Stall Number One

I don't always talk about the disgusting bathroom, but when I do, it's stall number one.  I have mentioned a time or two on my FB page about the conditions in which I am forced to contend with in the bathroom at work.  I've said many times that I do not know what happens in there.   I can't explain it, can't understand it. 

Today, I am sitting there at my desk working and Stiletto Barbie comes walking towards my desk pointing at me.  She looks horrified and she is almost stammering and stuttering.  I don't know what she is about to say, but this is big, I can feel it.  I give her my full attention and she says, "I know what you said on your FB page...I read it, but I could have never imagined what you were talking about until now."  She was visibly shaken.  She had a real sense of terror in her eyes.  She continued, almost as if she may need sedation after what she was about to say, "I saw stall number one.  I don't...what the...I can't..."  I understood now. She was experiencing the trauma that I, too, have shared.  I told her, "I know...I know...I don't think it is meant for us to understand."
There was a moment of silence while we both contemplated what must go on in there.  The Dish Guy was nearby and looked a little uncomfortable with the whole ordeal.  I explained to him that the problem was that someone goes in there and pees all over the seat and just leaves it.  I think they have vaginal tourettes syndrome.  Maybe she is in there and then all the sudden her vagina goes ape shit crazy and crop dusts the whole stall.  Seizure? Or, is it that her hoo-hoo hole is big enough to park a tractor in and she just has no control?  I don't know. We hypothesized that maybe this person, even as a hoverer, should put a seat cover down, at bare minimum, and then clean up when done.  But no, she doesn't want to touch that toxic urine.  Dish Guy suggested maybe she should lift the seat.  I think that is an excellent idea.  I mean, if you are going to hover anyway, put the seat up. 

It is a gross subject, no denying that, but we have to come up with a solution.  We cannot have stall number one  being a hazardous waste site.  Perhaps a funnel.  A really big funnel. Maybe we should put one in there. I can invent it.  We could call it the Harry Potter.  You just fit it over the toilet seat and then hover over it with your girl bits and pee with abandon...and then your pee goes right into the pot.  Or, maybe the Harry Potter is too vulgar.  We could call it Wild Waves by the makers of Honey Bucket.  Splash and slide down into the toity.  I'm just saying, they make attachments for everything, why not for people that cannot control their explosive vaginas?  I think this is bigger than just stall number one.  We can't be the only office with this problem.  And, if the Harry Potter or the Wild Waves take off, then we can work on the secondary issue and create the Poop Shoot 2000.  It will work in a similar fashion, but will help get poop into the toilet and off the walls.  If used correctly, there shouldn't be any reason at all to abandon your underwear in the bathroom because you had to take them off to wipe your poop off the wall....or floor.

Stiletto Barbie, I think we need to start working on a patent right away.  And, if the person with bad pee etiquette or the tricky va-jayjay is reading this, could you just lift the seat until we get our new product on the market?  There has got to be a way for you to stop spraying the bathroom like a pack of dogs at the fire hydrant in the park.  I beg you. Liberate stall number one.  Or, if you need to tighten things up, consider kegel exercises, you know, if you think you can handle it without shooting anything out.  As gross as all this sounds, it's equally gross to have to encounter it daily.

At the bare minimum, there needs to be a tip jar in there for the janitor.  Lord knows, he's earned it.

Today is Good Enough...

Well, it was Therapy Thursday today.  Another rousing rendition of "What's Eating Gilbert Grape" unfolded.  I'm always trying to figure out what the hell is a matter with me and why I can't get certain aspects of my life under control.

I started out telling my therapist how things were going at work with the new boss and how I had my first "normal girl" experience at Victoria Secret.  I opened my jacket and showed her how amazing my boobs were.  She agreed. I told her how, last night, in a moment of playfulness, I took a picture of them (I had a tank top on, it wasn't dirty) and sent that picture to my good pal Valerina.  Valerina, who was still at work, received my text and handed her phone to her cubie mate, Camo Boy, and said, "here, Cassondra texted me, what is this?"  Okay, not cool.  I had to apologize to Camo Boy today for being exposed to my boob pic.  Clearly, Valerina is cut off from boob pictures.

