The world of women

I don't get why there's such heavy competition with women today. I mean, aren't we all supposed to be like "I am woman hear me roar" and all that good shit? It's especially puzzling to me why old women still choose to compete and sometimes they choose to compete with extremely younger women *Side note: When I say old, I'm talking late 60's- 70's and up. Yes, I know there are still some women out there in there 40's and sometimes 50's that can still look like grade A milfs so I am just clarifying before you all lynch me.

Anyways, let's take my neighbor and I for example. I am by no means saying that I'm a "regulation hottie" but age does play a factor in this whole competition thing. So, I'm 26 years old. My neighbor, let's call her "Flaming Hot Cheetos" for lack of a better nickname, is... oh I don't know, 126 years old. (In reality she's more then likely pushing into her late 60's.) This lady used to compare our fatness to each other, wondering aloud whether she was, in her own words "as fat as her (me)"
*Second side note: Lost some weight didn't I, cheetos? Booyah! in yo face.*

But, lately, she's taken to wearing clothes that are obviously not meant for her age. Whatever happened to growing old gracefully? I don't know if this woman thinks she's Cyndi Lauper's twin or what but what I do know is that if your breasts have been on a steady migration southbound for so long that you haven't seen your nipples since the Watergate Scandal... It's about time to find more age appropriate clothing.

Ladies: There is nothing wrong with being more covered up as you age and frankly some of you need to be more covered up. There's also nothing wrong with accepting the inevitable deterioration of our own forms anyway. When I get old, I am gonna smoke my cigarettes, let my boobs say hi to my feet, let my head naturally droop as if in a race with my boobs to see who can hit the ground first, and lastly, embrace my facial wrinkles like a Neapolitan Mastiff!!

but back to the subject of clothing. Let's talk about a different kind of clothing (or rather a lack thereof): Under garments! Understandable that in the late 60's women burned their bras and all sorts of under wear as a show of rebellion to social feminine conformity but it's 2010! and if you are replicating an orangutan then it's time to slap some boulder holders on those bad boys... this is not Wild Animal Kingdom.

In short, if you are heading into your Golden Years why not head there gracefully? Tastefully? Because, do you really wanna die and the only clothes your family has to bury you in is your daisy dukes, hot pink transparent tights, and glitter pasties? I think not.

..:: Fin ::..

Agility is not my middle name

So I was on my facebook, ranting about my landlord, when someone suggested I throw a stink bomb in her car. Not only was this highly amusing, but I had to stop and wonder about the possibilities.

I imagined myself sneaking up to her car with a mischievous look in my eye. I would throw the stink bomb forcefully into the car making sure it broke, to get the full-smelly-effect. So I'd sinisterly laugh like those villains in a bad action movie and turn to flee the scene..... *AND* this is where my clumsiness in all it's full glory would come out. Anyway, I would turn to flee and somehow my feet would get entangled with each other, as I am usually prone to doing. I would let out some high pitched squeal similar to a mouse about to be stepped on, and -as if this were happening in slow motion- I would feel myself slowly falling to the ground, seeing every inch of the concrete coming closer to my face. Suddenly, my arms would react and reach out in time to get the most impact from hitting the ground. There I would be, sprawled on the ground, not knowing what happened. Of course my landlord would undoubtedly walk up around this time thus catching me at my super failed attempt at extracting revenge.

Because you see, I am by no means a ninja. I'm not even a level one ninja-in-training. I'm actually the person that sweeps up the remnants of the smoke bombs left by the master ninja's that have oh-so-deftly gotten away.... and that, folks, is my place in this world.

..:: Fin ::..