After my somewhat revolting post about my self-pedicure, I realized that I may be treading on thin ice with some of my more, ahem, sensitive readers. And so, I struggled to come up with something a little classier as a follow-up. Several ideas popped into my head, like my trip to the dentist and subsequent shiny white teeth, for example. Or the insane amount of money I’ve spent on eBay over the last few days. I just wasn’t feelin’ it, though.

So I decided to write about boobs.

I belong to a lovely group of women who frequently get together for girls’ nights out. My husband likes to think that we spend our evenings having pillow fights in our panties, but he couldn’t be more wrong. We’re just not that kind of girls. We prefer to spend our time drinking cocktails, eating chocolate and making suggestive shapes from previously benign balloon animals.

One of the girls has some good lookin’ girls of her own, not to mention an affinity for showing them off. For the sake of anonymity, we’ll call her Chesty LaRue.

(And yes, I have her permission to write this post so don’t go accusing me of exploiting her or anything. Besides, she likes it. She’s a cheeky little firecracker, that one.)

At one particularly festive party, the girls and I added cute little plastic animals to our drinks. It didn’t take long before we were posing them in rather, ah, suggestive ways.

Apparently, the mermaid really gets around, if you know what I’m sayin’…

Shortly thereafter, we all began posing the little tramp in other ways.

My girlfriend came up with the idea, considering that she has the cleavage necessary to one-up the busty little mermaid…

After some prodding, I had a go…

Somewhat less impressive, wouldn’t you say?

Apparently, the mermaid wasn’t too pleased with the change of venue because shortly thereafter, she hurled herself face first into an icy grave.

I’d rather die in a glass full of iced white wine than spend another moment being used and abused by that crazy woman!

Fast-forward to last weekend. After being asked multiple times by a photographer friend whether or not she’d like to do a boudoir photo shoot, Mme. LaRue caved and agreed. She later showed me the photos and while I agreed that they were fantastic as they were, I felt that they could use some tweaking. For the purposes of this blog, I decided to cut out all the unnecessary bits *cough* like her face *cough* and focus on the good stuff.

Et, voila!

Hello, cleavage!

Heck, if my decolletage looked as good as this, I’d be getting photographic evidence too!

And so, I have decided that a rack as glorious as my girlfriend’s deserves some sort of public recognition.

(For the sake of clarification, allow me to mention that by girlfriend I, of course, mean friend who is a girl. [Although I understand if you think otherwise, considering that I ripped off wrote a song* about her upper chestal region.] But, just for the record, we’re totally not lesbians. At all. Much to my husband’s abject disappointment)

(But she does have some fantastic cleavage, doesn’t she?)

(And she’s a little bit of an exhibitionist.)

(But only when she’s drinking Bellinis.)

(Or water.)

And so, without further ado, my ode to my girlfriend’s rack:

“Baby Got Rack”

(Little in the middle but she got much rack)

* I suppose it’s quite possible that Sir Mix-a-Lot came up with the original idea, but mine is different. Because it’s about boobs. So there.

And, if all of this boob talk was too much for you, my apologies. Here’s my friend the baby panda again, just for you:

Filed under: Confessions, Keepin' it Real, Random by WWS (Lynn) - 16 Comments →

It has come to my attention, through comments and emails, that perhaps the dead foot skin picture was a bit over the top. To show how truly sorry I am for the disturbing imagery, have a look at this picture:

Who’s a cute little panda-wanda? You are! You are! Cute widdle bear…

*cough* wimps *cough*

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So, the other night, after suffering in silence through a few months of cold, dry air, my feet began screaming at me to do something, anything, to put them out of their dry, cracked misery.

I responded by booking them an appointment for a pedicure at the most expensive salon in town.

Ha. Just kidding. My husband is I’m far too cheap for that.

Instead, I gave my poor, long suffering feet a nice soak in the Dr. Scholl’s footbath I bought for $10 off a friend and then gave myself a mini-pedicure.

