1 (of 2) Things You May Not Know About Me

I have other things on my mind this morning, but I am determined to let this weekend be only about good things: good thoughts and feelings and good people.

On G|+ the other day, some folks were doing a post called "Two Things About You That We May Not Know." It started on a day when I wasn't feeling so well and I missed out. It was a lot of fun to go back and read some of what was shared. I am going to do my sharing here. Of course, because I cannot tell even the shortest story in less than novella form, I will break this into 2 posts.

So "The 1st of Two Things About Me That You May Not Know" is...

...I can't drive a "stick shift."

I started driving when I was around 16 and starting my last year of high school (I graduated at 17, not because I was an academic superstar, but because of the way my birthday fell or something). My parents had divorced, things were running different in the household, so there was no one to drive me to school. I could have taken the bus but one of my older brothers (Joe) thought it would be cool to toss me the keys to a second car he had and say, "Don't do any damage."

Now, technically, I knew how to drive, I had three older brothers and about 30 "play" brothers from our military days. I had a learner's permit or something that allowed me to operate a vehicle as long as there was a fully licensed driver with me. There was. Of course, being fully licensed had nothing to do with whether or not my friend "Arnetta" was fully sane. She wasn't.

My brother told my mother that he would make sure I got to school, but I don't think that he told her how that would be happening. Mom had gone back into the workforce after 20-some years of working for my dad as cook, tailor, lover, child-bearer, nurse, psychologist and hold-the-fort-down-er. She had fearlessly taken the classes to prepare her to work in an office environment and she was up really early mornings to get out there and support her family. (My God, I miss Mom!)

Anyway, Mom would be gone by the time four of my friends and I took off in my brother's car (I think it was an Oldsmobile...) and somehow made it alive to school everyday. I wasn't a danger to anyone else on the roads. Even if I had hit someone, the only damage would be from them laughing so hard at my grandmotherly pace of speed. We lived about a mile and a half from school and it took me around 30 minutes to get us there. It took me a whole 5 minutes just to go through the pre-drive checklist Joe had taught me. Airline pilots have done less checking before flying their planes... And once I got moving, it was at the pace of a yawn. My friends would tease me that somewhere a crippled turtle was outpacing me. I didn't care. I was determined to be safe. (I did learn at one point from a really nice policeman that I could get a ticket for moving too slowly. He said something about impeding the normal flow of traffic, Then he laughed all the way back to his car. Probably called and told all his buddies how he had to race to catch up with me.)

I eventually gained confidence in my driving skills, but when I turned 25 or so, I had to learn to drive a manual transmission vehicle.

Oh. My, Good. Mercy,

I was terrified. I had always said that I would never want to drive anything with a contsantly moving gear shift. I liked the idea of just putting a car in one gear and leaving it there. I liked having to worry only about moving my feet to stop and to go. All that busy hand and foot work was just a distraction from the music I liked to listen to when driving. (When I had lived in England with David, I never did drive because not only were almost all the cars manual, but there was that whole wrong-side-of-the-road issue to deal with. David and I got into an argument once when leaving a restaurant and my hot-tempered self decided to storm my way to the car, get in and slam the door. David got the last good laugh when I ended up sitting behind the steering wheel...

Anyway, this time I had no choice but to learn to drive my own worst nightmare. My family and I had decided to take a break from living in the cold of Alaska and move to Arizona where we'd be closer to my brothers. My mother's health was still decent, but she had gotten to where the cold winters were a little bit tough on her. We put the house up for sale - the one that Mom, my sister and I had worked so hard to own together. We put in notices at our jobs, packed up things for storage, and made the decision to keep a tight travel budget. I've always been "frugal" (okay, tight) with money so I was down with the skimpy budget. Until our car started having engine problems. See, part of our budget included driving the AlCan out of Alaska and on down to the Lower 48. Our family has been making that drive since I was 12 years old, but we'd never done it in a car we had to worry about.

The Family (what we call ourselves when we pull together in a crisis - anything from a death to somebody's broken heart) decided that we needed to dump the old car and get a new old car. Thinking of the budget (damn that budget), we set a spend limit and went looking, or rather we sent the guys looking. One of my older brothers and a few of the "play" brothers started putting out feelers and such. We women were too busy packing up the house and getting everything (except the kids) ready for either storage or shipping that we were paying no attention at all to the car thing. I should have been.

I came home from work near the end of my last week on the job. A friend had been driving me to and from. When we pulled up to the house, there was this tan and brown station wagon in the driveway. The back window had a sale sign with "Sold" written across the price. I told my friend that it looked like I'd be able to drive myself in the rest of that week.

You'd think.

Wow, we had a car, the house was almost packed up, I had only a few more days left at work. It was looking like we were going to be on our way.

You'd think.

I was so happy we had a car that I didn't pay much attention to it right then - just that it was not too beat up and looked roomy enough for all of us. Yay.

When I got in the house, I wondered what horrible thing had happened. My mom, sister, brother, play brother and my sister-in-law were there. They looked like people do when they have bad news. Not major bad news, but fixable bad news. I wondered if they were going to tell me something like the sale of our house had come undone or something.

Soon as they told me "the news," something had come undone all right: me. I think I must have had a mild panic attack then blacked out for a moment. When my head cleared, everyone was standing around me saying things like, "It will be easy as learning to ride a bike."

Yeah, uh huh. That's kind of what my mom told me about sex a few days before my wedding. That's kind of what my mom told me about learning to bake a cake from scratch. Well, turns out I like sex. I like baking. I was never, not ever going to like driving a stick shift.

My family has the saying about sucking it up and doing what has to be done. That's gotten me through a lot in my life. It was going to have to get me through learning to drive the new old car.

My sister-in-law, Theresa, was going to be the instructor for me and my sister. Yeah, because Mike (my sis) didn't know how to drive a stick shift either. (My mother did. Mom had grown up driving a pickup with the gear shift on the steering wheel. Mom was a can-do woman. The only problem was, none of us wanted my mom anywhere behind the wheel of a car at this point in her life. Cantankerous, ornery, road-rage old woman.)

Now, Theresa is one of the sweetest women I have ever known. She really is a beautiful soul. She is also patient. Thank God. She also tends to fall down laughing over just about anything. She took me and my sister (in that dang Subaru) to an empty school parking lot to teach us how to drive.

Oh, my goodness. We were comical.

My sister, bless her heart, was probably as nervous as I was, but she was determined. The look on her face was cracking me and Theresa up. She look so serious.

Theresa drove us around the lot a few times, talking us through the basics of using the gear shift and the clutch. Then Mike got behind the wheel. She did pretty good except for damn near putting us in the hospital with whiplash. Every time she shifted gears, my head punched the back of my seat. Theresa was riding shotgun so she could give instructions, but all she did was laugh each time her head whipped back. She was giving herself a stomach ache and tears were rolling down her face. She was yelling stupid words of encouragement like, "Good! You're getting the hang of it!"

What did she say that for? Mike went and got all ballsy and decided to cruise out of the lot and down a little side street.

"All right, Mike!" Theresa's laughing and shouting.

I'm in the backseat having weird memories of the time David almost knocked me out having sex when I banged my head on the headboard. (Yeah, almost too much information, but I'm trying to tell the truth here.)

Well, I guess all that encouragement got so good to Mike that she forgot she was just learning to drive this car. Somehow, we ended up on a little bit of a hill. Not anything steep. We made it up and would have been fine if there hadn't been a Stop sign. Mike stopped just fine and seemed not to realize the situation she'd put us in.

I did realize. Theresa certainly realized, but she only found it more amusing than our sore necks. She was so doubled over with laughter that she couldn't warn Mike about the tricky thing about hills and clutches.

