Friday, February 26, 2010

There She Goes Writing About Underwear...AGAIN....

Dear Victoria's Secret Cotton Bikinis (oh, and you too Walgreen 3 pack for $5.99),

The time has come for us to part ways. It's definitely you not me. Since middle school...I have worn your "kind"... and I have owned the saggy butt, the fraying crotch, the unstretchy elastic...but I have to say....that you kinda suck and I'm over you....I wanna find someone new.

Where did we go wrong? Why couldn't you just lay light and flat across my flesh? Instead, you pulled, and slid, and split my ass cheeks in me four lumps and the dreaded panty line. I can't even tell you about all the remarks I have to endure from my co-workers.

I tried your little brother's style....the "Boy Short"....but he fared no better. That little f*cker gave me a bitchin' case of fredge (front wedge)....I believe the technical term is "Camel Toe". Maybe one can get by pickin' their seat once in a while throughout the day...but there is never a time or place to pick anything out of your crotch. I just don't approve.

So...attempting to evade the earth shattering appearance of the "panty line"...I broke my own personal moral code and...gulp...attempted to floss my ass. TOO MANY TIMES. I just don't get how I just didn't "get it". THONGS SUCK! Everyday I wore one of those vaginal torture devices...I was a bitch in Brandi's clothing. I would squeal into the driveway after a long day of work...ass crack rubbed raw...and fumble up the stairs to get to you my bikinilicious friend. But no more. You will be my polka dotted, zebra striped, white cotton more.

You and your "family" of organic breathability have really let me down. I have had to choose between 4 ass cheeks in the back, a set of lady balls in the front, or rug burn on my...well on my rug. I'm at my wit's end.

I'm setting you to fall apart and pill at will; free to separate body from elastic waist. You can squander someone else's dignity and/or derriere. I'm done. I've come to believe that bamboo or modal or even rayon may be a better fit for me. I hope you understand. Good luck and Godspeed. I may keep some of you around for that one glorious week a month know...uh...I'm riding the crimson wave...or whatever.


P.S. Does anyone know of a good pair of organic undies that do not make their owner's ass cheeks look like a couple of hogs dancing under a blanket? (aka...cause no panty lines) My ass will forever be indebted to your wisdom and suggestions.

Wednesday, February 24, 2010

Plushenko Is A Whiny Little Bitch....With A Bad Haircut...

For those of you who witnessed the Olympic greatness known as Evan Lysecek the other know...America dominated...and the Russians....whined like little bitches.

Evan was awesome! He spun and jumped and "snaked" his way across the ice and straight to GOLD. I do kind of wish Evan would've taken a little wardrobe advice from Johnny Weir...he could've changed it up a bit from this:

To this: least he didn't look like this:

Yevgeny Plushenko (what the hell kinda name is Yevgeny anyway) looks like he ripped off his outfit from a second hand shop dealing only in attire from 1981. And the hair???? Uh....hello? Russia? Anybody home? The mullet is best left on the tracks at Nascar. Nuf said.

So, after Evan won the Gold, Plushenko began his tirade. He whimpered and whined, bad mouthed and pouted. Then....he decided to award himself a Platinum medal. ??????? On his blog, he stated that because he pulled a Quad in the competition...he should've won. He goes on to say that if the others can't jump a Quad at the Olympics...they are just basically ice dancing. WAAHH WAAHH WAAH.

To Yevgeny I say: "Go take a shot of vodka and a chill pill. You lost. Deal with it. And get a hair need one. And P.S. you looked like a loser in the photo below. Work on it.

As for the rest, Skeleton people are nuts! You couldn't pay me to go face first down an ice slick. Bode Miller....congrats on the medals, but you're still a tool. Ice Dancers...way to go, but I liked the Americans better. (I am not whining here) American Bobsled dude wearing the tight need a girdle, your spare tire and man boobs aren't really a great ratings booster...and they hurt my eyes. American ski jumper missing the tooth...uh...could you have at least seen the dentist before bazillions of people around the world had to witness your jack-o'-lantern grin? I mean really? You could've even just put a white sticker over the space or stuck a Chicklet in there or some shit like that. All in all....Olympics...I love you and still can't get enough.

That's all for now,

Thursday, February 18, 2010


Happy Birthday Dad!

