I swear, my dogs’ mission in life is to turn our house upside down on the exact day our cleaning lady comes. I’m hesitant to say that dogs are geniuses, but guys-my dogs are.

Geniuses.

Yep. I’m not lying. Okay maybe a little. Boz is, quite honestly, mentally challenged (seriously- I’m not kidding. The guy’s play mechanism is kaput. We’ll throw a ball his way and he just stands there, cocks his head and looks at me as if I’m a complete moron- as if to say, “Why in the crap are you throwing stuff at me, you idiot?” We try to play with stuffed animals and he runs away as if a rabid hyena is the hand behind the stuffed animal and is surely reeling him in to EAT LITTLE BOZZY’S TAIL- OH MY! See what I’m saying?) Poor Boz, he’s broken but we love him anyway. Boz is kind of like Spongebob’s sidekick Patrick, or any other not-so-smart sidekick in history. Lucy is the brains of the operation, and he’s the one that follows behind and does whatever she says.

However, when it comes to tearing up the house- he’s a genius. Just like Lucy-Goosey.

It’s as if they conspire all day long, and each hour passes that I’m not home is another hour they stew and scheme and make fun of what I wore that day.

“Ahahaha, Boz, can you believe she went out of the house donning ( yes, Lucy even says fancy words like donning) those dangle-y earrings with that shirt? Uh- it’s a bit much if you ask me. I feel sorry for those pants too! I think she exaggerated a bit with the weight she gained on vacation WHILE WE WERE STUCK IN Q-8 YOU SORRY PIECE OF CRAP EXCUSE FOR A MOTHER!”

Boz is all, “Duuuhh yeah!” and then erupts into that terrible Patrick-like laugh.

After they make fun of my attire, they continue to pace and growl and be the vicious dogs maltese are known to be:

“How could she leave us locked up in this spare bathroom all day, Boz?”

“Duuh- we’re in a bathroom?”

“She must pay! She must suffer! Boz we have to revolt! Revolt I say! Do you have the number to the NAACP?”

“?”

“Do I have to do everything myself!? Geez!”

“Crap, Boz. I’m too small to reach the phonebook. We’ve gotta do something- we just gotta! This is a human rights violation, Boz, and I won’t stand for it!”

“Guuh- I thought we were dogs.”

“Oh nevermind! Think Boz, Think.”

“…”

“Okay- I guess this is on me,” Lucy says.

“I know! We’ll drive her crazy with our stinkiness!”

“Duuh. I like being stinky. Stinky is fun!”

“Yeah- stinky IS fun, Boz!

We’ll make her go crazy by peeing and pooping on the

Same

Exact

‘Random’

Spot

Every.

Single.

Day.

Brilliant!”

“Duuuh. That’s smart, Lucy. I like poop. Poop is fun. Especially to eat. Yum.”

I’m positive this is how their conversation goes. They’re slowly killing me, guys. They’re wearing me down one piece of crap at a time.

For some really strange reason they have decided that the open space in our dining room is where their new bathroom will be. Multiple times each day I find an array of feces and urine,

And it’s driving me crazy.

I can’t catch them in the act to scold them, but when I do… it could be bad guys.

I was seriously at my wit’s end the other day. I get so excited when my cleaning fairy comes to my house. It’s the highlight of my work week. However, because Boz and Lucy are conspiring against me, they know this and want to make sure my happiness disappears like a 50% off pair of black Limited trousers.

Lately it seems as soon as I get home and let them out of their room, the revolt begins. Guys- they are so naughty. I’m pretty sure I cuss 32 times and vow never to have children each day this revolt occurs.

To make matters worse, they are so cute on the nights they totally piss me off. It’s like they try to counter the attack with their cuteness. It’s painful guys.

(That’s all apart of their plan, you know.)

I would clean up one mess, and then another would follow, and then another, and another until I really started to wonder what in the world they were eating to produce so much crap! I was so grouchy and poor Will had to deal with my constant, “No! No! That’s naughty!” yells on top of a bad headache.

My house was perfect- it was the “fake house” that no one ever has in real life. However, it was quickly destroyed by Boz and Lucy’s evil plan. Why!? Why must they hate me so much? They know I love cleaning day.

So, I finally calmed down and their bodily fluids finally dried up, and all was well in the WB house once again. They continue to combat me with their crap, but this time I’m better prepared and ready to take them on.

I just wish I could be a fly on the wall. I have this really funny feeling that Lucy has sketches drawn out all over their room marking “X” where Boz needs to pee, and as soon as they hear the key hit the door they quickly transform the room back into its normal state- rotating walls, tearing down maps, and erasing tasteless caricatures of me that were drawn on the floor.

