I'm Out

So I haven't written about breastfeeding for awhile. I bet whole dozens of you are wondering how that's going.

Behold! The contents of my garbage bin!

I find it always makes trash day EXTRA SPECIAL to toss out several hundred dollars worth of breastfeeding paraphernalia in one grand, sweeping gesture.

(Okay, maybe I saved the unopened breastmilk storage containers.)

(And the Avent pump.)

(And maybe I have not actually thrown any of this stuff out yet, but simply moved it out of my kitchen cabinets and into a box, a box that is now sitting in our foyer, where it can either be taken to the trash room or scuttled upstairs to the storage area, and it awaits its fate with great fear and trembling.)

ANYWAY, the point is that breastfeeding is over for us.

When I was pregnant, I planned to nurse my baby for six months. Then reality set in, and reality was a SOUL CRUSHING BITCH, but I pledged to nurse him for six weeks, bloody thrush nipples and nursing strikes be DAMNED. And after six weeks I decided to shoot for six more weeks.

By the time Noah was 12 weeks old he'd completely outgrown my punkass supply, but the timing seemed wrong to quit right as he started daycare. And because I always sort of viewed breastfeeding not so much as a parenting choice, but as something I MUST CONQUER AT ALL COSTS. I WILL MAKE YOU MY BITCH. I SHALL NOT BE OUTWITTED BY A COUPLE OF LITERAL BOOBS.

I had a few blissful weeks there where everything seemed to work. We had our rhythm and our routine and there was enough milk and no pain and I started dreaming of nursing until Noah's first birthday...or beyond! Because I've won! I've fought through it all and come out the other side, to that alternate universe where my toddler asks for some fries with that, where "that" equals my boobs, my fabulous, life-sustaining boobs.

And then my milk dried up. Just like that.

One morning I woke up and there was just nothing there. Noah pulled away in disgust and howled until I gave him a bottle.

I still kept trying. I'd admittedly gotten a little reckless with my supply and lazy about pumping during the day, so I figured if I just pumped more and popped some extra fenugreek my milk would come back.

My milk never came back. Noah never latched on again. My period started on Friday.

It's over.

Emotionally, I'm all over the place about it, which is fine, since there's not a damn thing to be done about it and being resigned and in tune with my neatly organized emotions doesn't really serve any purpose.

I guess I expected Noah to make the decision not to breastfeed anymore, or that reaching the magical "six months" number would make it easier to let myself quit.

I guess I didn't expect the final days of breastfeeding to be so strange and fumbling.  I didn't expect him to adapt so quickly to the fact that Mama is not where his food comes from.

I didn't expect to feel like I could have done something more, even though I fought through weight loss, low supply, raging hormones, crunchy burnt toast point nipples, thrush, nursing strikes, supplementation and pumping woes. I didn't expect to feel like I still failed somehow.

I guess I expected that at some point, the guilt would go away. That it would just be enough to have tried.

I did try, baby. Please don't look at me like that.

Casa de Suck

Noah is sick. Diarrhea. Vomiting. Screaming. Hair-pulling.

He's on outfit number seven so far and I've taken three showers to get vomit out of my hair, cleavage and/or ear canals.

I also watched Starting Over.

I know. I am deeply ashamed. But you know, I was kind of hoping for more spinospools, or some of the crazy sadistic shit y'all told me about, like grown women being dressed as babies and sent on playdates while their housemates throw cupcakes at them and their Life Coaches berate them for not taking ownership of their poor life choices, which certainly include appearing on this suckfest of a show.

Or you know...something like that.

One day, the remote will be mine, and I will never have to watch this crap again.

I emailed Yvonne this morning and told her that I was actually PLANNING to watch Starting Over, like NOT EVEN BY ACCIDENT, and made a joke that perhaps I would liveblog it. She ordered me to do just that and has been yelling at me all day about it, like she thinks she invented the restraining order or something, and...well. This is your entry for today! It's Y's fault if you have no fucking idea what I'm talking about.

Previously on Starting Over! Bitchfight! Well, some yelling in the kitchen, at least. Possibly over dishes!

Opening credits: COURAGE. GROWTH. CRYING. THROWING THINGS.

