Panty lines.

Like, as in Granny Panty lines.

Not good.

That was the day that I decided it was time to try out the thong, again.  They’ve never been comfortable, yet I seem to remember hearing, somewhere, that they could be.

And so I began my mission to find the perfect thong, for cheap.

My search took me to Kohls where I found signs that said things like, “Barely There.” or “You’ll never know they are on!” and, “No panty lines!”

That sounded good to me, so I began to investigate.

The fairly benign looking panties looked really thin.

check.

No tag.

check.

Cottonish.

check.

Inexpensive.

check.

I was willing to try fork over the cash to these girls out. But just to be sure, I bought a pair that was a size bigger than I would usually buy.  (THE KEY TO A COMFORTABLE THONG, I discovered!! Trust me girls!)

I got home, washed them, and then tried them out.

The result?  I swear.  It’s like I’m not even wearing underwear.  They are so comfortable.

AND no panty lines!!

I began strutting around the house, work, and play with an extra skip in my step and bounce in my errr butt.

Feeling good, I began changing out of my work pants and into my sweats as I bent over, barely covered with my newly donned thong, when my son said, “Wooo Mom, your butt has really gotten BIG!!”

.…

Um, excuse me?  Oh no you didn’t!!  I turned around and asked for him to repeat himself.

And he did.

So, as any good mom would do, I walked up to him, smacked him in the back of his head, and promptly changed back into my granny panties.

Ahem.

Kids.

I’m telling you, he is wrong.  My butt is NOT getting bigger…I think.…I just feel more comfortable in a bigger size panty.… I swear! It’s not my butt… it’s the cut.  I hope.

Despite the size of my rear, I’m thrilled with my new find and my lack of lines.

And there you have it folks… my first post in months, about my booty.  Gotta love that!

I’m back, Bitches…let’s talk panties!

Most days anyway.

Years ago we were laying on our bed talking when he reached out, touched my upper lip and asked, “When are you going to take care of the mustache you’re sporting?”

Ahem. Excuse me??

Well, lucky for him, I knew he was swimming in an uncharted territory and completely nervous, which I found absolutely hilarious!

My response??  I laughed, and laughed, and laughed.

And then I waxed.

For years I’ve given him no end of grief abut this, but secretly, was thrilled that he felt it was safe enough to tell me!

From that day on, I’ve religiously waxed, not bleached, not ignored, but waxed that persistent fuzz growing on my upper lip.

Fast forward a few years to this December, 2008.  My dear attentive husband started a conversation with me with the following words, “Promise you won’t take what I say next personally?”

Um, NO!!  I can’t make that promise.  I take a lot of things personally!!

As I was telling him that I, under no circumstances, wanted to hear something that may hurt my feelings he blurted out, “You have really long nose hairs!  You need to trim them!”

????? Um OK?

Thank God for husbands like mine, huh?  Can you imagine what I’d look like without his help?

Shudder!! It would not be pretty!!

Anyways, immediately after I was enlightened to the fact that my unusually large nostrils had hair really long hair protruding out of them, I got down to the business of trimming last damn hair I could find.

When I finished the excavation I sadly realized that my nose now itched thanks to the small, stubby hairs that remained.

Now, when I say that I appreciate my husband’s honesty, I should also mention that this doesn’t give him a free pass.  Once he opens the door, I feel completely free to walk through it and continue to discuss my imperfections with him at will.

So, later in the day I walked up to Hub and part whined, part informed him how itchy my nostrles were.

His response?

“Better your nostrils itching than your upper lip!”

Really, what else was there to say?

On nose hairs and mustaches

I did it.  I went to my esthetician and got microdermabrasion done, and wrote about it.  Head over to SVMB to check it out.

Microdermabrasion

BC and I took a plane ride yesterday and had a great flight. It’s pretty fun keeping a three and a half year old entertained on a plane. Way easier than flying with two kids are under the age of two!

Thank goodness for my Mac! Here’s a few of the highlights.

Hubby constantly talks about my LARGE teeth. This one’s for him:

Superstar!

Mom and Son

Hot.

Beetle Juice

Finally!  A reason to call BC a butt-head.

I like to call the following two pictures, “I’ve got my eye on you!“


And that, my friends is how you entertain a thirty-one three year old on an airplane!

Fun on an Airplane

So here’s reason # 100 why Cash’s Mom should really start a blog…

So V (her sister) and I (Cash’s Mom) went to the mall today– and I stopped by the Benefit eyebrow bar, because seriously the caterpillar had to go!!

 

They were having some sort of MEGA event and one of the super fierce little Benefit hotties conned V into getting her eye makeup done.

 

So I’m sitting there waiting (with super hot bad ass eyebrows) and this really fun spunky Benefit gal convinces me to hop in a chair and shows me some “hot mom” makeup tips.

