Is it too damn much to ask for a hair volumizer that doesn't make my hair crunchy or sticky or weird smelling or greasy looking?
I mean COME ON. NASA announced today that one of the astronauts has worn the same underpants for a month thanks to a technological advancement that makes them repel odors and no one can manage to find a way to make my poor, flat hair look just a wee bit less sad?
Friday, July 31, 2009
Is it too damn much to ask for a hair volumizer that doesn't make my hair crunchy or sticky or weird smelling or greasy looking?
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
M is at my parents house for the summer. And while I would normally be jealous, it's just as hot there as it is here, so HA HA.
Now that she's a little older in addition to the regular summer activities of camp and camping and walking to the community pool, she's spent a lot of time with my sisters. Going to the aquarium or kayaking on Lake Union or just hanging out with the grown ups.
Yesterday, KL & L took her to the Experience Music Project to see the Muppet exhibit. M was OVER THE MOON excited and called me about six times in the preceding days. Hell, she called me twice from the museum itself. Just to tell me she was there.
Then, I get this picture by text from my sister
You can't really see her, but that's M in the green hat. Flirting with a boy. Which of course my sister thought was hilarious. Because M? Has got no game. And also? Is a little clueless, because right after this picture was taken she got hit on by a girl but didn't realize it.
Monday, July 27, 2009
You know how when you get a new medication they give you a big old list of things that will go wrong and somewhere on the list is always "AND MAY RESULT IN DEATH"? Well, Ambien has warnings like "may result in amnesia". No shit. Among reported side effects are "sleep eating" (not awesome) "sleep driving" (kind of awesome) "sleep sex" (awesome for the spouse) and so on. Basically, if you were doing it, or even thinking very hard about it when you fall asleep, you run the risk of doing it while you sleep.
And not remembering it.
I've been taking the controlled release version of Ambien for a while now and I've not had any thing too weird happen. Except that time when I woke up and the entire contents of two book shelves were piled in leaning 6ft towers on the coffee table and then oddly topped with tennis balls. But that was more awesome than weird and I'm still a little pissed I didn't take a picture of it.
This morning when I woke up I noticed a laundry basket full of clean clothes sitting on the desk in my bedroom and I thought "FUCKING SCORE! I can sleep and still do laundry! High Five Ambien!" but then I checked my text messages and saw one from my husband "used the last laundry soap. Can u buy more? thx"
So, clearly, I'm giving sleep blow jobs.
Friday, July 24, 2009
I've got nothing to post about today. AND I've got the munchies. Here's what I'm thinking of making when I get home
Buffalo Chicken Dip
8 oz Cream Cheese, softened
1/2c. Bleu cheese or Ranch dressing
1/2c. Franks Red Hot buffalo sauce
1 1/2c. shredded cheese
2 cooked and cubed/shredded chicken breasts (about 2 cups)
1. Stir cream cheese until smooth
2. Mix in dressing and buffalo sauce
3. stir in chicken and cheese
4. microwave on high 5 minutes, stirring occasionally until evenly heated and smooth
5. serve warm with crackers or celery sticks
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Me: Whatcha doing?
CG: Guess =P
Me: Using Tapioca pudding as a masturbatory aid while watching midget she-male porn and listening to Yanni?
CG: No. But that sounds like fun.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Am I the oldest girl in the world who purposely picks a line not staffed by a teenage boy when I'm buying something embarrassing like Monistat or Super Jumbo Tampons or mustache bleach?
Monday, July 20, 2009
Speaking of home (what? my thought train has derailed. Deal with it.) Here's a picture of the hair coloring job I did on myself.
Labels: Weekend Update
Friday, July 17, 2009
I LOVE me some tasty food. Even though I can only eat a cup of it at a time, but WHATEVER.
Because I can only eat wee little doll sized amounts of food, I try to make sure that what I'm eating is not just tasty, but also meets my nutritional needs. HA! I just said that! I'm seriously cracking myself up over here, because I? HATE healthy foods. Healthy foods taste like crap. That's why they're healthy, they're bereft of the things that makes food yummy. Things like fat. Mmmmm fat. Meat covered in cheese and a side of melted butter and washed down with an ice cream shake. That's what I'm talking about.
In an effort to find foods that are both good and not going to make me whip out the plastic grocery sack from my purse and um...return my lunch, let's call it...I've started to pay better attention to the labels. And that? BORING.
