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Check it out: My first Ask Metafilter post!

I was reading through Glitter today when I stumbled across a link to this awesome website dedicated to Women’s Weight Training. There is so much information here! The author, Krista, went from being a stubby nerd girl to one strong lookin’ chick. I am inspired.

HTTPanties. Woohoo! Another project for my iron-on transfer paper. 🙂

Kevin and I nearly drove off the road this morning while listening to JJJ*. Adam and Will were talking with the news guy about today’s scandal over the introduction of Kahlua flavoured Mint Slices and Tia Maria flavoured Tim Tams**. Adam joked that he’d only eat a Kahlua Tim Tam after first downing about eighteen beer flavoured ones. Will then immediately burst out with “I’d love a C**k-Sucking Tim Tam!” There was about five seconds of stunned silence before the newsreader managed, “I don’t see what that has to do with the issue, Will…” They had to explain it to him later. Hee!***

* JJJ is the national alternative public radio station.
** They’re both kinds of cookies. Tim Tams are like a national obsession.
*** A “C**k-Sucking Cowboy” is a shooter. Thanks to Will’s parody, I think it’s only a matter of time before somebody introduces the “Tim Tam” version though.

Wondering about alternative medicine…
My allergies have been pretty bad this summer and the big 180mg Telfast pills are getting less effective. What’s a sniffly girl to do? Pseudoephedrine makes me feel wacky so that’s out. In desperation, I caved to a co-worker’s recommendation and today got some Brauer Homeopathic Hayfever Relief. Now I feel kind of silly though, and I keep hearing Pa Snook’s voice in my head telling me that it’s snake oil. Do any of you guys use homeopathy? I’m supposed to spray this stuff under my tongue when I get up in the morning and then every four hours til bedtime. (Why under the tongue? Why is that special? There’s a mystery here.) No results yet, but it least it doesn’t taste too bad.

On a similar note, my boss just got back from a visit to his new osteopath. He got diagnosed with all kinds of food allergies. I’m like, “How in the world do they test for that in a one-hour visit?” He started explaining the process, which involves the patient holding the suspect food to his chest with his left hand while holding his right arm out and resisting pressure from the doctor. I’m not making this up. If you have an allergy to the particular food, you won’t be able to resist and your arm will fall. “What, you have to hold the food to your bare chest?” I asked. Nope. Just through your clothes. And the food itself can still be packaged! He actually dragged me into the kitchen and demonstrated with a liter of milk. I stood there like a dope holding the bottle to my chest and resisting with my arm. But lo and behold when he did it, his arm fell as “proof” of his allergy. I am super skeptical here. I could maybe see it if you were holding the food to your nose or something, or if you held it to your skin and it left a mark, but there’s no way I can believe that a food allergy is so strong as to affect your bicep muscle merely while being held in the opposite hand through layers of packaging.

Now I’m wondering if the bottle of homeopathic spray on my desk undermines my righteous skepticism over the osteopath…

Serial Comma Vindication
For four years now I’ve had British and Australian people correct me when I write things like “I had bacon, eggs, and toast for breakfast.” They all omit the second comma in the list. Even the Snook told me he was taught it that way in school. Now I have conclusive proof that my way is correct though! I will never again cave in to comma-omitting pressure.

More carbalicious cravings… Chocolate Zucchini Cake. *drool* (Link courtesy of virulent memes.)

• We bought a widescreen TV from them two years ago. We’ve had problems with it ever since. It has a weird magnetized color spot on one side that we can’t get rid of, and recently the black bars on the side (when watching normal TV) have started going all wavy and screwy. All out of warranty, of course.
• Last winter I bought a coat there and they forgot to take the security tag off, which meant I had to make an extra trip back – in the cold! – before I could wear it.
• They were completely unhelpful during my marathon search for glass marbles last year, despite the fact that they use them all throughout their poncy furniture areas.
• In October I headed to the lingerie department because I needed a push-up bra for my Halloween costume. They didn’t have a single one that would fit me. The staff – all of whom were over 60 – were completely unsympathetic to my plight. At one point, they even tried persuading me to purchase a bra two sizes too small that I could only wear with the aid of this weird extender thing.
• Last week I hit the shoe department because I needed sensible black dress shoes to wear to a wedding and everywhere else only had three-inch heels. I eventually found what I needed but the experience sucked. If I’m paying triple-digits for a pair of shoes, I want some damn service. I shouldn’t have to wander back and forth trying to get a salesperson’s attention. I even had to specially request a pair of try-on socks (which were handed over quite grudgingly). I had to keep chasing down the salesperson to get the sizes I needed. She was a transvestite who, once it became obvious that I was not going to purchase the $300 extremely pointy fancy shoes she recommended, preferred to stand in the corner and sing ABBA’s “Chiquitita” over and over to herself. Seriously.
• Against my better judgment, after the shoe debacle I headed back up to lingerie for a strapless bra. I’ve never bought one before and the options were bewildering. Did I get any assistance from the Blue Hair Brigade? Nope. Granted, it was fifteen minutes before closing, but it’s not like there were any other customers hanging around. Eventually I grabbed one in desperation and headed to the dressing room. It soon became evident that it wasn’t going to work. I heard the girl in the next booth talking to a salewoman who sounded sorta nice. As she was leaving, I hailed her over for help. She walked in and was like, “Oh, no no no!” So she fetched me another one. When she got back, I reached over the door for it. She was like, “It’s me! Let me in!” So then I had to suffer the indignity of a sixty-year-old voyeur seeing me topless and struggling with recalcitrant underwear. (The new one was better though, I’ll give her that.) They were kicking me out of the store and I got so flustered that when I left five minutes later, I forgot my beaded bracelet (one that I made!) in the dressing room. I didn’t discover it til I was two blocks away.
• Today the Snook went back to get my bracelet. An excerpt from our communication:Me: Did you remember to stop at Grace Brothers?
  Him: Yup. The lady was very rude, but I got your thingy.
  Me: They’re all rude there! It’s a rude place! She didn’t disparage the QUALITY of my CRAFTSMANSHIP, did she?
  Him: No. I just said that my girlfriend had left a “beaded cuff” and she was like “A WHAT???” and I had to explain. Then she got it and gave a little snicker and a funny smile when she gave it to me — not sure what that was about. Maybe she thought it was mine and I was lying about the girlfriend because I’m actually trans on the weekends or something.

In summary, Grace Brothers sucks. I’ll be shopping at David Jones from now on. Thank you.

It’s been raining a bit.

Speaking of boobage… There’s no way that was unintentional. Who wears silver pasties if you don’t intend to show your breasts? Sorry, Janet, that was just skanky.