Most men have NO IDEA what we go through to look good. My dear hubby got an idea this weekend when we got all dolled up to go out to a fancy-schmancy business dinner.
Step 1: Buy a dress. Sounds simple enough, but...no. Not really. I personally did my own little version of "27 Dresses", since I tried on at least that many. Did you know that - if you have large breasts - you practically have to be a contortionist in order to try on a dress with a side zipper? Imagine me, all alone, twisting the damned dress(es) around trying to hold down my boobs while pulling the zipper taut with one hand and yanking on the zipper with the other hand. Yes - it was really like that. After dress #16, I decided that I was no longer trying on any dresses with side zippers. FINALLY I found a dress. Cute and summery, fairly flattering, and 50% off. Sweeeeeeeeet. But then there's the problem of the bra.
Step 2: Buy a bra. The particular dress that I purchased was a type that sorta wraps over the boobs. It was not particularly low-cut or risque, but most of my mammoth support bras showed in the front because they didn't plunge enough. But that's OK, right? They have these nifty cool things called convertible bras! It took me 3 stores and 8 bras, but I finally found a Vera Wang bra that had a low profile in the front, and those nifty clear straps that could go over the shoulders, or cross in the back. Done. It may be worth noting here that most of those really cool bras come in A,B, or C cup sizes. Occasionally, you may stumble upon a D size (which I did.) But that's not much comfort (and I mean that literally) when you could probably use one just a little bigger than that. This bra was also the same price as the dress.
Step 3: Get Dressed. Once I was putting on the dress, I realized that when I walked around, the straps were too loose. The sitter was arriving in 20 minutes, so there was no time to sew or pin or anything. The dress has straps that button in the back, and had 2 button holes so you could adjust the strap lengths. Still a tad too long. And with the dress sliding around, the bra was showing. The last thing I needed was to have a Janet Jackson moment in the middle of the appetizer. So I get Bart to help me. First, we crossed the convertible bra straps and hooked them into place. (Ow.) Then, I had him cross the dress straps. This succeeded in making everything stay put, but man o man was I strapped in. Boobs weren't popping out, but I did look a bit like a breast-feeding mom. And in order to get the boobs to stay put, the dress was tighter, making the skin between the boobs and the shoulder kind of spooge out. UGH. Thank God for the wrap my sister-in-law loaned me. I played all night like I was chilly, and kept the wrap on. Oh - and I almost forgot what I lovingly call the sucky-innie pants. These are nude-colored bicycle type shorts that cover from just under your boobs to your thighs. They suck everything in. They are horribly uncomfortable, and getting them on is a little like putting on a wetsuit.
So I went to dinner, in my too-small convertible bra, with my boobs packed in tight, with a wrap to hide the spoogy arm flesh , and sucky-innie pants to make everything smooth. I am fairly certain I would have been more comfortable in a space suit. But I looked pretty good, and I guess that's what counts.
Step 4: Get undressed. First off - the sucky-innie pants didn't make it the whole night. After dinner, I went to the restroom and pulled them off, and stuck them in my purse. (Dear God don't let anyone ask me for anything that might be in my purse.) Wow - MUCH better, though. I have never been so glad to get clothes off in my life, with maybe the one exception of my wedding day, when I ran through 96 degree heat while people pelted me with birdseed, which then got stuck in the sweat between my body and another infamous support-and-structure type garment. Anyway, once home, I took off the dress and the bra. I had indentations in my skin from both for about 3 hours. Ouch.
All in all, though dinner went well. Nothing of mine popped out (not the boobs, not the sucky-innie pants from my purse), and the evening was a success.
It still surprises me what we go through to look good. And in re-reading this, it surprises me that we invent vocabulary when we look good. I'm pretty certain I've never seen "sucky-inny" pants marketed anywhere, and "spoogy" is not in the Dictionary.
Maybe it should be - most women understand 100% what "spoogy" skin is. Maybe I'll write "The Women's' Beauty Dictionary". Words like "spoogy" and "sucky-innie" could become a part of the world's everyday vocabulary! Then again...maybe I should spend that time doing something to make the spoogy stuff a little less spoogy, and decreasing the necessity of sucky-innie pants.
