Camel Toe and Big Ass or People Who Should Be Bitch Slapped

Waiting for Max in the school parking lot is always fodder for a good blog entry and/or stand up comedy routine. Since getting up on stage at the Loony Bin is not an option, I figured I would just share a little bit of what I saw today. Everyone shall remain nameless, lest their hideous judgement be revealed and you see what idiots some people really are, myself not included.

Some people just don't get how pants should fit, specifically, jeans. Ideally, they should be comfortable, fit nicely and not be over $100. While jeans can be any color, I am a traditionalist and prefer blue. This is not to say that other colors can't be worn without me calling you an ass. That being said, fit really becomes important. Today, I was blinded by a pair of tight, white bow-chica-bow-bow jeans that nearly made me lose my cookies. They literally gave camel toe a new meaning. It was sick, yet I couldn't stop looking. A Levi's train wreck. This nice lady, a phrase I use very loosely, likes to wear her pants like this. ALL of her pants. These pants combined with her neon white hair, make for a shocking view. I actually know this person, believe it or not, and have never made a comment regarding her outward persona. That is not to say that I don't have a bunch to say when she is not around. I am a nice person like that. So, here is a Blondie wannabe, parking where she isn't supposed to, carrying a little dog, ala Jessica Simpson, and giving the term, "Read my lips," a whole new meaning. Cue the porn music.

Yet, another woman with a pants problem, surfaced today. This really is a nice lady but the butt is a big one that stretch pants can't conceal. She also has some hair issues, mainly that headbands and crazy, curly hair don't exactly work well together. It appeared that a small, black poodle was perched on her head, hanging on for dear life. I can cut her some slack on the hair, because I am in my 45th day of ponytail and don't see signs of a style change. The pants bothered me for a couple of reasons. Like I mentioned, stretch pants aren't always the best choice for a big ass. At the very least, one should wear a longer shirt to cover the butt. Maybe that is just my opinion, I don't know. So, not only was the shirt too short, but the panty choice left lots to be desired. If you can see the panty, especially under the white stretch pants, maybe a change in color is necessary, at the very least.

I saw another lady, one I didn't know, yesterday. She had odd colored orange/gold hair and really BIG 70's type glasses. I don't know what her clothes looked like because she was wearing a huge, coral colored pashmina. When I think of pashmina's, I think of Paris Hilton or someone that consideres themselves a jet setter. Maybe I'm wrong. I didn't get into the pashmina craze, I would rather wear a jacket, then wrap something around me like a straight jacket. Anyway, she was rocking her pashmina look, I guess. I looked at her feet and guess what kind of shoes she had on? Crocs! Wow, now that was a look. I love my Mammouth's, but really?

There is an interesting blend of students at school also. Can you imagine a 13-year old boy carrying a metal lunchbox? This particular model is red plaid, like I had in the 6th grade. I guess I shouldn't be surprised, this is the same kid that was beating up on a little kid the other day. Literally, swinging the kid's backpack around and hitting him til he fell. Finally, someone intervened. Had it been me, I would have whacked him with that cool, metal lunchbox. This is the same kid, mind you, that gets up during the Sunday service with his cellphone in hand, like he is some kind of big shot. I guess I shouldn't be shocked, his dad struts around like he is 10 feet tall. In reality, he is more like 3 feet tall.

I don't get why men have to pretend to be something they aren't. There is a dad that I have met on occasion, and he has serious body issues. First off, he is another shorty. Muscular, but in one of those ways you see guys at the Y, trying to puff up like a turkey. It makes me laugh. While he has an admirable profession, he is not God and should quit pretending like he is. Don't get me wrong, I'm no saint, no supermodel, not even a supermom, but get over yourself because you look like a fool. Napolean complex be damned.

Line 'em up for a bitch slap.

Off Like a Prom Dress

I was in the mall the other night picking up my wedding ring, yet again, when I saw a bunch of high school kids dressed in their prom clothes walking around the mall. I commented to the girl in the jewelry store about how weird I thought this was. According to her, this is the norm and the guys will actually buy the girl a little trinket somewhere along their parade. Must be in exchange for what they think they will get a little later. Anyway, I liked seeing the girls all decked out in fancy dresses with flowers. The guys looked like crap! Few were wearing tuxes. In my day, when you had to walk 10 miles in a snowstorm for your prom dress, the guys rented tuxes and wore shoes that didn't have a swoosh on them. My, how times have changed.