Soon as Mike got ready to take off, the car started to roll, so she HIT the brake.

I'm in the back, worried that someone is going to drive up behind us. Theresa's laughing so hard that she's about to wet herself. (Can I admit now that I was really, really pissed at Theresa by now?) She is trying really hard to explain to Mike how to use the clutch to move forward. Mike is terrified to get off the brake. I'm about to get out of the car and walk home.

It took Mike about minute or two, but she did get off the hill and back to the safety of level road. Theresa pretty much gave her a gold star and pronounced her ready to practice more on her own.

My turn.

You know how when you just aren't good at something and it's hard to admit it, but you do? I didn't. I refused to let Mike be the only one who could master the stick shift. We were in that parking lot for another hour before I made a circuit without stalling out. I even drove us the 3 or 4 blocks home.

The next day, I had to drive that damn car to work. I felt sick to my stomach. I wanted to call in, but I'd been paid for working a full week, I had a ton of stuff to clear off my desk before my replacement took over, and I just couldn't stand to let my bosses down.

My knees knocked the whole time I was getting ready for work. My mom made things worse by telling me how she just knew I could do it. Mike had the nerve to give me tips on driving. (Was she kidding me? I was damn near in a neck brace because of her and she is the pro here?)

Back then, our house was just off of International Road, not far from Minnesota Drive. I worked out near the airport, so I had to go down a slight hill to a light, then turn onto a busy, busy road. Once I got past the turn, I would pretty much be okay since I could ride a frontage road on to my work site.

I made it down the hill and to the light. Then I could not get going again without stalling out. I stalled through a 2 light cycles.

This is Alaska. People tend to be pretty nice about most things. The first light I missed - with a line of morning traffic behind me - people were patient. No one blew horns, flipped finger, yelled nasty things or tried to bust through my window and beat me up. Then I missed the second light.

This is Alaska. People tend to be pretty nice, but they have a limit. We were in a double turn lane. Cars started jockeying to get around me. Some of the drivers were giving me dirty looks. I just kept my eyes forward, practiced some deep-breathing and tried to remember how to ease off the clutch.

That third light came and I stalled again. Tears were rolling down my face. I noticed that the driver in the car behind me had put on his flashers and was getting out.

He's coming to kill me, I was thinking. I shut my eyes and started praying. (Seriously, I was thinking of leaving the car right there while I walked my sad little self back home.)

This nice man tapped on the window and smiled, bless his heart. I cracked the window and he said that he would stay behind me to wherever I was headed.

"Just calm down and take your time," he told me. "You can do this."

You don't believe in angels yet?

This man's kindness somehow calmed me down. I made it through the light and to the frontage road. I pulled over and waved my angel past.

Of course, I damn near rammed the car into the side of the building when I got to work. Don't ask me how.

My drive to and from work the rest of that week was basically my practice time. My co-workers would watch my arrival from the windows and my departure from the parking lot. I was like the entertainment for their dull little petty lives... I have to admit, it was kind of amusing.

Two weeks from the day we got that car, we were in it and ready to drive the Alcan. Three women, one teenager (Cherie) and twin toddlers (J.P. and Gabs). We did make the drive and I've posted here before about that episode of my life...

 The funny thing: I cannot drive a stick shift anymore. I probably could  if I had to, but I don't right off remember how. But it's probably just like riding a bike.

P.S.: By the way, we hated Arizona. We bought a house and stayed there less than a year and a half. I came back to Alaska after about 9 months and went back to my old job. We never lived in Arizona again until after Mom passed. All of us siblings just needed to be closer together. It was the first time in 12 years (I think) that we all spent Christmas together at Joe & Peg's. A favorite memory and I have the photos to remember it by...

Someone told a joke & we all just lost it.
l to r back: Darrell, Lawrence ("Chuck") & Joe
l to r front: Sandra ("Mike"), Gwen ("Chubby") & me

Darrell & Chuck wandered off. Joe told me a bad joke.
 Mike & Chubby were telling each other how good they looked!

The sisters-in-law (Keva & Peg) had to take around 30 shots to get a keeper.
 Man, I love these guys!
(Gilbert, AZ Christmas 2007)

Peace
--Free

Just Like Car Trouble

For the past several - what, days? Weeks? I'm not even sure - I have been feeling crappy. I was even beginning to think that the prednisone wasn't working. Because that could mean going back on a higher dose, I have been having a lot of anxiety about seeing my doctor tomorrow.Actually, yesterday, I was starting to feel a little it sick to my stomach even thinking about it.

So what does all this have to do with car trouble? Well, my body is apparently acting just like a car that is not operating the way it should. Until you get it to a mechanic. 


Yeah, suddenly, after having a really "sarc-ey" morning -  skidding when I walk, stumbling around the house, forgetting everything but the ability to forget and snapping at people - I was feeling a little bit better the night before my doctors appointment yesterday. Of course, right?

That kind of sucks because I forget symptoms when they are not fresh in my head. I'm always afraid that I'm forgetting to tell my doctor something important. Thank goodness he's so patient with me and doesn't treat me like I'm crazy when I suddenly mention something {or maybe mention it a million times over}.

The good thing is, I'm still feeling all right today. Not great, but better. I am not really having a lot of trouble with my keyboard right now. Understand that I got a few drops of water on the keyboard, so some of the keys are just gone out to lunch without me.

Anyway, my point is that I bet if my appointment had gotten postponed, I'd have been feeling at my worst...

So, yeah, the good news is, I feel better and bad news doesn't matter until it happens, right?

I'm going to keep up the exercises {even though, apparently, the prednisone is making weight loss freaking impossible}, stick to the quit smoking torture and just keep on being thankful for the good stuff in life. All I can do anyway is keep going.

I love Oscar Wilde's words about dealing with troubles:

"What seems to us as bitter trials are often blessings in disguise."

Peace
--Free

My She Speaks Product Review {Simple Skincare}

I have said before that I belong to a word-of-mouth site or two. The one that allowed me to try a new skincare product {a gentle scrub by Simple}is called She Speaks. I have been able to try quite a few products with them since 2008. {If you are interested, She Speaks will give you a forum to review almost any product. You also get to participate in 'campaigns' like the Simple products one I just mentioned. If picked for a campaign, they send you a full-sized product to try and, usually, coupons to share with friends.}

Back this facial scrub - and, yes, I suppose this is a bit of a 'plug,' but since I'm not being paid, so what?

The big sell of this Simple line is that there are no dyes, artificial colors, etc.  I love that. I have used Oil of Olay's Regenerist Serum along with Ambi's Even and Clear moisturizer for a looong time. They were a perfect combination for my skin. The problem is, Olay can be expensive enough where I can no longer justify the purchase and Ambi doesn't work as well on its on {at least, not for me}.

I have gone back to my remedy my younger & broker days of olive oil - along with a new find: coconut oil. {Laugh if you want, but a lot of us southern ladies grew up using Crisco, olive and other kitchen oils for our skin.}Olive oil is one of the best body moisturizers for almost any type of skin. I discovered from a friend that coconut oil is a little milder and nice for the face and neck. And, no, you don't feel all greasy and you don't smell like you just left a blessing line at a Pentecostal church! Olive oil has that odd smell only until it soaks in, and you can always use dusting powder or whatever when it does soak in. Coconut oil's pretty mild as far as the smell and it feels really nice on the body and face. You don't have to buy the priciest kind, just make sure that the olive oil is extra virgin and cold-pressed. Since I never wanted to walk around lugging a jug of oil, I use little cheapo containers from Walmart or wherever - or put some of the olive oil into whatever lotion or sunscreen you are using. {Coconut oil should be in a solid state, so do what you can.} And, please, make sure to use a sunscreen all the time.

