When Your Period Gaslights You


Some people get travel- constipation. I get travel- weird periods. It doesn’t help that I am traveling with a dueling uterus who wants to be Alpha. She won out this month and threw me off even more.

I knew it was only a matter of time; the calendar said I was a smidge late and my bitchiness and annoyance of EV-ER-Y-THING said menses was imminent. But, I came down with a chest cold/allergy issue (I secretly think Texas is trying to kill me already) and I stopped caring about bleeding.

And then, last night – or should I say in the wee-est hours of this morning- I felt the signs. I woke up with some serious late period cramping and backaches. I had the tell tale signs of uterine pressure, like a too-filled water balloon ready to flood and I also had a super weird craving for nachos. I don’t  even know what that was all about.

If you’re following me, you know I am essentially homeless, living with my family in a hotel (room). My hotel bed has beautifully crisp white sheets and a super comfortable white faux-down comforter and a bright white over-the-comforter extra sheet thingy. White. WHITE. Everywhere.

I cannot start my period engulfed in white. I just can’t. These “signs” are making me think that I absolutely will wake up in a pool of my own blood, worthy of a CSI investigation. How would I recover from that? How do you broach that conversation with housekeeping?? WHAT IF IT GET’S ON THE MATTRESS?? And then a scenario flashes before my eyes: bed sheets soaked in gallons of red. Me frantically clawing the bedding off, only to discover the huge red body outline on the mattress. The horror etched on my family’s faces. And then our silhouettes slowly walking into the darkness of night, illuminated by the red-orange  glow from the blaze behind us. Because I would have to burn this bitch down if I start my Carrie-inspired period tonight and bled all over this rental bed.

So, I jump out of bed as smoothly and quietly as I can in the pitch black of half-morning half-night  and feel my way into my bag for underwear (I am already positive the ones I have on are ruined forever) and do the awkward-stepping-arms-straight-out walk to the bathroom. The light blinds me immediately, and I fumble to close the door behind me, quickly and quietly. I waist down strip and rummage through my toiletry bags to find my “products”. In squinty-eyed defeat, I realize they are in my suitcase. In the closet. Which is back through the inky darkness from which I just came. Panic. Wait… over there. Brightly colored stars and hearts and tribal motifs. YES!! Uterus 2, you were smart and left your shit in the bathroom. I grab the little box and  my fresh underpants and happily unwrap a panty liner. But then, I realize I am NOT in fact covered in my own blood. As a matter of fact, things seem under control.  But, those pangs in my lower areas sing to me. My aching back knowingly echos the same.

“You will have to burn this bitch down come morning”. 

So I immediately grab a (tween sized) pad. With wings, mind you.  And I affix this, over the liner, to my underpants. Well, first I have to unstick the wings-part from all the other places it stuck BEFORE it found it’s home wrapped around my underpants.

Let me pause here for a minute to impart some next-day-after-coffee clarity. In my head, all of the above action was done in ninja-like silence. Nary a peep heard by my soundly sleeping family. But the reality is, it probably sounded more like a construction zone, or at least a bustling office. I mean, aside from the falling out of bed and blindly getting to the bathroom, we all know that  opening ladies product wrappers is literally the loudest sound on earth. It’s science. If a sonic boom and kotex wrapper were to go head-to-head? Kotex, hands down. Every time. I am pretty sure you can hear that shit in space.

I finish in the bathroom, use The Force to get back to bed since the wattage of the bathroom light was brilliant and totally screwed me on the return voyage, and sometime before the sun comes up I manage to get back to sleep without those nachos I was desperate for.

And when I rise in the morning, AFTER 9 A.M., I quickly stake claim to the bathroom to find one lone red dot on my fortress of dry-weave. Not a mess. Not a crime scene. Not even a need to change anything. A speck. I could have slept NAKED and not left a mark.

Well played period pangs. You effed with me real good.

My Thighs.



Let’s take a moment to  discuss thighs, shall we? We all have them, right? They come in so many shapes and sizes. They come in so many colors. They help us with so many daily activities. So why are they  treated with such animosity? Why do we loath them; verbally abuse them? Why are they the center of such judgement?

These are all great questions. And all were going through my head recently as I went for a walk with TGILW and noticed that waaaay too many people were eyeing MY thighs, and not in a good way (is there a good way?!) Before you start pointing out my insecurity and body issues, I assure you, I’m not being hypersensitive; people were looking at my thighs and then doing that pinch face we all do when we see something we can’t unsee. I even overheard a few snide remarks. All from women. All from women not wearing shorts.


What was so offensive about my thighs? The bulk? The paleness? The dimples? The fact that they were unedited; un-photo-shopped; raw? 

My thighs can squat. They can squat weight. They can run. They can walk for miles. They can push furniture around the room. They can hover over a public toilet. They can still “airplane” my nearly grown children. Sure, they might not be as pretty as they once were, but they can still get the job done. Why shouldn’t they be allowed to see the light of day? To feel the warmth of the sun? They work hard! They deserve to be free. Free from confinement, from judging, from pinched face bitches.

