A New Blog to Add to My Favorites

I saw this blog in Bloggers featured space.

No wonder it is featured. It looks really excellent.

It is indeed Flawless Beauty. I think I will be returning there often.

MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL!!!!

Yay!!! It is finally Christmas day.

We had a great time last night. Santa came right on schedule. Well, actually he surprised us all and showed up while we were downstairs playing Killer Bunnies. (An amazing card game that we have been playing for several years that really can't be explained. It just has to be experienced.)

That really made my 10 year old's day. He actually got his Rock Band game. Santa comes through again.

The rest of us also received amazing gifts and remembered how lucky we are to have each other.

I hope everyone else was able to have just as pleasant a Christmas as we did. Now on to the New Year!!!

All Made Up

As promised I got my make-up done today.

I think I am pleased. (My Honey will not be because the cost of the product that I couldn't live without was more than the cost of the spa package in the first place. But . . . hey (shrug shoulders in what I hope is a brave way) . . . that's quality make-up. Right?

My make-up artist was very knowledgeable and very perceptive. (I like that in a woman who is going to help me recreate myself.)

She "prepared my skin for the make-up" by putting on moisturizer and an eye cream (that, looking back, I should have bought). Then she created a foundation that is custom blended to match my skin tone. I like that. It is mineral based which means that it is light and breezy. I'm a big fan of the mineral make-up.

She did my eyes in a semi-smoky style but with neutral colors. I like them. They really pop.

She did something really interesting with my lips. She lined them. Then she put a gloss over them. No lipstick. It looks really cool.

I wanted to take pictures to show you haw great this looks, but, as usual, I am not getting shots that do it justice.

Only my Honey takes good photos of me these days. But he is always at work, so it is hard to get him to take pictures when I want them. (He will see the bill for this make-up and announce that he is going to have to be at work even longer to fuel my make-up habit.)

However, I am presenting myself to the public more and more often and I need to be presentable.

Getting My Make-up Done

Tomorrow I will be finishing off my Spa Essentials Package at Mario Tricoci's by getting a Make-up Application. I called the salon so that I would not be surprised by the services I received.

"Hi, I have an appointment tomorrow morning to complete my Spa Essentials Package by having my make-up done. I was wondering what that service entails," I said.

The receptionist described it to me. "Well, you're scheduled for the half-hour make-up application," she said.

"OK," I said. "I'll tell you what I am looking for. I want to totally re-vamp my make-up look. Do I want to stick with this service, or do I want to upgrade to the next level?"

"The next level is an hour long make-up lesson,"she said.

"How is that different form the half-hour application?"

"With the application, they put the make-up on you. With the lesson, they do one side and have you do the other. It's like a lesson."

"OK. I guess I'll just stick with what I have," I said, feeling less enlightened than when I started out. I'm willing to spend the money, if I will come out looking brand new. I guess if I don't like what I get, I'll just go to the mall.

Maybe I'll do that anyway.

Virtual Model

I spent most of Yesterday playing with My Virtual Model as you can see over there on the right. While she doesn't look exactly like me, she comes close at least body-wise, and I did enjoy putting together outfits from the rather limited selection.

So far H&M, Sears, Lands End, and Couture Candy have put items online for viewing.

I did have some issues with selecting an outfit, then having the computer substitute this frumpy pair of pants for whatever I had chosen. I also couldn't get it to let me leave a blouse un-tucked if that was my desire.

Otherwise it was a pretty fun toy. It will be neater as more suppliers give them clothes to work with.

It kind of inspired me to think about cruising my real closet and putting together some outfits there myself. (A task/adventure that I have been putting off for way too long.)

The Fairy Stylist Mother Smiled

In my last post about age appropriate dressing, I wished whole heartedly that the Fairy stylist mother would wave her wand over my closet and make it perfect. Well . . . she didn't do that, but the next day I found an e-mail addressed to me from Brenda Kinsel whose work has often given me an answer to my fashion confusion prayers over the past year.

If you read her comment, you will discover that she has a new book out: Brenda Kinsel's Fashion Makeover: 30 Days to Diva Style! (That link will lead you to Amazon)

On its own just being contacted by her would be exciting enough, but she has actually agreed to place a post on this site every now and then too.

It can't get much more fun than this!

What is Age Appropriate?

I ask myself that question all the time. The horrible thing is, I never thought I would. I have always had my mother there to, very happily, tell me that I was not dressing my age.

It used to be that I was dressing too maturely: "You can't go out wearing that tight black mini-skirt and a lacey tank top. You are only fourteen! Do you want the boys to think you're easy?" Well . . . Yeah! Duh! But she would never buy that and she would follow me around 'til I changed.

A few years ago, shortly after my divorce it went like this: "Are you sure you want to go to your son's school play dressed in that black mini-skirt and lacey tank top?What do you think you are 20?" Well . . . Yeah! Duh! But she would never buy that and her voice would haunt me 'til I changed. Who ever said that dressing immaturely would be a problem? I live by my father's adage: "Dress young and act immature and no one will ever know how old you are."

My mother, maddeningly, was often right in her assessments. I can see that in hindsight.

Now I don't even need her. (Though she still will willingly offer her insight, if I ask her.) Every time I go out to buy a new outfit, I hear this voice say: "So are you really going to buy that? How pathetic are you? Do you think that will make you look even 25 again?" The voice (far harsher than my mother's) gets louder the more excited I am about my new look.

I believe my fashion barometer is slightly off because I work with a group of totally fashion conscious 17 year-old girls. My living example of "looking good" is what I see on these girls. I don't want to dress like a 17 year old, but a lot of the things they wear, I find very appealing.

Combine that with a total natural love of hip huggers and rayon and soft flowy fabrics and hippy things and I become a schizophrenic fashion disaster waiting to happen. The other day I got up (very early in the morning, thinking strictly of comfort to get me through the day) picked out a pair of black jeans; a purple, sort of tie-dyed long sleeved knit shirt; and a black, flowing sweater coat. I thought, in my half-groggy state, that I would pull it together with this green crocheted head band by scrunci.

I pulled it together alright. I pulled it all the way back to 1968. Then to top it off I had to go to an important meeting in the afternoon that I was not thinking about at 5 a.m. when I was dressing myself. Thankfully, most of the people in the meeting knew me, so my credibility was not absolutely lost.

But, my natural need for that hippy, artsy, creative look makes me wonder if I am turning into one of those middle aged hippy chicks that populate the arts community. They are very fine, down to earth, lovable women, and I would choose them over some other kinds of women every moment of the day, but I don't want to get pegged in that hole. Think Dharma's mom, Abby, on Dharma and Greg.

But, you know, that is not a bad stereotype to be put in, either. Maybe I have to just give in.

I have to start reading Brenda Kinsel again and get back in touch with where I want my image to head.

OH . . . Why won't the Fairy Stylist-Mother come wave her wand over my closet and give me clothes I look hot and impressive in, that are suitable for any occasion, and don't make me wonder what message I am sending to the world? That would be the best thing for me.

