The New Standard in Underwear?
I finally broke down and went to Victoria Secret yesterday. I had to drag the girls along, but my "girls" couldn't take it anymore. Here are some signs that you need a new bra or two:
- When you lift your arms above your head, your bra begins to support your collar bone.
- During the middle of teaching your class, you realize that one of your girls has been set free thanks to a strap that has come completely undone.
-
Your current bra begins to impale you with sharp nasty wire every time you cross your arms.
Yes, it was definitely time for a new bra or three, which has now set us back enough that Christmas gifts will take a hit. I've tried the cheap bra thing and it just doesn't work. I'd rather spend $40+ for something I know won't wear out for a while. Actually that would be $45, because the inflation on bras has hit a new high.
I figured I should also look at some underwear, and it was then that I discovered that dental floss has become the new standard in womens underwear. I must have searched for a good 15 minutes, but unless I wanted the standard cotton, there was nothing that I felt I could or wanted to try to pull off. There was see-through business that would just end up in the crack. There was fluffy, ruffly nonsense that wouldn't even fit under a pair of jeans (No thank you. I'm not really the type to walk around in fluffy underwear and a hoodie). And there was heiney floss. Really there's no other term that appropriately describes it.
I know there are plenty of women out there who wear this stuff, and who pretend like it's actually comfortable, but there is no way I'm paying $15 for something that I could easily make for a few cents from something in my medicine cabinet. I'm just not that girl.
VS used to carry low rise seamless underwear that was silky without being see-through and sexy without being slutty. It appears those days are over. Either that or they were sold out of it because the only other option is butt floss.
I truly think women need to stand up and demand better for our butts. Just say no to the floss ladies, and join me in an effort to restore cheeks as part of the standard coverage. I'm too young for Grandma pants and I can't be the only one bothered by this strange phenomenon.
A Little Respect
Today I arrived on campus to find student evaluations in my mailbox. Since all but one of my speech students was attending class today, I decided to get it over with. I had to hand them out and then leave the room for 10 minutes while they evaluate me, place the evaluations in a sealed envelope and deliver it without me touching them again.
After about five minutes, one of my students came out to go to the bathroom. I asked her if they were about finished and she said she just had to tell me about a little conversation that was going on in the classroom.
Apparently, one of my students who spent almost the entire semester skipping class and not showing up for speeches was stumped on one of the questions. The question was: "What grade do you expect to earn in this class?"
"What should I put for this?" he said, knowing full well that he's failing.
The student sitting beside him said, "Well that's easy. Just write zero."
The failing student responded with, "Yeah, but I don't want anyone to think it's her fault" ("her" meaning me).
My other student responded back, "Well then just write in the comments section, 'I'm a total douche, never come to class and don't turn anything in, but it's not her fault.'"
Apparently that settled it.
It's nice to know that even those who won't pass at least respect me as a teacher.
Off to a Good Start
This morning, I woke up at 7:40 a.m. Big I's bus comes at 7:52. We could have potentially made it. I've done a 12 minute turn-around before. However, yesterday, Big I had a play date who "did" her hair as in sprayed almost an entire bottle of detangler in it. She needed a shower.
Since I had to drive her to school, I had to wake up Lil C who has told me three times now, "I'm very tired and I'm very grumpy. Why did you wake me up?" She's currently yelling on the sofa for no reason and head-butting my arm.
As I was leaving to take Big I to school, I noticed that part of my trash was strewn all about the street. The mice relatives of the two dead ones who met their maker in my garage have taken revenge apparently. So, I returned home and cleaned up the street in my pajamas thinking that all my neighbors already went to work. I would be wrong about that. At least I wasn't wearing the Santa hot pant pajamas that my mother-in-law got me a couple years ago. And no, there will not be photographic evidence that such pajamas exist.
I think it's safe to say that this week is off to a great start.
On an unrelated note, I changed some things about the comments section of this blog. Have you used it, tried to, have any feedback you'd like to share? Is it easy to use? More difficult to leave comments? It's supposed to help by creating conversation threads and it also allows you to post your avatar. Let me know what you think!
My Inner Costanza
Filed under: Lessons I've Learned, Mental Strain for Mama, Things that get my gi all in a bunch
I'll admit it. I can be judgmental about parenting skills. Once when I was in college, a woman in the grocery store line in front of me handed her baby, a little boy who couldn't have been more than 10 months old, a package of ground beef. When he poked his finger through it and began sucking the raw beef off his finger, his mother smacked him and started screaming at him. I told her she was an idiot for handing him the beef and to knock it off. I told her to stop hitting him. She did. I think I was perfectly in the right there.
Another time, I wrote about another mother who was a complete idiot. I was in the right there too.
Tonight however, the tables got turned on me. After knowing me for exactly 10 seconds, a woman seated at the table across from me and my family made a judgment about me. "What kind of woman lets her little girl go to the bathroom with a man?" she said to her husband, but certainly loud enough for me to hear.
She didn't stop there though. She continued to rant and rave about me, seated just five feet away from me in a restaurant with only two other tables seated. Never mind the fact that I had just taken Lil C to the bathroom at the store we had come from. Never mind the fact that I was searching through my purse to find a band-aid for Big I. How could I allow my little girl to go to the bathroom with a man, her father? I mean, seriously, what kind of woman am I?
I took a couple deep breaths and tried to ignore her, but she didn't want me to ignore her. She obviously wanted me to hear her. She ranted at her husband, when she really should have been doing it to my face. Of course, she didn't have the guts for it, and after the day I had today, she's really quite lucky she didn't.