I have often found myself apologizing for my thighs. Or lamenting the fact that most of my pants have worn thin in the space that meets between my legs from all the friction that occurs when I walk. I have an irrational fear of corduroy; positive that I will most likely start a fire between my legs. I shy from dresses because chafing is painful, and embarrassing.  I hate having to constantly pull my shorts out of that space they creep into between my upper thighs and crotch, but I have refused to wear shorter shorts to remedy that issue.  And I think the worst offense of all is that I won’t sit on TGILW’s face, for fear of suffocating him with my girthy legs.

 But today, I apologize TO my thighs.

Thighs, I am sorry. You deserve better. And I promise to stick up for you, even when you don’t need me to. More shorts for you in the summer! More sun on your skin! More dresses! More face sitting! And less pointing out of your flaws, because you’re perfect as is. Let those less confident in their own thighs stare! Let them be jealous of your liberation! It’s them, not you.


“If Olivia Wilde had gone to a party in … little shorts, she might have been on a ‘weird dressed list’ or been told her outfit was cute. I don’t think a girl with tiny thighs would have received such no-pants attention. I think what it really was … Why did you all make us look at your thighs?’ My response is, get used to it because I am going to live to be 100, and I am going to show my thighs every day till I die.”

-Lena Dunham

Ohhhh I Believe in Karma…


Yes, I believe in Karma. No, really, it’s true. I wouldn’t be considered a Buddhist, but I absolutely believe that my actions – your actions- dictate happenings in life. Sure, it may seem silly to you that a near 40-year-old woman would base her  decisions on this, but it is my truth. I also have irrational fears, I can be superstitious, and I believe our gut always knows best. Some people call that batshit crazy. Or eccentric. I call it good living.

And man oh man am I ever swimming in the bad karma creek of shit. I did something that made me feel pretty bad and I knew was crappy yet I still did it. And the last few days have been nothing but misery. My renters haven’t paid rent. I have gotten bad news on top of bad news. I have .32 cents in my bank account.This is where people usually say “Why me?!?!”. But I know why me.

I KNOW I only have myself to blame. Laugh if you will, but I know my actions caused this.

Have you ever done something you know to be shitty (assuming you don’t ALWAYS do shitty things) and then noticed some “bad luck” come your way? I don’t believe in luck, I believe in actions. I don’t like excuses. I don’t think the cupcake made me fat, I think my choice to eat the cupcake made me fat.  I believe in doing good and being a good person . I try not to take more than I need and I try to be fair and honest. I believe in putting positivity out into the world and I hope to leave it a better place.  Now, do I make fun of a Kardashian from time to time? Yep. And I roll my eyes and judge most of your religions and  political opinions – regardless of which way you lean. And when you complain about the Army being “unfair” or “screwing” you, 98% of the time I side with the Army. I am in no way a perfect person. I don’t strive for it, either.

But I do strive to be a decent human being.

So to clear my conscience and to cleanse my karma I am going to publicly shame myself and ask the universe for forgiveness.

UnFriend J – I trolled your Facebook page and found some interesting tidbits. I didn’t intentionally do it, but once I was there I was hooked on the dirt. But the truth is, it really wasn’t dirt. At first I felt justified and vindicated, but really I was just being an asshole. And to make matters worse I gossiped. I could have kept the news to myself, but I shared it with  a friend. And then we yapped about you. And your family.

I can honestly say I’m ashamed of myself and my actions. Im a grown woman and there is no reason for me to act like this. Well, there are reasons… but they don’t excuse my actions. And for those actions, I am sorry. Congratulations to you. I wish nothing but health and happiness for you and your family. And even though you will never even know the douchebaggery I indulged in, I know. And now like 7 other people know. And I said it aloud to the universe. Live long, and prosper old friend. And I honestly mean that with no karmic ribbons attached.




5 A.M. Gym Wakeup?


I, like a complete moron, let a friend peer pressure me into checking out her new gym. Even though I was mostly happy with my current gym. Even though I was already paying for a gym when I have access to gyms for FREE. Even though the class was at 6:15 AM.

In. The. Morning.

That meant getting up at 5:00 AM. It’s still dark at 5:00 A.M. I can’t even remember the last time I willingly got up that early. To say I’m not a morning person is an understatement. I don’t talk until at least 8am, but if I do it isn’t going to be pleasant.  And I sure as shit don’t go anywhere that early.

It’s really hard for me to transition into a new gym, especially one that is structured around classes. I hate being the newb. I hate having eyes on me, judging my ability.  I am well aware I  have zero hand-eye coordination. I was  once told (by the instructor, in front of the whole class) I was going to kill myself in a step class. I can’t  manage to move my arms AND my feet at the same time during Zumba. Yoga is slightly better, but I’m always way overdressed (s sports bra isn’t a shirt, people) and let’s be honest, the odds of someone farting is inevitable. I just can’t be grown-up about that.

I also need to be shamed into pushing myself, which is one of the things I love about Crossfit classes. I would never, on my own accord, do burpees, snatches, or goblet squats. I for realz wouldn’t do them over and over again. So in my quest to be more fit, I let this friend talk me into newb-dom. This gym isn’t a crossfit gym, but that didn’t keep me from getting my ass kicked. At sooooo early in the mornings.


Day 1

nearly vomited
legs were jello after the first 5 mins
What kind of friend does this?
ski-erg WTF??

left there looking like Tammy Faye Bakker and no one said a damn thing to me.

