Tag Archives: Just Sayin’

Say NO to Sag… and YES to tricorn hats!!

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Ok, I guess I should start by apologizing profusely for yet again letting an absurd amount of time pass between posts. What stinks is I’ve had so many things ruminating about in my brain, and just no time to share them!

 

This gem I’ve held on to since Saturday, just dying for a few minutes to tick-tack-type it onto my blog. But let me go back a few months, to Thanksgiving. The BFE and I did something that I do my best to NEVER do, unless it is an absolute emergency.

 

We went to Wal-Mart. On Thanksgiving Day, no less.

 

We were taking a dish to a friend’s potluck Thanksgiving Day dinner, and needed a couple of missing ingredients to put it all together. As we are walking in, a young man in front of us stops and bends over to pick up one of the turkey fryers that was on sale, exposing approximately 8-10 inches of red plaid underpants in the process. I couldn’t help myself: “Hey, I can see your underwear!!”

so no to sag

Not ok.

Plaid Guy, pauses, gives me a look that clearly says WTH: “Um… thanks?” Walks away.

BFE tugs my sleeve. “What’s wrong with you??”

Me: “Well it was obviously NOT a secret, I mean, he must have wanted us to know. He even had on decorative undies for the occasion! Christmas is coming!!”

BFE shook his head. I had to hear a lecture throughout our tour of Wal-Mart on how if the guy had bene rude to me then B would have had to deck him, and how he didn’t want to hit people, etc. etc.

pants on the ground

Honestly, I hadn’t seen the “sagging” pants trend in quite a while before this happened, and had forgotten that it was a “thing”.

 

Fast forward a few months, I come across another dude; this guy had clearly put some effort into his outfit, had everything coordinated and tidy, and he was, dare I say it, DAPPER… except for the 8-10 inches of undergarments staring (because “peeking” doesn’t even cover it), staring out at everyone from the back of his ensemble.

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Sporting plaid for the holiday season – festive sagging!

Ok, first of all, how do they stay up? Normally your rear end acts as a natural “shelf” for pants. Do you walk about holding them constantly with one hand? What if you have a two-handed project, like carrying your fast food to the car, or walking the dog and picking up his poo with a bag? Is it a conscious effort to color coordinate the draws with everything else? Do they really think girls find them sexy? Like a girl’s gonna go “oooh, he’s displaying his clean and coordinated panties as a part of a normal highly stylized contemporary mating ritual, I must get with him and make him mine”? Finally, what purpose does showing everyone your unmentionables serve? Now we’re mentioning them, so are they technically still “unmentionables”? I have so many questions.

no ok

What’s funny is I’d forgotten about color coordinated guy until I saw something that sparked even more questions. Driving home from work the other day I saw I young man, probably 13, 14, 15. He was shirtless and showing off his bird chest, kinda in that defiant way, like he’s trying to own it, even though clearly puberty hasn’t come for a visit yet? Anyway, he’s walking down the street, bird-chested and shirtless, with sagging pants. Le Sigh.

 

But that’s not the best part! He was sporting a – wait for it – tricorn hat.

 

Yeah, like Yankee Doodle Dandy, Bee-yotch!

Yeah, like Yankee Doodle Dandy, Bee-yotch!

A TRICORN HAT! Like Captain Jack Sparrow was back, ready to take over the central Florida area!!!

 

Outside of tacky Disney tourists and bad Jack Sparrow Halloween costumes, I thought tricorn hats had disappeared from regular circulation, but here’s bird chest guy, strutting down the street a-la John Travolta from Saturday Night Fever, pimping a dingy, dusty tricorn hat. It was so effing weird.

Not as weird as these guys, but close.

Not as weird as these guys, but close.

I’ve had a few days to think on this, and I’ve come to the conclusion, what if guys stopped with the sagging pants as a “thing” and made tricorn hats the new “thing”??

 

Even women could get in on the new style, and totally rock them. I mean, I would look sooo bad-a$$ in a tricorn hat. You could wear big ones, small ones.

so rock this

I would SO rock this hat.

