So, I recently started a new job... I'm one week in and I hae to say that I was shocked on the first day of training. You see, there we are going through pages and pages of corporate policy and procedure when all of a sudden I turn a page and in big bold letters is a section titled BLOGGING POLICY. YIKES! Can you believe that they actually have a blogging policy?! Well they do, so, I won't tell you who it is that I work for because well, I need the job dammit. If you happen to know me, and you happen to know who I work for, please do NOT place any comments on my page that reference the said employer. I will further refer only to the employer by calling them Giant Corp, or GC for short, in this and all future posts.
This week has been trying as I have had to examine my own personality and avoid things like cussing and being openly mean. I've also been trying to control my facial expressions as I sit at the back of the training room listening to hours and hours of instruction, some interesting, some not. There is one particular person that seems to make a comment about EVERYTHING. You know the type, the "one-upper" who has to always trump a story, example or question from other people in the training class. His commentary is generally a waste of time, having only 1 out of every 5 comments or questions referencing anything useful. I haven't been openly mean... YET! But I can guarantee you that as soon as I lose all cognitive control, this guy is getting a huge fucking piece of my mind and maybe my fist! I might just have to hit a bitch!!
In addition to the one-upper, we have THAT GUY. In fact, he was refered to as THAT GUY today... you know the type: the guy that brags about everything including, according to him, the $900 watch that he was wearing today. REALLY? You are sitting in a fucking office and you feel the need to tell us tha tyou have a $900 watch on?! WHY?! Overcompensating much? I think so buddy, I think so. Poor little guy... pun intended! I forsee me putting him in his place sometime in the near future and it will be EPIC!
The beginning of this work week caused me some personal confusion. As I walked into the training room full of individuals that I have never seen before, with the exception of my interviewer, I caught myself immediately looking for wedding rings on all of the men. I hadn't even looked at their faces yet! Shocked at my own behavior, I took my seat and decided that I would simply focus on the task at hand...
4 hours in and it's time for lunch. I take my place at a table next to two gentleman who are younger than my baby brother! UGH! They are fresh out of college... I mean, you can still smell the sorority whores and cheap beer on them! They are nice guys, naive, uber excited for this employment opportunity. Another veteran decides to sit at our same table and is filling us in on all of the perks of working for Giant Corp. He casually looked at my left hand and said, "Oh, you're single? There's lots of single people who work here so it tends to be a good place to date out of as well." Since when do corporate slogans include things like "Work here. Breed here." SERIOUSLY? And why did he assume that just because my 29 year old finger wasn't covered in platinum and diamonds that I was SINGLE?! And why is it considered a dirty word?! UGH!
Only a few posts ago, it was raining men.... so, it's raining outside but in my bedroom it's a total dry spell. Granted maybe it has something to do with throwing D. to the curb (see a previous post if you don't know what I'm referring to). Perhaps it has to do with the fact that I haven't been out socially since New Year's Eve... at least not in the city anyway. Am I raising my standards or just hibernating for the winter!?? I haven't even been on a date with BOB lately and that was once a daily ritual. Maybe it's just because I've been working so much... tired, worn down, and cold.
I have a wedding to go to tomorrow which will officially leave me the last single person in my family that is of legal marrying age. The next youngest is 10. I'm sure that I'll be scoping for rings at the reception and everywhere else I go, as it's become kind of an involuntary reflex. I'm really contemplating this online dating thing...
Can't a girl just get a little penetration?
Friday, February 19, 2010
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
I'm not gonna write you a love song
As another Valentine's Day has come and gone, I thought that I'd write a few "love" letters. You see, I spent my Valentine's Day single and working... just like every year before. I can't remember that I've ever been in a relationship, dating someone or even casually sleeping with someone on a Valentine's Day. Never have I received the stereotypical flower, chocolates and greeting card expression of another's feelings for me. Did I feel lonely? Upset? No more than usual.
