Realistic Women

You know your life is getting pretty darn small when you almost wet yourself with excitement when you see the new US Weekly laying in your mail pile. Really. I almost wet myself and especially when I have forgotten that it's coming and it surprises me, like a wet lick from a puppy.
You can pretty much bet that the 24 hours following it's arrival will leave me unattentive to pretty much anything anyone has to say... that is unless you have a comment or insight into an article I am reading. My current favorite topic, aside from Lady Gaga's lazy eye, ( please tell me you know what I am talking about? ) is Tory Spelling's eating disorder, I mean, "stomach issues". Becuase we all know that when you drop down to 98 pounds and your upper thighs are thinnner than your knee caps and you get a bad case of the runs you are fine... just need a little imodium is all. Or some LUNCH. But whatever, I actually like her and wish her well.
Anyway, while poring over the photos of the who's who in Hollywood, I must admit that on certain days I find myself wistfully thinking how much I would like to be that rich/that thin/that well dressed/well groomed, etc. And then I take a cold shower, cram my fat butt into some cozy sweat pants, spackle my porous face with expensive make up and I am suddenly brought back to my reality.
But I really do catch myself sometimes, wishing wistfully and all. So it's with great pleasure when I come across some great news... like this German mag, Brigitte. Three cheers for realistic women.

Like... It's Been Forever!

Becuase THIS seems to be so popular, and since I have been horrible about blogging lately, I figured I would kill two birds with one stone.

A) Four places that I go to over and over:
Domincks, work- specifically- to my desk in the basement... ew, Target, and my new favorite store- Kohl's- because the one by me just got remodeled and it's fab.
B) Four people who e-mail me :
Don't worry about it.
C) Four of my favorite places to eat:
Home ( fer real), at the Cellar ( a steak house in Geneseo, IL ), Places with white linen napkins( if I am lunching with my friends), and Francesca's.
D) Four places I wish I could be right now:
IN THE WATER- ( 6 months pregnant and the bouyancy is great), with my parents at their home ( I am not looking forward to the three hour drive- see previous item RE: pregnancy), Shopping for myself ( For shoes and accessories-naturally), in a magic place where my house is clean and my body looks fabulous and I get to walk around comfortably in a bikini sipping cocktails and getting spa treatments.
E) Four people I'm sure will respond:
I hate this question.
F) Four TV shows I watch:
Real World- EVERY SINGLE SEASON EVER, The Hills, Survivor, House Hunters

In other very important hold-your-breath-news, I bailed on my Facebook account. The pressures were mounting and after getting an e-mail from a guy from my third grade class I did what most other respectable persons would do, I deleted my account. Now, mind you, I don't go to my "reunions" and when I am "home" visiting, I would willingly knock down a tuna can tower in an effort to conceal my identity and to dodge an old classmate at Fareway if need be. I prefer my anonymity.
I know I know- I have heard of the security measure- but really- just e-mail me through my e-mail? Ya know? It's just like Facebook only I don't have to add a bunch of security measures and deny friendships to people I don't really like that much. Just saying. With regular e-mail and can secretly dislike you from afar and not so.... In Your Face...

My house recieved the royal cleaning while I was on Spring break last week- we are talking washed curtains and dusted ceiling fans here people. This was the big time. In preparation for the baby I decided to try to slowly but surely kill myself by trying to do a month's work of neglected house work in three days. I must admit I did pretty good- but by Thursday evening had not slept more than 9 hours in three days and was feeling a lot of tightening in the belly--- I laid down pretty much the rest of the weekend. I have made myself a mental promise to be a little more balanced from here on out. As a reward for my new promised plan ( or maybe just because I am looking for an excuse), I am getting myself a new pair of shoes. And since I do not buy new shoes often, this is what I deem a "production"..... I have perused Piperlime to Zappos, J. Crew to Target... nary a brown wedge sandal is out there that I don't know about.

Either way, it's time to pack for my Easter weekend away- the parent's house AGAIN!- what can I say, I like it there....