Kelly is Overcoming a Fear of Intimacy, and she also hates Jodi. Apparently, they were the ones yelling in the kitchen. Kelly is crying now, because Jodi is SO harshing her personal development buzz.

Kelly rants that she is here to learn how to get along with her family, NOT how to get along with Jodi, and while this is only the second time I've watched this show EVER, even I get that she may be missing the big picture here, just a little bit.

She has to go to some "street interview" thing and is trying to pull herself together. Lisa, who is Rebuilding the Ruins, puts away the iron before Kelly kills Jodi with it, and then gives her a hug and tells her to be careful driving, what with the complete meltdown she's having and the kind of scary way she's flying around their bedroom shrieking and getting bleeped by the censors. Kelly is kind of offended by the suggestion that she's maybe crossed into raving fucking lunatic territory.

Kelly: Oh, I'm gonna be FINE, I mean, I'm not CRAZY!

Of course you aren't! No, there is no crazy in the Starting Over Bleeping House! No crazy at all!

Actually, it turns out that the Big Kelly and Jodi Throwdown is about Kelly's Depression Cloud. Which...I don't know. Kelly drew squiggly lines on her Cloud and Jodi thought squiggly lines were not sufficiently Depressing enough.

I like Jill, who is Losing Weight and Eliminating Chaos. Jill and I would go shopping and we would buy shoes and I would purposely try on some ugly shoes and Jill would be all, "OH HELL NO GIRLFRIEND" and we would laugh because we've had too much coffee.

The aforementioned street interview involves hanging around a strip mall parking lot with a mother and her son who will hug and hold hands while Kelly shakes down random people walking by to ask if they find that behavior inappropriate or sexual. Which...wow. That's kind of sad, and I wonder what Kelly would think of Noah's penchant for French kissing.

Of course, every single person thinks it's MARVELOUS that the mother and son can show affection out in public. FABULOUS. WONDERFUL. Except, perhaps, for a little girl Kelly kind of hilariously interviews at the end and practically browbeats her with the leading questions like, "If your dad put his arm around you, in front of everybody in this whole parking lot, you would be okay with that, right? You would be happy, right? Because it means he loves you, RIGHT?"

And the little girl, who is standing about 10 feet away from her dad, nods meekly, yet looks like she would rather that the asphalt OPEN UP AND SWALLOW HER WHOLE before she would be okay with her father HUGGING HER in front of PEOPLE, OH MY GOD.

Two other women in the house are also kind of fighting, but it's boring. So boring. This show is boring! There is entirely too much footage of women writing things down on legal pads! Where are the spinospools?

I'm kind of sad the show is halfway over and there hasn't been anything nearly as awesome as the spinospools.

Jill never knew her dad and talks about being rejected as an embryo. Jodi won't get on the scale because her dad used to make her weigh herself every morning just to humiliate her. Christie's dad was physically abusive. Jesus, it's a fucking John Mayer song, people.

Wait, what's this? PIES! There are pies!

Jodi opens the front door to find the the Starting Over Production Assistant Gnomes have left cream pies on the doorstep. Pies labeled with things like FAT, UGLY, GASTRIC BYPASS SURGERY CANDIDATE and TURKEY NECK.

"Oh God, are people going to throw these at me?" Jodi asks. So she HAS watched the show.

Lisa comes running over to see the pies. "Are we going to throw these at your head?" she asks, a bit too excitedly.

Unfortunately for us all, the pies are not going to be thrown at Jodi. Or even Kelly, who could kind of use a pie thrown at her head, if you know what I'm saying.

No, Jodi is to take the pies up to the Starting Over Bleeping House's balcony and toss them off while saying some "I CHOOSE ME" type platitude.

But once again, the coolness has been reduced EVEN FURTHER by the Production Assistant Gnomes, who obviously didn't want to clean cream pie out of the fucking pool, so Jodi is actually just sort of...dropping the pies off the balcony directly into a waiting trash can.

"I will not look in the mirror to see my turkey neck!" Jodi triumphantly shouts, joining Kelly in the Maybe Not Sort of Getting the Point Club.

