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Random thoughts from a woman in love

Category Archives: me, myself and I (The trifecta)

It’s been a while since I last posted. I have been busy, busy, busy with work, school and my dog. Work is exciting these days – we launched a new medical device in the U.K. and it’s taking off quite well. School has been…dull…I thought it would be more interesting since I’m studying Environmental Science, but I’m a bit bored with the class. The professor isn’t very enthusiastic about the course. Oh well – finals next week, and on to the next class.

As for my puppy – he managed to have a stroke a little over a week ago. *sigh* He was out doing his one-mile run with Steve and had a seizure (5 of them, actually). Scared the crap out of Steve. After a multitude of tests, an MRI and $3,000 spent at the emergency room, B is doing much better. He has partial paralysis on the left side of his face and is a bit slower and quieter than normal. Other than that, you’d never know anything happened. No more running for him. He’ll be moving at my speed from now on, not Steve’s, as soon as I get cleared for exercising again (damn back injury…) So, along with his liver and kidney problems caused by abuse from his previous owner, my dog now has dain bramage.  On the bright side, the cats have suddenly become very friendly towards him. They must sense he’s not well.  Good kitties!

It’s been a challenge to think creatively – I am giving myself one more week to recover from the craziness that has been my life lately, and then I MUST get back to writing. Crack that whip!

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Steve and I are taking ballroom dance lessons. *sigh* Not an easy thing for a woman who was officially certified as a klutz by her ballet-dancing sisters and who is so shy, she blushes at the thought of dancing with strangers.

At our second lesson, we “warmed up” with a cha-cha.  Ummmm…that’s not a warm-up, that’s a guaranteed way to get me to quit. It was too much like…exercise!   Five minutes into the warm-up and I was sweating.  Steve was grinning from ear to ear, dancing his big ol’ heart out.  Being the trooper (read: sucker) that I am, I continued cha-cha-ing with gusto.

Finally, the music stopped.  I was tired.  Already.  How on Earth was I going to keep dancing for the next 50 minutes? Steve smiled and leaned over to whisper in my ear, “I am so happy right now. I’ve wanted to do this for 36 years, and I finally have someone who wants to learn with me.  You are doing great!”  Okay – that’s how.  I couldn’t quit after hearing those words from him.  And he did look very happy.  He had such a cute, goofy grin on his face and his blue eyes sparkled.  He was in his element.

The instructor yelled “Gentlemen, grab your partner.  Let’s waltz.”  Steve grabbed my hand; put his other hand on my back, and, whoosh!  I was in his arms.  The music started, and we were waltzing.  The man can dance.  I followed him, trying my best to look graceful.   I forgot I was tired and just enjoyed sharing the music with him.

I got to waltz with him for a whole 2 minutes, and, then, the dreaded “Switch your partners!” was called.  Steve handed me over to the man next to us with a quick, “Bye honey!” as the woman to his right eagerly stepped up to him.

Wait! I’m not ready!  I stepped up to my new partner – my shyness-gene went into red-alert status.  Stranger danger!  He smiled and said, “Hello, care to waltz?”  I blushed, as I tend to do, and gingerly placed my left hand on his shoulder as he took my right hand.  Okay.  Breathe. This will not kill me.   The music started, we began to dance.  1, 2, 3; 1, 2, 3.  Hey!  I was dancing! With a stranger, no less.   And the world had not ended.

For the next 45 minutes, I danced with every man in the room, except Steve.  I was learning new steps to combine with that 1,2,3 box step, and I was “getting” it, to a degree.  I hadn’t stepped on anyone’s toes, I was tired, but I felt good, and I could do the reverse turn quite well.

The call for last dance came up, and we got to go back with our “mate”.  Finally!  I scurried back to where Steve stood with a gaggle of women who were flirting shamelessly with him (happens all the time – he’s hard to resist).  The gaggle scattered and Steve took my hand.  “Ready, baby? Let’s show them how it’s done.”   (See why I love this man?)  Up went his right hand, forming a perfect bridge, his left hand pressed firmly on my back, elbow out.  The music played, and we danced and twirled across the room as he led me through the new steps we had learned.  Brilliant!  It was as if we had waltzed together all of our lives.  I was in heaven.  The music ended much too soon.  Our instructor smiled, pointed at the two of us, and said, “Ladies and gentlemen – please watch this couple dance.  Their feet understand the music. Lovely!”  He played the waltz again, and we danced for our class.  Look ma! I’m dancing!  I am not a klutz anymore.

