All the Rage...

This post is about underwear.

And garage sales. 

And cold.

But mostly, it's about underwear.

Last Saturday, I hauled boxes of my crap stuff over to my friend Annie's house for The Great Purge Garage Sale of 2010.   It was 39 degrees outside.  And I know all you northern folks totally just rolled your eyes because really? 39 degrees?  But, yes, 39 degrees.  I am from the South, and 39 degrees is considered COLD especially during that first cold snap when our humidity sensors haven't acclimated yet.  It was cold, and also, it was pretty early.  I don't get nice until at least 9 am, so I was still making my grumpy faces when I pulled into Annie's driveway.  And now that I've typed all that, I really don't know why that has any relevance at all except that I probably just wanted you to feel sorry for me, in my tired, cold state. Or something.

During the Belongings Exfoliation of 2010, I realize I had this whole big box of underwear that I no longer wear but that was still in really good shape (I had a shopping problem once.  Darn you Victoria's Secret and your Semi-Annual Sale!)(Also, it's totally weird to say your underwear is in good shape, yes?) Now, I myself am not a secondhand underwear buyer. The thought of it FREAKS. ME. OUT.  But hey, some people don't have a problem with it, and also Goodwill sells underwear so it must be ok, right? I texted Annie:

Me: Do people buy underwear at garage sales?
Annie:  Idk, worth a shot if you ask me.

Settled. 

One of our first few customers was a rugged looking dude, who, when I first saw him, I assumed was looking for tools.  Or broken lawnmowers.  Or socks.  Because that's what the rugged dudes come to garage sales for, you know.  He picks up a few things to buy, then spots the box 'o' underwears.

"I don't mean this to be embarrassing," he says. "But what size is the underwear?"

Me thinking: Cha-Ching! 

I told him what sizes most of them were, and after a short discussion about what size jeans his lady friend wears, I told him I didn't think they'd fit her.  He said ok, paid for the other stuff, and went on his way.

Important note to the fellas:  Do NOT buy your lady person underwear at a garage sale.  She can buy it herself at a garage sale if she chooses, but do not, under any circumstances, bring it home to her.  The only exception is if you have detailed instructions where she specifically states, "If you see underwear at a garage sale, please buy it for me."  This is NOT the same as "I need new underwear."  PLEASE make note of this.  You will thank me.

A lady showed up and sat down next to the box and looked at every single pair, like she was shopping that Semi-Annual Sale. She walked away with 11 pair by the time she was done.  Another lady snagged one pair and several more asked about sizes. People, underwear sells at garage sales! I mean, can you get over this?

After we've been out there about 3 hours, Rugged Dude from earlier comes back.  I see him walking up the driveway like he's on a Rugged Dude Mission.  "He's coming back for the underwear," I said to Annie, laughing.  He glanced over everything on the driveway that he already looked at 3 hours earlier and says, "I was on my way home and thought I'd see if y'all put anything else out."

Me:  (thinking) Liar.  You want panties.

About the same time, there was a lady browsing who was sorting through the boxes of clothes, which were directly next to the underwear box.  Rugged Dude is all randomly picking up items and pretending he's so very interested, but his eyes keep darting to the side, waiting for the lady to step away from the unmentionables.  She then starts looking through the underwear, talking about how she is going to get some for her granddaughters. (Grandmothers:  The secondhand-underwear-buying-for-others rule applies to you too.  As in: Don't.)  Rugged Dude's face gets tense and, trying to be all nonchalant, he says, "Oh yeah, that's what I was coming back for, too."

Me:  (thinking) Mmm-hmm.  Told you.

We all sort of chuckled because, oh well, you can't slack when it comes to garage sale bargains, homeboy.  Everybody knows that. Underwear-Buying-Lady (UBL) dumps the whole box on the table and says, "I'll just take them all."  Rugged Dude gets all antsy and asks if she's sure she's buying them all, to which she replies that she is.  He stomps off down the driveway, jumps in his car, and PEELS OUT while speeding off! Seriously! Reckless underwear deprivation driving in full effect y'all.

