Winter Fat

I have always been a firm believer in our relation to the bear species (stop laughing). As I reminded a friend just today (who coincidently asked me to attend her kids SWIMMING party – what the hell she was thinking I don’t know). I am in the process of putting on my winter fat. How can we not! I feel obligated to bake stuff, it being Christmas time and all, and I do have to try the stuff before it leaves the house. (Actually the last batch we will officially call the Sample Batch. It did not even leave the house!) I think we should all try to make an active effort to not have Santa feel so bad during this giving time of year. I’m currently sporting a fine looking roll that would put any junior Santa in training to shame. Back to the bears: So why not, right after all the Christmas broo haa haa, we hunker down and do a little hibernating? I could do with a two or three month “napping” period. Isn’t that why they invented the internet? So we don’t have to leave the house? It’s like a mandatory rest period. We would certainly NOT have to order any groceries on line – what with all the winter fat we will be sporting. Just take the eat out of this equation: eat, sleep, read, sleep, watch tv, read, sleep, surf internet, sleep. I had to take drink out of that one because I think at this point we are all ready for a little rehab anyway. Get the liver all dressed and ready for the summer season. Oh, just had a horrible thought. Better put this ditty in the rules: The kids are still required to go to school during this time (dodged a bullet there). We, being old and all, paid our dues and deserve this sabbatical. They, being young and mostly stupid, must continue to learn. Crap, whose going to teach them with all the teachers during the Rehab Hibernation Period? Ah.... back to the internet.

Question for ya all to ponder today: Exactly how old do you have to be before you get the pleasure of tossing your cookies whenever you want and no one asks if you are pregnant?

Speaking Without Thinking

This summer we loaded up the truck and all went to our friends place for a week. (For anonymity purposes, we will call this place Tim Buck Too. Anyplace in Canada without a Tim Horton's is officially under the United Republic of Buck Too!) What follows is one of those blunders we all make ladies. You know it. It shall be called: "Speaking Without Thinking". Let me set the stage: its dark out and the four of us proceed outside (meaning the only four left out of the 9 of us who have any common sense. Although now in hindsite I question this.) We make sure the crazies are locked up in the house in various forms and we set up four lawn chairs in the front lawn to bask in the glow of the un-smogged up stars and quite peacefulness of our friends fabulous neighbours (who at this point I have to mention are all dead. Nope, not drive by dead, but seriously, they are all dead. The neighbours are currently residing in a very long term care home. Yup, a cemetery.) Back to me: I, in my glow of finally getting away from the Hormone Fest and "Dude, let's play Spiderman", sit in my appointed lawn chair and proceed to my happy place. At this point it's just three out of the four of us sitting in our lawn chair row as the fourth member is off running with the wild deer trying to over feed the poor suckers so they get fat and end up being laughed at by the deer in the next town over. (Better then being laughed at by the town "cougar" - and I mean cougar in the literal sense, not some old, hot chick). So I sit with my fellow man (really, a couple of guys - sometimes I am serious!) and proceed to tell my friend's husband that I love his wife. Cricket, Cricket (those are the noises that happen after I profess my love). I will admit at this point in the story that yes, you guessed it, I had had a couple of drinks and was in the "I LOVE YOU MAN" stage of alcoholism. You know it, it's that stage you go to in between: "I am just having one drink" and "You wanna argue that, cause I am way smarta than you!" (Please keep in mind that no matter how much liquid courage I have, I always only say what I really mean. I usually think first. Not so much in this case or I would have worded it a bit different.) I then proceed to try to explain myself in the most unsuccessful manner ever. I would like to think that if I had said that same thing and my audience was a couple of chicks, they would have gotten it. Right? No further explanation needed. Well the dudes look at me like I have made some life changing decision and have decided to play for the other team. (Not that there is anything wrong with that.) I think my friend's husband said something prolific like: Huh? He normally is a pretty witty dude. I must have thrown him off his game. Anyway, I try to explain myself in the most non-lesbian like manner possible. I try to point out to Mr. Huh that his wife is the most quirky, amazing person I have ever met and her enthusiasm for all things deer (oh, and shopping and boots and purses and dogs and oh you get it....) is so cool. No one I know is quite like her. She is contagious and passionate. Blank look still forthcoming from Mr. Huh and his co-hort. Uggg. Dug myself into a hole here. At this point they are BOTH staring at me like I am completely crazy. (Hey, just found out how to get a man's attention!) I look at those blank, empty eyed, had one to many beer faces and realize that they have most likely not heard a word I have said. They are both thinking about the two of us rolling around naked in a pit of (and I would like to say jello for the awesome effect here but alas that will not be the case!) beer and chicken wings! I continue with the "no really, ummm....." yes, I have lost them. They have gone to the other side. The three of us find a more neutral topic, like bad drivers, traffic or something mundane and all is well in Testosterone Town. Shortly thereafter my quirky deer loving friend bounces back all a glow because she saw a baby deer, a couple of neighbours dogs, a cat in the field, deer jumping, deer pooping, deer eating, oh another dog ("is it a stray? should I bring it home and let it sleep on my bed?") her current obsession: Twin deer Sparkle and Shimmer (yup, see what I mean by quirky, she names them!) Ah whatever, I think to myself. Men just don't get it.