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I love lingerie.  So much so, I have officially run out of space in my little townhouse to store it all.  There is no more room at the inn. My armoire, specifically selected to house my lingerie, overfloweth.  And – I was told by the love of my life that it is time to edit my collection.  WHAT?  How on Earth am I supposed to do that?  Not one piece of lingerie in my home is extraneous – I wear it all and don’t keep any items for just “special occasions” (ok – that’s not entirely true. I only wear the red bra and panties with the white feather trim during the Christmas season, and the Halloween sets are only worn in October). Other than that, I rotate the lingerie routinely so all have an equal opportunity wearing.

My lingerie makes me feel good – pretty.  I can wear a grungy t-shirt and jeans to work in the garden, but I feel pretty because I know that underneath that grunge is a pink and black lace bra with matching panties.  Everybody sing! “I feel pretty. Oh so pretty. I feel pretty, and witty and gay. And I pity any girl who isn’t me today. I feel charming. Oh so charming. It’s alarming how charming I feel…”

Mind you, the man who told me it was “time to edit” has so much junk in the garage, we can only park one car in a garage big enough for 2 cars and a motorcycle!  He has two, count them, TWO 6-foot tall tool boxes.  I know there is a gadget in one of them that can only be used for one specific repair on his Mercedes.  He has used it ONCE and will probably not use it again for another 6 years, but it sits there, in that drawer, taking up space and looking very expensive (it was), while I make certain that MY stuff gets used regularly.

Something’s rotten in Denmark…would it be wrong to suggest he “edit” his toolboxes so that I can store some of my pretty things in it? Maybe I can re-purpose that Snap-on Toolbox to store my corsets and peignoirs.  Hmmmm…I think I’ll suggest the re-purposing over drinks tonight. I’ll serve them while I’m dressed in the little red silk organza negligée that started this whole “edit” idea.  That should work, don’t you think?

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Easter always puts me into such a happy frame of mind.  It’s a time for celebration of life…and, apparently, gaining 5 pounds thanks to Mr. Reeses and his peanut butter cup eggs.  Oy!

I find it very easy to resist candy and cookies during the Christmas holiday, but it’s a challenge for me on Easter.  Must be the colors…I love Easter colors.  They mean SPRING is here!  Yay! Yipee! Spring is here – let’s have some candy.  I should just skip a step and slather the chocolate and peanut butter directly onto my hips and thighs (I know someone who would LOVE that, but I digress to a topic that should not be discussed on a blog…)

How do people do it? I see peanut butter and chocolate, or solid chocolate eggs or Peeps or…and I want them.  OMG! Peeps! Little bites of heavenly sugar and marshmallowy goodness.  Do they make them low cal? Or no-cal? Nooooooo! What would be the fun of that?  It’s fun to see the fat lady who has managed to lose 8 lbs in two weeks put them right back on!  The love of my life manages to say “no” after just one small piece of candy. That is so wrong. And so unfair.  He can afford to add on a pound or two, but he doesn’t because, as he likes to joke, “That would ruin my girlish figure.”  Smartass.

So – how do you manage to resist temptation? What makes you step away from the candy dish so no one gets hurt? What’s your motivation?  I need ideas, people, because getting into “bikini shape” is so not going to happen.

It’s here! It’s finally here!  Baseball season is in full swing (pun intended).  Oh how I love this game, especially my beloved Giants.  I’ve been a Giants fan since I was 5 and discovered they wear Halloween colors.  What could be cooler than THAT?  I have followed them ever since.  I even married one of them back in the 80’s.  Happily, we’re not married any more.  I had a blast traveling with the team-then I grew up.  And that’s about all I have to say about that.

