Must our punctuation ALWAYS be so painful?

WARNING!

This post ranks up there on the gross meter.  Gentlemen, you may want to look away.

Todd...this means you!  :)



Ladies, as if our monthlies were stupid enough...I have a bone to pick with the Always people.  Seriously, it's not enough that we have to live through 5-7 days a month when we bloat, get headaches that would blind an elephant, get cramps that are not unlike actual labor pains, and back aches that would sideline most NBA, NFL, AND MLB players for at least a game.  It's not bad enough we must just live through it...when was the last time YOU took a day off with these symptoms?  When was the last time, at your workplace, when everyone else is talking about their aches and pains and guys will discuss their latest bout of the sniffles that kept them in bed for three days, that you whispered the words "I have cramps" and someone didn't mock you?

Basically, women operate ILL at least one week out of every month from the time they are about 11 until pretty much the day they die.  Or go through menopause, which I'm told isn't much better than actual death.  We do it because we must.  We do it because the world, contrary to what most men think, does not shut down just because we don't feel good. 

We do it, and we ask one tiny, little thing.  We ask that our personal products don't actually add to the pain and suffering.

I'm not talking about the products working at this point...I've ranted about that before.  No, my friends, I'm talking about personal products that simply, and with great glee, add layer upon layer of physical anguish to our already annoyingly painful weeks of punctuation editing.

Today I'm aiming my rant ray at the Always people.  You know, the same genius team that came up with "Have a happy Period" commercials, which ran during prime time on DISNEY which lead my 6 year old daughter to ask me why we were supposed to have a happy period.

Yeah, and as if that's not enough...they ALWAYS wind up adding to the pain.

Case in point:  a number of years ago, some friends and I attended an all day, outside, porta potty facilities only event.  I HATE porta potties.  HATE THEM.  Especially at the aforementioned event...I was in costume.  Let's say the costume was bulky enough that moving about in a porta potty without 1)  tipping the potty over and/or 2)  relieving myself on some portion of the costume was not a chance I wanted to take.

And yes, I was on that magical last day of my monthly...the day when you can't go without protection really, but you really are just done wearing protection.  I figured I'd through on something that ALWAYS protected on such days and I would be protected ALWAYS until I got to a real, inside bathroom at the end of the afternoon.

At some point during the day, and it was a hot sweaty sort of day, given the costume I was in, I wasn't terribly aware of the issue until it was really serious, my protection...let's just say, flipped.

Ladies, you know what I mean.  The adhesive side rolled up and stuck to my skin.  Funny how that same adhesive doesn't ALWAYS stick to the material it's supposed to, but it's ALWAYS lock on like glue to skin.

There wasn't much I was going to do about it until I got out of costume, a few hours later.  Once I was able to examine myself...let's say I wasn't walking terribly comfortably for a couple of days later.

So I swore I would ALWAYS buy a different brand of protection.  And I ALWAYS did, until a month ago when there was a discontinued sale on a product I'd never seen before.  I am ALWAYS intrigued by new advances in the realm of punctuation, so I purchased the item. This item promised more coverage, more protection, less leaks...and CLEANLINESS. 

Sandpaper and a baby wipe.
'Nuff said.

I should ALWAYS remember two things

1)  There's a reason a product gets discontinued.

2)  ALWAYS lies.

Ladies, this particular item had a lining that must have been designed by the Marquis De Sade.  Seriously.  It was hard to tell just how much irritation the product was causing me...because, you know...it's pretty much a traffic accident during those magical days.  All I know is that I'm moderately certain they put adhesive on both sides.  In the three days I used the product it ALWAYS stuck to my skin, giving me a super rash BTW.

Have I learned from my troubles?

Yep.  I am ALWAYS going to use a product that is not ALWAYS going to give me a problem.  Why add injury to injury? 

3rd shift shoppers or Zombie parade?

Good morning!

I should be hitting the hay for one of my last all day sleeps.  But I have to share this little thing with you.

Working third shift, as I have for the past month and will soon no longer be doing (Sunday is my last night)  I have observed a number of things, but the biggest thing being...

Working third shift at a convenience store is not the unlike the opening scenes of "Night of the Living Dead."

Now, those of you who know me know that I have a huge fear of that movie.  In fact, I probably won't be able to do laundry today because every time I think about that movie, I can't go in my basement for a couple days without breaking into panic sweat.

