Category Archives: Trifeness

General trife and hilarious stories, some embarrassing to Miss Sassy Pants, some embarrassing to others, but all in general very trife. Holler to my original sophomore year roomie for coining this term, and holler to Miss Sassy Pants for lovingly overusing it.

Battle of the Bombshell Bras

I am in the market for a new strapless bra. TMI? Just go with it.

If you didn’t know, bras only last for a max of 2 years before the wires get all funky or the elastic loses it’s elasticity, or the little wire hooks rip off or d) all of the above. Or perhaps e) your dog eats it and it’s no longer wearable. Or I suppose there’s always f) a size issue. You gain weight, either by getting pregnant or eating too many Cookout corndogs and milkshakes (not that I know anyone who does this currently), or you lose weight by cutting out the Cookout corndogs and sticking to low-fat milkshakes (an awesome idea, except low-fat anything typically = tasteless…not worth it).

Let’s not digress. I’m in the market. And I’ve started looking and asking around. Customer recommendations hold a heavy weight when it comes to these kinds of purchases. Other women are a great source for one to find out how exactly a bra fits. Does it stay up? Does it dig into your side and leave permanent hideous and painful marks on your skin? Does it make you feel like a goddess with perfect ta-tas? Does it squish the girls down and bring you back to 6th grade? You get the idea.

Other women are also a bad source, because we’re all different. I’m an A. But so is a friend of mine, and we can’t share bras. Also any girl will tell you, just because you’re one size in one brand, doesn’t mean every style or brand in that size will fit. Weird. Annoying, also. I own a bra that’s a B, but I guarantee you I’m not a B. It’s a fluke. Or maybe I am a B, just in that particular cut of bra. Which makes it annoying. It also makes it depressing because I could get excited about [extremely] belated boob growth only to be deflated (pun?) when any other style bra in a B is extremely huge. Also I have this weird pokey rib situation, which sometimes complicates things. TMI?

Bottom line is, there is no standard. It’s not like shoes. Or t-shirts, where you’re a small, medium, large, or extra-large. If only.

Since I purchased 90 new swim suits earlier in the spring, I now receive 12 Victoria’s Secret catalogs per week. Hardly an exaggeration. I obviously look at all of them even though these catalogs are probably the worst ones in existence for a girl’s self-esteem. I mean. I don’t even have to explain this. I also enjoy the little tag lines throughout these things. My favorite are the “special sale” ones. Literally there are pages claiming that, “Even Supermodels Love Sales!” Well then! If even supermodels love this sale, then I surely should buy something! It’s that good! Yeesh. As if they don’t receive a lifetime supply of bras and other hoo-ha coverings (or not-so-much-coverings) for free.

In just looking at VS for a new bra, I am astounded at the number of choices and the naming conventions. Not astounded actually. Just annoyed. There’s demi-cut, which to this day I still cannot figure out. There’s the sexy cut. Which makes no sense to me, since I sort of think all bras sold by VS are supposed to be sexy, at least on the models with minute 12 inch waists and D-cup boobs.

Side thought. If anything in life were to actually be categorized as unfair, it’s that these models are either a) really shaped like this, with ridiculously gorgeous long legs, perfect long torsos with tiny waists, and huge ta-tas, OR b) that even if this is not the reality of their shapes, that they are allowed to be portrayed to the general and innocent public looking so. It is for this reason alone that I never purchase any of their “bra-tops.” Because no one looks as good in real life in one of those things, no matter what the neckline looks like, as those girls.

Back to bra picking. I have studied the choices and I cannot figure out the difference between the “Gorgeous,” “Incredible,” “Miraculous,” “Bombshell,” and the “Very Sexy” lines other than one has some bows on the straps, and they come in different colors. Some of them have adjustable and changeable straps, but that has nothing to do with the actual bra part – the part that holds those ladies in place.They all have insane padding and give me the impression that I could get stripper boobs just by purchasing this bra.

The comforting thing is that at least VS has sales all the time. Which means when I finally decide if I want to be a bombshell, incredible, gorgeous, or very sexy, or PINK , I could at least get my choice at 20% off. I sort of want to be an incredibly gorgeous and miraculously very sexy bombshell, who occasionally wears pink, but perhaps that’s just too much to ask.

