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Does anyone get the Signals catalog? Or am I the only bleeding heart sucker that donates to my local NPR station and is on the mailing list? Because when that thing arrives, it is, like, the happiest day around here. Because the stuff in that catalog is HILARIOUS. And I’m not just talking about the leg lamp from A Christmas Story. Do you not know what I’m talking about? Here.

It's like electric sex in your window.
It’s like electric sex in your window.

The other day when the catalog arrived I basically followed Mr. Zoo around the house, reading him excerpts. The poor guy had just biked home from work and had taken the dogs on a walk, was starving and all “uh huh, yeah, funny, uh huh” while serving himself dinner, and I’m basically haranguing him with crap like the Monet and Van Gogh Tees! STYLISH! And the Binary Code Clock. Clearly for the person who has everything else under the sun and then some.

I do think some of their stuff is wicked cool. Like:

Frank Lloyd Wright Legos

and:

Da Vinci Journal Of Inventions Pop-Up Book

Which I described to Mr. Z by saying “This is kind of cool! Da Vinci’s journal of inventions in pop-up book form! They took his inventions and made them into pop-ups in this book!” because I apparently like to describe things by using the exact same words just in a different order. BRILLIANT. They also have some cool recycled stuff. And, of course, the weiner dog pillow(s).

too long to fit on one pillow!

My favorite, though, is the message tees. OMG. There is little I love more than a good message tee.

And do not even get me started on the Chopin Bored and Chopin Bag. Yeah, they went there! Oh! And their reusable water bottle:

And it’s got a picture of a faucet on it!

And their “what goes around comes around” ring. A RING. BECAUSE IT’S ROUND. GET IT? I KNOW.

I did, however, put this basket on my wish list. Because it is freaking cool. Advantage: Signals catalog. Well played, Public Television. Well played.

I leave first thing Tuesday morning and until now have delightfully ignored everything I needed to do before I leave town. Said panic is also the reason I am not going to link appropriately within this post.

I need to get my new glasses adjusted because they are too loose.

I need to return the evil bra I bought (I am keeping one of the two I got that day because it is, actually and surprisingly, very comfy. You know, for a bra.).

I need to package up some bags I bought on ebags in my quest to find The Perfect Purse and The Perfect Laptop/Carry-on (I bought like 5 of them to give myself options, only to find the purse I wanted at Target (after checking two Targets twice before ordering them in the first place) while the bags I ordered were en route.) to take them to a UPS drop off.

I need to do laundry finish laundry and actually fold and put everything away in the same day. Then I need to figure out if there is room to pack everything I want in one suitcase since Hawaiian airlines charges (!) for each (!!) checked piece of luggage. I always overpack anyway, but this time I am bringing my wedding dress home so my mom can make a xmas tree skirt out of it. I also need to plan clothes for (a) hot and sunny Hawaii weather, (b) hot and rainy Hawaii weather, (c) church in case I go with my mom, (d) cool and windy Hawaii volcano/country weather for when we visit my sick uncle, (e) a funeral for said uncle depending on what happens, and (f) if history is any indication, approximately eight pairs of shoes, because you just never know.

I need to send my Bookmooch books. Eep.

I need to stalk the library web site to see if the books I have on hold will come in soon so I can take them on my trip.

I’m having some girls over on Sat night for pizza and drinks and a doggie playdate, so I need to clean up a lot around here, including bathrooms which I hate.

I need to give my disgusting toes a pedicure since Hawaii = open toed shoes.

I need to do two hour-long dog walks each day until I leave, at a client’s that is at least 30 minutes away (one way), during morning and evening rush hour.

I need to not focus on how I’m going to be in an airplane over AN OCEAN for several thousand miles.

Send reinforcements.

