Little Bow Bleep

pretty bows

The bows I cut off my new bra in a fit of rage.

Pretty bows, aren’t they? Sure, they’re pretty until they are sewed in a “strategic” place on a bra; right in the armpit. Don’t bother moving your arms because you will end up with chaffing from hell. Why do they even put those bows on anyway? Do they want me to say, “Hey, look at my armpits, aren’t they beautiful?!” In general I look for two things: comfort and practicality. In a bra, all I need is something to support the girls and maybe give the illusion that I actually possess them. Jack of Most Trades obviously knows my chest situation, so the push up bra isn’t going to succeed in tricking him into making debateable decisions and later disappoint. I need the push up for more practical reasons, like keeping my clothes up and preventing strangers from shuddering.

I could technically walk around all free bird-like; it’s not like they’re going to sag on me. I think that’s frowned upon though so I wear these stupid wired cup things with a tight strap that hugs me uncomfortably like a long lost Great Aunt that either doesn’t comprehend the “hug’s over tap” or just doesn’t give a damn. I can’t breathe. This gives me anxiety just thinking about it.

I can’t tell you the number of times I have set out to find the PERFECT BRA. As mentioned previously, I’m not interested in the lace, bows, bells, whistles or otherwise. I don’t care if it is the ugliest thing on this planet. If it stays put and feels like a Care Bear cloud, nothing else matters in this world. But alas, I have come home each time empty-handed, braless, hopeless, or the odd time, whipping a pretty-in-pink sexy lace number complete with armpit bows in circles around my head.

With determination and a strong will to live wild and partially free, I will prevail.

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The Weight Maintenance Secret That Will Knock Your Socks Off

hallway

The reason my body is in constant fight or flight mode. I swear it’s scarier at night and even then, it’s about half as intimidating as the one at my parents’ house.

I think people wonder how at nearly 30 years old I’m the same size I was in high school. I don’t have a regular exercise regime and I hardly watch what I eat. With this being said I prepare healthy meals and choose wholesome snacks the best I can. Lately, the chocolate and baking addiction has overcome me with a once a day slip up. I’m going to tell you a little secret about my weight. Brace yourself; this skinny bitch is about to blow your mind.

I RUN* EVERYWHERE. I don’t go for an organized jog or anything, I just run. Why walk, when you can possibly get to your destination more quickly? My resting heart rate is always above 80 because I’m never resting. That burns a lot of baking.

This all started when I was very young and living at my parents’ house. They had a dark hallway that gave me the creeps and my bedroom just so happened to be at the end of it. Aside from sleeping on the shag carpet in the living room, which still haunts the floor of my parents’ house, my only option was to face my fear. I am not known for my courage, so I started running up and down the hallway. Now that I’m grown up and possess logic, I know I could have turned the light on, and maybe I’d be a few pounds heavier in consequence. Coincidently, Jack and I live in a house with a dark hallway. I make it seem like I’m being playful running from him to get to our bedroom at the end of the hallway. It’s less childish that way and maybe somewhat romantic? But you have to know that I’m sprinting down that same hallway when Jack’s not home; a little faster and with more purpose.

It isn’t just dark, shady situations that make me run for my life. It gets beyond cold in Alberta and I only just discovered Long Johns a couple of years ago (not to mention the fact that Long Johns bunch up under my pants and make for awkward wedgie picking moments throughout the day). That’s a lot of winters with only one pant layer thus; you can see why I would run places. Have you ever had your jeans freeze to your legs? Me neither; I’m too fast for that!

Lastly, I get doing things, like writing a blog post and lose track of time. I’m not sure if it’s called irony because I wrote through that English class, but even though I’m Lady Leisure, I still have to get shit done. I have appointments where I have to be somewhere at a specific time which is rather inconvenient for someone like me. I now have 10 minutes before I have to be somewhere 12 minutes away. I make that time up by running.

So there you have it. The ultimate secret to weight maintenance: being a procrastinating princess living in a cold climate.

*More like power-walking than running. Well, a brisk walk with arms flailing.