 So, while the pantry oils are taking the place of my moisturizers, I still needed a cleanser. Castile soap is pretty good, but it can be really drying for certain skin types. So this Simple line looks like it's going to work out for me. It's very reasonably priced - between $4 and $7 around the U.S. That's kind of amazing.

By the way, I have tried out the scrub {and I almost never use any type of scrub on my face}. It was extremely cleansing and gentle at the same time. It felt as clean and, well, simple as advertised. I liked that there was no scent. I don't like scents on my face. {Can you tell that I'm picky about what I put on my face?} I will probably only use this once a week or so. I don't think I need a facial scrubbing that often...

On a side note, it's interesting that the Simple product line was a hit in England before it reached our shores. I remember from living in England that those women had the most beautiful skin. Of course, the weather is similar to the the Seattle area and the women there have that great skin and hair going on too.

So, there you have it. My little plug and review of a new-ish product is now over.

Peace
--Free

**DISCLOSURE: I received a free sample to review as part of my SheSpeaks membership**

Don't know how the heck I'm so late seeing this crap, but I'm feeling irate after glancing at this news story. The silly (and badly written) headline: "'Who would want to be married to someone who nobody coveted?' Charles Saatchi explains why he's happy viewers fancy Nigella."

Nigella is a TV cook. I've only ever glanced at her show, so I can't tell you about that. I can tell you that she's a nice-looking woman - not drop-dead gorgeous, but really good-looking. I can understand her husband's sentiment. It's not what he said that bothers me, it's not even him. What bothers me is that whole attitude about "having" someone beautiful.

I guess I'm just touchy about relationship ideals. I always have been. The idea that people want to be with someone beautiful or handsome is fine. So is that idea that people want to be with someone wealthy or powerful. The problem (in my opinion) is that if that is all that attracted you to someone, where is the love part? Where is the genuine affection and pure wonder of the attraction?

Women have body issues and men have ego issues because of the beauty-wealth disease. I'm not a man so I can't really tell you what a man feels, but I can tell you about the anxiety a lot of women have. Women worry that when a man is attracted to her, the attraction will only last as long as her looks hold. And before you snicker, haven't you ever heard men joke about trading in a woman for a "newer model"? I have. I've seen it happen. Women know that there are men who won't want a woman who:

• Isn't a certain size or shape (some men want a woman with a butt, some want Olive Oyl)
• Doesn't look good enough to make other men drool with envy 
• Won't do certain things in the bedroom
• Isn't good in bed or "adventurous" enough
• Won't do anything in the bedroom before a certain amount of time or event
• Doesn't have cute feet or the right kind of hair or a dimple on the left side of her face...
• Doesn't have a certain level of education

I am sure that men have their relationship anxieties too. They know that there are women out there who won't date a man who:

• Doesn't have a job or profession
• Doesn't have the "right" kind of job/profession
• Doesn't make enough money
• Makes good money but isn't handsome
• Is handsome but doesn't make enough money
• Doesn't drive the "right" kind of car
• Isn't a "bad boy" or is "too nice"
• Isn't good in bed
• Are too "old-fashioned" (read: gentlemen)
• Isn't into the club scene

The crazy thing is, when a man or woman gets with their "ideal" person, they start to resent the things that made the person "ideal."

For instance, a man will get a woman who is, by social standards, a perfect 10. He should have nothing to complain about, right? Wrong. He will talk about how high-maintenance she is, she's always in a mirror, she doesn't do this or she doesn't do that. Well, duh, you dumbass. You married a woman for her looks, so, probably, she cares more about her appearance than she cares about you.

Then there are the women (and I know plenty of females who live this) who wanted a Mr. Money-Handsome-Swagger-Man, then when they get him all they talk about are his faults. (He's materialistic, he's conceited, he likes to run everything...) Basically, they got what they wanted only to realize he's not what they want.

I don't really get it.

Here's what's always scared me: if a man wants you for your looks, what happens if you lose them? I mean, you'd better hope he learns to love you deeper before you get something like stretch marks, wrinkles or, worse, worse,worse case, cancer or something that is really going to put your body through some changes.

And I really feel for guys who have to wonder if their woman's going to be around when a financial crisis hits. Will she be there when a job drops off? When maybe the money starts to get really, really tight? Will she be there for you if life goes all twisted for him? (Chris Rock jokes to men that when they lose their job, "she may not leave you right then, but the clock is ticking.")

This is scary stuff.

I personally know someone (and I know them very well) whose husband has threatened her for the whole almost 20 years of their marriage. His threat? If she gains over a certain amount of weight, he's gone. When I asked her about it once, she had the best answer. Basically, that's fine with her because when he can't keep her in the right jewelry and zip code, she's out too.

Well, damn.

The best thing (at least for that couple) is that they have made it through quite a bit of time. I think they are going to make it now.

I guess the only good thing about people who live with these crazy expectations is that they wind up with someone they deserve.

Peace
--Free

Dealing

It's just about 3 something a.m. I haven't been able to sleep for the last couple hours.

Yesterday was rough. I was just having one of those days when my mind wouldn't work right. Couldn't think straight and just felt like my brain was on Delay all day.

It's scary. I feel stuck in a cycle  - do well and fall back. This happened before, but I thought it would get better. I have been doing pretty well for probably a couple of weeks, and to just go a little bit brain blind makes me feel helpless. It's as if I can't count on my body, my mind.

I have an appointment coming up and I am worried about letting my doctor know what's happening. He's going to want to put me back on a higher dose of that damned prednisone. Just when I am starting to lose some of the weight.

This is so messed up.

This is not the way I want to spend the rest of my life. This is not even the way I want to spend another month.

At sometime in my life, I must have said the wrong words or had the wrong thoughts. There is a reason this is happening. If I could figure out why, maybe I could ask God to take it all away.

That Lady Could Sing

This is one of those stories that make me feel so very sad.

Eva Cassidy. What a voice. I had never heard of her until someone on G+ intro'd me to her music. Now I can't imagine not listening.

Go ahead and look her up. You're going to understand how God blesses some people with something special.

Peace

--Free

Feeling A Pull

I don't often write verse & when I do, it's more in the form of lyrics (since there are a few musical souls in this fam). Today, I saw a beautiful photo on G+ that reminded me of my (very) small town place of birth, my first 'boyfriend' and what might have happened. (I don't know whether to be happy or sad that It was only an almost-event.) Whatever. I wrote about it.




Small town downtown
Mine and your town


Big-eyed pretty boy
waiting for a girl like me


This girl good girl
I knew who you are


Touch hand kiss cheek
Love is to be we


Hold hands kiss peck
in daylight then dark


Good Ahhh! Sweet Ooo!
You I and we


More than romance
I are you are we three


Soft round and surprise
He are you are and me


Wow. I still don't know how this makes me feel.

Peace
--Free

The Fitting Room Blues

Yesterday I had it out with a bra in Walmart. This bra:

Yes. The "Genie" bra. "As seen on TV." According to Tristar Products (they rep the item), with the Genie Bra one can "enjoy all-day comfort and support."

Oh... really?

Well, I guess so. I mean, anything would be relatively comfortable after contorting yourself to get into the damn thing. (Side note: I just noticed how much I italicize when I'm pissed off or being sarcastic - in this case, both.)

If I dared, I would post pics of what I looked like trying to work my way into this contraption. I don't dare. I almost need sedatives to let my doctors see this body... But I'm getting ahead of myself, so let me back it up for a sec.

