Manolo for the Big Girl Fashion, Lifestyle, and Humor for the Plus Sized Woman.

Good morning my little mushroom caps, how’s every little thing? Well-rested? Delighted that it’s Monday and you’ve got a whole glorious work week full of cheersome colleagues and charming, reasonable bosses to look forward to? Me too! (That is sarcasm. I don’t do it very well.)

So let me just jump straight on my high horse this afternoon because I’ve been irked about it for a week:

Other people’s husbands:They are not for touching.

AND if you happen to BE someone else’s husband, kindly do not try to touch me. I don’t care if your wife doesn’t understand you. Maybe she doesn’t understand you because you’re trying to sleep with women who can only be described as “not her”.

I don’t know WHAT’S been going on lately, but men –men I know and like and until recently respected– have been All About This and while it is understandable because This (you’ve got to imagine me doing some sort of hand motion gesturing to my jelly, milkshake etc, I don’t really know what those things are: I don’t get MTV) is well worth wanting to get all up on, the fact remains that marriage in most cases means you’ve promised God and/or each other not to go chicken necking in someone else’s turtle pond until death you do part.

OH! And if you are GETTING married, you don’t get to expect any old-time’s-sake favors, either. Seriously? I mean SERIOUSLY?! Now THAT takes a pair, and a pair, IF YOU RECALL MISTER YOUKNOWWHOYOUARE, I am fully aware you do not possess and I don’t care if it WAS cold in that cabin. I will buy you a deviled egg plate and wish you well. I will NOT do that thing that almost got us kicked out of King’s Dominion that one time. God.

The same thing goes for girlfriends. If you’ve got one, you don’t get me and I don’t care if you are “in the process” of breaking up. I’m in the process of dying, that doesn’t mean I’m ready to shoot embalming fluid into my veins –although did you know you’re not allowed to buy only a cocktail before noon on Sunday in Texas? You have to buy food too. A bourbon and branch breakfast has become a post-church Sunday tradition for me, but since I had to go to the 9 a.m. instead of the 11:15 yesterday, I wound up with this:

Jeffrey Bernard should’ve punched me in the face.
(also, I am a Basil-Hayden’s girl and all they had was Maker’s. What am I, an animal?)

So anyway, that’s what’s on my mind today. What’s on yours?

Good morning my little duck confits, how’s every little thing?

Today I am greatly grieved to hear of the death of Lena Horne, who was capital F fierce.  She was one of the greats, my friends and I think it’s only fitting to revive the Friday Fierceness in her honor later this week.

Last week’s Lazy Poll opened up a deeply fragrant debate on whether it’s okay to snip someone’s lilacs without asking when Orora voiced her temptation. I am firmly on the side of If It’s Not Yours, Don’t Take It, while Suseo and Mrs. Hendricks weighed in for the “snip some” side.

Kai Jones added:

I have to come down on the “don’t steal other people’s lilacs” side. I’ve put a lot of work and money into my garden–and in the last 10 years I’ve lost 8 plants to people digging them up right out of the ground and stealing them. Every spring over half my daffodils are cut and taken by people walking by. People break branches off my rosemary shrub and ruin its shape, last year it died from the abuse and I have purchased and planted a new one–and already this spring somebody has broken off branches. Some days I’m so frustrated, I’m tempted to replace my entire front yard with poison ivy and just garden in the fenced back yard.

Why not ask? Every year when the hydrangeas are in bloom, some people from a local church drop by and ask if they can take some to decorate the altar–I always say yes.

Kai brings up an interesting logical point. Most logic will tell you if it’s okay for one person to do, it must be okay for everyone to do it, and if everyone snipped…well, that’d be one stumpy, dead lilac.

For those of you tempted to snip some wildflowers be careful: in some places it is illegal to pick wildflowers on state or county-owned land and SOMEONE WHO MAY OR MAY NOT BE ME, got a ticket her first spring in Texas for happily plucking bluebonnets from the side of a road.

We also chatted a bit about Glee and how disappointing its Very Special Fat Girl Episode was. I’ll have to say it redeemed itself this week when Bambi McTwitchyeyes finally grew a pair.

Melissa sang a familiar song of woe for girls –myself included– blessed with an Amish abundance of facial hair (although I maintain I have it worse than my Sicilian sisters because I’ve got black black hair on white white skin) and was asking for hair removal advice. I am a waxer and have taken a foray into laser hair removal.  What about you gals?

So what else is going on this week? I’m just about full unto busting with springtime festivities which will include my very first silly string fight! What about you?

Good morning my little pudding snacks, how’s every little thing?

Aren’t you proud that I actually managed to get the Lazy Monday Poll (which, as I’ve mentioned before, I pinched from Now Smell This, a perfume blog you all should read) up on what can only be described as an actual Monday? If not you should be.

Last week I asked you to weigh in on Boobquake, and many of you including Cat and Jezebella,  had the same feelings about it that I did, and are tired of being asked to get their kit off for Very Special Causes.  While Orora wrote:

“Well, I kinda look at Boobquake this way: I’m a multi-faceted person. I’m sexual and smart. I can be both at the same time. If other people look at me as an object for showing excess cleavage (to borrow a phrase) that’s their issue. It doesn’t diminish my feelings about my own smarts if someone looks at me and just sees boobs. For me, and I don’t presume to speak for any other woman, feminism means the right to embrace my sexuality and my brain.”

Our own beloved but clearly wrong-thinking Miranda said she didn’t get it, and besides “the only Lafayette that matters is on True Blood.”  Doctor Google tells me in a television show about vampires, which normally would be grounds for much mocking, but because she did just get accepted to Tulane (congratulations) I shall withhold my mockery and simply point out that there are only two Lafayettes that truly matter:

Lafayette #1:
Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de La Fayette aka General Lafayette, who is the only person to appear on both the my list for  Top Five Biscuits of the American Revolution and Top Five Biscuits of the French Revolution.

(I’d hit it like it was Louisiana in a land grab)

and Lafayette #2
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