Creeper

Last month, I went into Lululemon to find a small Christmas gift for my niece. She is crazy for their clothes, and I thought maybe I could find something modestly priced for her. You know, like a little top or cute sports bra.

Um, NO. I had few choices if I was going to spend less than $25, and I didn't really want to buy her a headband. 

A young saleswoman approached me and after hearing my dilemma, she gently caught my arm (?!) and excitedly pulled me toward the center of the store, "Does your niece wear our underwear? Seriously. It's ALL I wear. It's like wearing nothing!!" She went on raving about 'no visible panty lines' and how her favorite was the lightweight thong.

*cough*

HAWKWARD. I'm hardly a prude, but holy hell. When did I get so old?? I made every effort to train my eyes on her face and tried not to involuntarily look down at her crotch. 

That underwear might have felt like wearing nothing, but at $18 apiece they were worth their weight in gold. Despite my budget, I found myself grabbing four pair almost reflexively. I was thinking I could buy two for my niece, and give the other two pair (or is that pairs?) to my daughter. 

Seriously? I can't even believe that I am
actually blogging about underwear.

Once home and out from under the mind control of Perky Underwear Clerk, I reviewed my purchases. As wonderful as my niece is, I could not bring myself to send her $40 worth of panties. I still had my two nephews to shop for, plus mail their gifts across the country. Since the panties were nonreturnable, I decided the only thing to do was to keep the second pair for myself. Obviously.

After carefully wrapping her thong underwear gift, I included a small card on the package:

Dear Bridey,

I hope you don't think I'm

a creeper for buying you these. 

I hear they are really nice. 

Enjoy! Love, Auntie Babydoll

Apparently she read the card aloud on Christmas morning and my nephew perked up when he heard the "creeper" Minecraft reference. He asked if maybe the gift had been mislabeled and was possibly for him. (No. Nice try, mister.) It turns out that my niece didn't think I was a creeper at all. My daughter loved hers as well. 

And me? All the hype is completely accurate. The underwear is the lightest and most comfortable I have ever worn. In fact, they are so comfortable that I have a small dilemma: Do I wear them first, or do I wait until I've worn my other pairs first and save the Lulus for last? Wearing nice underwear just sets the tone for a good day. I'm sure there is science somewhere that that proves my theory. 

Actually, there is: Jenna Marble's underwear horoscope. With nothing other than her panty clairvoyance, Jenna predicts how your day will be solely based on the underwear you put on that morning. Warning: This link is NSFW (Not Suitable For Work). And truthfully, my underwear drawer is a sad state of affairs. I recently pulled on a pair of cotton panties...except my fingers poked a hole through the fabric, right under the elastic. To quote Jenna, "What did your vagina do to deserve this abuse?!"  

Clearly, the only thing to do is to buy one or two pair (or is that pairs?) a month until I have a little cache of my very own.

Picture Perfect

For my third installment of featuring bloggers from my blog roll, I'd like to introduce my readers to my friend Emry and her blog, Emry At Home. She writes about homesteading with her husband and her life raising their two young girls, Annalee and Alabama.

But first, can we talk just for a minute about Emry's hair? Seriously. She has the thickest, most gorgeous head of auburn hair that I have ever seen. 

See what I mean? ::swoon::

I stumbled across Emry's blog a few years ago, shortly after she'd been featured on a website called BlogHer which spotlights women writers. I was so impressed by Emry's accomplishment, it inspired to submit an article of my own...but I was so overwhelmed by the sheer number of writers and topics that I haven't gone back to the BlogHer website since. 

Even though we haven't met IRL, Emry has been super sweet about answering my ridiculously embarrassing questions, all of which reveal how little I know about formatting a blog.

Although Emry At Home is not a photography blog, her photos are stunning:

This photo makes me feel wistful without knowing why exactly. 

The aesthetic of canning makes me sigh.
In my post Peachy, I used the term 'historical hard-on' to describe
the appeal of canning, because I'm classy like that.

The beseeching fingers. The cat's expression. Just...LOVE.

As a parent, I have a deep understanding about how two children can be completely different in temperament, despite the fact that they are raised in the same household. This premise is one of the themes that I find so relatable about Emry's blog.

Best. Photo. Ever.

This brilliance is Alabama's handiwork.

My kids are much older than Emry's girls...but there is something so satisfying about knowing that I'M NOT THE ONLY ONE THIS SHIT HAPPENS TO. 

Owned It

Welp. I did it:

Done and done!

Boydoll asked me if I was going to have my story made into a book. 'How many words have you written so far?' He was really excited about my accomplishment, and was blown away by the sheer volume of pages that were saved in Google docs.

Aside from my immediate family and a few internet friends, I didn't tell anyone that I was participating in NaNoWriMo this year - well, aside from the fact that it's big as Dallas up on my blog, but still. The truth is that my story isn't very good. It's not that it's poorly written, although as a first draft I am loathe to let anyone see it. It's the subject matter.

What started at first about a teenage girl whose mother is hospitalized for depression - which in itself is hardly uplifting, has turned into a novel about five different accounts of child molestation that take place over three generations. It was a really intense experience, and there were several places where writing about it pretty much sucked.

Some of the writing I am enormously proud of. The pace and phrasing in several places came together really well. I had an eerie, third-person experience while I was reviewing my story on Saturday prior to the deadline: I could actually visualize reading some of the plot development in a real-life book, as if I had not written the words myself. There are parts that are poignant, charming and funny. But there are also parts that are really hard to read and pretty horrific.

In truth, I am still kind of reeling from writing it. I mean, what the hell? In any format I have ever been apart of, if the topic of child molestation comes up, it's as if the air is sucked out of the room. No one wants to read about children getting sexually assaulted. I know I wouldn't purposely seek out such a novel to read in my leisure time. 

