Things that Hold Up Well

I was told that I have held up well. I took offense to that on many levels. The base one being that I rarely hear this said about guys and found the whole observance fairly sexist. The second selfish one was that I was offended that I was an age where that seemed like an appropriate way to compliment me.

Technically, I guess I'm over the hill by show biz standards, but despite my proximity, I don't live by "showbiz standards." It's not the business I'm in. In my business, there's a mix of young and old and I am firmly planted in the middle. It's also a good reason why they probably call it "middle management." Because we're so very middle in so many ways.

All that aside, I thought about holding up well and while I am proud that I'm not looking like a meth addict or like the next cheeseburger might be the one that does me in, I didn't really love being told that I was "holding up well." Next time, just say "You look good." Don't add any qualifiers ("for your age," "despite the bags under your eyes," "for your weight.") God knows I add my own qualifiers in my head and am trying to get away from them.

When I think of holding up well, I think of the things below. What would you add?

Bridges

Bras
(admittedly some are better than others)

Viagra

Check it out again on Netflix
and see what I mean. 

This bitch is holding up very well,
but I hear she's had some work done.
Shit, did I just become anti-feminist
towards a painting?

The collective works of
The Beatles. 

My Bra is Killing Me and I'm Crabby

I feel like a giant blob today. My pants were designed to keep flab in with this lycra shell, but today that lycra is not my friend. It is indeed keeping my flab nice and flat in my pants, but it can't make it disappear. So the flab is then pushed up towards my boobs.

And my bra was quite obviously designed by a masochist. I know, I know. All bras were designed by masochists, but this one is trying to saw me in two. It's tight as hell and now not only battling the large amount of breast matter that I have on my chest, but also the fat that the lycra pants are pushing up. Essentially I'm just a big ball of tightened lumps and red marks.

I realize both of these issues could be just physical and psychological manifestations of my weight perception,  but I don't want to think that hard.

Which doesn't really do a lot for my mood. Today I'm quite crabby for no real reason (other than the aforementioned fashion faux pas). I feel like a blob, I'm not wearing any of my favorite clothes and people are either annoying me or ignoring me. I'm throwing a pity party. It's a party of one.

And I did something today that I don't typically do which is reply to someone's asinine political post. They had a picture posted of some gas station owner's sign where they had gas prices in the $1.80 range and underneath it read "Just kidding! Those were the gas prices when Obama was elected."

That just pissed me off. First of all, unless you're Fox News when a democrat is in office, you should realize that the president doesn't control gas prices. Gas prices contribute to what a president can do or at least the perception of what can be done.

Secondly, the highest average US gas price that we've recorded was at $4.12/ gallon in the summer of 2008--six months BEFORE President Obama took office.

I would ask people to think for themselves before they post or repost something on the Internet, but then it would obliterate Snopes and I love that website.

LA Shopping: Bra Hunt Edition

The street outside the mall

I have to admit that there were several times this past week when I was wondering why the hell I live so far away from my work. Mainly on Thursday night when for no apparent reason (other than it was a holiday the next day) traffic was out of control. And by out of control, I mean that a trip that takes about 48 minutes without traffic took me 2 hours and 54 minutes door to door (with a bathroom break and a fill up along the way). Those are nights that suck.

Today's bounty

But then I go out today to make sure that I'm taking advantage of living in the city that it takes me so long to get to on weeknights. I decided to test it by going bra-shopping. During my time in Nashville, I never found a place that I could easily buy bras (remember the last time?). It's a fairly big city, but even so I had the same problems that I had in Evansville. Not a lot of selection and the people fitting me were all giving me different sizes.

So, today I went to a place that was listed in an article in the LA Times highlighting specialty bra-fitting. Typically, I go in, get measured, and then the salesperson brings a bunch of bras. None look good and they discover that my boobs are bigger than they thought and have to bring me some things that look like ACE bandage wrapped around chicken wire and feels about as nice. I typically am lucky to find ONE bra that fits and they never have any additional colors or matching anything.

The exasperation in hour
two of my Thursday
commute.

Today's experience was the same, but completely different. Instead of measuring me, she made me take a questionaire about why I was in, my bra needs, etc. Then we looked at my current fit and then she brought in some bras for me to try on. The first round didn't fit. She had me in the second one before saying "Wow. You're bigger than I thought." I just looked at her and said "I get that a lot."

She came back with another armload in various colors and styles. The difference was that they all fit. I had to actually narrow down the choices to find the right ones. It was amazing! I left with three bras and a new love. The fitting specialist put me in the system so that what I bought and my size are now available at the store. "If you want to just call me on your way in, I can pull some styles and sizes for you and have them waiting next time." HELLO?!?! That is amazing.

The place is called {intimacy} and is a chain, but not widely available. If you're hard or even easy to fit, but want a good bra experience, check them out. I know I'll be going back. Not only that, it is at one of three malls that are within 10 minutes of my house. If you want to spend money in LA, there are plenty of places that will take it from you.

Sometimes the Internet is Not a Good Thing

Last week I had a face to face chat with one of my favorite out of town co-workers (shout out to you, E) who was telling me of her latest (and first) encounter with a flying squirrel. I, being naive that I am, thought that flying squirrels were a made-up breed of squirrel that were only useful for cartoon makers. However, she enlightened me.

Flying squirrel lovers (aka flyers--which is also the name for cheerleaders who are at the top of pyramids) have close relationships to the animals that feed and breed in the same place for generations. I admit that there's a cool factor to having a pet that flies without being caged and will be loyal for years. Plus no litter box--another plus (sometimes I can convince myself I'm an archaeologist sifting for treasures and other times there's no escaping that I'm scooping poop).

Then as she was chatting came out the words that raised a thousand questions that I knew would never be answered. So, you're warned that by reading the following you will have to live without knowing WHY. Okay, you're warned.

On a web site for Flyer Lovers, there was a list of things that make you a Flyer Lover. One of them read: "You know you're a flyer lover if you let your Flyer pee in your bra just to be closer to your Flyer."

Yup, you read that right. Pee. Bra. Flying Squirrel. Willing Participation from a human.

There are days when I am thankful for all that the Internet has brought into my life and the ease of which information can be found. And then there's rodent urination in human undergarments.

I'm just saying.

However, despite my wonder, I am forever thankful for the nugget of information and more thankful for the wonderful person that shared it with me.