I went to Walmart specifically to buy a bra. After months of being in denial, I have accepted the fact that I've gained 63 pounds (yes, that much) and that my perky little 38B's have turned into 40C's. (I swear I believe that most of that is just re-positioned fat and not real titty. I dunno.) I have dreams about the day I can venture back into a Victoria's Secret store... For now, I am out of the market for cute bras like...

the "Scandalous Bandeau" from Free People
(my favorite style - EVER)

... and into plain black, white and tan blah-bras. I've even stopped caring about style. I'd wear a slingshot if it fit. (We won't even talk about "pannies" other than to say that I now wear only the boy-short variety. Also found at Walmart. In black, white and grey. I may never have sex with the lights on again. Why I am playing? I may never have sex again. Period.)

Anyway, bottom line is, I no longer wear underthings that can be described as "scandalous," "deliciously teasing," or even "minutely attractive in the barest and most common way possible..." Nope. In just a few months, my entire wardrobe has gone from Working-Gal-Funky to Homebody-Frump. Mature-and-Sexy to Old-and-Slumpy. It's hard to be attractive with this body and no money. Fat and broke. Damn.

Now, before I get my ass kicked by some other women, let me say something. I know there are the Big & Beautiful females who look damn good and can pull off sexy that will melt a man's shorts right off. I have those women in my own family. Being that way (being any way) takes a woman years of getting comfortable with her natural body. My natural body was a size 0 (teen-aged years to 20's), size 4 (20's to 30's), size 6 to 8 (30's to 50). I didn't feel really good and confident about my body until I was around 40. Seriously. I knew how to walk and sit and prance and dance - In. My. Natural. State.The size I am now, I can't even cross my legs without getting seriously out of breath. That's not sexy. Hell, that's damn near not even normal. Hate me if you want, but that's how I feel.)

Sorry to get off track. For a minute there, I forgot to tell you what happened in the fitting room at Walmart!

So, I'm browsing the aisles on my way to the underwear section when I see a display of the Genie Bra. My sister and I had been seeing the TV ads and wondering if these bras really were "all that."

The first thing I noticed was the price: $19.99. For 2 bras. That sounded pretty good since I was expecting to pay around $20 for one decent bra. (By the way, Frumpy is cheaper than Sexy.) The other thing I noticed is that the sizes were given as shirt sizes (i.e. "XS/S," "Large," etc.) instead of cup sizes.

I should have had a clue then. The chick on the cover of the box should have been the other clue. 

(Look at her. She's probably a real nice lady, but, oh, how I hate her at this moment.)

Being realistic (mostly) about my the current state of my body, I picked up a "Large" and headed back to the fitting rooms. The attendant/clerk name-tagged as "Sue" had attitude while she led me to a room (Cranky bitch. Acted like she was pissed about having a job.)

Now, the bra itself is not awful looking. Just kind of plain-janey.

Notice that this is a "pull-over" style. That's tricky if you don't want to muss a hairdo. My hair is short & natural, so no problem for me there. My problem was that whoever determined the sizes on these bras might have been a tailor for Barbie dolls at some point. This thing barely fit over my head. No way was I going to try pulling it over my boobs. 

I wanted to ask "Sue" to bring me the next size up, but when I peeked out the fitting room door, she glared at me like I owed her money. (Again - bitch.) I might owe every-damn-body else in the world, but not this heffa.

Skip to size 1x, 2x and 3x. I brought them all back to the fitting room. 

The 1x - no go. It got stuck partway over my head. I forced it anyway, got it over my boobs and almost lost consciousness. I thought I'd have to cut my way out of it, but managed to escape without scissors. Somehow.

2x. I got it over my head okay. Whew. Got it over my boobs with same results as above (except I could take small gasps of air). The bra was on! I couldn't move much and I'm pretty sure that my already high blood-pressure was on the rise. I was kind of relieved about being in the bra at last until I noticed that the bottom part was rolling up. That really hurt my feelings. I never felt so fat. The more that fabric rolled up, the more I felt like a sausage whose casing was coming apart.

3x. Better body fit, but...

Now I noticed the real problem with the Genie Bra: the cup sizes were all the same!

Son-of-a-boogeyman.

I matched the cups of all three sizes and - yep. Same cup size, no matter what. Basically, even if you manage to get the contraption over your head and onto your body, it does you no good if you have more than a handful of boob. I always had and still have a handful - for a good sized pair of hands, but what about someone who is truly blessed? Poor thing would look like she had a frontal hump instead a nice rack. And on top of that, she'd be in cardiac arrest from being squeezed to death.

On the positive side (uh, yeah), for anyone who can fit into the Genie Bra, I will say that it seems very sturdy. The colors are decent and the bras come with removable padding, which is nice for laundry purposes. And, again, you can't beat the price.

Damn Genie Bra. Obviously, the thing is made for a well-endowed doll. I was pretty depressed because there was a time - like a year ago - when I could have fit this bra and worked the heck out of it.

...Sigh...

When I left the fitting room, there was old "Sue." Cow. Just to be spiteful, I stood right near her station and called the manager to complain about her attitude. She ignored me, then rubbed it in by being super sweet to another customer. I hope she gets an all-day toothache. (And, by the way, did you know that Walmart posts the manager's number all around the store? Handy.)

Whatever.

I ended up buying a few $5.98 bras in different colors by Simply Basic

On my way out, I stopped by the display just to take a peek at what a size XS/S looked like. I left the store feeling damn near suicidal.

Peace

--Free

Breast Check Reminder

Ladies, this is the best breast-check reminder ever:
I just about broke my phone trying to download the app.

Peace
--Free

What's Wrong With Being "Old-Fashioned"?

I am a little bit sad and a whole lot happy to say that one of the BFF's - "T" -  is "in love." Let's not think about the fact that I am jealous as hell. (By the way, I told her that and she laughed, so we're okay with it.) What I like most about T's love groove is that it's old-fashioned. The slow courtship, the falling deep, the whole thinking-about-the-future thing - it's just something I haven't seen a lot of for a long time. Matter of fact, my mom and dad's relationship was the last old-school kind of  love I'd personally known of.

I was telling all of this to a younger (40-something to my 50 years) lady. I'm thinking that, since we come from a similar cultural background and aren't a thousand years apart in age, she would understand what I meant. She didn't.

I explained to her that, to me, old-fashioned meant showing respect when approaching a person. Courting them with some real kindness and sweetness before you put on all the intimate moves. Learning to like them before you start sizing up what kind of house or car or job or bank account they have. Trying to see how you might fit into their life before you invade their life. In other words, just taking things a little slow. I mean, what's wrong with the whole, "I like you, do you like me?" kind of approach? That's way better than the usual, "Hey, baby, you looking so fine." Hell, it's more mature than that.

My friend looked at me like I was Jim Jones holding out a cup of Kool-Aid.

"Are you serious?" she asked me. (And she was serious.)

"Yes, I'm serious. Don't you want something real and mature and hopeful," I asked her. "Or do you want the sorry old pickup lines, lies and too fast to be good kind of thing?"

"Tell you what I want," she said. "I want a man with a job - a good job. He's got to look good, and he's got to have some swagger. You can keep that old-fashioned mess for yourself."

"So, you don't care if a man respects you or cherishes you - as long as he looks good and has bank?"

"Not only do I not care, I don't give a real good damn."

Well, at least she's honest. (You might notice that she is not one of my best friends.)

We talked about it a little bit more. Basically, she wants a image, not a man. She wants whoever looks good to anybody who might notice. I didn't ask, but I wonder what she'd be willing to put up with to have that in a man? I mean, could he beat her ass? Could he not really even care about her as a person?

