In a dark theater I had an epiphany. It was like the girl on that stage was singing only to me.
Were you stacked in the fifth grade? I was. I was underweight my whole childhood. In fact, I did not reach over 100 pounds until after I turned 18. Now pair that with a big round butt and you have yourself a body image issue.
I developed before all of my friends, and most of the girls in my school for that matter. Even though I am 5’2” now, I was one of the tallest girls in my class for a couple of years. I finally talked my mother into buying me a bra because I was tired of walking around elementary school with my headlights on, but instantly regretted it. The next day was the longest day of school in my life. The bra felt like it was made out of sandpaper. At 3:00 I wrestled myself out of that thing so I could watch the Brady Bunch in peace.
I stood out. I hated it.
I was excited to start seventh grade because many of my friends had caught up with me a little in the breast and butt category. That was until I started my period the first day of school. I was barely twelve and spent most of two hours that night on my bathroom floor with the instructions from a tampon box and a panic attack. I was sweating bullets while thinking, Oh my shit. Why does that woman have her foot on the toilet? Is she flushing it with her toe? Surely not. No. Oh Hell No.
Fast forward to high school. Every morning I had to walk from my car to the school, but I passed the football training complex along the way. Invariably there would be one or two players who would yell some comment about my rear end as I walked by. You would think the clarinet case might deter some comments, but they were relentless. One day I snapped. Many of you who know me well can only imagine what came out of my mouth. They never said a word to me again.
When I was sixteen, my parents took my sister and me to New York City for a week. The mildest show on Broadway at the time was A Chorus Line. I recognized most of the songs until this short black haired woman got up there and started singing a song about how she and her body never fit together. Then she started signing about how her “assets” helped her in the long run and that curves were wonderful. She was queen of the world when she learned to show off and embrace her “Tits and Ass” as she sings in the song. I was on the tip of my seat and wide eyed with relief and amazement. I heard my parents snicker on either side of me. I saw them out of the corner of my eye glance at each other knowingly. I never looked back.
I stood out, and I loved it.
Thank you for reading my post, and I hope you feel a little better about yourself and your body!
Monday, October 25, 2010
Monday, October 18, 2010
Right Place - Wrong Time
Have you ever felt like a complete and total stressed out and over booked fool? If someone said no, let me give you an example.
I am a proud member of the Junior League of Texarkana. I have spent many a Monday night in a general meeting, board meeting, Mistletoe Fair meeting, or a social meeting. A few years ago it was Christmas time and that means the Junior League Christmas Social. Christmas Social is always held at someone’s private home, which is always a showcase. This particular year the social was going to be held at Debbie’s house. I had been inside Debbie’s house before but wanted to see her snow village collection again. I was also pregnant and knew we always had the event catered. I was hungry.
I put on my one Christmas maternity outfit (Red silk shirt and black leather pants), and headed to Debbie’s house. When I arrived there were not as many cars as I expected. More food for me! I walked in and asked for the sign in sheet. Debbie said there was not one and left to tend to her other guest.
This should have been my first clue that something was amiss. There is always a sign in sheet at a Junior League meeting. It must be in our bylaws that a sign in sheet is required if more then two of us are together. I looked into the dining room and noticed corning ware dishes on the table. While my first thought should have been that I was at the wrong party, it was not. None the less, my mind was racing. Oh Shit! I was supposed to bring a covered dish? No one told me! I didn’t get an email. Damn phone tree. I told them that shit never works.
At this moment I should have been planning my unnoticed escape. Not me. I am mentally freaking out trying to devise a plan on how I can drive to get a bucket of chicken and make it back before anyone notices. It is a social death in the South to show up to a social and be the only one who didn’t bring a covered dish. You might as well screw a high school boy. By this time I am in a cold sweat. A pregnant woman perspiring heavily in leather maternity pants is never a good thing.
After walking around a little in the living room, it finally dawned on me. This is not the Junior League Social. Yes I was at Debbie’s house, and the Social was to be held at Debbie’s house – the next night. Once I finally came to this realization, I grabbed my purse and hauled ass out of there.
When I got home, I explained it all to my husband. He was still laughing while he was helping me get out of my leather pants. He was not helping me get out of my pants in the way you might think. I literally could not get myself out of my pants and had to ask him for help. The next night I said to hell with it and wore jeans. I proudly walked into Debbie’s house, signed in, and ate half of everything on the dining room table. Including ¼ of a sun dried tomato cheesecake.
As always thank you for reading my post and I hope you feel a little bit better about yourself.
I am a proud member of the Junior League of Texarkana. I have spent many a Monday night in a general meeting, board meeting, Mistletoe Fair meeting, or a social meeting. A few years ago it was Christmas time and that means the Junior League Christmas Social. Christmas Social is always held at someone’s private home, which is always a showcase. This particular year the social was going to be held at Debbie’s house. I had been inside Debbie’s house before but wanted to see her snow village collection again. I was also pregnant and knew we always had the event catered. I was hungry.
