The iPant...caffeine for your butt?

Some people might mock me for reading Cosmo magazine, but you know what, you really can learn some interesting things in there.  Of course, a lot of it is total crap, but today I came across something that could be the answer to my prayers and every woman I know.  It's called iPant Anti-Cellulite Shapewear.  This product looks like Spanx, but get this, upon reading the fine print, this underwear doesn't just suck your fat in, it actually claims to have "embedded  microcapsules containing caffeine to promote fat destruction; vitamin E to prevent the effects of aging; ceramides to restore and maintain the skin's smoothness; and retinol and aloe vera to moisturize and increase the firmness of the skin."  Are you freaking kidding me?  My ass and thighs are going to be so happy and energized, I won't be able to keep still!  I'm thinking I am  going to go buy a whole bunch of them and make a body suit.  I could literally be MELTING the fat away by wearing this stuff!  Of course the girl in the picture doesn't need the iPant, she is a freaking size 2....but wait, maybe she used to look just like me. Maybe the iPant SAVED HER LIFE.  And damn if her thighs don't look smooth.

I looked the product up online and for just $60.00 and 100 washes the aloe vera stays right in the shapewear. This is amazing!  And, if someone gets hurt, you can just rub your ass on them and the aloe vera can actually save someone else's life.  I mean, it doesn't say that, but I can only imagine a product as amazing as this must have super powers. And another great thing is they actually have one that has gel in the tush so that you get that shape you want after these panties have diminished your ass to almost NOTHING.

I do have concerns about something that is getting my ass hopped up on caffeine. I mean, it's never been jittery or excitable before.  Is it going to be like I have ants in the pants?  It says  the darn thing shapes and sculpts and releases ingredients as you walk around.  Am I going to feel like I just crapped my pants?  Are my pants going to fit in the morning, but by afternoon just fall off?  Do I need to bring a change of clothes? And, if I don't make it into a body suit, will I have a fat belly, but a tiny ass and thighs?

In the end, no pun intended, I don't know if I am ready for something that is allegedly "releasing" things into my butt and thighs as I navigate through daily life.  I might wait on this. If any of you try this out, let me know how that goes and if your butt and thighs really are lively and young looking after the fact.

Thanks for this informative advertising, Cosmo. Maybe tomorrow I will get to the article titled "What your Va-jay-jay is dying to tell you."  I had no idea my va-jay-jay was trying to communicate....geez, and I always thought I was  good listener. Go figure.

Olive Garden ruins romance with all you can eat pasta

Will and I's anniversary is coming up, which isn't really a big deal, we don't get all crazy about it.  Don't get me wrong, we still love each other and actually still like each other, but then, it's only been 4 years, or it will be this Labor Day weekend.  We saw a commercial on TV last night that brought all the memories back from our very first anniversary.  It was an Olive Garden commercial talking about "All You Can Eat Pasta."  Let me  tell you how Olive Garden ruined my very special, first wedding anniversary.

We couldn't afford to do anything very extravagant due to life's events that depleted our money supply, but we could afford to go to Olive Garden with our good friends Chuck and Pete and their little boy, our adopted nephew, Brett.  I knew immediately upon reading the menu that my anniversary was sunk.  They were advertising all you can eat pasta.  I could see the sparkle in his eye...I wasn't having sex tonight, this I knew with certainty.  Will ate his pasta dish and then the waitress, his enabler, came over and asked him if he would like to try this other kind of pasta, after all it was free.  Will could not resist free and it was yummy. As predicted, he patted his belly, clearly in agony and groaned.  He had maxed out the stomach area.

We headed out to the parking lot to bid our friends adieu as they needed to go to a meeting.  I said, "why don't you let me watch Brett for you while you go to your meeting."  They declined saying that they could not do that to us on our first anniversary together.  I assured them the following was about to occur.  We would arrive home. Will would get in his pj's, turn on the TV and shortly thereafter be asleep.  This was how it would play out, I was certain. Reluctantly, Chuck and Pete agreed to let me watch Brett.  And yes, I said "me" watch Brett because Will was not part of the equation, he had digesting to do.

Brett was very happy to be at our house because, at 3 years old, his favorite thing to do at Auntie Cassondra's was to pile all of my stuffed ponies (which, my collection is large and plentiful, so it is A LOT of stuffed ponies) and pillows in the front room and strip down naked in the middle of them and watch TV.  He, too, was predictable on this night.  The ponies were piled high, his clothes came off and he was asking for "hi-cream" aka ice cream.  I realized two things.  First, this was the only naked man I was going to see on this special one year anniversary.  Second, I really would like to try laying naked in those stuffed ponies and eat ice cream.  It really did look like a good time.  However, this was not something I wanted to do with Brett, that would be pervy.  But someday, Will is going to come home and find me naked in the ponies. Timing is everything.

