That shit is work. Not like, “You better WORK!” work. But, like actual work in prepping my body shaving and manscaping and buying clothes and stuff.

I’ve had the same makeup in my wee makeup bag for the last 6+ months. I have one color eyeshadow, one lipstick that I can’t even find, and one wrong-shade foundation.

That does not a drag queen make.

Not only would I have to slather on pounds of clown makeup just to leave the house, but I’d have to get a weave, take care of my hair, and actually fix it on a daily basis.

I mean, really. That’s just not possible.

I sit here in 3-days-out jeans, a t-shirt that says “I put the     in lazy,” my 4-days-out unwashed hair in a greasy ponytail, with leg hairs so long they’re starting to curl.

I’m pretty much living up to my t-shirt message, but I’m not living up to the challenges of a drag queen girl.

Now that we’re talking about clothes, where does a drag queen buy her clothing? I’m pretty sure it’s not Lane Bryant, Old Navy, or the bottom of my her clean laundry mound. I’m also pretty sure the ladies don’t wear frayed jeans and fluffy socks with their Sketchers.

OH! and the music. I’m definitely not up on club dance music. (Remind me to get a few Gagas, Lamberts, and something featuring Akon.) My teeny tiny rotation of 90s music will not be good enough for the club kids and/or hag crowds when up Doin’ My Thang! on stage.

The most important key to a drag queen’s success that I’m lacking? A fab name. My nickname in high school was Fro (dumb), and since then, I’ve not had any good nicknames and I don’t have the brain power to come up with a catchy drag queen name.

See? I’m a total drag queen fail.

Double fail? The shoes. I live in pretty much Sketchers and gasp Crocs*. Shoes with heels hurt like a mo’fo. Shoes with a heel AND platforms? Forget it. I’d bust my ankle in under 2 seconds.

It’s just not in my nature to be a drag queen, so please, let me live in peace as the schlumpy housewife mommy blogger barf that I am.

And then there’s the whole penis ordeal.

I have drag queen penis envy.

__________________________________________________

What? I only wear the Crocs to Disney during the summer months. Don’t hate. Plus, I have foot issues. Back off, eh?

©2010 A Whole Lot of Nothing. All Rights Reserved. Steal my stuff, I breakayourface.

© Angie [A Whole Lot of Nothing] for A Whole Lot of Nothing, 2010. | Permalink | 3 comments | Add to del.icio.us
Post tags: drag queen, Lazy, penis envy

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Don’t go getting all jealous of my abilities to have a zit pop up under my bra underwire. Not only is it super sexy, it’s my super power!

My lovely dermatologist refers to them as “cysts,” but I’ve decided to name them after what they truly are: Surprise Buddies! Who doesn’t want something tagging along with you wherever you go, sitting just under your skin just waiting for attention where “attention” means “picking.”

I love my dermatologist and her out-of-the-way office during my quarterly visits where she tells me “this just isn’t working and why don’t we try this pill after we tried the last pill and the last cleanser and the last super-duper supposed-to-be-effective prescription wash and why don’t you try Accutane, OH YEAH, no, you don’t want to go uber crazy crazy head, so no, Accutane isn’t good for you.”

So now I get to try a NEW! and IMPROVED! and SUPER DUPER SPECIAL TIME-RELEASED EXTENDED PRESCRIPTION ANTIBIOTIC!

It’s so SUPER DUPER SPECIAL! that it costs $400 a month.

four

hundred

dollars

Lucky for me, (and really, why should the luck stop here?), the SUPER DUPER SPECIAL manufacturer of the antibiotic offers a 3-month-long coupon where I can get the pills for $10 a month.

SUPER DUPER, right?

The reactionary time for the antibiotics to begin to take affect is 3 months. So basically, I get to take this $400/month medication for 3 months at $10 a month for it to just start working and magically make my cyst buddies disappear, just in time for the manufacturer to start charging $400/month for me to continue the meds.

Here’s hoping I have the supple skin of a 9-year-old girl in 3 months, because if not, I’ll be living with the pock-marked, greasy, pimple-ridden skin of a 14-year-old boy for the rest of my life.

I’m just going to start preparing myself now to find Surprise Cyst Buddies! in brand new hidden crevices of my body in 3 short months.