Working the night shift is sort of like the opening scene.  That first zombie is just creepy, and scary.

Add "and in search of some hot gas station sandwiches" and you pretty much have my job.

When I started I'm not sure what I expected, but it was NOT constant parade of people, generally men, and generally guys who visit EVERY NIGHT, steaming in for odds and ends.  It starts about the time the final group of daylight dwellers leaves, their bellies full of microwaved meals, coffee, and donuts that have, literally, been out all day.

Then the fun begins.  One by one they march in.  There's the young stoner who comes in to eat what is not made, and therefore we must make something for him.  While he's emptying the store of the small bags of chips, the little kool aid bottles, and cigarettes.  I'd like to tell him that if he bought the BIG bags of chips, he'd save himself some money...and he wouldn't have to come in every night, but I don't think he and I speak the same language.

MUST HAVE BIG HOT DOGS AND TAQUITOS MADE BY A WOMAN IN A HAIRNET!

The food zombies are funny.  They stagger in...and stop immediately at the heat lamps.  Which are typically empty because we have to throw away everything after a certain amount of time, and zombies are not ruled by human concepts of time...and food waste.  I wish we had a big light over the store so we could flash "ZOMBIE FOOD NOW" when we made some stuff. 

Beverage zombies aren't as funny, but it should be noted that these are the people who buy the big coffees...on their way home to bed.  Their eyes never stop spinning in their heads.

Snack zombies...much like one of the other stoners that comes in, clomp around the store picking up random things, and putting them in the wrong spaces.  These are people who are in the store for about 40 minutes, and wind up leaving without purchasing anything.  But they've left their mark in a trail of misfiled snacks and cheese sticks.

Oh, and these night time shoppers wander in wearing pretty much anything.  I waited on a gent, who was obviously not listening to any of the voices in his drug induced delusion.  His zipper was down...not the worst...however, he was wearing very baggie shorts without a belt, so while his barn door was simply open...the ASS was running free in back.  (How do you NOT feel  a draft?)

It's when the clock strikes 3 AM that the weirdness really kicks into high gear.  That's when the regulars with special orders descend.  And heaven help the new employee who is not up on who the regulars are because there is no chart for these people and their demands...and if you don't have it ready when they show up, they will stand there, at the kitchen door, grunting and salivating until the item is ready.

Donut frosting lady:  A rare mid-night female who demands three cake donuts, super extra chocolate frosting.

Donut guy:  Two danish, three plain cake donuts, without fail.  He's a chatty zombie who is clueless that those around him have work to do.  He's already followed me to the bathroom door...I was mopping, and hoping to escape his "interesting tales" of his day job.

Coffee med guy:  This is a new one.  He wants a pot of specific coffee made on 2:30 for his arrival at 3:30.  I'm not making this up.  He wants coffee that is one hour old, no more, no less.  I cannot tell you how this screws up our schedule for making coffee.

Lottery guy:  I don't mind this guy, he's okay, but he's in the store five minutes after the lottery machines turn on for the day  (3: 30 AM)  and buys roughly $45 worth of lotto tickets and scratch off tickets.  (I would love to say to him...don't bother, no one wins on those anyway.)  Then he buys a newspaper...which is delivered by 2 AM every day....except on Wednesday morning, which apparently everyone knows but me.

"Tim"  I don't know what this man does, but he demands a double cheeseburger every night, made before he arrives  (Which is a variable time of night but we must KNOW) and he WILL NOT WAIT.  (It takes 5 minutes...time he typically spends wandering around the store, but the burger MUST be the first thing he puts on the counter, otherwise, he leaves.  He then purchases three Mountain Dews, a Vita water, a box of donuts, and a big bag of chips.  Yes, he is huge...why do you ask?

Cigarette zombies. They either do not speak English or they speak with a mouthful of peanut butter.  The cigarette they want has seven words in the name/description, none of which is actually what the cigarette is labeled as or is called.  (reference my blog about 5 Things I learned working 3rd shift.)

Pizza zombies:  These folks are different from other food zombies because they don't come in search of a specific thing.  They are drawn to the bright lights of the store...and if there's pizza available, they swarm like...well like zombies to fresh brains.  I'm not kidding you, I made a pizza last night, put the slices on the heat tray and sold the entire thing to six separate people in under a minute.  And that was at 1:30 in the morning.  Seriously, who is up, out, and trolling for pizza slices at 1:30 on a weekday morning?

