Suzanna Danna

Over the past weekend before last, (well, Thursday the 23rd through Saturday the 26th…. geeeze) I went to New Orleans with my girlfriend Marly. Marls had called earlier in the month with an exchange that went like this:

Marly: Hey hot mama.
Self: Hey, yourself, hot mama. What’s up?
Marly: We’re going to New Orleans. I’ve checked your travel schedule and there are no conflicts.
Self: … ???
Marly: Before you say anything, the flights from Hobby are $49 bucks each way we are gonna stay at our favorite hotel and we can split the cost.
Self: Who is we?
Marly: T and her husband. And me… and YOU.
Self: Yes ma’am.
Marly: Dude. We SO have to go.
Self: Yes, we do.

So Wednesday evening, I went back to the apartment after work, checked on the cat, (:: cough ::) packed, threw all my crap into the car and headed for Marly’s house. I got there at 10:15 p.m. or so and she was wandering around her kitchen looking forlornly at her suitcase.

Marly, please introduce yourself to the crowd.

Marly: Hello, my name is Marly. I have a packing problem. I bring enough to stay a week even if I’m just gonna be there for a day.
Group: Hi, Marly.
Marly: (waves and grins… sits down)

There were several cute tops hung on the backs of her kitchen chairs. Jeans folded on the table and the bar. The dryer was running. She looked slightly panicked.

Marly: Oh God…. SHOES.

The whites of her eyes showed around her chocolate and honey colored irises and she rushed from the kitchen, past her sleeping son, into her closet. I followed on her heels.

Marly: Oh, and hats, we need us some motherfucking hats…

She whispered to herself and began fondling caps and dresses and t-shirts and camisoles. I told her that we would be there for two full days/nights and one day for traveling. I asked her to come into the kitchen to see what I had packed. I rolled in my small black suitcase and put it on a chair, I opened it, showed her the olive green pants/capris , the black capris, the jeans capris, the one pair of jeans I was wearing/bringing, the few select tops and the multipurpose jacket, the black sweater (just in case) and the jewelry. I only brought three pairs of shoes, (HERESY!) one nasty, royal blue Old Navy pair of flip flops, a pair of sparkly Yellow Box sandals and my tennis shoes.

I totally feel her pain as I am ulcer-iffic about the Green Bay trip coming up this weekend. If you don’t know what I am talking about… BLAMMMMO!. But we got packed up and hit the hay around midnight. Six am came early and we got up, got her son off to school and headed to the airport.

We parked and got to the gate, met T and her hubby and their friend D. I am using aliases because. Well, just because*.

We boarded at 9 something in the morning and immediately ensconced ourselves with three dudes out for a weekend in NOLA. They were all buddies and from the Houston area and… well, we started drinking before 10 am. On the plane. Yes. That is early, shut up. We were going to New Orleans. It’s kind of mandated. I think there is a law. Or something.

So we got to New Orleans, caught a cab to the Royal Sonesta Hotel and got our fancy on. And by getting our fancy on, I mean dropping our shit in the rooms and heading across town (across the bridge) to some amazing little hole in the wall seafood place that used to be an old Hilton or some shit. I ATE ME SOME FOOD. Softshell crab? Check. Crawfish? Check. Boiled Shrimp? Check. BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEER? Check. We met up with one of Marly and T’s customers? Vendors? Some guy they knew? Whatever, the food was delicious and the Lord sayeth, YUM.

We ended up back at the hotel (Stop checking your BlackBerry Marly.) and switched shirts to go out. We went to Finnegan's Easy which is right across from Pat O’s and began drinking in earnest. Then we met up with the customer/vendor… fuck, his name was Wade. Over at Pat O’s and things began to get a little furry. Apparently somewhere around 3pm I sent a text to Nugget** saying “It’s 3pm. Tipsy.” That was all I needed to say apparently. We stayed at Pat O’s until dark and then Marly required a feeding. We went around the corner to a Lucky Dog (awesoooooooooome!) stand and got her a hot dog. We went back inside, couldn’t find our group, but did find the bag of pictures that was worth more than the 2 sad and empty hurricane glasses we left on the table.

Somehow we got down to the Cat’s Meow.

