The Bachelorette...

So, I ate a potpourri of things for supper tonight.

I had escargot, corn, and Pillsbury Crescent Rolls.

Not that you care.

I have just had a pretty uneventful week so far and thought I'd post something to keep you coming back.

I'll post the pictures of my rack soon.

Promise.

**Update, in response to the comments, last night's meal was something I was miraculously able to throw together at the last minute. Mostly because I was starving and didn't want to eat Kraft Dinner again. **

Already...

The weekend is over.

Sadly, this means that the culmination of all the hard work that I've done around here this weekend will not be enjoyed again until Wednesday.

It actually feels like I live here now, not like I'm moving into a frat house. *

Saturday and Sunday for me consisted of the rare/elusive "Two Day" weekend that most of you regular folk enjoy weekly.

They were the first two days in a row that I've enjoyed since prior to the "Holiday" season.

Dammit.

*I'm eating like a bachelor though... Cereal, microwave dinners, Hamburger Helper...Sob*

Feel free to send donations to me via email.

Please?

Fucking Beautiful...

Prepare to create a visual for yourselves.

A visual that may or may not frighten you.

A visual that made my brain bleed a little.

A visual that you will probably regret having somewhere down the line.

A visual that you will hold me responsible for.

It is nightmare inducing to most.

I apologize in advance.

The following is a true story, names and locations have been changed to protect the innocent.

Date: Friday, January 26, 2007.

Time: 11:00 am.

Location: Lingerie Store

Circumstances: The Boob Lady was minding her own business, doing her morning paperwork, when in walks a couple seemingly looking for hosiery.

Don't be fooled.

The couple combined must have weighed about 550 pounds. (I'm being kind)

The gentleman comes in and asks if I have any hosiery.

I kindly reply no, but give the couple some alternate suggestions as to where they might find some.

As they are turning to leave, the wife rounds the corner and the gentleman rushes back in.

I, being naive, think that he must be searching for a secret Valentine's Day present for his wife when he asks me if I have any 42 DD bras.

I tell him what I have, show him a couple of pieces and tell him that there are other colors as well.

He then asks me what size my panties go up to.

I reply that we stock up to an extra large and he seems relieved.

He then proceeds to tell me that the extra large panty seems to fit HIM the best.

He prefers something in a microfibre, the silkier the better.

Imperceptible to the naked eye, my right eye twitches and my mouth turns down.

I shit you not folks, this man was looking for himself.

He wanted something naughty (Which, at the time, I didn't have) to bring home with him that day.

He then proceeds to show me the manssiere that he is currently sporting and tells me where he bought it.

He prefers something with a molded cup, a little padding, so that it gives him some uplift.

I, meanwhile, am chanting in my head, "Pretend he's a woman, pretend you're dealing with a woman..."

I nod and smile in all the right places and listen to his comments and answer his questions with ease since I'm a fucking professional.

As he's leaving, I'm looking at the ground, trying to decide how best to tell this story.

I think surely nobody will believe this, but decide how to put it nonetheless.

He turns back to me to tell me that he bought this "sexy" pair of boots at the adult store in town just yesterday in a size 14.

He describes that they are lovely, they lace all the way up the front and zip up the side.

They go to the knee and are "Fucking Beautiful!"

I can barely fit my own damn man calves into a pair of hooker boots. How in the hell is this guy doing it?

As mentioned at the beginning of the post, I apologized.

Again, my condolences.

I am the customer service champion of the world.

Ahh, Men...

Phone call received on Tuesday, January 23, 2007.

*Ring, Ring*

Me: Store Spiel

Man On Phone: Hello "Boob Lady", do you have dancers?

Me: I beg your pardon sir?

MOP: Dancers, do you guys have dancers there? You know?

Me: No, I'm sorry sir, we don't.

MOP: Are you close to the Maxx?

Me: No sir, I'm in the mall and they're on such and such street.

MOP: Do you think they have dancers?

Me: I don't know sir, they are a dance bar.

MOP: So, they might have dancers then?

Me: Sure.

MOP: Thanks Boob Lady, have a nice day.

Me: You too.

*Click*

**UPDATE: As per the comments, if I had my time back, I would have asked him how much he was willing to pay me. I would have come over and done the robot. I do a mean robot. **

Nevermind...

So, I decided against the day by day recap.

I'll fill it in in this post in point form.

It's much more fun that way.

And it's way too painful to write it in detail.

Also, the shit just keeps on a comin'.

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Monday: You already got.

Tuesday: My car won't start. A cab is called in the nick of time to get me to work. A $15.00 cab no less. Both ways.

Wednesday: My car won't start. This is the day of my winter tire appointment. Yeah, I know, you're thinking; "You're two days late Boob Lady, the snowstorm was on Monday." To that, I say: "Suck it." Call tow truck. Arrive at car appointment 4 hours late.

Thursday: Drop co-worker off at home, get pulled over by the po-po paddy wagon for going the wrong way up a one way street. I seriously had no idea. Don't have to-date paperwork in registration folder.

Friday: Seemingly harmless. Something sinister surely lurks...

Saturday: Not so bad.

