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.

Idle Minds

So yesterday I had a sore throat. Since I work at a hospital, they told me to take the day off... Mind you, I wasn't SUPER sick-- I didn't have a fever or anything, but, if your work tells you not to come in, whattareyagunnado?
Hum...
Call Sis.
Wanna go shopping?
Sure.
Finish shopping.
What now?
Wanna go get tattoos?
Sure.
Explanation:
My sis and I have been talking for years of going in and getting tats together. Although over the years, my idea of what I wanted has changed, we knew we wanted them.
My sis has been crazy-mad-running this past year or so. She's done a handful of marathons and half-marathons.
Good for her.
I personally feel that the human body doesn't want to run more than 10 miles in a day. But whatevs.
For those who are unfamiliar with the history of marathons, please read my sister Jill's blog post http://jillatoz.blogspot.com/2009/07/what-is-marathon.html .
According to legend, with his last breath, Phidippides stated "Νενικήκαμεν", or "We are Victorious".
So,
this is what Nancy got:

Like a Glove

I knew from a very young age that I was different.
I remember watching movies, such as Ace Ventura, where the phrase was stated, "Like a Glove!"
Me: Discombobulated.
Rest of world: Resolute.
Cue retrospection.

I would look at my hands, and have visions of wintertimes and me trying to fit my boundless digits into confining mitts. It was like trying to stuff one of those big puffy sleeping bags into the tiny carrying bag it came with. You NEVER could get it back in there like the day you bought it.
Reluctantly, I would make do and don the gloves, dealing with the sensation of having webbed hands. After all, I only had to deal with the webbedness for about a week before my fingertips would push themselves out the top of my gloves, creating trendy fingerless gloves. It was like a person trying to deal with a pair of pants too short; Sag them down, and you have webbed-crotch. Pull them up, and your ankles despise you.
Hence, the description of fitting "Like a Glove" confounded me. Why would you ever want anything to fit like gloves fit on me? No thank you.
Fast-forward to last night. After already convertible-izing two pair of gloves this season, I went to the store to buy new ones. I was in a reflecting mood. There were decorations that reminded me of my dearly-missed grandmother. As I made my way to the "Winter Accessories" section, i saw some Isotoners. My mother has them. My grandmother had them. They must be good. But will they fit?
I perused the selection, and noted the incredible texture.. Genuine leather. Hm.. Lined with cashmere... Hmm... There was a notably sexier-than-the-rest pair, which also had lycra in the mixture. It was the only pair i could find like them, so i tried them on.

Snug.
Marvelously snug.
And my fingertips weren't crammed.
Room to breathe?
Stretchy-yet durably warm delights.
Like a glove.

Science Rocks!

So, are you like me, and are a creature of habit?
While sitting at your boring job at your boring desk, do you have a favorite ceiling tile you like to stare at?
At your place of occupation, do you have your favorite stall in the restroom?
I do.
And yes, I get irritated if someone else is occupying it when I walk in the door. I tend to choose my favorite stall very logically, and usually based on location (i.e., you never want your favorite stall to be one close to the door).
But at my current job, I based my decision on geology.
I guarantee that 99% of women that go into this stall don't even see this, because in real-life it is about the size of my pinky fingernail.
And who knew that bathroom stalls these days were even made of actual rock, and not just a combo of particle board and formica?
But anyway, it's my special treasure.

Dam Lesbians

Tonight has finally come. The anticipation is killing me. It's once again time for the Indigo Girls concert to come to Salt Lake.
I freaking LOVE the Indigo Girls. Their voices, their harmonies, their lyrics... It's all good. My sister equally loves the Indigo Girls. One year we saw them in concert up at Deer Valley, and feeling out of place among all the lesbians, we shrugged our shoulders and decided to join 'em, and spent the rest of the concert with one arm over the other's shoulder.
This memory triggers a story not told too often; perhaps not often enough.
Back in 2003 my sis and I went on a road trip to Phoenix and on the way we decided to stop at Hoover Dam. We were walking around and about 10 yards in front of us there was an old man being pushed in his wheelchair by perhaps his son. As they got nearer the old man yelled "STOP!" to his son. I swear his wheels SCREECHed to a hault. The old man pointed with his decrepit crooked finger at my sis and me and says, very matter-of-factly, as if this was an educational lesson not to be missed, "NOW THOSE ARE LESBIANS!"
My eyes grew wide. I looked at my sis and she looked at me, and we just smiled and walked past them with our arms around each other.

Get your MEK on

Ladies and Gentlemen, boys and girls. Hold on to your hipsters.
Well over a year ago, I decided to try a brand new type of jean. They were superbly long, a dreamy combo of stiffness and stretchnessitude... They were my first MEKs.
Yes I splurged. You can't find decent pants that fit me on the clearance rack at Sears Roebuck.
I wore these jeans faithfully. They filled me up without letting me down.
I even have a girlfriend so fond of them that she wears them when she comes to town, or when I bring them when I go to visit her.
I (and my friend) wore these jeans so often that a hole started to wear in the butt pocket. It broke my heart. Domestically, I patched it.
Two weeks ago, two new holes wore through. I was crushed. My favorite pair of jeans lay lifeless, draped over my radiator until I could decide what to do with them. maybe I should cut them up and make a woobie out of them?
Then I decided that I spent way too much on these jeans to just let them "fade-out" (pardon the pun) of my life. So, I headed to the store with them in tow to see what they could do for me.
While en route, I was receiting my story to tell the sales clerk when I arrived. I wasn't making anything up; I just needed to get all my facts correct and in chronological order.
I walked in to the store to find a wonderfully cheerful salesclerk eager to meet my needs. I took a deep breath. *Ahem*. "Well, you see... I bought these pants a while ago..."
The girl didn't care. "Oh, ok!" says the girl. "Go pick out a new pair and we'll exchange them".
"Really?", I question. "So I haven't washed them since wearing them last. Should I take them home and wash them before I bring them in to exchange?"
"No, don't worry about it. Just give them to me and go over and pick yourself out a new pair".
"Well, so it has been probably at least a year since I bought these. Is this going to be ok?"
The salesclerk realized I felt uncomfortable and a little apprehensive about the whole situation. So she walks me over to the jeans section, and proverbially holds my hand while I pick out a new pair.
And boy did she pick a pair.
At the end of this experience, I was told that if I ever wanted to exchange these jeans for any reason-- maybe I get more holes in them; maybe I just get a little thicker in the midsection and they no longer fit-- just bring them in and exchange them.
You can't even get that great of a guarantee on Carharts!!
I am so impressed. Bravo, MEK. You have a customer for life.

Honk Honk!

This morning I was kind of in a groggy mood getting to work. I don't seem to be getting enough rest that my body is requesting, and all these meds I'm taking for my sinus and ear infections makes it even harder to get up in the morning.
So I got in my car to get to work today, and was grumbling about not wanting to go to work.
I got in the left turn lane to head up toward the U, and something was coming up the road to prohibit me from making my turn.
What was it?
(*squint* *squint*)
I sure needed my glasses, but had left them on my kitchen table.
Whatever it was, it was definitely running the red light.
If it was pedestrians, they needed to get out of the middle of the road and use the crosswalk!

Oh.
hee hee.
It made my day a lot better. :-)
Has anyone seen geese this big before in their life?????