90% of my choices in college were completely spontaneous. I never knew what I was going to say or do until 30 seconds before it happened. Some days I would go to class and some days I would spend six hours debating the underlying philosophy behind the SNICK line-up of the ’90s. Some days I would put on pants with zippers and some days I would walk to the quad wearing nothing but fake Uggs and a sweatband. The only thing that was for sure every day was that I would regret something I did the night before.

Now, almost a year out of college, I would say 99% of my day is regimented, scheduled, planned, organized, and color-coded on my Google Calendar. I know people in the army who have more flexible schedules than me (and by people in the army I’m referring to the Disney channel documentary, Cadet Kelly).

I wake up at 7:45, press snooze exactly 3 times, look at myself in the mirror and debate if I need to shower, turn on the light and realize that I without a doubt need to shower, blow-dry my hair while praying that one day it will dry stick-straight, walk to work, step in front of a bus and make a bet with myself if it will stop before hitting me, work, go home, watch reruns, eat dinner, squeeze fat rolls and blame my birth control, eat stale Valentine’s Day candy sent by my mom, try to convince my roommates to get a dog (Shar, back me up here), go to bed, have a bad dream about getting hit by a bus. Read More »

We all have those days when we’re a little bloaty and we can’t get into our fave skinny jeans.  Some of us even have whole seasons (damn you, winter, and your delicious heavy foods) when we can’t fit into our skinny jeans.  However, I’m pretty sure no one has had the issue of not being able to fit into their favorite jeans because there was a baby in them already…except this lady.

A woman in the UK recently gave birth in her sweats (her third child, but the first in her pants) while walking down the stairs in her home.  Her partner noticed a lump sliding down her leg and dove to catch the baby before it hit the ground.

I just…there are so many things wrong with this.  How big does your vagina have to be that the baby can just slide out?  I mean, it’s a good thing she wasn’t wearing leggings or a mini-skirt…well, leggings would at least keep the baby near the vag, but the mini-skirt would probably lead to a head injury, not to mention an awful show for anyone standing around.

I imagine the conversation with friends after the birth went a little something like this:

“Oh, how did your delivery go?”

“Oh, it was fine, real easy.  I just walked downstairs, it popped out, I grabbed it out of my sweats, and then went to the kitchen to get some Cheetos.  Then I took a shower because, well, it was gross.”

“Well…alright then.”

At any rate, this story at least make me appreciate what I have.  I mean, I’d rather look down and find my Luckies aren’t going on because I haven’t been to the gym in a month than find a baby hanging there.  Gah.