool things!

tbl0gging

An in depth exploration of benign minutia and other big words to bamboozle you while I talk about dead babies.

It's a Liby blog! @helloliby

Losing all of my friends, one blog-post at a time.

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