Fanny packs and saggy sacs

fanny pack
Originally uploaded by notsosupergirl.

and little lambs eat ivy.

I was listening to my ridiculous radio morning show*, and they were doing a list of top five emasculating things. The list and discussion thereof included things like having bumper stickers about the honor roll, eating pizza with a fork, taking dance classes, being in a book club, watching soap operas, wearing pink, and wearing a fanny pack.

Well, the fanny pack has been on my mind anyway. Listen, I realize it is horribly ugly and tends to look like a big lumpy fabric tumor around the waist. But I wore one all weekend on the camping trip. And it was great. I kept all my grooming stuff in it so I just dragged it to the shower with me. On our several-mile hikes, I kept an apple and a granola bar in it. I was the only one who had soap after using the national park's scary restroom. I had my wallet in it for whenever we stopped to eat, so I never had to go digging in my backpack. I was able to carry everything I needed and kept my hands free. (A backpack would theoretically do the same thing, but don't you find yourself holding the straps? I do.) Anyway, I also found it kind of amusing that my Reebok fanny pack is so old that it is officially back in fashion with its teal 1980s netting. Yes, I have had this fanny pack since I was a kid. Every time I think about getting rid of it, I recall the previous summer, when I threw sunscreen, chapstick, money, and tampons in it inside a Ziplock bag and went whitewater rafting. Or I think of the hiking trip where I had a handy snack and didn't have to carry a bag. I tell you, the goddamn thing is useful. It's function over form this time, I'm afraid. I am not giving up my fanny pack.

Next up: During the commercial break of the terrible radio program, I turned to another terrible radio program, this one arguably worse. I suspect it is nationally syndicated, since the host was on a popular cable show and it's produced in L.A. Anyway, their guest is a plastic surgeon, and although when I first tuned in, they were talking about transsexuals and the surgeries they went through (and the host made a ridiculous fucking analogy about how if he felt like he was Napoleon inside, he should be able to get shortening surgery -- what a dick), the first caller was like "Hey, my wife's pregnant, and she has stretch marks all around her belly. What can be done about that?" Um, I think the answer is you can get kicked in the ding ding. She's about to give birth to your child, and you're worried about some marks on her belly? Fuck you, the horse you rode in on, the blacksmith that shod it, and the farmer that grew the hay.
I flipped back to the other station and listened, and then right as I arrived at school, another commercial came on and I flipped to the syndicated show again. Another caller was calling about his pregnant wife, and was worried this time about sagging breasts! Wow. The host made some joke about talking about sagging sacks later to even out the calls. Of course, I have no idea whether they did, but what a lot of anti-feminist nonsense on the radio this morning. Actually, it was kind of anti-people. Misanthropy all around.

I was thinking last night of an old boyfriend who used to say "My pussy hurts" when he or someone else was whining. He and his Air Force buddies had used it on one another, as in one would be talking and saying something like "Man, I had to work a long shift last night, and then I hurt my shoulder..." and they would interrupt with "Wah, my pussy hurts."

I actually still think of this phrase sometimes, as it's funny and effective, and the overall effect is rather emasculating (which it was designed for), but it is of course ironic, too. You see, the only time an actual woman might be tempted to say "my pussy hurts" is after pushing an eight pound sack of bone and muscle through it, ripping the skin to her ass and up her urethra, and then being stitched back up. Chicks are tough.

By the way, does that "Mares eat oats" song ever make anyone else think of Twin Peaks? I swear, I can't so much as hear the tune without seeing Laura Palmer's dad with his hair suddenly turned white.

*I suppose I could boycott the show, but since I don't buy from their advertisers, never answer surveys on what station I listen to, and basically my presence as a listener in no way supports their continued existence, I don't feel the least bit guilty about listening. They're funny. I think my favorite part is that the main host of the show is always talking about how brilliant he is, and the two other hosts seem to agree with his assessment, but he's actually kind of dumb. Like, he'll use some ten dollar word, the token dumb fat guy will ask for clarification, and then Mr. Spartypants will give a definition... that's wrong! Cracks me up every time.