Tag Archives: funny

Clearly this was a man’s idea.

20 Apr

Tuesday morning as Alan and I were getting ready to leave for work, he emerged from my guest bedroom with a shit-eating grin on his face. “Are those your new pants in the closet there?” he asked.

I confirmed that they were.

“Interesting label on them,” he paused. “I can’t believe they actually sell pants that are billed as ‘curvy with stretch.’ That’s clearly a euphamism.”

I would have glared at him, but I share the same opinion. I buy 90% of my wardrobe from Ann Taylor Loft. I love that I can grab clothes off the rack and know if they’ll fit without trying them on, but I think their sizing system is a bit, um, insulting.

They have three styles for all their pants, each named after a woman: there’s the Ann, Julie or Marissa cut. While I like the fit, I find the names stupid. Not to mention, when you have two names clearly rooted in the 70s, what is Marissa doing there? It’s like Barbie and Skipper suddenly having to drag Barbie’s younger sister Stacie along. Just a mismatched item.

So back to Alan. He wanted to know a) how a store actually turned a profit that had a product labeling women as fat, and (to his credit), wondering why I needed a pair of pants designed to be curvy and stretchy.

I explained that the Marissa cut is for straight, boy-cut bodies, so those clearly wouldn’t work for me (I have hips, yo!). And the Ann style is made for — I don’t know, I guess people whose belly buttons are located where most people have a sternum. Or perhaps they should be called the mom-cut, since the waistband is always about four inches above a person’s hips.

Whatever. With those as my other options, I’ll take the pants that are designed for someone with a distinct waist and hips with a different measurement. And even if they may have been named by a passive-aggressive man who wanted his wife to diet, I’m going to just think that the “stretchy” allows me to have an extra helping of dinner without sweating it.

Now that I think of it, I’m seeing the advantage to pants that have a waist band four inches above my actual waist. Sign me up for the Ann cut!

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Don’t tug too hard or you’ll destroy it.

18 Apr

Who wants a phallus for Christmas?

At pottery this weekend I asked Jill to demonstrate how she pulls and attaches a handle to a mug.

I’ve been trying to do it during open studio without guidance, and as a result, my handles have come out looking bent, uneven and generally like they won’t stay on for a single dishwasher cycle.

As always, Jill made it look easy. But even in the hands of a lesbian, the process of pulling a handle also looked – well – dirty. You basically have to keep pulling on a piece of clay until it gets long and smooth, shaped much like a… nevermind.

As Jill was demonstrating this technique, she said, “Now be careful when you go to attach it. You want to keep pulling on it to work the clay, but you don’t want to jerk it off.”

Then, because she’s awesome, she caught herself and – as if she were Beavis’s seventy-year old grandmother, said, “Heh-heh. Don’t jerk it off!”

And that’s why I like pottery.

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My nephew is a tough critic.

13 Apr

My sister and her family came out to visit last week since it was Spring Break in Michigan. Sadly, DC didn’t deliver its usual dose of spring beauty – it was unseasonably cool (high of 50!) and rainy while they were here. Bummer.

The trip did allow for a revelation: I decided my youngest nephew (now eight years-old) should host a reality show. He’s cut from the cloth of Simon Cowell.

It was his first time visiting my new place, so he paced around inspecting it. “This is really nice,” he pronounced. “But you know what you need? You need a 48″ flatscreen right above your fireplace. That would make it better.”

“Nah,” I told him. “Televisions are for boring people who can’t entertain themselves.”

He considered that. “Not really. You could also use it to play Wii, and you can learn a lot from a Wii.” Noted.

The next morning I was sitting in the living room working on my laptop. “You’re boring,” he said. “All you do is sleep and work on your computer. You even have your groceries delivered. Do you ever leave your house?”

Ironically, I generally walk about 25 miles per week, but I didn’t bother to correct him. “Not really,” I said.

“Never?” he asked.

“Have you seen me leave?” I pushed.

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This doesn’t seem well planned…

8 Apr

In the O’Hare airport bathroom this week I encountered this sign:

Does anything about this strike you as odd?

How about the fact that it’s written in braille? Now, I might not be visually impaired, but I think it’s safe to assume that a blind person isn’t going to walk into a public restroom stall and start running her hands over every surface, looking for a plaque that tells her how the toilet works.

Once I processed that image, I thought about the alternative: imagine the poor person who comes in and blindly sits on this toilet without knowing the odd mechanics involved with this toilet seat.

First, it feels like it’s lined with plastic baggies.

Second, it’s quite likely that it will start moving while the person is sitting on it, since it’s triggered by a motion sensor.

I’m pretty sure that’s the kind of experience psychologists are talking about when they use phrases like “emotionally scarred.”

Now that’ve had a chance to think through it, I hope that the braille on that sign isn’t simply repeating the printed instructions that people can see. Instead, when the toilet seat rotates a seated blind person around it and she sticks out her hands for balance and finds this sign, I hope it says:  You might be disoriented, but at least you’re not sitting in someone else’s pee.

Or maybe even: Carnival ride is over. Please dismount and deposit a nickel in the bin on your right.

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In other news: Mom hates museums.

7 Apr

Last week when I posted about our trip to the Library of Congress, I was primarily fixated on the bitchy woman who worked security. I completely didn’t do the rest of the visit justice.

If you like books or architecture, then the LOC should be on your must-see list when you visit DC. It’s free (like almost every other cultural destination in this fine city), and it’s a gem.

I take any willing guest there if faced with a rainy day, but it’s been years since I took the guided tour. The building is loaded with symbolism, and over the years my explanations have gotten a bit thin.

“See that statue there? She represents travel, which is why she’s holding onto a train.”

<A docent sadly shakes his head as he walks by.>

So this time, knowing my dad is history buff, I suggested we all take the guided tour. Much better than me making shit up that he’d be able to call me on.

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