Photo by Mykl Roventine.

"Venti-double-shot-decaf-vanilla-half sweet-caramel-mocha", shouts the Barnes and Noble, cafe barrista.  I am sitting at my 10 square inch bistro table trying desperately not to knock my chai off, along with my computer.  I am on vacation, have a babysitter, and am enjoying some solo time.  

When I am on vacation, I make promises to myself.  I will eat healthy.  I will catch up on sleep.  I will work out everyday.  I will find a fresh perspective for my job and my life.   Write more. "Gaawwkkzzz", a man clears his throat loudly at a table near mine.  I am momentarily distracted, as it seems rather productive, and I find myself swallowing as if to clear my own throat.

I did okay on some of those things.  I sleep great here...the bed is super firm and does not move with my restless husband in the night.  I wear two ear plugs to drown out his snoring, place my large size body hugging pillow smack in the middle of the bed and I sleep like a baby.   Our window looks out over desert mountains and I wake every morning to the sunrise, give or take an hour or two.

I got some shopping done.  I hate shopping.  Really I do.  It is like work to me.  When I shop it is because I have to.  When I find myself standing in my closet, staring at my wardrobe with disgust, I know it is time to suck it up and go shopping.  Maybe I'm not shopping at the right stores or maybe I just suck at picking stuff out, but inevitably,  I leave the changing rooms, brightly top-lit with hellish florescent lights with new lows for personal body image.  I am convinced that I am now the frumpy, middle aged women I have been terrified of becoming since I hit forty.  I get so busy hating on my body I run out of steam to admire the clothes.

I did exercise, no more or less that I do at home.  I went for a few longer runs in the warm desert mornings, enjoying the foreign territory, unsure of the distances until afterwards, when I drove it out.  Depending on my mood, I pick either music to motivate me (pulsing techno or bitch-killing rap) or serene soul music, that quiets the tension in my body, and brings me to a place of appreciation for the sweet punishment I am inflicting on my body.  My mind journeys through endless thoughts and puzzles out problems, my music so loud I cannot hear my breath or my foot falls.

When I work out, I enter my own ass kicking world.  Oh man I am one tough broad!  I lifted weights today, and found myself in a CORE strength competition with the dude on the next mat.  I am pathetically competitive, and most of these competitions exist solely in my head.

The cafe is filling.  It is near a mall and I am surrounded by people who love shopping.  They have bags and fancy purses and the children are mirrors of their mothers.  Everyone looks very busy, as they hover over their over-sized, overpriced beverages, loosely founded upon a good old fashioned cup o' joe. (I don't even like coffee!)  The book store is vast and viable, something that pleases me, as I love wandering around the stacks, choosing books like I choose wine, by the way the cover or label looks.

I ate okay on this trip.  When I am travelling though, I DESERVE stuff, like frozen yogurt every night or chocolate chip cookies.  I love kettle salt and vinegar chips.  On our first evening here I was diving into a bag.  The vinegar makes my scalp sweat and the acid in the chips numbs my tongue.  I lack any control what-so-ever to stop eating these once I start, and so turned to my husband and said, "I am going to need your help in a moment".

"For what?", he asked.

"Please, for the love of God, take these chips away from me!"  I begged, my hand plunging into the bag desperately for one more crispy handful.

I finished some work projects that I had been procrastinating on.  I was burning out a little at work and normally, I return from a vacation re-energized and focused on forward momentum.  I haven't given it that much thought this time though...I guess I am still burned out.  Summer is coming and I am ready to join in, but work has taken over my life again, and I am starting to resent it.

We had some good quality family time, including going to an insane indoor trampoline center called "Jump Street".  Our neighbors come here for spring break too, and it was their son's birthday.  This place literally is filled wall to wall with trampolines.  Some just for jumping, others leading into great foam pits and my personal favorite, the dodge ball courts.  They have three trampolines on either side and dozens of soft, leathery balls.  I enjoyed beaning my kids with these balls, leaving myself barely able to lift my arm the next day.  ("Hawwkkkzzzz!"....there that man goes again....I feel the need to spit!)

