An Aunt Bev Worthy Post

Last night, my friend and I were making fun of someone's outfit, so everything was as it should be. Listen, I know this sounds mean. I get that, but we weren't actually making fun of the person to their face, or anything. In fact, we were just making fun of a picture of the person in this outfit. But it got me wondering...

Could the monstrosity this person put on their body really be labeled an outfit? With fashion sense that bad, wouldn't it more or less fall under the category of an "ou." Or just an "o." It was so bad that the word outfit just did not fit, except for the jeans. The jeans were fine, therefore, it has to be given some credit in the outfit department. Any takers?

Oh, and for the record, the person was wearing a suede cowboy hat, a white undershirt, a pair of jeans that were a mix between hunter green and gray, but despite the color made the person's ass look fantastic, so we can let it go, and black cowboy boots. While golfing. It's like he just dresses like that to purposely give us material to laugh hysterically at. Just saying.

I also want to tell you that apparently I am Lady Gaga. I really had no idea, and I'm unsure if I should be flattered or insulted, as I quite frankly find her to be a little odd. Considering I don't know her, though, I can't really judge her, so bad me.

Anyway, I was in Wal-Mart yesterday, standing in line to check out. This guy came up, freakishly close behind me, so I turned to see what the deal was for a brief second. When I looked back I saw a man with long, brown hair, a white wife beater, ripped jeans, a beard, tattoos, the whole shebang that would otherwise make you think he walked right out of Deliverance if you didn't know better. Around here, hicks aren't exactly uncommon, so I didn't think too much of it at first.

Then this happens.

"It's Lady Gaga!" Loudly and with some kind of purpose, this comes out of his mouth. At first I thought nothing of it because it's a Wal-Mart check out. There's got to be magazines around somewhere, and Lady Gaga is pretty popular.

Then it occurred to me. We were in the twenty items or less checkout, the one on the very end. Where we were situated, there were no magazines in that aisle, so I turned slowly to see what the heck he was going on about and found that he was indeed pointing straight at me. I was befuddled and a little scared, so I quickly turned back around.

Then his son says this. His very young, maybe ten year old, very gay son whom I adored.

"That's not Lady Gaga. Lady Gaga is a lesbian." I turned around and caught the end of this to find him using hand motions and the whole gay voice, which is what really made this special, but the topper on the invisible cake was the fact that it was obvious that I was not Lady Gaga because Lady Gaga is a lesbian.

Where do I even start with this? I mean, is Lady Gaga even a lesbian? I understand what the song Poker Face is about, but I never took it that she was a straight up lesbian. And what does Lady Gaga being a supposed lesbian have to do with me not being her? I don't see the correlation, and the way he worded it, both went to together. I appreciate that he realized I am not a lesbian, although I have nothing against those who are, but that's not a reason to know I'm not Lady Gaga. A good reason would be because I look absolutely nothing like her. I could not look more opposite of her if I tried. Let me just list some ways of why this is.

*Neither of us are particularly tall, but even with the conflicting reports I've found on her height, I look like a giant next to her.

*She doesn't wear pants. I do.

*She has big boobies. I have medium sized ones.

*She likes to wear shiny things. I do not.

*She likes to wear Kermit. I do not.

*She is blonde. I am brunette. (I understand she wears a wig, but I'm getting to that.)

*Without the wig, she has long brown hair. I unintentionally have short, Alice Cullen like hair. (And I'm rocking it, thank you very much. Pictures coming soon.)

I could go on, but there's really no need. You all get by now that I look nothing like her physically, or fashionably. But the best part of all of this? Directly after the kid says this, his hand motions return as he announces, "I'm going to get a diet iced tea," and sashays to the nearest cooler like he was the bomb.

Kid, you are so the bomb! If you happen across this story and recognize it, hit me up. I will get back to you immediately and we will become instant BFF. We can go shopping together, skip a few times, and I'll even buy you an ice cream cone if that's okay with you. Two, if that's a requirement to be your friend. I'll do whatever, man. I just need your awesomeness in my life in a very platonic, you-could-totally-be-my-little-brother, kind of way.

On a side note, while at Wal-Mart yesterday, I got a Remington "All That" blow dryer since mine met a very timely death. (Yes, I'm saying it was old.) Now personally, I'm used to the hair dryers with the little beauty styling hickymajiggers and what not, but this one didn't have those doodads. However, it was the same wattage as all the other ones, and smaller, making it easier to stick in a bag if I'm going somewhere that I may need it. (I'll never do this, but go with me on this.) It was also five bucks cheaper than the other ones, and had all the ion power and heat settings that they did. Look, I like to look cute, but I don't have to look the five dollar more kind of cute, because I use a hair straightener at the end of it all anyway, so the little styling things don't mean diddly squat to me.

I picked it up, bought it up, and was gleeful of how light it was, and it had a bright pinkish handle, which is really just a bonus. I just took a break from writing this blog to use it, and let me just tell you what, it knocked my socks off. (I didn't have any on, but if I had, they would be in Texas or something by now.) It dried my hair faster than a NASA employee can say, "Houston, we have a problem." Now granted, I don't have a lot of hair, and my pop culture references suck, but this is beyond the point, so let's get back to it, shall we? This thing produced so much air that I thought I was going to have a Wizards of Oz moment. I was waiting for munchkins to appear promptly after turning the thing off. It also gets so hot that it could put a hundred degree day in the desert out of business.*

What I'm saying is, it's my new best friend. I'm going to buy it clothes, dress it up and take it all over the place with me like a new fashion accessory. I'm going to walk out in the rain just so I can dry my hair, if that's what it takes. I will even do it in public so that I can demonstrate how awesome this is to others, while they snicker and then wonder what kind of mental disease I have that would make me dry my hair in a public bathroom. Yep, I'm so in love that I'm going all out here.

*This may or may not be true, but I can't be held responsible either way. I don't live in the desert. I'm just surmising.

P.S. - Aunt Bev's ankle is still broken, here, people. Where is your team spirit? Where are your awesome comments telling her to get well soon or else you will have to bake her a cake, and then come to her house and sing hours of Christmas songs to her with your church choir. *Shakes head* Good Christmas Carolers really are hard to come by in August.

P.P.S. - For more things I love, check out mostly everything Bath and Body Works has ever discontinued. Bath and Body works, you are a fickle bitch. I love all of the things you've discontinued, like the rice scrub and the cashmere cream. They were my world, and then you went and took them both away from me, prying them from my cold, living fingers. Why did you have to do me like that? Why? Just...why? *Cries*

P.P.S.S. - I'm really done with this post now.