Wardrobe Malfunctions and Other Fun

I think it's probably time that I go shopping for some new undergarments. I'm not one of those can't-get-enough-of-Victoria's-Secret kind of gals because well, if you're bigger than a size 2 and wear anything other than a 32D, the secret is that you're not going to look good in them.

And besides that, I found a kind of drawers that I loved - a nice string bikini type of underwear - and suddenly, they are nowhere to be found. Next were some nice boy-cut panties that I liked, so that's what I've gone with. But wouldn't you know it? I haven't seen anything similar for eons.

Now that you're up to speed on my choice of underwear...we'll moving right along here.

Point being, I don't think about needing new bras and underwear all that often. It's apparent I do, though. I walked in the front door of work the other day, and boing, there went the front clasp on my bra.

Okay, so it wasn't much of a "boing," but I suddenly became aware the my add-a-cup-size cup was making me appear as though I had boobs below my actual boobs on my ribcage. It appeared that I had a second set of boobs. Yep.

I quickly excused myself to the restroom where I snapped things back into place. It was only a temporary fix because dang if I didn't have the same problem while sitting at my desk.

I asked if we had any duct tape, and the office manager went back to the warehouse to see what she could find. She came back with a huge roll of packing tape. I took it into the bathroom and tried to work some magic.

It was short-lived. I finally got my hands on some duct tape, and I mean to tell you, I taped that clasp up so much that it wasn't going anywhere. It was only slightly embarrassing when the warehouse manager asked me why I needed it, and that he heard something about me having a wardrobe malfunction. I'm pretty sure I blushed when he asked me to explain how one's bra breaks and can be fixed with tape.

When I got home, I had to rip the bra off my body before tossing it into the trash.

My underwear, later that week on Friday, made their appearance in the varsity football team's locker room. No, I wasn't wearing them at the time.

My son is superstitious. He will do, wear and eat the same thing from Thursday morning until the game begins on Friday night under the lights. This meant he needed a particular cut-up t-shirt. It was in a load of laundry I'd taken out of the dryer on Friday morning.

He packed the shirt in his bag, didn't think too much about it, and went on his way to school. When he was changing in the locker room, he pulled out the shirt and there my drawers landed on the locker room floor.

Ugh. That same night I had the honor of going out on the track with all the other parents with their senior football playing sons. Yeah, the sons who'd probably gotten a good look at my delicates.

According to my son, it was my fault. I do the laundry after all, so I should have kept my undies from mingling with his clothes. I bought some dryer sheets with hopes of alleviating this problem in the future. Now if I could just find some undergarments to my liking, I'd be good to go.

Random, Cold Medicine-Fueled Thoughts

1. I was scrounging for something in the cupboard that would make me feel better, or at the least make me not care that I feel as though I spent last night moonlighting as a speed bump on a busy thoroughfare. (We don't necessarily have thoroughfares in IN, but it sounds like I'd be sore if I had laid down on one.)

I found one of these heat packet things. I must have gotten it free in mail ten years ago or more. It was made by Playtex, and designed to stick on the inside of your underwear to combat cramps. I tossed it in the cupboard, mainly thinking should I ever wear granny panties or have female problems as such that I needed a mini-heating pad in my drawers, I might consider using it.

I didn't really think it would still produce heat, but lo and behold, it did. And it felt wonderful on my neck and shoulders. I stuck it on the inside of my sweatshirt, and moved it around enough that it stopped sticking.

"Lasts up to 10 hours..." my ass. Maybe because it was so old, but I did appreciate the heat while it lasted. I wish I knew where the heating pad was because I'd likely wrap my head and neck in it.

2. I looked up from the couch at one point today to see a cat lounging in a hanging potted plant. She didn't seem to mind that I'd just watered it earlier today when I noted the center plant had been obliterated by some force unknown. I'm sure she had something to do with it. She sat up there in the basket, sort of like a baby in that nursery rhyme about the baby and when the bough breaks, the cradle will fall, and down will come baby, cradle and all.

Two times I got up and reprimanded her. She'd wait for me to doze off, and she'd climb back up there. I gave up. Fine, sleep in the damn plant, I don't have the energy to keep getting up. When I don't feel so dizzy and foggy, I shall find a higher location for the bracket it hangs from. Though by the time she's done with it, I imagine I'll be less one houseplant, anyway.

3. I've reached the conclusion that there are always going to be people who disappoint you, let you down, and not live up to your expectations. I used to think it was my fault for having too high of expectations, maybe setting standards too high for any other individual to achieve, which made me an impossible to please, "wouldn't be happy if I were hung with a new rope," sort of bitchy bitch. I thought it was okay to expect absolutely nothing from those in my life because hell, who do I think I am thinking I deserve being treated as though I have feelings and that I'm actually human? If my feelings got hurt, then obviously I should have known better. Expect nothing and then you aren't disappointed when that's exactly what you get. Right?

But more and more, I don't think it's my problem, after all. I mean I don't think expecting kindness, respect, and common courtesy fall into the realm of impossible to meet expectations. Some people will never get "it," and I'm the idiot if I tolerate it or continue to make excuses for what I feel I deserve from them.