So, I guess what I am saying is, we are NOT going to Olive Garden for our four year anniversary.  I saw Will's face light up last night when he saw that commercial.  I'm saying no to pasta coma and yes to romantic evening, even if it means starving him and breaking out the stuffed ponies. 

This could be TMI...

I think my insides have formed "An Extraordinary League of Organs" and are getting ready to tunnel out through the back.  I've had this stabbing pain for a few days and I think what is happening is that my body is calling bullshit on the amount of cellulite that has come to settle in these vast lands.  I picture angry villagers with their torches and spears.  They are in The Core and they are headed to the Open Range where stretch marks and stressed out skin play.  Not even my FCD (fat controlling device) can harness the rage.  I think the gall bladder is spear heading this expedition and getting everyone else pissed off.  My body has collected enough money to hire Billy the Spleen and the charge is on.  I truly am afraid I will be sitting at work and I am going to explode like a watermelon that has a stick of dynamite in it.  I'll be like ol faithful, and everything will just shoot out at high velocity.

I'm not saying it will happen, but I'm saying the chances are good.  I try not to be a hypochondriac but the signs are there.  To any of my co-workers, I wouldn't be wearing silk or any other delicate fabrics if you are going to be around me in the next week or so. Just to be safe.  Will says I over dramatize these things, but I think it is best to be prepared for worst case scenario, don't you?

Or, do you ever see those little key chains at the party store or any random souvenir shop where it is a cute little animal, but you squish it and either the eyes pop out or some sort of gross poop bubble comes out of it's butt?  Well, let's just say, no one should hug me very hard this week due to the impending geyser that is expected to come out of my back.

Consider this your warning.  To those of you expecting more of me this evening, it's all I have. I can't focus with my organs in distress.

Chicken sh*t, Angry Pony & Lucky Cat

Today as I drove to work, I passed a dead black cat on the road and then right after that passed the pasture that has a colossal pile of chicken shit in it.  It was glorious, steam coming off, stench so bad you could taste it, and then, just two driveways past,  there was Angry Pony's pasture.  That poor little pony was going to have to smell that all day.  Not a good day for Angry Pony. The only good news is, he wouldn't be able to smell the dead cat.

As luck would have it my day would mirror that of Angry Pony. Nonstop shit all day. When you work in a company that has done a lot of down-sizing, you become like the Lone Ranger, The last of the Mohicans, like a one-legged dog guiding a blind guy through the Iron Man competition, like a kindergarten teacher with 200 kids.  I mean, we are talking broken crayon chaos, paste eating out of control, kids crapping their pants and people have been on recess for hours.  The principal is eating Raisinettes and drinking a Slurpee for lunch. It's ugly.  I am one person, I keep reminding myself of this and try and remain calm, but then things like a fax machine with an attitude can just break you.

Since it would seem other departments think I have nothing but time on my hands and because people trying to get a job at my company can't take their lazy asses down to Kinko's or maybe even the local AM/PM to send a fax, they dump this responsibility on me.  Anything over like, say, two pages and my fax machine acts like a woman with PMS on the edge of a bridge waving a Ho-Ho in one hand and an empty Midol bottle in the other demanding someone extract her uterus and give her some ice cream (ok, so that was me and it was just one time and it was a long time ago...ok, not really, but it makes for a good story, I think...and it could happen), but I digress.  Anyway, aforementioned loser left documents for me to fax, like, probably 15 pages. My fax machine almost crapped its pants.  I cussed at it, it jammed, I cleared the jam and then it kept taking two pages at a time.  I was borderline hysterical and the intern says, "oh, you are not letting that fax machine break you are you?"  She said it in a compassionate way, but I had to admit, she had a point, that machine was breaking me.  It was 4:30PM.  I had reached my threshold for BS, dare I say, I had surpassed it. The machine did it again. I was almost crying.  I eyed the area under my desk and wondered if I could hide under there and consider it a test of the Evacuation Warden to test the area to see if it could fit a hysterical fat girl under there.  Who could question my commitment to safety?  However, I remained strong and kept at the fax machine. It continued to toy with me.  I wrinkled the pages, I threw them down, organized them and tried again. Fail. I started mumbling and did a laugh/cry combo.  The intern tried to comfort me, but I was too far gone.  The intern sent a secret SOS to one of the managers and said goodnight and slipped out before all hell broke loose. God must have known my next stop was the roof because suddenly the fax went through. There was a calm in the building, a miracle had occurred.