I put on my one Christmas maternity outfit (Red silk shirt and black leather pants), and headed to Debbie’s house. When I arrived there were not as many cars as I expected. More food for me! I walked in and asked for the sign in sheet. Debbie said there was not one and left to tend to her other guest.
This should have been my first clue that something was amiss. There is always a sign in sheet at a Junior League meeting. It must be in our bylaws that a sign in sheet is required if more then two of us are together. I looked into the dining room and noticed corning ware dishes on the table. While my first thought should have been that I was at the wrong party, it was not. None the less, my mind was racing. Oh Shit! I was supposed to bring a covered dish? No one told me! I didn’t get an email. Damn phone tree. I told them that shit never works.
At this moment I should have been planning my unnoticed escape. Not me. I am mentally freaking out trying to devise a plan on how I can drive to get a bucket of chicken and make it back before anyone notices. It is a social death in the South to show up to a social and be the only one who didn’t bring a covered dish. You might as well screw a high school boy. By this time I am in a cold sweat. A pregnant woman perspiring heavily in leather maternity pants is never a good thing.
After walking around a little in the living room, it finally dawned on me. This is not the Junior League Social. Yes I was at Debbie’s house, and the Social was to be held at Debbie’s house – the next night. Once I finally came to this realization, I grabbed my purse and hauled ass out of there.
When I got home, I explained it all to my husband. He was still laughing while he was helping me get out of my leather pants. He was not helping me get out of my pants in the way you might think. I literally could not get myself out of my pants and had to ask him for help. The next night I said to hell with it and wore jeans. I proudly walked into Debbie’s house, signed in, and ate half of everything on the dining room table. Including ¼ of a sun dried tomato cheesecake.
As always thank you for reading my post and I hope you feel a little bit better about yourself.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
"Stand By Your Man"
My husband can always make me laugh. This week I decided to make a list of his memorable comments.
1. “Hey, you are sitting on my cooler.” The moment we first met at the Sigma Alpha Epsilon house party.
2. “I make a potato casserole that will knock your panties – oh I mean your socks off.” While trying to pick me up in a bar two years later.
3. “Listen, we didn’t all go to some fancy prep school like you did, but that book was on my reading list in High School also.” When I suggested we go see “The Scarlet Letter” movie while on one of our first dates. I was trying to explain the plot to him.
4. “She gets pregnant!?” Fifteen minutes into the movie.
5. “I could have told you that. I was just deciding when to tell you.” What he told me the first two times when I told him I was pregnant.
6. “What the HELL? How did this happen?” The third time I told him I was pregnant.
7. “This is going to be great. You are going to be a wonderful mother. Hey buddy, please quit crying.” Every time we drive home from the hospital with a new baby.
8. “I don’t care if they do make it in your size. I am your father and I get the final say. Not Target. Just because they sell that crap doesn’t mean you can wear it.” To our daughter regarding Halloween costumes and their age appropriateness.
9. “When they get their own apartments they can have all the pets they want. They can have unicorns in the son of a bitch for all I care. No more in this house.” When the kids and I asked for another pet.
10. “I love you buddy.” Every night before we go to bed.
Thank you for reading my post and I hope you feel better about yourself.
1. “Hey, you are sitting on my cooler.” The moment we first met at the Sigma Alpha Epsilon house party.
2. “I make a potato casserole that will knock your panties – oh I mean your socks off.” While trying to pick me up in a bar two years later.
3. “Listen, we didn’t all go to some fancy prep school like you did, but that book was on my reading list in High School also.” When I suggested we go see “The Scarlet Letter” movie while on one of our first dates. I was trying to explain the plot to him.
4. “She gets pregnant!?” Fifteen minutes into the movie.
5. “I could have told you that. I was just deciding when to tell you.” What he told me the first two times when I told him I was pregnant.
6. “What the HELL? How did this happen?” The third time I told him I was pregnant.
7. “This is going to be great. You are going to be a wonderful mother. Hey buddy, please quit crying.” Every time we drive home from the hospital with a new baby.
8. “I don’t care if they do make it in your size. I am your father and I get the final say. Not Target. Just because they sell that crap doesn’t mean you can wear it.” To our daughter regarding Halloween costumes and their age appropriateness.
9. “When they get their own apartments they can have all the pets they want. They can have unicorns in the son of a bitch for all I care. No more in this house.” When the kids and I asked for another pet.
10. “I love you buddy.” Every night before we go to bed.
Thank you for reading my post and I hope you feel better about yourself.
