Take That, Lady-Who-Called-Me-the-Town-Whore!

Back in December, a lady at the grocery store called me the town whore based solely on what I was wearing. Good times, good times.

Anyways, the other day, an older gentleman made my day by commenting on my outfit. I wish the old mean lady had been there. Yes, I totally hold grudges forever.

My mom and I were at lunch, and a group of older gentlemen walked by us on their way out. The last one stopped to talk to us.

Older Gentleman: I just wanted to tell you how nice it is to sit across from a young lady who is dressed appropriately and modestly. Thank you. You’re beautiful. Enjoy your lunch!

I was in an ankle-length skirt and white sleeveless top. If you’re dressed in anything else, he’s calling you a “whore.” Sorry about your luck.

I’ll be wearing that outfit every time I go to the grocery store now. Then, when I see the mean old lady, I can get all up in her face, look at her outfit and then look at mine, and be like, “Who’s the townwhore now, biatch?”

That is my totally 100% mature plan.

Anyways, after that compliment, the conversation took an interesting turn.

Thoughtsy’s Mom: Thank goodness he didn’t see what you were wearing when we picked you up from the airport the other day. I could see your bra.

Yes, that’s right. My mom told me I dressed like a whore. Sigh….

In my defense, what started out as a sundress, after 15+ hours in airports and squirming on planes had seriously stretched out and was very revealing.

Oops….

Favorite Comments From Last Post:

• “Ummm, carrot cake is a vegetable. Although, if its not, that would explain a lot about how that Freshman 15 snuck up on me when I was in college.”—PinotNinja
• “In my dream, crudmuffins ™ are a valuable source of daily fiber.”—The Hipster

Chocolate Challenge: Sleep Around

Remember how I’m taking the Chocolate Challenge and doing everything the chocolate tells me to do?

Now my mom is joining in on the fun.

She came over for dinner, and afterwards…

Thoughtsy’s Mom: May I have one of your chocolates?

Thoughtsy: Sure. But save the wrapper. You need to do whatever it tells you to do.

Thoughtsy’s Mom: ::unwraps chocolate and pops it in her mouth::

Thoughtsy: What does it say?

Indulge in dark.

Thoughtsy’s Mom: “Indulge in dark.” What does that mean?

Thoughtsy: It means…you have to sleep with a Black man.

Thoughtsy’s Mom: ?????

Thoughtsy: It’s ok. I can take this one for you.

You’ve Got to Bat Your Eyes…Like This

Growing up, I was a total tomboy. I couldn’t tell you exactly when I became girly, but I suspect it was around prom…because the dresses were pretty.

For a girl, I’m pretty low maintenance. I usually wear eye makeup, but I only use foundation on special occasions. Makeup takes time, and I have no patience. Plus, I never really figured out how to use blush correctly.

When I first heard about eyelash extensions, I thought:

Perfect! Now I won’t have to use mascara. Woo-hoo for 3.14 extra minutes of sleep! Sweet!

Extensions normally cost between $150-200. So I cheaped out, and let my nail salon do them for $60. They fell off the next day.

When I saw that a real salon had an eyelash extension special for $50, I tried one more time.

Now if I can just get rid of the nasty red vein in my eye….

The picture was taken 2 weeks after my appointment…which means some fell out. You can imagine how awesome they looked when I first got them.

Apparently, I have more eyelashes than the average person, so it took almost 3 hours to put on a full set of lashes (because they put them on one-by-one).

As the technician handed me a mirror, she said, “They’ll be even more dramatic if you put mascara on!”

I could see spiders my lashes in the mirror across the room. No mascara needed.

Now I’m used to them, and I love them. But when I first saw them, I was shocked into girly overload…hence this text conversation:

Me: OMG…These eyelashes make me look like a hooker!

Friend: And you’re worth every penny.

 Kudos to the person who guesses what movie the post title is from.

You’re Going to Die…April Fool’s!

Today I’m wearing my crazy contacts.

Look deep into my eyes….

Mostly, people are giving me double takes. But a few people have commented on them. What do you think I should say?

Just in case someone decided to play an April Fool’s joke on me, I wanted to be prepared, so I watched the movie April Fool’s Day. Creative movie title, huh? At least you know when it takes place.