Kelly tells Life Coach Rhonda about the horrible, terrible mean thing Jodi said about the squiggly lines on her Depression Cloud, and I hope, for one fleeting moment that she's LISTENING TO HERSELF GET WORKED UP OVER SQUIGGLY LINES, or that Rhonda will tell her to dial back the fucking drama already or maybe throw a pie at her head, but none of these things happen.

Instead, Rhonda tells Kelly that Jodi is a mirror. A MIRROR TO KELLY. For Kelly to look in and see KELLY, and Kelly should thank Jodi for letting her look into the Mirror of Condescension and grow from love or some such bullshit, and I throw a puke-encrusted burp cloth at the television, because PLEASE.

What kind of passive aggressive coping technique is that?

Woman #1: Wow, those shoes are so cute. Didn't I see them in the October 2004 issue of InStyle?

Woman #2: Wow, thank you for showing me how ugly it is when I judge others based on their clothes. You've really helped me grow as a person today.

Woman #1: You're welcome, but those shoes are still hella last season.

Ceiba doesn't know about you, but she's kind of embarrassed for womankind right now.

Anyway, we can't end the show without Jodi and Kelly having a Confrontation, which they totally take outside, where they totally pull the passive aggressive shit on each other, just like the Life Coaches taught them to.

Jodi: I'm sorry that you think I'm condescending. I am willing to take ownership about the need to be extra careful when I speak to you because of the stupid way you interpret whatever I say.

Kelly: I really don't appreciate that you are making the fact that I have a problem with you all about the fact that I have a problem with you, instead of admitting that you are just a huge pain in the ass.

Jodi: I'm so glad we talked! Give me a hug!

This show is an embarrassment to everyone involved! Just like this entry! I crap my pants in protest!

Not Ha Ha Funny, But I Tried

Part the First! In case you missed the edit to yesterday's post, you can purchase a Save the Boobies onesie of your very very own at the BoobieBrigade CafePress shop. All proceeds go to the Susan G. Komen Foundation.

Part the Second! In case you are tired of all the whining and the sad and the puke around here, perhaps a visit to the Gallery of Disturbing Baby Clothes would be a nice diversion?

No, seriously. This is what I do with my life on the weekends. Well, this and change poopy diapers. And drinking, but...that's...probably pretty obvious.

Enter the Gallery of Disturbing Baby Clothes...

In the Pink. Again.

So I called my mom last night, mostly to bore someone besides Jason with a very long diatribe about work, about daycare, about staying home, about money, about spending the majority of my precious moments with Noah getting crapped on, and about whatever else was bugging me out yesterday.

I took a breath after 20 minutes or so, and finally got around to asking how she was doing.

I figured we'd talk some more about Amber, our sweet old dog, who was put to sleep last week after a long battle with Everything, and I didn't tell you guys about that because I'm just too damn sad to talk about it.

She was a good dog, and I never got to say goodbye, unless you count last Christmas when I really, really hope I remembered to pet her.

Goodbye, Old Paint.

But we didn't talk about Amber last night, at least not right away.

They found a lump. Another goddamn lump. In her other breast. Her only breast.

We're starting all over again. And I have no words.

I do, however, have an appropriate onesie (which you can find here). And a bunch of Very Good Links You Should Click On, Preferably With Your Credit Card Handy.

Noah likes the boobs! You give money now!

Don't make me break out the baby toes, people.

Save the Boobies. And Nanalah.

She's Come Undone and Also Unhinged

Yes, I'd love to post an entry too. Would LOVE it. Would find it DELIGHTFUL.

But it's kind of hard, what with all the sobbing helplessly at my desk and the stress and the let's-not-get-fired nonsense and also, I found out this morning that my daycare center requires a doctor's note for Pedialyte.

