Sights Family Weblog

Rubberband Pantyhose

This morning, I was getting ready for work and put on a dress that I hate. Like seriously hate. Why I even still own it, I don't know. So, I'm finishing up getting ready and I smell something. It smells like sour milk and wet dog. And it's my dress. Now it is (was?) clean and has been hanging in my closet for close to a year. Why it smells like this, I don't know. It's as if my hatred for the dress has manifested itself into this God awful odor. Now I need to change. And I don't have a ton of time.

Let me step back for a minute. For those of you that don't know, I left the corporate world to work for my Dad. An easy going environment. A place where you don't have to suit up. So putting on a dress, with heels, and pantyhose and a jacket feels very different. Like constricting. As if the life is being squeezed out of me. This isn't me anymore. I'm immediately in a bad mood, and the hate dress really accentuated my feelings.

So I put on another dress. One that I don't love, but definitely don't hate. Although it's kind of black and white April the Giraffe looking. Oh well. It will do. I grab my pantyhose, because with this jacket and dress, there are no cute sandals that work. It's a little stuffier. After checking for runs (none--YAY!), I scrunch the pantyhose up at the toes. Ladies, you know what I'm talking about. You do this so you don't create a run as you pull them up. So I pull them over my feet. All good. I work my way up to my calf...keep in mind, this is nothing like how you see people putting on pantyhose on TV. There is nothing sexy about this. Picture more of a sausage casing being stuffed with meat. Anyway, I'm putting them on. They get to my calf and there is this bunch. I don't know how else to describe it, other than a rubber band. Now, these are the Support style, so they are shiny and must have more elastic to suck you in. I look down and I can't figure out what is going on. It's like they somehow turned themselves inside out, but you can't get to the top or the bottom. Just a band is there. A band that isn't moving.

I immediately start to sweat. If you have ever worn pantyhose, you know that sweat and the hose don't mix. It's awful. It's like there becomes an invisible force field on your body that won't allow the damn things to slide. So you push and pull and maybe jump a little. It's like putting on clothes when you are still damp from the shower. And this damn rubber band section on my calf isn't budging. So I thought, hey...I'll put the other leg in. That way, maybe I can figure out what to do with this side. Well I do. And the SAME. THING. HAPPENS. It's like when someone is going to the bathroom and they have their pants around their legs. That's how far up they are. I have to walk like you do when you are out of toilet paper and your pants are around your ankles. Don't judge. We've all done it. It's a hip swinging shuffle. Now I'm laughing. And walking. And my dog is looking at me like I am a complete nutcase. But guess what? The walking worked out the rubber band calves and I was able to work them all the way up! Yay, right? Not so fast. I get them almost all the way up and the crotch (that's such a gross word) is like 2 1/2 inches from where it should be. There's extra space. And it's annoying. So I've accomplished what I need to, my fat butt is in these damn constricting pantyhose. So what do I do? Grab and pull. And you know what happened? A FREAKING RUN! So if you see me today, my pantyhose have a run high enough that you can't see it while I stand, so I'm not changing my hose. Nope. I'm wearing these all day. They are like a battle wound. Wearing them proudly. I worked hard to get them on, and I am making damn sure I get my money's worth!

Here's to hoping you don't have a stinky dress, rubber band pantyhose kind of day!

 

Browder

I have an invention that I think could make us some money. And by us, I mean please do all the work and just send me a royalty check. Not a lot. Just what you think is fair.

Here it is. Browder. Breast powder. But not baby powder. This needs to be subtle. And more absorbent. It can't cake when sweat begins to pool between the breasts. You can't hold something against your chest and a poof of what appears to be smoke hover near you. Why is this needed you might ask? Well as the humidity increases (and apparently as I age) my cleavage begins to stick together. In a most uncomfortable way. I don't know if all of a sudden I have long cleavage. You know what I'm talking about. The girl that wears a shirt too low cut for the length of her sagging cleavage? That might be me! Sagging = more surface area to touch. So this would be the perfect solution!

Maybe they could make little absorbent powder applying towels (those little oil absorbing things for your face would be worthless for the large breasted woman). A towel would be much more appropriate. I don't know if men have this problem too, but we could call theirs ballder. Or if it's a towel for them--Testi-towel. I can see the commercials now. Do you have an uncomfortable dampness in your bra? Are the melons moist? Is your cleavage clammy? Are your hooters hot? Then use our new Browder! It solves the problem instantly. And why keep this all to yourself? Share with the men in your life! The Testi-towel will be loved by all!

 

Moonlit Mahogany

As I said, I'm sick. But once again, I let Kevin convince me that if I am outdoors I will get better. So I believed him. And we decided to take on staining the deck. In 30 mph winds.

