8.25.2014

My First Friend...








 

Dress: Bevello, Purse: Thrift Shop, Shoes: ? (can't remember), Bracelets: Celene Stones (15% off if you EM Krista at CeleneStones@gmail.com and tell her you saw them on ModaFresca)

Today is the first day of school for all of the kids in my county. As I pulled out of my neighborhood this morning I saw a bunch of little kids on the corner waiting for the school bus. There was this one little boy in particular who caught my eye (not in a creeper, stranger-danger way, just in a... "isn't he adorable" kind of way).



He looked about 5-6 years old, had platinum blonde hair (a fresh buzz cut), and a summer tan. He was wearing little glasses, a light blue polo shirt, and navy shorts. I am assuming that he goes to a private school and that's their uniform since most of the other kids were wearing the same thing.

This little boy caught my eye and made me smile, but seeing him also my stomach drop a little bit.

He looked so much like my friend, Frank (who I grew up with). It got me thinking back to my very first day of school. In kindergarten and first grade I attended a private, Catholic school called, St. Ann's. Frank and I were in the same class both years (not difficult to do since there was only one class per grade). I distinctly remember two things about my very first day of kindergarten.

One, I became Melissa (as opposed to Missy). There was a another Melissa (Ludden) in my class and we got to choose which one of us was going to be Melissa, and which one was going to be Missy. I chose first, and it stuck. For me, and for her.

The second thing I remember is Frank crying. He missed his mom and was really upset. So upset that our teacher brought him up near her and put him on her lap (as the rest of us sat cross-legged on the floor around her while she read us a story). I remember Frank sobbing. The kind of crying that makes it hard to breathe. I felt so bad for him. Frank and I got seated right next to each other for the rest of the year (our last names both start with "H") and we became friends that very day.

Fast forward to 1st grade. Frank would always play with my hair during story time. He'd sit right behind me on the floor and undo the braid that my mom had put in that morning. He'd just comb his hands through my hair and then give me my hair holder back when he was done. I also got my first love note that year from Frank (Do you like me? circle Yes or No). I don't remember if I ever gave the note back, but I do remember wanting to circle "yes". I mean, why else would I have let him undo my awesome French Braid???

It's funny the things you remember about certain times in your life. Those memories are almost 30 years old at this point.

We moved after that year, I went to school in a neighboring town for 2nd grade, and by the time I went back to school in my home town, I was in public school. I saw Frank around town, cheered for him on our Vince Lombardi football squad for years, played release with him near the Little League field, etc. But it wasn't until he came to public high school that we became good friends again.

We sat right next to each other in Earth Science (seated alphabetically) and had lockers next to one another throughout all of high school. We got in trouble constantly. In every class we had together. We would talk, pass notes, and laugh out loud at completely inappropriate times. We hung out together in a really close kit, large group of friends. We'd all eat lunch together at Giovanni's, ride around in each others cars listening to music, and park up on back roads and just sit around doing a whole heap of nothing. We spent days on end at our friend Ben's house. Watching TV, sitting on his porch, just hanging out. After his friend Shane passed away from cancer. He'd come over to my house on Fulton Street every day after school and we would sit up in my room for hours listening to Led Zeppelin (Stairway to Heaven), talking about life. We used to sneak out of the house on school nights once in a while to meet near the Little League park. We had a code. He would call the house and hang up. When he did that, it meant it was a "go". I'd put the cordless phone by my head so I didnt' miss the ring. Once I got the bat signal I would throw on a hooded sweatshirt and meet him at the dike down the street.

We wouldn't drink or do drugs when we went out late (well... I take that back... once we split a 6 pack of Hornsby's Hard Cider on a school night). But, mostly we would just sit and talk for hours on end. One day we were at his house laying on his living room floor watching TV when his Mom came home early. He didn't tell me this, but apparently when she left the house she had given him specific instructions. "Do not invite any friends over!" Welp... there I was (laying next to her son no less) when she walked in the front door. Holy shit was I scared. She started yelling and I started running. I got out of there so damn fast. I was terrified of Mrs. Hornbeck. That woman meant business. She had 5 kids. Four boys and one little girl. She loved God and her kids, and when I was young I didn't think she liked much else.

