Truthiness in Blogginess

I like to think of this little exercise, brainchild of ma betch, as a lowering of expectations. You see, by posting a totally decaffeinated, au-naturel, first-thing-in-the-morning pic I will be so much more impressive if and when you see me in person with degreasified hair, unblotchier skin, and a lot less eyebagginess that you will be awed and slackjawed at the sight before you. Or something.

So if you want to see the real me…clickety click right heeyah* If you want to see the less real me, look through my Flickr.

For more Self-Portrait Truthiness, check out these fine specimens of natural beautyness**

Sweetney
Her Bad Mother
Breed Em And Weep
Oh The Joys
Mamalogues
IzzyMom
Motherbumper

*Disclaimer: Management not responsible for injuries that may result.
** Brilliant wordage courtesy of Foster (age 6)

Scenes from a Mall

In previous odes to jeans on this blog, I’ve totally spouted off on the unattractiveness of the low-rise jean. I went on and on about how they make your butt look bad and that if you’re not a toothpick or a supermodel but rather an ordinary woman with some actual flesh on her hips, you’ve probably been sporting the dreaded muffin-top, too, possibly without even knowing it.

But after a recent trip to the mall, I’ve observed that the tides are turning and waistlines are rising. And rising. And rising.

And while these high-waisted Levis may not look so so bad on this model, I assure you they are still the devil’s handiwork for they will lead to…

…the return of the *ominous pause* MOM JEAN!

And could usher in jeans like these, lace insets notwithstanding.

Look. At. Them. They’re up to her (his?) RIBS!

DO NOT WANT!!!

And yes, celebs ARE doing it but it’s obvious their stylists have deep-seated contempt for them because why else would they let them out in public in these things?

My fear is that these high waisted, tapered leg jeans will open the door to…PLEATS *gasp*

And those…

…will lead to high waists and pleats and tapered legs and buffalo plaids and STIRRUPS!!!

I’m proud to say I never EVER owned a pair of stirrup pants.

But I did own lots of these. And I loved them. They’re good butt pants.

Heidi Klum’s Jordache, however, are NOT good because they’re skinny-leg jeans. Incidentally, she’s their new model in a campaign designed to make Jordache cool again. Um…didn’t anyone tell her that for years Jordache were sold exclusively at Walmart? I don’t envy her task.

But I’d wear those evil skinny-leg Jordache from Walmart before I’d ever let a Kenny Rogers song touch my butt.

Your eyes do not deceive you… That’s him, right there on the hip pocket.

You gotta know when to hold ‘em, Know when to fold ‘em
Know when to give them to charity — and then run…

One of my concerns amidst these extremely high waistlines is that my beloved mid-rise jeans will go away for another 20 years.

Let me just tell you that I was wearing Levis 501’s 15 years ago because I could wear them down on my hips with a fitted shirt and a funky belt and avoid the whole stick o’ denim right up under my boobs look. But today’s jeans are so much better than 501’s and I’m just not ready to give them up.

This is me in my mid-rise jeans. Don’t I look hot?.

Under the Iron Bridge, We Kissed…

Per the theme for today’s Friday Flashback, which is “how (insert band name/artist here) changed my life,” I give you a slight departure — The Music of My Youth: Boys and Boyfriends Edition

After my mother died, I had to move in with my dad, stepmom and her kids. I’d had a major growth spurt that summer. I grew about 2 inches and lost all my baby fat. I was suddenly tall and thin instead of average and pudgy.

A new girl in a new city trying to make new friends, life was about to change quite a bit for this formerly chubby duckling.

You see, it wasn’t long after 9th grade started that I found myself going out with one of the most popular boys in my high school (well, among us lowly freshmen). He plucked me from obscurity and that was that. I was his girlfriend.

He said we had to have a song.

A song?

I didn’t have much experience in the boyfriend department and I had no idea we were supposed to have “a song”. I let him decide and he picked Open Arms by Journey (which was fine with me because I looooooved Journey) and I felt like Cindefuckingrella.

Well, it turns out our song should have been Victim of Love by The Cars because after about two months, when he figured out I wasn’t going to give up ye olde virginity to him anytime soon, he dumped me for someone that would. Ahhh…young love. Ain’t it grand?