I love you more than any written word word could say. Thank you for my life. I can't believe you are 60!!!!!! You look so damn young! I'm proud to have you as my father. I am thankful to have you as my Dad. I hope you have a kick ass day!

Love you BIG TIME!!!

P.S. I'll call you later.

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

Ice Burns On The Ass Crack...But The Image Is GOLDen.,,

Great Britian's Gillian Cooke going for the Gold, and "cracking" under the pressure.

The Olympics wear me out. My stomach is all in knots. I find myself dreaming about false starts, double axels, salchows, moguls, O' Canada,

I literally get beads of sweat on my brow at the tense moments close to the finish...right before a jump, on the last lap. I'm way too wrapped up in this shit.

I can't watch anymore of those emotional tell alls about every single competitor...the failed previous Olympic attempts, the injuries, the brother with Cerebral Palsy, the family pet that traveled 3000 miles just to cheer on"insert courageous Olympian here". Those heart string tugging vinettes...ick...makes me just love everyone...and want everyone to win. Well...everyone except Bode Miller...that guy is a tool.

Let's talk about the Men's figure skating short programs....could their outfits be any gayer? I mean really? Mesh shirts with pink tassels? Feathers? Gloves? Did you see the sailor suit? I was waiting for someone to skate to "It's Raining Men Symphony #9". I LOVE IT!!! And notice how they can be doing the most amazing sit spin...and their hair never moves? I need help with that...I want my 'do to be sit spinnably steady ALL OF THE TIME. (Lately it's looking more Luge inspired)

I am waiting for the Female figure skating comps to begin. (Secretly I'm hoping for some sort of knee crushing pipe drama...but not really. Ok...really....but not REALLY really) I love the sequined velvet leotards with the fleshy colored sleeves. The blue eyeshadow and the star stickers by the left eye...I love it all. Oh Winter are just too good to me.

So anyway, GO USA, win, fight, rah and all that jazz. Go fast, pick cooler music next time. Don't hit the flag thingy. Point your toes, stick the landing, tuck your head, and don't forget to smile and show all of your teeth...cuz' your American damnit...and generally our teeth are pretty much all there.

And by the way...does anyone know why Canada spent bazillions of dollars on building the site for the Olympics, but they could only afford to give the medalists a head of lettuce instead of a real bouquet of flowers? Eh?

That's all for now,
xoxo Brandi

Thursday, February 11, 2010

My Interest Is In The Future Because I Am Going To Spend The Rest Of My Life There. - Charles F. Kettering

I've always feared that there is someone out there that knows me better than I know myself. I was afraid to admit that someone could see into the darker corners of my heart and call me out on them. I was afraid that someday I would meet someone on the street and they would say, "You aren't meant for greatness. You aren't going to be anything good. You are going about life all wrong. Your future holds nothing of desire, nothing of pleasure, nothing of note." I was afraid that someone would tell me something I didn't want to hear....because I already believed it.

I spoke with a psychic the other day.

I've always wanted someone to divine my future; I never saw it through because I was afraid. I was scared about spirits dancing in the doorways...spilling my secrets into a crystal ball. A pack of cards, incense and herbs...thickly accented tongues of women in brightly colored robes...this was all I really knew of what a "psychic" was. The Unknown...but not anymore.

I spoke with a woman (over the phone...YES...over the phone. And no...her name was not Miss Cleo) whom I found through a referral from Petunia Face. We planned a date and time through e-mail...and SHE called me.

She jumped right in to tell me I was stuck in the mud...had a lack of energy, no zest for life. (At the top of a page sitting in my lap, was a question I was waiting to ask until the read....Why don't I have any energy, no zest for life? So the reading started like that. The hair on my arms never fully laid down for our entire conversation.
She mentioned a particular person who was "moving too fast...that needed to SLOW DOWN"...I found out just today, that that very person just recently got 2 speeding tickets. She "felt" the migraines that I suffer from. She felt the pains that plague the right side of my neck on a weekly basis. It was bizarre.

For a few days before our planned reading, I had been nervous if she would mention spirits or angels. That was always the part that I was most afraid to hear. I thought to myself that if someone came through...I would want my friend Laura to be there....she would be the least scary to me for some reason. At the end of our conversation...the reader asked if I had any other questions. I drew up the courage and I wondered aloud if there was "anyone around me".

