Hey there sucker!

Ahh, the holidays. The time for presents, home baked goods, parties, and girdles? Yes, girdles. Well, at least for me. This year I was forced to stuff myself into the horror of all things spandex and cotton, the contraption which makes young girls the world over shutter in terror but gives grandma a little sass in her step.

It all started out so simple. We drove to Walmart to buy some last minute things for my sister-in-law Ashley's wedding. All I wanted to buy were a few hair clips, maybe a bag of sour patch kids, and some index cards to study with when Mindy came over holding a black slip that claimed to slim and smooth. I realized that this was what I really needed to help me look good for the wedding, it was providential.

In an attempt to improve my looks, I'd already spent the better part of the week smelling like a peanut from my tanning lotion. Throughout the week people would enter the room I would be sitting in, sniff the air and ask who'd been eating peanuts. It was quite exhausting to explain that it wasn't a sandwich, but my skin that smelled like en elementary school lunch room. I knew that I could fix my hair, shave my legs, and paint my toes but the only thing that would help me to resemble the dancing girl on the hanger was if I bought that slip.

However, when I followed Mindy down to the aisle that sold the fat containing contraptions I saw something else that interested me. On the other side, the side that looked to be ransacked by desperate women who were returning home to family members who felt it their duty to comment on recent weight gain, or making one last attempt at finding love in 2007. On that shelf there were footless pantyhose that rested just below the bra line and came down slightly above the knees, or in other words there were girdles.

I had a dilemma. On the one hand I could stuff myself into a slip that was 14.88, or for half the price I could suck it up and buy myself a girdle, which would probably do the job better even though my pride would also be stuffed into it as well. Of course, in a fit of cosmic irony the sizes that remained were about a hundred smalls and two extra large, even though the box claimed I needed a Large. Grabbing the XL and the sexy black slip I trudged to the Walmart dressing room.

Removing my corduroys and sweatshirt I attempted to stretch the little black slip onto my body. The material stretched so slightly that I wondered if they had recycled used exercise bands. Catching, the material snapped back and nearly took out my eye. I must have been making a lot of noise because the attendant lady politely asked how I was doing. I wasn't sure what I should say.

I don't know if anyone else has had this happen when you are trying to put on a too small dress or shirt which requires contortionist skills, but I get cramps in my back or neck. So there I was half naked in a Walmart stall, partially paralyzed from a cramp, muttering under my breath and totally stuck with my arms above my head, pinned by my new black slip that would be coming home with me because it surely wasn't coming off. Would it be inappropriate, I wondered, to explain that I was suffering a neck cramp from trying to stretch it too much? Should I scream out, "Please, in here, climb under the door, bring the jaws of life and a slimfast!"

Instead, I replied, "Doing fine, thanks."

When I finally got it on I realized that what I really needed was not the "sexy" black slip which would have covered all my clubbing needs (if I clubbed), but instead the girdle. The tan, sheer, gut supporting, leg smoothing girdle. So I bought both, avoided eye contact with the cashier, controlled the urge to blame some fictional mother for the purchase and silently berated myself on the drive home.

Once at home I tried on my new piece of "lingerie", making the mistake of doing it in front of Jarom who was most likely scarred for life. The leg holes fit my calves comfortably, but after my knees things start looking bad. They continued to grow worse as I struggled to wrestle the stomach band over by butt and up to my bra, a task that should require an iron grip and a stick of butter. I can't even imagine what it would have been like if I'd bought the right size.

The box said tan spandex/cotton blend, but what was really inside was sausage casing. You know, the slightly opaque, slightly brown stuff where they force lumpy sausage chunks into a narrow confining tube. So yes, it smoothes the meat out, but it's sheer enough that no one is fooled about what is inside. In my case about 300 too many treats.

"I look like a salami." I say to Jarom, who's eyes are wide in what I am assuming is horror, but are carefully trying to adjust themselves to a smaller size.
"No you don't." He answers.
"Well, a sausage than." I mutter, thinking that at least that's a little smaller.
Jarom shakes his head but has the sense to remain silent, knowing that the conversation will continue like that for as long as he will answer me.

