I have been in a funk this week.
I went on an amazing vacation to Jamaica with my husband and two of my best friends, and I was sure I would recharge. We were 100% relaxed. We swam, we sunned, we ate, we drank, we danced...I was so sure that I would come home and attack life!
But, no.
Instead I came home to no routine, and in order to be my best self, I need routine.
My kids have made it school ONE day this week. And that's okay. I love not having to wake up people up, drive people to and from school, etc. But that meant I didn't make it to the gym, and I took them to lunch and ate too much, and then I took a nap because that's what you do on snow days. So now it's Thursday and I am a shell of my normal self. My goal this afternoon is to buckle down and work.....after I blog. Because I just cannot be expected to concentrate when I have so many thoughts swirling in my head.
Hey, so I had a bikini wax before my trip. It was my first one ever. It was HORRIBLE. And before I say anymore, here is my disclaimer:
Dad? Dan? Brothers? Men? Stop reading now. You don't want to know anymore than this. Close out this link and WALK AWAY.
So I went to an esthetician that I know, and this fact alone blew my friends' minds. Apparently they thought this would be easier with a stranger? It's kind of become a joke in my friends' circle that I'm not particularly modest when it comes to nudity. But I'm a nurse. I have seen hundreds, if not thousands, of naked people in my life, and it's just not a thing for me. It's science. Biology. Whatev's. And my esthetician is a professional. Surely, I couldn't shock her?
Except that I am afraid I may have shocked her.
She gave me these paper underwear to wear? And I must have looked confused when I asked why I needed these if I wanted a brazilian? So we had to go over the definition of a brazilian, and what I did and did not want, and what she did and did not do. And at this point I am thinking, 'Does everyone else in this small town just wear the paper panties and be quiet? Am I like the freakiest person in my zip code?'
No, not embarrassing at all. (Insert eye roll) At this point, why even care about nudity? I think I need to be worrying about my reputation. Except I really wasn't too embarrassed. She's so laid back and nice. We chatted the whole time. I really do adore her. I was just hoping that she did like ten of these a day, so I would blend in. But I don't think so. Everyone else is apparently just there for their eyebrows.
So to get started, you have to lay on the table, and bend one leg up like a frog, and then the hot wax is applied to a small area, and then it is removed....over and over again.
Now. Let's get down to details. #*@! hurts.
It hurts really bad.
I wanted to yell at every woman who has ever had this done and not told me that it would be less painful to pull my fingernails off with pliers. (Talking to you, Sis!)
Shame on ALL OF YOU for keeping this torture a secret.
When I left it was a full 24 hours before I could walk normally or wear underwear. It felt like a sunburn of epic proportions in the most delicate area you have. Not so good.
But I will probably go back. This is the paradox of me. Because it's really nice not to have to worry about maintenance care. Think I will do under my arms, too. Legs? Maybe.
OR, maybe I should save up and do laser hair removal for my whole body? Then I can claim back those few minutes a day, and I won't need to retrieve my time in other areas; like in the kitchen with Blue Apron and Hello Fresh?
Do you see what having a busy schedule does to one's sanity? I will endure extreme pain in order to save 10 minutes a day. This is so not okay women of the 21st century. I am kind of thinking maybe I should look to cut corners elsewhere; club sports, sleep, social media? Just throwing out a few ideas.
I am going to figure out how to survive and thrive in this super busy life I have carved out for myself. I really am.
Thursday, February 22, 2018
Friday, February 2, 2018
Mall Rat No More
I have a confession. I used to be a "mall girl". From about 1995 to 2008, I went to the mall an embarrassing number of times. Johnny and I had many "dates" that involved shopping and walking around the mall. And when I was 24 I remember how happy I was when I moved into Bentley Place apartments at 96th & Quivira because I could be at Oak Park Mall in two minutes.
I am not sure I have ever typed a more humiliating sentence.
My mall days continued into motherhood. I had a double stroller, and I drug Aidan and Ava to the mall on a weekly basis, at least. Where else could I walk for miles, have public restrooms for changing diapers, and see other adults? It was a haven. Babies hungry? Oh, well Nordstrom's has a lounge area I could nurse in. When they were older I would take them to Panera and then let them gnaw on a bagle the size of a small tire, drool puddling into their stroller trays. We would walk around until nap time or bed time, and then I knew it was safe to go home.
