Snow Pants Showdown

www.comedycentral.co.uk

I had an absolute adolescent fit last night. I’m going skiing tomorrow for the first time in two years, so it’s been that long since I’ve had my snow pants on. As I remember, they felt a little snug, but then I always think things feel snug, even yoga pants. It’s all in my head people, and my stomach…

Anyway, I was dreading trying them on because I’ve felt all hefty lately. I had put it off long enough and had to take the plunge because if they didn’t fit I was going to have to buy another pair…another awesome pair I saw on sale. The only reason I didn’t already buy them is I’m not exactly rolling in dough right now and the responsible thing to do would be to go home and try on my old ones. Boo.

Frankly, I was torn. I wanted the new pair because of the style, but I didn’t want to not fit into my old ones because that would mean I’ve gained weight. This all could’ve been solved if I hadn’t stopped weighing myself. I used to weigh myself every day but that doesn’t work when you hit your 40’s, things happen in our bodies on a daily basis whether you’ve been eating healthy or not. A spat with the spouse could gain me two pounds of stress overnight. It was unreliable, plus it made me cranky for the rest of the day so I stopped doing it.

So I took my bloated self down to the basement and hauled out the bright white monstrosity that is my snow pants. They’re big, puffy and not slink and sexy (as sexy as snow pants get) like the ones in the store. I slipped them on with mixed emotions. Did I want them to be too small, giving me the excuse to run out and embrace the new pair or did I want them to fit, confirming I’m still the same size?

It became crystal clear what I wanted when I could barely get them over my hips. Panicked, I grabbed at the waistband and tugged. It reminded me of Friends when Ross put on those leather pants and hit himself in the head because he was all slippery, remember? I miss Friends.

I finally got them up and took a breath before trying to snap the waistband in place. Now, logically I know if I had trouble getting them over my hips there would be trouble at the waist. I don’t know what I was thinking, like I’m suddenly turning into Beyonce and my hips have just popped out but my waist hasn’t taken the hit?

The snaps wouldn’t snap…but I did. I lost it like a teenage girl who had her iPhone taken away. I had a complete girly, immature melt down right there in the basement. I cursed those pants, I cursed Christmas, I cursed every last potato chip on this earth. Then I cursed myself for being weak and undisciplined. I must not be working hard enough. I’m just going to have to work out harder, like 7 days a week, 3 hours at a time!  Right there I pledged to work out so hard that I will look like Jillian freakin’ Michaels by spring.

I ripped the pants off. No longer did I want the sleek new pants. I didn’t want any pants. I didn’t deserve any pants. I didn’t even deserve to go skiing. I should make myself stay home and eat lettuce as punishment.

I grabbed the pants like I was going to set fire to them. Then I had a rational thought, I should maybe keep the pants, after all it wasn’t their fault and maybe they would fit my daughter soon…

Then it hit me. She wore my pants last year. SHE WORE MY PANTS LAST YEAR! She had forgotten her snow pants at school one weekend and had borrowed mine..I looked at them and saw they were not only adjusted but looped around and cinched at the waist.

Quickly I undid the knots and slipped the pants back on.

They fit.

Not only did they fit, they were no longer as snug as they were two years ago.

Awesome.

Lesson learned.

**Hangs head in embarrassment.**

6 Tips for the Networking Newbie

I’m a train wreck in social situations. People say I hide it well, but I think they’re filthy liars because inside I’m a jumbled mess. This weekend I catapulted myself out of my comfort zone and attended Blissdom (a blogging conference) in Toronto, a place where networking is a necessity. For the most part things went well, I’m super glad I went and came back inspired and ready to take on the world…and I will, after I clean the house.

Most people were quite approachable and willing to share a table or include you in conversation however I didn’t get out of it completely unscathed. I believe we can learn from those who went before us, so now that I’m no longer a conference virgin, I’m willing to share my embarrassing moments to further your networking capabilities, because I’m selfless like that. Here’s what not to do.

1. Throw your umbrella in the toilet at The Marilyn Denis Show.  I couldn’t believe it either. I briefly considered leaving it there, but someone came in just as I was about to bail so I had to make a quick decision; be forever known in the blogging world as the one that tried to drown her umbrella or the one who saved it? I saved it.

2. Tell someone about it. As mortified as I was, it was funny as hell and I had no friend with which to share my humiliation, so I blurted it out to the first person I saw in line. I don’t think she found it as amusing as me. Later in the slickest move possible, I inadvertently held the umbrella out to her and she took it. It was when our eyes met in mid hand off when we remembered where it had once been. I don’t think she’s going to follow me on Twitter as planned, but if she does I might point out that fresh toilet water has fewer germs than a kitchen sponge. Fact.

3. Blatantly disregard instructions. Apparantly awkwardly addressing yourself in the monitor during a live television broadcast is frowned upon. We were told cameras would be on us and to not under any circumstances look at ourselves. What they don’t tell you is how hard it’s going to be. When a camera is in your face, wanting to know how you look is a natural instinct, isn’t it? It takes great restraint, something I clearly don’t have based on the recorded version on my DVR.

4. Spill coffee down your side from waist to knee. Especially on the train into the city so there is no possibility of changing. The irony was I thought I was really being careful. But when I’m nervous I’m klutzy, like an I Love Lucy rerun and before I knew it I dumped it (all of it) on myself. The upside is if it happens, tired people will be attracted to you and you can pretend to be part of their group.