The only drawback with the jumping was the awareness of here-to-fore unnoticed pelvic floor weakness.  My greatest trampoline trick-the jumping split toe touch-left me feeling leaky!  I don't typically have these issues, but I guess the high intensity bouncing was more than any post-partum perineum can handle.

I have been stumped with writing, uninspired, no topics jumping to mind.  I couldn't even rally to blog about pubic hair or penises.  I love talking about penises!  Am I depressed?  I couldn't muster the energy to finish an online writing course I had been taking, letting the last few lectures and assignments slip by me.  I have less discretionary time right now, and have done well to at least get consistent exercise.

My chai is almost gone.  A medium is the perfect size to get a blog done.  It gets a little cold, but I don't mind, they ice them too these days.  The endless stream of indulgent people parades to the coffee counter, each pleased with their mastery of the language of the drink.  The phlegmy man has left, thank god.  We are all just killing time...looking busy...quietly entertaining ourselves.

Will You Still Like Me if I Barf on Your Shoes?

Me and Jane.

When we are toddlers, we parallel play.  I always loved this term, imagining young children lined up in precise rows, oblivious to the toddlers placed neatly beside them.   In reality, it isn't about how they are arranged, but rather their degree of interest (or lack thereof) in actually interacting with other children in the same room.  They might show interest in what the other child is doing, but tend to prefer solitary play and could take their fellow toddlers' companionship or leave it.  Frustrated play-date-setting moms everywhere are mortified when their children refuse to share or interact or do anything much with other kids at this age.   "Billy play with Susie!" they command. But young Billy could care less about Susie at this point in his life, just as long as she stays away from his stuff.

As children get older, they start to actually pay attention to each other.  They form friendships quickly and without judgement.   According to Education.com, the main ingredients to a preschool friendship are opportunity and similarity.  Kids standards at this age are pretty low, and as long as they look about the same age and enjoy similar activities they will bond almost instantly.   The more time they spend with the same kids (opportunity) the closer friends they will become.  

When my daughter was about 2 (still a parallel player) she was big for her age and other, older children would try and engage her to play.  She would stare back at them mutely, unable to partake of and uninterested in what  they were offering.  They would turn to me, confused, with a look that seemed to question whether or not she was "all there".   I would have to apologize on her behalf and clarify that she was much younger than she looked.  

Now my kids, at random parks all over these United States, will from instantaneous Karmic bonds with just about any kid who enjoys monkey bars as much as they do.  I envy how easy it is for them to let go and get right down to the best parts of friendship.  I try to imagine the parents of these new friends behaving in a similar way with me.  After all, we have the same opportunity (being at the same park) and we are also pretty similar (raising kids, at a park, moms).  Unfortunately, by the time you become an adult, that uninhibited free-love friendship thing has grown-up right out of you. Instead we exchange wary glances and brief hellos,while our nearby children are inviting their new BFFs to birthday parties and begging for sleep overs.

Sadly, the easy bliss of these early friendships is slowly replaced by the torment of peer pressure and labeling.  The key ingredient to this destruction of innocence is competition.  Not a day goes by that my daughter doesn't come home devastated by some inexplicable slight delivered by an alternating BFF one day and a sworn enemy the next.  Friendship becomes a bartering chip and loyalty is used to manipulate for advantage.   These early hurts make us timid and reserved.  Like a dog once beaten, we shy away from new friendships, unwilling to endure the risk of being wounded.  The absolute trust that we felt as children and certainty that the sole intent of any new friendship was to have fun and be nice is replaced with suspicion.

Guarded, we move through middle and then high school becoming more selective about the friends we admit into our life.  There are still status considerations, but for the most part, we will seek out people we feel safe with.  Similarities are harder to find and we become more selective about the criteria that we use to pick out potential friends.  We become more judgemental, and rather than openly greeting a stranger like a child might, we make flash judgements and assumptions.  Within moments of laying our eyes on someone, we decide whether or not we will try to become their friend.  Do they dress like us?  Do they act like us?  

