When did THAT happen!?!

I'm a photographer, among other things... mostly all less glamorous. From time to time I'll have my 11 year old shoot a few shots of me...you know the ones, tight face and boob shot only... so that your not showing all of the weight you gained and are loosing to darn slowly... She's got a pretty good eye and when she's done, then I work my magic in Photoshop. It's a given I'm going to make myself 10% thinner, hair my original vibrant color, and let's see, what else...hmmm.... soften the image to soften my skin? Nah, do I need to do that already? I mean sure I do it for my clients but I'm just 36...how much of a difference will it make... really? I'm hovering over the keyboard thinking do I really want to know?! Big freaking sigh and I hit the button... HOLY HELL!!! I look 18 again... so I ask you...when did that happen!!?? Apparently we get so wrapped up in the day to day responsibilities and living that we forget that we're aging...quickly. My dear friend and fellow blog writer has been saying to me for a while, my skin is different and I hate it! Well now that I see the difference I'm with you sister... I HATE IT TO. But I tell you this much... I will not go quietly and gracefully, no I will NOT. I will now drink all the water I should have been all these years, I will now be sleeping way way more, I will now be giving Cindy Crawford a second look on her late night infomercial. Am I afraid to age and grow old? Maybe... I have a lot more I need and want to do in life...and life, it's way way to short...but I think what I really am afraid of is that I'm letting things in my life age me and it's not going to continue. I want laugh lines, not frown lines. If I'm going to age, it's going to be on my terms and doing what I want to do...not because of what gets thrown at me. I'd rather have people say about me, she's aged to perfection rather then she aged before her time! So that is a new goal. I'll keep you posted on how Cindy and I do and how I do developing laugh lines...and yes, I will be hitting that soften button on everything from here on out. Not gonna lie about that... well at least not to you. ;)

Is It Just Me...

Long story short: I have been divorced from the most miserable individual one has ever met for going on seven years now. Yeah yeah...I can hear it now. BFD. Aren't we all? Don't we all have a miserable ex? I can honestly say, however, if you were to ask anyone of my friends and/or family, you would probably get confirmation that yes, my ex-husband beats about 90% of all others in the "Most Crazy Ex" category. My father refers to him as "Senor Psychopath."

Anyway...this is not my point. Just setting it up. Point is, every so often, I have to deal with the wrath that is my ex. Thing is...I really don't have to, he just thinks I do. He is under this misconception that even though we are divorced, and have been for a very long time, that I have to do what he wants and he has control over my life. I'm sorry...I guess I figured when the judge gave me my given sir name back, that gave me the authority to tell him to take a long walk off a short pier. Unfortunately, he did not get that memo.

Lately, the issue has become more global as it has spread to my son (the one I share with him). The ex has now decided if he cannot control me, he can control my son. A lot of good old fashion guilt is being played on a sensitive, diplomatic 12 year old that wants to make everyone happy. Nice move. I bet that gives him a real sense of manhood being able to make a child feel like hell.

Is it just me, or will Karma bite him in the ass one day? I am a firm believer that the way of the universe is to follow the rule "what comes around goes around." In this life or next he will get his.

Damn, I wish he would get it tomorrow, though. Can I get an AMEN?

Skinny Sexy Diva Trapped in a Fat Bit*hes Body!

Well I think that title pretty much sums up life for a lot of us girls now doesn't it!? Yep, in my head I'm a skinny sex goddess that should rule over the world...or at least the bedroom...and the reality of that is that 3 kids later I am a figment of my imagination...at least as far as the skinny goes. ;) In a society focused on looks and assigning worth to how we look, it's kinda hard to look in the mirror everyday sometimes, and let me tell you right now...either my mirror or my camera lie about me cause in one I am HOT and in another...so NOT. As soon as I figure out which one is which... one might meet a violent end. So when does the weight obsession start for us, why can't we just be comfortable in our own skins? Rock what we got...