It was still furry. Fuzzy? Whatever, we found the dudes from the plane and began to be inappropriate immediately. Our group found us and all was right with the world until T’s knee gave out and she was sent back … OMG, I am totally forgetting an awesome part. Insert between lunch and going to Finnegan’s stopping by the Hustler store. The doors opened and angels sang. It was GLORIOUS. I now am a proud owner of several items, including some panties that say “Sinner” across the ass. Hot yes? NOD YOUR HEAD. Yes, they are hot. And… AND.. (kind of blushing here...) I got one of these (link NSFW).

OH YES, I did. We spent so much they gave us a bajillion passes to the tittie bar. Can I say that on here? Whatever, the strip club. Fine, the gentleman’s club for the weekend.

Finger in mouth, innocent expression… wasted on y’all… right?

Um, back to the Cat’s Meow. DUDES FROM THE PLANE! (yelled like Samuel Jackson… and if I have to explain that to you, you are dead to me.) There was karaoke, there were Jell-O shots, there was beer, there was vodka and RedBull… Oh, yes, there was. Then when T’s husband took her back to the room he came back, and we all filed out dancing to the beat of… something, walking down the streets to go to the Dungeon. D took T’s husband back to deposit him at the hotel because, damn, dude was trashed, and she joined us and DUDES FROM THE PLANE at the Dungeon shortly.

We were upstairs in the cage area. You know of which I speak? Yes? So, yeah, I was hangin off the bars to one of the cages, dancing like a madwoman and this big bouncer guy that reminded me of ... Peter Greene from The Mask walked up to me and kindly said “In or out ma’am, no hanging on the bars.” He added that last part because I am SURE he could see a “That’s what SHE said.” Coming out of my face after the in or out comment. We hung out until who knows what time, but a clown licked my inner elbow so it was time to GO.

We got back to the room and Giggle Fest ’11 started with a well placed comment. If Marly Ok’s it, I will share, because that shit still makes me laugh. Haaaaaaaaaaaa PetSmart.

Friday? Whatever, the next day we started out again at Finnegan’s but not before Marly woke my ass UP at like before 8 a.m. and we walked to a Walgreen’s to get a brace for T and her knee and some other shit. Like food and water and sunglasses… and then I needed a nap, because FUCK.

We had another dude join our party. No. I didn’t know him either. It really didn’t seem to matter at this point.

So 11 am stared us in the face and we went back to the little bar and we had just missed the Irish parade. Am I getting my days mixed up? I think we went shopping, to the square, to the market, to drop in on Craig Tracy who is FREAKING AWESOME (Love you Man!) and then walked by the French Market Restaurant and I pulled a “WHOA! I require a feeding IN HERE.” And we went in and ate all the crawfish, oysters, chargrilled oysters, gumbo in the world… OM NOM NOM NOM NOM…. Oh Good Lord in Heaven, so freaking delicious. And mah belly was happy.

Marls and I left our bags of stuff with the other people (we’re responsible, yo) and decided to go into Razoo’s.

Hi. What? Double bachelor party? They want to lick what? They want me to bite who? (Yes, I have pictures.)

Fast forward.

We went somewhere. Seriously Fuzzy. I think we went back to the room to get ready for the evening at the gentlemen’s club. There were so many people in the streets, my ass got in the way. I was knocked around and picked up and hugged on and I called a man “Chocolate Thunder”, another “Gumbo Daddy” and I have so many bruises of undetermined origin.

I have never seen sights like I saw at the Hustler Club. We had VIP privileges and I saw something I never thought I would EVER see.

C’mere… closer. Lean forward. I can’t believe it.

I saw two motherfuckers (the dudes in our group) FALL ASLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP*** in a strip club. Women were showing boobies and climbing a two story pole for THEIR amusement (and dollars) and they were slumped forward in their little rolling club chairs, chins on their chests, ASLEEP.

Saturday was more time spent walking through the market, stopping into shops, getting little surprises here and there. When it was all said and done, Marls and I got back to her place and I hit the road back to Dallas at 9:30 p.m..

Green Bay run down plus IGIGI fashion show smack down coming up.

Also, I am tired.

*Dunno how cool T and her hubby and D would be on me outing their real names as drinking was involved.

**Um. Same thing as above. Have I mentioned him here before?

***I have many (very much, VERY MANYMUCH) issues and negative anchors about this. The whole falling asleep on someone thing. Story time, later. Names changed to protect the … um, people. Also. Example. (fucked up formatting, don’t care.)