I see so many women these days (my age and younger) who are into that "I gotta have a man" mode. They don't care if it's a good and decent man or not. One lady I know actually admitted to me that she does not feel "complete" without a man. What the hell is that about? I mean, to me, there is a difference in feeling "complete" and feeling "completed." I think we all want to feel completed. But, no, this friend says that she just doesn't want to be alone. To top it all, her preferred "type" is one with (I swear, she told me and another friend this) "A little bit of 'thug' in him." She's fifty-three years old, so this is not a youthful phase she's going through. I believe she's just a little bit crazy.

There are other people I know who have settled down with someone they are not happy with. They stay because it's "safe" inside a relationship. Or they stay because of kids - which I don't know how I feel about that. I mean, I think stay for the kids, but sometimes I wonder what good is an unhappy parent? You might be teaching your kids about commitment, but what are you teaching them about joy? So, that's a tough one and I change my mind every few days or so. But I really hate people who are just in a relationship only for the sex or money or laziness. Why be in a relationship if your soul isn't?

That's not what old-fashioned love is about. At least, not the way I know it. All I have to go on is my parents' relationship. (And let me disclose that my parents ended up divorcing, but they remained friends and never stopped respecting each other. Not ever.)

My father was an Air Force man. He was from small-town Arkansas. He was raised to love and respect his parents, especially his mother. (My mother always said to look for a man who loves his mothers and sisters. That didn't work out with my ex, but that's just him.)

My mother was a beautiful woman. She was a very maternal kind of person, if that makes sense. She loved to care for my dad and their family. She felt like he was the man and should be allowed to feel like a man. (Please, don't give me any feminist crap here. A woman can be strong without trying to out-man her man.)

My parents were a team. My father let my mother be good at what she was good at and she returned the favor. Sometimes, Mom was good at things that most men are "supposed" to be good at. For instance, Mom ran our finances. Daddy used to say that Mom could make a dollar out of fifteen cents. He'd give her the little bit of spending money (and G.I.s didn't make a whole lot of money) and always be amazed at what she could do with it. He loved to brag about how Mom could feed and clothe eight people (there are six of us siblings) and make it look so easy.

My dad, bless his heart, was not one of those men who was mechanically inclined - or whatever you call people who can repair and upkeep things. The big joke in our family was that whenever my dad did take something apart to fix it - say, a lawn mower - there'd be parts left over when he put it back together. (Believe it or not, most of time, whatever he fixed did work afterwards!) Now, I say it was a big joke, but it was a silent joke. My mother would have (as she'd put it) slapped the taste out of our mouth if one of us said anything to Daddy about his workmanship. She would look the lawn mower, or whatever, and go on and on about how "her man" could take care of stuff like that. She'd be acting like he had adjusted the world on Atlas's shoulders.

And they just loved each other. Just that simple. It wasn't anything complicated, as far as I could tell - just love.

I used to watch my parents do that thing where lovers look at each other across the table or a room. I didn't understand it until I fell in love myself for the first time, but I always know that that look means you've got something special with someone. My inner gauge for how I feel about someone now is when I want to give them that look. (Well, that, or when I get that melting feeling in my stomach when I think of them. With my first serious boyfriend, I knew I was feeling something the day I fell down some stairs while I was thinking about him. It happened at school. He'd been nowhere on my mind until we passed each other in the hallway just before I had to take the stairs to my own class. I was feeling so goofy-good! Man, when I went down those stairs, ending up with my skirt all up around my waist, I think I dang near busted my ass... The worst thing wasn't the falling, it was thinking how stupid I'd look to him if he saw. I couldn't even think about it and him at the same time without feeling so embarrassed.) Anyway.

So, I just want that old-fashioned kind of love. I want the man who is attracted to me, then begins to like me, then begins to want to know me better. I want the man who just wants to spend time with me because he likes being with me. I want to make him laugh, feel good about himself and feel good about life. And I want him to feel the same way about me.

Trust me, I've known the smooth talker. That didn't work because words alone won't sustain love. I've known the rich guy. That didn't work because money won't sustain respect. I've known the guy that pretended to be everything he really was not. That didn't work because real love can't be based on deceit. Real love is honest and maybe a little painful. It's awkward and it can be confusing and even kind of scary.

Old-fashioned, new-fashioned. Maybe it doesn't really matter as long as we find something real. I think my BFF has found that. That heffa!.

(I love you, T. Be happy.)

Peace
--Free

Working the Phones

Sitting here stuck on the phone - holding, holding and holding - and playing around with G+ while fighting a really strong craving for a cigarette. (Oh, and my doc, who I do love to pieces, has no-no'ed my taking a higher amount of Wellbutrin.)

The G crowd have been trying to help me out with phone choices. I was due for my upgrade, but I am still broke as a dropped glass. I picked (no surprise coming) the Samsung Infuse. Mainly because it only cost me a penny, no shipping, no upgrade fees. I had that or the Captivate to choose from. A penny, no shipping, no upgrade fees. (Hey! Right in my budget of... a penny!)

I'm a little bit scared now, though. Made my choice, put in the order, and NOW I'm hearing some crappy stuff about it. Too freaking late. If it drives me crazy when I get it, I will have the grace period to change my mind. The way I figure, it cannot be anywhere near as bad as that Motorola Backflip I once had.

Oh, wait. Did I ever blog about that? If so, I'll hit that rant again because it will never get old. Not as long as that electronic demon-thing still exists.

The Backflip. Where do even start?

This phone was so awful that when I took it into the AT&T store here in town, one of the reps saw me coming and said, "Keep that thing away from me. It's cursed." (I was really looking pretty fine that day, too. The rep was a cutie himself. I'd been hoping he was going to crook his finger and say something Marvin Gaye-ish. Nooo... That man saw that Backflip and looked like he was ready to throw holy water on me.)

Yeah, that bad.

Soon as I told him I was there to return The Thing, the rep and I had a whole comedic routine going. We decided that the Backflip was so bad that it could actually poison anything else within about 10 feet. The rep warned me not to put it in my purse or it would make my money disappear. (Um, too late - the ex did that already.)

"Don't hold it, lady. You don't have gloves on!" (heh  heh) He actually took it from me only after getting a tissue to hold it with. The way he looked at it, it could have been slime from a crime scene.

Yeah, that bad.

Of course, I had to go through all my complaints for the rep before I could process a free replacement. That was easy. All I had to do was look at the list of what any decent cell phone should do, at minimum, (things like dial, ring, hang up...) and scratch it off the list. This phone was so bad that sometimes the only way to disconnect a call (if you were able to make the call) was to take out the battery. I'm not playing with you.

Uh huh. That freaking bad.

And, of course, whenever a customer complains about a phone (even when the rep knows you're not exaggerating), they have to run it through its paces. Just to make sure. Okay, so the rep dials a number. The call goes through (and I'm thinking, "Son of a boot!"). Then... the phone won't disconnect. Woooow!  I just about started shouting like I was in church. Vindication,  oh sweet vindication!

So, yeah. That's how bad the Backflip was. Even Motorola didn't want it back. They knew they wouldn't be able to pass that piece of crap off even as a three dollar re-furb. (The rep admitted to me that AT&T had stopped displaying the phone about a month after it came out. THAT BAD!!!)

Anyway. I am hoping the new phone won't be a lemon. Even if it is and will only dial numbers beginning with "8" on Wednesdays between 6 a.m. and 6:55 a.m. when it's sunny out with no chance of rain - it cannot be as bad as the Backflip.

Yeah. It really was that bad.

I will have to let you know later how the new phone works out (if it works at all). For now, I have moved up in the call-holding queue to spot number 3. Pray someone comes on the line soon, because if I hear Barry Manilow's "Mandy" again, I'm going to smoke a piece of carpet.

