Today I was in Kohl's looking for a necklace to wear with my wedding dress that would both look pretty and cover my catheter scar, which looms like a giant cigar burn on the wall of my chest. I didn't find one, but I DID find myself standing under an elevated mannequin which had been propped up next to the Juniors section.

I for one am not a big fan of the Juniors section of Kohls, and not only because I'm 24. I guess I'm just against the idea of paying $15 for sweatpants that say "cheer" on the ass. Not that looking at my ass doesn't make people cheerful, but, you know.

Anyway, I looked up at this mannequin, which was clad in jeans and a t-shirt, which I think are perfectly acceptable articles of clothing for high school girls, except that in this particular case the mannequin was sporting some serious nipplage, of the kind that would be EXTREMELY disturbing on a 14 year old girl.

I also find it weird that the mannequin, which would clearly be around 90 pounds if it were an actual girl, was endowed in such a way that it was clearly POINTING in the direction of the slutty low-rise jeans, as if to say "these pants make me HAPPY!" I also find it bizarre that on a mannequin fitted with appropriately small breasts, given its overall dimensions, would look as though it had spend years breastfeeding. I mean, seriously. Not to get too personal here, but do a quick google image search and you'll see that anatomically they were more than a little inaccurate. Small breasts don't work that way, people. Not even in porn.

I'm not going to go all conservative, and say that mannequins should wear bras, and that nipples are bad. Hell, nipples are great. We all have them! Even my little runt cat Jerome, who is napping on my lap right now, has nipples. She has SIX. I don't think I'm too prudish about it at all. I guess I just think nipples on mannequins are extraneous. They had to go out of their way to redesign the molds, using more plastic. It's obviously a sex thing, and I don't really think putting a "sexy" mannequin in amongst the clothing for 13 year old girls is very appropriate. Put it in the misses section or something. Or hell, at least make them to scale, so it doesn't look as though the mannequin is a terrorist attempting to smuggle in artillery or something.

Mannequins are creepy, anyway. Do you remember that 80s movie where the mannequin became a real lady, and became someone's mommy, and then set a Christmas tree on fire? Maybe they're using those nipples as fire extinguishers, heeding that movie as a chilling warning of what can happen when Plastic Goes Bad. That actually sounds like it could be a semi-successful Fox sitcom.

I suppose I could go on and on, but I'd probably just wind myself up and it's not as though anyone really needs that. I'm glad I'm not built like a mannequin. I think the world probably is, too.

I just saw a commercial for a toy called "TJ Bearytales."
Have you seen this toy? It's a motorized teddy bear that tells stories. Sound familiar? That's because he's nothing more than a stupid looking knock-off of the best and slightly scariest mechanical bear ever, TEDDY RUXPIN.

Yeah, that's right, I said it. TJ Bearytales is frontin'!

Teddy Ruxpin could kick this TJ Bearytale's fluffy little ass. And I'd have his back.
Don't mess with the 80s, man. Just don't do it.

I understand this is slightly weird, coming after a post about leggings, but, well...just don't mess with the 80s, ok?

...cause nothing says "kick my ass" better than LEGGINGS!!!!!


Ha ha ha ha ha.
What can I say, they're comfortable.

I know it's boring to read about other peoples' medical problems, so unless you got here by googling your symptoms, you probably want to just skip this entry. I'm posting this for those traumatized people who are unlucky enough to contract this scary and potentially dangerous infection, and who are trying to self medicate via the internet (which sometimes is more scary than just going to the doctor.)

There have been a lot of staph infections in the Cleveland area recently, and several teenagers ending up in the hospital for staph infections of the eye. I developed one myself the other day, although fortunately what I contracted was not quite in the life-threatening phases because I went to my doctor as soon as I realized it was more than just an allergy.

My upper eyelid started swelling like crazy on Wednseday night and I just assumed I had a stye, or an allergic reaction to a new medication I'd been given for a cold/sinus thing of indeterminate origin. Aside from looking extremely unattractive it didn't really bug me too much, until I woke up the next morning looking as though I'd been punched in the face. I guess it looked pretty bad on Thursday because people at work kept implying that if I needed to "talk" or anything, they were available. Friday morning I was so swollen I ended up going to my eye doctor, using time off I'd been desperately trying to save so that Bryan and I can have a honeymoon---oh well, right? Life can be a bitch.

My symptoms were extreme edema (or oedema, or water retention, or swelling) in the upper eyelid, redness, and warmth emanating from the swollen area. Most of the swelling was along my lashline, although it did cause a funky crease by the inner corner of my eye and I ended up with sort of a Downs' Syndrome effect on the left side of my face. Without a picture that's kind of the only way I can describe how it looked---please note I am not in any way picking on people with Downs Syndrome. My eye itself was unaffected, clear and white. My doctor gave me some Keflex and we called it a day, although he appeared a little nervous and advised me to keep an eye (hah!) on my symptoms. This morning it was REALLY bad...I'm assuming I contracted this from an ongoing case of sinusitis, because my upper cheekbone area was swollen and my eye was sort of icky and watery and red.

