Daughters of the Burnt Brassiere

Miracle Bra! Ha! The only miracle here is that I can actually manage to haul my back fat high enough to secure it beneath that oh-so-comfortable underwire.

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror in brassiere and panties apparently bought specifically for the woman who would play me on TV – as opposed to the woman I am in real life – it’s easy to recognize that a man looking for a cheap thrill did not design this brassiere. No, a woman with exactly zero body fat designed it; thus eliminating the thought of making any attempt to forge boobs out of overhang found elsewhere.

Same holds true for the panty. As I attempt to craft an ass where once there was one, using only the material now cleverly disguised as my upper thigh, I am quickly coming to the realization that no amount of money spent in fancy lingerie stores is going to make me look like their catalog model when the dress comes off later. My best bet is for a lights-out-quick dive into the anonymous security of duvet.

Isn’t it interesting that the very garment our mother’s burned in a stand for equality, is the one thing we search ever so diligently for, in the just right sexy size and the just right sexy color? Pull it up, push it together – I am woman, see my boobs!

Clothing designers have clearly not been much help in this area. One year it’s all boob – if you don’t have them, go get them! The next, it’s no boobs at all. If you bought them, take them out! If they’re natural, strap’em down! To the best of my knowledge, my au natural boobs did not come with the hidden zipper compartment. Perhaps I could give them a little lift and check underneath, but if it’s not there, I’m sure yet another style of brassiere is going to be required. How am I supposed to manage my wardrobe when I can’t even manage to keep up with the appropriate “in” boob size?

Unfailingly, following this ever changing size trend is the never popular but always present Dress Dart. Really, someone should enact come sort of standard for these or ban them altogether. It’s either too much boob for this dress size leaving the darts pointing to your chin, or not enough boob for the next size up and a very unbecoming flap of fabric that looks weirdly like pointed yet deflated nipples. If I buy the brassiere that flattens me out like a 12-year-old boy, I can wear the size four. The other option is to purchase the brassiere with 4 inches of padding complete with water inserts, swallow my pride, and buy the size six. I suppose the added bonus here is cleavage – even if it is false advertising.

Frankly, I think the entire garment industry is in cahoots. Irrespective of which size dress you buy, next stop: lingerie. Seems every outfit needs its own special style and color now. You might as well just secure each brassiere on the hanger with the specific ensemble and free up some space in that drawer for support pantyhose.

Life Truths: Notes for 2010

This entry originally posted New Year's Day 2008 on my previous blog site... then again July 2 of 2008... then again in January of 2009 here... and probably again about mid-year. Some things just bear repeating until it takes. Assume you'll see this again in the summer months.

It occurs to me that as we head into the new year full of our latest resolutions (aka personal promises which set us up for failure), it would be a good idea to re-arm with a few basic Life Truths on decorum and ownership. This, of course, is in effort not to repeat some of the more unsavory and sometimes tawdry moments witnessed last year.

1. You are where you are because that, my friend, is where you put yourself. Do not blame your Higher Power, The Universe, or the people around you for your ill-conceived decisions.
2. The Universe is trying to move you in the direction of your life path. Quit acting like you know everything. You don't. So how about you just go ahead and get out of your own way?
3. Life is a "Bring Your Own Water Wings" affair so stop annoying the rest of us with your bitching about how you've been done oh-so-wrong and fucking paddle already.
4. Just because you want it does not mean it's yours to have.
5. You always have a choice. Take the route that will make your grandmother proud.
6. Yes. You're fat. I think I am, too. Now can we please stop having that conversation? It creates a barrier that doesn't allow for meaningful communication.
7. Your true friends will say the things you don't want to hear because they love you... and because they have faith that you already know the truth.
8. Beware false allies and those who try too hard. Therein you will one day discover utlerior motive.
9. When saying no - to anyone for any reason - it absolutely is not necessary to offer an explanation.
10. From Image Consultant and old friend, Beth Newman: Do not participate in "big, bad, bold behavior." It's unseemly and frankly, déclassé. http://www.newmanimage.info/
11. Do not shampoo your hair every day - no matter what.
12. Stop fighting The Universe and you'll stop making stupid mistakes.
13. One minute of your time - especially when you don't "have" it - is worth hours to someone who needs it.
14. Pay attention. This will solve almost all of your "problems."
15. Take heed: a drunken man's words are a sober man's thoughts.
16. People are going to talk. Your choice is whether or not to give them something to talk about!
17. We all humilate ourselves. Get over it. These are the stories of our life's winter.
18. If you think any part of this (or my blog in general) is directed at you, it probably is... I just don't know it. Examine why you do.
19. Your behavior in all situations is 100% on you. Own it or change it. These are the only options.
20. Ladies: If a man wants to be with you, he will always find a way to make that happen. I suppose the same can be said conversely.
21. Choosing not to engage means forfeiting your right to defend yourself against what others say. Know that, ultimately, this is still the best course of action.

