The Breast Around or Hey, Look at My Boobs!

Before I begin, I just want to warn the reader that this post is about bra shopping (albeit a humorous one), so if you don't want to read anything pertaining to my boobs (though I'm not going to go into graphic detail), you might want to reconsider reading this blog.

Last week, I decided it was high time to go bra shopping; an under wire snapped in my favorite bra, and another one of my bras had a wire poking out for quite some time. Since Greg and I were already going to be shopping anyway, I dragged him (rather unwillingly) to Macy's just to buy a couple bras, and promised him that I would be quick about it.

The layout of Macy's in Fairview Heights is rather confusing, so by the time we actually found the lingerie department (located near the housewares on the bottom level, nowhere near the rest of the clothing departments), we'd already spent twenty minutes circling the store. Sensing Greg's growing impatience, I was determined to quickly select a few bras and get outta there.

Just as soon as we reached the outer perimeter of the lingerie department, I was ambushed by an overly-friendly, extremely enthusiastic saleswoman. I was just looking for whatever was on sale and whatever fit me (lets just say I wear a size that not all bra makers carry, though that's mostly due to how um, portly I am right now), and she was very helpful in helping me locate just what I was looking for. I found a few bras that I liked and were on sale within five minutes, so I made a beeline for the cash register. The saleswoman asked me if I wanted to try to them on. I was really intent on getting out of there as quickly as possible, but I thought I'd better, just in case. After I told her I'd go ahead and try them on, she asked me if I'd ever been fitted. When I told her I had in fact not ever been fitted for a bra, she insisted that I should really be fitted. I threw a quick furtive glance in Greg's direction (who had resigned himself to his fate of waiting on me at least a little bit longer), and headed for the dressing room, followed by the saleswoman with her tape measure.

I'm not the kind of person who is embarrassed or made uncomfortable by nudity, but I was a little disconcerted when the salesperson followed me into the dressing room and closed the door behind her. Immediately, it became clear that she was going to stay in there while I took off my shirt and the bra I was wearing and tried on the bras I had intended to buy. I kind of paused for a moment, but then convinced myself that she is a professional who probably does this routinely (much how I, as a nurse, have to ask patients embarrassing questions about their bowel movements, and also sometimes have to insert catheters into their urethrae), so I put aside my misgivings and tried the other bra on with her in the dressing room (though I did turn my back to her while I was doing it; I admit that I was a little bit embarrassed). Once I had the new bra on, she took the tape measure and measured me in several different places around my bosom, which wasn't nearly as uncomfortable as feeling like someone was staring at my bare boobs. She said that it didn't look like the bra fit quite right (after taking it upon herself to adjust the girls), so she asked me to try on another bra. I did as I was asked, and again she measured me and made the necessary adjustments.

It was after I'd had my boobs stared at and handled by a complete stranger for ten minutes that the saleswoman informed me that I really should go up a size (even though I don't agree with that; if I wore the next size up, I may as well not even wear a bra, as little support as it would give me). She took off in search of other bras by the same company that she thought would fit me better, and I sat in the dressing room for probably five minutes, waiting for her return and more awkward bra changes.

When she finally returned, she informed me that there was a representative from Vanity Fair at Macy's (the bra company whose bras I had been trying on), and asked me if I would mind if she came in with us to try on some different bras. Having exposed the twins to one perfect stranger already, I hesitantly agreed. The Vanity Fair representative burst into the dressing room with her tape measure and a very loud, pushy (but friendly) demeanor. Again, I was subjected to having my boobs stared at and measured, and it was at this point that I had to stifle the laughter that was threatening to erupt from my mouth because: 1) I now had two women I didn't know fussing over my boobs and 2), poor Greg was still waiting for me outside the dressing rooms, bored out of his skull (I had at this point been in the dressing room for probably fifteen minutes). I tried on yet more bras, now with two pairs of eyes watching my every move, and I finally found one bra that fit well, so I decided to just buy three of the same one in different colors.

Finally, the awkward ordeal was over, and I walked out of there with some much needed new bras. Next time I need some new bras, I'm just going to order them online; at least then I know I won't have someone unexpectedly staring at my boobs.

The Importance of Selecting Just the Right Toilet Paper

Note: The following entry is my submission to the First Annual Boring Blog Post Contest, started by my friend Shawn. His riveting tale of buying socks can be found here.

