Nothing Says Sexy Like Stink Bombs!

Warning, this post is not for the weak of stomach!
Sexy woman. Shirt says: "I like to fart on the first date."

Apparently something crawled up my ass and died this weekend, because I have been afflicted with a horrible ailment whose side effects include: stomach cramps, toxic fumes, fever, fatigue and insomnia.
The fact that my mom has the same thing does not make me feel any better.

After sleeping 11 hours Friday night and spending Saturday between napping on the couch and running to the bathroom, I decided to skip Machine so as not to subject my BFF Tina and the whole club to the traumatizing odors my body has been producing. But I still went to bed at 2:30, because apparently my body was pretending I went out anyways. (Either that or it was the back-to-back Lincoln Heights episodes–I love that show!)

Another apparent side effect of my sickness is zero shopping self-control.

After standing in the pouring rain for my daughters softball game (I know, getting soaked is great when you’re sick), I headed out to the Framingham Thrift Store on a mission to buy my son a rain jacket and my daughter some appropriate pants.

I can’t figure out if my daughter is a sartorial genius or total fashion mess. Who am I to tell her that red pants don’t go with a blue shirt when she somehow makes it work? With her hair and coloring, she makes anything look good.

Unfortunately, she has a habit of making leggings and a short shirt work. And she has entirely too much ass for a seven-year-old. I was complaining about our daily clothing battles at the club when I realized what a hypocrite I was–after-all, wasn’t I wearing leggings and a tank top?
Of course, there’s a huge difference between me–an adult–dressing like that for the club, and a seven year old dressing like a hootchie at school. I’m much more prepared for the kind of response those clothes are designed to elicit.

Not that they did. No one did hit on me that night. Apparently reading an explicit poem about a one night stand with a stone stud turned me into stud kryptonite–the studs around me must have thought I was on a stud-hunt the way they avoided my eyes afterwards! (And if I want the femmes smirking at me again I’m probably going to have to read some more poems about eating pussy!)

So back to shopping–I bought my son two jackets, my daughter appropriate pants and countless skorts. Then I went a little crazy and bought myself 5 pairs of shoes. Five! Two with heals! That’s right, heals! Another level of femmitude for me? Only if I actually wear them lol! We’ll see.

five pairs of shoes

Shoe Binging!

It’s true that the same shopping spree at a normal store would have approached a Grand, rather than $150 (Ralph Lauren sweater for $7 anyone?), but I still almost swooned at the cash register. I can’t afford to save so much money!

That night I stayed up till 1:30–despite feverish exhaustion. Today I’m just glad my toxic gas seem to be greatly reduced–and my cubicle-mate is out.

Hope I’m all-the way better soon!
‘Cause nothing says sexy like stink-bombs!


  1. Happy for your sale! Happy that you’re not as…fragrant. *laughing*

    {{{JN}}} Hope you keep feelin’ better-n-better.

    • Thanks hun! ( My ex Jen texted me ({}) once. She said it meant “hug” but I think it looks like pussy! lol)

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