That's it. An updated version of the semi-annual reminder in no particular order! Now if you'll excuse me, I have somewhere else to be.

Black Friday

I don’t care what time of year it is, when I’m paying $5 for a cup of coffee, I want what I want and I want it however I ask for it. Do not raise your eyebrows at me little Miss Barista, when I politely tell you that I would like a venti, non-fat, no foam, almond, gingerbread latte, with an extra shot. This is America and I’m perversely self-entitled. It’s my prerogative. Much like my un-American boycott of Black Friday.

Clarification: Said boycott actually has less to do with the long reaching, economic predictor holiday arm than it does with an early life discovery that the bars are open and the bartenders are bored. Holiday spending and gift-giving probably does induce pre- and post-seasonal depression. I say it’s kinder to keep that overindulgence to yourself. It’s a different kind of holiday giving.

I think the whole Black Friday tradition of beating the hell out of people for 24 to 72 hours in an effort to procure bargains completely defies logic. What sane individual willingly leaves their home in a state of continued post-Thanksgiving lethargy, to get into a moving vehicle, negotiate traffic, circle endlessly in search of up front parking (because we don’t want to burn off any excess calories by parking at a distance from the destination), elbow mannerless other shoppers out of the way, and wait on endless lines all for the possibility of saving a few dollars, only to return home exhausted and further financially burdened?

NEWSFLASH: Most of these deals are also available online. I haven’t paid for shipping on anything in years. There’s a code for that…

I learned a long time ago that the whole of holiday shopping is something best done in the seclusion of my home office with a toddy. It’s been and will remain a perfect arrangement and my own personal holiday tradition.

If it’s the “spirit of the season” that forces you out of the house, I have an idea. Remember that bartender? Take your fancy phone with its fancy applications and web access and park yourself on a stool in front of him… or her. Now you not only have the comfort of a chair and a cocktail, you also have a shopping mate. Believe me when I say, some of my best, and most unusual, gift ideas have come from bartenders. Not only do they know stuff, they know people. They’re a wealth of information, from who hates what newest electronic gadget and why; to all the reasons you might reconsider purchasing that diamond solitaire based on last weekend’s shenanigans.

Disclaimer: If you have reason to believe that I know you were planning that diamond purchase and are now wondering what I know that you don’t – it purely coincidental. I don’t know anything about anyone. Move along, People. There’s no show here.

OK. That’s all I have on this. Drink and shop responsibly.

Ho! Ho! Hos!

I don’t know if anyone remembers this time last year (no, not due to alcohol consumption) when some “mother-like” group of fanatics pitched a fit over the term “ho, ho, ho”; taking us down a path that this wasn’t a jocular hee-haw but rather a mating call from Santa Claus for all the trashy girls to come pull his sleigh. Here were my thoughts on it. Seems nothing has changed.

Inasmuch as I'm bothered by the idea that anyone would consider "ho, ho, ho" offensive - "gangsta rap" instead of "kid lit" – to the point whereby Mall Santas are no longer allowed to use the longstanding and customary laugh of Jolly Saint Nick - I'm even more bothered by the pen to paper outdoor voice used to remind all of us that we're becoming a society so ridiculously caught up in not offending anyone (belying our true feelings) that we're offending everyone. We don't speak of this in polite company, of course.

Big talk for so little action really…When was the last time that, as a global power or as individuals, we were even brave enough to look the truth of our authentic beliefs in the eye. Oh, the horror!