Then came Cooper.
By 2008 I had more children than I had hands or seats in my stroller. Mall days came to a screeching halt. And it is with great pride that I report that I never missed it. I adapted to life on the outside; Target, Wal Mart, being trapped in my home for days... It was a precious time, and I look back on it with great memories. Mall days were over.
So that brings me to yesterday. I returned to Oak Park Mall. In the last ten years I could probably count all of the trips I had made there on one hand, and those trips were never alone. But I need a swimsuit, and not many stores have them out yet. So I chose a non-busy time of day, about 11:00 on a Thursday, and I entered through Nordstrom's. The employees were super nice and middle-aged, but the selection was poor. And the prices would have made me sick anyway. So on to Victoria's Secret. I love Victoria's Secret's underwear. They are still the only kind I buy; they aren't that expensive, and they make me feel happy. Even Mandy, the 23 year-old "helping" me was a doll. (But, seriously? No one really needs help selecting panties, Mandy. Go away.)
I think my first mistake was going in to "Pink". For those of you unfamiliar, Pink is Victoria Secret's younger sister? I don't spend a lot of time researching retail, but I am pretty sure if "Pink" had a tagline it would be "slutty underwear for your daughter". Which brings me to my second mistake; I keep forgetting I am not 25. But, my favorite underwear were 5 for $28. However, my choices were limited to "Cheekie Hipsters", "Thongs", and "Boy Shorts". Let me break this down for all you 40-somethings like myself.
Cheekie Hipsters - Half of your ass hangs out. This looks adorable on anorexic waifs. And thanks to the 500 squats I probably do in a week I could probably pull them off if they were comfortable---except my muffin top might hang down and cover the cute little waistband....hmm...next.
Thongs - Single women pretend these are comfortable. I used to be one of them. This is a big, fat lie. Moving on.
Boy Shorts - Well boy shorts, you won by default. Except, who is designing you? I walked away with one pair of underwear that had cartoon drawings of pizza all over them. I ask you, who associates underwear with pizza??? Well, I had to buy them, because one of the other pairs had these words printed across the butt, "I Call The Shots".
Oh, my lord. "I Call The Shots". I just don't even know where to go with that. If you need to write affirmations on your panties so that he will know YOU are in charge, the jig is up. You have no power, Sister. Might as well wear a thong. The women who really call the shots are crawling in to bed wearing Hanes Her Way up to their belly button and grabbing the remote right out of his hands.
Also, retail has become high tech. I needed some assistance finding a strapless bra so I sought out a little sales girl dressed like a dominatrix. A dominatrix with a headset. She would occasionally talk into the headset while holding her ear piece with great urgency, "Ingrid? Noelle? Can you style a customer stat?" I just stared in amazement. First of all, OF COURSE Victoria's Secret employs "Ingrid" and "Noelle". Ingrid and Noelle were meant to wear the required messy bun, heels, and red lipstick while clicking around that store with headsets on like air traffic controllers. If you name your daughter Ingrid or Noelle, you have decided for her that she will never work in the Food Court at Panda Express with "Joanie".
I got out of Victoria's Secret with my pride intact, barely, but the whole experience was kind of intimidating. I am a grown up, with a list full of life experiences and a college degree. When did the mall become kind of scary? All of the stores are now designed to look like fancy galleries, lots of open spaces, and sales people that pounce on you the minute you step in to look at a $7 bath bomb.
Maybe this is the reason women my age now shop at Target and in the cyber world, Amazon Prime. We have very little down time, and who wants to make underwear shopping so complicated? Life is exhausting lately. I want more wine, more time with girlfriends, more quiet nights at home. More special nights with me and a latte at Target. Target makes me feel relaxed. Target is indulgence shopping with great clearance prices, AND you can pick up a loaf of bread or a gallon of milk. Any time you come home with a grocery item a trip feels validated.
But, I am now the owner of pizza panties. So, there's that.
I am not sure I have ever typed a more humiliating sentence.