You know what's not boring? Being shocked. That's why I love those Eat This, Not That books. HOLY CATS, people. You wouldn't believe the hidden calories in things! It's astounding. No WONDER we're all straining our buttons. Except certain sisters of mine, who will remain nameless but who wears a size 8. But the rest of us? Oy.
However, I'm far too lazy to spend an afternoon reading about things I love and why they're going to kill me. So instead, I susbscribed to their email news letter so that I can be horrified in daily bite sized doses.
Seriously, if you've never checked out this information you totally should. While eating a Krispy Kreme and drinking a Frappacino. Obviously.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Look at me, reviewing shit again.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
I don't usually do posts like this, because really, who wants to read a bunch of whining all the time? But there's only so much whining I can do to the people I see IRL before they're all "WILL YOU PLEASE JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP?" and then I'm all "GREAT, NOW I HAVE TO HATE YOU TOO!".
That's how we talk around here, in all capital letters.
So today I'm going to whine to you and if you don't want to read it then just come back later, okay?
I am so very, very tired of fighting with my husband. Seriously. There are only so many times that I can bite my tongue before it falls off and then how would I blow the gum bubbles that annoy my mother so much?
Through the years of being married me & J have never been one of those joined at the hip couples. Mostly because while I am willing to do things that I don't enjoy just because he enjoys them, he isn't willing to do the same and so most of my hobbies, trips, etc are done with friends while he stays home and acts like he's some kind of martyr for "allowing" me to do things.
When it comes to things around the house, it's all me, all the time. He claims that his "job" is to "protect us" and that counts as an equal amount of housework and since it's either do it myself or be buried in trash and dirty laundry while weeds grow up to cover the house, I do it myself. Well, not the yard work, that I hire out, because it's fucking HOT here and all the plants in my yard want to kill me.
Because I also work full time away from home, that means from about the time I get home until I go to bed, I'm doing something. Running errands, cooking, cleaning, whatever. Even when I'm watching TV at night chances are the dishwasher is running and I'm folding laundry. It's not fair, but it's better than arguing about it.
Recently though he's started to bitch that I never want to spend any time with him. If I'm in the bathroom cleaning toilets, it's because I'm avoiding him. If I'm cleaning out my closet, it's because I don't like him any more. If I run to the grocery to buy toilet paper, I'm abandoning him. I'm seriously at my wits end here. If I don't do these things, they don't get done, but if I DO do them, then I'm a bad wife? WTF? And if I ask HIM to do them? Well, lordy be, he makes $4 hour more than I do, so that means it's MY job because he's the "bread winner"? WTF again, I ask?
THEN on Sunday when we went to lunch with BabyMama and Smooth (and my wee little Gigibella) he tells them that I need "drugs to be able to stand being near (him)". First of all, yes, I do. Secondly, what if I didn't WANT the whole world to know that I am dependant on pharmaceutical intervention to keep from screaming? Of course, I retorted (and I swear to you that I did actually say this) that "if (he) wasn't such as asshole then I wouldn't need to, would I?" and BabyMama, God love her, replied that she was on the same thing I was and he shut up.
We're headed to Vegas for the weekend so that he can go to a bowling tournament and I absolutely DO NOT want to go. It's wrong, isn't it? Shouldn't I be excited? I LOVE Vegas. It's going to be 115* here and a bit less up there. And of course, only 70* inside the casino...LOL. But I feel so anxious at the thought of going that I'm doubling up on my meds to keep functioning.
I'm just at a loss here, Peeps. Any advice would be appreciated.
Monday, July 13, 2009
But sometimes? That line you crossed? It's the finish line. It's been sitting there, waiting for you to work up the nerve to slide your toe across it. Then you get to that other side you find that the grass really is greener and then you sit there kicking yourself thinking of all the years you spent trying to navigate through weeds and broken bottles and quick sand.
Being scared isn't a reason to be immobile.
There will never be a perfect moment.
There is only now.
Friday, July 10, 2009
As a general rule, when I find something amazing, that works as described and isn't very expensive, I keep that shit to myself. Because I don't want y'all to be thinner AND prettier than me.
