Big Girl Underoos

I was just thinking the other day how great it would be if we could see pictures of real people at real weights so we could put our whole, "I need to be 125 pounds" craziness in perspective. And then good old Elastic Waist posts a link to this height/weight photo thingy . Thank goodness this already exists because I needed another project like a need a hole in the head. Also, I wasn't looking forward to getting my lights punched out for asking people for their stats and a picture. For the record, I'm 5'2" 135 pounds. I think it's kind of fabulous that my corresponding photo is a bellydancing lady who could possibly also be a drag queen. I love belly dancing. I love drag queens! I also like that after 5'4", no one is shown under 100 pounds. Because those people need help, not encouragement.

The world would be a better place if someone would work out the technology so that I could read in the shower. My morning routine starts with reading on the commode and there are some (most) days I just want to keep reading. But since every minute sitting means another less to spend frantically running around getting ready (not to mention that my feet start going numb) it would be nice if I could multitask by conditioning and finishing a chapter. The shampoo companies should be the ones to invent the technology because they'd be direct beneficiaries - I'd lather, rinse and repeat my way to purchasing a whole heck of a lot more product just to stay in there longer. We have iPods, eBooks, and nano-whoodeydoodies. There has to be something out there already (and don't think I didn't Google to see if there is), or someone intrepid enough to try to circumvent the problems inherent in bringing things that get soggy into a moist environment. Yes, I'm talking to you Vidal S...

Although I would like to look like a Disney Princess (Belle to be specific) I do not have eyes three times larger than is physically possible. Hence, I changed my avatar over there on the sidebar. (Aside: People don't use the word "hence" enough. I suggest you smatter your conversations with it today. Along with "heretofore", "forthwith," and "effervescent.") I, as an avatar, was looking decidedly awake, demure, and, let's face it, like every anime porn character ever. (Welcome internet pervs) Now, I at least have regular size eyes (if not waist, clavicles, boobs and ass). I kind of look squinty actually but what can you do? Speaking of boobs and ass - here are some terms web surfers used to find their way to me. As far as I can tell, these googled terms were heretofore unutilized to find me (See how I did that? I used one of my words. Poorly, yes, but I used it.) "Airbrushed pants for girls", "tushy girl shit", "...

My Father (in an obnoxious sports spectator voice) - Pick up the ball kid! What's wrong with him? Doesn't the goalie know he can pick up the ball? Other spectator (calmly but deadly) - Yes. He knows. That's my son. ***Moments later*** My Father - "C'mon kids! Spread out. Spread out! You've got to cover the other team! What are you doing? It's three on one! Me - Dad! They're four! They can't do math. They can't even tie their own shoes yet! Did you not notice they didn't even know there was a second net? My Father - [more yelling at four - six year olds about things he needs to chill about] Me - Oh my god Dad! I am so glad I didn't play sports as a kid. My Father - Why? Me - You! You're That Guy Dad. The guy that gives soccer parents a bad name. I don't think my chastizing did much but I felt better for calling him on it. What you have to know about my father is that he neither plays nor even watches sports. He is not an armchair ...

A slight digression until I get to the point which is probably just as pointless as the digression: The title of this post could indicate I watch too much Charmed. This is most likely true considering that one episode may be too much. It is always on the TV at my gym but even though I've seen various pieces and parts of a bazillion episodes I still don't know 1) the big picture (is there one? i.e. what is the subplot that threads it's way through all the episodes? I mean, just what the hell is The Source? Why do all the demons want to kill them? How is it possible that their boobs don't pop out of their skimpy outfits while they are fighting creatures from the underworld?) and 2) what any of their voices sound like. The show is somewhat inspiring (and, yes, also annoying) in that there are three women about my age with gorgeous bodies who kick ass AND take names. They've got a whole book full of them. (Shit. I just IMDBed Alyssa Milano and she's four years OLDER...

Someday, I'm going to be walking down the street and see a man coming toward me. I'll recognize him in a generic, "Now where do I know him from?" kind of way. We'll smile politely and perhaps wave and be on our own merry ways. I'll ponder for a few more instances where in the world I know him from, walk a couple of steps, stop dead in my tracks, and say, "Holy fuck! I used to be married to that guy." That's about how much I ever think about my X. The fact that he was part of my life for 10+ years, and impressionable ones at that (age 18-28), doesn't even register. He might as well be a guy I just shared a couple of classes with - not a life, condo, and, well, genitalia. Thank Blog, I'm over him. (And under someone else (hee hee)).

I did it. I took the first step toward my trip to Australia by I opening an ING savings account . It's only 4.5% APR versus 5.05% at HSBC but I got a $25 signing bonus and $10 for Friendster Guy for his referral so everybody wins. Plus, 1.05% of the $1,000 I started it with is only $10 anyway (I'm not counting compound interest - that's too hard to calculate and I don't even know where to start) so really, in the 19 months before I plan to venture forth, I'll probably come out ahead this way. I even took the next, slightly panic inducing, step of having $200 automatically withdrawn monthly from my checking into this new savings account (only after reassuring myself that if I get into dire straits - i.e. selling platelets or other body organs - I can transfer stuff around). I do feel a little bit of a dilemma in that my $11,500 student loans are sitting around at 4.8%. That's not bad in and of itself but it means that technically (in my mind anyway - I am not a...