Mental note to wash face before workout. Last mental process for the entire day.


Day 2

Ahhhhh!! Friend called to cancel. Day 2 moved to Monday. Kick. Ass. Go back to bed.


Real Day 2

Yes. 5:00 AM is still ridiculously early.

Wash face, because last time.

DO NOT eat breakfast. I don’t care what all the “experts” say…

What are all the numbers on the machines supposed to mean?

Am I rowing for “M’s” , “CAL’s”, “Time”,other “Time”?

This guy keeps telling me to “move my ass” as if I’m going slow. Can he not see how fat I am? Or that I have gray hair? This is me moving my ass. My fat old ass.



Why would anyone who doesn’t have to feed a baby be up at this time?!

Oh great, the ski-erg again. My favorite.

If he calls me “crossfit” one more time…

Why is riding a bicycle so much fun, but riding the stupid workout bike thing that I don’t even know the name of so fucking hard?!?!

I did it. I signed a check and committed to a month of this brutality. And the workouts.


Day 4

Fuck you alarm.

Hex bar deadlifts. Why? I was so effing sore the entire weekend. I dont know what the “muscle” under my back-fat and love handles is called, but I’m pretty sure they got swoled. Or I seriously jacked up my back. I should webMD this.

Ab work? Um, no thank you. Oh, It’s not optional? Shit.


Day 5

Funny story : Day 5 was supposed to be Monday but I thought my neighborhood was on fire. The smell of smoke was pretty strong, and as I went outside to investigate, I noticed ash falling in the backyard. Holy CRAP! I told my “friend” I couldn’t make it, and searched the news while getting ready to make emergency calls while searching the closest houses. Turns out, it was my neighbors burning their Chimenea. At 5am. FIVE A.M.

I also realized that my M-W-F workout schedule would work better as a T-W-TH. Who wants to do anything on Mondays?


Day 5 Tuesday

Presses of all kinds with the big dumbbells.

Did he just say 25’s?

Got stuck in my sweaty sports bra. STUCK. I’m not going to say I sat in it, arms wedged up to my ears, crying. But I’m not going to say I didn’t either.

was unable to hold the hairdryer up for longer than 2 seconds (who cares what the back looks like, anyways)
took 3 tries to braid my kids hair
took two hands to adjust the rear view mirror


Day 6

5:30 is just as early as 5:00. Mostly.

There was running. Excuse me… jogging.

Theres that hex bar again.

I know he said 10 sets of 8, but I’m thinking sets of 6. What does he know?

Is it normal to sweat this much? I’m talking areas,  not quantity.

Does this rower seat come in a large?

Day 7

Getting up at 5:34 does not leave much room for error in the morning.

apparently this was an “easy” day.  As I type this I am literally willing my arms to do the motions my brain is asking.

Have you ever sweat so much you actually look like one of those comically profusely sweating scenes , like on SNL or whatever, where they have like a hose hooked up in someone’s wig and they just stream water? That was me today. Sweat everywhere. In puddles.

Catching a medicine ball with your face motivates you to have better aim.

Tons of ab work… so much so that I looked forward to burpees.

Burpees sets?!? What is this, Crossfit?!

Why can’t I figure out how to do the alternating rope slam? And who knew those ropes were so effing hard to move? I mean seriously.

Planks. Anything longer than 13 seconds is too long.

Day 8

Getting up the morning after a holiday blows. Why can’t I figure out my snooze option?

Arrive at gym to find I am the only one for my class. W.T.F.?

Silently pray class will consist of a walk and talking about our weekend.

I literally cannot remember the warm up, which happened  120 minutes ago.

during deadlifts I confessed to drinking A LOT of margaritas over the weekend. Why did I do this?

Squat holds. The bike. Planks. Yelling.

Day 9

Getting up was actually pretty easy today. By “easy” I mean I did it and I wasn’t a total dick.

Walk up to earlier class all laid out, sweaty, labored breathing. I honestly thought about just getting back in my car.

This time “easy day” actually meant “easy”. In that, there was minimal yelling and zero heavy lifting.

not easy in that pull ups were on the menu. To failure. I failed at 3.  10 sets of 3’s. With a band. AND with the thicker band. Fuck you pull ups and your smug chin-over-the-bar policy.

I also think there was a 5 minute plank in there. Broken up with seventy-two 3-5 second rests. Ohhhh the sweat.

I got talked into going on Friday. And on Saturday. So help me, the crap I get peer pressured into.


Day 10

Makeup from missing one day during the week because of non-workout related injury – but just between you and me my legs were soooooooore.

They didn’t get less sore after Friday’s workout. But I did add some arm and back soreness to go with it. And sprints = stupid. This body was not built to sprint.

I also found out there was a 9:15 class. Um. What?

Day 11 – The Saturday

So, I heard Saturdays were a “fun” mix of “friendly competition” <— Oxymoron

It involved teams of 4 competing in a circuit series. That shit gets cutthroat. And if anyone thinks flipping a tire sounds like a good time, you’re wrong. It’s sick. Tires are heavier than they look. And cumbersome.

You know what is awkward? Watching a group of people  get SUPER excited about a competition and having ZERO competitiveness yourself. Seriously, people.

