Every Boy’s Favorite Toy

24 Jan


From the moment that your parents find out you have male genitalia, they are faced with making a monumental decision! One that is permanent and lifelong. Circumcision. To do or not to do, that is the question, but what is the answer? As a parent, you can’t take this lightly. Many thoughts go through your brain. Ex: “Circumcision reduces the chance of STIs. Hmm, well I don’t even want to think about my newborn child one day having sex but I guess I don’t really want him to have a higher chance of catching something either. Circumcision reduces feeling. I don’t want to be responsible for my child’s sex life blahhh. If you don’t place the foreskin back after cleaning the smegma out, you could cut off circulation. Horrifying. Circumcision is a cosmetic procedure that could get botched and their penis could be permanently damaged. Shit. Oh and they could bleed to death. Great, no pressure.” Then you’ve got people going around with red paint on their crotches that make you feel shitty about possibly considering circumcision. Lots of googling and discussions, but at the end of the day, you just hope you made the right call.

Image courtesy of

Image courtesy of

As a 21 year old, inexperienced mother, I had no idea what to do with a boy. Although untrained, the one thing I had heard religiously was to make sure you cover them with something during a diaper change. Stores sell pee shields for this exact purpose. Ofcourse, the first diaper change home from the hospital, I made a rookie mistake. I’m taking out the wipes, my son starts screaming, and I say “It’s ok” in a soothing mom voice while hurriedly opening the new diaper. I look up and the poor kid is urinating directly into his face. I had to make a split second decision. Do I A. Block the pee with my hand (pee hands) B. Aim the penis into a different direction (spraying pee around the room)or B. Block the pee with the clean diaper I’m holding (ruining a perfectly good diaper)? I chose A. As a parent, you find out that you can catch all types of bodily fluids in your hands. After becoming a bit more seasoned in the art of parenting, I’ve found wipes work wonderfully to intercept vomit, feces and urine.

Another thing I had no clue about…baby boners. After overcoming the shock and strangeness, (again I was 21) it actually became a great indication that the boys were about to urinate. When my kids have asked me “Why is my doopy big right now”, (they know it’s called a penis but they also call it a doopy) I tell them they need to go pee.

Around 4-6 months, boys will inevitably reach down during a bath or diaper change and discover their penis. Once they do, there’s no stopping them. To clarify so you guys don’t think I’m a huge creep, I do not mean inappropriately touching themselves. I mean they just like to hold it. Maybe they are just checking to make sure it’s still there, who knows. Which is a problem when they are younger during poopy diaper changes ( if you aren’t quick, they get a handful of feces) and an embarrassment when they are older and can’t keep their hands off of it in public (picture the outfield of a t-ball game). My oldest once told me that he just needs to separate his doopy from his rocks (penis from the testicles).

From what I’ve seen with adults, this never changes. Whether men are playing pocket pool in public or going at it full monty in the privacy of their own home, try not to judge them. It’s something that has been very important to them since infancy.

This is not meant to offend anyone. I’m half joking, half serious!


Mom of Four: Enjoys warm hugs (nope) and personal space (what’s that?)

20 Jan

It’s 2351, the kids are all finally asleep and I should be getting 5 (myself included) sets of clothes, shoes, lunches etc ready for tomorrow or going to bed.  Instead, I’m neglecting my responsibilities to introduce myself to you, because who doesn’t enjoy procrastination? Hey everyone, my name is Deanna and I like warm hugs (Frozen reference). I actually dislike hugs and would rather fist bump because I like my personal space.

I have 4 little bundles of joy (8,6,3, and 1) that keep me quite busy. I was pregnant with my first at 20! I delivered my 2nd child in April, graduated nursing school in May and moved to Virginia in July (my husband was active duty in the Air Force).  My 20’s consisted of a pattern that alternated between breastfeeding and pregnancy. Actually, I’m  just finishing this cycle of breastfeeding!

