Perpetually Peeved

Hey Elves – You’re Fired!

I’ve been trying to wrap up all my Christmas shopping by the end of this week.  I plan on spending the time off I have doing fun things around town with the kids, not last-minute running around in crowds.  I HATE crowds.  LOATHE crowds, actually.  I also can’t stand shopping unless it involves margaritas or shoes for me.  So, I’ve been doing a lot of lunch-hour power shopping and stopping in to a single store between picking up the kids and heading home.  The other day, I needed to run into Macy’s for three very specific things:  handbags for Smalls’ teachers.  I knew exactly what I wanted.  I was a woman with a coupon and a mission.

Peeved:  Okay, girls, Mommy has to run into Macy’s real quick and pick up some presents for Smalls’ teachers.

Smalls:  Are we getting them Zhu Zhu Pets?

Peeved:  No, Smalls, I think they’d like purses better.

Smalls:  Oh.  Can we stick a Zhu Zhu Pet in the purse?

Peeved:  No.  Let’s just get them purses and then you can make a nice card for them.

Biggie:  Where are we going?

Peeved:  Macy’s.

Biggie:  Oh, cool.  I totally need skinny jeans.  Macy’s has the best skinny jeans.

Peeved:  We are not shopping for skinny jeans.  We are going to get out of the car, go directly to the purses, select three purses, pay for them and leave.  Understood?

Biggie:  But the skinny jeans are right next to the door closest to the purses. I could just…

Peeved:  Here’s the deal.  Ready?  I just need to grab these things real quick.  You all need to behave because Santa is watching and if you don’t behave you’ll get coal in your stocking.  Smalls, you’re in the stroller.  Biggie, you’re pushing the stroller.  You both stay right next to me and offer your opinions if and only when asked.  I need you to be my elves tonight.  We are not shopping for ourselves, we are shopping for gifts for others.  Got it?  Elves.  Helpers.

Biggie:  Fine!

Smalls:  Fine!

I love - check it out. 🙂


A condensed version of the events that took place inside Macy’s on December 13th at approximately 7:03 p.m.:  touch, touch, touch, drop, yell, whine, whine, whine, yell, disappear, reappear, yell, skootch, skootch, skootch the stroller, heart attack – where the hell did Smalls go?, yell, cheer/dance, cheer/dance, cheer/dance, yell, stroller derby, near fatal collision with purse rack, yell, don’t touch your sister-stand right there and don’t move-Smalls get your feet off of the stroller wheels, purchase of the closest three purses, step routine, step routine, step routine, yell, time out in the corner, whine, whine, whine, yell, touch, touch, touch…


[In the car on the way home]

Peeved:  I don’t want to hear a word – A WORD! – from either one of you.  Biggie, that was embarrassing and disrespectful.  You are twelve years old and I had to put you in time out in the corner of Macy’s.  You should be ashamed of yourself.  How hard is it to stick your hands in your pockets and behave yourself for five freaking minutes?  I asked you to help me.  You did exactly the opposite.  You think it’s okay to misbehave now because I’ve already done my shopping for you?  Well, you have another thing coming.  Santa doesn’t bring trampolines to kids that don’t behave.  Get my drift?  You need to learn to listen.  I told you not to touch anything and I don’t think there was one item in that store that you didn’t leave a fingerprint on.

Smalls:  Yeah, and she…

Peeved:  I don’t want to hear anything from the Peanut Gallery!

Smalls:  Yeah, well I don’t want to hear anything from the Peanut Butter Jelly Gallery!

Peeved:  Oh no you don’t.  I’m mad at you too.  You were not wearing your listening ears.  Mommy told you to sit in the stroller and what did you do?  You skootched halfway across the store.  I look away for one second and you’re over in Petites walking around with the stroller hanging off your butt.  When we get home, it’s dinner and bed for you.  No show tonight.  Biggie, it’s homework and bed for you, too.  Give me  any lip and I’ll take away your electronics for a week.


Peeved:  Here, eat your dinner.

Smalls:  That’s not dinner.  That’s cereal.  I want dinner.

Peeved:  Well, we don’t have anything in the house.  And, after the way you acted in the store, I’m certainly not going food shopping with you.

