Tuesday, August 16, 2011

The Shit that Just Wouldn't Fit

Listening to: Rock You Like a Hurricane - Scorpions
Mood: Calm

The G family is moving to India. There. I’ve told you, just like I’ve told everyone I’ve come across in the last few weeks, including random store clerks. I just can’t seem to stop telling random people that my family is moving almost exactly half way around the world. That’s not what I wanted to talk about today though. If you want more info on this, see my Masala blog here.

What has caught my attention for the moment is shit that just will not fit.  Part of the moving process is weeding through my closet and my almost endless supply of black Guns N Roses tee shirts. India, you’re on notice. I’m a GNR freak and I am bringing every last one of those tees. Ahem. Anyhow.  Mother nature has seen fit to curse me with freakin ginormous boobs. Which I hate. It makes it very difficult for me to find clothes that fit well. My clothes either fit my boobs and are too large everywhere else, or fit my body and look absurdly small across my chest.

So I spent most of last weekend trying on clothes and then tossing them in the give-away pile.  The husband has complained that I look like I’m trying to be a boy in my black tees and cargo shorts, but honey, when you have what I have to work with, it’s easier and less awkward to wear looser stuff. I’m slowly trying to get more into the girly thing with skirts and lower cut shirts. I ended up getting rid of almost half my wardrobe, most of which was shit that just wouldn't fit. What I can’t quite figure out is how I ended up with so much stuff like that.  I think I need to be more careful when I shop.


Tuesday, August 2, 2011

Living with Hairy little Beasties

I have come to the conclusion lately that we are living with some hairy little beasties. No, no, no. The G house has not adopted any adorable dogs, cats, hamsters, etc. We do have a couple of beta fish, but they don’t have hair, and well, just never mind about that.  I’m talking about my two daughters. At our house, the *only* possibility for girls to look attractive is to have long hair. This opinion comes straight from my daughters, not me. So no one ever, ever wants a haircut. That combined with the fact that I shed like a God damn golden retriever has me racing around like a maniac with my Swiffer.  By the way, Swiffer, I love you. You do so much more than a broom ever could with hair and dust. (Yes, that was an unpaid plug there unless Swiffer decides to throw some love my way, which is vastly unlikely.)

Mr. G originated in India. As you can imagine, he’s a black haired man. His kids, accordingly, are half Indian. They also have lovely, thick, dark brown hair. It looks decidedly less lovely on the floor and the furniture. My hair on the other hand is blonde and doesn’t show up on anything but the black Guns and Roses tee shirts that I am overly fond of wearing. So the only person that is really bothered by my hair is me when it makes its way down the back or onto the arms of one of my shirts.  God I hate that phantom hair that you feel but can’t find when you get so irritated you stop whatever you’re doing to find it and throw it away. I never imagined that I’d spend so much time cleaning up hair after so many people. Perhaps it’s because I never counted on having two daughters (I couldn’t tell you why I thought that).  I just never imagined that I would find SO much hair around our house. Especially now that my older daughter is brushing her own hair.  Ah well, back to the swiffer!