To me, selecting just the right toilet paper to put in my bathroom is of tantamount importance. When one goes to the store to acquire such toiletries, one is faced with a plethora of choices. Therefore, it is highly important to judge each kind of toilet paper with a strict set of criteria that are already set in place before going to the store.

The first quality that I look for in toilet paper is softness. For example, I prefer toilet paper that is soft enough not to chafe my sensitive posterior whilst wiping, but I don't want toilet paper that is so soft that crumbles when I use it, or toilet paper that has the greasy feel of facial tissues that are infused with lotion so that they are kinder to one's nose. Quilted Northern and Scott brand toilet papers are a bit too abrasive for my standards, but I find that Charmin is a bit too soft (not to mention flimsy). Unfortunately, the softer a toilet paper is, the more expensive it usually is.

I also find that texture is an important aspect of an acceptable toilet paper. Along with softness, texture can make or break a toilet paper brand. Some toilet papers have very minimal texture, such as Scott brand toilet paper; there is no pattern or texture to be found on those very plain white sheets. Quilted Northern has a nice texture, but lacks the softness that I require. Charmin lacks both the texture and level of softness that I prize in toilet paper, so again, it does not make the grade.

Last but certainly not least, the sturdiness of a toilet paper is a crucial quality when choosing which package of toilet paper to take home to one's bathroom. I prefer a toilet paper that has a medium sturdiness. If a toilet paper is too flimsy (such as Quilted Northern), the force of wiping can often tear holes in the toilet paper, which leads to the unpleasant direct contact of hands on the derriere and possibly fecal matter. If a toilet paper is too sturdy, it often feels like one is wiping one's backside with paper towels, which is never pleasant (and it also poses a problem when attempting to flush one's foul business down the toilet). Most importantly, a toilet paper needs to be hardy enough to survive a bout of diarrhea, or, as I like to call it, the chunder down under. There is nothing worse than curling into the fetal position on the toilet after eating some ill-advised Mexican or Chinese food, filling the toilet with one's own special brew, and then, once the horrific episode is done, finding that the toilet paper one has selected does not rise to the task as expected. During these types of interludes, I find that it is sometimes best to use a wet wipe (really, any diaper wipe will do for this task) after using the regular toilet paper to get that just-showered clean that one really needs after a bout of the dreaded broiling Hershey squirts.

Considering all these stringent requirements, the only toilet paper that meets my impeccable standards would be Cottonelle brand toilet paper. Cottonelle toilet paper is soft, but not so soft that you feel like you're buttering your anus every time you wipe; it's also has a wonderful ribbed texture that gives one the feeling of complete cleanliness after using. Most importantly, the toilet paper is of just the right strength to withstand even the nastiest of bowel movements.

I hope this blog has been of some help or education for my faithful readers, for I would hate for anyone I know to make the mistake of selecting the wrong toilet paper; having the right toilet paper at the ready may be one of the most important decisions one will make in one's life.

Around the Neighborhood or Things Learned On a Neighborhood Walk 2: Electric Boogaloo

After resting on my laurels for a few days (i.e., letting my muscles recover from my last walk), I decided to go on another frolic through the neighborhood; this time, however, I wisely decided to avoid going up Grandview and Crown, and went up just Grandview (and Woodland instead of Crown).

The ascent of Grandview wasn't quite as difficult as the last time, but still, it was challenging. I did have to stop a few times to pant and sip water, but I stopped fewer times than the last time. It's my ultimate goal to make it all the way up Grandview without having to stop, hyperventilate, and wince at how much higher I'll have to climb when I start again.

I brought my camera this time and snapped a few photographs along the route I took this time (which wasn't much different, only I went up Woodland and down Crown, instead of down Woodland and up Crown) to share with my faithful blog readers (of which there are surely few, but those of you who do actually read this, just humor me). Without further ado, scenes from my neighborhood:

The Lonely Mountain. This is where Grandview intersects my street.

This is just about the halfway point up Grandview.

Looking back...

Down Crown (the never-ending hill).

The overpass that goes over St. Louis Road (one side of "The Triangle").

St. John's Cemetery.

The Tree Tunnel.

The park.

Back down Grandview on my way home.

You can kind of see the Arch in this picture. It was really hazy and my camera is inadequate for these kind of pictures. I need a new camera.