Smalls:  I want dinner. [lip quiver]  Cereal is not dinner.  [start of cry]  You need to have something with bread for dinner.  [full on crying, now]

Peeved:  Fine!  I’ll go make something out of nothing.


[in the kitchen]

Smalls:  [sobbing in the other room – then… silence]

Peeved:  Smalls…  what are you doing?

Smalls: [in the most pathetic four-year-old voice you can imagine]  Looking at a picture of you [stifled sob] …  when you were happy.

Peeved:  What?

Smalls:  You’re with daddy… [stifled sob]... and …  you’re smiling [full on crying again]


Dear Future Therapist of Biggie & Smalls,

It is all exaggerations and half-truths, I swear.



Get Yer Fat Pants On!

T minus 6 hours ’til bliss.  The only thing that peeves me about this wonderful holiday is that I can’t eat pumpkin pie for breakfast.

Brunch, on the other hand…

Buy yours today at

For more things I WON’T be shopping for on Black Friday, stop by the FB page today.  Bring your own atrocity, and don’t forget the wine.  Gobble! Gobble!

When good intentions go bad

I think whether parenthood is something planned or not, that most people go into it with good intentions.  When people find out they are going to become parents they secretly think they are going to be the best parent ever. 

Our parents?  They knew nothing.  I mean, they let us run around until the streetlights turned on.  We would drive hours on the interstates with no seat belts and at least one sibling lying across the hump on the floor of the car.  Baby teething?  Slip him some whiskey.  Teenager backtalking?  Feed her some soap.  Broke your arm?  Quit crying or I’ll break the other one. 

Yeah, I think most people’s’ visceral reaction to finding out they are going to have a child is, “I’m going to do it so much better than my parents did.”

So, what the heck happens?

photo from

Not too long ago, I was at the zoo with Biggie and Smalls.  A lot of people had those cute little monkey leash backpacks for their children.  Which, I will be honest, I’m not a huge fan of.  I mean, call me old-fashioned, but I just always held my kid’s hand or strapped them in the stroller.  That wasn’t my problem, though.  I understand why people have them.  It’s a scary thing to bring a non-verbal, squirmy toddler out to a crowded place where they could disappear in a heartbeat.  I get it.  I still watch my 12-year-old go to the top of the driveway to get the mail.  The thing that made me literally bite my tongue was the sight of a mother dragging her toddler behind her.  Pulling away like she was towing a wagon or something.  Um, lady, you dropped something.  Oh wait, that’s YOUR KID!  Cripies!  I’m thinking she didn’t see a little pink plus sign on a stick and think, “I’m going to be the best mom ever.  When little Timmy gets tired at the zoo, I won’t rent him a stroller, I’ll use my super-mommy strength to drag his ass from cage to cage.”

Hmm... I wonder why Timmy can't focus in school.

I was getting Smalls into the car at her daycare one day and was having a conversation with a woman who had a young son (about 4 years old or so).  She was complaining about how he just wouldn’t sit still and he wouldn’t stop talking and he can’t pay attention to anything for more than a few seconds.  As she’s saying this, she is loading him into a carseat positioned directly in front of a 10 inch DVD screen which she promptly turns on (with her remote start button).  “It’s just so difficult,” she shouts over the cries of the Wiggles, “is it possible for a four-year old to be diagnosed with ADD?”  No, darling, it isn’t any more possible than diagnosing his mother with a bad case of stupidity.

Clean up on Aisle 9!

See that angelic four-year-old holding on fiercely to a freshly Clorox-Wipe’d shopping cart, minding her own business, humming a song for her mommy?  Okay, now see that hooligan child lying on the ground kicking over the end cap display with her feet and mopping the dirty linoleum with her hair?  Okay, now see that lady halfway across the store, seemingly by herself minding her own business and shopping?  Isn’t she doing a great job of ignoring the toneless WA HA WA HA WA HA fake ambulance sound emitting from the mophead?  She’s not even looking around like I was to see where in the world the little critter’s mother was.  Hmmm…  she must be shopping for mirrors. 

