What I Did on My Summer Vacation

Vacation.  HA!  That is hilarious.

So I’ve been missing again.  I received an awesome reminder via my email that it has been FOUR MONTHS since my last blog post.  Which just sounds wrong.  I refuse to believe it’s been that long.  But I digress.

We have less than two weeks until school starts here and I’m having conflicted emotions because this is the first time BOTH of my kids will be in school full time.  I want to be sad about it, but I’m ecstatic.  Maybe that makes me a bad person.  But whatever.

So what, you might ask, has been taking up all my time this summer?  Well the vast majority of it has been trying to keep my children alive.  You would be surprised how hard that is.  It requires feeding them, breaking up ridiculous fights, and trying not to murder them.  If you murder them, then honestly why did you bother doing all of those other things?  It would just be silly.   So I find that I’ve been saying “Just go away!”  a lot.  Because I can’t murder you if we aren’t in the same room.  I’m not Carrie.

So the keeping alive of the children was especially difficult this summer because the hubs and I decided we each needed our own vacation.  In the hospital.  A month apart.

I have to say, that my husband was at least courteous enough to wait until baseball season had ended.  The night of Slugger’s last game, he started to complain about a pain in his knee.  He hadn’t done anything to it, but he’s notorious for having horrible joints and being that he spends the entire day on his feet, we didn’t think a whole lot of it at first.  But then he went into work the next morning and couldn’t even stand.  He had to come home and tried to convince me that his giant, red hot knee wasn’t that serious.  I wasn’t convinced and long story short, he ended up hospitalized with an infection under his knee cap.  There were lots of antibiotics involved and a surgery to drain it.  After a little less than a week, he came home.  It was weird and scary.  I didn’t like it.  Not a highlight of my summer.

While this was going down, Pixie decided she wanted to participate in the Little Miss “Insert name of our town here” pageant this year.  So, while her father was in surgery, we were standing around in a super hot field, waiting to see what tiny person would be crowned.  My daughter had NO CLUE what any of this entailed, but was super excited because she knew she got to wear a dress and stand on a stage.  Which is more or less all she did, along with flashing the judges her underpants randomly whenever she felt nervous.  She didn’t win, but now we know for sure she’s my kid.13423875_10209530964381234_9101752849184228286_nEven though she didn’t win, she received prizes for being a runner-up.  Prizes = Winning.  So she promptly left there telling everyone she met that she was the winner and the new Little Miss.  Eh.  Whatever.  You do you, Boo.

So this brings us to July.  My hubs was recovered and back to work.  He stubbornly went back before being cleared by the surgeon and then rubbed it in my exasperated face when the surgeon agreed with him at his next follow up.  Men.

July started out as a pretty magical time.  Our school does a summer enrichment program for all grades INCLUDING the kids going into Kindergarten.  So both of my snowflakes were signed up faster than you can say “BYE KIDS!”.  It was about three hours a day/four days a week.  Which is perfect for both of us to get used to the idea.  I would love to say that I was productive during this time, but seriously it was only three hours.  You can’t do anything in three hours, so I didn’t even try.  I caught up on some reading.  Because then I was learning things too and everyone was better educated after those three hours.  At least that’s what I tell myself.  13599930_10209667783921637_4293443858245239248_nNotice Slugger’s completely mismatched socks.  This kid.  He’s going to be the death of me.

Speaking of Slugger, he turned ten at the end of July.  I’m still in denial.  I’ve covered the many things I’m not qualified for and having a ten year old is just another thing to add to that ever-growing list.  I mean, I was ten not that long ago.  I don’t know what I’m doing here.  I have no idea.  Soon we’re going to be having THE TALK and seriously, I’m not qualified to lead THE TALK.  And my husband won’t have THE TALK, because he, well, doesn’t talk.  WHAT THE HELL!?  I can’t do this.  I need to huff some Stress Away.  I’ll be back.

Ok.  Let’s not talk about that again.

