tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66288697990376551932024-02-19T10:18:36.963-07:00Candicity: I am who I amA candid blog about life.Candicityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18365932473008034165noreply@blogger.comBlogger10125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6628869799037655193.post-3297444726421680232011-10-23T19:33:00.001-06:002011-10-23T21:10:40.098-06:00Padocalypse and a MangoThe thing about being busy is sometimes you forget about simple things. Maybe it's doing the laundry, maybe it's making sure there's food in the house, or maybe even forgetting to shower (you disgusting freak). In my case, however, I feel it was much worse... <br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a>My tale begins one morning as I groggily get ready for work after a night of cramping hell when I open my bathroom drawer to get supplies for the day and note the contents... a SINGLE. SOLITARY. PAD. My sluggish brain struggles to comprehend what this means. This means I... am out of pads? No... this can't be right. This never happens. I go to check my purse for backup... nothing. My backpack... nothing. My gym bag... abso-freakin'-lutely nothing! With a heavy sigh I resign myself to the fact that I have to make an emergency run to the store after work.<br />
<br />
I was not looking forward to this since I had about 2 1/2 hours of sleep that night and several nights before that. My brain would be struggling to just get through the work day, not to mention an additional unplanned errand. Plus, when I don't sleep enough, things get... weird. I get abnormally silly and laugh at everything. My perception of the world changes and I happily skip along in this new world like everything is made of sugar and hugs. I really should not be out in public. <br />
<br />
Fast forward to after work where I have been laughing all afternoon on some strange sleep deprivation/caffeine high and am arriving at the grocery store to obtain provisions for the week to come. As I enter I pass by some mangoes. I make it about three feet before I make an abrupt 180 and walk back to stare at the mangoes. Keep in mind my brain is not functioning properly. I stare for a moment longer before slowly reaching out to fondle a few. "Mango... mannnnngo. Do I want a mango? This mango is a dollar. Do I want a mango for a dollar? Nnnn... yes. Yes I do. Fuck it, my ovaries are trying to kill me. I deserve a mango. Mmm, mango." After carefully selecting my mango of choice, I gently place it in my basket and proceed to the feminine product aisle. <br />
<br />
This aisle can be overwhelming at times. There are many to choose from, and from a bad experience with a mall vending machine <strike>diaper</strike> pad back in high school that made me feel like I was wearing a codpiece to rival Bowie's in Labyrinth (see Exhibit A), I have made it a point to find the thinnest pad I can possibly find while maintaining good absorbency. Also, considering I was spending a whole dollar on a mango, I wanted to try and find a good value as well.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXQ2dH1ZjSF8IVDC95BWoBDsJCcAfqLmi8WUSLQTkW7URVQ9vaMxshRX0WszG4ItGg9RF72X4QoM76uKkBzAXq16V8r1JURAWGnI-5PY-HQPez5lcfHJVZJ2zEq38hzSKQaIGZRsN-wjw/s1600/6a00e55396b685883301053721a61a970b-800wi.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXQ2dH1ZjSF8IVDC95BWoBDsJCcAfqLmi8WUSLQTkW7URVQ9vaMxshRX0WszG4ItGg9RF72X4QoM76uKkBzAXq16V8r1JURAWGnI-5PY-HQPez5lcfHJVZJ2zEq38hzSKQaIGZRsN-wjw/s200/6a00e55396b685883301053721a61a970b-800wi.jpeg" width="196" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Exhibit A</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<span id="goog_848195222"></span><span id="goog_848195223"></span><br />
After 15 minutes of comparing pads side by side eyeballing the thickness with much scrutiny, comparing price per ounce, and choosing multiple sizes and products for my various activities, I have a basket that looks like this:<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimJfFJL6Wi5K-J8-_aomjKMxn3nO7430l4l9tmqESm3ERiwPm2WQ80oOSu999vuuR53bKotTsPvgfcprMCN5VK7OE77dUDC7lUhRHFn2awArtOfBfOkQlVONDwLTtbaBkh5hu40X-ryvQ/s1600/Photo1103.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimJfFJL6Wi5K-J8-_aomjKMxn3nO7430l4l9tmqESm3ERiwPm2WQ80oOSu999vuuR53bKotTsPvgfcprMCN5VK7OE77dUDC7lUhRHFn2awArtOfBfOkQlVONDwLTtbaBkh5hu40X-ryvQ/s320/Photo1103.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My Basket</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<br />
