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Friday, October 23, 2009

They are Pants-tastic!

One of the side effects of my summer of bicycle commuting has been a marked reduction in my assular acreage. Yay!
Except now none of my pants fit. Boo!
Since I haven't had two spare minutes to rub together, let alone the time it takes to tailor pants, I had to break down and go shopping.

Everybody say 'Ahhhh, poor you' in your most sarcastic voice.
Yeah well, when you are 5'11", most of your pants shopping is done via the internet where there are NO DRESSING ROOMS and have you bought pants lately?

It is no longer just a matter of size and stature. Nowadays you have to take into account your degree of curvi- vs. flat-assedness.
Do you want flare, boot cut, straight or my-feet-are-stuck!?
Above the waist, at the waist, slightly below the waist, low waist or free-bikini-wax-with-purchase waist?
And as long as we're talking mid-section, are you equipped to utilize the contoured waist, the secret expansion waist or the no-waist waist? Wtf's that? For women who go straight from hip to boob?

And they are so evasive about who they are designed to fit. They give them cute names like Mercer and Modern and Marisa and Diva cuts. They use obscure terms like generous and tapered and relaxed and slim. Can pants really relax?
Only if you spill a martini on them.

Anyway, by my calculations there are about 15 fidzillion possibilities so what are the odds that you are going to end up with something that fits well when you can't try them on? Probably 15 fidzillion to one. Duh, Jane.

I was so disheartened when I couldn't find a No-ass/Mini-muffin top/Poochie thighs fit that I was tempted to quit shopping and get back to work. Ah, but then I felt my baggy underwear sliding down inside my baggy pants and it's just not a splendid or professional feeling so I bucked up and reverted to my traditional pants shopping method: buy the first ones I find that are on sale and available in my size.
Did I also mention that I (now) have what seems to be the most popular tall size and therefore the one that is least available?

Well, my aggravation did not go unrewarded. Three new pair of pants arrived on Tuesday and can I tell you that already this week I have saved about half a day by not having to wrestle with a safety pin every time I visit the restroom. And today I am wearing a pair of stretch jeans that I have not had to pull up over my crack ONCE! And I'm not even wearing a belt!!! They are awesome and I think I now understand the concept of the other crack. If the feeling I get wearing these pants was only available on a street corner for 20 bucks, I would be rooming with Lindsay down at the Cir*que.
And if the latest magazines are forreals, I'd be prettier.

Have a skippy weekend, everybody!

Monday, October 19, 2009

It's a wonder she doesn't sound like Marge Simpson

A friend’s grandson had his tonsils and adenoids removed a last week and Grandma was very worried about the little guy going under the knife. Of course she was.

Me, being the tonsillectomy veteran that I am, told her ‘Bah! Don’t worry!’ Which she still did but she later reported that everything went ‘just fine - just like you said it would’.

As if I am an expert. I talk a good game because fifteen years is a lot of time to sort of smooth over my memory of Alpha’s surgery. I mean it really did go well but probably could have been better – if she had had a different mother.

Alpha had tonsils the size of Tootsie Pops almost from the time she was born – inherited from her father’s side, as most of the troublesome traits tend to be. By the time she was 5 they were so big that that little thingy that hangs at the back of your throat? Yeah, uvula or whatever. It had creases in the front and (I assume) back from being squished between the Tootsie tonsils. She also had nasty ear infections and snored like her grandmother (dad’s side again). Once she began dabbling in sleep apnea, her pediatrician called time out – as in TIME to take the tonsils OUT!

Aack! Cut up my baby? No, not my gentle little happy giant.

I’ll skip over all my neurotic second guessing and second opinioning and second third drinking and get to the actual surgery, which I did have the good sense to set up at the finest children’s hospital around (Okay, that’s where my health insurance sent me but I really would have picked it myself!) and a tonsillectomy was scheduled for June in hopes of working around ear infection season despite my definitely dragging heels.

I mean, it feels so wrong - handing over a strapping, healthy child to be surgically modified. By a knife! I know, I know, this probably edging into the great circumcision debate but really, you can live without a penis. I’m talking about my daughter’s throat! A necessary conduit for life! Besides, I have no opinion in the foreskin discussion. That is my reward for carefully harvesting only my husband’s X chromosomes.

Anyway, we showed up at the hospital at 8am and took Alpha through all the pre-surgical rigmarole, which included cute jammies and slippers and pink pony band-aids over the needle sticks that those tricky pediatric nurses seemed to pull off without even being noticed.

At 10 am sharp she walked bravely down the hall holding hands with the anesthesiologist. Gelp!

To avoid the uncool appearance of nervous, pacing parentness, Homer and I wandered down to grab a pop in the cafeteria and were still arguing about who was going to pay the tab when my cell phone rang - the doctor was looking for us. After only 20 minutes??? Oh no, they had lost her! And I didn’t mean misplaced. I had visions of her little throat bleeding uncontrollably after the evil doctor carelessly plucked out her tonsils - probably using some old rusty nail clipper and ragged tongue depressor.

We rushed back and met the surgeon who recapped the surgery as a smooth and simple tonsil- and adenoidectomy. He hadn’t known how dreadful her adenoids were until he got a peek behind the tonsils. Wow, two ectomies for the price of one co-pay. Christmas in June!

And now Alpha was ours to tend in recovery. As promised the recovery room had a Disney movie playing and offered popsicles and drinks. It was a dim, quiet room and quite peaceful in spite of the six or so other ectomy patients with loving parents hovering near.

Poor Alpha! So brave, but Mommy's here for you.

