There’s a whole new level of crazy going on in my world, so pardon me if you don’t hear more for a few days. I’m happy to report that it is not me or my immediate life, but some wackness in my extended family…and we’re talking serious dysfunction. Like “should we have her committed and ask a judge for durable power of attorney?” messed-up-ness.
In other news, I’m actually delighted that none of you seemed to care about my boobs…no likes, no comments.
Let’s get back to talk of dating soon…
It’s time for a frank discussion about my breasts. They are large. Larger than strictly necessary…and, in fact, larger than I find desirable. (Of course I am not a man…even my son loves them.) Don’t get me wrong. I think they are fabulous — but they were fabulous a few cup sizes ago. Now they are beginning to verge on ridiculous!
A few times in my life — and to my utter dismay — my mammaries have experienced sudden growth spurts that I can only attribute to hormones. At these times, even while nursing, I have turned toward the heavens and asked, “Were they not already large enough?!?” At this point, I would say they’ve gone beyond merely voluptuous to…I can barely bring myself to type it…matronly. Ugh.
You see, I have a bone to pick with my large breasts: They get in the way of certain activities, such as yoga or other forms of exercise. They make it difficult to find clothing that fits well. And they have the audacity to precede me — they practically announce themselves.
Women, it seems, tend to be dissatisfied with their breasts no matter their cup size. It’s like hair: just as straight-haired women wish they had more body while curly-haired women wish it were easier to grow their hair long and casually pull it up into a pony tail, small-breasted women wish they were better endowed, while large-breasted women would happily give up some of the frontal weight in favor of perkiness and, well, convenience.
Clearly, some people, men and women alike, prefer large breasts. Although it is beyond my own comprehension, some women actually pay to have breasts larger than a D-cup. I wonder if they know in advance how difficult it will be to find clothing that matches their new proportions? Even many of the cute lingerie lines only go up to a C-cup in size. And trying to find a cute bathing suit? Fuhgeddaboudit.
I am a practical woman: I’d like to pull something in my size off a clothing rack and have confidence that it will fit, even in front…or to exercise without feeling them in the way. And I am also self-conscious; I sometimes wonder whether people can take me seriously in professional settings. It’s as though these things require an explanation or apology. As Jessica Rabbit (Who Framed Roger Rabbit?) so eloquently put it:
“I’m not bad; I’m just drawn this way.”
Over the years, I’ve seen girlfriends lose weight from the top down, dropping cup sizes before melting an ounce from waist or hips. It’s not like that for me — I’ve managed to go up and down in weight, but I’ve never managed to drop a cup size; I’ve only grown. Even as I find myself more able to love and accept my body as it is — and I truly do appreciate my well-proportioned curves, I’m not yet ready to feel matronly…so I’m off to work out, hoping that — this time — I can reverse the trend.
Hollywood has made a killing on romantic stories of first dates that happen over and over again.
And so, while lying in my hammock on the first lovely day of spring, remembering fondly its role in the courtship between me and my first boyfriend after becoming single again, I began musing on what I thought was a brilliant idea: We had broken up so lovingly, maturely, beautifully…why couldn’t we break up over and over again? Why not spend one more beautiful, perfect, last day together — knowing that maybe we aren’t quite right for the long haul together — but enjoying and celebrating the love and affection we still have for one another. What could be wrong with that? Perhaps I should start on the screenplay!
So as I was remembering and musing — you’d think I’d know better — I dialed his number. To my surprise, he answered. And I rambled on for a bit about all my girlfriends thinking I’m a damn fool and how much I missed him and that I’d brought my hammock out and I told him my idea. We chatted a bit and then, as we were about to end our conversation, he asked, “So, do you want me to come over?”
And he did. And we talked and snuggled in the hammock for a bit and he said, “I’m going to take you upstairs and [this part is really not fit for print] and then we’re going to dinner and then I’m going to bring you back home and we’re going to [do that part] all over again.”
Now, y’all know by now how much I like a man with a plan. And especially one who can execute on the plan. Well, we did exactly as planned. Except for the part where he paused and told me that the only thing that could make it better than it was already was if we were in a committed relationship. And when I told him that I still couldn’t say, “YES!” to that, I know he was disappointed.
