Wednesday, November 25, 2009


I'm a Taurus (don't pretend to be surprised).

Today, my horoscope said: "Let your hair down a bit. Take time to learn more about an adversary, a client, or an attractive new hook-up."

What my horoscope should have said: "Pull your hair out a bit. Take time to fight with your husband, a coworker or random @$$!&*^. Your PMS will be in overdrive causing you to consider a self-hysterectomy. But you're too squeamish.  Instead, listen to your ovaries scream "I'm melting" like the Wicked Witch of the West as they come closer and closer to shrivelling up."

Or something like that.

Friday, November 20, 2009

Spanks But No Spanx

*WARNING: If you are a guy, stop reading this post right now. Keep reading and women will become slightly less mysterious, and slightly more bizarre.*  Don't say I didn't warn you.

I pride myself on my looks. That's why when Momma wants to look extra special (i.e. less lumpy and more yummy), she pulls out what any other self-respecting woman would...a "slim cognito seamless mid-thigh shaper" ofcourse! (Try saying that 5 times fast). It's better known by its dressing room name - Spanx.

Sure, it takes the coordination of a NASA astronaut docking at the spacestation to cram yourself into one. But just like the advert says, it will make the inches disappear! That's because Spanx pushes your love handles from your hips to somewhere amongst your internal organs. But man, you look good. You could bounce a quarter off that ass. Trust me, I've tried.

Lately I've come to realize that I've been wearing the Spanx just a little too much. My one and only pair, has given out. My Spanx have lost their will to torture contain my womanly overcurves. I didn't even know that was possible. Sigh.

Coincidentally, number of days without jelly beans = 0

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

First Comes Love, Then Comes Marriage, Then Comes Boredom?

I haven't been posting as much lately due to a shortage of juicy post-worthy stories. I never expected married life to be so...uneventful. After all, we are talking about me here. Boredom, commonality, these are not words I know. Ok, I do know them (after all I am a master of the English language) but I don't KNOW them know them.

I never thought I'd miss certain parts of my single gal life. The adventureous part. The never knowing what was going to happen next part. The where-will-I-be-in-2 years part. A big piece of my personality was tied to me being single.

I just might be slipping into a matrimonial identity crisis.

Don't get me wrong. I love Paul. I love being married to Paul, and the hunka hunka burning love we have. But there's just something missing. Drama? Definitely. Shopping til I drop? Unfortunately. Quirky Erika? Quite possibly.

I've got to get ME back.

Wednesday, November 4, 2009

Ho Down

I have a pair of cords (hurrah!). But not just any old pair. They are a cool shade of mint green. When I wear them I feel comfy and slightly like a gay man (not that there's anything wrong with that). Mint green is not a color pulled off by the masses.

The best part - these cords were FREE - a donation courtesy of Katrina (my S-I-L, not the hurricane).

After a particularly rough morning (3 irate hanger uppers and decaf coffee), I decided to head on down to "Sounds like Jim Nortons" for a cup of java (the drink, not the Indonesian island). Being the uber multi-tasker that I am, I dediced to drop off my 5 outstanding library books along the way. [Hey, I said I was a multi-tasker, not a pays-attention-to-due-dates person].

I was 10 steps away from the cross walk when I heard a distint "pop" noise. Not a sound you want to hear at the best of times, unless it involves champagne or your virginity.

Then I remembered the one reason I do not like my cords. The top button (a snap, literally) pops at very inopportune times. Like when I'm walking. Shopping at the grocery store. Sitting in the car/office/dentist chair. Laying down. Actually, that last one is ok. I'd like to think said "popping" is not from the couple of pounds I've added to my hips, but rather, because it's a sin to keep my body under wraps. And the pants know it. Yes, that's it.

*avoids eye contact*

I attempted to ignore the fact my pants had become unhinged. After all, there's the fail safe I'd like to call a zipper, which keeps everything in line. Except, I could feel the zipper start to give way, inching down. Very slowly. And with every zipper tooth, my pants slid slightly farther down my hips.

Not one to panic, I cleverly used my overdue library books to cover up the evidence, holding them stragetically in front of my crotch. Tightly. I increased my walking pace, hoping to reach the safety of the drop-off box inside the library entrance before my pants became leg warmers. Luckily the drop-off box has a piller nearby, so I could put myself back together without too much attention. (Mr. Security Guard, I saw you checking me out BTW. You too, homeless guy).

Happy to have my pants back up where they belonged, I skipped merrily along to "Sounds Like Jim Nortons" for my coffee (now upgraded to a Large single single).

Unfortunately, I can add "skipping" to the list of things not to do when wearing my cords. Luckily, I'd orded that Large coffee.