Anyway, we moved on to other stuff. I shared with her that I just want to be in a place where I don't have to worry about my weight, what I wear, how it looks or what I eat.  I'm tired of obsessing and then punishing myself for bad choices. We discussed the two opposite ends of the spectrum where, on one hand, one obsesses and tries to control everything, then on the other end, you say, "who gives a shit?" and just throw caution to the wind. We decided (well, mostly her) that I need to find the middle ground and that it's time to change my mantra of, "Today probably won't totally suck" to a more positive and patient mantra of, "Today is good enough."  Whatever happened during this day is okay.  I did the best I could and it was enough.  Well, you know I can't take this kind of advice that simply.  I countered to her, "What if all the People of Walmart say that everyday? They are perfectly happy with who they are.  They don't care.  What if I become them?"  Those people take being comfortable in their own skin to a level that is unparalleled in any universe.  I mean, they get up, put on a spandex unitard that exposes their back boobs and their ass cheeks and then throw on some flip flops and a clown wig and go to their "church" of  falling prices.  My therapist said she didn't think I could ever be a person of Walmart.  Who knows, if this new mantra pays off, I could become them.  Hey, I embraced yoga pants for two months, I've already had one foot in the door.  My  therapist was still skeptical.  She does not believe I will wear a denim mini skirt with most of my badonkadonk hanging out.  I guess I have to trust her, but what if I am seduced by low, low prices? It's a gamble.  It's a slippery slope and once you start down, I fear there is no going back. I think what I need to do is hold on to my new-found relationship with Victoria and remember that skin is for the bedroom, not for public. No more pictures to Valerina and remember, today is good enough.

Before I left, I told my therapist there was something that had been bothering me for a long time and that I couldn't hold it back anymore.  She looked concerned, and said, "okay..."  That's when I told her.  That's when I finally let out months worth of pent up emotion.  I said, "exactly how long is this area rug going to be smooshed up against that bookshelf?  It's making me crazy.  Seriously, enough."  I mean, the rug needs to be fixed. I know she has a lot of heavy furniture, but you can't take people that obsess about their lives and put them in a room with an area rug that is off-center.  I don't know what kind of practice she's running, but this is not okay.  She said that she fixes the rug issue quarterly, but I think it has been longer than a quarter.  I informed her that if she left tonight thinking that "today the rug is good enough" that we need to restructure her way of thinking.  If I play my cards right, she could be paying me a co-pay next time.


And yes, the next appointment is already on the calendar. Clearly, we have more work to do.

Why You Shouldn't Drug Your Husband...

Will woke up early today making some pretty intense noises.  I asked him what was wrong.  He said he didn't know, but his lower back was killing him.  He grunted and groaned and meandered downstairs.  I got him hooked up with a heating pad and some Advil and he laid back down for a while.  He slept a little longer, but the pain did not go away.  I told him we needed to try icing it next or put some Biofreeze on there.  I told him to shower first and walk around, maybe that would help.  Look at me being a doctor and giving out what is probably bad advice.

Nothing seemed to be helping and he was wandering around the house wimpering.  I pulled out my supply of pills  from when I had  bad sciatic pain.  I gave him one and we started an ice regimen on his back.  I continued about my day, cleaning the kitchen, putting on a pot of chili and making a list to go to the grocery store.  Will decided he wanted to go to the grocery store with me.  I was like, dude, you are in no condition to travel.  He was insistent.  I said, well, it's time for another pill, so he compliantly took one. He went upstairs and tried to get dressed.  I hear, "I can't get my underwear on!  I can't get my underwear on!"  Been there, done that.  No bueno.  He finally managed to get dressed so, off to the store we went. 