Here’s the part where we get to my tale of misery and woe.  Let me preface this by saying: the only time I’ve been hospitalized was when I was birthing my children and though I didn’t enjoy it, at least I went home with a prize.  Like, “Sorry that was painful!  Here, have a baby!”  I can deal with that.  This wasn’t like that.

Things are about to get gross.  You’ve been warned.

I woke up one morning with weird stomach pain.  Now, this isn’t THAT unusual for me because I’ve had weird stomach pain for a good portion of my life.  The fact that I HAVEN’T had any pains in a while was more unusual.  But any way…

So I think that these are the pains I used to get and I bust out my Digize.  Then I ate some yogurt, because in my head I was all “Yogurt has probiotics”.  I ended up regretting that, because only a few moments later, I ended up seeing that yogurt again.  Gross.  So I call the hubs and really at this point, my main concern is that the kids want lunch and I can’t stand long enough to make lunch, so for the love of all things holy can he please come home and make them lunch?  He comes home, makes them lunch, and proceeds to tell me that I probably shouldn’t feel like I’m in labor and that maybe we need to go to the ER.

So I get my act together enough to roll out of bed and put shoes on.  I did not care that I was wearing little sail boats on my pajama pants.  Didn’t care.  But I did put a bra on, because wearing pajamas while needing a shower and not brushing your hair is a lot to deal with on top of free swinging boobs.  Yeah.  I said it.

If all this wasn’t enough, I hobble myself to the door just to open it up to a BEAR on my deck, hanging out.  In the middle of the afternoon.  This is my life.  Thankfully the bears around here don’t know they’re vicious and can be scared senseless just by whispering aggressively at them.  Which is precisely what I did.  I angrily whispered “What are you doing!?  Get out of there!” and the bear looked at me like I was the scariest whispering person ever and took off.

I learned a super important lesson this day.  If you want to get through the ER quickly, just start vomiting.  No sooner did I start, a nurse rushed in with an IV full of anti-nausea meds.  Which was helpful.  Especially since it was slightly humiliating that every time I threw up, the elderly lady next to me would yell “GOD BLESS YOU!”  She was hard of hearing and I’m pretty sure ended up being my neighbor once I got moved to a permanent room.  Unless I was just blessed with two different deaf old ladies during my stay.  I mean, anything is possible.

I really didn’t think any of this could get worse.  I mean, I was already puking into a bucket and groaning with my eyes half closed for all of the Emergency Room to see while receiving numerous blessings.  That’s an all time low for me.  But then, I went in for a CT scan.  Which was fine.  I mean, whatever.  But after the CT scan, I started to feel very hot.  And queasy.  And the poor, distinguished looking gentleman in a lab coat had to rip me out of the machine so that I could once again resume vomiting.  However, at this point, my stomach was empty.  So instead of vomiting, just made awful noises while retching into a bucket and proceeded to PEE ALL OVER THE TABLE I WAS SITTING ON.  Yes.  I peed.  On the CT scan table.  So then I was groaning, and apologizing, and kind of hoping I would magically lose conciousness.  I didn’t.  But at least the lady next to us couldn’t hear the story when I had to repeat it to my husband upon returning to my assigned cubicle.

So skipping lots of other barbaric stuff, I ended up admitted with what they THINK was an infection in my large intestine.  We are really good at weird mystery infections around here.  So I basically had to lay in a bed with an IV and starve for a few days.  Which was ok, because I was in so much pain that eating wasn’t even a thing I wanted to think about.  THAT’S A BIG DEAL.  I LOVE EATING.  AND THINKING ABOUT EATING.  But anyway…

Things were running smoothly until the antibiotics really started to kick in.  Because the side effects of the antibiotics?  Stomach pain and diarrhea.  The irony was not lost on me.  And I was kind of ok with this anyway because I hate vomiting and would much rather sit on the pot than kneel in front of it.  Everything would have been roses.  Except, that morning, they moved my IV to my right hand.  I’m right handed.  You would think that wiping your butt with the wrong hand would be as easy as just visualizing what the dominant hand does and then, you know, doing that.  BUT NO.  My left hand is for aesthetics only.  It can’t follow directions.  I sat there longer than I’d like to admit just willing it to do my bidding.  It.  Was.  Terrible.  At one point, I missed my target completely and ended up sticking my hand in the toilet water.  I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy.   Don’t try it.