Weetacon was the weekend of the 4-6th of March and LO, IT WAS THE AWESOME. I am going to go out on a limb and give you guys a chance to look at the schedule, or just click on the link, go look. Now. No seriously, I’ll wait.

It was the 7th year for the mini-con so the theme (of course) was the 7 Deadly Sins. The programs were double sided with the saintly side and the sinner's side. We had contests to win bracelets with each of the seven sins and apparently I do NOT know the meaning of the word SLOTH as I was trying too hard to win one of those bracelets.

We had a bake sale and so much fine goodness from a Gracie Designs trunk show that I left with half of the stuff off of her sale table. (LOOOOOOOOOOOVE HER!)

We outdid ourselves this year and pre-con we busted out shirts, cookbooks, totes, the calendar sale all before hand that we raised a record high in dollars for Paul's Pantry.

We had dancing, we had a charity raffle, we had a sleigh ride, and we had a dinners and cheese, and high maintenance hamburgers. We had hugging and laughter and St. Brendan’s Bloody Marys (FOOD GROUP MOTHERFUCKER!*).
*

FOOD GROUP!

We had karaoke, winery finery, a bus tour and the most awesomest video in the whole history of ever.

I give you Dave.

We had “The Men of Weetacon” calendars and I would just like to say, “DAMN.” When we said “BRING IT!” you said, “OH, it’s already been broughten!”

I saw the most awesome couple** absolutely SLAM the shit out of the song “Tribute” by Tenacious D. If you don’t know how freaking awesome that is. Here. Look.

**Awesome Couple

Tribute: (Sorry for the ads… but it was the only place I could get the imbedded good stuff. PS, Suck it. I mean, I love you.)

We had a fashion show and Weetabix was OPRAH! I swear, she was like “FOR YOU AND FOR YOU AND FOR YOU! AND FOR YOU!!! FOR ALL OF YOU!!!!!” And we all squeed and cried and maybe tinkled in our panties a little. We will also have a fashion show run down on this little page and YOU WILL GET A CHANCE TO WIN! It’ll be like SD.NET and Weetabix and OPRAH had a baby. And by a baby, I mean a very generous gift certificate… and YOU can start leaving comments all over the place like unicorn glitter for a chance to win. Watch this site and This Site RightC’here for said chance.

We had Rock Band and Bad Bar debauchery, we had Tarts and Vicars, dancing on bars*** and in booths and inappropriate grabbiness (not by us) and pantscakes. We had the devil with a “Push Here for Service” sticker on his zipper and his bride with a matching sticker between her glorious boobs.

***Yes, I danced on the freaking bad bar in THESE boots.

We had smoking (in the SMOKE SHACK BABY!) and secret telling and I swear, one of these days I am going to up and freaking move to Green Bay. It gets harder and harder to leave. Regardless of what time of the year I am there. March, September, July… it doesn’t matter. It’s gorgeous, and I love the people.

The Post-Weetacon Blues hit early this year. Normally it hits a day or two after I get home, but no, y’all. They started waiting for the 2nd leg of my trip home when I was in Chicago at O’Hare International Airport (it’s got planes). I don’t know how many times I can go and leave again.

To my tribe, I love you.

My IGIGI post should be up any time now. I am working on getting my lazy butt up off the chair on the patio, playing dress up with the awesome garments and taking multi-angle pictures so y’all can see how pretty. Don’t forget to go to This Site HERE (CLICK IT!) and follow all the links to have a chance to win. You have (if you leave many much mucho (A LOT OF) comments on each entry) a chance to win one MEEEEEEEEEEEILLLION DOLLARS* (towards an insane amount of IGIGI gift certificates)! Seriously, the ladies of Weetacon are offering you the chance to win up to $700 in IGIGI gift certificates, just by leaving comments on their reviews. Follow the link. Really. No. Go. Do it… NOW.**

*slight exaggeration.
**Holy shit I am demanding.

Also, point your toes.

Just sayin.

Ok, so what else do I need to wrap up for you guys? What have I left undone? Oh, yeah, the porn. Hmmm. Well, we’ll go back there another time. I have been affected by the freaking Super Moon (shut up, just go with it) and I am distracted and horny. It is a bad combination. Imagine a hooker who is all “Hey, how YOU doin?” and then wanders off because she/he/me*** saw something shiny. You’re standing there with a roll of ones wrapped up inside two twenties to make it look like you got bank and can afford her/his/my sweet, sweet love.