Roller Party

It's been a really long time since I have been roller skating. So when we got the invite to my nephew's first boy/girl roller party I immediately cleared the calendar in anticipation of the big event.. that is of course AFTER asking my doctor if pregnant ladies can roller skate... "Yes, " she said, "Just don't land on your belly." I figured I could manage that and mentally prepared myself for a broken wrist.
And last week, as I dragged through the school week, I used the roller party as my "light at the end of the tunnel". Enter Pink Floyd background music here with a dash of strobe lights. It got me thinking about the days of old, garnering rides to the "rink", making sure the battery pack on my red light-up visor was charged, seven dollars tucked into the pocket of my coolest jeans, the ones with the roller skate on the back pocket...
Screeech! Enter reality. What am I going to wear? Now, I know my GM ( generous Mother) bought me some exquisitely comfy maternity pants, including some hip jeans, well... as hip as maternity demin gets for me. However, when I sported said jeans to work on Friday, we ran into some "issues". As in, they won't stay on. They are too big. Way too big. Of course, this didn't become apparent until I was walking down the hallway during passing periods and I was quite sure that the "maternity" portion of my pants was hanging well past my deirrier. And being that my arms were full, led to some temporary panic. I made it to class but spent the remainder of the day seated behind my desk as much as possible. In the end, the idea of wearing these jeans roller skating, well, it would never do.
I went on-line and found that the closest maternity-carrying Old Navy was a good twenty minutes away, and so it became the "Saturday mission". Off I went, patient husband in tow, and within ten minutes I found myself some NEW jeans. Not nearly as cute, but with a little more staying power and illiciting a lot more confidence.
We arrived at the party right on time, and after waiting in line for no less than ten minutes, I finally had my skates. As I laced up dandy pair of beige and orange rentals, I inhaled the familiar scent of old, sweaty leather. Of course the first pair didn't fit. The ogre behind the skate rental desk begrudgingly gave me a new pair. Eventually, it was time to stand. After a good ten minutes of arm waving balancing acts, I felt back in the swing, and off I went, like it was yesterday. Around and around the rink I went, gliding with the wind in my hair. At least that is how I felt- I tried to ignore one comment "Are you sure you should be skating? You looked so wobbly out there! " I could have stayed for hours. Wobble or not.
In the end, I find that I still love roller skating. And all Junior High kids aside, it was still fun.

Maternity Pant Pressure

My waistline lately has been expanding. And apparently I am carrying this baby in my ass, because it's been wasting no time expanding as well. That being said, my pants are getting rather difficult to get on. Well, I can get them on, but unless it's appropriate to wear a poly/wool blend in a Martin cut around your knees, I can no longer really WEAR them in public.
I heard through the pregnancy grapevine to just by a "size-up" to get me through the first part of the second trimester. So I went ahead and did that. And the cuts of "pant" that previously did a fabulous job of concealing all my ugly jiggly bits are no longer really filling the bill. The butt and thighs are saggy while the waist pinches and tugs creating a spare tire that you would not even find in el supermercado. And since I previously bought tops and shirts that accentutated my previously flat belly, this will never do.
The next step in the process is/was the Belly Band. A tube top inspired stretchy fabric band that you pull on under and over your unbuttoned pants- giving them life by allowing you to safely WEAR your pants sans closure. I have worn it. I DO wear it. But when I spy the larger pants that fit without this garment I generally toss this belly strangler aside. It's all about the comfort. And it's right about these days where I wish that they made sweat pants out of denim and a cotton khaki so I could wear them as opposed to these other ill-fitting items.
And then of course, last weekend, my once again very generous Mother, took me to Younkers to try on and purchase my first four pairs of "maternity garment". My initial reaction was, "Wow, I am already not giving a rat's patootie about who sees me naked anymore." Second, "Those pants are sorta huge!" Third, "These pants are HEAVEN! My waste is FREE! FREE! FREE! And my butt is hugged nicely. No more sag!". I was determined to wear them immediately upon my return home.
And then... the part no one TELLS you about? The underlying pressure to avoid maternity pants for as long as possible demonstrating your extreme ability to not get fat in your butt and thighs during pregnancy. And I am falling for it hook, line and sinker. I have sported the most random of outfits in the last week. Stretching my creative juices and maxing out my clothes, especially all things made of cotton, or have a bit of give.
The cozy and cute maternity pants sit in waiting- practically begging me to strip off the tags and yank them on. And believe me, I have tried them on several times. And then in a surge of panic, plied them off as quickly as I pulled them on to opt for something a little "less" maternity.
But today, at 15 weeks along, I give. I am giving in. I am going to sport my maternity jeans under a big long bulky sweater as I lunch and brunch with my girlfriends. I didn't make it to the four month mark, which was my pressure-filled goal, but I can no longer take the pinching waste.
It will be terrific to plow through a breakfast plate of egg strudel and not have to excuse myself afterward for some private bathroom adjusting via tugging and pulling the belly band. And despite the fact that I didn't "make it", I am really not surprised, as I am a piggy anyway. And so it is.