Anyway, I spent the weekend observing Janes and Johns as they were on their Valentine's Day dates and I have to say, there are a few of them that I wanted to give a piece of my mind to... so here goes:
Dear Jane,
For a 60+ year old woman, you have amazing tits. That's right, I said, amazing! I only wish that at almost 30, my breasts could be as large and round as yours. I also wish that since you are sitting at a Sushi bar in a crowded restaurant, you would cover up your amazing tits. I mean, afterall, you are 60+ years old and sitting with a man who appears to be half your age. While you may consider yourself a cougar, you are far too old to be a cougar... more like a panther. And since panthers prey on the innocent and the young, I can only imagine that that is what you are doing with your big, round, wrinkly tits thrusting in and out of the young mans face. At least cougars pretend to love them before they rip their hearts out... panthers... prey and kill.
Nice boobs but please, put those bitches away.
Love,
That Girl
Dear Jane,
I know you wanted to look beautiful for your husband/boyfriend/baby daddy... whatever the hell you call him. Either way, you look ridiculous... I've seen clowns with less makeup on, the amount of product in your hair is single handedly responsible for the hole in the ozone layer and never under any circumstances should your garters be visible under your 1980's jean skirt that is both too tight and too short. Garters? Really? I mean, I couldn't help but notice them when you stood up, and walked across the entire restaurant to go to the bathroom. Oh, and you're too fat for them too. Your legs looked like two Christmas hams, bursting through the mesh wrapper.
I don't get it... at least someone loves you... thank dog it's not me.
Love,
That Girl
Dear Family of 7 with 5 children,
Are you related to the Duggars? Why did you bring 5 children under the age of 5 to a sit down restaurant and then ask that your food be rushed because your children's calm timer is about to run out? Have you ever heard of take out? We offer it.
Also, did you think that the 10% tip you left me included cleaning up the fucking giant mess that your 5 sex trophies decided to throw all over the fucking floor and table? NOPE!
Fuck you,
That Girl
Dear John,
It is apparent to me that you have a giant sinus infection. You look terrible... the bags under your eyes, puffy face, obvious lack of energy. I almost feel sorry for you. I would except for the fact that you apparently don't know how to blow your nose at almost 30 years old. Instead, you are sitting there sucking the snot back up your nasal passages and then swallowing it loudly. You've done this at least 30 fucking times today. Stop it. Not only is it disgusting but it will only make you sicker to digest mucus that is full of infection. I know because it caused my brother to get an infection in his colon that resulted in a colonoscopy at 25 years old. Actually, swallow away. And when you're getting your colonoscopy, ask the doctor to see if he can locate your head that is obviously stuck up your ass.
Thanks,
That Girl
Dear Ghetto fabulous couples,
Yes, there were 2 of you sitting at my table. As your server, it's my job to serve you. That means that I may have to ask you questions like "What would you like to eat tonight?". That means that you should probably get off your fucking phone long enough to look at the menu and acknowledge my presence. Oh yeah, and don't act annoyed when I come back to check on you. It's my fucking job! And no, I'm not flirting with your boyfriend... I'm flirting with both of you to get a good tip. You must have though I was a 2 dollar whore because that's all you left me.
People like you are why I sought employment outside of the service industry. Stay out of restaurants until you learn some manners.
Thanks,
That Girl
p.s. I sneezed on your dinner before I left the kitchen. It was totally an accident but after your behavior, it felt like Karma was in fast forward.
Dear Fatties,
Yes, this is going out to all of you women that have gained a massive amount of weight since you got married. I'm not talking like 10 or 25 pounds, I mean, those of you who have gained like 200 pounds because you now weigh close to 400 pounds. I'm a fatty. I've always been a fatty. How did you get a boyfriend/husband? I want to know...
Was/is your boyfriend/husband a chubby chaser? I saw several of you indulging in a meal that consisted of fried rice, steak covered in butter and then you topped off the meal by drowning it in hollandaise sauce. The sight of it all made me throw up in my mouth. Your boyfriend/husband is good looking and not really overweight. I'm sure you're a lovely person but I want to know what you looked like 15 years ago. I want to know what you looked like when you met eachother. I want to know if it's true what my mother has always said, that one day a man will be forced to look past my physical appearance and will see my personality instead. I hope so, because my personality is just a skinnier version of the big sassy bitch that I actually am.
Love
That Girl
p.s. skip dessert. please.