***Didn’t wanna leave anyone out.

Alrighty, I just looked back at some previous entries and I have left out a bunch of stuff. I am going to just bite my lip and go with the most mortifying one first. I am not going to ask permission before I write this, because it happened to ME, and it is MINE. So. Now we know where we stand (if said person, who was also involved reads this page - [waves]).

So, the whole entire thing about having issues with people falling asleep?

Ready? Annnnnnnnnnd go.

So, I haven’t seen several movies through to their completion. There is a reason. No, I CAN TOO concentrate that long on something. For example; when I was married to Mr. X we tried to watch “The Dark Knight” like four times and every time (everymotherfuckingtime) it would get to the “all the ganstas around the table talking to the Joker” part and I would look over and “ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZsnerk…. (Mouth hanging agape)”. Yeah, Mr. X would be OUT. He’d apologize when he’d wake up and then we’d go to watch the movie again another night, he’d forget how it started so… from the TOP PEOPLE! And-a one and-a two,… I look over… “ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZsnerk…. (Mouth hanging agape)”. Jesus. Four times with THAT movie alone… to THAT scene alone.

Compound issue by almost eight years with him and suddenly (pe-shaw) I have an eye twitch.

I have issues people. And this one is about being fallen asleep on.

It makes me feel so,… yes, I know you’re tired, yes I know you have worked hard today. Yes, I KNOW you just had a big meal. Dude, go lay down. Go home. Gimme a heads up. Go to bed. Whatever, just don’t engage me in something that you are expected to stay awake for. It makes ME feel completely uninteresting and invisible. So yeah, I have negative anchors tied to people falling asleep. I AM AN INSOMNIAC. I deal. But …

:: Sigh ::

Ok. So. Yeah, um.

My face is so red right now. But I am going to go through with this.

(Streeeeetchy – Streeeeeeeeeeeetchy, head roll, and-a head roll… Fosse fingers, feet flex, contract abdomen and then arms out and away... and here we go.)

Side note to Stacey. Yes, I AM going there.

So.

I’ve been seeing this guy. (Lord, he’s gonna kill me for this.)

So, we’ve known one another for a LONG time. A very long time. I will not give specifics because people will start the guessing game (if they don’t know already). To most of you, NO it’s not him… or HIM either. This particular gentleman and I have been intimate for a few months and he… (:: deep breath:: ) he’s narcoleptic or something. I’m not sure. I tease him about it. He can fall asleep on the couch, the floor, the bed, standing (maybe), sitting, laying down, loud noises don’t matter, having a back rub will put him out in about three minutes, compound that with a big meal and presto, you’ve got a drooler lying in your lap snoring sweetly. And by your, I mean MY.

So a few months ago we went out to this awesome little German place (date bomb), sat there and ate a wonderful meal, laughed at jokes, had a blast. The food was fabulous, the waitress was SPOT ON (Love you Smith!), the entertainment was great. It couldn’t have been a better night. The weather was perfect, the night was gorgeous and I stopped us halfway through our meal and asked Smith to box everything up. I knew what we were gonna do when we got back to the apartment (I’M PSYCHIC!) and I knew that having a food baby (massively full belly)… let’s say, would not have been conducive to activities.

So laughing softly we walked out into the night with our to-go boxes and he was like, “Good call, I could have gotten really full.” I felt like I had made the right decision, but also sort of like a tyrant. “No more schnitzel for YOU!” But whatever, we went back to my place.

Blah blah blah. (Why am I kind of squeamish about talking about this?) I need to take my balls out of my purse and just go with it.

Starting over.

So we went back to my place, put the take away food in the fridge, turned down some lights, made out a bunch (and I must say, DAYUM… that man can kiss), shed clothing in a little trail all over the apartment, turned down the sheets and ended up in a heap on the bed. We had already had our pre-dinner romp or two**** (because that’s the way we roll, yo) and this was winding up to be a good one.

****I am such a whore.

He finished, I wasn’t there quite yet and so he wanted to help. Side note: he does have some very talented hands. So he was … doing that. And by “that” I mean he had his finger in my vagina.

