Naked Time is NOT a Sponsored Activity

I think it's probably fair to say that anyone who has children has been exposed to Naked Time. For some reason, every child I have ever known has had a propensity for nudeness. I worried that it might be some freak obsession created by a questionable gene pool... But my friends all claim that they have small stature nudists in their homes as well.

It's impossible to count the number of times my children have come running down the hall, dripping wet from the tub, just as a guest appears at the front door. And the truth is, it's hard to get embarrassed after it has happened umpteen number of times... I think the only thing that still makes me shake my head is when they decide to sit down and watch cartoons before covering their nakedness. Ew. Please don't do that! Underwear is a minimum requirement before any tooshie touches the furniture.

It's a weird thing, nudity... If you've ever been to a nude beach (yes, I have--no need to discuss it..) you know that a general rule is that the less of a certain person you want to see, the more they will expose. That flabby, old guy with the paunch seems to be the most comfortable in his skin. Why isn't it the hot guy with the ripped abs who wants to flaunt it?

My favorite nudist story is about a friend of The Mister's. He was staying in Europe at a resort that had a pool and spa. The first night he visited the pool, he realized that everyone was naked. He, being a fairly conservative guy, felt a little uncomfortable being the only one in swim trunks and didn't stay long. The next day, after some long work hours, he really wanted to go relax by the pool. He decided "when in Rome" and joined the nude masses... At least that's what he thought he was doing. He marched through the doors and into the pool area and was horrified to realize that everyone was wearing swim suits! It seems that he'd decided to join the nudist ranks on the wrong day. Apparently there was a posted schedule of "family days" during which swim wear was required. Oooops!

After hearing that story, I sent Mister's friend web links about new colonies he could join and nudist vacation literature. I'm sure he really appreciated it!

But (pun intended), back to Naked Time. Although it does occur in my home, I want to be clear that I DO NOT participate. So you perverts who are planning to come peek through my windows--get a life! And go get your thrills somewhere else! And for the rest of you--go ahead and admit it... Your kids love Naked Time, too!

Ooh La La Lashes!

You know those beautiful women with the long, flirty lashes?
Well, I've become one of them!

OK--maybe that's stretching it a bit... But I have the flirty lashes!

For my birthday I treated myself to a little indulgence. Did you know you could get eyelash extensions? I know it's a little silly, but I'm having fun with it. And at this point, it doesn't take much for me to wanna bat my lashes at anyone! It's fun being a girl! Oh, and by the way, I'm not wearing mascara or eyeliner in this photo! How cool it that?

Hello, It's My Birthday...

Today is my birthday. I know it's a little obnoxious for me to be declaring this little tidbit to the world at large... But I don't care, it's my day and I'm claiming it.

I'm not shy about informing perfect strangers that it's my day, although this fact seriously embarrasses my daughter. I proclaimed it to the girl at the boutique (she didn't offer a discount). I told the girl at the salon. I'll pretty much make sure everyone I see today knows I'm special, even if it's just a 24 hour type of special.

I remember when I was little (and coincidentally, younger...) how a birthday was all-important. I think the only thing better than a birthday was Christmas. I remember parties with all the neighborhood kids in attendance. Scavenger hunts, balloons, cake and ice cream... I fondly recall my surprise Sweet 16 party--I think the whole school showed up! I'm sure my poor mom was a little overwhelmed with the turnout. And it probably wasn't what she had in mind, but I loved it!

When did those happy days of celebration become dreaded days marking the progression to Oldness? I refuse to be a part of that melancholy. As proof of my eschewal, I offer the fact that I rarely declare my true age. I refuse to place importance on any particular age related number. Of course, I do acknowledge the actual benchmark birthdays that mark entry to legal adulthood, or other legally or religiously significant thresholds, but a change from the 20s to the 30s, or the 30s to the 40s doesn't qualify for much in my book.

I know women who claim to be 29 for years (decades?). Not me, since my early thirties I've been claiming 43. Why 43? I don't know... I guess I didn't think that identifying the true number of birthdays I have had was relevant to anything. Or maybe I just didn't think it was any one's business... Or it's possible that I simply didn't want to do the math required to answer the question honestly--I don't always know the correct answer off the top of my head! It's just not something upon which I dwell...

So the question remains, how old am I today? I haven't decided yet. But I like the look of 47--don't you just love the angularity of those numerals?

Can I borrow a suitcase?

It would appear that I have suitcases enough for a year-long trek around the world... We have an entire closet dedicated to the packable, and travel-ready. And yet, why is it that I'm always in need of another piece of luggage? I thought I had the perfect carry on bag. Turns out, it's not so perfect after all. You see, it's too big to shove under the seat, and if you have to stow it in the overhead bin, you may as well just send it to the belly of the plane... It's just about as hard to get to it...

Besides a better carry on bag, I need BIG pieces of luggage that don't weigh triple digit numbers when filled. Because, I'm not sure if you've heard, but they charge a lot for those heavy bags! And even more embarrassing, they tag them with a bright, orange sticker announcing their HEAVYness. Somehow seeing that HEAVY sticker on my baggage feels like a proclamation... I feel a need to protest:

It's not about my size--it's about the bag!

See, here's the problem. I have these ancient suitcases made of rigid, green plastic (I know, they already sound incredibly attractive, don't they?)... If I so much as pack a toothbrush and a t-shirt, I'm bound to go over the weight restriction. Don't believe me? I dare you, just ask how I know! And then just trust me when I tell you how un-cool it is to unpack and repack your undies in the check-in line... yeah... awesome...

So, I found these super-cool new Zuca bags. I'd love to order them--except for the price. OK, that and the fact that they'd never get here in time for my trip. But they're awesome! You can totally customize them for the cuteness (always important). But they are customizable for function, too! And the best part (IMHO) is that I've never seen anyone else schlepping them--which means they will be easy to identify! Yay! No more searching the tags of innumerable (and very similarly generic) black bags in a futile effort to identify my stuff. I sooo want this bag!