Welcome to Snarkfest

Welcome to my snarky corner of the web. Join me as I discuss everything from wine to chocolate. There may be a few other topics mixed in there too. I talk a bunch about my amazing offspring, 24 and 21. I sometimes go on and on about my secret crush on the amazing Mike Rowe. I talk about things that irritate me or things that make me happy. Sometimes I just talk to hear myself talk. Feedback is always appreciated but please make sure it's respectable. No nudity or profanity. I'm the only one allowed to be profane. But any and all snark is welcome and appreciated!

Friday, February 28, 2014

Celebrating REAL stars again...

It's been over a year since I posted this, but I feel that in light of all the recent crap that's been in the headlines (Kimye, Robin Thicke's divorce, Miley eating underwear to name a few), I wanted to dust this one off and bring it back. It's worth reading again. In my humble opinion. And since Shepherd University's Relay for Life is just around the corner, and because next week, my friend Holly Frye will once again be taking a group of Shepherd University students on a week called "Alternative Spring Break" to build a house for Habitat for Humanity, it was worth bringing back. So I give you Real Stars vs. Fake Stars, because I love Holly and I want you all to love her too.
Photo courtesy Shepherd University

Wednesday, February 26, 2014

Hoping for An Interview With the Dirty One....

I'm sure you've all read my post about how I am the Mike Rowe Expert, right? Well I've got a confession to make. I'm not really. People seem to THINK I am, but I'm not. I know what everyone else on the internet knows. Or thinks they know. I may know just a teensy bit more than the average fan because I used to post frequently at the Dirty Jobs Message Board before the proverbial shit hit the proverbial fan for the Dirty Jobs 150th Episode Party. My friend Theresa was fortunate enough to attend and I was so jealous I wanted to vomit thrilled for her I could hardly contain myself. Knowing that she was as huge a fan of Mike's as I was, and having met her and knowing she was such an awesome lady, I was honestly happy for her. But lots of hurt feelings happened and the board was never the same. At the time though, the really cool thing about being a member of the message board was that Mike used to post there all the time. And he'd answer questions, talk about his "sweetie by the bay" and trade banter with the folks who put him where he was and kept him dirty. The other cool thing was that some of the stars of Dirty Jobs also used to post there (Kristen the snake handler, Farmer Bob from Vegas to name a few). Ah those were the days.

Dirty picture courtesy of Discoverychannel.com
Nowadays, Mike posts frequently to Facebook. He even responded to my post on his wall (the one where people think I'm an expert). So it just stands to reason that since people THINK I know my Mike Rowe facts, I should probably try to learn more. I hate to let folks down.

Photo courtesy of my Facebook wall, bitches!

So here's what I'm hoping is going to happen. I'm going to post this blog. Then I'm going to share it on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, Google+, Mike's FB wall, bathroom walls, telephone poles, cork boards at grocery stores and everywhere I can find on the net to get Mike's attention. And I'm going to beg him for an interview. It won't be a stale old interview on what is favorite Dirty Job was, or how he feels now that he and Ford have parted ways.

No this interview will be like speed dating. I'm going to try to ask as many off the wall questions as I possibly can as if I've never heard of him. There may be some QVC references, possibly some questions about his old haunts in Maryland, but it won't be a journalist questioning a celebrity. It'll be a fan girl woman questioning a hott guy. (the rule on the old DJMB was that when we referred to Mike as hot, we always put an extra 'T' on the end for good measure.).

How about it Mike? Can I interview you? Please? Could be via Skype, FB message, email, phone, carrier pigeon, smoke signal, Google+ Hangout (if I figure out how the hell that works). Or it could be face to face, in April, chaperoned of course, when I buy the first round. Please let me know. I'm sure the 7 lovely people who read my blog would be very happy for me if you granted me an interview. Hell, I'll even add an extra "T" to hott when I'm referring to you. What do you say?

