Jeans Shopping

Jeans shopping. Ugh.

It's the worst, right? But awhile ago I lost some weight and told myself that after I had maintained for a year I'd head to Buckle and buy myself some of "the most amazing jeans" my daughters are always telling me about. Well, it's now 18 months later and I needed a little shopping therapy the other day. So I dragged Kid Four to the local mall and into Buckle.

This is Kid Four. She is easy to drag to the mall.

You should know that this store intimidates me. A lot. I am way too old to be in there. Or to buy jeans with sparkly pockets. And I was warned by Kid Four that the guy sales people always help out the chicks.

Could jeans shopping get any worse?

But I have been brainwashed for years that it would be worth it to give it a try. So I held my wrinkled forehead high and started browsing.

It wasn't long before Attractive Young Male was hanging out asking me about sizes.

What size am I?
Really? Is it okay for a guy to ask that question?
And I was suddenly feeling a little exposed. Because the truth is that every single stinkin' pair of jeans I own are different sizes.
And they all fit the same.

Then he asked about styles. Whew. I question I knew for sure about.
The answer goes like this...

NO SKINNY JEANS! The End.

Well, not really the end, because no blingy bum either.
Now The End.

Oh, except for no frontal thigh fading things going on to accentuate the obscene.
And please search for pockets that will make my rear look narrower.
Now The End.
For real.

And then I waited as Attractive Young Male went and grabbed a stack of jeans. A very tall stack.

(A photo while we wait...)

This is Kid Four looking all sassy in jeans. 

They may, or may not, be from Buckle. 

I really have no idea.

Then the best thing happened! 

While I tried stuff on, and between helping other customers, and fetching me more jeans, 

Attractive Young Male decided to strike up a conversation with Kid Four.

Trust me when I tell you that there is not much that is more amusing than listening to a guy 

trying pick up your daughter on the other side of the dressing room door.

And this is how it went:

Attractive Young Male: So....you off work today?

Kid Four: No...I'm home from college till January.

(And I think, "What does that have to do with anything?)

Attractive Young Male: Taking a semester off?

Kid Four: No...I go from January to July.

Attractive Young Male: Oh, so are you working then, or what?

(See? He totally thought the same thing I did.)

Kid Four: Um, no. I just kind of hang out at home.

(And I think, "Nice. You just admitted to hanging out at home.")

Attractive Young Male: Oh. Well do you know of anything fun to do around here at night?

Kid Four: Um, no. Not really.

(This just gets better and better.)

Attractive Young Male: Oh, so there's not really anything to do?

Kid Four: Well, I don't really know. Before I went to school I spent every night at the ballet studio.

(Yep. That's my girl.)

Attractive Young Male: Oh, so you do ballet?

Kid Four: Yeah.

Attractive Young Male: Cool.

He was trying so hard! And all I could do was giggle.

Kid Four (to me): Hey, mom. We need to leave in 40 minutes.

And Attractive Young Male tries again: So, you have to leave soon? What do you have going on tonight?

Kid Four: Oh....I'm going to a church thing.

Attractive Young Male: Oh, cool.

Okay, honestly. Could she have given him any less to go on? 

I'm not sure whether I should be really proud of her aloofness or enroll her in flirting class!

And twenty-five pair of jeans later (yes, really, twenty-five pairs!) I finally found one pair (yes, just one pair) that wanted to hang out in my closet. Sadly, they didn't have the right inseam length. So I left the store empty handed.

But Kid Four didn't! 

Because as we left, Attractive Young Male handed both me and Kid Four a business card. 

Mine had his name and the jeans styles and sizes I liked best.

Hers had his name...
And phone number.

We giggled all the way to the car. And then all the way home, as we revisited this exchange.

It went like this:

Kid Four: I just kind of hang out at home?

Me: (I Laugh. Hard.)

Kid Four: I spent every night at the ballet studio??

Me: (I Laugh. Harder.)

Kid Four: I'm going to 'a church thing'?

Me: (I Laugh. Hysterically.)

Kid Four: Really? Could I sound any more lame?!?!

Me: And he still gave you his number!

