Saturday, November 19, 2011

Ms. Manners Disapproves of Da Bling-a-bling

So I’m reading the Ms. Manners column in my newspaper whilst enjoying a leisurely Saturday breakfast – it was kind of a drive-by viewing, her column is right next to a couple of columns I actually enjoy reading – and I almost snorted scrambled eggs out my schnoz. Oh, yes, I must share my giggle with you.

See, someone wrote in to our dear Ms. M, asking whether their ankle bracelet should be worn over the pantyhose or under them. (This is really a non-question. Either way, you’re gonna snag your hose – which is no big loss, since they’re a pain in the ass undergarment obviously invented by a man who’d never have to wiggle-worm his way into a pair, or suffer a serious case of swampass from wearing ‘em in the middle of a Chicago heat wave. Meh. But I digress.)

Ms. M’s reply? Why, *gasp* she ruled out both options, stating that the writer should instead try wearing it on the wrist. Um, helloooo – it’s an ankle bracelet, designed specifically to be worn on an ankle. Oh, wait…perhaps Ms. Manners was being a smarmy prig regarding the most innocuous of body adornment options? (This is where the scrambled eggs took flight. I could really use a neti pot right now.) Really? Does “polite society” still disdainfully sniff at an ankle bracelet? Bummer – I wear 2 of them on a single ankle; hey, it’s not easy being a middle-aged rebel.

I wonder if she’d like my cute little toe rings, one for each foot – I’ve been wearing them since before I had children, or what hubby refers to as the good old days (yeah, he swears he’s joking). Of course, I’m sure she’d completely ignore the fact that in Indian culture, the toe rings are worn routinely by married women to indicate their status as married women – perfectly acceptable and quite lovely.

Hm. Perhaps I’ve committed a major faux pas by not consulting Ms. M regarding placement of my tattoo. I decided to have it done on the top of my foot, not far from where an oh-so-tacky ankle bracelet would rest. Yes, it did hurt like a bitch in a few spots, but I am *so* glad I got it; in fact, I wish I hadn’t waited so long to do it – I break out in a happy smirk every time I look at it. But maybe Ms. M could’ve suggested a more tasteful spot for it – perhaps my bicep, bum or boob. (I’m partial to a boob for tat #2 – just can’t decide which one.) I suspect the tramp stamp would be an automatic thumbs-down, for which my tat artist will be most grateful.

I don’t think we should even get Ms. M started on facial piercings; I suspect she’s of the “one hole per earlobe” school of thought, so a nose or an eyebrow piercing would most decidedly be vetoed and considered ill-advised and ill-mannered. *snort* (In the interest of truthiness – has Colbert ™d that word yet? – I must report that I have neither pierced because I am a wuss. I have to get my eyebrows & lip waxed periodically because I can’t handle the ouch factor of plucking. Facial piercing fail.)

After much consideration, it's my opinion that Ms. M should only be consulted for the nuts & bolts etiquette issues: which freaking fork/spoon to use for which food course, how to hold them in a decidedly non-Neanderthal manner, and exactly where to place your dinner napkin if you’ve decided not to use it to strangle your nit-picky, holier-than-thou hostess. Yup, that’s right – we really only need her guidance regarding matters of the utmost significance in the grand scheme of things. (Bronx cheer here – etiquette can suck it.)

Tuesday, November 8, 2011

In Pursuit of Fitness: Truly Hot Yoga

I was in procrastination mode (a personal fave), mindlessly watching one of my girlie-cats perform her fastidious grooming ritual, which always includes her hiking up one of her hind legs (let’s just say she gets clean all over) in what the kids & I call the kitty yoga pose. My dirty li’l mind started off on a tangent – if I could perform the kitty yoga pose and all its related activities, would I ever leave the house? Could be really good to be a cat.

Said dirty mind then sauntered on over to the subjects of yoga and my own fledgling physical fitness regimen, and *DING* a connection was made, a fascinating hypothesis developed: Would people – especially males – be substantially more interested in doing yoga if that “industry” launched a marketing blitz that pointed out the similarities between yoga stances and boink positions? (Hm, hello, Kama Sutra?)