©2010 A Whole Lot of Nothing. All Rights Reserved. Steal my stuff, I breakayourface.

© Angie [A Whole Lot of Nothing] for A Whole Lot of Nothing, 2010. | Permalink | 18 comments | Add to del.icio.us
Post tags: adult acne, antibiotics, cleaner, extreme! sarcasm!, pimples

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How? By calling a moratorium on shorts that are wider than they are long.

Unless you are in the top .01% of the ladies in the U.S., YOUR SHORTS SHOULD BE LONGER THAN THEY ARE WIDE. If this ratio is on the negative side, DON’T SQUEEZE YOUR FAT ASS INTO THE SHORTS.

Just because some clothing store makes the clothes and you can pull up the screaming zipper, DO NOT buy the shorts.

Oh, Sweet Baby Jeebus and Oprah. Here is my evidence from Old Navy*:

Allowing Old Navy (and others) to sell shorts at a 4 1/2″ inseam in a size 6 or up should be criminal. Allowing us larger ladies think it is OK to leave the house, much less purchase, any shorts less than a 5″ inseam (and still you gotsta have some NICE legs to pull those off) is a travesty.

And who are they joking with this picture of the shorts with a space between the legs? No woman who is a size 14 or up has any space between her thighs. You nasty nasty marketing picture-taking people are trying to make us think that those shorts (with pleats BTW) will allow our crotches to breathe.

Sorry, ladies, but wearing these shorts will only allow your ass to have a snack on some denim.

So, please. For the love of Sweet Baby Jeebus and Oprah. Stand UP and show your lovely legs! Just wear your shorts a little longer.

________________________________________________________________

*Originally published March 30, 2008 but still ever-so-awesome.

©2010 A Whole Lot of Nothing. All Rights Reserved. Steal my stuff, I breakayourface.

© Angie [A Whole Lot of Nothing] for A Whole Lot of Nothing, 2010. | Permalink | 35 comments | Add to del.icio.us
Post tags: fat, girl, legs, shorts, style, thighs, women

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Many of these nuggets are found by stumbling through actual poo, sleepless nights, and all-day crying fits where you’re found in the corner in the fetal position with mouth corners of chocolate and an empty bottle of Xanax, wine, and/or both.

Yeah, sure there are oodles of websites, blogs, and message boards *shudder* dedicated to passing along information “the books don’t tell you,” but there are just some things other mothers don’t think are important enough to pass along.

I’m here for you.

My goal in life, besides World Domination, is to Spread Awesome. You are so welcome. Part of my job in Spreading Awesome is to inform new parents, friends of people who are parents, and veteran child rearers of all they need to know.

Things like…

When you are kicked out of your comfy bed that you’ve spent many nights making just right with YOUR butt imprint in just the right place and has YOUR smell and has YOUR high thread count sheets, TAKE YOUR PILLOW WITH YOU TO YOUR KID’S BED. Taking YOUR pillow to the short person’s bed will trick your sleep-deprived mind into thinking you’re fast asleep in your comfy, smells-like-you bed and not on your kid’s faint-scent-of-pee, rock-hard mattress.

When you think it’s time to move your toddler to the Big Kid Bed, it’s too early. No matter when you think it’s time, it’s too early. WAIT AS LONG AS POSSIBLE TO MOVE THE KID TO THE BIG KID BED. If it means keeping the kid in the crib til she’s 5, do it. Safety note because I feel compelled to put it here so you don’t go blaming me in a lawsuit: If your kid can climb out of the crib, try a canopy net. If the canopy net doesn’t work, move the kid to a bid kid bed, but do it regretfully and sigh a lot. I’m not suggesting you go all bloody steak Joan Crawford and strap your kid to the bed, but if you leash your kid at the mall, I’m sure you’ve thought of recreating Mommie Dearest to keep kiddie dearest in bed. Whatever safely and morally works for you.

TEACH YOUR KID TO WATCH TV. Enough said.

NEVER EVER NEVER BUY CRAPASS CDS LIKE “KIDS BOP.” Any music sung by children should be saved for that child’s parent and should never ever never be recorded for purchase. If you want your kids to be exposed to good music like Kings of Leon Owl City, Kelly Clarkson, or even the made-for-commercial-sell-out Black Eyed Peas, please just play the music as it was originally intended. You’re welcome.