Anyway, I spent the weekend observing Janes and Johns as they were on their Valentine's Day dates and I have to say, there are a few of them that I wanted to give a piece of my mind to... so here goes:
Dear Jane,
For a 60+ year old woman, you have amazing tits. That's right, I said, amazing! I only wish that at almost 30, my breasts could be as large and round as yours. I also wish that since you are sitting at a Sushi bar in a crowded restaurant, you would cover up your amazing tits. I mean, afterall, you are 60+ years old and sitting with a man who appears to be half your age. While you may consider yourself a cougar, you are far too old to be a cougar... more like a panther. And since panthers prey on the innocent and the young, I can only imagine that that is what you are doing with your big, round, wrinkly tits thrusting in and out of the young mans face. At least cougars pretend to love them before they rip their hearts out... panthers... prey and kill.
Nice boobs but please, put those bitches away.
Love,
That Girl
Dear Jane,
I know you wanted to look beautiful for your husband/boyfriend/baby daddy... whatever the hell you call him. Either way, you look ridiculous... I've seen clowns with less makeup on, the amount of product in your hair is single handedly responsible for the hole in the ozone layer and never under any circumstances should your garters be visible under your 1980's jean skirt that is both too tight and too short. Garters? Really? I mean, I couldn't help but notice them when you stood up, and walked across the entire restaurant to go to the bathroom. Oh, and you're too fat for them too. Your legs looked like two Christmas hams, bursting through the mesh wrapper.
I don't get it... at least someone loves you... thank dog it's not me.
Love,
That Girl
Dear Family of 7 with 5 children,
Are you related to the Duggars? Why did you bring 5 children under the age of 5 to a sit down restaurant and then ask that your food be rushed because your children's calm timer is about to run out? Have you ever heard of take out? We offer it.
Also, did you think that the 10% tip you left me included cleaning up the fucking giant mess that your 5 sex trophies decided to throw all over the fucking floor and table? NOPE!
Fuck you,
That Girl
Dear John,
It is apparent to me that you have a giant sinus infection. You look terrible... the bags under your eyes, puffy face, obvious lack of energy. I almost feel sorry for you. I would except for the fact that you apparently don't know how to blow your nose at almost 30 years old. Instead, you are sitting there sucking the snot back up your nasal passages and then swallowing it loudly. You've done this at least 30 fucking times today. Stop it. Not only is it disgusting but it will only make you sicker to digest mucus that is full of infection. I know because it caused my brother to get an infection in his colon that resulted in a colonoscopy at 25 years old. Actually, swallow away. And when you're getting your colonoscopy, ask the doctor to see if he can locate your head that is obviously stuck up your ass.
Thanks,
That Girl
Dear Ghetto fabulous couples,
Yes, there were 2 of you sitting at my table. As your server, it's my job to serve you. That means that I may have to ask you questions like "What would you like to eat tonight?". That means that you should probably get off your fucking phone long enough to look at the menu and acknowledge my presence. Oh yeah, and don't act annoyed when I come back to check on you. It's my fucking job! And no, I'm not flirting with your boyfriend... I'm flirting with both of you to get a good tip. You must have though I was a 2 dollar whore because that's all you left me.
People like you are why I sought employment outside of the service industry. Stay out of restaurants until you learn some manners.
Thanks,
That Girl
p.s. I sneezed on your dinner before I left the kitchen. It was totally an accident but after your behavior, it felt like Karma was in fast forward.
Dear Fatties,
Yes, this is going out to all of you women that have gained a massive amount of weight since you got married. I'm not talking like 10 or 25 pounds, I mean, those of you who have gained like 200 pounds because you now weigh close to 400 pounds. I'm a fatty. I've always been a fatty. How did you get a boyfriend/husband? I want to know...
Was/is your boyfriend/husband a chubby chaser? I saw several of you indulging in a meal that consisted of fried rice, steak covered in butter and then you topped off the meal by drowning it in hollandaise sauce. The sight of it all made me throw up in my mouth. Your boyfriend/husband is good looking and not really overweight. I'm sure you're a lovely person but I want to know what you looked like 15 years ago. I want to know what you looked like when you met eachother. I want to know if it's true what my mother has always said, that one day a man will be forced to look past my physical appearance and will see my personality instead. I hope so, because my personality is just a skinnier version of the big sassy bitch that I actually am.
