Shit and Shopping.

There is NOTHING like waking up to a funky smell. If I was in a cartoon it would be like that green smoke wafting through to my nostrils and let me tell you, this smell would certainly singe nostrils hairs.
I should have woken up properly when The Garden Terrorist (aka my gorgeous dog) was restless and kept nudging my hand in the middle of the night. I just rolled over. Oh I'm so so sorry this morning. That smell woke me. I opened my sleepy eyes and out the corner of my eye I saw mounds of steamy diarroeah and vomit. The Garden Terrorist is not a small, lap dog (I've never been a fan of those that look like rats or are Paris H/handbag sized.) either. He is a monster of a dog who sleeps at the base of our bed. I wretched at the piles of shit all over the place. Oh and it's runny. Really runny.
Guess who has to clean it up? Me. My man had a plane to catch and acted like he had to rush, rush, rush.
I think I'll hang an air freshener around my nose, suck a breath mint and don gloves. Oh kill me.

Today I am going to do the thing that is dreaded by any woman who isn't a supermodel.
I could think of a few things I would rather do, like gargle with glass or perhaps I could stick toothpicks through my eyes balls.
Today I am going bikini shopping. Oh it pained me to type that. You have to try on swimwear. You just have to. But why do we have to try on swimwear in revolting, unflattering change rooms? Why oh why do stores do this to us? Revolting, bright light that shows every lump and bump and 101 mirrors so we can see ourselves in every angle. Awesome. Oh and my best? The bikini's sold as one. I can't handle that. I need a bigger top and a smaller bottom. Not both in one size. Oh no. Those beady eyed sales reps are there waiting for me.
"Sorry. You can't seperate them!" is normally whined at me.
To find one that fits and turns me into a Victoria Secret Goddess is well...I'm still looking.

I can hardly contain myself with the excitement. I now understand the purpose of the Hip Flask. I need to get sloshed so that I can drink myself pretty!

Below is the wish. Below that is most likely the reality. Kill me.


Wish me luck.

Skinny Bitch - well, I'm getting there!

I am absolutely and utterly thrilled. No seriously. I cannot remember the last time this happened to me. In fact, I need to take a moment.

I bought a cute dress yesterday to put over leggings. I hate change rooms and so I didn't try it on. I just took the size I normally wear with the thought that if it doesn't fit, I'll just exchange it.

I put it on this morning, looked in the mirror and my face dropped...into a smile.

It was TOO BIG!!

Well fuck me. I have not experienced that in, well, years!

I did my happy jig and beamed down the stairs to the man who was drinking coffee and playing PS2 Guitar Hero.

"What do you think?"

"It's too big for you!"

"Exactly!! Oh my God! Do you realise what you have just said to me?"

"It's too big?"

"Yeeesss!!!" I break out into 'Hallelujah!' and dance around the room a little.

"Shit, I should have just said that every time you ask me "what do you think?"...it would have saved me a lot of agony over 5 years."

"Ha! You're funny! Let's take a moment. It's. too. biiiig!"

I have had a permanent grin on my face the entire day!

Now. I'd like to take a minute to address clothing shop owners who have changing rooms.

I am no expert, although I am the typical gal who loves clothes and accessories, so here is my question.

Why the hell are there bright, unflattering lights that show up every lump, bump and pore?

If I had to own a store with change rooms, I'd find "thin" mirrors, with soft attractive lighting and enough hooks to hang up all the clothes plus enough space to move around in.

I'm just saying.

Blondie Boutique. Nice ring to it. Oh and all my blogging friends would get free clothes.

Just as well I don't have a store. I'd be bankrupt before I open! Hahaha!

Oh and...I am seriously looking for a cotton dress that can be casually worn that looks like this - anyone know of a place??