And the nominees for Mother of the Year are…

Bananas in pajamas

Have a death wish?  Then, may I recommend shopping the Black Friday sales.  If the crazy lines and caffeine-hyped soccer moms are not enough to scare you off, then maybe this is:  people wear their pajamas. In public.  With slippers.  I’m not kidding you.  I can handle the jerks that try to nudge their way up to the caution tape in front of you just so they can get their hands on the latest, greatest Zhu Zhu.  I can even handle the ones that climb pyramids of computer monitors and start tossing them down to their grandmas standing by the carts.  I’d go so far as to say I would put up with the velour-jumpsuit clad Mother of the Year nominees who bring their children to sleep in shopping carts at 4:00 in the morning.  However, every time I see one of these pj-clad people I just want to lay down on the linoleum and die.  All hope for humanity leaves my body.

I would sooner wear MC Hammer pants than don my flannel candy-cane pajama bottoms to McDonalds.

The worst part?  Some of these people aren’t even slobs.  They are showered, their hair is done, their make-up is on, they are sipping on $5 Starbucks coffees.  Do they think we won’t notice that they FORGOT TO PUT REAL PANTS ON?  I know there is a fine line between Ugg boots and bunny slippers, but if your shoes have eyeballs you shouldn’t leave the house in them. 

Thank Santa for Cyber Monday!  And, if you’re looking for some comfortable bottoms to shop in, I suggest the Hanes over in Aisle 5.

Forces of Nature

Contrary to popular belief, I do not actually enjoy shopping.  Every once in a while, I can appreciate some retail therapy, but there has to be a “perfect storm” of conditions in order for this to happen.  

photo from

  1.  I have to be alone.  Absolutely alone.  With nowhere to be at any specific time.  And, very poor cell phone reception.
  2. I cannot be shopping for anything in particular.  I am known for creating items that do not exist and then getting peeved when I can’t find them in the stores.
  3. I have to be shopping for myself.
  4. Budget?  What budget?
  5. It has to be on a “skinny” day.  You know, those magical days when the scale says you lost 2 pounds in your sleep.
  6. My hair has to look good.
  7. I have to get an amazing deal on at least one item.
  8. 7  out of 10 items I try on have to fit.
  9. I must have a frothy, chocolatey, caffeinated beverage.  And, even some biscotti to dip in it.
  10. I have to purchase at least one pair of shoes.

Rarely, very rarely, does this “perfect storm” occur.  The closest I get is DSW shoe warehouse on my lunch hour and that’s only because I’m a DSW rewards member (hello coupons!), my feet don’t Benedict Arnold me like my waistline does, and there’s a fudge shoppe right next door.

 This weekend, I needed to get fall clothes for Smalls.  Not that it is getting any cooler down here in the South (97 degrees last night at 6pm), but there were some good sales going on and I had some free time.  My sister had a 30% off coupon at Kohl’s and convinced me to meet up with her to go shopping for the kids.  Hmm…  Me, my two kids, her, her daughter…  maybe I should just skip it… but, it’s 30% off… and, I could always spend the money I saved on some shoes…  okay, what the heck! 

Now, up until this point, I have always refered to my sister as AJenda on this blog.  However, for this post, I feel the need to reveal her true identity.  The real nickname behind the nickname.  In my family, I am referred to as “Emma Dilemma,” “Dilemma,” or “that bitch.”  My sister has always been referred to as “Hurricane Jen.”  She comes on strong, with little or no warning.  When you think it’s over, she’s really only half-way done.  When she actually is done, you’re standing around looking at the disaster area.  She’s also a lot of fun when you’re drinking and the damage is happening to someone else.  Stores do not stand a chance against the Hurricane.  When she is shopping, she is trying on everything in the store.  I have been in dressing rooms with her where they literally are shutting the lights off and locking us in and she’s breaking out the keychain flashlight and trying to see how the last two pairs of jeans look.  

Why can't all hurricanes be like this? PS - I'm so tracking down the stemless glass. Love it.