Also, math and working out shouldn’t ever go together.

What did we do? Bike, Row, SkiErg, slamball, fireman carry, tire flip. Oh, and burpees.

So much “fun”!!

Day 12 

This week is supposed to be a recovery week. It has a name that I’ve heard six times yet can’t remember. Anyways, apparently no heavy lifting. Unfortunately, the rower, assault bike (thats the name of that bullshit machine) and the skierg aren’t considered “heavy”.

Have you ever tried to do a proper squat with your hands over your head? No? Yeah, that’s because it’s impossible. I was told I was supposed to fail, but I think I was also supposed to eventually catch on.

My arms were so shaky from not lifting heavy shit that I had trouble driving home.

Day 13

Have you noticed I haven’t complained about the early wake-up? It’s not because I don’t hate it, because I absolutely do.

The friend and I tried the 9:15 class. Total craziness. We were all but asked not to return and to stick with 6:15.

I did do a keg snatch or 20, and I finally figured out what all those numbers on the rower mean. After 6 sets of rowing 250 meters. I don’t even know how far a meter is, but in row measurement 250x 6 takes you to Sucksville.  Lunges still aren’t awesome

Squats. Deadlifts. Some other squats. Tomfoolery.

Day 14

Back to 5:00 am wake-up. Ummm… Or 5:15. Gah!!!! OKAY… 5:30 I’m UP!!!

The SkiErg and I have an agreement. We’ve decided to be friends. If I only have to be on it for 25 seconds at a time.

“Just the bar” doesn’t mean it’s easy. Many Front squats- Press -Thruster. Running errr… jogging. Something that resembled pull-ups with those stupid bands.

I also took shit for eating 1/2 of a Costco hot dog by someone who gets a food boner talking about corn dogs.  Got talked into showing up on Friday.

Day 15

TGILW was a little too snugly this morning. Actually texted to make sure I would be welcome in Friday class, secretly hoping for an out.

Me: If I come in this morning will it mess up your plan?

GYM: um no. Get your ass here.

Well, fuckyouverymuch I guess I’m getting up.

Last day of “easy” whatever that means.

SkiErg and I broke our truce. Rowing gets harder, not easier. And I was introduced to what I thought was a rainstick, but was really a huge PVC pipe filled with water. And then I had to overhead squat with it. Over.My.Head.

Is it sexist that “girl bars” are shorter? Are doing sit ups while holding a plate stupid? Is a three count anything 3 seconds too long?


Noticed once I got home that my armpits were totally not tank-top ready. At. All.

Day 16 – The Second Saturday

Team competition again. Less friendly this time, and the teams were totally stacked. Also – for the record, my trainer is world ranked on the Concept 2 rower, so should his team really be able to “win”? Assigned new moniker: Sasquatch. This trainer thinks he’s smarter than me.

Partner 8k row – How far is that? To Mars. Luckily my team had a system. That system nearly killed me.

Slosh OH holds – this was done while the other teammates were rowing. So we were either rowing, or holding these crazy and super cumbersome things over our heads. By round three they got heavy, and by 7k I thinking I should just go home.

7k ski – The SkiErg can suck it. My team mate broke it. HAHAHAHA!!!! Oh… run instead?                       Well, shit.

Farmer Holds – these turned into dumbbell holds. I went from a 40# bell to 25# by the last set. Holding weight isn’t easy. It’s even worse to hold these while your teammate on the ski tries to hit 200 k’s. Overachievers suck.

11m assault bike – The assault bike is so stupid. And it takes a very long time to bike 11 stupid meters.

Dead hangs – from the pull-up bar. Are you kidding me? The only thing worse than having to do a pullup on the bar is having to hang from the bar without dropping in like 5 seconds. I did ring hangs. I’m not ashamed. It still hurt.

And when it was over, I swore.

Day 17-

Back to reality. Reality meaning I can make it from waking up to parking space in 20 minutes. So 5am wake-up happens around 5:40. Booyah.

I’ve been wracking my brain to remember what we did on Tuesday (clearly I didn’t write these down immediately). And I’m too afraid to text my trainer and ask him.

So, let’s just say it kicked my ass and move on. OK?


Day 18

Day 18 was a pivotal day. Not because I finally stopped hating early wake-ups. Not because I got on the scale and noticed a dramatic weight loss, or the mirror looked thinner.

Day 18 was the day my team was only 400 meters behind in a competition team row against that aforementioned WORLD ranked rower and his team.

Sure, 400 meters is far. But I’m just a SAHM. I’m not a world ranked anything. No one on my team was. And when you put that into perspective, 400 meters gets a little less far.

Day 18 was AWESOME. Despite the lunges, squats, pull-ups and running. And despite not being able to move my arms much afterwards. Or my shoulders.

Day 19

The end of the line. Well, not really, but the end of the post. Why? Because I made the commitment of 30 days… Or I guess 19 workouts.

We did teams again.

SkiErg – bent rows-deadlift-more SkiErg. It sucked.

SkiErg-weighted sit-ups- more sKiErg. It sucked.

Rower – pullups(I still can’t do them, and I hate the bands!!) – more Rower. Didn’t hate it. Just kidding, yes I did.

Weird push-ups. Sucked.