A couple of years later, Frank (and some of my other best friends at the time) were in a terrible car accident. It was in August 1999. I was home for the summer after my Freshman year of college. I remember being woke up that morning by my brother. There had been an accident. All of my friends were in the hospital an hour away. It knew wasn't good, but I didn't know anything else at the time. I drove to Rochester, and that's when everything changed. Frank was gone, and one of my other best friends was touch and go. We really didn't know if he was going to make it or not for a while.

That was the worst summer of my life. I lost my Grandpa Maglier in July, the accident that took Frank and forever changed my other friends lives happened in mid-August, and my Great Grandpa Buono died a few weeks later. Three funerals in 8 weeks. I was a friggin' wreck. I was sad. All of the time. I questioned everything. Why? What the F. Why? Thinking about all of this, and "talking" about it is still pretty tough even 15 years later. I'm actually crying my eyes out as I write it now.

Anyway, Frank's mom (Cyndi) and I got really close after Frank's passing. I would visit her every time I came home from college, and after that when I came home from Charlotte. She would write me letters, send me little mementos and trinkets in the mail that made her think of Frank. She gave me one of Frank's thrift shop shirts (we spent a lot of time shopping in the Salvation Amy in those days). It's a light blue, pinstriped mechanics shirt that has the name "Jim" embroidered on it. I have had it hanging on the back door of my bathroom for 15 years. I still wear it around the house and to bed at least once a week.

A few weeks ago, I got a call from my mom telling me that Mrs. Hornbeck had been in a life-threatening accident. She is in the hospital, and has been for weeks. She made it through the accident, but I don't know how much longer she will have to be in the hospital, or what life is going to be like for her and her family after all of this. She and her husband have always been small business owners, and she did not have health insurance. I couldn't help but think... "How much tragedy can one family endure?"

I got extremely, life and death sick in the summer of 2011 (the only time I didn't have health insurance in my entire life) and racked up almost $40,000 in medical bills. I am still burdened by them. I can't begin to imagine what they are going to be facing.

I have been challenged to the ALS Ice Bucket Challenge by three different people now, and I haven't done it yet. I have decided that instead of donating to that cause (albeit a worthy one), that I am going to donate my money to the Hornbeck family. A family from my town. A family who raised the son I loved very much. A pillar in my community. A family who has endured more pain and sadness than one should ever have to face in a lifetime. They have done so with grace, dignity, humility, and unwavering faith in God. I pray that maybe you will do the same. No amount is too small. Every dollar makes a difference.

Please go here to donate:
http://www.youcaring.com/medical-fundraiser/hornbeck-family-fundraiser/218337

This is Frank. There are lots of great pictures of him, but this one is my favorite. And here's his shirt.  15 years later.




8.21.2014

Rebel Unicorn










Kimono: Lotus (15% off - coupon code: MODA),  Tank Dress: H&M, Booties: Dolce Vida, Bracelet: Celene Stones (celenestones@gmail.com - tell her you saw it on ModaFresca and get 15% off)
This is my kimono. Did you know that kimono, in Japanese, literally means "thing to wear" (ki "wear" and mono "thing")? 

I guess that is pretty fitting since they are kind of "the thing" this year.  Kimonos are a big trend right now. Short ones... long ones... ones with long sleeves... fringe... tie-dyed kimonos... leopard print, etc. They are perfect for when you must put on clothes, but would really rather hang out all day straight chillin' in your bathrobe.

I'm thinking this is also a bit of a man repeller item. You know what I mean? One of those trends that most women dig, but that most (straight) men could do without. Like... peplum, high waisted jeans/pants/shorts, wedge shoes of any kind, drop-crotch harem pants, shoulder pads, combat boots, boyfriend jeans, cardigan sweaters, and maxi dresses (true story... most men just don't appreciate a good maxi dress like we do).

The kimono's spot on the list was confirmed  when I wore it yesterday. An early 20-something girl in Target stopped me and said... "Oh, I really like that kimno thing.... like, a lot... but my boyfriend would never let me wear it."

Uhhhh... ummmm??? I don't even know where to START with that statement. Let you????  Ohhhhhh boy?? I wanted to sit that girl down and give her a stern talking to. Instead I just smiled and said... "Well, maybe you should get one; and if you're boyfriend doesn't like it, tell him that he doesn't have to wear it. (And then I may or may not have rolled my eyes a little.)

I've said it before, and I'll say it again. MOST women dress for women. We dress for ourselves and for our friends. Think about it. Do you stress out more when you are getting dressed to go out to dinner with a dude, or when you're trying to find something to wear to go to an event where there are going to be a bunch of stylish women there? More than likely, the later.