Now. For those of you that have ever seen me in person, know that I have alabaster skin. I'm pale. Pasty. I don't tan, I beige. I have heard it all. Well, not anymore. Kevin was spraying the lattice and I was downwind. No matter where I stood. Normally I'm so white that I glow in the moonlight. But, I soon became the color of our deck. Moonlit Mahogany. Other than the stickiness of the stain, I was looking pretty good. 

Kevin needed to refill the spray gun. Now why I agreed to hold the container instead of having him sit it on the ground, I don't know. But right as he poured, the wind gusted and my entire right arm went from beautiful to bleeding Mahogany. It was everywhere. At this point, I wash my hands. The Dawn just spread it. Everywhere. So I went with my new look and kept on working. 

After we finished, I took a bath in gasoline. Well, not literally, but damn close. I'm lucky that Kevin gave up smoking, because had he lit up, I am confident I would no longer be here. I sat in the garage resting from coughing and all of a sudden Kevin told me that I needed to go shower. Now. I wasn't sure what was wrong. Except he said my skin was bright red everywhere the gasoline had touched. (He must have forgotten that it was everywhere he had scrubbed the first three layers of skin off). I went from a beautiful moonlit Mahogany coloring to lobster red. Since I was starting to feel a little burny, I showered.  And am back to pale. With a touch of a sunburn.  

Before:

 

After:

Chilling with my Chillow--product review

My awesome sister bought me a Chillow. What is a Chillow you might ask? Picture always having a cool pillow. Well this is it! It's like a waterbed for your head!

 

You fill it with water and sleep on it. So I have been sick since my birthday and it just keeps getting worse. I've lost my voice daily and can't stop coughing. And I hate being hot. So I filled it up last night, looking forward to a cool night's sleep. 

I just start to doze. And I'm thinking to myself that this is amazing. The cool breeze through the window and my Chillow. I'm happy. Then I'm thinking. Wow. This is really cool. Like my shoulder is cold. And it almost feels damp I'm so cool. My brain isn't functioning to realize what is going on.

I finally wake up out of my NyQuil stupor to realize that the reason I'm so cool is because the damn thing is leaking. If you hav ever had a waterbed, it's your biggest fear. And yes. I'm dating myself. Anyway, I am soaking wet. I don't know how I did it, but it's leaking everywhere. A gigantic wet spot by my head. But apparently I was drugged enough I scooted down in the bed and covered it with a pillow and went back to sleep. Yes. I know. Super trashy but I felt like crap and ended up sleeping really well. So maybe it did work. It keeps you cold because you are actually wet! I'm not sure if I should love it or hate it because it did do EXACTLY what it said it would. Just not quite the way it said it would!

F'ing Forty

Today, I turned 40. The big 4-0. F'ing forty. I had been dreading it. And have been weepy. And sad. And am an overall mess. I will no longer be in the "under 40" age bracket. I won't ever be a "40 under 40" leader. Nope. I'm past that. I'm officially old. My babies will be leaving home soon for college. And what will I be? What have I accomplished?  That's what I had been thinking. Until Kevin let me know last night what I will be. One day older. And someone who has helped raise two awesome humans. Someone who took a leap and left a safe corporate job to work for her Dad. And what am I going to be? One of the young parents with kids in college. And young enough to travel and enjoy life after kids too. And he said screw the 40 under 40. Be wealthiest under 50. Do Something. I'm young. I can make it happen. 

Here is how my morning started. I lost my voice. I have never lost my voice in my life. It was actually really funny. And scary. I was afraid this is what "after 40" was going to be like. Trevor found it amusing. Taylor couldn't understand me on the phone but she's a miracle worker. My voice came back while she sang happy birthday! Kevin told me my parents only paid for 40 year old vocal cords. No extended warranty. Thanks Kevin. 

Family phone calls and messages were amazing. Trevor got me an Olive Garden gift card because he knows I've been wanting pasta (we are still low carbing it). Rob called, my Mom did and sang and my dad called and sang and then said that someone from London called to see if I was available For Tea. Get it? 40? Then he asked if I could call the country club For Tee times. Yes. 40. He's so funny. At least he thinks he is! I got to work, and there was a huge box. From my sister. Of 40. Yes. 40 individually wrapped presents.  You need to experience the gifts. Get ready. 

Then my Dad got me my annual birthday flowers. Daisi. My favorite!

We went to lunch at Nat's place and I got my favorite chicken salad with grapes in it. And they sang Happy birthday and got me a big candle to blow out. Such sweet girls! And dad and I shared birthday cake.  I got home and Kevin had cooked my favorite food. Shepherd's Pie with applesauce. It's delicious. And so gross looking. He made strawberry shortcake too! And I have beautiful flowers. It was awesome. And I didn't get pictures. I was just enjoying being with my family. Jeramie and Taylor stopped by for dinner. And brought more gifts!  And then my in laws stopped by. And brought a gift. Guys. I was totally spoiled. It's like I got forty years of gifts in one day. It was amazing. And overwhelming.