Love
That Girl
p.s. skip dessert. please.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
My.tacky.space
Recently, as I was perusing social networking sites, something that I spend far too much time doing, I began noticing a trend. Apparently, belonging to a social networking site gives you super powers, makes your life look far more interesting than it is and gives you the creative license to becoming anybody that you freakin' want! I love it!
What is not to love? Crop your profile picture to make you look way better than you do in real life... photoshop it first, please. Oh what the hell, find an unfocused picture of a celebrity and pass it off as yourself. In fact, if you want to make it a trend, update it as your current status and see how many other people will do it! (This is how I found out that I have a frightening resemblence to Molly Ringwald!)
Okay, okay, those little games are goofy and fun and while they are somewhat annoying, fighting the urge to keep from participating is like peeing with a UTI... you know it's gonna burn but you gotta do it anyway! (eww... I know.)
I denied my mother's facebook friend request. Why? Because I could. I don't think that my parents have any business knowing that my weekends are often filled with massive amounts of debauchery and very little shame. My mother does not need to know that I "went for a run, ate a sandwich, made a happy plate, took a poop and headed to work". Not that the rest of facebook needs to know either but for some reason, people just can't get enough of it. My mother even asked me in person why I didn't "friend" her. I explained that we weren't friends. She's my mom. We don't have THAT relationship. So, I pressed IGNORE with a great sense of satisfaction.
"I can't believe that he de-friended me and then tried to re-friend me!" This overheard at work. First of all, I don't believe that the words "defriended" and "refriended", hyphens or not, are an actual part of the English language. Secondly, why are people trying to work out their personal problems on a social networking site? Confrontation is not something that you do on a facebook page! I find it incredibly immature that people will scream at eachother through instant messages by using all capital letters. AM I GETTING MY POINT ACROSS? No, just making it easier to read. That's all. My life is not going to change if you do not chat with me, write on my wall or if you "defriend" me. Oh no she di'n't. (insert ghetto head bob here)
I suppose if facebook relationships are now defining friendships, that's up to those parties involved and it doesn't affect me. However, things that people post publicly do affect me. In fact, there are things that I have seen posted on peoples social networking profiles that just seem, oh, I don't know... TACKY!
Example: (oh and these are all real)
1. pictures of your breasts, ass or any other body part that you wouldn't show your mother... seriously. If you've never changed clothes in front of me, lived in the same home as me or had sex with me, I obviously didn't want to see it then and don't want to see it now! If I wanted to see porn, I have network TV and the internet. Nasty put some clothes on.
2. intestinal updates: "can't quit vomiting", "gotta drop a duece before dinner" or any other reference to problems regarding your bowels. Eat a piece of fruit, take a laxative, open a window, but please keep your ass issues to yourself.
Dude, your dookie is your business, not mine! (Notice that this is example number two... pun intended!)
3. Putting up a status update that causes people to wonder if you are in dire straights is like wearing a giant sign that says "I'm a douche"... and no, it doens't matter if you are male or female. This phenomenon actually has a slang name: vaguebooking. It is defined by Urban Dictionary as: An intentionally vague Facebook status update, that prompts friends to ask what's going on, or is possibly a cry for help.
If you need attention, please, come see me. I will be happy to bereate, belittle, or mock you to your hearts content. It will be my pleasure. Really.
4. In reference to childbirth... I do not need to know that your child was delivered vaginally. In fact I don't think that the word vagina in any form of conjugation should be used on a social networking site. Please use the word "naturally" as it is not nearly as disgustingly visual as the word vagina or vaginal. Last I checked, babies naturally came out of vaginas so unless you specify "c-section" which sounds more like the area on a standardized test, we already knew that your pregnancy would put your baby-chute to good use! Thanks.
Okay, so this is more of a rant on my observations but I urge each of you to look closely at your social networking profile. 1. remove the word "vagina" in any and all forms, 2. paste some clothes on those titties, and 3. just tell people what the hell is going on already.