Sneaky geniuses, I tell you.

I’m watching you pups- be careful. Very careful.

(I want to let you guys know I’m just kidding about Boz- sort of. He’s not the brightest bulb in the box, but he sure is the sweetest. I’ve never seen a more loving dog. He wants nothing more than to be held and loved. He’s such a sweet boy and is a great lap dog. Don’t think I don’t love him, you crazies, I certainly do.)

I feel as though I should premise this post by saying if you’e busy today you probably should get back to what you’re doing because I’m pretty sure this post is going to be about, um, not much.

Having said that-and now that all the busy people are back on their merry way doing whatever it is they do- let’s have fun!
...

Although, we probably shouldn’t have too much fun since I just told all the busy people to get back to doing whatever it is that they do…

Can you keep a secret?

Me too.

We won’t tell the busy people that we’re going to be having SO MUCH BLOG FUN today, okay? That might make them feel bad.

And unproductive.

Anyhow- want to know another secret?

Okay- so I have this really talkative person working with me. I don’t mean- drones to you for 15 minutes about how their feet sweat really bad in dress shoes and that’s why they always wear tennis shoes.

I would welcome such chatter.

I mean talks to you

all

the

freaking

live

long

day

to the point where you (ie: ME)- the nicest person in the world- really seriously contemplates what would be more beneficial: shoving a stake in my right ear so I wouldn’t have to hear this person talk anymore (they never seem to talk to my left side...weird) OR shoving a stake through their vocal chords so the would be rendered speechless.

I’m pretty sure both would warrant jail time

or worse!

I might be suspended from my job (ahahahahaha… worse. that’s hilarious)!

Actually, the way things go around here there’s a good chance I’d be promoted.

“Brittny?”

“Yes Boss?”

“We’d like to promote you!”

“Really!? Wowie! I knew all my diligent work and long hours to the point of not recognizing my husband would finally pay off!”

“Diligent work and long hours? Uh, er, yeah. That’s it. Actually, we were really impressed with the stake through the throat trick and were hoping you could come to our next board meeting and get all Buffy the Vampire Slayer on us.”

I’m pretty sure that’s how the conversation would go.

My first day back in the office I decided that from now on I was going to be positive about my job, darn it.

5 minutes later I decided I was an idiot and should just go into survival mode.

I think The Talker might have been what put me over the edge.

But enough about mindless talk (don’t you hate when people go on an on about absolutely nothing!).

I am so mad at my keyboard, guys! Since I’ve come back it sticks all the time and I have no idea why! I’ll be typing and all of a sudden will be in CAPs for no reason, or I’ll have a string of sssssssssssssssssssss because it got stuck.

One of my coworkers was all, “Huh. That’s weird. It’s like someone spilled soda on it.”

Random. I now know why it takes me an hour to type THREE FREAKING SENTENCES!

Another coworker chimes in, “No one has touched it when you were gone.”

Uh, I’m pretty sure that’s a lie because Ms. 7-Up over there just sold you all down the river.

This keyboard situation also contributes to my lack of patience with The Talker.

Or vice versa, I haven’t made a decision.

Alright, moving on…

Want to know another secret (wow- I had no idea this post was going to be full of so many confessions!)? I was randomly on adoption.com today.

Why?

Why was I doing that?

I have absolutely no idea!

You all know I have no desire to mother children (at least for another 5 years and even then I’m not sold). Why would I do something so crazy?

I don’t know.

Ah- I remember.

It’s because on my internet’s homepage it talked about finding “free” money and somewhere in the article it talked about help for adopting parents or something like that. So- being curious- I googled the cost for adopting a chid.

See- my reasons are totally transparent and justifiable. I’m still holding strong.

If there are any comments about this venture I will fly to America, come to your house, and go Buffy the Vampire Slayer on you. I got promoted for that, you know.

Let’s see, what other pieces of useless information about my day can I tell you…

Not much. I’m having a near anxiety attack about possibly standing up for myself on a certain issue. Every time I get ready to hit send on the email, I chicken out and find an excuse not to send it. I started writing it Monday and here it is, almost Thursday and it still hasn’t gone forward. I’m such a wuss.

I need to go blow in a paper bag now. Just thinking about it gets me all sick feeling like I’m sitting outside the principal’s office and have no idea why, but know it can’t be good.

Hey- we said this was going to be a fun post! What the crap am I doing talking about gasping into a paper bag? There’s no fun in that.

