Jeans are the most beautiful thing since the gondola...

Ohhh boy - this is a monumental day in my life. Get ready, folks. Well, actually, yesterday was. Women mark important days in their lives by various things, but getting into a great pair of jeans is definitely one of them.

As you may know, I've been training for the 3-Day Breast Cancer walk this year. I walked last year, and LOVED it and want to walk every year. With all my training and what not, I did not lose ONE pound last year. Nor did any of my clothes start to fit differently, nothing.

Now...I'm not one that owns a scale. I think people who weigh themselves every day are stupid. I did not sign up on the 3-Day to lose weight. I signed up because it is a worthwhile cause, and a magical, life-changing event that I wanted to be a part of. But yeah, I thought it might be a nice side benefit to get in shape a bit in the process. Of course I did.

I remember vividly - one day last November (gunpowder, treason and plot....) I went into the Dr. for some asthma-related thingamajig. I always used my doctor's office as my 'scale' - I am in there twice a year or so, and I figured their scale is probably pretty accurate. I was eager to step on the scale and see how I was. I had finished the 3-Day a month earlier. I was feeling good. I hadn't noticed a lot of change in how my clothes fit, mind you, but.... come on. I must have lost SOME weight, right?

Nope.

Not one freakin pound. I had to hold in a major breakdown throughout the rest of the appointment and had a meltdown that night with Chris. He was reassuring and said all the right things, but I was so pissed off! How could this be? The planets must not be aligned, right?

*sigh*

So this year, I thought: fuck it. I'm going to kick my ass for this cause because it needs it and whatever happens to my body in the meantime, so be it. If God wants me to be fat and supportive of this event, then that's what I'm going to do. Seriously, I started reading up on the women who are fighting for their lives, and really learned more about this disease this year and what is being done to stop it.... Grow up a bit, Kel and see the big picture.

Well, whaddya know? The last couple months, my clothes have been VERY loose. In that "I can barely keep them on" kinda good way. I can't even hold onto my fat jeans (girls, you know what I'm talking about) and my 'regular' jeans were getting too big, too. The ONE time I've been on a scale in 4 months was at my mom's house and when I looked at the number, I was pleased but also thinking her scale was off. *shrug*

Last night I decided to go *gasp* jeans shopping.

I hate jeans shopping. Does anyone really like it? Oh, well, if you are Kate Walsh perhaps you like it. I never can find a pair that fit and are comfortable, and most importantly, are flattering. Sure, I have long legs, but I am a woman. I'm programmed to hate 2 things from birth: My hair and my body. I've made peace with my hair a long time ago, but this...

I pull 3 pair of jeans off the racks (along with a shitload of other items, cuz I can't JUST try on jeans, right?) and think 'wow they have some really cute looking jeans here.'

I start trying them on. They are one size down from what I normally wear. I was very happy. They look fantastic. They've got EVERY style under the sun, and every marketing slick line possibly posted on their tags. Slenderizing! Slimming! Contoured! Flare! Low Rise! Hugging! The only thing I noticed is that the back waistband is gapping in a pretty bad way. But they fit everywhere else really well, so I figure I'll just wear a belt...

Then I get a nasty grin on my face. Kinda like the Grinch when his heart was 3 times too small. I think, "hmmmm, I wonder if I could fit into a size X pair" (no, I'm not quite ready for the entire world to know what size i am, thanks).

So I go and get 2 pair of the NEXT size down. This is a size I haven't worn since college, mind you. (Being 34, that was a LONG time ag0). I thought to myself, if I can even get them past my hips, I'm going to be ecstatic. Well, I did. I got them on and MAYBE could have even bought them, too. If there had been a white Nascar tank top to buy and something to rat my hair out with, I would've been the complete Trashy Woman of the 90's.

Yeah, they looked absolutely PAINTED on, which is good if you are Evangeline Lily (brownie points on this very easy reference - do you know who she is?) -- not so good when you are me. But the fact that I even got them on at all! It warranted a lip bite to quelch the yell I wanted to let go in the dressing room..... and a call to the sister on the way home. Who happened to be at a restaurant and couldn't whoop and holler, but did her best to do so anyway, god bless her, with her hand cupped over the receiver. She said she had 3 different reactions to my awesome news:

1) So so so freaking excited!
2) So so so freaking jealous and wants to call me a beyotch. Beyotch.
3) Pass the Nachos with Sour Cream that they were eating at the time.

And I justified the whole thing by clarifying that I was indeed at Kohls which is a NORMAL store. I was not at the stores that change their labels to make you feel better (You know which stores those are, ladies)....

I ended up buying the one size down (not the 2 size down) pair and needless to say, I was one happy camper last night. In a satisfied, blase kind of way, maybe, but I jammed to some Wham! in the car on the way home and can't wait for Casual Friday this week to wear my new jeans =)

As one of the most endearing, entertaining characters in all of entertainment once said:
"And for the record, I'm down a notch on my belt. I'm a big guy. It's gonna be a while before you're gonna want to give me a piggy-back ride" (brownie points again, here folks, c'mon, you know this one)