It’s too bad I can’t wear my new bikini tops under work clothes [and not get funny looks / be sent to HR / fired] because those things are comfortable and they fit well. And then I wouldn’t have to worry about bra straps showing and I wouldn’t even have to think about what kind of strapless bra to buy. I’d wear a swim suit every day and gladly show everyone that I’m ready for the beach, or at least the neighborhood pool, with my halter top bow peeking out from my button-down.

Maybe I need to switch professions, and then I could give all my bras away. To the trash can. Who’s down for $14.99 bikini tops as bras from now on? I might not be a bombshell or even moderately sexy, but at least I’d be comfortable. And ready for a spontaneous trip to the pool.

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Radiantly Refreshed and Renewed

The other day I went to Target to restock on some necessities. Oreos, goldfish, milk, Fruity Pebbles, face wash, toothpaste. You know, the basics. When I got to the toothpaste isle I noticed for the first time that there are a BILLION types of toothpaste now. They even have swallowable (not a word, I know) toothpaste for little kids who can’t yet grasp the concept that fluoride isn’t good for you. And the only kind that keeps its packaging remotely similar looking through the years is Arm & Hammer (gross). Yellow box = not good marketing for clean white teeth in my opinion.

Anyhoo. I’m looking at the endless wall of shiny blue and white boxes trying to find the brand I usually get. I think its Crest, something to do with whitening and cavity protection. But as I inspect the boxes, I am torn. Do I want cavity prevention? Or do I want to prevent gum disease? Or guard against tartar buildup? Why can’t I have all of them in one? And why must I choose between protecting myself from a  yucky gum disease and getting my teeth a little whitened also?

At this point I think I might need a Venn Diagram. Or at least a pro/con list.

I finally spot the box I usually get, which, shockingly, has changed the design of packaging yet again making it extraordinarily difficult to be a repeat consumer. Then as I’m examining and about to select my regular tube, I realize even within the brand / line of toothpaste I like (Crest Vivid White or 3D White, if you’re wondering) (the tubes are purple and match my bathroom decor…I’d be lying if I said this didn’t have a little to do with why I started getting it), there are a billion additional choices. All provide whitening so that’s good. All say something about fluoride and/or tartar and/or disease protection, so whatever. At this point I’m annoyed and as long as I’m getting some kind of healthiness provision and stain blocker / whitening action it’s all good. But there’s a sale. Two boxes of slightly smaller tubes for $5.30 or one slightly larger tube for $3.75. Now I have to do some math and figure out which one is actually the better deal. Do I really want an additional tube for 2 more dollars? Is it worth it to have additional stockpile of toothpaste? I reflect on how difficult a time I’m having selecting my paste and think yes, if I can prolong this gahdawful process longer than one-tube worth of time, I’m down.

I reach for the double box and realize I have yet another choice to make, and this one is possibly the most important. Flavor. Nothing worse than a toothpaste flavor that isn’t pleasing to the palate. There are 4 or 5 different kinds of mint. Now, I realize that mint is very variable. But somewhere along the line they abandoned regular and normal and expected food-related flavors for adjectives that make no sense when related to what something will taste like. Example: Radiant Mint. What does Radiant Mint taste like? And how do I know what Radiant Mint will be like compared to Fresh Mint, or Refreshing Mint, or Renewal Mint? None of these are flavors. You know what is a flavor? Spearmint. Everyone knows what Spearmint tastes like because there’s been Spearmint gum since like 1945 or something. Also Peppermint. Peppermint is normal and we know what it will taste like. I’ve seen Intense Mint and while that is not a normal flavor either, it portrays that the mint flavor will be intense and strong, and is therefore acceptable. Radiant is not a food adjective and neither is Renewal. Renewal especially makes no sense.

Why can’t adults have simple and understandable flavors like kids have? Bubblegum flavor. That is normal. I know what bubblegum tastes like. I might not want my toothpaste to taste like that (and subsequently my breath to smell like bubblegum as an adult…negs), but at least I’d know what to expect. What if I get Refreshing Mint and I actually think it’s gross? And if that’s the case, then I bought two boxes and I’m locked in to non-refreshing Refreshing Mint for 2 tubes worth of time. This is a big decision. I finally choose Radiant Mint for no other reason that it’s on a lower shelf and therefore easier for me to reach than the other options and I move on.