Anyway, I went looking around to see if others are having this trouble with being age appropriate. Kim Johnson Gross of More.com had this to say:

Our generation is redefining the concept of aging, just as we've redefined everything else. Style after 40 is not about competing with your daughters or dressing like the girl you were 20 years ago; it's about dressing like the girl you are now. If you prefer a scoop neck or a short skirt, how much of you you show is your decision. What really matters is that you feel as comfortable in your clothes as you do in your skin.

I like that conclusion. I forget that point a lot of the time. So many times I am fighting against this imaginary 25 year old that will steal everything I have if I am not vigilant. I am so afraid that my Honey, who fully knows how old I am and chose me over all the 25 year olds out there, will figure out that I am not 25, come to his senses and this wonderful life we have built will be gone. Where does that come from?

(Oh yeah! TV, Movies, the Internet . . . magazines, novels, the Bible. I need to make a note to myself to stay away from those things.)

I need to start having confidence in myself. Most of the time I do. I have a mantra that I recite when I start to feel down, or try to talk myself out of my Remodeling program. (It is still on-going, just not at the same speed as during the summer. I'm a bit busy these days.) I'm beginning to be more comfortable in my own skin and with my own likes and dislikes. I just have to learn to trust them and my instincts more.

I still have so many years of overcoming my Mother's voice to combat, and a lot of clothes she gave me with the assurances that they were far more appropriate than my tastes. (Remember she is very often quite right.)

Still I take heart in this quote from Kim Johnson Gross' piece:

The style-confident women I know say that the idea of age-appropriate dressing has no meaning for them; it's more about body-appropriate dressing. My friend Susan, an independent, creative mother of four, recently did a major purge of the dowdy clothes in her closet, most of which her mother had given her. "I kept them for years, thinking I would wear them when I turned 50," she says. "But 50 came and went, and I realized they still look dowdy -- and I don't."

How Long Should a Professional Manicure Last?

I got my nails done last week and the polish is already wearing off at the tips of the nails.

I don't do too much that is strenuous: Mostly the equivalent of office work. I don't even do dishes. My home manicures last longer.

Maybe I am overreacting. I just checked and I was given the classic manicure which is not the full service manicure. But I still think it should not look this bad after one week. When I figure out how to get a good picture of them, I will show you.

Shoulders Must Not Be in This Season

I really need a coat. (As in I got rid of all my not me, boring, broken, winter coats last spring, and now it is November, and I'm freezing my bippy.)

No problem, I thought. I'll just go out and buy a coat. One of those nifty navy pea coat inspired things. That should be nice. It is casual for my less dressy moments (that would be almost all of my moments) and it could be dressed up for my more formal moments (that are few and far between but occasional). I can't afford different coats for different occasions.

Imagine my surprise when I put on the coat that is sized for my body, and I almost couldn't lift my arms. When I sized up to fit my shoulders the sleeves dangled past my finger tips. I might as well start wearing my Honey's coats. He's 6'4. I'm 5'4. When I wear his clothes I look like a four year old in her Daddy's jacket.

I'm just not wild about paying somewhere in the neighborhood of $100 or more (on sale) for a jacket that doesn't fit. Also, has anybody noticed that these expensive wool coats are made from fabric just slightly thicker than fleece. What's that all about?

Maybe I will go to the boys or young men's department to see what I can find. I think these kind of coats are popular over there too. If I can get it in the boys department, it might even be cheaper.

Mario T's vs. Coldwater Creek vs. ???

I'm having a contest.

Any Day Spa that would like to be reviewed and entered in my contest can contact me online and schedule to make me beautiful.

So far this year, I have been to Mario Tricoci's and Coldwater Creek's spas.

I loved Coldwater Creek's amenities. I was blown away by the spa waiting room and the soft voluminous robes they give out to their customers. They washed my feet for free before my service! (It seems freaky, but if I were rich and could afford to be eccentric, I would do that fro all my guests when they arrive at my house. There is something to be said for that biblical custom.) They have a staff member in charge of the waiting room. That person gives out ward neck pillows, water, snacks, customers are never left waiting or wanting and their presence is not imposing either.

I only had a hot river stone treatment on that visit, but I felt like a queen.

The treatment itself didn't go so well. I got the feeling that the therapist was not very familiar or comfortable with the treatment. It was not as satisfying or relaxing as I thought it should have been, but I have been lusting after one of those Coldwater Creek robes for a very long time.

I loved my massage and facial at Tricoci's.

I found the amenities to be lacking. There was one maybe two tiny tables in the spa waiting room not big enough to set anything on. not even a glass of water or the little cups of banana chips or sesame thingies that were set out for snacks. There was no one in charge of guests in the waiting room, just one mousy young lady who collected water glasses left behind by patrons. I was sent to a small changing room and given a locker which contained a wrap and a robe, both of which were sorely in need of fabric softener. (For the price, you can splurge a bit.) Patrons who only came for one service were not given a chance to change into the wrap and robe. They just went to their service and must have been expected to strip and hop on the table.


Feel free to prove me wrong. Or if you think your private spa totally blows away the big name spas, let me see. I'd be glad to write about you.

A Day of Bliss, well sort of . . .

So . . . I went to Mario Tricoci's for my Spa day.

The last time I went there was about 5 years ago, and I went to a spa in a different town than the one I went to yesterday.

The first thing I have to say is that the massage and facial I got there were awesome.

My massage therapist was a small, young, Russian woman. She couldn't have weighed more than 95 pounds. I thought, yeah, you're going to give me a deep tissue massage. I could wrestle you to the ground so fast. But she did a really great job. I was not kidding when I said that I could not tip my head before I went in. She loosened my neck and got rid of the band of pain that wrapped itself around my left shoulder blade. Her advice, after working diligently on my back for 50 minutes, was to make appointments every two weeks until we get rid of the knots. She's right, but there is this little thing called money that stands between me and that sort of pain free existence.

I was also given a facial, just a basic one, but the woman who gave it to me was really good. She was very gentle.

I don't tend to enjoy facials too much. It flashes me back to my ill spent, ugly duckling, pre-adolescent days.

Now that I've met a few of them, I believe my mother should have been an aesthetician because she could not stand my eleven year old clogging pores. I would be sitting somewhere, reading a book, or writing in my diary and she would look at me and say, "Hey, Sweetie. Why don't you come over here and sit by mommy?" Obedient daughter that I was, I would do what she asked and the next thing I knew she would have me in a head lock and be squeezing my blackheads and clogged pores as I flailed and screamed. Therefore, when placed in the chair for my facial, I most often instantly become eleven at the moment that the aesthetician turns on the steam, gets out the magnifying lense, and slowly works the yuck out of my pores. (You would think that, since I am always looking for avenues back to my youth, this would thrill me. . . But . . . no.)

Yet this particular woman made me feel good and cleansed, not like a struggling animal caught in my mother's grip. I have no idea what she put on my face, but I came out of the facial with all the features I don't like about my skin not bothering me so much. I told my Honey that all the places that I am sagging and bagging didn't sag or bag anymore. He expressed astonishment that anyplace sagged or bagged. I said that was good. I was supposed to see them first and worry long before they ever came to his attention. He looked at me like I was crazy. Maybe I am. (I should never have mentioned that I sag or bag at all.)

