In Our Humble Opinion . . . you should not wear your two-tone hair like a pekingese while sitting next to the 1st Lady at a State of the Union Address.
Size 0 Is Just Stupid
I went shopping for some needed items for an upcoming business trip. Since these items included pants, I knew that things would not go well.
You’d think that purchasing common machine washable non-lined black pants, suitable for work, would be easy, however, depending on what size you fancy yourself – it’s not. Not at all.
You might find yourself in the unfortunate position of being in a dressing room next to a woman who shouts to a friend “I can’t believe the size 0 (christ on cracker, size zero is just stupid) is too small and the size 2 is too large. I’m not eating dinner tonight.” Tonight??? If you are a size 0, you don’t eat any night. I’ll bet you don’t eat – ever. Maybe you’ve never eaten, ever. I’ll bet you have one friend. A friend who is also a size zero because who else would be your friend? Certainly not the Quill Sisters. You couldn’t possible be that smart or funny or witty that we’d over look your size zeroness.
After trying on 32 pairs of pants, I finally found one pair that fit perfectly but weren’t in my size. They weren’t in my price range either. I bought them anyway because I was desperate. The salesgirl noticed the tears steaming down my face and told me not to worry – that those particular pants run small. OMG she was right! Wasn’t I just in the dressing room next to a woman who was normally a size 0 but they were too small!!! I feel so much better now.
So much better, in fact, that I had some gelato at the mall. Guess who was there too – that’s right – size 0 girl. So much for no dinner tonight. Clearly, she did not mean no dessert. Maybe we could be friends after all.
In Our Humble Opinion…our indian names would be Amylynn, Ava and Kelli PrepareToBeAnnoyed.
In Our Humble Opinion…2nd place is first loser.
In Our Humble Opinion . . . peep toe boots defeat the purpose of keeping warm and taking a break from pedis for the winter months.
In Our Humble Opinion . . . the saying “With All Due Respect” means you are about to be disrespected.
In Our Humble Opinion . . . husbands should be seen and not heard.
In Our Humble Opinion . . . Fridays at work should be optional.
If I’m going to join a shooting range, I’ll need bangs
If you read this blog, you know that Ed dragged me to a gun show several weekends ago. What I didn’t mention was that we actually purchased a gun while we were there. It’s not pink but it is a lovely matte silver with black. It goes with most of my outfits. Some of you might wonder why that matters. It matters because we live in the wild west in a state with only one gun law: You must own a gun. That means you can carry it without a permit.
Since I haven’t fired a handgun in over thirty years, Ed thought it prudent that we take some classes so that I could avoid shooting off my foot. I did agree that this was a sound plan.
So, on Saturday, we took an NRA sanctioned and approved super beginner “like you’ve never seen a gun in your life even on tv” pistol class. There were only three people in the class, me, Ed and a hapless college student. I felt sorry for her. I feel sorry for anyone trapped with just me and Ed. For eight hours, all in a row.
After introducing ourselves and giving our brief gun backgrounds, I stopped feeling sorry for her. Sure, now she was a college student but for the last EIGHT years, she was in the military!!!! As far as I’m concerned, that’s cheating. You can’t say you’re a beginner if the government issues you an M16 that you have to sleep with every night.
I’m slightly competitive – of the three of us, I was sure to be the worst gun shooter there. At this point, I was ready to go home. Ed knows me and didn’t even need to look at my face before he says, “This is not a competition, so calm yourself.”
That’s easy for a 200lb man who can bench press over 300lbs to say. He wasn’t going to come in dead last and accidentally shoot a his own foot, ruining his $45.00 pedicure.
As it turned out – I didn’t come in third out of three people, I came in first. FIRST. The instructors were surprised. Ed was bemused. The college/military girl was shocked. However, I was not surprised, bemused or shocked. I was mad.
Just before we started target practice, Ed signed us up to join the shooting range. They make you up an ID card right there, on the spot, with your picture – no matter how many times you say “Not today – I need a haircut.” I hate having my picture taken, it’s always awful. I took one look at it and realized I was in desperate need of bangs. Every shot I took at the target was really at the ID guy who takes such rotten pictures.
That’s how I came in first.
Bikram Yoga = Hell on Earth
According to Wikipedia, the definition of Bikram Yoga is a system of yoga that Bikram Choudhury synthesized from traditional hatha yoga techniques and popularized beginning in the early 1970s (Proof the 70s were stupid – my add in). Bikram’s classes run exactly 90 minutes and consist of a set series of 26 postures and 2 breathing exercises. Bikram Yoga is ideally practiced in a room heated to 105°F with a humidity of 40%.
The real definition is a system of yoga practised by insane people (Ed) [also our crazy sister, Kelli – amylynn] who have nothing better to do for 90 excruciatingly hellish boiling minutes that feel like 90 hours in Death Valley except for the humidity. Oddly, the three classes I’ve been forced to attend have been overly crowded. I was certain the only people who would be in attendance were me, Ed and the yoga teacher – the teacher being there because she was being paid. Not so. Each class has had not less then 15 or so crazies. I keep wondering how they found each other? Is there a posting on Craig’s list that I don’t know about? That would make sense because Ed does a lot of his shopping on there.
I’m going to tell you what happens in a 90 minute (read 90 hour) session so you don’t ever have to go. You’re welcome, feel free to send me a gift of gratitude.
Unlike real yoga, you don’t need a yoga mat – you need a large beach towel. I know that made you smile, what could go wrong if you need a beach towel, right? Hold on to your left ankle with your right eyebrow (pose #27 in Bikram Yoga) because a lot is about to go wrong! Really wrong.
The instructor tells you to stand on your towel with your feet together and your hands clasped together under your chin. She says you are going to breath. How hard can that be? You breath all the time. But no, you are going to flap and move your arms like a giant bellows, stoking a fire to weld metal. The funny part is that it’s getting hot enough in the studio to actually perform blacksmith work. Let me point out that you’ve only been at this for less then 5 minutes.
At this point, I found out you are not allowed to talk for the ENTIRE 90 hours. You are especially not allowed to shout. Shouting – “I’m going to kill you Ed.” is not tolerated. Not at all. 15 people will turn and stare at you as if you actually did kill Ed right there in class.
Aside from the heat, the ridiculously impossible poses and the hostile non-namaste stares, you’ll notice that the instructor does none of the poses. None. She is just there to tell you what to do next and tell you to look at other people if you don’t know the moves yet. My mind wandered and I wondered what would happen if all 15 people were brand new to this self-paid for torture. Anarchy, that’s what would happen. The air conditioning would go on and the beer would flow.
The entire classes progresses with you sweating like you’ve never sweat before, your sweat will sweat, trying to twist yourself like fusilli pasta into positions the human body is not meant to twist into and a mantra-like chant in your head (certainly not out loud) of – “Wait until we are in the parking lot Ed, you’re going to die, Wait until we are in the parking lot Ed, you’re going to die, Wait until we are in the parking lot Ed, you’re going to die.”
In the end, you lay on your soaking wet beach towel, praying for sudden death, crying real tears and hating every person on the planet because they were smart enough not to be in that room with you over the 900 hours.
Here’s one last tip: After class, never recommend that everyone go to the Village Inn restaurant next door for the world renowned delicious pie they serve.






