Tag Archives: humor

Caution: curves ahead

22 Mar

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This week I watched a recent video of myself that I made with my son.  I was shocked  at the image I saw reflecting back at me. I’ve had a rough couple of years with some things …and apparently, I am an emotional eater….or possibly an emotional drinker… maybe…I’ve found a fondness for red wine and it found a roomy home on my hips.

Over the last few months, I began moving the clothes that no longer fit to the left side of my closet. I’m still flabbergasted  when I’m unable to pull up the pants I’ve worn for the last 10+ years past my thighs….The pile on the left of the closet  is large.

This means I’ve also had to  purchased new pants – begrudgingly. My collection is minimal in comparison. It was either that or go naked… I had no choice in the matter. Yes, leggings work well and are cheap…but they hide the fact that I appear to be growing – out, not up. At this point, my ass could qualify for it’s own zip code…

So, I’m watching this video thinking – How in the world?  Really.  How did I let myself gain 30 pounds? When I look in the mirror I know I’m bigger…but this video.  Lord, please promise me that the camera adds 10 pounds…that I really don’t look that way in REAL life.

But the truth is I’m now heavier than when I delivered both of my children.  I know I’m teetering on the verge of no return….and I don’t know what to do about it.  Don’t get me wrong. I know there are many women larger than myself. This isn’t about them. THEY ARE BEAUTIFUL. This is about me feeling good, or not, in my own five-foot-five-and-half skin.

This is how my day starts:  I try on a new black skirt that arrived yesterday.  To tight.  I contemplated keeping it for “when I lose the weight” but more than slightly depressed at the likely hood of that NOT happening, I tossed the skirt on the bed to return later.

I then selected white slacks that I knew were a size or two larger. They fit, but the view from behind was not so cute….On went the Spanx – boy shorts.  Spanx, the well-known by ladies around the world (but rarely seen by men) undergarments that are made to make me look skinner.  Yet, I some how now feel like a sausage.  A bratwurst to be specific…But damn it to heck, I have to go with this outfit because I’ve already worn the other two pants that fit me this week.  Tomorrow it’s jeans….

I tossed on a cute shirt from a local boutique that I haven’t worn since last summer. It was a little snug across the chest but nothing terrible I thought…However, the more I moved my flat iron across my hair, I realized it was too constricting.  I no longer liked it.  Crossing my arms at my waist to lift the fabric….I find I can’t. I was stuck. I couldn’t get this damn shirt off my body.  I twisted, I tried….I grunted…I thought, “Imma have to cut this bitch off.”…For a second I contemplated running downstairs to wake up one of my children to help me pull this sucker off….I’m not sure I’d live that one down…EVVAHH… Five minutes and a few tears later, I wiggled out of  shirt looking like I’d been on a subway fight. Red in the face, hair a mess…

I promptly moved it to the left side of my closet.  My first thought?

You know you are fat when you get stuck in your freakin’ shirt. What the hell…

On to work. As I’m walking up the sidewalk I say a little prayer.  “Lord, I don’t like this. I don’t like how I feel about me. You love me and have helped me in so many ways.  Help me to lose this weight.”

Fast forward through my day.

I’m in the ladies room where a coworker asks How I’m doing. “busy. good.” I say.    I tell her she looks beautiful today.  She shrugs, not believing my words, her eyes drifting away from me.  Then she says, “You look good too. How did you gain your weight? Eating too much.”

Yessssss. She said those words.

Before you get riled up and ready to kick ass, please hear her story.

She is from South America. She LOVES curves.  Which until her recent weight loss, she had — curves for dayyyys!  She tells me, almost too eagerly, she can’t wait until she can put on some pounds.  She is serious…This I know.

I tell her I’ll shift her some of mine – If only it were that easy!   She then says with a large grin and wiggling eyebrows,  “I bet your husband is happy” as she points to my zip code carrying ass….

