Don't Borrow Other People's Clothes

So remember this little adventure?  

Let me tell you how that all turned out.

When I finally decided that I wanted to "perform", I knew I had some work to do. Because let's be honest - a poorly executed striptease is painful for everyone.

I was lucky enough to get a video of the striptease on my phone. Because unless you do it for a living, there is no way you're going to remember all those moves. It seems simple at the time, but later you're left asking yourself - is it grind, grind, booty pop or grind, squat, booty pop? Or wait, maybe it was grind, step, bend, wiggle, step, grind, bend, squat, slither then booty pop?

See how it can get confusing?

So for the next few weeks, I would watch the video and do the moves while I was making dinner. Once I had the moves memorized,  I was ready to move to the next step - watching myself in the pantry glass, which is kinda a frosted type glass. And that worked out perfectly because the distortion improved my moves. Significantly.

Next it was on to music selection. And then a test run with the music. Is the timing good? Can I move to this beat? And is the song going to last so I'm not stuck in the middle of a wiggle (or is it slither) and it all the sudden go silent?

And can I just take a moment right here to say this is all really a testimony to how little anyone, except for me, is in the kitchen? It's like my husband believes the kitchen has been quarantined or something. Really, honey - it's not off limits. You're more than welcome to come in and do something kitcheny anytime. You know...that thing known as cooking? Cooking. Say it with me - coooooking. Yes, that's right, cooking - it's how the food that you eat gets prepared. Very good. I know that's a lot to take in for one day; tomorrow's lesson will be over washing dishes.

In the interest of full disclosure, I should probably also note that it's pretty standard for me to listen to music and dance around when I'm in the kitchen.  So, even if one of them did happen to stumble into the kitchen by accident, they wouldn't have found it particularly alarming. My dancing around, I mean. The fact that they were in the kitchen might be a different story.

Except I just realized that makes it sound like I frequently perform stripteases in my kitchen. Sadly, I do not.  But I do dance. You know, the old, out of shape, off beat, ugly type dancing I'm famous for - that's pretty standard. I could have easily switched over if anyone ever came in. Which, we've already established, was very unlikely.

So I practice until I get it down. Or down enough. Because who am I kidding, it's never going to really look like the video. One final thing, then I'm ready! Logistics. Um, how am I going to pull this off?

Since we have kids and it's frowned upon to send them out to the car for a few hours...I had to think this through.  Their bedroom is across the hall from ours...that was out. The only logical place seemed like the living room. Their bedroom is upstairs, living room is downstairs - far enough away from them that they won't be disturbed (or scarred by accidental exposure) but close enough that we can yell at them to go back to bed won't go to jail.

The night arrives - I finally feel brave enough to do this. I thought it would be cute for me to wear one of his shirts. I don't know why, I just thought it was kinda sexy - the whole high heels and men's shirt thing...he's got like a million and one button-down, collared shirts. I grabbed the first one my hand landed on.

So I'm stationed. The music begins.  I start wiggling (or am I suppose to start with grinding?). He enters the room, takes one look at me and says:

"Is that one of my dry-clean only shirts?"

Pause

"Are you wrinkling it?"

SCREEECH.

I stop, mid motion, frozen and give him this look like "Are you an serious?" Your shirt? You're worried about your shirt? In case you didn't notice - there's a little bit more going on here beside the fact that I'm wearing your shirt...

And what's even funnier is the fact that I actually answered him. I was all, "No, it's not getting wrinkled, it's fine...I mean, I don't think so. Is it?" Because then I was all worried about the shirt.

That, people, is how you do sexy when you're old and married.

I Learned How To Make My MIL's Thanksgiving Dressing

So I already shared that this past Thanksgiving was different - in a totally awesome way! Oh. Wait. Does that sound like I'm gloating over the fact that I didn't have to deal with any of my in-laws? Because you know, I would never do that...