5. Wear a green sweater and get your picture taken with Chef Michael Smith in front of a green screen holding a jar of lentils. Results? My mid section is completely invisible. Michael is transposed into a field of lentils with my head floating beside him, which is just one more reason for me to hate lentils. I did manage to engage in some thought provoking conversation when I remarked, “Boy, you’re really tall,” and then quickly followed up with, “I bet that’s the first time you’ve heard that.”  See how I saved myself? Again, looking on the bright side, who on earth do you know who has a ghostly pick of themselves in a lentil field with a freakishly tall man?

6. Be introduced by Erica Ehm to a Random House professional and rather than engaging them in witty conversation…RUN AWAY. What is wrong with me? These are two very friendly, inspiring women who could potentially change the course of my career and all I could do was shift my weight awkwardly like I’d been holding my pee for a decade. In my defense, having just embarrassed myself in the lentil field my confidence level wasn’t exactly intact, so I bailed like a scardey (actual word) loser forgetting all about the two completed manuscripts saved on the USB in my purse.

Oh, there’s more but my heart can’t take it. Would I do it again? Absolutely, I made a few great connections and heard some really amazing women speak. It was inspiring to say the least. Besides, what could go wrong?

 

**Image: http://www.flickr.com/photos/tallentshow/433963255/in/pool-freeuse/

Lie To Me

Last night I failed at dinner. Totally and utterly failed. This upsets me because I take my cooking personally. I like to try new recipes when I have the time which is usually Sunday. Except this Sunday seemed to get away from me as I attempted a magnificent Lemon Chicken with Croutons. You can find the recipe at the link below, (which pisses me off because I spent $50 on the cookbook). http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/ina-garten/lemon-chicken-with-croutons-recipe/index.html

What followed is too hurtful to post in detail. Let’s just say I underestimated the cook time, maybe burned my hand more than once, glued my hot, expensive pan to a plastic cutting board and had an adult sized pre-menstrual tantrum while Homer tried to avoid eye contact while slapping sandwiches together.

I announced I was too pissed to eat, grabbed a chocolate cupcake and walked past my family to go watch the Oscars. After a breather (two hours) and a glimpse at George Clooney, I went back and finished the dish and put it in the fridge for later.

Tonight I warmed everything up and served the dish as planned. The kids ate in between smart ass comments and Homer raced in the door, panicked to get the boy to hockey practice and ate fast before trying to make a getaway. It was then I noticed the crouton part of his supper still on his plate. I also noted he had left his plate on the table but this isn’t about that. This time.

So I asked, “Are you done?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Are you not going to eat the croutons?” Thinking he must be trying to cut out Carbs and silently wondering how long it would last.

“I didn’t like them.”

All the sound was sucked from the room. He didn’t like them? Really? This man witnessed my mental breakdown yesterday after trying to piece this meal together and he dared to say he didn’t like every last morsel?

He said it all nonchalantly too, like it was no big deal. Of course it was no big whoop, he didn’t have to make it. Yes, I like to cook but we aren’t siding with Homer right now and it adds nothing to the story. Besides like I said I was in no womanly condition to take criticism; I’ve been dieting, and haven’t had a class of wine in two months.

TWO MONTHS!

But, I’m fine.

The kids ran for cover.

“What? Do you want me to lie to you?”

Fair question. Here’s the answer. Yes. I do. I wanted him to eat everything and say it was the best thing ever…even if it wasn’t. And I mean that with every fiber of my being.

This reminded me of a couple of years ago when I was over at a friends house for lunch. She’d made us burgers and served chips and veggies on the side. I ate all of it. Then as we were talking, she brought up the subject of friendship and honesty. I started to get uncomfortable because she always had a reason for bringing up such topics.

“I think friends should always be honest and give their opinions.”

I nodded (I didn’t agree, but at least I didn’t lie out loud). I didn’t know where this was going so I was being cautious.

“For example,” she said.

Oh shit. Here it comes.

“I’ve noticed you have put on a few pounds.”

What? WHAT? Did she actually just say that to me? How did she expect me to respond? Was I supposed to thank her?

She was clearly confused between telling the truth when asked a question and just sucker punching someone in the face! What really threw me was she just volunteered the information. Did she think I didn’t know?

Oh my God, you’re right. I never noticed the waist of my jearns was trying to severe me at the torso. It’s a good thing you brought this to my attention before it got out of hand.

“I would want you to tell me.” She smiled sweetly.

I cocked an eyebrow and looked around for hidden camera’s before I told her how I felt about lying to friends, which is the same thing I said to Homer tonight and I will repeat here just so everyone is clear.

If I ever ask your opinion on how I look, how my cooking was or if I looked ridiculous in the short shorts and cowboy boots I wore to your cousin’s wedding, I want you to look me in the face and lie. Don’t ever, EVER tell me the truth. I want you to tell me I look fantastic. Always. Lie to me. I do not care. I give you permission to blow smoke all the way up my ass. You will not fry for your sin. Didn’t God want us to do unto others? I would never tell a friend she put on weight, not in a hundred million years. I will lie to your tripled chinned face and I expect you to do the same.

AND if you cook me dinner, I’m going to eat it, or spit it in my napkin, but make no mistake, if you ask me how it was I’m going to tell you it was fanfuckingtastic!

Ms. Honesty and I aren’t friends anymore. Not because of her obvious craziness, but because of her not so obvious craziness. One day I emailed her to tell her we couldn’t make it to a Christmas party (our daughter was sick..total TRUTH), she never returned my email and I didn’t pursue an explanation. I haven’t seen her since. Which is totally better than being around her and all her honesty.

So what do you say? Do you want the truth? Be honest now.