 

The entire time I’m getting my makeup done, people are flocking around. This lady asks them to get this they run and get it they are all commenting on, “how fab this looks on me,” and yadda yadda…

 

Now at first I thought I was getting the hard sell, but after quite a while of people stopping and watching (gawking even) I realized it’s because I’m a super fierce hot mom. Heidi Klum watch your ass, because when I drop this truck load of baby off… I’m hitting the runway. HOLLA!!

 

Anyway as I’m checking out (I bought some bad ass eye shadow) V says, “You know that was like Miss Benefit herself right??” This lady is the REASON for the big Benefit event!!

 

WHA WHA WHAT???

 

All the girls in the store were gushing and couldn’t believe that Arianne Damboise, known as Benefit Cosmetics’ “Makeup Maven” just did my make up….

 

PRO: I look AMAZING and this is the first time I’ve felt hot in WAY too long..

 

CON: All those people gazing on at how absolutely stunning I am… yeah they were there watching her.

And that folks, is why I love her. Please Cash’s Mom, start a blog! Please!

Jealous Much?

Two that come to mind are the public bathrooms and Turbo Kick Boxing.

I mean, seriously! Bathrooms for women should always have more than 2 stalls and lots of space for waiting. Need I say anymore on this subject?

Didn’t think so.

Issue #2 Turbo Kick Boxing:

Well, I should clarify. It’s not that I don’t think a woman created this exercise class. Frankly I don’t know. I just don’t think that a woman who gave birth vaginally, and then nursed a child created Turbo Kick Boxing.

I came to this realization on about minute 27 of my hour-long trial Turbo Kick Boxing class Thursday night. It came just as the cute perky thang, who was no older than 20, with rhythm to die for, shouted out a new combo of jumps, kicks, punches and jacks.

Jacks.

As in jumping jacks.

Twenty seven minutes into this workout I, who has about as much rhythm as Elaine from Seinfeld, am trying desperately to keep up with CPT (cute, perky thang) and falling short of the mark in oh so many ways.

Insert the jumping jacks.

I know jumping jacks! Now this is a combo I can do.

My confidence begins to grow. I’m feeling the anticipation of success leading up the the jack.…

Kick, Punch, Punch, annnnnd Jack.

Annnnd I pee.

Right there in the middle of class my muscles fail me and oops! out comes pee.

Lessons I learned that night were many.

First. Do not do jumping jacks without wearing some sort of, ahem, protection down there.

Second. Nursed-out breasts flop, while doing kicks and jacks, no mater their size.

Third. Turbo Kick Boxing is a cruel, cruel joke played on post-birth/nursing moms.

Fourth. I have no rhythm. This lesson was learned years ago, just reiterated Thursday.

Fifth. This form of exercise should really be renamed Turbo Kick My A$$.

Sixth. I think I’ll stick to the elliptical machine.

This was cross-posted at Silicon Valley Moms Blog on Saturday.

Turbo Kick Boxing

By some miracle, when I stepped on my digital scale this morning it said I weighed 107 pounds*****.

Wait, let me bask in this for a minute…

…

…

OK, I’m good. You see, I’ve been avoiding the scale like the plague for some time now. Since Hubby’s surgery, and my recent unpleasant bought with this kick my *ss and leave me coughing an wheezing while producing copious amounts of snot small cold I’ve had, I’ve been feeling a bit, shall we say, out of shape.

So, you can imagine my amusement when I stepped on the scale and it initially said that I weighed 93 pounds.

But…when I tried again and that beautiful little scene blinked 107, I decided to take that number as truth.

Never mind that I haven’t actually seen 107 since I was in 8th grade!

It was written in black and white!

107.

Damn it.

Now if I could only figure out what that word was that flashed after my weight…

LO BATT?

Huh?

Whatever!!

107 BABY!

****Edited to add:

Please!  My true weight is far,  far away from 107.…  But come on!  Let a girl have a pipe dream! 

I think I need to change the battery in the scale! 

107. and I’m sticking to it!

Today

Wha’da think?

My eyebrows yesterday

My eyebrows today.

Ahhhh.

Fifty Pounds Lighter

Totally.

So, now I’m racking my 12 remaining post-child birth brain cells trying to remember what it was that made me feel so young.

Was it my sagging, one size smaller post nursing perky breasts?

No, no.

Oh, oh!  Was it my 8 pounds heavier post pregnancy svelte body?

No, no.

Oh! Oh!  Now I remember.

I was sitting in the dermatologist’s office talking to him about those unsightly blemishes cropping up all over my face again, fifteen years later! and asking him to prescribe me anything, oh ANYTHING that will help restore my youthful glow.

Ya.  that was it.

Good times.

Like, totally.

Like, totally.