When did my pants split?

Today I was in Giant grocery store, the produce section to be exact, when I felt a little draft.. um... back "there." I discreetly brushed my hand to my backside and panicked. My jeans were split down the center seam. Not a little hole, I'm talking about flapping in the breeze. I already had a half-full cart of goods, so I decided to push on. I carefully continued shopping, maybe walking a little funny, and I believe the others around me were none the wiser.

Maybe I should've laid low, and that was the plan... until "We Didn't Start the Fire" came on the store's radio. I know EVERY word to that song! Well, at least I used to, I haven't heard it in a while so I may be a little rusty. But I have to say, as I belted it out walking - er, shuffling - down the grocery store aisles, I think I've still got it.

So if people didn't think the girl who has exposing her butt in the middle of the grocery store was nutso, the girl walking like she had a stick up her butt, they sure thought the girl simultaneously doing the Billy Joel impression was a little weird.

But I AM weird. Always have been. Here's another fun story that proves that I've been strange for a long time. It also takes place in a grocery store (like that segue?)

My mom recently reminded me of this story and I vaguely recall it. I became a vegetarian at a very young age (4). In the deli and meat section of our local grocery store, they had a pig in the glass display. A dead one (duh), cooked and with an apple in its mouth. One would think I would've been afraid of it, or at least grossed out, since I was avoiding eating meat at the time. No, strange-child-Lauren was OBSESSED with the pig at the grocery store. I used to ask my mom on a daily basis if we could go see it. Like, just go to LOOK at it. My mom, always a smart cookie, didn't think that was a "healthy" idea, even though I begged.

I wonder what the people who worked behind the deli counter thought about me?? The little four-year-old girl who liked to come stare at the pig. Were they disturbed? Amused? Did they look at me funny, like the people at Giant today?

The toilet paper at my parents' house

This past weekend I got to spend some much needed time with my girl friends from college, a ladies' weekend in the Poconos. My parents kindly offered to watch my dog for me and since they were along the way in my route north, I swung by and dropped him off.

Huck travels with his own bag (toys, ball, food, rain coat). I brought it all inside the house, and decided to take a potty break before I hit the road. That's when I noticed it, more like remembered it - my parents have really NICE toilet paper.

The toilet paper is super soft and feels strong like woven cloth. That, of course, is because my parents don't shop like I do. Naturally they consider price particularly on the larger ticket items, but they aren't on the same level of "bargain shopper" that I am.

When I was first on my own my default was to purchase what my parents always bought for products needed around the house. Bounty paper towels, All fabric detergent, Windex glass cleaner, Cascade dish detergent. But then I started paying attention to the prices and, consequently, the store brands. Knock-offs, generic, off-brands. I could save so much money by purchasing "less than the best;" it was still good enough for me.

It's not like I'm using sand paper in place of toilet paper, that's just silly. It would probably actually be more expensive to do that. With time I barely noticed what I was missing. That is, until I went to my parents' house and needed a quick pee break, now I'm ruined.

Is it bad that I thought about stashing a roll or two in my purse to take home? Just kidding...

Neti-Update

Because I know you have all been on the edges of your seats, wondering, "how is the neti-pot going for Lauren now???" I chronicled my initial neti-journeys a few weeks ago and with that, I got you hooked. You've probably been checking this blog daily, no several times a day, hoping and praying for neti-news.

Ask and ye shall receive.

In my excitement over my new "toy," I might have been a little carried away. I lamented in my earlier blog post that when I used my neti-pot, the water sometimes ran into my mouth, rather than smoothly in one nostril and out the other. I now believe this is because I was pouring the water out of my neti-pot too quickly. There was nowhere for the deluge to go, but out my mouth. After a little trial and error I learned the perfect technique. I still believe that my nasal passages are smaller/narrower than normal, so I need to apply an even lighter hand than most when using my neti-pot.

So now I've got the neti-pot down to a fine art. I could teach lessons, really...

Oh, the irony (of the Amish)

The irony of the following story was lost on me when it originally happened, but when I visited my parents' house for the holidays I finally caught on. And laughed.

When my family moved from Arizona to Pennsylvania, we downsized pretty significantly. Additionally, the theme of our home decoration style in AZ was very southwestern, which really wasn't appropriate in central PA.

So during the cross-country move we packed up many of our goods, but left behind furniture and most of our home decor.

When we arrived in PA, ready to redecorate, we were disappointed by the lack of shopping options. It was before the time of Ikea, but that was no matter - our options were Wal-Mart and... well, just Wal-Mart.

We were good sports about moving to the sticks, but we weren't about to furnish our new home in tacky roll-back home goods. Somehow we got a tip on a great source for an entertainment center for our living room - the Amish.

What do the Amish know about TV entertainment centers?? Well, we entrusted an older Amish gentleman (I don't remember his name so let's just call him "Weird Al") to construct a lovely wooden masterpiece to house our television, VCR (this was before the days of DVD players), stereo and tapes/cassettes/CDs/etc. And even though that was almost 18 years ago, the entertainment center is still going strong, proudly displayed in my parents' living room.

Weird Al was definitely very Amish, but I also think he was a cheater. I mean technically, he didn't have a telephone. But how were we supposed to get in touch with him, just show up at his house every time we had a question? No, Al used the phone belonging to his non-Amish neighbor. He did so on the regular; it was more or less Al's "home office."