Besides keeping my spawn alive, I am also a labor and delivery nurse. I practice what I preach and I love every minute of it!  In fact, I am so excited to converse with other adults that when I go to work, I basically don’t shut up.We moved back to Massachusetts a few years ago, just in time for that record breaking winter. Thanks for the welcome back New England! Lots of roof shoveling, snowblowing and ice dams!  As first time homeowners, I never even knew ice dams existed until we had one large enough to kill a grizzly bear (or the UPS guy) above our front door. Clearly we weren’t shoveling the roof enough.

As I approach 30 (gasp) part of me is sad (freaking out), and the other part is thinking I’m going to get my 30’s right!  I have goals for 30, where my 20’s were just winging it most days. A whole lot of trial, error and bodily fluids… but more on that later.  I don’t usually do anything big for my birthday but since I was 9 months pregnant on my 21st, I never celebrated the way most people do. I want to go out and let loose but I can’t picture myself doing shots until I can’t stand. I’ll probably end up forgetting to plan something anyways because I’m very easily distracted with my 900 kids (wait, I thought she said she had 4)…

Anyways, nice to meet you all!  I hope I can entertain you as much as Molly has!  And wow, I feel super narcissistic after writing so much about myself. Off to change the laundry over before it smells, and the floor isn’t going to sweep itself!


The Child Isn’t Even Fully Developed & I’m Already Being Judged

20 Jan

I have always known that there are some craaaaazy judgy moms out there, and to them I must say this: YOU’RE THE WORST. My fetus isn’t even fully formed and I am already being judged. I am just shocked (no I’m not) that it’s happening pre-birth. I don’t care about anyone but myself so I really can’t fathom why anyone cares about me or my human creation whose farts can’t even be heard yet because they die in my uterus. Like, do people really care what other people do? I thought this was the 90’s (I’m still living in 1997)! When can we just say and do what we want?!

So, the other day I wrote a post about pregnancy being sometimes boring. I expected Facebook commenters to bitch me out, because that’s what would happen even if I wrote a blog on basket weaving (I have never weaved a basket), but I didn’t expect an attack from some randoms on my personal Facebook page because of a post that literally said, “I reactivated my blog because pregnancy is boring”. Some asshole mom from Vermont (it’s important to me that you know she is from Vermont) took offense to this and wrote a paragraph underneath my status and for some reason related my pregnancy boredom to boredom from sobriety. Her moron friend chimes in that she knows moms who have fun while sober (well, I would hope so). Told me I can have fun without wine (thanks, I was 14 once). I have zero idea why sobriety was brought up, other than me saying “I MISS BEERS” on Facebook once in awhile. Because, well, yeah, pregnancy CAN BE boring (for me). Watching other people drink CAN BE boring (for me). That doesn’t mean I completely hate being pregnant, and even if it did, there is nothing wrong with that. Some people can be grateful to be pregnant but also dislike it’s symptoms and what comes along with sharing your body with an alien being.

Naturally, I private messaged this girl to ask her, “what the fuck?”, because I was genuinely confused at how I could have offended her, and her response was even more polarizing on a female to female basis. She replied that she never felt the need to complain during her pregnancy because she CHOSE to have sex and she CHOSE to keep the baby and there are babies with Fetal Alcohol Syndrome so it’s not funny to even joke about wanting wine. She even juggled pregnancy with being the Maid of Honor in TWO weddings. She used the “MOH” acronym for “maid of honor” like she was the founder of Cosmo magazine or something. She concluded her response with her well wishes for me to mature before labor. Well, okay Mrs. Hot Shit MOH Mom of America, where do I submit my recommendation to have you become the first female pope?

I happen to think that people who don’t complain in life are ticking time bombs/probable sociopaths. I mean, what kind of psycho isn’t afraid to tell a hormonal person who has had ZERO pino since September 10th that she shouldn’t complain because it was her choice to have sex?! I reckon if I said that out loud to anyone, I would have to stick my dumb head in a lit oven. THE WORST. I understand there is a max limit to complaining, but overall, complaining is something I condone. It’s the reason we have friends in this agitating life. The one rule to complaining is that unless you have Ebola, you can only complain in a serious manner once a day. Complaining in a non-funny manner more than once a day turns into bitching and no one wants to hear your bitching.