However, today I am feeling generous. Or I might just be whacked out on Xanax, but either way, I'm feeling like sharing and except for that one time where I spent a ton of money on crap that turned out to be totally useless and is now filling up the cabinet under my bathroom sink, except the Bumpit, which was kind of awesome and now my kid has totally stolen it because she's like that, that's not a situation that happens very often. You can probably blame my mother for that because she used to make me share EVERYTHING with my sisters and now she's not the boss of me and I don't have to share so I totally don't except, like now, when I do.
Or will, if I can ever remember what the fuck it was I was going to tell y'all about. Oh, right. I remember now.
So, being a ginger kid, I'm pretty pale all the time. Even though I live in the desert. Actually, ESPECIALLY because I live in the desert. It's too damn hot to go outside, thusly I spend all summer curled up on the couch watching Bravo and pretending it's winter instead of lying about sunning myself into a deliciously bronzed state of skin cancer.
However, next weekend I'm going to Vegas (again. This time with my husband though, so it's not like it's going to be any fun) and am planning on joining some friends for a kind of fancy dinner that I plan (hahahah) on wearing a skirt to. If I can find a skirt that fits. Given that Vegas is the same temperature as Phoenix (which is fucking hot) (lots of parenthetical remarks today. I blame public education for this) I have no intention of wearing nylons. But then again, I don't want to scare the shit out of the astronauts when the sun reflects off my ghost white legs.
So, I thought, why not give self tanner a try. But then I remembered that the LAST time I tried that I looked like a wood grained Oompa Loompa and while that's a look that Karl Lagerfeld can rock, I just haven't got the leathery face for it. So THEN I thought about going to one of those spray tan places, but allegedly the product they use makes you smell like Frito's and also it's like $50 and quite frankly, I'm far stingier than I am vain which means that's not going to happen.
Just when I was about to give up I spotted this stuff.
It's only $7 at WalMart and also it CLAIMS that it "reduces the appearance of cellulite" while giving you "a natural glow" over the course of a week. Smooth tan thighs? I'm SO IN. I tossed it in my basket and happily went home to try it.
The directions? Fairly specific. They want you to use it after a shower and after a shave and you have to rub it in using circles and then wait until it dries before you get dressed. So you don't stain your clothes, I guess.
The first day I felt a little tingle, but didn't see results. The second day, my ankle looked kind of dirty. The third day I forgot to apply it and the fourth day I applied it, but didn't bother to shave my legs.
By the fifth day though? I actually had a little color! Not noticeable "HELLO, Lindsey "Fake n' Bake" Lohan" color, but just enough of a tint that I no longer glowed in the dark. By the eighth day the color of my legs matched the color of my farmers tan arms so that I was uniformly not pale and also not tan. The color isn't oraganey at all, it's kind of a pale nut brown. Very flattering and not at all fakey looking.
Also? My thighs? Somewhat less lumpy looking. NO SHIT. I'm as shocked as you are. I have no intention of running about in short shorts or anything, but they look decidedly better. To me at least. No one else see them, so it's possible that my head meds are giving me delusions of sexiness, but who cares?
I'm TAN, bitches.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
One of the questions I get asked a lot is if I'm LOVING all the shopping I get to do as I shrink. And the answer?
NO. No, I am not.
It's not that I don't love shopping and it's not even that I don't love the fact that I can now buy pants in the Juniors department instead of the dark and spidery corner known as "Women's". It's not like I don't enjoy that the selection available to me now involves more than giant pastel tee shirts with screen printed kittens who sport clever sayings like "I don't DO mornings". It's not even like I don't enjoy that my ass no longer has it's own zip code.
It's more that OH MY GOD do you realize that you have to replace EVERYTHING you own when you lose this much weight? I have so far replaced jeans, of course, shirts a little less (baggy is a look, right?), shorts, obviously, but now I've had to start replacing things you wouldn't think of. Things like underwear.
I don't know about you guys, but I'm the kind of girl who's super picky about my drawers. I have..correction HAD...two or maybe three brands and styles of panties that I know will cover and stay put and not ride up or slide down, won't pinch or bind or give crazy panty lines or anything heinous like that. But OF COURSE those brands and that style? Do not come in the size I need. Which means I now have a drawer full of panties that creep up and down and twist side to side as their tent like proportions flap in the breeze until they are completely bunched up under my ass so that it looks like I've got a roll of paper towels under my butt cheeks. Of course, in addition to being unattractive it's also uncomfortable so I'd spend half the day digging at my ass like I've contracted Parishiltonitis about my lady bits.
