Saturday, July 10, 2010

Thongs vs. Granny Panties: A New Idea For The Great Debate

Now, before you roll your eyes and mumble something about having heard every possible side of this argument since the creation of the buttcrack dental floss known as thongs, I assure you this is an entirely new idea. Well, new to me. Here we go...

Whenever the discussion/argument/protests about the thong vs. panty debate arise, it's usually centered around two things: comfort or fashion. The general consensus is if you're going for fashion, you're a thong girl. Comfort, panties. The majority of men obviously prefer thongs, and are usually only okay with their girl wearing granny panties if she is A) on her period; B) pregnant; C) hanging out with one of her guy friends.

Women have voiced different reasons for going granny on occasion, but I have never before heard the reason given to me recently by a sexy, beautiful, middle-aged woman. We'll call her Jane.

Jane, myself and another woman (we'll call her Eve) were spending quality time together one day, and the great debate came up. Eve and myself, being aware of our friend Jane's preference for dependable cotton grannies, were trying pitifully to convince her of the necessity for sexy undies. We knew thongs were out of the question - you've got to ease them in gently - but were going on incessantly about all of the cute alternatives out there. Boyshorts, bikini cut, etc. At least she could add some color to her current collection. Stripes. Polka dots. Something.

Jane let us ramble on for a few minutes, then cleared her throat as if to let us know she was about to impart some great wisdom. She was. "Did you ever stop to think that if I were to start wearing sexy undies, my husband would expect more sex?"

At that moment, it was like the clouds drifted away, the skies opened up and a bolt of lightening hit me square on the head. She wears granny panties as a defense from her horny old husband? It's genius! Eve and I sat there stunned, saying nothing. Just taking in the wisdom of this wonderful woman.

After a moment the laughter took over. We promised to never attempt to force her to buy sexy undies ever again. Long live the granny panty!

Friday, July 9, 2010

Lovey-dovey day

Perhaps it's due to an overload of the soft rock that's been playing (randomly, not intentionally) on my ipod all day, but I'm feeling rather romantic today. Don't get me wrong, I will never be one to wax poetic about the endless wonders of true love and soul mates and all of that nonsense. I'm a tad more practical. However, I do feel a great deal of appreciation for my husband today.

Gary and I have been on a joint staycation this week with the kiddos, and it's been fabulous. Every single lazy, tv-rerun, cereal-for-dinner moment has been utterly wonderful. Prior to our time off I was a little concerned that spending so much time together without a break would cause some bickering. I'm not so naive to think married couples actually enjoy being together 24/7 all the time, but imagine my surprise in discovering it is possible in small increments - say, a week once a year.

The only argument - albiet a small one - to take place occurred over my vertically-blessed man grabbing the wrong baking dish out of the cabinet. The nerve of him. I fussed, he stomped angrily to the bedroom. Two minutes later we were laughing at his dramatic exit. (He's never been one to argue, which is a good thing, although sometimes I wish he would get a little angry once in a while. It can be frustrating to want to have a yelling match and your opponent refuses to join in.)

We're coming up on our three-year anniversary. Doesn't seem like we've been married that long, but at the same time I feel like I've had the urge to strangle him at least a hundred times. (Don't pretend to be shocked, all of you married people understand me completely.) Yet as painstakingly annoying as he can be sometimes, he is still the kindest, most honest, gentle, trustworthy and loving man I've ever met. He still opens doors for me, holds my hand in the car and in public, does little acts of love to remind me that he loves me. Sweetness in one of its best forms.

As far as child duty goes, Gary is above par. He's great with the feeding, bathing, story-time, play time, etc. The only area he's difficult with is diaper changing time. His argument: weak stomach. Wuss. Still, he's an all-around good dad, who is sweet enough to entertain the girls while Mommy tries to focus long enough to write blogs...

Thursday, July 8, 2010

Have no fear, The Viper is here!

Forget Gotham and Metropolis. Columbia, Tennessee is apparently where all supervillians have relocated. Much to their dismay, however, there's a new caped crusader in town. His name is The Viper. (You think I'm kidding, but I'm completely serious.)