And what do YOU, dear readers, want to know about Mike Rowe? Fire away with your questions and if (when) I get a chance to interview him, I'll ask him what inquiring minds want to know!

Tuesday, February 25, 2014

Tuesday Tirade.......Hollywood edition

Holy crap! Did you hear!? Robin Thicke and Paula Patton are divorcing!! Oh my God! Who cares?! Seriously. I would've left him after he dressed up like Beetlejuice, but whatever. Did I think he actually had anything to do with the whole Twerking-Miley circus? No. That was all on her. But his outfit for those awards shows? **shudders!!!

I care more about the fact that Harold Ramis died than I do about a celebrity couple breaking up. I hate that crap. Harold Ramis was pure comic genuis. Who didn't love Egon Spengler? Who didn't crack up at Animal House? He was a master and now, he's gone. THAT hits me more than Hollywood couples splitting.

I could NOT care any less about Kim and Kanye, Brad and Angelina, Jen and Ben, Gwyneth and what's-his-name. Could NOT care any less. You know what I think is cool? Jennifer Lawrence, because she DOESN'T take herself too seriously. It's called self-deprecation and it's an awesome quality to possess.

Being able to laugh at yourself is such a wonderful thing. It puts those around you at ease and IN MY OPINION, makes people enjoy being with you. Who doesn't like to laugh? I think that's one of the reasons I find George Clooney and Tom Hanks so damned sexy. They make people around them laugh, they don't take themselves too seriously and they are outspoken against causes without making people want to vomit.

What is the point of this post? I don't really know. I'm not sure where I'm going with it other than to vent about yet another Hollywood marriage breaking and how little I care when there are so many other MORE IMPORTANT things going on in the world that deserve to be in the headlines.

For example, Snuffles the double-nosed pup has been adopted! Go Snuffles!

How about Owen Howkins and Haatchi? The boy has a genetic disorder, the dog has 3 legs.

Together they complete each other and their story is heartwarming. Seriously, I'd rather watch THIS video a thousand times than to hear ONE MORE THING about Kanye and Kim.

They say that knowledge is power, and I believe that being informed is important. But being overloaded with shit that's not important, like a couple that I've never met getting divorced, is just overkill. Too much information is NOT a good thing. It makes us cold, it makes us less likely to feel. If there were more touching stories in the media, stories like Haatchi and Snuffles, we'd be a more caring country. That's just my two cents, for what it's worth.

And look! I went a whole blog post without mentioning my pretend boyfriend Mike Rowe! Throw me a party!

Saturday, February 22, 2014

I must be the Mike Rowe expert......

Why do people ask me this? If he's married, he's not married to me.
Judging by the number of people each week that find my blog by searching for Mike Rowe, they must think I know something that they don't. Who am I to tell them I don't know him?? I love the man. That's no secret. Is he married? Not that he'll admit. Is he married to me? No, not yet.

I'm married to my wonderful husband Dan, er, Doug....um, Dean? Never mind, his name isn't the point right now. The point IS that for some odd reason, week in and week out people keep finding my blog by asking if Mike Rowe is married or gay.

Let me be clear: Mike Rowe is NOT married to me. Mike Rowe, to the best of my knowledge, is NOT gay. If Mike Rowe was either married or gay, it wouldn't change the fact that I love him. My husband knows this, and considering that I will probably never have Mike Rowe show up at my door asking to either steal ME away from my husband, or steal MY HUSBAND away from me, I think he's totally okay with it.

And Mike, if you're reading this, Hey Mike! Next time you're visiting your folks in Baltimore, look me up on FB on my Snarkfest page and I'll buy you a beer or three. Bring your wife (if you have one) or your husband (I'm not buying him a beer).

Oh and the search term 'clover'? I have NO clue.

Friday, February 21, 2014

Opportunists really piss me off......

I originally posted this on another site where I blog, The Epistolarians and now I've got an update to the story. And SURPRISE! I'm even MORE  pissed now!

