Thursday, September 28, 2006

ThePeach Supports Cripples and 'Tards but not Stretch-Pants

Here is an update that will surely warm TheHippie’s giving, politically correct heart.

I am not the antichrist, and here is proof:

It is raining like a sonofabitch today, which is not unusual in Universitytown. It rains here about as often as I have flashbacks to that time TigerCat made me watch this video: usually once every 2 or 3 days, whether I like it or not.


So, ya. It’s raining like crazy. I also somehow managed to lose both of my umbrellas. Ok, that’s lie. I know exactly how I lost them. I left one in a sushi restaurant and was too lazy to go looking for it, and I’m pretty sure the other one got sucked into the vortex of hell that is the clutter in my apartment. Either way, I was umbrella-less when I walked to work. This led to me getting soaked and cranky. I smell like wet jeans and look like a hood-rat.

I like to sit cross legged at work – not because I am eleven, but because TheBoss furnished the office with dusty chairs from the 80s that are too deep to sit in normally unless I want to develop a healthy hump in my spine. Which might be hot and all, but no thanks. But today I cannot sit cross-legged because the bottoms of both my pant-legs are soaked, smelly, and covered in UniversityTown grime that I picked up along the walk here. There’s a probably a used needle and an aborted fetus rolled up in the folds of denim, but I don’t want to dig them out just yet. If I were to sit cross-legged, I would transfer this grime to my ass and thighs, and then I would just be wet and diseased all over. I hate rain. Who wants to come pet my hump? It’s nice and damp.

My point here is that I was pretty miserable when I got here this morning, and even moreso when I realized I had to walk to the student post office. In the rain. Again. The post office is in the student centre, and as I was elbowing my way through throngs of bitches in stretch pants –

- actually, you know what? I think we need to stop here for a second so that I can comment on something that I feel to be of the utmost importance. So much so that I have stopped my previous rant mid-sentence to begin a new, more important rant. Bitches of the world, please listen to me. Listen to me right now. Put down your atkins-friendly rice cake and listen up: I WILL PERSONALLY MURDER THE NEXT SCRAG I SEE WEARING STRETCH PANTS. I don’t care if you are wearing them under a skirt, under a sweater-dress, under over-sized boots, or in plain sight for the world to see your wee little thighs. I WILL SNAP YOUR TEENY FEMURS IN HALF AND HIT YOU IN THE OVARIES UNTIL YOU DIE. Please consider this before you leave the house in something small enough for me to floss my teeth with ever again. I know you’re proud that your combination of mutant genes, bulimia, exercise bike, and daddy’s plastic surgery practice left you a size 00, but nobody needs to see that. Nobody. Not even Jesus, and especially not me. Put on some real pants and run home as fast as your twig-legs will carry you. Then, eat a sammich. Eat two. When you’re a size 6, I will take you off my hit-list. YOU’VE BEEN WARNED.

Ok, so I was elbowing my way through throngs of stretch-pant clad whores and spiky-haired asses with popped collars when my uterus spotted a bake sale.

ThePeach: Shutup, stop talking to me.
ThePeach: We’re trying to lose 5 pounds by my birthday. You know that. You want that as much as I do.
ThePeach: GO TO HELL!!!
ThePeach: You made your point, and it was well argued. *to bake sale worker* I’ll take…the brownies.
ThePeach: AHHHHohgod and the cookies.
ThePeach’s Uterus: *pleased gurgle*

The bake sale was in support of the Special Olympics. I gave them 3 dollahs. They seemed pleased. My uterus is pleased. My back fat is…not.

I am a good person. Some ‘tard is going to get extra sequins sewn on her figure-skating helmet and it’s all thanks to me.




asian cymbals said...

I was just bitching about tight stretch pants this morning with a co-worker! Actually, I was bitching TO the co-worker, and I think I offended her, because she wore them all the time when she was in her twenties. She was excited that they were back. I told her they were the ugliest things ever and that they gave me nightmares.

Go 'tards go!

Tigercat said...

Oh Aicha guy ... you make me laugh so much. The dancing is so beautiful. But stretch pants are horrendous. I complain about them all the time. I just can't explain how unflattering they are. Who decided that the uniform of stay at home moms and 1980'2 aerobics instructors is fashion forward? Peach, we should find that person and make them pay.

I also hate skinny jeans, but thats another topic.


p.s. peach, sorry to entice you with the brownie talk earlier!

Billy said...
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
Tuxor said...

Am I the only one who grew up used to seeing them worn by middle-aged women in the beer store, usually paired with a puffy nylon Raider's jacket?
Cause that was a thousand times worse...

Billy said...

Sorry, Peach.. I don't specifically recall posting that comment.

I'm not sure I understood my point, so I doubt anyone else did.

Cleavage said...

A girl - definitely *not* frosh, because this was a 3rd year seminar - came into class today wearing grape coloured tights (they were too thin and shiny to be realistically called 'stretch PANTS'), those new moccasin-ugg looking things that are taking over the world, and an aquamarine grampa sweater that juuuuuust barely covered her tailbone as long as she didn't, you know, move or something. Bad, you think? Ahhh, but worse, HER THIGHS TOTALLY TOUCHED AND JIGGLED AS SHE WALKED ACROSS THE FRONT OF THE ROOM. I'm planning an intervention, and I don't even know her name.