I'm not sure if these folks are lonely, or just really, really into doing the exact same thing over and over again.  People who MUST do purchase the same thing, must have the same sandwich, must buy a single pack of cigs every night, as opposed to buying a carton once a week.  They are the people who know more about the store than most of the employees, especially when it comes to their special section of the store.  Maybe the company should hire these people.    They're up...they know a ton about the store...and, they're up!    Granted, we'd be out of cake donuts, chocolate frosting, double cheeseburgers, and danish...but it might just be worth it!

You do get that people can see you, right?

Good morning!

I have to share this with you this early because in an hour I leave for church and then I have to arrange my day so that I can sleep at some point because I work tonight.  The good news is that I won't have this schedule much longer.  I did manage to get a new, daytime job, and I'll be starting that soon.

Anyway, last night someone drove their car into the tree in front of our house.  The tree will be all right, and no one was seriously hurt...that we know.  The driver, a woman, staggered off as neighbors gathered.  (While I live on a somewhat busy street, the neighbors themselves are pretty quiet and by 9 PM on a Saturday night, it's very still around here.  So when there's a huge boom and then an endless car horn, people gather.)  One lady chased the woman  (I did not for two reasons:  1)  I was already in my jammies and 2)  Homey don't run...we've covered this.) but when she got close enough to call out to the woman, the woman ran and hid in one of the apartment buildings nearby.

So the cops came, the tow truck came, Skippy and I spent 40 minutes out on the lawn with the rest of the neighborhood, talking about the perils of drinking and driving...and many of the neighbors shared their own tales of drinking and driving, each one ending their story with, "And now I just drink."

As for me...I had a different view on this whole thing, as I typically do.

I think many of us believe our cars are sort of like cloaks of invisibility.  (Yes, a Harry Potter reference.  Everyone in the house is going to the midnight show in two weeks except for me, and I'm just a little bitter about that.)  I know that's the case for me because years ago Jim, a writer friend of mine, happened to pull up behind me at a stoplight.  He told me later that he could tell I was singing along with the radio because he watched my pony tail  (yes, this WAS years ago) bob up and down and my head shake around.  I know I'm probably very entertaining in the car.  I'm always talking or singing, regardless of who might be in the car with me.  I talk to traffic, I talk to myself about plot lines, and I sing...lordy, I sing.  I am a rock star in my car, complete with a rock and roll face (Yes, a "Music and Lyrics" reference) and dance moves.

I realize people can see me...I just do not care.

But I am starting to believe that not everyone realizes people can see them in their cars.  Case in point, the woman last night...probably thought she was invisible right until the moment her Lincoln hit my tree...and then she fled because her cloak had been torn.

Friday, I was innocently buying some M&M's at my favorite Walgreen's.  As I left the store I saw a woman, parked in a the handicapped spot  (no tag or sticker, and she didn't look disabled...I'm just sayin'...)  with her car window OPEN, and she was very actively popping a zit!  As I passed by, I was no more than 10 inches away from her face...had she been successful in the pimple poppage, I could have been splattered. 

This is more than teens making out in dark cars...(and no, I'm not quite ready to share my very humiliating story of a make out session abruptly ended by a policeman's flashlight.)...this is about people doing basic, gross stuff in their cars, operating under the obvious idea that no one can see them!

Jerry Seinfeld once did an episode where his girlfriend saw him picking his nose in the car.  Hilarious, but true.  We've all seen that.

Forget the current hub bub about people texting in cars.  I've seen people brushing their teeth  (and spitting out of their cars...ew.)  I've seen people putting on makeup, reading,  digging around in their back seat while driving  (yes, guy in front of me on I94 between Madison and Milwaukee yesterday afternoon...I saw you.)

That's just cars moving.

In stopped vehicles, I've seen people vomit  (to be fair, I've vomited out of a moving vehicle...but that's a story for another day.) change diapers or clothes on babies, change their own clothes  (you do get that windows, made of glass, are see through, right?  And...on one trip home from the mall, along the interstate near my home, I saw a grown woman standing next to her car dropping a big old #2.  (For those of you outside the US...that means pooping.)  She did nothing to cover up her naked, expelling rear end.  No...it was sort of like she was subscribing to the theory, "If I can't see you, you can't see me."  She had the skirt of her dress hiked up over her head and all the drivers on that fine Saturday morn saw was her size 22 rear end pushing out the remains of her most recent meal.