If you know me, you know I am a huge fan of What Not To Wear (or Dubya-Enn-Tee-Dub, as it is sometimes known) (around my living room). Stacie and Clinton change lives, people. And more importantly, THEY CARE even when they’re mocking someone’s clothing choices. I try to remember the techniques they suggest for using the best types of clothing to camoflauge any trouble areas on the body. Of course, because I’m a cheapass, and because I have an extremely casual lifestyle, I still basically wear jeans and some kind of tee…you know, when I leave the house and have to change out of my home uniform of yoga pants and baggy shirts. But! If I ever get a windfall (and/or perhaps a real job again), at least I will know what kind of clothes will flatter me. Thanks to an episode I saw the other day (they sent the participant for a professional bra fitting, and when she was wearing the proper bra it looked like she had lost like 20 lbs – the change was so dramatic that even Mr. Zoo mentioned how much better she looked) (after which I mentally shot him daggers for looking at the particpant’s breastages), I decided to finally get myself a bra fitting. I had been thinking about it for years and decided to stop waiting around to lose the weight that I have been saying I’m going to lose for, oh, four years now.

Now, I talked to a few people who had been through the process so I knew what to expect (somewhat), which is what I like to do in a new situation to reduce any anxiety. And things that typically cause me anxiety involve stores like Nordstrom in places like malls. Luckily since I don’t have a real job I was able to head to the mall at 11am on a Wednesday, so it was pretty quiet. As I walked into the lingerie department, there were at least three salespeople around, and I was so happy when the first one to greet me was a sweet-looking woman in her 50s. Then she directed me to a very thin and young saleswoman. Awesome.

I followed the saleswoman, Jessica (is that the cutest little young girl’s name EVER?!), into a dressing room and undressed to my bra so she could measure me just under the girls (“the girls” is what I call my boobs. Because I am a child, apparently). Then she went out to get a couple of bras in my band size to figure out my cup size. I didn’t know what to do with myself so I just stood in the middle of the dressing room wearing a bra for two minutes that probably felt like an hour. Once we figured out my cup size, she had me put on the appropriately sized bra. At this point I was basically barely holding it together. I’m not totally modest in this kind of situation – I mean, it’s her job, she’s seen all kinds of bodies and whatnot. I don’t freak out when I go to the gynecologist, either. I know to them it’s their jobs and they probably don’t even notice the nuances of my body that I’m not crazy about, they’re just working. But still, I admit to sucking in my stomach a little bit, and was definitely holding my shoulders up and back to try to alleviate the love handles if possible.

Then she had me bend over.

WOT?! you say? Yeah. She had me bend over so she could adjust the underwire and the band from the back to get the girls fully covered by the bra. At this point I was mortified, but she was honestly great – very calm, nonchalant and knowledgeable. But still. It was all I could do to not burst into nervous giggles at the fact that I was half-naked and bent over in front of a stranger, the midsection I had been so carefully trying to suck in now a sea of squishy folds and rolls. Later she showed me how to adjust them myself by using my hand on the outer portion of each girl inside the bra, while pulling the underwire back with my other hand. Still very difficult not to giggle. But I guess I could be grateful that she just had me bend over rather than sticking her hand into my boob to get the girls where they should be. Anyway. Then she brought me about a dozen different bras and I got to try them on in privacy, though I did have her come in for her opinion a few times, because hey, we’re friends now, Jessica and I, CLEARLY. At least I hope she agrees, because when I was trying on my fourth or fifth bra I realized I forgot to put on deodorant. CLASSY. (Right now she’s at home updating her blog, describing the chunky girl she fitted for a bra who also smelled.)

At this point of WNTW, the participant usually goes on and on about how much better their girls look, how they’ve never worn a bra this COMFORTABLE and how they never KNEW wearing a bra could feel so good and suddenly they can hear the birds and angels SINGING and yada yada. Well, they are lying liars who lie. Because for me, the bras still feel like a freaking corset. NOT COMFY. But, at least they make the girls look less like a shelf than they did before. For the record, the bra size I had been wearing was two band-sizes too large, and one cup size too small.

So! That’s my day. What did YOU do today?

Email

zooaskew[at]gmail[dot]com
June 2017
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