However, I must say that girdles do have their charms. Not only are they super sexy (this is said with sarcasm) but they do actually keep you sucked in if your in a jamb for a last minute fix. So much so that I was able to eat an extra piece of cake. Move over grandmas of the world, you got some new competition in the girdle aisle. At least for the moment. Tragically.

Hurray!!

Ok, I know this is a lame post, but this is landmark for me! I am almost done with my American Heritage class, I have turned in all the assignments (as of tonight!) and now I just need to take the final. Yeay!! Sweet, sweet freedom here I come!

p.s.- the first picture was taken on my Mac (with the weird picture taking application) but it reflects what my head feels like after all that studying and work! Sorry if it scares the kiddies, I was cracking up and caught the second picture. If you can't tell the difference that the third is just me, I will cry for a week and yes I'm wearing almost NO makeup. Aint I pretty? (=

Fuzzy

So the other day I decided that it was time to do a little waxing to my upper lip. Before you go gagging into the bathroom I want to explain that I don't have a stash, just a little peach fuzz that bothers me. As I was waxing it reminded me of the first time I tried this out...

My sophomore year in college I was browsing the makeup and lotion aisle of my local Albertson's when I saw a little box with a very chipper woman on it. Sugar wax, it said. I figured anything that featured a smiling, partially nude, very smooth woman couldn't do anything but help for me, so I bought it. Intending to do a little maintenance to my face and maybe if I was feeling optimistic I would finish off with my legs, I warmed the wax up in the microwave when I got home. The box said 10 seconds, but when I looked inside the container it didn't look as if the wax was warm enough, so I added another 15 seconds more. Big mistake. For any of you have waxed before, you will know that wax goes from lukewarm to thermal nuclear hot under the deceptive surface within 5 seconds over the suggested time. You can imagine how hot 15 seconds got it.

Daintily I dipped the applicator stick into the wax and swirled it around marveling at how such thin wax would make me as hairless as Ms. Tropicana or Ms. Coppertone. Now I understand that wax that thin is dangerously, dangerously hot- which would have been nice to know before I applied the bottled lava to my lip.

"Sweet merciful!" I screamed as the wax burned two layers of skin off my face. Hearing my screams one of my roommates ran to the bathroom.
"What's wrong?" She asked through the door in a worried voice.
"So, is sugar wax supposed to pull the hair off your body, or burn it off?" I wanted to ask. "Because if it's supposed to do the pulling I have made a drastic mistake" But instead I said with the best imitation of composure, "Nothing, I just burned myself accidentally."
"Ok," she answered and then added as though it were an afterthought, "be careful!"

Bravely I applied the little strip of extra sturdy paper to my scalded lip and than waited a few more moments for the wax to cool down to do the other side. Once I had applied both strips of paper I realized something I had not thought too hard about before. It had to come off and how it was going to come off was going to hurt. Bad.

And, there were two options for that. One, suck it up and rip those suckers off. Or two, continue to live the rest of my life as a jaunty little french man with a boxy white mustache. Looking in the mirror I wiggled my nose to make the mustache dance around on my face. Yes... It was possible.

However, fifteen minutes later (and with a full repartee of faces and expressions that included one silent film act a la Charlie Chaplain, and a silent film villain complete with a devious mustache twirling action) I had decided it must come off if I was ever to get married, courted, a job, some sort of male friend, etc. Bracing myself I gripped an unattached end and pulled with all my might.

Two minutes later when I awoke off the floor I could see the damage: One very red lip, with the majority of my hair still attached but not the skin.

Bracing myself, I ripped off the other side, balancing myself against the counter so I wouldn't fall to the floor in agony. Looking in the mirror I noticed something new. Now not only did I have a new little red mustache, but I looked like a pubescent boy with a scraggly mexi-stash. Excellent. So eight bucks, 2 inches of skin, and a half an hour later with the use of tweezers I finally had the smooth appearance I was looking for.

I am happy to say that a few tries later I figured it out. But I have a few suggestion for the beginners:
1) When the bottle says 10 seconds, it means 10 seconds.
2) if at all possible be sitting on a counter or a chair, or whatever, when you do this, or at least cushion the floor with a thick layer of pillows. (helps with the bruising)
3) Unless you are paranoid like me or your hair line has gone exploring, just let it be, let it be.
4) fast is better than slow.
5) mustaches are actually coming back, look at Kip from Napoleon Dynamite, plus there is the example of Magnum P.I., cops, or your great-great-great grandma from Russia. Somebody loved her too.