But it was also significant because for the very first time I cooked my husband his Momma's dressing. He loves this dressing.  I've only tried it like twice because my MIL doesn't like turkey so we don't usually have turkey. And dressing without turkey?  I mean, what's the point? And don't even get me started on the whole Thanksgiving without turkey thing...

So I had an opportunity this year to make it. I knew he would be ecstatic but if it didn't turn out - another strike on my fail list. But I decided to try anyway.

Of course, that meant having to call my MIL to get the recipe. And I know it makes me a horrible person, but that alone was almost enough to keep me from making it.

You know, I never intended to dislike her. I always had visions of having a close relationship with my MIL - sharing life events and bonding over the mutual love of the same man. It was a relationship that had so much potential!

And then I met the woman who would become mine. The very first time I was at her home, she pulled out picture of all the ex-girlfriends and showed me every single one, complete with commentary on how pretty they were, how smart they were and how much she liked them.  I wasn't sure what it meant, what kind of message it was suppose to send. It was definitely tacky but maybe she didn't know any better.  Maybe she didn't have any other way to relate. Or maybe she was trying to make me feel inadequate and jealous. Who knew? Although I kinda suspected I did.

It never got better. When we announced our engagement (with barely a response) the hubby teasingly asked her "What? You don't want us to get married?" and she responded, not teasingly "You don't want me to answer that." and I knew it was over.

I endured 5 years of passive-aggressive tension before it blew up. She got mad at something I said and went ballistic.  The woman acted like a complete lunatic.  It was the most surreal and insane thing I've experienced.  It's a sad, sad day when you feel like you're in an episode of Jerry Springer.

I pulled hubby in the next day and told him to straighten her out or else. I didn't even have to explain the what else - he got it loud and clear.  Since then, there's been no more drama.  And things are...okay. We basically just stay out of each other's way.

So I sucked it up and called her and got the recipe.  And it was an okay conversation. Except that she "forgot" to tell me an important ingredient.  Apparently she didn't remember making it at my home several years ago and sending me to the store because it was an ingredient I didn't have. Because you know, why have cooking stuff if you don't cook?

I have no idea why I remembered that. But I did, so the recipe was saved.

I survived the phone conversation and successfully made the dressing.  So I had two extra things to be thankful for at Thanksgiving.

Skinny Jeans Are Not My Friend

Can I swap something out on the list from my last post?

Totally scratch the whole skinny jean thing.  They aren't my friend but let's be honest - I didn't just discover that this past year.  I've actually known it for a very long time. Before it was even acceptable to wear skinny jeans I knew I shouldn't wear them.

This past year was simply a reminder of that. Actually, the pictures I've seen of myself were the real reminder. Fat girls and skinny jeans do not mix.

Oh, don't get me wrong, I'll still gonna wear them.  Several months from now I'll be standing in my room trying to find something to wear. Nothing I find will work. I'll furiously ransack every drawer in my dresser, pulling out clothes and tossing them manically all over the room only to discover an old pair of jeans at the very bottom.  I'll pull them out excitedly I forgot I had these!  They'd look so cute with _______(insert any random article of clothing)! I'll throw them on  I'll lay on the bed and squeeze myself into them, feeling triumphant that I actually got them zipped. Never mind that I can't breathe and I look like a stuffed sausage - they are on my body and I feel great!  Then I'm out the door, completely oblivious.

Until I see a picture.

Then it's a jolt of reality and back to the bottom of the drawer they will go.  It's my own version of the cycle of life.

So #1 on the list was a bit of a cheat.  I can assure you that 2014 was the year, however, that I discovered flannel pants. Flannel pants are the opposite of skinny jeans. We're best friends.

I don't know what my opposition to flannel pants has always been but I've never owned any.  I still wouldn't if my Mom hadn't bought them.

So now I'm officially part of the flannel wearing wife club!