I also had my nails done. This procedure is usually left for last for many reasons. But the women who do this have to remember that they are the last memory we "spa package" ladies have of our experience.

This particular one came for me. Took me out to the nail area. Didn't even look at me. Gestured to the colors and said, "Pick one." I did.

She began working on my nails and spent all her time looking past my right shoulder toward the reservations counter, not saying a word to me. I was almost to the point of saying, "Is there something wrong with you? What is over there?" when she stands up and says "You need to go to the sink. Its at the end of the make-up counter over there."

I asked her to lead me and she says, "No. It is right over there." Then she made me wash my own hands. ("Poor Baby!") Hands me a nail brush and says, "Scrub your nails top and bottom. Be sure to get all the product off because it doesn't always wash off that easily. I'll meet you back at my station." (I am by no means a prima donna, but if my Honey and I wanted me to scrub my own nails, I could have saved him a butt load of money and done it at home.)

When I come to sit down again, she won't look me in the eye and starts talking to the nail tech seated behind me. When that girl wandered off, she starts talking to me about how stressed out she is because her family is moving, and she thinks she has a fever and her sinuses are running. To which I (ever the sympathetic woman) reply, "Oh. I thought there was something wrong with you."

I know. I suck. I go to these places and expect to be treated by everybody as if they are conscious that the cost of these packages is dear. Okay! So I want to be treated like some celebrity . . . Gwen Stephani . . . or somebody. I know the folks that slave over my nails (and believe me, my toes need work) do this all day, every day without a break (even when they are sick as dogs) and get no thanks. (They just get blogged about by some snarky, anonymous blogger, with some sort of diva complex.)

And I don't want my Honey to get the idea that I did not appreciate his gift. I just wanted him to get his money's worth. That's all. But overall, I really enjoyed my time.

I go back in two weeks to complete my package and get my make-up redone. Won't that be fun?

For My BFF. She Knows Why.

And for anybody who feels a little tired and crazy after shopping today.

Black Friday

I haven't checked the latest news about Black Friday sales, and I will admit that I stayed away from the malls.

I went out to lunch with my BFF, making only a quick stop at Marshalls and Toys R Us, but I didn't find it too crazy. (I think that is a good thing for me but a bad thing for retailers.) I steered clear of Kohl's. It looked crazy over there. Thought about stopping off at Penney's but decided against it.

I hope that I just missed the big crowds.

Happy Holidays!

Tomorrow . . . .

Tomorrow I have an appointment at Mario Tricoci's for a Spa Essentials Package.

I have been waiting almost a year for this. So I am too excited! I will let you know if I come out of there as beautiful on the outside as I am one the inside.

All I can say is it has been one fine Thanksgiving Break so far.

I love the spa and have been putting this trip off all year just waiting for the perfect moment to go. Now that my back is tied into a huge knot, and I can't tip my head to my right shoulder, I think I am ready.

Things like this Spa package are why I am so thankful for my Honey.

Happy Thanksgiving!

I am thankful ...

• That I look very good for my age. (I hate to sound conceited, but I decided that I will be happy to be a great looking forty something instead of lament the fact that I no longer look like a twenty something.)
• For Tiffany at Wild Iris Salon
  
• For my Honey who loves me just the way I am (no matter which personality I am expressing at that moment).
  
• For my Children. They are my reason.
  
• For teenagers that like to write creatively. They turn water into wine.
  
• For Brenda Kinsel. She gives me hope.
  
• For the Pyramid Corporation. They give me style (when I can afford it).
  
• For the Office of Letters And Light, a group that makes my Novemebers so much more interesting and exciting. Someday I will finish a novel that I start. This year so far I have doubled my word count.
  
• For the Chicago Writers Association, a group that has taken me under their wing and into their fold. They are there for me when I need a touchstone.
• For the gang at Artist's Way Play (a yahoo group) they have given me so much emotional and creative support this past year. They are my light house to weather my storms of confidence
• For the folks I know at NASA. You are pushing the boundaries and you inspire me because I see you living your dreams.
• For The Pretty Girls because you make me feel welcome.
• For mineral make-up
• For the Abs Diet. There is a lot less of me because of this.
• For my dance teacher, Austria. She Monday something to look forward to.
• For my contact lenses.
  
• For so much more than I have time to mention.
  

I couldn't have said it better . . .

The Box

In the past two weeks, I have had the pleasure to meet a couple of women who I have made an instant connection with. This is unusual for me, so I feel pretty good about it.

Both these ladies just felt right from the moment I met them. They are very independent women, intellectual, and they definitely come from a place well outside "the box." It has been a long time since I felt like I made a new friend. Maybe I still have hope of becoming secure about who I am and attracting people who appreciate the same things yet.


It was suggested to me the other day that the limitations I complain about and the box that I fight so hard not to be stuffed into are self-imposed. I do believe that is so. In the sense that I must willingly enter the box and must agree to stay imprisoned there. However, I do not believe that I constructed the box. I believe that it was there long before me.

I will say that I do not believe the box is as strong as it once was. It is no longer made of solid wood or antiqued pine. It is constructed of material closer to thick cardboard now and requires less effort for a woman to push out of, although, for me at least, it requires solid effort to stay out of.

Anyway, here's hoping that my instincts are right. I can always use more intellectual challenge in my life.

I'm Back

I miss this blog. From some of the feedback I have received lately, I am beginning to believe that it is not as bad as it seemed.

I had disappeared for a while because I was under the belief that I had to go totally anonymous and disassociate myself from this blog which once bore my real name. I can't. There is just something about this blog that the new one lacks. Therefore I am truly back to talk about truth and beauty and finding myself and aging gracefully by refusing to age at all.

I can always rant my truly controversial rants on the other blog and no one will know my name.

Yeah.

NaNoWriMo 2007

I honestly thought I was done with this blog. I thought I would take the safe road and do underground and anonymous with my F-rated thoughts and ramblings. But . . . I think it would be safe to discuss my experiences with NaNoWriMo 2007 here.

I'm loving it. I had almost equaled my personal word output for last year although I am nowhere close to where I should be if I am going to hit my word goal of 50,000. However the novel is just writing itself and that makes me happy. It is based on a dream I can barely remember that I has over the summer. Wow. this makes me happy. I'm just trying to figure out how to take a laptop with me to Millikin this weekend.

My SJP T-shirt

And now for something completely different.

Remember how disappointed I was with the quality and fir of most of the SJP clothes I saw at Steve and Barry's? Remember how disappointed that I was only able to bring home one t-shirt? I do love that t-shirt though. I wear it every chance I get and it makes me look good. Shapely yet modest. I think I'm going to have to go back. I think it was the shirt-tail hem-tee, if anybody cares. I couldn't find a good picture on her site. The only one they show is underneath the v-neck dress.