What is not to love? Crop your profile picture to make you look way better than you do in real life... photoshop it first, please. Oh what the hell, find an unfocused picture of a celebrity and pass it off as yourself. In fact, if you want to make it a trend, update it as your current status and see how many other people will do it! (This is how I found out that I have a frightening resemblence to Molly Ringwald!)
Okay, okay, those little games are goofy and fun and while they are somewhat annoying, fighting the urge to keep from participating is like peeing with a UTI... you know it's gonna burn but you gotta do it anyway! (eww... I know.)
I denied my mother's facebook friend request. Why? Because I could. I don't think that my parents have any business knowing that my weekends are often filled with massive amounts of debauchery and very little shame. My mother does not need to know that I "went for a run, ate a sandwich, made a happy plate, took a poop and headed to work". Not that the rest of facebook needs to know either but for some reason, people just can't get enough of it. My mother even asked me in person why I didn't "friend" her. I explained that we weren't friends. She's my mom. We don't have THAT relationship. So, I pressed IGNORE with a great sense of satisfaction.
"I can't believe that he de-friended me and then tried to re-friend me!" This overheard at work. First of all, I don't believe that the words "defriended" and "refriended", hyphens or not, are an actual part of the English language. Secondly, why are people trying to work out their personal problems on a social networking site? Confrontation is not something that you do on a facebook page! I find it incredibly immature that people will scream at eachother through instant messages by using all capital letters. AM I GETTING MY POINT ACROSS? No, just making it easier to read. That's all. My life is not going to change if you do not chat with me, write on my wall or if you "defriend" me. Oh no she di'n't. (insert ghetto head bob here)
I suppose if facebook relationships are now defining friendships, that's up to those parties involved and it doesn't affect me. However, things that people post publicly do affect me. In fact, there are things that I have seen posted on peoples social networking profiles that just seem, oh, I don't know... TACKY!
Example: (oh and these are all real)
1. pictures of your breasts, ass or any other body part that you wouldn't show your mother... seriously. If you've never changed clothes in front of me, lived in the same home as me or had sex with me, I obviously didn't want to see it then and don't want to see it now! If I wanted to see porn, I have network TV and the internet. Nasty put some clothes on.
2. intestinal updates: "can't quit vomiting", "gotta drop a duece before dinner" or any other reference to problems regarding your bowels. Eat a piece of fruit, take a laxative, open a window, but please keep your ass issues to yourself.
Dude, your dookie is your business, not mine! (Notice that this is example number two... pun intended!)
3. Putting up a status update that causes people to wonder if you are in dire straights is like wearing a giant sign that says "I'm a douche"... and no, it doens't matter if you are male or female. This phenomenon actually has a slang name: vaguebooking. It is defined by Urban Dictionary as: An intentionally vague Facebook status update, that prompts friends to ask what's going on, or is possibly a cry for help.
If you need attention, please, come see me. I will be happy to bereate, belittle, or mock you to your hearts content. It will be my pleasure. Really.
4. In reference to childbirth... I do not need to know that your child was delivered vaginally. In fact I don't think that the word vagina in any form of conjugation should be used on a social networking site. Please use the word "naturally" as it is not nearly as disgustingly visual as the word vagina or vaginal. Last I checked, babies naturally came out of vaginas so unless you specify "c-section" which sounds more like the area on a standardized test, we already knew that your pregnancy would put your baby-chute to good use! Thanks.
Okay, so this is more of a rant on my observations but I urge each of you to look closely at your social networking profile. 1. remove the word "vagina" in any and all forms, 2. paste some clothes on those titties, and 3. just tell people what the hell is going on already.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Pluckin' G Strings (and not the kind on your guitar)
So recently I had to do something that I absolutely loathe and trapse into one of those big box retailers to get my oil changed while picking up some muscle rub (due to sore muscles from hot yoga) and some groceries. The convience of getting to do it all in one place at one time was far too inticing, especially since the day was cold, complete with blustery wind and snow. Had this been a beautiful spring day, I would have been more than happy with leaving work and moving from store to store to shop at more local retailers while enjoying the drive between each establishment with the windows down and the music blaring.