Here are some of my thoughts during the movie:

• Is that Biff?  I didn’t think he was in anything except the Back to the Future movies.
• In 1986, the “your fly is down” is the most popular joke. And everyone falls for it.
• In 1986, “Muffy” was an acceptable name for a child.
• In 1986, the appearance of an evil twin named “Buffy” would not raise any questions.

This hairstyle should be as popular as Princess Leia’s.

The movie left me with one question.

If someone says you need the bigger bedroom because you need the room, is she calling you “fat” or a “whore?” 

Favorite Comments From Last Post: “…Now the Cadbury crack I can talk about. I haven’t had one in 24 hours, and I am starting to get the shakes.”—Angelia Sims

“Cadbury Creme Crack Eggs…that is spot on. I’ve had a love affair with them since, oh, 1985? I keep waiting for the day when I’ll take a bite and say, “Ooh, it’s just too much…too rich…too sweet.” That day is never going to come. And for that reason, every Easter season, I gain 15 pounds of pure Cadbury Egg fat.—Single and Blogging It

Will You Be My Doctor?

WANTED: An OB/GYN doctor. Sees patients on time. Doesn’t pass judgment on nontraditional pregnancies. Orders the correct bloodwork. Small hands preferred.

I’m searching for a new doctor because I’m tired of mine screwing up bloodwork.

My doctor wanted to test my progesterone levels, which have to be tested on Day 21 (during ovulation) of my cycle.

So on December’s Day 21, I had blood drawn. A nurse called with test results.

Nurse: Your pregnancy test came back negative, and your blood type is O negative.

Me: Uh…I know that. I thought my progesterone was being tested.

Nurse: Hmmmm…the doctor ordered blood typing. Did you have a Rhogam shot after your miscarriage? When you’re pregnant or miscarry, the hospital tests your blood type and they give you a shot so you don’t have problems with your pregnancies.

While I was pregnant, I read about this shot. But since Kiefer and I were both negative blood types, I didn’t need it. I knew that.

But when someone with some medical background says you’re supposed to get a shot so you don’t miscarry…and you’ve already miscarried…you start flippin’ the eff out.

And if you’re me, “flippin’ out” means tearing up while thoughts run through your mind that the miscarriage could have been prevented.

A couple hours later, the doctor called me back saying the nurse was “confused”; I didn’t need the shot, but I should come back next month on Day 21 for the progesterone testing.

More needles. Fantastic.

Right before my next blood draw, I ate a piece of chocolate to calm me down…yes, just one because I don’t really like chocolate anyways I have excellent self-control when it comes to sweets because only one piece was left.

“Discover how much your heart can hold” turned out to be a prophecy for my blood work saga.

So I was chocolate-pacified and ready to be stuck. Except the doctor forgot to write up the order. So I waited. And waited. And waited.

I waited in an office full of pregnant women and mothers with babies.

And I remembered why I was there…why I was having blood drawn…and I started to tear up. And then I remembered that needles freakin’ hurt, so I started to get upset at the anticipation of that.

Finally, they called my name…and it was the most painful blooddraw yet.

Lady, my veins aren’t deep! STOP DIGGING!

And I thought that was the limit that my heart could handle. I almost passed out. But I didn’t.

Unfortunately, the blood wasn’t drawn while I was ovulating, so I have to go again next month. And every month until my blood is drawn during that 2-day window when a woman ovulates.

I thought that was the limit that my heart could hold.

It could take months to have blood drawn on the right day. Why am I still doing this stupid testing? I’m single!

Really? A few pricks were upsetting me? What happened to the woman who was completely prepared to raise a child on her own if Kiefer didn’t propose? What the hell happened to 32 and the turboslut turkey baster method?

I’m gonna kick that needle’s pointy little tushie! See you on Day 21, biatch.

Turns out my heart can hold a bit more.

Favorite Comments From Last Post:

• “Asshat. x10.”—Blissful Britt
• “I’m sure he only pinched you to make sure you were ripe.”—Skipping Stones
• “Immaculate conception by leprechaun? The Bible kept that part quiet….”—Bevchen