12 Days of Christmas

It's been raining a lot and cold and it is not surprising that we should wake up to ants all over the place. We had been warned that the ants are aggressive and would sniff out any kind if food in our room. We didn't have all that much, and it was on the top of the bookshelf so we figured we were safe... Most of the room had already been sprayed with bug spray so we just assumed nothing would come in. I say most of the room because those pesky ants came through an unlikely place that no one would have figured on. The electric outlet plug. I've have learned my lesson and decided to sum it up in a holiday fashion, here goes...

One the twelfth day of Christmas my worse fear gave to me:
12 thousand ants a scrambling
11 paper towels a wiping
10 swear words a muttered
9 sighs of anger
8 ounces of bug spray
7 hundred ants on my arms
6 bags of candy a ruined
5 diet resolutions enforced (because my stash is gone)
4 death threats
3 more swear words
2 hours lost
and a screaming girl whose learned her lesson.

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

Equality For All...?

The other day I saw something that made me chuckle. Driving next to us was a very fancy looking man driving the newest Convertible BMW model. On his steering wheel I watched as he tapped out the beat of his music while his rolex (at least it looked like one) caught the light of the afternoon sun. And then I noticed it.

One his vanity plate holder read the words, "(On top) National Committee for (on bottom) EQUALITY."

Two comments. 1) How do I belong? and 2) Riiiiiight.

Hey!

Jarom was out of town traveling for his job. Usually I'd just pop in "Anne of Green Gables" and fall asleep to the melodic sounds of Anne and Gilbert bickering, but that night I decided that I would try to watch a quieter movie, one that was dark and wouldn't light up the room. Maybe I would fall asleep quicker. I had turned all of the lights off downstairs, flicked the switch off in the hall and settled down in my dim room, praising myself for my bravery at sleeping in the dark house alone.

Just at the moment that I was surrendering myself to sleep, the harsh rings of the telephone sounded, calling me back to reality. Once, twice, three times. Fumbling I reached across my side table and clasped the cold metallic phone.

“Hello?” I asked. On the other end of the phone I could hear a ring tone. Possibly I had missed Jarom and he would call me back, I thought hanging up the phone.

Settling myself back into my cool crisp bed, I had just closed my eyes when downstairs I heard the rattle of the front door knob shaking. My heart started beating wildly as I listened to hear if the intruder would find the door locked and seek out another target. After a moment of silence a new sound started like the scraping of a lock.

“Please”, I thought to myself, “Just leave.” Instead I was rewarded with the sound of the door slowly creaking open and three or four voices whispering amongst themselves. They were the kind of voices that explained without saying that they were not there to just steal your TV.

By this point the blood was rushing through my ears, almost flushing out any other sound. Hurrying, I found my jeans and a jacket to throw on, intending to climb onto the roof. Where would I go from there though, I wondered? I would just be stuck waiting for the first person to find me and if no one knew there was trouble it was likely that they would find me first.

Picking up the phone I dialed 9-1-1 so hard that my fingers bent back, the hard edges of the buttons making imprints onto the soft pads of my fingertips

By this point the fear had replaced any form of sound that would have come out of my mouth. I knew that I needed to say who I was, where I was calling from and that there were intruders in my home, but nothing, nothing would entice my clenching throat to utter a single word. Meanwhile, I could hear soft footsteps and the groan of the stairs as they gave way underneath someone who didn’t belong on them.

Just say something, anything, let them know you know they are coming. Tell them that you have called the police and that they are on their way. Don’t sound afraid, everything depends on this.

But try as I may the words wouldn’t come. And then, I mustered something…

“Hey!” I shouted in a deep guttural voice. I intended to finish with “I’ve called the police.” But the sound of my own voice startled me into a new sensation.

I blinked a few times trying to figure out what was going on, when right next to me someone said, “Hey!?” back.
Jarom was looking at me, his face amused and also worried. It was like someone had lit a neon sign that said, “Laugh Now” because we both broke into hysterical laughter.