College, however, was a wondrous reprieve from this friendship melee.   Opportunity and similarity were at all time highs!  All one had to do was grab a beer bong and throw a party and voila! you could feel like a kid again with plentiful BFFs.  Get a couple of college kids drunk together and all walls come down.  One of my theories about this return to innocence, is that in the microcosm of college life, friends are able to get out all their dirty little secrets and baggage relatively quickly.  Your new friend might say something really stupid at a party, barf on your shoes by the end of the night, force you to carry them home, and then look like hell warmed over the next day.  Your friendship is forged as you forgive your friend's shame and demonstrate acceptance of their behavior.   You now have a shared bond and have earned a lasting trust.  You can be fully yourself with your new friend, and despite that, you will still like each other. 

In adulthood opportunity and similarity are hard to come by.  Careers, families and all the responsibilities each entails, reduce our availability to foster new friendships.  Unlike in college days when you literally could spend days and nights on end with each other, you are now limited to an occasional moment.   Similarity narrows as you now must find friends that not only meet your own criteria but that of your spouse and children. 

Now, when I am making new friendships, I might only see that person once in a while.  Each time I see them feels like the first time and it is difficult to build momentum.   I have a friend who calls this kind of slow friendship development "organic".  It would be so much easier to just cut to the chase with these new potential friends, and go out and get drunk with them.  Throwing all inhibitions away:  Will I still like you if you barf on my shoes?  

Let me be at my worst around you. Let me say something honest but really stupid.  Let me curse like a truck driver.  Dropping the F-bomb without worry of offense is FREEDOM!  Let me cry in front of you without needing to restrain my tears.  Let me look like shit and get fat. Let me be moody and repeat myself when I really need to.  Let me be vulnerable and human and humble.   If, after all of those things, you don't roll your eyes and walk out, then you could be my friend.   And as my friend,  I would happily do the same for you.

The Half-Time Report: Let's Kick Some Ass!!

Photo by kellbailey.

I am a middle aged woman. (In case you had forgotten from my 35 other posts devoted to this topic).  I guess it's on my radar, you know, since I am smack dab in the the middle of being in the middle.  Using available statistics of the typical life expectancy for the average American female, I am exactly half way to the end of my allotted time. (Barring catastrophic injury or illness of course.)  I have some choices to make.  I can continue to wallow (count wrinkles and grey hair) or I can start to put a positive spin on this getting older thing.  Whether any of us like it or not, graphically, we are on the downside of our upward trend, and are now lurching (okay, overstated, more like pitching slightly) towards the dreaded, the inevitable....old age!  Duh Duh Dunnnn! (deeply spoken, suggestive of extreme melodrama).

Why are we so damn afraid of getting old?  I know lots of old people.  Incidentally, the older I get, the older old gets.  When I was 20 something, I thought a 40 year old guy was appallingly old, verging on disgusting.  Since I am now married to an almost 50 year old man  (how did that happen??) my calculation of "old" needed some updating. Ironically, I now prefer 50 something guys, and find the thought of being with 20 something guys, disgusting.  Women are supposed to have their best years in middle age, the deepest friendships, the greatest sexual satisfaction (mostly because we have given up trying to act like porn stars in the rack and now know what we want, making no apologies for taking it!)

What was so great about being 20 anyway?  I mean, you were broke and nobody respected you, particularly old people.  You were nowhere in your career and while dating you risked abject humiliation near constantly.  You didn't own anything of substance, you were still trying desperately to impress your friends, and spending time alone was considered a social failure.  You hated your body (a trend that will persist throughout your life).  You had no idea who you were or what you wanted and you hated your parents.    You knew everything and were better than everyone, although you were too insecure to let everyone know it.  Your skin was unpredictable.  You couldn't afford to travel, and even if you could, your friends couldn't.  Your tolerance for alcohol was off the charts and sex was kind of shitty.  You lived with slovenly room mates, your car barely ran (if you were lucky enough to own one), you couldn't drag your ass out of bed before noon every day, and you were likely a waitress or bartender.

But now, here you are!  You've survived the first half of your life!  You've made it to middle age! Half-time. No disease, healthy mind, healthy body, switching to cruise control.  (Might you even go on a cruise?)  Money in the bank, happy family, a marriage that's beating the odds, successful career, and halle-frick'en-lujah, you've found sexual awareness!  Why the hell are you complaining? Mid-life crisis?  (I spit on your mid-life crisis!!)  What are you wishing you had back?  Really?  Feel like recapturing the real you, the glory days?  Seriously, if you started bar hopping now, it would be creepy!

