And more pants

I don't know what is going on, whether it is something to do with my astrology or what, but pants continue to plague me. And not just in the shower!


I am in dire need of some new pants. Pants that do not squish my belly out over the waistband, thereby giving me muffintop. Pants that do not create a coin-slot in the back when I sit down. Pants that manage to make my butt look full and spankalicious, not flat and pancakey. (I am so terrified that one day I am going to turn in to one of those ladies whose butt has migrated outward, abandoning the buttal region and setting up shop in hipsville. What if that is me one day!!! I can already feel my butt sliding down the back of my thighs. Soon there will be no distinction from knees all the way up to shoulders. agggggghhhhhh)


Anyway, I am perusing the Urban Outfitters website and I realize that I am officially an Old Lady. I am appalled by everything The Kids are wearing These Days. My options, according to Urban Outfitters, are to either wear pants so large I could smuggle WMDs in them, or to wear pants so tight that if I farted, the stink would be vacuum-sealed in until I peeled them off of me.



Exhibit A:


The "Boyfriend Pant"

This is attractive? This pajama-pant looking, long-crotched besmirchment of the female form? Let's all agree that our boyfriends' pants are best worn by our boyfriends. Who have use for spacious crotchal areas in their jeans.

BUT! It gets worse.

Exhibit B:

The "Upholstered Sofa Posing as Pants" Pants

If these pants make a professional model look hideous, why would I even attempt to wear them? Because I want to make my breasts look as tiny as possible in comparison to the 4,000 yards of tweed hanging off my waist? Because I have elephantitis of the ankles, and this is the only thing that hides it? Absurd.

Exhibit C:

"Body Paint Pants"

I think if you wear these pants, you have to make sure that you are entirely pube-free. Otherwise, everyone would be able to see the outline of each and every curly crotch hair underneath your "pants," aka, "colored saran wrap." Because obviously you can't wear underwear under these things. The pantylines! Think of the pantylines! And while these pants kind of look cute on this girl, who is so skinny you could swing a cat through the gap between her legs, they would not look cute on me. There would most definitely be muffintop-age. And I don't even want to think of the camel toe implications. The horror!

So, I don't know what this means for my Old Lady pants predicament. Am I going to have to start shopping at, like, Chico's? And L.L. Bean? And watching "The View" and buying estrogen supplements and turning the air conditioning on full blast to combat my hot flashes?

Pants

One of my favorite bloggers is the super duper awesome Sarah Brown. She is a comic genius and my favorite kind of writer. My favorite kind of writer = someone who can take something you had never given any actual thought to, a situation/personality tic/feeling/etc., and describe it so perfectly that you go, "HOLY GOD, yes!! This is something I am constantly experiencing in my life, how have I never noticed this before??!" I love that.

I was reading yesterday's post, and I had one of those moments. The whole post is spectacular, but the part I totally connected with was when she described what an avid reader she is:

"Sometimes I am late to work because I read my shampoo bottle in the shower. Why? Because it is there. There are words on it. The same words as yesterday morning, but that really can’t be helped. If I don’t read them, who will?"

YES, Sarah Brown! ME TOO!! I could not have said it better myself! I have read every shampoo bottle I have ever used, thoroughly and repeatedly. I also mentally edit for grammar and punctuation. I stand there under the water, reading the words I have already memorized, when I should be dried off and entering the deodorant application portion of my personal hygiene routine. This affinity for shampoo literature has caused me a great deal of consternation during the past few weeks, however.

You see, my current 'poo/'ditioner have trivia questions on the back of them. Which is great for a person's shower library, BUT. It requires a matching set. My hair is all crazytown and has special needs, so I didn't get a matching set. I have "Drama Clean" shampoo (scalp tends toward greasy) and "Hello Hydration" conditioner (ends tend toward split).

This puts me in a predicament, because it leaves me with:

Question: Who, on average, do you spend the most time talking to on the phone?

Answer: Pants.

While this makes me giggle, it also sends my brain into spasms. I don't actually care about the real answer to the phone question. But I am dying to know what question out there is answered with "pants." Many a morning have I stood in my shower, slack-jawed and letting the room get blindingly steamy, wondering what question "pants" belongs to.

What is the British word for "undergarments"?

Which item on Spongebob is square?

What is the term for having your shorts pulled down by someone else, usually in front of a large group of people, probably at summer camp?