Thank the universe I had a competitive friend and a 24 years old guy on my team. I totally shammed that Ski-Erg.


After a month of 5 A.M. (okay, okay, 5:30ish) wake-ups to get my ass handed to my by a sarcastic and slightly sadistic trainer, I discovered a few things.

I hate waking up that early, but I LOVE working out early. LOVE. IT. As a die-hard un-fan of mornings, I never thought I would say this. And after trying the later class, I realized I need to be an early riser. To quote my peer-pressuring friend: ” It’s sets you up for the whole day”. She said it so much I wanted to hit her. But she’s totally right.

Lifting our tandem kayaks onto the roof rack of the car is a smidge easier to do now. And that feels good.

Watching the sun hit the bay in the morning  is AMAZING.

But I think my favorite thing is showing up at 6:10 in the effing morning grumpy and tired and leaving sweaty and smiling because there is a small group of people who enjoy getting their ass kicked and laughing about it as much as I do.

Well… honestly, my favorite thing? I am thoroughly looking forward to  NOT waking up at 5am30ish for the next three days.





















Why Is the Trampoline So Fun?


We have an Olympic style trampoline. It’s large. It’s bouncy. And we did a DIY two-streets-over move to accommodate it. It’s that rad.

So a few nights ago TGILW is procrastinating learning a foreign language -or as he puts it “taking a break” – by having a few bounces. I’m pretty sure he was just trying to invade my space, as I was on it first. You see, it’s a rare occasion that I can bounce solo without one of me needy and selfish offsprings hopping on and usurping my fun. TGILW is no exception.

So there we are, bouncing away. Giggling like schoolgirls. Bent-legged jumping like idiots.

“Why is the trampoline so fun?” TGILW inquires. Probably because of the giggles, looking like an idiot and not caring, the great exercise and  the amazing stress relief. It’s just so… fun.

And then he purposely bounces me so high, that I shriek… and then I pee.

Yes, pee. Whiz. Piss. Tinkle. Urinate.

Not full-blown, dripping down my leg evacuation, but enough to wonder if I should change my underpants.

Oh, don’t you judge me. Trampoline peeing is pretty common.  If you ARE indeed judging me then you probably have a penis. Or you haven’t had a baby. And if you haven’t yet had a baby but are planning to, keep on laughing because when you do have a baby, one day you might hop on a trampoline for some good giggling and fun with one of your kids and I promise, you will notice how strong gravity is compared to your weakened bladder muscles.

You think I don’t remember when I had a strong bladder? When I could cough or sneeze, or yes, even bounce without the fear of a wet crotch spot showing up? Everything was stronger then; My abs, my back and whatever muscle holds up my boobs used to be A-OK.  *SPOILER ALERT*Kids ruin you. And gravity isn’t really your friend.

So, TGILW happens to be a bit of a bounce bully, and he often tries to bounce me higher than I’d like. And each time I have to tell him through shrieks, laughs and flappy arms that he is going to make me pee. It happens more often than not. Mostly from the high bounces, but sometimes from the laughing hysterically/jumping combo.

After several of my pleas to stop making me piss myself, TGILW asked me what my problem was, and that maybe I should get it checked out. While he’s right, I matter-of-factly told him MOST women my age tinkle on the tramp. He didn’t believe me. He thinks I’m just talkin’ crazy, like always. I offered up to get proof by doing a survey. I know for a fact several of my friends need  to wear Depends when they jump. I even had some mere acquaintances offer up an admission to leaky mom bladders. So sweet readers, if you happen to dribble while bouncing, PLEASE leave a comment below. Yes, at least 10 other people will see it, but it will be liberating, I promise. Plus, It will help me win an argument, and a win like this is a win for ALL women.

And if you don’t  own a trampoline, I beg you to get one. Even if you don’t have kids. Seriously. It’s some of the most fun you’re gonna have with our clothes on and without a glass of wine in your hand. I honestly think it’s the key to world peace, political differences and  lowering high divorce rates.

Sure, you might piss yourself, but you’ll be laughing when you do. And then you’ll have the answer to this age-old question for yourself.





The Adultification of Me – Episode 4


Your mission, if you chose to accept it, is to follow my shenanigans in a series of posts about my foray into the gritty world of dressing like and adult. I don’t know how many posts there will be, and I can’t guarantee you will all make it out unscathed. But I can tell you that the following stories will be the truth, with a touch of dramatic license, a lot of humility and probably some crying. This message will not self destruct, but it will precede all my episode posts. Wish me luck.

Don’t know what I’m talking about? Start HERE, then go HERE and then HERE.

So about now you’re probably asking yourself ” what about the personal shopper?” OR you’re like ” why the hell is it taking her so long to tell this bullshit story?!” Either way… let me finish what I started.

I emailed the personal shopper and after a few days of pathetic waiting and no new mail I decided to call. I dialed the 800 number only to realize that the information I had wasn’t actually to the Personal Shopper, but for the program in general. I wasn’t emailing and calling my Macy’s, but rather some random office somewhere that doles out “clients” based on the area in which they live. What. The. Fuck. The nerve. It took a lot of inner energy to send that email. Even more to call. Was I going to have to go in and make the appointment? BALLS!!! I had wasted too much time waiting, and by now, unless I got in like immediately and paid extra for a rush on any tailoring, I was pretty much out of luck for getting this done before The Event. DOUBLE BALLS!!!

