Move Over Ladies, Here Comes the Mantyhose

It started with the rise of the Metrosexual. Then came all the Manscaping, MG-strings, and Bromancing. And now..it's the Mantyhose.

Is nothing sacred? I mean, what woman would find these sexy on their buffcake beefcake?

I'm so glad Paul knows how to nuture his cave-man side. That, and he isn't sporting a mullett [anymore].

Then again, those buns on Adam over there do look rather squeezeable, don't they? I mean, the mantyhose really accentuate his features. Ooooo - imagine the front view.

What was I getting at?

Oh right. Something about...oh hell. I need a cold shower.

Today’s Post Is Brought To You By The Letter “H” as in Hospital

First of all, let me just say that real hospitals look nothing like the set of ER. There’s no soft lighting, there’s no glamour and worst of all there’s no John Stamos.

Two weeks ago I went in for a little “procedure.” I wish I could say it was for something silly like Botox or a lung transplant. But it wasn’t. I went in for a scope and two biopsies.

Sure, scope sounds fun. Like mouthwash. But what they really mean is you’re about to swallow a long tube. You might possibly gag on said tube. But try not to, because there’s a camera at the end of the tube and the doctor is trying to get a good look at your organs to make sure you don’t have cancer. And the doctor really doesn’t want an internal view of your vomit geyser.

I had a vague idea of what was going to happen. But when it comes to hospital procedures…it’s all in the details.

Detail #1: The nurse called my name, and handed me a hospital gown. A hospital gown? No one mentioned a hospital gown. I hadn’t really envisioned what I would or would not be wearing for my scope.

Nurse: Here you go love. Just put this on. Nothing else on from the waist up. Ties go to the back. And leave your shoes on dear.
Me: [blink blink]

Oh crap. I had heels on. Nice. Hospital gown and high heels. Thank goodness John Stamos wasn’t there. So what’s a girl to do? I strutted my stuff, nobody works a hospital gown and heels like yours truly.

Detail #2: I knew I was going to be sedated for the procedure. But in true RND fashion, I didn’t think about how that was going to happen.

Nurse: Ok love, just sit right down here and we’ll get your IV started.
Me: [blink blink]

Oh crap. I thought I’d take a pill to put me to sleep, or one of those masks with the sleeping gas. So what’s a girl to do? I fainted.

So let's review. Heels + hospital gown + sedation = blog post.

Tuned in next time for adventures with ultrasounds…

Another One Bites the Dust

Canada - I regret to announce the suddenly passing of Mavi Jeans on April 13, 2008 at 3:31 pm. The Jeans are survived by their owner and wearer, Erika. She will miss wearing them every week because she only had two pairs of jeans special enough to call "wearable". She will miss pouring herself into them for dates and making guys drool (especially Paul) about the special way they fit her curves. Like other pants owned by Erika, who shall remain nameless out of respect, Mavi Jeans passing was due to a large rip in the ass area. It was over quickly, she did not suffer. Few jeans were like you Mavi, R.I.P.

Ugg-ly

Ugg boots. Did you ever wonder if they got their name because "Ugg" is short for ugly? Um, yeah. Me neither [whistles].

I know Uggs are so two years ago but trends take a while to work their way up North and to the East and then a bit more North.

It doesn't matter how many times I see them. I still laugh and think they're ugly ugly ugly. But I absolutely want a pair! Oooo - you marketing execs are good [narrows eyes].

Last year I bought a pair of non-Ugg boots because I refused to give in to the I-Love-Ugg-ness sweeping the nation.

So in protest, I bought a pair that looks like this...

I thought I was being all cute. Did you see the cute as a button (but more 3-D-ish) pom poms? Ugg's don't have pom poms. And the cute wedge heel? Ugg's don't have that either. Ugg's are flat like Keira Knightly. And plain like vanilla ice cream, or even Vanilla Ice.

And you know what? People laughed at me when I wore them. They gave me the "who-the-hell-do-you-think-you" look? Which I followed up with the "a-girl-who-likes-her feet-to-stay-warm-at-minus-10" look. People can be so cruel when it comes to winter fashion. So cruel [shudders].

Perhaps it's boot-karma coming back to kick me in the butt after all the laughing I did at Ugg wearers. As if!*

* Much like the delay for fashion trends to work their way up North and to the East and a bit more North, it also takes phrases like "as if", "schwing" and "who's your daddy" a while to catch on.