Wow.  I could actually feel my level of desirability go down a couple of notches just typing that.  But I don't care! I know there is nothing sexy about flannel but they are oh so comfy.  And comfy wins.  Ohhh, there it went again.  That meter is dropping fast...

You know what's not comfy? When my thighs eat my shorts!

I hopped on the treadmill tonight in a pair of shorts I wear around the house.  Who would have thought a simple decision like that would be such a disaster?  I mean seriously, have you ever tried to stay on a treadmill while your shorts are being sucked up by your thighs?

I've had shorts do that before (it's a byproduct of all the french fries) but this was extreme.

See for yourself: *Proceed with caution

I cropped my stomach. You're welcome.

And this is after one side had already "dislodged". There was some serious scrunching up going on there...

Think I have my first lesson of 2015...

A Year In Review

My news feeds have been blasted the last few days with observations of the previous year and declarations to make this new year better than the last.  I'm not big on resolutions, mainly because I'm not very resolute. So I can't say I have plans to live dramatically different in 2015 than I did in 2014, but a new year does warrant some reflection. So let's take a look at the 14 things I learned in 2014:

1.  Skinny jeans are not my friend.

2.  How to make my MIL's Thanksgiving dressing. 

3.  Not to borrow other people's clothes. It may seem sexy to wear your husband's shirt and high heels to perform a little striptease, but be careful about borrowing his clothes. Or the first words out of his mouth when he sees you might be "Is that one of my dry-clean only shirts? Are you wrinkling it?"

4.  It's hard to perform a striptease while crying.

5.  Putting lotion on before using a laptop makes it almost impossible to use the touchpad.

6.  Don't celebrate or conceded too early. You never know what's going to happen during the last minute of the 4th quarter.

7. Kenny Rogers was right. Not everyone deserves to be part of your life.  You've got to know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em, know when to walk away and know when to run.

8. I don't get motivated seeing pictures of skinny girls with flat abs and big boobs in teeny tiny workout clothes. It usually just makes me depressed.  And hungry.

9.  I no longer feel obligated. I'm definitely not as nice as I once was but I'm beginning to believe that being "nice" is overrated.

10. When a girls wants to be a princess, you let her!

11. I've been doing the self-checkout line wrong this entire time. Thank you to the random guy in Walmart who felt the need to chew me out for doing it wrong, I don't know how I would have managed without you.

12.  I'm never going to be perfect. Maybe next year I'll actually learn how to accept that.

13. The older my girls get, the more I enjoy parenthood. I miss the baby stage a lot. But I'm really digging this independent thing.  They wake up on weekends now and turn on the tv in my bedroom and watch cartoons. On their own. While I sleep. It is awesome.

14. God takes care of it all. 

My plan is to fill up 2015 with as much love and laughter as I can and I hope the same for you.  Make it a great year!

What's At The End Of This Tunnel? Could It Be...Light?

Ever just been overjoyed and filled with gratitude?  That was me today.  Seriously, just so overwhelmed by the generosity and support of others.

I got the draft of my grant complete! Good thing #1.  Cannot tell you what a relief that is or how much better I feel. I still have one section left - it's suppose to be optional, but really isn't optional at all. Not if you want to get funded. It's like bonus points  that you can't afford to pass up. I actually plan to knock that out next Monday and Tuesday because I'll be the only one in the office and there really shouldn't be too much traffic. But the bulk of the application is complete! Yay, I can breathe again!

Then I sat down with the advisor for our program and we ran through her edits/suggestions. I had been sending her pieces to read as I completed them and told her to be critical. And I honestly want her to be because that's the only way to get good - you can't improve the weaknesses you don't see.  We got through most of the edits and there weren't many. I kinda think I did an okay job writing this thing. Good thing #2.

I submitted a few sections of the grant to an external reader for a second review. I have to say, I could not have done any of this without her assistance. She was so helpful when I met with her last month at conference.  I felt like she genuinely cared about my grant and seemed like she would do anything to help. During the meeting she even emailed me some templates to use.  Like, who does that? In the grant world, no one.  