TGILW had to look for some shoes over at the mall, so I took this as my chance to go in and at least find something on my own and make a personal shopper appointment for later in the month. Thank God my pms had waned and I was less emotional and bloated. I also had a little knowledge under my belt, as I had already tried on over half the blazers they carried.

The moment I walked into the Woman’s suite department, a familiar face greeted me… the personal shopper I had , like a band nerd asking out the prom queen, waited in vain for. This bitch had practically broken my heart. Could I ever trust her again?

“You’re back!” she says with the exuberance of someone who gets paid to like you.

I immediately stiffen up. I wanted to roam the racks solo, which is why I bailed on TGILW  to sort out his shoes issues by himself. I had already decided I was better off without her.

” I picked out a few blazers I thought would be perfect for you!” she announces, “but I’m finishing up with a client. Are you going to be around for a few minutes?”.

What? Was she expecting me? Did we have a date I was unaware of? She’s dangling a carrot, and I know this. But I take the bait. I need her. I act like I have all the time in the world and browse casually through rounders of Eileen Fisher clothes I would never pay that much for.

A few minutes later a slightly disheveled lady comes by, looks me up and down, then walks past me. And immediately after that, Personal Shopper Lady comes after her and points her back in my direction. Either I don’t look like someone who needs help or I don’t look like someone who can afford to buy a suit.

New Personal Shopper lady leads me over to where “my perfect blazer ” awaits me. Only she can’t find it. So we walk all over the damn suit department. Over to the ladies area, back over to womens,into cheap-o suit separates, back to womens were finally  Original Personal Shopper Lady has found it. New Personal Shopper Lady proceeds to have me try it on, but not without first saying  “now, don’t look at the size, just see how it feels”. In English this means: you’re fatter than you think and all those size 12’s you were trying were never going to work.

See, this issue is, other than being tubby, is that I’m short and have short arms and huge boobs. While Petite sizes fit in length, they don’t really ever fit in the chest, while Regular sizes button over the knockers, they never work as far as length is concerned. #bustygirlsproblems.

After trying on several don’t-look-at-the-size blazers, we decide on a Jones New York that “lucky for me” is on sale. Marked down to $95 from $145, PLUS I get a 10% “you can’t dress yourself” discount. Yay!!

I have now shelled out about $200 bucks for The Event. I have had several meltdowns. I have cried. I have let a women I don’t even know toy with my emotions. I have been a crazy person. But now, my troubles are over. I have a suit. I will look like a put-together adult. I won’t embarrass my husband or my country.

The next day I put the ensemble together. SCREEEEEEEECH. <—- that is the sound my brain makes as it jumps back to reality.

I’m staring into the mirror at a 61 year old substitute teacher who borrowed her grandpa’s jacket. I look ridiculous. My blazer is unflattering to say the least. It has no shape to it, well, thats not true, because a box is a shape by definition and thats what I look like. It’s too long. Did I shrink in the last 24 hours? Did I get the right jacket? How in the hell is this the item I paid for, because I don’t remember looking like Herman Munster in the fitting room? It also clashes with my pants. Yes, black can clash with black. It’s.Happening. Right. Now.  And I swear to Jeebus I look shorter. The entire outfit has condensed me into a boxy can of squatty busted biscuits.

ENOUGH!!! Holy hell, what has happened to me?! This is NOT who I am. I pull off my dress-up clothes and snap back to the real world. The world in which I write a semi-humorous blog where at least a dozen people I’m not related to follow me. The world in which I don’t always feel confident, but I usually feel pretty competent. The world in which I know the majority of the bullshit I have been fed lately is just that.

Fuck this. This ends right meow.

I take the stupid blazer back to the store. I exchange it for something that makes me feel like a lady and fits me fairly well. I do it all on my own, in about thirty minutes and save myself about $50. I try it all on together. It works. It really wasn’t as hard as I thought. And guess what?  The night of The Event I looked and felt pretty great. I had a good time. And was the only person in a full suit.

mock embasy



Why, as women, do we allow other women or society or social media or our own brains to fuck with our self esteem and our confidence? Why did I allow myself to be manipulated by a department store? I could have easily found what I needed at Target, Kohls and even thrift stores for half the price and time to get them tailored, which is exactly what I have done since The Event to round out my “business casual” wardrobe. While the idea of a personal shopper seemed fun, this person didn’t know my style, my anxieties, or what makes me feel confident. So what if my go-to outfit is jeans and a tee shirt without stains? And who cares if I wear my gym clothes all day around the house while I’m doing housewife shit? I’m living real life over here, and I’m not about to put on my heels and a summer dress to head over to the commissary. I will brush my hair and change out of my pj’s. And when I have a meeting/coffee/social I have enough common sense to look appropriate and enough new knowledge to know the difference between business casual and hooker.

Just like Dorothy, I had the power inside me all along. I just had to believe in myself.

So what adultification really took place? When they tell you to wear comfortable shoes, listen. Everything else you can leave up to common sense.