For me...Ahhh... 1990, local store with my brother looking at cd's and running into the exercise tapes...you remember the ones...Buns of Steel...1, 2, and 3. I remember spotting one, picking it up, and saying to my brother who was standing on my right, Hey! I need this one... slowly I start to realize the man on my right is not my brother...but a very attractive young man who is now looking at me and the title of said video..."Heavenly Hips". My brother almost died after I quickly walked away mortified and beet red and got my hands on him in another part of the store! The really stupid thing was that my 16-24 year old body was HOT and dang do I wish I had it back...sound familiar? Girls, we should of enjoyed the hell out of it while we had it! Alas, even then I was always pretty sure I wasn't enough and needed to look like some busty, skinny waisted, Hollywood, starving starlet. To only have the knowledge then that I do now!! You may know the rest of the story, along came marriage and pregnancy. The reality is that I have only ever gained weight in my life when I was pregnant...and the moment I hear the word I gain 60 pounds on the spot! I'm also not one of those lucky girls that loose weight while they nurse...no, for some reason my body holds on to the weight till I stop nursing...a year later. I then loose half the weight and along comes another pregnancy and more weight. My children are worth every pound and I would do it a thousand times over for them...but dang! It finally got to the point where I not only hated me but I'm pretty sure my husband didn't like me much either...and looking back, except for one horrible and hurtful experience in my 39th week of my 3rd pregnancy, I don't think it had as much to do with what I looked like as how I felt and the vibes I gave off feeling that way...about myself. Fast forward a year or two and I've had enough... tired of not being in pictures with my kids, tired of shopping in the ugly clothes sections when the clothes across the aisle in my used to be size are screaming my name. I finally flip the switch and start doing what works for me. 30 pounds later and still a LONG way to go I notice a difference in how people talk to me, encourage me, treat me, and how I behave myself. Do I look that different? Not really... but what I am again is happy, confident, fun, flirty, and feeling good. I CAN DO THIS! That my friends is the key! Our bodies are always going to be a ever changing project and we can't please the world or even people in our own lives...but we can please ourselves...love ourselves..and find ourselves. I found me and it was a pivotal change. I am BOUND AND DETERMINED that I will be that 24 year old size. Don't get me wrong, my body will not look the same because it carries that badge of carrying my 3 babies, but I'm gonna so ROCK what I got, and enjoy it...from this size, right on down to the smaller size. Am I motivated by what society thinks in my goals...NO, Hollywood can have it's starving starlet's! I'm motivated to want to be healthy for the people who love me and for my body to work for me. Do you know how many things I've avoided in the last 8 years because I didn't want to draw attention to myself or was to insecure to bring myself joy because I did let society value me. NOT ANYMORE!!! Now, reader participation here...say this next part outloud...I am a strong, independent, sexy, woman who is currently a size 16 (or your size here)...let me repeat that... A SIZE 16...and I'm now saying screw you if you don't find that hot, cause I am... and I will enjoy life at that size and the size 14, and the 12, right on down to my goal. I just wish I would have discovered this before this last year, because honestly, I wasted a lot of time not living...

This week I joined the gym. I'll admit I'm a fair weather runner and it's cold and wet here. Zumba rules but I also want to do a few other things that Zumba can't...hence the gym. I also currently have a 21 year old living with my family and I'm highly competitive by nature and so is she...but we're that way in a good, encouraging, and fun, kind of way. She and I decided to join together and frankly I was pretty damn excited cause I know me... put my 36 year old ass on a treadmill or elliptical next to a 21 year old ass and I will kill myself to keep up. It's a win win...inside workout and ultimate motivation!! What was so funny and yet rather sad to me was as we were touring the gym all the 21 year old skinny girls were turning around and giving me the why are you here look? I smiled politely and gave them the wait another 10 years and you'll see look. Sigh...If they only knew now... what I know now...and that not living part... well, I'm making up for it now!!

A Small Boobed Girl, in a Big Boobed World, Part II

When last I wrote, I was left with the thought that had not occurred to me before purchasing a bra - I was clearly not meant to have big boobs. With large breasts comes issues I have never had to deal with before. Small boobed girls don't have to worry about their breasts entering a room before they do. I was walking into walls; I was opening the car door on them. On more than one occasion, I voiced a concern of getting into an ethical dilemma that might unintentionally involve an misguided victim in the the old "bait and switch." It's like letting a buyer view a Mercedes and drive away in a Kia. Doesn't quite seem fair. But that isn't the worst of it...