Here it is Friday & I'm Still Adrift

A week away from school starting and . . . I am adrift on the sea of hormones (not in a good way). At least this will be past by the time I am in class with my students.

I lifted weights last night while going through a particularly low and anxious moment. It really helped. By the time my honey got home I was not a raving lunatic any more. I need to go out for a walk, but the same construction workers down the street that amused me a couple of weeks ago make me edgy now/today.

I want to wear my old comfy clothes today, but they make me feel frumpy instead of comfortable. I guess I should just hit the shower and wash up, give myself a facial and change into clothes that are more perky.

It amazes me that humoring my need to be a hermit does not make me feel better. I actually feel worse. It takes a certain amount of energy to look good, but I am not comfortable being a self-fulfilling prophecy. (I feel frumpy therefore I will look frumpy therefore I will be frumpy)

I WANT OUT OF MY OWN HEAD!!!! Agh!!!

Lost in Glamour

I picked up the September Issue of Glamour yesterday.

This one:

With the cover story
"Look and Feel Your sexiest at 20, 30, 40
The hair, the skin, the body, the secrets!"

Aside from the fact that I guess once you turn 50 you have no need to be recognized or sexy (but I'll get back to that later), I really have enjoyed and been quite immersed in the magazine. (This is probably the 2nd Glamour I've ever bought in my life. I don't know what's coming over me lately.)

I especially liked the part where several celebrities talked about the best and worst of the aforementioned decades. Iman said the worst part of being in her forties was worrying about being old, but when she got to be in her early 50's she realized how young she actually was. It reminded me of how I felt the week before I turned thirty. I got over that pretty quickly. I'm not sure how the being old worries are going now that I am forty.

I know I am getting sick of being told what should not concern me/ is not suitable for a woman my age: Being sexy; I want to be "classic" now. Going to certain clubs with good music and fun dancing; I now should be concerned with "fine dining and wonderful conversation." I am always second guessing my clothing choices and the shops I go into. I'm wondering if the things I love to do are "appropriate" for someone my age. I think I'm supposed to give up an being adventurous soon. (I haven't even started having adventures yet.) I feel like I've spent the first half of my life "too young," and I'm about to spend the next half of my life "too old." And the short moment when I was "just right" flew past without even letting me know it had arrive.

Yeah. . . I know I'm whining. I'm just as old as I let myself feel, and who are "they" to tell me what I can and cannot do. I don't think I've ever truly believed in societal messages before this time in my life, but I see them where ever I turn these days, and I say to myself, "No wonder you want to keep your age a secret. No wonder you are having such a hard time liking yourself when everyone seems to have such a long list of stereotypes you won't live up to."

The hardest one is that a woman who won't accept these stereotypes and act as expected is making some kind of fool of herself.

I thought it was hard to battle the "Good Mother" stereotype. They just keep getting piled on. I am waiting for the day that I will have the courage to say "F this!" and be who I really am.

There are just so many levels that compete against each other. I am respectable: a mom, a teacher, a business woman, but I have a wild side that never got expressed when I was younger and it cries out that it won't be shut down forever. I need to balance them. I don't know how.

But I comfort myself with the realization that no matter how much I hate all the messages about what I am supposed to do with myself during this decade of my life, in the next decade I will apparently become invisible and of no interest to any kind of advertiser except those that sell fiber supplements to keep me regular.

I'm feeling a little . . .

Satisfied.

I really do feel less than contented quite often. Summer just doesn't seem like the time somehow.

Yay for NASA!!!!

I am so happy to see Barbara Morgan on this shuttle mission. I'm not happy just because she is a teacher. I'm not happy only because she is bringing closure to what Christa McAuliffe started in 1986. This is not exciting strictly because she is 55. It is exciting because she seems to be living her dreams. I know several people who work for NASA, and I admire each and every one of them. They are smart, determined people who have the guts to persevere and realize their dreams.

From what I've read about Morgan, I would also admire her as a teacher in the classroom too. The Chicago Tribune published an article about her on August 8th that describes her as a teacher who rarely lectured, preferring her students to have a hands-on experience with her subject. I love a quote from her that was published in that article: "You can't really learn about something until you get a little bit on you." She is so right. I try everyday to bring a little of that to my students in my own classroom. I am almost apologetic when I have to lecture.

A colleague described her as "always looking for those breakthrough moments." She said that Morgan interviewed her students about what they wanted to know about space while she was going through the selection process for the original "Teacher in Space" program. Wouldn't it be nice to be known that way?

I'm just getting sick of all the coverage that talks about her in a tone that implies that the "real" astronauts are so kind to let her "help out" with some of the little tasks on the mission like operating the Robotic Arm. The woman has worked at this for 22 years! She is a full-fledged, completely trained astronaut. Her job is to operate the robotic arm. That is what she was trained to do. Give me a break. She's not "so cute." She is the Real Deal. (As an Astronaut and as an educator.)

Godspeed, Barbara Morgan. Godspeed, Endeavour Crew!

Designers vs. Knock-offs

Apparently, according to the Chicago Tribune, clothing designers are taking action against manufacturers that make knock-offs. They want their designs to be protected by copyright laws in the same way that other intellectual property is.

Hmm. This is a tough one. As it currently stands, as long as a look alike doesn't have the designer's label on it, it is ok to reproduce the garment. I understand that a designer does not want to lose out on any sales that their creation might generate. Believe me, I get that.

But quotes like these make me wonder if these designers in particular get the point:

[Narcisc0] Rodriguez, who designed the dress that Carolyn Bessette wore at her 1996 wedding to John F. Kennedy Jr., said 8 million copies of that dress flooded the market.

'It's very harmful to my business,' he said.

I'm sure that all 8 million of those women would have paid the full designer price for that gown if they had not had more reasonable alternatives.

I read somewhere (Brenda Kinsel, maybe) that the fashion industry understands that their true money making potential does not lie with designer sales because they know very few consumers have $1500 for a blouse. Their true potential lies with the copies that are made and sold at Walmart, Target, and Dress Barn where the average woman goes to shop. The value of a designer is that they create a piece or two a season that normal women would be glad to be seen in. The designer that does this most often gets to be the most popular. That is why original designs cost so much (less sales of the actual design) and then the trickle down begins.

I was also under the impression that, at least initially somehow, the designer gets compensated for his or her work. Maybe through the licensing to upscale retail chains and boutiques. Therefore I do feel kind of sorry for one designer in the article.

Dana Foley, a designer with a chic Lower East Side boutique, said the retailer Forever 21 has copied her twice.

"We don't even know how they knocked off the last one because it's not even in stores yet," she said. "It cuts our legs out from underneath us in terms of building a brand, an identity."

Foley said her dresses cost $300 to $400, while the Forever 21 version sells for $29.99.

Yet, I repeat that more women have $29.99 to spend on a dress than have $300-400. I suspect this is whyt he laws are written the way they are.

But, the real outcome of this whole debate will lie not with the designers but with the manufacturers/retailers. If they believe that knock-offs ruin their business, intellectual property rights will be upheld. . . . but it won't be the designers who get the benefit because contracts will immediately be written in a way that makes it impossible to mass produce garments unless all "rights" have been signed over to the manufacturer/retailer and they will claim the cash not the creator of the design.