They could become the statement pieces at fashion runways and you could rummage at Marshall’s and TJ Maxx to find discount designer tricorns. You would know that the trend has reached its peak when you see Ryan Seacrest sporting on E!.

Glamourshots ain't got nothin' on my Olan Mills pics with my new tricorn hat!!

Glamourshots ain’t got nothin’ on my Olan Mills pics with my new tricorn hat!!

I’m serious!!! Say NO to sag, and YES to tricorn hats!!!! Who’s with me??!!!!

The Rules

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This evening while I was doing my part to get us packed for our big move in 2 weeks I came across a cache of dusty self-help books on one of my bookshelves.

 

One book was “Sexy at Any Size” (a really good book actually), another was the Bridget-Jones inspired “Becoming a Goddess of Inner Poise“…still yet was the snarky “He’s Just Not That Into You“. DID NOT LIKE. THAT BOOK.

 

Then I stumbled across self-help GOLD.

 

My copy of “The Rules: Time-tested Secrets for Capturing the Heart of Mr. Right“.

 

Yeah, that’s right. Like many single women, I was handed this book by a well-meaning friend, and actually tried to live by some of the bat-shit crazy rules in this book until I realized trying to live my life by rules set forth on a paperback book was insane and made me look like a controlling social engineer from the depths of crazy-land.

 

It’s funny, it specifically talks in the book about how if you break the rules in this book, you will not find a successful relationship. I personally believe that if you don’t break a few rules in this book, you’ll walk around like you’ve got a stick up your ass. Following this list of arbitrary rules didn’t really work for me. It wasn’t until I broke a few of The Rules that my dating life actually got interesting, and went from the “wishing and reading the Rules” stage to the “living and laughing and leaving the Rules behind” stage.

 

Some rules I effed up on:

 

Broken Rule #1 – Be a “Creature Unlike Any Other”

Hmph. This rule was mostly about keeping a certain amount of mystery in your relationship. I guess I broke that one the first time I peed with the door open. He literally screamed. Now he tries to hand me bank slips to look at while I’m in there with my underpants around my ankles, having personal time and reading Adele’s article in an old Rolling Stone. I’m all like,”What is this?! What do I do with this?!” and He’s all like “I dunno.” Neither of us finds it strange that the interaction is happening while one of us is pantsless.

On 4th of July I pulled  a prank that involved telling him to lift my leg (pantsless of course) and then farting directly into his face. Again, he screamed. And gagged. And laughed.  Almost a week ago and I still cry with laughter about that, and so does he.

Speaking of pantsless… I guess introducing him to my “Pants Off Friday” celebrations probably blew up Rule #1… unless it actually supports #1. I’m pretty sure dancing around without my pants on Fridays makes me a “Creature Unlike Any Other”

 

 

Broken Rule #5 – Don’t Call Him and Rarely Return His Calls

I always returned his calls. I was always so excited to hear from him that I didn’t have the self-control to be coy and all not-calling-back right away.

 

 

Rule #6 – Always End Phone Calls First

Um… yeah, like the first 2 months he was ALWAYS the one that hung up first, usually because he fell asleep while I was talking excessively. See Broken Rule #5

 

 

Broken Rule #14 – No More Than Casual Kissing on the First Date

I guess now’s the time to tell the Story of the Cold.

The BFE and I met through online dating. When I finally bullied him into asking me out, we jokingly came up with a code: if he tried to kiss me, and I wasn’t feeling it, I would just say “I have a cold”.

Our first date was a movie… while we’re sitting there, he leans over and is all like “Hey, I don’t have a cold”… I laughed and kissed him. I haven’t stopped kissing him yet. 🙂

Our good-bye kiss after he walked me to my car lasted about 25 minutes. I don’t think I ever left so happy. I guess technically it wasn’t “casual kissing”. 🙂

 

 

Broken Rule #17 – Let Him Take the Lead

Are you kidding me? What is this, 1925? See Broken Rule #14… he kept beating around the bush so I finally got him to ask me out. I kinda let him believe it was his idea. So in theory he took the lead… right?

