Protesting National Wine Day and My Quest for a Sports Bra

I'm not crazy about National Wine Day, or whatever it's called.

I know that the people out there who know me and/or interact with me on social media will be surprised by that statement, but it's true.

I've been trying to pinpoint the source of my irritation and that's been a little difficult.  The closest that I can come up with at this point is that I now understand my husband's feelings about Valentine's Day.

He hated it.  Which I'm guessing most men do.  His argument was, "I don't like someone else telling me when I have to give someone a card or flowers or whatever. I should be free to do that whenever I want to - not when Hallmark says I should."

Valid point.  However, it would have helped his cause if he had actually given me flowers and a card on...say...March 13th or something.

Whereas I can thumb my nose at National Wine Day because I actually celebrate wine on a daily basis.

That's right!  On February 18th, I don't even glance at a bottle.  I pass by my empty glasses without a second thought.  Because a true wine drinker doesn't need a DAY!  Good Lord!  That's like declaring May 21st National Potato Chip Day or June 27th National M&M Day!

A true lover of wine knows that a day is not necessary to display our affection for that magical grape concoction.

It should be appreciated daily, just like any relationship.

~

This may seem like a random change in subject, but I'll make the transition seamless.

My jugs are too big.

Actually, I think they're fine.  But after searching several stores for a new sports bra...apparently manufacturers are less...supportive than they should be.

It's actually probably not the manufacturers.  In a warehouse somewhere I'm betting there are millions of sports bras that could hold two small children just waiting for me.  It's the retailers.  And so to them, I dedicate this note.

Dear Department Store Bra Stockers,

What gives?

Actually, I know what gives.   I almost found out yesterday as I was about to pass out in the over 70 aerobics class at my local recreation center.  

 Those chicks can really sweat to the oldies.

Anyway, I realized when I  got home that my sports bra was basically hanging on by a hook.  So, I set out to find some new ones.

Let me explain something to you.  An A cup doesn't need a sports bra, but that seems to be the customer that you're catering to the most.  On the A cup hanger, you should just clip two band-aids and call it done. 

You need to have more out there for people like me whose boobs hit their knees every time they jump if they do not have proper support. Who feel like people passing by should be stuffing a dollar into their yoga pants thanks to the show they're giving every time they go for a brisk walk. Who get a mild case of whiplash every time they do something even remotely active.

My suggestion is this:  Get rid of the smaller sized sports bras altogether.  Those skinny bitches might not work out as much, thereby leveling the playing field a little. 

And as for stocking your regular bras...anyone over a C cup doesn't want anymore padding or anything pushed up.  While you do provide a nice chin rest, what we would really like is something that straps these suckers down.  If you could make a DD look like a C we would really appreciate it.  After all, you have the technology to make an A look like a B...we know you can do it.

Sincerely,

Me

Living Before and After and Lying to the School

I live my life in befores and afters.

It's weird - I don't consider myself obsessed with my husband's death, but maybe I am.  Or maybe this is something that other people do, too.

When I hear a song on the radio, I often think, "This came out before/after Brad died."  Memories of the kids when they were toddlers - was he there or wasn't he?  What did he see and what did he miss?

There are a million different things that make me think of him, whether he was there for them or not.

It usually doesn't make me sad - it's like a reflex. It just pops into my head.

 2007 is some sort of dividing line, like B.C. and A.D.

Did people back then think, "Oh, yeah.  This hymn came out after Christ died"?

I don't know.

~

Sadness is a funny thing, especially when you don't know what you're sad about.

I've had that issue the last few days with my son.  He's turning 12 this week and has admitted to being a little weepy and doesn't know why.  Last night he came to my room, his eyes blinking at a rapid pace trying to keep the tears at bay, telling me he was sad and he didn't know why.

I knew why.  He was exhausted from spending every weekend away from home taking snowboarding lessons.  And as much fun as that is...it hasn't allowed for a lot of down time.