Last week two Columbia police officers were having just another average day protecting the peace when they happened upon a young man in tights, donning under armor, two plastic sticks and a utility belt complete with screwdriver and cell phone - you know, in case he encountered actual crime and needed to call 911. Our hero also had stashed in his vipermobile - er, I mean car - ninja throwing stars.

Upon investigation, the officers learned that our hero is actually a 20-year old chemistry student with a tragic lack of social life. Add that to an affection for tights, and you've got yourself a crime-fighting alter-ego. I guess it would be concerning to have a chemist with questionable mental stability running amuck late at night through town, but seeing as how it's Columbia and not New York City, I'm guessing the local PD are just getting a good laugh out of the ordeal.

When interviewed by news reporters, the aspiring superhero said, "I'm just trying to do what's right, in tights." Well, residents of Columbia, now you can sleep peacefully at night knowing that wherever evil may be lurking, The Viper will find it, and he will destroy it. That or throw sticks at it before calling police.

The Viper Story

Wednesday, July 7, 2010

Put your records on (or in today's case, your iPod)

You're having the worst day possible. Nothing is going right. Your boyfriend dumped you for some younger, hotter chick. You got fired from your mediocre job. While carrying the contents of your desk to your car you drop your cell phone and it breaks. You reach your car to find you have a flat tire. On the verge of a total breakdown, you slide into your car, crank the engine and plan to take a moment to collect yourself before imposing your awful luck on everyone else in the world. Suddenly a song on the radio catches your attention. It's a pop song from your teen years. Back when you were unexperienced, untainted and completely optimistic of the future. Before you know it, you're driving down the road, singing along and you're actually SMILING. How did that happen? It's the music, man....

It's amazing how music can alter a mood. I've been having days like the one mentioned above, and the right song comes on, and suddenly everything doesn't seem quite so dreary. I've been in a great mood, heard a sad song, and suddenly felt melancholy. Alternative music seems to fuel my angry moods, and love songs make me appreciate my husband more. How does that work?

Obviously, not everyone has that emotional tie to music. My husband is one of those people. He hardly ever listens to the lyrics of a song, and never ever sings along. Frustrating. I'll be all mushy sometimes and ask him to listen to a song. Halfway through it I realize his mind is somewhere else entirely. "Are you even listening?" I'll ask, exasperated. "Of course," is his usual reply, until prompted to repeat the chorus, which he cannot.

There are songs on my iPod that I always play when in particular moods. These songs for some reason made me have an emotional reaction, and in return end up in my list of all-time favorites. A few are so personal to me that I don't even like listening to them unless I'm alone.

I won't give reasons for why each of the following songs are on my favorite list, but I'm sharing a few in the hopes that someone will listen to one of them at the right moment, and it will leave an impression on them the same way it did me.

I'm Moving On - Rascal Flatts
It Ends Tonight - All-American Rejects
Something To Belive In - Poison
Don't Stop Believing - Journey
Mexico - Incubus
Stained Glass Masquerade - Casting Crowns
Learn To Be Still - Eagles
She's Got A Way - Billy Joel
Bittersweet Symphony - The Verve
Help Me Believe - Nichole Nordeman
The Reason - Hoobastank
November Rain - Guns 'N Roses
Hey Jude - The Beatles
3 a.m. (acoustic) - Matchbox Twenty
Acoustic - Goo Goo Dolls
Nearness of You - Norah Jones
Soul to Squeeze - Red Hot Chili Peppers
Hallelujah - Rufus Wainwright
Jaded - Aerosmith
Nobody Knows It But Me - Babyface
Voodoo - Godsmack
Old LA Tonight - Ozzy Osbourne
Look What You've Done - Jet
Cry Me A River - Justin Timberlake
Papercut - Linkin Park
The Memory - Pantera
Broken - Seether
Groovy Kind of Love - Phil Collins

Tuesday, July 6, 2010

Lindsay Lohan's going to jail for 90 days. Riiiiiiiiiight.

Lindsay Lohan sentenced to 90 days in jail

Breaking news: another young drunken star sentenced to actual jail time. Lindsay Lohan, Hollywood's resident bad girl for the past few years (well, ever since Paris calmed down and Nicole got knocked up) has finally pushed the legal system to its limit. According to reports, the actress violated her three-year probation by failing to attend a court-ordered alcohol education class.

