Usually, I purchase some iteration of Secret, any scent but baby powder scent because why do I want to smell like a child molester, but this time I decided to mix it up and get another brand and boy, was that a mistake.
So many of my problems in this life are connected to the Internet, and this is one of them. I read some article, The Best Deodorant Out There or Your Life is Sad if This is What You Read About or something, and it said this one brand, which I don't want to trash by using its name, because mean, and Mr. and Mrs. Dry Idea and family will have a ruined holiday season, but the article said it was the best, and while it's true it never does that horrific staining-of-the-garments thing that is THE WORST, the reason it never stains your garments was because it doesn't go on.
Oh my lord, was that one sentence?
Like, you know how it is, right? You shower, you get out and dry off (are you getting turned on just picturing me?) and then you apply deodorant. Well, not THIS brand. If you have ONE MOLECULE of moisture on you, it will not work. ONE MOLECULE. You'll be tugging away with your stick of deodorant, and it'll be all, You THOUGHT of water just now! Uh-uhhhh! It even does a little indignant head bob.
So I find myself now scrubbing at myself furiously with my towel, which currently is from The Ned Collection, and it's a manly butterscotch color, and in my whole life I never thought I'd use a towel from the brown family but there it is. Life throws the curve balls at you.
June's blog. Stay for the sports analogies.
I mean, I could have summed up that whole thought with, My new deodorant is buggin'. But what makes me heroic is I haven't rushed out and bought a new stick of reliable-but-leaves-you-doing-your-Jack-White-impression-with-the-white-stripe-on-your-garment Secret. I like how I keep saying "garment" like I'm from some foreign country. Like I'm Latka.
I love this video. It's exactly what I feel like when they give me the gas at the dentist.
Last night The Poet, who hails from Iowa and it's weird when she turns into small icy rocks like that, came back from Christmas with her family in Elmira, except it wasn't Elmira, it was Iowa and I just TOLD you that, ya nincompoop.
Anyway, The Poet flew in from Iowa and the TALL BOY, who's ALSO from Iowa, flew in from Iowa, too, both a little after 9 p.m., but on completely different flights. Ned and I schlepped out to the airport to get them because we are magnificent people. Both of their flights were early and I don't know what to tell you about all this efficiency out of Iowa.
The point is, when The Poet came down the concourse, I pretended we hadn't seen each other in years, and did extremely dramatic fake crying and screeched down the hall with my arms out. The Poet is a quiet Iowa-type person, so you can imagine her joy at my display. I swooped her right up and hugged her and said, 'It's me! June!"
Then when everyone got settled and we were headed to baggage claim, I said, "How was everyone in Iowa?"
The Poet said, "Well, everyone in my family was throwing up, so."
That was precisely what I wanted to hear.
I'm going to work today and tomorrow, then I took the 31st off and they gave us the Onest off, too, because everyone gets the Onest off. In unrelated news, am going to stare at self in mirror and sing If a Picture Paints a Thousand Words, for my use of "onest."
Does anyone have any new year's resolutions? Those always fascinate me. Also, will someone buy me a Fitbit Flex? The slate blue one? Am obsessed with how bad I want one and am too cheap to purchase. Maybe if I call Mr. Fitbit and say, "Will you send me a free one, just this onest time?" he'll mail me one.
Okay, going. It's raining here and no one will go out to pee and I'm worried sick, and may have to walk outside with an umbrella over my dogs like they're P Diddy. Except they're Won't-Pee Diddy.
Am on fire today.
P.S. Crap. Forgot to plug latest Purple Clover article.