Seriously, do people REALLY care about how other people feel about pregnancy unless you’re commiserating about it with a friend?! Because while I have been pregnant, and not pregnant, there is nothing I could care less about. I care more about basket weaving than whether or not anyone finds pregnancy boring. I would rather write a paragraph on basket weaving under someone’s status than a paragraph being a judgmental butthole. I mean it.

Pregnancy Is Bullshit

15 Jan

So, I am just going to pick up right where I left off over a year ago. I will blame my hiatus on having nothing left to goddamn say. I knew that I would someday, once again, have some crap to spew. Then one day, that day being today, for the same no good reason that Forrest Gump’s run began, I just felt like blogging. Here we go…

It was a hot and sweaty Sunday evening in August, and I was in a drunken stupor stumbling into my house from the 98 Degrees concert. All in all, the show was as I  expected it to be: Ryan Cabrera was desperately pleading with the largely late-20’s female audience to PM him on Instagram about meeting up in his suite after the show (he ignored my condescending PM, rude), and then a washed-up boy band that wasn’t *NSYNC tried to put on a performance whilst sporting bullet proof vests with nothing underneath. Again, it was exactly as you would expect: shitty. So, got home, I think (hope) my husband was home, and boom, here I am in January 2017, 5.7 months pregnant and Arnold Schwarzenegger has replaced Donald Trump on The Apprentice. So yeah, the night of 98 Degrees I think. Regardless of when it happened, it feels a little more immature relying on Plan B when you’re three years into your marriage, so that is how I got into this predicament. I never knew the song On the Way Down to be an aphrodisiac, but there was alcohol involved, and alas, here I am, waiting for that familiar feeling of an involuntary twitch that reminds me my unborn son, who does not yet have flesh, is moving around in my uterus. And that last sentence brings me to my first point:

Pregnancy is weird and not very fun at all.

I will preface this with the fact that I am very grateful to be pregnant. I know that some women struggle with infertility and then there are assholes like me who get knocked-up the first time the pull-out method remotely fails. I am aware of how lucky I am to be be carrying this baby boy and words can’t express how excited I am to meet him in a few months. But regardless of all that, pregnancy kind’ve sucks and it’s also very weird sometimes. Weird because there is a creature with saggy skin and a white film covering stealing all of your nutrients. Sucky because your body is not yours to beat up anymore. So many moms out there who have had terrible pregnancies will probably hate me right now for complaining because I have had the easiest pregnancy EVER. No vomiting. No bloating. No food aversions. No weird cravings. Oh, and one thing other moms really hate hearing is that I have not gained a single pound (but, we all know it’s coming). Seriously, the disdain in the voices of post-pregnant women, “You’re so tiny”, they remark through gritted teeth, white knuckling whatever object is in reach. Listen, my metabolism has sucked since 05, and I am not tiny as a non-pregnant person so I DESERVE THIS!

Anyways, my main complaint about pregnancy is how mother effing bored I am ALL THE TIME. Well-meaning women advise me to read a book (no concentration), get a hobby (drinking – errr….). I can’t do any of the physical things that I pretend to do when I check into the gym. Can’t ice skate for the first time in 16 years. Can’t take mushrooms in a sauna at the Y. It’s a sobering, dull time.

My second complaint about pregnancy is that whenever I make that first complaint about boredom, veteran moms give me an evil cackling sort of laugh and exclaim, “JUST WAIT!!!!!”, before their witchy faces melt off in a weird fit of rageful bitterness and they shrink back into their Subaru hatchbacks (probably). Which leads me to my next point…

Other parents love to be negative to expectant moms.

One of the strangest things about being pregnant is how excited (some) current parents seem to be to tell expectant moms how much misery they are in for. Like, there is a twinkle in their eyes when they tell me that I am going to get peed on by another human (which in itself is a weird thing to be giddy about telling another person). When I’m not being told about my acceptance into the Golden Showers of America club, everyone loves to tell me how bored I won’t be ever again because “kids are a lot”. Oh. I didn’t know that. I thought I could just buckle the baby onto an uncomfortable wooden chair, give it some trail mix and run errands until lunchtime. I think this phenomenon of being absurdly negative to new moms is just a made-up rite of passage that some veteran moms partake in to make themselves feel better by way of venting. But jeez, guys, I’m sober and miserable enough! Also, if you’re so miserable with all of your kids, then why do you have like 17 of them?


