Tips for First Dates

This evening marks the first date in my newly fashioned single-dom.  This will be an ongoing post as I prepare for the night.  First off, things probably not to say to the prospective date before the actual date  (we’ve only messaged on an online dating site):

– I may not recognize you without the tree or camel. Maybe you could wear a Gandalf beard so I can find you.

– I won’t turn you into a newt the first time we meet. But, be careful Gingrich was named Brian before we met and look at how he turned out. We witches are a testy lot.

When getting ready for the date, some helpful hints on your evening toilette:

-It may not be the best idea to try dying those pesky grey hairs 2 hours before the date. As there may not be time enough to remove the dye that stained the outer reaches of your face and your neck. But, a magic sponge works wonders if you don’t mind smelling like a freshly groomed corpse…as they’re made from formaldehyde.

-With less than an hour to go, one might ask, why are you at Walmart buying hot dogs and cork boards? Why indeed…all I can say, is welcome to my life.

-Also, still need to shower because I smell like a newly made up corpse. And I have three zits. Someone, please pray them away.

-Home at last. IMp-ess has advised me that this gentleman may be my soul mate  or serial killer, so to plan accordingly.  I believe within the next 15 minutes everything will be clipped, plucked,shaved, moisturized, and ready for star crossed love or the morgue.

-Now, what to wear? This is always best left to the last 40 minutes.

– As an added challenge my parents started a grease fire in the kitchen. Add hickory smoked to the scent list tonight. Let’s just admit it, I’m going to be irresistible.

 

Made it there with time to spare and happily we both wore Chuck Taylors. 🙂

The Girls Are Contained

Ladies, this is a public service announcement…Get a proper bra fitting! Go someplace that is certified to this all important task.  I’ve spent years, I mean years and years thinking I was a 36 C.  Why did I think this? Well, it was a very scientific process; I would go to Target and try bras on until one fit. If I gained weight I’d go up a size and if I lost weight I’d go down a size. Can’t imagine why that made the girls droopy and not the leat bit perky!

Here’s a few words of wisdom:

From Trinny and Susannah:

“Badly dressed breasts will ruin you. They will make you look fat and they will distort the fine lines of tailoring…a well fitted bra is the most important item in your wardrobe”

And from Clinton Kelly:

“Ladies, you must have a professional bra fitting every 2 years! And don’t confuse lingerie with supportive undergarments. The same bra you wear in the bedroom to get your partner’s blood flowing is not the same bra you wear to work.”

 

Let me tell you how waaaaay off I was on my bra size…turns out I’m a 34 DD!

Who Woulda Thunk It?

Fear has been a constant companion in my life. For much of the years I’ve spent knocking about this planet, I’ve allowed fear to dictate what I would and would not do. I used to be terrified of driving, preferring to be the passenger with anyone willing to drive me where I wanted to go. It occurred to be at some point that I trusted other people more than I trusted myself…how idiotic is that??? Then I found myself in Oklahoma with a newborn and toddler. My then-husband was sent away for a 3 month boot camp and I was alone, without a single friend or acquaintance (well, there was the 90 million year old Korean lady that would bring her herd of Chihuahuas to my house around midnight to steal my herb plants, but I’m fairly certain she wouldn’t have driven me anywhere). I had to step up and get over that driving fear, because I quickly learned that the gas station down the block didn’t carry diapers, formula, or very much food. We three couldn’t live on Snickers and Coke for very  long. And that’s pretty much how I’ve conquered fears, necessity trumping the fear and my just dealing with it. Until 2 1/2 years ago…

I realized there were always things that would scare me, always things that I was certain I couldn’t do. But, instead of asking “Why me?” I started to embrace, “Why not me?”

I also had to accept that to build the life I dreamed of I had to rely on my village. Hilary Clinton once said it takes a village to raise a child. Let me tell you it also takes a village to help heal a broken heart, build a life of smiles and meaning, and it takes a village to help you on the journey. Without Weight Watchers and it’s amazing staff I never would have had the confidence to believe I could be someone other thatn the chunky girl. And once I began working for them, I was shocked and pleased at the confidence I found within myself. Without my pastor I wouldn’t have believed anyone would lovee me for simply being me. Without my Tarot adviser I would never have trusted the future. Without my friends, old and new but all dear, I would have never dared to sing on the stage or run a single race.

And now, my village widens and deepens…I start back to college in the spring…me! The gal that never felt smart enough or worth enough…I’m terrifed of math, but I decided that failure wasn’t an option. I’m going to pass math with flying colors…the same way I learned to drive…the same way I started a new life…by putting my big girls panties on and trusting my wonderful village.

