Topless Bikini

Like any periodically employed person, I try to manage my money wisely. I keep a very close watch on my finances, and that is how I knew that I was not spending enough on bikinis. Now don't you worry - I made sure to rectify that problem. I did find a new bikini. And it was good and overpriced. (Thanks, Victoria's Secret!) But in my quest for sexy beachwear I found something that is neither sexy nor beachwear.

"THE TOPLESS BIKINI."



Where to begin? Where to begin? Well, I guess we can start with the obvious - that being, aren't all bikinis equipped with a "removable top"? As I see it, the topless bikini is a simple two-step process: 1. Put on any bikini. 2. Remove top. And for more advanced bikini-wearers, it can be even easier: 1. Put on bikini bottoms. DONE. In fact, the very idea that there might exist a non-removable bikini top makes me rather uneasy. Knowing that a top cannot be removed would certainly make the bikini-purchasing process considerably more stressful.

But moving on, who is wearing this?? And for what occasion? It's probably not engineered for speed swimming. And it hardly seems appropriate for a pool party. Or, at least, not a family one. Though I'll tell you, I've been to a number of pool parties and most small children are very capable of transforming any bikini into a topless/bottomless bikini. My nephew... he has seen some stuff.

So then it must be meant for the beach? If so, you are setting yourself up for some very peculiar tan lines. And it probably doesn't lend itself to playing volleyball or tossing a frisbee around. And while I can't prove this, I sincerely believe that wearing the topless bikini substantially increases the risk of getting attacked by a shark. I mean, really. That's just common sense.

So I think it's safe to say that no one is buying this "bikini" for its utility. So that must mean that it was designed for purely aesthetic reasons. Which begs the question: why is it so hideous??? Honestly! Is this not the most hideous way a woman could possibly manage to be topless? Why must there be a weird, thin strip of fabric leading up the torso? Are they worried that the bottoms might spontaneously fall off, so they needed a way to secure them around the neck? Or worse, that without it, no one would realize that the breasts are exposed? From what I understand, it is fairly simple to spot a woman's exposed breasts. Or so I've read. In science books.

And if sexiness is the goal, obscuring the belly button is a huge mistake. An exposed belly button is one of the best ways to achieve instant sexy. Or at least, that is what I assume based on the fact that in all my years of public education, "midriff tops" were always on the dress code's list of prohibited attire. Also, mesh.

I've been losing sleep over this topless bikini. Or maybe my bed is just not very comfortable. But I think it's mostly the bikini.

So if I'm wrong, and someone thinks this is a really flattering swimsuit, please let me know. I just want my world to make sense again. And also, I could probably stand to spend another 39.99.

The End of an Era

Well, I suppose I should consider myself lucky. I made it 26 years, which is pretty good. But my streak is over. That's right. A bird crapped on me.

It was a day like any other. I was walking around the Silverlake Reservoir when I felt something hit me. I was alarmed by the impact. It felt like something hard had pelted me on the shoulder. Maybe some sort of airborne nut? Much to my horror, it was not a nut of any variety. Well, maybe at one time it was. You see, because it was bird crap. And sometimes birds eat nuts. I think.

I froze. There were no witnesses. It was time to panic. I was holding my cell phone. Should I call 911? Out in the wilderness of the Silverlake Reservoir, I had a 20-minute walk ahead of me before I could shower and properly disinfect. And who knew what the damage would be by then? Fortunately, my survival instincts kicked in. I picked up a fallen leaf and wiped that crap off my shoulder. It's amazing what you're capable of in these types of situations. Surely, had there been a sharp instrument readily available, I would have heroically cut my own arm off.

But as much as the sheer nastiness of it bothers me, I am plagued by the why of it. Why did this happen? Why me? Why now? I've spent a few sleepless nights since the incident and here's what I've come up with.