Ass-Hole

Remember what happened to my last [and by last I mean only] pair of pants?

Score! I was unpacking my winter clothes [it's getting a bit frosty north of the border] and found my light brown cords. I thought I'd given them away last winter because they are a bit big. And by a bit big I mean I could pull them down over my hips when zippered and buttoned at the waist.

But that doesn't matter because I was back to being the proud owner of one pair of pants. One pair of pants that must be worn with a belt.

Wore them to take my son to school for his first day of grade 5. Ran into former hunky high school classmate. Was told I looked amazing.

Wore them to work. Was told pants really highlight best asset (the super booty).

Washed them. Ironed them. Put them on for another redhead-next-door adventure. And that's when I saw it...a hole in the ass of my pants. To be more specific, another frey in the ass of my pants. I mean, how is this possible? Am I THAT hard on the ass of my pants that I'm wearing out the material?

So I was late for work because I had to concock a new outfit dejours.

Consulted with coworker Mary (aka Undercover Mother) about said ass-hole. As weird as it sounds, I quizzed her whether she has noticed me wiggling about in my chair during meetings which could account for freying. Mary advised that was probably something she would notice. Considering the frey location (about half-way up the butt cheek along the crack) I would have to slouch down before commencing any chair wiggling which I'm guessing would be quite noticeable.

She did suggest that maybe shirt-less lawn mowing neighbour Chip was breaking into my house and rubbing the bum of my pants [the rest of this sentence is censored] and did elicit a response of "Ew" from yours truly. In unrelated news, Mary is missing her pork chop broiler pan. We suspect it's the undetectable work of Chip.

Perhaps instead of throwing out pants, I should invest in some sturdy yet fashionable pant patches for the cords and the countless ass-worn pants that will undoubtedly follow.

[Post Post Update: I bought 3 brand spanking new pairs of pants. And I'll be keeping my eye(s) on them].

What Not To Wear: The Bathing Suit Edition

Yesterday I went shopping [shock and horror]. I'm on a very strick budget so I shopping isn't something I do very often. (Can you call it a budget when it means you have no money after you pay your bills?)

My closet has become the final resting place for items with holes, rips, alterations-gone-wrongs, and doesn't-quite-fit-rights. Most of my clothes can be placed in one of three categories: will pass for work, will pass for workout and will pass only in the comfort of my own home on "fat days".

I'll be the first to admit, I hate shopping. Much like looking for a suitable man to date, I find there's not enough choice in the area I live, and I know what I want but none of the stores are selling it. Ironically, I have a picnic date on Tuesday evening and was looking for something that says "I'm the most delicious thing on this blanket".

I tore through three shops in under 30 minutes, trying on at least 30 items. The clothes were flying, the swear words were flying. It was not one of my finer moments. Some things fit, some things didn't. But mostly they didn't. A size "small" fit great around my waist but was snug on my biceps (thanks to my Billy band workouts) and smooshed my boobs for that "bodice on a bar wench" look. And don't even get me started on my ghetto booty a$$ that just won't quit.

So, I decided to switch gears and hunt down a bathing suit for next weekend's Canada Day bash (if there's ever a time to flaunt your jugs, it's in a swim suit). Mistake! I tried on 6 bikini's and a one-piece [shudder]. Let's just say, the only place a girl wants to see saddle bags, is on a horse.

I left the mall feeling like crap.

By the time I arrived at the hair salon, I was drained. I asked my hair dresser for something different, something "polished". And for the first time that day, I got exactly what I wanted.

If nothing else, I'll have amazing hair on my date. On second thought, bar wench boobs might not be so bad...

Every Body

Once in a while, you just have to stop and ask yourself, "What the fuck?" Because there are some things in this world that just don't add up [Like the continuing popularity of Ron Jeremy].

Or, like this binding is-it-a-diaper or-is-it-a-straight-jacket contraption (see right). No doubt, it was designed by a man because there's no way a sista would do this to another sista.

This tighty whitey body cast inspired undergarment is one of many similar lingerie warfare pieces pictured in North American department store catalogues.

Sheesh, remember when the bra and pantey section of the catalogue served to inspire moments of self-lovin' ? Ah, the good old days.