I stare at the contents for a few moments. "Holy crap. It's like I'm stocking up for the apocalypse. It's a Padocalypse!... and a mango." Because I'm incredibly sleep deprived, I think my new word is hilarious and am laughing aloud as I walk down the aisle swinging my basket full of pads and a lone mango. After passing a few people who gave me funny looks, I realize I probably look insane and suddenly become quite self conscious yet I can't stop laughing. Instead of doing the rational thing and paying for my goods and leaving, I instead think it's a brilliant idea to <i><b>pad</b></i> my basket with other items and buy soup and chai tea (on sale bitches!).<br />
<br />
Pleased with my bounty I head towards the self checkouts which are the saving grace of anyone with questionable items in their cart when I'm stopped short with the friendly greeting of the lady standing by Checkout 8, "Are you ready to check out?" My brain panics, "Uh.... suuure." My body tells me to run to the safety of self checkout but it was already too late--she had my basket. As she grabs the first of many pads, "Did you find everything okay?" More panic, "Oh, yeah, ha ha, I was out of a few things and uh... just decided to get more things. You know. And I felt like a mango!" She scans the pads though and smiles, "Really? You should be craving other things." Um... what? What does she mean? Chocolate? Sex? Whatever... I stand by my mango. "Oh, well, you know, mangoes are great!" She senses my discomfort and says, "I bet you're like, 'Hurry up so I can get out of here!'"...<br />
<br />
...This is where the sleep deprivation kicks in and I go insane--in a good way. I smile at her and say, "Nah. I should just embrace this. Here, lets make a pad tower!" So in the middle of the grocery store, in Checkout 8, I make a tower of pads over 2 feet high on the conveyor belt and proudly exclaim, "IT'S A PADOCALYPSE! Now you can tell people you made a tower of pads today!" She is quite nonplussed at this and says, "Well... I don't think I have ever told someone that before." I look her square in the eyes with a sly smile and say quite seriously, "I am changing the world... one pad at a time." At this I pay, bid her goodbye, gather my things, hold my head high and exit... barely making it to the parking lot before bursting out in laughter.Candicityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18365932473008034165noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6628869799037655193.post-16850312537094828562011-03-09T18:21:00.000-07:002011-03-09T18:21:44.376-07:00BwargurgleHuh? It's 2011? ...MARCH of 2011? Well shit.<br />
<br />
Here's a picture I drew while waiting for a burger.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVtPaOq3jeSY0PMglV9rKuoFfl90ZuiI11gu-hG5GFMFmBdP_lDazE9Uw03sx89xRG2tydbFSKcyVjHbI_fitDR6fTDuEswwddcvNHEhvo2GvgdQkDcUPRuQpni7EPhpp9i0QIT8Rnr2E/s1600/bwargurgle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVtPaOq3jeSY0PMglV9rKuoFfl90ZuiI11gu-hG5GFMFmBdP_lDazE9Uw03sx89xRG2tydbFSKcyVjHbI_fitDR6fTDuEswwddcvNHEhvo2GvgdQkDcUPRuQpni7EPhpp9i0QIT8Rnr2E/s400/bwargurgle.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bwargurgle</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Candicityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18365932473008034165noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6628869799037655193.post-43863189881866039072010-11-30T19:08:00.001-07:002010-11-30T19:11:14.675-07:00Unicorns and TribblesI've went traveling recently. To far off places of mystical wonder and unicorns!<br />
<br />
...and by "mystical wonder" I mean hotels and by "unicorns" I mean airports. Today, I share with you, a tale.<br />
<br />
I was sitting in the unicorn waiting for my flight home peacefully reading the Sunday comics. The area around me was fairly crowded with people also waiting for the same flight. It hit me hard then... an inexplicable urge that took all my will to resist. I desperately wanted to look up and shout, "WAFFLES!", after which I would go back to quietly reading my comics like nothing had happened.<br />
<br />
This is not the first time I have wanted to do this. There is just something about shouting a random word in a somewhat crowded area... just for the hell of it. As far as I know, I am the only person who has wanted to try this. Granted, I haven't volunteered this information before either so I really wouldn't know the secret shouting desires of anyone else. <br />
