May
6
After I posted an entry a while back about my foot-stamping frustration with trying to find a great pair of pants that don’t involve the terms “skinny” or “gaucho” or “ultra low-rise muffin-top-makers”, I received an email from a very cool person named Karoline who wondered if I would be interested in checking out some jeans from the company where she works, Rocky Mountain Clothing.
I said abso-fucking-lutely, of course, because damn – free jeans. That’s seventeen flavors of awesome right there. But once I sent Karoline my measurements, which she promised to encrypt and bury thousands of miles beneath the earth’s crust directly after use, I started worrying that the jeans would arrive and like 99.9% of all jeans I have ever tried on, they would suck, I would hate them, and instead of a glowing review I would have to post a laboriously constructed story on this website about how I had a freak accident which rendered me incapable of wearing pants, like maybe my legs were gnawed off by angry beavers or something.
I was still working out the finer details of the beaver attack (“They…they knocked me down with their tails…”) when the jeans showed up, a pair of Madisons from the Cruel Girl line.
They. Fit. Perfectly.
In the interest of full disclosure, I’m about 5’5″. And a half. I don’t know why that half inch is so important to me, but in my mind it’s the difference between “short” and “almost kind of tall, like one more inch and we’d be talking supermodel territory”. (Oh, like you’ve never told yourself a teeny, tiny white lie.) I weigh –
Uh, I weigh –
Huuuuuuurrrrrrrrnnnnnnngggggh.
Okay! Ahem. Let’s do it all at once, like jumping into a cold pool: I weigh about 145 lb. Give or take.
(Jesus, why was that so hard? It’s a perfectly normal weight. Stupid societal body image conditioning. Stupid Jessica Alba.)
I’ve been wearing a size 10 or 12, depending on the fit. Often times a 10 is a smidge too small (unless it’s Old Navy, where you have to take whatever size you try on and picture how it will fit in one week when its cheap-ass fabric waist stretches by several yards) and a 12 is too big. If something is low rise, it usually fits fine as long as I am standing; sitting or bending over results in all material galloping southbound, which necessitates the belly hitch move, a furtive yank at the waist to resettle things so neither ass nor C-section flab make a startling fleshy appearance. I have tried on probably forty pairs of jeans in the last 6 months or so, and have settled on 1) a pair of Levi’s 515s in a size 12 which are comfy but baggy and require the belly hitch at least four times per hour, and 2) a pair of Gap size 10s which mold everything into place firmly, but tend to cut off my circulatory system by the end of the day, especially if any Diet Cokes have been consumed (two words: carbonation inflation).
The jeans Karoline sent me are a size 11 (fucking genius!). They’re made of a stretch denim which, praise the lord, actually moves with me and keeps the waist where it belongs, even if I play “Broken Elevator” with Riley in them (also known as “Drop It Like It’s Hott” which involves holding the boy and bending at the knees suddenly to whoosh him down towards the floor. It makes him shriek with joy, so it’s pretty much the best game ever). Even if I sit down in them.
They’re long and lean in the leg and if I have one solitary nit to pick it’s that they don’t automatically shorten just a few centimeters when I wear them with flipflops. I mean, if only they could be formed of some nanobot mesh denim blend that is controlled by a button hidden in the waist, one push and the length is set to “ballet flat”, or elongated to “platform sandal”. Of course, if we are living in this magical fictitious world, I would also like a pony.
The Madison jeans are my new favorite clothing item and I wear them every freaking day. Flattering, comfortable, what more could you ask for? Other than the nanobot thing? Nothing, that’s what.
Karoline also was kind enough to send me a pair of Bailey’s. The style of this brand seems really good, but they are just a little too big for me. Not in any one particular area, just overall, so I’m inclined to believe these are probably also very cool jeans but the wrong size. Would you or anyone you know enjoy a free pair of Bailey’s jeans, size 13? I’d guess if you normally wear a roomy 12 these would fit. Check back here on Monday and I’ll post a goofy contest of some kind to pick a lucky recipient, who is not allowed to make some crazy claim about rabid beavers.
So, to recap: Cruel Girl line good; Madisons incredible. You can’t buy this brand online yet, but there’s a store locator whatsit on their website, which in my zip code points me to a western wear outlet. Karoline suggests signing up for the newsletter, which she says will include promotions and other goodies. I think you should sign up just to enjoy the marketing questionnaire, which wants to know if you are interested in 1) bull riding, 2) barrel racing, 3) “cow horse” (what?), and 4) hip hop. Hee.
Here is a photo of me wearing the jeans, which I hemmed and hawed over posting because I’m not sure they help my cause of promoting their awesomeness, but anyway:
(To briefly pimp another clothing-related brand, I highly recommend Danner boots for all your hiking/gardening/ass-kicking needs.)
(Also, pardon the sexy snow tire backdrop.)
Okay, check back Monday, and I’ll pay it forward with the Baileys! And, guess what: in a totally unrelated email, I heard from a very nice person from Ogilvy’s PR department who offered to send me a review sample from a new product line launching this summer. The sample? KY SENSUAL MIST.
It’s….spray-on lube.
No, really. It is.
It’s, um, “warming”.
Soooo, as soon as I can figure out how to describe the performance of personal lubricant without, you know, dying over here, I’ll give you the scoop. This might just warrant a new blog tagline, you know? All & Sundry: Not Satisfied With Publishing Ancient Goth Photos, Stepping It Up to Spray-On Lube.
May
5
May 5, 2006
Today JB and I have been married for five years. Five!
One of our first dates; this is early 1999, I think. Notice anything weird about this photo, other than our vibrant youth (does JB look fifteen here, or what)? I totally Photoshopped out my armband tattoo so JB could send the picture to his parents.
(They know about it now, of course, and since I have finally provided them with a male heir to the JB dynasty I believe it’s possible I have been at least partially forgiven.)
The moment JB proposed, caught on camera on New Year’s Eve, 2000 (the armband is back!).
Our wedding day in 2001.
Our honeymoon; we took a cruise to the Western Carribbean.
A random moment from 2002.
Another cruise, this one to Mexico in 2003.
Hiking somewhere near Coos Bay in 2004.
Pregnant in Hawaii in 2005.
Oh, five years have just flown by. I look back on these photos and remember all that we’ve done, all the days and moments that we were together, and I feel impossibly rich; I am so lucky, we are so good for each other.
My future has never shone so brightly. My past has never seemed so worthy. I feel like I am perfectly aimed, I am walking in the right direction, hand in hand.
Happy anniversary, baby.
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