:: Blink Blink ::

It’s hot in here all of the sudden. I can’t believe I am about to tell y’all this. I may have to walk it off for a few and then come back.

Y’all don’t care. You know where this is going, you just want me to say it out loud.

FINE.

So we were making out and he had his finger in my lady business and he kissed my shoulder, which put his head next to the bed annnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnd he fell asleep in a millisecond.

No. I’m not kidding. Please read that again.

He fell asleep with his finger inside of me.

I pushed his hand away, he tried to snuggle up, he was so sleepy and warm and cute (DAMN you for being so freaking adorable!), he wrapped me up in his arms and started saying something and while I burned holes into his face with the laser beams coming out of my eyes he fell asleep two more times in a matter of moments.

I froze.

I could feel the, “ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!?” look on my face. Well, because that is exactly what I was thinking.

Then I got mad.

I disentangled myself from his long, strong limbs and went to the bathroom to get my robe. I was trying to keep my shit together because if I didn’t get him out of there quick, my shit was going to be all apart in a matter of minutes. I was about to lose it. My issues, compounded with … Hi… is my vagina BORING YOU!? Left me teetering close to carnival psycho crazy.

I got my robe on and walked back into the bedroom. He was all sleepy and sweet and he mumble/said, “Hi robe lady.” And I wanted to just… keep it together, so I turned on the light, he sat there blinking as I rounded up his clothes and politely folded threw them on the bed and said, “It’s time for you to get dressed and go home.”

I was holding on to my temper by the thinnest of margins, so when he was all blinky and asked “Why? What’s wrong?” His hair was sticking up all over the place, his eyes were squinty and I kind of wanted to punch him for being so fucking cute. I turned with his jeans in my hands and said in that scary low voice that ended in a scream, “You fell asleep with YOUR FINGER IN MY VAGINAAAAAAAA!”

Sorry neighbors. And the Baby Jesus.

He looked at me like “OMG WHAT DID I DO?” This horror, panic stricken look on his face, he started to apologize and tried to pull me onto the bed to talk to him. I most definitely did NOT want to talk to him about this. This was not something to Dr. Phil (yeah, I used that as a verb, wanna make something of it?) our way out of. My feelings were hurt; I was feeling insecure, very undesirable and flat out pissed. But somehow I allowed him to pull me onto the bed and we sat there Indian style talking and when he touched my shoulders with both hands and said, “You deserve so much more, you deserve to be happy..” I slipped off the bed like my hair was on fire and ran to the bathroom to throw on my yoga pants and sweatshirt. I SO did not want to cry in front of this guy.

I came out and told him, “I’m going out to smoke, please be gone when I get back.”

For the record, I don’t smoke around him.

I went out onto my patio… Max followed asking quiet kitty chirp questions, I smoked and informed him that I really didn’t wanna talk about it. He rubbed up against my legs and fell silent. Smart cat.

I could feel the him in my house. I smoked another. I wanted him to be gone. This wasn’t something that was supposed to happen. This was just supposed to be casual; no one’s feelings should have gotten hurt. Right? But he was still in my apartment. I could feel him in there trying to be unobtrusive and small… very still like the slightest thing would set off a bomb. I couldn’t stay on the patio all night, I also needed to pee. And maybe drink heavily.

I went back inside. I grabbed a bottle of water out of the fridge and noticed that he had slid on his t-shirt and boxer briefs; he was sitting in the middle of the big bed just waiting. I walked (stalked) to the door frame.

Me: What are you doing?
Him: Will you please talk to me?
Me: I asked you to leave.
Him: Please come talk to me, I am so sorry.
Me: Look… :: sigh ::
Him: Please?

I rolled my eyes hard because I SO did not want to have this conversation. I sat on the bed, we ended up talking for about two hours and somewhere in there I was comforting him and consoling him on what had happened. Max sat on the floor looking him dead in the eyes, not blinking … PISSED. Little kitty thoughts, “You fucked up the energy in my sanctuary man, you fucked up the chi… my human is not happy, YOU WILL PAY.” Not sure where the switch came in, but by the time he left I was exhausted and bone deep weary. I wanted to sleep forever, I just wanted that night to be OVER. Lord.

The next day, I woke up super pissed off.

I realized two things in my sleep. So I sent him a text:

Me: I woke up very angry.
Him: I’m sorry. What can I do to make this up to you?

