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A Little Personal Dignity, Welcome to the Freak Show, and Modesty Lost

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Yes.  Bad ass, and not in a good way.  Woof.

Whatever happened to personal dignity?  I feel guilty when I go through the drive-thru with PJ’s on- but on the rare occasions I do that I usually wear a coat over them, and I’m not getting out of the car parading around in a store.   If I absolutely must take a late night or early morning foray across the road to Speedway or CVS I try to be kind enough to others to a.) put on clothes vs. PJ’s, and b.) wear a hat if I am suffering from Bed Head. 

When I wear shorts they are normally Bermuda-style, and I generally prefer capris or below-knee skirts to shorts as they cover more of my legs.  At no time whatsoever do I appear in public places displaying butt crack, the top of a thong, or midriff.  Nobody wants to see any of those, at least not mine, and besides, we have laws in this country against subjecting others to cruel and unusual punishment.

I have some personal dignity even when it’s hot weather, but it’s certainly not hot weather yet.  I may break out the summer ensembles some time in late May depending upon the weather.    In Central Ohio, March is still part of the limbo snow-booger grey season of  “not quite winter, but definitely not spring” in which one may as well prepare for plenty of cold, wind and rain because that’s what you get.  However, I still see girls wandering about with little more than a tank top, flip-flops and a smile. What the hell are you thinking?  Especially tragic are the ones who dress (or should I say, fail to dress) like the native women in National Geographic but weigh more than many small cars.  Woof.

It is no crime to be large, just dress accordingly.  Nobody wants to see meaty arms, especially complete with an anchor tattoo.  I like her blue hair, though.  Nice touch.

I find it hard to believe anyone would find this pic sexy.  There’s even a warning label in the tights intended to inform the wearer that they are not pants.

‘Nuff said.

Of course I would be willing to relax my own modesty requirements for the male -and buff of bod. 

I don’t know too many dudes who are comfortable enough in their masculinity to wear a pair of Hello Kitty underwear, but given the right physique, it can be a beautiful vision to behold.

The only problem with revealing clothing items for men is that the guys who have absolutely no business wearing garments such as man-thongs or speedos are the ones who do wear them.  I remember one afternoon, when he was very little, taking Steve-o to the pool.   Steve-o, having an eye for the odd and out of place that he has, saw a very fat dude who appeared to be nude, and at that tender age was rather distressed by the fact that someone was nude at the pool. (Today, I’m sure Steve-o would find a skinny-dipper at a public pool most amusing.)  I was going to say something to the manager, because the fat dude appeared to be nude to me also.  I thought he had absolutely nothing on- until he bent over and you could see the slightest hint of red speedo stretched tenuously across his butt cheeks.  His fat rolls covered up his skimpy suit when he stood up.  This is a guy who just might want to consider the boxer-style swim trunk.

I don’t know which is worse, the speedo on a guy who should be wearing boxer-style trunks, or the giant plastic crucifix he’s wearing.  Talk about mixed messages.

I would have to say that 95% of men should wear the boxer-style trunks, to spare the rest of us the rather unsavory visual,  just as 95% of women should be wearing the old-lady skirt type one piece bathing suits (or a two piece that has a long enough top to cover the entire belly area) with the bra inserts in them like I do. 

Has everyone forgotten about modesty?  I don’t believe women should be confined to the burqua or anything draconian like that, but there’s a hell of a lot of space between the burqua and the women in the South American jungles who wear nothing but a leather thong and a smile.  Women with meaty arms should not go sleeveless.  Large women should rethink spandex and tank tops and should avoid anything that shows midriff or thunder thighs.  Even thin women can go without displaying their butt cracks and tramp stamps.

Fat men in speedos are just plain gross.  Any “fashion” that displays a man’s hairy ass crack (whether he is buff and hot or not) needs to go away. 

Steve-o, this includes you dude.  Nasty!

I don’t want to see a dude’s ass crack, or the top of his boxers when he bends over.  Pull your flipping pants up to the waist.  And don’t even think about skinny jeans or spandex unless you look like Steve Perry back in 1981:

If you can wear tight jeans like that, gentlemen, then by all means, go right ahead.

Old Lady Catalogs, Changing Times, and Old Thunder Thighs

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Don’t click on this page of the old lady catalog if you are a prude, and don’t click on it unless you are away from prying eyes. This is definitely an “over 18” type of page.

It’s amazing what’s available in the magical world of Internet ordering.  One used to have to go to the Lion’s Den or a similar establishment to buy such merchandise, risking embarrassment should someone see one’s car in the parking lot.  Now you can send massagers, other “over 18” items, etc. effortlessly and anonymously to friends and enemies alike.