The first girl I saw, was plus sized. Nothing against anyone plus sized, at least she got asked. I don't remember anyone plus sized going to my prom. At that point, even I was thin. Anyway, she was wearing a color I would call electric grape. It was blinding. It was a cute dress with criss cross sequined straps. The problem? The straps were cutting into her skin! Not the prettiest or most comfortable sight.

I remember all of my prom dresses, of course. There is a cool 80's picture of me at my 9th grade prom somewhere in the blog's archives. Don't miss it! So, I had a boyfriend that was a senior so I got to go when I was a sophomore. I remember my mom took me to Harlow, primarily a Jessica McClintock/Gunne Sax store. I tried on a bunch of stuff that I wasn't happy about. My mom spotted this pink brocade dress hanging so high, I could barely see it. It was $140. This was in 1985. That is like $500 or so now. Maybe not. I tried it on and that was that. I owned the dress. It was strapless with a low, lace insert that showed off my cleavage. It had a lacy underskirt deal that hung below the brocade. I can't describe it well and I will spare you the photos. I had to wear pantyhose, which, even to this day, I abhor. I will tear them off the second I am done with the event I am forced to wear them at. My prom night was no exception. I tore them off and hurled them out of a hotel window. Nice. I never said I was a well mannered person and if you know me, you know that is the truth. I was the only one wearing this dress to the prom as the store kept a list so we wouldn't all show up looking the same. My date liked the dress and I became a statistic for the high school prom records.


My junior prom was another story entirely. I found a dress, likely in my fave mag, Seventeen. It was strapless, white with a tulle skirt and a pink sash, from Harlow, again. Gorgeous! I had a boyfriend, he didn't want to go and lay out any money. He was a jerk. I will call him, Trevor, as that was his name and he sucked! I finally managed to convince him to get off his butt and ask me. He did with the condition we eat dinner at his house. Well, ok, I guess. I looked darn good with my nice dress, pantyhose, and big hair. He picked me up, we went for pictures with his friends at everyone's house. I stood on one guy's deck, and got the heel of my shoe caught between the slats. Nice. We then proceeded to dinner at his house. His family had a rather large Irish Setter. I told them to keep the dang dog away from my dress but he had a sister that didn't like me so, the dog got all over me! Red hair on my white dress didn't make me happy nor did the fact that I was not eating in a real restaurant like the rest of my friends. We get to the prom and it was fun. We danced alot, which I didn't do at the first prom I went to. We even switched off dancing with our friends, that is, until, my friend's boyfriend sported raging prom wood, while dancing with me! Nice. Needless to say, my date/jerk boyfriend didn't make into the prom statistic book. Something about shoes, if I recall correctly. I did manage to stash my pantyhose in his mom's glove compartment.


Ah, the senior prom! I had a tight, black, strapless deal that rocked! I had no date. Kind of a problem. No one even asked me! I had clearly fallen out of favor with the average high school idiot because I had dated a couple, just a couple, of cadets from the local wannabe pilot factory. A friend decided I should ask a cadet friend of ours, that he liked me and would love to go. Sure, he would! He was kind of a geek so I'm sure he would be thrilled to go with a hottie like me. Did I say that out loud? Well... Anyway, so I ask the guy and he says sure. One of the many problems is that he is only a sophmore at the Academy and can't have a car yet. He has a geeky older brother that is a senior, a math/aeronautical engineering major, that has a car. Did I mention that he was a double major? Thank God, I didn't have to go with him! Incredibly intelligent, incredibly dorky. Anyway, so my mom goes to get him while I get ready. He doesn't get me a corsage. My mom goes to the grocery store and gets one while I am silently seething. He forgets his shoulder boards for his mess dress. We have to go back and get them. I am sitting in the parking lot of a dorm with roughly 4000 somewhat eligible guys within shouting distance. I am tempted to go wandering through the dorm with my sexy, black dress and see if someone will take me that isn't a complete moron. I don't and I regret it to this day. Did I mention that I had a boyfriend that was a cadet and was studying for finals? Yeah, well, he was an ass too. I was an ass for thinking he was a nice guy. Shoulder boards retrieved, we left for a nice restaurant to meet a friend of mine and her date. They were just friends but he harbored an inner desire to date her. He was cute, nice and a great soccer player, I don't think she knew what she was missing. Oh, and she was dating a cadet also. Grrr... Jack, as in jack ass, as I will call him, only wanted an appetizer for dinner. That was probably a good thing because Jack left his wallet in his dorm room. You can tell why I call him Jack. I pay and we leave. The prom wasn't too exciting, I don't even recall dancing. My friend and I drove Jack home. He actually had the nerve to tell me he had a good time and was going to kiss me. I opened the car door and told him to get out and never saw him again. I wanted to wrap my pantyhose around his neck but I decided to let him live.

