Living Dead in Dallas

Sorry Charlene Harris, but I think it was perfect to describe my trip to Dallas a few weeks ago.

So shortly after I started my new job, my work told me that I needed to go to Dallas for a few days for training.  I figured why not, and went, because I wouldn’t be allowed to work at my awesome new job unless I was trained and certified.

So while I was waiting for my flight, I had a beer, and was waiting and waiting to find out that my flight was canceled.  I’ve mentioned before how driving to Dallas has ended in my car breaking down in the middle of nowhere, but my coworker, who is a pretty awesome guy, found out that we would be reimbursed for gas and he offered to drive.  Which was great for me because if the car broke down, it wouldn’t be mine.

Naturally, I had to prank Alex and my mom because I was driving to Dallas alone with a man.  And I had a beer in my system.

I call Alex first and put him on speaker phone.  The conversation went like this.

Alex: Hello?

Me: Hey honey, so I got drunk and some random guy kidnapped me and is dragging me to Dallas.  I’m probably going to die from either murder or Ebola.  Hope that’s okay.

Alex:… What?

Me:  Well the flight was canceled so I was drinking and my coworker is kidnapping me to Dallas and you’re never going to see me again.

Alex: WHAT?!

Me: It’s all good though, he won’t rape me because he’s gay.

Alex: Ugh, fine, let me know when you get to Dallas*

Then I called my mom next.  That woman is a hard woman to rattle and I told her that I was drunk and being kidnapped and she just said, “Okay, be safe!”  It was rather disappointing.

Halfway to Dallas, we decide to stop and get some Mexican food in Canton.  I’ve mentioned how I’ve had some bad experiences in Canton before, but this time the Mexican restaurant had a church on top of it and I got to touch a giant cock.

Take that, Bloggess

Take that, Bloggess

 

Once we were back on the road, we got lost after getting to Dallas and after making the same turn about six times, we found our hotel.

After training the next day I enjoyed a margarita and a walk with Jesus, and this time  I didn’t make a total and complete fool of myself like the last time I walked with Jesus.  I felt the drinks were necessary in order to enjoy Texas.

Our last afternoon in Dallas, we got out of training early and decided to explore the mall.  I have to say, Grapevine Mills mall in Irving is fucking fantastic.  It has everything.

Even ass fire.

Even ass fire.

However, there was one particular store that left me very confused.  The store was called “Heroes” and it was a store that sold military paraphernalia, airsoft guns, camo, hunting knives, so on and so forth.  They even have a website.

To say the least, this store screamed, “MURICA!”  Not even “America.”  Just ‘Merica.

The main thing that confused and scared and awed me was the mannequins.  The mannequins displaying the women’s clothing were taller than me (I’m 5’8), they had DDD boobs, and their pants were low rise and it was all camo.

Words can't even describe my confusion

Words can’t even describe my confusion

SeriouslyTexas, what the fuck is with this?  Why do the mannequins need to have huge boobs?  Why can you see the fucking nipples of the mannequin?

My coworker and I just stared at the mannequin for a few minutes, just in stunned silence.  We were so confused.  I like to think I’m fairly comfortable in my own skin, but the fact that this mannequin made my boobs look like less than mosquito bites and the fact that this clothing was so… ‘Murican, I had no idea what to make of it.  So I took a picture and moved on.

The next morning was our last morning in Texas, and I couldn’t be happier to go back to my little house.  I missed Alex and Texas has this obsession with the shape of it’s state that was weirding me out.  And I lived in Alaska for heaven’s sake.

         

Seriously?  A fucking Texas shaped waffle

Seriously? A fucking Texas shaped waffle?

So I made it home and I’ve been working so much that every muscle in my body aches and I just want to crawl under a rock and die.  It’s fucking awesome.

 

Have you ever gone on a business trip that went better than expected?  Ever been somewhere where the culture just confused the hell out of you?  Have you ever eaten hot sauce that made you fart fire?  Let me know in the comments!

The Journey for Pants

Any woman reader will understand this story in all of its entirety.

I’ve mentioned before how Lane Bryant is incapable of figuring out how women’s pants should fit.  Seriously, what the hell?

I went to five stores to find navy blue dress pants for a job that I’m starting this week.  I have to have navy blue pants and a light blue button down shirt.  That’s right, I got a job where I have to wear nice clothing.  I’m going to be fancy.

So I go to the first Lane Bryant, and the sales associates were avoiding me.  They’re starting to bring back wide leg, which is fantastic, because they fit me like flares.  Because, you know, I have huge legs.  And calves.  And feet.

I finally track down a sales associate and she shows me this white button down shirt, which makes me nervous because I love to wear my food.  They have no light blue shirts, and they were out of blue pants.  The boardwalk store had blue pants though.  One pair, in my size.  Success!

So I drive the twenty minutes to the board walk.  I ask the sales lady at the front of the store where they put the pants on hold and she said “over there” and walked away.  I walk to the counter and ask and they said, “They’re right there!” while not pointing to any direction.  I get really mad, then I see a huge tag that has my name and I grab the pants.