I’m pretty sure I heard them praising the Lord for helping me to see my way clear to ministering to them.

Ahh! I can breathe again!

Why, it’s positively taken years off!

Pedicures are like facelifts for feet. They’re feetlifts. And they’re awesome, even when you’re stuck doing it yourself.

They’re still not pretty enough to display on the internet for God and everyone to see, but since it’s winter, they’ll spend the next few months hidden away in socks anyway so I’m not too concerned.

Plus, I know some people have “ick” issues with images of feet. And I respect that. I respect you. Which is why, instead of showing you the before and after of my feet, I will show you this:

I stepped on the scale afterward and wasn’t surprised to learn that I’d lost about 22 pounds of dead foot skin. Yum.

(Sorry about the visual.)

(Not really.)

Filed under: Keepin' it Real, Me, Random by WWS (Lynn) - 9 Comments →

Below is a picture that my son drew for “me” yesterday at school:

Note that it says “for momo” on it. Apparently, he loves his mother’s long-lost twin sister better than he loves his own mother. Not that he will admit to it.

You give over your body and soul to gestate another human being and what happens? He betrays you for another.

(I think I understand now what motivates all those crazy mothers-in-law out there.)

Notice also that it appears I am flipping my dear long-lost sister the bird in this picture. Rest assured, I am not. I am merely holding the strip of paper down while I take a picture with my other hand. I wouldn’t dream of flipping off the dear girl simply because she stole my son from me.

You know what, you affection-thieving child stealer Momo? I’m not entirely sure that we even are long-lost sisters. No sister of mine would conspire to turn my own son against me. It’s possible that we’re not even related at all.

And? In retaliation, I am bent on stealing the affections of your son. He seems like a really rockin’ kid. He can call me “Auntie Awesome.”

Um. Wait a minute.

I just thought of something.

He could have possibly, perhaps, maybe, probably, definitely misspelled “mama.” It is true that my son calls me “mama”. It is also true that one of his word wall words this week is “mom.” So it does stand to reason that if “mom” is spelled m-o-m, then he would assume “mama” is spelled m-o-m-o.

*cough*

I guess scenario #2 would be a lot more believable than the hysterical accusations brought forward in scenario #1.

Uh, sorry, Momo. Truce?

** For anyone new to my blog, or the crazy ramblings found within, I love Momo. She is awesome. And so is her blog. Check it, yo. You won’t be sorry. **

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About a month ago,  Coach J tagged me for a meme. Ordinarily, I don’t do memes, but this one seemed fun and easy enough so I took a stab at it.

Here are “the rules”:

1.Link to the person who tagged you.
2.Post the rules on your blog.
3.Write six random things about yourself.
4.Tag six people at the end of your post and link to them.
5.Let each person know they’ve been tagged and leave a comment on their blog.
6.Let the tagger know when your entry is up.

I’m not going to tag anyone to do it, but if you decide to do your own list, be sure to let me know so I can read it. I love reading random snippets about people.

Without further ado, here are the first six random things I could think of about myself:

1. I’m a fainter. I have relatively little control over it, but when I feel myself getting lightheaded and cold, it helps to sit down. It usually happens when I see or hear something my mind classifies as “gross”, usually tales of blood and gore. Places I have fainted: a classroom at school, Baskin Robbins, a veterinary clinic, my bathroom, in line at Disney World. I’d wear a Medic Alert bracelet, but really, what would it say? “Giant wuss. Speak only of rainbows and unicorns.” Maybe I’ll just invest in a pair of earplugs and some dark glasses…
2. I’m an avid scrapbooker. Up until scrapbooking, I’d pretty much quit everything I’d ever started. Dancing. Basketball. Art. You name it, I’ve probably started and then quit it at some point in my life. Scrapbooking is more than a hobby. It’s taught me that I can be tenacious. I can have passion in my life for something other than family and friends. I can be good at something. Proud of something. Some of the best things in my life have happened over the past several years – getting married, having two wonderful children, turning 30 with some of the best friends of my life around me. All of those wonderful memories are preserved forever in my scrapbooks.
3. My bowl cut, my red polyester track suit and I totally kicked it with Spider-Man in the late seventies.