There’s something that really chaps my ass and I just can’t keep quiet about it any longer.  I know a lot of people who have cried poor over the years. And I know some of them really are in need, I totally get that. And I’m not judging these people who are really down and out, nor am I degrading them in any way. However, there is a certain type of person who very well may be poor but this type of person repeatedly comes out on top of most things only because people feel sorry for them and give them things that by rights they should earn on their own. And while it doesn’t affect me, it affects those people that I truly care about. And it’s time I got this off my chest, so here goes.

There’s this girl, we’ll call her Beulah. And Beulah had gotten herself in a bad way. But ever the trooper, Beulah did what she needed to do, and now has an offspring. Beulah was a single mother relying on her parents to help her out. She also relied on her friends. A lot. But not for what you might think. She didn’t rely on those friends to help her financially take care of her offspring (let’s call him Paco). She didn’t rely on those friends to help pay for Paco’s clothes, schooling, food, etc. No, she depended on these friends to get her into things: clubs, shows, concerts, all the places that responsible adults pay to get to themselves. But not Beulah. 

Beulah sees an opportunity to take advantage and jumps on it. Now, I know that the early bird catches the worm and you have to carpe the diem and seize the day and all that bullshit, but there’s a big difference between taking the bull by the horns to get what you want, and getting others to get it for you. And that’s what pisses me off. Here’s a great example of what I’m talking about.

Recently, Beulah ran into more financial difficulties (again). And Beulah’s amazing, and generous friends started helping her out. The asked others to help out too. And really, when you see that a stranger is in need, of course the right and just thing to do is to help out. However, what Beulah’s friends (and these poor unsuspecting strangers) THINK she’s going to do with the money, and what she’s actually PLANNING on doing with the money are two very different things. I’m not psychic, but I do follow things on the old innerwebz. This ain’t my first time at the rodeo. And I know that while Beulah is making everyone and their mother aware that people are collecting money for her, she’s also got her eye on things she’s already planning on buying with this money. Things that, SURPRISE! Have nothing whatsoever to do with helping Paco (unless Paco wants to listen to old vinyl or hang posters) 

Now here's an UPDATE to the original post: Guess who is going on a cruise!!! If you guessed Beulah, you'd be correct! That's right, friends and neighbors, for all of you who donated to her cause to help her out financially, you've paid for her trip to the Caribbean! Congratulations. In my black little heart, if I donated to her because she was having financial difficulties and then I found out she was taking a Caribbean vacation on my dime, I'd be pissed as hell. But that's just me. If you donated to her and are happy for her that she's getting some time away from her son, then you are a better person than I am. Fo' shizzle.

This type of person, an opportunist, annoys the shit out of me. Honestly, aggravates me to no end. Want another example? Years ago I worked in Atlantic City. And at that time, one of the people in my department (let’s call her Hortense) called into the office to say that her son had been killed in a car accident. We were all shocked and saddened at this. Her son was about 8 years old. It was tragic and awful and we all took up a collection for Hortense, as we knew she didn’t have much and thought money would be better than flowers to get through a funeral and a horrible time in her life. We collected close to $1000 and gave it to her. And Hortense was grateful.  A few days later, someone from our department called her house to check to see how she was coping, how she was dealing with this tragedy. She didn’t answer, but her mother did. And her mother informed us that Hortense’s son had NOT, in fact, died in a tragic car accident. The boy was right there in the room with her. And Hortense was at work. When we explained to Hortense’s mother what had transpired, and that Hortense was NOT, in fact, at work, she apologized, horribly embarrassed at what Hortense had done. That was the last time we ever heard anything about Hortense. 

So you see, people can be sneaky and underhanded and that makes me sick. I earn my money, if I am facing hard times, I don’t expect others to give me money to get through. I don’t expect others to give me money to go to movies, concerts, trips, etc. If I can’t afford it myself, I’m not expecting others to foot the bill for me. And people who DO this, without guilt, with no conscience, irritate me.

