In case of emergency, follow the arrows.

This sweater is designed to let everyone know EXACTLY where my vagina is.

Weird new interpretation of “He sees you when you’re sleeping…”

I thought about buying this shirt to wear on Christmas, but then I realized my nipples would be Santa’s eyes, and…nah.

This would never happen in the New Navy.

I’m wearing old-ass Old Navy pants at work today, and just noticed a fun new feature where the zipper is coming down on its own.

Outstanding. That’s outstanding.

At least my underwear is cute?

At least I’m WEARING underwear?

See, this is why I don’t wear pants.

#NoPants for the win.

One of the many things I love about being a woman: I’m at work, wearing a dress similar to this one.

So basically I’m, like, six strategic seams away from wearing lingerie or a long tank top in public, and everyone’s totally fine with it.

My kids would be bad, but they’d be perfectly good at it.

Dispatches From the Department of Why I Don’t Have Children:

I almost never iron my clothes, so I don’t own an ironing board. This morning my shirt was a bit wrinkled…possibly because I keep clean clothes in a pile on the other side of my bed where a man should be, because I am too lazy to hang them up.

So I ironed the shirt using the living room carpet as an ironing board.

I was wearing underwear and my deodorant shirt — a beer-branded fitted tee I wear while doing my hair and makeup so any rogue deodorant marks get on THAT shirt rather than the shirt I wear to work.

I was also running late for work, and listening to a song about S&M at full volume.

Do they have a Kidz Bop “S&M?” I guess I could compromise. FOR THE CHILDREN.

You’re not even a good fragrance of douche.

A few months ago I posted about a man from a neighboring office in my building. I pass him in the hall sometimes and we exchange workplace pleasantries. That day, though, he asked if I’d been dieting, because I looked “really good” and “like I’d lost weight.”

I’ve seen him a few times since, and we were back to, “Good morning, how are you?”

But I just saw him again and he said, “That’s a REALLY nice dress, it looks great on you!” And elevator-eyed me.

Dude, did you skip an HR seminar or something? The last time anyone looked at me like that at work, he and I were screwing around in office closets.

I feel like a hypocrite, too, because I wouldn’t have minded the compliment on my dress coming from a man I was attracted to, or even a man I knew. The phrasing of his weight loss/diet comment was unacceptable from anyone, though — was I previously too much of a heifer to look good?

*sigh* I need another shower.

Weight a minute…

I’ve talked about diet and exercise here 100 times before, so I’m sorry I’ve been Captain Do-Nothing. But I was chatting with my lady contingent, and we all seem to have had some form of weight-related trauma this week.

My clothes have gone from “saucily clingy” to “Oh, honey…,” I’m always tired, and even if I got off the couch to exercise, I’d probably collapse within 5 minutes. Plus I couldn’t donate blood today because my iron levels are too low, as if my steady diet of animal crackers and barbecue chips isn’t providing sufficient nutrients (pfft).

My friends have similar concerns. There’s a general consensus that although we are obviously sexy as fuck at any weight, exhaustion and ill-fitting clothing aren’t as much fun as you’d think.

So. To quote one friend: “We can do this. We are a formidable trio of badass bitches, and we can do anything we set our minds to.”

^ Now, I understand that statement is not WHOLLY true. I seem incapable of getting over relationships, sticking to a budget, or performing neurosurgery. But I can sure as fuck eat a carrot and take a walk now and then. (Well, as soon as Philly isn’t so humid that it feels like we’re being suffocated by ball sacks. But indoor workouts are a go.)

Please don’t give me the ick before I’m caffeinated

Woman near the office coffee: “Oh, I like your sweater, it’s so pretty!”

Me: “Aw, thank you!”

She leaves the room.

Man near the office coffee: “I can’t say anything about your sweater because that would be creepy.”

Me: “Thank you, I appreciate that.”

Though, um…if you didn’t want to be creepy, maybe don’t bring it up at all? What with the wedding ring and all…maybe just shut up?

Also, I am apparently an asshole before I’ve had coffee.

Get it, Sookie. GET IT.

Via Forbes Woman: How Melissa McCarthy’s All-Sizes Clothing Line Hopes To Revolutionize Fashion
  

“How YOU doin’?”

A happy bonus of working in a huge office complex is that, walking through the halls, I often see new people who work in other offices.

New, sexy people. With penises.

And sometimes I see them on casual Friday, when I did realize how clingy my outfit is, but it was too late to change it, so, “Hello, sir. Please behold all the best bits of my body — an hourglass with just the right amount of extra sand in it.” (“Allllll the right junk in allllll the right places.”)

I love my job.