My mall days continued into motherhood. I had a double stroller, and I drug Aidan and Ava to the mall on a weekly basis, at least. Where else could I walk for miles, have public restrooms for changing diapers, and see other adults? It was a haven. Babies hungry? Oh, well Nordstrom's has a lounge area I could nurse in. When they were older I would take them to Panera and then let them gnaw on a bagle the size of a small tire, drool puddling into their stroller trays. We would walk around until nap time or bed time, and then I knew it was safe to go home.
Then came Cooper.
By 2008 I had more children than I had hands or seats in my stroller. Mall days came to a screeching halt. And it is with great pride that I report that I never missed it. I adapted to life on the outside; Target, Wal Mart, being trapped in my home for days... It was a precious time, and I look back on it with great memories. Mall days were over.
So that brings me to yesterday. I returned to Oak Park Mall. In the last ten years I could probably count all of the trips I had made there on one hand, and those trips were never alone. But I need a swimsuit, and not many stores have them out yet. So I chose a non-busy time of day, about 11:00 on a Thursday, and I entered through Nordstrom's. The employees were super nice and middle-aged, but the selection was poor. And the prices would have made me sick anyway. So on to Victoria's Secret. I love Victoria's Secret's underwear. They are still the only kind I buy; they aren't that expensive, and they make me feel happy. Even Mandy, the 23 year-old "helping" me was a doll. (But, seriously? No one really needs help selecting panties, Mandy. Go away.)
I think my first mistake was going in to "Pink". For those of you unfamiliar, Pink is Victoria Secret's younger sister? I don't spend a lot of time researching retail, but I am pretty sure if "Pink" had a tagline it would be "slutty underwear for your daughter". Which brings me to my second mistake; I keep forgetting I am not 25. But, my favorite underwear were 5 for $28. However, my choices were limited to "Cheekie Hipsters", "Thongs", and "Boy Shorts". Let me break this down for all you 40-somethings like myself.
Cheekie Hipsters - Half of your ass hangs out. This looks adorable on anorexic waifs. And thanks to the 500 squats I probably do in a week I could probably pull them off if they were comfortable---except my muffin top might hang down and cover the cute little waistband....hmm...next.
Thongs - Single women pretend these are comfortable. I used to be one of them. This is a big, fat lie. Moving on.
Boy Shorts - Well boy shorts, you won by default. Except, who is designing you? I walked away with one pair of underwear that had cartoon drawings of pizza all over them. I ask you, who associates underwear with pizza??? Well, I had to buy them, because one of the other pairs had these words printed across the butt, "I Call The Shots".
Oh, my lord. "I Call The Shots". I just don't even know where to go with that. If you need to write affirmations on your panties so that he will know YOU are in charge, the jig is up. You have no power, Sister. Might as well wear a thong. The women who really call the shots are crawling in to bed wearing Hanes Her Way up to their belly button and grabbing the remote right out of his hands.
Also, retail has become high tech. I needed some assistance finding a strapless bra so I sought out a little sales girl dressed like a dominatrix. A dominatrix with a headset. She would occasionally talk into the headset while holding her ear piece with great urgency, "Ingrid? Noelle? Can you style a customer stat?" I just stared in amazement. First of all, OF COURSE Victoria's Secret employs "Ingrid" and "Noelle". Ingrid and Noelle were meant to wear the required messy bun, heels, and red lipstick while clicking around that store with headsets on like air traffic controllers. If you name your daughter Ingrid or Noelle, you have decided for her that she will never work in the Food Court at Panda Express with "Joanie".
I got out of Victoria's Secret with my pride intact, barely, but the whole experience was kind of intimidating. I am a grown up, with a list full of life experiences and a college degree. When did the mall become kind of scary? All of the stores are now designed to look like fancy galleries, lots of open spaces, and sales people that pounce on you the minute you step in to look at a $7 bath bomb.
Maybe this is the reason women my age now shop at Target and in the cyber world, Amazon Prime. We have very little down time, and who wants to make underwear shopping so complicated? Life is exhausting lately. I want more wine, more time with girlfriends, more quiet nights at home. More special nights with me and a latte at Target. Target makes me feel relaxed. Target is indulgence shopping with great clearance prices, AND you can pick up a loaf of bread or a gallon of milk. Any time you come home with a grocery item a trip feels validated.
But, I am now the owner of pizza panties. So, there's that.
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