If we dressed for men, we'd simply walk around naked, in 5 inch heels (distributing cheesburgers and craft beer). Most men like short, fitting, and simple. Same goes for makeup. They like it simple, but we like to experiment with looks. Some things that come to mind when I think about what most guys hate... dark, smokey eyes... talon-like fake nails... blunt bangs (or baby bangs.... anyone remember those?) ... bright pink/red/or dark lipstick... fake lashes... sock buns... ombre hair. Most men hate all of  that shit (unless all of that is on, let's say... Beyonce), but man...  I LOVE me some blunt bangs, lashes, and lipstick. They make me happy. 

That's all part of the fun of being a woman though, right? Experimenting. It would be a pretty boring existence if we never tried anything new. I'd rather look back and think to myself... ah... I looked utterly ridiculous (in that outfit, with that hair color, wearing that lipstick), versus... ugh... I looked predictably boring every single day of my life.

I am convinced that women who let their looks be determined by the men they are with... they are the same women that rebel at age 75 (after their husbands pass). That is why there are so many awesomely crazy old ladies. Their husbands are gone so they cut their hair, dye it blonde, paint their long nails bright red, wear sequins in the middle of the day, and wear every piece of jewelry they have ever owned all at once.

So, you see. It's inevitable. Why wait... go ahead... live a little. You saucy little rebel unicorn, you.

8.19.2014

Storm Season and Small Shirts









Pants: Lotus (15% off online with code MODA), Purse: Target, Shirt: Vestique, Shoes: Jessica Simpson, Watch: Michael Kors, Bracelet: Celene Stones (email Krista at CeleneStones@gmail.com to create your own jewels - mention ModaFresca and get 15% off).

So... I wore my first crop top in public (or private for that matter) this past weekend. Nervous? Yes. Afraid of someone thinking/saying something rude about the fact that I am not 20 years old, or 115lbs? At first. But... I wore it anyway. FUK it. Haters gonna hate. Wearing one was on my (fashion) bucket list. Superficial? So what. You only live once, do what you want. I just acted like I could pull it off until I wasn't thinking about it anymore. Not a big deal for some women out there, but the rest of you get why I was a bit terrified. Wanna feel pee-your-pants vulnerable?? Just bring up the subject of stomach skin. That shit is scaaaaary.

Okay, enough about shirts that look like they spent too much time in the dryer...

I try to be somewhat positive on the blog, because the world is tough enough, right? And you don't come to this page in the hopes that what you read here is going to make you feel like shit.  But, bear with me for a sec.  I feel like there is a lot of really big, scary stuff going on lately in the lives of the people that I love very much. Life changing things. Depression, disease, fear of the unknown, tragedy, accidents, crushing sadness, hopelessness, emotional wounds that won't heal, etc. That's not to say that good things aren't happening too, but I feel like it is storm season for a lot of people in my life.

Do you know what I mean by that? If you look back on your life I am sure you can think of times where you were going through some pretty major storms. I have a few big ones that stand out to me in my life. Scary shit. Shit that forever changes you. The kind of things that define you. Like... there is the person you were before that specific event/news/change and the person you were after. Never quite the same.

It's VERY hard going through that stuff, because when you are in the middle of it, it's almost impossible to see beyond it. Past it. Around it. It feels like the rest of the world should stop spinning because your world is falling apart. But, it doesn't and that brings up a whole new, additional set of stressors.

When I don't know what to say. When I don't have the words for the people I love, I turn to quotes. I get a lot of encouragement through the written word. I just figure that at some point in history, someone out there said some pretty epic shit and it got written down along the way.

I was gathering some quotes together to send to someone I love, and I thought that maybe one or two of you out there could use them too. So, if you're down, sad, discouraged, feeling hopeless, or just need to be reminded that "this too shall pass"... here you are. I hope that one of these "speaks" to you.

(For you... my sweet Mama, and also for you... my dearest friend, my soul's mate. You know who you are.)






8.18.2014

Grey Goose and Bad Decisions








Dress: Calvin Klein (TJ Maxx), Shoes: Lotus (15% off online- coupon code: MODA), Belt: Target, Bag: Aldo, Watch: Michael Kors, Bracelet: a little jewelry store in Savannah, GA a few years ago

I love this dress.