"Oh well, she's not good at expressing her appreciation for her friends."
"Oh, he's not good at expressing any emotion, so I shouldn't take it personally."
"I know she didn't mean to make me feel bad. It wasn't premeditated, so it's alright."

I'm also the dumbass for thinking if my thoughts fall on deaf ears that screaming a bit louder is going to make it sink in.

4. When the kids wanted to go to Taco Bell last night, I told them no, that I needed them to stay home. Now, basically, I didn't want a phone call from them that required me to get out of bed and go rescue them for any reason. My oldest said to me, "Why? Do you think you're going to die or something?" when I told him to stick around.

"Do I look like I'm dying?" I asked.

"I don't know. Maybe," the oldest spawn replied. "I think we could make it to Taco Bell and back before it happens, though."

That's my child. Always thinking.

5. There was something else I was going to bring to light, but I don't remember what it was. Which proves I did find something that made me not care that I'm feeling so poorly.

Editted: Oh, I remember now.

6. Yesterday at work, the general operations/warehouse dude gave us all his cell phone number in case we needed to get in touch with him. I was storing it in my cell after that, when I happened to think, hmm, wonder if he has text messaging. So, I asked the other girl, and she said yes.

"Do you think we should mess with him?" I asked. Because honestly, it's painfully slow at work, and we all find ways to provide entertainment during the course of the slow, slow days.

She agreed we should, so I sent him a text.

"Hi =)" I sent.

"Who is this?" he replied.

"I was wondering if you had any 150s."

"Who is this?"

"And parts. I need lots of parts," I replied.

At this point, I heard someone out in the kitchen area using the microwave. He shot me a look into my office, and I did my best to appear innocent.

I walked to the kitchen, just to be sure someone else wasn't in there using the microwave. Nope, it was him. He'd sat down in the manager's office while he was waiting on his food.

"Whatcha cooking?" I sent.

He walked up to my office and asked me if I'd been texting him.

"Now why would I do something like that?" I teased, and then admitted that yes, it was me.

"I was starting to get pissed, but I knew it had to be you when I read the last one about cooking."

I explained we'd toyed with answering "Your secret admirer" or "Your worst nightmare" in response to who it was. I drew the line on sending, "Hey big boy, you look mighty sexy in those Levis." Of course, we did have to read about sexual harrassment in the employee handbook.

"Really," I told him, "it was mild in comparison to what we might have said."

He laughed, shook his head, and gave me one of those "you're such a pain in the ass" kind of looks that I'm accustomed to getting.

Did I mention I really do like my co-workers?

Blog? What Blog?

Yesterday, I arrived home after work around 2:30ish. I went around and tended to some laundry, a general picking up, and slopping the hogs (the dog and cats). I sat down on the couch, and I couldn't figure out why I couldn't get warm. I'd commented several times at work that I was cold. I was assured by both of the girls in the office area that it was not cold, and in fact, they were a bit on the warm side in short sleeves.

I felt particularly pissy and achey, too. I figured I was a little stressed because my shoulders and neck were singing.

I covered up with a blanket after checking the thermostat. It was a balmy 73 in the house. Despite huddling up on the couch, I was still shivering. At 4:30, I crawled into bed in a sweatshirt and jeans, and burrowed under three heavy blankets. Nope, still couldn't get warm.

At 6, the kids got home from football practice. I instructed them to bring me a cup of hot water and a packet of Thera-flu. At 8:30, I was still miserably achey, and I asked for one ibuprofen. By 10, the boogers were still not in bed. I knew this because I heard them arguing in the living room. I beckoned for a couple night-time Aleve. I gave careful consideration to over-medicating myself, but all I wanted was some relief.

I woke up sometime around 3ish, sweating like a whore in church on Sunday. Not only do I look like something the cat dragged in this morning, but I smell like it, too.

I didn't want to have to call into work today, but I did. I don't know who I have to thank for giving me the plague, but here's a big freakin' THANK YOU to the bearer of said germs. I never get sick like this. I might feel a little poorly, but very seldom do I lie in bed if it's not for sleeping at nighttime purposes. Whatever this particular strain of flu is, it's kicked my ass.

My husband thinks it's because I'm not used to working outside the home and keeping up with everything else around here, including football games twice a week. I've managed to get 8 hours of sleep a night. I haven't had any booze to speak of, other than about a third of a bottle of wine over the weekend. I was too tired to stay up and drink more than that.

The jury is still out on this whole working outside the home thing. I like the extra money. I like the idea of serving a purpose outside of these four walls. But, there's always a but....but, it seems like either I'm working or cleaning. Working or doing laundry. Working or stopping at the grocery, so I can get home and repeat it all the next day. I have a great amount of respect for single working women because that's about what I am with my husband gone all week for work.

I suppose I need to try harder to get into a routine, and the difference is that typically, I waited for inspiration to write to strike. I need to train myself to write when I have the time, I suppose.

I'm sure I'll get it figured out eventually, but for now, I'm going to hold down the couch for the remainder of the day, drink plenty of fluids, and take some good meds.