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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healthy and beauty, house and home, humor, self-help, Uncategorized

Hard Water Woes

Hard water. Yuck!women-modeling-style-skin.jpg

Most people – especially, from the city – have  never even heard of this…

but, it is totally a thing. Really?

…And it dries out your skin, and turns your hair into a crack whore masterpiece. “Uh, paging Dr. PimpStreet. Paging Dr. PimpStreet. We’ve got a situation…”

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It doesn’t happen immediately, although, it does it within a few days. I thought I’d attack my crispy hair problem with moisturizing shampoos and conditioners that were too damaging to my hair before; but, now, may perfectly moisturize accordingly. It helped? A little. In a more, it’s got a sheen that is clearly matted down like a wet mop, kind of way. Whoa not good.

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As I’m over-moisturizing my skin aggressively too, I’ve learned – through google (rolling eyes that this is my only go-to) – that only masks the problems and makes the dry skin worse. Uh.. what? Dampness equating to MORE withered husk. Wonderful. 

Come on, flakey skin!pexels-photo-260405.jpeg

Does that make any sense to anyone…

Alternatively, I tried another “remedy” to my pipe cleaner strands from hell. Oils. Rubbing the scalp with argan, coconut, and even caster oils is supposed to assist.

Um… Nope. Just sopping oils dripping from my scalp. *frustrated sigh

Depending on the source, hard water is not a health hazard and then it can be a health hazard. Ummm… so is it? Or isn’t it?                                                                                                  

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One will never know unless they test the arsenic level in the hard water. Yup, you read correctly… Arsenic level. Interesting stuff, no?

Ugh. Great, now my water is trying to kill me out here in the sticks. Dramatic much?

Depends on who you ask…

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“While some studies suggest a correlation between hard water and lower cardiovascular disease mortality, other studies do not suggest a correlation. The National Research Council states that results at this time are inconclusive and recommends that further studies should be conducted.” (source: water-research.net)

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Awesome.

Cardiovascular disease mortality.

Gotta love the perks of this hard water thing. Or not thing.

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All I know, is my hair is crunchy and my skin is parched.

Woe is me…. *gracefully leans back with one arm to the forehead 

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healthy and beauty, humor, self-help, sleep

Quarantine QT Pie

HeatAndCool.com
It’s official. I’m on my death bed.

Oh geez. 

I’ve been pronounced sick. Officially, by whom? Okay, not a doctor. I’m not a fan of those. Then who…. Oh, one of my friends. *slaps forehead. And I think I’m dying. You’re not dying.

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Okay, it’s a little post-karaoke, Irish pub, pre-wedding party people, sinus/head thing. What?

Damn Irish bastards. And that mango beer.pexels-photo-206396.jpeg

Rumor has it that you show symptoms of the cold you catch three days after the bug violates your system. Meaning? I don’t know how true this rings for ya’ll but this is what my mommy told me. *looks around for any mom’s listening

And since mom’s are ALWAYS right….

Therefore, this means, that it’s likely I caught this deadly flu during our singing disco night.

You wanna question momma? Go for it. I’m not going there. I imagine some typhoon from The Bible will come swoop my ass away if I Do it. So, by all means, agitate the universe. I’ll watch.

Fast forward to waking up on Monday with a tickle in my throat. Actually, more like apexels-photo-1.jpg freaking cat had been clawing the inside of my throat like a scratching post. Eyes puffy. OH, and the feeling I was hit by a giant truck. Like, um, you know the ones they drive on military bases. A tank. Yup. Definitely a tank hit me. A tank filled with a gaggle of handsome men in uniform!

Focus. 

If you’ve been reading for a while, or you know me personally, you’ll notice I don’t often get sick. But, geezaloo, when I do! WHAM! It takes me out like a tranquilizer dart that’s just hit a raging rhinoceros in the African desert! Yeah, teeth and all. And the horn thingie too.

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CUE AUSSIE ACCENTED NARRATION: *Kronkie! A sight we’ve nary seen, folks! Out here on the plain, it appears we’ve caught a glimpse of the horned-Rita-buffalo-rous. This majestic creature seems to be in a fit of psychotic looniness. Ladies and gents, she’s got the flu. Oh no, no… she’s spotted us. Move! Move! Move! Get the tranqs!

Um, wow.cactus-eyes-book-pot-159840.jpeg

I know! So vivid! And scary.

And dramatic.

Circling back. It’s now Thursday and I’ve been freaking useless for four days. I’m pacing my bedroom and have gone through my second box of tissues. 85 count. My bestie has literally chased me down the past two days -every four hours- with an over-the-counter medication cocktail that not only tastes horrific; but, literally makes me feel sicker than I already am. Oh, but then I pass out – and according to her – that’s the perk to the whole deal!

I barely take ibuprofen. Or eat real salad dressing.

IMG_6653.JPGSo here I am. On a Thursday. Drugged up on a NyQuil and Mucinex aperitif. Swimming in a cough syrup-laden linen swamp. What? Oh, yes, I may have forgot to mention that my bed has become a breeding ground for spilled containers of medicinal beverages. Menthol aromas abound.

Shit. It’s been four hours.

CUE HANDSOME AUSSIE NARRATOR AGAIN: *Behind the bedpost of the four-poster bed, we see “the bestie” tracking the mysterious and ill, horned-Rita-buffalo-rous. With her tranquilizer weapon tablespoon of choice, she moves in on this beast with the grace of a gazelle.

“Hold her down! I’ve got the elixir on the spoon! Go, Go! Now!”

So traumatic. It wasn’t. IMG_0870

Nah, it’s all good. She just poison me again. She didn’t poison you.

And then left me all alone. Again. OMG.

So lonely. Stop it. 

It’s… getting… dark…

ZZZzzz….

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