My Wii Active should be here today.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
I could tell you about...
I could tell you about how getting the kids their passports was every BIT the living hell I suspected it would be. Worse, actually. We showed up at 10:00 am - with kids in tow. We had our forms all filled out, we had our pictures in hand. Good - to - GO. We pulled a number - Number 76. Looked up. Thye were currently on Number 41. Ohhhhhh-Kaaayyy. So we wait. A Half hour later, they are on #46. Half Hour later - about the same. Overall, there were more than 40 people (most with small children)crammed in this 35x30 room. Two Passport agents. Then one LEAVES. Goes to lunch or whatever. WTF??? Most of the people don't have their shit together. Most have to have their pictures taken right there (which means a wait for processing.) All in all they were clearing about 11 people an hour. At that pace, we were estimating a wait of between 2 1/2 and 4 hours in addition to the hour and 15 we had already been waiting. THANK GOD Bart called the Passport office at the Pinellas County Courthouse in Clearwater. She said they had no wait. So we hop in the car, drive the 25 minutes to Clearwater, and go in. We waited 20 minutes, and then the actualy process took another 25 minutes. I still in total took us over 3 hours. And it cost us almost $400. Don't even ask me what poor people have to do if they need to leave the country or something.
Or....I could tell you about how I found myself sitting alone at a picnic table at Joe's Crab Shack in Orlando Florida. Sitting alone, on the verge of tears, with a beer and a giant cake & ice cream sundae. Sitting alone, while my bratty mean kids played blisfully on the adjoining playground. Sitting alone, pondering the whole parenting thing, and thinking about how I'm not very good at it. So many of my other friends are so much more patient, so much more supportive, so much more creative. I'm just so....well, Not.
Or...I could tell you about how - in yet another stellar example of my sub-par parenting abilities, I drove all the way back to the hotel from the Joe's Crab Shack with Jimmy Buffett blaring as loud as I could get it in order to drown out the sounds of the bickering whining children in the backseat.
Today really exemplifies the title of this blog:
"How did I get here, and where's my Margarita?"
Or....I could tell you about how I found myself sitting alone at a picnic table at Joe's Crab Shack in Orlando Florida. Sitting alone, on the verge of tears, with a beer and a giant cake & ice cream sundae. Sitting alone, while my bratty mean kids played blisfully on the adjoining playground. Sitting alone, pondering the whole parenting thing, and thinking about how I'm not very good at it. So many of my other friends are so much more patient, so much more supportive, so much more creative. I'm just so....well, Not.
Or...I could tell you about how - in yet another stellar example of my sub-par parenting abilities, I drove all the way back to the hotel from the Joe's Crab Shack with Jimmy Buffett blaring as loud as I could get it in order to drown out the sounds of the bickering whining children in the backseat.
Today really exemplifies the title of this blog:
"How did I get here, and where's my Margarita?"
Monday, June 1, 2009
WHY
WHY does the US Government make it so damned difficult to get your children passports? Say a wonderful event happens in your life - something along the lines of your in-laws calling and saying "Surprise! We're taking your whole family to Mexico to stay at a ritzy all-inclusive resort! And we're paying for the whole thing! For 5 days! And we're leaving on July 5th!" YIPEE, right? Then you go on line and see that even children need passports to go to Mexico. They take 4-6 weeks. Crap. Then you see that - hey! - they can be "expedited." For a fee, of course. So you figure that you'll suck up the fee, since it means you get to go on a free vacation. But then you see that both parents have to be present at the actual getting of the passports. Which is a problem since parent #2 (he's #2 because I'm older than he is) is in Atlanta for the week. So we lose 4 days right there. But wait! There's a form that allows parent #2 to give consent for parent #1 to get the passports. Whew! Except that THAT from has to be Notarized, and most Notaries are supposed to Notarize in the presence of the person signing the form. Which is impossible, since parent #2 is in Atlanta. So I find a friend who a) is a Notary, and b) will notarize the form without Bart being present, and c) will even do it for free. Yay! Then you find out that BOTH children actually have to be present at the getting of the passports. OK - fine. So you look up where you have to drag both children to to get the passports (there are about 15 post offices closer to your house, but - conveniently - they aren't authorized Passport offices.) I can imagine that this trip will be a little like dragging 2 children to the DMV. Maybe worse. The closest Passport office is a good 30 minutes away. OK. So you pick the Passport office that is the closest to you, and then realize they only have passport hours from 8-3. So you have to bring your children to the Passport office, but the only Passport hours are the same as school hours? WTF? WHY is it so difficult to get permission for my children to accompany me to a resort vacation in Mexico for 5 days, but hundreds of MEXICANS waltz right in to the US without permission every stinking day? UGH.