Tuesday, February 18, 2014

Late evening Tuesday Tirade......

See this dog right here? This is a rottweiler/basset hound mix. Giant head, low-rider body. Funniest looking dog I've ever seen, and I have a friend who has 2. They're like bookends. Gargoyles. Roller skates. Adorable.

Unless you're trying to drive out of the driveway and they hold you hostage. Then, not so adorable. Then, you want to scream. Case in point: I picked up my friend's daughter Sally to take her to volleyball practice with my daughter, 14. Enter Skippy and Scrappy, the twins. I pulled into the driveway and Skippy came running out to greet me. As Sally got into the car, Scrappy joined Skippy and they proceeded to go ballistic on my car. Unfortunately, my car sits up a little too high for me to see them going ballistic on my car. So picture this in your mind. I'm in my Chevy Traverse trying to back up to turn around to get out of the driveway. I can HEAR them barking, but I can't see them. I ask Sally if they'll move if I drive, she says "Probably.....well, Scrappy will, I don't know about Skippy." That's helpful.

I pulled forward about 3 inches and I could hear them barking and I could see the shadow of tails wagging in my headlights, but damned if I could see them. I had no clue where they were. Were they in front of me? Were they next to me? Was I going to run over their little paws? Did I turn off the iron? Who shot JR?

Sally told me to just drive, they'll 'probably get out of the way'. Probably isn't going to explain to your daddy why he's down one dog and why I have puppy guts in my tire treads. It wasn't bad enough that they are too low for me to see from my car, what was worse was that I could hear them but couldn't tell where they were. And I had to get the girls to practice. So I started sweating and driving really slowly, expecting at any moment to hear a whine/yelp/crunch. I'd see one jumping ahead of the car but couldn't see the other one. Then they'd both disappear and for crying out loud I've only gone 6 feet and these people have a 300 foot driveway. WHY?? My only saving grace was the invisible fence. That's RIGHT! There's an invisible fence! I asked Sally where the fence line was, and her response was 'about halfway down the driveway'. What? Are you kidding me? I had made it 6 feet. I still had 144 feet to go before these dogs would hit the barrier and turn around.

Slowly I inched my way forward, dodging dogs, expecting to flatten one at any second. How would I explain this to the volleyball coach? Sorry coach, the girls would've been on time but I was being held hostage by two barking ottomans?

Not a real dog

Finally after nearly having a heart attack with the dogs jumping in front of my car, then running around back, then along the sides, all completely invisible to me, I was finally able to break free and leave the property. The girls were only a few minutes late to practice. However, it is now time to go back and pick them up and drop Sally back off at her house. I may park at the front and walk her up the driveway. Or I may take my chances and play chicken with the dogs. We'll see if Skippy will really move. Probably. Hopefully....

Wednesday, February 12, 2014

Outrage at the killing of dogs at the Olympics

I may be a little late to the party on this one but WOW am I aggravated! I have heard about the killing of dogs in Sochi for the Olympics but I had no idea that the issue was as bad as it is. I saw this clip on Freakbook this morning and I was just horrified at the numbers, and infuriated at the lack of regard for these animals. Watch this 6 minute clip from Keith Olbermann's show on ESPN2 and explain to me how the entire world isn't completely outraged at what's happening to these dogs. Just to be truthful, there is nothing graphic in this video clip, but the end result is heartbreaking.

Video clip courtesy of DailyKos.com 

The sickest and saddest part is when he says that the friendliest dogs are the easiest to catch. They have NO idea what is about to happen to them. The Russian government should be ashamed, the IOC should most DEFINITELY be ashamed for turning a blind eye to what's happening and the world needs to have eyes opened to this travesty. Do they seriously expect the public to believe that there is a rabies epidemic in Sochi? It's insulting and pathetic that they would come up with excuses and expect the public to digest their lies.

