Thursday, February 4, 2010
Cosmo has declared the thong is dead. And if Cosmo says it, well then . . . that's the law.
This month, the magazine suggests the wheelbarrow position for the ultimate in getting your groove on. And let me tell you, from the looks of things, if you're going to attempt it, I hope you've had Olympic gymnastic training. To me, it just looks like a big, crashing fall to the floor and a broken hip waiting to happen.
But, that's just me.
You go ahead and try it with your bad self if you want to and let me know if it's worth the hip replacement.
Try explaining that one to the doc.
There's also a quiz to see if you're TMI. I'd say if you need a quiz to see if you're spilling out too much personal info, chances are you don't have a blog where you talk about your take on wheelbarrow positions.
If we all listened to Cosmo, we'd be showing up to work, running to the grocery store, working out at the gym, in our plumpiest, glossiest lips, wearing our best club outfits or some weird leotard thing made to look like an outfit, (And let me just say if Cosmo declares leotards the new "it" fashion, I will begin setting suspicious fires wherever Cosmos are sold), with a constant plunging neckline and carrying our hand-held miniature fans to keep our hair blowing back at all times. Because according to Cosmo, the source of all things female, we should forever be on high alert for some Funky Cold Medina with a hot-looking man. It always happens at the most inconsequential times. In the wheelbarrow position.
Since I already aced the TMI test and yes, I didn't need to take a test to know that all my life, if it creeps across my brain, it's coming out of my mouth, like diarrhea of the mouth. I hope you're not eating right now.
Screw Cosmo. I will never let the thong die. I am a thong girl. There, you go. It's out in the open. I figure if I can blog about my constipation issues, here and here, thongs are a walk in the park.
Now, for those who say they don't think a thong would be comfortable, I say, you got used to wearing a watch or contacts, didn't you? And shall we even begin on stilettos? And for those of you who have tried them and say they don't work for you? I say you just haven't found the right thong.
And for all things thong, do NOT buy Victoria's Secret thongs. Victoria's Secret thongs are like having a Tarzan rope booty floss. They are the worst, because besides their Angel bras, nothing in Victoria's Secret is built for comfort. Nothing. Have you seen their models? There is no way you can look like that and be comfortable. Fatty places are pinned back, body parts are taped and squeezed and pushed up and no, just no.
Find yourself a sweet little pair of microfiber thongs. Wear em a few hours at a time, you know, like contacts, to get used to them. And before you know it,.you'll be sold. And then we can all thumb our noses at Cosmo and tell them we no longer care how dirty a man's mind is and we don't care about polls that tell us what he wants to do in bed with the contortionist wheelbarrow hip-breaking positions.
We don't need Cosmo to tell us that men don't give a frick about polls. Nor do they care if we know what's going on in their minds or with their feelings.
Here's the scoop, Cosmo. There is nothing going on in their minds and they have no feelings, except if their basic needs aren't fulfilled. Then their full range is: a little pouty, crabby, and major grumpy.
That's it! That's all they've got! They're just about doing the clap-slapping, jiggety-jigging, happy dance when they're getting some. That's all they care about. Getting Some. The end. We don't need Cosmo to explore that for us.
I will leave you today with one of my most embarrassing moments that has to do with underwear.
You are welcome, Internet.
My boyfriend, now Hubby, was moving into a new apartment, one that he was going to share with 3 other guys. There always seemed to be more than 4 guys living there, at all times. On the average, I think there were about 24, but those are stories for another day.
A team of guys and this lil' ole me with my mullet Sun-In hair and my blue eyeliner helped move all day.
I was more about moving the pencils and pens and paper products, myself, but I contributed.
At the end of the day, a big, tired crew of dudes were sprawled across the plaid couch with the mismatched cushion and all the other gross bachelor college furniture, kicking back and drinking a few cold ones.
I retired to my boyfriend's sweet, new, oversized tub to bubble-bath away all the sweat and grime from moving pencils all day.
I brought my boyfriend's dog up with me.
Spud, the most idiotic dog in the world.
The dog who thought "SP-U-U-U-D! Here boy!" meant run away as fast as you can into the thicket woods behind the house where he would have to be pulled from the bramble with thousands of burrs embedded in his coat.
That kind of stupid.
I relaxed into my sweet bath as the low rumble of a houseful of men below me, lulled me into a gentle haze of half-sleep.
It wasn't until my boyfriend walked in, the sound of men's hysterical laughter trailing him, that my eyes fluttered open.
He held up my undies. A pair I'd worn because they were comfy, because I would be moving pencils all day and I didn't care about sexy. A pair I'd bought at the Walmart because when I ran my hand across them, their polyester was so soft and I was on my period that Walmart day and they just looked like cushy Nirvana with their extra high waistband and their no nonsense white elastic legs and their big scoopy butt area. They were calling to me from their cheap plastic hangar. And so I threw them in my cart, because my biggest rule in life is NEVER, EVER try on underwear at Walmart.
And they were comfy, at least for the first few times until the washer started fraying the cheap material and the waistband was unraveling and they were pilly everywhere and a little dishwater gray from being stuffed in a pocket of some jeans one time, (don't ask) undetected and thrown in the wash with the jeans.
He had those undies in his hand. Those undies.
He said sheepishly, "Um...I don't know how to tell you this. Spud came running down and jumped up on Paul and dropped . . . yeah, these in his lap."