<br />
The inner Spock in me tries to make logical sense of this phenomenon while my inner Kirk shouts at him, "Fuck you Spock! Humans are illogical! Bones, you can figure this out can't you?" And my inner McCoy is all, "Damn it Jim! I'm a doctor, not a engineer! I can't fix this faulty wiring!" AND THEN TRIBBLES ARE EVERYWHERE!Candicityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18365932473008034165noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6628869799037655193.post-59621731385977003552010-10-19T18:26:00.003-06:002010-10-19T18:33:49.429-06:00Los Lonely PubeOne of the things I have to do at work is clean the bathrooms. We don't hire a cleaning service so we take turns with the cleaning duties. On my last cleaning venture I was happily scouring a toilet and singing to myself when I discovered it. A hair. Not just any hair though... there is only one type of hair that turns and twists in such a way that reminds you of an off ramp in the city...<br />
<br />
A pube. A hair from the great beyond.<br />
<br />
It didn't surprise me that it was there. I was, after all, cleaning a toilet. What made me stop for a moment was my realization that this pube was not a "stranger pube". I actually knew one of the people it came from, but not intimately enough to be okay with its presence. This was an "acquaintance pube", the most awkward of all pubes.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
I'm not sure why exactly the "acquaintance pube" is so awkward but I do have a theory. If a pube was a person, I imagine they would be that quirky guy or gal social enough not to hide out in a corner but lacking in social skills in such a way that all their jokes fall just short of being funny. This then entices whatever person or group they're mingling with to give them a pity laugh just to break the tension of the failed joke.<br />
<br />
Imagine this person is a stranger to you and you're stuck in a conversation with them. At this point it is relatively easy to blow them off or make them someone else's problem. Or, if you just completely make an ass of yourself to get away, chances are you'll never encounter them again.<br />
Awkward level = medium-low.<br />
<br />
On the complete opposite end, if this person is a close personal friend of yours and they try their little joke shenanigans on you, you may consider their inept attempts endearing or even be comfortable enough to call them out on how terrible their joke was and therefore everyone has a good laugh from this friendly ribbing.<br />
Awkward level = low.<br />
<br />
Now envision this person as your acquaintance. You know them well enough for about five minutes of grocery store conversation consisting mostly of just "catching up" and the weather. This acquaintance shows up at a party and you're the only one they know. Most of you reading this should know this spells certain doom as you won't be able to get rid of this person for the rest of the night. You must constantly endure their nonexistent conversation skills while you feel the sinking feeling of your soul slowly dying.<br />
Awkward level = SOUL CRUSHINGLY HIGH<br />
<br />
This, my friends, is the awkwardness of the "acquaintance pube"--in all it's curly glory. This is what I encountered on that fateful day of cleaning. So what did I do?<br />
<br />
I destroyed its sorry awkward ass with Scrubbing Bubbles and paper towels bitches! Oh yeah.Candicityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18365932473008034165noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6628869799037655193.post-40562672344024817162010-10-04T02:09:00.002-06:002010-10-04T02:36:07.175-06:00Clothing OptionalI went to a hot springs resort the other day. One of the features were Geo-Thermal Cave Baths. These cave baths are gender separated and happen to be clothing optional. This was my first time in a clothing optional place and I had expected the ratio of non-nude to nude would be about 50/50. Nope. That was not the case at all. In fact, myself and my friend were the only ones wearing anything. I actually was starting to feel out of place. <br />
<br />
The nudity didn't bother me though. In fact, I was extremely cool with it. What surprised me was the... oh, how should I say it... state of lawn maintenance some of these women had. I mean, not even twenty feet in I encountered a lady laying down by the baths that must have been hiding a forest in her pants. If I had my glasses on, I bet I could have seen birds flying out of there.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