Then he just called me.

Him: Hi.
Me: Look, I’m very angry for several reasons, number one, you did not respect my wish when I asked you to leave my apartment.
Him: I..
Me: Let me finish. Number two, somehow, after what happened I ended up consoling YOU for over two hours. That does not seem right.
Him: What can I do to make this up to you?
Me: (eyebrow raise… pull the phone away from ear and look at it)… You want to make this up to me?
Him: Yes.
Me: Fine, if you wanna keep this… whatever this (vague hand motion that he couldn’t see) is… going, I want you to woo me. I know where I stand in the levels of your priorities, and I am cool with it, but if you wanna keep this thing rollin, I want you to woo the fuck out of me. You got that?
Him: Yes, that sounds great, I wanna do that, Yes, absolutely. And the reason I did not leave is because I felt like you would take me leaving as a sign that I don’t care, and I do. And I am sorry that you ended up pampering me. I never intended for that to happen.
Me: Ok. I am glad we could come to an understanding.

Sunday faded into Monday. Nothing.

Monday came and went… Nothing.

Tuesday came and went… up until about 7 pm. I get a call from him, “So…” and he went off about work. I politely asked him to hold up then like a jackass I said:

Me: Don’t really care.
Him: (puzzled) O… kay?
Me: Do you remember that conversation we had about wooing?
Him: YES!
Me: Yeah, so… when does THAT start?
Him: (speechless)

I then threw a bunch of words at him like incompatible, like a circle and an oval, on the same vibe a bunch of the time, but SO off on others… and I talked him to death. Then the old, “Above all else, we’re friends first, so if you wanna deal with whatever is on your plate and (Warning: sports metaphor in 3, 2, 1) back up and punt another time, that’s cool.” And we left it at that.

The next day he showed up with not only wooing stuff for me, but for Max as well. Because Max will cut a bitch.

And he hasn’t fallen asleep on (or in) me since.

Shut up, my vagina is NOT boring.

I would like to discuss the awesomeness of Weetacon some more. I am still debating on whether or not to post a video of me dancing on a bad-bar-booth to Big and Rich’s “Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy” (indeed).

But I want to get into the fashion show portion of the Weetacon-iness. This Site right here has all the linky goodness to help you win UP TO $700 dollars. YES, SEVEN HUNDRED DOLLARS in gift certificate finery from the one, the only
IGIGI – Beautiful Plus Size Clothing by Yuliya Raquel.

This is how it works. First I will regale you with tales of awesomeness, how it all went down and pictures of my fine form in the gorgeous garments from IGIGI.

THEN… we’ll get to the nitty gritty.

Weetabix sent out an email blast back a few months before Weetacon and asked if anyone would like to be part of an IGIGI fashion show during the festivities at the mini-con. You could almost hear hoots n’ hollers across the continent!

Replies of HELLS TO THE YES and the like were seen almost immediately. The ones who accepted the challenge (challenge: wear something hot, get your picture taken, write an entry, post pictures… more details to follow) were asked to pick out three garments from the IGIGI website (YES, I am going for a record on how many times I can link to IGIGI) and put the garments in order of favorite to mostest favoritest (with sizes).

We all did so and when we got to Green Bay we had a portion on the schedule for an IGIGI fashion show before karaoke on Friday the 4th of March. We were all so excited! We had such a full day with the sleigh ride and the trip to Paul’s Pantry and the charity raffle I don’t think anyone was ready for the surprise that Weetabix was going to throw at us like a rhesus monkey. She rounded all of us who accepted the challenge into the lobby and with a twinkle in those blue, blue eyes, she asked us all to follow her out to her car.

I am sure we were expecting to be told, “Here is your garment, go get dressed, Jake will tell you which order you will walk in, and… that’s it.” BUT NO. She started pulling garments upon garments out of her cute little crossover vehicle. Each one of us were handed not one, (sometimes) not two… BUT ALL THREE GARMENTS that we had asked for.

