I have to believe that these markers are non toxic (I think she used the marker like a lollipop - her tongue and teeth are orange!)
Yes - this IS vaseline (what does this say about her mom when she grabs the camera before addressing the "issue")!
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Lauren Unsupervised
I have to believe that these markers are non toxic (I think she used the marker like a lollipop - her tongue and teeth are orange!)
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Granny Pants Redux
Tonight I had the luxury of three hours to myself. Dan is out of town and the kids were at a Parent's Night Out with preschool friends between 5-8pm. What did I do with my time? I chose to go to Costco. I know. Loser. If that was not bad enough, I decided to rectify the underwear situation (see Granny Pants). Never mind that this is the same place I purchased the offending underwear. And would you believe it? I accidently bought the same granny pants.
There are no words. Why I even bother to write about it - I do not know. How did this happen? What is wrong with me? I spent 15-20 minutes examining all of the underwear selections. Seriously. I did not have the kids with me, so I took my time to find the perfect style. I even opened a couple of packages to really get an understanding of what I was dealing with. Sadly, I neglected to open up all of them.
I liked the Calvin Klein bikini, but it was twice the cost, so NO (I have got to drop this cheap attitude when choosing underwear) and the Maidenform were nice - but they had some stripes on them I thought my show through light pants. I come to the French Dressing's it-se-bit-se brand of bikini underwear and the picture looks good (i.e. I can see her bellybutton, unlike looking at me in my granny pants where my bellybutton - and lower back - is covered). I soon realize that this is the same brand as my last (awful) panty purchase, so I put them down and go back to the Calvin's. I start feeling guilty about the price again, and then realize the fabric content. I am really a cotton girl when it comes to everyday wear. And here comes the big mistake. I pick up the damn French Dressing's it-se-bit-se "bikini" (I use quotes here, because these are NOT bikinis - they are tents) and check the fabric content - good, cotton. Unfortunately, the package was really secure so I (fatal move) just put it in my cart and continued on.
When I get home I open up the package of "bikinis" and am completely stunned. I have bought the exact same underwear. Granny pants. Fucker. Clearly I need intervention. I cannot buy my underwear at Costco. I cannot buy my underwear at Costco. Einstein's definition of insanity comes to mind: doing the same thing over and over expecting different results.
There are no words. Why I even bother to write about it - I do not know. How did this happen? What is wrong with me? I spent 15-20 minutes examining all of the underwear selections. Seriously. I did not have the kids with me, so I took my time to find the perfect style. I even opened a couple of packages to really get an understanding of what I was dealing with. Sadly, I neglected to open up all of them.
I liked the Calvin Klein bikini, but it was twice the cost, so NO (I have got to drop this cheap attitude when choosing underwear) and the Maidenform were nice - but they had some stripes on them I thought my show through light pants. I come to the French Dressing's it-se-bit-se brand of bikini underwear and the picture looks good (i.e. I can see her bellybutton, unlike looking at me in my granny pants where my bellybutton - and lower back - is covered). I soon realize that this is the same brand as my last (awful) panty purchase, so I put them down and go back to the Calvin's. I start feeling guilty about the price again, and then realize the fabric content. I am really a cotton girl when it comes to everyday wear. And here comes the big mistake. I pick up the damn French Dressing's it-se-bit-se "bikini" (I use quotes here, because these are NOT bikinis - they are tents) and check the fabric content - good, cotton. Unfortunately, the package was really secure so I (fatal move) just put it in my cart and continued on.
When I get home I open up the package of "bikinis" and am completely stunned. I have bought the exact same underwear. Granny pants. Fucker. Clearly I need intervention. I cannot buy my underwear at Costco. I cannot buy my underwear at Costco. Einstein's definition of insanity comes to mind: doing the same thing over and over expecting different results.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Granny Pants
I went to a new rolfer last week for lower back issues. Anyone who has been to a rolfer before, knows the drill. You pretty much are in your underwear for the session - especially at the beginning because the rolfer is examining your structure (i.e. you are standing in your underwear while he looks at your body) before he begins to work on you. Being in my underwear isn't a problem - I have two kids (read: given birth in a hospital where all of you is there for everyone to see) and Dan went to college with my rolfer and swears he is gay. It was my choice of underwear for inevitable public viewing that gave me pause. Granny pants.
