Filed under: Exercise, Misc. Humor | Tags: clothing, Exercise, fashion, humor, pilates
I am a person who is weird about being on time. I get stressed out when I’m not, and other “Laties” stress me out too. So when I was late to my Pilates class, it did not go well.
A few weeks ago, I knew I was going to be cutting it close to get to the studio on time. I would need to bring regular leggings, a sports bra and a tank top to class, and change when I got there.
I remembered it all, but instead of regular leggings I grabbed my biker short-length leggings, which are pretty much just Spanx without any of the benefits. I bought them because I was anticipating the studio being too hot in July. I also mistakenly packed a tight, black tank top, not my usual flowy top that hides….a lot.
So there I was, skidding into the gym like I was ten on my dirt bike after landing a perfect jump. I changed my clothes in the mirrorless bathroom and joined the class. However, when I got to my station and looked into the mirror…OH…MY…GOD.
Black is supposed to be slimming.
Staring back at me was a Teletubby in mourning.
The biker shorts squished all the doughy bits up to my waist and out the bottom to my knees. My body looked like someone had grabbed a tube of Jimmy Dean sausage, cut the ends off and squeezed from the middle.
So, I decided I would ignore it and that was fine, until about half-way through class when I saw it…the camel toe. Friends, there’s no discreet way to fix that in a room full of people and mirrors. I hopped into the bathroom again and tried to fix it, but I knew it was a lost cause. I have a long torso and the shorts were (apparently) not long enough. It re-appeared and stayed for the rest of class.
What’s the big deal, you ask? Isn’t it a class full of women? C’mon, people. You know we’re all super judgy, even though we say we aren’t. And if it’s just me that’s judgy like that, well, rest assured that Karma’s a real thing and she’s a bitch.
But it didn’t end there. Being thrifty, I tend to get my workout clothes at discount or “cost-efficient” stores. I think these shorts came from Old Navy. Anyway, as I was huffing and puffing during the workout, I started to smell something.
How was the scent of chicken nuggets wafting into the Pilates studio? There isn’t a Chick-Fil-A anywhere nearby.
No…it can’t be…
It was my f#$%ing biker shorts! How could they do that? I knew it wasn’t me because after class I ran back into the bathroom and did a smell check – it was definitely the shorts. And yes, I washed them before I put them on.
So to recap, because I was late, I looked like a sad, squished sausage and smelled like fast food.
Basically, I was a giant dog treat.
So that’s why I try to be on time.
Filed under: Exercise, Misc. Humor, Sports | Tags: clothing, Exercise, fashion, fear, health, smell, sports, underwear, working out
Warning – this one is completely tasteless….read at your own risk…
I recently had a lengthy debate with some girlfriends over whether women should “vent the furnace” or wear underwear at night.
For those who said yes, that sleeping without underwear was their preference, the most common reason was because a long time ago, their mothers had said it was healthier. My mom never said that, so I’m perfectly happy to be wrapped up like a Puritan every night. Maybe the fact that I’m not going “nonederwear” explains why I have so many hot flashes at night – all that heat must have to go somewhere.
But apparently the idea that it is healthier to go without underwear is the same for whether or not people wear underwear with their exercise shorts that have the lining in them. It seems that I am the only person in the universe that doesn’t go spongebob nudiepants at the gym. But I have reasons:
- I’ve seen the sweat puddles in the exercise machine seats, and I don’t care how many wipes you use, once you see it you can’t get it out of your mind. I don’t want my stuff lathered up in someone else’s body butter.
- Men should double bag because no one wants to see the mouse get out of the house when it’s time to stretch. Women should do the same thing, because, let’s face it, sometimes a little landscaping might be amiss, and nobody wants that distraction either.
- And finally, I have a (completely unfounded) fear of Cooter Stank. I’m not the only one – have you seen the multitudes of products out there to prevent it? And, weirdly, I’m not worried about it the rest of the time – I only freak out about it at the gym. Even that doesn’t make sense because, let’s face it, morning workouts in the gym can be overwhelming to the olfactory senses. Every day in the gym, no matter which gym you go to, it seems like there’s Man Who Ate Garlic Last Night, The Coffee Breather, and Please Use Deodorant As A Courtesy To The Rest Of Us Guy.
So, here’s an actual conversation in our house about wearing underwear under your shorts at the gym:
D1: “Mom, you wear underwear to the gym?”
Me: “Yep.”
D1: “Why?”
Me: “I’m afraid it will smell.”
D1: “What will?”
Me: “The Cooter.”
D1: “Wait…what? Who calls it that?”
Me: “Me.”
D1: “I know somebody who has an ‘I Love Cooter’ magnet on their fridge.”
Me: “You know that’s a political magnet, right?”
D1: (Eye Roll) “Yes, I know, Mom. I get the joke. But seriously, you know everybody in the gym smells bad, right?”
Me: “I know, I just can’t help it.”
D1: “You’re weird.”
Me: (In my head – “You’re half me…” – secret smile)
Filed under: Middle Age, Misc. Humor | Tags: amazon, clothing, fashion, jockey, Kohls, lingerie, Macys, Panties, shopping, Target, underwear, Victoria's Secret
Ummm…yeah…that was a question somebody asked me at work.
Lately I’ve had a few cringe-worthy moments, but the worst was a couple of weeks ago in the cube farm as I tried in vain to figure out why the underwear I had ordered from Amazon was apparently in shipping’s no-man’s land.
Wait, you ask… You ordered your underwear from Amazon?