Yes, but on toilets...not interstates.

What I'm saying here people is that, you know, we live in a world  with other people.  And there's a time and a place for everything.  Everyone poops  (my favorite children's book.)  everybody pops pimples, everybody changes clothes.  Could we maybe, MAYBE just remember that not everybody wants to watch everybody do these things?  That's why there are doors on locker rooms, bathrooms, and dressing rooms.  Doors, not glass windows, like the ones that make up the "walls"of your motor vehicle.

And for the woman who plowed into my tree last night...I hope you are uninjured...your car is a complete mess, so I am a touch concerned about you.   But I truly hope the cops find you and make it so the next time you decide to drink you don't hit something, or someone less stalwart than a 50 year old tree.

Laundry List Friday: 5 Reasons I envy my cats

Good morning!

I gotta be honest, this working 3rd shift is really cutting into my humor time.  And I would be writing something HILARIOUS about my current gainful employment...but other than very nearly shutting down the entire store without meaning to, there isn't much that's funny...yet. 

Meanwhile, Hubby continues to THINK he's not bloggable.  But last night we took a step in refinancing the house and he let down his guard.  More on that another day!

Today, however, is a Laundry List Friday and it's all about my kittens.  I have three.  I didn't want any.  I thought I wanted a dog.  And now I have three kittens who are growing up quickly, and I realize I envy them a lot!

Top:  Belle (Bellatrix LeStrange) the youngest.  Right, Jasper, the oldest.  Left, TacOcaT, the oddest, but we love him!

5) It doesn't matter what I call you, you simply do not take offense.  Nor do you care.  So it's good.

Peaches is constantly yelling at me for calling the cats by my own special nicknames.  Belle, I address as "Stupid."  Jasper is "Buddy."  TacOcaT is "Dog."  (Seriously, if you saw these cats in action, you'd understand.  Belle runs into walls...a lot.  And Taco is the blind one.   TacOcaT, named by Skippy because he had to be odd, is really an awesome cat, but he's more dog than anything.  He always meets us at the door.  He licks our hands endlessly.  He's most vocal, begs for food all the time, and I think I can teach him to fetch.)

Cats don't come when they're called by name, but if I need a cat convention, I simply pick up the laser pointer and click it a couple times.  All three are right there.

4)  They simply do not have any hang ups.

I stress every day about various things, especially those involving bodily functions.  Believe it or not in my real life I'm very shy about things like using the bathrooms in public.  My friend Marie will tell you I will "hold it" all day rather than use a porta potty.  Cats, however, could not care less about privacy, or smell.  Where I'm turning on fans and running water to cover certain noises, and then lighting candles and what not to cover smells, my cats could not care one whit about any of that!

3)  They don't wonder where their next meal is coming from.  They know.  Oh, and they aren't big on things like variety or flavor.

We keep the cat food in a cabinet in the kitchen.  And each cat, Taco, generally, will park it next to that cabinet when the food dish seems a touch low.  Doesn't matter that we feed them the same brown crunchy stuff every day.  They don't care as long as the food dish is full.  (Which gives me an idea for a list "5 reasons Cats are easier to deal with than Teens.")

2)  If it's 1 AM an you can't sleep they WILL cuddle with you.  It's not like they have work or school in the morning.

My three cats are not what you'd call cuddly.  Belle's other nickname is "feral," because she tends to run rather than get a pet from a human.  Even Taco, the most cuddly of the three because he is, after all, mostly a dog, picks and chooses his cuddle times.  But late at night, if you are sitting on the couch, trying to sort things out, one or all of them will sit on you.  Sort of like those death cats you read about, but nicer.  Jasper is especially great for that.  He waits outside my bedroom door every night because, if I'm home, we all know I'm wandering around at 1 AM.

1)  Eat when you want to, sleep when you're tired, someone else cleans up after you, and no one expects you to do anything ever.

Seriously...how do I get this gig?  They are living the perfect life, and I so completely envy them!  Granted, this sort of describe what I imagine life in the old folks' home is going to be like...only they're young!

Now, just for fun, I had to share this little snap with you all!



Skippy and Peaches...about 11 years ago.  I miss those days!



Finally friends...don't forget...I have a NEW BOOK available!  Kindle owners, click here.

Nook owners click here.