The three of us looked at each other.

Me: Uhhh....
Annie:  That wasn't normal right?
UBL:  Uh, no.  That wasn't normal.

About 5 minutes later, as we stood chatting and I bagged the stuff she bought, RUGGED DUDE CAME BACK! He pulled his beater up in front of the house and barrels up the driveway with a wad of cash in hand.

Rugged Dude: Ma'am. Are you sure you're going to buy all of them?
UBL: (slightly dumbfounded) Yes, I am.

There is a slight air of What The Heck now floating about.  Rugged Dude looks at me.  I look at Rugged Dude.

RD:  And that's all you have?
Me:  Yes, that was it.
RD:  I'll give you $10 for the whole box!

Dude.  I can't make this stuff up.

Me: ......
Annie: ......
UBL: ......
Me thinking: ......
Me:  I'm sorry, but I already sold them to her.

*Tension*

He wheels around and storms back down the driveway in an underwear fueld rage, and again, peels out.  Now help me understand this:  Does the peeling out help you cope in some way?  Because it's not like I'm about to chase you down the street and change my mind because you were clearly upset enough to PEEL OUT AT A GARAGE SALE!

And y'all, it's not even over!  He drove by TWO MORE TIMES glaring at us.  Freak me out, why don't ya?  The second time he drove by, the Underwear Buying Lady was gone, and since I'm pretty sure that's who he was looking for, that was the end of it.

Moral of the story:  Let Goodwill take care of the underwear selling.  

Zen....

Imagine with me, if you will, your happy place.  Where your mind goes when it wants to be relieved of all the stresses of the day.  Now close your eyes for a moment.  Imagine yourself in a warm, comfortable bed.  All by yourself so no covers are being stolen.  No snoring is disrupting your slumber. No alarm clock to go off in just a few hours.  The night is yours to sleep until you're finished. Your head has found that perfect spot on the pillow which is now cradling your neck in full support of your relaxation.  The temperature in the room has found that delicate balance between hot and cold allowing you to sink into that cozy place of wonderful, restful sleep. Now, take a deep breath, and surrender yourself to this healing cocoon of serenity.

And when you think it is impossible for yourself to be sleeping any more soundly...

BANG! BANG! BANG! THUD! THUD! BANG! THUD! BANG! BANG! THUD! BANG! BANG!

Guess whose stupid neighbors got a new roof today?  Guess who lives in a townhouse that is in the unit directly next door and connected to the new roof neighbors?  Guess who was so close to the roofing action that she literally could have reached out her bedroom window and stolen the stupid ladder?  Guess where early morning banging roofers falls on my Are You Freaking Kidding Me?! pet peeve list?

Y'all need to understand something very critical here.  I am not, nor will I ever be, a morning person.  It's just a biological (physiological?) fact of my life, one which I have made peace with. Add to that the fact that I am no stranger to insomnia, and, well, you've just got yourself one grumpy little chicken, mister.

Ugh, this morning was this fantastic blend of cotton and temperature and relaxation and soundness of sleep, then BAM!  The Bangers Boys report to work.  I woke up groggily thinking someone was banging on my door, but as the fog wore off, I recognized the sound.  The awful, cranky-inducing sound.  Without even picking my head off the pillow, I reached to the window and flipped one of the slats on the blinds.  There it was.  The Ladder. Noooooooooooooooooo!  And then I saw two men climbing the ladder with all kinds of supplies, and all I could think was, "Poor guys had no idea they were going to die at the hands of an unrested woman today."

Gracie even poked her little head up and looked at me all blinky-eyed like "What the....?"

I know, kiddo.  I know.