Me, I’m more of a tsunami shopper.  I’m in and I’m out.  Quick, like that.  I take what I want and I drag it back out with me.  No lolly-gagging, no agonizing over decisions.  I want it, I buy it.  I don’t want it, I don’t put it in the cart.  You can see how it’s probably not a good idea for my sister and I to go shopping together.  I’m usually hanging up the clothes after she has tried them on and whining, “can we go now?” 

I figured this time though, we were shopping for the kids, it couldn’t be that bad.  And, it wouldn’t have been.  


Hurricane: [via text message to Peeved]:  Headed to Kohl’s right now.  Where are you?  Brace yourself, hurricane Granny is hot on our trail. 

Peeved: [blissfully unaware of text message]  Smalls, do you like this shirt? 

Smalls:  No, too stripey. 

Peeved:  How about this shirt? 

Smalls:  No, too spotty. 

Peeved:  Well, you need to pick some shirts. 

Smalls:  Well, I don’t like any of these. 

Peeved:  How about this one? 

Smalls:  Nope. 

Peeved:  This one? 

Smalls:  Nope.  Look, mommy!  Hamster pajamas! 

Peeved:  You don’t need pajamas. 

Smalls:  Hamster pajamas!! 

Peeved:  I’ll only get you the hamster pajamas if you start picking some shirts you like. 

Smalls:  Okay. 

Hurricane: [via text message to Peeved]:  We’re here… can’t find you… did you seek shelter from the storm? 

Peeved:  [putting hamster pajamas in cart, still blissfully unaware of text messages] Okay, how about this shirt? 

Smalls:  Yep.  [You guessed it, Smalls is a Lightening Storm shopper.] 

Except, noisier.

Peeved:  This one? 

Smalls:  Too flowery. 

Peeved:  Oh, how cute!  Look at his one. 

Smalls:  Nope. 

Peeved:  Smalls, we made a deal.  No hamster pajamas if you don’t pick some shirts. 

Smalls:  I did pick a shirt.  That one. 

Peeved:  Well, you need more than one shirt. 

Smalls:  So, get the same shirt in different colors, then.  Aunt Hurricane!! 

Peeved:  Oh, thank goodness.  Can you please suggest shirts to her?  I can’t get her to say yes to anything I pick. 

Hurricane:  Sure, hey – did you get my… 

Smalls:  Granny!!! 

Peeved:  Wha? 

Hurricane: … texts?  I tried to warn you. 


What’s the mother of all storms, people?  You guessed it.  Tornado Granny.  Tornado Granny is like a hurricane in that she comes on quick without any warning, except the destruction isn’t left spread all over the place, it’s been completely lifted away and relocated.  Granny hits the clearance racks like tornados target trailer parks.  Everything starts in the cart, but inevitably is put back before she gets to the checkout lane.  It’s like a weird form of tactile window shopping.  Also like a tornado, Granny disappears just as fast as she appears. 


[literally 3 hours into the shopping trip] 

Peeved:  You got everything? 

Hurricane:  Yep, I’m good to go. 

Peeved:  Sweet, let’s get out of here. 

Hurricane:  Yeah, the game starts soon and I’m starving. 

Peeved:  I feel like I swallowed a ShamWow! and my feet are about to fall off. 

Hurricane:  I hear ya.  Where’s mom? 

Peeved:  I don’t know.  I thought you knew? 

Hurricane:  Oh shit, we lost her.  Call her. 

Biggie:  She probably bailed again. 

Mini-Hurricane:  Yeah, she’s been known to do that! 

Peeved:  [calling Tornado on her cell phone] Ma, where are you? 

Tornado:  You know that completely hidden fitting room that you never would have looked for me in?  I’m hiding out in there.  Don’t tell your sister, she’ll make me put back all my clearance clothes

Peeved:  Found her.  Come on, guys. 


As predicted, Hurricane tried to talk Tornado out of her white-trash finery, carrying in clothes by the armful.  Guess who was left putting them all back on the hangers and saying, “Can we go now?!”  The children were taking turns pretending they were sad puppies up for adoption, hiding inside the rack of track pants, and having their mom paged over the PA system. 

Two very long hours later, we did finally get out of there.  Not before Biggie had an avalanche inspired melt-down because I wouldn’t by her 3-inch hot pink patent leather and zebra striped heels, though.  Gosh, I’m the worst mom ever.  Didn’t you know? 

