fashion, healthy and beauty, humor

Pleather Pleggings, Part Deux

It’s March. I’ve lost a few pounds. And these damn leggings are still taunting me… so, here we go!

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What the hell…

I’ve been blasting away at the gym like a mad-woman. I’ve dropped 10 pounds. I’ve omitted several bad food, sleeping, and an overall whatever- crap habits I can think of – to toss to the wayside. What’s crazy is that my food isn’t super terrible to begin with; but, for whatever reason it was most definitely time to toss up what I know and start with a blank slate. Goodbye cheesy potatoes. *sniff sniff

Now, you may notice that at 141 pounds, I was poofy. I’m not that tall. You’re not? No. And hush, my acting resume assumes me taller. Oh, and yes, I shoot taller in photographs for some reason too. Which means, proportionately, for photos, that’s freaking awesome! Uh, the point? Right. Anyway, any extra weight that may decide to stick around will immediately show itself. So, goodbye puffball piggy! Time to toss those frozen deep dish singles. I’m down to 128 lbs now. Only took you months -upon months- to do it. Quiet – shit takes time. I’ve got about 10 more to go; but that’s a personal goal that is taking longer than I’d like. Patience, daniel-son. Karate Kid reference? Yup.

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Having a bout with a bit of stress at the end of last year. Or rather for an entire year. No biggie. Got past it; but, definitely added to the weight issues plaguing my existence. Regardless, those damn skinny leggings are calling out to me once again and I may be in a fairly strong mental place to handle it. *fingers crossed

Lies. I came. I tried them on. I couldn’t handle the pleggings fitting disaster. The new one.

The old one too! Thanks.

But, definitely not the new one. How depressing. Wah. I’m starting to think its the design of said pant. I’m a curvy/athletic silhouette and these are shaped for the stick figures. The skinny fat girls. The girls with brittle bones. The scrawny – girl, go eat a burger – types. The less than shapely; but more child-like frames. We get it. Okay good. I’m just an average sized, healthy broad with killer hips and thighs, man! Why can’t you pleather stretch pants show me some LOVE?!

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Just a little bit? She’s dying over here. I’ll love you forever…. *batting eyelashes and offering up an ice cream cone

Bats ice cream cone to the floor.

And with that rant being both unnecessary and likely annoying …

Let the pleggings pull up begin.

There’s a lot of grunting and groaning going on there. Yeah, shut up.

Everything all right over there? Ugh.

You gotta be freakin’ kidding me.

Argh! I… hate… you… pleaaaather!

These pleggings will be the death of me.

Trust me, I did my damndest to make the picture angle, stance, and height the best version of itself that it could be… to a big FAT fail.

Fool me once, pleathers.

Damn you.

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I’m quite certain at this point that there is literally NO coming back from these ill-fitting trousers with an ax to grind. My thighs will NEVER consider these pleggings to be one of importance in my wardrobe again. Oh, the bravery.

Rewash them? Um… thank you, next. The likelihood of them fitting even better – sarcasm – after yet another wash? I’ll take my chances at the zoo, with my head in the mouth of a hippo.

There’s your bravery… Hush.

So yeah, I could be overreacting. Emotionally.

Very Likely.

But, if you haven’t had a tussle with an article of clothing, you haven’t truly lived. I’ve had underwear decide it wants to move away from its placeholder. I’ve had a scarf try to strangle me while bent over looking for shoes in the closet. I’ve also had a closet organizer dump all the clothes it held, onto me when I wasn’t paying attention.

Why does the common denominator all seem like it’s you?

Quiet down. Stop interrupting.

And with that, I take a moment of silence, and toss them in the donate pile. *insert sad music here – Until I see another pleather option that will work well with my body type. Til the sky swoons and moves mountains – *looks around, is that a violin? – As the wave of the ocean breeze – Alright. That’s enough. You’ve lost it.

Oops, went on a little vacay there… Back to reality. Shame on me.

I’ve been fooled twice by you, pleather pleggings. Twice now!

Shame. On. Me.

fashion, healthy and beauty, How To, humor, self-help, Uncategorized

Knockout Nail Rehab

This week I thought it was time for a DIY.  Oh no. It’s been a while since we’ve done one pexels-photo-1367219.jpeghere and this one is a fun one! Yay! For the girls, anyway! And maybe for the guys too, who like to look at ladies’ with nicely manicured hands. And for the guys who don’t? Well… I guess I’m not talking to you and your exempt from this convo. No biggie.

Hopefully, it won’t be like the pumpkin seed fires of 2015, Or the alien abduction attempt of 2017. Oh, and this has zero to do with a zombie apocolypse; however fun that might be but as we females continue to do things to ourselves to keep a man’s attention… in some sense, it is a bit zombie-like. No? What the…?

Stay with me here.

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As long as I’m a hot and sexy zombie, with cute long nails, I’m cool with it. Let’s keep it real… I’m not going down the old lady train without a cat-fight.

*sigh, slaps foreheadpexels-photo-939834.jpeg

If you’re not a chickadee… maybe you’re a hubby, or a boyfriend, that’s cool… keep listening, this will save you money in the “keep my wife beautiful” fund!

Who doesn’t like more money in their pocket?!