However, on this particular day, I just couldn't bring myself to do it. I pulled my vehicle up in front of the garage of the big box car lube place to find a young girl, far too heavy for her age, standing outside in short sleeves with no coat on. I roll down my window and offer to step inside to write up the ticket for the oil change to which she replies, "No, it's okay." while shivering. The snow was accumulating on her hair, her breasts and her bare arms. I thought for a moment that this girl was going to turn into a real life snowperson right in front of my eyes and I nearly giggled outloud.
As I walked through the store, in my work uniform mind you, I realize that I must pee. Seeking a bathroom, I realize that my underware has thoroughly shifted from where it should be. My boyshorts were quickly becoming a thong. Unsure of how long my panties had been migrating towards the depths of my butt crack, I quickly waved my hands along my buttcheeks to feel for my pantylines. They were definitely not where they were supposed to be. Finally rounding a corner through an aisle of permanent markers and yarn, I find the bathroom. Ah, relief.
As I exited the bathroom, I walked a little taller, not only because I was no longer weighed down by a massively full bladder but also because I confidently knew that my boy shorts were a mystery once again, having put them back in their proper place, I could now glide comfortably through the aisles.
I am fully aware that I suffer from the VPL on many occasions. VPL? Visible panty line. They aren't generally attractive but there are moments that I don't care. Those moments tend to be when I am at work. I am currently between pant sizes and the larger size are too saggy while the smaller size tend to lie like latex on my ass. Oh well, I'm at work... I figure that most people aren't looking at my ass because I spend my days facing my guests and talking directly to them. Also, I can't work in certain panties as my job is incredibly active and there are certain underware styles that just don't mesh with active movement.
Contemplating all of this as I walk through the big box aisles, shopping quickly for my list: Bengay, fresh spinach, cereal, turkey, apples, I realize that the VPL really isn't that big of a deal. Figuring that my vehicle is probably done getting it's lube job, I make my way to the back of the store and find a woman sitting on a bench crocheting. "She must be getting her tires fixed or something," I think to myself as I sit down on the end of the bench opposite her. There is nobody at the counter... no employees in sight except for one woman on crutches who is apparently in charge of staring at the door that nobody is going in or out of.
After sitting for a good 5 minutes, I glance at the counter and see some papers with my car keys on top. I look at the woman on crutches and say, "These are my keys, my vehicle must be ready." to which she replied, "Oh, I don't work back here, I'm just standing here because I got hurt."
My head cocked to the left, a perplexed expression on my face, I can't help but wonder how much she's getting paid to stand next to a door. "Someone will be back in a few minutes," she says. At this point, I could feel my blood start to boil, I had things to do, the weather was crappy and I had been at work all day. I just wanted to get home and make dinner and settle in for a cozy evening with my roommate.
As the clock on the wall ticked by, I could hear my blood pressure rising. A single piece of paper lay on the floor under the door woman's feet. Turning around and bending down to pick it up, I find my eyes popping out of their sockets at the same time that my mouth dropped open! I could not believe that this woman was not only wearing pants that were incredibly too tight but that I could see the perfect definition of the whale tail of her thong right through her pants! This was a total OMG moment as I could not believe that 1. she was wearing a thong to work at a big box retailer, 2. that a thong could be comfortable with an ass as big as hers, and 3. that her pants were so tight you could see the nearly invisible underware right through them!
It was at this moment that I realized that my VPL's were not nearly as impressive or as important as this womans. I no longer felt insecure where as you might think that I would be now more insecure regarding the visibility of my panties through my pants. I wear only black pants to work which naturally minimizes what you can see. This woman was wearing light colored khakis. And ever since that moment, I have been noticing that more and more women have taken control of their control tops and that you don't see too many whale tails or other forms of the visible panty line. I have instead noticed that in order to avoid such fashion faux pas, we are now getting to see more butt cracks than ever. I'm not sure which is the lesser of the two evils.
Ladies, take notes, if your pants are so tight that you have incredibly visible panty lines, putting on a thong is not going to fix the problem. Buying bigger pants or losing some weight will fix the problem. I don't like spending my day picking my underware out of my butt and readjusting them. I have more important things to do. However, if you want to spend your day pluckin' your own g-string, be my guest.