Wedding registries are fun. Babies registries are not. 

Not much else to say other than during my wedding registry I was skipping through Macy’s with the scanner and visions of all the brunches I would be hosting with my new serve-ware. A baby registry just consists of me walking through Babies R Us, reminding my husband to pretend to care about nipples that are not human nipples, but nipples that go on top of a bottle, and stopping every four feet to Google things like, “will this Graco 5000xp 10 speed kill my baby?”, and “is this diaper bag going to kill my soul?”. It’s less fun to pick out gifts when a fetus is depending on you.

Anyways, that’s what I have been up to. Human growing. Or maybe alien growing (check out that ultrasound). Maybe it will inspire some writing?


The truth is out there…

Your Infant Can Stand Like Everyone Else on this GD Train.

1 Dec

*Note: since posting this an hour or so ago, I have had two moms bitch in various comment sections. I don’t hate moms. I don’t hate infants. But I do hate you if you get offended by satire.

I just got a new job that has me commuting into Downtown Boston again. Regardless of my last job being an actual three minute drive, I honestly do not mind the new commute. I would take Red Line rage over work stress any day, and my new job situation has my stress level at zero percent. I also just love working in Boston. City life. Things happening, people going places, people forgetting basic things like how to walk, weird smells. Not anything against working locally, but driving by the sausage cart on Quincy Ave. in Braintree every day was beginning to make me want to buy a sausage from a cart. There is something to be said about sausage carts in Quintree versus sausage carts next to the Corner Mall. I guess.

Anyways, just because I love the new gig, and I choose to throw ‘bows with petite middle-aged Asian women with bags every morning as soon as the train doors open, (I’m not stereotyping, insignificant studies I’ve conducted in my mind over the years have proven that petite, middle-aged Asian women with bags are the most aggressive T passengers), doesn’t mean I don’t have further complaints about my commute. Just because I’m almost 30 now doesn’t make me any less of a whiny Millennial who still blogs. I came, I saw, I left, I’m back, and I have more stuff to complain about.

So like, SUV inspired strollers during rush hour. Why? Looking at you, MOMS. Rolling up into Park Street pushing what appears to be a fucking Smart Car with a baby sticking out of the windshield. But it’s not, it’s a carriage. What’s the thought process here? Are you taking your infant, and your infant’s bungalow, skating on the frog pond on this crisp Monday morning after a long holiday? Perhaps taking him to fill out an application at Starbucks so he can save up to buy himself some fresh Carters? If so, was it necessary to bring your baby around in that industrial-sized, 5×5, birth control mobile that is probably more effective in preventing pregnancy than a Nuvaring? Because there is currently nothing that turns me off from motherhood more than envisioning myself struggling on an escalator with one of those giant things, sweating as I hear that the next train to Alewife is arriving, and my baby starts making that strainy face babies make when they are shitting. Could you have just gone with the space-saving collapsible stroller? You tell me. In the meantime, your freeloading infant can stand like the rest of us schmucks.


Image Courtesy of

Okay, that’s it for now. No really, I’ve changed and I’m more mature since the last time I road public transport.

What People Give A Shit About When It Comes To Weddings

14 Apr

When a girl gets engaged, there are about 5 billion things that run through her mind that first week. These thoughts range from “DO I LIKE MY RING?!” to “DO MY FRIENDS LIKE MY RING?!” to “HOW MUCH WAS MY RING?!” to “Oh my God, I FOUND THE RING RECEIPT! SHOULD I LOOK AT IT?!”, etc. After the hype dies down and the planning begins, the feelings of ” I HAVE SO MUCH SHIT TO DO” starts to set in. You gotta book a reception, make sure the reception hall availability matches up with wherever the ceremony is, play phone tag with your priest – which is weird in itself because calling a priest feels weird- start thinking about who is going to be in the bridal party, and how much fat you need expelled from your body effective immediately… aaaaaand then comes all the vendor booking. I did all that worrying and freaking out myself when I got engaged. I was the first to get married out of my girlfriends, so there was this added pressure that comes with being the first (that rhyme does state that “first is the worst”, no?), and fear that no girl I knew had done this before – recently at least.