And no Mom/son time.  Which we both desperately needed.

Dear Middle School,

I'm sorry when I only told you a half-truth this morning when I said my son wasn't feeling well.  He wasn't himself, but it wasn't physical.  He and I just needed a day.

It's the eve of his birthday and he wanted a shrimp po' boy (check) and to walk around Best Buy to look at stuff (check and cha-ching).  And at the end of the day he looked much better.

I, on the other hand, started to feel sad. 

It's always around the kids' birthdays that I start missing their dad; he's missing another important milestone.  As we left Best Buy today, I started thinking out loud about all of the technology that has changed since Michael's dad has been gone.

"Your dad would have loved all of this," I said.  "Smart phones, internet wherever you go...so many gadgets have changed since he's been gone."

My son, your student, smiled at me indulgently.

"I think the two of you would have us in some major debt right now," I said, smiling at him.  "Or you two would be refurbishing stuff in our basement and we'd be millionaires.  Either way, we would be in a tiny house with a five car garage for all of your projects."

He didn't say much.  Maybe I was wrong to voice what I was thinking.  I hope not.  All I know is that now he looks 100% better and I'm the one fighting tears.

Is there anyone in your office who can excuse me from parenting?  I think I need a day.

Thank you,

Me

Super Bowl Win Shocks Denver Residents

Cam Newton was teary-eyed.  Eli Manning looked like he'd been slapped (and seems to be ready to reprise Brad Garrett's role in an episode of Everybody Loves Peyton).

But no one was more surprised about the Broncos winning the Super Bowl than the state of Colorado.

For those of you who don't live here, let me tell you what these last couple of weeks have been like. First, I don't think ANYONE expected us to win against the Patriots and, to be honest, I think most of us were okay with the fact that we wouldn't have to face Carolina in the Super Bowl.  Despite the fact that the entire state would like to egg Tom Brady's house...we were pretty relieved at the thought of letting him take on the Panthers and quietly retreating into post-season.

And then we won.

You see, I believe that most Colorado residents suffer from Super Bowl PTSD.  Our little Bronco world was shattered with that little 48-3 loss against the Seahawks.  So, when we learned we were Super Bowl bound...not everyone was all that excited. 

Yes, you Broncos fans - you can argue with me all you want.  But this town wasn't REALLY as a-buzz with Super Bowl mania as it has been in the past.  I think the best way to sum up our attitude toward the upcoming game was "cautious optimism."  But face it.  You mainly went to that party for the food and to commiserate with your friends at the end.

But you won. Thanks to the defense that, at one point, we were all wishing could just play the entire game.

A quick note to Mr. Manning:  being the good little southern boy I know you are, I know you're busy writing all those thank-you notes to your defense. 

~

You'd think after all I just wrote about the Broncos that I'm a fan.  I'm actually not.  They're on my list, but they're not number one.

So, I was one of those people who showed up at my sister's house yesterday to drink her booze, eat her food, and watch the commercials.

Thank God the game was good.  Because the commercials sucked.

Dear Super Bowl 50 Commercial Pickers,

 As part of the viewing public, I'd like to give you a few notes on the commercials that ran during Super Bowl 50.  You know...the ones you charged about $5 million a pop to run.

First of all, I showed up to see puppies with Clydesdale horses - not to be insulted by Helen Mirren about my drinking habits (there was some British word in there that I didn't understand, but it couldn't have been good).  Christopher Walken and mismatched socks is not going to sell me a Kia (but Scott Baio in a glass case might make me buy a Hyundai, I can't explain why).  And what the f--k was up with that creepy monkey?

I realize that pharmaceuticals are where the money's at, but I think you need to be a little more discerning in the ads you choose to run.  Toenail fungus is not what I want to be thinking about as I mingle with strangers who took their shoes off so as not to track in snow.   