“What were you dreaming?” he asked as I attached myself to his side, my heart still pounding. “You were whimpering and saying, “h--, h--, h--, heh, HEY!”

“Oh, Jarom!”, I told him “I just had the scariest dream! You were out of town…”

It’s so nice to wake up and realize the scary dream you were dreaming was just that, a dream. Please let the rest of the month be dream free!

New News!

Hey everyone! I'm so excited to announce that I made it onto "America's Next Top Model." Amazing right?! There was one catch, the show had to be cancelled due to the fact that it was being held in my back yard and Tyra was attacked by a black panther (possible subconcious political statement?). Allow me to explain.

A few nights ago I found myself as a lead contestant for that show that offers it's watchers the two for one deal of making you feel smug at your ability to eat and fat at the same time. Yes, I had made it onto "America's Next Top Model." However, things quickly became strange. One, why would anyone line up a bunch of gorgeous girls in my Huntington Beach backyard? There is definitly not enough room for all that big hair and camera crew. Two, why was a black panther hanging around on my wall with it's yellow eyes focused on Tyra? And three, how the heck did I in all my squishy splendidness get into THAT crowd?

I don't know about everyone else, but I have the ability to realize I'm dreaming in many of my dreams and usually I will just sit back and see what my mind comes up with. It's kind of like watching movies in my sleep. However, you can only imagine my disappontment when dream Holly turns with a confused look to the unnaturally perk girl next to her and says, "Um.. I don't think I belong here..." (Slam on the dream breaks)

Pardon me, but aren't you supposed to be able to be extra cool, pretty or whatever in your dreams? Did my subconsious think so low of me that it couldn't even fathom moving my cellulite up to its natural position of thighs, instead of down my legs too? Honestly, a little thicker hair and flatter stomach would have been nice. So after a few concious slaps to my unconcious I have decided that I really will get into "America's Next Top Model" shape, well, maybe "Next, Next Top Model."

I'm not hoping for perfection, but it is a smack when even your inner thoughts remind you that you're in this predicament because not only have you had your own piece of cake and eatten it too, but you've eatten everyone elses as well.

So here's what I'm going to do: today is day one of Weight Watchers for me, I figure this will go slowly, but I want to wear my favorite jeans again. So This time for real I will post my progress. "America's Next, Next (next) Top Model" here I come.

In your dreams!

Adidas black stretch running pants with the white stripes and reflective adidas symbol on the bottom buyers, beware!

Joseph (from the bible, not your local grocer or some other guy) interpreted that 7 thin ears of corn would follow 7 fat ears as a sign that after 7 good years of harvest, 7 years of famine would follow. I know that I am not Joseph, but I have another dream that needs to be addressed.

The other evening I found myself in a dream that was very intense while at the same time a little confusing. Even in my dream I was thinking, "Ummm... what did you sniff last night? Glue? Wet paint?" You see, I was in my storage unit looking for something when I realized that I was not alone. If any of you have seen inside my storage unit you would discover that first there is no room to be looking for something, and second if something else was in there it had to be very small and flat and not much of a predator.

Suddenly my dream took a very M. Night Shyamalan twist. In "Lady In The Water" there are these beasts that look like the lawn, so you can't see them except their red eyes through a mirror or if they are about to eat you. In my dream I had the urge to grab my handy bible and hold it out in front of me, like a mini light shield. (It was my first nice bible set that still had my name Holly Tanner in gold cursive too) Apparently whatever urged me to do this knew that I was not alone either for there sitting on the bench was my pair of Adidas pants. (Insert your traditional "duh duh duh!" in lowering octives here please) However, my pants, which still looked like pants, was now a very dangerous monster complete with red eyes and claws. Thankfully I had my bible and was able to distroy the beast! Yes...

So, the question now is this: what did that dream mean, besides that I am deranged? Will it follow with Joseph's translations that my excersise pants were in storage because I will get fatter for 7 years and then slim down for 7 years? If so I will go cry in the bathroom right now. Possibly that the world will be overtaken by overzealous bible hating runners? Maybe even that my running pants will cause some kind of rash or chaffing and it will be necessary to pray for healing? I have no idea. But I do know that I need a break from these dreams!

Joseph, or I guess Pharoah, ain't got nothin' on me.