I am scolding people through email for breaking a non-rule with political undertones, and I am finding it very awkward. Why can’t people just overtly break hard rules? It is much easier to give people shit than it is to gently let them know they did something that could be taken the wrong way.

I much prefer punching to finger wagging.

If you’ve ever spent any time on OKCupid looking through profiles to see who is considered a good match for you, there’s something you should know: they’re holding out on you.

OKCupid holds back the profiles of beautiful people until you yourself are considered e-beautiful, and THEN they’ll allow you to see the chosen ones.

No, seriously:

rude. very, very rude.

A friend of mine has been trolling OKC for a while now, looking for a potential mate. They received this email because they are smokin’ hot – hot enough to be considered attractive on the Wal-Mart of dating websites. I’m totally jealous, actually – I want to see these more attractive people. I wonder if they’re lonely because OKC keeps them hidden until you’re worthy, or if they just spend all their time with the other beautiful people, talking about how great it is to be beautiful. I imagine they all gather in a fancy boardroom, where butlers serve melba toast and ice water and a tasteful string quartet in the corner plays odes to their beauty while poets frantically thumb through a thesaurus trying to find the appropriate words to describe the magnitude of exquisiteness laid out before them.

If you’ve ever wondered why the people you are matched with are ugly as sin, there’s your answer: because you, yourself, are ugly as sin. Thanks, OKCupid! Now that I know I’m ugly, I will stop hoping that a gang of men straight out of a Tom of Finland book will come whisk me away for a triple-decker sandwich and instead be grateful for any crumbs of affection that come my way, be they from polyamorous wizards with an Alliance guild of overweight lovers in kitten sweatshirts or Atlas Shrugged-reading “tantric masters” in fedoras and trench coats.

It’s so ROMANTIC!

You still wake up sometimes, don’t you? You wake up in the dark and hear the screaming of the lambs smell the stinking of the chickens. And you think if you save poor Catherine, you could make them stop, don’t you? You think if Catherine lives, you won’t wake up in the dark ever again to that awful stinking of the chickens. Brave Clarice Kimli. You will let me know when the chickens stop stinking, won’t you?

I don’t think my own personal trauma would make for a very good movie. For starters, there’s very little cannibalism – and I don’t even know what I would call it. The Air Freshening of the Chickens? The Hosing Down of the Chicken Cages? It’s easy to make the lambs go silent, but how do you make the chickens not smell like death and terror?

No matter what time I leave the house in the morning, I am stuck behind or between trucks full of chickens. I hate them, because I know what happens next – the chickens are being taken to the slaughter house to become delicious meat, and I feel bad – bad for the chickens who are about to die, bad because chicken is so very delicious, and bad for my nose because the stink is HORRIFIC. I can’t even describe how bad the trucks smell; not even with the significant vocabulary prowess at my disposal. I have to hold my breath when I ride near the Death Trucks, and even then it doesn’t help – I can taste the stink. My only option is to speed the hell out of there and get as far away from the poor chickens as I possibly can, and then think about kittens and rainbows and going vegetarian for lunch. It sometimes helps, but not a lot. There is trauma. Silence of the Lambs-style trauma. Well, except for all the murder and stuff.

I would like a vacation, please.

My effortless congeniality and general good cheer at work is starting to crack around the edges. It’s all likely due to the never-ending suck happening outside, but I’m cranky. What’s worse, I’m cranky for no real reason and at something I normally love doing: patting people on the back. I’m always the Champion of Others, making sure that people know they’re appreciated and rewarded and infusing their day-to-day existence with a warm glow of love and acknowledgement .. but right now, everyone can suck it. I don’t WANT to design fancy rewards for people. I’m tired of gifting people booze and gift cards because they do their job competently. I’m grumpy at always making sure other people feel loved (both at work and irl), because no one ever does the same for me.

No one ever recognizes the person doing the employee recognition, and it’s making me pouty. I pull miracles out of my ass on a regular basis! Acknowledge my mad skills and camaraderie! Bask in my unflappable (except for right now) good cheer and pleasant aromas! I’m a good little worker bee too, damnit – everything I do is to make life easier and more fun for others! Some sort of thank you might be nice, don’t you think?

I’m (mostly) just being silly about all this, but sometimes there is chafing and ass marbles and today is one of those times. I have cabin fever, I think. I need Adventure and Excitement. Maybe a Scandal or two; some good old fashioned Controversy with a dash of Self-Righteous Ire thrown in for fun. Or, you know, a nap. A nap would be good too.

I miss Good Times.

Not wearing pants: easier than EVER!

Last week, Barb (one half of the brain trust behind the now-in-Gibsons Bodacious on Main) contacted me and asked if I’d be interested in taking a look at Diane Kennedy‘s  new line of dresses called Cherry Velvet. Being a fan of Barb, Ms. Kennedy’s clothes AND dresses, I almost tripped over myself in my haste to say YES PLEASE. It’s a well-known fact that I eschew pants as often as legally allowed, and I’m always on the lookout for new dresses to wear (something my 12-year-old self is kind of disgusted about, but that’s a story for my imaginary therapist). Barb invited me to the studio in Railtown, and on Monday I scooted on over to take a peek at the brand new Cherry Velvet line.

I’m in love.

The dresses are gorgeous. Not satisfied with less than fabulous, they made the dress in a whole range of beautiful fabrics to the point where it was difficult to pick a favourite. The dresses are selling like mad, and while in retrospect it was good they didn’t have the two patterns I drooled over in my size for the sake of my credit card only, I did get to try on the dress in the Love Letters print. It’s an unusual look for me in that it’s not all black with an extra side of black – rather, it’s a creamy print with old French postcards and flowers all over.

I’m a little incompetent when I buy dresses, because I’m so used to things fitting me poorly that I settle a great deal – my entire wardrobe is an experience in “good enough”. Things are almost always too big, too small, too short, too low-cut, too hilarious .. but I’ll wear them anyway, because where am I going to find something that fits me perfectly? Trying on the Cherry Velvet dress gave me a bit of a shock, because it DID fit perfectly – every single part landed exactly where it was supposed to. The armholes in particular were kind of awesome – they FIT. They weren’t sausage-tight or Gapey McSide Boob, they were *perfect*. The neckline will suit everyone (except me – I LIKE showing as much boob as possible; if I had to choose one thing I’d change it’d be a lower neckline for more – too much – cleavage) regardless of their bosom (or lack thereof). The dresses have a super-flattering empire waist, and they. Have. POCKETS. I am going to buy one in every colour and pretty much wear nothing but – POCKETS! To HOLD STUFF! I can keep my phone out of my bra, and maybe carry some frogs and sticky candy for emergencies. Everything should have pockets. More pockets equals more AWESOME.

Pocket squeals aside, I really love these dresses. They satisfy me on so many levels – ridiculously flattering fit, made by a local designer, POCKETS – I’ve already got my next bonus bookmarked for one or more Cherry Velvet dresses to go along with the gorgeous Love Letter one I was gifted, and I can’t wait. There is a serious dearth of options for the comely buxom lass, and I was thrilled to see Diane’s dresses – it is a crime not to feel ravishing, and I dare you to not feel sassy and glamourous when wearing one of these. Check out their blog and Facebook page to find out where you can find the dresses, and I’ll doll myself up and post a picture soon. Yay for fun and flirty! Yay for retro! Yay for a dress with a hemline long enough that I can scoot in it without showing Hastings St. my vagina!

vive la france!