Just ask the record companies and the musicians that write and sing the songs how that works.

Could this be as good as being carded?

I was out shopping today and was called "Miss"!

Whoo Hoo! Feels so good. Probably was a salesperson that had discovered that customers respond so much more happily to that word than the other, higher, nasal, and more annoyed "Ma'am." But I don't care. I almost feel like I was carded.

I Love My Contacts (lenses that is)

Got new contacts the other day. I have worn lenses in the past but have always ended up decided that I cannot stand the nagging "hair in my eye" feeling. I get cranky. I put them away and I never wear them again after about two days.

I just got some silicone hydrogel ones (Accuvue Oasys, I think). From the moment I put them on in the Dr's office, I can barely tell they are there. the Dr. was surprised because he said I should have felt something since I haven't worn any contacts in about 6 years. They are amazing. They sort of freak me out by how good they feel.

But the best part is . . .

I don't look like someone's grandmother anymore in pictures!!!!! I have to look at least 5 years younger than I did before. And when I'm out in the stores, I get lots of help from male employees. Not that I am looking for attention, mind you. (One night out with the PG's I discovered that there is only one guy I want attention from.) It is just an indication that someone besides myself notices these things. It tells me that my remodeling efforts are working.

I told my Honey that I thought I look Great!! in the new contacts. He laughed and said, "So that means you look like you always do when you take your glasses off."

"But I'm in focus!" I replied with glee.

"I'll let you in on a little secret," he said with a smile. "You've always been in focus to everybody else."

Well, Duh!!! But I'm gonna take it as a compliment anyway.

Today I Feel . . .

Like I have overcome my demons.




Ask me again tomorrow.

Feeling a little

Literate:

Now . . . Shopping in the stores: Bitten

So . . . Yesterday I went shopping with my BFF.

We wanted to check out the Sarah Jessica Parker "Bitten" line of clothes because "Fashion is not a luxury. It is a right." (It is not just the truth. It is her slogan.) Before I talk about what I thought about the clothes, I will say that she is scheduled to be signing autographs at the Randhurst Mall in Mt. Prospect, IL on Friday, Aug 3rd at 2:00 PM. I wish I could be there to shake her hand. I have loved her ever since she was in Square Pegs when we both were children. (By the way, I think I saw Square Pegs on Comcast "On Demand" listed under "Tube Time.")

Anyway, Steve & Barry's partnered with her to create a really nice looking line of clothes for women of every age. Not one piece costs more that $19.98. To see the line you can take a look at their web page conveniently linked here.

The clothes look great. The fabric feels marvelous. This is important to me because I demand that my clothes are soft. Some people have accused me of shopping more with my hands than with my eyes as they watch me plunge my hands into the racks, pulling out whatever pleases my touch, then deciding if it looks good as well.

That said. My body may be weird. But, in the slacks I tried on, size 12's fit my hips and thighs but left that huge gap in the back by my waist. (Typical, I know, but I wanted so much more.) If I picked a pair of trousers that were sized so that my pockets didn't stretch, my back side gapped. Many of the more stylish t-shirts had strange gathers in the armpits. BFF is a size 4-6 and she had many of the same problems. It seemed to me that even though the clothes looked like they cost more that $20.00 on the hanger, they fit like discount clothes on the body.

That doesn't mean that I did not walk away from Steve & Barry's without purchasing something from the Bitten Sarah Jessica Parker Line. I did. I got a very nice blue t-shirt. I have to admit that I like the fact that the clothing line carries several different colors of t-shirt with several different neck lines in each color. And it is SOOO soft. I was just sorry because I had planned on restocking my entire fall wardrobe from her line, and all I was able to take home was one pretty great t-shirt.

Shopping (at Home & in the stores)

As promised, the PG's (Pretty Girls') home show was a unique experience. The vendor was a little company known as Pure Romance and the inventory was a blast. Everything from a spray that makes your skin silky and covers you in pheromones to a unique variety of devices of all shapes kinds and colors. I could go into detail, but I could not describe the inventory as well as their web page can.

Every time I attend one of these home show things, I wonder how lucrative they actually are. Is anyone really making $4000 a month running a home show business? Which one is it? And how do you manage to do it?

Needless to say, this party got pretty rowdy. From the girl who decided she loved us all and would maim any man who tried to break one of our hearts to the woman who suggested that one of the devices could be cleaned just by "throwing it in the dishwasher," it was a blast of an evening. Just as I knew it would be. I'd love to tell you more, but we were all sworn to secrecy as the evening began.

Does anybody have an outrageous home show party story they would like to share? I would love to hear it.

It is Monday

I am having the Monday blahs or something. Can't think of much to write today. The weekend went well. My summer rehab project(My image) is going well.

Down 5-8 pounds over the last 8 weeks on the Abs Diet. Most of that weight disappeared in the last week. I guess my muscle mass must have finally built up enough to start affecting my fat build up.

I can tell you that I absolutely feel "Great!" (capital G and !! are intended. That is how good it is.) Any time I bend the rules and eat fast food I feel it. Not in terms of guilt, but in terms of the tingle that usually infuses my body gets dulled.

I have an appointment to rid my face of my glasses on Thursday. I'm working hard on my Dad's "dress young and act immature" theory of aging. He says if you do those things no one will be sure exactly how old you are. I think he's right, but I need more make-up now. This is hard for a woman who is used to just washing my face and going to get used to.

I'm also learning to keep my head up and my shoulders back. I learn all these things from seeing pictures of my self and analyzing them compulsively to see what grosses me out then do the opposite.

Today I went to the new JC Penny that is opening in our area. I got a Hot! pair of A.N.A jeans. I can now go clubbing with the Pretty Girls in proper attire if I care to. I realized that my wardrobe sorely lacked good jeans a couple of weekends ago when I was invited out for a Girl's Night with my great looking group of girl friends. (I like to call them the Pretty Girls because that is exactly what they are. I always feel honored to be included in their activities. It is always an education.)I learned that weekend that jeans are required for clubbing. I don't do it much so I was under the impression that people got dressed up and put on skirts (Which they do. But not as much as they wear hot jeans, heels, and a sweet top.)

I took the advice to go low with a raised cut in back and a darker color. It truly works. I even tried on some of the Levi jeans that are aimed at the fat butt, Fight the Mom Jean demographic. I thought they looked horrible on the hanger, but I tried them on. They fit really well except that they had some sort of weird wrinkle action going where my legs meet my torso. It kind of made a rectangle. I thought I would go down a size, hoping that the jeans were too big, but the next size down was pretty darn tight, muffin topped me, and still hinted at that rectangle thing.

I'm trying to keep the costs down on this rehab project, but my Honey's knuckles are growing white from grabbing onto the desk every time he checks the checkbook or reads the credit card statement. I think I'm close to getting there and will quit updating the wardrobe soon(ish). Just hang on a little longer.