'Tis the Season!

As the recipes in newspapers start to involve all things pumpkin and turkey, as the leaves turn shades of brown and fall off the trees, and as the clock rolls back and the afternoons get increasingly darker, I, my friends, get excited. Very VERY excited.

And it's not the Fall weather, or the suggestion of imminent snow, or the switch to a warmer and cozier and fat-hiding wardrobe as much as it is "The Christmas List".

In my family, the siblings draw names. And because there are many busy working Mom's and a hint of type A personality, the "LISTS" are due by Thanksgiving. And you must submit a list because it's a rule in our family. Or you will be forced to receive something "OFF-list"... and that leads to a cluster-fudge of receipts and returns and frowns on the happiest day of the year, as you enviously leer at the person next you smiling and enjoying a gift they actually wanted.

I am not sure HOW the due date came to be, exactly, although I am guessing it has something to do with a barrage of friendly-with-a-hint-of-impatience e-mail reminders sent out by, well, you know who you are.

And so with one eye on the calendar, I have stepped up the perusal of random shopping sites. Carefully saving my list of possibilities under my Favorites until I decide I officially want it. Where it is then cautiously copied and pasted onto my "List".

And I have found something glorious. Truly glorious. The Staxx ring. SO cute. SO wearable. SO diverse! And you can buy all sorts of parts and kits and colors.

And I can't wait to see the others' lists either. To see what has been pumping up THEIR jam lately.

Hunting to Hair dye

I am not too fussy as long as I have food, decent sleep, and something to drink. Oh, and of course the perfect outfit. Not even bathrooms are important to me, as I will happily pee in the woods. I don't mind getting dressed up, I know all about forks and spoons. ( Seriously, when I was eight I thought I was adopted, or going to be put up, so I studied all socioeconomic cultures- to be prepared- thank you Miss Manners!! ).


So, when my husband offered to take me, this past weekend, clay pigeon shooting with the 'ole twelve gauge, I shrugged my shoulders... :


I did pretty good. So good in fact that he deemed me worthy enough to take pheasant hunting in a month. And wildly enough- I am EX-cited! And I am looking forward to it. Because pulling that trigger and hitting those targets made me more satisfied than Elly Mae Clampet wrestling a pig on a hot summer day.

It's that kind of thing that when you are done and sipping your beer you think to yourself... this is one of the most well-deserved, appropriate placed beers of my whole life... sigh...


Today after school, when I went to have my monster thick hair highlighted, I was going to bring it up to my stylist. But there were an unually high number of women around us. And it didn't sound right. So I kept it to myself and instead told her about the style of dress I want for an upcoming wedding. And I can tell already it's going to be a shopping disaster. Becuase I have already picked out what I want and the only dresses I see like that are Herve Leger and WAY way WAY out of my league. And require a little less ass than I currently possess. But it's in the Sear's Tower and it's fancy and I will see lots of old friends and know that looking my best is SUPER duper CRUCIAL. To maximize on the "good times".