Downward Dog is the obvious first choice, just by virtue of the name (duh). Bark like a dog, baby – pant, pant. (I must confess, the last time I tried yoga, I was panting...and huffing & puffing. There was nothing remotely sexy about it.) Wouldn’t it be nice to learn how to get your yoga sweat on and end up with an afterglow that had absolutely nothing to do with yoga principles? Betcha I’d be a little more apt to stay the course, given a few favorable outcomes. Heh.

Stick with me here, fellow flexibility fiends.

Properly promoted, would the Warrior pose make your mate wanna get all conquistador-sexy with ya? Could assuming the Tree position give someone of the male persuasion *whispers* wood? Would it help if it were performed in the great outdoors? Or maybe nekkers? (I’d suggest a combination, but with my luck, I’d end up all “Baby, pass the wine and the calamine. Damned poison ivy – or was it poison oak?” Ivy or oak, wouldn’t matter which as I tried not to scratch ‘cuz, as Mama says with absolute certainty, it’ll get infected.)

Despite the possible itch glitch, I think I’m onto something. With a few modifications, the Plank position could be performed as a duet, rather than a solo – you know, improve your core strength while being thrilled to the core. Holy hot flashes – where do I sign up?! Use your own imagination and get creative, happy and healthy while having a blast and battling the bulge. Namaste, y'all!

(Safety note: The DOB suspects that the slightly tacky-to-the-touch yoga mat could create friction issues, so if you catch a whiff of burning rubber, you’d better slooooooow down and practice

Friday, November 4, 2011

Twisted Knickers Indeed

So the Underwear Bomber, as he is affectionately known, was in the news last month. He was finally getting his day in court to present his side of the story, his defense for filling his undies with explosives and boarding a plane at Christmastime ’09 with the intent to blow up said plane. Hello, martyrdom and an F-5 wedgie; goodbye, cruel world and family jewels. Ouch.

Luck was with his fellow passengers – UB either didn’t get his wick lit properly or perhaps he didn’t keep his powder dry enough, because rather than achieving his gruesome goal, he roasted his chestnuts on an open fire. You know that’s gotta sting; poor aspiring terrorist learned the hard way that Karma is a bitch sometimes.

He decided to plead guilty, saving us all from the media circus that accompanies a drawn-out, high-profile trial, but in this era of reality (crapola) TV I’m surprised that some slimy promoter hasn’t latched onto the hot property that is UB. Think about it: the guy is already famous in that reality TV sort of way (infamous), he may actually generate a bit of sympathy because he’s wounded himself in such a sensitive body part that even women wince at the thought, and his situation presents a golden opportunity for a product tie-in, the Undie Bomber Undergarments.

For the ladies:

Boom-Boom Bikini – make your sweetie’s heart beat a little faster in this stringy style.

Martyr Midrise – for those who prefer that extra bit of coverage (you know who I am).

TNT Thong – for those who prefer practically zero coverage and can ignore that “I got a wedgie” sensation (sorry, hubby – not gonna happen).

Kerpow Knickers – a tap pants/hot pants hybrid (hot pants, get it? Sorry, I crack me up sometimes).

Great Balls of Fire Granny Pants – self-explanatory and very comfy for tennis (they tend to stay put; don’t ask me how I know this).

For the gentlemen:

Light My Fuse Long-Johns – perfect to keep you toasty during the chilly winter months, includes drop-seat capability for emergency situations (excellent access point for the fire extinguisher).

Blastoff Boxers – come in a variety of vibrant colors to match your mood (the manufacturer suggests you actually NOT try to blast them off, cites example of UB).

Big Bang Briefs – not just your average tighty-whities, they’re also available in prints and dark shades (cough, skid marks, cough).

I realize the Undie Bomber Undergarment line is a bit of a stretch and may be considered by some to be in poor taste, but since when has that ever been considered a good reason to not go to market? Consider how many geniuses have paid good money for “amateur hour” porn vids (Kimmie, Pammie and we'll always have Paris) or to buy that Snooki book.

Yes, as Mr. Barnum is rumored to have said, there’s a sucker born every minute and I say we go for it. It’ll be a risky venture, we’ll be flying by the seat of our pants initially, but I predict a very healthy bottom line.