Let's get cliche for a moment and talk about the proportionate fullness of glasses.  We are poised for some serious awesomeness my fellow mid-lifers!  Truly, if things go well, you get to live your whole life, to this point, over again, without the angst and pathetic-ness that comes with being young!!  Imagine the power you have!  Look back on your life.  The first 20 years were spent "growing up", learning to walk, wiping your own ass, etc.  Now look at you!  All grown up, clean derriere and all the know-how accumulated from the first half of your life, at your ready disposal!  You know who you are!  Now start planning some adventure!  Imagine how dangerous you would be in high school if you knew what you know now!

If you are in a rut, that is your own damn fault.  You can't enter the next half of your life with one foot firmly rooted in the past.  Stop looking back over your shoulder, you're falling behind. Commit to it and embrace it.  Time is passing whether you like it or not!

It is healthy and normal to take a good, long look at your life strategy moving forward.  After all, the rules set in the first half of your life, were provided by a much more immature and less substantive version of yourself. You can still experience passion and excitement and achievement.  You don't have to run out and get a tattoo or pierce your nipple!  Look at what you have accumulated in your life thus far and use it to your advantage moving forward.

A little reframing might be in order.  Ask questions....What is really important to you?  What are you afraid that you are missing?  What new pursuits do you want to challenge yourself with?  Are you happy with how you are living your life?  Are you driven by intrinsic or extrinsic rewards?  Are the relationships you currently have fulfilling, interesting, stimulating?  Are you fully committed to your life? Ask those questions honestly, and look for the answers within yourself.  Don't blame.  Hit re-set and look at your life from the present version of yourself, and let that old mold crack...what does a 20 year old know about what you are living right now anyway?

Now get out there you bunch of lily, livered bastards and kick some second-half ass!

Where Has All the Romance Gone? Real Life Tips to Get it Back

Photo by Mikail.

I watch the Bachelor.  Yes, I am embarrassed to admit it, but I do.  Ben, this seasons' bachelor, just like his predecessors, is wooing a bunch of hot girls, hand picked to vie for the honor of being his wife.  He gets to make out with all of them on fancy-smanchy dates involving helicopters and mountain tops.  My husband watches with me, and I am sure laments the fact that such an opportunity was not open to him in his youth.  Damn you reality television!!!

As I watch,(religiously every week: Mondays 7:00 pm MST) I am struck by how much I miss that wooing stuff!  The first dates, the rapt attention paid to each other, the "I can't get enough of you!" mood and let's not forget, the FIRST kiss!  They are so damn interested in each other!  They actually ask questions and share stuff and look into each other's eyes for extended periods of time!  The sexual tension is palpable and they do and say such nice and sweet things to/for each other!

You married folk can probably imagine where I am going with this.  How can you keep traces of that alive in a long term relationship?  We know each other's stories...our exaggerations, our glory days, even our punch lines.  Everything moving forward is a shared experience, novelty is gone.  Where are the helicopters and mountain tops?  The spontaneity the passion?

Sure the bachelor has all these extravagant dates that would absolutely make any one look good!   Hell, I'd sleep with Newt Gingrich if he jetted me off to a private island in Fiji! (Okay, that example went a little too far.  There is nothing Newt could do to get me to bang him.)   Even though they call it reality television, there is nothing real about it.  When the Bachel-Whore (as I have come to call him), finally does pick his woman, he will settle into mundane routines just like the rest of us, and that unique and irresistible sparkle he thought she had will fade with time.  His eye might even start to wander.

My in laws have been married for 50 years!  Good Lord!  Your whole life must be numb to be able to survive the same person that long!  Truly, at times my mother-in-law can barely contain her contempt for her husband.  I have caught her mumbling insults at him and asking her what she just said.  Her reply, "Oh!  Did I say that out loud?"  At a certain age, I imagine, you must just accept your lot, assume you can't do any better and decide you would rather stay with your spouse than risk being alone.  Yikes!  How cynical was that?

I remember getting bored pretty quickly in pre-marriage relationships.  After a year or so, I wasn't interested any more.  Nothing surprised me.  They no longer made me laugh.  To my husband's credit, I am not bored with him yet, even after all these years.  Frankly, that amazes me and makes me think I made a good choice in marrying him.