Here's where symptoms differ between the less serious and the more serious cellulitis. Apparently when your eye itself is swollen and you have a fever, trouble moving your eye, blurriness or double vision and other general malaise, it can mean it's "orbital cellulitis" which can attack your brain...meaning you need to go the hospital for 1 to 3 days for observation and antibiotics through an IV. Fortunately for me, my red eye was merely caused by the icky stuff slowly but surely leaving via the quickest exit, so it was just a little irritated, much like myself at this point. The doctor said to keep it rinsed out with a saline eyewash ($4) so it doesn't spread, and to keep a close watch on it so that if I develop any of the more dangerous symptoms I can get my scrawny butt to a hospital. He also recommended warm compresses, which sounds stupid, but actually does make a real visible difference. So right my face is a sexy shade of pink and a little puffy, but my eye is open and most of the pain is gone.

So, unlucky googlers you, if this sounds familiar, you will probably need oral antibiotics. They were pretty cheap. Without insurance the generic Keflex would run for about $20. They took about 24 full hours to start working. I'm just taking aspirin for the pain, but honestly, although it hurts, pressing warm clothes on it and massaging the lids with my fingers to relieve the pressure ended up making it hurt LESS in the long run. I'd start at the outer corner of the eye and press your fingers along towards the tear duct. Yeah, it's gross, and my eye was red from the pressing and hot water, but by the end of the day it'll be worth it.

I also learned that I'm not a pussy when it comes to pain, because let me tell you, when you have someone flipping up your eyelid, which is so swollen that you can't even blink without tearing up, the last thing you want to do is go home and press on it with hot water.

But seriously---see your doctor. Especially if you live in the Cleveland area right now. Staph infections are serious business.

Joe C: Redwings fan,filmmaker, writer of haikus, part-time amateur erotic dancer and now soon to be homeowner!

You know, as much as I'm going to miss his parents walking in on situations that can be taken WAAAAAAAYYY out of context, I'm still proud of our little Joe for doing the grown-up equity building thing. Plus, he'll have a hot tub and be within walking distance of a bar. Hurrah!

YAY JOE C!

I started another blog. This one is entitled ClevelandReviews.com, and it's basically a site wherein Bryan and I get drunk put in a lot of serious thought and post about our experiences in bars/restaurants/local chat forums and the like.

It's currently under construction, although I'm thinking of something along the lines of "shitty childishly published crayon newspaper" as the design theme. So if you live in the Cleveland area or the surrounding suburbs, and you want to read a lot of immature whining, you might want to check it out.

Local pride, whooo!

A few weeks ago, I had a cold. This is not shocking news, as it is September. Somehow I ended up coughing for weeks and weeks and weeks, and damaging my ribs, which hurt like the dickens. I called my doctor, and he gave me the sage advice that I should "take cough syrup." Naturally, it didn't work.
So today I went in to see another doctor, and he immediately asked me if I'd been sleeping. I guess I look a little tired, not only because I really haven't been sleeping, but also because little Jerome's "soft paw" came off one of her claws, and when I was kissing the pads of her feet the other day she gaily clawed me under my eye, giving me a small but very dark purple bruise before scampering off to steal the dinosaur toy from Louise, purring with satisfaction the whole time. I didn't explain this to the doctor, because it was embarassing, but he decided I needed a BETTER cough syrup, and prescribed me something with an opiate in it. This is supposed to knock me out and help me sleep.

I should have remembered that back in the dizzay when I was on hydrocodone for a variety of illnesses, I actually ended too wound up to sleep until about 4 am.
Now I'm torn. The cough syrup actually WORKS, meaning I won't keep coughing myself into a broken rib, but it doesn't actually knock me out, so I know sleep will be naught but a distant dream. Well, not a dream really, since I'm apparently going to be awake all night. Maybe a distant MEMORY. Yes, that sounds right. Also, I don't really like the effect opiates have on me. They make me sort of grouchy and I tend to dwell on things that irritate me, such as my chipped nail polish.

Honestly, I think I would have been better off with Nyquil. Sometimes modern medicine makes our lives better, and sometimes it's just stupid.

I'm going to go pick off my nail polish and stare at the wall for six hours.

The other day I went to Target to buy some underwear. Now, when I say "underwear" I'm not referring to anything exciting. I'm talking about a bag of good old dependable cotton underpants, the kind one might wear to see the doctor, or to a situation that would require one to change clothing in front of nuns.