I can't speak for anyone else's truth, but I know this truth about myself: no one has a right to be angry over hearsay. If you weren't there - if you did not actually hear Imus because you've honestly never listened to talk radio beyond traffic or weather – then bugger off. He's a comic. Now we're censoring laughter (refer to "ho, ho, ho)?

As for the “Family or “Holiday Tree”, we might as well throw in the menorah, red string, ribbons, bows, a bobbing dashboard figurine of the Mother Mary, and a burning bush for good measure. It's a Christmas tree. It is what it is, as it has always been. You can throw a blanket over it but it's still dropping pine needles all over the rug.

All of this political correctness isn’t creating equality. It’s merely a veiled precursor to further segregation. Why do we feel compelled to hide our truths? Are we afraid someone won't like us? Will our personal truths find us shunned, perhaps wearing various scarlet letters on our pinafores? We’re already in so much Big Brother trouble, why not go down saying what we think?

I think Santa should have all the Ho’s he wants. In fact, I think maybe I’ll mail him a couple of addresses! Only 21 days til Christmas, People!

Whose Universe Is It Anyway?

I find it somewhat interesting – if a little creepy – that so many people believe they’re an important and integral part of everyone else’s Universe. Perhaps this is unkind to type out loud, but the truth of the matter is, quite frankly, irrespective of what others may tell you, not everyone is important.

I was on the receiving end of quite a dressing down for having said that once before, but I don’t care. It’s the truth.

[sidebar: as it happens, the reason for that unpleasant exchange was that I unwittingly made the honest comment that this person was of little consequence generally and of no importance in my life. Who knew she was a “special friend”? *shrug*]

Back to topic. Thinking this through, if every single person in your life actually WERE important, then none of us would have time for what IS important: Me. You. Us. Most of us already shortchange ourselves in that area. ARGH!… rephrase: We adults (this description having nothing to do with actual age) shortchange ourselves in that area. We’re busy. We have careers to manage and families to tend. We put ourselves at the end of our long list of other responsibilities.

It’s okay to say this out loud: We do not have time for people who think the Universe is revolving around them – no matter what their story. Don’t get me wrong here. I’m not saying that just because someone has a sad tale to tell doesn’t mean we unilaterally regard this person as unimportant based on the amount of time they're going to suck out of an already dry well. I’m saying we have to pick our sad sacks carefully so as not to be taken in, thus losing precious time better spent with – that’s right – the important people in our lives.

If you were to cozy up with a legal pad and #2 Ticonderoga to list who is and isn’t truly an important part of your real life, I imagine you’d all be surprised at who “makes the cut.” People we’ve known for what seems a minute are sometimes the very people we run to for all things happy and sad. YES column. Best friends who know everything about us and love us anyway: DEFINITELY YES! People we’ve known our entire lives whose call we immediately click “ignore” to when their number appears on our cell because, well, <insert your reason here.> Not so much column.

In an effort to help all y’all sort out who’s who, I’ve devised this one-step, easy to remember criteria: if someone is disloyal, lies, creates drama, acts out, manipulates, or generally behaves as though they’re still in the 6^th grade, they are not important. Those are the noises and actions of someone without any sense of self and desperate for attention.

WARNING: Sometimes the ole softy in you will want to take this person in and “help,” but know this: This is a person who will eventually create a wholly unnecessary uproar in your life or the life of someone who actually matters to you – thus disrupting your newfound balance, not to mention leaving a mess behind for which you have precious little time to sweep up.

I don’t know about y’all, but I have too many real problems to be dealing with someone else’s imaginary ones. Return the pacifier and back slowly out of the room. Where there is one, there are more…

Winter Song

This is one of those entries you're just going to have to dig into to get to the point. My faithful readers know that I post everything I write... even the crap. So just go with me through the beginning. I promise there's a payoff.

I can’t stand silence. I find it particularly disarming when I’m trying to work. Not everyone can be productive surrounded by “noise.” I’m just the opposite. When I’m stressed out and behind, it’s classic 70s. I don’t know why. When I feel like I have a ton to do and it’s really just a matter of racing through it, it’s all 80s New Wave all the time!

As a rule, I’m great with lyrics. I can’t tell you who sings what song, but I can recite verse after verse for no apparent reason other than I think it just finds it’s way into my memory while I work.