It was like this… jumping up and down and high pitched squeals began and then rose to an incredible crescendo! The ultimate moment of SQEEEdom*! We were clapping and hugging one another, wide eyes and huge smiles graced every face in the parking lot. There may have been happy crying (shut up, it was HAPPINESS). People leaned out of their windows at St. B’s to see what all the commotion was about. We were at a fever pitch of excitement and we all rushed inside to throw on hose, heels and lipstick. No time for a shower, yeah, you’re gonna be changing in a dimly lit stairwell. You’re sweaty? Who cares, you look hot and that guy that just came in from outside saw your boobs. Whatever. YOU LOOK AMAZING!

*Shoot me now, I just punned “squee”.

That is the thing about IGIGI each garment is specially designed to fit a woman with curves. And curves? I have them. Let me show you.

I chose three garments; two skirts and a dress that I never would have picked out on my own if I hadn’t been looking for something that was completely out of the box for me. I don’t own any skirts. I am a black pants/twin set/black shoes kind of girl. Geranimals for adults. I needed help. I needed something that I could wear that would be grown up and make me feel like I was sexy, not some school marm-ish thing with a huge ass. So I picked two tailored skirts (nothing to hide behind) and a wrap dress with the most beautiful pattern and contrasted pattern on the belt, cuffs, neckline and hem.

I am going to give you the link and stats from the IGIGI website, the picture(s) and how I felt about each item.

Ingocnito Pencil Skirt
Color: Navy Blue

Material: Poly/Viscose/Elastane
Care: Dry Clean Only
•Princess shaped pencil silhouette
•Clean waist
•Back 2 rows of pleats
•Fully lined
•Back zip

I threw this skirt on with a Lane Bryant raspberry colored cami, a black IGIGI wrap jacket, silver and black bangles and earrings from Charming Charlies and some fine ass hooker heels from Baker Bros. and I stomped into that room like Miss Jay had taught me to walk something fierce.

(In this picture: Blue cami not seen, ring from Charming Charlies, neckalace black braided leather cord with original druizy pendant from my mom, sweat courtesy of being nervous. You're welcome.)

I believe I can wear this skirt with almost anything depending on accessories. They list the color as navy but it is more of a grey tweedish looking color. I could wear it with black, or coral. It wouldn’t matter. Heels, boots, sandals and bright chunky colorful jewelry or understated pearls and a small purse with a scarf. This skirt is the bomb, and with that jacket I was leaning against the registration desk at the hotel and one of the ladies behind me said, “DAYUM! That fits you perfectly!” I was pleased and shocked, I had not seen how the skirt fit, how the little kick pleats flared, or how the belt accentuated my waist. But I felt sexy, and that is what mattered.

The material seems a little heavy for summer Texas wear, but the lining makes it feel like you’re wearing a slip against your hose. It may be hot without hose, but I am thinking that this will be a perfect September to April type of skirt. I’ve wanted to wear it since I got home but it’s been unseasonably warm and just turned cool again. Maybe I’ll wear it tomorrow. Mrow.

Tailored Pencil Skirt
Color: Black

Material: Poly/Rayon/Elastane
Care: Dry Clean or Hand Wash in Cold Water
•Medium weight gabardine with a touch of stretch
•Clean waistline with darts
•Back zip and vent
•Fully lined
•Waist to Hem Length: 23"-26"

I kept the same jacket, accessories and shoes on (hi, remember?... dressing room was stairwell or the hallway out to the smoke shack on the patio… I am NOT modest), but threw on a red cami underneath the jacket and got back in line… dabbing at my face with a paper towel as I was sweating.

(In this picture, sweater shirt thingy from Kohl's, pointy heels from Aldo, neckalace Brighton.)

Thank goodness for that “touch of stretch” listed up there as I felt as though my ass looked like I was going for the title of “two pigs fightin under a blanket”, but the skirt was so comfortable that the worry of “Oh good Lord, someone please zip my ass into this thing!” was quickly forgotten as my turn came to saunter onto that make believe catwalk.

I believe that this skirt will be one of my staples as I love shoes and most of my black pants do not show “the collection” as well as they could be shown. I could even go without hose and wear sandals with this skirt in the spring. It isn’t too hot or too small. It just worried me as I needed help to get the skirt zipped as I was still trying to get a cami off, another one on and a wrap jacket thrown over my head. Also, HI… stairwell.

This skirt is the perfect blend between sexy and professional. Not too short, not too tight, just right. And for those of you with things for stockings and pointy shoes. THIS ONE IS FOR YOU. Yes, you. I am talking directly to you. Yes. How YOU doin?