Sony ereader owners, and those of you who do not own a reader, but do own a computer, click here.

It's the story that's been with me for nearly 30 years.  Enjoy!

AND NOW for something completely different!

Hello all!

It's not every day I blend my writing life with my life life...(if you read that in my head it makes sense.) however, I am doing a happy dance of joy at the moment, and I must share this with you!

My second novel, Lies in Chance, is now available for purchase on Barnes and Noble's website!  Yes, it is an e-book, so Nook owners you get first dibs!

Kindle owners, you'll have to wait a couple days.  True to form, I didn't read all (any) of the instructions, and wound up trying to publish a book with no author.  And when asked to correct the mistake, I didn't read (didn't even look at) the email from Amazon informing me of the mistake, played with some buttons and tried to again publish without an author name.

For those of you who do not have a reader...(and seriously what is up with that?)  Or if you own a Sony e-reader, as I do, I will be getting the book to a PDF format or to Sony through Smashwords next week.

My friends, thank you all for your continued support!  IF this book does well, and I'm thinking it might, my NEXT publication is going to be a collection of tales from my childhood, much like the ones I write here, but several I'm really not willing to share without payment  (LOL) and that I 'll be publishing just for you fine readers!

Meanwhile...enjoy Lies in Chance!

Laundry List Friday: Top five things I've learned working third shift!

Hello all!

So as most of you know, I made what some would see to be a rather stupid career move recently.  I quit a job that had normal hours, paid holidays, and a good hourly wage for a 3rd shift job at a convenience store.  The trade off, I can tell you, went far deeper than just getting health insurance for myself and the kids.  Someday, when I'm feeling very brave, I'll actually share a laundry list of why I quit the job.

But that's not why I'm here today.  Today I want to share with you, now that I've completed nearly three weeks on 3rd shift, the odd and interesting things I've learned about myself and the night job I now work.

5)  Turns out...I just like staying up late!

I thought I was a night owl.  I've worked third shift before, part time, and it wasn't generally a problem.  However, now that I'm doing it full time, I realize that I'm not a worker at night...I just like lying on the couch watching TV.


4)  Forget trying to work out a sleep schedule...when exactly can I take off my bra?

Okay, ladies in the audience...how many hours in a day do you typically wear your bra?  14, 16, 18?  Right.  Because, what...you take them off at night when you go to bed.

18 hours might have been good enough for Jane Russell, but I'm really in need of something more like a 23.5 hour bra.

See here's the thing I'm struggling with:  I get home, I can't take off the bra, because I'm either going to Gold's  (Yes, believe it or not, I'm still dragging my sleep deprived fanny over there in the mornings) or I'm doing my 30 (ish) minutes on the Wii.  Can't take off the bra then.  So when I go to bed, about 8-9 AM, (and I'm missing the Bob and Brian show  which kills me) I know that when I get up, not only will my children be here, but they will, undoubtedly, have friends along.  Since Skippy typically has his new lady friend over, I really shouldn't be wandering around with bed head and no bra.  And, by the time the house is clear of all the non biologically related children I feed endless streams of pizza to, it's time to go back to work!  So I get the ten minutes for the shower, and that's it?  That's can't be healthy.  Can it?
3)  When they ask if you can stand for 8 hours, they really mean it.

There are two chairs in the store where I work.  I am allowed to use neither.  The only sitting I can do is in the bathroom...during my 4 minutes of break time a night.  I'm supposed to get two 10 minute breaks, but come on, reality is reality.  There's just too much to do.  So there's no sitting.  I think that's been my biggest adjustment.  Simply not sitting.

2)  There are a lot of different kinds of cigarettes...and no one who buys them actually calls them by what they are named.

Before I go into detail here, let me just say that while I'm not a smoker, I do defend smokers' rights to smoke in designated outdoor areas, and in businesses where the business owner wants to allow smoking.

I've bought and sold  lot of things in my day...but as a non smoker, I've not ever really been in touch with a lot of cigarette purchases.  Now, standing behind a cash register, I have a multi layered shelf hanging over my head that is about nine feet long, four feet wide, and has spaces for no less than forty different (?) brands, flavors, lengths, and BOX TYPES of cigarettes.  Think a Camel is a Camel is a Camel?  Nope.    Ya got the Camel blue, the Camel regular, the Camel 100's, the Camel in the special two pack deal, Camels in soft packs, Camels in a box.  (Don't get me started on Marlboros. Last night I counted 17 different types of Marlboros alone.)

