Today I bought new undies, and I swear to God I could not have been more excited if I had been buying a pair of Christian Louboutin Shoes and a Prada handbag.

Whilst your first thought might be “geez Nic, you need to get out more” (and you’d be right), I have a sneaky suspicion that I’m not the only one who finds their undie replacement programme something to look forward to.

And when I say I was looking forward to it, I’m not kidding. I DIARISED the undie-focussed shopping trip 2 weeks in advance, after facing up to the irrefutable truth about the state of my undies. And frankly, if you expect me to go into more detail about that state, you are on the wrong blog.

Suffice to say, my annual undie replacement programme was running late by about 3 years. Now, given the build-up, you might think that my collection of smalls was made up of a plethora of pretty underthings from high-end lingerie emporiums. Yeah… not so much.

Amish grandmothers probably have fancier underfashions than mine. I am like a bloke when it comes to my choice of undies:

• SAME brand – I’m a Bonds girl. Because I look totally like Sarah Murdoch. And you’ll find none of those uber-trendy citrus boyleg undies in my collection because a) boyleg undies only look good on 3 year olds and Sarah Murdoch. and b) because I don’t want anything remotely citrusy near my lady parts.
• SAME model – Everyday Hipster in cotton – there’s no place for shiny, slippery undies in my top drawer or on my bot.
• SAME colours – black, white and beige. And no, I’m not ashamed to admit to the inclusion of beige undies. There is no other choice under white pants or a white frock.  Let me go all fashion-blogger on you for a moment, and say that WHITE UNDERWEAR SHOWS THROUGH WHITE CLOTHES. Also, I’ve been married 13 years – the colour of my undies ceased to be a seduction factor a while back.

So Hot

I have another confession which I know will trouble a few people, regardless of whether they shop at Best & Less or Victoria’s Secret. My underfashions don’t match. Never have. I don’t think they even matched on my wedding day.

So until they come up with Genie Undies, to go with my (black, white and beige) Genie Bras, I’ll be a mismatched, but comfy, mess. You’re welcome.

I reckon it was Kim’s headpiece. What was that all about?

I’ve held off on blogging about the Kardashians, but there’s only so much restraint one person can show when faced with such phenomenal material.  I mean, what’s a girl to do?

Obviously, of the eleventy-billion blog posts that will be published about this Kim Kardashian’s impending divorce, mine will be the most relevant, pithy, in-depth analysis, given that I am about to graduate with honours in Kardashian Studies.

I have no explanation for my fascination with the Kardashians. Maybe it’s the sister thing? Dunno. But I can’t get enough of them.

I think Khloe is hilarious. I think she’s smarter than anyone gives her credit for. I love that she swears like a wharfie and I think she and Lamar will last forever. Because obviously I’d know.

I think Kourtney is gorgeous but insane for staying with Scott after he went all crazy-town in Miami. Having said that, I am ashamed to admit I think Scott is, umm, not unattractive, in a preppy, wankery, arseholey way.

I want to crawl through the teev and cut Mason’s rats-tail off with my kitchen scissors.

I think Rob needs to get a job and grow his hair, but if I was him I’d be mooching off Khloe and Lamar as well.

I would LOVE to have Kris’ (their Mum Mom’s) office. It’s a whole lot of pretty. But I want to smack her a lot of the time. Not for her obsessive focus on making bazillions out of her kids. As long as they’re all happy to go along with it, why not? (And if they didn’t, it would totally halve my TV-viewing options when I’m ironing. Assuming the Real Housewives kicked on.)

I want to smack Kris because she’s so mean to Bruce! Seriously, the man is a saint. A saint with a very ordinary facelift and weird hair, but a saint nonetheless.

And then there’s Kim. I’m going to go out on a limb here and say – could she be any more beautiful? And honestly, anyone who can pull off a bubble-butt like she does – and make a motza doing it – deserves some sort of respect.

And then there’s The Wedding. God I loved it. I mean, I’d never want a wedding like that. Oh, who am I kidding. I would totally want a wedding like that. In another life. But without Kris. Because what a fuckwit.

The romantic in me is desperate to believe that the wedding wasn’t just about money or ratings. Call me delusional (do it nicely though, because I’m fragile and needy) but I find it so hard to believe that anyone could put themselves through something like that. I mean, it’s not as if they’re ferreting about under the car seats looking for enough change for a medium cheeseburger meal. No, that’d be me.