I got a chance to speak with my friend later on the issue. Me (complete with graphic hand motions): "Did you see that lady when we walked in? It was like BAM! BUSH!" My friend: "I know, right? And I had my contacts on. I saw every detail." An interesting thing I should point out is we weren't actively trying to look at the nude people but we couldn't help it. I can only attribute this to our lack of exposure to nude strangers.<br />
<br />
The icing on the cake however was a quite animated conversation in the locker rooms with one of the women participating sans clothes. We talked about boxing, computer jobs, carpel tunnel and ergonomic mice, and pet care all while she rested spread eagle in a chair with a droopy towel. Towards the end of our conversation she dressed and bid me goodbye. What intrigued me was how she seemed so much more natural in her own skin than in her clothes.<br />
<br />
People have always amused me and I love to experience different things. The attitudes of those "letting it all hang out" were much more relaxed. I like people like that. Next time, I would like to go sans clothing. Just to see what it's like. :pCandicityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18365932473008034165noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6628869799037655193.post-84796774005921192142010-09-08T01:38:00.002-06:002010-10-19T18:37:33.939-06:00A Doodle of MelonsI have had nothing interesting to talk about lately. Or maybe I'm just lazy. Anyway, I was unloading melons from the car today (they came two in a bag) and the bag broke. I caught the melons but couldn't help but be amused at the cliché pose. Nobody was around to share in my amusement so here is a crappy doodle of the event. Ta for now! ... or shall I say ta-tas for now?<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw-pMu6R-d65NyitXVAvyUjmWRBHIhdqS24Fml1V4S_xjruyvsFK3VOm2QZGZF3wxQ0wvXZjWIg0OmnmhYLGl5IMylIZvtEPz60oujIXEMnGgswU7pxdvye5CJrZnqurKsj-ce3fjfHSQ/s1600/Melon+Catch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw-pMu6R-d65NyitXVAvyUjmWRBHIhdqS24Fml1V4S_xjruyvsFK3VOm2QZGZF3wxQ0wvXZjWIg0OmnmhYLGl5IMylIZvtEPz60oujIXEMnGgswU7pxdvye5CJrZnqurKsj-ce3fjfHSQ/s400/Melon+Catch.jpg" width="260" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Holding my melons.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Candicityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18365932473008034165noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6628869799037655193.post-20191544317929687782010-08-22T23:50:00.001-06:002010-10-25T21:02:01.863-06:00Working On The Self/RisksFor the past year I've been trying to be more true to myself. It has been hard but every day that goes by has been easier. The past two weeks have experienced the most change on outlook and physical well being. I'm pretty happy about that actually. I fear though that old habits die hard. But... I'm thinking if I do have a glitch, I just need to remember how I feel in this very moment.<br />
<br />
I rather enjoy change. I also like new experiences and meeting new people. One day I'd love to travel the world. Unfortunately, that does take some monetary start up. Plus, being female, I have to take some extra precautions when it comes to travel. This upsets me actually. I wish it weren't like that.<br />
<br />
My life is at a crossroads and I'm still looking at the map trying to choose the best route. I'm trying to listen to my heart and listen to logic. Logic has given me a clear answer but my heart is still undecided. Perhaps this is the "crisis" of most people in their early to mid twenties face. Hell, this is probably a "crisis" that most people face sometime in their lifetime. What I'd really like to hear about is other people's crossroads and what they did about it. And if they believe it was the best choice for them. And why.<br />
<br />
Choices contain risks and risks are what make life worth living. Without taking a chance we'll never get answers we seek. I like risks, but they are calculated risks. I've jumped out of an airplane and invested over a grand that took me forever to save in t-shirts that may or may not be sold (among other risks throughout my life). A certain amount of trust was invested in those endeavors and luckily I've at least broke even on all of them in terms of gain and loss. All the while I was fully aware of the consequences if things happened to go "wrong". So I'm not afraid to take risks. The choice is in which risk to take.<br />