Moving on-

There’s just not a whole lot worth reporting today, ladies and gentlemen (hmm, are there any guys that actually read? I don’t think so, but to be safe I must encompass all, right? I guess while I’m at it I ought to address animals, plants, the elements, and well, anything else). It rained today (see post below) and it made me incredibly happy. It’s been so long since I’ve seen Kuwait wet. I literally feel like shouting aloud the 2 whole days it rains here.

Alright, I’m starting to ramble and just when we thought this post couldn’t get any more boring- it did! I fear I did not hold up my end of the bargain when I promised SO MUCH BLOG FUN! Ha ha, oh well.

I’m off for now. Have a wonderful day!

<3

Hello Friends!

Happy New Year Friends! Are you ready to ring in 2008? I can’t believe 2008 is here. Craziness!

I’m typing from Phoenix! We got here bright and early this morning. As I had hoped, we flew in with a few other Sooners, so that was fun. Don’t worry, we didn’t get out of control. There was no Boomer Sooner chanting from across the plane. We all were very well behaved.

Thus far our first day in Phoenix has been quite an adventure.

You know, when I think of vacation I think of fun, relaxation, excitement-

not pink eye.

Yep, Will has pink eye.

Can I first just say- Ew!?

Yes, Ew. Does that make me a terrible wife? Sorry. But seriously- Ew.

Just think of a puss-caked eye glued shut, juicy, and flaming hot pink. Yeah- you’re feeling me now on the “ew” aren’t you?

Poor guy. It’s like he’s constantly winking at me, only instead of it being all cute and flirty, it’s more like a huge gigantic swollen shut cornflake staring right at you in the winking position.

Agh! Now EVERYONE is saying Ew, right? Sorry- I just wanted you guys to share in all my disgusting “fun.”

Yesterday Will felt it coming on, but we were in Texas with Dr. Vet and weren’t able to get to a pharmacy. Plus, this morning at 4:00 when we were trying to get packed and rush to the airport wasn’t exactly the opportune time either. So- poor Will met the TSA airport guys with a big mushy cake eye.

Ew.

Boomer Sooner.

I guess.

Anyway, so our first few hours were a BLAST! Let me tell you. There’s no better way to learn about the city in which you’re staying like visiting their AM-PM/Emergency Care Clinic.

Loads of fun I tell you- loads of fun.

Those are two hours of our lives we’ll never get back. How sad.

We started off hoping that, as in Kuwait, we’d be able to stop by a pharmacy and get something that would get rid of this crap. We were mistaken. Why? Why would we think America would be about conveniences? There’s only a fast food restaurant on every

single

corner

in this country,

and everything is “quick and easy” on every commercial you see. Was it too much to ask for a simple infection killing eye drop?

Yes.

So, our dreams of a quick trip to Walgreens for aid were dashed.

On to the fun: the Emergency Care Clinic.

Thank God I’ve gotten a hepatitis shot.

That’s really all I can say.

Okay, I’m fibbing. There’s more to say. Guys, it was scary!

And smelly…

Unidentified wet stuff on the floor…

And full of deep, throaty, mucous-y coughs.

ALL OVER ME!

Seriously, if we were healthy before we came, we left there with something.

“We’re going to have to boil our clothes!” I told Will.

Yeah, yeah, I know- hospitals are full of sick people. I guess it was just quite a shock to sit in the AM-PM clinic my first day in Phoenix. Plus the stuff on the floor put me a bit overt the edge. What was it? No one knows.

What an adventure!

So, we sat, and we sat, and we made friends, and we watched terrible daytime TV. We sat there for 2 hours and Will was finally called. He was with the doctor for less than 5 minutes.

Hmm, wait for 2 hours, done in 5 minutes… something seems odd....

To cure us of the pink eye horror and frightening clinic we opted to celebrate our pink eye prescribed drops with a Cheesy Gordita Crunch!

Those may be the one thing that would bring me home for good. Thank goodness they’re only limited time things.

So, it’s been quite a day. I think with all of this afternoon’s fun, we’re going to let that be our fill of excitement for new year’s eve. We ordered a pizza and are going to stay in.

Read: Old Married Boring Couple.

Oh well, that’s us. We’ve accepted it!

I hope you all have a wonderful new years! I look forward to reading about it.

Update on my previous post to come sometime. For now I’m resolved to try my best not to worry about things I can’t control and just trust God.

Thanks for all your sweet comments lately. For the umptheenth time- when my in-laws go back to normal hours in January I look forward to catching up soon.

Happy New Year! More to come.

Boomer Sooner!

Okay, so let me first begin this post with a big fat I’M SORRY.

I’m sorry.

I really suck.

