I know…. I’ve been M to the freakin I to the freakin mother of an A…. MIA… just in case you don’t understand the chaos I call writing. Anywho,  yes, I haven’t posted in ages and it’s not because I have lack of great stories from you gorgeous ladies or that I don’t embarrass myself daily…… because I certainly do. I just decided to do an Usher and disappear for dramatic effect then come back BETTER THAN EVER!! WOOOHOOOO!! This is my come back, baby!!! DIG?? That’s a big load of crap….. but, let’s just go with that. Because, I, indeed, am back.

Today, I was reminded of my lengthy absence with a jolt or more like a jolt then a rip. I’m in the airport… right now.  Wait, let me back-up about 10 minutes….. EVEN BETTER….. indulge me, please, in a third person play-by-play:

Lauren is worrying about making her flight

Lauren gets through security

Lauren starts running to the gate. She almost runs over a small child. She swerves.

Lauren then does a Lady Gaga in the airport hallway, but not from lack of shoe control, rather from falling over a stranger’s computer bag.

Lauren free falls to the ground.

Her purse spills all over the floor, lip gloss spiraling through the air and into random seating areas.

Her computer bag knocks her in the side of the face. Her face numbs.

Lauren then gets up after hearing gasps and various “Are you okay?”

She collects her bag’s contents from the floor……. She hears a rip. The arm of her jacket is ripped. No time.

She runs with a numb face, sore knee, bruised pride and a ripped jacket. She feels like a complete ass of a jack.

She gets to the gate to find her flight cancelled. Humilation rushes…rushes… oh yeah… it RUSHES in!

A man approaches her to tell her about the rip in the back arm of her jacket. No shit, buddy. Lauren ignores him from fear of losing emotional control.

Lauren then tries to find a plane to strap herself to and jump from.  No dice.

Lauren reverts to emotional eating. She goes to the airport Popeyes and buys enough fried chicken to feed the entire cast of “The Biggest Loser” before they lose a 1,000 lbs. Add a side of mashed potatoes swimming in cajun gravy, please.

GYNA Gals… I believe in signs, as I type this with the left side of my face throbbing, I realize, it throbs for a post.  Never again will I leave you. Never.  And never again will I dodge small children when running through the airport. They can take it…. they’re resilient.

Spellcheck is tricky. It only checks for incorrect spelling of words, not word placement. We all text and email in a hurry from our phones, the majority of us have accidentally sent things we shouldn’t…. it’s totally common… as common as Miley Cyrus’ bluejean rump-revealers and overly smudged eyeliner.  It’s not as common, though, to misspell a word that makes perfect sense in a sentence.  That mother of a spellchecker doesn’t pick up on that…. not as smart as you think, huh, Mr. Spellcheck??!! 

But, never fear, our friend Lyndsey here is NOT ALONE.  My favorite part is that we got a real-time panic email from the stall. We’ve done something like it, Lyndsey! Email us and tell us how it went!

I’m emailing you from the women’s bathroom of my client’s office. I’m late to a meeting because of crazy traffic so I meant to email my clients that I was going to “pop” in the bathroom very quickly then meet them in the conference room. Instead, my fingers pressed too many o’s and this is what I sent: “I’m so sorry for being late, traffic was a bear. I’m going to poop in the bathroom real quick and I’ll meet you in the conference room.”

I just told them I was going to “poop.” I know, the longer I stand here in the bathroom, the more they think I’m really pooping. I’m frozen. I no longer have to pee and I’m trying to think of something witty to say. The only thing I can think of is , “I really didn’t poop, but almost did in my pants once I realized what I sent.”  Oh sweet Jesus!!

If you’re going to fall on your ass, rock the Mariah Carey way - call out your assistants and keep beltin’ out the notes. She didn’t even bat an eyelash. The media may call her a Diva…. well…. Diva Do, girlfriend! DIVA DO!!!! I bow to you. Right now, I’m bowing…. crap.. I can’t get up…. where are my assistants and backup dancers? Oh that’s right, I don’t have any.  I’ll just wait for the UPS guy, he’s very helpful.

Look and learn, GYNA Gals. She makes falling look better than Jennifer Lopez’s eye makeup and I didn’t think that was possible. We all tumble, we just need to exercise Mariah’s art of rally!

Victoria… that naughty little vixen…. sometimes she’s not so Secret. Our next winner of the “Age, She’s Such a Beotch” story contest with three winners receiving a copy of  author Stephanie Dolgoff’s, “My Formerly Hot Life”, is Kelly.  Not only did Kelly have enough emotion with gravity trying to death-grip her boobs, she also had to deal with a unwanted man having a front seat to it all! 

Ladies, let’s support Kelly… literally…read this in your push-up bras. I’m writing this with no shirt on and sporting some lacy lock and lift action.  Kelly, you now have the floor as my boobs have cleared it…

As I enjoy my late twenties, I have noticed my body beginning to change, things are starting to sag and move south.  Now, I have lost a significant amount of weight in the past year – probably about 15 of those pounds from my breasts. I’m not making excuses for my sagging breasts; only trying to justify a portion of their current position with my weight loss.  I’m a woman of good sense, so I know part of it is the gradual approach of the big 3-0.  To remedy this very physical and obvious maturation of my body, I decided to venture into the push-up bra sector of the world.  Mind you, I have had breasts since I was in the second grade.  I have very distinct memories of my mother crying as I tried on training bras.  Because of the longevity of the relationship between me and my breasts, they have had ample time to grow and have always been on the larger side.  My excitement to enter the land of push-up’s was heightened by the idea of thin pretty straps and beautiful lace details that the full-figured section could never quite offer.