PEDIALYTE, WHICH IS FUCKING GATORADE. YOU BUY IT AT THE GROCERY STORE. SHOULD I PROVIDE A NOTE FOR FORMULA TOO NOW?  I AM  NOT DRAGGING MY CHILD TO THE DOCTOR OVER EVERY CASE OF THE RUNS WHAT WITH A $20 CO-PAY AND A $15 FORM FEE AND MISSED WORK JUST TO GET YOU A FORM TO COVER YOUR ASS BECAUSE OF MY INSANE DESIRE TO MAKE SURE MY BABY IS PROPERLY REHYDRATED, ESPECIALLY SINCE HE GOT THE DIARRHEA FROM YOUR CENTER IN THE FIRST PLACE. AN OUNCE OR TWO IS ALL I WAS ASKING AND I'D APPRECIATE IT IF YOU STOPPED ACTING LIKE I WANTED YOU TO ROLL HIM SOME SWEET, SWEET MEDICINAL MARIJUANA.

NEXT TIME I AM LYING AND CALLING IT APPLE JUICE AND YOU CAN SUCK IT.

What, is the yelling a bit much?

Now, before anybody dares jump on me about sending a baby with diarrhea to daycare, I would like to tell you that 1) he's totally fine now but I was just trying to be Safe with the Precautionary Measures and the Just In Case-ness, and 2) you can suck it too, I'm cranky.

I'm going to look at some baby pictures now. You can look at them too, I suppose.

Noah loves Ceiba all of a sudden. He tries to hug and kiss her and everything. I think she likes him too, and I will not spoil this sweet caption by telling you what exactly I caught her licking off of Noah's bouncy seat cover last night, although if you read the beginning of this entry a few dozen times I think you can guess, and yes, we do remember to feed her real food, at least most of the time.

(Also, look! We have matching chins!)

Noah, seen here taking a break from gouging out chunks of flesh with his fingernails. And rehydrating.

Yo, why you gotta be all up in my grill, beyotch?

I would like to state for the record that this child? Smiles and laughs all the damn time. Look at him, and behold the dimples. Talk to him, and watch him laugh like a loon. Point a camera at him and be rewarded with a blank, drooly look at simply says, "a-durrrrrrrrrr."

Close enough. I feel mostly better now.

The Vomitorium Strikes Back

OH HELL NO. HELLLLLLLLLLLL NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.

Except yes! Jason and I are sick as very sick dogs again. With the puking all night and whining all day.

When I posted about the Food Poisoning Adventure, a couple smart people suggested that it was maybe not food poisoning at all, but a stomach virus Noah brought home from daycare. I read their suggestions and nodded and filed that away as a likely cause, but for narrative simplicity I stuck with the food poisoning story online, because I am lazy and it was just deliciously poetic that the foodies got food poisoning and are still to this day absolutely terrified of pupusas.

Now I'm thinking that virus thing was a good call, because Jason and I made our own damn non-pupusa dinner last night with just-purchased ingredients and once again, one of us got sick and then the other followed suit about an hour later.

This time it was Jason who got sick first, around 1 a.m., and I lay in bed in terror because I'd been fighting some nausea for about an hour by then, and when I heard the hideous sounds of retching coming from downstairs I knew I was getting a glimpse into my very near future.

Ugh.

I am very tired of paying lots of money just to widen my circle of germ exposure to include a bunch of mucusy, spit-uppy brats.

Also, I am tired of not having any sick leave and having to drag my diseased ass into work.

Also tired of the dark circles under my eyes because I'm running on less than two hours of sleep and now know first-hand that NBC reruns the previous evening's Olympic coverage in the middle of the night, LIKE I HAVE NOT WATCHED ENOUGH CURLING ALREADY.

(Shuffleboard + bowling + billiards + housecleaning = WTF)

(I love it! I want to join a league! I maybe got out the Swiffer and went around my house Swiffering in a suspiciously curling-like fashion! ! I also maybe pumped my fists in the air after perfectly placing some dust bunnies on the imaginary curling rink I decided was in my kitchen!)

Anyway, I am probably going to go die now.

(My dreams of Olympic gold! Dashed!)

However, if these are not the legs and feet of an Olympian something-or-other, I will eat my Swiffer.

Redirect

Guess what! I am not posting today. At all! In fact, this post you are reading right now is nothing more than a crazy hallucination and you should probably call a doctor about that.

I'd have a really clever photo caption here if my dog's name was Tyler Durden, but it's not so I have nothing. So it's doubly good that I am not actually posting any photos.