I scored it at TJ Maxx almost 5 years ago for... wait for it......... 32 US dollars. YUP. It was originally like one million trillion dollars. (I am pretty sure that was the price anyway.) They had just one there... and it was in one of my favorite colors...  and it was in my size... AND the price had been reduced like 5 times. It was meant to be. Clearly.

I love scoring shit on sale. Makes me happy. And this particular deal still makes me happy; 5 years later. I remember walking out of the store with this feeling like I stole something. I had this big, shit-eating grin on my face, walking tall, shoulders back, like... WHAT WHAT?!

When I put this dress on last week it felt brand new all over again because I had only ever worn it two times before; both times in 2010.  I grew out of it almost as soon as I bought it. You like how I put that? "I grew out of it." Like I am a pre-pubescent teenager who hit a growth spurt, and not a grown ass woman who gained a bunch of weight. Hahaha... same diff'. (Whatever...  shit happens.)

As I write this I am sitting at my dining room table with a blanket over my lap, all showered up, face exfoliated and moisturized, chilling in my robe. I am enjoying my second glass of wine, digesting a beautiful meal (click here to check it out) I made just for myself. For no particular reason. Did I mention that it is a Saturday night at 9:30? We were supposed to go out tonight to celebrate our friend's birthday, but the manfriend's fantasy football draft went a lot later than he originally thought, so when he said he was going to be stuck in I decided to stay in too. I saw it as divine intervention, really. I was SO happy to not have to go anywhere. I have not been home before 10pm any night this week. I've worked all day, taught Pilates and/or PiYo all night. Every muscle in my body is a little sore. My ass is beat to shit. We have MAD love for our friend who is having a birthday, but the LAST thing in the world that I wanted to do tonight was to shower... shave... blow dry and straighten my hair... apply makeup... put on a  dress and heels, and drive uptown to go out to a club. A club??? I'd rather GET clubbed... in the face... with a baseball bat. A bat that has metal spikes on it. The thought of having to go out tonight almost made me cry angry tears this afternoon. I mean... I fully planned on soldiering up for my girl, but I am sooooooo.... tiiiiiiired... waaaaaaaahhhhh.

Man how times have changed. A few short years ago the thought of staying in (and "wasting") a Saturday night would have been maddening. I would have felt like I was missing something. Like my beloved weekend had been cut short. Now... sweet LAWD... give me my robe or give me death.

I love staying in. Getting all clean and cozy, watching a movie or a little HGTV. I love eating good food, drinking some cheap wine, and falling to sleep whenever my body wants me to. I love waking up the next day... feeling good... going to church, and having all of Sunday to do what I need/want to do (versus being a smelly, sleep-deprived, hungover waste of space who needs to eat a pound of grease and a Bloody Mary just to even out).

Don't get me wrong... I still enjoy a night out on the town now and then (and I still love Bloody Marys), but I just can't hang like I used to. My hangovers lasts a good 2-3 days now, and I don't have time for that shit. The only thing that does make me sad though... sometimes... is thinking of all of the (borderline) skanky dresses I have hanging in my upstairs closet. It's like a graveyard. Where club clothes go to die.

The epitaph would read: "Here lies another bandage dress. Hers was a short life; riddled with Grey Goose and bad decisions."


8.13.2014

Very Pinteresting...








Shorts and Blazer: Lotus (they did not come together, but I decided to wear them together. I call this my shorts tuxedo look.) go to Lotus and get 15% off anything you buy online with code: MODA, Shoes: Jessica Simpson, Bag: Aldo, Shirt: Vestique, Bracelets: Alex & Ani

I love Pinterest. 

I'll be the first to admit it.
 


I have the app on my phone and late at night, when the rest of the world sleeps… I scroll the shit out of it. I pin outfits, recipes, workouts, photography ideas, and home d├ęcor pictures. (... "these are a few of my favorite things"...) 

I like to be inspired by all the ideas out there, and I am convinced that at some point all the time I have spent pinning will be worth it... because I will actually go back into Pinterest and incorporate said pins into my real life. 

Problem… 

That has never happened. 

Not once. 

I don’t think I have ever done anything in real life that I got from Pinterest. Maybe I’ve subconsciously put an outfit together similar to one I’ve seen online, but that is about it. Perhaps you are different? Maybe you actually do all of the workouts you pin... cook the recipes you have saved... make homemade wreaths for your front door out of burlap and miscellaneous supplies from Michaels. And if you are that person… good for you. You are using Pinterest for what it was intended. You are getting ideas together, gathering inspiration, and then (and here’s the kicker) DOING something cool/creative/fun.