When did all of this toothpaste complication happen? And can we please circle back to to 3D White? What exactly does that mean? I think it’s a word-fad. You know, like in the early 2000s when e-whatever was a fad. Put “e” in front of everything and it’d be cool and new. I’m surprised toothpaste makers didn’t follow this trend. eMint! It’s eRefreshing! Provides noticeable eWhitening in just 3 eDays! Just like now how iAnything is a fad. We are in an iWorld. Maybe next up on Crest’s lineup should be iWhitening. iMint. It’s iRefreshing for your iTeeth and a pretty iSmile.

Yeesh. I guess we’ll see how my 3D Brushing goes when I crack open my new iTube of eToothpaste. Here’s hoping that Radiant Mint was a good choice. Maybe I’ll have a more radiant smile and radiant breath? Here’s hoping.

That’s over 800 words on toothpaste. Bet you didn’t think that was possible.

PHENOMENAL COSMIC POWERS!

Yes, that’s an Aladdin reference. In light of semi-serious postings going on lately making my mother cry (April 16th, Mother’s Day, Father’s Day) (Ma, do not go back and read those), today we’re going to get back to the good stuff. Yes, boys and men. I know. Sorry. Actually I’m not, but whatever. I’ve professed before about the power in a relationship, but today I’m going to share more in depth the subtleties of the power in a relationship, the power shift, and maybe even how to get the power back if you lose it. And it might even spawn sequels of this post. We’ll see how it goes.

I have this friend. She was seeing this guy. He seemed really awesome. The type that you tell all your friends that he’s so good, it’s like he’s too good. But it appears to be true. She make all the right moves (and so doe he), letting him initiate phone calls, dates, hang-out sessions, cutesy text convos, and she’s checking off all the little “he’s just not that into me” boxes. And by that I mean, she is assuring that he is actually into her because he’s making this grand effort. High five to my friend. But she’s still sort of hesitant, because of that feeling in the back of her mind that “this is too good to be true,” so she’s guarded. We all tell her obviously to get excited and be happy, he sounds awesome, blah blah blah. Here’s a shocking revelation: girls in packs give turrible advice. Girls one-on-one give great advice [usually] but put us all in a room together and plug your ears. In the end though, we all agree that she should follow her heart, advice frequently handed out by my favorite Marine. So she keeps it light, and then after a while decides she either isn’t ready for this relationship to progress, it doesn’t feel right, or she just doesn’t want to see him anymore, and she tells him so. Simple, straightforward.The “because” really don’t matter.

If you’re trying to guess, at this point it is my friend who has the power. She’s taking her situation into her own hands and choosing for herself. When a little while goes by and he seems to be ok with it, not calling 90 times to get to to come back, singing Darius Rucker songs beneath her window, she still can hold her head up high and proudly say, “I chose. I am more than fine. I love myself. And he can screw whatever he wants and I don’t care.” And she’d be honest. In this situation, it’s not really important that he know she has the power. He might even think that he has the power (if guys even think about this) but it doesn’t matter, because she is fine, confident, and self-empowered. And sassy. And she moves on, and is even more empowered by her own choice when she finds out that he has a girlfriend just a few short weeks later. This is affirmation that she followed her heart and did the right thing for herself and she’s not missing out.

I think this is really what “having the power” is all about. It’s not about abusing the power, knowing that you are holding the other person in the palm of your hand. Knowing that they’ll do anything you ask, say anything you want, as long as they can be with you, and abusing it. Or whatever. It’s about knowing your destiny is in your control. That sounded deep, but it’s really not. My friend had the power because she chose and didn’t let infatuation with someone she didn’t know too well get in the way of doing what she knew in her heart (and head) was the right thing for her. She didn’t let the insecurity that we all feel about being that one girl we all know who is still “alone and single” get in the way of watching out for number one.

