Friday, October 14, 2005

Spiffy

I installed a sitemeter on this thing about a year ago, and it's a neverending story part II...no, wait, no Jonathan Brandis....it's a neverending source of mild amusement during the all-too-frequent times when I sit at my desk running through every bookmark I have instead of, you know, doing work. Anyway, my favorite part of sitemeter's reporting services is the fact that I can see every referring page for everyone who visits. If you come right to the page address, which happens most frequently, no big whoop (heh, I feel like that's a phrase we don't use enough, and I love that I get a clear picture of Mike Myers as Linda Richman every time I say/see/write it). However, sometimes people get here through seemingly unrelated web searches, and those are often funny.

For instance, if you google "Texas Workers' Comp Legislation," this is the only page that comes up. (Okay, so the critic in me says 'no shit--you might have to type out the whole word, compensation, to get real hits.') Many folks get here (albeit briefly) searching for 'winter of my discontent' (which, incidentally, I should cop that I brazenly stole from a friend of mine in college whose AIM away message was 'welcome to the winter of my discontent.' She was one of the only cool people I knew at that damn school--this is undergrad #1, not #2 for those who are counting--and it fit her perfectly so I snagged it, of course), but sometimes it's things like 'what would Jesus do for a klondike bar,' or 'texas car dealers' or 'sticky boobs.' Hee.

Oh god, speaking of sticky boobs. Long-time readers will remember my previous foray into the treacherous waters of adhesive support for the lovelies, and I'm sorry to say I must add to the canon with another tale of woe. Last spring, J and I decided to go to the Law School Prom (oh, I am so far from kidding), and I was thus happily afforded another chance to wear the totally ridiculous ball gown I bought a few years ago for a Fed formal during Lord & Taylor's slow, graceful death. Think lots of yellow, teal, and green tulle, and atop that laces up the back. Said laces make any sort of bra structure that goes all the way around the torso a non-starter, and it's not really tailored well enough to just wing it--too much unattractive smooshing (oh, and I have the pics to prove it). So between a hair appointment and a nails appointment--really went all out for this one--I wandered over to a little lingerie store in downtown Tree Town (I know--who would have thought such things exist here...and nothing is made of hemp!), in search of...something involving adhesive. They had the usual array of stick-ons, but I was distracted by something more substantial. Something called...Fashion Forms Nu Bra.

I've seen these on (sigh) TV, and asked the salesgirl if they really worked. My revisionist mind wants to report something like 'and that stupid bitch looked me in the eye and lied in the affirmative without a trace of remorse,' but that's rather unfair. It's not exactly that they don't work--those suckers stick--but that I stupidly picked the wrong size (too small) and paid a handsome sum for totally useless falsies that can't be returned. Oy. They are, however, absurdly fun to play with. They look like....okay, picture yourself in the kitchen at a Radisson before a big wedding where they played it safe with chicken. Are you there? K...picture the trays of perfectly matched, unseasoned chicken breasts from Sysco, lined up on trays and waiting for a gentle dusting of paprika. Take two of them and add the components of a clasp to the middle of each inner side. Ta da, you have Fashion Forms. To apply, you just stick 'em on, and clasp the clasp in the middle. Then plaaaaaay with them. A lot. Then giggle. Then, if you're like me and you buy the wrong size, look in the mirror and think 'ah, so that's what it would look like if smaller, groupie ta-tas hitched a ride on top of mine. '

After my mom visited this summer, I saw the box and lamented that I hadn't offered them to her--she's about the right size. J looked at me for a long time before saying "you'd give your mom falsies? That's...weird." To which I blinked, thought, and agreed. And so they're on the top of my bookcase, collecting dust and laughing at me everytime I look up there.

And now, a helpful hint from me to you: the next time you go someplace with black lights, take a yellow highlighter and draw all over your forearms. It's tough to see in normal light, but you'll be the coolest of the cool when the glowing starts.