I think I can wear this with a long cami and a teeny ¾ sleeve one button cardigan for spring. I could also do a shell with a shrug for summer. This skirt is going to be perfect for year round. YAY for touch of stretch and fully lined. The details are what really matter in every pc of fashion found at IGIGI.

Sachi Printed Wrap Dress in AWESOME! (I mean Royal)
Color: Royal Multi

Material: Poly/Elastane
Care: Hand Wash in Cold Water or Dry Clean
•Surplice bodice
•Set-in waistband can be adjusted
•True wrap-around silhouette
•A-line flared skirt
•Side seam pockets

Pockets Bitches

(In this picture, same neckalace as above, braided leather cord with druizy pendant and ring from Charming Charlies, heels TAHARI.)

This dress, holy crap y’all. I had NO idea how to get into it, tie up, fix it, and clearly I should have worn my hair up for that walk into the Waterford Room, but I was standing in the stairwell like Celine Dion during one of her little costume changes as fredlet stood on a stair and threw the dress over my head then tied me into it. I was kind of shell shocked. I don’t have the rack to pull this off without a cami (unless I had it on backwards, because there is a deep V in front and in back) but I walked out of the stairwell and started singing “My Heart Will Go On”… I kid. Sort of.

The wrap dress is so incredibly comfortable. Underneath, I had on hose, black boy shorts, black heels and a black bra. The bra is sort of wide cut through the cleavage area, so it looked like a cami… Kind of? Sort of? Whatever, I loved how the material felt on my skin, it was soft and flowy. It was forgiving in almost every area and in the one (boobies!) area that I think it didn’t fit me well I believe was because I hadn’t played with the dress to see how it hung before the, “Holy shit, how do I get into this thing?” moment. Fred replied, “Arms UP!” and like a toddler, I let her dress me.

And POCKETS Y'ALL!

I am a whore for comments/compliments but wanted something REAL to come from someone who was there and does not pull any punches. So this morning I asked someone to be honest with me. To tell me something bad, to punch holes in my confidence so I could see the reality of what the garments looked like with all of the stairwell chatter, “Zip me up! WHO IS GOING NEXT!? Haaaaaaaaaa, who’s is THIS!? GO GO GO!” to the clapping as soon as we walked into our little room to the oohs and ahhhs of our friends.

He surprised me.

To quote our all knowing emcee Jake:

The [skirts] gave your shape such a flattering curve, and the little kick was interesting.
The outside matched the inside.
The clothes said you were strong, confident, and comfortable.
You were very powerful in those clothes; it gave power to your flirtations.
You can also say how they proved that nothing is sexier than a confident woman… just to be trite.
But it's a good lead in.

The above copied and pasted for your entertainment. Jake does not compliment very often. I have known him since 2007 and other than the above IM he has complimented me one time. The compliments from Jake are hard won but honest. If you look like ass, he will tell you.

Ergo. I looked freaking HOT.

Long and short of it is, you visit the IGIGI website and select a garment. THEN you go to this site right here, follow the links… and tell us in the comments of each entry why you like the garment, how you would wear the garment, and what it would mean to your wardrobe. Basically leave comments like unicorn glitter and rainbow sprinkles on cupcakes at every one of those reviews. Please do so by April 7th, 2011. And then each one of the reviewers will pick a winner for a $50 IGIGI gift certificate using a random number generator thingy and PRESTO! Depending on your luck you could make BANK baby.

Please see the IGIGI website for shipping regulations.

Thank you IGIGI!

IGIGI+ Weetabix = AWESOME SAUCE!
And due to ATF regulations (or something like that) I have to disclaim that the dresses in this entry were provided to me for review purposes by IGIGI. The content of this entry was not dictated by IGIGI; I get to keep the dresses for my personal use**.

**Hell Yeah! Mine all mine baby!

All photographs courtesy of Joey Stephens and JoeyStephensPhotography.com.

************************************** Contest is Closed **********************************************
A number was picked at random by my friend in the Virgin Islands who doesnt even KNOW I have a "blog" and the number was 7. Counting from the top that is the number of fredlet's comment. WOOO! We have a winner!

WINNER WINNER CHICKEN DINNER!

Fredlet will be notified and squee's will be heard across the globe.

Let'd do this again some time. I loved seeing y'all's comments. :)
Thank you!