In my experience, the power shift happens when you perceive that you are more invested than the other person. My friend in this little anecdote perceived this, feared losing control of herself, and kept things light until she could figure out his true intentions. This part is tricky because sometimes boys are really good at pretending you rock their world, and then they get a little hooha and you are yesterday’s hooha and they’ve moved on to fresher and newer hooha. [I love using the word hooha.] One can encourage the power shift by doing many things, thus losing control over your own situation. As ladies, we can easily lose sight of keeping our cool in favor of being too available and smothering our current man with communication and emotion. While I’m not in favor of playing games, it is important to keep your cool and try to be normal. If you realize one day that he totally has the power and you don’t like it because you don’t know what’s up, there are things you can do to alleviate the situation and perhaps bring the power back to neutral. Stop smothering. See if he misses it, and more importantly, you. If he doesn’t, say goodbye. And presto, power is back to you. Are we seeing a trend? This applies to guys and girls. If you think she has all the power and you don’t like it, and you’re not sure how she feels, stop smothering. See if she misses you. If she doesn’t, say goodbye.

We seem to be getting closer to my oft-repeated mantra. And now that I think about it, it seems the balance of power gets back to “he’s just not that into you.” If the power isn’t shared almost equally between the two parties, seems to me that one of you doesn’t care enough. And don’t we all want someone who cares more than enough? Personally I prefer someone who cares a whole lot, versus someone who could really go either way, depending on what’s on ESPN at the moment and if he’s hungry.

And now I’m over 1000 words. I guess we’ll have some sequels coming soon. Because we know how much I love sequels. No one likes to say goodbye after just one.

A Reading from the Diary of an American Teenager According to Facebook

Anybody been on Facebook lately? Hands in the air. Then you’ve seen all the ridiculous postings going on that are making me want to cry a thousand tears as I sit at my desk in my small corporate cubicle eating peanut butter out of the jar wishing that I too was, “so excited to be at the beachhhhhh with my babyyyy it is soOoOoOoo sunny and beautifullllllll!!!!” Gag. Good times with the alternating capital letters in the middle of a word. Anyway. I recently went on a 9 day cruise and have another mini beach vacation coming up so I can’t really complain, even though I still do while I stuff my face with peanut butter and try not to hover near the windows, gazing at the sunny parking lot.

Moving on. Through acquaintances and family, I have some friends on FB who are still in school. Like middle school. And high school. It’s so cute. It’s also terrible because I see this one girl and I’m like OMG how are you so pretty in the 7th grade, it’s not even fair. Then I realize she’s not in 7th grade anymore but practically driving herself around and I’m like holy mother I’m so old, she was like 6 years old yesterday and now she has boys chasing her and her perfect hair, probably around the mall. Ugh. My hair was so gross during that phase of life.

Reading this age-group’s statuses keeps me young though, so I torture myself by keeping them in my newsfeed when I could so easily click the little x in the corner and choose “Hide All by Anyone Still in Puberty.” Right? How cool would that option be! Anyway. These messages take me back to the days of earnest angst and crazy intense feelings for things we can’t even spell. Check out this tribute to my 12-year-old self and my loving father here. Things like this gem: “I love my baby so much she makes me so happy and I can’t wait to see her tonight!!” I want to know how long these two have been “together.” 3 days? “I have the best boyfriend in the entire universe he rox my world babyyyy luv uuuuuuu!!!” How about this one? A week? I once had a relationship last about 6 days. It was epic. We walked to the pool arm in arm and I don’t remember if we kissed, but if we did I’m sure it was record-breaking amazing, seeing as at that point I’d had so much experience kissing boys. Fun. I recall after the first 3 days how special I felt, and how I couldn’t wait for the rest of my life and being at school with him and how awesome it was going to be to eat lunch together and maybe we’d even hold hands!! Sigh. Then 3 more days went by and we had a phone call that went something like this:

“Hey.”
“Wussup.”
[30 minute convo about something random and pointless, probably gossiping]
“So.”
“So, I don’t think we should see each other anymore.”
“K, cool.”
“K, well, see you at the pool tomorrow.”
“Yeah, cool, I’m bringing pizza.”
“Sweeeeet, can you get breadsticks too?!”
“Definitely.”
“K, bye.”
“See ya.”