 

 

Broken Rule #22 – Don’t Live with a Man (or Leave Your Things in His Apartment)

Whatever. He moved in with me, so I didn’t actually move in with him. It was the best thing we ever did.

 

 

Broken Rule #31 – Don’t Discuss the Rules with Your Therapist

That smacks of someone desperate to hide their crazy. I’ve said it before, and I’ll said it again: “In the South we don’t hide our crazy. We sit it on the front porch and give it a cocktail”. My friends are my therapists, and the idea of having to hide some element of my nutjob personality from my friends is exhausting. I once tried to explain the rules to my friend Kev, and I could visually SEE part of his life force draining away due to the sheer tedium of all the rules.

 

 

I guess each person has to decide for themselves if The Rules is something they want to do. I just felt it was a bit antiquated for me and my lifestyle, along with somewhat crazy and most importantly, a set of rules specifically designed to hide the best parts of yourself from your partner.

I mean, yes, some of that stuff is common sense, and is designed for those girls that get so excited with each new prospect that they shoot straight for Stage 5 Clinger. I agree – you probably shouldn’t go all stalker-y on potential new date guy, but seriously? Why should I hide who I am? How could I NOT share Pants Off Friday with the dude that might end of being my Baby Daddy? If you can’t take me at my worst, you don’t deserve me at my best. And that means no Pants Off Friday for you!

A Certain Age…

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A close friend of mine recently told me that she got pearls for a Christmas gift from her mother… “you’re getting to a certain age now and should always have a good pair of pearls”…

Are we getting to that certain age? What is the certain age? How do we know when we get there?

Bear in mind I’m only 33 years old, so I probably spend wayyy too much time thinking about my matronly years. I don’t wanna be that cranky old lady that yells at kids to stay out of her begonias. And I worry a lot that when I’m old, come Halloween the kids will put foil-wrapped turds in my mailbox and chase my 18 cats around. I constantly tell my friend Ojeda that he’s gonna be a mean little Cuban man spouting accidentally racist statements at all the caregivers at his elderly home. Surprisingly he doesn’t seem to care as much as I do.

These are some indicators I have noticed as I approach that “certain age”:

  1. The need for iconic pieces of jewelry, i.e. pearls, rings, pendants. Jewelry not found in your local Forever 21 and/ or Charming Charlie’s (pfft. I don’t do this yet, I still shop for accessories in the juniors section of Nordstrom).
  2. More and more suits in the closet and less halter tops (well at least more dress pants! And a few suits. I haven’t given up the halters completely. Don’t worry – all my goodies and fat bits are covered in my tops!!).
  3. Really starting to read ALL of the fine print in every contract, even fi it means the salesperson has to wait until you’re done (Hell yes I do this, ever since I got jacked on my last set of premium tires at Tires Plus. I also check my order at the drive through before driving off.).
  4. Becoming more appreciative of what your health care coverage includes, such as twice yearly dental cleanings, contact lens fittings, etc. This also includes what you can charge to your FSA (Note: FSA cards can be used to buy contact lens solution!! That ish ain’t cheap).
  5. Enthusiastically discussing with friends just how you’re managing your retirement plan and your contribution percentages.
  6. At 4 pm making plans to go out and party that night sounds like a great idea… come 8 o’clock you’ve changed your mind, and stay at home and drink wine instead while watching Restaurant Impossible and nodding off by 11 pm.
  7. Rrrrreally enjoying gardening, and getting excited when you buy a new hydrangea bush (or maybe that’s just a “me” thing. Does anyone else name their flower bushes?).
  8. Debating the merits of fiber supplements (VERY important! Take your fiber people!).
  9. Your main goal after church is over is to get to the Cracker Barrel as quickly as possible in order to “beat the Baptists” (personal goal of mine for years).
  10. Frank discussions from your parents regarding colonoscopies, endoscopies and mammograms because these are all things you’ll need to think about when you near “a certain age”

And finally…

  #11: You utter the dreaded words “I just can’t drink like I used to”

poke, Poke, POKE!