We've had some correspondence and she understand the situation I'm in and that I'm doing this alone, with no grant writing experience. So after I sent her the three sections she's going to read, she sent me templates for all the other sections! Good think #3. I've already written them but it will be really helpful to go back and compare to know if I'm on the right track.

So I'm feeling really good. Relieved. Hopeful. Grateful.  I've made it through the most difficult part of the process and I am happy!

*Side note to say my blog DOES NOT represent my writing skills. I promise!  Every time I read an old post, I find errors. Every time. It's embarrassing. I really do know proper grammar. Now the spelling...eh, the spelling is probably questionable. But the grammar, I've got that.  So I have no excuse- I'm just a sloppy blogger. I may, or may not, try to get better about reading/proofing but I'm not making any promises.

FML

It's nearly 2:30 a.m. and I am running out of ways to procrastinate.  I'm suppose to be writing my grant. But my brain is just done. I'm on what should be a simple section but I can't even muddle through it. Largely because I just feel so damn lost. How do I know what they want? How do I know it will make sense? How do I write this damn thing? 

Have I not filled you in on that? Surprise, surprise - guess who's writing? I officially got told last week. Last week! That should tell you everything you need to know about how this entire thing has been handled. That and the fact that the original grant writer leaned over to me in a meeting and said, and this is an exact quote, "Well, you can write it and when it doesn't get refunded I'll say see, you should have submitted mine." I wanted to punch him right in his snarky little face.

But only violent people do that. And I'm not violent. See, I'm really not or I would have knocked him out. Or at least tried too.

What was worse than him actually having the audacity to say that to me was the fact that both his supervisor and my supervisor were also in the meeting and neither one said anything. At one point I cut him off and said "Excuse me? Do NOT talk to me that way."

But why did it even get that far? One of those two should have reigned him in and shut him down. Weak. Weak. Weak.

Okay, see what happens when I don't get enough sleep. Two nights of no sleep and I turn into a bitter, ranting hag - not a good look. I'm shutting my own self down and calling it a night!

Pretty Please

**Proceed with caution. This is a really personal post that includes adult content. And the word Vagina. If either one of those makes you uncomfortable, you probably shouldn't read any further.**

Soooo remember in an old post when I was talking about my sense of humor and how sometimes people could interpret it as insecurity but I said that was never true because the things I'm really insecure about are the things I never talk about?

Of course you don't remember...it was just a random line in an old post from several years ago. But it's true.  I will joke all day long about my height, make fun of my dumbo ears, laugh at myself for being a lousy cook and crack jokes about being a chubby chick  strike that, fat chick now because who am I kidding?  I've passed the chubby threshold...but the point is, I can do all that because I'm not insecure about any of it. Do I like that fact that my ears jut out? Or that I have muffin top and back fat? Or that I'm shorter than most 12 year olds? Not particularly. Do I feel self-conscience about any of it? Not particularly.

But I am insecure. I have huge insecurities. Which is why I have no idea why I'm about to share one of them. Okay, here goes...*Deep breath

One of the things I am most insecure about  is the fact that I *Oh my God. Am I really gonna do this? Okay. Just say it - really quick. Ihaveanuglyvagina. Yes. You read that right. I have an ugly vagina. Don't laugh! It's a serious thing. For real.

I had no clue, for a very long time. I mean, it's not like I had a frame of reference or anything. I've got the one, and that's it and I pretty much assumed they all looked alike. My first boyfriend, who was my first everything, never said a word. And when I said he was my first everything, I really mean everything.  Before him, I had never even seen male anatomy - like, not even a picture. I was so inexperienced. And clueless. But how could I be anything different when I didn't even know what my options were? It's not like they teach technique in sex ed and I never found a copy of Sex For Newbies.