Cooking food, working out, redecorating your Master bedroom, and/or making toxic free play-doh for your kids is all awesome stuff that contributes to your life. However, here is the problem. Sometimes, it is easy to feel like “pinning” equates to doing. It’s like our brain gets confused as to what is real and what has simply been consumed visually. 

Especially when it comes to health and fitness. Don’t tell me you’ve never got on a kick... started pinned a bunch of workouts, and then somehow felt like you actually worked out. I mean… if I  just spent one whole hour looking at other women’s tan, toned abs in sports bras… reading about how to workout at home without any gym equipment, AND I pinned the "5 best moves to tone your butt". I kind of expect for my glutes to be sore after all of that. I mean… all that has got to count for something. Pinning is basically the same as doing. Right??? Sometimes I think to myself… if I used the 30 minutes I just spent pinning and got my ass on the floor and did the workouts I saved, I’d probably actually be able to go back to sleep. Or at least, I’d be doing more of a service to my mind/body. 

These are the boards that really kill me though... the countless wedding inspiration boards (authored by those of us who aren’t even engaged) with names like "One Day" or "Some Day My Prince Will Come". Boards with dozens of engagement rings on them. As if you really need a board on your computer to remind you what kind of engagement ring you love. Or, for that matter, as if any man is going to be smart enough to go into your Pinterest account to figure out that you want a round solitaire with baguettes, or a cushion cut with a pave band. Oh, and how about the boards for nurseries and baby names. By women who aren’t even preggers. If you want a baby, maybe you should get off of Pinterest and… ugh, you know… get busy.  Gathering inspiration is great, but the whole point is that you are gathering it for the life you are actually living. Want a baby? Stop pinning, and go have sex with your husband. Or whatever.   

I mean, I get “why” we create future boards… it’s fun.  I just think we need to be conscious of the amount of time we spend thinking about parts of our lives that are not real right now and maybe start spending more time truly living the parts of our lives that are not imaginary. I mean… you are pregnant for 9 months. You’ll have PLENTY of time to pin when you can’t get comfortable at 4 AM and are wide awake. Or a wedding. Chances are you’ll have that time known as the “engagement” when you can pin to your heart’s desire and not be considered cuckoo (for cocoa puffs) for doing so.

Although… that being said… the imaginary nursery that my imaginary baby will have… is going to be THE BOMB.

I think keeping a place of organized inspiration for when those monumental things do happen in your life is cool. I’m just saying that I think it is weird that a lot of people have more interesting Pinterest boards than they do real lives. It's as if  looking at the things other people are doing, wearing, making, and creating somehow fills the void for us. I know that my time would be much better spent going through my own closet and putting together outfits, versus pinning pictures of clothing on people I've never met (and whose body type I do not, let me repeat... do NOT have). How about you?

Pin a recipe? Great. Make it. Then invite someone over for dinner for some real life conversation. See a workout that looks interesting? Get your ass on the floor and do it. Or, call a girlfriend up and make a date to go to her house to do the last 5 workouts you have pinned on your board. Even if you don’t leave with 6-pack abs, you’ve probably burned plenty of calories from laughing. And… you’ll feel a hell of a lot better for doing so. Pinning 1,000 different haircuts. Go get one. Live a little. That shht will grow back if you don’t love it. Goodness. 

I think this is a "note to self" more than anything. I totally have pins that include almost everything I have mentioned above, and it hit me the other day... it's kind of ridiculous to sit around "pinning' pictures of things I like. It would make a lot more sense to use my time actually doing things I like, or becoming more of what I like. Pinning is NOT the same as DOING. 

Trust me. If it were... I'd have a killer body, with toned abs, and a rock solid ass. I'd be a gourmet vegan chef, and live in a perfectly decorated, spotless home that looked like it came out of the pages of a magazine. It would be spotless becasue I would clean it with organic, non toxic, DIY cleaning solutions made from essential oils and vinegar. My closet would be organized (shoes included). My hair would be curled into perfect beachy waves every day, and I'd have something like zucchini Parmesan "chips" cooking in the oven. They would be baking while my homemade, gluten free cookies cooled off on a cooling rack on the counter. A cooling rack that was once a discarded wooden palette, but I found that shit, sanded it, and then spray painted gold. It looks perfect there in the all white, marble countertopped kitchen of my dreams.