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Anyone ever get “poked” on Facebook?

 

 And no, this isn’t the beginning of a dirty joke.

 

I’ve had several people ask me what it means to “poke” someone on FB, and I just kinda make stuff up. I have no idea if what I’m telling people is right. All I know is what poking means to me.

 

 These days if someone says something about poking or getting poked you automatically think social media! I got poked today… LITERALLY.

 

Some sick, deeply disturbed and sadistic vendor brought Ghirardelli cookies to our office this afternoon – big yummy soft ones. I mean, cookies thicker than your hand and bigger than a small pancake. There were macadamia nut, chocolate chip and turtle!

 

Then just to add fire to gasoline, one of my coworkers placed her recently purchased girl scout cookies out for everyone to enjoy.

 

We all swarmed around the cookies like vultures on roadkill. Just as I was reaching my chubby paw to break off a small piece of the macadamia nut cookie, I felt a sharp poke! right in my backfat, on the righthand said of my back, in the bra fat area… you know… the worst back fat area to be poked in?

 

One of my coworkers – who has been a huge supporter of my quest to lose weight – was poking me! I know she didn’t do it to be rude, but just to remind me of my priorities. Still… oh, the shame!

 

That poke snapped my fat ass back to reality. I had NO business whatsoever pigging out over cookies!! I need to stay focused on my goal… to lose weight and be able to wear gym shorts in public. That poke was more than a poke. It was a lifeline dragging me back onto the bandwagon.

 

I sighed and withdrew my cookie bid.

 

Then I sighed again… SMILED… and grabbed that little quarter of a cookie and ATE IT. It tasted so good!!!! Poking be damned!

 

Moral of the story? I can still be on the bandwagon and be working towards my goals without making myself miserable. I’m betting that quarter of a cookie stopped me from going goatshit postal and eating every girl scout and ghirardelli cookie within a ten-mile radius.

 

 So …thanks for the poke! 🙂

 

Private Space

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Interesting. I’d like to hear your thoughts on this. Do yall think I went too far?

 

I got a LOT of flack for the post I created last night… so much so, that it’s now password protected.

 

I’ve heard everything from “why say such mean things about people to make yourself feel better” and “why use such vulgar language” to “what if that post re-surfaces and bites you in the butt later when you’re looking for another job, etc”.

 

The last concern was what finally made me decide to password-protect the post. If you want to read it again, just ask me.

 

What I’m struggling with is the guilt that I now feel for expressing myself in my personal space. I see Sunburnt Peach as my place to vent, share thoughts and share stories both hilarious and strange. I don’t like the idea of being constricted by people’s expectations or disappointments in my behavior, and I’m ashamed to say that I fall victim to it all too often.

 

My original intention when creating this blog site in April of last year was to have  a place where I captured all of my “stuff”: the good, bad and ridiculous. It’s been suggested that I could lose friends over what I wrote… I counter that with “if I lose you as a friend over one post, I have to question the friendship.” If you’re my friend, I will do anything I can for you – before you even ask. We would never get to the point of the situations I listed in my blog, because there’s open communication between friends, even ones that don’t talk every day. Furthermore, FRIENDS don’t do use other friends. 

 

I still think it is wrong for people to take advantage of others in thoughtless, self-serving ways. I still plan to say “NO” a lot more often (which will be easier now that I no longer have perks to give out to people). I’m still sick of being nice while people walk all over me because I’m too much of a pansy to stand up for myself. I can be a pushy jerk sometimes, but when my back’s to the wall I will cave. I know other people who do this as well, and I’m sick of watching it happen to them too. It’s unfair that nice people lose so often, because of the crappy people who ruin it for everyone.

 

…and posting what I wrote yesterday doesn’t mean I’m not “nice” either. No one’s perfect, and everyone gets fed up at some point. If you think less of me for what I wrote yesterday, I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I offended you, and I’m sorry that one post would make you think so less of me.

