What the Fuck?

I admit. I watch crap television. Happily. Yesteday I watched Project Runway, and then later, The Emmys. Now if thats not a boxcar full of crap TV, I don't know what is.

Project Runway is just a scream. Don't ask me why I like it, but I do. Catty bitches, flaming fags (well they are! I mean really. Spare me the hate mail please) and just the most ultimate fashion bullshit to ever come down the pike. I could give a rats hairy ass about fashion. Fat girls generally don't care. Because no matter what, we're still gonna be fat. Round. I'm over it, how 'bout you?
(Actually I'm working on it, no thanks to my Mom and her snort fashion tips. Puh-leeze. And, unless you're fat or ever have been fat, do NOT tell me how to dress. Don't do it. Pretend you're fat and take a stroll through a fat lady store. Try Dress Barn or Lane Bryant. LB at least tries to be hip, but the Dress Barn is just that, a fuckin' BARN. Polyester, elastic waist pants, caftans, 'tunic' tops, HORIZONTAL stripes (these designers are on crack, designing roundy round striped things for fat women. Assholes) It's just awful. An hour in Dress Barn will send your size 6 asses scurrying back to 'your' stores, where you can get anything you want to wear.

Before you say, "Amy, you choose to be fat. You can lose weight so you can wear nice clothes", I'll do a preemptive Fuck You. Save it. I'm in the process, and frankly, I don't see a fucking thing to wear in the 'normal' sized clothes either. If it's not some ugly ass design or color, it's some impossibly hateful textured fabric, or poorly made piece of shit churned out in Outer Sylvania by some half blind, half crippled dyslexic kids. So don't get on your fitness and you are what you eat high horse.

Sliding nicely into the topic of poorly made bullshit, Obbie and I went shopping yesterday. We spent the morning (after a nice NUTRITIOUS BREAKFAST) searching for new table coverings for the jewelry stand. What a fucking pain in my ass THAT turned out to be. Pennsylvania should sell booze in the malls on Sundays. Holy shit. We went to the cheap, cruddy store, which has overstocks and scratch and dent stuff. Sometimes treasures can be had there (and cheap books) but alas, not this time. The great unwashed were out in force, however. Oh boy, were they. Gads. We left there shaking our heads, and headed off to the fabric store. Which, on Sundays dosen't open until the witching hour of noon. We thought we'd kill a little time by roaming around the local Snot Mall, in the Big Snotty Hill area of the world. Talk about fun. We went to Five Below, which is a dollar store, but everything is five bucks or under. Schlock o Rama is what is should be called. Although there were some good finds there. A rubber chicken launcher, because everyone should have at least one. All kinds of office/school supply stuff, and really cheap shitty jewelery. But thats okay, because I didn't have to buy anything. The store was run by a cadre of teenyboppers in low rise jeans. Most likely with the names, "Tiffanii, Brandii, Mandii, Candii, and Amii" and IF they could actually write in cursive, they'd sign their names with little hearts over the i's. Vo-mit!! The girls had the music on so loud that the place practically vibrated. It was almost like being in a nightclub. Awful, awful. We spent 8 bucks and left. Went down the mall to the BIG LOCAL DEPARTMENT STORE. And meandered around in there, being horrified for the next hour. I didn't realize that one could purchase ugly pocketbooks for more than I get in a bi-weekly paycheck. Butt ugly men's shirts were 100 each. Dear me. And people were buying it. Amazing. We looked briefly in the tablecloth section, but the two little boys rolling around on the floor, bickering,while their mother dickered over 87 cents with the cashier was almost too much to bear. We fled that hellhole and made our way back to the truck. Lucky us, we found the winner of the Tackiest Bitch of the Day contest. A woman, who was older than me, mid-late forties, with high heels, low rise jeans, cropped tee-shirt, and very frosted hair cut in front of us. It was obvious the frosted hair was to cover the gray, and the low rise pants/high rise shirt, left QUITE a considerable roll of flesh out in the world. She minced her way into the hair salon, and right before she got in the door, she took a HUGE drag on her cigarette and flicked it away without even looking where it went. Brrr...naaasty. She looked as if she was no stranger to one night stands picked up in bars. Obbie & I made up conversations for her, "We can't go home, my kids are there, I'll have to fuck you in the parking lot.." and other charming things. We crack ourselves up.

After the World's Tackiest Bitch, we left and headed back to the fabric store AGAIN. At least it was open this time. Lots of nice fabric, beautiful colors, gorgeous patterns, bolts and bolts and bolts of different kinds of fabrics. And one dumb bitch who just HAD to seek us out to 'Help' us. As usual. After trying to convince us that this red fabric would BE THE BEST CHOICE EVER, she began sneezing. I asked if she was allergic to cats, and she said she was. I mentioned I had a few, and she said, "Oh, so you're like my mom's house. Every time you go there, you get food with cat hair in it. I can't eat there, it makes me sick." Oh, so now we've got commentary on my housekeeping. Fuck you. Fuck your red fabric (that looks like a crime scene) and fuck your cat allergies. Of course, I thought this, and didn't say it. We couldn't leave fast enough.

The last stop of the day was to exchange some clothes I had bought last month. They are too big (no I didn't try them on, I do not try on clothes, thats why you keep the receipt!! But I've lost weight since I bought them anyway) They're too big, and I wanted smaller sizes. Well. Let me tell ya. No smaller sizes, an Eastern European barely English speaking clerk, Yuppies, and an already testy me dosen't make for a fun shopping experience. Again, we flew out of there, this time heading home. I'll pin the goddam waists of the too big skirts instead of standing behind Mr & Mrs. Too Cool Yuppies buying neo-modern glass crap for their ultra-chic, Swedish looking apartment and debating the relative merits of tempered glass vs regular glass. HOME NOW PLEASE.

So we went home. And locked the door. And stayed in the rest of the night. We watched part of the Emmy's because we wanted The Office to win everything, and to mock the festivities, the gowns, and the general stupidity. There was very little mocking, because we were exhausted from the day of Scorn, and just didn't have it in us to mock anymore. Which is just a damn shame. I'm not a huge fan of Conan's but I did like his opening skit. Too bad they had to use the plane crash, it couldn't have been timed any worse, but what are you going to do? I certainly hope that Barry Manilow is done being Rod Stewart for awhile. He scares me. His face has been lifted so many times that he is perpetually surprised. Seriously! And poor Dick Clark. Leave him alone, willya? Damn!!
Joan Rivers should be put back at Madame Tussads House of Wax where she belongs, along with her horse faced daughter. And I have nothing else to say on the subject.

With this, I'm done ranting for the time being. No, I didn't have a bad day, I just felt like bitching, and there are some SUPREMELY stupid motherfuckers out there in the world.

Maybe I'll bitch more tomorrow. There is just SO much to bitch about (or at)