Queer-Eye for the Straight Girl
29 Sep 2014 7 Comments
in My Thoughts, Photos Tags: be real, friendship, happy stuff, life, polls, relationships
Queer-Eye for the Straight Girl.
Oops, this is woefully out of place on the grid. So sue me for playing on my blog this morning.
Queer-Eye for the Straight Girl
23 Sep 2014 24 Comments
Alex, I’ll take “PARTIES” for a hundred, please.
Here we go … Every woman’s response to “We’re having a party.”
Mashes the buzzer! … What is “I have nothing to wear?”
Casino Night is looming on the horizon, a dress-up affair at Abe & Jake’s Landing, significant because friends are hosting and it will potentially benefit other friends. I’m slated to give a speech but I have NOTHING TO WEAR so I’m not too pumped about the whole thing.
Enter my friends Adam and Seth, armed with knowledge from every episode of What Not to Wear, Project Runway, their own impeccable taste, et.al. A shopping date is set for the following week, beginning with a lunch of salad and wine. Thus fortified we hit the stores, fearless and ready to incite terror on both sides of the street. A saleswoman whispers to me early on, “These guys are making me nervous.”
THESE guys? You mean the ones who are giving you a break by zeroing in on a selection of flattering outfits from your store and thanking me for considering any and all options? The guys who are giving up their day to make sure I have a fabulous time shopping, so I can relax and enjoy a great night out with people I love? These two guys who have a gift for showing how much they care? Yeah, well. Get outta heah.
After a lifetime as a skinny-minny, a series of crushing blows caused me to almost disappear from grief anorexia. What followed was so much unexpected and over-the-top happiness that I starting packing on the pounds, neutralizing my shopping mojo. Because, you know … before I bought any more clothes I was definitely gonna lose the extra weight and be me again in the eyes of the world, never mind that in the meantime I’d turned into a better person than I was when I was a skinny biotch. Fortunately, my guys didn’t for a second consider letting me off the hook, and they rate massive kudos for changing my perspective.
We found the dress in the first shop we hit. And the jewelry. And a pair of skinny black pants and a silky top. AND another dress that was on sale for a stupidly low price, nabbed after Seth stood me sideways in front of the 3-way mirror and told me with a sweep of his arm to “Concentrate on this great rack!” then cupped my ass in his hands and crowed “Just look at these two amazing Christmas hams!” We heard a gasp from the sales clerk, followed by “Can he SAY that?” Yes, yes he can. Love and respect buy immunity.
In the second shop the guys found a pair of not-Mom-jeans and a top from the sale rack that we couldn’t believe no one had snapped up. My confidence was increasing by the hour and I was into my Happy Dance. Another store or four, a purchase here and there, and we realized it was almost 7pm. Tired and hungry, we crossed the street for drinks, appetizers, and a review of the game plan. Adam placed a Zappos shoe order on his phone and just like that I had everything I needed for the big party. Oh yeah, the party! I’d sort of lost sight of the original mission because the party was already ON.
I’ve dropped a few pounds in the weeks since, but I may or may not ever be skeletal again. My friends clearly do not care and I don’t either. The bonus is that Kim has never really minded one way or another — the angst was mine alone and was overdue for a kick to the curb. We live in a university town where the options for enjoyment are nearly endless — who wants to worry over chunks of dessert, impromptu foodgasms on somebody’s balcony, late-night drinks at sidewalk cafes, or breakfast twice in one day? Worry is for chumps.
Seth put shiny stuff in my hair, I wore the dress and rocked the speech, we gambled for a worthy cause, we danced, we laughed, we ate good food and toasted each other with great wine, and the tumblers in my brain spun and lined up. The obvious is true — I’m not a number on the scale, I’m not my dress size, I’m that girl who loves life, qualifiers be damned. When’s the next party?
1) Casino Night … 2) the Christmas Ham dress with my favorite date … and 3) my newlywed personal shoppers, Seth and Adam …
The care and feeding of The Madison …
09 Jul 2014 3 Comments
in My Thoughts, Photos Tags: be real, beauty, brave, do good, family, friendship, happy stuff, living, Photos, relationships
This is the story of a boy and his dog. And a young man and his dog. And an old girl and “her” dog. Turns out they’re all the same dog — a Maltese named Madison — and she’s led a fairly incredible life so far. Her first story was happy … until it wasn’t. The boy loved her, but his girlfriend didn’t, so while he was away working nobody took care of tiny Madison. The young man took her in then and loved her and provided for her, and they were a good team. But his life got really busy and Madison was spending a lot of hours alone. SOOOO … the old girl talked him into letting the little peanut come stay at her house, at least for a while. That’s love in its purest form, people, and Kim and I don’t take lightly the sacrifice he’s making for the sake of her health and well-being.
