Flamingo Pants, Magazines and a Little Bit of Perfume

So, that was a brilliant stroke.  Double your readers, freak out, then lose 'em.  Or maybe feedburner is just fucking with me and they never existed in the first place.  Feedburner has been known to glitch on me from time to time.  Like in February when I started the blog-a-day project and feedburner assured me no one was paying attention.  Zero visitors.  Every day.  Then I reloaded the damn thing and wham-o!  Look at all the visits!  Good one, feedburner, you really had me going there.  pfffbbbttt!

Anyway, I haven't done many fitnessy things this week.  You know, except however many calories raging against the machine burns.  Which I think should be quite a lot but since I watch Biggest Loser, I know that stressful weeks bring small losses to the scale so...crap.  Whatever. 

Behold!  ffffffffffffflllaaaaaaahhhhhhh-MINGO!  PANTS!

They feel just as uncomfortable as they look.  They are a size fucking TWO.  Just wanted you to know that so you don't think I walk around with a muffin top normally.  'Cuz I totally DON'T.  geez.  stupid pants.  But they have little embroidered pink flamingos all over 'em and I think they are freakin' adorable.  So...fitness!  (but sometimes chewing out an assistant principal in your kid's defense takes precedence over sit-ups)

Moving on.  My May issue of Equire came in the mail yesterday.  I love Esquire.  It's like reading the other team's playbook.  Esquire is the only magazine I thoroughly read.  I have a subscription to Elle also, but god...that is one big magazine.  And I really don't care about stuff like the botox debate.  Botox is poison.  End of story.  Plastic surgery?  Eh, not for me either but if that's your thing, have at it.  Too much though and, come on, you have to know how weird you look after a while.  Really?  You don't see it?  Joan Rivers?  Michael Jackson?  Heidi Montag?  They also look fine to you?  Well then...there's nothing I can say that you'll listen to.  Carry on.  Anyway, Elle has cool pictures of clothes I will never, ever be able to afford in a bajillion years and Ask E. Jean is pretty awesome.

I got a subscription to Esquire a few years ago because my college boyfriend used to be one of the Associate Research Editors there and it was my way of stalking him being supportive.  His best friend, who I had a wicked crush on was my friend for a while also, was the editor for the 75th Anniversary issue (and yes I am totally anonymously name-dropping here...don't be disgusted with me).  But besides all that, I think it's a really smart, funny magazine and even though I can't use any of their fashion advice either, I absolutely love their writers.  Tom Chiarella in particular but pretty much all of them.  I've had a writing crush on Mr. Chiarella for some time but his piece on What is a Man inspired full-blown writing love and perhaps set the bar very, very, unrealistically, impossibly high for prospective suitors.  Like when Cary Grant said that everyone wanted to be Cary Grant, even him?  That kind of unrealistic.  Whatever.  chall-AHNGE! and all that.  Wish me luck.

And this month's Equire is all about Women.  So it will be fun to read what they have to say about us.  Different perspectives are so cool.  It's why I like Steve Santagati too.  Sure, he can come off as super cocky sometimes and advising women to show cleavage and wear long hair can seem sexist and antiquated but he's just saying what most men think.  Even though I would love to be instantly recognized for my inner beauty, that is so not going to happen unless the guy is legally blind.  More boob shirts.  More confidence.  More sex appeal.  Got it.  Thanks for the reminder.

Does this post even have a point?  I have no idea.  But I have to go.  Getting ready for a night out with a girlfriend.  Must find appropriately sexy-but-not-slutty outfit and hot roll my hair.  Okay, I'm not really going to hot roll my hair (that takes for EVER and I never get it right) but there will be volumizing product of some sort.  And liquid eyeliner.  And just enough perfume that you have to get close to smell it.  Because when your perfume enters the room before you do and stays after you have left...you're doing it wrong.  Anyway, let the games begin!

Night, y'all!