I finally crawled into the storm shelter of my couch, called the Red Cross for a beer IV and tried to avoid any further disasters.  The only Perfect Storm I would be getting would be ordered through Netflix and starring George Clooney.  Mmm…. George Clooney.  That’d make everything better. 

And the loser is…

Here is what is wrong with our society. Driving in to work this morning, they had a contest on the radio.  In order to win the contest, you had to guess the answer to the following question: 

According to recent poll, besides food & money, what’s the #1 item you’d like a lifetime supply of? 

Hmm... Books? Well, no, because you basically get that at the library. Although, I do loathe to return them (as is evidenced by my $30 overdue balance).

I know, I know!!! SHOES!!!! Yes, please. Third wish on the genie lamp for me... unlimited shoes!

 No?  What else do I need in life besides good books, money, food, and shoes?  I’m stumped!  Okay, let me think what the average person would say…

I got it! Gas. As much as we'd like to hold out hope, I don't anticipate those corn cars going into production anytime soon. And, while we're at it, can I get a little full-service as well?

Not it?  Okay, I guess I’m being too practical.  Let me think more on the level of the average American.  Ah, yes, that’s my problem – I’m not being materialistic enough!

Fancy clothes?


Enough sports cars to make Jay Leno drool? And enough accompanying vanity plates to make John Mayer cry?


...electronic pets? Toys?

No?  Hmm…  well, maybe I’m underestimating people.  What else is not a food, not money, but you would want an unlimited supply of?

BINGO! Skymiles...

... Embassy Suites rewards points?

... Unlimited admission tickets to aquariums, museums, parks and zoos throughout the world?

No?  Okee Dokee, not interested in traveling or learning about nature, other cultures or history. 

I give up.  Please, just tell me.  WHAT would Americans want a limitless supply of besides food and money?

A: Cable TV service! 

Yes, folks.  This is the problem with our society.  Forget A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, these people are only interested in A Potato Grows on the Couch. 

Which, is probably why they sell these at Toys R Us.

To-do or not To-do – How ’bout F.U.?

The only thing keeping pace with my expanding waistline is the ever-growing to-do list on my desk at home.  I swear it’s like gerbils.  You start with one and  – BAM! – immaculate conception – and there’s 30 the next time you look.  One thing leads to another and for each thing you cross off there are five more things to take its place.

You know what I feel like doing?  I feel like telling my to-do list to go shit in a hat.

Medical reimbursement forms – Really?  I have to print something out and sign it and put a stamp on it?  I can FB chat with my long-lost cousin who lives in an igloo in Alaska but the doctor’s office can’t electronically tell the insurance company that I got my eyes examined?  Hey vision plan, go sharpen a pencil, hold it in your hand real tight and go run some hurdles!

Comcast cancellation – Yes, Comcast, you suck.  You suck my time, you suck my energy and you suck my money straight out of my account.  I’m done with you.  Done.  Don’t try to offer me free HBO for 10 years or re-bundle my plan to trick me back into your lair.  I quit you.  So take your modem, your broken remotes that are never where I need them, and your lousy-ass cable box that always cuts out right in the middle of Glee and shove them all where the sun don’t shine! 

Back-to-school doctor’s exams – The kids are fine.  They aren’t bleeding, they aren’t crying and there are no protruding bones.  Why do I have to take them to the doctor?  So the school can have a sheet of paper?  So you can charge me a $95 “administrative” fee in addition to my co-pay and then tell me my kids need immunizations that you don’t provide because the insurance doesn’t pay you back and you can send me to the local health clinic where I can spend my entire day off waiting around with a bunch of people who don’t have health insurance so that my kid can get a shot and come out bleeding and crying?  No thank you.  How ’bout you stick that vaccination in your eye?  Because, I’d rather do that than waste my day making my kids cry.  I can do that on my own for much less money. 