A couple years later I was into this guy that I worked with at a local grocery store. We had a big gang o’ friends and we had parties every single weekend. It was a really fun time in my life.

Well, one weekend when my parents decided I was mature enough to be left at home while they took my stepsibs out of town over night, I decided to prove my parents wrong and have a party at my house. And HE was there.

He found me in my garage checking on the dogs while complete madness ensued in the house. We had a “moment” out there and as the party started to wind down and people left (passed out Jack Daniels drinking fools notwithstanding) we ended up in my bedroom. Door closed.

On cassette, Pink Floyd Dark Side of the Moon played over and over (through the miracle of auto-reverse) while we groped and dry-humped and generally did everything you could do and still have your clothes on — on my sister’s bed.

We peeled ourselves apart when the sun came up and after I was done being grounded for throwing that party, we were all BFGF TLA for the next year and a half. To this day, I can’t listen to that album or Pink Floyd Wish You Were Here without thinking about him.

After we broke up, I became pretty close friends with this guy that I’d had a mad crush on a few years earlier. He used to ride my bus and he was gorgeous, with the most amazing blue eyes, and totally mysterious in his strangeness and differentness. He wasn’t like other guys and when I finally got to know him, I really, really liked him.

We were just friends but there was always something else, this undercurrent, between us that we didn’t ever acknowledge.

Until one summer night when I was 17 and he was 18. I’d just graduated from high school.

His parents were out of town and we were hanging out at his house and decided, probably out of boredom, to drink some vodka. But one shot of Absolut turned to two. And three. Maybe more. Obviously, intoxication ensued…

In his kitchen we sat, having a really deep conversation about something while listening to The Smiths, a band that I loved then and still do. In our drunkenness, we started singing to “Still Ill”.

Under the iron bridge..we kissed. And though I ended up with sore lips…it just wasn’t like the old days anymore…

And then we kissed. And that kiss turned into making out.

As you may have guessed, we had sex to that album and even though we were both pretty lit, it was amazing; both tender and sweet and urgent and hot. Obviously, I’ve not yet forgotten that night.

I still can’t listen to The Smith’s Hatfull of Hollow without thinking of him. I moved later that year but we still kept in touch until he, very uncharacteristically, joined the Army.

He did write me a letter when I was in college. He was stationed in Germany. I always intended to write him back but I never did. I still have his letter and often wonder how he’s doing; how his life turned out.

There’s so much more I could share with you but you’ll forgive me, I hope, for not delving into the music and boyfriends of my college years. There’s just not enough time and honestly, I think I’d rather get on MySpace and start looking up old friends and boyfriends instead ;)

*Note to self: Remember to DELETE this post before the kids start reading your blog*

You are please to be wanting more Friday Flashbacks, yes?

Then check out these fine and foxy ladies:

Sweetney
Her Bad Mother
Oh The Joys
Whoorl
Mamalogues
Mrs. Flinger
Mom-101
Girls Gone Child

Oprah? Bite Me.

I used to like Oprah. I did. I used to see her as something of a woman’s woman.

These days? Not so much. *ducking the rotten vegetable projectiles* And I’d never say she hasn’t done some wonderful things and helped a lot of people. Those moments are always very conveniently caught on camera so it would be near impossible to not be aware of her many good deeds.

But these days I see her as more of a hypocrite than anything else; someone who would compromise her integrity for the sake of ratings and dollar signs if need be.

And who’s going to call her out on it? Who’s going to say shit to her when she’s handing out new cars and iPods and hundred dollar boxes of chocolate?
Uhhh…me?

Yeah, me. Because I’m pretty pissed off right now.

This is a “comment” I submitted to Oprah.com. I know she’ll probably never see it but whatever, I had to write it.

—–

I was watching the Oprah show today about people living lives of minimal consumption, the Freegans etc. I thought the show had a good message and the topic seemed kid-friendly so I let my 7.5 year old daughter watch with me. I normally don’t do this because most of your shows topics are simply not suitable for children but I thought today was the exception. And in regard to that particular segment, it was.