That doesn't mean, however, that the long-term relationship doldrums don't sneak in from time to time.  We are both worn out from our independent lives (work) and it often times doesn't leave much energy for "us" when we are together.  My husband is also pretty much a guy's guy and possesses a limited romance repertoire.  We spend a lot of time pursuing our own things, while the other takes on the parenting responsibilities to enable that.  You could call it a tag team marriage.   For example, right now, he is on a week long trip with his BFF (or the other wife as I refer to him).  In a couple weeks, I am going on a solo hiking retreat for a few days.  I have a girls trip in April, he has a boys trip in May. There are no immediate plans for us to do anything like that, alone, together.

So how can we stay connected, passionate....together, for the long haul?  Here are a few of my own thoughts.  Each is presented without a shred of professional know-how as to whether they work or not, but I imagine (taking hints from the Bachel-Whore) they might.

For Her

1.  When you are together, remove any distractions. (cell phones, television etc.)  Women like to feel like they have your full attention.
2.  Do something for her before she asks you to.  Example: Offer to take the kids out to breakfast in the morning so she can sleep in.
3.  Touch her without expecting her to "do" you afterwards.  Why not give her a wonderful body massage, and when you are done (after more than 3 minutes please), say good night.
4.  Do something incredibly thoughtful and spontaneous for her.  The challenge is for you to figure out what it is that is meaningful for her.  The simpler the better.  Flowers and jewelry are cliche.  Example:  My husband randomly brings me chai tea when I am busy at work.
5.  Plan a date without her knowing it....and make it a good one.  Do something she loves but you generally avoid like the plague.  For my hubby, he could hire a baby sitter for a day and come on a long hike with me somewhere.  Better yet, he could make it an overnight camp-out under the stars. (He takes care of all the packing and planning)  We could read poetry to each other and drink wine by the fire. Ooops!  I was getting distracted there...

For Him

1.  Surprise him with a date just for him.  Pick something he truly enjoys and go along willingly!  Concerts, racing cars in the desert, flying to Vegas for the golf expo...you get the picture.
2.  Fulfill a fantasy.  Mix it up in the rack...dress up, bring props, go down south, whatever it is that he really likes but that you don't give up very often.
3.  Thank him.  Men have a big thing about providing and being appreciated.  Give it to him!
4.  Support his buddy time.  Men need that as much as women need their girl friends.
5.  Show him affection on a regular and genuine basis.  A kiss in passing, a hug, something to let him know you are into him.  Men don't get as many compliments as women do.

Schwetty Balls

Photo by spDuchamp.

If you haven't watched the Saturday Night Live NPR satire about Sweaty Balls, you must immediately click on the link below and watch.  For me, talking about balls ranks right up there for levity producing potential, with fart jokes or shameful bodily function parodies.  I absolutely love fart jokes, and as a child had a cabbage patch doll who sported a bright pin-on-button, boldly asking "Who Farted?"

A frank testicular discussion is, I think, timely as we recover from the holiday blues.  It is also a topic that offers relief from stresses that cause us to shrink away protectively, from the repeated blows that life can deliver.  I am remiss that I have not blogged about male genitalia for some time and revisiting this sensitive subject, is long over due.  Coincidentally, I was recently talking about balls with a group of fun loving, semi-inebriated adults over the holidays.   A frequent undertone of this discussion was the mysterious nature of man-balls, and our (mostly mine and the rest of the women at the table) ignorance as to the proper handling of this, often, in-your-face anatomical feature. 

(Caution: blunt ball talk follows!)

Aside from the obvious sperm producing role of the male testicles, there is no clear consensus as to what else they might be good for, and more importantly, what we should do with them.  Let's be honest, balls are unsightly and prone to odor, a somewhat musty, moist, oldish smell.  This fragrance unlike many other bodily pheromones, tends to repel the opposite sex versus attract it.  Balls are also hairy, in a bristly and unpredictable way.  Licking a ball feels vaguely like licking a hairbrush. Logistically, licking a ball is challenging, as their is little space around the balls, and they are dangerously close to the ass.  It is tempting to mess around with balls due to the mysterious way they dance when stimulated.  I had great fun as a young woman poking around balls and watching them move. 

