It's Funny How Life Turns Out

On July 22nd, my friend and I took a much-needed vacation to Jamaica. It was B-E-A-UTIFUL and very fun. Even if it WAS sans luggage.
We arrived in Jamaica at about 12:30 a.m. on July 23rd. Yes, we were late. Blame it on my terrible "luck" (or what is the opposite of luck? Curse?) in traveling. The plane to Jamaica was delayed due to the airplane having a cracked windshield...
?
When have you EVER heard of a plane getting a cracked windshield?

As we approached the baggage claim area in Jamaica, I couldn't see my bag.
It was one of those moments like when you walk out of a store and look at where you think you parked your car and it's not there. Aka, a Panic Attack. Turns out, Delta told me, that someone stole my luggage from the Baggage Claim area. It had been scanned in, but once it got out to the floor, they no longer could find it anywhere.
I was DEVASTATED.
I mean, BAWLING. It doesn't help a situation like this to actually have Panic Disorder, and the drugs to help you NOT have an attack are in the aforementioned M.I.A. luggage.

Meh.
Life goes on.
I didn't let it ruin my trip. I'm not too attached to physical things. I AM, however, quite sentimental about the littlest things. This sock, that bra, these swimswims... all have great stories behind them.

Fast-forward to last night, August 31st.
It's 9:45 P.M. and I'm leaving class, and see that I have a missed call and a voicemail. I'm walking with friends mind you. It's funny how you can multi-task on certain activities in some situations and not others. I.e., I'm perfectly capable of walking, listening to voicemails, and carrying on conversations with people I'm walking with.
However, once this voicemail started, I had to come to a HAULT!!!!
It was a lady from Delta.
They had located my luggage, and they were going to send it out for delivery immediately.

I bawl almost hysterically.
Then, I speed home.

I'm going through stashes of purses and nooks and crannies trying to find the key to the lock to my suitcase. What if they bring it to me, and it still has the lock on it, and I have no way of opening it?? THAT would be my "Luck" (curse?)

Waiting.
Sitting, waiting, wishing, hoping. Isn't that a song?
Go lay down on my bed.
...

Next thing I know, the guy is ringing my doorbell at 1:02 A.M. ? Where the heck has he been?

When I opened the door, the guy had left it standing on end in front of my door, and already was getting back in the elevator.
Like, “I’m just going to leave this here. I don’t care if the lady didn’t hear me knock and if anyone steals it. This broad has been without this shiz for over a month”.

I stared dotingly at my bag.
Oh, I love you, Bag.

I pulled it in to my apartment, unzipped all the pouches, and noticed that nothing seemed to be missing (except key exterior items; ie, a lock, a zipper pull, my name placard).
I went into the bathroom, took a Klonopin and a bath, and went to bed.

This morning I woke up and pulled everything out individually.

My black dress.
I pulled it out, held it up in front of me by the shoulders, stared at it admiringly with my head tilted to the side and stars in my eyes, then pulled it in to my chest and gave it an extraordinarily loving hug. * Muah* Black Dress.

My Rainbows.
Black ones. and Tan ones.
Ironically, my backordered replacement Black Rainbows should be delivered today. Sigh. I had to work so hard and wait so long to get these replacements. Do I just turn around and return them?
I tried the left one of each on, because I already had my boot on my right foot. I wanted to wear my black ones to work today.

My swimswims.
My swimswims. : ( I had put them all in a plastic grocery bag when packing. Thinking of all the moments and pictures I wish I had been wearing them instead of my too-small, cheaply-made obligatory purchases made me upset, so I did NOT pull them out and love them. I will do that tonight. Because the pool in my complex is open again.

My jewelry.
Oh, you sexy ivory bangle, you. But not real ivory. That’s cruel. But it looks like it. Looks great with sexy jeans and a black top.
And miscellaneous earrings. Hoopies and Turquoise danglies. Oh, you guys are just too much. Who could live without you?
Necklaces! You get on my neck RIGHT this instant! Oh, my jade-beaded necklace. I wore you to Club Jam only a week before I left, where a gay man asked me if you were a real “Pearl Necklace”. We both giggled. Yes, you did too, Jade-beaded necklace.