See that number 72?  Yeah, that would be the number of different types of that one brand!

Then there's the chewing tobacco, the roll your own, the cigars.  And here's the kicker:  The smokers DO NOT ASK FOR WHAT THEY WANT BY WHAT THEY WANT.   Let's say someone wants a pack of Marlboro Ultra light menthol100's in the soft pack.  I know where those are and if they would ASK FOR THAT, we would be fine.  But no, I've gotten everything from"gimme a pack of Marl ultra mint hundreds."  Well, there's a pack, which to us non smokers has always meant a PACK of cigarettes that James Dean wrapped up in the sleeve of his T-shirt.  But to smokers, a PACK and a BOX are two completely different things and OH MY SWEET LORD DON'T GET THEM WRONG.

The guy who is training me is a smoker.  He's of little help when it comes to this because 1)  He knows all the cigarettes and where they are and 2) He knows all the shorthand.  Oh and 3)  He can understand the customers when they talk, even the ones who come in like the walking dead at 3 in the morning because it's typically the same customers over and over and they come in every night for a pack, or a box, every night.  (again, if you're going to make the trip, why not just by the carton and save yourself the gas and a little money on the cigs?)

1)  THE BED NEVER GETS MADE!

Those of you who read this blog frequently, you know that one of the things I'm fairly insane about is the making of beds.  I cannot leave the house without making my bed and I fight the urge every single day to go into my children's rooms and make the bed.

But when Hubby gets up at 5 and I'm getting home at six and going to bed about 9 and by the time I get up I've got way too much to do to even look at the bed, well, it's not getting made.  And it makes me a little bit crazy to know it.

So there you go.  The top five things I've learned working third shift.  And, as I've said recently:  I am not where I want to be...but I am in a better place than I was!

Are big girls wearing jammies to the office? I must've missed that memo!

Hello my friends!

So, coming as a surprise to almost no one, the third shift gig is starting to wear on me a tiny bit.  Don't get me wrong.  The company I work for is a GREAT COMPANY.  The starting pay and benefits are great.  However, due to my own budgetary needs, I need to work 3rd shift, and 1)  I'm not sure I like never knowing what day it is  and 2)  the job is waaaaaaaaaay more physical than this old girl is up for.  (If you're short, beware, everything I have to lift, carry, get, use, and put away is stored up over my head.)

Anyway, I've gotten serious about finding another office job.  You know, one where I get weekends off like normal people, where two days off in a row is not considered a vacation, and where no one is suggesting I drink wine at 6 AM.  (Okay, I'm not completely against that last thing.) 

Let me just say I have NEVER had to wear "business" clothes to work.  Never.  Not ever.  Not once.  When I was a teacher I wore "teacher clothes" which generally consisted of black twill pants and a polo shirt or a sweater or a denim jumper.  (yes, I went through my denim jumper phase.  We all did, so hush.)

Once married, I got a job in an office where "business casual" meant black twill pants and a nice top.  Once I had kids I worked for a cleaning company...in my basement.  When I would emerge to do sales calls, again, black twill pants and a nice top.  (Do we see a pattern here?)

Having worked alone in an office where no customers stepped foot for five years, I'll admit that my work wardrobe deteriorated down to sweats and a t-shirt most days. 

Thusly, when I received a phone call the other day, setting up an interview, the woman told me to "wear business dress."

Had she been speaking Chinese I could not have been more confused.  "Business dress" is not a term I've ever, you know, put in the same sentence as my name. 

Undaunted, I went to Kohl's, armed with those great merchandise cards I got when I returned the two pairs of Gloria pants that about killed me, the two white polo shirts that are, well, white polo shirts, and the Sketchers shape ups that nearly destroyed my feet in one night.  (I didn't have a receipt, so Kohl's gave me merchandise cards.  I love Kohl's!)  Bonus, I brought along Hubby, who brought along his Kohls' card and a 30% off coupon.

I pointed out three perfectly suitable outfits in the "business section" and told Hubby I was now going to find those outfits in the "fluffy girls" department. 

Yeah, right.  Sorry, Vera Wang doesn't design for anything above a very small 14. 