8.11.2014

Twerk Miley, Miley... Twerk








Romper: Armani Exchange (in San Fran, CA over 4 years ago), Necklace: Gift from Mexico, Watch: Michael Kors, Shoes: Lotus (15% off online with code MODA at checkout), Bracelet: Celene Stones (EM Krista at CeleneStones@gmail.com  for yours - mention ModaFresca and get 15% off).

The manfriend and I try to have a date night every once in a while on a weeknight just to break up the monotony of the work week.

On the night I wore this we decided to go to the movies. I was thiiiiiiis close to just wearing my Pilates clothes (since I was coming from teaching a private session), but I decided that I would put a little extra effort in (you know for "date night" and all) and throw some "real" clothes on. Which, I should add, happens less and less these days.

Apparently it happens SO infrequently that when he walked in and saw me dressed, he said.... "Oh, what are you up to tonight?" I said... "Uhhhh... going out with you, dude. Right? " He just smiled, apparently pleased that I hadn't forgotten about the part of my closet that houses more than just gray yoga pants and racer-back tank tops.

(Although he is not a dick and would never say that.)

AnyWHO... we ventured off of the movies, got there about 20 minutes early, and decided to have a glass of wine. While we were doing that we ran into this guy we know who runs the movie theater. We asked him what he was up to tonight. He pointed to a table of 3 girls (between the ages of 13-15) and said... "I'm taking my nieces to the Miley Cyrus concert. I have 2 extra tickets to our suite... do you guys want to go?"

Uh.... WHAAAAAAT??? Wrecking Ball? Party in the USA? We Can't Stop? The Climb? I looked at my manfriend with wide, hopeful eyes, kind of shaking my head up and down really quickly as if to say "Hell YES". He just looked back at me with a flat, almost defeated look as if to say... "Ugh... if we must".

So... off we went to the Miley Cyrus concert. What an experience. It was ludicrous (as I am sure you can imagine). Psychedelic dancing animals on the screen, and mascot-size versions of them dancing on stage, video of Miley in S&M bondage gear... black leather, blindfolded, cuffed... the whole nine. She wore a huge, over sized (night gown looking) t-shirt with her own face on it (HUGE tongue sticking out.. obvi). The foam finger made more than one appearance. She simulated sex with a Barbie Doll (true story). She was sans pants the entire time, favoring sequined thong bodysuits instead. She brought the Twerk Team out for a few numbers, and encouraged the audience to make out with whomever they were next to for the duration of one of her songs. It was an absolute shit show of EPIC proportions. 

On the flip side of that though... the girl can sing. She sang all her hits (and I got more excited than perhaps a 34 year old woman should). She busted out The Beatles, Bob Dylan and Dolly Parton covers. I was really surprised (and pumped) when she sang one of my all time favorites by Dolly Parton, "Jolene". I was singing along at the top of my lungs. I didn't give a FUUUU who saw or heard me. I was having a moment. And... as I looked over at my manfrined, I could tell that he was having a good time too. He loves music. All kinds. (He creates and produces music, plays piano, and is a fan of all different genres. So, thank GAWD for that.)

We thought we had seen it all during the show, but it was nothing compared to walking out of it surrounded by thousands of Miley fans. Good LAWD. I had 3 times more of my body covered than even the most conservative person there. I was basically wearing a burqa in comparison. I didn't get the memo that there was a Miley fan uniform. But, in case you ever decided to go to one of her shows, here it is. In order to not stand out, you must be wearing super high waisted, denim, Daisy Duke, cut-off shorts that are NO longer than a 1/2 centimeter from your vagina, and an itsy-bitsy, teeny-weeny crop top that makes a bra look like a winter jacket. Oh, and if you are concerned with "dressing for your body type"... please... don't be. There was NO SHAME in their game. We saw lots and lots of bellies.... big bellies, small bellies, tight bellies, flabby bellies... ERRRYTHANG. Oh, and thighs. There was more thigh meat at that show than all of the Kentucky Fried Chicken locations on the East coast combined. It was insane. I seriously looked like a nun next to these girls. I guarantee that half of those girls got changed to go to the show in a public restroom, because I refuse to believe that parents would let their 12 year olds out of the house looking like straight up street walkers. Unreal.

Anyway... we had a great time. It was an experience FO SHO, and WAY more entertaining than any movie I have ever seen in my entire life. Entertaining... and disturbing.