And there's not a darn thing we could do, but lay there and listen to the banging.  And the thudding.  And the nailing.  And the Spanish.  As I laid there, I thought of all the ways I could get back at the neighbors for being so rude.  But I mean, seriously, they have to get their new roof right?  It's not their fault roofing just happens to be annoying and stupid and LOUD.  And I can't get mad at the roofer dudes because they're just trying to get a paycheck.  Sigh. 

HOWEVER, that was their volume card for the year.  No more!  If at any point in the next year, I am woken up by loud noises from neighbor on the left, I am stealing their ladder.

The end.

I must not understand time....

**Note:  I know you are all on pins and needles waiting to hear about the movie star that I saw across a crowded restaurant who subsequently fell head over heels in love with me and now I will be moving to Hollywood to live happily ever after until we split up in 10 months due to irreconcilable differences.  However, to effectively tell that story, artistic renderings are needed, and I have not completed them.  So just chill.  End note.**

So I get these emails from some beauty thing.  TotalBeauty or something to that effect.  I don't know, I signed up because they promised me free samples, and I am all about samples particularly of the free variety.  (Which I have gotten by the way.)

Anyway, the most recent one I got says "How to Look Gorgeous in Five Minutes.  It IS Possible."  Ladies, I think we can all agree that this is an intriguing statement.  Because I, for one, am a lazy busy girl, and the less time I can spend on the whole "gorgeous" process, the better.  Based on the information I am given in this title, I am thinking I'm about to get some awesome tips on how to simplify right?  Like warm a spoon in the microwave while you are brushing your hair and then spin 3 times to the right and voila!  Gorgeous!

Let me just share with you their FIVE MINUTES TO GORGEOUS! steps and then we will discuss:

1. Apply foundation.
2. Dot on concealer (if needed).
3. Sweep on blush.
4. Apply shadow and liner.
5. Swipe on mascara.
6. Tame your brows.
7. Apply lipstick or gloss.
8. Carry essential touch-up items.

....

Right?!  I'm counting 8 steps.  EIGHT!  In under 5 minutes.  That's like 35 seconds per step.  I need to know something very important here from you, dear friends.  If you can get your foundation on - smooth and even with no lines - in under 35 seconds, I am going to need you to please please share the secret.  Because that is Olympic level qualifying action happening there.

Is it just me or isn't this a full face of makeup?  Like complete with TAME YOUR BROWS.  Seriously, what the heck are you doing to your face that will take you 10-15 minutes when you can do the whole shebang in five minutes or less? 

I think we should all try it.  In the morning, set your timer for five minutes and see how far you can get using the steps above.  Let me know how it works out.  Thanks.

Klassy with a capital K....

I love music. LOVE it. LUV it. LUB it. LURVE it.  However, you want to LOLspeak, bottom line: Me + Music = Everlasting Happiness, forever and ever, till death do us part, amen.  Though I will pretty much listen to whatever music you put on (except Coldplay!  I hate Coldplay! Turn it off!), if I'm picking the tunes, I rarely listen to what I guess would be considered "grown up" music.  You know, stuff like the "classics," such as...well....um....okay honestly I can't even think of who I'm talking about, because that's just not usually the preset that I stop on while I'm scanning in the car.

No, I prefer the really deep profound stuff that makes you think.  The lyrics that really touch that part of your soul that felt all alone and now somehow comes to life with the realization that someone, somewhere, undertsands or something. Stuff like Miley Cyrus: "Cause all I see are stilettos, I guess I didn't get the memo."  Wow right?  Because I did not get the memo either and, it is, in fact, a party in the USA.

But I'm not here to talk about Miley.  I want to talk about new girl on the scene who is tearing it up or breaking it down or moving to the left, to the left, or whatever.  You know I'm talking about Kesha Ke$ha.  I have questions regarding Ke$ha and her songwriting team.  Let's discuss shall we?

