I don’t think I’ve ever written a product review, but I’m thinking this deserves one. I need to inform the male species of this new discovery. I figure, girls are always talking about bras and panties at Victoria’s Secret, so why the hell can’t I get on the bandwagon with this?
It happened by accident. Tara was having all of her bridesmaids-to-be over for a girly weekend. (And no, there was no white t-shirt pillow fight.) They went bowling. They went to the ABC store. They went to Wal-Mart. And everyone knows what an adventure is in going to Wal-Mart. The thing is, while there, someone convinced Tara that they should buy me a pair of underwear. They did, and in an attempt to be funny, they bought these things called Euro Trunks.
As you can see from the picture at the left, these are not “normal” undies. When they brought them home, still on the hanger, I held them up to me. Remarking that they looked like “coochie cutters” I went and put them on in the bathroom. That’s when the surprise hit. Holy crapola! They were so comfortable! They hug your body just right, and let you move freely. I wouldn’t recommend wearing them out in a crowd, as everyone would be able to see the goods you’re marketting, but I would recommend that every guy go out and get a pair.
After later investigation, I discovered that these are sold exclusively at Wal-Mart. Now, I picture Wally World as being the target for down-home country folks who may or may not have all of their teeth. These 5% spandex undies just didn’t seem to fit in with their target audience. I don’t care though, as I later went back and bought another pair. They actually have a bunch of types. Check out their website at www.lifeunderwear.com. I’m not getting commission or anything (though that would be nice), I’m just spreading the undies gospel.
And that concludes my review. Four Stars! A+! My only suggestion, get the size above what you’d normally wear, as they tend to run small.
On Monday evening we came back from buying a new oven at Lowe’s, and I heard a faint cry. It was a very soft meowing somewhere in our backyard. I walked to the shed, and I could still hear it. Then I saw it. A cute little kitten was perched upon our neighbors woodpile. The poor thing was meowing like crazy, so I went over to it and coaxed it to me. The little guy came right up to me and let me pick him up.
I brought him to the door to find a very UNamused Tara telling me to take it back outside, but the poor thing looked like he was starving. I took him back to the shed and put him in our cat carrier so that I could bring him inside without Cleo and Caesar being able to get to him. Good Idea! Cleo just ran away, but Caesar was very interested. He kept hissing at the poor little thing. I grabbed some wet food and took him back outside so he could come out and eat. The poor thing scarfed the food down like he hadn’t ever eaten before. Tara was inside trying to find the human society in the phone book, but it turned out everything was closed. We’d have to wait until the next day to take him. But what were we going to do with him?
Well, being that I have a heart, I took him upstairs into the one bedroom I had been painting and closed the door so the other cats couldn’t get to him. He had water and food, and I arranged a little plate of litter for him. The little guy was really playful, though his tiny little claws kept cutting me. No big deal though, I remember when Cleo and Caesar were that little. And just like Cleo, if I laid down, he would curl up right next to me. The poor little guy just wanted his mommy. We let him stay up there for the night. After all, he had better chances in there than outside. Caesar sat by the door the entire night. I found it weird that Cleo just ignored any type of maternal instinct she may have had.
The next day we took him to the Gloucester-Mathews Humane Society. We nicknamed him Smokey, because he was great with a little white smudge on his face and feet. I just hope he’s okay. I would’ve loved to have kept him, but Cleo and Caesar clearly thought otherwise. They were pissed at me for even bringing him in, but they’re over it now. If anyone wants to adopt a kitten, swing by the humane society in Gloucester and pick him up. He’s so cute!!!
All summer Tara and I had been planning to go to Atlantic City. Okay, so it was mostly me. I wanted to go to a casino again, and Vegas was too far. She tried to persuade me otherwise, as she had lots of negative things to say about Jersey. I had heard it all before, from various people, but I had never been there myself to see it for sure. I mean, I know people from New Jersey and they’re not that bad.