Kim (and her taller, dopier half) are rolling in it. Sure, Kris doesn’t have as much coin as Kim. But if he flogs that ring on Ebay, the prenup probably won’t hurt as much.

So if it wasn’t for money (which we can all agree I’ve established above), why? For the love of God, why did she marry him?? In the interests of balanced reporting, I’ve put together a brief list of why she SHOULDN’T have married him:

1. He’s a dickhead.

2. The moustache. Nothing good was ever come of Kris saying “I grew it so that I could have control over one thing in this wedding”.  And then he shaved it off. So that worked out well.

3. He wanted his dogs to sleep on Kim’s bed. Now I know lots of people do this (including my sister, but that’s because her dog is so black she can’t find him at night unless she’s on her bed). But Kim made it very clear that she didn’t want the dogs on her bed, and a decent bloke would capitulate.

4. He was kind of creepy-looking. Not as ugly as a hat-full of bums, but sort of like a hairless caveman.

5. He had no respect for Kim’s sisters. Seriously Kris? Are you you completely mental? It’s one thing to suck up to the future parents-in-law, but it’s a whole ‘nother thing to get on the wrong side of the sisters. After years of research (6 seasons of Keeping Up With the Kardashians), and now knowing Khloe and Kourtney as I do, for Kris to piss them off so spectacularly, and so regularly, he must be as dumb as a bag of hammers.

OK, so why DID she marry him?

Well, she wouldn’t be the first girl to fall in stupid, irrational love and, despite all evidence to the contrary, genuinely believe it would last forever.

She wouldn’t be the first girl who wanted something so much she convinced herself it was perfect.

Rather than believing it was all for the money, I’d rather believe it was because she still wasn’t over Reggie Bush.

And because the headpiece was stupid.

Every so often my sisters and I will ring each other and the conversation will go like this:

Kate: “Hi, it’s me. I’m so fat.”

Me: “Yeah, I’m so fat too.”

Kate: “Janey says she’s fat too.”

Anyway, that time has come around once again – we are simultaneously vast.

OK, we’re not Biggest Loser vast. But we’re carrying way more lard than we should be. And thanks to a genetic SNAFU, that lard resides in our arse-al region. Not to put too fine a point on it, we are “broad of beam”.

We workshopped the situation last week, and looked into what it was, for each of us, that made us actually go “geez I’m fat”.

• For me, it was when MY PYJAMAS GOT TOO TIGHT. Fairly certain I am the first person in the world that has happened to.
• For Janey, it was when the only thing that would fit her were sunglasses.
• And for Kate it was when she noticed her jeans were too short because the bum needed to “borrow” denim from the the legs.

Clearly it was time to take some affirmative action. But for fun (and because we couldn’t agree) we each decided to use a different method to shed the poundage.

I have chosen Weight Watchers. Kate is going with the Women’s Weekly 21 Day Wonder Diet, and Janey is ordering up a Lite ‘n Easy storm.

We have each had success in the past with our respective choices, so we are going with what we know.

Today actually marks a week since I re-joined Weight Watchers, and I am totally up myself to report that I have lost 2.3kg. Evidently this whole not-eating-so-much thing works pretty effectively. I’m nowhere near ready to put away the Nancy Gantz Pants just yet, but it looks like I’m on the way.

Kate is on holidays up the Coast, so I have yet to hear how she’s going, although it was considerate of the French Patisserie near our beach house to close for a month to help Kate in her weight loss mission. No croissants for her.

Janey is blessed with a bod that might be short, but which sheds kilos toot sweet once she gets started. Also, after 3 years living in Las Vegas, she has a wardrobe full of hot  fashions, with only two currently on high rotation. I predict she’ll be the one to beat as the contest hots up.

I know I should be posting before photos, but no. Just no.

Instead, I will post a couple of pics of when we looked hot. Hot-ish. Well, not fat. You choose.

Vegas, baby

The booties were because we were on the Skywalk @ The Grand Canyon - not because we are fashion-challenged

My plan is to post regularly with the results of our endeavours. I may even post “after” photos.

Have you had success with any of our methods? Have you ever been on a weight loss mission with family members?