I'm gathering my belongings to go home when one of our managers comes over and asks me about some headsets I'm supposed to be ordering.  Now, I don't know anything about these damn headsets and I am supposed to get them ordered ASAP.  No one can give me definitive info on them, but I am supposed to order them and get the best price. Why don't I just order some parts for a Boeing 747?  Seriously sick of the whole, "we got rid of the person that used to do this....so could you do it?" mentality.  But this is my life.  I lectured aforementioned manager about what I knew about the damn headsets and that yes, I would order something.  I hope when they come they have those styro-foam balls on them on those bendy squiggly spiral wires that people wear for Halloween.  That'll teach them.

Finally, I escape the building.  I'm driving home and finally get close to home. As I approach Angry Pony's field, I think "that poor bastard had to smell shit all day and I had to deal with it all day, we are cosmically connected." The air still reeked of chicken shit.  And then I came to the dead cat.  He was just dead this morning, but now his intestines where stretched for quite some distance.  I thought about my day, thought about Angry Pony and then I thought....lucky cat.

How much naked is too much naked?

When we are growing up, we run around naked and never think much of it. My brother and I took baths together when we were little kids, like one or two years old.  I remember him farting in the tub thinking it was the funnest thing ever.  Gross. We didn't bathe together much after that. Then, as we got older, we ran around in our underwear and pjs, whatever.  Enter the teen years and things get a little more covered up as our bodies get weird.

Fast forward to adult life. There comes a time when naked is good and naked is bad.  I remember the day I brought Will home to meet my family for the first time when we were dating.  My sister was in a string bikini that left very little to the imagination.  Add into the mix the fact that she had an episode of Queer as Folk on the TV (with a pretty racy scene happening) and Will was thinking, "wow, liberal family..."  It was a lot of naked at once. 

I remember Will's parents coming over to stay with us when we were living together.  Our good dog Chip jumped in bed to say good morning, as excited as a wiener dog could be, and pee'd all over my future mother-in-law from head to toe, literally.  She whipped off her night shirt as soon as she realized she was pee soaked (complete with pee in her hair) and boom, naked.  This is too much naked.  My future father-in-law was not to be left out.  I got up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom and there, with the door wide open illuminated in the bathroom under the glow of the night light with his "loosey looms" (the opposite of tighty whities) around his ankles, was my father-in-law.  I gave the courtesy, "woops, sorry" and returned to my bedroom...lying there wondering if peeing the bed was really that bad.  This is also too much naked.

I also enjoyed the time when Will's whole family was staying with us in our tiny house on the weekend of our wedding.  A dog fight broke out at the crack of dawn and Will jumped out of bed running down the hall putting his boxers on as he ran.  For Will's sister, who was coming out of the guest room, this was way too much naked.

My favorite naked moment was when we heard possums screwing and fighting loudly on our garage roof at 2AM.  Will in the backyard naked with his Daisy Red Ryder shooting possums was like Kevin Costner in Dances With Wolves...he was magnificent under the full moon light. I've never been more proud...and I've never laughed so hard.  This is why I married this guy.  Perhaps for our neighbors, this was too much naked.

My sister has also learned to knock before she enters our house.  A couple of very close calls with Will making his way from bathroom to upstairs after shower, or "chillin" on the couch. I think my sister lives a little more cautiously ever since she ran across my brother in the driveway late at night sitting in his truck...waiving her by with a naked arm out of the window....apparently he had a visitor.  My sister still can't talk about that night without shuddering.

I guess what really has me thinking about all this nakedness is the events of the weekend. The in laws were visiting.  We live in a tiny house/cabin.  No privacy except the bathroom as the bedroom/loft is open.  My Mother-in-law came upstairs at 6:30AM to climb into bed with Will and I.  She realized upon coming upstairs that this was not really going to work since Will sleeps naked.  This is too much naked.  I draw the line about being in bed with my husband and mother-in-law while any one or all of us could be naked. 

Then, it happened, the perfect storm to be repeated once again.  I couldn't find my glasses, was looking high and low, and I thought, maybe I left them in the bathroom.  The door was not latched and I opened it.  There sat my father-in-law, all vulnerable reading what very well could have been my Glamour or Cosmo. I didn't stop to take note of what he was reading, but the bathroom really doesn't have many options in there.  If Will is  going to learn anything about women, this is what I have to do.  He spends a lot of time in there, so might as well get something out of it, I figure.  Anyway, once again, too much naked.