Mind you, days before we left there was an abundance of news coming from the garden state. They were in a severe budget crisis and everything was closed, including the Casinos. We had reservations at the Tropicana, and I wanted to go for the sole purpose of playing slots. We kept our eyes on the news, and fortunately they solved their problem… with a tax increase. Oh well, not our problem. We live in VIRGINIA! SUCKERS!!!
Anyway, we leave, and after about 5 hours we finally cross the Delaware-Jersey border. One of the first things we see: A very obese woman in a bikini top with her gut sagging over her waistline walking down the road. Sexy… So that’s our Jersey welcome! And we thought Virginia was for lovers! At the same time we passed a gas station, and everything I had heard was validated. It’s true… They really aren’t allowed to pump their own gas. How stupid! Are New Jersey residents too stupid and lazy to do so? Or are the law makers just trying to make some bizarre statement by keeping this law in effect. I pump gas quite often, and I never have any problems. Is gas toxic in Jersey or something? (More on that later)
As we continued to drive I noted that Jersey was somewhat nice. The landscape was pretty, although intermittent with the occassional trailer park that had been overrun by colossal weeds. When we finally arrived to Altantic City, Tara had to chime in with her random trivia involving Monopoly and the streets in the city. Sorry, already knew that. After navigating the one way street maze, we finally got to the Tropicana. We parked in the registration lane, went in and registered. Next we had to find parking, and yet again we had to navigate the one way road maze to the garage. Then we had to haul ass (and luggage) to our room across the massive hotel. Of course, to get there we had to cross the massive casino and head up the elevator.
Our room was nice. We actually got upgraded. Anyway, we dropped off our crap and proceeded to look around the hotel and casino. It was designed with a Cuban feel, which was neat. There were some pretty weird stores though, like the one that specialized in spy equipment. The casino was a stereotypical casino, complete with flashy lights and buzzy sounds. Fortunately they had a “no smoking” section. Bless you, Tropicana! And to make things even better, they had a penny slots section… yes, PENNY slots. That was right up our alley. It gave the allusion of slots, with the satisfaction of not blowing your whole life savings, unless of course, you live at one of those trailer parks I mentioned earlier.
Being the nerd I am, I sat down at the Greek-themed slot. I inserted a dollar and got 100 credits. YAY for pennies. Before I knew it I had won 15 free spins, and in the process of getting those spins, I had won about $40! That’s one helluva return on a penny slot! Of course, while there I also insisted upon playing a nickel and quarter slot, and later won about $10 more. That paid for dinner and gas. I can’t complain there.
The next day I wanted to go to the beach. The sand was really hot on our feet, but we walked out anyway. Several yards onto the beach I froze, my face contorted and nose upturned. “What the hell is that smell!?” I asked. Tara responded “That’s Jersey.” It was awful, a mixture of spoiled crabs and raw sewage. Apparently that’s the result of the garbage dumps into the water in New York City. And to think people were actually swimming in it. Ugh. Down here if there’s a high bacteria count in the water due to feces dumps (haha… feces DUMPS) they close the beach. Apparently that’s not the case in Jersey. Fifty tons of elephant turds could be dumped in the water, and people would still be happily swimming. Well, when the world begins to face a mutant outbreak (hey, we had the three armed kid in China) I can gaurantee there will be a large number of mutants coming from Jersey as a result of swimming in that crap.
It was slightly saddening to leave the Tropicana the next day. We had gambled, dined, and even saw a show. I wouldn’t mind going back, though it would be for the Casino, NOT the beach.
There’s one last part of the story, however. I had always heard that Jersey drivers were reckless. This was truly proven on our way there. However, on the way back, we almost got into an accident in our brand new Honda when someone cut us off. Tara honked, and then, rather than giving us the finger, the woman in the car ahead waved to us. Later, at a stoplight, she rolled down her window, stuck out her head, and apologized. Wow… so Jersey drivers ARE reckless, but at least they’re somewhat nice about it.