So. My life is pretty awesome. And I wouldn't change a thing. Even if it means my face will never be on the Under 40 billboard.  I have an amazing family, amazing friends, an amazing job and an amazing life. I am so blessed. 

Bad Ass Obituary

I was looking at the obituaries today. I'm getting older. Something I do. Admit it. As you get older you start to look and see if you know anybody. Anyway, I came across an obituary of an 85 year old man. He had the most bad ass picture. Suit and tie. Plain background. Looking a little bit at an angle so you don't see him straight on. His name was Sammie. He looked like a mobster. Like his name should be Sammie the Nose. You can picture him pointing at you with his scotch in one hand, cigar in the other and sniffing at you with disdain because you didn't do exactly what he asked. A slight nod of the head as he does it. It was a picture from him in his 30's or 40's. Which got me thinking. I'm going to be 40. I need one bad ass picture that can be used when I die. Hopefully when I'm 85. And people are like. Damn. She looked awesome. Classic. But she could cut a bitch. So here's to getting that picture. So people see me in 45 years and wonder about what my story was. 

Aldi's Toilet Paper

Let me begin by sharing my love of Aldi's. The produce? Best. Cantaloupe. EVER! Their cheese? Awesome. And their prices are great. Really. 98 cent milk. That being said, I assumed (wrongly) that ALL things Aldi must be great. So I saw toilet paper. It looked soft. Pillowy in fact. Guess what? I was WRONG! It felt like actual paper. It was as if they took heavy paper and letter pressed the pattern into it. To give the appearance that it would be soft. I'm guessing if they had just invested the money into producing a softer toilet paper, they would have a much better product that doesn't remove the first two layers of skin. Although...some people pay lots of money to exfoliate. And for the low, low Aldi's price for toilet paper, you can exfoliate you bum. 

Only on Facebook

I have decided that there are special people out there. They are a special kind of stupid. I ran across this post. Now, maybe I'm crazy, but tell me when you see this picture you don't have the same thoughts I did. Mainly my thoughts consisted of picturing someone with cellulitis or some other wound that is oozing. So they clean it. And then dip their used Q-tip into the bottle. Not thinking of infection control. So now one of two things has happened. Either their wound is healed (I'm guessing g unrelated to wound care) or the appendage has been amputated. I'm going with amputation. So now there is no need for the peroxide. And for slightly more than what you would pay for a NEW bottle of peroxide, you can have a dirty used bottle. I can't do anything but shake my head...

Catholic Funeral Funny

We went to a great lady's funeral yesterday. And what happened during the funeral would have made her laugh. I know it made us laugh. Now to clarify, Kevin has not been to much at the Catholic Church. And I am by no means an expert. So I'm comparing it to our church. So here's how it went. 

The choir is there, everyone is seated, a lady is changing the songs on the board that tell you what they are going to sing. And we see one word. Offering. Now at our church, that means one thing. Money. Time to tithe. So in a panic I ask Kevin if he has any money on him since we don't usually carry cash. He has like $3. So he hands it to me. 

The funeral continues. Then it's time for the offering. I have my money ready. Adulting. Rocking this. I am ready. And then I look over and realize...it's the offering of the Blood of Christ and the Body of Christ. It's communion.  Kevin looks at me and kind of smirks. We leave the church and I can't stop crying/laughing thinking that Marlene would have found this pretty funny...

Big Red Tongue

I am currently experiencing what I like to call Big Red Tongue. Now normally this occurs when I chew cinnamon gum. Because even though I know I'm allergic, I still occasionally chew it. The joy of the gum is worth the pain.  It's great when I'm chewing it, but then, slowly, my tongue starts to burn. But still in an ok, I'm still loving this cinnamon, I can power through kind of way. Then my tongue shows symptoms like when you burn it on soup. Kind of swollen (I think my Tongue may be abnormally large...more about that later) and numb. You can kind of taste food but not really and it's kind of itchy. Like if you could take one of those plastic back scratchers and run it across your tongue it might feel good but you don't want to be the weirdo caught doing that so you do nothing. Instead I keep biting it to see if it's still numb. (It is). Here's the crazy part. I haven't eaten cinnamon. As in nothing over the last 24 hours with cinnamon. So, I'm thinking I must be slightly allergic to something I ate yesterday. But I have no idea what it was. A culinary mystery...so I'm thinking I'm heading to bed. If I die because my massive tongue blocked my airway while I was sleeping, please say it was something way cooler. Like I was fighting ninjas and after 32 stab wounds I finally succumbed to my injuries. Make me sound bad ass. Not something like her giant cow tongue finally choked her like we all knew it would. Surprised it didn't happen sooner. And PLEASE don't let them interview people about it. You know they will pick the toothless person wearing a wife beater who just had no idea that I was hiding an enormous giraffe tongue behind my chubby face. I'm off to brush my teeth. And tongue. A little too long. Because I know it is going to feel awesome.