As we said our good-byes that night, he looked me in the eyes and said, “Now don’t call me again.” And I haven’t, even though I still think he’s wonderful and will miss him.
I’ve since told a few girlfriends about this, and they’ve all nodded and repeated, “mmm, breaking up again” knowingly, like it’s a thing. So apparently this is no novel idea. Apparently, for years, all around me and without my knowing it, people have been breaking up again and enjoying it! Like so many other things, I am a late bloomer when it comes to enjoying the benefits of break-up sex.
None of this brought up difficult emotions for me. I’d made my peace with where we were at — and I still think this guy is a terrific catch!
And then, earlier this weekend, I saw a little film (again) called 500 Days of Summer. Months after breaking up, main characters Tom and Summer find themselves at the same wedding / reception and she falls asleep on his shoulder on the way back to the city. She asks him to a party that weekend and, at some point that evening, he realizes that she’s engaged to a new guy…and he’s devastated.
That’s when I realized that I was Summer and he was Tom, and inviting my former man back into my life for a day may have given him false hope of reconciliation and was, probably, actually kind of cruel…and that hurting him was the furthest thing from my intent.
Toward the end, the two leads run into one another again and, in the course of their conversation (I may be paraphrasing here), Summer, now married, says, “One day I woke up and I just knew.”
Tom: “Knew what?”
Summer: “All those things I was never certain about with you.”
And I guess that articulates really well what so many of us are looking for: certainty, something to which we can say YES!
Oh well. Lesson learned. But I’m still toying with that screenplay idea, Hollywood.
p.s. If you haven’t seen the movie, do — it’s a tale wonderfully told. Besides, who can resist Joseph Gordon-Levitt and Zooey Deschanel?
Having gone to bed the other night blissing out as love, abundance and sweetness, it was super weird to wake the next morning feeling abject fear; a fear that took a long time to shake; fear for no immediate or apparent reason.
When one wakes feeling something like that, one has to wonder:
Whatever the case, it seemed like aeons before I was able to pull myself together emotionally. Luckily, life, children, work and even the laundry forces me to keep going, even when I’m more inclined to cower in the corner.
At some point, the feeling dissipated…but the weirdness of it all — waking up feeling so 180 from where I was just hours before — stayed with me long enough to inspire me to write about it. Do you ever feel that way?
I recall a year ago when every single baby step along the way to dating seemed like a colossal hurdle: there was simply getting a date, and then going on a first date enjoyable enough to be asked on a second and — with the low barriers to entry in online dating — actually experiencing the follow-through of a second date and so on and so forth, every new hurdle higher and more effortful and seemingly impossible.
For a long time, I wondered if any of it would ever seem natural again. And then suddenly it did and was, and a first kiss and third date no longer seemed like milestones of sorts and, before I knew it, I had a lover and boyfriend and relationship.
When I look back on these hurdles that once seemed so impossible, so beyond my ability to leap over them, they are faded and shrunken and have no particular significance to me any longer. And then I realized when it all changed:
At some point, late last summer, I decided to stop looking for love and to stop looking for abundance and decided, instead, to fill myself from within and be love and be abundance. No longer was I seeking. Rather, I was enjoying and sharing. And, of course, that’s when love and abundance seemed to happen in my life. If and when masculine energy appeared in my life, I simply enjoyed it and the way it allowed me to feel feminine. I recognized it, appreciated it, expected nothing more of it — and then attracted more of it. It wasn’t about effort or ability. It was about being. And, with this simple shift in energy, things changed.
I suspect that might explain why a man who had clearly told me on more than one occasion that he didn’t view me as a potential romantic interest kissed me one night. And then asked me out again. And kissed me some more.
For some of my long-time readers, you’ll recall my epic vision board endeavor of early last year. I had no husband, partner or job, and all the time in the world to dream and meditate about all the ways in which I wanted to change my life. I packed that damned board full of so many hopes and dreams and desires that there was no way I could ever have implemented or embraced it all at once…at least not without having gotten a lobotomy.