I wonder what prom will be like for my daughter. I will help her find a dress that covers 99.9% of her youthful skin. I will have a corsage stored in the fridge, in case her date forgets. I will give her extra money to stash in her purse, so she isn't forced to wash dishes in her prom dress. I will make certain that she understands that it is ok to ditch your pantyhose. I will also make sure to remind her date to be a gentleman, lest I wrap my own pantyhose around his neck.

Cut and Color

Last night, Max was working on a school project that required poster board, colored pencils and a glue stick. Mia was enthralled with all of the goodies required. She was adamant that she sit by him and do her own "projek." I figured that it was time we start really doing some kind of project, whether art, coloring, letters etc.

This morning we traipsed to Dillons, where we got stickers, construction paper and markers, washable, of course. After our big purchase, we stopped at Starbucks, for a little creative energy. I'm not the least bit creative, so it will take everything I have to do any kind of art project.

I needed to find a website that had printable pages for coloring and some with letters. I found a few good sites, thanks to mommies I know, and printed off some pretty good stuff. Mia was desparate for a boat for her papa and a princess for her nana. We now have a working printer, thanks to my hubby, who will need it for a class he is going to teach. I printed off the necessary letter, boats and princesses that were requested and we were on our way.

Much to Mia's chagrin, I cut out and glued the sailboat onto the construction paper. I have heard way too many horror stories about little girls and scissors, and Mia has long hair, so better safe than sorry. As for the glue, I just finished cleaning crayon off my husband's mom's Steinway. Enough said. I wasn't even going to give her the chance to glue the cat to the table.

All in all, the "projecks" went very well. She was thrilled to color with the new pens and stick tons of ladybug stickers on her work. Her nana and papa loved their new creations and I was thrilled that Oxy Clean was invented and removes all kinds of stains. I can't forget those Magic Erasers. Bless you, Mr.Clean.

Keep the door closed

My parents have an elderly neighbor man that sends out a mass email every morning. This guy is old, like 90 something and uses a computer. I find that amazing. My parents still have trouble using theirs and they have had it for more than a few years now. What is even more amazing about their neighbor is that he has found it necessary to email his daily bathroom habits.

My mom finds it disturbing, yet forwards me the more interesting emails. For instance, the other day, Edgar, I will call him, let everyone know that he had an enema. Nice. Before that, emails went out detailing his prostate troubles and his new purchase of Depends. Do you really think that we all need to know this kind of private info? I would say, no.

My grandmother did the same thing. When I was young, we lived in Dallas and my grandparents lived here in Wichita. We visited at least once a year and got lots of letters. This was before computers so they were actually written on paper! Anyway, my grandma would write about her bathroom habits. WHY?

When I would visit my grandparents solo, my grandma apparently found it necessary to slip me a nice glass of Metamucil each morning. YUM! Keep in mind, she put half and half in my cereal and let me drink as much 7Up as a small child could drink. Once I threw up from drinking too much 7Up and eating a strawberry frosted doughnut. Ah, the memories.

Flash forward to one of her many stays at Riverside hospital. Just entering that hospital was enough to make me want to vomit. There was always the pervasive smell of death, old people and puke that clung to my clothes and skin, even after I had left. An intern came in to her room to ask her routine questions. She questioned my grandma about whether she was ever constipated. My grandma looked at her and said, "I was born constipated." I don't know how you get more honest than that. The intern also asked whether she wanted a pelvic or not. Hello, she was like 80, cut her a break.