I  had recruited my sister to join me on the breast relocation project.  We started at Victoria’s Secret because my sister loves their push-up bras.  We barrelled through the store, on a mission, scooping up every fit of push-up and headed to the fitting rooms.  So, if you have ever traveled to push-up land, you understand that there is a very fine line between beautifully elevated breasts and the dreaded double boob.  With the bras that we thought might work, I tried on a t-shirt over each for the ultimate test.  My assistant, my only sister, was of little help.  She purchased her breasts back in 2003 after the birth of her second son.  Hers are destined to always be a comfortable chin rest whether they are in a bra or not.  Confused as to how a push-up bra should fit a natural breast, my sister ran out and retrieved the nearest saleswoman to help us decipher the bra fit.  What my sister returned with was a snotty 21 year old who has yet to see the flip side of perky breasts and looked at me with a bit of disgust as we explained the situation.  She quickly suggested that I try a few of their fuller coverage bras since I seemed to have ample breasts.  I had to re-explain to this 21 year child that it was the height of my breasts that I was concerned about, not the fullness.  As we sat and discussed (my sister poked and prodded my chest to see if the bra actually fit correctly), a male voice chimed in.  In the midst of the already perplexing chaos, I hadn’t noticed that the fitting room door was completely open. In the reflection of the mirror across from the door was the image of a man in his early fifties sitting comfortably in the husband/boyfriend chair with a perfect view.  He assured me that my breasts were beautiful for a 30 year old and to enjoy them while they were at their current elevation.  His vote was for the bra I was currently wearing.  Stunned and in shock, I quickly shut to door, regrouped and yelled to him behind door, “Sir, I appreciate your compliment, but I am 28, not 30.”

Needless to say I left Victoria’s Secret without that particular bra, but with the two runner ups. Oh.. and with my sunglasses on so I wouldn’t have to make eye contact with the older male stranger that experienced the entire debacle with me.

GYNA GALS!! Remember my little contest? Well, after purchasing an economy size package of Depend and wetting myself, I was able to narrow down the Three Winners! It was hard – you gals out there have slap-ass funny stories. I was just laughing, wetting my pants and slapping my ass simultaneously for an entire month. My boyfriend thought I had Turrets.

The three lovely ladies won a copy of  author Stephanie Dolgoff’s, “My Formerly Hot Life” which reached #32 on the The New York Times Best Seller List! Congrats, ladies! Embarrassment and bounce-back WELL DONE!

The next three days, I will feature each winner’s story! Our first story is from Leiah in Lake Charles, LA, a little lady that went from 26 to 92 in a mark of a pen thanks to our responsible voter registration system. ENJOY!

I recently wrote a blog post regarding not being very thrilled about getting yet another piece of mail that should be delivered to a person of more advanced age than mine. The day after receiving yet another letter asking me if I was aware of the potential changes to my Medicare benefits I remembered where this all began.

My nephew Christopher was in kindergarten when his baby sister was born. My sister-in-law asked if I would take her place at the Tiger Cub Mom & Me camp-out and, of course, I agreed. I picked him up early that Saturday morning and we headed north to the Boy Scout campgrounds. It was mid-October in Texas so temperatures in the high 70s were not out of the norm. We pitched our tent, hiked, did whatever crazy badge stuff he needed to do, finally ending the evening with a campfire and then heading to bed…as much as a sleeping bag on the hard ground can be considered a bed.

Have you ever heard what they say about weather in Texas? If you don’t like it, wait a minute it will change. It did. When we woke up the next morning it was in the 40′s. The 40′s!! I had no cold weather stuff with me. No jacket. Nada. I was in a T-shirt and jeans. And miserable. Thank the Good Lord above we only had to stay there until after breakfast and a SHORT pack, den…some kind of wild animal group meeting, then we were free to go. Oh, I forgot…there was no hot water there at the camp. Only cold, frigid, liquid icicles dripping from a shower head that had about 7 openings…not that I know that for a fact because I refused to stand under what had to be the original idea behind the waterboarding technique. We packed up and headed home as quickly as we could so that I could warm up and finally take a shower.

I brought Christopher home and then headed to my parents house. I came in, dropped off my bags and headed straight to the shower. An extremely nice, long, hot shower. When I got out, my mom told me I had gotten a phone call while in the shower…and then started laughing. Here is the telephone conversation as my mom told me:

Mom: Hello?
Caller: Is Leiah there?
Mom: She’s unavailable right now – can I take a message?
Caller: Oh no, she’s not sick or anything is she? Is she doing OK; will she be available later?
Mom: If you must know, she’s in the shower. She just got back from taking her nephew camping.
Caller: Oh. {crickets}……This is the Jefferson County Democratic Party. We were calling all our senior citizens to see if they needed a ride to the polls next week.
Mom: Senior citizens?
Caller: Yes ma’am.
Mom: I think you’ve got the wrong person. She’s only 26
Caller: Really? We have her birth date as 10/22/00…she’s not 92? Well, I’m sorry to bother you. Enjoy your day and don’t forget to vote!

92?!?!? Yep, they forgot to enter the year I was born when they printed the new Voter Registration cards that year. Can you imagine the thoughts going through that person’s head when they heard that the old lady they thought was 92 had taken her nephew camping?

Ever since then I’ve gotten AARP information, Medicare junk mail, scooter information and any kind of ‘old people’ junk mail showing up in my mailbox. I guess by the time I finally do partake in these services, there’ll be some crazy math going on.