<br />
This blog post isn't funny and it jumps around a lot. I don't really care though. My brain just wanted to vomit this out.Candicityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18365932473008034165noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6628869799037655193.post-55032604915778909622010-08-17T20:31:00.002-06:002010-08-17T21:56:17.160-06:00Clogging the Work ToiletYup. We're gonna talk about poop. Classy, no?<br />
<br />
Lately it seems, good hearty poops are all the rage. We lead the way into the 21st century holding our colon cleanses high in the air exclaiming, "I POOP FREQUENTLY AND HAVE IDEAL GIRTH!" Well, guess what folks, I was a trend setter way back in the 90's.<br />
<br />
Consequently, I've become a bit neurotic when it comes to using a restroom other than mine when it comes to pooping. Particularly when that restroom only has one toilet and no plunger in sight. The beauty of public restrooms with multiple toilets is you can always use the excuse of "it was that other chick". Unless, of course, there's a line. Then you can either let everyone know you destroyed the toilet or wait out the crowd and possibly make fart noises with your mouth so everyone doesn't think you're <b><i>stall</i></b>ing. Ha ha. That was <i><b>pun</b></i>ny.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a>Well, it so happens that my workplace has one of those "single toilet" restrooms. Actually, it has two restrooms: one for the men and one for the women. Which is why the sole plunger is stored in the utility closet. Being that my workplace is a small business (read: >10 people), you cannot go unaccounted for for too long. Therefore, stealth plunging is highly improbable. (But not impossible, for I have succeeded once before. I am a skilled warrior with a plunger.)<br />
<br />
Typically, I just try and avoid having to go at work. Unfortunately, I did not take into account the questionable nature of my lettuce when I packed my lunch the night before. Needless to say, there was no choice but to <i><b>dump</b></i> my fears and <i><b>void</b></i> myself of any concerns. (Okay, I'll stop with the bad puns before it gets out of hand.) You know... I really thought I was in the clear; but then with a choking gurgle, the water ceased to go down. "Shit!"<br />
<br />
Now, if you've ever been in this situation, and feel the way I do, you know all too well the feeling of blood draining from your face while praying to the porcelain gods as you plan your next step. But then... <i>whurrgurgle</i>. Can... can it be? Oh yes! Today my friends, I am a believer! The gods have heeded my prayer and a miracle was witnessed as THE WATER WENT DOWN!<br />
<br />
Sometimes, it's the little things in life...<br />
<br />
Now, aren't you glad I got this <i><b>crappy</b></i> post out of the way?Candicityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18365932473008034165noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6628869799037655193.post-13729896442469509072010-08-12T21:42:00.003-06:002010-08-13T00:52:42.930-06:00On Farmville, Customer Service, and Man BoobsFarmville.<br />
<br />
The very word stirs emotions deep within the soul. Whether they be hatred, joy, or shame, they come bubbling to the surface like heartburn after Taco Bell.<br />
<br />
For me, the emotion is shame. I bear before you, my very soul, as I admit... I do, in fact, play Farmville. I've been trying to quit! Really! I was doing good for a while but then I fell off the band wagon.<br />
<br />
But I digress... the problem with Farmville is you start to see it appear in your daily life. I was happily driving to work today, singing to myself, when BAM! there they were... plots of lavender. In reality, they were just the work of landscapers. In my mind however, they were perfectly harvested bunches that were placed by the path. And... and... Oh Em GEE!!! Limited edition flax plants!<br />
<br />
See the problem? Perhaps it was the lack of caffeine in my blood stream at that early hour. Perhaps I'm just crazy. Or perhaps both! I felt ashamed though. And dirty. Very very dirty.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><div style="text-align: center;">----------</div><br />