Being that I just got Mia mostly potty trained, I have heard my fair share of, "Mommy, poopy" and "Mommy, peepee." I am ready to not have to see or hear about bathroom habits from an adult or child. What happens in the bathroom, stays in the bathroom.

I guess there is a reason for everything, though I hate to believe it is true. I am not, apparently, able to have another child. No, we didn't try for a year. No, I didn't take my temperature faithfully everyday. No, I didn't consult a fertility doc. I guess that I thought that going off the Pill and having sex like it was a chore, would make everything happen on its own, like when we conceived Mia. I guess I was wrong. Now, I am left with the task of weeding out the basement of her crib, baby toys, strollers and carseats for a garage sale, so that someone that has been blessed with a future baby can get a good deal. It makes me sad and sick at the same time.

I don't really know if I would have been a good mother to a second baby. Maybe I am not a good mom right now. The one thing I do know, is that it kills me that I will never hold a newborn that is my own. I know there are others out there that won't either. I am not trying to feel sorry for myself, just put things into perspective. Actually, I am feeling sorry for myself, very sorry, and I think that it is going to take more time for me to recover than I expected.

I am seeing that Ashley Simpson, Jamie Spears, Angelina Jolie and a bunch of others are pregnant. Must be nice. I only really hate Angelina though! Who doesn't? I'm not even talking about her being pregnant, ha, ha.

As I was sifting through the big bunch of crap in the mail today, something fell into my lap. It was a Babies R Us catalog. On it is a visibly pregnant woman, holding tiny, baby booties. Why was this the only piece of mail that fell? Why do I have to be reminded that there isn't a chance for me to need new baby items? What is it going to take for me to have some peace about this? I know the answer is time, but time is making it even more painful, because I am out of time.

Fear, Faith and a Felt Board

When I was a young girl, probably around 4 or 5, my mom took me to church. I remember it was called Rosemont Christian Church and my mom gave me a pen and a bunch of paper to occupy my time during the service. I was thrilled, as I was too young to enjoy/understand the sermon, count the crazy hats, or watch the old men fall asleep. Plus, it wasn't Sunday school. I HATED Sunday school.

First off, I was a big wimp and hated to be left alone anywhere without my mommy or daddy. It scared me. I was dropped off in a classroom and forced to play with a bunch of kids I didn't know or even want to know. I was probably very scared of them, as I was, and am, an unsocial type of girl. So, here I was, all alone in the kids class, making sand art and crosses with packing peanuts and glitter on them. Pretty exciting stuff. It also seems like every week, we had a Bible story that utilized a felt board. For those of you that don't remember, a felt board was a black and somewhat fuzzy board, that only things made of felt could adhere to. For instance, I remember a crudely cut Noah's Ark and various animals cut out in all colors. The teacher tells the story and throws the cutouts on the board and they miraculously stick. They were so technically advanced and amazing, that I'm pretty sure they are no longer in existence.

It doesn't seem like I went to class very frequently, as I can't recall the teacher's name or any of the kids I was with. But, one thing stands out in my mind as utterly horrifying and I'm not sure why. The powers that be in Sunday school, decided that I was in the wrong class, due to my age. I was, like 5, so does it really matter that I should have been with the 4, 5 or 6 year olds? So, I was trundled off with my doll, and put into another class. I hated it. It was ridiculous and I demanded to be put back into the class with the felt board. I figured if I cried enough, they would give in and let me go back. My unruliness worked and I was basically thrown back into the younger class and allowed to play with the big blocks and glitter peanuts. Why torture everyone with my lack of interest?

Faith is important, I realize, as is spirituality. This probably should be taught to young kids to get them in the spiritual mentality at an early age. I work in the church nursery once a month, with a bunch of 2-3 year olds. It is horrific. Chaos is the name of the game, with kids jumping on me, opening alarmed emergency exits and declining to participate in the mandated craft. I am given a tray of everything that is required to run my little group of spiritual newbies, snacks included. I have to read a detailed list, including scripted prayers and stories before class starts. It is so in depth that I have to usually read it twice and once again while I try to lead this rag tag bunch of angels. Rarely are they interested in what I have to offer, usually a brief recap of a Biblical story, that I myself, didn't know before class started. I stumble through, praying for the patience not to strangle the kids with the crepe paper palm leaves, I have just spent 10 minutes gluing, while they shout, "Hosanna," in my face. The kids run around, touching me with their gluey fingers while I struggle to maintain some kind of authority. I pass out the pretzel/animal cracker snacks. Some kid throws his pretzels at me, another crawls on the table, trying to grab a cracker from a little girl who is telling me she has to potty. Angels in training, for sure. When my shift is done, the other mom/helper proclaims that this was a rough night and if she was a drinking mom... Thankfully, I was heading for the bar and would have one for her.