Completely harmless. I remember not being upset and literally hanging out the next day eating pizza. NBD. The boyfriend before this one though, my 7th grade love, was definitely more intense. We passed notes during school, and I distinctly remember one of his friends passing me in the hall and saying, “Hey, you’re Jason’s girl, aren’t you?” Duh! Jason’s girl! As if they didn’t know! [His name wasn’t Jason, natch] I died and went to heaven in that moment as I proudly answered, “Yes, I sure am.” It was probably more of a shy, meekly mumbled, “yeah,” but it was so cool to be “someone’s girl.” Looking back I try to recall how long it was after that encounter that I remained his girl, until he broke up with me in the hall after lunch. Miserable. If I had known, I wonder if I would have answered the question differently: “Yeah I am for now, until he discovers boobs then I’ll be toast. Love him though!” I think it was shortly after the breakup that I started waxing my eyebrows. Good times.

It also kills me that this age group quotes all the ridiculously romantic country songs that sing about true love when you’re 17. Name one person who had true love when they were 17 and it lasted until they were 18. Ok so I just thought of 2 couples I was in high school with who are now happily married. Point ruined. But seriously, it’s not that common. I would guestimate that maybe 90% of “relationships,” if they can even be called that, are sustainable when started at a time when girls are obsessed with Britney Spears or some equivalent, and boys are making up stories about all the sex they’re having. And now that I’ve written that, seems like not much has changed now that we’re “grown,” except we mostly dress better and maybe scream / hyperventilate a little less frequently. Still love Britney/Gaga. Still making up stories about our sex lives.  Since I’m disproving the point I’m trying to make I’ll move on. All I really want to say is that I sort of wish that someone would tell these kids to just take it easy and calm down. It must be so stressful to go from this: “this is the BEST day of my life my baby is amazing and i love him so much omgomgomg!!!” to this: “life SUX rite nowwwww UGH. [insert totally emo song lyric]” in less than an hour.

But that’s the beauty I guess of that time of our lives. When you’re in it, everyone is telling you it’s no big deal, he’s not that great, you’ll get over it, and my favorite: “When you’re older you’ll look back on this and laugh.” If I had a penny for every time I heard that in middle and high school, my retirement fund would be double it’s current size. And of course now I see all these things happening to other “kids” the same way it happened to me, and I see their reactions giving me dejavu of my reactions, and what do I think? I shake my head and say, oh when they’re older they’ll look back on this and say “WHY the heck did I post that jank on the world wide web!?” AKA you’ll look back and laugh. And then apologize to your parents for being such drama queenz. I did.

It’s my birfday!

Happy birthday to me! That’s right ladies and gentlemans, today is the 24th anniversary of my birth. 24 years ago at 4:30am, Momma Sassy brought me into the world after 2 seconds of easy labor, which I heard her describe once as feeling like “a tiny little menstrual cramp” but “not a big deal or very painful.” Those are not direct quotes even though I used quotes. But I guess easy labor is what happens when you’re in shape and give birth to a tiny pint sized baby. Maybe you’re chuckling, but really I was pint sized, weighing in at around 5 pounds, which I guess technically is more like 5 pints but whatever. PintS plural sized. But no one cares about how much I weighed 24 years ago except my mom so let’s move on.

Birthdays really are special and I super love birthdays, especially my birthday. Ha. Who doesn’t love their birthday. Actually I guess plenty of people don’t like their birthday if they don’t want to get old. Or if perhaps there is a bad memory associated with birthdays, but seriously. No other time in the year can one celebrate their own being. No other time is as good for celebrating someone else’s actual being. I think about it like this: celebrating a birthday is like affirming someone’s existence. By wishing them a happy birthday, you’re essentially saying, “hey friend, I’m glad you exist!” And who doesn’t love this kind of existence affirmation?! Like It’s a Wonderful Life. The world would be a vastly different place if you did not exist, no matter what you think or how depressed you are or how big of a pity party pit you have dug for yourself. Whenever I get down and dirty in my pity party pit, I wallow in the dirt for a few minutes (everyone loves a good pity party) and then I think about all the good things in my life (that I wouldn’t enjoy if I didn’t…exist) and it helps me climb out. Likewise, if you’re in your pity party pit (PPP? Hm.) and even those positive thoughts aren’t helping, you can take the slightly more selfish tactic and think about all the people and things you positively impact. Personal connections, volunteer work, enriching your parents’ and family’s life. It’s a fun exercise. Just don’t talk about how great you are to your friends because then you’ll seem like a self-centered douche bag. No one likes those. But everyone likes a happy, appreciative person, and today, that is what I am. Happy and appreciative. Among other things.

