Published May 12, 2013 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

This is the third time I have tried to write this blog; Google chrome keeps crashing, and I’m already feeling rather stabby, so let’s see if it actually makes it.   This week has been a weird salad.  I know weird salad. When I was in the hospital in Farmington, NM; you know the sixth circle of hell sans shoe department, I was served a blended salad. Blended as in whirred in a blender and served chilled in a glass.  Why would you do that to someone who just came out of a coma? That doesn’t really give anyone the will to live and is possibly the first in a long list of evidence that I actually died and am now fighting my way through purgatory.

I don’t think that I have done anything productive today,unless you consider keeping myself isolated so I don’t run amok and start a Fight Club in the Starbucks parking lot, or generally just run shrieking down the street with frustration and pent up fury because, in addition to all of the other strange, soul robbing inconveniences of the week, I am tense because I don’t get to see my kid on  Mother’s Day and that some other person, ok, the AWT is going to spend this Mother’s Day and every single other one in perpetuity with MY husband because they both broke all of the rules, social mores and possibly some blue laws, and I don’t think any one has properly kissed my hiney enough in apology.  (Why yes, it does take real skill to put Mother’s Day, social more and hiney kissing in the same sentence.  Just ask me about my Grad school interview at UT.  None of my degrees are from UT, BTW. I love Acronyms.)

And speaking of ranting immaturely and Hineys, I want to make a suggestion for an appropriate response to Abercrombie and Fitch CEO Mike Jeffries ( notorious feelings on the ugly and the fat (World’s worst Hemingway novel, movie version directed by John Huston)

It is my suggestion that those of us uncool, unattractive people with free time and disposable income head on down to the mall. Stop by the food court and get a yummy fat/sugar/salt laden tranquilizing handful of yummy take it down to the Abercrombie and Fitch, fight the fog bank of cologne, drop trou and give the store a good old fashioned pressed ham.

Pressed Ham: Pressing one’s butt cheeks up against a window or glass.

(Definition provided by the good people at Urban Dictionary) 

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