Either way, I am excited for both. I think my Christmas list will read: Camo pants from Cabelas, a 12 gauge shot gun, gift card to Kohler Water Spa and two tickets to the Steppenwolf Theater.

I Am Not Nearly as Cool as I Think I Am

I know I talk about fashion more than your regular gal, but less than a true "fashionista". I am overly concerned with my clothing and I know it. But I cannot help it. So finding a stain on my button down blows. And the day I wore navy tights with my black skirt and boots to work was terrible for me. The day I crapped my pants, literally, while at work, was a complete nightmare. Well, even fashion aside on that one. But really, my pants looked pretty awful.
So deciding to bite the bullet this morning and going for school spirit was hard for me. To purposefully look wierd during our Homecoming Spirit Week. The title was "Decade Throwback" or something along those lines. Basically dress in your favorite era. Easy one for me. I mean, my name is Lori for goodness sake. Even my NAME reeks of the seventies.
I busted out my red suede jacket. Buttoned up my lightly floralled cowboy shirt. Wore my flare jeans. Threw on a necklace and slid into my brown suede shoes. For extra uumph I parted my long curly hair right down the middle of my head. Voila. "The Seventies".
Not so much.
When I needed to pop into the gas station this morning I giddily walked in and wondered "What must they think of my ridiculous costume! Haha! I am just SOOO wacky! " The attendant greeted me with the usual.
When I walked into the building and ran into a co-worker I asked, "What era are you?" She smiled brightly, "Oh-the eighties!" ( Like I couldn't tell!!) No response on MY era.
When I ran around the school during my "free" period I waited patiently for someone to comment. But nary a word was heard regarding my "craziness" today.
I sat down in my classroom with my aide during our lunch period and said, "No one seems to notice my outfit!" Her stifled giggle response was reassuring that I didn't look nearly as "70's" as I thought I did. And even worse... I look like the "70's" ...a lot. So much that not even a red suede jacket on throwback day could illicit a single comment.
Tomorrow is "Dress like a student day"... I am SO going for it because the way I see it, I can don a hoodie and jeans.
Surely then tomorrow someone will tell me that Throwback Day was yesterday.

Call the Fashion Police

One of my biggest fears, aside from rodents, is to be a fashion DON'T. I don't need to be a fashion DO, just NOT a DON'T.
I don't want my ass plastered all over the back page of Glamour with my eyes blacked out.
I don't want Perez Hilton drawing glasses on my face.
And I don't want my friends to whisper as I walk away from the table that I must have gotten a gift card to Chico's. Or something.
And I will tell you, it's been difficult. Turning 30 and gracefully caring can be a dangerous road.
There seems to be a fine line between giving up and trying to hard. I am not interested in either. But turning 30, let alone 35, can really put a spin on the 'ole closet.
I threw out the miniskirts and tube tops years ago. But what about some of the other fashions? What about cute layered muscle tees? What about plaid shorts and bubble skirts? What about HORIZONTAL stripes that have overtaken every super store out there?
The frustating thing is, I am not interested at this juncture to really make a statement about who I am through my clothing. It's more about having fun shopping... and playing in my closet and buying shoes for five bucks that I can make look great because I like to be creative.
And then I go and get older and find myself in this fix.
The easiest solution would be to buy age appropriate clothing, but I gotta tell you, Micheal Kors is not on my affordabe list. And the "women's" section at Target is all loose black cotton and tiny prints of flowers and yachts and cats... and I am just not there yet.
So, I am still, like I have been for the past 15 years, stuck in the Jr's clearance section... just waiting for the perfect black turtlenecks and grey pin-striped trouser slacks. Old school style with young and "flirty" cuts.
I am guessing turning 40 will be even harder. And something tells me that shopping at Forever 21 will be way out of the question by then.