The anticipation has been exhausting, but my Genie Bras finally arrived on Friday.

The interest in my infomercial-based purchase was so high that in the spirit of community service, I have agreed to provide an in-depth review of the Genie Bra.

At this point I should stress that this is not a sponsored post. I’ve always wanted to say that. Actually, I’ve always wanted to say “This is a sponsored post”, because it is my understanding that that would mean I was paid for it.

I’ve been asked why I went with the Genie Bra, rather than the Ahh Bra. This is an excellent question. I spent an inordinate amount of time on the interweb looking for reasons to choose one over the other. The upshot of this was that I went with the one that was easier to order, and which had a slightly less stupid name. Totally scientific.

Anyhoo, I will begin this review by addressing a couple of the incisive questions posed by Twitter followers.

How do they look off?

Shithouse. Seriously, if ugly was a country, then the Genie Bra would be China. But in fairness to the Genie Bra designer, I wasn’t expecting it to give Simone Perele a run for its money.

The Genie Bra is spectacularly unsexy. No need for any form of contraception if you wear the Genie Bra in the boudoir. It is more an item of body furniture than undergarment.

Hot as

I should point out that in the photo above, the “beige” (and isn’t that the most appropriate word EVER) example has the “free extra support pads” in the “specially designed magic pouches”. I can safely say I won’t be using the extra support pads, and I think the designers may have been high when they decided to use the term “magic pouches”.

Is the Genie Bra for bigger breasted women only?

In my expert opinion, nope. Admittedly though, if you are challenged in the area of rib-bumpers, a Genie Bra would look more like a t-shirt. A cropped one.

On the other hand, if you have a massive rack, I’m not sure it’d give you the haulage you’d be after.

I am – according to the professional bosom lady at David Jones – a 14D (which explained why my collection of 12B bras never felt quite right). Google tells me that the average Australian bra size is 14C, from which I will draw the totally scientific assumption that if you are anywhere between a 12B and a 16C, the Genie Bra would hold its own – and yours.

Other Observations

• I am a bit disappointed by the amount of upper-torso real estate taken up by the Genie Bra. To be fair, if you’re looking for a bra that’ll hold up your badoinkies without underwires or hooks, it’s going to need more than a wisp of elasticised chiffon in the formula. But I have to say, there’s a crapload of fabric on the back, which makes it look more like a post-surgery garment than lingerie.
  

  The Rear View

• I give it 8 out 10 for comfort. I am one of those girls who whips off my bra the minute I walk through the door. My issue is usually with the band under the brassiere, which goes around the ribs. I don’t think there is a technical term for that component – although interestingly, the bit between the chesticle cups is called the “gore”. Who knew?

  After wearing the Genie Bra for a few days now, I am saddened to report that I am still experiencing some discomfort in the aforementioned under-bra-around-ribs-area (I wish there was a technical term for it). However, I am prepared to concede that this may be due to the design of my mid-region (also my Big Mac habit) than the design of the Genie Bra.

  Whilst the shoulder straps aren’t padded with cashmere, they are comfy enough. I don’t reckon they’re any more or less comfortable than any of the other bras I’ve worn, but it’s not something I’ve generally had a problem with.

•  The other big question – aside from comfort – is how effective the Genie Bra is at harnessing one’s tatas. And I am happy to report that it is doing a deadset ripper job. When wearing the Genie Bra, I am confident that I can go about my daily business and the girls aren’t going anywhere they shouldn’t be. They are well contained, adequately rounded, and most importantly, perpendicular to the rest of me.
• Value for money? I paid $89.91 (yeah, I know) for 3 Genie Bras (black, beige and white). Were they a bargain at $29.97 (FFS) each? Nup. But not a ripoff either. I’ve paid way more for bras that I pull off through my sleeves at the earliest opportunity.  Plus they were delivered, so that whole hellish bra-trying-on thing is neatly avoided.

At this point, you’re probably going “Photos! We were promised photos!” Well, ask and you shall receive.

Wonder if Zoo will call?

To summarise – the Genie Bra is more or less what I expected. More ugly than I expected. Slightly less comfortable than I expected. But it does do its job, meaning I don’t have to think about whether everything is where it should be.  Leaving me free to worry about whether my underpants are up to the job.