Peace
--Free

Day In the Life of A "G"

I'm about as "G" as Oprah. I got swagger, but not street swagger. I can't even go into Mountainview without locking down the doors. And Mountainview (our version of the 'Hood) is nothing like rolling into the hard side of Phoenix or South Oak Cliff. The one time I passed through Oakland, I almost fainted when some guy walked up on me to ask what time it was. I was damn near ready to clutch my pearls... So, yeah. I'm about as G as Carlton from Fresh Prince. No shame in my game.

(Now, how in the hell did I go off on that rant? That's not even what I logged in to blog about...)

Oh, I know where I meant to go with that thought: I'm not a G, but, I am a G Plusser.

Okay. I'm kind of back on track now. (This is just how my mind works these days!)

Sooo... I'm taking some time (after my morning exercise) to catch up on my Adds overon G+. When people add you to their circles, I think it's kind of rude to wait too long getting back to them. Even if I'm going to "ignore" them. Best they know right off.

I am "meeting" some very cool folks. Artists and photographers (I know what I like); Scholars (I might not understand it all, but, damn! Smart is sexy); Christians (my brothers & sistas); Non-believers (still my brothers & sistas - long as there is mutual respect); Funsters (yeah, they are there) and Munsters (hmmm).

Today is a strange one. I am not only checking in online, but I am busy with other stuff, but mostly around the house and on the phone and digging through some stored things.

Because.

I am ...

Going to make an attempt to write again.

Yeah, that's right. This G is going to use this down time to at least try to do something that might help my brain work better. I'm not even thinking that anything I write is going to make sense (I mean, look at this post I'm writing), but it gives me something to think about other than smoking.

Also today is a day to get some of my financial papers in order. And personal stuff, like trying to get the divorce started.

Wow.

That's a painful word.

Divorce.

This means I thought we loved each other (and maybe we did), but love doesn't cover everything (not the nasty, bitter words and names I've had to hear) and everything doesn't cover love (not good sex, bad sex, not wishing and wanting, and not fear of being alone).

Yeah, so.

I guess it could be more painful. It would have been, way back when I first left. I hadn't even realized that it's been over 3 years of physical separation and almost a year of total separation.

Wow.

Do I feel hesitant? No. Maybe back when I thought there was even a sliver of hope that things would get better, could get better. But not after he just wasn't there when I was at my lowest.

I remember when I first got sick. I had gotten out of the hospital but the meds were really doing things to my emotions. Even with my family surrounding me and trying to keep me together, I felt like he should have been here. No matter what the cost, the way, the what-the-hell-ever - he should have been able to pull himself together to be here for me. And he wasn't.

While I was feeling like my whole world had really come apart at the seams, he was somewhere drunk and helpless and probably sleeping with someone else. And all I could think was how I had never been helpless when he'd needed me. I had been the one to work and pull our shit together. I was the one who was willing to turn my back on my family and friends to be with him. I was the one who gave him my body, my mind, my heart, my money, my jewelry, my love, my love, my love. I'm beginning to think I gave him my health. God knows the stress I went through for 3 years could not have been good for what was obviously fermenting inside my body. I gave him everything I had to give and he couldn't be there for me.

So.

Anyway, I fell out of love with him before all that happened, but I stopped loving him when that happened. Now, I don't feel much of anything. (Is that cold or hard of me?) I don't wish him ill luck or anything. Matter of fact, I kind of hope that he has found someone to be with. No one should be alone, and I sure don't intend to be. The idea of divorce is painful because it means that I failed myself.

My life now has to be about getting completely healthy and whole. And if I mess around and find myself in love again, well isn't that what it's all about? If there is no love, there really is no purpose. Love makes everything else real.

Okay, now that my thoughts have skipped to the freaking lou all over the place, I need to shut down and get back to my half-assed multi-tasking.

Peace
--Free

Oh, yeah - because I'm sappy and always emotional, I have to include some music. How about a little Aretha? This song is kind of how I feel all the time...

Life's A Beautiful Mess

My life is becoming a freaking nightmare. So much has happened to me today. At least two things anyway.

And I don't mean to complain about my life, but I can't help it. Maybe I shouldn't call my life a nightmare. Maybe it's just a bad daydream (is that possible?) and I'll wake up with drool on my chin and my world intact... For the time being though, my life kind of sucks.

One thing that happened was a job that almost was. I got all excited about it because God knows I've been  hoping and praying for something good to break: better health, some strength, good love... At this point, I'd even settle for better problems.

Today, out of the blue, opportunity knocked in the form of a potential job offer. Great job, great people, within my comfort zone, but... out of my damn zip code.

What happened was, an old friend of mine (actually a guy who once proposed to me) got in touch today. I will call him "Lou." Said I'd been on his mind for some reason (yeah, there has to be a reason because he's now married to someone else, damnit) and he hunted me down because he had news. The news is that a friend of ours is working for an old boss of ours (seriously) and, while traveling, ran into Lou in Denver airport and got to talking about old times and old friends. Somehow, my name came up (I don't want to think about how). This guy mentioned to Lou that he wished he knew where I was because I'd be "perfect" for a position  coming open in the company.

I was kind of excited at this point  - partly just because of hearing from "Lou" (why'd I pick a fake name that I hate for a guy I used to be so crazy about?) and partly because of the possible job. And I was a little scared because I still hadn't told Lou about my current medical issues. Like me, Lou talks a mile a minute. It's probably why we were always so hot for each other. No, that's not why. I think it was his eyes. I have a thing for eyes.

Anyway.

Lou goes on and on, telling me about this job and the company... Oh, it was just going to be such a good thing for me. Working for an old boss I really respected. Perfect because of the whole supply chain tie-in with my customs brokerage experience, my experience as a trainer, and yah, yah, yah. And, oh yeah, because our former colleague is in pretty tight with all the 'suits' at this company. He's practically one of the suits, except he's just not a suit kind of guy. The only possible downer is I'd be up against another really sharp guy within the company who was hooking for the position. Then again, I do have 15 years with a freight giant. This sh*t was getting complicated.

I digress. I always do.

When Lou took a breath, I asked which local hub I'd be working out of (as if I'm already hired because I get these bursts of confidence that make me know I can fly without wings). I don't mind either of the two major hubs, but I hate the small one and I loathe any office-based brokerage. I'd rather be around the actual freight and near the on-site Customs agents.

Good news! The job's not at the small hub or at an office brokerage.

Bad news :-( The damn job's in Tulsa. Tulsa's not in Alaska.

You ever have one of those rollercoaster kind of moments? So high you can hardly breathe, then dropping so fast you get stomach cramps?

Yeah.

And why?

Because I am terrified. Terrified that my brain doesn't work right anymore. Terrified of failing, falling, freaking the hell out. And terrified of being terrified.

The worst thing is, I had like a manic moment of panic and broken-ness right there on the phone. I started babbling about everything and anything except the job. Of course, Lou knows me well enough. Don't you hate that? When someone knows you so well that you can't cover fear or shame?

My secret is out with Lou. I told him what's happened to me. We spent about two hours on the phone. He gets it. He gets why I'm scared. He gets why I'm feeling so closed into myself. I even sent him a pic in Messenger because he just refused to believe I'm rolling my fat ass around, packing 200 pounds! (Bless him, he lied and told me I am still beautiful. Bless me, I told him he was a lying shit, but I love him anyway.) And how I miss Lou. Man, I really effed things up by letting him get away. At least his wife sounds like a keeper. She better be since he deserves only the best. (And, for those wondering what happened with me and Lou and the proposal, there's a reason I declined. Lou and I would have been terrible together. We're too much alike. I need someone like me, but not like me.)

Like I said, my life is a nightmare. It's going to get better.  Lou told me two important things today. One was that sometimes life is a mess, but just the fact that we are still here to live it makes it a beautiful mess. (See what I mean about this man?) The other thing he told me is that I might ought to be thankful for what I'm going through. He says that something wonderful could come out of it all.