I see the pants and cringe.  They’re petite.  Apparently I sound petit, even though I’m 5’8”.  This makes me nervous.  I try the pants on and I can button them, but my ass is too big for the zipper. Oh, and they stop an inch above my ankle.  And for some ungodly reason, Lane Bryant makes pants with fabric so thin that you can see the cellulite on my ass through the pants.

Nope, not happening.

So I took them off and put them back on the hanger.  When I came out of the dressing room, the lady at the counter asks me if those pants are all I’m getting.  I told her I’m not getting the pants.

“But those are the only blue pants we have,” she argued with me.

“Yeah, and they don’t fit.  You can see the cellulite on my ass through this thin fabric.”

“You’re too young to have cellulite.”

Oh, how I wish age played a role in cellulite.  I told her no because they were too short and they were too small for my thunder thighs, and she was still trying to talk me into the pants.  I asked her if torrid had blue pants, and she said she didn’t shop there.

Whatever chick, you totally shop there.

So I walked down to Torrid and the lady there was so excited.  “Yes we do!  We just got our pixie cut pants in!”

Not even cute on skinny girls

Not even cute on skinny girls

Now, I was unsure was pixie cut was.  But let me tell you what they are.

They are stretchy jeans that are the size of an arm sleeve that stop an inch above your ankles.  I saw these jeans and the waist was in my size, but the legs were for someone who skipped leg day at the gym.  These pants were for people who had no fat in their legs, or never used their legs because these pants were made for someone who had a 45 inch waist and legs that were six inches around.

Only picture I could find, so sue me.  You get the point.  Hell, you're probably not even reading this.  I could say anything, such as stupid bumfuckery.

Only picture I could find, so sue me. You get the point. Hell, you’re probably not even reading this. I could say anything, such as stupid bumfuckery.

Seriously fashion industry, what the fuck?

I couldn’t even get my hand into the bottom of these jeans, how the hell was I going to get my giant feet through them?

I told her no and she tried to argue with me that they were the style.

Lady, have you not seen what I look like?  I rarely comb my hair, much less dress according to fashion sense.

Every Morning

Every. Single. Morning.

I went to dress barn and no navy pants.  I’m about to screech.

I go to Catherine’s plus sizes, a place that I always associate with my mom’s grandma clothes (sorry mom), and the sales lady was a tiny little black woman who had a thick southern accent.  She was so sweet, found me the shirt I needed (and no need to iron), found me pants that fit, and when I tried them on, asked me to show her.   I asked her for the mom opinion, since I didn’t have my mom to help, and she gave the same responses my mom would have given.  I think.

So… Five stores, two hours later.  I found one pair of pants that fit kind of meh.  I found two shirts.  And I swear on my life, I am never shopping at Lane Bryant in the south ever again.

 

Have you ever gone clothes shopping and had absolutely no luck of any kind?  Do you ever feel like no matter where you go, you can never find clothing that fits?  Do you hate Lane Bryant?  Let me know in the comments!

I’m Pretty Sure that Lane Bryant Doesn’t Realize Their Customer Base Is Curvy Women…

So ever since I can remember, I have had one hell of a time buying clothing.  I’ve always been heavy, and I’ve come to terms that my thighs are always going to touch, my ass is never going to properly fit into jeans, and flares will always fit like skinny jeans.  I have always been able to find a way to make this work until the entire skinny jean faze came through and refused to fucking go away.

 

Please keep in mind, I have nothing against skinny jeans.  They’re great for skinny people.  But if you’re not skinny, or say, not a stick, they don’t look good.  For me, my legs are huge and they have no shape.  My mom would always tell me my legs looked like sausages, and I can’t refute it because it’s true. 

So earlier this evening, I decided to go to the Louisiana Boardwalk, which is an outdoor mall on the Red River that has every possible store I could ever ask for.  And they’re all outlet stores so they’re really cheap too, which I love.  So I went into Lane Bryant to get some much needed articles of clothing, only to find that everything in the store was half off.

This never happens.

So I’m running through the store frantically looking for pants.  All that comes to mind is “If I can find two pairs of jeans, I’m good for the next six months.”

So I’m pulling pants off the shelves and off hangers, looking at the tags, hoping and praying that they have something that will work.

Apparently, Lane Bryant no longer carries pants for the curvy fat girls.  They only had skinny jeans and skinny boot cut, which are thinner cut legs for girls who are heavy with skinny legs.  This is so not me.  The curvy pants are usually snug on my legs, I can’t even get the skinny jeans on past my knees.

I go to a sales associate and ask her if they have any more curvy jeans in stock, to which she very politely tells me that they don’t carry them anymore.  And there might be some in the clearance.

So I totally and completely destroy the clearance section looking for curvy jeans.  They had been sold.  Or they were solid white, which is retarded.  Who wears white jeans?  Seriously?  That’s just asking for a stain.

Defeated, I decide that I shall never find curvy jeans again.  Hello Wal-mart and Torrid, hope you guys haven’t given up on me either.

That’s seriously all I have.

Oh, and I almost burned my house down burning sage to get rid of the ghost stealing my socks.  Long story short, my house smells like sage and the dogs are a lot more relaxed than they probably should be.