The Skinny

From time to time, I'm pretty sure I made some comments about skinny jeans and how I'd never wear them. You see, I try to live by this motto:

If it's already been in style once in your lifetime, you're too old to wear it again.

So you'd probably be surprised that yesterday I got a package in the mail from J Crew with a pair of gray matchstick cords. And they fit. No spillage over the top. This may be some kind of miracle.

I wore them in public today. With motorcycle boots. And my big sunglasses. That's how I roll. If I'm wearing something that I'm unsure of, I rock the glasses. To hide the fear in my eyes.

Also: I purchased skinny jeans about a month ago, and they've been seeing regular rotation in my wardrobe. Unbelievably, they are comfortable. And, most of the time, skinny jeans are NOT low rise. Which I'm SO over. Nobody needs to see my crack when I bend over - which is all the time, wrangling the toddler.

To wear said skinny pants/jeans, there are a few rules, for me at least:

1) Under no circumstances shall scrunched down socks or puffy Reebok Freestyles enter the equation.

No.

(True story, my cheer leading coach in high school had a pair of these babies to match every outfit. However, she was totally allowed because she was in a Paula Abdul music video - I think. And she taught us some sweet 80's moves. I can totally kick ball change like Pat Benetar in Love is a Battlefield.)

2) The correct size must be purchased. Trying to squeeze into too skinny skinny jeans is absolutely not a good idea. Unless you want your uterus in a vice.

3) I always wear my skinny bottoms with long tops. At least past the hips. On that note, if anybody ever catches me in a half shirt, have me committed because I've gone insane.

I still have not succumbed to acid wash. And I saw a photo of HAREM PANTS the other day and yeah, I can pretty much guarantee I'm not going there. I'm just not that cool. Um, I was NEVER that cool.

And they better not bring back the Hypercolor. Because I'm a heavy sweater and nothing is more uncool than drawing attention to the fact that you are sweating like a hooker in church.

A Kiss is Not Just a Kiss

I don't remember a lot from kindergarten. I vaguely remember a few outfits I liked to wear (a Little House on the Prairie pinafore comes to mind) and the way we couldn't have our coats in the coat closet because someone always had head lice.

Itch. Itch.

And a day that caused me major anxiety. The day Mrs. Campbell announced during circle time she was going to give each of us a kiss.

What?

I remained composed (or as composed as a 5 year old can be) and waited. Was she going to make us line up for the kiss? Was she going to kiss us on the lips or the cheek? Time dragged by - even though it was probably only a minute - it felt like forever. I was one freaked out little kid.

Finally, Mrs. Campbell reached under her chair and pulled out a brown paper bag.

And proceeded to give each of us a kiss.


That kiss was a kiss I was okay with.

For more kisses, head on over to I Should Be Folding Laundry. Today, Beth's fabulous link up turns one! Happy Bloggy Birthday, Beth!

Belly Laughs.

So I haven't laughed much lately, but I've got to give props to The Office last night.

I laughed out loud. And cried a little at the end. Cause seriously? Jim? Does such a man REALLY exist?

'I was waiting for my wife'. SOB.

I used to be a hardcore believer that the British version of The Office was superior. I have a weird little crush on Ricky Gervais (he is a genius). Though Steve Carrell is brilliant, Ricky Gervais is painfully hilarious.

So, yeah, this anglophile is maybe converting. The Yankee version, it's growing on me.

Compensating

I need to preface the following photo with these facts:

1) This was taken down the street from my house. We do not live in the mountains. We do not even live in the country. We live in the 'burbs.

2) There is no chance we're going to get caught in any kind of flash flood - we're on a hill.

3) The one time I saw this vehicle actually driving, it was struggling to make it up said hill. And it was blasting some sweet gangsta rap (and I had it all pegged for some good ol' Toby Keith).

Behold.



Textbook definition of compensating for lack in 'other' areas. Ya dig?

The end.

Classy, Defined...

B came home from Chicago late last night, and we were going through all the amazing photos he took as he regaled me with stories from his trip.

Of course, all I really wanted to hear about was the food.

The last night they were there, he said, they went to a 'really fancy restaurant'.

I asked him if he ordered a Long Island Iced Tea, because when he was actually in Long Island a few weeks back, he'd had plenty.

Yes, my husband is THAT guy. The one who orders Long Islands IN Long Island. He also said the servers did not make fun of him for ordering the Long Island in Long Island. Clearly, he has never worked in the restaurant industry. We used to make fun of people for trying to be fancy and ordering the pink wine.

After I asked about the Long Islands, the following conversation ensued:

Me: So, did you order a Long Island?

B: No, this place was way too classy to serve Long Islands.

Me: So what did you have?

B: A Sex on the Beach.

I laughed for like ten minutes straight. Because I never in a million years thought I'd hear the words 'classy' and 'sex on the beach' in the same sentence.

Dirty, Dirty Sandwiches.

I don't know if I'm the only one who has noticed this CREEPY commercial for Quiznos. Funny creepy, but still...really? REALLY?

The horny oven is kind of freaking me out. Plus, Toasty Torpedo?

Thanks, but I prefer my food non-phallic. Just sayin'.

Cheeseburgers & Vampires

I love Twilight. And I love burgers.

And on this f-ing diet, this is how I FEEL about cheeseburgers right now.

Num. RAHR!!!

OMG. LOL. LMFAO. Etc, Etc.

I was over on Dooce today and saw this site - I Can Has Cheezburger.
If you are as into utter silliness as I am, please check it out.
Why are cats and dogs with captions so funny, will someone please tell me?