I wonder this every morning. (Or almost every morning. Sometimes sleep is more important than washing off the stink.) What, friends, is the right question? Suggestions are greatly appreciated.

Side note: One of my favorite movie scenes ever is in "Billy Madison" when Adam Sandler is in the tub and he makes Shampoo and Conditioner fight each other. Next time we are in the bathtub together, I will happily re-enact this scene for you, as I have committed it to memory. And then I will ask you to kindly step out of my bathtub, you pervert.

Totally cheating

This is a MySpace survey I filled out. But I spent all week on it in between working (embarrassing), so I thought I'd cheat and make it double as a blog post. Because I'm the boss of my blog! So take that, complainants! HA!

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Tired of those same old 55 questions about me surveys? Well here are 55 I guarantee you've never answered.

(I stole this from ViVi. I think this survey is just what 2007 has been missing.)

1. Is your second toe longer than your first?
I don't appreciate the tone of this question.

2. Do you have a favorite type of pen?
-is.

3. Look at your planner for January 26, what are you doing?
How can I answer this question accurately if you don't specify a year?

4. What color are your toenails usually?
Neon green. (Also, this toe fetish of yours is a little disturbing. Sicko.)

5. What is the last thing you highlighted?
Toenails.

6. What color are your bathroom towels?
No towels. Just Sears catalogs.

7. What color are the seats in your car?
Black and white, furry.

8. Have you ever had a black and white cat?
Still do, sort of -- see question 7.

9. What is the last thing you put a stamp on?
I have been advised by my attorney not to answer any stamp-related questions before the trial.

10. Do you know anyone who lives in Wyoming?
I'm not friends with people in square states. I stick with the squiggles.

11. Why did you withdraw cash from the ATM the last time?
Strippers don't accept IOUs, y'all!

12. Who is the last baby that you held?
Mmm, baby.

13. Do you know of any twins with rhyming names?
Lefty and Not-Lefty.

14. Do you like Cinnamon toothpaste?
Toothpaste, no. Buttpaste, YES.

15. What kind of car were you driving 2 years ago?
Clown.

16. Pick one: Miami Hurricanes or Florida gators?
Clowns.

17. Last time you went to Six Flags?
Forgive me if I find you bothersome.

18. Do you have any wallpaper in your house?
Types of paper in my house (an exhaustive list): construction, blotting, sand, note, toilet, scrap, recycled, tissue, towel, bag, mache, pad, news, wrapping

19. Closest thing to you that is yellow:
Do you sometimes wish it was okay to make Asian jokes?

20. Last person to give you a business card?
Your mom. I didn't know she was Senior Vice President of Whoring Around -- good for her!

21. Who is the last person you wrote a check to?
What is this, 1997?

22. Closest framed picture to you?
Frames are for yuppy douchebags.

23. Last time you had someone cook for you?
Mmm, baby.

24. Have you ever applied for welfare?
What a weird question.

25. How many emails do you have?
The real question is, how many shemales do I have?

26. Last time you received flowers?
Funny story: One summer when I was in, like, junior high, we found a little tortoise crawling up our driveway. He had some kind of red paint on his shell, so we named him Raphael -- like the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle who also wore red. Raphael ate lettuce like a champ and was totally badass, and we were sure that if any members of the foot clan were lurking about, Raph would get all ninja up in their faces. Except when we came back from getting ice cream that afternoon, we discovered that Raphael had been completely cooked by the sun in his little cardboard box. Man, but that ice cream was good though.

27. Do you think marriage is meant for only a man & woman?
Yes. I also think the Earth is flat, that evolution is a load of crap, that women should not have the right to vote, and that global warming is something Al Gore made up as a political ploy. I also think the moon is made of bleu cheese and that if we are all really really good little boys and girls, we'll each get our own unicorn when we die.

29. Do you play air guitar?
No. I SHRED air guitar.

30. Do you take anything in your coffee?
No -- I like my coffee like I like my men... hot and black.

31. Do you have any Willow Tree figurines?
Over a thousand, yes.

32. What is your high school's rival mascot?
Buried in the ground!!!

33. Last person you spoke to from high school?
Oh wait, I never went to high school. I just went: elementary school, junior high, The Big Time.