The Adultification of Me – Episode 3


Your mission, if you chose to accept it, is to follow my shenanigans in a series of posts about my foray into the gritty world of dressing like and adult. I don’t know how many posts there will be, and I can’t guarantee you will all make it out unscathed. But I can tell you that the following stories will be the truth, with a touch of dramatic license, a lot of humility and probably some crying. This message will not self destruct, but it will precede all my episode posts. Wish me luck.

So it’s T minus 6 days until the Event. I have submitted an email request for an appointment with a personal shopper. I have come to terms with needing help in the fashion department. I now need help in the beauty department.

I am a woman of simple style, as if that hasn’t already been proven by my closet, and that trickles down to my beauty regime as well. My  face “routine” consists of washing my face in the morning, using a moisturizer with sunscreen** ( a MUST!!) applying mascara and possibly chapstick. My morning hair routine varies, but usually it is brush, flat iron (if i’m going out of the house) or tiny pony tail (if I’m staying in). My evening face routine is only in play if I take a shower before bed. Then it’s moisturized with coconut oil. I’m gonna be honest here, I rarely wash my face before bed if a shower isn’t involved. Even when I wear makeup. I’m disgusting, whatever.

Now, If i’m going out out, I might add eyeliner and shadow, some lipstick, extra mascara and an eyelash curler. My hair get some upside-down blow drying and product. I even break out the round brush and hairspray.

Things I never use: foundation, powder, bronzer, blush, lip liner, concealer, brightener, BB creams, liquid liner, false eyelashes, shimmer and I rarely stray from nude or neutral colors. I do, however, wear red lipstick.

Although TGILW would disagree, this is considered “low maintenance”, right? It usually takes less than 10 minutes for me to be ready to leave the house for a day of errands or dinner out. It takes about 45 (including shower) for special events, like date night or a function.

Now, something I left out of my previous post, was that at the “fashion show/anxiety attack” there was the cutest makeup artist there, talking about all the things he (yes HE) could do to “transform your look”. Like I didn’t have enough going on in my head, I realized that maybe my low maintenance look needed some tweaking but I wasn’t about to walk into the M.A.C. lions den. So while I was waiting to hear back from the Personal Shopper, I decided to tutorialize myself. I just made that word up. Bam.

Oh YouTube… is there nothing you can’t teach me? The answer is probably not. Not since I dabbled in purple Wet-n-Wild lipstick and Pazazz hair color have I been so interested in beauty products. Well, thats not true, when I turned 30 I spent an entire weeks food budget on anti aging creams at the Clinique counter. But that’s a different story.

So, seeing as how my beauty arsenal is pretty basic, I thought I needed to add some wow factor to make me look more like a grown up. Also, I’m not going to lie, I wanted an excuse to stay in bed all day since I was having the cramps. YouTubes clips were the perfect solution. I’m pretty sure all I did was type in ” make-up tutorials”. Oye, the amount of stuff that is out there. I mean anyone can have a youtube channel these days  (my youtube channel) so I had to weed through some 12 -year-olds and Kardashian wannabees to get to some stuff I found both interesting and helpful.

The Pixiwoo Girls!!

I love them. I.LOVE.THEM. Period.  I know I’m way behind the curve on this one, but for those of you who don’t know what I’m yapping about, here’s the 411. These are two Brit sisters who are actual professionals in the beauty and fashion industry. They have a few different YouTube channels devoted to beauty, but the original Pixiwoo is my favorite. They really break down technique and talk quite about it about products and WHY you should use them. Plus their accents are so adorable  and it makes me feel like I’m super beauty smart that I watch them.

“wow TMMW, your eyes look amazing”…

“thanks, just a tip I learned from Sam and Nic, you know, the Pixiwoo girls”…

See? Doesn’t that sound like I know shit? Totes.

You can find them on YouTube by typing in Pixiwoo. A few of my favorites are EASY SMOKY BROWN EYES MAKEUP, HOW TO APPLY FALSE LASHES, 3 MINUTE MAKEUP CHALLENGE <– both of these are great, because it’s kind of exciting to watch them beat the clock.

Leighanne Says!!!

This chick  makes me giggle. She seems pretty down to earth, she’s goofy and she uses plenty of drugstore brands which is awesome since we can’t all afford to drop mad cash at the designer makeup counters. She also kinda narrates like I do, with some “umms” and some “can’t find the words” moments. When I watch her tutorials I feel like these looks are attainable for a novice like me. It’s also kind of like having your girlfriend show you how to do something.

You can find her on YouTube under Leighanne Says and some of my faves are: MY DEFINED BROW TUTORIAL, DIY TEETH WHITENING, BEAUTY THINGS I SUCK AT TAG <– this is funny to me, it might not be your thing, but admitting that you don’t care about something or just that you suck is endearing.

*dangit!!!, my links button isn’t working, and I’m on a time crunch and can’t fuck with it so simply type these into the search bar, K thanks. *

So, there were plenty of tutorials to keep me snugly in bed all day and to educate myself. I haven’t really stepped that far off the norm for me, but I did add a few things to my must have beauty products. I thought I would give you a little glimpse into what I use to keep me looking just this side of a haggard old mess.

TMMW TOP FIVE (or 7) OR The Items I Use Daily

** I LOVE Philosophy. I use two of their products religiously; The Microdelivery exfoliating wash and Hope in a Jar spf (25).