I’m feeling much better now.  I still can’t eat quite like I used to and still have random pains, but I’m off all meds and am alive and can wipe my butt.  So it’s all gravy.

WHILE ALL THAT WAS HAPPENING, Pixie started cheerleading.  Which has been a fascinating experience.  I missed her first couple of practices because I was busy sticking my hand in toilets, but for the last two weeks I’ve been taking her and goodness, my kid is going to be a star.

She’s not interested in what the other girls are doing.  Oh no, not my child.  She’s putting her own twist on EVERYTHING.  A lot of it involves jumping.  She jumps.  A lot.  Which is cool because if I jumped, I’d pee, just like I did on the CT scan.  Have kids, they said.  It’s fun.

Anyway, cheerleading has been 2-3 nights a week.  Pixie still really doesn’t understand why they have to show up and do the same things over and over, even though I’ve explained that’s what PRACTICE means.  So it’s been challenging.  Tomorrow is their pep rally, and I’m sure it’s going to be a big, adorable mess.  I’m excited.

AND THIS HAS BEEN MY SUMMER.  If this was being graded, I’m sure the teacher wouldn’t have bothered and probably just would have called my parents to make sure I’m not on drugs or something.  But I’m not anymore.  I finished them, remember?

And though I’d like to say this has been a great summer, it really hasn’t.  I’m glad it’s almost over.  Bring on the school year.  BRING IT ON.

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Because I Have To.

So.  As the title implies, I’m writing this post because I have to.  Why do I have to?  Because I haven’t.  Duh.

I haven’t written anything in some time, and not because my life is void of activity or events, but because I’m terrible at follow through.  There.  I said it.

Also, I have to say (since I like to be honest here) my confidence has been seriously lacking as of late.  There is something to be said about putting yourself out there and hoping people like who you are.

“But you shouldn’t care if people like who you are!  Just be you!  You are special!”  That’s what we’ve been told growing up, isn’t it?

But goodness, it’s so much harder than that.

I don’t know who I am most days, or how to be sure of myself.  I (as I’ve mentioned before) struggle so much with the concept of making adult friends.  And I know I’m not alone.  There are many people who feel this way.  And especially after having kids, all of a sudden you turn into this MOM-BOT that only says things like “Sit down!”  or “Nice hands!”  and you go by names like “Mrs.  So-and-so”  or “So-and-So’s Mom”  and you’re all “Wait!  I used to by my own person!”.

Add to that mix the fact that my humor is, um, a little off brand to the mom world, and things just get even MORE awkward.  I can’t express to you the amount of times I’ve made a joke, just to have people’s eyes glaze over and their jaws slack a little.

I guess the point of this post (besides me once again complaining about how I don’t know how to life) is that I’m in the process of barreling through this weird, awkward second puberty I’ve found myself in.  Thirty is the new twelve.

So if you find yourself feeling similarly, at least know you aren’t alone.

That’s all.

I Plead My Case…

Ok.  Here I am.  I have defeated the nasty cold that was plaguing my life, and now I need to be semi-productive.  

If you saw my Facebook post, you saw I’ve received my long-awaited Itovi scanner.  It.  Is.  Awesome.  I will be writing a post allllllll about that once I’ve had a little more time to use it and get a better feel for it.  

But today, I want to talk about something I’m dreading.  DREADING.

In a couple of weeks, I am turning 30.  

Folks, I am not qualified to turn 30.  I’m not.  And if anyone tries to use the phrase “dirty 30”, I’m punching them right in the face.  NO.  I don’t need to feel old and dirty.  That is mean, rude, and just uncalled for.  Keep that to yourself. 