I need to save $4,000-5,000. This is how much cash I want to have available for a 2-3 week trip to visit friends in Australia in April, 2009. If my calculations are correct (it's Monday so there are no guarantees), starting when I next get paid, I need to save $210-263/month for the next 19 months. Crikey! Can I do it? Eh...maybe? Will I have to eat Ramen noodles two meals a day every day? Most likely. Will I have to forgo such luxuries as coin operated laundry facilities and seasonal soft serve ice cream windows? Probably. I suppose I'll be too busy cleaning my clothes against a rock in a stream to even think about dairy confections anyway. The reason for this out of the blue savings frenzy is a visit over the weekend from said friends from Australia. Long story, short(ish): In 2003, I took a trip to Spain, Portugal, and Morocco with a tour group. I was the only person I knew. Luckily for me, there were a large number of Australians traveling with the tour who adopted me as on...

I'm not gonna lie, the grocery store where I often shop borders on pretentious. If it didn't have a good healthy dose of actual earthy crunchy, as in "I make my own yogurt and hummus," and not the fake, "I buy organic and bring my own bags," earthy crunchy, it would bypass that border and enter magniloquent and vainglorious (aren't those great words? I had to use thesaurus.com AND dictionary.com to find them.) It's a co-op, but as they say so magnanimously themselves, "anyone can shop there." I've been going for years because it's convenient - i.e. on the way home. The other "normal" big box grocery stores are 5-10 miles away in directions I don't go and in generally trafficky, Walmart-laden, locales. It's not worth the hassle unless I'm also making a run out for other stuff - like "the border" (Yo quiero Taco Bell! Or at least Panera.) This store is the kind of place where you aren't sure they ac...

Droll, dull, mind numbing, boring, stale, humdrum, insipid, tiresome, tedious, stagnant, vapid, uninspired, drab, dreary, lackluster, banal, unstimulating, blah. Words that describe my job! Words that describe my blog! Either way, you win.

Last night, I had a dream that I was at a meet and greet for the democratic presidential candidates. The only one I recognized was Barak Obama so it wasn't exactly the most realistic of dreams (then again, I probably wouldn't recognize most of them if I hit them and their secret service detail with my car so whatever). Anyway, in the dream, someone decided it would be a good idea to bring a dog to the event. It got loose. Being the good citizen that I am, I tried to grab it. In the process I fell, doing a somersault right in front of Senator Obama. I kid you not, the first thing I thought, while still in the dream, ass over tea kettle, was how I would totally have to blog about how I tripped and did a flip in front of Barak and how great a post that would be. I woke up this morning scratching my head, thinking, "there was something I had to blog about. What was it?" That's right. I dreamt about blogging. I may need to take a vacation.

It is on days like these, when the weather surprises me by being a tit bit more nipply than I expected in the morning, that I think, "Gosh, perhaps I should watch the News and find out what's going on in the world. At least I'd know I should bring a jacket." Then I realize how much happier I am not to know. Because really, unless I need to evacuate tout sweet, shouldn't be drinking the water from my tap, a killer is stalking my neighborhood right this instant, or I want to kick ass at Trivial Pursuit 15 years from now, I don't need to know. At least I don't need to know what passes for "News" anymore - celebutants in and out of rehab, politicians lying and retiring, the next crazy disease that is going to wipe us out. I watched an "episode" of the News the other week and all it was was fear mongering. Every scene was them screaming, with graphics and scrolling information, "Here is what you NEED TO BE AFRAID OF ! We're not kid...

It's Monday, and you know what that means. That's right. It means I'm sitting here catching up on the blog reading I neglected over the weekend. I'm honestly trying to get up some sort of motivation to attack something, anything, at work but so far to very little avail. None of the projects on my desk are appealing and I'm afraid to start touching what is hiding within my desk because it will lead to more projects I will continue to ignore. I know I just need to start something. The journey of 1000 miles blah, blah, blah. Sigh... I'll give myself 1 hour to accomplish something. I'll report back. There. Motivated by guilt. It's better than nothing. Wish me luck. [Update - It is now a few hours later and I have managed to take the steps necessary to complete the tasks and purge an entire file that has been in my drawer since May. Go me! On to the next one.]

I look forward to Sundays so I can go to Post Secret .