We are walking around the grocery store and he seemed like he was still in a lot of pain.  Luckily, this was not to be a long trip today, so we found ourselves in the check-out line soon enough.  Will is standing there and he says, "I feel kind of wonky..." I looked at him, indeed, he didn't look good.  I said, "did you even have lunch yet today?"  He admitted he hadn't had anything to eat since breakfast.  Crap.  I told him to hold on to the shopping cart and look pretty while I put the groceries up on the conveyor belt.  He says, "okay, like this?"  I turn and look and he is standing there with the craziest expression I have seen.  Shit.  "Will, stop it, please don't embarrass me."  I'm in the middle of getting rang up and Will says he needs to go get an ice tea at Starbucks.  I asked him if that was really a good idea, should he really be alone?  He assured me he would be fine.  I don't feel good about this. I quickly finished with the check out and did not see him anywhere.  I saw the Starbucks across the parking lot and thought, crap, did he walk over there?  I went and loaded the truck and drove over to the Starbucks.  I called him on his cell.  "Where are you?  Are you in the Starbucks? I'm outside of it."  He answers, "Can't you see me? I'm by the doors?"  His voice sounds weird.  I realized at that moment, he was at the Starbucks INSIDE the grocery store.  I told him, "I'll be right there."  He insists to just stay put, he is on his way.  I look over that way, and here is my man, walking like a drunk John Wayne towards me.  Sweet Jesus, what has happened to my husband?  I back out and drive over to him.  He struggles to get in and he is giggling.  Yes, I said giggling.  He puts his drink in the drink holder and I just stare at him, "What the hell is a matter with you? Did the pills finally kick in?"  He continued to laugh.  I told him we needed to get some food in him, so we head over to Jack-in-the Box.

As we are sitting in the drive-thru line, Will continues the comedy act about wanting to order a unicorn.  I said, "what the hell is a unicorn?"  He says, "you know, you get a Big Cheeseburger and put a taco  in the middle, it's a unicorn.  I want to ride a unicorn...can I ride a unicorn?"  I asked him if his back felt any better since clearly he is out of his mind.  He says, "It hurts like hell, but I don't care!!!" and breaks out in hysterical laughter.  Oh geez.  He is so cut off.  I shush him so I can order him his Big Cheeseburger.  We get our food and as I drive away, I steal a peek at him.  He is sitting there with the goofiest-ass smile I have ever seen just eating his cheeseburger looking out the window.  I could not contain myself.  I just started laughing.  I said, "oh my word, I just want to tie a balloon to your hand and put a stuffed animal under your arm.  You look like you should be in a car seat kicking your legs with happiness after going to the zoo or something."  I could not stop laughing.  It was the most ridiculous thing I have ever seen. This grown man with the expression of a curious toddler eating his burger.

One thing I knew for sure, I needed to get him home for his nap.  It was going to be the next phase in this drug induced stupor.  I've been through it, I know the signs.  When the unicorn ride is over, it's nighty-nite time.  I don't know if he is going to be able to function to go to work tomorrow or not, but I am not giving him any more pills cuz I'm not changing his diapers and I fear that is next.  I have to draw the line somewhere. 

He's on the couch peacefully watching, "My Cousin Vinny" now.  His eyes are getting heavy.  Mr. Sandman is coming...on a unicorn. 

Pity Party - table for one, please

I'm kind of in a rut.  And, I'm kinda pissed about it.  I know people in this world have bigger problems than me and I wouldn't dispute that, but this is my blog and my place to talk about what's on my mind. So, shut it.  I mean, not that you were interrupting me, but if you were, I was just being preventative.

I know you might be thinking "Why are you in a rut and pissy, Angry Pony?"  Thank you for asking.  Let me tell you all about it.

This whole weight loss thing is bringing me down.  I know I just blogged about my trip to "Vickie's," and how it was a victory, but the reality is, I have a long way to go.  A LONG way.  I have goals.  I want to make progress and I feel like I'm in a rut.  I've been behaving badly and I'm pissed about it.  I don't care if  I should be happy with how far I've gotten.  I've been stuck in the same place for over a month.  It's frustrating.  And everyone says, "oh, you're looking so good!"  Which is nice, but it also makes me feel the immense pressure to continue my journey and make that next milestone.  Each day that I don't continue down the scale, I feel like a fraud. I feel like a failure and the more I feel like a failure, the more I spiral down. This isn't helping anything.  I know this.  I am smart enough to know this, just not apparently strong enough to change this.  I'm letting myself down.  I'm letting everyone down that had to read about me getting my food through an IV tube, the people that read about me crapping my pants, about my guts exploding, about stuff going on in my Easy Bake Oven.  Those people deserve a happy ending.  I deserve a happy ending.  Right now, the only happy ending that I can even possibly foresee is if I take Will down to some dark shady massage parlor and pay for one for him.