Now, there was a dark point in my life where I never imagined even making it to 30.  I didn’t even think I’d make it to 20.  Things were dark and sad, and for a while, I gave up.  Until I found out I was pregnant with Slugger.  I really believe that boy saved my life.  

But anyway.  Here I am now.  And I have to say, I thought things would be so different sitting where I am.  I thought I’d have figured things out and have a good idea of who I am.  I haven’t.  I don’t.  

I have no idea how to make friends.  None.  I thought it was hard as a kid, but seriously, as an adult, I feel like you can’t just walk up to someone and say  “Do you want to be my friend now?”  Frowned upon.  I think.  I don’t know because, again, I don’t know how to make friends in adult world.  

I still feel absolutely stupid when talking to an authority figure.  Teachers aren’t people.  I have friends who grew up to be teachers, and yet, I can’t see them as people.  I’m afraid of saying the wrong thing.  Heaven forbid I get asked about why my kid’s homework isn’t done.  I immediately get transported back to the fifth grade and start worrying that someone is going to call my parents.  Except I AM the parent.  And I want to shout at these people “I’m not qualified for this!” 

My house doesn’t look like a picture from Better Homes and Gardens.  It looks more like a progress picture from an episode of Hoarders.  Somewhere in between realizing there is a problem and finishing the clean up.  That’s where we are.  It’s livable, but just barely.  You can sit on my couch, but only after I move several small animals, four barbies, a play vacuum, and some blankets.  The closest I get to fancy is the fact that I have a curio cabinet.  That has things strategically placed in front of it to keep out tiny people.  Classy.  

Then there’s me.  I imagined myself, coming upon 30 and looking the best I ever have.  You know, like Stacy London from What Not to Wear, just younger.  The reality?  I have no idea how to dress this body.  This body that has mutated strangely after having two kids.  The body that I just assumed would slim down in my 20’s (because everyone is hot in their 20’s.  That’s what sitcoms have taught us) but instead just ballooned.  When I put on jeans, it just accentuates my mom pooch.  So I stick to yoga pants, because they seem to hide most things.  I’m still wearing the same sweatshirts from high school, although where they used to be oversized and comfy, now they JUST fit. But as least they fit, right?  

I still have no idea what to do with this stuff on my head people call hair. I’m alway in awe of the perfectly coiffed ladies.  How do they get their hair to do that?  Do they have a hair and make up team at home?  Am I just that incompetent?  Who was supposed to teach me this dark art?  What the hell?  So many questions!  At least I’ve mastered the messy bun.  That’s still a thing, right?

I’m working on a new philosophy that women who always have their nails done also have their life together.  So naturally, if I just keep my nails looking nice, the rest will fall into place.  I’m pretty sure this is fool proof.  I’ll get back to you on this.  

So, I rest my case.  This year, I will not be turning 30.  I have more than proven I am not qualified, nor do I have the life experiences necessary to carry out the act of turning 30.  Except for the kids part.  I guess theres’s that.  But still.  Not qualified.  

And you can’t make me.  

Hair We Go Again…

 
Welcome back to another edition of I need a better camera Hair We Go!  Today we were a little pressed for time, so I thought we would try a tutorial I’ve seen floating around for a while.  Some people call it “faking a long ponytail” or “the double pony tail trick”.  What ever makes you happy.  

Being that Pixie has such curly hair, her hair often looks a lot shorter than it really is.  You wet that head and her hair goes down between her shoulder blades, but once it dries, it’s more like a bob.  Regardless, I’d kill for her curls.  Typically, her ponty tails are tiny, curly and adorable.  I’ve actually had people ask if I curl her hair.  I should have really taken a picture of a typical Pixie pony so I could show you, but I’m a terrible blogger and who has forethought these days?  

So any way, let me show you how it turned out. 