If we're being honest here, you can't really blame the girl for thinking it would be no big deal if she bailed on the classes. How many celebrities have shirked responsibility and punishment time and time again, only to be slapped on the hand and scolded like a child caught stealing cookies before dinnertime? It's always been understood that if you're famous, the system works differently, more leniently. The rules that apply to the rest of the world simply do not count when you consider the great contribution celebrities make to the world. Ha. Not to mention the exhorbitant amount of money stars pay their attorneys.

We, as the general public, are always shocked to learn about our favorite (or least favorite, in this case) actors, musicians, etc. being sentenced hard time in an actual prison. History shows that usually the star is booked, has a hugely publicized court date/trial and either gets sentenced to "time already served" or around 30 days, of which only 7-14 are served. Not to mention the fact that they never go straight from the courthouse to prison. They get about a month to get their affairs in order before having to report to the correctional facility. That part I never understood. Does Average Joe get to take a month off before turning himself in to Deputy Bob to serve his time? Of course not. So why do all of the celebrities?

Maybe this time the prisoner will actually serve the entirety of the sentence? Doubtful. I'm afraid Lady Justice is not always as blind as she'd like us to think.

Monday, July 5, 2010

Emily Dickenson's brother: man-whore

A new story emerged today about the famed poet's family dysfunction. Apparently her married lawyer brother Austin had clandestine meetings with the wife of one of his colleagues on Emily's dining room couch. During these alleged trysts, the famous poet supposedly stayed upstairs in her bedroom, lest she get an eyeful.

Austin, a father of three and considered to be a pillar of the community, must have considered his spinster sister's home the perfect location for a little afternoon lovemaking...on a dining room couch. Honestly, you'd think they could find a bed somewhere in a single woman's two-story house. More concerning is this: how could Emily bear to have guests over for tea and have them sit on said couch without worrying her guests would be sitting right smack on top of her brothers pimp juice? Yuck.

What interested me most in this story is according to the research, it's believed that despite years of an affair taking place in her own home, Emily never actually met her brother's lover. How does that happen? I know times are different now, and women basically did as they were told back then, but I'd like to think that if an affair was going on in my house, I'd be sure to acquaint myself with whoever was doing the dirty on my couch. That way I could tell her to satisfy her sexual urges elsewhere, brother be damned.

If you want to check out the story, see the link below.

New Secrets About Emily Dickenson

Sunday, July 4, 2010

Mo Came To Visit

It almost always happens the same way. I'll be hanging out, lazing around, whatever, and I'll get a text message out of the blue. "Guess where I am" is usually the message. Immediately I'm excited because this message means that my Mo, my bestest best friend practically since birth, is coming to visit me.

I drop whatever it is I'm doing, rearrange plans if necessary and make time to see my oldest and dearest of friends. You'd think that my having a guy as a best friend would bother my husband, but surprisingly not. He's nearly completely unjealous, which is sometimes frustrating, but generally good. He's even okay with me running off to go galavanting with Mo without him. So I do.

We can sit in a coffee shop for hours, ride around with no destination, sit on porch steps talking, it doesn't really matter where we go or what we do. It could have been months or even years (which has happened before) since we've seen each other, but it doesn't matter because we pick up right where we left off. Our friendship is one of those timeless relationships. It adapts to whoever we are at the moment.

I noticed on this most recent visit, however, that pieces of me change when I'm with Mo. It's like this former version of myself re-emerges around him. Not an entirely bad thing, but a very strange feeling. My thoughts and actions reflect a different era of my life; I feel like a younger, less responsible, more spontaneous version of me. The Jess who just might say exactly what's on her mind regardless of consequence. The old Jess who would consider doing something completely reckless just because it's fun.

It's frustrating to me because I don't entirely understand why this happens, and only when Mo's around. Maybe my subconscious yearns to cut loose every once in a while, and I am unknowingly just so much more comfortable with Mo that my brain uses his visits as an outlet. Who knows? It's entirely too late and I'm entirely too tired to psychoanalyze myself at the moment. Current version of me does know, though, that I really enjoyed having a visit with Mo, and I hope we get to see each other again soon.