Wouldn't you know it?

I went back to the mall today to get that brown jacket from yesterday, and some bitch had already walked off with it? The nerve! That was my jacket, goddammit!

So, you know, I had to go shopping for a replacement, as I had made the commitment to buy a brown jacket. I found one at a store which I had previously scoffed at, saying they sold "Barbie clothes."

Hee hee! I can wear Barbie clothes!

I had a moment today.

So, this vacation has been all about staying at home. I've loved staying at home and just lounging about, connecting with my family. Miss Peanut, however, has been chafing just a wee bit about going to see her friend Clo. This morning, I granted her wish and took her to daycare so she could play with her friend - she's apparently had enough of me.

The offspring occupied, I took myself out shopping, since the luxury of having a purse bursting full of gift cards is not often mine. Stopping at the mall, I walked into one of the department stores and stopped at the Plus sized section to browse. I had to remind myself that this was not my section anymore.

So, after a quick internal lecture (my inner harpy just never shuts up!), I headed over to the Misses section of "Better Sportswear." As I was there, a couple of jackets caught my eye. The first, a chocolate brown brushed corduroy embellished with beads and embroidery around the hem, I could only find in a Large. Same for the second, a princess-seamed denim number with a denim ruffle around the neck, placket, and hem - no XL, just a L. Swallowing my disappointment, I dropped my heavy overcoat to the floor and decided to just bite the bullet and put them on over my sweater to see how far I'd have to go.

They fit. (Cue internal freak-out here)

Both jackets, in rapid disbelieving succession, fit beautifully, over a sweater. Unexpectedly, I did not feel like doing the dance of joy right there. I felt a little afraid, as though this miracle could be snatched from me, and I would be *boing* ejected from the normal sizes to land fifty feet over into the plus sizes again. Hanging my head, I waited nervously in slit-eyed dread for the smack that would wallop me back there.

Thank god for that inner harpy, though, because she was the one that bitch-slapped me right back into reality by pointing out that for the first time in about 7 years, I no longer had an X anywere in my size. Nowhere was it to be found - no XL, no 1X, 2X, 3X, or (gasp) 4X. No X anywhere. I should be counting my blessings, not anticipating the worst that might never come. Didn't I realize what I had? Was I that determined to be an ungrateful bitch that I would take for granted the hard work she and others had done to put me in this size? Feh! She washed her hands of me.

I think my inner harpy looks like Edna from the Incredibles. She sure as hell sounds like her.

So I had my moment today. It was momentous.

That is all.

Christmas Review

Best Present received: gift certificates from parents & WCM. Now I don't have to call in naked to work.

Most awkward present: alcohol from brother- and sister-in-law. I don't drink much to begin with, and really can't do much drinking since my surgery, so now I have 5 bottles of booze hanging around the house and no way to dispose of them. On the upside, among them are Godiva Chocolate liqueur and Starbucks' Coffee liqueur. I suppose I could make the Mother of all Mochas and get really toasty. Not a bad idea.

Most annoying present: the WCM gave Miss Peanut an alarm clock that looks like a stuffed dog. It barks you awake. It also barks when you press its paw. I'm ready to cut its little paws right off and jam them in its mouth.

Most shite present: a small bag of white fuzzy balls, labeled "Snowman Poop" from my brother. Bless him.

Best card: my brother gave me a Kwanzaa card this year. The Snowman Poop is forgiven.

The rest of the booty: an neat woven scarf from the Irish store (Faith and Begorrah, Oirish clothing!), a big-ass jewelery armoire from the WCM (40% off), fancy makeup from my brother and his lovely girlfriend (I painted myself up like the town floozy last night and had a ball!), and an iTunes gift certificate from the WCM.

Hope your Christmas - if you celebrate it - was merry and bright, and completely not shite.

David Tennant

Apparently, I've gone back in time, in true Time Lord fashion, and developed an embarassing teenage crush on David Tennant.

Like, OMG! He's a total hottie!

(the Doctor Who 2-hour season finale was just on. I'm still a-quiver.)

The strange thing? I never went for slender men. I always wanted them with a bit of meat on them - beefy, even - but I'm quite drawn to him. He's got the whole Scottish thing going on, which is in his favor. Plus, brown hair & brown eyes, a definite preference of mine. So now, tall & skinny is ok, I guess.

Mmmm, break me off a piece of dat!!

Ahhhhhhh, respite.

The last day of school for the year was today. Ahhhhhhh, feel the relaxation.