In conclusion, naked husband = right amount of naked.  Naked siblings or in-laws = WRONG amount of naked.

Barbie vs. Cassondra

While driving home tonight, sitting at a stop light fighting the seat belt because it is completely crushing my right boob and then bypassing my big gut that can only be likened to a 8 month maternity bump, I see this woman jogging.  Let's call her "Barbie."  She's jogging, her perfect ponytail bouncing side to side gleefully as she jogs with her cute spandex shorts, sports bra, perky boobs and sassy Sketcher Shape Ups.  I instantly hate her and everything she stands for.  She looks perfect.  I bet she is on her evening jog and is heading home to her perfect house to her husband, Ken, and their two kids, Skipper and Theodore and their dog Sir Kensington. 

Barbie probably got up this morning, before the alarm clock went off, sat right up with only slightly mussed up hair and put on her workout clothes.  She did Zumba with all her girlfriends, then some hot yoga.  She came home, showered, picked something, probably Ann Taylor, out of her walk-in closet in a size two and got ready for the day.  She probably took Sir Kensington for a walk and then took Skipper and Theodore to school. Barbie listens to talk radio to keep up on the hot topics while she drives.
Skipper has cheer-leading practice tonight and Theodore needs to work on his science project.  They are good kids. She will pick them up later. Ken probably got up and went to work early.  He's a rocket scientist and it's going to be a long day for him, he is the lead scientist at his lab.  Mid-day Barbie talks to the housekeeper, Betty, and works out a shopping list. She stops and catches her reflection in the fridge door, damn, she looks good. Then the gardner, Hector, shows up and Barbie and Hector get busy in the bungalow by the pool.  Barbie takes another shower and goes for her jog.  That's when I spot her.

If we parallel this to my life, here is how my day goes:

My alarm goes off.  I hit the snooze. It goes off again, I hit it again.  Then I lay there and listen to the Jackie & Bender show.  The discussion turns to someone sucking some sort of puss out of someone else's toe. It's riveting. I make an attempt to sit up and fail. I do some sort of maneuver that looks similar to a fish trying to flip itself back into a lake after getting on the shore by accident.  I shuffle downstairs.  My hair looks like I was on an all night bender.  I shower and go to the closet my clothes are crammed into along with Will's.  I go through several items before I find the outfit that makes me look the least fat. I kick the dogs outside to go to the bathroom and feed the horses.  I leave for work later than I want.  I stop for a hot chocolate, nonetheless. I drive to work where I glare at everyone on the way to my desk. You have to get the vibe out that you want to be left alone from the start.  Don't chat with me, I'm busy.  At lunch, I go the microwave and stand in line like a lemming to warm my left over spagetti.  I catch my reflection in the napkin dispenser. Damn, when did my hair start to look like that? Rough. I return to my desk. At some point I will have an outburst or a breakdown, but overall, I survive and no hostages taken, so the day is a success.  Then, I go sit in rush hour traffic. Traffic sucks and I identify all the stupid people and cuss at them, it passes the time.  I get home to my loving dogs who's biggest accomplishment was licking their ass, getting into the garbage and chewing on any shoes that may have been left out in error.  Spanky comes and licks me in the face with breath that smells like the ass of something dead.  He runs his tongue up my nose and across my lips. It's the most action I've seen all day.  If Will gets home first, he tries to kiss me first so that he doesn't get sloppy seconds. 

The night is almost at it's climax as we discuss what will be for dinner, "what do you want for dinner?"  "I don't care, what do you want?" And so it goes.  Then comes the discussion about whether it's gonna be the Military channel or So You Think You Can Dance.  It's a stalemate, so we end up watching Bones or NCIS.  Inevitably Will falls asleep on the couch since his alarm goes off at 3 freaking 30 AM in the morning.

All in all considered, I didn't diddle with anyone in the bungalow, I don't have a housekeeper or a gardner, but I think I will keep my life.  I wouldn't mind having Barbie's boobs though.

Safety Committee. You got the wrong girl.

Each day at the 'ol factory brings me more joy.  Today I learned there was a safety committee meeting, oh and guess, what? I'm on it.  Funny, I don't recall volunteering for this.  All of us that found ourselves in the same situation gathered in the elevator on the way to the meeting and agreed, no one asks questions. We're in, we're out, we don't have time for this. First one to break the pact gets a broken arm.  All in favor? Motion passed.

