Cousins...

This week josh and I had the pleasure of having our nephew, Ethan, for a special day and an overnight stay. He was so much fun and so easy going! Parker loved having him here too...how do we swing getting parker a BIG brother? I know that Josh and I are excited to watch Parker grow up and hopefully him and his cousin will become good buddies.

I don't like that tuesday....back after a little break

This week I am just going to come out and say that I do not like bra shopping.

 I was talking with my grandma about the problems that a girl of my, ahem...endowment, has finding a decent bra. So, my Grandma, being the most generous and concerned grandma in the world, wanted to take me to a specialty shop here in town to get fitted and to pick out a booby holster that could hold my ladies adequately.

First, we walk in. I instantly get the impression that rarely does anyone under 50 shop in this establishment.  I feel as though I am engulfed in a maze of panties and girdles. I don't even know where the cash register is. Apart from all of the unmentionables, they had a wide assortment of clothing fit for the aging art teacher types with a penchant for sequins, rhinestones and flowy gauzy skirts.Oh, and lots of swimsuits with skirts. lots. Then, working at the  hidden counter is a lady who was "let go" from my work for basically being bat sh** crazy (basically a female version of Milton from "office space"). Not a good sign.

Luckily she doesn't seem to recognize me and she scurries off to find someone who can tell me how big my ta-tas really are. Soon after, a woman emerges from the boulder-holder jungle to help me. 

This woman is a bit over middle aged and wearing a scrunchy in her hair. She whips out her measuring tape, hardly smiling or conversing with me. It is quickly determined that I am a 38 DDD.  No that is not a typo. That is 3 D's in a row. I tell her I would prefer a nursing bra and she is off to dig around for some in my size. 

After, what seemed to be, a long search she yields just two choices for me. One is a beige number made of spandexy material. Very sexy. Sexy like a sheet of blank copy paper. The next is composed almost entirely of lace and has a giant bow in the middle. Even sexier.  I can tell already, that one will make me look like I am trying to smuggle a prom dress under my shirt. 

 I try on the exciting beige one. Comfortable.  A bit "nipply" with the thin material but effective nonetheless. I wait for her to come back and check on my progress ten minutes later she comes in. She asks how I like it. I tell her it could give a little more lift but the lady said she could shorten the straps.  Not sold on it, though, and  for the money I am definitely not going to settle.  Next comes the lacy one. good god no. no no no no no. First of it seems to be sewn for someone with boobs shaped like kermit the frog's face. or SUPER puffy nipples.  I have neither. The lady comes in and I tell her I do not like it. She says there is nothing else for me there besides 70 dollar ones. Yeah right. 

I want to slap her for being so obviously indifferent to my plight and eagerness to up sell me. I am on the verge of yelling "Aren't you supposed to be some sort of titty whisperer?!?! Help me find a F***ing bra! Get creative!".

All of these thoughts are going through my head as it is just her and I alone in the dressing room. Her in her shapeless hot pink button down shirt, me in a hideous bra and my pants. I thought this couldn't get more frustrating when....her cell phone rings and...SHE ANSWERS IT!  WHAT? OH NO SHE DIDN'T! 

She starts talking on the phone in the room with me then pushes her way out of the curtain of the dressing room, leaving it open so that my bosoms may be exposed to one and all. I close the curtain, get dressed and walk back out into the store. I am boiling inside. 

She comes walking back up to me and assumes I am Going to buy the beige one. not so fast my friend. I tell her I don't want it. I wanted to say "I am going to pass on your merchandise despite your wonderful salesmanship." But I just politely give it back, crestfallen, and make a bee-line for the exit with my entourage. I would rather continue to wear my 15 dollar bra from target that is about two D's too small. Not to mention it has a brown stain on the boob from when I unknowingly dropped a chocolate chip down my shirt while eating a trail mix bar the other day and it melted in there. 

I guess the search will have to continue.

P.S. perfect name for a bra store: "titty city" can also be used for a strip club if need be.

F bombs on a sunday morning.

Dear Blogger post editor and Photo uploader,

F*** you.  I know my computer doesn't always play nice with you but today it's all you. All I wanted to do was upload two pictures and write a few words. Now all I can do is write words. Nasty words to you. I am going to do some some s*** today. When I come back, have your junk together.

                                                     -marie

how to be the worst best parent.

It's five months into it and I would consider Josh and I to be doing a pretty bang up job rearing the little sprout so far. Do I think we should be perfect parents....no. Perfect is boring. Perfect yields little learning opportunities.  Plus has anyone ever known me to be an over achiever? Absolutely not. My high school "C" average was O.K. by me. 

For those of you who are striving for absolute perfection, I have devised a few hints, tips and tricks on being less than perfect, so that you may be the best you can be. Make sense? No? Does it have to?

• Fussy baby? tried everything you can but still he/she will not stop crying? Gently bounce them on your knee. Notice how their voice changes pitch or tone when you bounce? Get a good rhythm going and try to re-create your favorite catchy tune. A favorite of mine? The Super Mario Bros. theme song.  Why not? you've tried everything. Might as well enjoy yourself instead of diving off into the crazy pool.