That’s right bitches, I had to order my undies from Amazon because my regular suppliers apparently don’t carry it anymore. And no, I wasn’t trying to buy any Victoria’s Secret lacy, scratchy-but-so-sexy-he-likes-it-so-I-guess -I’ll-get floss. I just wanted to get my fave jockey string bikinis, a.k.a. my Granny Panties, and Target, Kohls and Macy’s failed me. I’m now down to 4 pairs, and each one has bare elastic at the waistband (bad enough that it’s actually irritating my skin). Even Daughter #2 recently threw a pair away while I was at work and sent me this text:
So, I finally gave in and ordered them from Amazon.
At my desk.
At work.
Let me tell you, it’s pretty embarrassing when:
- You’re shopping for underwear at work;
- The underwear you’re shopping for is cotton granny panties; and
- Your co-workers happily stop by to chat and gleefully discover what kind of underwear you wear before you can clear your screen.
But that was just the beginning. After seeing what was on the screen, co-worker Stacie asked, “Do you think maybe they didn’t send it because you’re not an 80-year-old woman?”
After I finally finished trying to justify why I was ordering underwear at work and why I like my comfy cotton Granny Panties instead of something sexier, I placed the order. Of course, it has to be delivered to the office because Holly, the most expensive “free” dog in the world, has now destroyed over $700 worth of merchandise delivered to our house, including two prom dresses (see previous blog).
The package was due to arrive at the end of June. By the middle of July, no underwear in sight.
Between UPS, Amazon and Jockey, no one seemed able to find it. I had to figure out how to stalk Jockey (the seller), which required asking my cube neighbor Lacy for help. Then Hubby walked up (he works in the same office – no judging, please), followed by another co-worker Stacie, all of whom were very interested in the status of my underwear order. So, there we were, all staring at the Amazon page displaying my pink and white Granny Panties as we tried to figure out the best way to find the package and get free stuff from Amazon.
Hubby, God Bless that man, didn’t even bother trying to persuade anyone that I wear other underwear (I do on special occasions).
I finally got my panties in a wad (c’mon, you knew I had to go there) and called Jockey, who of course didn’t have any record of receiving the order from Amazon. So, I called Amazon. All I can say is thank God it was a girl who answered. Humiliation is having to clarify what the order was for to someone who clearly had never worn Granny Panties in her whole 20-year-old life; and then have her exclaim, “Oh, well at least the vendor was Jockey and not some random dude.” Yeah sweetie – that’s where I’d choose to order my underwear from – some “random dude” on the internet.
In the end, I re-ordered, and after 4 weeks, I finally got my undies delivered (right to my desk). Note the appalled look on the screen saver guy.
Helpful Hints in Case This Happens to You:
- Don’t Google women’s underwear and think you’re going to not have creepy stuff come up on your screen
- Don’t get a dog that eats packages
- Don’t Google “missing underwear” – you’ll lose hours of your life reading weird articles
- Don’t click on random blog sites when Googling slang for underwear for your blog
- Don’t order your underwear at work (it’s frowned upon) – your IT guy might have something cheeky to say to you.
Filed under: Exercise, Middle Age, Misc. Humor | Tags: adulthood, bra, clothing, Exercise, gym, health, humor, Middle-Age, sports, sports bras, sportswear, subourbonmom
As I continue my journey back to moderate fitness so I can flail around in an inner tube all summer with my cup of bourbon, I have come to the realization that my old school sports bras are holding me back – not up.
Everyone moans and groans about the hardships of exercising – the exhaustion, frustration, injuries and limited food choices, but women don’t usually address one of the most difficult post-exercise struggles that many of us face:
Removing that sweaty sports bra.
Let me begin by explaining that I’ve had my four sports bras for at least 5 years, which is longer than I’ve stuck with most t.v. shows and celebrity crushes. And I’m told it’s probably not a good thing – they are designed to keep The Girls contained, and to prevent the pain of all the independent jumping about they like to do. I’m pretty sure at this point those old sports bras are not doing much more for me than keeping everyone from realizing it takes me at least 15 minutes to warm up when the gym thermostat is set to “arctic.”
Oh they’re comfortable enough, like my fave pair of sweat pants – soft and stretchy. But they also have that irritating habit of turning into a boa constrictor-like leviathan I can’t remove once I’m done punishing myself for eating that entire pan of Rice Krispie treats.
And if you’re changing in a gym locker room, it’s even worse – there are witnesses to the absurdity that happens after every workout.
After every session I try to let myself cool down as much as possible before turning myself into a pretzel in order to get that stretchy monkey off my back. It never works, but I do have a system:
Step 1: Try in vain to pull the sports bra over my head by grasping the sides, like you would a t-shirt.
Step 2: Succeed in twisting the bra into a tourniquet, where it becomes stuck, wrapped around my upper chest like my own hand-made mammogram.
Step 3: Proceed to thank God for my inhaler that allows me to breathe during this most difficult part of my workout.
Step 4: Bend over at the waist and scrabble at the back of the sports bra with two hands to try and pull the damn thing off.
Step 5: Curse my stiff shoulders and vow to do more stretching.
Step 6: Get one arm out, accidentally getting a whiff of my armpit and the nasty, sweaty bra at the same time.
Step 7: Gag.
Step 8: Pull bra over my head while exhaling and fling it across the room in victory.
Step 9: Swear (again) that I will splurge and actually buy a quality, zip-shut sports bra.
I can’t even imagine what it must be like for my friends who are more…buxom, and have to “double bag” The Girls every time they work out. Taking off two of these Lycra straightjackets would be enough to make me give up on the whole exercise thing together.
In case these struggles are preventing you from exercising, don’t worry – they make snap- and zip-front sports bras, an sexy ones, too. Apparently this is not a new phenomenon – others had these struggles as well, and shopped for sports bras more recently than 2005. But until I can get to the store, I’ll push (or pull) on, trusting that I’m building triceps every time I get undressed after a workout.