However! The good news is that I am the featured blogger over at mommybloggers.com, and you can go over there and read a 100% original interview with me today and a 100% recycled entry from me tomorrow, because I was too damn riveted by all this Olympic curling nonsense (It's a sport with brooms, and I love it! Help!) to sit down and write anything original.

The first rule about Nap Club is that you don't talk about Nap Club.

(Confidential to Molly: Thanks so much for the coffee, and I'm sorry I ate your muffin.)

(Not posting! Move along!)

From the It-Was-Bound-To-Happen-Sooner-Or-Later File:

(Y'all! Thank you so much for all the awesome diaper tote suggestions. I want about ten of them. At least. Oh wait, did I see that one before? Shit. Now I want eleven. And because together we've pretty much covered the Entire Universe of Cool Diaper Bags for the Non-Frumpy Mama, I'm going to pool all the suggestions and create a shopping guide. Because I have ALWAYS wanted to create a shopping guide of some sort, but have been too lazy to actually research it my damn self. So...thank you for doing all the work. Suckers.)

Last night we went out for dinner (u could save that $ and stay home! wh0RE!). Noah fell asleep during the car ride to the restaurant (if u loved Noah u would sell that car t00 and walk everywhere!), and Jason dropped me off while he went to find parking.

I went in, got our table and happily settled in with the wine list (OMFG!) and waited for Jason and Noah to join me.

Minutes later, Jason arrived. I waved and he casually strolled over and sat down.

I stared at him for a few seconds. I took a deep breath. I focused on keeping my cool. Also on keeping my eyeballs from exploding.

"Jason," I said, in a calm, low voice. "Where. Is. The. Baby?"

His eyes got very wide, and without a word, he jumped up and bolted back out the door.

When he returned, sleeping babe in tow, the table next to us applauded.

"DUDE." said our slightly horrified waitress. "DUDE."

DUDE is right, because I now have something to hold over Jason's head FOR THE REST OF HIS LIFE, and I couldn't be happier about that, since maybe now he'll stop asking if Noah looks a little cross-eyed because I sort of let him fall off the couch that one time.

I am properly gobsmacked at your duncity and recklessness, dude.

Wednesday Advice Smackdown Special Thursday Edition

Reason #47549234 Why IKEA Is Out To Destroy Me: This morning, as I went to retrieve my keys from our adorable PAVO cabinet (I painted it purple! I am so craftsy!), the little dowel-like knob thing went flying through the air and landed in places unknown. After crawling around on the floor for some time, cursing IKEA and dust bunnies and this job that makes me leaving the fucking house in the first place, like do they not understand what a damn challenge that is, I gave up and attempted to open the key cabinet without the knob.

MOTHER OF GOD, IT WOULD NOT OPEN. IT WOULD NOT SURRENDER MY KEYS. I used my fingers, a pen and a fork in an attempt to jar the stupid thing open, while thinking that hey! What I could really use to open this thing would be a nice, pointy key! Fuck you!

I finally yanked the whole cabinet off the wall and shook it violently until my keys came unhooked and blew the door open from the inside. My keys are Jack Bauer, apparently.

Then I collected my keys, baby and bag (more on THAT later, grr) and stepped outside, only to accidentally kick the rogue knob (which had rolled UNDER my front door and out onto the stairwell landing) down the stairs, where it bounced and bobbed down TWO FLIGHTS before I found it and stompily took it back upstairs, unlocked my front door and hurled it blindly into the living room, where I will deal with it LATER.

So. Who has a question for me? Preferably one that lets me yell a lot?

Dearest Amalah,

I'm in need of some really really good advice. Firstly, i have medium-length and layered hair. Naturally, my hair is frizzy and wavy. Put together 'layered' and 'frizzy', and what you get is volume. Now what i would like to have is frizz-free hair and soft, natural, separated waves. I think I want to use Bed Head, but I'm still not sure which product to use. Either Small Talk or Hard to Get...but which one of them will give me the desired result?

Now, Small Talk de-frizzes hair and also gives hold. But it also gives volume, and I don't want that. As for Hard to Get, it gives texture and separation, but I assume it does not de-frizz hair. So what do you think I should use? Team up Control Freak and Hard to get?? Thanks in advance.