So, I am going to keep praying and exercising and not smoking and doing all the little brain games. Maybe Lou is right about something wonderful coming out of this beautiful mess of mine.

Oops.

I almost forgot to mention the other thing that happened today. My bestest friend (J) called me because she knows I'm having this random period-like situation, complete with some cramps (I didn't answer because I was sleeping through the cramps and a cigarette craving, holding a hot pack to my stomach and praying I get in touch with my doc to raise the dose of my Wellbutrin before I start smoking pieces of carpet). The thing about me and my phone is that I'm always leaving it in another room or accidentally muting the ringer. All three of my best friends (J, B, and T) know this about me. They also know I'm kind of loopy these days and they worry about me. If I don't answer my  phone, I get a voice mail warning to call or text them back. I don't call or text back within a half hour or so, my family starts getting calls. It's a little embarrassing, but I love those bitches.

Anyway, when I didn't answer the phone, J left me a silly message, doing her vocal interpretation of Tammy Wynette's "Hard To Be A Woman." She called my sister later and found out I was okay. I woke up and listened to her really, really bad singing on my voice mail at least three times. I forwarded it to the other two Besties. Then I went back to sleep. LOL (I know my friends & somewhere in Houston and in Amsterdam there are a couple of women trying to decide if they are going to upload J's vocals to YouTube.)

Peace
--Free

And, remember...

Randomness

I haven't bothered with my old blog where I used to post different sites from around the web. I miss it a little, so here's some random stuff for you:

Brie-cicles... She's Joy, she's a baker. The site's amazing. The  brie-cicles are my favorite.  Bookmark her site.

Portable Apps... Found this site of cool sites on a G+ post. Been hooked since then. Go and explore.

Count your calories, or... let Calorie Count do it for you. I'm doing the whole getting my fat-a$$ into shape thing. I'm using other resources I'll school you on, but this is my fave for checking nutrition labels. (And, no, you don't have to sign up to use, but it would be nice & will give you greater access to the tools there.)

My Fitness Pal... is, so far, my favorite online fitness journal source. For one thing, there is an accompanying phone app that actually works on my Blackberry. For another, it seems a little more user-friendly than the others I have tried so far. Of course, that's me, you might like one of these others...

• FitDay - Has iPhone app. Kind of pushes the premium services. 
• Live Strong - Can use Facebook to connect (boo, hiss). Partner of the Lance Armstrong Foundation. 
• Everyday Health - has "My Calorie Counter" buried in the site. (I started out using this one but switched to Fitness Pal.) MCC is in midst of changes, so it's not very user-friendly. I found it difficult to navigate through the different menus... So, meh, your call.
• Calorie Count (mentioned above) - has same tools as most of these sites. I haven't tried them yet.

That's a start, but there are others I haven't even really looked at (My Food Diary, My Net Diary, Fit Click & so on... my oh my!)

Well, I had a few more items to add, but I got carried away with the food diaries. Now I have to go and deal with my offline life, so I will try to get back another time and add more random things.

Peace
--Free

Oh... Screeech!!! Back up, back up...

I forgot to add Ideeli - a shopping site. Tho I am too dang broke to shop there (yet), I have fallen in love with their purses and boots. (I get weak for 3 things other than a good man: perfume, purses & boots, yes ma'am). Ideeli doesn't do fragrances, but that's what Sephora's is for. Meantime, are these boots just too freaking hot to trot??? Then again, I'm no longer the clothes whore I was as a younger woman!

I am a little disappointed in the Shoe section. Nothing simple-sexy-classic - just a bunch of clunky looking things. No one makes a really pretty heel anymore...

Anyway, Ideeli has most of what you'd want to browse for. I didn't check out the jewelry - jewelry is personal & I don't like to glob it on;each piece should be really special. There are plenty of known "labels," if that's your thing. BTW - it's a "join" site, but you don't have to do so just to browse.
Enjoy.

   

Materialistic Moments

It is taking me forever to write this post and get it ready to "publish." It's a little project of mine where I share some of my moments of materialism.

I am a pretty low-maintenance kind of woman (in my more, ahem, mature years) and I long ago got over the notion of money buying happiness. But. I am woman, watch me shop! LOL Actually, I can't and don't really even want to shop til I drop, but this is a game an old friend and I liked to play. We called it dream shopping. We'd pick a specific type of item and then dream about what we'd buy if money were no object. The irony is that we did this when we were sometimes supposed to be working. (We were on the night shift and things often got slow. Had to find some way to kill the time!) It was such fun. I haven't heard from that particular friend in a long time, but our little game is still a fun way to pass the time.

Today's dream subject: perfumes, perfumes, perfumes...

Ahh, what can I say? This is the maker of the most fabulous fragrance ever.

I cannot even describe to you what this scent makes me feel. (You know I belong to the Guerlain site!) There was a time when I had over 15 Shalimar bottles and holders. I hope they are still in my storage, but I believe the man I was married to got rid of them...

Then there was this wonderful scent. The funny thing is, I could only ever find it in miniature sizes. Great fragrance though, and way more (and I do mean waaaay more) affordable than Shalimar. 

Flori Roberts "Gold" fragrance was a winner. I'd have men and women stop to ask what scent I was wearing and where I got it from. Sadly, the scent is discontinued. I couldn't even find a picture of the bottle or box. The pic I'm including is from another F.R. product with a similar looking box. I'm so sad...

I have to explain this one since it is a men's cologne. Somewhere on this blog I have previously posted on how I feel about smelling this scent on a man. Oh. My. Good. Mercy. This is the most intense scent. Ever. I loved this so much that one Christmas I gave the women in my brothers' lives a gift by giving all the guys this cologne. Yes, the ladies were very happy. I even got some for myself. I'd spray it on my pillow and sheets just because it smelled so good. (Okay, and because at the time I was single and just liked having that masculine smell around. LOL) So, yeah, this one is on my dream list.

Laugh if you want, but there was a time when I was all about some Charlie. I had a bottle on my dresser, one in my purse, one in my desk drawer at work, and, yes ma'am, I kept a bottle in my car. I was more "Charlie" than Shelley Hack - and not only was she the model for the fragrance, but she ended up being one of  the "Charlie's Angels." Shoot, you couldn't tell me nothin' about some Charlie... And it was right up there with another favorite:

Emeraude. I still wear this stuff. For one thing, I can afford it and, for another thing, even if I couldn't, I bought so much when I could I still have some! Love it, love it, love it. If only it had more of an oil base and lasted on me more than half and hour. Still, classic.

I won't keep posting the pics. It's tedious because you know I forget what the hell I'm doing half the time. (I just realized I had a couple of pics that have nothing to do with this post, but I kept trying to insert them... Ah, well.)

Other perfumes (or colognes) I have loved: Dune, Hynotic Poison (not the orginal sickening, choke-a-horse crap) and Opium (yum). This one here is also a favorite, but I hate the bottle design.

Yep. It's "Angel." One of the BFF's (Barb) with her bougie ass got me hooked on this one. I think she even got me my first bottle. Then that heffa moved away and I had to support my own habit!

Now here are some scents that I wouldn't be caught alive wearing. I don't believe even my worst enemy would squirt any on me when I'm dead. I mean, what the heck???

Isn't this just insane? Of course this is not a perfume I would buy. I mean, I wouldn't even want this on my dresser... (Okay, maybe if my potential man was into it. I'd agree to keep it hidden somewhere in a lingerie drawer!) Anyway... I remember now that I had heard of products under this name a few years back. There was an uproar by concerned parents and such. The name, by the way, stands for "French Connection U.K." I have a problem getting things past my brain, so I always first see the wrong word - you know, the "bad" word. Silly world, huh?