Go hug your dog, your cat or whatever your favorite pet is, and just be thankful that they aren't running free in Russia. My heart breaks for those poor animals.

Tuesday, February 11, 2014

Tuesday Tirade....

Oh for the love of all that's holy, we're getting more snow. I believe we may be making up for all those nice winters where we only had a dusting of snow, and all those blistering hot summer days when we were bitching about the oppressive heat and humidity. Well guess what! WE GET IT. You've made your point. So enough with the snow already!

It's not bad enough that we've missed about seventy-bajillion days of school, but we've also had to reschedule dozens of basketball games! If we don't soon get these kids back to school they're going to have to make up all of their missed games in one day. (Although, they WILL sleep well if we do that. Hmmmm)

My girls have been complaining that even when they have off school due to snow, it's not really even a day off because I leave them a list of chores to do. Yes, that's right. Free slave labor! I put those kids to work and I work them to the bone! I work them for hours and hours, not giving them a break, to HELL with child labor laws. This ain't no democracy! Want to see the long list of things I "MADE' them do last week when we had a(nother) snow day? Here it is:

16: Unload dishwasher, help get all clean clothes off guest bed, clean your room
14: Load dishwasher, help get all clean clothes off guest bed, clean your room

What kind of horrible mother AM I?? Who makes their kids work this hard? Shouldn't I just let them be kids, let them do what they should be doing, like what normal kids do? You know, texting, snap-chatting, insta-gramming and tweeting? Kids don't even go sledding anymore. They don't want to go outside where it's cold when they can stay inside and be warm and work on their iPhone Brain Rot.

Here's what happened when I came home from work after leaving them with that huge, and totally unreasonable list of things to do while they were off from school. I was getting ready to make my macaroni, cheese and ham casserole (a favorite at Casa Snarkfest) and I needed to find my 9x13" casserole dish. It was in the sink. Dirty. Still.

When I questioned WHY said casserole dish was still dirty, the response I got was "It wouldn't fit in the dishwasher." When I questioned why no one chose to actually HAND wash that casserole dish and anything ELSE that didn't fit into the dishwasher, the response I got was "Well THAT wasn't on the list."

That was when my head exploded. There was brain matter everywhere. On the clean dishes, on the stove, on the dog's fur, it was ugly. Once again, I used my go-to phrase: "Are you fucking kidding me?" My tirade that evening was second to none and now I think that my kids understand that when I say load the dishwasher, the final result means that there isn't a fork, spoon or cup left in the sink. If it doesn't fit in the dishwasher, wash it by hand. It's not rocket science, but if I have to explain it again, flames will shoot out of my eyeballs and Godzilla will rear her ugly head again. And nobody wants that to happen.

My dogs love the snow but I think even THEY are tired of it.  This is what Henry looks like when he comes inside from being out in the snow.

Henry has snowballs. Sadly for him they're the only balls he's got.
Look at that sad face!! Poor thing looks like he's got little white tumors all over his fur. That's the face of an unhappy dog, covered in balls. That can't be comfortable. Mother Nature is making my dog miserable. So please, Mother Nature, give my dog a break. Give my kids a break. And for heaven's sake, give ME a break! NO MORE SNOW!!

Sunday, February 9, 2014

Finally, panties I can promote

Remember back when I first started blogging and I told you about Positive Panties? No? Life coaches everywhere had their panties in a bunch because I was mocking these wonderful undergarments. Go read about it, I'll wait.

All caught up? Good. Now, that campaign was done by some very touchy-feelie chicks, and I've got nothing against them. But THIS. THIS is an awesome campaign. Are you ready for it? PERIOD PANTIES.


I'm not getting a cut of the profits but I can tell you, I'd LOVE to get a few pairs of these awesome little unmentionables for my girls. NOT because they need to give their boyfriends a message (hell, I'd make them wear these ALL the time if they had boyfriends, under their chastity belts of course). No, I'd get these panties for one reason. Two words: BLACK CROTCH. That's all I'm going to say.