Monday, October 4, 2010
Trashy
I love paradoxes, and I love sarcasm. For anyone who knows me, that is not a surprise. I also like to poke fun at myself. I poke fun at other people but most understand my dry sense of humor. I have been called a bitch many times for comments I have made, but most of the time the person calling me that was laughing. Not too long ago someone called me a hard nosed bitch at the office. But as a good friend and talented business person told me, all bets are off at work. Just because you are short and cute does not mean you can’t get shit done.
I posted a comment about why people put trashy pictures of themselves on Facebook this morning. I noted that I had finally come to the realization that they were trashy themselves. I really was not trying to be funny; I just finally figured out that truth. This is not the first time a comment from me has been taken as funny when not intended that way. When I was a provisional in the Junior League we were touring non-profits in town to see which one we wanted to take on as our group project. Our entire group was profoundly struck by the Battered Women’s Shelter. It was a sad place. I understand that the better furniture and supplies go out with the women once they leave the shelter in order to help them rebuild their lives. The only crib in the shelter was an old worn out bassinet with a dirty mattress. All I could think of was my 13 month-old daughter.
One week later we met as a group to decide what project would work best for all of us. I stood up in the meeting and told the group that even though we were all educated and financially comfortable, we were all one ass beating away from ending up in that shelter ourselves. I also added that I would take a lot of shit from my husband before I would lay down my daughter in that nasty crib. Some people laughed. Some were offended. I never intended the comments to be funny, but I was trying to make a point about the state of mind a woman is in when she needs the Battered Women’s Shelter. My point was that we needed to help the shelter. We did.
Should I really call someone else trashy? Probably not. I was once told by a female boss that boots and a dress were never appropriate office attire. She also added that my clothes were too tight and revealing. I guess she thought a fitted suit and heels made me look like a hooker. I work very hard to keep my butt out of plus sizes. I have been running for the past four years and have yet to lose pound one. I could be on meth and gain weight. I am proud of the way my body looks at age 36 with three kids. My other female boss told me I did not look like a hooker, just a really high priced call girl. She said, “I know you spend a lot of money on those clothes. Screw her!”
For every person who laughs at my posts there is another offended one. I understand that – to each his own. I try to do the right thing by not listening to gossip and refusing to be around other people who do. I also do not let my children say the word hate. I think that evens out my love for sarcasm and my ability to work in profanity like an artist, but my children have sarcasm running through their veins. My daughter talked nonstop about a project she had to make for science class. She needed to make a Wanted Poster for a female scientist. She went into great detail one day in the car about what she needed to put on the poster and how she wanted it to look. Her exasperated eight year old brother finally remarked, “ Geez, just put a mustache on her and be done with it.”
I was one proud bitch.
I posted a comment about why people put trashy pictures of themselves on Facebook this morning. I noted that I had finally come to the realization that they were trashy themselves. I really was not trying to be funny; I just finally figured out that truth. This is not the first time a comment from me has been taken as funny when not intended that way. When I was a provisional in the Junior League we were touring non-profits in town to see which one we wanted to take on as our group project. Our entire group was profoundly struck by the Battered Women’s Shelter. It was a sad place. I understand that the better furniture and supplies go out with the women once they leave the shelter in order to help them rebuild their lives. The only crib in the shelter was an old worn out bassinet with a dirty mattress. All I could think of was my 13 month-old daughter.
One week later we met as a group to decide what project would work best for all of us. I stood up in the meeting and told the group that even though we were all educated and financially comfortable, we were all one ass beating away from ending up in that shelter ourselves. I also added that I would take a lot of shit from my husband before I would lay down my daughter in that nasty crib. Some people laughed. Some were offended. I never intended the comments to be funny, but I was trying to make a point about the state of mind a woman is in when she needs the Battered Women’s Shelter. My point was that we needed to help the shelter. We did.
Should I really call someone else trashy? Probably not. I was once told by a female boss that boots and a dress were never appropriate office attire. She also added that my clothes were too tight and revealing. I guess she thought a fitted suit and heels made me look like a hooker. I work very hard to keep my butt out of plus sizes. I have been running for the past four years and have yet to lose pound one. I could be on meth and gain weight. I am proud of the way my body looks at age 36 with three kids. My other female boss told me I did not look like a hooker, just a really high priced call girl. She said, “I know you spend a lot of money on those clothes. Screw her!”
For every person who laughs at my posts there is another offended one. I understand that – to each his own. I try to do the right thing by not listening to gossip and refusing to be around other people who do. I also do not let my children say the word hate. I think that evens out my love for sarcasm and my ability to work in profanity like an artist, but my children have sarcasm running through their veins. My daughter talked nonstop about a project she had to make for science class. She needed to make a Wanted Poster for a female scientist. She went into great detail one day in the car about what she needed to put on the poster and how she wanted it to look. Her exasperated eight year old brother finally remarked, “ Geez, just put a mustache on her and be done with it.”
I was one proud bitch.
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