Both of us officially laughed so hard we got our ab workout for the day. 

But you should know that it gets even better.
Because when we got home Kid Four realized she had some Jimmy John's left in her teeth!
Wow.
And still a number.

You should also know that she is on a date with him. Tonight.

And I can't wait to jeans shop with Kid Four again! : )

This is Kid Four smiling.
Without Jimmy John's in her teeth.

Tomorrow I am going to play with this pic in Photoshop.
Which I have next to no idea how to use.

Friday Photos

I've been going through photos. A lot of photos! 

And I decided that since I still haven't found time to finish a post I started writing three days ago 

that I would share a few of pics I like instead. 

I may decide to make this a Friday tradition. 

Just because I like the alliteration of "Friday Photos". 

I might even add in another alliterative word from time to time. 

Like "Favorite" or "Five" or "Fabulous" or "Phenomenal" or "Freaky" or "Flippin' Fantastic!".

But I may decide not to make this a tradition. 

Just because that's a lot of pressure to put on myself. Really. 

I couldn't even blog for 6 days straight when I first started this thing. 

And I hate the idea of holding myself to impossible standards. 

So here we go. 

Friday Photos

This is Kid Two's Kid One's foot. I took this last week just after his getting out of the pool. 

I like it because his foot is all pruney. And because it's a baby foot. Which is about the best thing ever!

So, check this out.

Okay, is it just me, or is the whole idea of a bed on a roof just fascinating?

On all kinds of levels...

This is on the boardwalk at Venice Beach, CA.

And while we're at the beach, check out this guy. 

I like him because...well...I just like him.

And he held very still for the camera.

Below is Joe.

Joe is a very dear friend of mine and was the official photographer for this summer's Girl's Camp.

I did not take this picture. Neither did Joe.

His grand daughter did. When she hijacked my camera (and I do mean hijacked!).

He wouldn't let her use his.

But I think she's got a knack, yes?

This is also from Girl's Camp.
And this picture I did take.

This butterfly was amazing! It hung around forever and gave me all kinds of chances to get a good shot.

It even was kind enough to allow some photos while resting on a friend's finger.

One day I will share.

Maybe on a Friday.
Maybe not.

And one last parting shot.

I know. Not amazing photography.

But check out the amazing posing!!

The Man, Kid Two's Man, and Kid Two's Little Man

Three tired boys at a Fourth of July celebration.

And that will do it for today.

But not before wishes for a wonderful weekend!
Ahh, alliteration
: )

Monday Morning Rant

I'm sorry to start the week with a rant, but sometimes I just can't help myself. 

And this is definitely one of those times.

My rant for today actually started a few weeks ago when I got a pedicure. Please know that I love a good pedicure! Honestly. If I could get one every day I would. Followed by a massage. Then a shopping spree.

But this most recent pedicure? 

Two words. 

Really. Bad. 

For starters, the man who did it scrubbed like a girl. And when I say this I am seriously talking about a girl. Who is about 6. It was the wimpiest exfoliating, lotioning, massaging, and everything-else-that-is-good about a pedicure that I have ever experienced!

And then I made a fatal pedi mistake. I asked for a decoration on my big toes. I usually like a little decoration on my big toes, and take an unreasonable amount of satisfaction from having a little crystal to rub my feet against. Weird, I know. But I love it. Almost to the point of obsession.

But when I asked for it this time I did not know that my nail technician 

was actually a closet artist. Or so he thought.

And the way his eyes lit up as he rolled across the floor to get his decorating caddy 

should have been a clear sign that I was in trouble! 

It started like this:

Melon colored sparkly polish. Okay, I freely admit that this was all my fault. Because I chose it. And I did second guess it about 10 times. As each toe of the stunningly beautiful girl beside me was painted in a very sophisticated neutral color.

The sparkly melon color may or may not have been a mistake. This I will never know because of what happened next...

A) A white flower on each of my big toes. Not a problem, though I'm quite certain there could have been a better color choice for melon polish.

B) White flower followed by....red stripes? Yes, you read that right. Red stripes. And since I was in a good mood that day, the beginning of a giggle.

C) Eh....red stripes followed by yellow polka-dots. True story. Oy. (More giggling.)

