And we got married.
Since then, we have plowed through countries, cities, jobs, takeout containers and coffee makers.
We have had 2 kids, three houses, endless colds, fights and giggles.
But it all boils down to just this:
The wedding dress…..that no longer fits…..
For the most part, I never think about it. But when we moved a few months ago, it ended up at the bottom of my closet, taunting me with it’s cinched waist and narrow shoulders.
And now I have to figure out what to do with it.
Cause it doesn’t fit.
It is severely jaundiced.
It has *princess sleeves* (romantic way of saying batwings).
It’s probably for the best that it doesn’t fit, I’d totally wear it otherwise.
Like out, in public…
I’d start to sneak it in at Halloween, totally reasonably….but I know myself.
Before long, I’d organize a Bridesmaids Party…which could be fun, except, I wouldn’t know that we were being ironic and I’d suggest we do it monthly…and people would stop replying to my Evites and Facebook Events….that’s how much I wish I could still wear the dang dress!
Because the truth is, I loved this dress.
And the body that fit into it (Mine).
And the body that snuggled up against it (His).
And all the friends and family that accidentally stepped on it.
And I am so grateful that I still look back on that date, and all of the wonderful days… Continue reading
I *may* spend a bit of time on twitter and facebook. In my defense, I also spend a lot time watching youtube videos and playing angrybirds too, so there’s that…
And I love it all. Mainly. But occasionally, certain updates frustrate the bejesus outta me [ok - very crazy digression. Spellcheck likes the word *bejesus* as much as I do, and has accepted it without prompting me to change it. Awesome]
The thing is, I wonder, are people intentionally trying to annoy with their status updates? Cause, that would actually be funny….
I mean, I get why blog posts may occasionally bore or annoy.
The potential for failure is accelerated with every allowable character.
My idea of annoying may be your bliss…one persons self-righteous tweet is another’s plagiarized Oscar Wilde…
Here’s what I mean:
“I just finished 687km in 43 minutes. What size jeans are your jeans?” (I am paraphrasing a tiny bit)
“So sad when certain people can’t take the hint” OMG – NO MORE passive-aggressive tweets/updates please! and you know who I’m talking about <——- SEE???!!!!
“Can’t wait to go to the #RTH11 event and see all the #FHNNG gals…better than last years #TCGBV1o That was just lame” OK, seriously, nobody understands these tweets, it’s not just you, I promise!!
Screw smart, witty, engaging, generous, funny. Today’s theme is kickass – the loud, raunchy, fierce kind.
I have a tendency to over-think and over-share and over-plan…and sometimes that leaves me 63 steps from where I actually need to be – like today…
Except that my world revolves online. So the same way when I was a kid, I was constantly editing my life as if it was a tv show. “What would Tootie do if I sent that boy in class a note” or “The Beav and I would kick-ass at building a fort together” these days I edit things into post sized thoughts.
Feeling like crap? I know, write a post on the “Top 10 Most Un-Sh*tty Things To Do” or a “How to Un-Sh*tty Your Mood In 5 Easy Steps – 3 of which include a package of Oreos, some whipcream and an avocado” .
Which really sucks because then I start thinking of all the bloggers who could do this post way better than I could, and there are tons. Except a post like this would likely not make it past the draft stage, that’s how silly and obvious it is…moping is for facebook and suckers, kiddo.
Regardless, I need to shake the sh*tty’s today, so rather than make lists of all the practical stuff that actually needs to be accomplished, I did this instead:
Who Shakes Your Sh*tty’s??
Fictitious Chicks Who Would Slay Me For Moping:
Music to ass kick my mope-y’s:
Turns out I don’t have any dirty little secrets. I was not a former beauty queen. I have never murdered a rainbow, nor have I ever participated in a hazing (but if I could, I would totally haze Jeremy Piven)
But I was thinking recently of an old friend who told me about the recent breakup with her boyfriend. They left each other, angrily and are not destined to *keep in touch*. Everything ended badly, the way these things do. And yet…the one pact they have made with each other - and by pact it is everything short of a legal document – is that they won’t spill the beans on each other. At various points in their relationship they confessed to previous lovers (this includes the number of & intimate tendencies). This also includes days taken off work that included trips to the mall, rather than the doctors…insider family information…and an indecent amount of gossip on their friends and co-workers.
So I was entertaining the thought of which parts of my past could come back to bite me…and really, though I am not sin-free (that would be boring) but there was nothing scandalous really.
I wondered aloud (ok, fine, on the twitter):
What would be worse : having your salary exposed or your weight?
Most people agreed that they were more comfortable revealing their weight than their salary. One helpful gal admitted to wearing a size 7 shoe. My amazing buddy (who I have yet to meet in real… Continue reading
Son 1, watching TV: “What’s GOP”?
Son 2, not missing a beat: “Gay Octopus Penis’”
I was not present for this exchange. This is what happens when the boys leave me out of things. (I *may* have choked I was laughing so hard when PJ sent this to me though)
So, my husband hates my birkenstocks. He has nothing against my somewhat loose hippy dippy happy ways – he himself used to sport a goatee, eat toffuti and play along to Chris Kristopherson. He just sincerely doe not like the look of them on me and in the past month, has conveniently brought me home two new pairs of shoes to replace them with. And while super sweet, neither of them compare – in both looks and comfort – to my light purple metallic birks.
So, what do I do?
I mean this sincerely. I trust my husband implicitly. When pressed, he just mumbles something about them making my feet look like Barney Rubble impostors. But I have a wonky foot and these are sooo comfortable and they are PURPLE – nothing is ever bad in purple, right? ( My kids are tweens, so apparently Barney no longer exists in my universe)
I have little doubt that he is looking out for my best interest here, I am neither offended or hurt. That said, I am a little self-conscious wearing them out of the house now. He may likely be right, they are not flattering. To be fair, I am a firm believer in being able to not look too schleppy and remain super comfortable – the days of pitting comfort against style are dated and aged (and to the fashion editors who continue to battle them out – so are you, suckah!!).
So the question remains (Actually it has evolved into a few questions):
- Would you… Continue reading
It seems that when you have a blog about weight-loss it is bound to be stuffed with angst and venomous body image. I have never read one where the author happily discusses her cellulite and jiggles. Oh, there was that one but then she was murdered by the rest of us…..
That said, it’s not as if I live off of Kraft dinner, hide out in my basement with all the friendly earwigs, avoiding daylight & camis. Not anymore, at least. No, I have moved into Denial – it is way happier here! Denial encouraged me to buy all my new clothing one size up -I am swimming in
delusion skinny jeans these days. Denial also helped me replace all of our full-length mirrors with this:
Denial believes that oreos are as wholesome as carrots, exercise hurts butterflies and that cellulite is actually caused by the oranges it resembles.
Denial told me that training for a 5km would take too much time away from kids, and that without parental supervision they were bound to get caught up in all the drugs and hookering going around. As if I’d want that to happen, right??
Still, I decided to put together a list of stuff about my body that doesn’t make me regret not spreading that rumour that I am addicted to eating teddy bears. At least then, I would be eccentric, y’know – rather than just an Oreo-eating chub-chub:
- My green eyes
- My freckles, mainly because just saying the word… Continue reading