Tonight I am scheduled to attend a very interesting Home Show, Party thing. We'll see how that goes. The inventory seems like it should be interesting.

Music Video on call

India Arie's "Little Things"

I'm feeling . . .

Like a little Lip Gloss.



Thanks Lil Mama

I actually went out and bought some of that Revelon lipstick with the colegin (I can't spell it). And some Sally Hansen Lip Plumper stuff. I'm looking pretty hot (if I do say so myself.)

And I still made it in on Sunday (technically.)

Feeling a little . . .

like living for today.


You gotta love 'em. Boingo that is. (and, coincidentally, the moon is pretty full. I didn't plan it that way.)

And for those of you who are still happy, just a little more mellow, although still macabre . . .



Chillin' with the Gorillaz.

Faith Hill, Redbook and Jezebel

Take a look at this entry from Jezebel. This blog is soon to hit my favorites list. Managing editor Anna Holmes was quoted in the Chicago Tribune as saying of the Jezebel staff, "we believe women are taught to hate themselves at a very young age . . . So we don't say misogynist things about a woman's weight." They think Faith Hill looked just fine before Redbook "fixed" her. Me too.

I Told My Honey to Practice up his Photoshop Skills

Radiant Women

I got an email trying to sell me Cheryl Teig's new skin treatment so that I can be an Age Defying woman. That sent me down a trail that lead me to Oprah (Who else? Whenever women are concerned about something, Oprah is there. Isn't she?) then I was ultimately lead to a woman named Dayle Haddon who has written a guide to Ageless living.

It is worth checking the website out because she seems to be making a lot of sense. She believes in the following principles for Ageless living:

	Celebrate Who You Are. I can get behind this because the days that I hate myself for not being 25 anymore are days spent pointlessly. As I've said before, I have come to realize that no matter how bad I feel about my age, it doesn't make me any younger. And who are "They" to say that I can't do what I want just because of the year I was born? Most of them couldn't even begin to guess that year in the first place.
	Nurture Your Spirit. I've been doing a lot more of that this year, and it really relieves a lot of stress. I don't have to be upset because my man goes off and does things he enjoys, because I have given myself permission to do the things I enjoy too. AND, I don't have to be mad at him for not enjoying all the same things I do because MY things are for ME. I can look forward to them and feel good about them.
	Discover Your Wisdom. There is a lot of knowledge we ladies past our 20's have over those young girls. My favorite quote comes from Steven Tyler of Aerosmith explaining why he and his band have it all over the younger guys in music: "They screw. We fuck." And I really think that sums it up, metaphorically, not just sexually.
	Practice Healthy Living. This summer I got crazy and ditched the four cans of Dr. Pepper a day that kept me alive. I started eating food meant to fuel my body in a healthy way: almonds, spinach, berries, meat, etc. And now my body positively thrums every morning when I wake up. I excerise, lift weights, go for walks whenever I can. I can't tell you how much it shows in my attitude, my mindset and my emotions, but if you ask my family, they can.
	Create Balance In Your Life. This one sort of speaks for itself I guess. You don't want to be obsessed. That will drive you and everyone else you know crazy. Have fun. Work hard. Care about others as much as yourself. Makes a lot of sense to me.

I will probably end up buying this book some day. After I get done "dressing myself from the inside out." retooling my appearance is expensive.

Smart Girls

You have to forgive me because I watch a lot of movies and they all blend into each other like a giant movie smoothie in my head. I never remember what movie I was watching or who the actors were. It becomes a giant game of "Vague." But anyway, I was watching this movie the other day, a guy was talking to a girl and he made the comment, essentially, that all girls are beautiful. It just happens that "Beautiful" girls want people to notice how pretty they are, but the girls that choose to hide their beauty want people to notice . . . something else. The girl he is speaking to asks him which one he sees when he looks at her. He replies, "I see everything."

I think that in reality "smart" girls want to find the guy/person that sees everything. I know that's what I wanted.

I spent most of my teen and young adult years thinking I was ugly and dressing accordingly. I remember being mistaken for a guy when I was younger and not really minding it all that much. I worked in a particularly male dominated occupation (technical theater) where I got to play with equipment and hang with the men, and the best part was when some co-worker would look across the platform we were building, through the hammers we were swinging and realize that there was actually a kind of interesting female over there. I had some very great relationships, but I pre-qualified a lot of the men because the ones who could never see beyond the clothes and the hammers into the true me never even approached.

It was a test and the men who passed it were amazing.

At some point as the years passed, somewhere in my late twenties, my feminine side began to emerge. I grew my hair long; I changed out of my denim and flannel; I started to wear make-up a little. And I suddenly realized that men (for the most part, if you just want to date them, and sleep with them) are incredibly easy. Wear make-up, tight clothes, a big smile, an attitude that oozes sex, (you didn't even have to carry through) and they would do anything you wanted them to. When I was a real estate agent, I'm pretty sure a seller accepted one of my buyers' offers because he got to see down my shirt every time I passed the contract across the table. His agent was angry at him because the offer he accepted was much lower than she thought he could have gotten, but he said we all seemed like very "nice" people and he wanted to make us happy.

When I realized this kind of power existed it was addictive (and kind of disgusting in it's simplicity) if you want to know the truth.

I met the man who is the love of my life during this phase. I'm quite sure he would have seen me in my other phase too (He is one of those men who sees "everything" in me.)

But back to the point, the rush is heady, and I often wish I would have known about it sooner. I'm not saying I'm gorgeous or anything, but objectively, I am not nearly the dog I believed I was in my younger days. (Emotionally, I'm every bit of that cast off puppy, and I live in fear that one day everyone around me will catch on and see through.)

However, having played both sides of the issue, with the emotional ugly duckling paddling furiously beneath the water, I'm really considering this whole "stripperization" of American womanhood issue. Is our only choice as women to be Madam Curie or a Madam? If I pick my brain to be my best asset, do I need to give up on my tits and ass - ets? If I shake my money-maker tonight at the club with the girls, why can't my board of directors respect me tomorrow morning?

It seems that whenever people are firmly split down the middle of an issue that there are merits to both sides of the question. I am empowered daily by my intelligence. It will most likely be there for me long after my beauty has faded. But my appearance and my sexuality are equal parts of me. I can't deny them, or I find that I am only half of myself and I am edgy, off-kilter, and lacking a level of confidence. Therefore, I feel greatly attracted to the sexual empowerment movement as well.

A woman willingly exhibiting or sharing her sexual side is a powerful woman indeed. One who is forced or coerced, or who gives it away for a t-shirt in the back of a tour bus, is demeaned and degraded and her power is stripped from her. I understand that too. However, to refuse to embrace the feminine power entirely for fear of seeing it used against us is wrong as well.

I'm gonna be pondering this for a while. As I follow my Abs Diet, thrilled that I am seeing my body change, watching my butt lift and my abs emerge, basking in the glow that a body I'm becoming proud of again can give me. While I dream of having a Flirty Girl Fitness in my area so that I too can learn to embrace my feminine side. While I ride my motorcycle, and raise my children, and strive to integrate all the facets of my world.

