Let us take a collective moment here and bow our heads in reflection of the glory of Crocs. I know, I know, I know. The original design can be sort of elfish-y meets raver meets garden whore. But have you gone past that one design and seen their website with wedges, narrow clogs, and ballet flats? Sadly, the last example has been discontinued but, as of my 29th birthday, have been enjoying a classic black pair that my eldest sister gave me. These shoes have seen me through trips to the store, all over work in different terrain, countless potty trips outside in the snow, rain, mud with Curt. From dress way casual to slightly fancy, these are the go-to shoe for me.
Anyone who knows me well knows that I am more than just a Crocs enthusiast. The Crocs folks should pay me for all of my free advertisement plugs since I've been enjoying the product for nearly 6 years now. The comfort is outstanding and, speaking from a massage therapists point of view, feel that it is the one shoe that bends in the 3 positions required for optimal spinal and reflexology health. They are nearly odor resistant, color fade proof, and Curtis indestructible. No, these are no Louis Vuitton. The Crocs are what you wear when you are NOT busy pretending to be Oprah.
The main point of this post is to tout yet another of the Crocs efficiencies. You can freshen up a Croc by throwing in the dishwasher. I've done it before but, if you've been keeping up, it's been over 5 years since my last in-house dishwasher luxury. So, I did it. I threw my ballerina flats in with the rest of the dishes last night.........
Not only are they completely odor free AND matte black again but THEY FIT LIKE THE FIRST TIME. Even better, perhaps. They've tightened up around the edges and hug my big ol' tranny feet just like they did over a year ago.
I am giving Crocs a standing ovation in my head now.
You should, too.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Thursday, April 2, 2009
I gave Curt a minimal trim around his eyes so we could confirm that he CAN, in fact, see us when we are training him. He, like most teenagers, likes to play the "I didn't see you waving me down" card by hiding behind his long hairs and ipod. Now he has bangs.
And, unlike Anthony Kiedis, I think it works for him.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
As we sat filling out a birth plan that I had down loaded off the internets, Dustin and I were being schooled on the myriad of options that are available to us. The questions range from ambiance preference to induction rights. We were feeling rather comfortable until it came to the perineal care portion. Up to this point, the questions were answered with a "yes, that sounds fine" or a "no, we'd like to try to avoid that if medically possible". Now, we were finding ourselves in the there-is-no-way-to-avoid-this arena. The words tear, suture, repair, anesthesia, hot compresses, and the like were tossed about on the page as if someone had just sneezed and it wasn't any thing to get fussy about. After reading through and answering what seemed like the same statement, er, question, about the my procedure choice, I looked up at Dustin and said, "So. To be clear here, Dustin, we're discussing the options on HOW I would like to achieve a conjoined vagina/butt hole. Not HOW we would like to avoid that but, rather, HOW we want to get there. Because it's going to happen. This union of private parts. Is happening. To me. Period."