Exactly!

pexels-photo-1819560.jpegMy budget includes a fat column for vanity. Shocker. I know. It’s a weakness. I love anything beauty, sexy, girly, hottie, cutie, sweet, adorbs, cheeky, glittery, sparkly – oh geez, we get the picture – Oh! okay, great! This isn’t to brag about money or anything like that, it’s literally that I have a budget and it includes a lot of girl crap. And in order to keep a handle on it, I’ve got a budget that tells me NO! when I’m getting close to going to far with said chick poo.

Your budget shouts at you?

Yup. Totally does. Now that I think about it…

We argue quite a bit actually.

Anyway, I generally get my nails done at the salon and the reality is I was spending close to two hundy’s a month! Hundys? That’s a hundred dollar bill y’all! – hunded, hunded, hunded dolla bills – sad attempt at a cool rapper voice. Yes. In my last album, I think I did some decent raps in a couple of songs; but it’s likely other rappers may not agree. Since I don’t claim to be a rapper on any type of front, whatsoever.

Nobody cares –  back to the nails, please.

Okay, okay. Not a rap fan? Fine.

So, circling back, it was about a two month set of tests, with trial and error, for this DIY.

A nail scientist? Totally! Oh criminy.

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I love going to the salon – lies– yes, true… I actually detest going to the salon. Its crowded, its like a puppy mill for for women, who get sucked in and churned out in 90 minute intervals for the gorgeous factor, and I am NOT a fan of sitting there footsie in the water getting to prune-scale all in the name of that #hotstufflife. Even when they double you up as you get a mani-pedi simultaneously, its just horrifically tedious.

Are you done complaining? No. I got more.

I can’t play on my phone I can read -literally – one page of a book because after I’ve gotten into my page they have confiscated all my limbs to get the beautifying job done. Leaving me without any means to turn the page to read the next chapter. Fail.

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And ladies, you know no one else is happy to be there either. There’s sort of this weird vibe where the other broads are irritated and/or annoyed or something to be there. And as much as we try to ignore it, misery loves company.

No fun.

When I go to the salon, I want to feel uplifted and gorgeous; not depleted and dragging.

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Dare I mention the hectic drive to get to said beauty torture routine? You dare. Seriously, the extra drive time, the A.D.D. that happens when I see a drive through coffee shop, or shopping mall… it has done me in on many an occasion, btw. It usually turns up a search party for the disappearing Rita. I can’t help it. I LOVE shopping. I don’t do it too often these days but send me out for a nail rehab, and your sure to find me avoiding it. I’d almost rather go to the dentist.

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Moral of the story?

You like going to the dentist?

No. It’s that doing my own nails was much easier than I thought it would be…

And, men…. you gotta appreciate the hell we put ourselves through to be beautiful for you.

Oh and one last tip. Even if you have trouble painting one hand, you can always paint the nail tips ahead of time before applying.

Enjoy the DIY fellow beauty zombies!

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Exercise, fashion, healthy and beauty, humor, new years resolutions, self-help

Pleather Sausage Pants

You ever own a pair of pants? Yespexels-photo-461646.jpeg

That you freaking LOVE?! Yes.

Only to find that said pants you are loving…

Don’t love you back? OMG YES.

Well, this is my black pleather pants I bought last year. Wait. They are gorgeous. Hold on. They are high waisted. Pleather? Oh! Yes, they are plastic leather. Huh? Meaning, they look like some kind of leather; but they aren’t.

Ah! Got it… Carry on.

Anyway, they are skinny style in the leg. And therein lay the problem. My legs aren’t playing nice with the damn stretchy plastic. Oooo, nasty visual there. Right!  My thighs fight them when they’re pulled up. My hips are pushing them off. The waistband has this massive extra space that I could smuggle a large book in between the fabric where my stomach should be. My inner squish is slapping together when I walk, causing an annoying squeaking sound. They’re not even patent leather! How the hell are they squeaking?!

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You see, last year, when I got them, they fit amazingly.  So much so, that I wanted to wear those damn pants  every day! You so would. I totally would.  But let’s face it, you can’t wear leather pants to church, or to the gym, or an animal park. An animal park? Well, maybe I could. And maybe you’d look like a solid, tasty lunch for a predator. Okay. Not the zoo then. While, my weight has toggled a bit this last six-eight months, my physical appearance hasn’t been too gnarly.

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SIDEBAR: this has also been a point of contention for me too. So much so, I had to add a weight loss goal to my annual goal setting resolutions this new year. So sad about that.

Ish, happens. *shrugs

pexels-photo-1040532.jpegMoving on, I’ve also washed these pleggings a couple times and I’m wondering if the shape of the pants themselves had been altered due to that. *fingers crossed, please. Please. Please. Please.

Damn those household chores all to hell. Especially you, laundry. Boo to you. Boo!

And so it begins… the tale of the plastic leather, pleather pleggings. Here’s the plan. I am going to try them on again in February. Oh no, not another plan. Lord help us all if these bastards don’t fit. I’ve been hitting the gym 6 days a week, living on dry toast and rice, and drinking enough water for a buffalo herd.

Which is about the size I’m feeling about now. So it’s fitting!

No, it’s not fitting. The mock-trousers aren’t fitting at all. That’s the problem!

You’ll show them.

No britches are going to beat me. That’s right. *nods in affirmation

Go get ’em, sausage girl!

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