Back to the night out on the town with my beautiful, big-boobed girlfriends. It was my first real outing in this contraption. The plan is for dinner and drinks. We make our way to the restaurant and have a seat in a booth. Houston, we have a problem. I am short girl remember. This booth is one of those that drop you way down in the seat. This means that my boobs literally are resting on the table. I can't lean back; I can't lean forward; I can't shift my body to the side. No matter how I move, the girls are laying on the table as if invited guests to this party. We order and dinner comes. I can't see my plate. I can't lean over my plate, as is proper etiquette not to spill on oneself. I am learning that even eating can be problematic with large breasts. Funny, the other girls in the booth with the big hooters don't seem to be bothered by this? Feeling as if I forgot to read the user manual before putting this thing on...

In taking a bite of salad, somewhere between the plate and my mouth, a lone piece of lettuce falls right down the front of my shirt and between the boobs. Without missing a beat, my beloved aforementioned friend reaches right in, without looking, and pulls the lettuce out of of my bra. As smooth as a veteran mother picking up the dropped sippy-cup from a toddler. I just look at her. She continues talking and eating as if nothing ever happened.

So, what I have learned from all of this:

1. Buyer beware. (And I don't mean the buyer with the intention of purchasing said bra.) Just because it looks good on the outside, doesn't mean it's well built behind the scenes.

2. If you are dumb enough to spend that kind of money on something so superficial and superfluous, you'd better suffer through it and get your money's worth. (Translation: I hate that bra with a fiery passion, but I wear it at least a couple times a week.)

3. Every girl should have friends like mine. Regardless of their bra size.

A Small Boobed Girl in a Big Boobed World. Part I

Two days ago, one of my dearest and best friends shared her top ten list of reasons why she may need to be committed. Number seven was particularly humorous, in which she describes the turmoil she suffers in purchasing a bra because her breasts or "jugs" are too large. Too large? Damn...don't I wish. I love you darling, but I am immensely jealous of your gorgeous, voluptuousness bosom.

A few years ago, I was a size 4. Yes, this was after the boys were born. I was a runner; I was a soccer player; I was a fanatical eater that drove myself mad trying to keep that body. But damn it was nice being skinny. And despite being so small (I'm also only 5'4"...on a good day), I still had curves. Even with the curves, however, I still only had B-cup boobs. But when you're a size 4, a nice B isn't so bad.

Fast-forward five years. I'm no longer a size 4. I still have an hour-glass shape, but I'm more like a size 10 now (okay...sometimes a 12). One would think that one advantage to now being a size 10 should be that my breasts would have plumped up along with the rest of my body. One would think that. And one would be wrong. WTF? So I have size 4 tits on a size 10 body. But I'm not bitter. Thanks to modern technology, the brassiere market is flooded with push-up, under-wire bras with more padding than a twin mattress. And for $40, you can give yourself a new bust line that any small breasted woman would be envious of.

And so we come full circle. Its girls night, and I'll be stepping out on the town with my two closest, large-breasted friends. Yes...I'm a little jealous and a lot self conscious of my small boobs when I'm with these gorgeous girls. So, to Macy's I go. I walk straight to the lingerie section and ask for a padded push-up that will really put the girls out there. The gal at the counter says, "Have you heard of the bra that pushes you up and out AND adds TWO CUP SIZES?" What? Two cup sizes? Hot Damn! That is a little boobed girl's dream come true. Sign me up. I put it on. HOLY SHIT! It worked! I have big boobs! I almost did back flips. More accurately, I almost walked out of the dressing room into the the store to show them off. I was that excited. It doesn't matter that this bra has so much padding in it, I can touch the cups and never feel anything on my skin. No pressure, no contact. Nothing. It would save my life should a soft landing ever be necessary. I'll take it!

Little did I know, there is a lot more to having big hooters than just seeing the way the opposite sex looks at your cleavage. To be continued...

