TMI ladies, T-M-I

I have a bit of a rant for all my lady friends out there - for the love of God, please stop going into rancid details about what is happening to your lady parts! It grosses me out that some of these things actually happen to me, what the heck makes you honestly think I also want to be that in touch with your cycles and systems?! I can handle the "Damn, I hate cramps" comments, and won't cringe if you ask me for a tampon, I mean after all, I am 30 years old. However, I have to draw the line when you start telling me about itchy things, odorific stuff, having a heavy flow or anything that goes into an overabundance of detail about your nether regions. I mean really, can't you save that talk for your lady doc? I simply don't care, nor want to know that about you.

While I am on a roll here, for all you strange ladies at the gym: Do you honestly think I want to watch you dry off every crease of your wrinkly naked body while I politely change into my sports bra? Um, no. I don't even think your husband wants to witness that, so why would a strange female in the locker room be down? Oh, and FYI, I can understand how the Brazilian isn't your thing, but at least a little landscaping if you're going to show it off please.

I'll take a pack of Newports and your best Merlot please

Okay, so I have to be a snobby (real from birth mind you) Portlander for a moment because while riding the yellow line MAX this afternoon down the glory that is Interstate Avenue, I had a moment, of disgust really. After passing through the very north part of town and past the only Fred Meyer in the city you may need to pack heat to enter, we got to the "new" part of north Portland (NoPo if you will). This is where my disgust builds as I look at the very trendy New Seasons market filled to the brim with silver Priuses, Subaru wagons, and of course globs of bicycles, because this is not a classic image of this historic neighborhood. Of course spilling out of the store (baguettes, organic spinach and bottles of wine in their reusable totes) are this new breed of very white, very trendy in that, "Oh, this scarf and boots don't go together, I just threw them on, really" kind of way people; Who until 10 years ago were afraid to drive under 25mph past the beginning of MLK Jr Blvd without sweating profusely in fear of being car-jacked or shot.

Oh, but not now. Now, they flood the neighborhoods with their over-the-top ideas of what is true art, unkempt looking flower and veggie gardens spilling over their decks onto the sidewalks, and "I am so cultured because I moved away from the non-integrated burbs where I came from" attitudes. It bugs me, a lot obviously as I devoted an entire blog to it, because with this new influx of creamy white complexions to the "hood" comes a somewhat lack of consideration for the families that have called this neighborhood home for so many years. So while 'Tiffany' and 'Joey' flood the new shabby-sheik coffee shops with their iMacs to read the Willamette Week and wax-on about politics, the real locals are dealing with rising property values and the slow death of their colorful culture as they know it. There. I am done. Perhaps next time I will give my true opinion of the Pearl District.

Spanx me baby

Whoever said that Spanx were comfortable are big, fat liars. Actually, it's more likely they are tiny, skinny liars because, baby, if you have an ounce of chunk on you, these are not cozy okay? I fell for the Hollywood trend awhile back when starlets like Eva Longoria started raving about how they never leave the house without their Spanx, aka God's little secret for women. So I rushed to Nordstrom's, slapped down a quick forty and left with a big grin thinking to myself that no longer will I have any weird lumps, bumps or rolls on this hot body. No people, from this point on I will be smooth as vanilla soy in my pencil skirts.

My excitement was short lived when that next Friday night I decided to give my new wonder undies a try. It took me a good 10 minutes to jump, twist, crouch and tug my way into the torture device (and yes I had the right size, I am not so vain I buy 'too small for me' undergarments). I pulled on my pencil skirt and slightly fitted shirt excited to see how I am now going to appear "a whole dress size smaller." While I admit my tummy was now just one tight, round pooch, I appeared to have grown a massive tire around my thighs and one whole extra set of boobs - on my back. Need I go into the fact there is also a pee hole for all your urinating pleasure? But mind you, when you try to bend over and adjust accordingly to use it, the top of your Spanx will only roll down and piss you off. Despite all this, I decided to give them a whirl on the town. I spent the next 4 hours trying to stay upright and not allow anyone to touch me for fear they would find out I was wrapped up like a sausage under my skirt. Then I had the pleasure of pealing them off me at 3am and having to shower due to the sweaty, red lined mess they made me. Yeah, um, I think I may just try a good old-fashioned corset.