Miss Maddie will be ten years old in October, but she still looks like a puppy and remembers how to act like one. She was coughing and gagging every day, and seemed listless, so on a hunch we changed her food and treats to brands that don’t contain wheat. Thanks to a tip from a certified dog person, we also eliminated chicken. The respiratory symptoms are going away, she’s sleeping fewer daytime hours, and she’s started initiating rambunctious play again and bringing us her dapper little green dinosaur so we can wrestle it away from her and throw it across the room. She’s good as gold about potty habits, and she sleeps all night without disruption. If left on her own she wakes up about 8am, just like I do. Perfect!
Madison adores Kim, but she’s chosen me as her Person, which fills me with gratitude and gooey slurpy love. Even when she has old-lady breath — which we’re also working on — I can’t get enough of her. She goes with us on all the little errands that don’t require taking her into NO DOGS areas (the nerve!), and she’s a calm and entertaining passenger. When we instead tell her “Maddie has to stay this time,” she looks at us with her big black eyes and takes it with good grace. She doesn’t chew on things, or get up to shenanigans, and we never have a second thought about leaving her to roam the loft while we’re out. She’s a little lady. Her joy when we get home is something we didn’t know we were missing … and would have a hard time giving up now.
She’s an instant conversation-starter and makes friends all over town. Jeez, to be so popular! She still gets to go to The Farm to see her black Lab friend Mia and the three kittens, James, Red Molly, and Elsa … and her Big Guy when he’s there. But it’s clear she isn’t really a farm girl, with her alabaster fur coat and frilly tail — she’s a princess and we’re happy to let her be exactly that, especially since she doesn’t have an attitude. It’s a happy arrangement … except possibly for the Big Guy, who misses her when he’s home at night.
Maddie makes us laugh, and she brings out a tender grandparent-y thing in both of us that feels just right at this stage of our lives. Thank you, Kevin, for having such a good heart — we love you. And Madison will always belong to you, no matter where she might live out her days.
Come on in, the water’s fine!
28 Feb 2014 8 Comments
in My Thoughts Tags: be real, brave, exercise, friendship, happy stuff, life, living, relationships
They say — and just who the hell ARE they? — that we learn something new every day if we keep our eyes and ears open. This week I learned that it’s possible to sweat underwater.
I’ve fallen in love with the pool. Not the great pee-filled paradise of my youth, but a glittering expanse of cuddly clear blue water, marked off in lanes. I am distinctly not an exercise lover but the pool has captured my heart. I love the muted sounds and the clean saltwater smell; the silky feel of the water as I slip in for laps; the sunlight shining through the ceiling panels making fog hang in the air; the way I feel wrapped in cotton, alone in my head, nothing in front of me except the lane and the goal — to stay afloat. And when class starts, I love the adorable instructors who crank the music and urge us to jump and kick and stretch and wriggle our cellulite, which they do not possess.
I love the women I meet there. Many are likely older than I am, although who knows. Some are far younger — new moms. It’s a delightful bunch because they’re honest and irreverent and hilarious. There’s a crankypants or two in class but I have to assume they’ve cultivated that for a while and aren’t likely to switch attitudes, so I leave them to their grumbling and their mad-faces and hang out with Jo and Barb and Andrea and Roxy and Pat and Sandy and assorted others who are just there to have a good time and keep moving. All of us by now have sustained losses that have shaped us. We don’t talk about it, we just know. And of course we don’t discuss body shape, because we all have parts that are surrendering to gravity, legs that are melting into our ankles, wear and tear that dictates what we can and cannot do.
We’re a motley crew — we roll out of bed and show up at the gym, grab a shower, suit up and start swimming. A lot of these gals have not only never invested in a Brazilian, they haven’t shaved their underarms since the Cold War — a very genuine and healthy practice, in my humble opinion. We wear our baby-bellies like a freakin’ badge of honor, although to be honest mine’s become a too-many-carbs belly, which is what brought me to the pool. We give it our best shot to keep up with the zero-body-fat instructor who’s winning a dance contest poolside or in the water with us every morning, and we grin and laugh and hoot when we finally find our rhythm.
In the water … nothing hurts much. There’s no temperamental low back, no rickety shoulder, and the 7 Purple Minions of Fibromyalgia are in time out. There are enough sore muscles later to let me know I used them, but that’s a good hurt and I welcome it. It’s highly motivating that women in their 70s and 80s show up for personal torture day after day, and do it with a smile. Surely I can manage at least that. I do hope it will be a longterm relationship, the pool and I. And I really hope carbs melt in saltwater.