Maybe my therapist is right.  Maybe my core belief system is so screwed up that I will not succeed until it is "fixed."  And, I am trying to fix it.  I've been saying every day this week: "Today probably won't totally suck." So far, each day has had small highlights, but also major failures. I just desperately want to be one of those people that get up and put their pants on, goes through their day and doesn't worry about what they look like or what they eat.  Does such a person exist?  I think they do.  I know everyone has their own set of problems.  I don't pretend to believe there is some magical life that is available that I can buy or earn based on the number of tokens I earn on Candy Crush or whatever. I don't want to obsess about my life anymore. I just want to be normal, but in order to be normal, I have to "earn" it.  I want to be happy "as is, where as, no guarantee's or warranty's implied, no money back, all purchases final."  I think Will is okay with that, which is great, but what happens when I am not okay with that.  What do I do with that?

I have to eat cleaner.  I have to get to the gym. This is all me.  This isn't going to happen just because I had weight loss surgery. I'm not one of the lucky ones that the weight just falls off of.  That isn't my lot in life.  I'm angry about that.  I really am, but I know what I need to do, but I don't want to.  Why don't I want to?  Why can't I get it done?  What is a matter with me?  I don't know.  Each day I wake up and I drink my protein shake.  I pack my lunch and snacks.  I have my gym clothes at work.  And then, it happens, a potluck, the treat trolley, I'm tired, I don't want to go to the gym.  I want to go home.  I go home and I fall victim to a spouse that does not share in my journey.  Does not feel passionate about it.  Wants to be supportive, believes he is supportive, but at the heart of it, he really doesn't want me to succeed. And, I don't know why.  I mean, it isn't like fat chicks are easier to handle.  I've disproved that myth. It isn't like I'm going to leave him.  Crazy is crazy, I don't care if it is fat or skinny.  There are only so many people willing to sign up for that.  Will's crazy threshold is HIGH.  I told him he shoulda run when he had the chance.  He's the one that hitched his pony to this wagon.  Dumbass.  So, it isn't like I'm going anywhere. Whatever.

So there it is. My Wednesday night introspective on WTF is wrong with me? I need a kick in the ass, I guess. And maybe a laxative, a sauna suit and some time in the sauna.  I don't know. If anyone has any insight, please feel free to share, because I could use some.

In other news, my new best friend bra has been poking the side of my boobs.  Victoria Secret high...over.

This concludes tonight's pity party. Please get your coat before you leave and take your left-overs home. Otherwise, I'll just eat them.

Victoria's Secret, now I know it...

It's not like I've never gone on about my body issues, so tonight's installment shouldn't come as any sort of surprise to anyone. Specifically, I'd like to talk about my boobs.  As a fat girl, I should have big boobs, but I don't. Every fat girl store out there has big bras for big hooters.  Finding the perfect bra has thusly been a real pisser for me.  I've stuffed them, added padding, I've worn smaller sizes and then added extenders in the back so that I could still wear them. Inevitably, they poke me, the extra pads slip out, the straps fall down and I spend a great deal of my life tugging and pulling at my bra.  All the while, my marble-like boobs rattle around in there mocking me.  I even had one bra custom made for me one time. It was the most ridiculous contraption I have ever seen.  It was like a harness and you had to lean forward, pull your boobs though and then pull this flap over and hook it.  It was kind of like a maternity bra.  It was ugly and not boob enhancing at all.  Sadly, because I am a big girl, I could never go to all the special stores that sell the pretty bras, or ones that might work for my boob size. So, all these years, I have muddled through in discomfort and distress. Is it any wonder I am Angry Pony?  Duh.

Well, today was the dawn of a new time in my life.  Today, I decided I was going to Victoria's Secret.  While I have not lost a ton of weight yet, I have lost enough, I thought, to go into a "normal people's" store and shop.  I was going to give it a try. I wanted to lift and separate, I wanted to have cleavage, I wanted a plunging neck-line...I was going to have the boobs I've always dreamed of.  It was going to happen - TODAY. 