Any comments? What else do I need to know?

F is for Frantically Running Around

These past few days I have been running around like crazy and unable to post anything to this page. Don't worry though, my India.Arie phase has me kicking around some ideas about sexual empowerment vs. brains. Tomorrow you will hear from me talking as a "smart girl" who discovered her sexual side almost too late.

But take a look at this and see what you think.

Today I'm Feeling . . .

Like I'm looking forward to a mellow day

full of Acceptance and Self-Love

and I know I am Ready For Love (Happily God has really answered this prayer for me.).

I'm also ready again to embrace my life's possibilities. 'Cause I bet it can only get more Beautiful

Happy Sunday.

Today I'm Feeling A Little . . .

filled with guilty pleasures like:



Which is fun (I'm so ashamed!) in so many languages like:

Mandarin Chinese:



You can also find it in German, but it is not nearly so fun as in Mandarin.

This weekend I am helping a friend celebrate her upcoming wedding by attending her bachelorette party. Last night it was dancing 'til the bars closed in the suburbs. Tonight is it is a visit to The Loft in Chicago.

Guilty pleasures all around. And a few great stories to share once the week rolls around.

Have fun!

"F" this

I don't wait well, and I handle uncertainty with even less grace. This summer has been all about having no control over any direction my life is taking. It is making me miserable.

I have been waiting to see where my employment situation might require me to live, but since I couldn't be sure, I couldn't plan on moving. I couldn't plan on staying either. The result: an entire summer went by during which I could have been nesting, but I just stood wondering: "Should I pack or unpack?"

I had the opportunity to move into a brand new townhouse, but did not want to take it in case I moved out of the area. Now that I am pretty sure I'm not leaving, I still can't take it because no one wants to move if we're not leaving the area. It is more complex than it sounds. We have moved every year for the past two summers and people are tired, but it is still an opportunity that I waited all year to find out I had to pass up. And I really like that townhouse too, but people have done a lot for me in the past, so I can do some things for them when they ask as well.

I'm working on my non-profit organization. I am doing everything I can think of to help it grow into a thriving community for teenage writers, but then comes the part where you leave it up to them to thrive and they are rather slow to react. I have no control over that. I have my visions and I will guide us there, but we are not reaching them as quickly as I had hoped. I need to start scouting out places to hold classes and recruiting students to attend these classes. I control the creation of the brochure, but I don't control the results they bring.

I also am interested in starting a new for profit business to supply financial security while I still have the ability to work on the non-profit. Things are falling together slowly there, and since they are falling together, I continue to progress along doing the few things I can to get my ducks in a row. The franchise I want to buy is a good one. How to organize the financing is another major unknown in my life. I just progress forward in faith that circumstances will lead me where I want to go.

My school district is wondering if it will have a contact for its teachers by the beginning of the year. So I am wondering what will happen there too.

It amazes me that someone who is filled with "Wonder" like I am hates to "wonder" as much as I do. When faced with the unknown, I want to do something . . . anything . . . just to make it go away. I am a woman of action and this summer of frantic inaction has taken its toll on me.

For example, I canceled the family trip to Disney World this summer because I couldn't cope with the planning process. I needed some form of certainty. I couldn't get firm commitments on travel dates. The friend that was supposed to help us when we got there was too hard to reach. So I canceled it, despite the fact that in a moment of inspiration many years ago, I promised my oldest son that we would go by the time he turned 14. Since I could not coast along on one more issue, I canceled the trip. I have two more years to make it possible, plus I got a couple weeks of the relief from at least "that" being taken care of.

But it is so hard not to just "take care" of all the promising issues that leave my life untidy. I could give up on my non-profit and get that time back. However, I risk losing out on an opportunity that is quite fulfilling to me and potentially helpful for many others. The employment issue has pretty much resolved itself for the year, except that I don't understand why the whole process went so quietly. I told myself I would take that as an indication that I am supposed to sincerely pour my efforts into the non-profit. The new franchise opportunity will take some time, but has the potential to make tons of money. This is something I should just pursue flat-out, trusting to fate to open the proper doors. (If nothing else, I learn what is takes to pursue opportunity.) And there is always next year for Disney. The money I make through the non-profit will make a difference in my ability to provide a good time.

Maybe the world is not as bleak as it appears. Maybe circumstances really are gelling. I need to remember: it is not the destination, it is the journey that counts. I just feel like I have spent all summer at the rest stop.

Today I'm Feeling . . .

Like I'm looking forward to a mellow day

full of Acceptance and Self-Love

and I know I am Ready For Love (Happily God has really answered this prayer for me.).

I'm also ready again to embrace my life's possibilities. 'Cause I bet it can only get more Beautiful

Happy Sunday.

Mom Jeans!!

I am always striving to take possession of my sex goddess and save her from becoming caught and imprisoned inside the mommy cage. It is so easy to do because the job is so important and one that I want to give my all.

Take a look at this video about Mom Jeans. I think they make some good points.

There is also a sight called Zafu . It shows you how to find the perfect jeans and bras for your body style. I love that site. Brenda Kinsel, best selling author and fashion consultant, says in one of her books that a great way to look much younger is to get a bra that fits and cinch the girls up a couple inches. I am here to tell you that it works. I got instant results from my man. He really noticed and makes very sure that I take good care of the new bras when I wash them.

F is for . . .

Funky, Flirty, F-I-N-E fine, fat (sometimes), fit, fanatical, fair, friendly, fascinating, forthright, fashionable, faithful, fantastic, finely crafted and tuned, funny, frequent, and, finally, out of words.

And I was thinking I would have to define myself by that other F-word. One I am quickly forgetting.

It has been amazing how many F words are truly adjectives to describe me. If you get a chance, think about it for a few days, and let me know if you see what I mean.

Today I'm Feeling A Little . . .

Pink

as in Not Dead:




and Totally on Top of My Priorities:



Oh so glad to be smart and sexy.

Feeling a litlle . . .

Gwen Stefani today.

Aggressive

and

Whimsically Hot.

Bad Hair Days are Done

After a salon disaster in May that left me looking like a mushroom. I have been waiting for my hair to grow back in enough that a stylist might have a chance to correct it without having to shave me bald and start from scratch. Well, the day finally arrived and I discovered a real treasure in Yorkville: The Wild Iris Salon.

My last trip to the old, and terrible Salon Whose Name Shall Not Be Spoken (or written for that matter) left me feeling inadequate and incompetent. My grief was heightened because I possessed a very attractive haircut prior to that visit, one that I had been living in fear of losing. The fear was justified I guess, but the best part of the whole experience was that it motivated me to get out of the chain salons and try to find a place where I hoped they would really understand me. Happily last, night I did it.

Perhaps it is the predominantly purple and green logo that attracted me. I am a sucker for that color combination. It just screams fun to me. But I'm so glad I went in because Tiffany, the stylist who was assigned to me, was wonderful. She welcomed me, commiserated with me about my hair, truly heard me describe myself, and created a wonderful haircut and color that left me feeling like the hot chick I truly want to be.

