I'm Too Sexy for my Diapers...

Maybe it’s because I am an Aunt and not a mother. Maybe it’s because I am not pumped full of mommy hormones, but I find the new limited edition Jean Huggies weird and a little disturbing. The website uses the tag line “The coolest you will ever look pooping your pants.” They don’t look cool because a diaper is essentially puffy, unattractive underwear, and it does not matter what design you print on them, they look stupid. The disturbing part is the ad campaign. A baby strutting down the street with a shirt tucked into his diapers while people stare and sexy runway music plays. It borders on kiddie porn. Who is the demographic for this product anyway?

Cat Tales

There has been a great disturbance in my household resulting in icy looks and tension. I didn’t mean it to happen, but I’ve strayed and my cat knows it. One sniff of my clothes and she knew I had been unfaithful.

Yes, it’s true, when I was at my parents’ farm I snuggled Mittens the Kitten and now my cat is afraid that I’m thinking of trading her in for a younger model. Not that Mittens isn't terribly cute, and goodness knows she is, but to be honest I'm not looking to replace my cat, just give her a playmate.

My attention span for "chase the string" is just not that long and I've been thinking that if she had someone to play with who was willing to spend hours playing that she would be happier. As an oldest child, I fully understand that gaining a sibling means redistribution of toys (i.e. sharing) and other such joys, but there are upsides as well. Perhaps she isn't ready yet.

Apocalyptic grooming

Of the many changes I expect to be wrought by the apocalypse, I believe perhaps the most profound will be in the area of personal grooming. I'm not implying that radioactive wildlife or roaming bands of flesh-eating zombies (depending upon how exactly the horsemen ride in) are not profound changes. But I think, for those of us who plan on surviving the ordeal and building a successful new world order, it is perhaps the little things that will ultimately drive home how truly our lives have changed.

Grooming trends anticipated to drastically change.

1. Shaving. This tradition will clearly become arcane once no one has a boss to impress and mating prospects can be taken more or less for granted. Men can hack off their facial hair when it becomes cumbersome. Women will have no problem sporting short-shorts... and lush pelts.

2. Mani-pedis. The terms "cuticle," "French manicure" and "ped-egg" will quickly become obsolete and replaced by new trends, such as gnawing all fingernails to the quick with the exception of the "pointer" or "eviscerator" finger.

3. Bikini waxes. See the reference to pelts, above. And thongs? One day, we will look back at that trend with the same amazement we now reserve for great-great-grandma's bloomers. With barely-suppressed grins, we will shake our practical heads in amazement at a society that found this type of undergarment acceptable!

4. Styling products. I'm pretty sure no one is going to care if our hair is frizzy, or lank, or dull in the post-apocalyptic period.

5. Eyebrow waxing. In the new era, our eyebrows will cease being merely decorative and return to their original function: keeping sweat out of our eyes. The bushier the better.

Grooming needs that we should begin detailed manufacturing/stockpiling plans for immediately.

1. Deodorant. Just because the world as we know it has come to an end does not mean we can lower our standards in this arena and become dirty hippies who rely on the magical power of underarm "crystals" to cure our stink.

2. Feminine hygiene products. We all love to poke fun at their commercials, but these are an absolutely non-negotiable necessity. First person to develop a post-apocalyptic replacement product (because I'm assuming the run on drugstores is going to be fierce), wins the Nobel Prize.

3. Dental hygiene products. It is likely that sufficient substitutes can be created using available ingredients. Given all we know about proper dental care and the painful problems caused by lack of it, this is one grooming trend we cannot afford to let fall by the wayside.

4. Toilet paper. Is this technically a grooming product? We do not today think of it in those terms. However, I would argue that a lack of adequate, effective toilet paper would grow into a significant grooming issue rather quickly. Let's not trot down that path people. Add toilet paper (or an easily accessible substitute) to your personal list of apocalypse essentials.

These two lists are by no means comprehensive, and I welcome additions as we continue to formalize our comprehensive guide to planning for and ultimately embracing the apocalypse.

An Inconvenient Marriage

Aw, I know lots of folks like him.  And in a wonky, frumpy, muppet sort of way, he might just be loveable.  But no one gets to declare a divorce after 40 years and THAT KISS without a slight scalding from the snarks of the universe.

I liken Al Gore to many of the Hollywood starlets who seem to have it all, and yet are unlucky in love.  Or at least marriage.  (Just think of the beautiful Halle Berry, the likeable Sandra Bullock, the successful Jennifer Aniston.)  What does a guy have to do to hang on to his wife?  Win a Nobel Prize?  (Check.)  An Oscar?  (Check.)  Score the Vice Presidency?  (Check.)  The Presidency?  (Debatable Check.)  Be a kazillionaire?  (Check.)  Look good in flannel?  (Really Debatable Check.)

His kissing skills look like they could be on a long list of gripes that Tipper Gore has no doubt accumulated over the years.  ("It's like mashing my lips up against a bowling ball of lust," I can hear her muttering disdainfully to a girlfriend.)  But my real guess is that, despite her Mennonite-like love of censorship, at heart Tipper is a girl who just wants to have fun.

And being Al Gore's wife, let's face it, doesn't have "fun" written all over it.  I mean, she endured decades of elections, politics and living in the Washington fishbowl.  To be followed by that most harrowing of experiences: Running for the Presidency.  And losing in a horrible, controversial, drawn-out Supreme Court battle.  And instead of throwing in the towel and retiring to a life of golf and jet skis and whatever else the fabulously wealthy do once their political capital wears thin... Al decided to lick his wounds for a couple years and then start building up a whole new pile of political capital. 