Mom Update

Well, the rundown is colon issues, throat issues, and the continuation of heart issues.  None of them are terminal in a quick sense, but all must be addressed and taken care of.  She’s stubbornly clinging to her usual diet and lack of movement, but on a bright note she hasn’t had a cigarette since she was hospitalized with the heart attack one week ago. That’s a trend I’d like to see become permanent. Thank you everyone for the positive energy, prayers, and just plain wonderful love sent this way!

The Next Nest Registry

Ever notice when someone is expecting a child or marriage is on the horizon there is a gift registry? This isn’t one of them and is one of them all at the same time…well, not in the sense that I want to create a list of items I really, really want and then expect all my loved ones to cough up the goodies. Nope. This is about a wishlist for my next nest and my hopes for it. I’m going to create a page, a place where I can post what I find and add as I go along in this odd transitional time. There will be some ground rules, things aren’t going to be as they were when I first stepped out on my own.

1. I will do everything I can to not buy new.  There may be some things that are better purchased new, but I’m going to really contemplate those.

2.  I would like to avoid appliances whenever possible. Whisks over an electric mixer or coffee press instead of a coffee maker, that sort of thing.

3.  I shall keep it as simple as possible. There’s just no need for me to have a tortilla maker or a microwave or cake pop maker.

4.  I want to buy American as much as possible.

A Matter of Choice

My mom was hospitalized this morning. Over the course of the last 24 hours she suffered from extreme pain that she incorrectly believed was sever heartburn and acid reflux. At roughly the brunch hour she had a stent placed in one of her arteries, one that was 90% clogged. She’ll be in the hospital at least overnight, perhaps a few days. This is saddening, in so many ways.

From a purely basic,  primal place  this is my mom. It’s difficult to see her like this, knowing there is little I can do to help besides take on household chores and offer meager support. She’s not a big fan of being held or even talked to very much. She far prefers to watch Fox news or B rate horror films all day by herself, but she’s always been this way.

What this also brings home for me though, is that each day we have a choice…many choices actually. Every day my mom decides to smoke 4 packs of cigarettes. She has a closet full of nicotine patches, but in the end wants to smoke. Every day she avoids anything moderately healthy in her diet, I can’t recall if I’ve ever seen her eat a fruit or vegetable in my life, except a baked potato…with the added sour cream and butter I’m not certain that counts for much.

Sometimes, in the mornings as she’s digging into her second pack of cigarettes and third cup of coffee she wonders why she has so many health problems. It doens’t do any good to point out that 20 smokes before 10 is probably a good start on where things have begun to go wrong for her, but she scoffs at the notion if I do decide to say something.

Perhaps its selfish of me, but watching all of this just makes me want to make healthier choices for myself and my IMps. Makes me want to do what’s best, not what’s easy. Because frankly at some point easy becomes more difficult and painful than you can even imagine.  It’s horrible to think that in many ways my mother inspires me, but ina an equal amount of ways she serves as a warning about the choices I make…each and every day.

Miss Mortensen

 

I’m all about Marilyn Monroe these days, reading bios and looking at pics…not a clue as to why, but am running with it. This is one of my favorite images of her…yet again, not a clue as to why…well, actually small clues…it reminds me of her struggle… the chasm between her and reality…the ghost of something we don’t even have a name for…there’s always talk about saving her, but what if she wasn’t here to be saved, just passing through to another time and place creatures like her return to…Odd confession, I’ve never watched one of her films, that more than likely will change in the coming weeks. Any favorites?

A Rose By Any Other Name…

Mostly, when we’re born we carry our father’s surname. Traditionally, upon marriage women take their husband’s surnames. Sometimes hyphenated and other times not. In some cases the women keep their father’s names. As I tend to the last little nit noid details of my expired marrital state, I find I want a name to call my own. I am not necessarily my father’s child…truly only by blood alone is what he might claim and just a tiny bit more…I am no longer bound to my wasband…I am the captain of my own ship, according to the IRS head of house hold and am learning to fly by my own wings…I believe this deserves a new name…a name that represents I’ve crossed a threshold into a new part of my life and yet I haven’t a clue as to what it might be. It’s difficult to come up with such things when there’s so much to choose from. I adore the spunk of Amelia Earhart, but should I decide to take her name and make it my own? How about Windsor as I’m rather fond of HRH Elizabeth II? Or make one up, like lushtushicidity? Okay, that’s weird and difficult to say and sounds rather like I’m trying to describe the ass crack aspect of a downtrodden city. Any ideas?

The Running of the IMp

Swift IMp and I ran in the Quality of Life race this morning. This was the first time we’ve run together and it was amazing. I loved sharing the road with my son and was pleased I could keep up with him! I hope I can talk him in to running in the Color Me Rad 5k this October.

Things I Love This Very Minute..

Abraham Lincoln Vampire Hunter is amazing. I loved the book, loved the movie and am even more enamoured with the President than I was before.

My absolute favorite running shoe! If I could wear these shoes 24/7 I would!

And what’s on my nightstand.