I called my sister.  She is a subject matter expert on boobs.  Her's always seem perky and she always shops at Victoria's Secret.  She is like a cult follower of VS.  We arrived at the mall and headed into the store. It was as if the angels were singing...they were welcoming me.  I looked around, my eyes aglow with hope and excitement. I pretended I could not see all the thongs and skinny bitch apparel.  I had a purpose.  I needed to focus. I sought out the bras that were padded and pretty.  I was going to jack these babies up.  Finally, after finding three that might work, it was time to head into the dressing room.  This was happening.

A nice girl came and let me into the room.  She told me to press the button if I needed assistance.  The dressing room has a call button?  Why? What could go wrong? Was I going to get stuck?  Is this for some girl that accidentally puts a bra on her ass thinking it is some sort of garter and gets a strap stuck up her butt?  A thong test drive that goes wrong? It's all fun and games until you lose one in your hoo-hoo? I don't know what could happen that would require me to push that button?  Anyway, I pulled down my FCD, took off my ugly-ass fat girl bra and unleashed the girls.  I put on this pretty white satin bra with a little diamond in the middle.  It was precious. It was everything I wanted it to be.  It was going to push my boobs up and I was going to be amazing.  I put it on. I could hear the music that they play on game shows when someone answers a question wrong.  This wasn't going to work.  That's okay, I have two others to go.  Neither one was impressing me. I was going to need an additional bra for my armpit boobs.  This was not attractive.  I needed help.  Ohhhhh....that is what the button is for.  Well, I'm not calling that bra girl in here, I don't want her to see me with armpit boobs!  I texted my sister, "I need u."  Within seconds I heard her outside the door. "Yesss?" she said.  "I need help, this isn't working."  She came in the little room and after some discussion, we came to the conclusion that I had the wrong cup size.  She brought me this smoky lavender bra with lace on the sides and little diamonds in the middle.  I heard the angel music again. It was the most beautiful bra I'd ever seen.  My sister helped me get into it.  I nestled my boobs into place on top of the cleavage enhancing padding.  It was amazing. They were amazing.  There I stood, in the dressing room, a real girl!  For the first time ever, I was wearing something that "normal" people wear.  Something that slutty people wear, something that Tyra Banks and all of her America's Next Top Model girls wear.  I wanted to walk out of there and do a runway walk  through the store.  Do you think they have a wind machine?  I need my hair to bounce and blow. At that moment I noticed this skimpy, stretchy pink shirt that is hanging inside the dressing room.  It's tiny but says, "one size fits ALL."  The sign says to try this shirt on so you can see how amazing you look in your new bra.  I said to my sister, "I bet they didn't think a girl like me would come in here...I need to put that shirt on."  My sister laughed.  We both knew, when I was done, that shirt was never going to be the same again.  I pulled it off the hanger, pulled it over my head and down over my enormous hooters.  The shirt was like a second skin and it was begging for mercy.  We both laughed since I looked like a pork sausage.  I showed it mercy and I took it off.  Indeed, one size does fit all.  Thank you, VS for putting spandex in that shirt.  I put it back on the hanger and giggled.  I did the next fat girl a favor.

I decided to call it a day at VS.  I reluctantly took my little piece of heaven off and put the ugly, misshapen fat girl bra back on so that I could go buy my new best friend.  I watched the sales girl wrap my bra in pink tissue paper and put it in the cute white and pink striped bag. I was on a high and was giddy. I bought three tubes of VS lip gloss, too.  If my boobs are going to be awesome, then I need shiny lips, too. 

I walked out past the PINK line of clothing and stopped to look for a moment.  Baby steps, Angry Pony, baby steps.  Someday. Today's victory would be enough. It felt good to do something that I felt I would never be able to do.  I was finally able to buy more than just the lotion in this store. It might seem dumb to someone that has never struggled with their weight, but today I walked out of the store with something I deem normal. Something an average person could wear.  It meant something to me, and really, that is all that counts.

I came home and put my new bra on so that Will could see.  He whole-heartedly approves.  No shock there.  I just sat on the couch looking down at my boobs.  They look amazing.  I mean, sure, it's half padding, but I don't care. They are amazing, and there are diamonds in my cleavage.  I poked them. They are so life-like. Will looked over and was laughing at me. I kept peeking under my shirt.  I don't ever want to take this bra off.  And then, it hit me, I know what Victoria's Secret is...it's the padding!  That has to be the secret!  I'll never say mean things about that bitch, Victoria Secret, again.  We have finally made peace. 