I was seconds away from saying something. My inner George Costanza was about to rear it's ugly movie theater head to tell her, "You know, after 10 seconds you've made your mind up about me huh? That "man" I just let my daughter go to the bathroom with is her father and we share parenting responsibilities. She's a 3-year old, and in case you're still stuck in the ice age, it's o.k. for daddy's to take their little girls to the bathrooms these days. So in your rush to make a judgment about me, maybe you'd also like to know that I gave up my career to stay at home with my children, that I drive my kids to their multiple activities each and every week, that I read stories to them all the time, that I prepare three home made meals a day for them pretty much every day of their lives, that I volunteer in my daughter's school every other week, and that I avoided every last drop of caffeine when I was pregnant with each of them despite the fact that I had headaches for three months straight because of it because I wanted them to be perfect and was terrified that I would harm them if I did get something to drink other than water. Did I mention the two natural child births that each topped 14.5 hours, for the same reasons as the caffeine? Maybe you'd also like to know that I keep every drawing they ever made for me, that I keep journals for each of them where I write letters to them, and that I spend pretty much all of my time on this Earth since they were born doing things to make them happy, and keep them safe and healthy. But see, in 10 seconds, and after one request for my husband to take our daughter to the bathroom, you figured me out, so good for you."
I would have also liked to call her a really bad name.
I didn't have to though, because her husband, after listening to her rant, said with disgust, "she's helping her other daughter for God's sake" and that finally shut her up.
After dinner, we went to Kmart and bought our Christmas tree. While in line waiting for the cashier to figure out why our tree wouldn't ring up, three aisles away a verbal argument began between two families. An Hispanic man, whom I had spent a great deal of time with in the Christmas tree aisle with his son and his friend, had touched the hand of the little girl belonging to the customer standing in line behind him. She was about to knock something down from the display and he removed her hand since her parents weren't paying any attention to her.
There was a scream of "don't touch my kid" instead of what should have been, "I'm so sorry, thank you." Then the colorful language started to fly. No one did anything except watch as the couple and this man and his friend began throwing obscenities at each other. Then the threats were made. "I'll see you in the parking lot and we'll settle this man to man." "If my son weren't here, I'd kick your. . ." and then they started yelling at each other to suck various body parts. The whole thing was ridiculous and completely bred of ignorance, stupidity and prejudice.
As security stood 20 feet away in the women's clothing, doing nothing, the cashiers nervously tried to keep things moving. It was uncomfortable and scary. I kept Big I and Lil C right near me in the aisle. I wanted to keep them out of eye sight and behind something substantial. What if a fight broke out? What if one of them was carrying a weapon? What if things did get crazy in the parking lot?
Eventually, the first group paid and left, threats still flying. Both families had young children with them. The second family, the ones who yelled instead of saying "thank you" was too afraid to go outside unescorted. As we packed our kids and our tree into the van, three police cars pulled up. The Hispanic guys were nowhere to be found. They had gone home. I took a guess that I'm betting was pretty accurate that the screaming was more the result of the fact that the Hispanic guys knew they were being targeted unfairly because they weren't white trash like the couple who wasn't watching their kid. The family still hadn't come out when we were leaving.
It made me glad I kept my inner Costanza inside at the restaurant. It may have made me feel better to tell that woman off, but I know what kind of mother I am and I certainly didn't need to prove myself to some ignorant stranger.
Neither did either of those guys.
I think I'll be doing the rest of my holiday shopping online.
Makes Me Want to Shave
The music is loud, and the machines are filled with people of all ages and fitness levels. The trainers circulate throughout the room. The pool is full of women getting "aqua fit," and the classrooms are loaded with sweaty people, stepping up, stepping down, moving to the music. Unlike many who go to socialize, I am there to recover, to build strength so that I can return to karate.
I know my routine and I stick to it. I push myself, even when there's no one watching, even when there's no trainer there telling me to "finish strong." Music from my headphones drowns out those around me as I move methodically from one machine to another and finally to the mats for ab exercises.
I've heard before that it takes 40 days to create and keep a new habit. I think for me, it's a bit less time. I am going to the gym at least twice a week and I am loving it. Sure, I wake up and try to make excuses; but I always make myself go. Not only is my knee feeling better, but it's me time. I love me some me time. I put my headphones on and I have a good hour of music and no whining (unless you count my own ocassionally ).
The other night, I was talking to Mr. BBM about how much I'm enjoying working out on a regular basis again. Everyone always says that you feel better about yourself when you go to the gym and I am finding out that it is true.
"Look at me. I'm doing my nails. When I took a shower earlier, I actually shaved my legs. I even tweezed my eyebrows" I said to Mr. BBM.
He burst out laughing. He may think it's funny, but it's amazing how something as simple as hitting the gym a couple times a week can have such a positive effect. Although I'm crashing on the couch, pretty much nightly, when I am awake I have more energy.
Yesterday, I hung 19 pictures on the walls. I even used a drill to install curtain hold-backs. I'm not watching TV except for a mere handful of shows and I'm loving all the time I seem to have now that I'm avoiding the so-so shows that before just occupied my time.
Of course, some days I'm too sore to lift my arms above my head which would make hanging curtains and pictures difficult. Overall though, the benefits have been fantastic. This year, I may actually have the beach body I want. Funny that when I joined the gym, this was the furthest thing from my mind. I'm considering it a fringe benefit of making a healthy decision that will hopefully get me back to where I want to be. . . on the dojo floor.
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