She is losing weight not because she wants to friends, but because of the chemo.  You see, she has breast cancer.  She wears a scarf to cover the hair loss which makes her self-conscious.  She has a hard time looking me in the eyes,  really – looking anyone in the eyes, these days.  Yet, I think she looks more beautiful than in any day prior.  Her warrior spirit is shining.  She is fighting and it shows. Without the distraction of her hair, which was indeed gorgeous, her eyes become the focal point, dancing in the light.  She is simply stunning.

I get back to my desk and think, “You know your fat when…”

Then I stop.  I close my eyes….I sense God’s hand…and I pray.

I thank God that I’m healthy.  Specifically, I thank him for my cancer free body.  With embarrassment, I apologize for believing anything different. A few extra pounds is nothing in comparison. I thank him for this lesson, for humbling my spirit.  I know I have some work to do…and I will.

Ladies, would you please join me in shifting our focus away from who we want to be and allow ourselves permission to be who we are?  Let’s not put our self-worth in our hair, our bodies, our curves – or lack of…

PS – If no one told you today, let me have the honor of doing so.  I love you. You are beautiful.

Put that on repeat.

Perspective.

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Just a little more, please

7 Apr

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Dear Fashion Industry,

 

We need to have a chat…Pull up a chair and settle in.….

 

With summer on the way, I’m slowing emerging from my cocoon of sweaters and boots. Looking for a few new  items to add to my wardrobe is becoming more difficult than I remember it from previous years.

 

Let’s start with tops….Can I make a request?  Please do not  use see-through material to make my shirts.  Every SINGLE shirt I try on is see through….I don’t live in the Midwest and I don’t like to layer.  I want to wear ONE shirt….not six.  When I put my ONE shirt on, I don’t want others to be traumatized by seeing my bellybutton, moles, or random hairs that may or may not be present. Shirts are MADE to cover those suckers up.  Don’t believe me? Just ask, I’ll tell you the truth.

 

While you are at it, can you use a zipper longer than 1.5 inches on my jeans, please? I mean, really. It can’t be THAT much more expensive to throw a girl a couple of inches. I’m thinking 4 should do the trick….Don’t get carried away and use those long suckers you put in “mom jeans” but you know, just a little more zipper would be nice…Know why? Because it means you’ll also need to use a little more material to fully cover my hips. Muffin tops are not cute.  They.are.NOT.  You force me to show my muffin top and I’m not happy about it.

 

While we are talking “mom jeans”, let’s talk about shorts. Of the styles available,  I have to choose from a 1-inch, 3-inch or 24-inch inseam….can we not get something in the middle? I’m freaking serious here.  I’m 40 years old…no one wants to see me in a 1-inch inseam shorts…In fact, I’m pretty sure I own underwear with a longer inseam .……I also don’t want shorts that cover my knees…those are called capris…I just want mid-thigh length shorts.  Why do I have to beg for something that seems so reasonable to me? It is exhausting….

 

Now let’s talk bathing suits….WHY, WHY can you not give me enough material to both cover my crack and my hips simultaneously?  I know it’s possible. I have underwear that can do the job….so….

 

As I’m typing I’m thinking, my underwear kicks ass….maybe I should just wear that and be done with it…I mean if leggings qualify as pants, couldn’t my underwear qualify as shorts??

 

Frustrated and damn near naked,

Lady Chatsalot

 

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Choose Joy

6 Sep

 

Nehemiah 8:10 for the joy of the Lord is your strength. Love the colors, too!

Rain is always cold to the skin, despite the temperature outside. The two do not run tandem.

I’m not sure when I last played in the rain. Yoga in the rain, well that is simply awesome. Wet yoga on a freshly manicured outfield of baseball stadium…well that leaves me thunderstruck.

Our master yogi was young, humorous, pretty, and blond. She set the intention for this class within the first few moments of turning on her mic. Joy. To find joy on this day, in this place. Despite the chance we may find ourselves in a down pour. Our time, our energy was not lost because of our circumstances. We would find joy within the chaos and hopefully utilize this lesson in our every day life. I chuckled…It seemed a bit

dramatic.

At first the sprinkles were intermittent, barely kissing my skin. The sun, when peering through the billows of gray, was hotter than expected. Way hotter, like sear the skin off the bone hot. I realized, while holding downward dog, that I had not adequately prepared for the day. Rain would be a relief.