Possible reasons why that bird may have crapped on me:

1. It was an accident and I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

2. To teach me a lesson

3. Maybe once, on a rainy day, I drove through a puddle and splashed that bird with dirty puddle water and this was my comeuppance.

4. Because I was alone, dressed like that.

5. This bird is just a dick. In the bird world.

None of these possibilities really make me feel any better. But they do all confirm my belief that I should just quit going outside once and for all and nestle into that warm nest that is hermit-dom.

A Letter

For the most part, I really like my neighborhood. The trees smell good and the trash collection isn't so early that it wakes me up while it's still dark. And from time to time, I might even spot a lizard on the sidewalk. Must be nice to be me, right?

Well, it is.

Unfortunately, every rose has its thorn. Or in this instance, every seemingly lovely neighborhood has a crazy lady who yells at her dog all the time.



Now I'm no expert on dogs, but I do know a few things: 1. They have an extraordinarly high entrance rate to heaven. 2. They cannot write letters. And that is why I've done my dog neighbor the favor of writing a letter on its behalf.

---

Dear Owner Lady,

I appreciate the free rent and regular meals that come with being your dog, but I think we have an issue here that needs to be addressed. The name-calling. Not the nasty, teasing sort, but just the constant calling of my name.

By my best estimation, our yard is about... 600 square feet. And it is enclosed by a fence. It is, therefore, highly unlikely that I have gone too far. Perhaps when you wish to find me, you could try calling my name just once or twice and if that does not produce the intended effect, you could step outside and do a visual sweep of the yard? If I don't come running after hearing my name twice, I'm probably deeply involved with a bug or a leaf and calling my name 35 more times will not yield better results.

Don't get me wrong, it's a lovely name and I love hearing it. Tabitha. Tabitha. Rolls right off the human tongue, doesn't it? And of course, it evokes images of pretty witches and small terriers. But it kind of loses something when you say it like this: "TABITHAAA. TABITHAAAAA!. TABITHA!" And so on and so on.

You see, I am a dog. And I am a wonderful companion, I know. But I am still a dog. And I cannot talk. It would be teriffic if when you beckoned me, I could respond calmly, "I'm right here in the yard. I'm smelling this grass, and I'll be there in just a minute." But, alas, that is not the case.

So how does this sound? If you call me and I do not immediately respond, you can go ahead and assume that I am safe in the yard, smelling the grass. I can't help but notice that we have neighbors about 15 feet away on either side. I know that you humans don't hear quite as well as I do, but I have to imagine that even they grow tired of the persistent hollering. Maybe they are working. Or maybe they are just trying to watch Lost on Netflix. Whatever the case, it's probably very distracting to them.

Your dog,
Tabitha

Confession

Alright guys, I know it's been tough. Waiting. Wondering. Never knowing when you'll get your next BQA fix. And I admit, it has been a while. But that's life, my friends. I just hope you can forgive me and we can all move on.

So, I've been thinking a lot lately and there's something I really need to get off my chest. I think I'll feel better when it's out in the open. Or at least, I hope so. Ok, so...string cheese - I prefer to bite it.

I know I'm not the only one who feels this way. Yeah, I know, it's called "string" cheese, but when I eat food, I like it to sort of feel like I'm eating food. If I wanted my food to approximate the consistency of thread, I would eat cotton candy for every meal. Because that's about what it amounts to. When you eat a string cheese using the conventional "stringing" method, you don't even have to chew the stuff. These delicate little strings of mozzarella just dissolve right in your mouth. Plus, it takes like, 20 minutes to eat an ounce of cheese. And I do not have that kind of time for dairy. No sir.

When you bite the cheese, however, it feels like you're actually eating something. The teeth come into play, there's chewing, swallowing, all that stuff. And, as an added bonus, your fingernail is not involved in the portioning of the cheese, so it's more sanitary too.

Does it taste better in string form? Possibly. But if you're in the mood to chew, or maybe you're in a bit of a time crunch, follow my lead. Don't be a slave to the string. Life is too short.