Back to school shopping – No.  Please, God.  I’ll do anything.  Don’t make me take Biggie shopping.  Don’t.  I’ll be a good girl.  I promise.  Crap!  Fine then.  Hey, Abercrombie, Justice, American Eagle, Gap, Payless, why don’t you light a match and see how fast the toxic fume cloud from all the perfume you spray on your clothes goes up in flames?  It probably wouldn’t burn as fast as my money when I have to shop in your over-priced, stinky, loud, ill-staffed store.

Budget – We’ve had this talk before, budget.  It’s time for you to be more independent.  I shouldn’t have to watch you all the time.  It’s time for you to grow.  I’ve set up all the Excel formulas, all the direct deposits, all the automatic bill-pays.  Why can’t you handle this.  Must I do everything myself?  What do you mean I have to stop buying so many shoes?  What do you mean by “no more vintage dresses?”  We’re going to have issues budget.  Real issues.  Pack up your minuses and your red cells, get on your bathing suit and take a long walk off a short pier.  Because, I’m not doing without new shoes.  No way.  No how.

This is what it will look like when I'm to-done with it!

There, that’s better.  You should try it.  What to-do f.u. do you have?

Sit. Stay.

Yesterday, I was at the deli counter at Whole Paycheck Foods.  I was patiently waiting to get my 1/4 pound of roast beef, talking to Smalls.  When the deli man came over, I looked up and there was a man standing in front of me (where’d he come from?).  Deli man says, “Can I help you?” And, D.B. Line Cutter points at me and then points at the deli man as if to say, “hurry up and order.”  So, I politely say, “Oh, yes, I was waiting, thank you.” You can guess at what I not-so-politely said in my head.

I proceed to order my cold cuts and then before the deli man can turn away to slice my beef, DB says, “While you’re getting that, could you please get me a pound of Genoa salami too.”   UM, NO.  Not your turn, bud.  What kind of emergency situation could there be that you have to cut in line and piggyback on my order to get a pound of Italian deli meat?

I’ll tell you what kind… none.  Because when we went to check out a half an hour later,  guess who was in the same line as us?  DB.  Except, he decided he couldn’t wait for a cashier and he was going to self check-out.  He puts all his items through the scanner, runs his card and then freaks out.

Miss, miss, this thing is just stuck.  I ran the card and it just gave me this screen and it’s just stuck.  Just great!” Ranting, at the top of his lungs.  The card took 30 seconds to process. 30 seconds.

Coffee Table Cooking - it's the bomb!

[An aside here:  This is why we were at Whole Foods.  My genius husband thought to buy a small electric griddle so he could cook with Smalls.  This is my coffee table… on Saturday night, we had sliders with mushroom, onion, Gruyere and aioli.  On Sunday morning, we had pancakes and sausage.  On Sunday night, we had 6 different kinds of sausages from Whole Foods, cooked fresh in the griddle, sliced up and paired with cheese — all while watching Season 1 of “24” on Netflix.  My husband, man GENIUS.]

I don’t have a lot of patience.  I’ll be the first to admit that.  And, I suck at picking lines.  Don’t ever let me pick the line if we go shopping together.  Inevitably, I will have someone in front of me that needs 50 separate transactions, can’t find the exact change (but needs to count it 10 times to be sure), and will eventually try writing a check when they haven’t been pre-approved.  If I’m in a hurry, I don’t get in line behind someone with a cart full of stuff.  It’s common sense.

A couple of weeks ago, I was at the supermarket doing a “big shopping.”  I left the STAs at home and was enjoying my shopping at a nice, leisurely pace.  I had everything in the cart organized – frozen foods with frozen foods, canned goods with canned goods – you get the picture.  I was placing my items on the belt in a specific order.  The order I wanted them to be bagged in to ensure when I got home, I could put the groceries away before the ankle-biters started in.

I’m about half-way through unloading my very full cart when the lady (actually, let’s call a spade a spade – the bitch) behind me grabs a divider, puts it right up against my cereal boxes and starts loading up her groceries.

Her hands were not full.

My cart was not nearly empty.

The store was not on fire.

What. The. ?  Where the heck am I supposed to put the other half of my cart?  Do you really think you’re going to get there any faster if I have to try and cram my stuff into the rapidly decreasing foot of space I have to put it in?