   
 I need to start by pointing out the obvious, that weird part on the side of her head makes me crazy!  If I had more time, I would definitely play around with it and see if I couldn’t get rid of that obvious part that screams “Secret ponytail isn’t so secret!”  I had tried this hairstyle on myself and ran into the same problem.  I definitely think it has a lot to do with my lack of hair skills.  

All in all, this hair style is stupid easy and incredible satisfying.  Pixie’s ponytail has easily doubled in length and looks great (aside from that PART!).  I would absolutely do this with my own hair as well.  I would show you, but taking pictures of the back of my own head was super difficult and no one wants to see the lame attempt I made.  

So success!  

Here’s a simple tutorial from makeup.com so you can try on your own!

http://www.makeup.com/two-ponytail-trick
Let me know what you think! 

Ahhhh, Valentine’s Day…

Valentine’s Day is almost upon us, and I can’t help but realize, like every other area of my life, Valentine’s Day has changed drastically since having children.  

Allow me to demonstrate:

BK (before kids):  

You get super excited when you glimpse at your calendar (filled with lots of fun, grown up-like events) and notice that Valentine’s Day is coming up!  Oh for soothe! (Or something.). You can’t wait to spend the day with your love and relish in how much you enjoy each other’s company.  It’s going to be so much fun!

AK (after kids):

Oh hell.  Valentine’s Day is like, three days away!  You didn’t notice between the school meetings and play dates.  But there it is.  Did you pick up Valentines yet for the class?  How many kids are in the class?  Are they doing that this year?  Is there a class party you have to show up to?  Your kid doesn’t know either.  Awesome.  Did you discuss any plans with your other half?  Are you getting each other anything this year?  Why are there holidays?  Aren’t regular days enough?

BK:

DAYS before, you start the grooming process for the big day.  You’re waxing and shaving various areas.  You need to make sure you have that certain perfume that drives him crazy.  What are you going to wear?  Whatever.  You’ll get an entirely new outfit.  It’s a special occasion after all!  You make an appointment for the salon that morning so your mani, pedi, and hair look amazing.  You smile to yourself while trying out different make up looks in the mirror and wonder if life could be any sweeter.  

AF:

Valentine’s Day.  Like, the actual day of.  Is everyone bathed?  Have they at least bathed recently?  Did you brush your hair and teeth this morning?  Better make sure you do that.  You don’t have to shave. Gweneth Paltrow said so.  

BK:

You’ve picked out the most amazing gift for your other half!  It’s wrapped like in belongs in a window display and you are dying, DYING to give it to them.  They’re going to be so excited.  And you know how great they are at giving gifts too.  What is it this year?  Diamonds?  A new car with a bow on it?  Your own ISLAND!?  Who knows?  You don’t!  AH!  You love love!

AK:

You hand your significant other the generic box of chocolates you remembered to pick up at the last minute.  They might have thanked you, but you can’t hear them over the sounds of children asking to try some of YOUR chocolate, even though they definitely got their own.  You turn your back for a minute, and that giant gaudy heart you received is filled only with wrappers.  Magical.  

BK:

You’re in the car, listening to Boys II Men, and gazing longingly at each other.  Your love surprised you by getting reservation months in advance to some swanky, dark little restaurant that charges illegal organs for a main course.  But it’s ok,  what else do you have to spend money on?  You hold hands across the table, while sharing a dessert and staring into the dark pools of each other’s eyes.  This is so great.  

AK:

You head to whatever chain restaraunt that  isn’t completely swamped with people.  You still have to wait an eternity to get seated.  If you have to tell the kids to stop hitting each other one more time…oh thank God, the table is ready.  You go through the the regular dinner time motions (begging people to eat, negotiating, threatening, listening to conversations entirely based around video games and tv shows you don’t even understand) all while feeling SUPER conscious of the fact that everyone in your immediate vicinity is childless.  And annoyed with you.  In fact, your pretty sure that one couple left before their drinks even came to the table.  Whatever.  Jerks.  

