Of Insignificant Importance

I'd like to say I'm writing this to convey some important self-discovery, but really, this is just to get Curly off my back**.

Things have been really crazy in my life lately, stories could formulate very easily about what I'm facing now, but I'm not sure if A.) I want to get that personal on a blog and B.) If I do, whether it's the right time or not.

All I've really got is this observation. Freaking. Butterflies. Everywhere. Seriously, they should be on that Discovery Channel show "Swarms". I've never seen so many. But it's not like they're these beautiful Monarch butterflies or exotic species, no. They're like the unimpressive, daytime moth.

I know that this may be their "hatching" time, but it's crazy. Is anyone else experiencing this in any other part of the US? I was driving the other day with my mom, and I seriously was about to cry because there was no way I could avoid them on the highway. Mom just laughed at me as I screamed at them "STOP HITTING MY WINDSHIELD, FLY AWAY FROM IT, GEEEEZ!" By the time we got to our destination, it was like someone shot my windshield with grey painball pellets. And my windshield wiper fluid dispenser hasn't worked for quite some time. Very sad and a little bit traumatic. I felt like a butterfly murderer. PETA would have a field day.

Anyway, these butterflies are EVERYWHERE. They hide in bushes and amBUSH (ha!) you when you walk by. They fly into your car when you open your door and you nearly fender-bender it trying to get the damn thing out of your window. Somehow, I bet, it's tied into global warming. Everything is nowadays.

So, that was my observation.


*Yes, I edited. I can because it's my blog.
**You know I love when you nag me, Curly, just like you love when I threaten you.

This is a hard time of year for me. It's that time where I completely love the scorching heat and frolicking around on the beach and at the lake, but I hate, hate, HATE finding a bathing suit.

This is not a problem for guys. They throw on a ratty pair of board shorts and look as though they have walked out of a fashion magazine because, let's face it, old is the new new. Hell, they can even strip off their pants and down to their undies for an impromptu swim. Not so much with me.

Every year I vow that I will start working out hard core in like, February to be in shape for the season of Trying On Bathing Suits and Not Feeling Like a Huge Cow in the Crappy Store Mirrors and Poor Lighting. I think some of you girls know what I'm talking about. It's like, no matter how skinny you are, that lighting in those dressing rooms--Good Lord! There are angles I didn't even know existed...

Anyway, the past couple of years I haven't been too bothered by this seasonal slump I usually fall into, mostly because I haven't had anyone to impress. This year, however, is different. Huw is coming to stay with me for two and a half weeks in August (YAY!!) and I have planned for us to go down to South Padre Island for a weekend. This, of course, calls for a new bathing suit. I mean, I have my old trusty one...the one I've had since I was about 19 that I love and have completely broken in so it now fits the contours of my body no matter how much my weight fluxuates. However, when the white part has turned to a dull shade of yellow for no apparent reason, even after having been washed numerous times, you know it's time to retire it.

One day Huw mentioned that he thinks I look nice in red. Well, this stuck in my head and was brought to the forefront of my mind while shopping one day before I went to visit him in London. I found a really cute red triangle-top bikini (I can hear the guys just yawning) at a store and I really wanted to buy it, but due to constraints on my purse strings, I was going to have to wait. Turns out, upon calling a few days ago, they have sold out. But here comes Sissy to the rescue. Her husband had bought her a bathing suit very similar to the one I wanted when they were on their honeymoon, but because he had bought her a size "small", she was no longer able to wear it. She has graciously loaned it to me for our SPI trip, but man...when it says "small", it means "tiny in the ass and you're kidding yourself if you think both cheeks are going to fit into this".

Due to this recent discovery, I have vowed (and this time not just in vain) to get my rear-end into shape and shave off some of those love-handles that were squeezing oh-so-sexily out of the bottom portion of the suit. Yesterday was my first successful day, so I hope to carry on this way at least 5 days a week. At least I have that "back up bathing suit" in case my efforts yield little to no results.

So, wish me luck. I might be sore and cursing everyday, but dammit, I'm going to fit into that itsy-bitsy teeny-weeny red and shiny small bikini.