I wish there was just one thing that someone had told me. And that is:

NO ONE GIVES A SHIT. There. I said it. No one cares. Before you get all sad and think “What?! No one is happy for me!”, know that is NOT what I am saying. I am saying that no one cares about the details of your wedding. No one. Not even God. No one cares, and no one wants to hear it. Except your mom, she loves wedding shit, probably. And actually, she will probably tell you all that I’m about to, but no one really listens to their moms when they are excited about getting married. Until after they are married, and by then it’s too late and you’ve already probably lost all of your friends after being a psycho bitch for 12-13 months on average. I wish there was someone there to tell me that no one gives a shit about all of the following:

No one cares about your Save the Dates, invitations, place cards, table numbers, ceremony program, or really any other paper goods/stationary associated with you getting married. This is so important because this shit will add up and pretty soon you will have spent $1798.23 on 245 pieces of sturdy “matte” paper that has some calligraphy on it. Think about what you do when you get a Save the Date or invitation in the mail. Do you analyze the font like you’re straight out of that scene from American Psycho when Patrick Bateman wants to chainsaw the dude over his business card? No. You don’t. You open it up and see that it’s a Save the Date and you groan and think “A-fucking-NOTHER one?!”. Then you throw it on a table or on your fridge and dread all the events that you know are going to be associated with this one big event and all the Saturdays you will have to sacrifice over the course of a year. Unless it was made on Microsoft Paint, no one will judge you. Also, people will rag on your engagement photos, for the most part. You can still get them, just know that.

No one cares about your flowers, centerpieces, or knick-knacks: All this shit is pretty to look at when guests are struggling to make small talk during cocktail hour before their buzz kicks in. And stranger reading this blog, I am going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you don’t have tacky taste. But overall, does anyone other than David Tutera care whether you have babies breath in a vase or white carnations in a jar? Unless they are your one gay friend, probably not. If I’m being honest here, I don’t even like bringing centerpieces home when offered. Why? Because I am always drunk when I am offered or win a centerpiece, and just throw it in my car, and forget it’s there until a month later when I’m looking for something on the floor of the back seat of my car, and by then it’s just a mound of dead roses in a dirty container. We should really just start calling it “losing the centerpiece” because all we are doing is losing time picking up dead flower petals in the car 30 days after we “win” the centerpiece. This not giving a fuck extends to favors, too. Sometimes you get cool wedding favors you can reuse (I guess?). But then again, most people will eventually throw out that plastic birdcage with the couples’ names etched into it. Maybe I’ll feel a little bad about throwing it into the barrel, but I will never think about it after that initial and irrational “Aw, I might have needed that plastic birdcage with Greg and Julia’s name etched into it”.

No one cares if you don’t have an equal number or bridesmaids to groomsmen: Oh my God, you have 3 bridesmaids and 2 groomsmen?! Everything is going to be uneven and awful!!! ACTUALLY, aside from the concern that your fiancé might be a serial killer due to the red flag of having no friends other than the bride’s brothers in his bridal party, no one cares. No, it doesn’t look stupid when just one girl walks down the aisle. No, it doesn’t look stupid if they all walk down single file, or 3 at a time. No one thinks about it, and no one cares. Similarly, if your bridesmaid has a giant tattoo, or a mushroom cut, no one cares. Maybe your sassy grandmother will make a comment. But who cares? No one. The only one who ever cares is the bride, and maybe the bridesmaid if she’s self conscious about a tribal tattoo she got when she was 18 that is impossible to cover up in the dress you picked out. But that’s not your problem, now is it? And there is always someone who brings up “But their bad hair is going to ruin the pictures!”. One bridesmaid is going to ruin all of the pictures? Are you going to deck your house out in pictures of you and your bridesmaids? Maybe one. But most of your framed pictures will be of you and your husband. That will nauseate your friends and family enough without the extra collage of you and your girly girls fake laughing.