Since when are women expected to eradicate all traces of their curves in exchange for smooth silhouette lines you could bounce a quarter off? There is so much pressure on women to conform. Remember pre-Ben Afflect Jennifer Lopez? You don't? Um ok. How about ahhhhhh.....well, it's happening ok!

Surely men don't want to spend precious minutes (or hours depending on manual deterity) unwrapping a woman who's bound like an Egyptian style mummy. Could you picture a dude wearing one of these to feel better about how he looked in clothes? Exactly.

So women, embrace your curves - all of them. Being comfortable enough to breath is way sexier than elastic-y containment. For the first time ever in a relationship, I actually feel sexy without trying so hard or feeling the need to be perfect and failing that, covering up. Before, I'd always buy a new shirt to wear for a date or exercise like a leg-warmer-wearing maniac. But Liam makes me feel sexy without feeling like I need to have my ta-ta's flanked by low cut v-neck shirts all the time.

Ladies, you don't need to hide what God (or Haagen-Dazs ice cream) gave you. Men, am I right or am I right?

Blog Post Fact: I ate a second helping of cheesey mashed potatoes while writing this post.

[Post Blog Note: I'm not sure what brought on this tirade. Perhaps it's the Vex I'm drinking right now (note to self:Vex makes you an angry albeit literary gifted drunk).]

Single Girl On A Saturday Night: The Ugly Sweater Party

As you know, I like to pirate ideas from fellow bloggers and today's post is no exception! The "Single Girl On A Saturday Night" is a regular feature on Amy's blog. And yes, I do realize it's Sunday already.

Last night my sister Kirsten and I went to an Ugly Sweater Party.

We spent a small chunk of time (quite possibly 60 minutes in total) at three different second-hand stores in a quest to find the ugliest of the ugly to wear.

We found a strong contender at our first stop - a flowered synthetic thingy. And best of all, there were 6 identical sweaters so Kirsten and I could do the "twin thing" which we haven't done since university (probably because we're not actually twins). Unfortunately, the sweaters were $12 each (a bit pricey for second-hand even if they were Tommy Hilfiger and still had the price tags on.) I tried my best to wheel-and-deal offering to take both for $10 total. The shop keeper disappeared out back for a minute and returned to announce that $7 each was as low as she could go and still make money. So we pulled the old "we'll think about it" routine.

Two shops later, we'd found something suitable (in ugliness and in price). My pick was a retina-burning blue and baby diarrhea green striped pullover with smaller lines of mustard yellow thrown in. My sister literally stumbled upon a low cut greenish blueish knit sweater that tied at the elbows, and resembled something a bar wench would have sported back in the 1700's...

We were able to take our time getting ready (a rarity with the kids). Kirsten assisted with my hair which she hasn't done since university (I didn't know it could defy gravity like that). And I didn't even get burned by the curling iron.

My sis even offered to do my makeup too but I'm still scared from when she did a practise run through of my makeup for my wedding 10 years ago - she wanted to achieve a "different" color and opted to add a touch of eyeshadow to the gloss. My lips ended up stained black and goopy. So, I maned the makeup brushes myself. Not that I'm completely hopeless and don't know what I'm doing or anything.

People put some great thought into their sweaters! One guy (who shall remain nameless) wore a black women's sweater, complete with beading and baubles and sequins on the front. Funny part is, he pulled it off, and looked radiant. I never thought I'd say that about a man. The host (a lanky 6"3+ guy) sported a women's cream cashmere belted cardian which made him look like a pimp, albeit, a very soft one.

It was a great time. And gave everyone a great opening line - "That's one ugly sweater!"

I ended up becoming quite attached to my sweater which I was alble to pull off with a sunny yellow collared polo shirt and jeans. In fact, I got lots of compliments.

I guess ugly really is in the eye of the beholder.

Today's Post Is Brought To You By The Letters P and J

I can't take it anymore. This cotton and flannel insanity has gone on long enough!

I may sound old and outta touch by admitting this but I don't get some of the latest fashion trends. Moreso the creation and promotion of tulip skirts and bell jackets but do you know what really baffles me?

Pajama pants. "But Erika," I can hear you saying, "what do you have against cotton or flannel cinched just below the waist with a drawstring?" After all, they are super comfy and on the right person can be sexy. You can get them in plaid or with funny little cartoons, or in my Dad's case - with NASCAR insignia.

Ironically I am writing this in a pair of pink flannel bottoms and my pink Miami Ink t-shirt.

Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against pajama pants worn in the comfort of your own home. It's nice to slip on something soft and warm and comfy when it's cold out, for an evening in playing Scrabble, when you're retaining 3 pounds of fluid or when sittin' round the fire when camping. Hell, I've even worn them to take out the garbage. But that's not what I'm talking about.

I've seen girls wearing them at the arcade while playing Dance Dance Revolution, or while chowing down at the food court. At first, girls were only wearing them to school. Then the schools got wise, and they were banned [the pj's, not the students]. In true teen rebellion, now pajama pants are popping up at the mall, and I don't mean on the rack. Maybe wearing your pajama pants to the mall today is like wearing sweat pants back in my day (which wasn't all THAT long ago). I'm pretty sure it wasn't sexy then either.

I find it hard to imagine if you were a teenaged boy that you would start crushing on a girl after seeing her in the flannels she wears to bed. Then again, I've never been in tune with the thoughts of teenage boys (or boys in general). I know they didn't like wearing sweat pants.

But donning your nightime wear isn't limited to hormonal teenagers. The other day I saw a lady in her 30's in the produce section wearing red flannel pajama pants pushing her grocery cart with her toddler. Did she not sense that people were wondering if she was a bit off?

A young mother was picking her two kids up at daycare yesterday, and yup - had on pajama pants! If your kids are dressed in non-night time clothes it's probably a safe bet that you shouldn't be either.

And I know it's more acceptable to be more daring and baring and all that a la super low rise jeans but come on! It'd be like going to work in your lingerie - probably not going to get quite the rasie you were looking for.

Mmmmm, perhaps I should start a new trend...a small serving of modesty anyone?

Out With the Old, In With the New or Slightly Used

Dear clothes closet,

Regretfully, I am writing to announce that tonight some of your inhabitants will be removed. Prepare to be raided, inspected, and modeled like you're in a 1990's movie music montage to Bon Jovi's "You Give Love A Bad Name."

Yes, sadly it is the day when cute little dresses and cardigans everywhere [at my house] whimper at the thought of not being worn once again on a first date to meet that hunky beau full of possibilities and instead are being chucked. Without feeling, without remorse. Like an ex-mate who is neither your current tango partner under the sheets nor your friend but is that symbolic saloon door swinging in and out (and in and out) of your life.

Any inhabitants found with holes, pulls, lowered hems that cannot be mended, missing buttons, missing sleeves and/or holes in unmentionable places shall be sent to clothes heaven. That magical place where all clothes who have lived a good life and seen some action on the field must go to die...er, I mean live out the rest of their days in pieces. Oops, I mean peace.

Much like the latest bobble-head celebutante, I need to purge [my closet] in order to feel free of the chains of 2006. Said purging is a necessary evil. And must be done to make room for new inhabitants, like that sweet pink chiffon blouse I got on sale for $9.99 CDN.

Closet, I hope you understand that as painful as this is, it hurts me more than it does you. And not just because you are an inanimate object devoid of any feelings. Although, that is a big reason.

In love and war,

Erika

Do You Smell That?

Ah, yes. The smell of fall is in the air. Either it's fall or...nevermind. It's crisp, it's fresh. There's just somethin' about it. Fall is my favorite time of year (apart from New Year's, my birthday, summer rain, Johnny Miles Marathon Weekend, the first snow fall and when Justin Timberlake releases his next album *ahem*).

For me, fall means many things, like back to school (horray!). Just kidding. Ok, I'm slightly serious. Fall is an exciting time, a switching of gears. The camis, capris, sun dresses and sexy sling-backs are packed away (at least they are when you live in Canada). And out comes the wool sweaters, corduroy jumpers, tweed mini-skirts, leather platform boots and ever-so-sexy long johns.

Despite the fact that during fall us Candians bundle up, I find it the most enticing time of year. Summer's too sluty. Everything's "out there". But fall, ah, now there's when the imagination has to get you going. You have to wonder just what's under that camel skin-cotton-cashmere blend sweater.

Personally, I think there's nothing sexier than a guy in a wool sweater. Ok, maybe not a wool sweater because I'm allergic to wool. But a thick cable-knit sweater, or turtleneck. Mmmmmm...turtleneck. Um, not sure what my point was here. Ah yes, it's that leaving something to the imagination is good. You may never know what's under there. Or, you might. You tease.

And don't even get me started on hot chocolate by a roaring fire.