Subway needs to hire me

So, I was reading some Subway Restaurant press releases, you know, like you do. And I don't want to be one of those people, but I really think there's room for improvement. I mean, they get the job done - the media is alerted to important Subway news such as Jared's 3-Point Plan for Fighting Childhood Obesity - but I think they could use some pizazz.

For instance, check out this Subway press release announcing the launch of the Buffalo Chicken Sub:

SUBWAY® ROLLS OUT BUFFALO CHICKEN
-- New Low-Fat Sub Available for a Limited Time --
A spicy addition to the SUBWAY® submarine sandwich chain’s roster of low-fat and great tasting sandwiches will be available for a limited time only (from Sept. 25th to Nov. 16th, 2009) as the brand rolls out its new Buffalo Chicken submarine sandwich.

As a six-inch sub with seven grams of fat, the Buffalo Chicken sub fits in well with the variety of low-fat offerings available as part of the SUBWAY FRESH Fit® meal choices, which combine lowfat, six-inch submarine sandwiches with healthier-for-you sides, such as baked chips, apple slices, yogurt, diet drinks or bottled water. In addition, the sandwich will be available as a $5 footlong sub at participating locations.

“We take tender strips of chicken, tossed with a spicy Buffalo sauce and serve it on our freshbaked bread with lettuce, tomato, green pepper and top everything with a light creamy ranch dressing that not only provides the flavor profile a sandwich like this demands, but is also low-fat,” said Chris Martone, Executive Chef for the SUBWAY® brand.

Chef Chris noted, “We knew that creating a Buffalo Chicken submarine sandwich would raise expectations among our loyal customers, as well as fans of spicy Buffalo chicken dishes from around the country, so we were careful to create the ideal recipe using the perfect ingredients - to make this a winner for both consumers who wanted to enjoy this as a full-flavor sandwich, as well as those looking for low-fat meal options.”

The Buffalo Chicken sub is being introduced nationwide after extensive testing in selected markets where it was well received; frequently turning into a customer favorite.

Snooze. Am I right?

If I might, Subway, here's what I think you're really trying to say:

SUBWAY DOES THE UNTHNKABLE, ROLLS OUT BUFFALO CHICKEN SUB. THAT'S RIGHT, BUFFALO CHICKEN.
You didn't think it was possible. There are already so many delicious subs to choose from. But hold onto your pants, party people, because there's a new sub in town.

And if your mind isn't already completely blown, get this - it is low fat AND it tastes like an awesome sub.

Hey, so, have you ever heard of chicken? Of course you have. But have you ever heard of Buffalo chicken? No? Well, check it out - it's still chicken, but it's spicy.

It's crazy - we know. But guess what? It doesn't end there. We take that spicy chicken, and using our secret Subway recipe, we turn it into a sandwich. That's right. We put it on bread. Then we add some lettuce. And then we add some other various sandwich accoutrements.

When we approached Chef Chris with this idea, he was all like, "Woah. WOAH. Guys, listen up. There are a lot of fans of Subway out there, and there are a lot of fans of buffalo chicken in general. By adding this Buffalo Chicken sub to Subway's menu, we are treading some very dangerous waters. I mean, if we were dealing with people that have never experienced the nirvana that is Subway, or maybe people that have never had buffalo chicken, that would be one thing. But these people, they're no dummies. What I'm saying is, let's not fuck it up."

And we didn't. And for a limited time, you're welcome.

Oh and P.S. - apple slices are healthier than potato chips.

Flying with freaks

Things were looking good for my flight from LA to Cleveland. And by that I mean, no one was sitting in the middle seat of my row, providing a nice buffer between me and Mr. Aisle Seat. I was also relieved for the nonexistent middle passenger because Aisle Seat was a pretty girthy gentleman, and anyone sitting next to him would certainly have had their seat space encroached upon, thereby forcing them to lean right and encroach upon my space. Actually, I guess that's just me being happy for my own selfish reasons. Whatever.

