Post De Hind Region

I don't have an intelligent post today. Rather, I have an assortment of odd-ball comments that have are hind region themed.

1. I haven't gone on a run since Jacob was one month old. And I LIKE it. I LOVE basking in my laziness. Not running every day is something that would have given me nightmares last year. But the downside? FLAT ASS. Pancake flat. Indiana wheat field flat. Pre-pubescent eight year old chest flat. I ran over a nail with my tire and it's flat FLAT. Yeah. That. Can you inject botox into your ass?

2. It's my husband's favorite time of the month. It's the I've neglected to do laundry like my laundry machine is the center of hate which also happens to increase cellulite and the accessive storage of fat cells and now I only have a handful of thongs left to wear Time of the Month. This is the time when all my lacey, frilly thongs come out of hiding and manage to wedge themselve in places that shall not be named as I go about my daily business.

3. I just happened to be drying my hair this morning in my tank top and a bright yellow thong when husband walked in. I may have crossed my legs and leaned forward provocatively, but that is no excuse for him to land a loud slap across my thigh. Seriously. There is the perfect red outline of a handprint there. And it still stings. Note to self: never try to be sexy while my backside is exposed.

4. Someone at Fred Meyer today happened to forget the Eleventh Commandment. Thou Shalt Not Wear Panties That Sit Higher Than Thy Pants' Waistline- And If Thou Does, Thou Shall Not Bend Over. Seriously people.

4. I was glimpsing through some old college photos on my computer and I realized that I missed my college dance party days. Me and a cross country team mate would sneak into the local bar with fake IDs (one time I was allowed in with my of-age Korean friend's ID). We wouldn't even drink alcohol because if we got caught drinking we would be kicked off our team (we were more scared of our coach than the local authorities who love to crash bars and arrest underage attendees). All we wanted to do was SHAKE OUR BOOTIES. It was a sad but serious case of booty shaking deprivation. You can't keep a good booty shaker down. While completely sober, we would dominate the dance floor and dance crazier than any of the drunkies. And we would compete to see who could slap the most stranger's butts without being caught in the act. (Once you slapped a behind, you had to turn the other way and act completely natural as the victim surveyed the busy dance floor in an attempt to find the perp).

I was awesome as a nerdy, sober college athlete. What? You want evidence?