 

Not to be arrogant but I am a smart girl. I don’t think that using four-letter words denotes a lack of intellect or vocabulary. In fact, I think that four-letter words are frequently a more apt and succinct way of sharing your emotions with fewer words. Maybe it makes me vulgar… and I’m offended by being called vulgar… but I do my best to pick the time and place that I use any language. I wouldn’t use 8-syllable words around 2nd graders, and I wouldn’t say sh!t while sitting next to an elder in church. I’m not stupid, I’m not new to the world, I just need a place to write down what’s going on in my head.

 

Moving forward, I don’t think I’ll be publishing a post quite as spectacularly full of fireworkds and shock as what I posted last night. But hear this: if you continue to follow me, it’s gonna be quite a ride. I can’t promise every post will be sunshine and puppies and hugs, but they won’t be mean-ness and anger either. They will be… me. So you’ll have to take me as I am 🙂

 

Judge Me If You Want…

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So the other day some friends and I had a conversation about Santa Claus and I mentioned that I don’t remember ever believing in Santa Claus.

 

From the response I got you would have thought I’d said my family routinely drowned kittens at Christmas.

 

I don’t think that means I had a terrible childhood, do you? Maybe I did believe in Santa at some point, but I don’t remember that, and I don’t remember being told he didn’t exist. My parents put presents under the tree for my sisters and I: some were wrapped and had name tags on them, and some were placed there the night of Christmas Eve with no wrapping or tags. I don’t recall them ever saying “Santa left this for you”. I do remember being excited to see what wold appear under the tree on Christmas Eve.

 

A co-workers was telling me about a relative of hers that doesn’t want anyone to give her son toys for Christmas unless they say they’re from Santa… gifts of clothes and stuff can be from Aunt and Uncle, but the fun stuff has to be from St. Nick. Are you kidding me right now? Oh h#ll no… if I trekked my broke a$$ to Target to buy your child an expensive Fisher Price toy, you bet your sweet a$$ I’ll be writing my name on that effing card. How do you dictate gift giving? Who does that? Sometimes I think parents go wayyyyy too far to perpetuate the whole Santa conspiracy.

 

 

 

 

 

Another matter: I think the “Elf on a Shelf” phenomenon is utterly ridiculous. In fact, I agree with a friend of mine that calls it “lazy parenting”. To me it seems like you can’t control your kids’ behavior so you turn those duties over to a stuffed elf. A freaky looking stuffed elf that’s EXPENSIVE to buy, and comes with a change of clothes. That’s right: you can buy CLOTHING for your psycho stuffed elf.

 

For a while I kept my opinions of this elf of a shelf crap to myself, then I happened upon this super-hilarious blog from a woman who’s also fed up with the elf shenanigans. Another case of parents going to great lengths to perpetuate the consumer crazy. There are blogs and lists out there devoted to different activities you can make your elves do to surprise the kids each day: find the elf reading books, making “snow angels” in spilled flour on the counter, all kinds of foolishness. Honestly? I’m an adult, and I find those dolls a bit scary to look at, and I’d pee my pants if I noticed him moving locations all throughout my house without my knowledge. Even good kids would legitimately be freaked out by this.  Why terrorize your kids into good behavior during the holidays? Let’s be honest: if you were expecting good behavior all year long that elf would be  unnecessary. THAT ELF WOULD BE UNEMPLOYED.

 

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not a reincarnation of Ebenezer Scrooge. I love Christmas. I look forward to the magic of the Christmas season all year long. There’s something amazing and special about the lights, and the time you spend with families and friends… the food, the carols, the wonder, the Nativity. I’m just appalled that people think I’m nutso for not believing in Santa as a kid, and I’m shocked at how the whole elf thing has taken off.

 

I’m just sayin. You can still have an excellent Christmas without hoping that the freaky-looking stuffed elf is gonne report back to the North Pole so that a big fat white dude can shimmy down your chimney to give you presents.

 

Thanks for letting me rant,

 

 The Grinch