My skirts, sundresses, and swimswim wraps.
You were each dearly missed. I’m saddened at the thought of loss of usage over the past month during other excursions.
Next year, sexy black Victoria’s Secret Swimswim Cover-up-- I say as I shake my finger at it-- Next year.

... Unless, of course, I can talk Delta in to giving me a flight somewhere warm and sunny where I can wear my stuff all over again. Then, maybe sooner. : )
But with my traveling luck/curse, I'm not going to plan on it.


The beginning picture of this post is one I took on our way hiking through random Jamaican jungle. I found the self-made fencing beautiful in a way. Little did I know, that behind that shanty of a wall, was this breath-taking natural crystal-clear spring.
In life, you just don't know what's hiding behind third-world shanty fences...



And today, I feel a complete contentness with the Universe.
Thank you, Karma.

A Brief Rant

... To Continue on with my Fashion Faux Pas education...


* This post may be uncomfortable for men. If this gets your panties in a bunch, please disregard. *

I see this EVERY DAY of my working life.
I ask you; nay, i BEG you-- What is wrong with society today?



It has come to my attention that I should host another Webinar.

Entitled:
VPL: Visible Panty Line and you. Where to draw the line.

Ladies. (and some gentlemen). I don't want to be crass. But honestly. Let's get real here. We wear our Underwear UNDER our clothing for a reason. No one else wants to see it. Well. Some people may want to see it. But that needs to stay in your bedroom.

There are several components to keeping your skivvies a well-hidden secret.

* Number 1: Please don't wear clothing that's too tight. Mike D might have lyricized, "Her pants are tight and that's ok", but that cannot be applied as a generality toward all women. If you wear too-tight pants, no underwear in the world is going to be ok.
Case in point:


One might say, "What about one of those 'thongs' I've heard so much about. They're a cure-all for VPL's, aren't they?

Wrong.

* Number 2: Don't wear underwear that's too tight. Be them briefs, boyshorts, thongs, or any other style. Unless you have less than 1% body fat, your skin/fat rolls will be occipitally offensive.
Let me introduce Exhibit A.



Thongs need to be loose enough that they do not leave an indentation on the skin.
That being said, even if you have a fit body and your thong is well-fitted, some outfits just need to be paired with either Spanx or going commando.

Entre Exhibit B.



Now.
On to Parachute Panties.


Heck-to-the-No.
I understand women that would like a more "total support and comfort". However, Parachute Panties are not the answer. Your pants will inevitably gap in back, and these things bunch up and look like they are ready to deploy at any second to be used as a flotation device.
* Number 3: Do not wear parachute panties. The top of your panties should never come higher than your hip bone.

I will share just one last rule before I wrap up this post.
Concerning White pants/skirts/shorts/clothing.
Yes, when you wear a black shirt, it is a good idea to wear black underwear.
When you wear red clothing, it is a good idea to wear red underwear.
HOWEVER!!!
When you wear white ANYTHING!!!! , DO NOT WEAR WHITE UNDERWEAR.
Actually,
you should never wear white underwear.
Ever.




* Number 4: When wearing white, be sure to wear tan/pink/flesh-colored underwear. White only enhances the underwear borders. Flesh-colored blends in with the skin, so you can't tell where flesh ends and underwear begins.

Remember, these are called "Unmentionables". They should also be "Unseeables".

You are welcome.

I Want to Ride My Bicycle

Once upon a time, yesterday was the warmest day of the year.