Ball handling skills usually only enter into our consideration sexually, during foreplay or oral sex.  Occasionally, a little additional ball manipulation during sex can move things along more quickly, you know, if they are dragging on and on and on.  Otherwise, whenever I have approached balls, I have felt at a complete loss.  They are so present and obvious, that ignoring them doesn't seem right, but at the same time I feel as if I am guessing at what the best way to stimulate them is.  The heat of the moment never seems like the right time to ask, "Honey, what should I do with your balls?"

During our informal ball discussion, one fellow suggested that his balls could be ignored, as for him it was truly all about the penis.  Others felt that it did indeed feel good to have their balls attended to, as some pleasure was derived from this.  It seemed to be an accessory to their pleasure, versus an activity they would request in isolation.  We joked about ball play, mimicking juggling them, wiggling them, poking them, etc., but still ended the discussion before any meaningful ball handling tactics were discussed.  Hand gestures and practical demonstrations would have been appreciated.

I have spent a small amount of time personally, googling best-ball handling practices.  (What ever did we do before the Internet?)  As a cautionary tale, there are certainly a broad range of testicle techniques in use to day, each dependant on the nature of the site you end up on.  Some are very scary.  You certainly can and should apply your own filter of acceptable ball play to these varied suggestions.  After all, what works for one man's balls might not work for another's.

One technique that stood out to me was the Ball Pulling technique.  With this technique, one reasonably grabs the balls and gently pulls them away from the man's body.  Apparently, this was supposed to be very pleasurable, and from an execution standpoint, seemed easy to accomplish.  I eagerly employed the technique at my next opportunity and watched closely for any reaction.  I was disappointed when there wasn't a noticeable change in response.  I reviewed the testicle tug instructions in my head, and was sure I was performing it properly.  Maybe he was distracted by everything else going on, or, quite likely, satisfied with just about any attention to this geographical area of his body as long as I wasn't physically abusing him.

I have been experimenting with different things for a long time now.  Most techniques have not elicited much specific reaction.  Only one has shown itself to be of any superior value, in certain circumstances, and that is when attention is given to the taint.  Most know that the taint is the area between the balls and the "no-go" zone.  Sustained pressure here during ejaculation is said to intensify orgasm, and my observations have supported this.  Like any good technique, I try not to overuse it. 

If your man is open to discussion, it is probably worth asking him what he wants you to do with his balls.  My husband glazes over when I ask questions like that, so it looks like he is just going to have to deal with the grab bag of techniques I employ.  My ball manipulating creativity has reached it's limits as there are only so many things I can come up with to keep mixing it up.

For simplicity's sake, from now on, I have decided to treat balls like a women's breasts'... much, much uglier and sweaty cousin. 



http://www.evtv1.com/player.aspx?itemnum=1415

Happy New Year's Resolutions!

Photo by hokpakh3.

Ahhh, the big reset button!  A New Year!  Where all of the possibilities of a better life excite each of us so much that we formulate a refreshed, optimistic outlook and create an earnest and thoughtful plan for the year ahead, A.K.A a New Year's resolution! 

There are so may cliche resolutions: lose weight, eat healthier, save more money and/or the world, volunteer more, drink more water, shave our legs regularly etc. etc.  Perhaps like me, you notice your resolutions seem to repeat themselves each year, unresolved from the year before.  Each time we make these annual pledges to ourselves, we grit our teeth more firmly, and convince ourselves that this year will be different, and by God, we will get the job done!!

Watching some of the New Year's eve shows and reading quips in newspapers, I am also amazed at how little some people bite off when it comes to creating their master plan for the entire and unblemished canvas of the blessed year that lies before them.  My favorite of the reported resolutions I read was to "Brush my dog's teeth more regularly!"

I can only imagine the process that led to this being the front runner for this individual's New Year's resolution.  Did this poor sod walk daily by their sweet, innocent, plaque-infested pooch and mentally kick themselves over and over again with thoughts such as, "God I suck! Your teeth are so disgusting!" and having grown so tired of the relentless guilt and mental torture (not to mention heinous doggy breath), that they finally and resolutely, resolved to get the damn job done once and for all, goddammit, so they could just simply walk by their dog and not have to feel like the worst pet owner in the world!  And so vowing before nobody in particular, took on the grand task of canine oral hygiene, believing that their life in the next year would somehow be better for the doing of this super important task.  (Okay vet people, I know doggy dental issues are important, but really? So important that it is the first commitment to spring to mind whence planning for the betterment of the New Year?)