My boys have had a rough start – losing to the terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad Dodgers.  Now they’re back in form, kickin’ Colorado butt.   I loved watching the past two games, and can’t wait to watch Matty pitch today.  Woohoo!  Next to Timmy, he’s my favorite pitcher.

I sit close enough to the Giants’ dugout, that I can talk to Timmy et al between innings or before the game.  I handed Timmy a bar of Lava soap last year, and told him to chew on a piece of it the next time he says “Fuck, yeah!” on National television.  He’s a good kid and a great pitcher.  His mother must be so proud (except for that little marijuana incident last year…pretty stupid, but what can you expect? He’s a KID!)  *sigh* I do love those boys.   Grown men who are paid A LOT of money to play a kid’s game…lucky bastards.

My boyfriend thinks I’m nuts. How can anyone sit for 3 hours watching 5 minutes of action (he’s an NBA fan…)?  It’s all in the numbers, baybee! I love the stats, and I do like watching those guys in uniform – yes indeedy.   Aaron Rowand (I call him “porn star” because that is what he looks like with the gold chain and facial hair), Nate the Great, Pat the butt (ok – I know he’s called Pat the Bat, but I like his butt…), Sanchez (Johnny and Freddy), Panda, Huff Daddy, etc., etc., etc.  Now that things have slowed down at work, I’m soooo looking forward to many games at AT&T.  Go Gigantes!  Let the season never end!  Pass the peanuts my way and someone find the lemonade vendor…

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“Hi there, sexy!” You have no idea how often I hear that statement.  I hear that a lot.  I mean a lot-a lot.  Not just every once in a while. We’re talking DAILY here!

Ok – it’s me talking to myself in the bathroom mirror, but it’s true.  I hear it a lot. I say it a lot.  I believe I will make it come true some day if I say it often and loud enough and really, really, really believe (clap your hands here if you believe in fairies), I will be sexy. Poof!

Oh – look! It happened! Wow! Thanks for clapping your hands! That must have been the final missing ingredient in my quest for sexiness.

Dang – wait a minute.  This is what sexy looks like? Hmmmm… Same ol’ plus-size body, nice rack, and, oh no! My hair is still curly. Now THAT is a disappointment. I thought I’d get long, straight hair when the sexy fairy came to call. And – I am still fat. EXCUSE ME! I did NOT order this weight as part of my sexy package. *sigh* Never mind. I’ll take it as-is. With my luck, I’d return the package and have start all over again.

My journey to discovering that I AM a sexy, beautiful woman ended perfectly today. I spent 4 hours with an amazing photographer. She had me pose in classic pin-up girl poses, wearing adorable vintage-looking clothes.  And, GASP! For one set of photos, I posed in an emerald-green satin bra, matching thong and a vintage sheer peignoir. Yep – I posed in my undies and looked FABULOUS! I LOOKED HOT! Gorgeous, sexy and confident. I left Sophie’s studio with my head held just a little higher than I normally would, smiled and greeted the men I passed as I strutted the 5 blocks to my car (they all smiled back at me, by the way), and I haven’t stopped smiling since.

This journey took 40 years, and took me through some horribly low points.  There is nothing like having someone tell you, at the ripe old age of 13, that …”you aren’t the pretty one, you’re the smart one.  Boys probably won’t ask you to the prom, but you are so smart, you will be a successful business woman and will find a man to marry you. ” Just what every 13 year old needs and wants to hear. And, what was it that made me ugly?  I was a size 14 in a size 4 world.  She would also tell me, “You have such a pretty face. When are you going to fix the rest of you?” Thanks, Grandma.  Say “hey” to Beezlebub for me.

So – to all of you women out there who had a grandmother, mother or other “well-meaning” family member who told you “You have such a pretty face…”, agree that you do have a pretty face.  And then tell the world that you have a “rockin’ body” to go with it!  Enjoy your body as it is. If you aren’t happy with how healthy you are, than fix THAT – your health.  Love yourself, be happy, confident, sexy!  Above all else – Be Yourself!

Oh – by the way, Grandma, I DID go to prom with the first love of my life.

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