Fat Pants for Everyone!!!

I was just cleaning up the spare room/ KJ’s closet when I happened upon the massive pair of fleecy pants that he called his ‘Fat Guy Pants’. You know the type I’m talking about, big, comfy joggers (side note: autocorrect just tried to change ‘joggers’ to ‘jiggers’. Bastards know where I’m from!! Conspiracy!) anyway, the comfy pants you put on when you get home from work, wake up on the weekends, throw on when you’re hanging out with your girlfriends (or guy friends), sleep in when you don’t want to have sex before bed and just generally love because they don’t show your muffin top, fat ass, thick thighs, or belly (whatever your hang up is). 

And I got to thinking: Fat Pants used to be just a girl thing, publicly, I mean. Men owned them, but unless you’re married to one (man, not Fat Pants) you never really heard guys talk about how awesome they are. While women would openly lament about their need to wear their fat pants (two things to interject here: 1. we usually do not don said fat pants in a relationship until the hook has set and we’re cleaning the fish, metaphorically, and 2. I’m being nice by using the word ‘lament’. we bitch like assholes about our weight. I’ve even cried once. recently. immediately after eating several bowls of Cinnamon Toast Crunch). 

I have to say: I LOVE that guys have fat days too. I’m not saying that I want my guy to feel dumpy (KJ, you are the sexiest man in the world, no offence other guys), but isn’t it awesome to know that we’re not the only ones?! Why hasn’t someone created a line of clothing called ‘Fat Pants’?! Not in a way that would insult people, like how everyone in the 80’s called Jordache Jeans ‘Lardass Jeans’ (oh, wait no they didn’t. I think that may have just been my mom who called them that, and she still giggles every time she says it), but just a straight forward company that sells clothes for your fat days. Baggy T-shirts that are still flattering where you need them to be, slouchy sweaters, jiggers (I let them autocorrect me that time. The Suits don’t own me!!!), you know, that kind of stuff. No false advertising either: sell it like this;

‘Did you get drunk last night and down two Big Macs? Did your boyfriend dump you and you ate 2L of ice cream? Do chips and dip just call to you? Couldn’t ‘just say no’ at the buffet line? Don’t worry! Buy Fat Pants! The clothes guaranteed to make you giggle even with that jiggle!’

And then have a waiver that says that not exercising will make you fatter, but we have pants for that ass too! Just so that we won’t get sued for false promises or whatever like Reebok did by that chick who wore the toning pants under her regular clothes everyday while living a horribly unhealthy lifestyle that included hitting the buffet at every meal and packing on the pounds. No tone. Reebok, meet lawsuit. 

I hear the chips and dip calling me…

Bring on the fat pants!

Celebrities: Your Life is Now My Life (but not in the ‘park outside your home in a van with tinted windows’ kind of way… yet)

The personal life a celebrity really contributes to how you feel about them in their movies, hey? I mean, we all have actors we just don’t like, but there are some whom we can tolerate when forced to (like when your new boyfriend REALLY wants to see the new Steven Segal movie and you guys are still in the six-month period wherein he is just meeting the representative for the President verses the President his or her self who emerges at around the six-month mark). For me, these “tolerable” actors are; Steve Buscemi and John Legazamo (I just don’t like their faces or voices or really anything about them. I even find cartoons voiced by them to be the mental equivalent of chewing tinfoil), Kirsten Dunst (she always looks like she’s trying to figure out what someone is saying. You know, all squinty like she’s not quite getting it but will laugh at the joke when everyone ese does anyway, just praying that no one asks her to elaborate), Jessica Biel (she just can’t act. I’m sorry. She’s probably a very sweet girl but I just feel that she’s in movies because shes got a nice bum… and now a JT), and a few others. However, several actors have made my ‘Won’t Watch’ list in the past few years because they seem like douche bags in real life: Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie (They destroyed Jennifer Aniston’s world! Rachel! Do you know how many hair style’s and outfits I copied from that woman in the 90’s? Sure they didn’t work seeing as I was essentially still sporting an afro and a fairly serious set of buck teeth back then, but she’s a good, old fashioned icon! That being said, I still had to see World War Z because I’m a zombie addict. Check out the attached pic of me as a zombie that my husband commissioned our talented friend Tyler Nicholson to create for my birthday last year), Hugh Grant (same, and I also find him guilty of never changing his hair style), Justin Timberlake (Love his tunes but really, getting homeless people to wish you the best at your wedding? You can’t get much more self righteous than that), Nicole Kidman (Sunlight, Nicole Kidman; Nicole Kidman, Sunlight. Also: Tom Cruise AND Keith Urban? Really?), Katie Holmes (although now free and just a step above the outreached fingers of those aliens that began Scientology, she was still purchased by Tom Cruise Part 2. Also: those were totally a boobs double in ‘The Gift’ ), Tom Cruise (Do I even need to elaborate? He stopped being cool in the 90’s around the same time this former buck-toothed wonder was trying to get Brad Pitt to start a ‘We Hate Vanessa’ club), Renee Zellweger (not that I liked her before: she’s another squinty face who seems to have a very low sense of self esteem – three week marriages and an ever-present “love me”/clingy look tip the scales for me, but her expression may also be because she’s usually the size of a tongue depressor so blowing away is a hazard. Now every time i see her i think of Family Guy’s depiction of her as an anteater) and Mel Gibson (the whole bigotry thing didn’t help an already waning interest in that guy).