Sunday: Work on day off.

Come on.

This has got to be a terrible karmic mistake doesn't it?

I'm a good person dammit.

I can't help it if Carl is a little bitch cleverly disguised as a tuna can on wheels.

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Today, I get all prepared to leave for work, early no less, and attempt to drive down the hill.

Attempt being the operative word here.

I get a portion of the way down when it feels like my back tire may be stuck or dragging a piece of ice.

Notsomuch.

Turns out that my back wheel doesn't want to rotate AT ALL.

I don't notice this until I am through the toll bridge and need to pull over into their parking lot.

My back tire had ceased up and was basically staying still while the other three wheels were turning.

This led to me leaving a 123089710294871 foot skid mark from my apartment to the bridge.

I end up calling ANOTHER tow truck, the smarmy tow truck driver finally arrives, I take it to the auto shop, I am late for work, and my day is ruined.

At 6 pm, I go to pick up my car YET AGAIN and this time, I am assured that it should be smooth sailing from here on out.

Yeah, you said that last week dickhead.

And yes, your math is correct, that's two tow trucks in less than a week.

Monday...

Oh, Monday.

The day that started one of the shittiest weeks EVER...

I wish I was joking.

Over the following posts I will re-enact through photos and sob stories the true week that I had.

Enjoy...

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On Monday of last week, the city got hit with the first snow of the year. Not only was it snow, it was a full blown snow storm.

I left work at 9:10 pm sharp. I scuff out to my car since if I walk properly I am going to go tits up in a snow bank.

I get to my car and it turns out that I had parked in a puddle.

*Pity Party Begin*

My shoes had holes in them.

*Pity Party Over*

I get into my car after a few painful minutes of trying to unlock my frozen door.

I start the car, retrieve the car brush, and proceed to brush the snow/ice/Mother Nature's

Ass© off of Carl, the funkmobile.

After I'm done cleaning, I drive at a snail's pace over the highway to get to my new home.

It's treacherous to say the least.

Once I get to my street, I pull up, get stuck halfway up since my tires are BALD.

I spin my tires, swear, cry, chainsmoke, all the usual panic induced stress relievers.

I proceed to back up down the street to try the next street over which intersects with mine and has a smaller incline.

Lo and behold, I get stuck there too.

Again, I back up, turn, and go to the NEXT street.

Notsomuch.

I end up half in the road, and half in someone's driveway.

After calling my mother in a tear induced frenzy, I call another friend.

She, her boyfriend, and his cousin came to rescue me from across town.

While I am waiting, I notice that there is someone watching me from their window.

This skank watched me the entire time I was sitting in front of her home with my hazard lights on.

I swear, at one point, she left to get popcorn.

It was a valiant move on their part.

After much tire spinning, swearing, and slip sliding around, we manage to get me over to my street, half up the hill, partially parked in my own spot.

This is where Carl spent the night.

The bastard.

New Year...

So, like I mentioned before, a lot has happened.

TM and I split up, I moved out, he moved away, and I am now living on my own.

It's wierd.

I never really envisioned myself at 26 living alone with two cats.

Now you can finally call me the crazy cat lady.

Except, I'm not crazy.

Yet.

It's a new Chapter in the book that is The Boob Lady.

I hope you'll stay with me on my adventure and ride the coaster with me.

An Open Letter To Jonah...

You WILL see...

Back In Black...

I'll be back on soon, lots has happened, lots to tell, little time to tell it.

Please be patient, I promise, it'll all be worth it in the end.

Man Vadge...

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moose knuckle n. a (prominent) pudendum; the appearance of the (male or female) sex organs in tight clothing. Also known as: Man Vadge.

Cameltoe is a slang term that refers to the outline of a woman's vulva when seen through tight, form-fitting clothes. Usually, a cameltoe is visible from the front. Web sites exist that are dedicated to publishing photographs of celebrities' cameltoes.

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This is to all people who are sporting the toe.

The camel toe that is.

I'd like to say that I coined the term Manmel toe, but I don't think it's gonna jive with the Urban Dictionary since they've already got it in there.

Instead, we'll stick with the ever popular "moose knuckle".

Please.

Stop wearing pants that are too tight.

All of you.

Think of the disease.

Think of the infections.

Think of the people.

The people who have to look at your junk.

The kind of junk you just can't look away from, even if you try.

Thank you.

If you must know the history of the camel toe, and I think you do, please, follow this link.

It is very informative. My favorite quote?

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"The male toe (pantalones tightus camelius) did not come into existence until sometime between the 12th and 13th century AD as pants were not a common feature among the male gender prior to this".

PS: I'm sorry.

**Update: Flannery mentions Steve Perry of Journey having had one. I would also like to note that EVERY SINGLE member of Foreigner are STILL rocking the man vadge.

Unmade...

I haven't properly made my bed in weeks.

Usually when I do that, it's a sign of me being too busy, time spent working rather than time spent at home.

The same can be said for recent weeks, although, I've had a couple of days off here and there for the holidays.

This time feels different.

It's like, if I don't make it, I won't have to lay in it.

Do you catch what I'm throwing down?