I love the wash because I tend to have dry skin and I need to exfoliate often. This kills two birds with one stone and I love the way it makes my face feel; just really clean. The Hope in a Jar spf is a broad spectrum sunscreen and moisturizer in one. It’s very moisturizing and while the sunscreen was a little to get used to, I appreciate it having lived in two very sunny climates. It comes in a tube (despite what the name says) and if I had to chose any one product this would be my absolute MUST HAVE. I’ve used it for about 4 years now and my face is happy. Luckily I can get these products at the PX/BX for slightly under suggested retail, which helps they ‘ole budget.

e.l.f  Under eye concealer & highlighter 

I have never been a foundation wearer and over the years I have dabbled with concealers, especially since I tend to have bags and dark circles under my eyes. All.The.Time. I’ve never really found a product that felt good on my face, or did the job well. And then I met e.l.f. I have several e.l.f. products, but this one is my favorite. I’ve only been using it a few months, but it really makes a difference. It’s a two sided wand style application. Just after moisturizing I dab a few dots of the concealer under my eyes and tap it into the skin outer from inner corner and blend out to my crows feet…errr… brow line. It blends very well into my skin, and I’ve never had a color match so well, another reason I don’t like concealers. I then dot the highlighter onto my lids and blend this all over and up into my brows. I have lumberjack eyebrows that tend to be unruly and blending this in keeps me from having to do much else to tame those hairy beasts. I wouldn’t really do anything to them otherwise. This gives my lids a  brightened up look that all moms need. Plus, it’s a great base for applying liner/shadow if I need to “beauty up”. Plus, get this, it’s like $3. Yes. DOLLARS. Amazing product, supes amazing price. This is one of the products I decided to add to my beauty bag based on my hours of watching YouTube.

Urban Decay Lush Lash Mascara

I am a self proclaimed mascara whore. I don’t care. I have to have mascara. This would be my number 2 must have. I almost never leave the house without it on. In the rare event you see me sans blackened lashes,some serious shit is happening.  I have tried several throughout my years, and once I find one I love, the brand usually changes the formula and screws me over. At the moment, this Urban Decay is my absolute favorite. It feels moisturizing but creates some va-va-voom and it’s “growth serum infused” so it’s supposed to encourage lash growth. I haven’t noticed my lashes getting longer per se, but they aren’t as brittle and they seem fuller to me. That could be the coconut oil, though. This one is a bit pricey but it’s worth it.

Coconut Oil

This is my evening moisturizer. I have dry skin, and most oils and moisturizer tend to sit on my skin without really absorbing. I’ve been using coconut oil as a moisturizer for about a year now, and while I don’t see it erasing fine lines from my face, it definitely helps me retain moisture and my skin tone has evened out a bit. It also helps with any blemished that might pop up, is a low spf sunscreen and I use it as a carrier oil in body scrubs.  Plus, the price is pretty fantastic. Plus Plus, I have gotten quite a few compliments on my skin AND looking “great for my age” (<— not really a compliment?) in the last several months, so…

Lip balm. 

I rarely wear lipstick. But my lips still need attention, so I have a tiny little lip balm addiction. I will shell out $12 for good organic lip stuff, without hesitation, but since my kids like to swipe them, I usually keep a stash of chapstick. I only use original or cherry, and I rarely buy any other “name brand” balm. I also don’t use lip gloss, or any other fruity gloppy scented sticks of chemicals. Right now i’m using a little tube I got for FREE at a 1/2 marathon packet pickup. It smells like coconuts and has vitamin E and Aloe plus an SPF 15 sunscreen. I love it and I’ve banned my kids from using it.

Eye Liner

This is a more than occasional but less than daily. If I’m going to a meeting, meeting friends, out to a casual dinner with the hubs or a day of running errands, I usually swipe on some liner for a bit of color. It makes me feel made up without really making up. My go to liner has been, for years, Clinique Quickliner for eyes in 05 True Khaki. It has a fine tip thats self sharpening, and a spongy smudger on the opposite end. I love this color. It’s perfect for daytime, and it hides flaws well. By flaws, I mean my imperfect hand. BUT this month I ran out of most of my must haves at the same time. I don’t remember this ever happening to me. It was awful. So, to try to keep from giving my TGILW a heart attack with my low maintenance re-stock, I decided to try a dupe. Cover Girl makes a similar color, grey khaki, in their perfect point plus line. Half the cost and thus far I’m liking it. Although,  I wish the smudge tip wasn’t the lopsided Kid and Play haircut sponge, it’s a little rough of my delicate eye skin.

All in all, even after watching the clips on how to make myself beautiful, I didn’t really change up my routine. I’m more diligent about washing. I pull on my skin less. I tried a few new products and I even attempted the “smokey eye” without looking like a racoon/last nights cheap hooker on the walk home/ over my head AND I successfully applied false eyelashes, just to see if I could. TGILW didn’t even notice.

I’m never going to be the girl with bags full of palettes and brushes and products. I’m probably never going to wear bronzer and blush and 6 different eyeshadows. I let liquid liner best me, and I was totally OK with it. I enjoy my natural-ness.

Sometimes being an adult is knowing when less is more. And that a little mascara and a good moisturizer does wonders for your self esteem.