Category Archives: Hilarity

Yoga Pants Ruined My Life

I am not a sweatpants kind of girl. In high school gym class, when I wasn’t skipping to smoke behind the tennis courts, I wore jeans until the teacher yelled at me and threatened to flunk me, and then I wore shorts.  Sweatpants in days of yore were so lame, with their drawstrings and tight, elastic ankles. Gross. Who wants to wear fuzzy jodhoppers? Not me. Also, the word “sweat” is in their name. And we all know that sweating is disgusting. Who wants to sweat in their pants? Not me, that’s for damn sure.

Then I grew up, and discovered that through the magic of yoga I could get some exercise and not get all gross. However, yoga in jeans is not that awesome and I live in Maine so yoga in shorts isn’t preferable either. I was going to have to get some yoga specific work

Yoga pants, invented by the devil.

out gear. So, in the early 2000s, yoga pants and I met for the first time.

I should have known the dangers when a pregnant friend told me she saved money on maternity clothes by wearing her yoga pants all the time. She was well into her 3rd trimester.

It was love at first wear. Stretchy, but not so stretchy I felt like I was one of those leggings wearing ladies. Thick enough to not show my underwear lines or my cellulite, and with a flattering flared leg, yoga pants were a level of comfort previously only known to the sweat pants people.  I started wearing yoga pants all the time. Not just when I was doing yoga. I would wear them to bed, and then just wear them all day. So, yes, I was wearing my pajamas all day. Sometimes I would do yoga in them. Usually not though.  Usually I sat around and dicked around on Myspace and googled things and wrote articles about how hard it is to be a writer. Yeah, pretty much what I do all day now, except now I dick around on Facebook and Twitter.

In 2005, I had Kid, and crossed a self-imposed line with my yoga pants. I wore them out into the world, grocery shopping and stuff. I also usually wore (and still wear,  that’s another post all together) a very long winter coat that hides what’s underneath. The out into the world line was one of those self-imposed restrictions that addicts often make up. You know like, “I don’t have a problem if I don’t drink before noon”. I had crossed that line. But I had an excuse! I had a small child! I didn’t have time for things like changing pants!

I started noticing things about myself, namely, that my regular pants didn’t really fit anymore. But, my yoga pants are the same size! Oh, the miracle of lycra. Since I first bought my yoga pants, you know, to work out in – I have gained about 30 lbs. And no, it’s not from the Kid. I lost all my baby weight pretty fast. This is new, fat ass lazy weight. See, when you wear yoga pants all the time, you lose all perception of how fat your ass is.

I finally realized I had a problem the other day when I was putting away my laundry. I am down to 3 ill-fitting pair of jeans, and about 7 pair of yoga pants.  It’s like a disease. They keep multiplying, and so do my belly rolls. I have since resolved to put my pants on every day. My real pants. Pants with no lycra and proper buttons and zippers and what not.

Yoga pants turned me into a much jigglier version of my former self. Do I blame my sedentary lifestyle, love of beer, and butter? Hell no. I blame the pants.

 

I Wear My Sunglasses at Night, and on Overcast Days, and in the Supermarket.

If you have the luck of seeing me out and about, I am probably wearing sunglasses. Not just any sunglasses but huge, monster sunglasses like those worn by the Olsen Twins or Victoria Beckham. The other day, as I sat waiting for Kid to get out of school, I noticed some of the other parents in the lobby looking at me curiously (or not, I’m paranoid, but I BELIEVE they were looking at me  curiously, and that’s all that matters right?). Then I realized they probably thought it was really bizarre I was wearing huge dark glasses at 3:00 in the afternoon (which up here in the tundra is dusk) on an overcast day. I figured they probably think I’m high. Or maybe have a black eye. Or maybe I’m high AND I have a black eye.

Clearly Phrenology Fred doesn't get out much either. I had to hold the glasses up because his ears are flat and slippery.

Alas, I am not high, and luckily I do not have a black eye. I wear dark glasses all the time for two reasons: One, I am extremely light sensitive. Like vampires, I cannot bear the light of day. If I go out without my glasses I get massive headaches and my eyes water uncontrollably.  The eye watering thing happens all the time anyway, which is why I always have mascara smeared all over my face. I’m not trying to look like Tammy Faye Baker on purpose.  Two, I have the world’s worst dark circles under my eyes. No no, I do. Yours are nothing. Mine are worse. Trust me. I have been wearing under eye concealer since…5th grade. Why? Because if you have dark dark circles under your eyes, you constantly hear, “Wow, you look really tired.” or “Wow, are you sick” which translates to “Wow, you look like shit.” Anyhow, I wear huge dark glasses to cover them up, so I don’t have to deal with people commenting on them, and they do. Please don’t email me a million solutions. I know I could get my face bleached. I know it might be allergies, but honestly, it’s hereditary. Ask my mother, or more conveniently: Hey Ma, tell them about our eye bags in the  comments! Thanks.