And NO ONE wants to watch a commercial about Irritable Bowel Syndrome as they're on their fifth round of hot wings, I don't care how cute you make that walking ball of intestines. (That especially horrified the men in the room, so it is possible you hit your target audience.)

The only thing that  saved you this year was that one Doritos commercial with the baby shooting out of the woman and the Super Bowl babies series, which has everyone in America looking to November to see which one of their friends pops out a new family member.

Please step up your game next year.  If the Broncos can do it, so can you.

Sincerely,

Me

Sarah Palin, Kermit-the-Frog, and Las Vegas

I love watching the Today Show when Matt Lauer is confronted by an idiot.

I've seen it several times.  He gets this look on his face like you're not covered in my contract.  Personally I would really hate to be on the receiving end of that look - it kind of reminds me of my dad when I've royally screwed up.

But I liked watching Sarah Palin getting it this morning.  The only bad thing was that it interrupted her oral spillage, using meaningless words that are three syllables or more with the word "constitution" thrown in every fifth word, regardless of the words before and after.

God, I love her.

She completely blew up at my friend Matt because he and his co-host, Savannah,  had the nerve to ask her about her wife-beating son.

"You guys brought me here to talk about Iowa politics and the caucus tonight, not to talk about my kids!"

Lady - no one gives a shit about your political views.  In the world of reality TV, we can't get enough of your train-wreck of a family.  They're asking you questions because you get ratings.

And you get ratings because we all love Tina Fey and none of us can tell if it's you giving an actual interview or a bonus SNL skit at 9:30 in the morning.

I was wondering this afternoon if the reason the Trumpster is so excited about Palin's endorsement is because he's finally found a female he can insult while 98% of the country nods their heads in agreement.

And while I do find her hysterically funny - I find this whole political situation pretty funny right now - I would find it wildly humorous if I lived in another country and didn't have to live with the outcome.

This is a serious statement.  My kids are actually asking when we're moving as we sit down to dinner every night, as if a run for Canada is inevitable at this point.  I almost envy the days of our forefathers, when word was so slow to reach anyone, it was time to re-elect the next president by the time you heard who the old one was.

I'm wondering if anyone else is like me and thinking that surely someone is about to rise from the political ashes and save us all from ourselves.  I remember when I was in high school, some kids were joking that someone had put Kermit-the-Frog on the ballot.

I never thought I'd get to the point as an adult where I would think that was a viable option.

~

I went to Vegas this last weekend and it made me wonder if this country is actually worth saving.

Don't get me wrong - I had a great time.  But if I was an outsider looking in, I'd just say, "Eh.  Let them do what they want with it."

I feel somewhat sheltered here in Colorado.  All of you out-of-staters may give us crap about our pot laws and assume that we're all sitting in our recliners eating laced gummy bears, but that's really not the case.  Colorado is not where you want to go to get a true picture of the general public.

Las Vegas is where it's at.

Or, if you have kids, Disneyworld.

I love to people watch, but Vegas is just too much of a good thing for me.  And, sure, there are the obvious nuts who blend in with the nuttier...but I like the less obvious.  I feel like writing a thank you note to the morbidly obese woman who was walking around wearing a t-shirt that said "Nothing 02 Lose."

She's my hero.

I came back home last night and looked at my closet in extreme disappointment.  No pasties. No see-through skirts short enough to show what was possible to those who didn't think to see through it.  No harnesses to tie around my neck that would hold my drink's straw within sipping distance from my mouth so I could leave my hands free to hold on to two more drinks in case of an emergency.

Las Vegas is where you go to make the senseless make sense.  One hundred dollar breakfast?  Of course!  I need something to go with this $50 drink.  I couldn't pass up the beer bottle opener in the shape of breasts - who would?  Of course I want my picture taken with the guy dressed like a Transformer!  Why are all of these people just walking by him?

I guess we Americans just like a spectacle.

A Sarah Palin impersonator on the street would make a killing.  

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