Go in peace, Victoria.  Go make me pretty, sparkly, padded bras.

Don't "Quote" Me

I'm having one of those ponderous days.  It's a Saturday. Will is at work. I have nothing but time, dishes, laundry and barn cleaning to occupy my hands, which means, there is a lot of space to fill up in my mind.  I've already been through Facebook and Pinterest and frankly, it is kind of irritating me.  I know what you are thinking, everything irritates me.  This is only partially true.  Okay, so it is largely true, but not necessarily ALWAYS true.  I mean, I do love my dogs...except on days they are found guilty of knocking over the bathroom trash and digging for feminine hygiene products.  I do love my ponies...except when they are tearing down the fences...and pooping in their stalls.  I mean, hello, they can come and go in and out of them, there is no reason to shit in there.  None.  I love my husband...except when he is being ...well...ladies, you know where I am going with this...except when he is being a dumbass.  So, really, I'm not irritated ALL the time, just when I am provoked...and right after I wake up.  Anyway, that was a long digression to say that Facebook and Pinterest were irritating me.

The reason I am irritated is because of all these damn quotes that, I believe, are designed to force me to comply to societal norms.  Why do I have to believe that "Nothing can bring you peace but yourself." Have you met me?  I would like some peace but myself won't let that happen.  "Your life is a result of the choices you make...If you don't like your life, it's time to start making better choices."  Well, thank you, judgy quote for making it all so easy to understand.  Well, I'll just start doing everything differently right now, where the frick were you when I was like, five years old? Finally, advice I can use.  "You'll never leave where you are until you decide where you'd rather be."  Well, genius, I'd rather be in Maui right now.  I don't think I will be leaving to go there anytime soon since I don't even have enough money to pop some tags at the local dollar store.  So, what do you suggest I do now?  Oh, I know, save your pennies so that someday you get to go to Maui.  What, are you new?  Do you not know me?  I'm a now girl, not a when I can't get my wheel chair out in the sandy beach girl. Stupid quotes.  "Worrying will never change the outcome." Well, that is fantastic news. More of my time wasted.  Here and I thought worrying was the answer.  I'll just stop...right now.  "Sometimes good things fall apart so that better things can fall together."  Oh, okay, that sounds great, so I will just smile and always know that when a door closes, a window is opening. Bullshit, I prefer the door, I can't be trying to get my fat ass out the window, someone is going to get hurt.

AND, don't try and inspire me with all this exercise crap. All that, "if it doesn't hurt, it isn't worth it,"  or all that finding yourself on the pavement at 5AM stuff. It's Bullshit.  You'll find me hitting the snooze alarm at 5AM, but I will have hay in my hair by 5:30AM and THAT is where I find myself.  Or the "If it is important, you will find a way. If not, you'll find an excuse." Well, thanks for making me feel like what I want isn't important enough because I didn't go to the gym yesterday.  Clearly I am an excuse maker.  Clearly, I'll never achieve my dreams.  Eff off.

And, here is the topper: "The most important decision you make is to be in a good mood."  Well, right there, I'm screwed.  That is a lot of pressure every day. I don't know how people do it.  I mean, I know people that genuinely seem to be in a good mood...every day.  I don't understand, can't imagine it, could not pull it off.  And, I know, sure, just because they are smiling doesn't mean their life is perfect, doesn't mean they are happy. Maybe it just means they are "faking it until they make it."  I don't know.  I'm not that person.  I feel what I feel.  I'm not good at hiding what I feel. 