Avanti

P.S I don't want to use the Catwalk mousse coz i want 'soft, natural' curls.

You do not want Small Talk OR Hard to Get. Small Talk is mostly for thickifying and volumizing, and yes, "thickifying" is totally a word, shut up. Hard to Get is a finishing paste, more along the lines of a pomade, and is to be used very, very sparingly. It also does nothing for curls.

You do want to use a Catwalk product, but yay! It's not a mousse. It's the Curls Rock Curls Booster, and it's a lightweight spray that defrizzes and defines curls. Spray it on wet hair before using a diffuser, or spray it on dry hair and scrunch.

If you've got extra-stubborn frizz, add in the Curls Rock Leave-In Moisturizer, which further defrizzes and defines, but has the added benefit of a detangler. And if you're one of the curly-haired girls who doesn't like to shampoo your hair every day, but finds that your hair is a little dry on the second day, this is the stuff to use.

And while we're on the subject of curly hair, a lot of people asked me how I got my hair to do the thing it is doing in this entry, since I actually have very straight, fine hair. So I will tell you, because I am feeling chatty and helpy.

Two products that will change the life of every faux-wavy-hair girl out there: Bumble & Bumble Surf Spray and Catwalk Frisky Scrunching Gel. Oh, my lands.

First, I blow-dry my hair straight with a wide, flat paddle brush, lifting at the roots. Then I take a medium-sized and very hot curling iron and wrap small pieces of hair around the ENTIRE iron. Don't open up the...thing you usually open. You know. Wrap your hair and hold the ends as close to the iron as you can without burning your fingers. Let set for a bit and then pull the iron away. This creates, in the words of my beloved hairdresser, the "modern ringlet." Instead of fluffy poodle curls you get hair that's just kind of wavy and bent.

Do as many of these as your arms can stand and then lightly spray one of the two products I mentioned earlier all over. Scrunch. You're done.

The Bumble & Bumble product is better for this look, in my opinion, but it's pricey, and if you've got oily hair it probably adds more build-up and "grit" (the whole idea is that it makes your hair kind of beachy and salty) than you want. In that case, go with the gel.

Obviously? Not so much of an everyday look. I only attempt this when we're going out, and even then I usually end up with an abbreviated version because I sort of have a baby who may be more important than my hair. I know!

(Cagey? I so wanted to do my hair all pretty like this for our lunch, but I never got around to it because MY child threw his tantrum at home. But just so you know, you are Curling Iron Worthy, at least in theory.)

Amalah, love -

I am going nuts. A year ago I decided to stop playing Happy Hippie and started actually getting my hair cut and styled. I've kept it pretty short, shoulders or above, but I got very tired of that and so I have begin growing it out. This is not going well. I have thickish, wavy (I live in Texas, so translate "wavy" to "ball of frizz") hair that is now to my shoulders, more or less. It's gotten better since I started following your advice on shampooing roots, conditioning ends, but that kind of also points out that There Is More To Be Done. But what?

I think I need real bangs, but I'm not sure. I think I need better de-frizzing products. I know I need to trim off the ends. And for sure I need a new style while I'm growing it out that won't make me want to just pull this all into a ponytail (because I have heard awful stories about constant ponytails and one's hairline and oh my god I don't want to go bald heeeeeeeeeeeeeeelp!). Can you guide a girl who doesn't know what to do with misbehaving hair that badly needs a great style? I enclose a picture that should never see the light of day because it is hiiiiiiiideeeeeous.

You will be my heroine forever if you can help me nail down the final steps to lovely hair.

Lissa
 

(Am I still your heroine if I give you advice like, six months after you asked for it? No? Yeah, didn't think so.)

Part the first: As usual, you are being too hard on yourself. Your hair looks healthy and not frizzy at all. So yay for that.

Part the second: Um. I just poked around your site and your Flickr photos and saw that you got bangs. Which...well, that was kind of my advice. You needed bangs, and now you have them, and I like them very much. Also your rack, but that's another matter altogether and I am NOT bitching about breastfeeding today, no I am not.