23 has been a great year for me. Let’s review. This year, since last June 8th, I have: spontaneously chopped all my hair off with my own pink-handled scissors. I then repeatedly chopped hair off until I was satisfied with my curly-haired homemade version of Posh’s pixie cut. Then a week later I realized it doesn’t fit my face and hated it and have been waiting for it to grow out ever since. When I was 23 I did some dumb things involving boys, numerous times. So dumb. Really, really dumb. For real. Also when I was 23 I went on an awesome cruise with my mother. I lived outside of San Francisco for 6 months. I went on a whole bunch of spontaneous road trips solo. I made a bunch of new friends out west who I will probably never see again. I planned a girls weekend. Went to NYC. Attended a bachelorette party for a close friend. When I was 23 I spent a gagillion dollars more than I should have on shoes (something I will more than likely continue to do now that I am 24). When I was 23 I realized I am no where near being ready to get married, and when I was 23 I watched a gagillion of my friends get engaged and/or married. Another trend that will continue in my 24th year. And probably my 25th, 26th, 27th, 28th, 29th, and into my 30th year and beyond. Though hopefully at some point in those years I will also be ready. No one wants to be The Single One when we’re all 40 years old. Yikes. 23 years is also the last of the “early twenties.” 23 years is the last of the college age-group. 24 and over is the graduate programs and the law schools and the med schools and the I’ve-been-working-a-long-time-and-already-got-a-promotion-and-a-family-to-feed time. Yikes / it’s exciting. Also 24 makes me the same age as my bff Le Fox. Being a different age than her makes me feel like a small child so I’m glad that’s over. Also “24” is a much more respectable number when hanging out with my primarily late-twenties to thirties friends. When asked, saying “I’m 23” always gets a response like “Awww that’s so cute! When did you graduate, like last year?! Ugh I remember 23..those were the days!” This, said by a 28-year-old is as obnoxious as it sounds but I feel like saying “I’m 24” will not garner such awkward responses. I know I’m cute, but I’m not a puppy. Though who knows. When I go out tonight to celebrate I’ll see what kind of responses I get.

Big huge mondo thanks and hugs to everyone who has called, texted, emailed, Facebooked, and g-chatted me today! It is so wonderful that we all have this one day a year to be appreciated and feel the love, and I am definitely feeling the love. Even at work, where no one knows my birthday, I feel the love. Mostly because I’m wearing a pin that says “Happy Birthday MSP!” Prompting people to say “Oh! Happy birthday!” which is extremely rewarding for me. My grandmother always said, it’s your own fault if people forget your birthday, and I aim to help everyone out. So, thanks to everyone who didn’t forget me. I love you all dearly. And to those of you who did forget me, my pin will remind you. I’m blessed to be surrounded by such love!

Cruisin for a bruisin

Yes, that is a Grease reference. My second favorite line is the bit about the hickey from Kenickie being like a Hallmark card. Teehee.

I have now been at work for a few days post my epic cruise vacation with Momma Sassy. And let me tell you, is it depressing or what. Originally I had thought I’d return to the office rejuvenated, refreshed, relaxed, and ready to re-work. And I was wrong. All I have been thinking about these past days is the cruise, the awesome times I had, the multiple naps per day, and the room service. I still haven’t gone grocery shopping because I can’t stop thinking about the food. And more than ever I’m wanting to leave work the minute I arrive and go sit by the pool. My neighborhood pool isn’t nearly as nice as the ship’s pool obviously, but it’s a pool nonetheless and I want to sip a frothy drink next to it. Or in it. Maybe this is coming off as complaining. Which is fine, because that’s basically what it is. Ha.

Moving on. Raise your hand if you’ve ever been on a cruise. Hands in the air people. I can see you through your webcam. The internet is a scary place. And so is a cruise ship when it comes to scary people. A cruise ship is better than Myrtle Beach on spring break for people watching. There are all kinds of people, ranging from first-time cruisers buried in their deck 2 stateroom with just a port hole to look out of, to the super swanky rich people throwing cash about at the Craps table in the casino. Big families with lots of small children, old retired couples who have been on 50 plus cruises just in the last 15 years. Newlyweds. Mother-daughter duos. The clientele runs the gamut, and provides ample entertainment outside of the theater for all aboard.