No one cares about your cake: Everyone is drunk. They are just eating the cake because they are drunk. They don’t care what it tastes like, and probably wish it were pizza anyways. The only ones who care about your cake are the photographer (until they get a picture of it before and after cutting), and the flower girl, and let’s face it: she’s been kind of a bitch lately. You know what? Fuck the cake, just get pizza. It comes with one of those little white table things in the center for free, and you’ll save $75 by not having to buy a cheesy cake topper that doesn’t even remotely resemble you or your husband. And the “funny” cake toppers? They aren’t funny. No, not even the one with the wife dragging the husband away from the couch.

On the topic of food, wedding guests don’t expect to go to the average wedding and get  a steak that rivals the aged Porterhouse at Capital Grille. Any person who has been to camp knows that most food that is cooked in large quantities end up being bland, and wedding food isn’t exactly known for winning any awards. Everyone knows it, in fact, they expect your stuffed chicken to be best described as “edible”, and they will eat it anways and it will be fine. Sorry for calling your wedding “the average wedding” a few sentences ago. My point it, don’t get bent out of shape if the food isn’t 5 stars. This is getting a little redundant, but, no one cares.

American-Psycho-Patrick-Bateman-Business-Card-Picture Okay, now to cancel out all of the negativity from above, let’s talk about the things that ARE important when planning a wedding. And none really have to do with what other people think, because weddings shouldn’t be about what other people think. It’s what you think. And your husband. I guess.

Pictures: You want to look back and get a flashback of how you felt in that exact moment on your wedding day. Find someone who you think can capture your wedding in a way that is personal to you. Look through portfolios of reputable photographers and if you like their “vibe”, hit them up. Meet with your photographer. Check out their work in person. Talk about what you want. And what you want to be a focus. I vibed with my photographer and felt comfortable with her doing her thing on my wedding day. In my opinion, it also eases a ton of stress to go with a photography company that does packages. It’s less people to worry about and reach out to in the days leading up to, and day of, the wedding. Also, you might think you will never watch your wedding video, but it’s so fun to get one and watch it months later. Just don’t host a viewing party, because no one cares and you will lose the few friends you may have left. (Quick plug for my photographer, the amazingly talented Kristen Conte of Conte Sound Production. Kristen’s husband Tom sings during cocktail hour and is the best DJ. They also have packages for videography/uplighting/pretty much everything. Check them out and tell them I told you to!)

Music: Nothing kills an event faster than bad music. I went to an event last Summer during which the DJ played Sinatra’s version of Old McDonald. Pick a good DJ. You’ll care when you are looking out into the most socially awkward scene since middle school. Only this is your wedding. Yikes.

Dress: No one really cares about your dress (but maybe non-guests will judge you when you upload your wedding album onto Facebook if you pick something that makes you look unflattering). But you will. You will want to feel comfortable and beautiful the day you get married. Put some effort in, for once in your Goddamn life!!!! Oh, and don’t wear anything too weird on your head. I mean, if you love head-wear, who am I to stop you? But there was some chick next to me at the bridal boutique the day I was dress shopping for my gown and she was wearing the ugliest effing bridal hat on her head and her entire “support” team was telling her “Yeah, yeah, that looks GREAT!”. Listen, it doesn’t look great. You’re wearing a white satin top hat with a bird cage and you aren’t in England. Get a new support system if anyone suggests a hat without you ever expressing any kind of an interest in hats. It’s likely that person is your enemy and trying to steal your husband and sabotage your life.

And okay, I guess the guests are a little bit important, so here are a couple things that guests will feel good about:

1. Open bar. Obviously. But it’s not wise if you have too many guests. An open bar at a big wedding can easily turn into a more violent version of the pie eating contest in Stand By Me if you have any wild cards on your guest list.