I am unsure of my feelings about customer service. I have noticed that the quality of customer service has gone down lately. Right before I lose my faith in humanity however, I run into a super nice customer service person. Today, I had one of each.<br />
<br />
After work today I went shopping at ye olde dollar store because I saw some funky looking mats outside... FOR A DOLLAR. So I took my selection inside. You know... I could have stolen those mats. I mean, there was nobody around and they were outside. I didn't though. Honesty and all that.<br />
<br />
When I get inside, there is nobody to be seen. A fleeting thought of mine wondered if they were in the process of a robbery and everyone was being held hostage. Part of me thought it would be cool if I could sneak attack said robber and save the day... but then I saw a customer and was slightly disappointed. <br />
<br />
I spied a little bell at the register with a note to ring it if I'm ready to check out. I ring the bell and hear an annoyed woman's voice:<br />
<br />
<blockquote>Clerk: "I'll be right THERE!" </blockquote><blockquote>Me: [Surprised] "... Thanks!?" </blockquote><blockquote>She arrives at the counter. </blockquote><blockquote>Me: "So... uh... how's your day?"<br />
<br />
Clerk: "Ugh." [Eyeroll] [Added as an afterthought] "How's your day?"<br />
<br />
Me: "Not ugh." [Pause] "What makes your day ugh?"</blockquote><br />
She preceded to explain that she needed to stock the shelves before the end of her shift as well as run the cash register. She also noted that her shift ended soon and it was expected to be done before then. I explained that she was only human, that I understand, and that I hope her day "becomes less ugh."<br />
<br />
Now... I've worked a LOT of customer service and sales in my past and still do a lot of customer service and sales (though not in a traditional retail sense). Even if my day was sucktastic, I never would let it show to the customers. Maybe I have pride in my work or maybe I just have a high tolerance for crap. I'm sure she probably gets paid minimum wage but so did I.<br />
<br />
I dunno, I guess I lose a little respect for the people when I see this happen. Here's the kicker though. She asked me to participate in an online survey... and was rather adamant about it.<br />
<br />
Yeeeeeah... I'm not doing that survey. <br />
<br />
I should note, in the store I went into afterward, the lady that completed my sale was extremely and genuinely nice. Faith In Humanity Status: Temporarily Restored.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">----------</div><br />
I should get a new glasses prescription.<br />
<br />
I was driving home when I spied a larger woman walking down the street in a v-neck undershirt. How did I know she was a woman? I assumed when someone has boobs that happen to be unsupported, and those boobs end up swinging like pendulums on a clock, they are most likely a woman. But then... "Holy crap! That woman has a white beard!"<br />
<br />
And then... as I got closer... "Hey! That's not a woman... wait... hold up... oh my god." <br />
<br />
Now, I have nothing against man boobs or whatever. My issue is with lack of support. Come on dude! If you have a pair of knockers like that, get a good support bra! Seriously. Get the bro. (Ah Seinfeld, how I miss you so.)<br />
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I'm not kidding though, give this guy one of those renaissance corsets and he'd have beer wench worthy jugs.Candicityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18365932473008034165noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6628869799037655193.post-11224123692111863802010-08-11T23:06:00.000-06:002010-08-11T23:06:26.398-06:00Candicity: I am who I amI have many thoughts that go through my head that I'd like to express. Sometimes I hold these thoughts in because they are not "appropriate" for the moment or may sound strange or god forbid, "uncouth". Here, I will vocalize them. If you find amusement by my musings, great! If you've had the same thoughts, even better! If you don't, I really don't give a rat's ass.<br />
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Welcome to Candicity. Where I am who I am.<br />
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Wipe your feet before entering.Candicityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18365932473008034165noreply@blogger.com0