Yep, that’s right. I’m awesome. You can say it.

4. I am extremely sarcastic and have an annoying tendency of busting out with random commentary at inopportune times. It’s a sickness. I have to mentally will myself to keep my mouth shut sometimes, like at wedding receptions, because there is always a goofy comment on the tip of my tongue. I censor myself a lot, but not nearly enough. Sometimes people think I’m funny, but a lot of the time, I think I just end up acting like an idiot. There is something to be said for sitting back and listening. With age, I think I’m starting to learn that.
5. I  am sensitive and emotional, despite the fact that I am continually cracking jokes. I worry a lot about other people’s emotional states and don’t like to see people be hurt or made fun of. I try to be a good friend, and I will pretty much do anything for my friends and family.
6. I can’t stand dirt, or being dirty. My daughter has a portable, collapsable Dora potty seat for use in public bathrooms. I have found out that it works perfectly dandy for adults, too. I flush the above-mentioned public toilets with my foot so I don’t have to touch the handle. I wash my hands about a kajillion times a day. I don’t like old houses because they feel grimy to me. I can’t stand handling raw meat and always have Lysol wipes handy. Camping makes me feel gross. Though I like the idea of antique shops, I feel like I need to take a shower when I set foot in one. Maybe that makes me a princess. But at least I’m a clean and hygiene-conscious one. 

Filed under: Confessions, Keepin' it Real, Me, Random by WWS (Lynn) - 8 Comments →

Because I don’t think Lily’s poor hair can take any more. This weekend alone, she managed to add two more near-disasters to the list of things she’s done to her otherwise gorgeous hair.

Near-disaster #1: The Scissors Incident

Lily managed to find a pair of cuticle scissors in a drawer in my bathroom. She proceeded to cut a chunk of hair right down to the scalp because “I wanted bangs”. I’m just glad she didn’t get ahold of the kitchen scissors…

Near-disaster #2: The Comb Incident

Your guess is pretty much as good as mine on what Lily was trying to accomplish with the comb-wrapped-in-hair look. It was wrapped tightly all the way to her scalp. Once I was able to breathe again, I managed to untangle it without cutting any of her hair. While I was busy hyperventilating, Lily was cool as a cucumber, as if having foreign objects extracted from her hair is something she does every day.

Near-disaster #3: The Gum Incident

This is what happens when Grandma gives gum to her four-year-old granddaughter without anyone noticing. Luckily, I only had to cut a small section of her hair near the bottom.

So that’s three. She’s done messing with her hair now, right? Please tell me she’s finished…

Wolverine says, “Leave your hair alone already!”

Artwork courtesy of Logan

Filed under: Keepin' it Real, Offspring by WWS (Lynn) - 5 Comments →

In honour of the weekend and the many photo opportunities you’ll have with all that free time, allow me to direct you over to the fabulous Photo Bliss to read up on how to take great pictures. While you’re there, go ahead and have a look at my latest post. I’ll be back soon with more tales from the ‘hood.

Filed under: Random by WWS (Lynn) - No Comments →

Filed under: Random by WWS (Lynn) - 6 Comments →

So, it seems that lurking is the thing to do on my blog. You come, you read, you leave. Day in and day out. I know you exist because I see it in my stat counter, yet even when I try to draw you out with provocative questions like “How was your Christmas?” you remain silent. Why so shy, guys? I’m lonely up in here!!

So, in honor of Delurking Day, do me a solid and comment. Tell me anything you want – how you found me, how many ex-husbands you have, what the weather’s like in your corner of the world, anything. I’d love to hear from you. Please? Hello? *knock knock* Is this thing on?