D) Yellow polka-dots followed by very long and large bright green leaves, extending diagonally across nearly the entire surface of the nail. Are we serious? Apparently so, because the nail technician was clearly pleased with himself. And I was now giggling audibly. I couldn't help it.

E) Then the crystal. Ah! I love the crystal and it always makes me smile, and usually signals the end of decoration on the toes.

But this time? Not so.....

F) Must. First. Add:    Silver Sparkly Leaf Lining!     Huh.....?

And I officially have a party on my toes!!
A very obnoxious party.

Here is proof. 

You needn't look far to see everything that is wrong with this pedicure.
Starting with the over-coating of the topcoat.
Not to mention the poor cuticle trimming.
Or the party.

Which brings me to my rant...

This morning I removed the polish, which should have lasted much longer than it did. And my toenails now need clipping. But I cannot find a good pair of clippers anywhere!! Am I the only one with this problem?

I promise that I have purchased no less than 20 pair of good clippers in the last not so very long. One time I even bought every single person in the house their own pair of good clippers at the same time.

But what was there to be found this morning? Only the bad clippers. The ones that have been passed down from generation to generation (trust me...this is something that should never happen). The ones that are rusty. The ones that are dull from cutting clothing tags and loose threads.
Only the worst of the clippers are to be found.

And why do they even exist in my home?
I. Do. Not. Know.
Not one good pair in sight!

So you should know that as soon as I click "publish post" and throw on a pair of shoes you will find me at the Walmart. With long toenails. Sans shower and make-up.

I will be purchasing 5 pair of good clippers. For myself.
I will hide them everywhere.
And then make a spreadsheet to remind me where I put them.

Lucky for me, I have this to make it all better.

Monday morning rant over. 

And why shouldn't it be? 

Isn't he about the cutest thing you have ever seen?

: )   : )   : )

The Thing About Eggs

Okay. Confession. I am a breakfast eater. But not really an early breakfast eater. 

More of a late breakfast eater, like around 9am, when I start to feel hungry. 

And I really, really like breakfast foods. 

In my perfect world it would be several big, fluffy, french toast with lots of butter, just the right amount of syrup, and a dollop of whipped cream (yum!); 12 pieces of bacon; scrambled eggs with ham and cheese; super crispy hash browns with ketchup; and chocolate milk (and none of that skim stuff). 

All of it. Every morning. 

But alas, there is no amount of running that can undo what a breakfast like that will do. 

So I usually stick with one egg, canadian bacon (at 15 calories a piece) and a piece of whole wheat toast. 

BORING! 

Even still, I like my protein in the morning. And I really like eggs. 

Except for this one thing. 

Raw eggs. 

And the carton. 

(And by one thing, I mean, two.) 

There is just something about a raw egg that creeps me out. They are icky, and sticky, and slimy and gooey. And have you ever tried to clean one up after it falls on the floor? So disgusting! 

It is at times like those that I wonder how I can ever eat the things!

I try very hard to separate myself from all that is gross about eggs so that I can still enjoy them for breakfast. 

And you should know that I love my red meat cooked medium rare. Give it to me red and juicy, baby. 

But the egg?

Must. Be. Overcooked. 

No exceptions. 

And there's one more thing. The carton.

 I have very strict rules. 

They go like this:

Can you see what's going on here?

If not, try again.

And again.

Here. I'll make it easy for you.

See what I'm talking about?

Balance. It's all about balance.

I am not making this up. Call me neurotic, call me obsessive, call me crazy. I don't really care. 

The truth is that I am deeply disturbed when the eggs are not perfectly balanced in the egg carton. 

I try very, very hard to ignore this. But sometimes (often?) I can't help it and I have to add to or take away from my egg breakfast so I can return the egg carton to the fridge in perfect balance. 

And over the years I have come up with just about every possible arrangement of eggs to achieve this. 

I know. Whacko. But still. It is what is. 

And this?

One word.

NEVER.

Never, ever put empty eggshells back in the carton. 

Don't do it!

It's just...Ew.

And that's the thing about eggs.

(And by thing, I mean things.)