I will probably not be posting any feedback for the next few weeks. My computer time is beyond “extremely limited” right now. I know, I know, I’m missing the MOST WONDERFUL TIME OF THE YEAR in everyone’s lives and all that crap… yeah, yeah, I know. I’m sorry guys. :(

Okay- now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, let’s get started.

I seriously feel like I’m typing next to a ticking stink bomb that is going to go off in all its funky glory if I don’t complete my computer time in 24.5 minutes or less. I’d elaborate, but again- we can’t have the stink bomb go off so let’s just get on with the post.

So because of time I thought I’d just combine a few series of short posts into one bigger post. Alas- (seriously, it’s about time, right!?!) my post.

Heh Heh
I’ve got Will totally convinced that the terrible smell filling his car two nights ago was from it sitting in storage for a year and the air vents not being used. Friends, I don’t think I need to tell the truth on this one. I’m sure you already know.

A Night With the Devil’s Kitten
Yeah you read that right. Will and I spent the night with Satan’s cat a couple nights ago.

I’ll come right out and say it (you can trash me later)- Will and I aren’t the biggest cat people. Especially Will. (Exepct for Toby, Ann. I love Toby. I think Will would too<3).

There.

I said it.

Hate me later.

Mine comes from a couple bad cat experiences, Will's?… I'm not so sure.

Anyway, Will's brother Dr. Vet (<- this is where I'm supposed to insert a link so you know what I'm talking about. Instead I'll just do a crash course- Dr. Vet is Will's veternarian brother. Wow- what a creative name) has a cat to keep him company.

Ooh! Cool side story! My friend retired blogger Sarah takes her doggies to the same vet clinic where Dr. Vet works and didn’t even know it! HOW FREAKING AMAZING.

We stayed with Dr. Vet and the devil cat our first night after Minneapolis.

Guys, the thing truly is borderline, “bring into the clinic for observation.” Perhaps that’s why Dr. Vet likes it so much.

Bogey likes to sleep all day and play all night.  Sort of a Jykell (sp!?!) and Hyde sort of thing. Lucky us.

We slept out on the pull out couch that night and boy did old Bogey have a ball with us. We kept hearing it run up and down the back of the couch and pounce.

Run, Run, Run, Fly, Pounce!

That’s sort of how it went. It would sit on the arm of the couch as we were sleeping and just stare at Will and then run over us onto the other side of the couch and then stare at me. Creepy. To be honest, I slept through most of it, but Will was totally annoyed. Apparently at some point during the stare contest Bogey licked Will’s nose (ha ha), and as Will went to grab him, Bogey straight up slapped Will in the face (HA HA) I woke up at some point from Will flailing trying to catch Bogey and asked him what he was doing.

He looked at me like a soldier on a mission and was all, “I’ve been protecting you all night!”

What a dork. He even had a water gun handy to defend my honor.

(I’m totally shaking my head right now)

You Gotta Watch Out For This One
I totally wish I could post this on it’s own. Oh well…

I can’t be sure, but I think my MIL totally let one last night! Not just a little womanly fluff, but a full blown honker of a fart. One that made me think she ought to check her pants!

We were in Tulsa last night with Will’s grandpa. We had just eaten a big meal and were sitting in the living room. All of a sudden my MIL adjusts her seat and lets out a seriously loud sound! At first I thought it was like pants rubbing against the leather chair, but then I realized I was on the leather chair, not her! She had to have let one! She even said excuse me! I was so shocked because I was just certain it was not a bodily noise but instead leather, shoes scraping together- something, anything but that!

Surely not, right? Surely someone as quiet and gentle as my MIL would never do such a thing right? I don’t know… I guess I’m going to have to watch out for this one…

Cheese-Freaking-Cake Factory
Again, I wish I had more time. This is going to sound dumb and probably won’t make any sense at all, but I need to vent. As you remember from the Cheesecake Factory tiff earlier this week, any and all in-law venting must be via blog.

I totally had an uncomfortable moment today with the family. Yet again the Cheesecake Factory has brought trouble upon the WB family!

Will wanted to take me there since it had recently opened in the Tulsa area, plus his parents have never gone so we wanted them to go too.

Well for some reason it sort of turned into, “Well Brittny wants to go,” sort of thing as though everyone was inconvienced. I got the feeling they didn’t want to go. No big deal.

Okay- so first of all I never ever said I wanted to go. Will had told me a long time ago (after his September trip back home) he told his parents he wanted us to go while we were in Tulsa. I never up and said, “Hey gang! Let’s go to the Cheesecake Factory!”

