Archive for the Daily Watering Category

Day: Saturday
Location: Giant hunting store
Time: God help me—I’ve been here for hours

I’m not that brand-conscious.  Practicality runs through my veins. I’m a huge TJ Maxx fan, and I’ve been known to buy clothes at Wal-Mart.

But right now, I’M HAVING A SNOBBY MOMENT.

I’ve been in a big-box hunting store for way too long, and I just had clothes in-hand, ready to try on, when the reality hit me:
This store purposely labeled their clothes “Bob Timberlake.”

They took a perfectly cute skirt and totally ruined it for me.  I imagined myself wearing the Bob Timberlake skirt to my Women’s Club meeting, and I had to put it back on the rack.  No Bob Timberlake for me, thank you.  Even if I’m the only one who ever knows that I paid full price for something called “Bob Timberlake,” I just can’t do it.

I’m sorry that I’ve offended all the Bob Timberlakes in the world just now.

However, here’s a good piece of advice: If, Bob Timberlakes, you go into designing women’s clothing, brainstorm a better label.  There is nothing sexy about your name, sirs.

Time: Thursday, 6:00 a.m.
Location: In the car on the way to football practice
Radio: ON

Son: “I saw a video of this band, and the singer looked like a total nerd.”

Me: “Yeah, lots of musicians are ugly, but they still get girls. It’s amazing.  Dad and I figured that if a guy is really ugly, he can still get a pretty girl by either being rich or in a rock band.*  For some reason, playing an instrument in public makes a guy instantly more attractive to women.  But you don’t have to worry about that because you’re a good-looking guy.”

Cutie

Son: “Yeah, but if I want to be really sure….”

So now he’s taken up the family guitar.

*Example: I find Tom Petty attractive.  I’m no supermodel, but I’m pretty sure that I’m better looking than Tom Petty.

Is this tough to beat?

My friend emailed me today about her new puppy’s vet visit.  I was relieved it wasn’t a sad story, but it turned out to be sad for someone else.  Ahem.

The new puppy is doing well—fabulously, in fact, because V takes better care of her animals than anyone I know.  So when the vet advised “no more rawhides,” V went right out and bought another chew toy alternative that was still all-natural, but not rawhide.

Her two dogs went bat-shit bonkers over the new chew toys, and her husband asked what the heck they were made of.  Turns out, they are dried bull penises.  Let me type that again in case you didn’t believe it the first time: Dried bull penises.

I told you the story was sad for someone.  Poor dickless bulls. And it gets worse. Bully Sticks, as they’re called, are measured by thickness, I discovered.  The dickless bulls are probably dead now and posthumously judged on penis size—even “HAND MEASURED,” according to the diagram.

Anyway, V shooed the dogs outside as she told them in her high-pitched, talking-to-the-puppy-voice,”Absolutely no bull penises on the carpet!”

Because, as she said, you have to draw the line somewhere.

Anytime I’m at home, and half the time I’m out, you can find me in workout clothes. One, because I like to be comfortable, and second, because I like to think that anytime I’m at home, I could bust out into a spontaneous workout. I just never know when my body is going to feel like doing jumping jacks. Almost never is a safe bet, but still — I would hate to feel a burst of energy and not be able to jump around just because I was trapped in flimsy sandals and a fancy bra.

Today I got all gussied up (is that what prostitutes do?) for Meet the Teacher, but within an hour of being home, I devolved to this:

My typical look

The one main reason I took this photo was because of the Kleenex sticking out of my sports bra. When I’m wearing workout clothes, there is no place to stick a tissue. My favorite shorts don’t have pockets, and I have to carry a Kleenex. It’s the same theory as the jumping jacks: I would hate to need a tissue and have to walk all the way around the corner to get one.  There’s no need to comment on how pathetic I am.

Anyway, I can’t stick it in my waistband because if it falls out, it looks even more disgusting — like it fell out of my panties. I think that’s worse than sticking out of my bra. There’s some kind of gross/weird hierarchy going on here, and I choose in the bra. It’s not the worst choice, but it’s probably pretty close.

I included the All Bran crackers (delicious food of the gods) in the pic because I was eating them at the time and my last post sang their praises.

And then my husband called to discuss the pros and cons of compression sports underwear for my son, who is about to start football. Is that worth interrupting my Kleenex and All Bran photo shoot for? Debatable. But, as a skilled multi-tasker, I was able to talk AND hit the webcam button.