Anyway, I have no idea if you still have any problems regarding frizz, but I will say this: anyone who has a problem with frizz should start by adding a weekly deep-conditioning treatment and a good leave-in conditioner before moving on to specific anti-frizz styling products. I like the Alterna Caviar and Bumble & Bumble Deeep conditioners and the Catwalk Fast-Fixx leave-in spray. You may still need something extra, or you may be like me, who used to goop lots of anti-frizz stuff in her hair before starting the deep conditioner/leave-in conditioner regimen and discovered that oh! Not so frizzy after all! Just thirsty.

Dearest Amalah,

My dear friend has been with her man for three years. I have never particularly cared for him, but of course, she doesn't know that. I liked him even less when he tried to pick up my roommate, not realizing that I knew her and heard all about the transgression. His girlfriend never found out. That was a year and a half ago, but last week, I found his profile on My Space, billing himself as "single," and I accessed several of his flirty and suggestive communications with semi-nude internet girlies. Like I said, I've never trusted this guy. I'd like to tell my best friend, but will she take my word over his? Also, she's been through a lot lately--when is the appropriate time to bring this up? Internet hookups are on the road to cheat-dom, am I correct? If you could help me out, that would sort of make my life complete. Many thanks.

Laura

Oh, the never-ending dilemma over Whether To Get Involved Or Not.

While it's entirely subjective and on a case-by-case basis, I am generally in favor of Getting Involved whenever cheating is, well, involved.

Because I would want to know. First, because I would be furious if my friends let me be made a fool of by some cheating dickweed, and secondly, because HELLO, diseases and shit.

Think about it: if she's been with this guy for three years, there's a good chance that they are no longer using condoms. And if he's out there trying to pick up random girls (in real life, not just online), there's also a good chance that he's succeeded. And while I may be making sweeping generalizations here, people who cheat don't usually have their partner's sexual health at the top of their priority list.

Plus, you're her friend.  You did the right thing not going to her with the general "I just don't like him" business, because if that was all you had on this guy, I'd tell you to keep your mouth shut. But you have a MySpace profile and other online evidence, and dude, she needs to know. It sucks and she may shoot the messenger first, but you have to let her know.

Send her his profile and the stuff you found. Keep quiet about the roommate thing, for now anyway.  Let her deal with one thing at a time.

Oh, and from my own personal experience with Getting Involved When Your Friend Is Dating A Lying Cheating Jerkwad, be prepared: She might forgive him. She might get mad at you. Be patient though, because six months later she might find some damning evidence of her own, like say, HIS STASH OF GLOW-IN-THE-DARK CONDOMS, belatedly kick his ass to the curb and then email you an apology, because damn.

Hey now! That story wasn't appropriate for children!

Dear Amalah,

Last March I went to Texas with Habitat for Humanity to build houses for people who wanted houses. Saintly, right? Except I abused my body in the worst possible way by forgetting to apply sunscreen until the second day, and by that time, the damage had been done. To this day, both shoulders are pink and wrinkly-looking and bear brown spots.

(Here's a note to tell you that I just pulled on the collar of my turtleneck--without closing the door to my office--to verify that my shoulder description was on target. Also, I considered taking pictures in order to give you crystal-clear visual but realized that sending you images of my bare skin just might cause you to take back your original e-mail.)

On May 12 of this year, I will finally get myself married. I am wearing a strapless dress once again and have no intention of tanning. The shoulders, they need to look good for the close-ups. Can you recommend anything?

Frema

Okay, one day I am just going to write an advice column that reads like this:

Sephora.com. The end.

Sephora's website has semi-customized product recommendations to go with every goddamn problem you can think of.

Look!

Just click on your problem, answer some questions, and ta-da! A nice line-up of products appears, and yeah, I'm sure they're paid placements, but they really help narrow down the overwhelming list of skincare options out there, and in most cases, give you confidence to find a cheaper alternative.

I think the type of product you need is somewhere in the Body: Uneven Skintone & Texture section. (There's also the Body: Loss of Elasticity section if your shoulders are honest-to-God wrinkly, but I'm guessing that's probably just an illusion created by the sunspots.)