2. Short ceremonies. Praise Jesus! (Funny story: I had a full mass!!! LOL, right?!)

3. Short car rides between ceremony and reception.

4. Short speeches (threaten the bridal party).

5. Associated events, like showers, being local and not at the ass crack of dawn. 10AM is only a good time for people over 60. Also: make sure mimosas are there. If you have a dry shower, you are just jinxing yourself into an unwanted pregnancy before you exchange vows. It’s bad karma.

6. A dimly lit dance floor. Maybe I’m just speaking for myself here, but no one likes to dance in broad daylight.

7. A decent sized wedding registry with varying price ranges. Don’t worry about putting the big things on it either, people go in on the Kitchen Aid stand mixer in groups! And the attachments are perfect for those loner guests who don’t know anyone else in attendance!

8. A good seating chart. AKA please GOD put me with SOMEONE I know. ANYONE!

So brides, try not to sweat the small shit, because really, no one gives a shit anyways. You can take that and feel depressed that life isn’t all about your wedding. Or you can take that with a side of red wine and stop talking about your wedding. XOXO. pie

The Problem With Pants

19 Mar

I’ve recently come to the realization that it has been about 5 years since I was a regular pants-wearer. That’s because for the past 5 years I’ve been addicted to leggings. I am starting to wonder if I will ever wear real pants for more than one consecutive day again. It’s a thought that would keep me up at night, if I cared about what people thought of my fashion sense, and if I didn’t love leggings so much. This isn’t some bullshit either. I truly and honestly wear leggings EVERY DAY. I’m not just one of those people who say they wear leggings every day just to say it. “Those people” probably being the same people who complain that they definitely failed a test, only to reveal that they got a 99% when they get their score. I’m the real deal every day legging wearer.

WHY LEGGINGS? Well, I’ll tell you why.

Leggings are wonderful because they give you a feeling of pantlessness that no other leg-wear can accomplish. There are no restrictions whatsoever in leggings. You can do weird and unnatural movements in leggings, and it’s almost as if you are doing those weird and unnatural movements sans any pants at all. You can lunge from room to room if you want to, and it will feel like you are nude from the waste down. But…you’re not. It’s so freeing. You can also work out in your leggings, and sleep in your leggings, and get high in your leggings!

Leggings are an excellent pants alternative for poor people because they are cheaper than regular pants. If you wear the same jeans every day, people will start to notice and think you’re a poor scrub. Cue the bullying. But when you wear leggings every day, people will just assume that you have a shit ton of leggings!

Leggings are so versatile. You can wear them in black for a basic and slimming effect, or you can be a little crazy and wear a pair of Aztec leggings. As long as you don’t wear flesh colored leggings, cat, cheeseburger, faux denim, or space leggings, you can always be somewhat fashionable on the cheap! When you wear leggings, your footwear options also expand. You don’t have to worry about shoving excess denim into your boots with leggings. Leggings fit into any boot!

When you get an awkwardly placed hole in your jeans, you can’t wear them anymore (even though we all sometimes buy jeans with rips in them on purpose). When you get a tear in your leggings, you take a black Sharpie and color in your skin. Boom! No more tear! And if the tear expands, you can just spend 7 bucks on more leggings, OR Sharpie your entire thigh! No one will know, I swear!

With leggings you don’t feel as fat as you are, although you might look fatter than you are to the random passerby. You can eat whatever you want freely without having to unzip your fly for some breathing room. Your muffin top will sit comfortably tucked away under an elastic band.

The legging lifestyle is how I live. It’s a way of being. Being pretty lazy. But free. And that’s all an American such as myself can ask for. Some people are meth heads. Some people are hippies. Some people are yuppies. Some are yogis. Some are Jewish. Me? I’m a legging’er. Sometimes I think to myself, what if I AM leggings? Just a pair of black leggings, drifting through life without a care. Like a rolling stone. Like a plastic bag drifting in the wind. Like a virgin kissed for the very first time. Like a G6.

Live free in leggings or die of discomfort in slacks. Just try not to get your dick stuck in the zipper.jeans

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