But then, before a commercial, with NO WARNING WHATSOEVER, the show cut to a close up shot of a woman dancing nude. Yes, the parts that the FCC won’t allow were blurred out but there was no mistaking what we were watching.

Was it REALLY necessary to show that graphic imagery to elucidate what your segment on a suburban stripper mom was all about? The voice over wasn’t enough? Are you that desperate?

In case you care, my daughter, after having seven years of carefully-tended innocence totally compromised in 10 seconds by your promo, asked me “Why is that mommy dancing naked?”

Would you or your producers like to come over and EXPLAIN THAT TO HER? Because I sure as hell didn’t know what to say.

If I wasn’t so pissed off, I’d have to laugh at the irony…

I turn on Oprah, champion of women everywhere and what do I find? That same tired old refrain of female nudity being exploited for profit *sigh* And equally contemptible, your total disregard for who might be watching at 4pm in the afternoon. I wouldn’t have been fazed by such poor taste and judgment after 10pm or on cable but on network TV during daytime hours? I think you need to re-examine your V-chip rating and have it switched to TV-MA.

I’m disappointed in you, Oprah. I really am. I honestly thought better of you and I would expect better from your producers, as well.

Silly me, huh?

—-

Rest assured, people. I won’t make that mistake again.

I Pretty Much Wasted My BIG! DAY! OFF!

Ah…those weird government holidays that about only half the United States gets off from work. You gotta love ‘em. Well, unless you’re me. I merely resent them because not only do I never get the day off but my husband is home, all up in my bidness and so are both kids. It might as well be a Saturday or Sunday, which are not at all relaxing to me. Those days mostly translate to more people asking me for stuff. Incessantly. And no grown-up TV.

To clarify… Those are the words not of a woman who hates her family but a woman who desperately needs one entire day off and all to herself, preferably with unfettered access to her home, her things and all the stuff she has saved on Tivo.

But alas, we don’t live in a perfect world and after much grumbling on my part I was graciously granted (read: forced out the door) a chance for a having a semi-day off (which really just means I get to leave the house alone — no bed to loll around on, no fave snacks to indulge in and no Tivo, dammit)

While it isn’t particularly relaxing, this gave me the once or twice in a decade opportunity to shop by myself. This means looking at clothes with both eyes instead of keeping one on the kids at all times and in between saying things like “Stop touching that. And that. And those.” and “Please don’t open the door. I’m in my underwear and nobody wants to see that.”

So what did I do? Well, I actually needed a few things from Target so that’s where I went. And because my wardrobe is in desperate need up sprucing up, I started to look at clothes — despite the fact that they have the WORST dressing rooms I’ve ever seen. The lighting is such that you see EVERY bump, bulge and dimple and the dual mirrors that let you see yourself from behind? OMG. BAD IDEA. Nobody wants to see what their ass looks like under those cruel and unforgiving lights nor do they want to acknowledge their backfat. But you see, because of it’s location, it’s super easy and totally normal to deny any existence of one’s backfat — but at Target? Nooooo can dooooo! The backfat just sits there, tauntingly. If it had had a tongue it would have stuck it out at me…

Anyway, I tried on, seriously, about 20 items of clothing but it was a complete bust. I hated everything. However, on my last trip out of the fitting room, I did notice some super cute tops and dresses. I ventured closer and started to get happy. These? These were going to fit properly and look awesome! I could just tell!

And then I saw them. The labels. They were FREAKING MATERNITY CLOTHES!!! I was coveting maternity wear — which would be fine IF I WAS ACTUALLY PREGNANT.

Arrrrgggghhhh.

My “away” time had so far been terribly unsatisfying, making me wish I’d gone to a movie or called up a friend instead.

I suddenly longed for the comfort of my sofa and with that I made my meager purchase of a few household items and promised myself that next time? I was going someplace besides Target. Just because it’s close and they have really cool housewares does NOT mean I have to buy everything there.

Convenience be damned, I had a change of heart and decided not to go home just yet but rather to hit the mall; one of my least favorite places on earth but totally chock full of clothing choices and in some cases, far more flattering lighting.

Stay tuned for Scenes from a Mall — with pictures!