After weeks of this exercise in nonsense and armed with a Victoria's Secret coupon I decided to bite the bullet and buy new panties. Only you know what? The idea of trying on panties before you buy them is just....weird. Panties are meant to come three to a bag, all hermetically sealed and emblazoned with a logo featuring fruit and prepubescent girls with no hips and winning smiles. Frugality being both one of my virtues and also one of my vices, I couldn't pass up getting panties that usually retail for $18 at 5-for-$25. Also I figured "what the hell?" I might get laid more frequently if I wasn't wearing Bea Aurthur's Signature Line of Panties.
Standing before giant vats of panties, I began to sort through the bin labeled L/XL figuring that I might be able to find a few pairs that were not too grandma and not too hooker. As I pulled out one lime green thong after high cut see through lace after hipster Pink boy shorts after another I came to the sinking realization that VS thinks I need to spend my days looking like a transvestite stripper underneath my sensible ($1atgoodwillthankyouverymuch) Levi's and Old Navy perfect tee's. Seriously, there wasn't a single pair of panties in that pile that had more than 6 square inches of fabric. And my ass? FAR TOO LARGE for that kind of nonsense.
So I handed my coupon to the hipster in the neon jeans beside me and headed to Target.
Now, if you've never been fat you may not realize that when you ARE fat, you get like three options for panties. You can have the kind that go up to your navel, the kind that reach all the way up to your armpits or "boy shorts" which are neither boyish nor shorts like. However, if you're NOT fat?
Sweet Baby Jesus, the choices.
High cut, low cut, briefs, bikini, boy shorts, hipsters, ultra low hipster, hipster thongs, high cut thongs, string bikini's, string thongs, seamless, wicking, anti-bacterial (side note: GROSS), second skin, cotton, poly cotton, silk, lace, cotton and lace, lace and silk, "satin", embroidered, screen printed, embroidered with screen print in seamless cotton silk, baby seal skin, micro fiber....seriously who the hell needs that many fucking choices? I just want panties that cover my ass, don't give me camel toe, don't creep, don't slide, and don't give me swamp ass. I don't want neon pink sparkles that spell out "SASSY" and I don't care if they have a pocket for my...whatever the hell one puts in a pocket the size of a quarter...bus fare? Gum? Wet-naps? I don't need them to be "innovative" and I don't care if they're endorsed by Bruce Willis's big headed daughter.
And the sizing? Seriously? Corresponds to NOTHING. Why can't women's undies be like men's? No more random size "7" that really equals pants size "12" but only if that designer decided that a size 12 has hips 38-40 inches instead of the other designers who think your hips will be 40-44 or 32-90 or whatever the fuck they think women want to hear. Why can't they be size 36? As in, your hips are 36" plus or minus two inches, thank you come again? Especially, when after reading the packaging you determine that you wear size X because you fit into parameters Y&Z only to get home and discover either you have shrunk three inches around or they think you want your panties to be "blousey" because that is SUCH an attractive look?
Which is why, if I get into an accident the ER doctor is going to push me out into the hall with a note that says "DO NOT TREAT. DISOBEYED HER GRAM AND ISN'T WEARING ANY PANTIES AT ALL" where I will be mocked by all and sundry as I lay dying, commando, thanks to mass retailers refusal to provide me with some damn underwear that is made of cotton, is pleasantly fitted without being tight, doesn't climb up my ass and isn't covered with cartoon characters.
So consider yourself warned; if you DON'T eat that cheeseburger, large onion rings and milk shake for lunch you're going to die. You're welcome.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
It's 107* here right this minute (which, incidentally is 6:33pm).
For those of you not familiar with Fahrenheit temperature measurements, that's roughly ten degrees hotter than the face of the sun.
Any who, it's time to go make Popsicle salad and Ice Cream Sandwiches for dinner, so I've got to motor.Stay cool, Peeps, stay FROSTY.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
(observing that M has drug in the largest suitcase that we own in preparation for her summer away)
Me, magnanimously : "You can borrow my green plaid shirt if you want to."
M, wickedly: "Thanks, I already packed it."
Monday, July 6, 2009
If the out going phone message says that a business is closed for the day and will not return until the following business day, leaving NINE increasingly rude messages demanding a call back during the time that the business is closed means that you are an asshole with listening comprehension issues.
It also means that I will delete every single message with out listening to them.
Because I have the power.