Today I was feeling a bit frustrated. There was new information for a project that I couldn’t make complete sense of because I was missing the “historicals;” the things that happened pre-me and none of my usual music was helping me concentrate.

I read and reread the new documentation, put together a synopsis and yet, I felt I was still missing some critical point. How could I possibly not be “getting” this? After all, it's not like I'm saving lives or creating new ways to keep us "Green." It occurred to me that maybe what I was truly lacking was the right musical inspiration.

I browsed about until I found a new streaming station… at least new to me. I don’t know what it was exactly; some light new alternative – none of the songs had I ever heard. Perfect. Just the kind of white noise that would keep me focused.

I went back to work gathering my questions and putting together an email to get the information I was missing. As I read through the missive to ensure I had everything I needed, a snippet of a song crept into my head. I stopped working. What was I hearing??? What was she singing???

“Is love alive”?

“Is love a lie”?

Well! These are two very different questions! I actually said that out loud to an empty room. Interesting questions though, don’t you think?

I often wonder if love – the kind of love of books and movies – really is dead. Or worse, perhaps it never existed at all. I think we all want to believe in it, and maybe that’s why there’s so much theater and so many romance books focused on it. It’s something we really, really want… and sadly it might not even exist outside of our own imagination. So maybe it is a lie.

Maybe love is nothing more than the thing we make our relationships into in order to create a sense of importance; to give our lives meaning and reason in a Universe that is so often unreasonable.

Could it be that societal expectations are such that, in an effort to bring more meaning into our lives, we make choices about all of our relationships to rationalize what we know to be – or not to be – true so as to somehow elevate ourselves to a place where we can excuse or create our perceived behaviors of others?

Is love alive?

Is love a lie?

I’d like to believe in the first. It’s infinitely more painful to look at straight in the eye. But life is painful. It’s also joyful and ridiculous and luckily, its events are generally unexpected.

What I heard was Winter Song by Sara Bareilles. You decide…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=67xr_KKPTHE

Don't Stand So Close to Me

Why does it suddenly seem like every time you turn around people are wrapping their arms around each other in what appear to be deep, meaningful embraces in public places? More and more it’s not just girls… it’s the boys, too. It begs the question: Are boys – as a gender – finally getting in touch with their sensitive side?

I blame all the boy-on-boy hugging we see on the television. I shudder to think that we’re becoming a society of touchy-feelies, quick to ignore or disregard personal space. Sure, I think it’s nice that boys seem to be letting go of their “mo-phobia” about touching and employing something more intimate than a handshake, but someone needs to have a chat with Miss Manners on the topic.

Picture it: one of those boys who runs around with the entirety of his underdrawers hanging out the back of his pants engages in one of these public embraces and, experiencing a “security breach,” is left with his skinny ass exposed in a now very awkward clutch. What’s the protocol here? No one wants to be a part of this sort of exposure.

Sadly, this new Freedom Touching isn’t as confined as some of us would have it. It’s going on everywhere! It’s happening between people who’ve only just met! I'd like to hang a sign behind the bar that clearly states that sitting side-by-side for the length of time it takes to consume a beverage does not mean we know one another! Oh! And being introduced by a mutual friend does not extend or transfer their well earned Touching Rights to you.

I can quickly count four girls in my life who, very un-stereotypically, will freeze in horror and possibly open disgust if hugged by someone outside their very immediate circle. It's a common phenomenon easily recognized by the completely immobile arms and an ass pushing backward in an effort to flee. I totally get this. It’s all about not wanting to be touched by “Randoms.” I’m immeasurably put out if you so much as brush past me in a hallway, or crowd me in an elevator.

Since apparently some sort of criteria needs to be set, here's the Rule of Thumb: If you haven’t slept with me, seen all or "parts" of me naked, gotten me unstuck from a hideous garment in a major department store dressing room, peed with me behind a bush, or are under the age of retirement, just don’t do it.

Not everyone thinks you’re a lovely person because you reached out and touched someone. In fact, my first thought is about germs; my second is how I’ll get the cloying reek of your perfume off of my shirt.

When it comes to same sex touching, respect the space, People! Respect the space!