BK:

You finish dinner and race home to the…main event.  

I don’t feel like that needs further explanation.  

AK:

You finally manage to get everyone into the car and wonder if these little heathans will ever sleep tonight after the copious amounts of candy they ate.  Once you get home and make sure everyone is dreaming sweetly, you pass out promptly on the couch.  If you’re lucky, you aren’t snoring.  (You aren’t lucky.)

And I know what some of you are thinking: “Why not get someone to watch the kids?”

And you can do that, but let’s face it, you’re just going to spend the whole time talking about how much you miss them.  

Hair We Go 

I thought it would be fun to showcase a serious lack of ability I have.  Dealing with hair.  I’m awful.  I’m the person who can French braid my own hair, but heaven forbid you ask me to recreate it on some one else’s head.  I just cannot.  

Pixie has always been a very strong willed child when it comes to her sense of fashion, and I’m not surprised this included her hair as well.  She will dictate exactly what she wants done (or not done) to her hair.  Typically we get a lot of “I need Elsa hair today.”  So I thought it would be fun to switch it up.  

Pixie and I sat down and started looking through some hair styles, because I knew damn well I wasn’t touching her head with out her pre approving the hairstyle we were attempting.  So today, she picked the infamous Lady Gaga hair bow.  Seems simple enough, right?

I found a pretty simple tutorial here:

http://www.cutegirlshairstyles.com/hairstyles/time/5-10mins/lady-gaga-hair-bow-video-hairstyles/
Cutegirlhairstyles.com 

Pixie should just live there.  

But anyway, this is what we started out with:

  
Pardon my depressing back drop and lack of natural light, but it’s about 18 degrees out and we weren’t taking this show outside.  So as you can see, I wet Pixie’s hair a little before we started.  This is usually necessary anyway, because she has the curliest, wispiest, baby hair.  It’s beautiful when it’s down and allowed to dry naturally.  I would kill for her hair.  Except for the fact that it is nearly IMPOSSIBLE to get up.  It just flies everywhere.  

So before I reveal our attempt, I should clarify that I really took about 10 minutes on this.  Maybe I could have done better given more time, but find a four year old, start messing with their hair and see how happy they are after a few minutes.  Spoiler alert:  they don’t like it.  

Also, I’m sure hair spray would help tremendously, but seeing as I don’t own any (like, this just shows, I DON’T do hair) we had to wing it.  

Alright.  The unveiling.

   
 
Tada!  It kind of resembels a bow?  Enough so that Pixie was happy with it.  I wish I could have gotten it higher on her head, but trying to see what I was doing and asking her repeatedly to stop moving her head may have prevented that.  Maybe.  

All in all, I think this was fairly easy would probably look great with a little effort thrown in.  Also curly hair isn’t your friend here.  When it came to bringing the ends over the bow to “tie” it, those little hairs just didn’t want to be tamed.  

She likes it and she’s happy.  So that’s what matters right?  

Tune in next time to see how badly I can screw it up again.  Well not this hair do.  A different one.  You get it.  

Hair we go!

Sexy, Sultry, or a Potato?

halloween costumes

Happy October!!  Halloween is by far my favorite holiday and therefore, I’m already obsessing over costumes.  The kids each have one already because I was not waiting until the shelves were barren.  Slugger doesn’t really have a preference each year, however, Pixie is very serious about her costumes choices.  Last year was a mini fiasco, seeing as she insisted on being Cruella DeVille.  Which was fine.  Except they didn’t make a costume in kid sizes.  So we had to throw something together.  CruellaThis is what we came up with and I was more or less happy with it.  Even if the hair didn’t turn out as expected.  Whatevs.  She was adorable.

So what is the point of all of this?  Well.  Let me tell you.