Looking up to find our instructor on the jumbo tron, my eyes stop on the lady in front of me wearing white pants and possessing a pillow of white hair atop her head. She was in her late sixties, maybe seventies. Fierce. (You have to be fierce to wear WHITE yoga pants!) While in a wide legged forward bend, with superb control and presision, she popped up into a handstand. Take my word for it. That is talent! Of the crowd of eighty or so, only four made the attempt. She was the only one with solid white hair.

The shower increased, making the easiest of poses, more extreme. My arms slipping off my legs. Eyes blinded by the mascara I applied with care earlier. Yet instead of frustration, or the need to compete with the amazing white pants in front of me, I found laughter. Laughter in the awe of the experience. Laughter because I’m well past the conventionally acceptable age to play in the rain. Yet, that was EXACTLY what I was doing.

Eventually, the sky opened up, claiming the day, causing our class to end ten minutes early. There was no use running to my car. Every inch of my body was already soaked. I tossed my flip flops and walked back barefoot avoiding rocks, openly laughing, squealing loudly as the rain picked up force.

I had no idea upon leaving my house this morning that I would find pure joy in the most obscure way. It wasn’t part of my expectation.

It shows that you can never predict where you will learn your next life lesson. You can only be open to the opportunity.

Mine?

You are never to old to play in the rain…to do yoga…on the outfield of a baseball stadium.

Be unconventional.

Learning to let the world around me to be whatever it needs to be: chaotic, rumbling, boisterous, wet….Somehow finding my inner peace, calmness and humor in the mist of it all. The outside can not influence the inside…unless I allow it.

Liberating.

Breaking up with Mr. Perfect

14 Dec

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Perfectionism is a beast, ripped with muscles earned in the gym of manipulation.  He is a bully.  He pushes me around, knocks my books out of my hands, and calls me names. When I’ve had enough,  we battle…  We have knock down drag out wars.  Begrudgingly, I tend to cave at his taunting.  My rationale?  If I let him get his way, the voices will quiet….However, they always seem to return.

Don’t get me wrong.  He is not ALL bad. People are not seduced by things that are ALL bad…He is suave. Moving carefully, weaving in and out of my thoughts…. He can make me feel on top of the world, worthy of praise and valuable.  He gave me a reason to work, to get up in the morning…The drive to succeed. At first you think you found your own personal coach. Cheering you on, pushing you harder, never letting you quit….

Yet, if you know him well enough, you’ve seen this player’s game…Just when you reach the top of the mountain, that moment of happiness, he whispers:

“Don’t get to comfortable.”

“Are you sure that was your best?”

“Are you going to settle for that?”

“If only …..”

The more you open up your heart and dreams to him, the more he space he consumes.

Yes, Perfectionism and I have deep roots. Years ago, I really thought he was my friend. I thought he cared for me and I let him in.

Recently, the light switch flipped and I was flooded with clarity.  I realized he wasn’t working with me to obtain joy….he was stealing it. Never allowing a moment to savor without criticism tarnishing my reality.While he may have looked like my personal coach in his cute little gym shorts, he most definitely wasn’t as interested in me as much as he was in himself… He has a huge ego, Perfectionism.

I knew it was time.  Time to breakup.  We were no longer on the same path.   I just couldn’t continue to hold his hand, knowing  his real motives.  

Confronting Perfectionism wasn’t easy.   He begged and pleaded, showing me all the things we had accomplished together.  All the things we’ve yet to do….  I couldn’t bring myself to say, “It’s not you.  It’s me.” ….It was him…I knew that much. 

My only option was to evict him from his comfy, rent free, residence in my head…It was ugly.  He didn’t go quietly…or easily.

The ass that he is, still pops in from time to time.   Most often at work when my guard is down. But now that I know his game, I can brush him off easier. The more I reject him, the less he hangs around. Maybe he’ll get the point and go away for ever….Could I get that lucky??

Beware though…I’ve heard he is on the prowl. 

If you happen to see him, and he asks about me,  tell him I’ve changed my number. I’m moving on….

funny

 

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