34. Last time you used hand sanitizer?
I AM NOT MY MOTHER! I AM NOT!

35. Would you like to learn to play the drums?
Only if it doesn't cut into my air guitar rehearsal time.

36. What color are the blinds in your living room?
2/3 neon green. (Highlighter ran out.)

37. What is in your inbox at work?
Peanut butter sandwich. Needs jelly.

38. Last thing you read in the newspaper?
"Jen Garner lost Ben Affleck’s ring down the drain and had to have a plumber come pull it out." You just try and tell me that Us Weekly isn't news.

39. What was the last pageant you attended?
It is a condition of my parole that I not attend pageants.

40. What is the last place you bought pizza from?
Rodent fun fact: Many historians suggest that marmots, rather than rats, were the primary carriers of the Bubonic plague during several historic outbreaks.

41. Have you ever worn a crown?
No, but I will wear a crown as I'm riding atop my unicorn in the next life.

42. What is the last thing you stapled?
"Becky's Book of Rodent Fun Facts"

43. Did you ever drink Clear Pepsi?
Did you ever eat a knuckle sandwich?

44. Are you ticklish?
I have diarrhea. And yes.

45. Last time you saw fireworks?
I'll say this: Lee Greenwood was involved. And also tongue.

46. Last time you had a Krispy Kreme doughnut?
My bed is made of Krispy Kreme doughnuts, and my comforter is made of glaze.

47. Who is the last person that left you a message & you actually returned their call?
Parole officer.

48. Last time you parked under a carport?
SIGH. May I leave now?

49. Do you have a black dog?
Yes. No. Sort of. On holidays.

50. Do you have any pickles in your fridge?
Contents of my fridge (an exhaustive list): Brita water filter (UltraMax Dispenser; full), Thai Peanut Salad Dressing, lettuce (wilty), 2-Liter bottle of Diet Coke (flat), mostly eaten wedge of brie, mostly eaten kalamata olive loaf, 2 organic yogurts (blueberry, peach), milk (2%), coffee, mayonnaise (Best Foods), Asahi beer (1), bottle of wine (Viognier), butter (stick form), Country Crock Spreadable Butter *Now with yogurt (tub)

51. Are you an aunt or uncle?
Neither.

52. Who has the prettiest eyes that you know of?
Eyes are creepy.

53. When was the last time you saw a semi-truck?
Dunno, been under a carport all day.

54. Do you remember Ugly Kid Joe?
No. My parents were strict; I was raised in a bomb shelter. I wasn't allowed to Ugly Kid Joe.

Question 55 was too dumb, I deleted it.

Know what? Chicken butt.

Some people claim not to dream very frequently, or at least they don't remember their dreams. I dream a lot, especially during the hour of gauzy, late morning half-sleep I'm able to will myself into as the garbage truck bangs up and down the street.

Sometimes my dreams are totally cuckoo for cocoa puffs (ie: the world's cat population is trying to destroy all other forms of life, and I have to jam my family and as many dogs as I can find into my car so we can escape to a cat-free zone). Sometimes my dreams are totally mundane and boooooriiiing (I'm applying lip gloss, or scrubbing my bathroom sink). Other dreams are more legit, and they feature stressful, slightly modified real-life situations that are most likely freaking me out too much to thoroughly process during my waking hours. And there is yet another category of dreams wherein the specific events are preposterous, but the intensity of the emotion they provoke leads me to believe they are highly significant in some symbolic or veiled way.

Monday night I had a dream, the events of which were pretty unlikely... but it was extremely intense, and each of my senses were very much involved. I'm unclear as to where exactly I was and why, or whom I was with. But there I was with a handful of people, and we all had these bowls of food that we had to eat. So there I am, sort of munching and crunching away, when it dawns on me that the texture is a little funny.

What I am eating is not normal food.

It is all the discarded animal parts that you don't usually think about when you are eating a chicken sandwich or pork fried rice or any type of "normal" food items one might encounter as a carnivore.

To my complete and total horror, I looked down and saw that my bowl was filled with little eyeballs, chicken beaks, lobster claws, a pig's snout, and the thing that really sent me over the edge -- a delicate little duckling's foot. It was just as I picked up the little webbed foot that the horrible stench of all those random parts hit me. The odor was sour and vast and clinging -- like dumpster and vomit and the inside of the milk refrigerator at my old elementary school. My stomach turned like Brian Boitano in a triple-flip triple-toe loop combination.