WHY am I the way that I am? When I try a new yummy treat - say, the new little 90 calorie snack bags of flavored rice cake snacks (really tasty, by the way - peanut butter, mint chocolate, caramel, etc...) - why can't I just enjoy the yummy snack? Instead of savoring the yummy 90 calories, I automatically start thinking "Hey - at only 90 calories, how many bags could I eat at once and still be OK?" WHY do I DO that?
WHY is it so damned difficult to find pajamas? All I want is a set with boxer shorts and a cotton tank top. I don't want shorty shorts or boy shorts. I don't want lace or silk or satin. (This is mainly because a) I want to be comfortable, and b) my kids are getting old enough to ask questions about stuff..) I just want something somewhat presentable that I can sleep in. WHY is this too much to ask?
WHY did the sales lady feel the need to tell me her life story today? Did I really need to know that she is s substitute teacher, and last week some kid knocked over a trash can, and when she asked him to clean it up, some parent bitched her out? I guess she was making an effort to be friendly, but lady - I just finished an unsuccessful bout of clothes shopping. Nothing fit, and I am hungry because I am starving myself in an effort to make things fit. So I'm not exactly in a chipper mood, you know? WHY can't she just be polite and cut the chit chat?
WHY did that lady in the gold Pontiac give me the finger when I rightfully and legally changed lanes? Oh wait - I know this one. Because she's a stupid bitch. That's WHY.
WHY can't we shoot whichever marketing guru decided to put freakin candy at children's eye level in the checkout lines? They wouldn't leave it there if it wasn't selling. So hey slacker Moms: WHY don't you consider not bribing your little brat with candy at the checkout?
WHY indeed.
WHY am I the way that I am? When I try a new yummy treat - say, the new little 90 calorie snack bags of flavored rice cake snacks (really tasty, by the way - peanut butter, mint chocolate, caramel, etc...) - why can't I just enjoy the yummy snack? Instead of savoring the yummy 90 calories, I automatically start thinking "Hey - at only 90 calories, how many bags could I eat at once and still be OK?" WHY do I DO that?
WHY is it so damned difficult to find pajamas? All I want is a set with boxer shorts and a cotton tank top. I don't want shorty shorts or boy shorts. I don't want lace or silk or satin. (This is mainly because a) I want to be comfortable, and b) my kids are getting old enough to ask questions about stuff..) I just want something somewhat presentable that I can sleep in. WHY is this too much to ask?
WHY did the sales lady feel the need to tell me her life story today? Did I really need to know that she is s substitute teacher, and last week some kid knocked over a trash can, and when she asked him to clean it up, some parent bitched her out? I guess she was making an effort to be friendly, but lady - I just finished an unsuccessful bout of clothes shopping. Nothing fit, and I am hungry because I am starving myself in an effort to make things fit. So I'm not exactly in a chipper mood, you know? WHY can't she just be polite and cut the chit chat?
WHY did that lady in the gold Pontiac give me the finger when I rightfully and legally changed lanes? Oh wait - I know this one. Because she's a stupid bitch. That's WHY.
WHY can't we shoot whichever marketing guru decided to put freakin candy at children's eye level in the checkout lines? They wouldn't leave it there if it wasn't selling. So hey slacker Moms: WHY don't you consider not bribing your little brat with candy at the checkout?
WHY indeed.
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