I generally like to go big with my New Year's resolutions as I attempt to correct what I feel were my biggest shortcomings of the prior year.  I have a pretty extensive list.  Of course fitness is one.  I read today in the New York times that New Year's fitness resolutions are the biggest boon for the fitness industry and gyms alike as people spend more money in January than any other month of the year on memberships they will stop using by March. 

Saving more money is up there on the resolution list, likely, a continued reaction to the horror movie of an economy we find ourselves unwillingly cast into.  I also want to pursue other interests that I haven't been able to find time for because of the aforementioned resolution, the saving money one, that forces me to work more and sucks every ounce of time from my life so I can't do things like write, or paint more or anything fun, Goddammit!  Whoa, am I biting off more than I can chew here?
Weren't these grand plans still taped to my refrigerator from last year?

Maybe, I began to think, I should resolve to cut myself some slack!  What do I honestly think I can change to facilitate these goals that I have had for years but have been unable to achieve?  I mean, I still have kids to take care of, a full time job and a business to run with all of the stresses that go along with that.  These realities aren't going anywhere anytime soon and no matter how vehemently I swear to everlasting God that I will change, I can't reasonably expect to succeed.  Perhaps the resolution should be more about the process and not the outcome.

Take the dog tooth brushing example.  What obstacles stopped that person from just grabbing a toothbrush along with some meat flavored tooth paste and brushing that darn dog's teeth?  Maybe the dog doesn't like it, and it turns into an all out battle to keep him still, and they end up just getting meat paste all over each other?  Maybe the real reason they don't do it is because it is frigging impossible within the constraints of real life?  Their dog is not suddenly going to hold still and make it easier for him, just because he made an out-loud vow to do it better in 2012.

Rewind! Change that!  My new New Year's resolution is to lower my expectations!  Maybe instead of brushing the dog's teeth more, this person could take the dog to the vet and have them do it, or throw him a bone to gnaw on once in a while?  For me, perhaps I will look at the bigger picture of my life, and accept that I have limited time and resources and no amount of good intentions is going to make these goals more achievable this year.  I need to accept that it doesn't mean I am weak, disorganized or lazy.  If I keep failing to achieve my resolutions, I must be aiming too high and each year, setting myself up to feel pathetic and horrible the following year because I haven't achieved these unattainable goals.  I got a dollar says that poor sod's dog will still have gungy teeth at the end of the year!

So...I resolve to do the best I can next year...within my reality.  I resolve not to set myself up for failure!  I want to live in the year feeling good about myself and not guilty for not being perfect at all the things I lack the ability to be perfect at.  I resolve to try, but accept that I might fail.

Has Anyone Seen My Ass?

Photo by soosay.

I am not ready to be a frumpy middle aged woman.  That is why I have decided, once and for all, to take back control of my body!  Gravity watch out!

I recently read an article in Self magazine which had you look at fitness and weight loss goals that you have now or that you have been putting off.  In it, they asked, "How would you feel in a years' time, if you still have not achieved this goal?"  This got me to thinking.  How many times have I said, "This is it!  I am going to lose this weight!" only to find myself three months down the road, right where I started.  Frankly, I have been feeling like a failure year after year after year, totalling a whopping 12 years, with regards to my weight.

Once upon a time, I was skinny and fit, and had the flattest stomach on the face of the earth (thanks to college volleyball).   An ex-boyfriend at the time even told me I had the flattest stomach he had ever seen (ironically the same one who thought my bush too bushy). Glory days, I know...but I have never given up hope that I can achieve that again, stretch marks and all.

I've tried to see myself how others see me compared to how I see myself.  My current social circle wasn't around during that period of my life so sees me only as I am now...modestly over weight, borderline droopy.  The athlete in me is buried under layers of chubba and squishy, unused musculature.  I have had friends say, "Hey, why don't you start walking, get some exercise?" or after a bout of exercise, "Hey, you are starting to look pretty athletic!"  Pardon me, but in my eyes, I am strong, athletic and fit.  What were they seeing that I was not?   I realized, upon seeing my burgeoning physique in random photos, I had become Fat-Blind.

