My Loathing of Mom Jeans

If you can remember back inthe day, there was no such thing as low-rise jeans. They were all Natural Waist jeans with tight ankles, aka mom jeans. Or if you were lucky they had pleats at the waist. *shudder* Goddamn, I fucking hated those jeans.

You seriously couldn't find any other jeans anywhere. At least not on my parents budget, nor would my mom have the time for me to do a marathon Jeans-Shopping-Session. So I actually wore boy jeans. Sure I had a space in my crotch for a dong, but at least they sat lower on my waist. Whereas the mom jeans buttoned almost exactly an inch under my breasts. AN. INCH.

A few years after E was born, we were living across the street from the mall, and I found I had a few hours free on a weekend. So I trudged to the mall determined to find a brand of jeans that fit. I had dropped quite a bit of weight and was in serious need of clothes that didn't fall off or were made of stretchy cotton blends.

I decided to start with expensive jeans and work my way down to the cheaper brands. Hit the GAP, Express, and slowly downgraded to Sears and JCP. I was so depressed, because there was nothing that fit. Being short yet curvy was like having AB- blood. It had seriously been like 5 hours of trying on jeans and I figured I would hit up one more section - the Junior section of JCP. It was seriously my last hope and I had no real hope to find anything, because I wasn't a scrawny little "Junior" anymore. Actually, I had NEVER been a scrawny little "Junior".

Low and behold, I discovered my first pair of low-rise jeans. It was like a revelation. Jeans that actually hit me at my belly button for once, instead of 3 inches above it. My thighs encapsulated comfortably, crotch of the jeans hitting me where it should - no dong space to account for, and SHORT. They actually hit me right instead of being a few inches past my toes!

I still had no real shirts that fit me right, or bras that I didn't have to special order, but I finally had a pair of jeans that fit! And they were only $20 a pop!

I realized I would never have to wear mom jeans again. It may have been one of my life's greatest joys. You know, right after the births of my babies or, say, graduating college.

2011 New Year's Resolutions

I know most people choose to give up something negative for the year to come. This just seems like a plan doomed to failure. At least for me it is, since I have absolutely no willpower.

Seriously, I have none. I do not buy anything I can unhealthily snack on, so that when the munchies hit, I'm forced to eat carrots. The kids would love Nutella on toast in the morning, but I have found that I will finger that jar clean in about a week. So my house has no cookies, no ice cream, no cake, no brownies, no regular soda. It is a barren wasteland with no desserts.

So I decided a few years back to not tell myself, "No, you must refrain from..." Instead I tell myself, "If you like this, let's make a goal to do more of it."

So this year, I need to find something I like and do more of it.

Thing is? I have no idea what that'd be.

This is actually more of a problem than I thought. Normally, I can see what's in front of me and go for it. I have goals and goals and more goals. Ambition is not new to me. Working harder to get what I want and making sacrifices, these things are not hard for me.

But to state for others to hear, or read, that I want more of something? This is hard. This makes me cringe and feel like I am exposing myself. I would much rather just be given what I want without having to ask for it. Or I can work towards it, and achieve it.

But I can't ask you to give it to me.

So this will be my New Year's Resolution. When I find I want something, starting off as simple as passing the salt or what I'd REALLY like for a birthday present, I will practice stating my desires and needs.

See what I did there? I made it another goal. Haha.

I Divorced Mr. Right

This is the message I received Tuesday morning at work:

"Do you notice how many e-mails I send that are titled “stuff”?
Yeah, not much creativity in my titling here. Oh well.
Anyway, I wanted to tell you how awesome you are, and how glad I am to have you as an ex-wife. Really, I’m not saying this sarcastically. I’m really glad that we can all take the kids to do stuff, and that we don’t get all butt hurt when we pick on each other. I feel really lucky to have you in my life. This morning I just felt I should tell you that. I don’t know why, and no, I’m not joining a religion. I just want you to know you are appreciated."

I have the absolute best ex-husband in the world. He is an awesome father to our 2 girls, a loving companion, a valuable addition to society and I can't ever imagine being married to him again. Because married? We sucked.

That whole adage, "Marry your best friend"? Great idea. Because if it ends, you should be able to go back to that friendship with minor adjustments.

We were the bestest of friends, sharing Big Gulps while playing Doom until the wee hours, me offering him grooming advice to make him more attractive to the ladies, him helping me with my car issues.

Fast forward 13 years, and I'm living alone, happiest I've been in a few years, and we are back to being friends, but now with the addition of children. Having that separation has made me a better person and mother. The stress level is down and I can grow unhindered. And it is the same for him. He's been in a relationship for over 3 years now, more grounded and content.

So this holiday season, I am grateful for him and our evolving friendship. He's the best partner I could have ever asked for that I refuse to live with ever again.

Bathroom Etiquette

I have relaxed my bathroom tendencies quite a bit. Thanks to marathoning where an entire hour can be spent discussing peeing strategies on the course, toilet paper shortages and to not to eat broccoli before a race due to it's extra fiber. So my sensitivities to the topic has greatly relaxed. But not so much that I'm completely open to it in workplace.

