My 1st Guest Post!

My 1st Guest PostLast week, I stumbled upon a great post on the blog I Thought This Would Be Easier.  In the post, Jamie outlined her five most epic falls.  The first fall happens due to her hatred of pants.  She was four years old running through the house with her arms laced through the legs of her underwear – penguin style.  You’ll need to read the post to find out what happens next but all I could think about while I read it was our common interest – a mutual hatred of pants. 

While Jamie learned her lesson at the age of four, I did not learn mine until the age of 13 during a car accident that turned into a comedic scene involving two teenagers – one of them being waaay under dressed, a parakeet, a black lab and a minivan.   Intrigued by my comment, Jamie asked me to tell the story in full via a guest post on her blog.  I was beyond flattered and could not wait to tell my story, which is featured on her blog today.

I consider this a big day!  I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.


Mom Jeans

Jessica Simpson wears "Mom Jeans"

Jessica's bold style choice could have been a life changing moment for me. Instead, the media declared Jessica fat. Thus, ending before it began a practical, ageless style - Mom Jeans.

I wish Mom Jeans were popular.  They make so much sense for the practical, every day thirty year old.  In my opinion, you don’t even need to be a mom to make this fashion statement.  Instead, you need to be a woman whose metabolism has decided to basically stop at the age of thirty encouraging the seedlings of love handles to bloom or a part of the anti-crack campaign.

I went to high school in the late nineties when low rise jeans were starting to hit their stride.  I couldn’t wait to wiggle my way into a pair of jeans with a one inch zipper.  I was thin, in shape and had a body I envy today.  I looked great in those jeans.  I had not a worry in the world, except constant plumber’s butt.  It was awful.  I needed a higher waist jean.  Even when I stood perfectly still, my crack was practically waving to anyone who looked its way.  This was the beginning of my struggle between dressing in style or being comfortable.  I was always tugging at my pants and my Wet Seal shirt in an effort to get them to meet somewhere in the middle.  It was a constant battle for me but one I was going to win.  I was not going to be the teenager who succumbed to Mom Jeans.

My high school skinny left me as soon as I went to college.  I filled out due to the large amounts of beer I consumed and late night meals of anything that could be made in a hot pot.  Just like the rising of water as it starts to boil, there were my newly formed love handles rising out of top of my jeans.  The skin was soft and buoyant like a warm muffin.  My crack looked like it had cheek bones. My pants and Wet Seal shirt were losing the battle. The ship was going down.  At the age of 22, it was time to move to a mid-rise jean.    Continue reading

The 16 year old me was no psychic.

I always thought I would be married with children by the time I turned thirty.  Clearly, I didn’t give myself much credit as a teenager.  The next sixteen years of my life was much more interesting than finding Mr. Right and settling down.   I’m not judging those who got married and started families early…wait, who am I kidding?  The judgment started as soon as I realized my ten year prophecy was not going to come true.   And while a part of me wished it had come true, I realized life is too short to dwell on things I don’t have.  Life had taken me on a different path; one that would lead me to self-discovery, drunken nights, best friends, belly laughs, how to survive a week with only $10, first and last dates, vacations, happiness and finally one day, love.

My freshman year of high school, I was required to create a time capsule that I would open the day I graduated.  It consisted of friend books, letters from family, essays and a self-prophecy.  The latter asked me to write where I wanted to be in ten years.  It didn’t take me long to plan out my life.  I was getting the hell out of my small town and going far away for college.  There, I would study biology leading me to a career in optometry (I’ve always been blind as a bat so it seemed like a logical profession).  While at college, I would meet my future husband.  His proposal would come post-graduation and we would be married by twenty-five.   The only thing I wasn’t sure of is what city I would eventually call home.

I was right about one thing in my prophecy – college.  I went a ten hour car ride away to a small, liberal arts school in the Midwest.  It was perfect.  I did not know a single person.  As my parents drove away on that first day, I told myself, this is my moment to shine.  And I did.  I made great friends, had an absolute blast, made mediocre grades and quickly realized that I was much more suited for a life in marketing.  Biology would have never worked with my lifestyle of late nights and beer. 

I didn’t meet my husband in college but I did meet lots of boys that have influenced my outlook on life and relationships.  However, we’ll save those stories for later. 

After college, I moved to one of arguably the best cities in America – Chicago.  And that is where I have been ever since.  The last eight years have been quite a ride especially since I recently moved out to the suburbs AND turned thirty.   I have so many stories to tell you about how I’ve gotten here today.  Some are funny, some are sad, some are ridiculous and some will be just my everyday life as it is today.

I am an amateur writer that might seem much more entertaining if you read with a glass of wine.  So pour some Pinot and enjoy!