Now, I don’t have a lot of patience.  I admit that.  But, even a dog can be taught to wait 30 seconds for a treat.  Can’t we all be civilized here?  Next person that cuts me in line is going to get, “Sit. Stay.  Good Bitch.”

I realized I probably just insulted dogs the world over. Sorry pooches.

Mission: Accomplished




TO:           Special Torture Agent II, Code Name: Sister 

FROM:     Bureau of Familial Torture 

RE:            Mission #753, Project Ego Destruction, Target: Perpetually Peeved 


Special Agent Sister, your new mission is to completely crush the ego of Target.  Advanced weaponry will be provided, including but not limited to: Suburban Mall, Florescent Lighting, Rude Salespeople, and Honda Pilot.  Please be advised that Target is armed and dangerous.  Be prepared for: Biting Sarcasm, Rolling Eyeballs of Exasperation and the usually lethal Laser Beam Look of Death.  As Target’s sister, you are the only one with the qualifications to complete this mission. You are her sister, she must love you even if she would like to pop the auto locks and physically eject you from the Honda Pilot.  

May the (familial torture) force be with you.  This message will self-destruct in 5…4…3…2… 


Photo from:

In preparation of our vacation together (yeah, I’m SURE that won’t end up in a post), my sister and I have been going on some shopping sprees. 

Overheard in the dressing room at store #1: 

PERPETUALLY PEEVED (PP): I need some shorts.  I have none that fit me. 

SECRET AGENT SISTER (SAS):  You need to lay out.  I can’t wear shorts, look, I’m getting varicose veins. 

PP:  Yeah, well I turned around in the mirror the other day and look… cellulite. 

SAS: That’s not cellulite.  Tell me that’s not cellulite.  If that’s cellulite, then I’m covered in it. 

PP:  Oh, yeah, it’s cellulite.  When the *&@! did that happen? 

Overheard in the dressing room at store #2: 

SAS: You know what?  That’s not cellulite. 

PP: What do you mean? 

SAS: On your legs.  You and I do not have cellulite.  I googled it. 

PP: You googled it? 

SAS:  Yes.  It’s not cellulite.  Cellulite is when it looks all cottage-cheesy. 

PP: It’s cellulite…  I can’t believe you googled it and looked at pictures. 

Overheard in the car after leaving store #3: 

PP:  I can’t believe I just spent $50 on bras.  I needed them both, right? 

SAS:  Yes, and they are usually $50 each – so you got a good deal.  You are just going to have to accept the fact that you need to spend that much on bras. 

PP: It’s a lot though – did they really look that good? 

SAS: Yes!  You need them.  Just look at it this way, it’s your lot in life.  It’s the dues you have to pay for being blessed with big boobs.  Think about the membership dues of the Itty Bitty Titty Committee – they spend a fortune trying to make theirs look like yours.  You have to spend a fortune to fix yours so they don’t make you look heavy. 

PP: Really?  Membership dues to the Itty Bitty Titty Committee? 

SAS: Yes.  Shut Up.  What I’m saying is, it’s your lot in life. 

PP: Great.  So I just have to have boobs that are each the size of my head that I need to spend $200 a year on so they don’t droop down and make me look like I’m about to give birth to twins.  Great fecking lot.  Stop at Target on the way home so I can pick up some Thank You cards for the life lot distributors. 

SAS: Well, you could have to dye your hair. Do you know how much I spend on hair dye? 

PP:  Yes, I do.  Because inherited the same premature grays from mommy. I have to dye my hair every month too, remember? 

SAS:  Oh. Yeah. Bad example. 

[contemplative silence] 

SAS: You know what? 

PP: No, what? 

SAS: I was serious before.  That’s not cellulite on our legs. 

PP: Yes, it is.  You are just in denial. 

SAS: No, really.  It’s not.  It’s just a little chubba. 

PP: So, what you’re telling me is that I don’t have cellulite, but I’m fat. 

SAS: No!  What I’m saying is that you don’t have cellulite, it’s just a little chubba. 

[Rolling Eyeballs of Exasperation] 

SAS:  Well, cellulite you can’t get rid of.  You could work out all day long and be skinny and still have cellulite.  A little chubba you could get rid of.  See…  I’m trying to make you feel better here. 