However, on this particular day, I just couldn't bring myself to do it. I pulled my vehicle up in front of the garage of the big box car lube place to find a young girl, far too heavy for her age, standing outside in short sleeves with no coat on. I roll down my window and offer to step inside to write up the ticket for the oil change to which she replies, "No, it's okay." while shivering. The snow was accumulating on her hair, her breasts and her bare arms. I thought for a moment that this girl was going to turn into a real life snowperson right in front of my eyes and I nearly giggled outloud.
As I walked through the store, in my work uniform mind you, I realize that I must pee. Seeking a bathroom, I realize that my underware has thoroughly shifted from where it should be. My boyshorts were quickly becoming a thong. Unsure of how long my panties had been migrating towards the depths of my butt crack, I quickly waved my hands along my buttcheeks to feel for my pantylines. They were definitely not where they were supposed to be. Finally rounding a corner through an aisle of permanent markers and yarn, I find the bathroom. Ah, relief.
As I exited the bathroom, I walked a little taller, not only because I was no longer weighed down by a massively full bladder but also because I confidently knew that my boy shorts were a mystery once again, having put them back in their proper place, I could now glide comfortably through the aisles.
I am fully aware that I suffer from the VPL on many occasions. VPL? Visible panty line. They aren't generally attractive but there are moments that I don't care. Those moments tend to be when I am at work. I am currently between pant sizes and the larger size are too saggy while the smaller size tend to lie like latex on my ass. Oh well, I'm at work... I figure that most people aren't looking at my ass because I spend my days facing my guests and talking directly to them. Also, I can't work in certain panties as my job is incredibly active and there are certain underware styles that just don't mesh with active movement.
Contemplating all of this as I walk through the big box aisles, shopping quickly for my list: Bengay, fresh spinach, cereal, turkey, apples, I realize that the VPL really isn't that big of a deal. Figuring that my vehicle is probably done getting it's lube job, I make my way to the back of the store and find a woman sitting on a bench crocheting. "She must be getting her tires fixed or something," I think to myself as I sit down on the end of the bench opposite her. There is nobody at the counter... no employees in sight except for one woman on crutches who is apparently in charge of staring at the door that nobody is going in or out of.
After sitting for a good 5 minutes, I glance at the counter and see some papers with my car keys on top. I look at the woman on crutches and say, "These are my keys, my vehicle must be ready." to which she replied, "Oh, I don't work back here, I'm just standing here because I got hurt."
My head cocked to the left, a perplexed expression on my face, I can't help but wonder how much she's getting paid to stand next to a door. "Someone will be back in a few minutes," she says. At this point, I could feel my blood start to boil, I had things to do, the weather was crappy and I had been at work all day. I just wanted to get home and make dinner and settle in for a cozy evening with my roommate.
As the clock on the wall ticked by, I could hear my blood pressure rising. A single piece of paper lay on the floor under the door woman's feet. Turning around and bending down to pick it up, I find my eyes popping out of their sockets at the same time that my mouth dropped open! I could not believe that this woman was not only wearing pants that were incredibly too tight but that I could see the perfect definition of the whale tail of her thong right through her pants! This was a total OMG moment as I could not believe that 1. she was wearing a thong to work at a big box retailer, 2. that a thong could be comfortable with an ass as big as hers, and 3. that her pants were so tight you could see the nearly invisible underware right through them!
It was at this moment that I realized that my VPL's were not nearly as impressive or as important as this womans. I no longer felt insecure where as you might think that I would be now more insecure regarding the visibility of my panties through my pants. I wear only black pants to work which naturally minimizes what you can see. This woman was wearing light colored khakis. And ever since that moment, I have been noticing that more and more women have taken control of their control tops and that you don't see too many whale tails or other forms of the visible panty line. I have instead noticed that in order to avoid such fashion faux pas, we are now getting to see more butt cracks than ever. I'm not sure which is the lesser of the two evils.
Ladies, take notes, if your pants are so tight that you have incredibly visible panty lines, putting on a thong is not going to fix the problem. Buying bigger pants or losing some weight will fix the problem. I don't like spending my day picking my underware out of my butt and readjusting them. I have more important things to do. However, if you want to spend your day pluckin' your own g-string, be my guest.