Love - That we're in a new era of movie musicals - Moulin Rouge, Dreamgirls, Hairspray (Go see it. Bring comfy shoes because you will be tapping your feet.) I love musicals but used to think I was born in the wrong era since all I could watch were old ones on video. Now I can see them first run in theaters. Yeah! Like - Avril Lavigne's new songs. I can't help rocking out to Girlfriend and singing along to When You're Gone . I just checked out the video and it's a weepfest. Lonely old men looking at pictures of their deceased wives get me everytime. *Sniffle* And speaking of crying... Dislike - Fergie's song Big Girls Don't Cry . The song's ok, the sentiment (I gotta get my shit together without you) is fine. But if she was actually a "big girl", she'd know we cry a lot. If we didn't, we'd explode and take out anyone within a 10 foot radius. I also dislike the lyric, "I'm gonna miss you like a child misses their blanket....

This video takes place at a "detention and rehabilitation center" in the Philippines, i.e. prison. Can you imagine anything like this being possible in the U.S.? I'm not sure if I'm amazed and think it's fabulous, or horrified. There are almost no words.

Holidays in my family tend to be spread out over a period of months. What with parents, siblings, step-parents and, in the past, in-laws and step-in-laws, it was hard to get everyone together in a room to celebrate. I've exchanged Christmas presents into February and March. In fact, at my sister's baby shower a couple weeks ago, my step-brother's wife exclaimed, "Shoot! I forgot to bring your Christmas present!" My birthday is turning into a long term celebration. So far my grandmother and father have figured out the beauty that is mailing a check. Instant, appreciated, flexible. I plan to buy myself a heart rate monitor. It's something I haven't purchased for myself because it's not within my price range for unnecessary purchases/luxuries. Do I really need one? No. Have I wanted one? Yes. Am I an odd duck for wanting a heart rate monitor and for possibly purchasing one with my birthday money? Perhaps. Anybody know a good brand? My mother and I exchang...

I think I have blogger's block. I keep coming up with all sorts of little possible topics but I start to compose a post in my head and it goes nowhere. Granted, most blog posts tend to be rather pointless and asinine, and mine are certainly no exception, but there is a line between amusing quips and stupid ramblings that I try not to cross overmuch. For instance, I was going to talk about Sarah Jessica Parker admitting that her heel wearing during Sex and the City messed up her knees . Then I was going to babble on about how about 2 years ago I stopped wearing heels and started wearing flats to keep my hips and spine aligned. But, except for saying something about how I'm 5'2" and Friendster Guy is 6'2" and I picked a strange time to stop wearing shoes that give me height (if for no other reason than less neck cramps during upright makeout sessions) that was all I could think of to blog about. And that ain't much. Although, it did give me a reason to think...

I have no words. Not in an "I'm so horrified/disgusted I can't even speak" kind of way, but in a "hmmm...what the heck should I blog about?" way. I got nothin'. I'm probably drained from spending the weekend with my mother. It was her birthday Saturday. I was (and always shall be) her early birthday present. The only reason I wasn't born on her birthday was because her doctor only did C-sections on Tuesdays. I suppose I should be glad, according to Mother Goose, Wednesday's child sounds like a downer. Monday's child is fair of face, Tuesday's child is full of grace, Wednesday's child is full of woe, Thursday's child has far to go. Friday's child is loving and giving, Saturday's child works hard for a living, But the child born on the Sabbath Day, Is fair and wise and good and gay. Oh, the irony of a Sunday's child.

Happy Birthday to me! Happy Birthday to me! Happy Birthday to MEEE! Happy Birthday to me! Today, I am officially "in" my 30s. I suppose you could argue (and Friendster Guy would) that I've been in my 30s since turning 30 last year but I disagree. 31 is infinitely different from 30. It doesn't hold quite the same transitional mystique, and it's certainly much harder to find a Happy 31st Birthday card. I personally wasn't afraid of 30. I got all the drama out in my 20s (marriage/divorce) so I had nothing to be afraid of. 31 is kind of a let down really. It's not exactly special. But I am. Today, I am fabulous. Today has already been great: I woke up just before my alarm clock which meant I got optimum sleep time but not the rude awakening. It's a gorgeous sunny day. I've spontaneously decided to take the afternoon off (only a couple more hours) and I might hit a matinee. I realized that the more candles there are on the cake, the bigger the cake! An...

You just never know when our imaged obsessed society is going to top itself (and it will top itself. Oh yes it will.) I thought the Faith Hill photo retouch was bad. But lo and behold, it gets worse. From Salon.com : "...it turns out that retouching is not just for the post-adolescent anymore. Thanks to Pageant Photo Retouching, you can find ways to touch up anyone, even your baby... Just for the shock factor, I encourage you to check out this example of the outfit's work. On the left, a photo of a little girl, her smile looking a little forced (one gets the sense that she is often forced to smile for the camera), but natural nonetheless. On the right? A photo of what appears to be a doll." Here's another example of a baby who has already had the bags under her eyes removed (and caterpillars added) Because, you know, as an infant she's just not getting enough sleep fretting about whether her thighs look fat or if her formula fits within the South Beach Diet gui...