I think since they knew it was a place I really liked they sort of turned it into a “Well, Brittny” sort of thing. This morning I told my MIL I didn’t think we ought to go because I knew Will’s grandpa wouldn’t go along because of his health. I said we ought to stay and do something at the house.

Period.

EOD (End of Discussion)… or so I thought.

Anyway, my MIL kept pestering me about it, “Are you sure? I know how much you FREAKING love it and want to make out with everything on the menu!” <- uh, okay, she really didn't say that, but you get my drift.

She just went on and on and then they started calling family saying, "Well, Brittny changed her mind...” blah blah blah. I was so annoyed. It totally became this huge thing, “Are you sure you’ll be okay if we don’t go?

We should go…

Are you sure it’s okay if we don’t?

Maybe we should go…

Well- if we don’t go, what are we going to do?...”

I was going insane! I’m fairly reserved and don’t like to get firm with people most of the time, but finally I was like, “Okay, I’m being really serious- I really don’t want to go. It’s seriously no big deal. We just need to let it go.” Will was annoyed too. I don’t know why things have to become such a big deal sometimes. It was totally solved this morning, but it couldn’t be left alone.

Anyway, we ended up not going (Thank God. I think it would have ruined it for me to have to go after the whole elaborate morning we had about the whole thing).

Okay- so I re-read that whole story, and wow! It makes absolutley no sense at all!

Oh well, I feel better for venting.

So here we are, back home. Finally. We’ve been on the road ever since we left Kuwait. More driving will be coming very soon, but I’ll try to enjoy tomorrow at home. I’m so thankful to be home with my family (despite my venting). I’m so blessed. The Lord has given me so much to be thankful for. I have so much more I want to tell you guys! :( Oh well. I hope you have a great Christmas. I can’t wait to read all about it! Check in with you guys soon!

My mom had surgery this weekend and was upgraded to beautiful hospital suite, nicer than most hotels! My dad is a soft spoken man and never ever gives me a hard time about children. In fact, I never knew he wanted a freaking grandkid. So I was quite surprised to hear the very first thing that came out of his mouth when he went to visit my mom.

It wasn’t, “Hi sweetie, how are you feeling?

Or, “How did the surgery go? Do you need help walking to the bathroom?”

Instead it was:

“Wow, this is a nice hospital suite! I bet Britt would want to have a kid if she saw this room!”

I work with a lot of old people.

A lot of old Southern people.

Being from Oklahoma, I’m fairly accustomed to quirky sayings to explain things, but lately it seems as though I’m surrounded in the things!

I’ve been keeping list of every single one I hear. I thought I’d share a few with you guys today. Who in the world came up with these things anway!?!

This issue has become our long pole in the tent.
Don’t you want a long pole in your tent? Doesn’t it support the entire structure? I don’t know about you- but give me a long pole!

You’re really holding our feet to the fire on this one!
What psycho came up with this saying? I mean sure, I get the point, but all I envision are large pairs of hairy toed funkified feet next to a blazing fire.

Uh- Ew.

Please, for all our sake, we really don’t want to hold your feet to the fire on this issue.

We concede.

I don’t get a warm fuzzy from him.
Warm fuzzy? What about Hot Hairy?

Or Luke Furry?

Those sound stupid, so why is “warm fuzzy” acceptable?

If you can think of a better way to eat this apple, please let me know.
I can’t. I’ve never been good with thinking outside the box when it comes to eating apples. Perhaps I could peel it the way Meg Ryan does in Sleepless in Seattle? I have no idea…

It started to rain to beat the devil!
Um, sorry to burst your bubble, but the devil is not the Wicked Witch of the West. Upon seeing rain, he doesn’t melt into a smoky gooey green pool of witch while cackling, “I’m meeelting AaaaaHHHHHHHHH!” as crazy little vest-wearing flying monkeys stand by in wonder.

He sounded like death eating a cracker!
What? What the crap does this mean?

Does the dark angel of death sit around choking down stale saltines?

Did someone have a near death experience choking on a cracker and everyone sitting at the table around the poor guy totally laughed at him after he regained consciousness and was like, “Dude! When you were choking, you sounded like DEATH eating a cracker!” <- insert Beavis laugh. 

I don’t get it. Very random.

I’m like a dog chasing after my own tail!
Please, I beg you, show me what you mean. In fact, I would pay to watch you chase your own tail. In fact, I’m laughing at you right now!

Now it’s your turn- give me some funny sayings.

We’re inching closer and closer to vacation.

Sure, I’m counting the days and elated at the thought of being in the states for a month. However, in the back of my mind I’ve already begun to think about the looming “crisis” on my hands. Curious about what I’m talking about? Let me refresh your memory.