Suddenly I realized that not everyone had to eat the nauseating appendage melange. After further inquiry, it became clear that anyone who was a vegetarian was excused. The rest of us were under punishment for being choosey about which animal parts we thought were ok to eat. If we chose to eat animals, we were stuck with the whole package: bones, beaks, tails and all.

I woke up from this dream completely drenched in sweat, with the foul stench still sort of lingering. I don't know if I believe any hoodoo about people getting important life messages through dreams or visions or burning bushes or talking walnuts, but the whole experience has left me traumatized enough to think maybe I should become a vegetarian, at least for a little while. I sort of doubt I could stick with it indefinitely, as I have all the willpower of a bar of soap. But for now, I can't pass the refrigerated meats section at Trader Joe's without imagining myself gnawing on a marinated chicken foot, and then my stomach gets all queasy, and my face contorts in ways that send small children screaming for their mothers.

Vacation, all I ever wanted

It's coming up on exactly 1 year since my last vacation. One whole year, people. That is a year full of Mondays. A year full of commutes. A year of setting my alarm. A year of Friday nights where I had to sit at my desk until 9:00pm.

NINE O'CLOCK.

PEE EM. On FRIDAY.

A year of eating lunch by myself, a year of bad office coffee, a year of the maintenance guy being in the ladies' room every single time I had to pee, a year of reading press releases that are so boring they made the mid-term election voter guide seem like a Crichton novel in comparison. A year of trying to plan outfits that are casual, but not so casual that they could be interpreted as inappropriate... and cute, but not too cute, because no one wants to waste their cutest outfits on work, because inevitably by the end of the day you feel crumpled and vaguely sweaty, and there is no chance of your cute outfit being revived for more exciting purposes.

And since that all feels a little dismal, and since I'm dying for a vacation, I've decided to reminesce about last year's vacation in Costa Rica.

Ah, Costa Rica.

Last year on Thanksgiving I had lobster dinner instead of turkey dinner. On the beach. In Costa Rica. This year's Thanksgiving is probably going to be a little lackluster after all that. So I'm just gonna go ahead and live in the past for a moment.

One of the first little towns I visited was La Fortuna, home of the Arenal Volcano. Here is a photo of the Arenal Volcano:

What I really love is the little sign pointing you toward the volcano. As if you might be standing there thinking, "Ok, I know there is a volcano around here somewhere... my guide book said it was in this general vicinity..." Because, hello! It's right in front of your face, and it's a fecking giant volcano!

La Fortuna is also home of this, which makes me giggle for reasons I cannot fully explain:

There is a lot of super fun stuff to do around La Fortuna -- volcano hiking, rappelling down waterfalls, whitewater rafting, horseback riding, karaoking with locals -- and I took advantage of all of the above.

Here I am looking stylish in my helmet, hideous Tevas, and crotch harness as I prepare for rappelling:

I wish I had actual pictures of me rappelling and whitewater rafting, because how badass, right? But sadly I didn't have a waterproof camera, so you'll just have to imagine me looking badass swinging from a rope and paddling a raft.

Here I am looking fetching in a large tarp atop a horse. You will notice a common theme in these photos -- me looking uber chic, classy and well-coiffed:

We rode our horses part way to the next town, Monteverde. Now, I had been told all I would need for my Costa Rica trip was a bikini and some sunglasses. Well, that was horrible advice. Because Monteverde is located in what they call a cloud forest. A cloud forest happens when you are so high in elevation that you have reached, like, another layer of atmosphere: the layer of atmosphere where the clouds live. Clouds like it there because it's cold. Girls in bikinis do not so much like it there, and I was forced purchase a puffy black jacket, which became part of my ever-more-stylish repertoire of activity-appropriate clothing.

In the cloud forest there were trees and vines:

And colorful birds that were hard to see:

And coatis, which were freakish, overly friendly cousins of the racoon:

And me looking sexy in a puffy jacket and ill-fitting helmet:

Actually, the helmet was for purposes of ziplining. Ziplining is an activity whereby you fly through the forest canopy, like, a gazillion miles up, on a cord, whilst peeing your pants:

After the Monteverde cloud forest pants-peeing experience, we took a long van ride to the port town of Quepos. Except our van broke down for a few hours, so we were stuck at this little road-side stand for a while. But actually it was really pleasant -- shady, right near a stream, and populated by an adorable little boy who occupied himself by singing karaoke to the Spanish music station that was playing on the TV.