Disclaimer:  I do not expect you to watch this video in its entirety.  In fact, I suggest you don't.  Because it is 3 minutes seconds of your life that you will never get back and honestly, I just don't think I can carry that on my conscience.  I can summarize it really quick for you:  She wakes up in a bathtub with one shoe on and then parties alot and then falls asleep in another tub with a different shoe on.  Klassy. The End. I only include the video in case you weren't entirely sure what song I was talking about and needed a listen.  And then you would be like OMG I LOVE THIS SONG and then we'd become BFF immediately because I KNOW RIGHT?!

Observe:



So what I want to know first is was there some sort of artistic statement being made about the bathtubs?  Such that she spends an awful lot of time in the bathtub, yet it is never for the tub's intended purpose?  Because clearly girlfriend is no stranger to odor.  It appears that she is, however, a stranger to soap.  Irony perhaps?  See how Ke$ha has us thinking?

And what about the whole typefont rebellion?  Using a $ instead of an S in her name!  Have you ever heard such madness?! No one can conform you to society, Ke$ha!  You will NOT be boxed in!  Also, please note that going forward, I will be known as Jenn!fer, as I, too, am a rebel.

Like her predecessor, Miley, Ke$ha is a lyrical trailblazer.  They are so advanced and beyond the scope of my limited reasonings, that I don't even know what the heck the girl is talking about.  For example:  "The dudes are lining up cause they hear we got swagger, but we kick 'em to the curb unless they look like Mick Jagger."

Mick Jagger?  Really?

So what you're saying to me is that when this dude rolls up:

And is all "'Sup boo?"  You're going to be like "Kick him to the curb!"  Whereas, I'm all "Call me!"

Let me make sure I'm understanding this correctly:

         Yes.                                                                              No.

See how she boggles the mind?

Stupid, Annoying Bones....

I would just like to say that if I see the trailer for The Lovely Bones one more time, something bad is going to happen.  I mean, seriously?  Is every. single. commercial break. really necessary?  After a certain point, I just cannot be held accountable for my actions. 

That is all.

Quote of the Day...

Did y'all see the article about the parents who were arrested for giving their kids tattoos at home?  Apparently, these two tatted up parents thought it would be an okay idea to give six of their kids (all under the age of 18 mind you) tattoos from a homemade tattoo gun.  I will say that again. HOMEMADE tattoo gun.  Are you following me here?  According to the article, they used "electrical cord, spliced wiring, and a guitar string for a needle."  ACK!  Guitar string?!  Okay, here's the thing.  I have seen a zillion guitar strings, and probably as many tattoos, but I have never (NEVER!) put the two together.  Ever.  How do you even get there, is what I want to know? 

PARENTING AWARD WINNER #1:  Baby, I been thinking.  Know what our kids need? 

PARENTING AWARD WINNER #2:  What's that baby?

PAW#1: Tats

PAW#2:  Best idea you've had since you served ham for breakfast! (ed. note: which should've been the first red flag.  Ham? Is ALWAYS wrong.  It just is.)  Too bad we don't have a tattoo gun.

PAW#1:  Aw heck, we can make one of them.  Go look in that box of stuff your brother dropped off.  I'm sure there's something in there we can use.

You know, every now and then, I get to thinking that maybe there should be tighter restrictions on google searches.  I'm just throwing that out there. If this is not an argument for that, then I don't know what is.  I want to know (or maybe I don't) what they used for ink.

Because "tattooing childen is illegal in Georgia," (I'll bet that's something you never thought you'd read) the kids were temporarily removed from their parents.  At which point, Mama Tat had this to say:

"If I'm such a bad parent, then how come they brought the kids back right after I got out jail?"

Well.  There you have it.  Can't argue with that logic.

Pop Quiz...

Question:  As I vacuumed this afternoon, how far did I get before I realized the canister was not on, therefore recycling all dust and debris right back onto the floor?

(a) The hallway
(b) The hallway and the kitchen
(c) The hallway, the kitchen, and twice around the living room

If you answered C, give yourself 10 points.  And then another 5 points for being pretty.