I’m going to be living with my in-laws for the next month.

Things never seem to go very well during this time. Something inevitably always goes wrong or there’s something awkward that occurs.

Such as bad mouthing my brother-in-law’s girlfriend in front of the whole family and then having to suffer through sleeping with my MIL the same night.

or plugging up the toilet (again) and having to use my brother-in-law’s silver nail file to salvage the toilet (and my dignity).

or maybe it was last year when my father-in-law saw me in my bra!

Too many things to choose from. All I know is that with my string of bad luck, something awkward and embarrassing is bound to happen living in the small confines of bedroom with four gigantic suitcases, two twenty-somethings set in our ways and out to relax and enjoy vacation, and two fifty-somethings just waiting for their oddball daughter-in-law to screw up.

Ahh, vacation. It’s the most wonderful time of the year. 

I’ve never really been into potions and creams. I mean, call me a skeptic, but anything that tells me if I rub this magic serum on my face for only 46 weeks (and $745.00) I’ll look like Jessica Simpson (pre-divorce) has me a little wary.

However, as a Mary Kay lady, I’m a big advocate of trying all the new (amazing, wonderful, life-altering, YOU MUST BUY FROM ME NOW) products we’re coming out with so I’m familiar with how they work.

That means sometimes trying some of those serums that promise big results fast.

Want to know what I’m trying right now?

The MK Timewise Cellu-Shape Contouring System (yeah- try saying that fast 3 times in a row).

okay, okay, before you stop reading in fear that I’m trying to pressure you into buying something- I’m not. I <3 MK, but this post isn't about me trying to get into your pockets (hee hee).

(hmm, okay, it is a little- but I promise it's not intentional and this post has a point)

Where were we?

I'm on week two and so far so good. Now, obviously the stuff doesn't get rid of the fat, but it does help smooth out the bumps.

I'm greatly appreciative.

I think I was born with cellulite.

Seriously. I have memories from 20 years ago of people nailing extra shingles to their roof every time I came around because:

"I can't put my finger on it- but I've got a funny feeling a hail storm is coming."

I could barely crawl at this point or gurgle a meaningful sound. I'm telling you- all my life.

So, hey what have I got to lose, right? Prove me wrong, I figured.

I gotta first say that I just love the stuff because the nighttime solution is so darn fun. It's this super awesome pink gel. I'm always tempted to squeeze the entire bottle out in one sitting just because it looks so cool.

The results, however, haven't been nearly as cool as the pink gel.

Ladies, I'm sad to say that I think the cool pink gel has made me fatter.

Yep, that's right.

It's the gel, I tell you.

Sure, my legs look great and they're smooth and cellulite free, but guys- the fat has been displaced to my stomach and face.

It's terrifying. I went to button a pair of pants I can normally wear just fine (with a few deep breaths before SQUEEZE and button, of course), and you know what? I couldn't button them!

The only rational answer to my pants not being able to button is clearly the pink lotion potion!

Sure, the entire weekend I ate as if I were training for the World Famous Eat-a-Thon in Grand Rapids next year, and my most strenuous form of exercise this week has been picking up crap left by Boz and Lucy, but I'm confident this has nothing to do with the buttoning troubles.

Nothing at all.

I think I must have been applying the gel incorrectly. Too much? Not enough? Too much patting? Not enough patting?

I think I somehow rubbed the leg cellulite into my stomach, neck, and cheeks!

Blasted "upward strokes!!"

The box said 7 out of 10 women lost 1/2 an inch in their trouble spots, but they failed to mention that they GAINED 10 pounds in every other limb of their body!

I've been pinching and poking and standing in the mirror assessing the neck fat and asking Will if he thinks it's possible for lotion to "swoosh" fat from one area of your body to another.

He says I'm weird.

I think he's bought into the commercialism and their lies.

He can't be brought back, now.

Sigh…

So now I have stick legs, gigantor cheeks, and a beach ball for a stomach.

Instead of jiggle-ish legs, I've got jiggle-ih cheeks. My nose jiggles, guys. That’s not humanly possible! Also, the other day I sneezed and I swear pink gel shot out of my nose.

So, as you can see, I’ve got quite a problem on my hands.

Again- this has NOTHING to do with my weekend eating.

Period.

Uh, PS- this probably isn’t the right time to bring this up, but why don’t you order some MK? I think we both know where my fat has originated.

I’ve truly seen it all…

I can only hope she’s not sleeping around with the Roquefort.