Please use these simple, helpful Nuggets of Parenting Awesome in your child rearing life. I’ve failed in 1-out-of-4 times, so having a 75% success rate in my own parenting class, I’m giving myself a pass for my one fail.

I need some more tips no one else told you about that you had to find out on your own as you stumble through parenting. TELL ME, DEAR INTERNETS. What more do we need to know?

©2010 A Whole Lot of Nothing. All Rights Reserved. Steal my stuff, I breakayourface.

© Angie [A Whole Lot of Nothing] for A Whole Lot of Nothing, 2010. | Permalink | 24 comments | Add to del.icio.us
Post tags: parenting secrets

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I’m forgiving like that.

I tend to think of the best in people: there was a mistake, they meant well, some random coincidunk happened.

My first thought is that the person did not mean any malice by what was done.

I’m a happy optimist.

But I’m discovering in my daily affirmations and reflections, I can by cynical and negative.

My special brand of funny is to be a dummy cynical and somewhat negative.

I look back at my silly tweets and blog posts and see a negative person.

Except, I’m not.

At least I thought I wasn’t.

Negativity begets negativity. Positivity begets positivity.

Kind of like a living 69.

What you give is what you get.

Karma and energy are one big reciprocating hand job.

I feel that I need to put out to the universe a more positive, cynical-ish hand job.

I just don’t want anything to end up in my eye unless it will make you laugh.

©2010 A Whole Lot of Nothing. All Rights Reserved. Steal my stuff, I breakayourface.

© Angie [A Whole Lot of Nothing] for A Whole Lot of Nothing, 2010. | Permalink | 28 comments | Add to del.icio.us
Post tags: benefit, blogging, cynicism, karma, tweeting

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What that leaves me with is a lifetime of mindless living without goals.

Goals? I don’t haz* them.

Really. No goals.

Why? The only thing I can think of is that I don’t want to fail.

It goes along with the Lazy Perfectionist Theme to my life.

Why make a goal if it’s just going to fail and cause me strife and stress and depression and anxiety because I didn’t follow through?

No goals = No failure

The one and only set of very specific goals I can remember having was shorty after marrying my beloved (barf). I planned to get married, live a little married life having crazy young married sex anywhere we could and not have to schedule it because little people could walk in at any time, travel nowhere, buy a house, have a baby girl right away, then have another baby girl right away.

Goals? I achieved them.

Now? I don’t really know what should be sparkly lucky enough to catch my attention.

What else is there for me to set my sights upon?

The only specific goal I can think of: World Domination

Realistically?

Maybe just keeping a clean, organized home could be a goal.

For real, realistically?

I have absolutely NO idea other than to bathe at least every other day.

You can haz goals for me?

____________________________________________________________

(LOLspeak is stupid.)

©2010 A Whole Lot of Nothing. All Rights Reserved. Steal my stuff, I breakayourface.

© Angie [A Whole Lot of Nothing] for A Whole Lot of Nothing, 2010. | Permalink | 29 comments | Add to del.icio.us
Post tags: goals, ideas, life

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My sister is taking my nephew 104 miles (I google-mapped that shit) away from me. That’s 90 miles farther away from me than he’s been his whole life.

16 months of having Nolan 30 minutes from me.

Now, I’ll actually have to plan to go see him.

No, “Dinner at Toojay’s tonight,” or “Meet us at the park,” or “Funny seeing you here at Target/Best Buy/Buffalo Wild Wings/the mall.” (It’s freaky how many time, out of the 20,000 people that live in the radius between us, that we just happen to be at the same place at the same time so many times.)

We’ll actually have to plan to take a day trip to see the Best Toddler Baby Jeebus and Oprah Ever Created.

Yes, he’s a better toddler than my own kids.

No, I didn’t say cuter, because as you know, I have the cutest kids on the planet.

bygones

I’ll miss my NoNo.

But I think Claire will miss him most.

©2010 A Whole Lot of Nothing. All Rights Reserved. Steal my stuff, I breakayourface.