Things Learned On A Neighborhood Walk

After lazing around all afternoon and most of the evening, I decided that I wanted nothing more than a relaxing walk through the neighborhood before the sun set for the night. After arming myself with seldom-used designated walking shoes, my iPod, and a bottle of water, I set forth on my journey. Walking on Hillside (my street) towards Grandview was easy, but then I met my foe: The Hill of Doom (cue villain music). I cannot find a good picture of the road anywhere on the internet (and Google Maps Street View fails me as well; the best I found was a view from the intersection of Grandview and 157, which hardly does this hill justice). Suffice it to say that the hill is steep enough that one can see clearly and quite far into St. Louis from the very top. Having climbed the hill once before, I knew what I was in for, but I was determined I would defeat it once more.

I managed to get almost a third of the way up the hill before my legs weakened to a jelly-like consistency. Following several stops and starts (several being extremely liberal), and several intervals of desperate panting and subsequent gulps of water, I made it up the dastardly hill, victorious. I rested for a moment at the summit of Grandview, relishing my victory (and trying to quiet my trembling limbs) before moving on to the rest of the neighborhood.

Having only been on one short walk in the neighborhood before (which ended prematurely due the damage inflicted by the climb up Grandview), I decided to explore a bit. I walked around the perimeter of the neighborhood (which I like to call "The Triangle", due to its resemblance to a triangle on the map), carefully considering which way to go next. I wound back up on Grandview (where I encountered an old man with a skullet who resembled a Scooby Doo villain that was mowing his yard with a motorless push mower) but wasn't quite ready to make the deep descent down the hill back to my house just yet, so I decided to snake around behind Grandview to see what was happening back that way. I passed a few houses, then wound up on a very narrow road in a heavily wooded area that somewhat resembles Beer Can Alley in Salem (anyone from the Salem area reading this will know what I'm talking about) in that the trees on either side of the road grow together so that they effectively form a "tunnel", which makes it unnaturally dark. I was a little spooked, but was then pleasantly surprised to find a clearing in which a small park of sorts with a narrow but deep meadow resided. Noting the basketball goal for later use (I wouldn't mind shooting a few hoops one of these days, but I will have to buy a basketball), I continued down the unfamiliar path.

As I continued, I came upon a cemetary that was familiar (St. John's Cemetary, to be exact), but that I had seen from the other road that goes by it (St. Louis Road). It was not lost on me that the cemetary was up on a hill, and I was walking on a road that very gradually sloped downhill. As hilly as my neighborhood is, I knew that what goes down must come up (namely, me).

I finally reached the end of the road, and thus had to climb back uphill to get back home. By this time, my legs had nearly forgotten the detriment that The Hill of Doom had wrought; that is, until I started walking up Crown, which is almost as steep as Grandview. A mere few steps into it I realized that I had more than met my match, and my legs felt completely impotent as I willed them to bring me back home. Every few feet I had to stop and pant, and I exhausted my water supply about halfway up. The cell phone in my pocket was beckoning me to call my dear husband to drive down Crown to come get me, but I was determined that I would finish the remainder of the journey unassisted. Finally, I was at the top of Crown and Grandview once more, victoriously atop not one but two conquered hills. I stopped to enjoy the breath-taking view (and to catch my breath); one can see both neat fields of green and the St. Louis skyline from the top, and the sun was setting, casting glorious shades of red and orange as far as the eye could see.

I made my way back down The Hill of Doom, turned the corner, and at last I was home; soaked in sweat, thirsty and tired, but glad I had gone on my walking adventure. Once I have recovered from this trek, I think I'll make this my regular walking route, and I'll bring my camera next time so I can post some pictures of the landmarks. For now, though, I need my rest.

In conclusion, things I learned on my neighborhood walk:

1) Bring more water next time.
2) There is a basketball goal in a mini-park within walking distance, along with a replica of Beer Can Alley.
3) There are not one but two challenging hills to climb on this particular route.
4) There is also a graveyard within walking distance (I've always been fascinated with graveyards; no, I'm not goth or emo).
5) There's a weird guy on the corner with a skullet who looks like a Scooby Doo villain and likes to mow his yard with a motorless push mower while mumbling to himself.
6) Someone in the neighborhood has a sign in their driveway directing travellers to "Jim Morrison Blvd".
7) Take a camera next time.
8) I love my neighborhood.