In today's installment of Illiterates or assholes: you be the judge: the smokers in my building. My office is in Bloomington (a second-ring [I think] suburb of Minneapolis). When the city instituted its smoking ban, it added a wrinkle -- smoking is prohibited within 25 feet or so of building entrances. So, you can't just pop right out the door and smoke, you have to go a little ways from the entrance.
There are signs outside all the doors saying "no smoking," "smoking prohibited in this area" and several designated smoking areas around the campus, provided by the building management. I mean, there are chairs and shit in these areas. It's almost like Bill McNeil's smoking area, minus the massage chair.
So, of course, every day I come to the office I have to walk through the regular Gauntlet of Smokers, but then there's also a group standing directly in front of the sign that says "NO SMOKING; SMOKING PROHIBITED IN THIS AREA." Would you be shocked to learn that this all started around the same time the bathroom went to shit (no pun intended)?
The breaking of the smoking rules stopped right around the same time the bathrooms went back to their clean loveliness. And when the bathrooms went to hell again, hey! there are people smoking in the no smoking area. I wonder what kind of work they do, exactly, because based on the outfits I see a lot of the women wearing it's a brothel/strip club/dance club. Who the fuck wears shit like that to work?
We send e-mails to the building management about the smoking and the nasty bathrooms all the time, but nothing ever happens. I wonder who covers enforcement of the smoking ordinance. Perhaps we should give them a call.
I always hesitate to bitch about smokers. So many of my favorite people are smokers. The Boy I Currently Like is a smoker, for Christ's sake. However, all of the smokers in my life are kind and considerate smokers. As long as I've known her, KayGee will wave her smoke away, even when there is no danger of it coming near me. Lately, I've been the only non-smoker hanging out with my various groups of friends (or groups of The Boy's friends). I feel fortunate they let the asthmatic dweeb hang out with the cool kids. So, to reiterate: not all smokers are illiterate/assholes. Many of them are very lovely people. It's the bathroom-fucking-up assholes who work in my building who are illiterate/asshole smokers.
No segue whatsoever here. There is a girls' weekend coming up next month for which I will require a bathing suit. I've not worn one in so long (how have I not gone swimming in ages?), I'm not sure if I even have one any more. So, I decided to buy a new one. It arrived yesterday and I tried it on and it was awesome!
Until I got it up to my boobs. The shelf bra seems to be non-existent. The top is padded with cups. The padded cups start mid-tit on me. Oh, and the straps? Just more than 1/4-inch thick. But hey -- they're adjustable. I was so ready to love this thing. It's retro and awesome. The ruching helps to hide my many, many imperfections. But the bust is fucking bullshit. Why would the designer do that? Obviously, you're going to need a thicker strap in the larger sizes. And why would you assume my jugs are that small if I need a larger size?
I don't know what I'm going to do. Where does a lady with a prodigious rack go to get a semi-supportive bathing suit? I know I'm not going to get something with the support of my regular bra, but anything would be better than this shit. I hate shopping and I hate clothes because my body is so fucked up that it's ridiculously hard to find things that fit all over. I'm *this* close to giving up an wearing a caftan. Or pajamas. I don't really care.
There was something else I was pissed about today, but I can't remember what it is. So I guess that's enough bitching for now. Goddamn Celtics better win tonight. Fuck Kobe and fuck the Lakers. And in not-at-all-bitching news, I'm tied for first in the World Cup pick 'em. I don't understand it at all, but I'm momentarily delighting in kicking The Boy's ass.