People worship differently. I like the calm approach, with limited body movements, good music and a nice message. The minister at my church has a fresh, upbeat way to deliver his sermons. It can be very interactive, with videos and theatrical interpretations. All very nice. Sometimes, though... There are times when I can't concentrate, I begin to watch the teenage girl, walking to wherever, wearing a tube top and miniskirt. I look at all of the new babies, check my watch. I get antsy. I don't know if God understands. I hope so. In the meantime, maybe my minister should invest in a felt board.

B&N or the Big Nothing

On April 2nd, the latest and greatest Barnes and Noble opened. We have been waiting for this since they demolished one of my favorite restaurants, Macaroni Grill. They had the best Chicken Marsala and gnocchi. I haven't found a suitable replacement yet. I read that this store design was supposed to be new, with an elevated Starbucks, ample seating and who knows what else. I watched patiently as they built the frame, stuccoed the outside, landscaped the corner. It took too long, in my own opinion. If builders can throw up a cookie cutter house in a couple of weeks, why can't these people build a bookstore in a couple of months?

I was thrilled to see a sign announcing the impending opening. What does the store have that the other stores didn't? I would have to wait another day to find out.

I prepped Mia by telling her that we would get a java chip Frappucino from Starbucks and look at books for her. She seemed ok with this, so I figured we were good to go. The store was due to open at 9am. We dropped Max off at school and took a little drive to kill time. I wanted to be in the parking lot by 845, because we were going to be the absolute FIRST people in the new store.

We entered the parking lot and were the only people waiting. I could feel myself becoming excited, not that excited, but still. The prospect of being first can really mess a person up. Anyway, Mia was getting progressively agitated at being stuck in her carseat. There were a couple of other cars now parked near us. Keep in mind, I wanted to be first! It was pretty chilly that morning and I really didn't want to be out in the wind. Then, I saw them! Two well dressed women, approaching the door! Damn it, they were not going to be first! I threw open my door, raced to the other side to grab Mia from her carseat and ran to the front door like my pants were on fire. I know, I am crazy. The two ladies were apparently bigwigs for Barnes and Noble, and were trying to get in to check on things. When they saw us, they invited us is to stand in the vestibule. We were one step closer to breaching the massive door that separated us and the giant bookseller.

At 9am on the dot, the manager opened the door, welcoming us to the new store. I will hand it to them, it was spacious, well lit and chock full of books, tons that I want to read but will probably never get around to. There were a few things suspiciously missing, however. There was not a balloon in sight. No banners or fanfare announcing that this was, in fact, a new store, a grand opening. No one handing out stickers, pens, free Starbucks coffee or coupons for a discounted book. It was a darn sad thing. No one even mentioned anything about it. I must say that I was totally disappointed! What store doesn't do something exciting for their grand opening? I certainly didn't expect clowns, we wouldn't have gone in if they would have had them, but please, do something to celebrate what I consider to be rather exciting.

We went right to the Starbucks to order our Frappucino. I was going to use my giftcard but was told that I couldn't use it because this was Barnes and Noble. Yeah, so what? I paid for our drinks and we sat in the elevated cafe and soaked in the lack of fanfare.

In the end, I wrestled Mia from the Thomas the Tank Engine train table, with the promise of a couple of new Arthur books. She took the bait and we were out of there. Just another boring day in Wichita.

Little People, Big World

Forever, it seems, I have had an interest in "little people." I'm not sure why. I have never known any little people, only seen them in the mall, on TV and in the Seattle airport. My first experience in learning more came from none other than Maury Povich. Apparently, there was a shortage of women needing to confirm who their babies daddies were so Maury invited some primordial dwarfs on the show. The first kids he featured were like 14 and 16 and were so tiny. I think their names were Bre and Brad but it has been awhile, so I can't be for sure. They were both sweet kids with high pitched, baby voices. Bre and Brad didn't seem bitter about their short stature and were a breath of fresh air! They were both cheerleaders and lived the life that seemed to be reserved for people of a greater height. I loved them.