I leaned in toward Alpha and asked her what she would like. A drink? A popsicle? Her lips moved but I couldn’t hear what she was saying (keep in mind this was back when my hearing was 20/20). So I leaned in closer and asked again. She squeaked out a little something through her freshly butchered throat but, darn it, I just couldn’t make it out. So I asked once more.

And she yelled ‘Please MOVE!

I was blocking the movie.

And I made her yell.

All the parents turned and shot me those looks that said ‘What a rotten mother! To make your child yell in her condition!’ Or so I imagined. I felt this big so I sat down and shut up and faster than you could say happily ever after, the movie was over and we were on our way home. Not one tear had been shed. In spite of me.

After two hours Alpha had had enough of bed rest and asked to jump on the trampoline. Even I could see that might be a poor choice so I spent the next two days holding her down and demanding that she act sick. I was warned that the third post-surgical day could be the worst. And it was. By then it was like trying to hang on to a dozen stringless balloons in a hurricane. Therefore, on the 4th day I caved and let her go back to summer camp. She never looked back and I have chosen to file the experience in my head under the ‘delusions of good parenting’ category, thankyouverymuch.

Friday, October 16, 2009

Bossy vs Miss Hyphens

As I wandered into the office this morning, rummaging through my bag:

Me: Crapnuts, I think I have some bad news.

Trusty Assistant (in her signature smug tone): Let me guess. You forgot your office keys.

Me: No, Miss OCD-Virgo-who-has-never-forgotten-or-misplaced-a-single-thing-in-her-entire-life, I did NOT forget my keys….. It’s my wallet.

TA: What about it.

Me: I took it out to file and pay taxes online last night.

TA (with her judgmental eyebrow cocked): File your taxes…. In October.

Me: Shush you, Miss File-in-January-and-miss-all-the-fun-of-an-extension-hanging-over-your-head-for-six-months! UHH! I remember holding it in my hand and thinking ‘I’ve GOT to get this back in my bag.’ GAH! I am so pissed at myself.

TA: Well now, why would you need your wallet?

Me: Lunch? Remember we’re going to Rio?

TA: Yes, but do YOU remember that it’s Bosses Day and I’m buying.

Me: That’s totally not necessary. And would only encourage my witchy ways. Oh! Here it is in the tax binder! Geez, I am SUCH a dork!

TA: Okay. I’ll give you that one.

She is darn lucky it isn’t Administrative Professional’s Day because her smart mouth would cost her some very good Mexican food.

And no, I will NOT admit to her that I forgot my office keys.

Friday, October 9, 2009


(Quite) a while back I got word from Lorna the Bathtime Blogger, that she had an award for me over at her place. I was tempted to go all lazy-crazy on her about why SHE couldn't bring it to ME, but then I started thinking about the Academy awards and Nobel prizes and how they aren't delivered, so quick as molasses, I zipped over and picked it up.... like 2 and a half weeks later.

Whew! Long sentence, huh? I better slow down on the caffeine.

So, anyway, this is the award. (What the heck is that tied around the elbow? A tourniquet from cutting the arm off?)

And although I am honored that Lorna believes me to be an honest, from-the-heart blogger, I'm also a bit exhausted from cutting and pasting and hauling it way the heck over here. And now, after reading the fine print, I see my work has just begun. The directions say I have to list ten honest things about myself (aack!) and pass the award on to seven more bloggers who write heartfelt prose. Well at least I don't have to go buy a dress and get all fussied up.

Okay... ten honest things. This could take some time.

1. I'm a total hypocrite. My hypocrisy really shines when I drive. I will fully cuss out the lady in the blue minivan for doing exactly what I did yesterday. I know it and I'm not proud of it. I just can't stop it. Even if it is completely apparent that I had a MUCH better reason for doing that thing.

2. I am freakishly attracted to shiny metallic objects. It must be the raccoon in me because I have been known to pick up hubcaps from the roadside. This does NOT apply to wearable sparklies like glitter, metallic clothing, or diamond studded handcuffs.

And here I am a week later working on #3. Told you this wasn't going to be quick.

3. I am a procrastinator. My philosophy is why do today what you might not have to do tomorrow? Seriously, what if I got mowed down by a gravel truck on April 14th? I would have totally wasted all that time I spent doing my tax returns early.

4. I think my bosses have too high opinions of me. Some days I feel like a complete poser.

5. I love having teenagers much more than I ever liked having babies or toddlers. I mean I have loved my daughters every day of their lives but frankly, they scared me until they were almost eye level.

6. I do not believe that I will ever be okay with unpainted toe nails. On myself, I mean. Even if I fall victim to the darkness of dementia, I swear that one tiny cognizant part of me will KNOW and that, my friends, will be my hell - staring down at bare, and probably fungicized, toes.

7. I like to do cross-stitch. Not exactly an action sport but it is just the therapy I need at times when nothing else in my life fits perfectly into a color-coded grid.

8. I have no sense of direction. I'm notorious for going the wrong way every time I exit a store in the mall. Luckily, I did not pass this on to my children who often have to pluck me by the shirt back and spin me a 180. I guess you can figure out why they always insist on driving.

Oh, so close, only two more! Hmm....

9. I CANNOT sing.
I couldn't carry a tune even if you put it in my purse and zipped it shut. The good news is I don't sing. Unless I'm alone or wanting to hurt someone.

10. The thing that is currently scaring the $hit out of me is how fast time flies. I am often shocked and panicked by how fast Monday becomes October and tomorrow becomes two years ago. I have too much yet to do and I am not at all ready to stare at my toes!

And now.... one of the things I have to do is pass this little gem on to seven other people. Since most of you probably got this award l-o-n-g ago, hmm.... I think I will do a little research and hand out the awards in my next post.

Meanwhile, have a dang skippy weekend.

Peace, Love, Long weekend.