So it wasn't great.  I didn't know it at the time - I just thought that's how it was done. It wasn't until I learned to have sex that I was like "Oh my God - this is how it's suppose to be? This! Is! Awesome!"

And I totally fault him. He was several years old than me and a real slut. You would think someone that had slept with so many people might be able to provide some instruction. Some feedback. Some type of guidance. But no - there was nothing. It was a very in the dark, under covers, not really looking at each other thing. And I think maybe that's why he never said anything to me. I honestly don't think he ever looked at me enough to notice...

So fast forward several years and some experience later: My husband and I have been dating a while and we've gotten into the comfortable stage. And he starts teasing me about it. And here's the thing - you can't "tease" a woman about her vagina. Ever. Just...no.

I was shocked - they don't all look the same? And mines ugly? I had no clue - it's not like I ever had a guy run away in horror screaming "Oh my God, No! It's too disgusting!" So it's not like it's gross, right? Right?

So I blew off the teasing as just that - teasing. But then, in the back of my mind the thoughts started to grow.  I started getting paranoid. What if it was gross? And over the years I started to feel a little self-conscience and then really self-conscience. So one day I did what any reasonable person would do - I googled it. And then I really felt bad.  Whatever you do, don't ever google it!

I call my oldest friend and start the conversation with "I HAVE AN UGLY VAGINA!" She didn't miss a beat. "How do you know?" "Because I googled it!" And apparently that didn't seem odd to her because the next thing she said was "Oh my God. What are you going to do?" She said it really sympathetically - like I'd lost my job or something. Huh? What am I going to do? It's a vagina...what can I do?

But there was something.

So the next morning I called my OB/GYN. I wasn't really sure how any of this worked I mean, how do you have a conversation like that? but I was determined. When the nurse answered the phone I asked to speak to the doctor. Of course, they weren't having any of that. I explained that I wanted to speak with her about a referral. Well, that really confused her so she asked what type of referral.  "A plastic surgeon." "A plastic surgeon? Honey, she's in Gynecology." "I know. I need to talk to her about a plastic surgeon....for a...uh...for a...uh...a labiaplasty" There was a deafening silence. Then "Okay, what's your name and number and we'll have her call you." Ugh. Really? Do I have to give you my name and number? Because I basically just told you that I wanted to have plastic surgery on my lady parts and I would feel soooo much better about that if you didn't know who I was.

Less than 5 minutes later my phone rings. "Amber, this is Dr. Hager. What's this about a labiaplasty? Why are you wanting to do this?!" So I explain, I feel self-conscience, I'm not happy with the way it looks...and I have the coolest OB/GYN.  If she didn't see me in stirrups with my knees up to my ears, she would totally be someone I would hang out with. Then she tells me - like a girlfriend, not like a doctor- "You could get an infection, have permanent scarring, suffer nerve damage, lose sensation and decrease your ability to orgasm. You really do not want to do this. Besides, there's only three people that see your vagina - you, your husband and me." Which technically isn't true. Because I don't see it.

My mind was pretty much changed the minute she mentioned loss of sensation and not being able to find the "happy place".  Because really, it doesn't matter how pretty it is if it doesn't work. I need it to work.

So that night I kinda casually mention the phone call to the doctor to my husband just to see what he would say and he flips out. I think the opening phrase was "That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard! Why would you do that?" So I repeated some of the comments he's made. Actually, I think it I repeated all of the comments he's made. It must really suck for him that I have such a ferocious memory.  "I was just giving you a hard time!" he said, laughing. Yes. But you were giving me a hard time about my vagina. That doesn't fall into the simple "razzing" category.

That next afternoon my phone rings - my oldest friend. I answer the phone to "I HAVE AN UGLY VAGINA TOO!" "Ohhh no. You googled it, didn't you?"

I'm sharing this really embarrassing thing to highlight two very important life lessons: if you can't say anything nice about the V, don't say anything at all and whatever you do,  don't ever google it!