In our building, the 3rd floor men's bathroom is right at the top of the stairs. And when you are coming in, there are sometimes, where you will inadvertantly catch a guy with his back to the door. And the pee hitting the urinal is audible. Oh well, pee happens.

But if I accidentantly bump into you coming out of the bathroom, don't stop in the doorway and chitchat with me, door open, while another dude is peeing.

Bet you can guess which coworker this was...

Musings, again.

I had a dream about an old friend last night. Not THAT kind of dream. It was the kind where you haven't seen them in months, even years, and suddenly you are trying to run across town with them as your sidekick. Or finish a spreadsheet at work, and they are distracting you.

(Yes, I have those dreams. Shut up.)

The last time I saw him was at a local bar. And, honestly, we are no longer friends, not like it was before when we spent so much time together. There at the bar, there was karaoke and beer. Good, but shallow, times. But I will always remember one Halloween night with him. An experience we shared that meant nothing but was striking enough to be unforgettable.

He came over to get ready for Halloween. I was already dressed in a fridged flapper dress, but he still needed help. He and his GF were going to be Ho and Pimp, respectively. Nothing like getting a call asking if he should buy the skintight purple snakeskin jeans or not for the costume. He arrived and got partially dressed. And seeing him sitting on my toilet seat without a shirt and in those pants? I felt a forbidden little thrill. What can I say, I've been into the kink.

My job was to make him a pretty as he could get - dressed as a woman. At first I was giggling uncontrollably. Here was my best guy friend with a goatee, wanting me to line his eyes and apply lipstick. But soon it sobered up in the bathroom and the light touches of gaudy eyeshadow and blush, thick eyeliner, caked on mascara and shiny red lipstick, only slightly distracted me from that fact that I was straddling his knee. It was oddly erotic. Using my beauty tools on a man was a dirty little thrill. Everytime I instructed him to look up and open his mouth, the thrill grew. Once I applied the last of the blush and finished lining his lips, it was almost imperative that I lead us back into the reality of the living room.

Helping him put on his bra and stuffing it helped disperse the latent tension. And after the hot pink wig was on his head, everything seemed right again in the world. But forgetting those brief bathroom moments will be impossible.

Seriously? Who Needs A Solid Gold Vibrator?

So I follow a few blogs. Ok, like 75. I know it is a disease, but my mind needs constant reading material, and a blog is awesome for quick breaks at work.

Anywhore.

One of the blogs has many contributors who like to talk about everything from being a parent to the best sex toy for your money. And they decided to hold a giveaway.

For a Jimmy Jane Eternity.

A solid gold vibrator with inlaid diamonds.

Wow. Whomever came up with idea, is a genius.

I'm super happy with the Amazon special toys I have shipped over whenever mine go kaput. Last order (2 items) came to a whooping $35. By the time they die, I will have spent more on batteries than on the toys.

The JimmyJane? $2750

That's 9x more than my first car.

But can you imagine what that says if your honey buys you one? Your netherbits are so special to him that you DESERVE 24K gold to rub one out. AND DIAMONDS! How could I forget the diamonds?

It is also like saying his peen is comparable to a vibrating gold wand of love. And with that as a give, I wouldn't argue it in the least. "Yes. Your penis is as awesome as this 24K gold, diamond studded orgasm creator." Hell, I think this should replace the traditional engagement ring.

So, yeah! Instead of an engagements ring - I think I want this if anyone would like to propose to me.

And we can elope to Vegas to be married by midget Elvis. In a drive thru.

Hot Baths

I love to soak in a hot bath. The hotter the water, and the more of my body I can submerge, the better. I do not use bubble bath, but if there is epson salt available, I love adding it in. Eucalyptus-scented is my favorite. I could spend hours in a tub of hot water.

And I have. When you grow up in a small place and have pretty much shared your room since you were 2, privacy (and silence) is hard to come by. So that bathroom was my bastion of peace. This did not garner any love from my dad, who would be pissed that I would be in there for hours. "Goddamn it, JAIMI!" I heard this alot actually.

Anywho.

Hot baths. In the winter, they are my savior. I think my internal thermometer is broken. But when it gets cold, and I'm anywhere near my menstral cycle, I get cold and it is almost impossible to warm up. Electric blankets help. I used to use snuggling as a way to absorb heat too. But these methods are slow. If you've been cold all day, and you're tired, when you get home a bath can saturate you with warmth in 10 minutes. It. Is. Heavenly.

So the temp has been dropping dramatically at night and, after having spent 10 days in 90 degree weather (Mexico Cruise, baby!), that cold is pretty much unbearable. So I think I am more clean this last week than I've been in ages because nearly every night has seen me monopolize the guest bath. It is kind of sad that my daughters have another bathroom to use, because hearing them yell, "Gosh Darn it, MAMA!" would make the bath that much more complete.