Here are me and Beth, fellow traveler and tiny Texan, by the stream:

And here is my karaoke virtuoso boyfriend. He was aDORable, and totally pretended to be all shy when he realized he had an audience. But that only lasted about 30 seconds before he really turned on the charm:

We also stopped at an open-air market on the road to Quepos, but the only thing I reeeeeeally wanted there was not for sale:

Quepos itself was kind of eh, but really close by is the Manuel Antonio National Park and beachal area (yes, I did just say "beachal"), and that was aaaaamazing. I stayed for a couple of days at a hostel right next to the reserve, and this was the view from my hammock:

There were also butterflies the size of my head, which was frightening when I considered what other prehistoric-sized insects might be lurking about, waiting to carry me off to their giant webs or nests or dens or whatever. This butterfly had little see-through windows in its wings -- it was like nothing I'd ever seen before:

Furthermore, there was a lot of drinking. Drinking of tropical drinks with tiny umbrellas:

Drinking of beers on boats (WARNING: gratuitous bikini shots):

Drinking of beers in oceans:

And, finally, there were some of the most beautiful sunsets ever:

So, that is what I was doing exactly one year ago. And while picking my nose at my desk is pretty far up there on my list of all-time favorite activities, I would be enjoying it a lot more if there were a hammock, or a tiny umbrella, or a giant butterfly, or some Spanish-language karaoke involved.

Eau d' Febreze(R)

You know what is the best scent ever? Febreze. Now, I've never stood in a rose garden at dawn while a light, dewy breeze tickles my nose with the satiny scent of a thousand different buds and blossoms. I'm pretty sure that would smell okay. But Febreze? I'm willing to bet Febreze is way better. Febreze is like cocaine, except for your nose. Wait. I mean... I don't know, I've never done cocaine. I guess what I'm saying is, from what I hear, Febreze is a lot like cocaine -- it goes up your nose and you can't get enough of it. Except I don't think you can OD on Febreze, because if that were possible I'm pretty sure I'd be sitting in an urn somewhere by now. Because to me, Febreze is the olfactory equivalent of a glass of champagne, a deep tissue massage, and a really excellent blow job all rolled into one. So I want it as frequently as possible.

(Incidentally, I'm always worried that people will think I'm a coke-head, even though I've never done cocaine. I happen to have a very itchy nose, so I'm always walking around, rubbing my nose, which is what coke-heads do on TV. I especially try to resist rubbing my nose when I've just come out of the bathroom, so as not to invite suspicion. But then as soon as I think to myself, "Self, don't itch your nose," my nose gets all itchy. It's like hearing the word "yawn" and then trying not to yawn yourself. You are totally trying to resist the urge to yawn right now, aren't you? HA!)

Anyway, I think Febreze is heaven-sent. Or heaven-scent, since I love a good pun. So when I saw that they have Febreze-scented laundry soap and dryer sheets, I about spotaneously combusted with joy. (Is combusted a word? Or should it just be combust? Hm.) Fresh laundry? Delightful. Fresh laundry that smells like Febreze? Transcendant.

BUT WAIT, THAT'S NOT ALL. I got the stroke of genius to put the Febreze dryer sheets in strategic places throughout my apartment, completely banishing unpleasant odors! I stuck some of the little guys in my closet, which tends to smell like an elderly, flatulent, chronic halitosis sufferer is buried under the floorboards. The other day I was sitting at my desk at work thinking, "Wow, there is a very pleasing aroma around here, I wonder what it is." Then when I went to lunch, the lovely smell followed me. Because sometimes I'm slightly dumb, it took me all day to realize that the heavenly smell was me! I smelled like Febreze! And not old closet stink!

So, in all of my geniusyness, I put a dryer sheet inside the garbage cupboard. I thought this was an inspired idea -- cover up 5-day old pizza smell with Febreze! Except now I have this kind of weird olfactory dysphoria where I can't tell if my laundry smells like fresh garbage, or if my garbage smells like rotting laundry.

Finally, something to put on my buttbrush

If having kids means I am required to purchase something called BUTT PASTE, I think that is reason in itself to go ahead and have my ovaries replaced with Reese's Peanut Butter Cups. Or something else that is equally as comforting and non-troublesome.

Also, I have posted three times today. Can you tell I am so bored at work that I'm ready to spoon my eyes out?