Halloween is not that far off, you know. Lazybones and I are going as pirates. We even ordered our costumes. He’ll be Jack Sparrow (he has a disturbing man-crush on Johnny Depp) and I’ll be some broad in a very tiny outfit. I believe she is what they referred to as a “scandalous” pirate. Whatever. It’s a hell of a cute costume and it came in my size. I am always dismayed by the sizing of clothes. I’m average height (five-foot-four) and yet most “small” pants are too too long. I don’t see a lot of five-foot-nine skeleton women wandering around, which makes me wonder who those pants are manufactured for, exactly. And when I was browsing the online costume shop for stuff, I was shocked that their idea of “small” was a 7-8.

If I am an average height human female who tends to be slim (but no longer bony)… Why do I have to buy clothes in size EXTRA small? Or worse, in the kids’ section? The tights I bought for my costume are childrens’ “one size fits up to 140 lbs”.

What kind of disproportionate world is this?

I’ve never, outside of my pregnancies, weighed even 130 pounds. And before anyone decides to comment about my “luck”, let me just say that struggling over weight and self-image is not the sole domain of those who are overweight.

I can’t figure out how it is possible for me to be this little. The world has started making clothes for seven foot tall twig women, and their enormous 140-lb kids. What is this, Second Life? (The avatars there are all outrageously large and proportioned like cartoons, think Jessica Rabbit only sluttier.)

I think this is all a plot to make me think I am shrinking.

No, I am not really paranoid. Just AN-NOYED.

If my costume is too big, I will scream.

I’ve decided to try making a feature for my blog, where I tell you about something that makes me shake my head, shudder, or just plain gag: Stuff That Freaks Me Out!

This idea was born from an unfortunate day I had recently. I was sitting here at my computer, minding my own business, when the Internets barfed up a link about Mr. Tom “Cuckoo-Bananas” Cruise.

Oh hell no, I didn’t click it!

No, no, as always I snorted and giggled and made a passing remark to My Delightful Mister about what a fucked-up nutjob ol’ Maverick is now, and then an idea hit me…

Let’s see just how fucked up and insane those crackpots are.

I sat for several hours (while poor Hubbykins cared for babies) reading various sites, and becoming ever more aghast at the sheer barking lunacy that is this “religion”.

And so, topping the list of stuff that freaks me out is: Scientology.

Basically, it’s a load of crummy boring sci-fi (I mean seriously unimaginative, spaceships look like jumbo jets? Give me a fucking break, L. Ron!) and the premise that these alien essences are infesting our bodies. All of us, yep, we’re full of aliens, and they are constantly running and ruining our lives. So what do you do, when you’re possessed by alien thoughts? Who ya gonna call!?

I’d rather trust characters from a silly 80s movie, incidentally.

But since we don’t live in the movies, you can spend lots of money and the kind scifiologists will hook you up to a glorified bug zapper or something, and talk to you, and find out all your deep seated problems (which are all caused by aliens, remember) and they will assist you in emptying your wallet, I mean, CLEARING these nasty alien whatchamabobbers.

It’ll only cost a few hundred grand.

If by chance you run out of cash and you still want to rid yourself of icky alien spiritual residue, you can become a slave and work long hours waxing cars and building hot tubs for billionaire types like Tom Couch-Hopper and John Transvolta.
You can’t get relief for all your problems by seeing a trained medical professional! They might convince you that this whole thing was invented by a crazy man who took offense when one of them called him crazy. A paranoid, delusional, lying little redheaded man. He really pissed me off by lying about his military record.

Now here’s where I have to make the disclaimer that I can accept that this whole load of guano might be helping someone, someplace. Maybe Tom Cruise would be foaming at the mouth and biting people’s ankles if he didn’t have Scientology firmly holding him in “reality”. Maybe Kirstie Alley would have just eaten until she actually exploded, if it weren’t for the even-handed guidance of this “church”.

But something about a religion made up by a guy who said he wanted to start a religion to make money just strikes me as bullshit.

Stay tuned for more stuff that freaks me out, because there’s plenty.