But as it was, Aisle Seat posed no real threat to me. He didn't try to engage me in chit chat and that's really all I ask of a seatmate. Good old comfortable silence.

The woman sitting directly behind me, on the other hand, was a different story. As soon as she got settled into her seat, she was yapping away on her phone. And she wasn't using her indoor plane voice. Oh no. And it also sounded like she was giving the person at her credit card company some serious sassitude.

After finishing her credit card business, she called a friend to talk about something that, from what I gathered, was "unbelievable." Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Aisle Seat shooting frequent irritated looks backward, in the direction of Row 11 Phone Talker.

Several minutes went by and at this point, the plane was fully boarded. When the plane started to move, I heard her say, "Oh, I think I have to go." Before she could wrap up the call, though, a flight attendant walked by, and Mr. Aisle Seat stopped her and said in an urgent hushed voice "Hey, that lady's on her phone." The flight attendant told the woman she needed to turn off her phone and Aisle Seat looked pretty pleased with himself.

Aisle Seat! I am shocked by your behavior! What kind of grown person tattles on someone? And just to be perfectly clear - Aisle Seat did not appear to be 8 years old.

Now I wonder if his tattling is limited to airplanes or if he also lurks near the express lane in the grocery store, just waiting for someone who dares to walk up with 13 items. Or perhaps he hangs out at the local gym, keeping an eye out for someone who spends more than 30 minutes on the cardio equipment during peak times. I might support his cause if he were doing something useful like blowing the whistle on restaurant employees that don't wash their hands after using the lavatory, but I think this was a classic example of a wasted tattle. The flight attendant surely would have noticed if the woman continued to talk. See, I believe that you get a finite number of tattles in a lifetime, and, well, Aisle Seat, I think you should choose them more wisely from here on out.

You tell me

I've been consuming more caffeine than my body is used to for the last few days, so this might just be the drugs talking. But doesn't this cartoon person kind of look like me?

Ignore the fact that it says "fertility aid" on the package. I don't want you reading anything into that. Besides, I'm probably barren because I eat a lot of Teflon. I just like to smell these aromatherapy inhalers and the fertility one happened to be on sale. (I also bought one called "smoke less" and seeing as I don't smoke at all, it's going to be pretty tough.) Anyways, I just like the aroma of clary sage, geranium, and fennel. Nothing weird about that.

But see how they stole my face?




No? Just me?

Dream Job

I was doing my normal search for jobs, hoping to find one that might allow me to stay at home in my sweatpants, when I came across this gem: Editorial Assistant at Tiger Beat magazine.

Here's the cover letter I wrote. I think I'm a shoe-in.

To the Editor of Tiger Beat :

I learned of the Editorial Assistant position at Tiger Beat through what I can only imagine to be divine intervention. There I was, halfheartedly searching for jobs that I might apply for only to put them on my unemployment claim form, when there it was - a glimmering beacon of hope in my otherwise grey and dreary existence.

To say that this is a dream job is something of an understatement. My dreams normally consist of horrible brutal violence against close friends, family members, and the occasional minor celebrity. But working for Tiger Beat magazine is so much more than a dream. It's the dream of every girl I've ever known. (Except for maybe the lesbians.) Ever since I was a little girl, Tiger Beat has been my ultimate news source. I vividly remember playing in my friend Jaime's bedroom in first grade, ripping pages out of your magazine and taping them to her walls. I also remember that Jaime liked to "play house" which usually involved a good deal of spanking. But that's neither here nor there. What I mainly remember is the magazine.

Where would I be today without those clean girlhood fantasies of Jonathon Taylor Thomas? Well, first, I might be attracted to real men, but so what?

I think that I am the ideal candidate for this job. Not only do I understand the psyche of tween girls, but I understand what it is to LOVE tween boys, as well as much older men that portray tween boys on television.

Sincerely,

Bean Quincy Adams