Tipper had to have been, like, "Whoa.  I've been down this road.  For several hundred miles.  With very few pit stops.  Explain to me again exactly why you care what any of those jackasses thinks about you anymore?" 

And what was the answer?  I'm bored?  I've discovered I just don't like fun and leisure very much?  I've decided we need more money?

So The Inconvenient Truth and all the glory that went with it was spawned (actually, "stumbled onto" is my theory).  And Al launched himself into the stratosphere as an environmental icon for the ages. 

I can only imagine that the break was confirmed when it became clear that even this was not enough for the quiet egomaniac.

At this point, Tipper is tapping her foot impatiently, growling, "OK my dear.  You did it.  We have, like, three giant Oprah-sized mansions and a lot of fame and everybody thinks you are a rock star.  Can we please resume real life now?"

But real life, for Al, had become a blur of fast cars, California girls, and lines of ... er, well.  Maybe it wasn't that sordid.  But real life - - a marriage, family, jet skis, whatever - - clearly can't compete with the siren call of fame and accomplishment.  For Al, the inconvenient truth is that life, the quiet stuff that happens in between movie premieres and Supreme Court decisions, is no longer enough to hold his interest for long.

I never expected to like someone named Tipper, even a little bit.  But I'm with her on this one.  It would have been nice to see Al put her desires ahead of his own for a decade or two, instead of continually reinventing himself - - at the cost of his marriage - - on the world stage.   

A little support here?

Now that summer has arrived, I find myself daydreaming about the BP oil spill, and wondering what it would take to initiate a similar disaster here on the Great Lakes.  And the smaller lakes.  And the city pool... OK, pretty much anywhere I might be required to don a bathing suit in public. Would a manmade ecological nightmare consisting of giant globules of tar floating in the water and washing ashore be excuse enough to tell my kids, "Sorry, no swimming this summer"?

And speaking of giant globules, let me rant a while about swimsuit manufacturers and their oh-so-flawed understanding of the female breast.  At least said breast(s) after the age of 20.  For the shrinking percentage of us who haven't had implants, that is. 

Breasts (mature, unenhanced, natural breasts), need support.

There, I have stated the obvious.  Now let me delve a little deeper.  (Stay with me swimsuit designers, here's where it gets interesting.)  Adequate support does not consist of a so-called "shelf bra," or an "extra panel," or even a flimsy underwire, especially when said underwire attaches to nothing more than a couple of ties that (is this a joke?) are supposed to tie around your neck.  Do you, swimsuit fashion elites, really expect me to lug a my breasts around for an entire day on a shoestring that is attached to my neck? 

Maybe I'm not shopping the right stores or catalogs.  Maybe I'm just not spending enough money.  (But $80 seems a ridiculous amount to spend on an "outfit" I detest.)  The only bathing suits that seem like they would do the trick up top are the skimpy two-pieces that look almost exactly like a colorful bra-and-panty set from Ms. Secret's.  Oh, they're cute.  But in providing reasonable bosom support, they overlook the fact that the rest of my body needs, shall we call it "special consideration," as well?  Perhaps I could wear a bikini-coverup combo on the tacit understanding that the coverup never comes off.

Or I could dive right into the skirted, blousy numbers intended for the grandma set.  (Not that either of the grandmas in my family would be caught dead in half of them.)  Really, these are my two choices at this stage in life.  I can either put more of my jiggly bits on unsupported display than I feel remotely comfortable with... or I can gratefully sink into several yards of floral flouncing designed to disguise my every human appendage.

In summary, swimwear manufacturers, the bathing suits you design are made for teenaged water nymps or water buffalo.  (No offense to wildlife intended.)  They make manmade natural disasters like the BP oil spill seem like attractive alternatives.  Can't you come up with something supportive, modest, attractive and just a little on the sly side when it comes to my imperfections? 

The price of ethics

Now, I know I'm not the first person to ponder the question, "At what price does someone forgo their ethics?", but I recently discovered that my price is $1.70.

See I shop at a grocery store that offers "perks" if you use one of their stupid cards. I faithfully have them scan my little savers card every time I shop. This earns me points. The points are good towards cash off the price of a gallon of gas. The gas station chain my grocery store has partnered with - you guessed it; BP.

Now, I can see several sides to this whole BP debacle, really I can. But I have personally landed on the side of snearing and tsk, tsk-ing at BP for being so irresponsible even a six year old could have figured out that if you build something you should have a contingency plan for when something big (fire, force of nature, and for our six year old possibly another kid) comes along to knock it down. Duh. Yes it's their fault. Yes it's their mess. Yes they should be responsible for cleaning it up. All of it.

So, I have been purposefully avoiding getting gas at BP as much as possible. Until today.

The last time I got groceries, I again handed over my saver card. The nice little check out girl handed me my receipt and specifically circled my points total shown at the bottom, "Ooo, you're up to $1.70 off a gallon of gas."

And so this morning friends, I caved. I needed gas in my car. I kept hearing perky little high-school checker girls voice in my head "$1.70 off a gallon of gas...", and my budget was crying out for some relief.

Yes, my ethics were bought for $1.70. I begrudgingly pulled into BP, swiped my tainted savers card, and proceeded to pay a mere $.95 a gallon for gas. I filled my tank.

Am I a bad person readers? Would you have caved into the siren song of a really good discount like I did? I would like to think that money is not a motivator, but alas it sure as hell got me to change my behavior.....