I admit there was a time when I had a pretty evil streak, and I’ve not entirely lost my appetite for being petty and vindictive in certain situations.

When I was working at a local Toyota dealership (same place where the coke junkie tried to strangle me) they hired a woman to sell cars.  It’s not unusual today for women to sell cars, and some of the best sales people out there today are women, but back then it was quite unusual. 

This particular woman was not very well suited for selling cars- or doing much else outside of dropping her drawers- for that matter.  I’m all for women being in non-traditional career fields (I’ve been in automotive pretty much my entire life) but with one very important disclaimer.  If you think you are going to play the “token” card, or worse, prostitute yourself to get ahead, instead of getting ahead the old fashioned way- by becoming the most skilled and qualified person out there through hard work and merit- I have absolutely no use for you.  I will undermine you and expose you for the fraud you are, every chance I get.

This being said, at first I really tried to help this chick out when I could.  She was very dingy and very clueless, but I did try to help her out and keep her from getting into too much trouble even when she promised customers extra stuff without making sure she had it written into the deal, when she misrepresented either the product or the dealership’s services, and other dumb-assed mistakes.   However, when she made it a point to go back in the shop and bend over while wearing a very short skirt and a very low cut shirt in front of the technicians, I started to wonder what the bloody hell she was thinking.  The techs got a good laugh out of it- because even had she been attractive, her strutting and posing in front of them would have been in poor taste. 

I found out after awhile that she was actually sleeping with guys to get them to buy cars which was sad on many levels.  First of all, she was probably the same age I am now- cougar aged at least- but she dressed like a 17 year old hooker trying to pick up soldiers on leave at the bus station.  I know my cougar aged butt needs coverage and lots of it.  Hers certainly did too, and her dress and her behavior combined to create a most ridiculous spectacle.  Who wants to observe some paunchy, wrinkly old bitty with cottage-cheesy looking bare legs tottering about perched on stiletto sandals, with all her middle-age spread stuffed into a sleeveless low-cut dress which made her torso appear as if she had stuffed too much sausage into a too small casing?  To add insult to injury she wasn’t very good at matching.  Bold patterns and bright colors are fine- I wear a lot of them- but wearing one print on the shirt and a conflicting one on the skirt is not flattering.  Neither are bare legs and sandals when you’re at least 35 and more than a little on the portly side. 

It is no crime to be old or large (and she was both) but dress accordingly.  Coverage is the key word here, ladies. Especially when you work surrounded by men who will make commentary on your attire.

Thunder Thighs was starting to try my patience not only because she didn’t have a clue how to do her job, but she simply oozed sleaze.  She exemplified every bad stereotype regarding women in the workplace.  It was gross enough the way she flirted with customers.  Perhaps twenty years earlier she could have gotten away with her dress and behavior, but it really got nasty when she would come back to the shop and annoy the techs.  At first it was almost funny but it eventually got to be rather pathetic to watch her scatting about like a cat in heat.

Anyway, after she had cursed us with her presence for about six months or so, I had gotten wind that she had decided to take off and shack up with a client or something of that nature (in all honesty I don’t trust rumor mills, so who really knows why she quit, I’m just glad she got away from me) so I simply had to get her a parting gift.  I’m not into flowers or Tupperware or hinky stuff like that.  As an example, I once bought a particularly annoying service advisor an inflatable pig and put it right on top of his computer monitor on his last day.  It was well-deserved, and therefore, hilarious.

I bought her something I figured she could get a lot of use out of, and that the guys up front would enjoy seeing her open up.

There’s a chain of stores in Columbus and vicinity called Waterbeds ‘n Stuff, which is sort of like Lion’s Den, but with more of an emphasis on gag gifts and cards and trinkets, though they have a formidable “over 18″ section.   It’s the place where I found the inflatable pig.  Waterbeds ‘n Stuff was the perfect place to find this sleazy old cougar a parting present she- and the guys at the shop- would never forget.

$37 later I got Johnson.  Johnson is, well, a 24” johnson.  I had it all boxed up and ready to go, only to discover that Thunder Thighs had cleaned out her desk and beat feet without even bothering to formally say goodbye.

Good riddance.  The bad part of the story is that almost 20 years later I still have Johnson.  I should have put it in one of the techs’ tool boxes or something, but back then $37 was quite a chunk of change.

Oh, well.  In retrospect it would have been a rather cruel, though appropriate, prank.