I’d like to thank all of you who left such nice comments about my weight loss on my last post. I have every intention of posting before/after shots at some point but currently, I am three pounds away from goal weight and short of amputating half my head, I’m at a loss as to how to shed those last three suckers so it might be awhile. But on behalf of my thighs, ass, stomach, boobs, face and various other parts of my anatomy, thank you for noticing that I am half the woman I used to be. In your honor, I shall go yet another day without inhaling a donut.
And now, back to our regularly scheduled program …
I love epiphanies.
Not the one that happens on January 6 each year although I do love that one but only because it’s the day my mother-in-law will at least start thinking about finally taking down her Christmas tree, thereby allowing my anal-retentive left eye to stop twitching.
Not the one that happens when you’re trying in vain to extract dirty underwear and socks from your daughter’s skinny jeans and you’re about to pass out from the utter and complete grossness of it all when it suddenly dawns on you, BELL BOTTOM JEANS DO HAVE A PURPOSE ON EARTH AFTER ALL.
No, I’m talking about the epiphanies that come in different flavors like Ginger, Lola and Belle, like so:
They’re the Epiphanie camera bags and they were designed specifically for women by Maile Wilson, a woman herself as well as a professional photographer. These bags are feminine, stylish and, in essence, a big, fat, wake-up call to manufacturers who for years have fabricated camera bags that are big, bulky and so masculine they practically scream I AM A MAN AND I HAVE A PENIS. AND A BIG ASS CAMERA TOO.
I want the ginger bag, even though I happen to be currently DSLR-less at the moment, having sold my Canon DSLR or, as I affectionately called it, my Dirty Stupid Little Ratshit That Cost A Lot of Money, because it suffered from crippling astigmatism or sudden onset Parkinson’s disease, depending on whether I held it horizontally or vertically or diagonally. Either way, 99.9% of my shots were soft or blurry, even when I used a tripod and ran out of muscle relaxants one week prior.
Come to think of it, my tripod bit the dust soon thereafter.
It is entirely possible I emit some sort of radioactive waste that wreaks havoc with electronics and their accessories, which would explain why my washer shakes in fear after I leave the laundry room and my computer freezes up every single time I use it. And here I was thinking they were just scared shitless of me. Now all I’m left with is the very real hangover that inevitably comes from getting drunk on delusional power.
I’ve had my eye on the Nikon D90 DSLR since last year and on the ginger Epiphanie bag since last Monday, a whole three days which, when calculated in premenopausal HOW MANY FREAKING TIMES CAN I GET MY PERIOD IN ONE MONTH years, actually equates to sometime in 2002, long before this bag was even invented! How’s that for forward thinking? Anyway, I’m saving my pennies and waiting for the day I either win the lottery or figure out what a wireless router looks like, whereupon Nate will drop dead of shock and I’ll collect on the life insurance and then, watch out, baby! I’ll be carrying around my brand new camera in my brand new bag and walking around, pretending like I know what I’m doing!
Which is exactly how I walk around now, except with a complete and utter lack of fashion sense or style.