Filed under: Uncategorized by WWS (Lynn) - 12 Comments →

Last weekend, Lucky and I left the kids at the in-laws and ran away went out of town to attend a wedding. The last time the kids had a sleepover at Grandma and Grandpa’s house was a year ago so we went with the intention of having the best weekend ever because when one is a parent, one never knows when such luxuries as alone time will next occur.

We left our house early in the morning on the day of the wedding (the ceremony of which was planned for the great outdoors) and tried not to give in to our blinding panic when we saw this:

We brought along our broke-down, busted trusty TomTom to make sure we made it there without getting hopelessly lost and, despite the fact that it had us driving in a virtual field for at least half the trip, we did indeed make it to our destination with nary a wrong turn.

The most exciting thing we had to look at along the way were lots and lots of these:

Those clusters of trees never fail to remind me of the ballet lessons I took as a little girl. There was a copse of trees near the studio and each week my dad would break out his sketch pad and sit in the car drawing them while I danced my little heart out with a bunch of other girls (and the one token boy.)

Um, what was I talking about again?

We were able to check into our hotel early, so we brought up our luggage and had a look around before lunch. Our (totally awesome, clean, new and supremely awesome) room had two queen beds. The first thing I noticed was that they were Sleep! Number! Beds! and leapt onto the closest one, patented sleep number remote in hand. As I was busy attempting to determine my sleep number*, Lucky immediately began looking the beds over in an effort to determine which would be best used for, uh, getting lucky, and which would be used for sleeping.

(Don’t look at me like that. You do it too! And if you didn’t before, I bet you will in the future. It’s just smart.)

I was looking them over in a different light, however, trying to figure out if I could get away with suggesting that we each take our own, like Fred and Wilma or Lucy and Ricky. Because, really, a queen bed? And sleep number to boot? All to myself? On one of the only nights ever that I get to sleep all night and into the mid-morning? Decisions, decisions…

In the end, I didn’t get my singular sleep number bed experience. I considered asking hubby to sleep on the floor tonight, but the sneaky devil went to bed first. Maybe I’ll fake a hacking cough and get the bed to myself that way…

Did I just say that out loud? Whoops! Sorry.

Anyway…

After dumping our belongings, we headed to the lodge for the wedding ceremony, which was indeed held outside. There was a fire pit partway down the aisle, in which the bride’s veil very nearly caught fire, thereby distracting the groom from any impending tears. Disaster was averted and, despite the fact that I came away with ten frozen toes**, the ceremony was lovely.

The reception was held at the same lodge and involved such things as frozen vodka shots, Dutch singalongs and edited-for-family embarrassing stories about the groom. There were less than 40 people there and it was one of the best weddings I’ve been to in a long time.

We ate, we drank, we danced, we drank a little more and someone (who was not me or any of my friends) managed to fall down the stairs and subsequently be escorted back to his hotel room. Good times.

After brunch with our friends the following morning, we set off home, watching the snow drift across the windy highway and tried desperately to stay awake because a weekend away from home, even if it’s without the kids, is exhausting.

Upon our arrival at the in-laws house, we were informed that both kids were currently lounging on the couch, ice cream pails in hand, vomiting at regular intervals. As they had been since early that morning. Because no fun-filled weekend goes unpunished. Such is parenthood.

* My consensus? Sleep number bed = more trouble than it’s worth. Invest in a feather bed and you’ll be all set. (You’re welcome.)

** Lucky and I went back to the hotel after the ceremony and stood in a warm bath to thaw our feet. In our underwear. It was sexay. As mine were defrosting, they turned a disturbing shade of purple. Also extremely sexay. And a little frightening. But I can feel them again, so all’s well that ends well.

Filed under: Happy Happy, Just My Luck, Keepin' it Real, Me, Offspring, Random, Uncategorized by WWS (Lynn) - 3 Comments →