Wondertwins

Yes, yes, I KNOW it’s inappropriate to apologize for not blogging, and really, I don’t think I’m important enough that anyone cared too deeply, but JESUS CHRIST, what a week, and I’m sorry if I freaked anyone out. (And by “anyone” I really only mean the two people who e-mailed me with the subject, “Are you alive?”)

I am alive, but barely hanging on, I tell you, after one of the most insane weeks of my life, and although I’d like nothing more in this entire world than to go to sleep, if I don’t put this up, I’m afraid I’ll fall out of habit and never blog again. Or something. As if. Anyway, now that most of the torture is over, I am left with nothing but absolute misery and anxiety, wondering if I did something wrong, screwed something up, ruined my life. And the worst thing is that I did screw something up because I was nervous, but never mind! We have moved on!

What I mostly want to know is this: why do you sweat when you’re overtired? What’s with the sweating? Am I feverish? Sickly? No, I’m just pooped. And 90 degree weather aside, I’m sitting in cucumber-like air conditioning and sweating buckets through my clothes for no other reason than pure exhaustion.

Yesterday, upon leaving a Father’s Day brunch with my in-laws, I overheard Adam’s mother telling him that I looked “sexy,” which both amused and horrified us, because while yes, yes, that’s very sweet, I could tell by the look on his face that her pointing it out was about as appealing as if my dad leaned in conspiratorially and whispered in my ear that Adam was hot, followed by a lick of his finger and that gross sizzling sound. I’m pretty sure it had the opposite effect she was hoping for. Also, I can pull most of my pants off without undoing the zipper now, and that’s something, let me tell you. It’s an especially nice trick if you aren’t trying to pull your pants off, and when you get up after working on a long project, you bare your Hanes Her Ways to the crowd.

Speaking of underwear, remember when I mentioned Steve underpants? Yeah. Melanie ** subtly pointed out that they could be St. Eve, which they totally are. Which makes me a dope, albeit a dope who is INTENSELY disappointed that some dude named Steve isn’t making eponymous underwear for women. I mean, why WOULDN’T he, and further, why haven’t men across America created their own branded underwear? They could be on the asses of women all over the world! The bragging rights!

Further, the St(.)eve underwear in question are a new type that I am entirely unfamiliar with, and need to discuss. What’s with this new, um, hybrid type of underwear I’ve purchased? This not-quite-a-thong-not-quite-a-bikini-type underwear that fits in the front and…hugs the back in a thong-like way without actually being um, thong-like (sans floss, but with some inner … inner … inner-buttal something going on)? Where have I been? And do people LIKE this kind of underwear? Because if I’m doing it right, and God, I will die if I am doing it wrong and just bought the wrong size, I think I do, because as far as the aesthetic qualities of thongs go, I am NOT A FAN, because Jesus, nothing makes your backside look larger, oh my God. It’s like wearing high-waisted pants with no pockets. Not that I wear thongs sans pants to work or anything, but wow, wouldn’t that be a picture, and I might add it to my List of Things I Would Do if I Won the Lottery and Want to Freak People Out Because I Am Rich. Then again, I’m not really all that into panty lines either. I’m just saying, but more importantly, why am I saying this? Why? I have some sort of wild compulsion to share completely inappropriate things ALL THE TIME.

And while we’re on the topic of underthings, I finally bought new bras, thanks in part to your recommendations, and though I’m loathe to admit this, I found myself in Victoria’s Secret, because the Macy’s girl was all but feeling me up and breathing down my neck without actually coming up with a realistic bra size, and I was desperate to wear a black shirt again, because somewhere, in a giant black hole of suck, my black bras are having a party that involves tequila and someone else’s boobs. Also, they were having a sale, and their bras were cheap AND, just to tack more on to this caveat, one of my best real-life friends (go kiss her belly, because she’s awesome) recommended the Secret Embrace which is precisely what I ended up with, and I have to say, Erica was right. I still hate Adriana Lima and Victoria’s Secret, I just made an exception out of loyalty and desperation, or at least that’s what I’m telling myself. But I’m quite happy with the two I bought. Next up: Gap’s wireless push-up bra, thanks to Whoorl.

Also, y’all, go get fitted again. Despite a 25-lb. weight loss, I was horrified to discover that I am actually a size bigger than I thought, which means I must have been busting out of those suckers, and not in a good way. I’m thinking it was more in a way that involved backfat (BACON!).

I’m also thinking that given the lack of sleep around these parts, that this made about as much sense as…Christ, I can’t even think of an analogy. I’m going to go sweat through some new clothes instead, and throw back some vodka. Happy Tuesday! I missed you!

*Update: Oops! It was Melissa! I told you I was overtired! Melissa, Melanie, Steve, BillyBob. Apparently they’re all the same when you’re tuckered. Sorry, Melissa!)

**Shannon Worrell

29 comments June 18th, 2007