Nick Cage, who used to be one of favourite actors but has since slipped down the pipes was ALMOST on my list after naming his kid Kal-El around the same time casting was occurring for the Superman movie that Brandon Roth butchered, paired with the bad choices to star in ‘Bad Lieutenant’ (i think that’s what that slop was called) and, the movie that’s so horrible I want to make a ‘pfft’ sound with my tongue whenever someone says any word that’s in the title, ‘The Wicker Man’ (And you wouldn’t believe how frequently the word ‘the’ is used. My tongue would be frequently numb), but I let him keep his status because of movies like ‘Lord of War’, ‘City of Angels’ (Meg Ryan. That’s another one I would choose watching a fat, furry, naked guy jump on a trampoline over a movie starring her) and ‘Face Off’. For now. Any more Craptastic films and he’s outta there. While John Cusack, Ryan Gosling (he’s a total Baldwin. There. I said it. Oh yeah, and a great actor), Tom Hardy (aside from ‘This Means War’ which was HORRiBLE) and John C. Reilly keep movin’ on up,

I wanna hate Will Farrell because he seems like such a douche bag in real life, but he’s just too funny. He truly is like a mix between Fergie and an angel. He just proving that being funny really helps improve your douche bag status in life. Funny outweighs douche.

This status was brought to you by the letter ‘D’, the number 6 and the fabulous word ‘douche’

Like, Totally!

There’s this one class that I have from 8 – 9 am every M-W-F that is actually painful for me to go to. Not because the classroom has the distinct odour of BO ( it doesn’t) or because the prof drones on like Ben Stein in Ferris Beuller’s Day Off (‘Johnston? Johnston? Johnston?’ (she doesn’t)). It’s because this one class is the most basic of the basic English course, and is the classmate equivalent of dragging my 32-year-old buns into a grade 10 class for the day ala Drew Barrymore in ‘Never Been Kissed’. The class is (literally) filled with kids just out of high school (there are two people over the age of, say, 25; me and the prof). And this magical class is filled with questions being asked of the the prof every 4 seconds, questions with the word ‘like’ peppered in there more times than post-binge bed farts.

So I rarely go to this class. This isn’t my first time doing this whole school rodeo, I’ve done a whole bunch of these classes, and this one course is mandatory for anyone doing any program at my University (or so it seems considering that I’m the only aspiring writer in the class and the rest are doing weird stuff like botany and other weird sciences that guarantee interesting dinner party conversations. Scientists: careers i don’t care about until 1. I watch Morgan Freeman play one, 2. They do cool stuff like create a glossy lip stick that you don’t need to reapply but doesn’t get all crackly and meth-heady on your lips, and 3. There’s a zombie apocalypse. They’ll be who I blame. Also, I’m a little jealous because me not understand science. There. I said it).

Does me preferring not to go to this class make me a quitter or a slacker? would you watch the same episode of a tv show over and over just because it was on, even if you didn’t like it? I surely don’t think so.

