WalMart blows.

Michael has taken to calling me ‘Snakebite,’ which is edging ‘Boushh’ for the best nickname I’ve ever had. The punctures are healing too nicely. I wanted some cool scars. I think I got india ink into the ones on my finger (by accident), so hopefully those will last longer.

On the other hand, Ophion will live out the rest of his days as my ward, so he can bite me again any time he wants. And will.

Steve and I got a WalMart gift certificate for Xmas. But we learned tonight that going there isn’t even worth $50 of free merchandise. They carry very little that’s small enough for either of us. I managed to find one pair of black pants that fit. Size? 3, juniors. I bought them anyway.

All I heard while I was browsing was “How come plus size is more expensive? You gotta pay more just ‘cause you fat? That ain’t fair!” I thought about telling her that I’d rather the plus size person have to make up the difference for the extra material, instead of raising the price of the entire line and making me pay for cloth I’m not using, but she was a lot bigger than I was. That, and I understood her frustration. Walmart bras rarely go below 36C, so I was fucked too. I was completely unsuccessful in finding a strapless bustier, and I need one SO MUCH. I should have just stolen my former roommate's when she moved. They also don’t carry the Feria Power Reds line, so I got some at Bartell’s on the way home. I’m planning on being very Waterhouse for the NYE party tomorrow.

I also picked up some blue fishnets and a white thong that I’m going to dye. My NorWesCon costume is going to kick nine kinds of ass in an eight-ass town. Wait and see. (hubris brought to you by leftover WalMart rage)