Simple Girls Mac Lipstick

Ok really. I understand the need for Blistex and those type of products to NOT make a lip balm that works for more than 2 minutes because it is really fiscally irresponsible to create a product that works for a long time, hence not needing as much of that product and then us not purchasing the product on a regular basis. Can’t someone invent a lip balm that lasts? Maybe if it did not taste like Tuttie Fruitie we would stop eating it! Make it taste like dirt, maybe we will leave it alone.

So if I must admit, this whole lip balm addiction is not a new one. Nothing like the new Blackberry addiction. Oh no, nothing like that. This addiction is bad (I think) or good. Or under the category “could be worse?”. I know I am not the only one out there. Some of you just hide it better than I do. Is it unhealthy to want silky smooth lips? I don’t think so. I mean come on, who wants to see someone with yucky, flakey chapped lips. How seriously unattractive. Gives me the shudders just thinking about it. Oh wait. There is something else yuckier: a moderately attractive man lathering on the Blistex right in front of people. Ewww. I have actually seen that. Not pretty. Come on ladies, you ever kissed a guy with lip pieces flaking off? Dude I ate lunch! Ok, I should have written this BEFORE lunch.

Still, it’s winter time and the lips are crying out for help (or in my case whining for Blistex Triple Tropical Fruit Smoothies – see what I mean – its like having desert – all day!) What did they do back in the day? Wonder if I need therapy? Will Google “Lip Balm Addiction” later. Or not.

The Bathing Suit and Cellulite Reduction Lighting

I do have to tell you that I got a couple of hours to myself on Sunday and thought it may be an appropriate time to look for a bathing suit. This is big…… the story AND my ass. I have no kids to rush me so I am ready, willing and able to try on anything. Sad really. I go through Sears and they have all the summer stuff 50 to 75 % off. Yippeee. I can mix and match tops and bottoms. Small top – big bottom. Excellent. Shopping trip success already!

Ya, not so much. Do you think I could find two pieces that match? No way. I did find a couple but oh no, they were not for me. Whats with the lights in those changing rooms. Do I really look that fat in real life? What the hell happened to my body? Depression is starting to kick in – and its early.

So I leave. Whatever, Sears has cheap crap anyway. I want a magic bathing suit. You know, the kind they put in all the magazines when they have the “Best Suit for Your Body Type” articles. Can’t get those at Sears.