Excuse me, do you have this strappy white jacket in a XL?

I have questions. If you voluntarily book a trip to the State Hospital, is that all inclusive? If I manage to pull my shit together before my scheduled check-in time can I get a full refund? What about WiFi? I have to be able to check my facebook account at least every 5 min. or so. How about room service? I mean besides Helga bringing me my meds in a paper cup twice a day.
So that brings me to today's top 10 list:

Today's top 10 reasons for needing to be committed:

10. My cat is pulling chunks of hair out of her ass. I'm stepping on chunks of wet cat ass hair with my bare feet.

9. G.I. Joe (my husband) often times goes to sleep before I do. Lately he has been farting himself to sleep. The jerky farts are the absolute worst. Nothing like opening our bedroom door to go to bed to be greeted by a large poof of nerve gas. I can't open the windows to air it out, so I'm stuck smelling his man stink. I punch him in the arm.

8. My son's inability to pee IN the toilet. For the love of God, He gave you a hose to aim with! How hard can it be?! Are you peeing with your eyes closed?! I bought a toilet seat that you can actually remove every time you clean the toilet. This was obviously invented by a woman who had several males living in her house. I take it off and soak it in Lysol & hot water. Clean the whole bathroom top to bottom and it still smells like piss!

7. No matter what bra I buy, no matter how expensive, the under wire digs under my right boob. My hooters are WAY too big to not be wearing a bra without support, but yet I can't wear an under wire. I have two choices: Bra with no support = African Bush Woman Jugs OR Duct Tape = skin graft weekly.

6. My mother in law is missing her brain stem.

5. My den looks like an episode of Hoarders. I full expect to find a fully mummified animal under boxes when I get around to cleaning it out.

4. PHSS (Post Holiday Stress Syndrome). Symptoms included loss of finances, excess weight gain, gift returns & fallout from making a crack about the family drunk at dinner.

3. Acne. Really? I am WAY to old to be doing this! I suspect when I go to the grocery store that a good percentage of shoppers think that I just left the methadone clinic.

2. The daunting task of getting rid of my back ass AND my front ass which are rivaling each other in size these days.

And the #1 contributing factor to my need to voluntarily commit myself....

Trying to help my 11 year old son deal with his ADHD. I can't even keep myself together, how am I suppose to help him? It all falls directly on my shoulders, not dad's, MINE. No pressure there. Not getting the help I need from his teachers, and am really sick of my mother's inability to try to understand for even a second what this is like. Middle school is looming and he can't even remember to bring home a library book or his homework as it is. How in the hell is he going to be able to remember all of his paper, books, locker combo, gym clothes...on and on. I am so scared for him and I feel like I have completely failed him and I feel like damn near everyone has failed me.

Really?

Sometimes, I've only got one thing to say. Really?

Perfect example. My oldest son. Ah...14. What an age, huh? Everything is all about you. I remember being 14. It was hard work, dammit. Trying to be a good student and a sports phenom when you aren't the smartest, nor the most athletically talented. Having idiots for parents. Having friends that are only your friends half the time because the other half they are your enemies. And the best part...the opposite sex. Don't we all remember finally noticing the opposite sex? (Okay...who am I kidding. I was chasing Garth Anderson around the playground in preschool telling him I was going to marry him. Finally noticing the opposite sex? Really?)

Anyway, my son is applying to a private high school. The application is due on January 14th. Yes...in three days. How long has he (have I) been planning for this moment? Only since about December, 2008. He says to me two days ago, "It's all so much pressure, Mom." Pressure? Really? I very calmly explain that it is not my problem that he has waited until now to write his essay and get his letters of recommendation together. I mean come on. I'm not the one going to be sitting through Algebra again. Not my issue. He reminds me that I have the financial aid and enrollment applications to fill out. (Apparently, the parents have to do that?) I explain that he need not worry about me getting my stuff done; "Please just focus on your responsibilities," was my response.

Have I yet to start either the financial aid or enrollment application? At 10:41PM on Tuesday, January 11th? Really?