And after a weekend of SERIOUS couch-potatoage, I finally got the bee in my bonnet to take my roadbike Ruthie out for the season's maiden voyage.
It was a lovely day. Warm but overcast. Birds chirping. Green leaves and blossoms a-plenty.
So I dug around in my storage unit and closets trying to find my bike pump.
No dice.
Who knows where it is. Which is sad. Because it was totally cute and lime green. Not easily misplaceable.
I call Contender Bicycles to see if they were still open. The man answers, "Contender Bic...", and I interrupt him.
"Are you guys still open???"
A pause. "We close at seven."
"What time is it right now?"
A pause. "Seven".
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOoooooo.
So, I get in my car and drive down to Smith's Fred Meyer. They're open. They've got to have a cheap pump to get me through today.
What's more pathetic than DRIVING to a store to buy a tire pump to go for a bicycle ride?
Oh yeah, the rest of this story...
So I'm ho-humming my options at Smith's Fred Meyer. Not looking too promising. Not only do 99% of them only have the standard Schrader nozzle, but they're all pretty much plastic.
I find a pump that has an attachment to convert the Schrader nozzle into my Presta. I see that it has a "Three Year Warranty", so in haste, I purchase.
Returning home, I'm giddy. I'm humming/whistling the melody to Herman's Hermits "I'm in to Something Good". I get the pump all ready to fill'er up and start pumping the back tire.

SNAP.

Within about 4 pumps, this heavy duty, 3-year warrantied's Presta attachment breaks.
In half.
Awesome.



Ug.
So I forcefully hold the nozzle on the valve and continue to pump until the tire is at a somewhat-tolerably-full,-enough-to-get-me-through-a-few-miles level.
Ok, now the front tire.
Jimmy-rig it so it's barely clamped onto the valve with this "heavy-duty" but broken nozzle.

Pump.
Pump.

PPSSSSSSSTTTTT!




?
I'm sorry, WHAT JUST HAPPENED?!?!
Oh cool. I broke the tip off my tire valve. This is awesome.
I slowly slide my back down the wall until my butt hits the floor. I rest my elbows on my knees and give the pump the Stink-Eye.
I mull over my options.
Door number 1, raise the white flag. It was a valiant effort, but wasn't in the cards to ride tonight. Just accept your losses, and get into your jammies. Law & Order is on.
Door number 2, pull yourself together, Woman! This is a BIKE PUMP for crying out loud. Get out an extra inner-tube and get this ordeal under control.
...
Another glare to the pump.
Alright, Pump. I don't like you. You are immediately going back to Smith's Fred Meyer where you came from. Well, you were just sold at Smith's Fred Meyer. I am actually willing to bet that you came from Hell. But if you get me through this, I'll wait till TOMORROW to take you back there. Deal?
Huff-n-puff.
Get the new tube in. Now. Caress the pump nozzle. It is your friend. I didn't lock it on the valve, but just held it in place and pumped and pumped and pumped and pumped until, like the front tire, it was tolerable just to get me through a few miles.

SWEEET! Let's go!
First off, apparently I need to clean up a bit.




Check.
So Ruthie and I are off. I decide to swing by my sister's house and use her nice bike pump just for precaution's sake.
It was a very nice ride. Although my new place's location near the top of Capital Hill isn't very conducive to finishing strong.. :-S But I did it. Felt good. And I'm looking forward to my pump-swap this evening.

Definitely before Seven.


And the collateral damage?

A Citizen for Fashion Faux-Pas Education

Attention citizens:
If you cannot intellectually dress yourself, please consider yourself banished from my scope of vision.
From now on, I'm selectively viewing people's choices in ensembles, and will only see people whose outfits are pleasing to me.
I would like to hold perhaps a webinar on articles of clothing with both form + function.

Most may be familiar with this travesty:



Sandals::
form: strapped sturdy shoes.
function: keep feet cool when the weather is warm.
Socks::
form: stretchy tubes of warmth.
function: keep feet warm when the weather is cool.
A physical oxymoron.

Get it?

...

However, there is another, LESS known, fashion faux pas.
IMHO, HOWEVER LESS KNOWN, IT IS IN NO WAY LESS OFFENSIVE TO MY EYEBALLS.



Entre` de short sleeve vs. fleece vest calamité.

Short sleeve shirt::
form: worn on upper torso with shortened sleeves.
function: promotes airflow to pits when the weather is warm.
Fleece vest::
form: worn on upper torso with no sleeves.
function: keeping the core of the body warm when the weather is cool.

Not.
O.
Kay.

Each item is fine to be worn independently, but the combination of wearing both is offensive and counterproductive.

To those who might be shocked by the lesson learned in this entry, please enroll in my webinar.