As a side note to help my cause: I’m pulling an A in this class, but its not a proud ‘A’; it feels more like being the ‘smartest’ person in your grade 12 class… When you’ve been in grade 12 for 7 years. It’s kind of a guarantee you’ll do well and if you don’t, well, then you might as well knock a couple of your teeth out and start having a slew of kids who you’ll give names ending with ‘ … etus’ (I.e. Cletus, Fetus, you know, the popular names)

From the Lips of Our Elders to the Ears of Our Not-So-Youth (i.e. Me)

Overheard in a Public Place for Wednesday, April 24 2013; Whilst standing in the pharmacy line up (no, no ointments) I hear the two old men in front of me talking. They’re about 85 years old and look like they may have known Moses personally they’ve got so many city miles on them. During the course of the conversation about whatever – frisky old nursing home birds or how far your parts drop as your ears and nose continue to grow or any other topic that smells slightly like slav, Zellers brand cologne and mothballs, I hear Statler drop two pretty well known racial slurs on Waldorf mid-story! And not bat an eye. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like he was calling his geriatric broheim names (heavens no! That would be wrong) but it happened while he was talking about someone else. And he used it like an adjective! You know, like how we would say ‘oh, you know Brenda; she’s the one with that weird eye that isn’t always quite looking at you’ or ‘That’s the guy Steve I was telling you about; he’s the one with one nut.’ Just all matter of fact. And strangely, it made me think about how old people just don’t give a shit and how they totally deserve it. I mean, look at ’em, g’bless their long, tall soxstrap (suspenders for your socks) sportin’ cotton socks; most of them have lived almost as long as Jesus so they deserve to be able to use racial slurs without meaning them as racial slurs, knowingly drive like Mr. Magoo and they are even deserving of making you suffer that little bit of conscience when you’ve cursed out the driver in front of you for wasting the turning light, threw some pretty unSunday school, potentially gender-themed slurs at them… And then see their little waxed almond head peeking up from behind the wooden steering wheel of their land cruiser automobile. 
When I’m old I’m going to celebrate my old ness by wearing moo-moos, even if I don’t need them (with soxstraps, of course. Those aren’t just for men), refuse to step on an escalator for fear that it’ll suck me in at the bottom, get pushed everywhere in those quick little chauffeured mobile Air Canada carts, even when at the mall and tell strangers’ little children when they’re too fat. Maybe even pinch a cheek or two.

The Name Game

Most people won’t give their child a name that once belonged to someone they knew and didn’t like. I’m not basing this on research or anything, just how I feel about the names of people I’ve greatly disliked in my past and watching my friends reactions to someone they just met with the same name as a high school nemesis, for example (names of ex’s, hated teachers, crappy bosses, slutty ex-best friends, etc all can be used as well) Totally different reaction than if its the name of your brother or sister, right? Easy to tell. 

But there are levels of regressed-memoritis. 2, actually. LEL (Lower Explosive Limit): If you knew a Brenda’ or a’Janice’ that you didn’t like, you are slightly predisposed to name although the next person you know who bares the name may be absolutely your best friend or whatever, you’re just not the keenest on his or her name’. 
UEL (Upper Explosion Limit): if you meet a string of ‘Adams’ or ‘Bryce’s’ and they’re all dicks, and the name makes you cringe, then its best to try to avoid meeting them. That’s a bias; albeit a fair one. However, you will most likely never give that name to your child, pet or spouse’s private part. From either of the two levels.

I just think it’s interesting. I certainly wouldn’t name my kids ‘Brenda’ or ‘Janice’. Ugh. (Sorry if that’s your or your moms name. I’m sure you’re a very nice person, and mom’s are God’s greatest creation, so that goes without saying. And we must have been very close and personal friends because we’re friends on Facebook)

Men and Women: In Front of the Mirror

As I’m standing in the mirror this morning fine-tuning my face for the day (I would like to thank Mac Studios for keeping me attractive in these, the waning years of my life), my husband walks up behind me, looks in the mirror and says ‘I don’t like my look today’. His eyebrows furrow for a moment as he considers his options to remedy his situation, then says ‘I think I’m going to change my pants’.

His pants. When women have a bad face/hair/clothes day EVERYTHING goes: dry shampoo gets sprayed in until your hair is a helmet, eye make up comes off and is reapplied, and the WHOLE outfit changes. Not just the pants… 

Then we call in sick because this disaster is not getting fixed before 8am. 

He walks out of the bathroom, stops outside and says ‘on second thought, my pants are fine. I look good. Don’t you wish it was this easy for you? You should blog about this!’

So here we are. 

I’m going to burn all of his pants when I get home (kidding!… ish)