Weird Al also had to, on several occasions, visit our house to take measurements. I really wanted him to arrive in his horse-drawn buggy, but no, Al went over to his neighbor's crib and called my Dad to come pick him up. In his car.

So let me get this straight, Weird Al - YOU can't drive a car, but you can get someone else to drive you around riding shotty? I am very certain that if this area of PA would have been urban enough to have cabs, Al would have had one on speed dial. On the neighbor's phone, of course.

My Neti-Pot Has Taught Me A Lot About Myself

Mainly that what I've always assumed is correct - I have very small and mostly non-functional nostrils.

Here's how I always knew this-

1. I have a poor sense of smell. You know when you're in a car with a few other people and all the sudden, all at once everyone says "ewww" and plugs their noses because you just came upon a skunk? I'm the special one who is sitting there completely oblivious. Didn't notice. If I try hard, I can detect a scent much fainter than reality.

2. By nature I'm a mouth-breather. I'll often catch myself, mouth agape. It's not just if I have a cold; it's a lifestyle.

And these two go hand-in-hand because, you guessed it, my nose doesn't work right. Mouth-breathing is just a more efficient way for me to get air. And it's not just the roadkill I can't smell, it's also the fresh-baked cookies, the Christmas tree, perfume or cologne.

If I breathe in really sharply through my nose, only my left nostril will collapse, indicating that it is bringing in air. My right nostril is almost completely non-functional - it will remain normal, round, totally unaware of the breathing goal, and there will be NO air intake on that side. It was funny the first few times I noticed this, now I worry there is some kind of blockage in there. In my mind, my left lung is normal but my right lung is shriveled up because no air enters on that side.

But the neti-pot doesn't lie. For those not familiar, I present this: http://www.himalayaninstitute.org/netipot/netipotgateway.aspx

(watch the video and thank me later)

The water goes out the neti-pot spout, into one nostril, then streams effortlessly out the other, carrying allergens and debris with it. Except when I use it.

When I use the neti-pot the water sputters and slowly dribbles out the other nostril, a couple drops at a time. Oh, but the first time used it (and still if I'm not careful) the water will actually come out my mouth. The water can't even find its way through my non-existent nasal passages! It's worse when the neti-pot is pouring into the left nostril and out of the right. That right side is just a little slow.

I'm hoping that with repeated and consistent use of my neti-pot I'll be able to "stretch" my nostrils to normal size. Before you know it I'll be able to breathe in with my mouth closed AND I'll be able to smell skunks! I can't wait.

Padiddle!

In case any socially sheltered person is unfamiliar with the game at the center of the story, I found this definition on Wikipedia-

Padiddle is a nighttime travel game with the objective of earning points by spotting vehicles with a burnt-out headlight. You must say "Padiddle" and hit the ceiling of the car as fast as you can, while driving. Whoever calls it first gets a point. The person with the highest score is the winner.

I still instinctively "play" padiddle, even though I drive alone 99% of the time these days. And I've noticed that since I moved to VA, my hand has been smacking the ceiling of my car more than ever.

I'm not sure what is going on around here. Driving home from work the other day, out of a cluster of four cars, three of them were padiddles. That's 75%, a ridiculous ratio. I was playing the bongos on the car ceiling. It is practically an epidemic. Then I started to wonder and worry a bit- is padiddle contagious? Maybe my county is having an outbreak. Is padiddle like pink eye for cars? Would my car "catch" it?

I'm happy to report that thus far my car Vinnie has been just fine. Although if he catches padiddle and padiddle is like pink eye, does that mean that I'll get to stay home from work tomorrow?

College Girls Are Easy

I have too many clothes. It's not that I buy them too often, it's that I never, ever seem to get rid of them. I wear t-shirts from middle school (don't hate me because they still fit...)

But some of the stuff that still "fits," does so on a technicality. I might be able to squeeze myself into it, but that doesn't mean I should. One of my co-workers was promoting a clothing drive through her church so I figured this was a perfect opportunity to cull through my closets/dressers/drawers/storage and also give to the needy.

The first step was to try on what I had. Analyze if it's still flattering, still fits, is still in-style.

I graduated from college six years ago at the age of 22. But based on the size of some of the clothing I wore at the time, I was the size of a 12-year-old. A 12-year-old boy - I'm talking NO hips here.

Most of the stuff slid on easily. I was surprised and impressed that the zipper on my jean skirt glided easily all the way up and turned to admire myself in my full-length mirror.

Oh. No. This must have shrunk. I cannot wear this in public. It would be obscene. Forget bending over, you can see my underwear when I'm standing up straight.

What about these cute shorts?

Good lord, I can't even look at myself without blushing. Again, the waist fits fine. But all of my clothing seems far, far too short. Surely I haven't gotten taller? No, in fact, a recent doctor's appointment indicated that I've actually shrunk half an inch since college.

I can only come to one conclusion - in college, I must have been a hoochie. I dressed like a streetwalker. Who was borrowing her 10-year-old sister's clothes. That were outgrown. And had shrunk in the wash.

Too tight and too short clothing carries with it the stereotype of promiscuous behavior. And while yes, it was college, I wasn't that easy.

So I wince as I fold up my favorite skirts, dresses, shorts from college and put them in my donation bin. I can only hope that they will make another little ho-bag very happy.