With this condition, I am unable to see myself as I truly appear, but rather continue to see myself as I once was.  Often alone when naked, looking at myself in the mirror, I am usually pretty happy with what I see.  Of course, I seldom look at the back side of myself, as the doughy plumpness of my ass is something I am in complete denial about.  Recall, I walk in side-step fashion passed my husband when nude, to hide the rhythmic bouncing of my ass-ets.  I can't imagine many women truly love their ass....anyhoo...it is not until I stand next to other, smaller woman or see myself in pictures that I can see what other people see.  My upper arms are massive and dare I admit, my triceps flap in the wind.  I look like a pudgy line backer, and I am absolutely certain that when I play golf with my petite golf gal-pal, everyone looks at me and thinks I am the "man" in the relationship...just once, I want them to think I am the "girl"!

I am not sure how I developed Fat-Blindness.  I had always been taught not to have a scale in my house, due to the mental torture this can inflict.  Weight fluctuates on a whim and I didn't want to become obsessive.  I had also mastered that age old trick of telling myself it was not I who was heavy, but rather the scale that was malfunctioning.  "Oh!", I would say, "That scale is easily 10 pounds heavier than the scale I normally use!"  I "denialed" myself right into obesity.  My husband loved me unconditionally, I had two kids, I worked and thus stressed my ass off, all while packing on my invisible poundage.   I guess it happened so insidiously, I failed to notice it.

My kids are growing up and I am finding more time for myself.  I realize that I am tired of looking shitty in clothes...muffin tops suck.  I don't want to be the biggest girl in the room any more.  I want to finally show the people in my life, including my husband, how I see myself by making it my reality.  There are many obstacles that will make this journey difficult.  Being over 40 apparently doesn't help and the fact that I have hypothyroidism (my historical crutch) makes weight loss very difficult.  I am a stress eater at a very stressful time in my life and my daily schedule is packed.

The first thing I realized I had to do, was break down my prejudice against bathroom scales, and buy one.  I now weigh myself every morning (I used to do it in the evening, but my weight fluctuated so sporadically, I made a rule that I would only weigh-in right after my morning bathroom break, and NEVER weigh myself when I have my period).  The number on the scale is pretty objective evidence of my true weight, and despite my Fat-Blindness, I am hard pressed to deny what the scale is telling me.  I don't like what I see right now.  Since I have started this journey, the number is decreasing, and I actually am looking forward to weighing myself each morning to see the number drop.  I know that having the scale there will also help me keep my weight in check and tell me when the number starts to creep in the wrong direction.  I am hopeful that this will help me deal with my Fat-Blindness and keep the weight off.

I am also re-working my relationship with food.   When I open the refrigerator I am working hard to identify the difference between eating because I am hungry and eating because it is like a drug that conquers my stress or boredom.  I have also self diagnosed myself as suffering from Adrenal Fatigue, which is a condition caused by chronic stress.  This is strongly associated with weight retention and a number of other symptoms.  For this, I have been taking a natural supplement, and I have to say, it is helping.

I have set this goal for a number of reasons: Firstly, for myself, so that I can again realize the woman I believe myself to be, secondly for the obvious health benefits that being fit brings, and finally for my husband, who in the next decade of our marriage, deserves a hot body prancing proudly passed him when naked...he is an ass-man after all!  Don't I owe us both a firm, perky ass?

This isn't going to be easy and lord knows I have started many many times in the past.  I am in the zone right now, which is a strange line that one needs to cross when starting out on a self improvement goal.  It is the empowering sense of control and determination, not unlike the feeling of winning a race or achieving a long fought victory.  I quite like how it feels, I just need to hold onto it.   I am working out every day, including riding my spin bike at home whilst watching cheesy episodes of "Glee" on Netflix (43 minutes long exactly).  I am running again, which I realized I was not ready to give up.  I am counting calories and trying hard to look at food less as a comfortable old friend, but more as fuel for better health.  I am going to make this my lifestyle going forward and can already feel it working...