I’ve encountered people at the  grocery store who have come right out and asked me, “Why are you wearing your sunglasses? Are you afraid someone will see you here?” Yes. I’m scared of the paparazzi. I simply cannot allow photos of me buying tampons to be snapped and published in People. Um, no. Grocery stores are really really bright. They give me headaches. They make my eyes water. This might also be from anxiety, which I experience a fair amount of, but mainly, it’s the brightness.

I have no excuses for the rest of my wardrobe though.

Do You Kiss Your Mother With That Mouth?

*Since this post contains actual dialogue between my mother and I, it contains about 200% more swearing than usual. You’ve been warned.*

I swear a lot. For awhile, when Kid was little, I tried really hard to stop. I know I know, “there is no try, only do.” But, I just can’t stop. I’ve just accepted it, taught Kid that I use terrible Mommy words and am very naughty for doing so, and then give her quarters when I swear. Oh also, she makes me say this, “I’m very sorry I used the word X, it’s inappropriate and I’m sorry if it hurt your feelings.” I usually have to say this to my mom at least 4 times in the course of a phone call.

Mom and Me, May 1978. Aren't we cute?

Anyhow, since my mom has found my blog, and figured out comments, I figured I better get this Klog out of the cooker before she spoils it 😉 I have actually had people ask me, “Do you kiss your Mother with that mouth?” Well, the answer is yes, and no. No, because my mother has a strict no touching policy (yeah that’s probably a blog post some other time). Yes, because my mother also swears like a pirate. To better illustrate the linguistic stylings of my mom and I, here, for your enjoyment, is a reenactment of an actual conversation I had with my mom the other day. (For you crazy mommy trolls, no Kid was not in the car.)

Me: Did I tell you what happened to me at the fucking grocery store the other day?

Mom: Hannaford?

Me: Yup.

Mom: I fucking hate Hannaford.

Me: Me too. So anyway, I had to get some chicken, which I hate buying there because their meat is fucking gross and I’ve had to return it like 100 times, but I was busy.

Mom: No shit.

Me: Anyway, I had one of those fucking carts with a plastic car for kids to sit in attached at one end, like a mac truck.

Mom: I fucking hate those.

Me: Me too! So, I had to put my shopping bags on the bottom underneath the cart, and the fucking chicken leaked and got all over my fucking bags.

Mom: That’s fucking gross! What did you do?

Me: Welll, I put it on the counter and told the cashier, who was like 12, that it leaked and she goes, “Oh, do you want me to put it in a plastic bag?” And I was like, “No fucking way! I want you to throw it away. Also, I have chicken juice all over my hands.”

Mom: SALMONELLA

Me: I know right? Oh and I forgot to tell you, Mrs. X and Mrs. Y (two ladies who were the bane of our existences while I was in school) were in the next lane, and I had all these people backing up behind me and it was a huge scene.

Mom: Hahahahahhahaha! Only at fucking Hannaford!

Me: So, I say to the girl, “Hey I have chicken juice all over my hands, I need to clean them off before I can unload my groceries.” Guess what she does?

Mom: Gives you a fucking squirt of Purell?

Me: Oh, I wish. She hands me a fucking roll of paper towels and some fucking windex.

Mom: No.

Me: Yes. I shit you not. I squirted half a gallon of windex on my hands and then used her super crappy paper towels, you know the ones that are only one step above cardboard? My hands are still all dry and fucked up, like two days later.

Mom: What did you do with your  bags?

Me: I put them in a plastic  bag. They’re in my trunk. Do you think I should wash them?

Mom: No, throw that shit away. They are fucking covered with Salmonella.

Annnnd Scene.

As you can see, my mom is fucking awesome. You kids be nice to her in the comments.

Ok, alll new

So, I have a Facebook account that  I regularly post stuff to, and a number of people have told me they really like the links and witty banter that I include. Basically, it’s because I’m awesome. Anyway I’ve decided to put all my cool stuff here and then through the dark magics of the internet also get it to load onto FB. The world should not be deprived of my hilarity.