The picture is a little fuzzy, so in case you can’t read it, it says “TTC Pizza Top Block.” For those of you who aren’t nesties, TTC= Trying To Conceive.

As a Bonus Picture, I’m throwing this in for free. This, ladies and gentlemen, is why we drink bottled water:

This came straight out of the tap. Yuck!

Have a good weekend! <3

There’s nothing that reminds you of your fatness like jean shopping.

Seriously.

I would HANDS DOWN rather go swimsuit shopping instead of jean shopping. I mean, at least when you’re buying a swim suit you know what to expect. You know you’re going to leave the store in a pissed off mood because the suit you picked out single handedly made you gain 20 pounds in one split instant. ( I love blaming stuff on clothes)

You know that your entire body will be exposed in that horrifying fluorescent light that shows every single body blemish ever. “Heeeey! I didn’t know I had a scar there!” or “Hmm, that freckle looks like Rudy Giuliani!”

You go into the situation knowing that.

Jean shopping, however, is a different story. You’re fully covered! Nothing is exposed (well, unless you try on the ultra low rise jeans and you’ve got not only the muffin top thing going on, but ALSO the half moon as well. We’ll get to that later though), yet you still leave in a terrible mood.

Explain to me how something that covers your entire body can make you so angry!?!

I hate jeans shopping.

I would rather be just about anywhere than in a dressing room trying on 40 pairs of jeans praying that maybe, just maybe one will fit- or that jeans will become extinct. I pray that too sometimes.

I become slightly holier during jean shopping. You know that whole pray without ceasing verse? Yep, I’m all over that one.

You see, jeans provide you with no “give.” You are what you are in a pair of jeans. No stretching, no “easing into them.” What they look like in the store is how they’re going to be forever, or even worse after the dryer shrinks them. Sure, eventually they start to fit a little looser- but that assumes you have the time to do 25 squats and 2 sets of 12 lunges every time you wear them! Not to mention the fact that it’s totally unacceptable to do these forms of exercise in a dressing room. Trust me, I’ve tried.

You are what you are in a pair of jeans.

Not only that, but my body is all weird. Apparently I’ve unknowingly agreed to house a school of children in various areas of my body-mostly below the waist region- and this often causes complications with trying on jeans.

Trying on anything, really.

Stuff fits in the legs and then

breathe in!

squeeze!

hop!

PRAY!

That’s what happens as I approach my hip region. Ladies, I have a normal body below the knees and above the waist, but somehow in between those two areas I think God accidentally paired me with someone that was meant to be larger. So- I’m convinced there’s a rather large lady walking around the world somewhere that has a tiny butt and cute little round hips, totally confused about her odd proportioning too. Have you seen her??

So, in short, my jeans get stuck around my hips and I have to really concentrate to get them to “slide” on. This often requires large amounts of sweat, prayer, and Shea butter. Let’s also not forget The Pants Dance. This dance is a must in all jean outings. Seriously? You need to go read that post and come back here. It really sums up what it’s like to to try on jeans. I totally made myself laugh too. I’m such a nerd.

Hmm, where would I rather be than jean shopping you might ask?

*The Gynecologist- check

* Cardio Boot Camp- check

*At a John Wayne Movie Marathon- check

That’s right, I’d rather be at all of those places compared to looking for the perfect pair of jeans.

So, because of my immense hatred for jeans shopping, I basically have to be dragged to the store, and since Will isn’t a big shopper I’m never really in a MUST BUY JEANS situation.

Until this past weekend.

Will actually forced me to go jean shopping (brave man). I don’t think he realized what a big scary grumpy mess I turn into, or else he would have brought in serious back-up.

Lucky Brand was having a buy one get one pair free sale at one of the malls here. I gotta admit- that’s a pretty good deal. That’s the only brand of jeans Will has worn since I’ve known him, so he wanted to go ahead and take advantage of the sale.

For some reason he convinced me to do the same.

I think we must have had this conversation in between sleep and consciousness, because that’s the only way I would have agreed.

Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve been jean shopping people!?

AGES.

YEARS.

LITERALLY!

The last pair of jeans I bought was back in the late spring of 2005, right before coming to Kuwait. Will and I bought a pair from The Buckle from my Stillwater buddy Megan (Hi Megan! I’m glad you sold me those jeans. They’re the only freaking pair I wear ALMOST THREE YEARS LATER. Hello patheticness! Don’t disown me okay?).

I got a pair of Big Star jeans. Do they even make those anymore?

It took me a good 30 minutes to get over the “big” star name. What- were they calling me fat? Why BIG star? How come not little star or shiny star? Was Big Star the brand the chubby girls had to buy? Were there Skinny Star and Medium Star jeans too?