For men, this process is fairly simple. I like to imagine men stride in, see either small, medium or large, grab the bag that corresponds with their real (or imagined) waist size and style preference and BIZAM, their loins are girded and they're ready to go get some chicken wings. At least, this is how my father and Skipper have always shopped, and if I can't judge all mankind by the shopping habits of two men who spend an uncanny amount of time watching tv shows on the internet, rather than using a real TV with a nice screen and speakers, well, then bite me. Get your own damn blog, you hater.

Anyway, sometimes women are able to do this, this stride and select thing that seems to work so well. I remember a day...I think I was about 12...I could walk in and grab some panties, size small. (I remember the day last month when I strode into the "young miss" section and bought a bra in a similiar manner...humiliating, yet simple.) Not so anymore.

Apparently womens' underwear sizes correspond with either their "measurements" (which NEVER seem to accurately match the "measurements" on the bag, since most brands are made in smart countries that value the metric system) or with their PANTS SIZE.

Excuse me while I wax bitter, but womens' pant sizes are the black hole, the cosmic vacuum, the dank basement of the fashion industry.
Did you know that if you buy expensive pants, your size will be smaller? And that if you buy two pairs of pants of the same brand AND size, they will NOT fit the same? And that jeans sizes are different from bathing suit sizes which are different from slack sizes? Yes! They are all totally different! I can walk into a store, close my eyes and grab pants at random off a rack and have an equal chance of finding a pair of jeans that fit as I would if I tried to go by the size tag.

After puberty (approximately age 20) I figured out that underpants in a size "5" would work just dandy, even though the definition of size "5" has changed pretty dramatically in the past ten years. See, size 5 used to be the smallest pants size I remember, and now if you're trendily thin you wear a 4. It's really convaluted and stupid, but needless to say this is why women need to spend five hours shopping whereas men can spend 15 minutes shopping, and 4.75 hours eating chicken wings and flipping through Maxim.

I belive the main bullet point of my story is that I tried to buy underpants at Target on Monday. Yes. That is where I was. I walked in, stared at the 100 choices in front of me for about 20 minutes, and grabbed something that seemed comfortable and modest, yet not too far into the dreaded "granny panty" territory. I grabbed the size I always wore, and proceeded to the checkout, thinking I had gotten away with making a semi-simple grab and pay purchase, much like the men I envy so much.

Nay, that was not the case. For when I put them on this morning, I discovered that some brands have LOWERED their sizes! Yes! In case women weren't already sensitive about their weight ENOUGH, now panties come in a size "4" which will accomodate pants "sizes" 0-4, whatever the hell that even means.

So I'm bitter. You know what's an attractive look? Rolling the waistband of your underwear down so it doesn't stick over your slacks, yet still having enough slack in the rear to bunch and give the impression that you are wearing an adult diaper. Hot!

I'm pretty sure this sort of sizing confusion is done on purpose. We spend more time in the stores trying to pick something appropriate AND flattering, given our variety of body shapes, and therefore we end up spending more money. Furthermore, we end up feeling self-conscious and bad about our bodies, because obviously we must be out of shape if we even NEED so many choices, and then we spend money on low carb foods, diet soda, and workout equipment.

I propose we change the entire sizing system to accurately reflect REAL measurements. I also propose that they stop making pants 10 inches too long, and that anything resembling leggings under formal shorts be burned into so many tacky, polyester ashes.

And that's how things would be if I ran the fashion industry.

Awhile ago I was introduced to a beautiful new snack product: Lay's dill pickle potato chips. Usually I'm not a big snack food person. I eat lots of fruits and veggies and cheese, blatantly disregarding my lactose intolerance for the sharp flavor of white cheddar mixed with an apple slice or other such delicacy from the garden. I'm not sure exactly how I ended up with a bag of these chips, but it was a match made in heaven: the salt, the dill, the crunch.... Then, one day, I went to buy a bag from the sto' and was horrified to find that Tops "Friendly Market" no longer carried my favorite chips! Furthermore, a search of their website proved fruitless. "Friendly market" my ass! Giant Eagle and Heinens were similarly disappointing, as did Krogers (although there is no Krogers in my area, I still retained hope.) Now I'm all bitter and stuff. Where did these chips go? Am I fated to crave them forever with no satisfaction? Like my lust for Manzana Lift, the greatest Mexican fruit soda ever? Nooooooo!

So if any of you out there in Internet Land have access to a bag or six of Lay's dill pickle potato chips, I will pay you to mail them to me. I will pay you in U.S. Dollars and American blue jeans, or even a pack of smokes, if that's what gets ya going. My contact info is on a tab over to the right. (------------->)

Nicole and Vikki and I went out today to buy bridal things for me, and so I could try on bridesmaid dresses for Laura's wedding in April. The bridesmaid dresses have been narrowed down to three choices, and I'm sure they'll look lovely once I'm in one that fits and isn't clothespinned onto my oddly shaped body. Pictures are on the pictures page.