The Mall has a new bathing suit place so I go in. Depression gets deeper upon walking in. Yes, they have the cutest Hurley and Billabong suits but I am afraid that the sizes available would not fit a 8 year old child. I pretend I am in the “girls” section and move on to the old lady stuff. That is what it has come to. I finally find one tankini set that looks ok. However, tankini sets have always been an issue with me and the long, monkey body I inherited from some primitive in my family tree (ha ha tree – very ironic) I give the suit a shot. The lighting in the bathing suit store is better, it is the new Hyrdo approved cellulite reduction lighting I am going to install in my bathroom next week. The lighting great, the suit not so great. Can’t they make tankini tops for long people? Needless to say the top and the bottom don’t meet and I am faced with some kinda ick that I will not gross you out with. I rummage through the purse for antidepressants. Damn. Don’t have any. I leave. I don’t even look for another suit to try on. I hit a few other stores looking for something, anything I could be comfortable in for a day at the waterslides or the beach. NOTHING.

I go to Walmart. No, I did not look at the suits there. I buy a new mascara.

Want to know what my mom said when I told her last week I was looking for a new suit? What’s wrong with the ones you have? Well, mom – remember when I was a kid and could not wear any of those one piece ugly pantsuits or overalls that were big back in the day? That’s what is wrong with my suits! The top of the bottoms does not reach to bottom of the top, therefore nullifying the tankini, hide your stomach effect. Ohhhh, she says. “Well, why don’t you just sew some lace on the bottom of the top so they meet up” (I put that in quotes because that is truly, honestly exactly what she said! OH MY GOD! Where do I start with that. Who is this woman? Certainly NOT my mother!) So I tell her. “First of all I am trying to COVER my stomach not have a peekabo show with the fat. Secondly, I am about 30 years to old to have lace on the bottom of anything I wear. And thirdly, WHAT the heck are you thinking! When was the last time you saw a bathing suit with lace sewn on the bottom of it?”

My mom is crazy. However, I have replayed this little conversation we had over in my head and it makes me laugh. A LOT. I might just take one of my old suits, buy some pink lace, sew it on and take a picture with me wearing it for my mom. Of course I will put pig tails in my hair for the full effect.

Whew, thanks for letting me off load that story. I have not told anyone yet. I’m not to sure how many people would get the humor in the lacy tankini!

Your depressed friend

Blog Blots

This blog started for a number of reasons: The first is the overwhelming need to spit out the creative "stuff" that has been floating around inside my head. Somewhere along the journey I lost my outlet. If not a blog, then I will be forced to fly to Chicago and beg Oprah and Gail for a writing position in O Magazine. THAT is not likely to happen but hey…. A girl can dream! The second reason is as real as it gets…. A friend told me a while back that it was all she could do to NOT mass forward an email I had sent her about Bathing Suit Shopping (three words that strike fear in all women!) to every chick she knew. Yup, it was real and it WAS funny. Even I laughed when I read it back to myself. I am aware that being funny, sarcastic and opinionated does not a writer make but its a start. As it stands I edit the life out of everything I write now. Most of the time the Sarcastic Side will appeal to every woman (and sometimes the men who raise one eyebrow at them) and if the stories don’t ring familiar in your life it will definitely give you an opportunity to laugh with others, if not just me.


Some of these tales have indeed happened to me and some, I am happy to say have happened to others. Usually friends, whose names will remain secret until the day I pass on OR someone offers chocolate. Which ever comes first. In all cases names will be changed to protect those unsuspecting friends from any undue embarrassment and from their husbands wondering “holy crap, was that my wife?” I love you all and I love your stories. Just remember, if you see something that happened to you painfully embellished on this blog it was written out of love. Mostly for the love of sarcasm and humor and because you were nuts enough to share!

I am fortunate to have amazing, brilliant ladies in my life whose wisdom I steal and words I use and call my own. Be strong ladies, keep having fun and remember at the end of every crappy day is a wonderful, sensitive martini who loves you just the same!

I suppose to satisfy the curiosity, the first shall be what has now become titled: The Bathing Suit and Cellulite Reduction Lighting - See bottom post