The person she described...was my grandmother...but she was trying to "send through" someone else. Someone small, short, light haired....whom had met death with an impact...LAURA. She described Laura. She continued to speak about both my friend and my Grandmother (both well) and in those moments with this unknown woman whom I'd been so afraid to speak to...I felt very calm, and at peace. It was quite an of which I choose to keep private because they were so profound.

I'm not quite sure if my reading has given me any real answers to my future. I do really believe that our future is always changing. But what I took from that 1/2 hour...was peace. It was so crazy, scary, heavy, and awesome all at the same time.

If anyone is interested in this woman's info...drop me an e-mail. I am happy to give my seal of approval and say...don't be afraid...she doesn't bite. It really was something I will never forget.

That's all for now,

Friday, February 5, 2010

Wake Up Dear...There's A Monster In The Wall....

So...last night I was just settling down for a night of dreaming and drooling...when a scratching noise in the corner of the bedroom caught my attention. My first thought was, "what the hell are the cats doing now?" So I turned on the light, and...nuthin', zilch. Max was happily perched on his kitty condo. Gus was snoring belly up on the recliner downstairs. Then I heard the noise again....WITH THE LIGHTS ON! That is when the situation became dire. Since all were present and accounted for, my second thought was, "what the f*ck is trying to get outta the wall?"

It was the middle of the night...but of course I was just going to bed. I sat there thinking to myself...maybe I had already started dreaming....but THE LIGHTS WERE ON! Scary noises aren't supposed to happen with the ever powerful lights on. Lights are like cryptonite to scary things and noises. Last night...the lights failed me. They failed us all.

I woke up Brendan. I'm sure he thought I was losing it. "Honey....Honey....Bren.....Bren....wake up! There's SOMETHING IN THE HOUSE! Listen............." Of course the noises stopped when I squealed aloud that they in fact existed. And Brendan began to doze again...eyes half open, ears all the way closed. "Wait....wait...listen!!!!!" Unfortunately for me...the noise presented again. Fortunately for Brendan...his wife wasn't a total nutter.

"It's probably just a mouse in the wall," said my husband. "It's not a lion. It won't hurt you. What do you want me to do?"

"GO GET IT OUT!!!!!! Check the closet, kill it, it's alive, and diseased, and infected, and it's trying to eat it's way out into our BEDROOM!!!!!!!!!! Maybe it's in the closet....go check the closet!!!!! IT'S A MANIMAL!!!!"

So Brendan pulled himself from the warm covers to humor me...and of course found nothing. He also went all the way downstairs to rouse a rather groggy and scraggly Gus from his belly up slumber to shove him in the closet at my command. Gus would have none of it. He just wanted to lay in front of the closet....and sleep. So did Brendan.

I sat up all night and stared at the wall. I willed the scratching and scampering to go away. The noise was too big for a mouse. This was a monster...a mutant...a killer. The cats started going crazy around dawn...pacing, and sniffing, and pacing, and jumping. The noise continued...I drifted in and out of sleep. It sucked hardcore!

Work was not sleep...scary visions of returning home to find a hole eaten through my bedroom wall and some random Rabied out ninja rat to be sleeping on MY side of the bed.

I called my family for support, made Bren call the landlord, Googled "Animal THING in wall"...and I found this:

That is when I lost my shit. THIS IS A DEAL BREAKER! I could maybe handle a mouse, a squirrel, a....gulp...rat......................but a POSSUM ???? HELLS TO THE MOTHA F*CKIN' NO!!! Those circus freaks are an abomination to the animal kingdom...and if there happens to be a possum in my wall..........I swear I will move out and never look back! I shudder at the thought of those beady eyes, that scary ass tail, that long pointy face waking me up just to say hello...then EAT ME! (I've had a few past run ins/bad experiences with Possums. There was an incident with a cat and mistaken identity....note to all readers...don't say "Here kitty kitty" to a Possum and try to pet will growl, snarl, and then chase you....and probably eat you as well.)

The landlord has since brought a "humane" trap and set it in the crawl space near our bedroom wall. But if I find a possum in that animal lovin' ways are here-to-fore extinguished and there's gonna be a posse stringing up that possum...and the head honcho in going to be ME. It's on you Possumy Piece O' Shit!

That's all for now,