To his credit, he was trying so hard not to laugh. I slid into the water, attempting to drown myself. It didn't work. I hate discomfort in any way. As soon as I popped back up he said, "Do you want to hear what Paul said?"
And no I didn't. I really didn't, but I had to, you know.
It seems Paul held those granny panties up for the whole room to see and saaaaid, "Hey, I didn't know your mom was here!"
And of course, Stupid Spud, Stupid Asshole Spud had eaten the crotch out of them.
Once again, you are welcome.
Get yourself some thongs today. Let's protest Cosmo the source of all things smutty. Cosmo you can just kiss my thong-wearing behind.
On a technical note: Since my new look changed the dimensions of my photos, you will notice many of my pics in my previous posts look cut off. I will be going in gradually and manually changing them all, once I figure out how to do that in my photobucket. I don't even know if you've noticed, but it's bugging me big time, cause I'm anal (no pun intended) like that. Just had to get that out there.
Today's Definite Download: The Cars, "My Best Friend's Girl" Man, what happened to them? They were so brilliant and then whoosh, it's like they just evaporated. At least Ric Ocasek, the ugliest man in the world, is still married to that beautiful supermodel Paulina. And I say, good for you Ric! I hope their kids got their mom's looks instead of the ugly gene. Wouldn't that suck if you were a girl who looked like Ric Ocasek and your mom was a super model. I know I'd be hating life.
"You're always dancing down the street with your suede blue eyes, (and your grannie panties). And every new boy that you meet, he doesn't know the real surprise, (until your asshole dog drops your crotch-eaten raggedy ass drawers in his lap.)" That's all I have to say about that.
But, that's just me.
You go ahead and try it with your bad self if you want to and let me know if it's worth the hip replacement.
Try explaining that one to the doc.
There's also a quiz to see if you're TMI. I'd say if you need a quiz to see if you're spilling out too much personal info, chances are you don't have a blog where you talk about your take on wheelbarrow positions.
Since I already aced the TMI test and yes, I didn't need to take a test to know that all my life, if it creeps across my brain, it's coming out of my mouth, like diarrhea of the mouth. I hope you're not eating right now.
Screw Cosmo. I will never let the thong die. I am a thong girl. There, you go. It's out in the open. I figure if I can blog about my constipation issues, here and here, thongs are a walk in the park.
Now, for those who say they don't think a thong would be comfortable, I say, you got used to wearing a watch or contacts, didn't you? And shall we even begin on stilettos? And for those of you who have tried them and say they don't work for you? I say you just haven't found the right thong.
I was more about moving the pencils and pens and paper products, myself, but I contributed.
At the end of the day, a big, tired crew of dudes were sprawled across the plaid couch with the mismatched cushion and all the other gross bachelor college furniture, kicking back and drinking a few cold ones.
I retired to my boyfriend's sweet, new, oversized tub to bubble-bath away all the sweat and grime from moving pencils all day.
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11 comments:
Tee Hee Hee! The granny panty story is just too funny. I once had an almost nightmare happen to me. I had run out of clean underwear when I was living at home and put on my moms ginormous white mom underwear, superugly. Wouldn't you know that THAT was the night a cute guy and I had supersparks flying and everything, ending up at his place, with me realizing A) hairy legs and B) MOM underwear. I took them off in one sweep move together with my jeans and made him swear to not touch or look at me legs. Problem solved, right? Welll, when I went to gather all my clothes to leave I COULD NOT FIND THE UNDERWEAR. Oh, I freaked out so bad until I finally recovered them. Moral of the story: Always shave your legs, always wear presentable panties.
I don't care who you are that story about Spud and the Granny Panties is funny right there!
Be glad you didn't have a cat that figured out how to get into the bathroom cupboard and into your box of Tampax, manage to rip the paper off and voila! A new cat toy with a string attached, just like a little cotton mouse. And that said cat proudly brings his toy right to your new beau. I'm just saying.
I had a friend once whose elastic broke on her thong, which she was wearing under a sundress. It fell off right in the grocery store! She kicked it under the shelves and kept on going.
No more boxers and briefs. It's all thongs all the time now.
I'm not as trim as I'd like to be and I'm concerned about the jiggle factor when you wear a thong. Aren't things all jiggedy jiggedy in the back yard there?
Maybe, there's a little jiggle? But, I'm very much a jeans girl, so you don't see so much jiggle under the jeans. If I'm in a dress or skirt, I usually have on my spanx and God loves me, because he made the lady who invented Spanx. That stuff is fantastic! But, for pants I'm thonging it.
Ah. I think what we need here is a Spanx thong. A "Thanx"!
When I was 10, my friend, Lorraine and I were sent to do the washing at the local laundra-mat. Happily bumping along with the laundry in my little brother's push-chair, we didn't notice that one pair of my regulation school uniform blue underpants had fallen out. On the way back, we did notice - at the same time - as a cute teen-age boy noticed! We all laughed so hard, I very nearly peed myself. Of course, I picked them up. Still funny, after all these years.
Wow! Just, wow!
Thanks for stopping by my blog and being brave enough to board the insanity train!
Why do these things always happen with underwear? I had to stop buying electric blue bikini underwear, I always had bad experiences with those for some reason...
Grabbing your button and following!
At least now I know why I am constantly having issues thinking of something to blog about that is appropriate. Sports and sex are not appropriate for my viewing audience (really just my wife and son). They already hear too much, or too little about those topics now.
I can't go thong though, I spend way too much time trying to keep my underwear out of that area already.
That was great, i laughed out loud
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