I have to head back into the halls of academia on January 2, but until then, baby? It's all good.

Five glorious days between weekends with no students but my own little ornery kindergartner.

Philosophy among the pajamas

The only downside to having lost 102 pounds is that money must be spent to purchase clothes. Gee, tough downside, you say. Fuck you, say I, this is getting expensive!

I refuse to shop at Goodwill. There was one too many "eeeeuuuuwww!" experiences with stained clothing there, so I have given up on them. I do donate there, though, although none of my clothes are stained. Hell, they're all practically new, since I've undergrown them. I like that term, "undergrown." Better than "outgrown," that's for sure. But anyway, (Piggy's fave word) I've been spending money recently, trying to be prudent, knowing that these are temporary clothes as the weight is still melting off (60ish pounds to go, if you're keeping track.) I've shopped at *shudder* Wal-Mart and Target (pronounced Tar-zjay, a la francaise), TJ Maxx and Marshall's, and, as a last resort, Macy's.

I digress.

I was in the pajama department at Macy's, as I've been so cold all the time lately, I can no longer sleep au naturel. As I was browsing the thick fleece PJs, it struck me that, while warm and comfy, these jammies were a bit, well, childlike. And, even though they're really a stopgap size (Large!), I should probably shop for who I want to be.

What the fuck? Who I want to be? Who the hell invaded my head to plant that thought in there? I was momentarily incensed - after all, I argued, who else was I going to be? Did I really have to reinvent myself just because I was a (much) smaller size? Did I have to be a different person? The voice in my head argued back, just as vociferously, that if I'd been sooooo happy with myself and who I was, why was I bothering to do all these things that I hadn't done in ages, like dress stylishly, keep a monthly appointment at the salon, and wear makeup on a daily basis? Why had my conversations changed and become all about fashion, facials, and favorite nail color? Huh? Huh? Answer that, bitch! Fuck you, I said, and the horse you rode in on. Just because I've developed new interests doesn't mean I'm not the same person I used to be. I'll wear whatever pajamas I fucking want to, fuck you very much, and I'll thank you to stay out of my business! And I'll wear them for the woman I was, the woman I am, and yes, the woman I will be.

At this point, I realized I'd gone over the edge and was arguing with myself, so I grabbed a pair of pajamas and got the hell out of there.

They may be red fleece and decorated with hat-and-scarf-wearing ducks, but they're nice and warm, goddammit, and that's all this woman really cares about.

Stale!

I baked chocolate chip cookies last week. I put the majority of them into a large ziploc bag for my Secret Santa, and then filled a small ziploc bag for us. I figured, why keep a bunch of cookies around the house that would tempt us all into eating them and becoming incredibly chubby?

Imagine my surprise when I found that little bag of cookies today, almost untouched. They were stale! STALE, I tell you!

Never in my lifetime has a bag of cookies, let alone lovingly homemade cookies, been around long enough to go stale in this house. (Channeling Wallace Shawn here) Inconceivable!!

Huh.

Well, time to go feed the unicorn and scold the dragon for setting fire to the Golden Apple tree in the back yard.

Mommy needs a tequila...

Mommy spent an hour in line to have Miss Peanut sit on Santa's lap.

Mommy is fucking crazy.

Mommy spent that hour sandwiched between Mrs. Snotty & her Stuck-Up Spawn and Hyperactive Harry and his Ho-Bag mom. Mrs. Snotty had her perfectly coiffed and attired brood standing quietly the entire time, and had the nerve to sneer at Miss Peanut, who twirled and pranced while in line. It must be said, that Miss Peanut did whine a tad (oh, my bleeding eardrums), but I was ready to whine after standing there for 30 minutes, not even knowing I had 30 more to go. I seriously think that Mrs. Snotty employs some thorazine in the management of her clutch of chicks. No children can be that docile and compliant without pharmaceutical intervention.

Hyperactive Harry spent the time running around, trying to escape the line, forcing one of his caretakers to run after him. Ho-bag mom, dressed in a leather micro-mini, jaunty corduroy cap over blonde extensions, and low-cut fur-trimmed sweater was too busy gabbling on her cell phone in a gravelly 3-pack-a-day voice to take charge of her offspring. She was too busy bitching about how unmanageable he was. Cretin.

The entire duration of the visit with Santa, after the seemingly interminable wait in line, lasted for 60 seconds. I'm building a fire this Christmas Eve and roasting that fat fucker when he comes down our chimney.

Mommy would give Daddy's left testicle for a good Margarita right now. Merry Fucking Christmas.