We were returning from our wedding/Christmas vacation and right there in the food court of the Seattle airport was a family of little people. They had pulled up a low table to eat their lunch on. I stared like an idiot. Bobby caught me and, knowing of my interest, told me to eat because we had to get on the plane. I snuck them a little wave. They waved back, I'm sure, confirming to them, that I was truly an idiot.

Like they are reading my mind, TLC creates a show, about little people and how they get along in a big person's world, hence, the name, "Little People, Big World." I feel ripped off because it was an idea in the back of my brain for years and I have to let them reap the benefit. The show centers around Matt, Amy and their 4 kids, one who is little. His name is Zach and he loves soccer. I don't even recall the names of the other kids. Zach's brother has an annoying set of curls on his head and he is tall. I don't claim to know more because they just aren't very interesting.

The show centers on how they get along, from running a farm, which, if you want to get down to it, a regular sized person runs, drives a car, organizes a household full of people and how they travel. There house and cars are fitted to their size, ie low cabinets and appliances etc. The house is pretty nice, actually. Whomever redesigned and paid for the remodel did a fine job. The family travels to locations I can only dream about. Like the time they went to Hawaii and rode the zip lines. Like the time they went to the Caribbean and sailed on a gigantic sailboat. Like the place they get to go to next. They are a very privileged family, note sarcastic undertone.

They are also probably the messiest, most disorganized family I have ever seen. Professional organizers came to revamp some of their crap. It didn't help. Their "stuff" is literally everywhere. I'm not talking about a few dirty dishes in the sink or laundry on the floor in the bedrooms. I am talking, shit everywhere, on all surfaces. Clothes, dishes, backpacks, books, you name it. There is literally not a clear place to put anything! How can they live like this?

I still haven't figured out how they manage anything but that is ok. Some people, short or tall, fat or thin, can't make things work no matter who foots the bill for things. Of course, if someone offered me a fancy trip, new grill and, or a bunch of other cool stuff, I might clean up my crap once in awhile.I don't hold it against them, this complete lack of tidiness. After all, I am regular sized and not too tidy myself.

My interest in little people will probably last forever. I know it is a little unusual. Someone once told me there is little people porn. I think that I will definitely pass on that! For now, I hope for the best for little Bre and Brad and hope they never give up their sweet attitudes and remain happy. As for Matt, Amy and the bunch, please have someone pay to get you a housekeeper.

The Case of the Ball Doot Seed

Mia was sitting on her grandfather's lap the other day, when she pointed at his stomach and asked why his tummy was so big. A funny moment but something a little more serious was brewing. He hadn't felt so hot for a couple of days, nausea and lots of pain. I could only guess it was morning sickness. He looked pretty good to be about 4 months along! A couple of days later he had my mom take him to the ER. He was admitted on the spot. Because he is a transplant patient, he was taken to the cardiac ICU. After meeting with a horde of different doctors, giving the blood and urine samples, it was determined that he had a kidney stone. He got lucky and was given a bunch of morphine to ease the pain. The nurse gave him 4mm and within about a second, he was out. Must be nice. Anyway, after a scan, it was announced that he wasn't pregnant but had a 7mm kidney stone! So, no baby. Mia was disappointed because it wasn't a ball doot(pumpkin) seed she was convinced he had swallowed. Yesterday morning, he was taken to the OR for a stent, not sure exactly what it is, other than something to open the pieces parts to allow the stone to pass. Upon getting it jammed in the "thingy," the doctor discovered that there was some globby things in his blood and that it may be a buildup of medicine, instead of the kidney stone. So, we are waiting to see what the globs are and if the stone will dissolve on its own. It is still very much up in the air. Luckily, my dad felt immediate relief and needs no morphine to combat the pain and can go home in the morning. As far as the "thing" in the "thingy," it could stay in there for a year! Fun! Hopefully, the stone will just dissolve and things will be fine again. So, while we don't have all the answers yet, there is no baby and no ball doot seed. Case closed.