I am a larger girl.  And I don’t just mean in comparison to Pixie, because, seriously?  I mean, I’m larger than your average.  I wasn’t always, but thanks to my two beautiful crotchfruit children, I’ve gained a significant amount of weight over the years and fall into that oh-so-controverial category of “plus sized”.  Now listen, I’m not here to body shame anyone.  We are all beautiful and deserve to feel that way.  What I am about to complain about has more to do with my own insecurities than how I view other people.  It’s me, not you.  Seriously though, it’s me.

As a “plus size” girl, costume choices are…interesting.  I find myself limited to the internet if I want to find something remotely close to being reasonable.  It seems as though costume choices fall into to extremes:  “should be kept in the bedroom” and “you are going to look like a fool”.

Let me show you.  Gander with me.

halloweenMeet the “Bewitching Beauty”.  She is adorable.  I can’t say she isn’t.  If you click on her she will take you right to Halloweencostumes.com where you can buy her and wear her and make her your own.  The costume of course, not the actual woman.  So what’s my issue, you wonder?  Well first off.  This woman isn’t plus sized.  Like, not even a little.  Not even “Well, maybe she falls into that weird in-between zone that fashion deems plus sized.”  NO.  So, here I am looking for a costume for my plus sized body and I am looking at a “plus size costume” on a very not plus sized model.  How is this helping me?

Secondly, though I’ve already said I find this costume adorable, do you know what I’m picturing?  Me, bending over, exposing my incredibly large butt accidentally to everyone in the tri-state area.  NOW THAT is a scary costume.  There is no way the length of this skirt would cover my…umm…assets. So, so unflattering.

Let’s move on.

halloweenWell, hello there “Party Skeleton”.  I found this gem over at Yandy.com and surprise, surprise, if you click on her, she’ll take you where you need to go.  Again, this woman isn’t really a great representation of the “plus sized” world, but that seems to be a common theme.  This dress is adorable, especially if you aren’t the “costume type”, its a happy medium.  The skirt length is a little longer than the last, but still not quite long enough for my derrière.  My real issue with this though?  It’s.  A.  Skelton.  I mean, lets break for a moment here and acknowledge the fact that I know NO ONE is the size of an actual skeleton.  If they are, then that is a completely different problem.  BUT!  Nothing screams “snicker and side eye” like a large girl dressed like a skeleton.  There are places on my body where I’m not even sure there are bones anymore. I haven’t felt them in ages, so they could very well be gone.  So let’s highlight the fact that I have WAY too much meat on my bones by dressing like a skeleton.  No. Thank. You.

halloweenGUUUUUUUURRRRRRLLLLL.  You walked out in your “private time” outfit.  Oh wait.  No.  Nope.  Read the description on this “Alluring Alice” and they are definitely telling me it’s perfect for my Halloween party.  Is it?  I mean, does it have pants it comes with that I’m just not seeing?  Legit, if this girl turned around, I’m sure she’s airing it all out back there.  Why have we done this to a “scary” holiday?  Like, do people need a refresher on what Halloween is all about?  What is happening here???

Ok.  I’m calm.  Click on her if you want.  She’ll take you over to trendyhalloween.com, where sadly she’s out of stock, but I’m sure you can find something else.  Check your unmentionables drawer.  You might already have something similar.

And may I mention one more thing that definitely applies to all three of these?  Where I live, Halloween is COLD.  How…how am I supposed to wear these when it’s forty degrees out?  I…I just can’t.

On the opposite end of the spectrum, we have these options.  Full coverage, zero dignity.

cry-baby-adult-costume-cx-18335 be-my-baby-jammies-pink-adult-plus-costume-cx-17558 halloween

I feel like I don’t even need to explain myself on these.  Guys, a potato.  I mean.  No.  You can find these gems as well as some actually cool costumes at Costumeexpress.com.  Click the potatoes.  They’ll lead the way.

Please.  Don’t let my views dissuade you from whatever costume you want this Halloween.  If you like it and you feel comfortable, rock it.  I wish I had the confidence to waltz out of the door in some of these.  Until then, you’ll find me here.  Convincing myself a bedsheet isn’t an option.  Wish me luck.