My first cruise-clientele-related observation involved the number of old people on our ship. Since this cruise took place at the end of May, I had assumed and been told to expect lots of college students. Graduations had just happened up and down the east coast, and fresh coeds were sure to populate the tiny staterooms and fill the dining room with raucous laughter. Wrong. Graduations may have just occurred, but the only people celebrating that on this cruise were the grandparents. And great-grandparents. And possibly even great-great-grandparents. I’m telling you, these people are old. There was a daily and nightly parade of Hoverounds and walkers, with wheels and without. Instead of complaining about strollers rolling away and hitting me, it was walkers. And automatic wheelchairs with occupants who have poor to terrible eyesight, much less depth perception. Have you ever seen one of these things pull a U-y? Probably not, since they pretty much all require a 9 point turn. I don’t want to bash Hoveround. Maybe it’s like we say at the office: Problem exists between keyboard and chair. In automatic wheelchair turns, it might be simply: Problem exists…in chair. Or something. Anyhoo, this provided us with a total of at least 10 cumulative hours of entertainment over the 9 days.

And I don’t want to hate on the elderly who have trouble getting around and need assistance. The chair is an awesome idea and I saw it work well for many elderly folks who otherwise couldn’t get from dinner to the show in under 45 minutes, traveling down a flight of stairs and a short hallway. But some of these jokers in automatic wheelchairs really don’t need them, and it really sticks in my craw. To me, those kinds of conveniences and services should be provided to those who really need it – like the old folks with bad knees and hips, arthritic joints, etc. If you are not elderly and disabled, you are just a lazy fatass. And if you walked rather than rolled yourself around, I bet you wouldn’t be so large. I’m not sorry.

You know what else is funny? The showers. And you know what got old after the 200th time? The jokes about the showers. People love making these cracks on how small the staterooms are and how tiny the bathroom is. I’ll admit. It is pretty darn small. Last entry I compared the bathroom we had to a port-o-john plus a shower. That is a pretty accurate estimation. And yes, the shower was ridiculously small, but Momma and I are pretty small ladies, both measuring under 5’2 and weighing in at…um let’s just say we both weigh under 122. Accurate? Yes. Precise? No. Moving on. This means the shower, while a little tight (TWSS) was a decent fit (TWSS). But we’re not overweight. I would guestimate that roughly 90% of the cruisers on this ship were at least considered overweight, if not outright obese or morbidly obese. Mum and I puzzled over how some of these people even bathed at all during this trip, seeing as they were all SO LARGE.

Other things cruisers love: free stuff. Or close to free stuff. On the last day at sea, the shops on board had a crazy sale in which they sell things for $10, ranging from hats and scarves to necklaces, bracelets, watches, clutches, and other goodies. It is an awesome sale. Except I saw a couple old ladies being trampled by larger, more robust old ladies. And I was shoved out of the way so one woman could examine a necklace/earring combo in front of me. I mean it was straight up out of a movie where the women are like jungle cats pouncing on innocent antelope/necklaces. Never have I seen a woman horde handfuls of jewelry and clutch 7 clutches to her chest like it’s the food that will save her from starvation. Trife.

Unrelated: tomorrow is my 24th anniversary of being born. Get excited.

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changessssss

Dude! I got a domain name! I am now the proud owner of sarasassypants.com! Cool! This means nothing to anyone but me, and for you only means you don’t have to type “.wordpress” anymore. But if you still want to, you can, because there’s this cool thing called URL redirect, and you’ll end up here anyway. You can’t escape me. I mean you could, simply by not typing anything or clicking anything. But. Anyway. Get excited. Because there’s going to be some super newness coming your way sometime in the relatively near future. The timeframe is vague because I have this thing called a real job (I know, it’s shocking that no one pays me for this jank, right?!) that kind of eats into the time I can spend here at Miss Sassy Pants. But keep your eyes open for some changes and new fun stuff. That’s all I can say really, not because it’s a surprise, but because I haven’t figured it all out yet. But I know it’s coming. Much like 2012 is coming, and the world may or may not end and we may or may not get to elect a new president and we may or may not even see another Olympic Games. Yikes. But change is for certain. And change is good.

For now, all you need to know is: sarasassypants.com. Save it.