I Don’t Want a Stupid Title

i don’t get american apparel.  they have all these ads with these pseudo sexy models.  but in reality, what we have are some t-shirts on borderline homely chicks.  is there something I’m missing? 

and then what’s with the body suit one?  Is that coming back?  I guess a body suit is all fine and dandy, but it’s really just a bathing suit you wear jeans over, which, if I do say, is kind of dumb. Does going to the bathroom really need to be that difficult?  Who’s coming up with this stuff?

sorry this blog sucks, I’m drunk.

i woke up this morning to find my toilet overflowing and my entire apartment flooded in two inches of water.  That’s toilet water.  I immediately called my landlord, who said he’d send someone over.  Two hours later, my jewel of a maintenance guy showed up, only to hear that I had already fixed the toilet and cleaned the entire apartment.  Then my landlord called me and yelled at me for cleaning it up.  WTF?  What did he expect me to do?  Slosh around in toilet water for two hours, waiting in my watery grave?  Get in my swimsuit, and play marco polo with the neighbor kids? Am I wrong here?

How come those guys who stand at the freeway exit ramps and in the median of busy streets never sell anything anyone actually needs?

No wonder no one ever stops.  Because people are never in gridlock during rush hour trying to figure out what to make for dinner, when they see one of those guys standing on the side of the road, instantly reminding them what they realize they forgot to pick up at the grocery store:  long stemmed red roses!  or was it a bag or oranges?!

See, I fully believe those vendors could easily increase their profits exponentially if they just asked themselves this one question:  what’s the one thing a person rushing to get home might actually need to buy, because TIME IS OF THE ESSENCE.

The answer is simple people!  TOILET PAPER!

Because I don’t know how many times I’ve noticed I’m all out of toilet paper before I left the house at the beginning of the day, and on my way home, needed the facilities in a most urgent way.  I’ll be sitting in traffic, thinking:  “I could stop at 7-11!” ”Idiot!”  my inner monologue replies, “There’s no time for that!”  Left with no real alternatives, you find yourself having to make the kinds of decisions no man should ever have to make, just to arrive home in time for a photo finish (that analogy really doesn’t apply to this situation, but I like it because of the imagery it inspires…that is a man crouching by my toilet with a polaroid).

So, if in a few weeks I start to see guys by the side of the freeway peddling Charmin, you can tell everyone you know, that you knew me when I was just a girl with irritable bowel syndrome and a dream.