With names like Dawn of the Red, Evil Beaver and Shark Week, they are fashionable AND funny. So throw out those positive panties and get yourself some Period Panties.

Seriously, I didn't get paid for this, I just found these to be fun and pretty much the opposite of Positive Panties.

Oh and they come with temporary tattoos called Cramp Stamps! How fun is that?

Thursday, February 6, 2014

Small fish, big pond. So I just keep swimming....

I've got a confession to make. I never thought I'd be a blogger. Seriously, writing never even crossed my mind until I hit my mid-40's. In all honesty, I don't even consider myself a writer. I'm more of a ranter. I like to bitch about stuff, and I do so with humor. That's pretty much my niche.

I was talking to a fellow blogger the other day, one who has an agent. She told me that she's been rejected several times by real, reputable publishers. She said one of the reasons is that she didn't have a platform. In my mind, I'm thinking a platform means you have to stand up for something like one-armed pygmy Korean vegetarian children. I started to worry because I don't have anything like that. She laughed at me and said that a platform means you have a big audience. Like huge. Like 5 digits or more. Huh. That rules me out. I currently have 98 people who subscribed to receive an email anytime I post a blog. I have 145 people who follow me on Google+ (which I still haven't figured out yet) and I've got just over 2800 "Likes" on my Facebook page. Hardly a 'platform'. Barely even a step stool.

As a writer/blogger, I want people to like my stuff. I want people to read and comment on my posts. I am looking for approval and for people to like me. Would I like for MORE people to like my stuff? Hell yes. However, as I've heard time and time again, bigger isn't always better. A bigger audience means more eyes looking at you, more people to judge you, and more pressure to be ON. I've seen some of my friends who have posts picked up by bigger sites like Huffington Post, Reddit or Technorati, and some of those posts have been absolutely skewered by trolls, douchenozzles and assbags with awful comments. Do I want that kind of reaction if I was to have a post go big? No effing way! I hate criticism and rejection. It makes me feel awful, so to have something that I put my heart and soul into go big would be great, but to have it be the target of haters would be devastating.

I wouldn't mind having a bigger audience (as long as they like me). But with a bigger audience comes more pressure to entertain people. The thought of having something actually go viral excites me but it also scares the pee out of me. Seriously, if I went viral, then I'd feel pressure to be consistent with my content. I'd be afraid every time I hit the 'publish' button that my latest post won't live up to the BIG one that got me the BIG attention and the BIG numbers. Being funny, witty, or even thought-provoking isn't something that you can switch on and off. I don't wake up in the morning and say "I'm gonna be a funny bitch today." Most of the things I say that people find funny are a result of a situation I'm in or something that someone tells me about. I write off the cuff. My posts are almost all stream-of-consciousness. I don't prepare stuff ahead of time, I don't outline my material. I just sit down and write. If it's funny, great. If it's not, then no one will like it. But the bigger your audience (IN MY OPINION anyway) the more pressure you have to entertain.

I am happy that I have the audience I have, I'm happy to be a small-time blogger. I don't know if I'd like to be a big well-known author. Maybe I'd like the chance, but more likely than not, I'd succumb to the pressure to please, and I'd quit. So what if I don't have tens of thousands of followers. That's less people to throw eggs at me if they see me walking down the street and yell "Hey, Snarky, your stuff isn't as funny as it used to be." I don't need that kind of pressure. I'm happy to be a little fish in a big pond.

I just wish there was a bigger payment for being a little fish.

Tuesday, February 4, 2014

Somebody save me from myself

I can't be the only one that this has happened to. Please tell me I'm not alone. Please?