My favorite part of the meeting was the first part where they read off a statement that says something to the effect "Everyone has voluntarily agreed to the commitment of being on the safety committee and is acknowledging they are agreeing to do this.  If anyone is not able to fulfill this, speak now.  Well, I'm honest, I raised my hand.  My boss was sitting across the room from me. He looked at me, unamused by my gesture.  I put my hand back down.  Looks like I'm on the committee.  I guess I know who volunteered me.

We start to discuss our responsibilities.  Apparently I am some sort of Evacuation Warden, or something like that.  Basically, I, along with other key committee members are responsible for everyone getting out of the building if there is actually an emergency.  Like, I am supposed to stay behind until the building is clear.  Whoa.  I love some of my co-workers, but it is every man for themselves, I'm not dying for you.  I'm no hero. If things go bad, I'm bigger and meaner and chances are, I will knock you down and use you as a bridge to get out.  And, I'm not wearing that damn orange vest and hard hat.  I don't have time, I gotta get my keys and run like hell.

Then we start talking about all the different kinds of disasters that could happen; fire, flood, earthquake, tornado, hurricane, gas leaks, chemical hazards, etc. The packet mentions how we need to identify where the fire is coming from and what kind of fire it is.  This is what the little fire alarm pully thing is for and then the hot guys in the rubber boots and suspenders show up.  They are the experts.  I don't ask the firemen to do my expense reports, and they don't ask me to drive their firetruck. You know what I mean?  The material also covers identifying gases.  Look, I'm no chemist, but if everyone around me starts dropping dead mysteriously, I'll throw a chair through the window to get some fresh air...unless that turns out to be a bad idea because the the air and gas mix and causes an explosion.  If that happens, I'm going to be in trouble because, after all, I'm the Evacuation Warden and I need to make sure people get out safe in just this type of emergency.  If I'm dead, I can't do that.  We are also supposed to stay away from the windows in certain scenarios.  I work in a freaking glass building.  Where am I supposed to go? The bathroom?  Hell no. The bathroom is a hazard of it's own on any normal day, I'm not dying in there or waiting for someone to find me. No. Way.  How I feel about that bathroom could be it's own blog, but I digress.

We also covered the part about suspicious packages.  I don't care if it is a bag of dog crap someone set on fire at the front door, I'm out of there.  We don't know what that dog ate, let's not underestimate the power of feces.  Again, color my ass GONE.  And ticking packages?  Are you kidding me.  If the gals in the mail room deliver me a package that is ticking, then they damn well better take responsibility.  I'm not sticking around. Evacuate!   If someone calls to do a bomb threat, we are supposed to ask the person a series of questions, like, "where is the bomb? when will it go off? what is your name? what is your address? what does the bomb look like?"  No.  When my obit is written after I get my dumb ass blown up it will probably say, "If only she had evacuated with everyone else..."  And then people will say, "That girl was stupid, why didn't she run?"  Well, I'm not that stupid.  Some might say that is selfish, but hey, I'm more than willing to scream like a mad woman as I leave so that everyone knows this place is about to blow.

Now, for those catastrophes that happen outside that create a need for us to stay in the building we have "Shelter in Place."  I don't know if I have been clear, but I don't want to die in that building.  So, if it is like a toxic gas that will maybe just cause one lung to collapse and maybe my skin burns a little, I'm outty.

The meeting concluded with a mini tour of our basement.  I've never been down there, but heard rumors that sometimes people go down there to have sex.  Well, unsolved mystery - solved. NO ONE is having sex in that basement.  It's so dirty down there the rats don't even do it there.  There was rat crap everywhere.  I could smell the urine and I knew we were not alone...beady eyes were lurking.  I think I have Rat Fever now. My nose has been twitching and I have had a strange urge to scurry along the walls all afternoon.  It was horrifying down there.

Let me tell you the situations I WOULD be willing to sacrifice myself for the sake of all others.  If, say, I am sitting at my desk and some hot guy pretending to be a  window washer rappels down at my window wearing tight jeans and no shirt...and also happens to be carrying a firearm, I would totally be willing to pull him in and interrogate him until I got to the bottom of his issues.  I don't know what I could do for my company that would be more important than that.

So, for anyone that I work with that reads this, I don't want you to think I don't care about your safety, because I do, I just care about my own more.

Now, if they let me work the mega phone, I'm totally in.  I'll even wear the vest.