What is HAPPENING?

I just pulled my dirty camo shorts and pink polo out of the dirty clothes and put them on, to wear again today. I wore that outfit yesterday. And it's dirty. And the flip flops I chose are so near to thier death that I have to put a spare pair in the car in case they snap apart.
What is happening around here?
I used to envision myself being that woman with the very severe blunt bob ( which is totally stupid because my hair is as curly as the day is long ) and those black-framed square glasses. I envisioned ordering 10 word long Starbucks drinks and learning to like shrimp and other fish as well as knowing all the wines I like instead of just asking for a color. And why do they call it white anyway? It's YELLOW and the grapes are GREEN. I am so not sophisticated.
We have hot dogs at least once a week and I still can't pronounce Nicoise even though I have heard it 80 times. I have no idea what the hell is happening in Iraq and when I read an article to get educated my eyes glaze over and I begin to drool. But it's all balloons and confetti when I hear that Jessica Simpson is back ON with Tony.
I am not sure when I became so... immune.
But I am like... totally okay with it. That's the sick part. I look forward to my US Weekly and buying shiny new five dollar earrings from Wal-mart. Yes... Wal-mart! I still shop there! And I know better! I even recently got the suburban requisite Sam's Club card. And I love that too.
I used to wear almost all black. Not goth, but ya know.. urban. And now it's like my closet was raided by a rainbow. I even own a coral t-shirt. CORAL!
Is it just me or am I turning into my worst nightmare? I guess I don't care. These shorts are really comfortable and my earrings are the bomb.

Swimsuit Season

I haven't needed to wear my swimming suit all year yet and thoughts of an upcoming weekend at a water park is giving me some anxiety. Well, some is like, not even close to being true. More like major anxiety and that is being cautious. Think about how you feel right after you trip and you are midway between the ground and standing in your upright position, feet firmly planted.

I have been doing Weight Watchers since June. I really like what it does for me.... but counting points get OLD. I have lost at least 12 pounds, and don't have to do any back to school shopping because all the pants I had "outgrown" last year fit this year and look as good as new. So, a fully covered ass isn't really the issue here.

The big question is the clearly-out-there-for-the-world-to-see uncovered ass. The swimming suit.

I mean, at this point, I am 12 more pounds away from my normal weight. And when I say normal I am talking about a weight that I have been at many times in my life and keeps me a solid size 10. It's a reasonable an attainable goal to aim for. But I have tasted the sweetness of some success and was sort of thinking, heck, why not GO for it? How about a size 8? Or a 6 even? It would be nice if people forced sandwiches on me. That NEVER happens now. I tell people I am on Weight Watchers and they say... Oh that's good. WTF? Screw you! I am not THAT fat, am I?

Anyway- I am obsessed and have drifted off to sleep many a night envisioning pulling myself out of a swimming pool in a cute bikini with hips jutting out and butt cheeks like two 16 inch softballs - and in a suit I just picked up off the rack because I LIKE it vs. considering the way the side straps will create bulges like pinched water ballons on my sides.

It would also be nice to have enough confidence so when people look at me I don't automatically assume they are wondering why that fat ass is trying to look good in a suit that is way too small... and unflattering. I mean, and then there is the eating. I don't dare even nibble on a salad while "in suit"... I mean, I have seen some rather large chicks eating right out of a Doritios bag while "in suit", and we are all thinking the same thing. She has just given up. And who knows? She could also be on Weight Watchers and has just lost 80 pounds and feels great and has earned that snack, but swimsuit season is tough- and mercy is hard to find.

Anyway- there is nothing I can do to speed up the weight loss process so I will just have to go on, business as usual. Make sure I place my sarong as close to the pool steps as possible. Eat a decent size meal before I go to avoid snack bar anxiety. And make sure that when I am standing waiting in line for a water slide that I am never next to a 20 year old with taut skin, making me, in comparison, huge.