To be fair - I do not have much to choose from. For some reason I have become super cheap and refuse to buy new underwear until it is threadbare (my husband is the same way, but still I think mine are more worse for wear). I have several pair that I bought at Target 5 years ago while in Arizona after my luggage was stolen that are still in the rotation - okay, I am embarrassed just typing that. On the other hand I have some VERY expensive fancy thong underwear (which includes a $75 pair that my mom got on sale for me - yes, they are very fancy) for special occasions. A rolfing session seemed an inappropriate setting for a thong. So I decided on a relatively new pair (bought a little over a year ago) that might just be the biggest pair of panties I own. Seriously. When I took them out of the box, I saw Dan's face and his expression seemed to convey, how many pairs of underwear is that??? The thing is, these underwear were a mistake. I bought them at Costco (because I am cheap, remember) and I thought I was buying bikini style. This was not to be the case. They were french cut (which for the record sounds fancy and hip, but it is not, please be forewarned and do not make this mistake). For some reason I did not return the underwear. I became a martyr - I vowed to wear them until they fell apart (sadly I am learning that they may just be around for a long time - remember the underwear from five years ago that are still with me???).
Back to my rolfing session. As I am standing in front of my rolfer - in my yoga bra (excellent choice) and bloomers (horrible choice) - I am feeling like my underwear is the elephant in the room. They are so enormous, how can we not talk about them? Yet here I stood facing him, turning side to side and (ugh) my back to him (this just might be the worst view - the fabric covers my entire butt and some of my lower back - the Amish cover less).
Finally he is done with examining my structure and I can lie on the table. Yet now I am lying face down with a parachute on my ass. The thing is he is very professional - and I really believe he could care less and is more focused on my structural problems. But when he politely asked if he could roll down the elastic waist of my underwear so he could really work on the muscles in my lower back I lost it. I started laughing hysterically - I could not stop. I now have proof that my underwear is too big - he needed to ROLL IT DOWN.
If this was not bad enough, I proceed to tell my rolfer why I am laughing. You heard me. I am discussing my large underwear with him. The fact that I chose this pair over a ratty ancient pair and a fancy thong. That these are my choices. I am crying of laughter at this point. Why can I NOT shut up? Stories and descriptions of panties keep leaving my mouth while my internal dialog is saying, SHUT UP you granny pants wearing fool!
When I return home, Dan asks how it was. Great - sort of. I explain what happened. Dan is laughing at me (I really do not think with me). The thing is - I used to not even wear underwear. However, that would still leave me in a predicament at the rolfer. And although my rolfer swears it was the perfect rolfing underwear, I still think I need a couple of new pairs.
To be fair - I do not have much to choose from. For some reason I have become super cheap and refuse to buy new underwear until it is threadbare (my husband is the same way, but still I think mine are more worse for wear). I have several pair that I bought at Target 5 years ago while in Arizona after my luggage was stolen that are still in the rotation - okay, I am embarrassed just typing that. On the other hand I have some VERY expensive fancy thong underwear (which includes a $75 pair that my mom got on sale for me - yes, they are very fancy) for special occasions. A rolfing session seemed an inappropriate setting for a thong. So I decided on a relatively new pair (bought a little over a year ago) that might just be the biggest pair of panties I own. Seriously. When I took them out of the box, I saw Dan's face and his expression seemed to convey, how many pairs of underwear is that??? The thing is, these underwear were a mistake. I bought them at Costco (because I am cheap, remember) and I thought I was buying bikini style. This was not to be the case. They were french cut (which for the record sounds fancy and hip, but it is not, please be forewarned and do not make this mistake). For some reason I did not return the underwear. I became a martyr - I vowed to wear them until they fell apart (sadly I am learning that they may just be around for a long time - remember the underwear from five years ago that are still with me???).
Back to my rolfing session. As I am standing in front of my rolfer - in my yoga bra (excellent choice) and bloomers (horrible choice) - I am feeling like my underwear is the elephant in the room. They are so enormous, how can we not talk about them? Yet here I stood facing him, turning side to side and (ugh) my back to him (this just might be the worst view - the fabric covers my entire butt and some of my lower back - the Amish cover less).
Finally he is done with examining my structure and I can lie on the table. Yet now I am lying face down with a parachute on my ass. The thing is he is very professional - and I really believe he could care less and is more focused on my structural problems. But when he politely asked if he could roll down the elastic waist of my underwear so he could really work on the muscles in my lower back I lost it. I started laughing hysterically - I could not stop. I now have proof that my underwear is too big - he needed to ROLL IT DOWN.
If this was not bad enough, I proceed to tell my rolfer why I am laughing. You heard me. I am discussing my large underwear with him. The fact that I chose this pair over a ratty ancient pair and a fancy thong. That these are my choices. I am crying of laughter at this point. Why can I NOT shut up? Stories and descriptions of panties keep leaving my mouth while my internal dialog is saying, SHUT UP you granny pants wearing fool!
When I return home, Dan asks how it was. Great - sort of. I explain what happened. Dan is laughing at me (I really do not think with me). The thing is - I used to not even wear underwear. However, that would still leave me in a predicament at the rolfer. And although my rolfer swears it was the perfect rolfing underwear, I still think I need a couple of new pairs.
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