Unfortunately, I have not personally tried any of the products Sephora recommends there. I've never heard of the most expensive option (MD Skincare), the Dermadoctor product certainly SOUNDS promising, and the Peter Thomas Roth product contains jojoba beads, which I can vouch for: those suckers polish and moisturize like nobody's business. I think the Fresh and the Sephora products are load of nice-smelling crap and wouldn't do a thing for you.

So! I am getting very tired and kind of confused about what I was talking about!

If you feel like splurging, go for one of the Sephora recommendations. But I personally would recommend going here and buying a bottle of their ($10!!) Body & Face Spa Polish, and then making an appointment with a dermatologist.

That polish also contains jojoba beads, just like the expensive scrubs, and I've actually used it. The site is run by our own Amalah.com commenter LotionBarBunny, who totally sold me on their very cool $7 lotion bars and then sent me a slew of free samples along with my order, because she rocks and was probably hoping I'd plug her site. And I am, because it really, truly is great stuff, and you cannot beat the prices. The shea butter fucking CURED Noah's baby eczema in two applications, and the spa polish is the first scrub I've been able to use since Noah's birth that evened out my red, splotchy skin tone on my face and upper arms.

(Edited to add, because the link keeps going wonky, that her rep number is 7227.)

Highly recommended, although I am equally serious about the dermatologist appointment to see what advice he or she might be able to offer.

Here's some advice for you: How about you get me off the damn ground already?

And now, Dear Internet, I come to YOU with my own dilemma.

Since my fall, I've been trying to streamline the amount of crap I carry in every day.  Behold, the shit I lug around:

Bag #1, the Daycare Bag: three or four bottles of formula, ice pack, container of cereal, spoon, some bibs and an extra outfit.

Bag #2, the Breastpump Bag: an Avent Isis pump and two containers.

Bag #3, the Purse: wallet, phone, hairbrush, powder, lipgloss, other assorted pursey things.

And on days when I run errands or meet friends after work? Bag #1 becomes a full-on diaper bag, with wipes and diapers and burp cloths and toys.

So here's my problem: I really, really only want to carry one bag. I know I can do it.

My regular diaper bag doesn't work because it only has one internal pocket for a bottle, and it's not even insulated. It's totally a nursing mother's bag, is what I've discovered. Also, it's impossible to keep shit organized in it. His bottles would sink to the bottom and probably leak, there's a key ring but no place for a wallet, and honestly, it's way bigger than what I need or feel like dragging into the office everyday.

Jason's diaper bag is super awesome and functional, but a backpack looks kind of dumb with my suits and heels and stuff.

Thus, I've been using this:

 

Y'all, I got that bag for FREE from the hospital. It is nylon. It is shapeless. It is from the makers of Similac and has a damn plastic bear dangling off a zipper. It offends me on many levels.

But the inside has a pocket for four bottles and an icepack. It's lined in plastic for easy clean-up. It has lots of pockets on the outside to keep my lipgloss and cellphone handy. It's not huge.

But God. It's ugly. And it makes me kind of sad.

So I need a bag. Yet I have no time to hunt for a bag. So I am asking the Internet to go shopping for me.

(I know y'all are bored! I see you refreshing!)

So, today's challenge: Try to find a cute, small-to-mid-sized diaper bag that does not really look like a diaper bag for under $100. Under $50 would be heaven. Under $25 might make me want to marry you. It must hold everything I've mentioned, bonus points if there's room for diapers and wipes and super-gonzo-bonus points if it has wicked organizational features. And I plan to carry this to WORK too, so nothing Winnie the Pooh or whatever the fuck else.

Although I don't care what kind of material it is or who makes it. Just...you know...cute.

And no plastic teddy bears. GAH.

When Cheesiness & Corniness Combine...

...You get reruns, apparently.

One year ago today, we saw this for the first time:

And we heard this for the first time.

And I was relieved.

And I cried.

And then Jason gave me this while I tried not to vomit:

It's been a really good year.

Happy Valentine's Day, y'all. I would send you cards and flowers but I am way too cynical and jaded to get mushy over a stupid Hallmark holiday or whatever.

*is totally blubbering over here with the mush, oh my god*