The view from here …
09 Feb 2014 2 Comments
Watching this year’s Winter Olympics has been a unique experience for me. It fully dawned this time that rather than a contest among nations, it’s hundreds of contests between worthy opponents who have spent most of their lives preparing for the moments in which we see them. Geographically speaking, the point is not which country won which medals, but which athletes earned the title of Best. I find that I see so much more if my eyes aren’t trained solely on the American athlete in the race. It’s very moving to see how each entrant has trained his or her body — every muscle, joint, and cell — to do the chosen feat. It’s poetry. And when the color and design of a flag take a back seat to individual effort, the games emerge as what they are: an incredible sampling of humanity, a dazzling parade of young faces, bodies, and spirits — people who will never again be quite this young and beautiful and perfect, but are just wise and reckless enough to squeeze the life out of Life as they streak past. God bless the world.
Mama said there’d be days like this …
30 Jan 2014 2 Comments
in My Thoughts, Uncategorized Tags: be real, Facebook, family, friendship, life, living, the blues
Fun morning here. For starters, I answered the doorbell in my PJs, only to come face to face with the head of our Homeowners Association. I had my FIRST delightful encounter with her the day we moved in. Something about the rule book and timing and blah-blah-blah. Couldn’t say exactly, as she was standing, uninvited, in my space, whacking me over the head with rules she hadn’t bothered to notify us about, so I tuned her out. No biggie. This morning’s surprise visit was about something equally inconsequential which she could have taken care of by looking with her eyes, so it was a non-moment. But you know how things like that set a tone.
No connection with the homeowner person, but there are days when all you do is cry. It doesn’t change anything, but it gets that stuff out there where you can look at it and try to figure out if it’s as scary as it seems, as hurtful as it feels, as huge as it looks. And no matter what, if it feels like your heart is shattering it’s huge. It’s been a long time since I’ve cried for myself, my own hurt feelings, my disappointments. It’s the people I care desperately about who can break me down into little pieces and bring my day to a halt. Family. Friends. The things that rock their world in a bad way shut mine down. When somebody I love is hurting I want to either hole up and not see another human being, or dig my Superman cape out of the laundry and confront the world. If I couldn’t vent on a daily basis to a lucky group of Facebook friends I’d probably be in jail. They help fill up my “give a damn” bucket when it’s empty, and they can’t possibly know how vital a service that is. Most of them I’ve never (yet) met in person, but just by getting it they heal me. What a gift not to have to explain things.
So my husband, who really IS Superman, took me to lunch and we tried a new place and I ended up crying at the table while I was trying to tell him what was going on in my stupid heart. Our waitress looked concerned, but I smiled at her later — “See? I’m fine!” — and she won’t remember me next time we go there so who cares. And Kim gets it, bless him. I try not to tell him ALL the things — he has his own stuff to wrestle with — but he always knows when I’m getting out of sorts so it’s only fair to let him know he didn’t do anything to make that happen. He makes the GOOD things happen and he saves my life all over again every day.
It’s starting to sound like the world will keep on turning, so I might get some music happening and work on the closet for a while. And maybe tomorrow the sun will shine.
Progress in the new year …
02 Jan 2014 Leave a comment
Today brings a quick overnight trip to get a trailer-load of items from our condo — more of the little things that make a house (loft) a home, plus our washer & dryer and Kim’s music equipment. And then by next week at the latest I’ll be hoping to start turning over a few “new leaves.” A daily post here on my blog, quality time spent at the piano, more walking, less eating … and there will be others. I’m sure you noticed that I’m not calling these things “resolutions” — for me it would be the kiss of death and they would barely see daylight before shriveling up and crumbling in a big mess on the floor.
I hope 2014 has started out fresh and positive for everyone, and I hope above all to be here enough this year to get to know each of you a lot better!
The best-laid plans … or something …
22 Jun 2013 Leave a comment
Apparently, without meaning to, I’ve taken a summer break from blogging. It’s the heat, people. That’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it. I wander in, briefly look around, wander back out. I miss you all and entertain daily good intentions to catch up on your stuff … and next thing you know I’m in my recliner sipping an iced tea or a frosty Greyhound and playing Candy Crush on my iPad. Oh, the shame. Okay, confession over … I feel all better now! Thanks for listening. I’ll be back on the job soon … meanwhile, here are some delightful graphics for your viewing pleasure. Happy Summer, everyone!
Well, fudge …
04 Jun 2013 Leave a comment
in Miscellaneous, My Thoughts Tags: be real, blogging, busy, friendship, life
My poor little blog is suffering from extreme neglect. Mama’s just been soooooooo busy! Don’t give up on us, friends and neighbors … we’re comin’ back.