Surprisingly, Britney Spears' fragrance is not that bad. It's not for my body chemistry, but it smells really nice on my niece. (She is embarrassed that it's from Britney so she hides it in the very bottom of her purse. Idiot.)

Other than Emeraude, I have in my possession (only because I stockpiled when I had a JOB and something called "disposable income"): Hypnotic Poison, Queen (Latifah's really nice fragrance), Halle (a feel-better gift from fam) and like half a drop of Shalimar perfume left in one of the bottles that survived my marriage. I won't even use the Shalimar. I just sniff the bottle every now and then to make myself feel better. LOL

Of course, there are some nasty (in my opinion, of course) scents. You know the ones, those that smell like scented rubbing alcohol, a too-sweet candle,  or (yuk) burning butt. Some scents are nice until the person wearing them decides to suffocate the rest of the world with it -  like some chick in Safeway the other day. I don't think I have ever smelled a fragrance that sugary. And she must have wanted to get rid of a stalker since she apparently soaked in it. It was way horrible. I didn't get closer than ten feet of her and I up with that stench on me. (I am so serious. I got home and my sister asked, "Are you on a new medicine?" Wow.)

Anyway... I hope I gave you a new way to pass the time. Go ahead, dream about what you would buy if you could. In this economy, dreaming is about all most of us can afford to do.

Peace
--Free

This Diet Thing

So... Can't remember (without looking at notes) when exactly I started working on the diet & exercise routine, but yesterday I joined an online community where I am able to track my progress. What surprises me most is that I didn't meet my goal of 1850 calories. I only made it to 991.

Me? Not make my daily calories?

I almost fell over when I looked at my daily total. I not only missed my calorie intake goal by almost 600, but I burned over 1500 in my exercise. Crazy, right?

I knew how many calories I'd been burning, but I really believed I was eating way more calories during the day. I am going to have to be careful. I don't want to pass out somewhere.Wouldn't that be hilarious? The woman who was trying to eat the world just a couple of months ago...

At the rate I'm going, I am hoping to be back in really good shape by the time we get warmer weather. It will not only be much easier to do some outdoor walking, but I won't have to layer down in clothes to cover all this fat.

Vain as it may be - I cannot wait to wear cute clothes and shoes again. I'll probably just stand in front of a mirror naked for the first few days! I haven't even wanted to look at my body for almost a year. It's going to be nice to have a waistline again.

Yep, Spring is coming up all over the place.

Peace

--Free

My Mama Was Right...

... About a LOT of things. That dawns on me more and more as each day of my life unfolds.


 For instance, Mom always said that people need to learn the difference between friends and acquaintances. It took me a while, but that one sunk in when I was in high school. I had a habit of claiming almost anyone I met as a friend. Whenever some random person ended up disappointing me, Mom would repeat herself about friends vs acquaintances. I'm glad because the friends I have happen to be very few but very true.

Another of Mom's lessons was to be kind to everyone because you don't know what anyone is going through. This is proved out by a really deep friendship I have now. The friend and I are so opposite on the surface that I wasn't sure about her at first. Now that we are friends, I've learned that, around the time we first met, she was going through one of the darkest times in her life and was almost to the point of giving up. I was feeling pretty worthless myself, thanks to the abusive relationship I was in. The funny thing is, what brought my friend and I together was sharing laughter and not misery. I didn't even realize she was unhappy until later on.

Even the broken relationship of my marriage is helped by Mom's advice. I will never be able to be with that man again, but I don't hate him.  He's not a bad person, he just has things to deal with that make him the way he is.

Mom also told me that doing wrong does not go unpaid. I'd get this talk from her when I was sure that someone had treated me wrong. Mom wouldn't agree or disagree, she'd just tell me that I was learning from my own experience how NOT to treat people. She'd say that no one gets away with hurting others - not in the long run. At the time, I thought she was talking about how bad people would be judged by God in the end of it all. What I learned later on in life is that evil, cruel or just "bad" people are re-paid in life - by the life they live. Think about it: people who are truly "bad" cannot be truly happy. Happiness does not breed anything bad.

One of the strangest things my mother said to me a long time ago (and I have to paraphrase and piece this together the best my bad memory will allow me!) happened after she went on a little day cruise during a vacation. At the time, I was making pretty good money, but Mom, my sister and I were also raising the four kids. During this vacation that Mom and I were on, I was stressing the whole money thing. Our vacation budget was so tight that I was scared to do anything not planned. Well, mom wanted to go on a day cruise. No, let me stop fronting and say this: Mom WENT on a day cruise because that's what she wanted to do. Later on, when I was being all passive-aggressive, letting her know how she had strained the wallet, she gave me a talking to. (Remember now, I am a grown-ass woman at the time!) She told me that it's important to be careful with money but not to the point of being miserly. No matter how broke you are, you have to enjoy life. The important thing, in her opinion: not to get attached to either poverty or wealth.

I am glad that I listened to my mother. Because of the things she taught me, I have lived well, made great friends, survived really horrible things, and been able to (mostly) smile through it all.

I miss my mother every day.

Peace
--Free

First Moves

It's 4:30 in the morning. I'm wide awake.

My best friend and I were up really late talking. About men.

Men. They really are hard to figure out.

My friend and I are both in situations where we have what we are calling our "Grown folk crushes." And neither one of us can figure out what the objects of our crushes are thinking.

This is some hilarious stuff. To be grown and still not able to "get" what a man has going on in his head...

What do men think? Do they worry that if they are attracted to you, they have to wait to make sure you are attracted to them? Why are their signals so subtle?

Yeah. So. J and I have decided (because we are women and always logical) that both our crushes are just as nervous as we are about approaching someone they like. Makes sense. No one wants to risk being deflected. No one wants to make the first move.

So. What to do? What to do?

J has made up her mind to make the first move. Easy for her. If she gets cut off at the pass (get it?) she doesn't have to see her crush again. Embarrassing but survivable. She can lick her wounds, come tell mama-pal all about it, have some ice-cream and move on. Eventually.

Me. Hah. I'd have to feel like crawling under a rock in shame every time I saw my crush. Or move away. Or just will myself numb and blind and completely undisturbed every time I saw him.

Wow. You think that as you get older, you get wiser, right? Well, that ain't happening over here.

Before we hung up, J asked me the world's stupidest question: "What's the worst that could happen?"

What is she? New to the planet? The worst that could happen is that I end up mortified and frozen on the spot. Just end up standing there, rooted to the spot, mouth hanging open while I try to think of a way to act like I wasn't telling someone that I am attracted to them. I mean, how do you play that off? Say something like, "Oh, okay, so... heh heh. Yeah.... All right. Um..."? See, I'm good at most social situations, but I really don't think I could pull that off without looking like I need rehab for the critically stupid.

Bottom line is, I haven't decided what to do yet. I am the queen of proud. There is almost no way I would set myself up for that kind of humiliation. Almost no way. I might get a burst of crazy and just blurt everything out the next time I get the chance. Tell you what though, J better have ice-cream and sugar cones ready. And not just the regular old sugar cones, but those really nice waffle-y kind - the ones coated on the inside with chocolate. And maybe some Snickers bars. I can't survive crushing (really, did I say crushing) disappointment without caloric comfort.

Whatever happens, I will let you know. Because if I'm going to go down in flames, I might as well write about it.

Peace
--Free

A G+ friend posted this song I had not listened to in a while. It's really the kind of song you hum to yourself when you are crushing on someone. (Etta James' "At Last" doesn't come til your are out of crush stage and into the getting-to-know-ya stage.)



(And, by the way, that whole "women always logical" thing? You know that was just a joke, right? Of course you did.)