The salon is a full service salon with manicures, massages, waxing, gifts. They greet you with the offer of refreshments and even offer a complimentary heated neck wrap while you wait. I took advantage of this immediately.

You see, right before I got to my destination, in the 10 minutes it took me to drive to the salon from my house, I received a call from my son reporting that he had cracked his elbow/funny bone on the counter by our refrigerator so hard that his fingers "tingled and felt hot." When I arrived I called home one last time, fearing that I might have to cancel out entirely. Nine year olds do not understand hot tingly fingers like you or I might. This call revealed that though he only felt "a little better" he believed that he could manage to survive a few hours until I got home -- if his older brother would be his slave and get him everything he wanted. This chance for me to be even more pampered was truly appreciated.

When Tiffany was done I felt miraculously changed as well as professionally cared for. The nice surprise was the price which I found to be quite reasonable considering what she had done for me.

The Wild Iris is best known in my area for offering Diva Parties for young girls, but I am planning to look into throwing some sort of big girl party there in August to celebrate growing more at peace with myself (I hope). Anyway, I look forward to exploring Wild Iris' other services and returning to Tiffany on a regular basis.

Take a look at the wonderful services available there. You don't have to be twelve to be treated like a Diva. For your convenience I have attached a link to The Wild Iris Salon and Gifts I am hard to please, because of many bad experiences in the past, but as I embrace my inner princess I am glad to find places like this are glad to help and very capable of being successful.

Fatty Acids

So...The other day I was standing in Walgreen's about to commit a mortal sin. I was about to actually plunk down the $30 to $50 that pay for a month's set of diet pills.

Yes, I know that diet pills don't help. I know that my diet and exercise plan are what really cause the fat to melt away. But I need to lose weight NOW! I have been on the Abs Diet, using the sample instruction from Women's Helath which gauranteed me flat, sexy abs by the end of June. And, even though I gave my self until mid July because I started late, I'm not seeing the weight drop away. I'm seeing my body tone up. I'm feeling better, and I have more energy, but I'm still 30 pounds heavier than I want to be.

So on the 4th of July I reached my breaking point. I was feeling really fat. Like "one minute I was fine, thinking I looked pretty good then the next minute I was a big old moo cow on steroids" fat.

I was getting ready to go out to the Kane County Cougars game. I love them and they have great fireworks, but every time I'm there I can't help but notice all the great looking women. They look so good in their short-shorts, halter tops, and perfect tans. I don't know if my Man has seen them. He is sweet enough not to mention them, but since some time last year I've been feeling like I can't compete. This trip was going to be different. Since I am pulling together a stylish wardrobe, compete with those little t-shirts with the empire waistline, the ones that look so cute and hide so many flaws, and I have proper shorts that fit right, I knew I was set.

I didn't even make it out of the house before it all crashed around me, psychologically speaking. At one point I even swore I was watching my ankles grow right before my eyes. Despite all my Man's assurances to the contrary, I was barely able to leave the house because I knew I didn't stack up. My man said he couldn't seen it. My mother comfortingly explained that if I was swelling as fast as I claimed I must be pregnant. So I sat myself down in the 10th row of the Grandstand and talked to myself about the realities of life. I asked myself what all my worrying and obsessing would do. Could crying make me younger? No. Could whining make me lose weight? I started to reason myself back into reasonable self confidence again. I even played "I may not look as good as her, but I've got it all over her" to cheer myself up. That was when I took my son to the souvenir shop at the ballpark and caught sight of the elderly whale in the mirror. Tomorrow . . . Diet pills would enter my diet!! It was a promise I intended to keep.

So there I stood in Walgreen's on the 5th of July. I hadn't realized that Alli was non-prescription. I had originally come in to purchase the one that eats away at all the fat around your tummy, so I stood in the Diet Aids section deeply absorbed in the brochure and debating which starter set I would buy. I must have stood there too long because I heard a bright young voice announce over the intercom, "Customer Assistance needed in Diet Aids. . . Customer Assitsance needed in Diet Aids." We've all been taught in communications class that there is the sender, the receiver, the medium and the message, right? The sender may have been trying to get a somewhat confused looking customer get some much deserved help, but she might as well having been saying "Big Fat Cow hanging out in Diet Aids. Mooove along, Bossy!"
I dropped those pills and got out of there so fast.

Actually, I'm grateful to her. I had no business buying those pills. According to the literature my weight doesn't qualify me. I can put $50 to so much better use. As a matter of fact I am planning on signing up for dance work out classes in the fall. That is so much better for me than diet pills.

But what I want to know is where is this warpped since of body reality coming from.

I Am . . . . The "F" Word!

Last year I could ignore it. This year I can't.

By virtue of the year I was born, I am now, officially, The "F" Word. I can't even say it. My sons won'' even entertain the idea. They know better. When they find me staring quietly into my coffee cup, looking as if I have seen the end of the world, they pat my back and whisper "Why is it so rough for your to be 25?" We all know it is not so. We also know that I can pass for 32 to 36 on most days, but lately I can't ignore it. I am the "F" Word.

I tell myself that no amount of crying, being depressed, and complaining can change the date of my birth, so I should just let it go. Age is just a number. But the fact is I became the "F" Word much more quickly than I was prepared to.

When I was a teen, and I had the great body (You will just have to take my word for it. I did. At least as I remember it.) my mother wouldn't let me wear the clothes that truly showed it off. She said I had a lot of time for that when I was older. Now I'm older, confident in my sexuality, and I'm not supposed to wear those clothes because I don't want to look pathetic. As Chris Rock says when a woman gets my age, "Those are his titties," meaning my man's. They are not the "world's titties" like they are when a woman is 20. Do I believe Chris Rock? I don't know.

So I don't know what to wear.

My body is slowly betraying me. My metabolism slowed down (or something). I am probably one and a half times the person I was when I was 20. Enter the Abs Diet, this summer, which promises that I will have flat, sexy Abs by the middle of July. I have two weeks to go; they are flatter, maybe sexier (?) but they are definitely not they abs on the cover of the magazine. We'll see. I continue to persevere. I'll tell you how it goes.

You will enjoy the story about my last trip to Walgreen's.

I have no idea who I am anymore. Well, that's not true. I am realizing myself daily. That's actually one good thing about this decade in my life, but I battle constantly with who I am, who I was, and who I am becoming. Questions like the following dog me daily: Should I even be doing this at my age? Was my mom as young as I am when she was my age? How come I didn't know? What does age have to do with it anyway? If I do that/buy that/like that, am I turning into one of those crazy middle aged women who I hate? Do I care? Should I care?

Therefore, I have decided to explore this time of my life and process it before it processes me. It feels like puberty backwards. Instead of being too young and not being able to dress the way I want, and do the things I want. All the while wondering when the boys will like me. I'm having a hard time dressing the way I want, and doing the things I want, all the while wondering when I'm going to get too old and the boys will stop liking me.

I wish someone would have told me that it would come so soon.

Stay tuned.

The F Word