give a doc a bone.

well mom I've finally made you proud.. i found a doctor.

granted he's my chiropractor and he's married.. but that's the closest I've been to second base in a long time.. and he held me so tightly, it almost felt like he cared.

I'm built like an Orangutan apparently, with my uber high arches in my feet, my long masculine fingers (which I'd imagine are great for climbing trees and beating other monkeys up) and last but not least my strength is that of a pissed off Godzilla. All this information was founded at my initial visit today. He actually referred to me once as "monkey girl". I didn't mind because it was humorous and i thought to myself  "I can't wait to share this" after I eat a banana.

The bed he put me on was one I hadn't seen before, it was standing up right with a foot stool and you stand on it, then he presses a button and it lays you down slowly. However, it made me nervous as it looked similar to what Frankenstein was created on. He could feel my apprehension and answered honestly when I asked him if he was going to kill me. He said no (phew, really dodged a bullet there) and didn't skip a beat when I asked if he was Dr Jekyll.

After being laid out for a couple minutes he started to examine the rest of my hard bod.. allow me to state when i mention my "hard bod" i don't mean i'm fit by any means, i actually quite literaly mean my stone cold, stressed out body parts felt like concrete had been poured into some casper white flesh. this is the point of the visit when i started to think really inappropriately and was only wishing someone else could read my mind and make jokes with me. You cant really blame me though, if a good looking doctor man has his hands on you and says things like "you are so tight, its giving me a real hard time" you're going to giggle.

At the end of the visit I felt totally relaxed, completely limber and when he asked for my contact info you bet your sweet ass I didn't fake number him.

open mouth, insert fashion.

So I woke up today and decided “I’m going to put some effort into my look today” and grabbed a high waisted red skirt detailed with white roses. There’s some teule on the inside to make it puffy around when I stand. I paired with red high heels and a red sleeveless shirt. I’m feeling pretty confident today, not gonna lie. I grabbed my red purse (sounds like a lot of one color but trust me, I look fabulous) and headed to the office.

I walked in and right away the ladies were telling me how much they loved the outfit…then I was approached and this is how the conversation went.

“oh nichole, your outfit is so friggin cute, I wish I could wear that.”
“oh, thank you. I tried today! Haha”
“well it worked. How did you make it so big?”
“make what big? The skirt? Oh there’s some stuff in their to make it poofy but im pretty sure my butt helps”
“no, no. the back of it. It’s friggin big back there”
“yeah I think that’s just my butt”
“no. it’s too big to be just your butt”

then I placed my hand on my own ass and showed her… ain’t no poofin from the skirt.. this ass was tailored just for me!

as a result, i just ran three miles downtown... in my blackest of black spanx sweatsuit.. only thing left "white" on me was my street smarts.

I should report myself.

I've realized what type of Old Lady I'm going to be today... "The Reporter". In the past couple weeks I've been finding myself saying "oh, someone should report him he's gonna kill someone" or "look at that squirrel, someone should report they're craziness they're gonna hurt someone" or "someone should report that girl's too short shorts.. she'll make someone wanna hurt themself." Thinking about getting old doesn't make me feel good beause i have some serious wrinklage in the middle of my forehead already (as i wrote this, i could feel them getting deeper)

I got to thinking if I was allowed to report all the things that pissed me off. I'd start with Corduroy pants.. mainly when people wear corduroy shorts, or try to cut their pants to make shorts. Especially when worn too tight, the way some thighs hang out near each other those thing would set fire in the summer time. i just imagine the sound of the corduroy rubbing together like a peice of sandpaper sounds on bark. ew.

After my parade of hate for those god awful fashion peices i'd skip to talking in the bathroom. Especially since my most recent encounter in the bathroom was so far past awkward I'd almost rather pee with glass doors. What could make a girl want to pee where everyone could see, you ask? well when one of the women at your office stops to ask if you "if you're okay in there" you may as well be. (just an fyi- i was fixing the belt on my dress as it got tucked into my spanx..that's it.. that's all)

The list goes on and on but I suppose I could cast those judgements on another day. I'd like to be in bed before my clock hits tomorrow.