After that breakdown, I finally bought the freaking things- and have worn them ever since.

I bought a pair from NY & Co. last year but I totally don’t count them because:

1. They were on sale and I just grabbed them and barely tried them on- which does NOT count as jean shopping.
2. I never wear them because they were on sale and I just grabbed them and barely tried them on- and they’re huge.

So- 2005 Big Star Jeans it is. Besides, I hardly wear jeans anyway. I can’t wear them at work and it’s a THOUSAND AND FOUR freaking degrees here in the summer, so jeans are the last thing I want to wear 7 months out of the year.

Riiight, Brittny. Keep telling yourself that.

So, that’s my jean history.

Jeans are one of those crucial items in a wardrobe. They’re a big commitment. They are a major part of the “collection,“ which is yet another reason I’ve stuck with the trusty 2005 pair for so long. Plus, why would I willingly torture myself by jean shopping? I’ve already established how much I hate it.

Saturday Will and I broke my 2 year non-shopping jean streak and went to Lucky for their sale.

First of all- what in the freaking CRAP was I thinking?

We get there and the store is empty. That means we’re the only two people in proximity that might spend money- which means the sales people are practically making out with you from the instant your first foot hits the entrance.

Sales people. That’s another post for another day.

It’s like they’re starving bloodhounds and they’ve just been let loose in a meat locker.

I even think there was some leg humping too.

Anyway- enough with the starving dog analogy- you get the point, they were all over us.

I start small- just looking at the jeans Will is interested in. We discuss colors, styles, etc. Will isn’t a big shopper- he’s an “in and out” kind of guy that finds exactly what he wants and doesn’t dilly-dally. He’s quickly off to try on his jeans.

Meaning I was alone.

In a store full of hungry, blood thirsty, commission sucking sales people.

All Alone.

Alone people!

I was forced to look around.

It didn’t take long before our hungry salesman was by my side looking at my butt and sizing me up to what kind of jeans he thought I might be able to force my sausage legs into.

Just a sidenote for all you lovely sales people out there- PLEASE make me a promise, okay? When someone tells you their size

DON’T YELL IT ACROSS THE STORE TO SOMEONE ELSE as you proceed to find what you’re looking for.

My gosh! Didn’t they learn anything in their Lucky Brand Store Orientation??

So, once they found about 12 different styles of jeans in my size- and now that everyone knew my body’s dimensions, it was time for the try-on.

We’ve already established The Pants Dance, but even that couldn’t help me a few times- and the jeans were supposedly my size.

Can I please cry!?

About 2 pairs into the try-on the salesman came by my door, “How are those working out for you?”

Between a grunt and a quick exhale I muster a, “Fine,” but what I really wanted to say was, “They’re not!! They’re NOT working thank you very much!”

I mean, seriously, do they even make jeans that cover your butt anymore? No, seriously, I’m asking! Even the “normal rise” was risky business. So, not only did I have to squeeze into every pair of jeans I tried, but then I had to:

1. Make sure I could still breathe.
2. Check my vitals.
3. Make sure there wasn’t a full moon blinding everyone in sight.
4. Make sure there was no muffin top spillage.

I failed every single test.

Can’t a girl get a freaking pair of jeans that passes these four checks! GAH! Heck! I’d take 2 out of 4!

One pair would fit fine in the hips but be huge at the waist, another would barely make it past my knees, and still another would be almost perfect but too short.

I came back out to see if there was anything else I could try. I found another few pairs and hoped for the best.

I got in the dressing room and gave myself a pep talk, “Okay, Brittny. This is it. Find two pairs of jeans and you’ll never have to go jeans shopping again. Ever. Okay, I’m lying- but I promise you won’t have to for at least another two years. I don’t care what you do- just find a decent pair of jeans!”

So I did just that.

I’m almost certain that I broke every rule of Jean Shopping Fashion, but I didn’t care. I wanted to find a couple pairs of jeans I could live with, learn to like them, and be done with the whole thing without sweating buckets.

So, I’m the proud (?) owner of two new pairs of jeans I can tolerate simply so I never have to jean shop again. I left the store feeling incredibly chunky and mad at Levi Strauss. Wasn’t he the guy that got this whole jean thing started?

I don’t even remember what the things look like on me (I only tried them on twice in the store and immediately took them to the closet when we got home), so I’m sure I’ll go through this whole bad attitude, Pants Dance fiasco all over again when I finally go to wear them.

(blocking that last sentence from my mind. horrified to think of trying those stupid jeans on again)

There you have it.

Jeans.

The mocker of all women.