Weekly Photo Challenge: Escape
17 May 2013 Leave a comment
http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/05/17/photo-challenge-escape/
A true escape would be a beach in Mexico or Costa Rica with my husband. Since that isn’t in our immediate future, my escape is my iMac, along with my iPad and phone. My friends on WordPress and Facebook are like Calgon … they take me away!
A note to my friends …
15 May 2013 Leave a comment
I’m woefully far behind on the important part of my blog — the part where I keep in touch with my WordPress friends. I love “likes” — that makes perfect sense, right? And your comments are wonderful — I do keep up with those. But I have a long list of people in my email who have visited this blog and whom I want to visit in return. And I will. I’m far, far behind on my Reader — is there even such a thing as being “caught up?” For now I just wanted to say a quick thank you for the wonderful things you write, the thoughtful ways you stay in touch with other WordPress bloggers, and for your patience. Most definitely your patience!
You’re On Your Own, Pal
11 Apr 2013 2 Comments
in Daily Prompt, Press This, Re-blogging Tags: be real, blogging, brave, friendship, inspiration, learning, life, living, marriage, relationships
I love Transman and his story … and this one touched my heart in a unique way. It deserves to be Pressed.
Finding out who you really are …
10 Apr 2013 2 Comments
in My Thoughts, Wisdom Tags: About Me, be real, brave, Facebook, friendship, learning, life, living, love, loving, relationships
I read an article this morning by Anne Lamott that latched onto my molecules and won’t let go. Anne is one of my most favorite writers anywhere, ever, in all the world, because she’s honest. She’s so honest she makes me flinch sometimes. And I love it. The article is here if you want to read it. http://www.oprah.com/spirit/How-To-Find-Out-Who-You-Really-Are-by-Anne-Lamott . I’m not usually a purveyor of O Magazine, but hey, Facebook.
Which segues directly into what Anne did for me this morning. I’d been thinking for days … weeks, really … about tweaking my friends list to make it a little more honest. Who has 350 actual friends, let alone wildly imaginative totals like 1,600? Or 6,000? I’ve seen those numbers and recognized them for exactly the popularity contest they represent, all the while knowing that there was no good reason for my own list of acquaintances to hold upwards of 400 names — at one time even topping 500. As with everyone on social media, there were at least 400 explanations as to how all those names got there, some of them not valid enough to warrant their staying. Anne’s ruthlessly straightforward article finally gave me the kick in the butt I needed to perform surgery.
Forty-seven excisions later, the list is starting to more closely line up with what my daily/weekly/monthly interactions on Facebook look like. There will be further cuts, but my brain already feels freer, lighter … more honest. It irks me when someone sends me a friend request and then never says hey. There were a lot of those. Of the people left, 58 of them are family. They don’t have to like me, in fact it’s highly probable that some of them have hidden me due to my intermittent political yammering, but it’s unlikely that I’ll be deleting any of them. Family is family. The other 251 consist either of people I’ve shared a relationship with in this life, or beautiful souls I’ve met via Facebook, and it would be impossible to say which group I feel closer to, even though it’s unlikely I’ll ever have a face-to-face meeting with most of those in Group Two. It was revealing to me that when I scrolled through the list to get a count of family members, I had to stop repeatedly and think “Is he/she a cousin? No. Hmm.”
Anne’s beautiful article is entitled “Becoming the Person You Were Meant to Be,” and this quote is so liberating I may print it on a card and put it where my eyes will land on it every day. ” … you are probably going to have to deal with whatever fugitive anger still needs to be examined—it may not look like anger; it may look like compulsive dieting or bingeing or exercising or shopping. But you must find a path and a person to help you deal with that anger. It will not be a Hallmark card. It is not the yellow brick road, with lovely trees on both sides, constant sunshine, birdsong, friends. It is going to be unbelievably hard some days—like the rawness of birth, all that blood and those fluids and shouting horrible terrible things—but then there will be that wonderful child right in the middle. And that wonderful child is you, with your exact mind and butt and thighs and goofy greatness.”
I realized some time ago that it makes me angry when other people tell me who I should be. Spitting cursing angry. So I don’t let people do that to me anymore. By the same token, I found that having people lurking on my Facebook page who never talked to me, never shared anything with me, never gave me anything of themselves to hang onto, get to know, be interested in, made me the same kind of angry. Fair or not, my antenna picked up judgment. And I decided I didn’t need it.
Facebook, as pitiful as it may sound, is a huge part of my social life. And now it feels a whole lot warmer and friendlier than it did when I got up this morning. My page is just that — mine. It’s good to be Queen. Thank you, Anne Lamott for being an honest, vulnerable human being and for gifting me with the wisdom you’ve gained from your joyous take on life.
Playing for Time 
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