© Angie [A Whole Lot of Nothing] for A Whole Lot of Nothing, 2010. | Permalink | 10 comments | Add to del.icio.us
Post tags: kids, moving, nolan, photographs, Pictures

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If a bear shits in the woods, does the blog post still stink?

If a camera flash doesn’t go off, does a vampire still show up on film?

If Oprah leaves television, will life still go on?

If a 4-year-old thinks she’s grown up, does she get to miss the awkward years?

If the world ends in 2012, will my lifetime guarantee still be valid?

If I reach the pinnacle of my dreams, will I know I lived my dream?

If this makes sense, will someone tell me?

©2010 A Whole Lot of Nothing. All Rights Reserved. Steal my stuff, I breakayourface.

© Angie [A Whole Lot of Nothing] for A Whole Lot of Nothing, 2010. | Permalink | 30 comments | Add to del.icio.us
Post tags: questions, random

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Way back, a long long time ago when I was 31 and it was 2008, I posted a series of photos from my “awkward” years.

To say the least, it was chock full of dorktasticness, but hey, it was the late 80s, early 90s. That’s pretty much my only excuse for my wardrobe and hair choices.

I can also say that I wasn’t the only one to have LASERS in the background of my school pictures.

How lucky can one girl be? I feel famous to be just like Laser Cat ManBoy.

For SO MUCH MORE of my Awesomeness, I’m in two other places today. I know, I’m magical.

Aiming Low: My Love, My Lappy

Room 704: Nuggets of Awesome

Go, now, comment, show some lovins.

UPDATED
Like any good mother, my husband’s mom wanted to get in on the embarrassment action, so she sent me this gem:

Really, I have uhm… no words.

laser cat photo courtesy: Awkward Family Photos

©2010 A Whole Lot of Nothing. All Rights Reserved. Steal my stuff, I breakayourface.

© Angie [A Whole Lot of Nothing] for A Whole Lot of Nothing, 2010. | Permalink | 41 comments | Add to del.icio.us
Post tags: lasers, links, photographs

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I went through 2-1/2 years of accounting classes and I still can’t tell you what a debit is and what a credit is and why cash is different for both. …see, makes no sense to me either…

1 year of high school accounting
1 semester of Accounting 1101
1 semester of Accounting 1102
1 semester of Business Accounting
1 semester of Hotel Accounting

*NERD ALERT*

But really, it’s not as nerdy as it looks. It’s more sad than nerdy considering I learned nothing from these classes. Really. Nothing.

Here’s where I admit how I completely cheated my way through Business Accounting.

Not just copied off of someone.

Totally cheated.

This may be where The Man comes and takes away my education. If he shows up at my door, I’m totally denying this. Blog fodder. heh…

Back in BI (Before Internet) time, there were these things called Floppy Disks. On the Floppy Disk held an accounting program that had to be installed on my home computer. This program was set up as a mock business that, if you entered the proper numbers, the printout would be a correct accounting sheet of something that I can’t even remember what it’s called. The instructor gave us the answers to each of the final sheet of something that I can’t even remember what it’s called so we could check our work to make sure it was correct. Clearly, it couldn’t be tampered with because the printout was the result of YOUR proper accounting.

Except…

The TRUE nerd in me figured out that we had the same font as the sheet of something that I can’t even remember what it’s called printout.

What do I do to get around actually doing the work and learning? I totally copied the answer sheet using Word and typed out the entire sheet of something that I can’t even remember what it’s called making sure to mess up some numbers on the sheet so as not to raise any red flags of cheating.

But really, after going through all that effort to match the font, the spacing, and re-creating the sheet of something that I can’t even remember what it’s called exactly as the answer sheet looked, I deserved the degrees I earned.

Just don’t ask me to be your accountant unless you have the answer sheet, and I can totally re-create that bastard. But I don’t think the IRS would appreciate my ninja copying skills.

Please, Baby Jeebus and Oprah, tell me I’m not the only one to totally cheat in college.

©2010 A Whole Lot of Nothing. All Rights Reserved. Steal my stuff, I breakayourface.

© Angie [A Whole Lot of Nothing] for A Whole Lot of Nothing, 2010. | Permalink | 36 comments | Add to del.icio.us
Post tags: accounting, cheating, college, ninja

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