Somewhere along the way, I was able to distill it all down to two fundamental concepts: love and abundance, two simple words / concepts that represented the greater whole of a full, rich and joyful life that I wished to create. And I’m proud to say that I feel I’ve embraced these states of being pretty well, for the most part.
I haven’t created a vision board for this year. Meant to. Allowed myself to let it slide. And I’ve decided to try to add just one thing for the coming year. You see, I’m happy with being love and being abundance. They still fit and feel good to me. Yet, if there’s just one other thing I’d like to add, it’s sweetness — I want to bring more sweetness into my everyday existence, recognizing those stop-and-smell-the-flowers moments all along the way.
So, three months belated in sharing with you all, that’s my vision for 2012:
And I know, in so being, I will also draw these things to me.
Check out my guest post today over on http://www.planktonlife.wordpress.com. So excited to be there!
Is there any worse disappointment than seeing you’ve missed a call from someone you’d been wishing would call…and then getting a “sorry about the butt dial” text?
Still…blessed, honored, grateful…and, yes, sad that it had to end.
It’s been awhile since I last posted and, for that, I apologize. For a while, I was in the midst of a crisis, which overlapped with a several-day internet outage that may have, in part, triggered said crisis.
When I say “crisis,” I mean I was completely stressed out, exhausted and wanted only to turn around and run screaming from each and every commitment in my life: my job, my home, my boyfriend. Not my children, of course…well, maybe for a couple of weeks.
Suddenly, the pressure seemed overwhelming at just about the same time as my body began under-performing (which is to say that my elimination system can’t keep up with my hormones and I was terrifically exhausted) and I began panicking about whether I want to be in a relationship or am ready to be in a relationship or if I want to be in one with him, all of which was minor compared to my work-related pyscho-drama. Goodness! I’m finally earning pretty well, feeling as though I’m managing, and a few hours of work not achieved on my connected-less weekend threw me into a fit of panic.
What I witnessed in my own mind during those several hours was not pretty. It was if a box deeply hidden in my psyche had released all my secret irrational fears and out-moded mental scripts at once:
I recently read a quote by Demi Moore (or was it some other recently-single celebrity) and I will do my best to re-create it here (without actually trying to look it up): She basically said that our (her?) greatest fear was to get to the end of her life (or the day?) and feel alone and unloved and unworthy and find out that she is fundamentally flawed. And it was nice to read that someone who’s made movies and lived glamorously and been married to Ashton Kutcher felt that way, because I sure have at times.
Through all of these recent extreme feelings, I knew that they weren’t the truth. I knew that I wasn’t the only one who felt those very same things. And I sensed somehow that, by facing this fog and moving through it, these old scripts, old beliefs and feelings of fear were being released on some deeper level and that, if I could just get past them, they would never again have such power as they did in those few intense hours. Or — it must be said — maybe I’m just getting my period.
At any rate, my eyes are no longer bugging out, I’m hanging in there just fine, thank you, and I haven’t run screaming from any of it. Perhaps I’ll get further if I slink quietly…
I’ve been writing this blog for a little more than a year now, with varying levels of dedication. I began in December, 2010 with the notion that I’d write about the crush that helped cement my motivation to end my failing marriage, and that kept me afloat through a good share of the process.
By that time, I’d also had a few other dalliances — and complete misses (as in the case of Chi-guy) that struck me as hysterical. From the dating horror stories I’d heard from girlfriends, I was sure I’d have many tales to tell about my re-entry into the dating pool.
Even as I began dating, and then dating someone exclusively, I’m surprised at how much I’ve found to write about relationships, marriage, commitment and more. It’s been a cathartic experience, one from which I’ve grown. For example, I’ve been a little overwhelmed lately with the challenges of owning a fixer-upper home, but consider that a couple of years ago I was overwhelmed at the notion of bikini line grooming.
Sharing here has also produced a few surprises:
In the past few months, I am delighted to say that I have a boyfriend. I wanted a boyfriend. And it’s so much fun to be in a relationship and to discover another and also myself and to support and be supported as I continue to heal. I also have a demanding full-time job and two children, which leaves me with very little time to write. I promise to stop in when I can…I seem to have plenty more to say.
Cheers to a New Year — may it be even better than the last for all of us!
the life and loves of Alisa B 