Kohl's Fluffy Girl department isn't great.  I shop there more than any other store because 1)  It's a mile better than just about every other discount big box store and 2) the price is usually right.  But someday I might have enough money to go look at the miles and miles of pretty fluffy clothing at Macy's or Boston Store, or, dare I say it?  Lane Bryant!  (Or, I know you're all saying, I could just lose the darn weight!)

I pulled a couple dresses and a very nice pair of dressy pants and some tops and headed to the trying on room.  (my first mistake.  I hate those stupid little rooms.  It's like getting naked in a closet...a closet that's really over lit and has been used by about 10000 other people who may, or may not have left stuff behind.) 

Yes, I'm only a size 16...not I'm not expecting.  Why do you ask?

First of all, dresses for big girls.  Did I miss something?  Are we big girls now just saying it's okay to wear maternity clothes?  Because I put on two dresses, both of which had "waistbands" that tied right until my boobs, giving the rest of the garment a sort of tent effect over my gut and butt.  The result?  I looked like I was about four sizes bigger...and 8 months along.

So I tried on the pants.  Again, since this is SUMMER, apparently those who work in "business attire" are allowed to wear shorts or something because just finding a full length pair of pants was a challenge.  But I had a nice Dana Buchman top (I'm saying these names like I have any idea who these designers are.  I don't.) so I picked up the corresponding pair of black pants.

The top, for the record, looked great. 

The pants, on the other hand...well, they were essentially pajama pants.

COME ON!

I looked in the Misses department.  There are no jammies there.  Thin women are not supposed to wear pajamas to the office.  Why are designers making fluffy women do so? 

And not only were these pajama pants, they weren't even flattering.  Again...they made me look like I was a foot shorter and four sizes bigger.

I'm not going to lie. I was enraged. Bigger women work in offices, I've seen them.  And they have nice clothes.  Then again, maybe all the big women I've seen are really just a 1x but because of the way the clothes look on them, they look bigger.

Maybe there is no obesity problem in this country...maybe it's just that those of us who aren't a size 6 are forced to wear clothes that amplify our extra size.

See this suit?  Don't I look ready for business?  Smart?  Successful?  Well, big girls, we don't make this outfit in your size!  EVER!

Well, I haven't given up.  I mean, that dress was super comfy and who wouldn't want to wear jammies to work?  (Okay, I had that job...and I quit it. So let's move on.)  But I have NOT GIVEN UP!  I'm not a house, I'm a woman with a little extra bigness. 

Hey, plus sized girls:  NO SUIT FOR YOU!

I went back to the drawing board and...thank goodness for Sag Harbor.  Unfortunate name aside, Sag Harbor actually designs decent clothes for actual women.  Bonus, while they still were selling Capri pants as business attire  (And seriously, maybe I just don't know anything, but I can't see a business person wearing Capris to work) there were some actual, honest to goodness, reach down to the floor PANTS.

So I had a suit top, a top to go on under the suit top, a pair of pants, and an interview bra.  All I needed was...

Oh, what, you've never heard the term, "interview bra?"

Well, my friends, an interview bra is, as it is called, the bra you wear to interviews.  It's maybe not the most comfortable bra you own, but it points the girls in the proper direction.  Who is going to hire someone for a detail oriented job when the interviewee can't even keep track of which way the girls are pointing?  The interview bra doubles as the concert bra, the difference being that one does not wear a t-shirt over the interview bra.  One wears a nice top and then a suit top of some sort.

Moving on...

I had the interview bra, the top, the suit top, and the pants.  All I needed was the black shoes.

I know, those of you who know me know that I have 1)  a ton of shoes and 2) a half ton of black shoes.

But I needed specific INTERVIEW shoes.  Shoes that made me a little taller.  Shoes that didn't howl "I've given up on dress shoes and this black sport type shoes is as good as it's getting."

I found a nice pair of slip ons that had a bit of a heel, didn't seem too "comfortable" and yet didnt' pinch my feet.

Now, the buying part.  None of this was on clearance.  Okay, everything was about 30-40% off, but honestly, if you're buying full price at Kohl's, you aren't trying at all.  Rung up total for this outfit before coupons:  $127.  Then we had the 30% off coupon, and the merchandice cards.

Final total

$2.83.

Yes, you see that correctly.  Hubby whipped out $3 in cash and we were on our way.

And will I be wearing this outfit to every interview?  Yep.  And will I be returning part or all of the outfit if, after about three months, I don't have a new job?

Well, that would be wrong...right?  LOL!