I guess it was a story that I needed to tell, even if no one sees it. The irony of that statement is not lost on me: I should be okay telling this story. Writing my novel was enormously cathartic, even if I hardly want to be the poster child for surviving a horrific childhood experience. 

"And that's all I have to say about that." Forrest Gump  

NaNoWriMo 2013

So, yeah. I'm doing it again. 

I talked a big game and pitched NaNoWriMo to my friend, Cristy. 

She was pretty reluctant to sign up, but you know what? All that kvetching...and she's KICKING MY ASS. I'm currently over 4,000 words behind my word total if I expect to complete 50,000 words by November 30. 

Cristy wrote almost 5,000 words THE FIRST DAY. Sweet mother of pearl?!

Back to writing. 

Must. Keep. Writing.

Happy Halloween!

Babydoll...and BRAINZ!

Threshold

Lately, Pinterest has been my go-to source for finding recipes, in addition to a small obsession I may have with all things Star Wars. And Kello Kitty. And Hello Kitty Star Wars:

Hello Leia

Anyway. I prefer Pinterest over most food blogs because they're tedious and often difficult for my addled mind to manage. 

However, one of the blogs I follow looks like a food blog - it boasts delicious recipes, after all - but it's author, Dianne Swift Adams, is so irreverent and hilarious that I'm completely hooked. In addition to a handful of recipes, it is also the site where one can purchase gorgeous handmade blankets, better known as a Boga Babe.

I *almost* met Dianne once for coffee a few months ago. She was a terrific sport about being contacted with about an hour's notice on Facebook, along with a handful of other friends in the Los Angeles area, while I was getting my car serviced. I'm hopeful we will eventually meet.

Her children, Emerson and Annabel, frequently appear in her blog. Emerson is more often than not wearing only boxer briefs while assisting as sous chef. In her recipe for heirloom tomato sandwich, she addresses this very issue:

'Some people come home, kick off their shoes, and make themselves a drink. My son walks into the house, takes off his shoes, pushes his pants down to his ankles and elaborately kicks them off so they sail into a far corner. If he could he would be completely naked at home but my threshold of scrotum on every surface is lower these days than it used to be. Get your sad skin satchel off my couch and barstools, son. So our deal is at least wear your underwear."

See what I mean? The phrase 'threshold of scrotum' only endears her to me more. As a matter of fact, I'm going to find a way to work that expression into my conversations. Seeing photos of Emerson cooking, regardless of the fact that he's not wearing any pants, I can see Dianne is on to something; get your kids cooking, and cooking young. 

It makes me realize my own failings as a parent because when my kids go off to college, I'm fairly certain they will starve. Girldoll can cook, and easily mastered getting a frozen pizza into a preheated oven - but if given a choice, she prefers to be waited on. Boydoll can handily prepare himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, both BOTH kids will go all afternoon without eating rather than prepare food for themselves. 

I have no one to blame but myself. In an effort to keep a tidy kitchen, I avoided their requests to help prepare dinner. I regret it deeply now, because I believe there is a window of having fun helping in the kitchen...and that window closed for my kids about 5 years ago. 

I don't know. Maybe it's not too late?

Crushing

I have to admit something, Internet. I have a terrible crush on a blogger. I recently started reading a blog called The T-Rex Runner, and at the risk of sounding like a Creepy Internet Stalker, I'm fairly certain we could be besties. 

No, seriously. (Even though that's exactly what Creepy Internet Stalkers would say.)

Aside from being clever and hella funny, Danielle (aka T-Rex) is a runner. What I adore about her blog and about her running philosophy in general is her humanness: she struggles with injuries, awkwardness, and bad running days. Still better yet, Danielle isn't a vegan. Her blog frequently includes a relevant and kicky GIF, each with their own unique subtitle that makes her  point even that much more awesome. 

The other thing I love? Despite the fact that Danielle is running a marathon in all 50 states, finishing up her master's degree, and (huge respect) in recovery for eating disorders...she responds to nearly every comment left on her blog.  

I have read other running/fitness blogs but instead of feeling inspired, I come away feeling like I suck. And then there is the issue of jargon and that unsettling feeling of being left out of a secret that everyone else seems to know. 

Anyway, I have been chuckling all morning over this post about all the things that might get one hidden from Danielle's Facebook feed. I relate so very much. At least Danielle is forthright in admitting the Facebook Love. I am a coward and frequently have to dramatically announce to my friends that I'm taking a Facebook hiatus or delete the app (gasp!) from my phone so I can't absentmindedly while away the whole fucking morning. 

I don't utilize the hidden-feed feature nearly enough. As a matter of fact, I have only done it to three people of the 400+ people that I'm Facebook friendly with:

1) The egregious political and conspiracy-theory poster. I had no idea when I accepted a friend request from this acquaintance that I would be put off by his outrageous posts. I don't have a problem with people whose politics differ from my own - but I do have a problem with comments with the purpose of pointedly baiting people, only to get into intense and angry debates. No, thank you. I had merrily gone along in my life prior to this. Now when I see this individual, my reaction is a visceral one: Run away as fast as I possibly can. 

2) The relative who discloses too much personal information. I had to hide a relative who posted about her first post-divorce sexual encounter. ::shudder:: HOLY HELL. I so wish I could unsee that.  

3) The frequent checker-inner. You know, that red pointer-thingy that shows where this person was: 


View Larger Map

There she is eating breakfast. Oh, wait. Now she's at the Farmer's Market. And there she is at the pharmacy! I only wish I was exaggerating. Aside from my kids, I don't need a blow-by-blow of anyone else's whereabouts.  

*****

It's early yet, so Danielle hasn't replied to my comment...not that I have looked or anything. What can I say? I'm a sucker for a pretty blog.