I'm not saying I don't see the truth in any of these aforementioned quotes, I'm saying I can't seem to get to that place where I believe them or can live them.  I think I'm broken. Seriously.  I just told Will that the other night as I had a meltdown. Finding the ability to rise above and be content with what I have and not focus on the things I want but cannot seem to achieve is difficult.  Being happy with who I am today and not worrying about tomorrow, foreign concept. I look at these abilities that others have as like a super power. These people should wear capes or some sort of super hero outfit that identify them as exceptional human beings with powers of self-realization. I don't know, maybe someday, after extensive therapy, a medication cocktail (did I just spell cocktail right? it doesn't look right...how did that word come about? a beverage doesn't look like a drink or a cock...just more stuff I don't understand), or some shock therapy.  I want to be a happier person, but I can't get there.  I'm Angry Pony.  I don't know how to be anything else. 

So, in conclusion, Facebook and Pinterest, kiss my ass.  Go self-realize yourself in the worlds perfect carrot cake while having a great hair day, looking cute in some sparkly shoes while organizing your closet with a laundry basket, a curtain rod and some extra gardening string.  Go. Be amazing and innovative. You self-less piece of work.  I hate your guts.  And your cake. And your sparkly shoes.  I hope your closet door locks you in.

Pranx Pee Hole?

Today was the last day of the VIP visit.  I had to pull out one more day of looking like a professional. To that end, I pulled out my tan slacks.  Due to the amount of cellulite on my legs, I had to put on my Pranx to give a smoother appearance.  They are like tummy control on top and then just regular nylons down to my toes. Nothing unusual.  I got them on without any drama and without snagging them.  It was a victory.  Off to work I go.

After being at work and doing the normal morning flight of the bumblebee, I had to pee.  I ran into the restroom and took care of business.  As I went to pull up my Pranx, I notice there is a built in pee hole type situation  going on in the crotch.  What?  How did I not notice that before?  I mean, I don't really spend time looking at my vagina when I get dressed, so I guess that is how I missed it.  When putting on Pranx, it is kind of a workout in itself, there is no time for exploring anything, you just gotta get em on, put your hand down the back, yank on them some more, pull your underwear back out of your butt crack, then put your hand down the front and make sure your underwear aren't up your hoo-hoo either, then reach down between your legs and get the individual legs all the way up so the top of your legs don't rub together.  Now, jiggle your legs a little so the cellulite settles in.  It's a process, I guess is what I am saying.  There isn't time or energy for self exploration or to see if your crotch gave out during the process.  The damn Pranx are on and that is that. 

Anyway, I am baffled by this hole in the crotch of my Pranx.  I mean, I understand how these types of holes work for guys.  They pull their thingy out and pee, shake it off, then poke it back in.  Simple.  Exactly what would I have had to go through to use the pee hole?  I would have had to get my underwear off to the side, then gotten the pee hole open, then hover over the toilet.  Even then there would have been some unsanitary things going on. I don't know if the people that make Pranx know how a vagina works, but it pretty much just sprays pee out.  Someone needs to tell them.  Maybe I will forward this blog to them.  I can't imagine what kind of mess I would have made trying to use the pee hole. I'd rather do the Pranx hustle to get them off and then back on. Anyway, again, as I was trying to get them back on, my bracelet got stuck on my underwear.  Damn it! Now, I'm all twisted and contorted trying to get my bracelet unstuck.  My pants are halfway down, the Pranx are halfway up and now, I'm stuck.  This went on for what felt like eternity, but was realistically only about three minutes.  I didn't want to die in there.  What if someone found me like that? And then they go to take me out on the gurney  and they notice my Pranx have a hole in the crotch and they are like, what the hell kind of freak is this chick that she has a built in hole in her pantyhose? It could have happened, you don't know.

It was brought to my attention later that maybe the hole isn't for peeing.  Maybe it is for sex?  I mean, that would cut down on the amount of jiggling during sex and it would be nice to not ruin the mood by the person trying to get them off.  I think this sounds dangerous though. What about the friction? What about the spandex part? A guy could get bucked off.  Maybe Will and I will try that and I will get back to you.  I doubt it.  The presence of the hole disturbs me. Did I buy something that is designed for someone with a strap on?  Oh my word, did I buy cross-dresser Pranx? There are too many questions.  I need to send the makers of Pranx a letter.  I'll report back as soon as I hear.  Then we can all have closure...no pun intended. Or, maybe I could find the package they came in and read it.  Maybe there are instructions or explanations.  No, I think the letter is the way to go.  I think they have explaining to do regardless of what the marketing people print on the package.  Right?