• Try mocking your young child in a loving and sarcastic manner when they fail at trying a new skill. It will take all of the pressure off of them because they will focus on how funny and witty you are instead.

• Be O.K. with not having perfect instincts. I once used Parker as a human shield. So what if my first reaction when I hear "HEADS!" at a softball game is to cover my head with my infant son. As long as the end result is a safe and happy kid, don't beat yourself up about it. I guess he will have to learn what that means someday anyhow.

• Don't worry if your child isn't as advanced as someone else's kid. Your kid may enjoy licking his hand rather than recite the alphabet, but he will be much much more fun at parties when he is older. take that, "smart" kids.

• Forget trying to top all of the other parents with all of the latest trends in baby gear. You don't need a fancy car seat when you have rope and a U-Haul box. Duct tape it to a skateboard and you have one of those "travel systems" that includes a stroller. Don't have a baby bjorn? Cut air holes in a back pack and wear it on the front. Spend your money elsewhere.

• Take your infant to the movies and fancy restaurants, especially when they are over tired and really cranky. Talk about their poopy diapers loudly so others can hear. It's OK. Everyone loves babies. And poop.

I hope some of these have helped you. If you are taking this list seriously and you have become offended and extremely concerned, you lack the basic social skill of recognizing humor and you have hopefully chosen not to reproduce.

I don't like that tuesday....

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I don't like that tuesday....

this week...

Water.

Maybe not water itself, but gross things in water that I may accidently touch or ingest. blech...

swimming in natural bodies of water. What the hell is touching my foot? Why is the water brown?

touching the bottom of a swimming pool. I am gagging just thinking about it. And I just peed my pants from a bad case of the "willies". This has not bothered me in the past and has progressively become a stronger and stronger "gross out" for me. it's a shame because I love swimming. I just need my own swimming pool so I don't have to worry about touching someone's old band-aid with my toe. 

Unknowingly having debris in a drinking glass. mmmm...ice water is one of my favorite things of all time. One little speck of anything not ice or water and the pleasure quickly fades. I check every time I take a new glass out. I check when I take a drink from an existing glass. I even discretely check when someone else brings me a glass. Should there be anything, time for a new glass. This has made me go thirsty at many a friends house and restaurant. 

"I don't like that" tuesday! (with a special guest!)

Just to really throw everyone into a tailspin, I am going to start this week's "IDLTT" with something I DO like. I guess it's not something, it's someone... her name is Shauna Rogers. many of you know her and read all of the luscious mind nuggets she sprinkles on her blog. She was eager to contribute to IDLTT about something I agree with her whole-heartedly about:

Unicycles and the people who ride them.

I don't even know how I excluded them from the group I ranted about last week that included magicians, ventriloquists and jugglers. I am not a malicious or violent person, but i see a unicyclist and I instantly wish for an earthquake or a very strong gust of wind. 

Shauna has been especially scarred by on of these one-wheeled douchebags and, as part of her therapy, she has composed an open letter to the person that has caused her trauma:

Dear University of Oregon Unicyclist,

You are not a hot shot. You think you are. It has been 5 years since our encounter and I still hate you. I still hate the thought of you, all high and mighty on your stupid unicycle. With your dumb helmet and incredibly bulky and unsexy elbow and knee pads, that were all scratched up. (Proof that you are not such a hot-shot... you fall! I see your scratches!!)

You are the reason I absolutely hate unicyclists and kind of always want to throw sticks in their spokes. It all comes down to you. Do you remember why? Do you remember what you did to me 5 years ago, on the University of Oregon campus, in April, while I was walking to class? Do you? Let me refresh your unicycling-fog of a memory.

I was walking to class. It was by the Knight Library. I was on the right side of the path, minding my own business. Someone else was walking towards me, but they were on the correct side of the path as well. We were going to walk by each other just fine, not even a brush of the fingertips. We were a perfect distance apart, walking at a perfect pace. We were both amazingly attractive and smart looking. 

And then I felt goosebumps on my neck. Something was going to happen. And in 0.45 seconds, it did. There was a nasty hand on my shoulder, in a fingerless leather glove. Make that pleather glove. I am sure it wasn't real leather. YOU, unicyclist, tried to ride your damn unicycle AKA dork mobile in between me and my innocent fellow walker. You braced yourself so you wouldn't fall, and so you could make the tight squeeze between us, on my SHOULDER. You touched me. And you didn't say sorry. And like the dork-tard you are, you rode off, leaving me and said-walker confused, shaking and vulnerable. You touched both of us. And you didn't fall. I wish you did.

Guess what is worse? You were in my class. You RODE your unicycle into the classroom and then took off your helmet and shook your head like you were on a Pantene Pro-V commercial. Your dandruff sprayed the people sitting a row in front of you. You parked your unicycle on the railing of the ramp of the classroom and I glared at you the entire class. For the rest of the term.

I still know your face. If I see you again, you will know it. I will know it. The world will know it.

It's because of your hot-shot maneuvers that I hate everything attached to the unicycle. You could be the hottest person in the world, but the moment you get on a unicycle, to me, it'll be like you are missing 1/2 your face and your reproductive organs. I am not interested.

I'm going to get you!

Shauna

She is so brave and eloquent.