The Bra From Hell

If you have read any of my posts, you will probably know that I have this thing about bras. I admit,they're a necessity. Make that an evil necessity. Going to the store to try on bras is like auditioning for a new act for the Cirque du Soleil. Whoever is responsible for designing bras for "full figured" women has no idea what it's like to wear their creations. I've had my breast, hooters, honkers, gazoombas, boobs shoved up under my chin, pointed in strange directions, mashed flat, and other indescribable contortions.

In the interest of sanity, I decided to order a couple of "minimizer" bras online from a reputable company. I'm not sure how I feel about wearing an article of clothing that resembles an armored car. It should come with instructions and a special license to carry concealed weapons. The minimizer part of this equation creates a unique experience. Would I rather have my tender flesh oozing over the top and jiggling in everybody's face, or have it corralled, compacted and shoved under my arms? On top of that, I can't breath because part of the minimizing process apparently includes a super tight fit around the mid-drift. God forbid that it should break. I shudder at that thought.

What in the @&$^@& were these people thinking? I'm a human being, not a slab of putty to be sliced, kneaded and  molded into oddball shapes. What's next?

The Light of Ishram

Although the shock is starting to wear off, the excitement will never go away. After many years of writing, editing, editing,editing, more editing, and the final edit, I've sold a book. That sounds so good to say. Somebody pinch me. My goal was to find a publisher, not self-publish, and I did it. Coming soon to a bookstore near you. Well...in about a year.

The Light of Ishram

This is not my story. I, Bovinias Snawg, am but the Keeper of Records for the Druid Council and ‘tis my duty to record history as it's retold to me. The Thousand Years War has blasted the known worlds of man, elves, trolls and other magical beings asunder. Written and oral history is all but obliterated. Mankind muddles through a second Dark Age. As God is my witness I do my worthless best to avoid another such tragedy.

Healing of the races has begun, but the future of the reunited worlds hang in the balance. This is the recounting of the epic tale to recover the mysterious Light of Ishram before it’s destroyed and plunges eternity into chaos. Here, I set history to paper as faithfully as one man is able.

Babysitting

I've been babysitting my  grandson since Friday. What a reminder in frustration. He's a sweet boy, but he's also four years old. I've been talking to myself a lot, because he's sure not listening to me.  I remember now why I don't want to do this full time. I'm too old for this!

Political Overload

I am so ready for this election  to be over. I  am not a political guru. I don't argue politics with friends or family. I have strong convictions and know who I'm going to vote for, so...get out of my face with the phone calls and insulting commercials.

Why can't a candidate just say, "These are  my qualifications, please vote for me"? Instead we get the "truth" interpreted for us through the courtesy of political ad men who can make you doubt your own name and gender.

The truth taken out of context and embellished with emotionally charged rhetoric  grows into the stuff monsters are made of. I say, vote for the candidate of your choice, but remember, what you  see isn't necessarily what you get.

To be trite, may the best man win. Who's the best man? Depends on which ad you believe.