PP: So, now I have freak-like boobs, mommy’s genes for early grays and I’m fat. Thanks. 

SAS: Sorry. 

PP: Just. Stop. 

[mutual ignoring each other and looking out the window] 

PP: That’s a pretty house, wonder what it is. 

SAS: [reading sign] It’s the home of Mary and William Simmons.  Whoever they are. 

PP: No, it’s not.  It’s the home of Major William Simmons.  You need to stop living your life in denial and get some glasses. 

SAS:  Oh. ha ha.  Well, it could be worse, you could have ginormous boobs that make you look pregnant, mommy’s gray hairs, chubba thighs AND need glasses! 

PP:  [Laser Beam Look of Death (through my GLASSES!) 

That's not me, I looked much more pissed. But, those kind of look like my glasses.

SAS: Doh.

This indecision’s bugging me
There is a little town in Georgia called Helen.  It is a very quaint recreation of a Bavarian village with shops, beer and yummy pretzels.  Sounds like my kind of paradise.  I went to visit with my sister and my brother-in-law a few years back (and by a few years I mean 14 or so – I’m in denial).  Had a beer, went shopping – you know the drill. 

Back then, I was on a college kid’s budget and had exactly $50 spending money for the day (which was a total splurge).  Right before lunch we came across this jewelry shop that had the most beautiful ring.  It was an antique-like filigree setting with an amethyst-like stone in it.  Sterling silver with a purple gem.  I fell in love with it, but couldn’t commit because I didn’t want to spend all my money at the beginning of the day. 

I talked about this ring all during lunch, all afternoon, until finally my sister said, “Well, quit waffling and go buy the damn thing!”  I ran into the shop, sprinted over the counter and there it was: the empty slot where “my” ring used to be. 

Fast forward to the two-hour ride home, where I am pouting like a toddler in the backseat.  There may have even been a tear or two. 

PEEVED: *sniffle* *sniffle* 

SISTER:  You should have bought it. 

PEEVED:  I know, now shut up. 

SISTER:  Really, it was perfect for you. 


SISTER:  Some bitch has your ring right now. 

PEEVED:  I hate you. 

SISTER:  No you don’t. 

PEEVED:  Yes, actually, I do. 

SISTER:  No, you don’t.  ‘Cause I’m that bitch.  (produces ring from pocket and gives it to me) 

PEEVED:  I love you! 

SISTER: I know. 

PEEVED:  You bitch! 

From that day on, I vowed never to be indecisive again.  And, you know what they say about vows, right? 

About the only thing that hasn’t changed since those college days is my love of all things antique-like.  My latest addiction: vintage dresses.  It is the surefire way to make a splash at any occasion and to ensure no one will have the same dress as you (I HATE THAT!).  Unfortunately, most of the dresses are made for 12-year-olds or people with the figure of Sarah Jessica Parker.  Did those ladies eat back then?  This, of course, means that finding a dress to fit my “voluptuous” figure requires a lot of searching, watching and time. 

I have a wedding to go to in July and I started my search about 3 months ago.  I finally found one in my size that I loved.  Witness: 

THE dress - my size, flattering cut, unique pattern, perfect for a summer wedding. (

I second-guessed myself.  I added it to my favorites and then waited to show it to a friend to get her opinion.  I went to lunch with her, showed her the dress and she loved it.  So, why didn’t I just buy it right then?  Because I’m an idiot.  A certified, GD idiot.  Later that same night, I showed it to my sister to get her opinion.  She loved it.  So, I went to go and buy it.  I ran over to her computer, pulled up, and there it was: “my” dress with a SOLD tag on it. 

PEEVED: *sniffle* *sniffle* 

SISTER:  You should have bought it. 

PEEVED:  I know, now shut up. 

SISTER:  Really, it was perfect for you. 


SISTER:  Some bitch has your dress right now. 

PEEVED:  I hate you. 

SISTER:  And, this time, I ain’t that bitch. 

PEEVED:  I hate you.  Are you making me a drink, or what?



The back is a V just like the front - Wowza! Hope it fits after I eat my way through New York!

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