It was a beautiful Saturday afternoon in the fall, and I went out for a nice, relaxing day of shopping. No husband, no kids, just me and my credit card. Ahhhh, so nice to get out and do something nice for me. I don't have to pick anything up for anyone else, I can be selfish and pick out a few nice things just for myself. Husband had plenty of socks and under-thingies, kids had been out shopping the week before and I didn't have to take out a second mortgage on the house, so I did what any red-blooded American mom would do. I went shopping. For myself.

I strolled around the store, browsing. Such pretty things on the racks. I pulled out a few nice looking blouses, a few pairs of pants and this adorable dress that would've been perfect for my nephew's wedding the following month. I took my haul into the dressing room, dropped trou and began trying things on.

And that's when the misery started.

The pants were too tight. When the hell did that happen?? Shopping by yourself is great, don't get me wrong, but it's also nice to have a minion around in such cases where you love the pants but hate the fit and need another pair (in a goddamn bigger size). So I took them off and hung them up and then put them on the "sorry clothes, you're not coming home with me today" hook. It's a sad hook, really.

After being disgusted by the next several pieces I tried on, and putting them all on the 'No effing way' hook, I got to the dress. It was adorable. It was a tea-length, long-sleeve number that you pulled over your head and zipped up the back. It was somewhat sheer at the top but not in a tasteless, 'leave nothing to the imagination, you look like a two-bit hooker' sheer. Just above the hooters. From the hooters down it was dark green velvet with shimmery gold thingies woven into the fabric. So pretty. I took it off the hanger, unzipped it and put that bad boy right over my head and pulled it down.

With only a little bit of a struggle.

I was able to zip it up about halfway because I don't have extra long monkey arms. And when I looked at myself in the mirror, in this adorable dress, I frowned. It looked so much prettier on the hanger.

There was a quote from a comedian that my husband and I will use sometimes:

Woman: "This doesn't look like much on the hanger but it looks so much better on"
Man: "On what? On fire?"

Sadly, I wasn't going to buy that dress that day, because it just wasn't working for me. So I moved my non-monkey arms to the back and attempted to unzip it. And it got stuck. That's when panic started to creep up on my. I began to sweat. Then I began talking to myself. "Oh God no, don't start sweating, dumbass, you'll NEVER get it off if your body's tacky with sweat." And yes, it was out loud. That's how I roll. Sweaty and chatty in a dressing room, trapped in a dress.

When you're sweaty and wearing something tight, then you try to take off that tight thing, that tight thing doesn't want to work its way off of sweaty skin. It wants to stay on you. It mocks you. It laughs at you. It says "Sorry fat ass, you're not getting rid of me that easily. This is fun!" The more I moved, the stronger the hold the dress had on me. I tried to work my arms out of the sleeves but the dress was having none of it. My arms were stuck in something equivalent to Chinese finger traps.

Photo courtesy: OrientalTrading.com

The dress was not letting me go. I was destined to be stuck in this green velvet dress for the rest of my life. I guess if you think about it, I'd save money on new clothes. Oh what the hell was I thinking, I had to get out of that dress and quick!

It was then that I heard someone entering the dressing room. And I did what any mature, grown woman would do. I shouted "Can you help me????" at the top of my lungs. I said "I swear to God I'm not some psychopath pervert, but the zipper is stuck and I can't get out of my dress!" Thank goodness the lady didn't turn and run out of the dressing room and call the cops. Instead, I opened the door and turned my back to her and she was able to release me from the jaws of death. (shut up, that's what it felt like at the time). I thanked her profusely and may have even offered my kids' babysitting services, I didn't care, I was just thrilled to be free from the monster.

I sat down for a few minutes to allow my sweaty body to dry off a bit and was finally able to get the dress over my head and pull my arms out of the sleeves. I hung the dress back on the hanger, still a little damp from my sweat and put it on the 'I wouldn't buy you if you were the last dress on the planet' hook. I put my clothes back on, gave the dress the finger and headed out of the store.

Then I went to Dairy Queen for some Blizzard therapy.