It's Pretty Pathetic When...

... I have to practice putting on make-up. Well, not even make-up, but tinted moisturizer. 

It's this way - there's an event coming up and I really should wear make-up. I don't. I have a good moisturizer and some nice lip balm. Otherwise, nothing. 

I even went so far as to order a new outfit, and I'm hoping it comes to the house in time!

That being said, makeup makes me feel claustrophobic. Even sunscreen on my face can cause me to feel as if my skin is "closed off" and I can't breathe. So I'm very careful with what I put on my skin and use on my face. 

I hate it. I'm ready to go scrub my face off... The things we do...

On the Bandwagon...

Finally, I got on the "fitness band" bandwagon. But I didn't want a FitBit or that big clunky thing that Hubby is always playing with. I didn't want email, a watch, texting, etc. I just wanted something easier to wear than a pedometer (I don't always have pockets) and a little more accurate. And I wanted to torture myself with confirmation that I don't always sleep as well as I ought to. 

So I ended up with an UP fitness bracelet by Jawbone. I really like its discrete look. It's extremely simple. You don't have any flashing lights, or screen to read, or anything like that. It syncs with my Android phone and I think the only thing I have to complain about is that I'm not sure whether it'll work when I'm biking. 

When I said to Hubby, "Well the FitBit commercials show these folks riding bikes and jogging with strollers," he just said, "don't believe everything..." because apparently, you can "cheat the system" by moving your arms. 

I've been told that I walk "with my whole body." I think it's a polite way to say that I waddle a bit. I would think that any fitness bracelet would take that into account. We shall see. 

And I'm starting back on a sugar detox. I've really JUMPED off the wagon on that. Kid #2 and I are headed back to Oxford this summer, and THIS year, I want to be fitter. I was having a hard time last year, and he and I both want to go into the caverns. I couldn't do much walking last year, and this year, I want to be able to do more. 

My plan is to take the steps at work, working up to doing all 5 flights daily. Also picking up on my yoga practice. Of course, I have no idea how to make all this fit into an already packed schedule. But that's a minor detail.

So I'm good to go. Now I just have to -- GO!

Knitting...

One sock down, 2nd sock in progress. I don't remember if I posted this. This is one squishy sock. I'm anxious to get its mate done. I did this one in 3 weeks. I'm hoping for a quick second sock. 

Then it's back to the baby sweater for a bit. I'm told "it's a boy" which is cool. The black and white will be sharp for a little boy!

Next will be the solid purple sock yarn. I think I may do a pattern with the yarn the kids got me for Christmas.

I did get my order from Craftsy. I have a couple of shawls and a hat to do, but I have to figure out how to go back and download the patterns. I bought the "kit" but I don't think I downloaded the patterns. 

While I'm still participating in the "Knit from Stash KAL" I'm going to be realistic. I'm not one who wants to knit only socks. I want to work through stash for other projects. I want to stash some baby sweaters + hats. There are some fingerless mitts I want to do, and a couple of scarves, believe it or not. 

And I have the pure wool to do a felted cloche for next winter. I figure that if I can find an awesome vintage pin, I can use that along the side. It'll be a "church hat" if I can get it right. 

I love felting. I think it's an absolutely fantastic technique. I have a couple of bags that I want to do, and at least one hat, maybe more. 

Inevitability...

Isn't so inevitable. I'm not happy with the shenanigans of the DNC. I think we should have more debates with our candidates. And I'd really like to hear more from O'Malley and Bernie. I don't like Hillary 24/7. 


I don't like coronations here in the US. And I don't like that the DNC apparently feels like they can tell us who our candidate is. I get politics + money = "the way things are done" but we can't have that both ways, either. We can call for a revolution, or we can just roll over and play dead to the corporate overlords who've bought and paid for our political system. 

But don't bemoan "low voter interest" when you've already mandated who our candidate is. You did that to us. And I don't like it. 

One other totally unrealistic and unrealizable ambition? To have a "real" debate. I mean, seriously. Dispense with the advance notice of the questions. Give the candidates a vague idea of what they'll be debating. Then ask the questions and let them think on their feet. 

None of this pre-determined, studied talking-points crap. A good, honest "let's see what you know" debate. Sure, Hillary will probably be better-versed on international issues. But I can't imagine that O'Malley and Bernie will be slouches. 

God knows it's got to be better than the last pile of toddlers on the Fox stage calling each other names. 

Random Picture...

Last night's sunset. As my friends and I celebrated a late birthday dinner, I caught this on the way in. It doesn't really do the colors justice, but the rosiness just made me feel better after a long and crappy week. 

I Needed This Whack in the Head...

I basically like Ellen DeGeneres; I think she's funny. I don't think you have to be raunchy to be funny, or mean. And I like that she will stand up for issues that are important to women.

So I found this clip on Facebook. I'm (a) happy that it says what it says; and (b) still flabbergasted. This lovely model speaks truth. Think about it, please. She's 6'2" tall and a size 12. Size. Twelve. And she's a "plus-size" model. What she says about loving your body just resonated with me. 

The "flabbergastication" comes from the whole idea that, first of all, she's a "plus-size." She's as big as my kid, for cryin' out loud! She probably weighs less than he does, too. And as a size 12, she looks so incredibly healthy. Second, why is a size 12 (when the average woman is about a size 14 or 16) considered "plus"? Are we nuts? 

Well, I know the answer to that one. Yes. We are. We worship women who look like sticks. And sadly, we worship the designers who make clothes that don't look good on you unless you are said stick. Nobody past the age of an anorexic teenager looks like that. Heck, even my one student worker, an adorable 20-year-old, has curves. And she's tiny. 

So, look here. Do you get that what you see on the cover of a magazine isn't even real? Then think about what we are telling ourselves and the girls in our lives. Well, first off, we're telling them they're not worthy unless they're skinny. And beautiful. Oh, and skinny.... (yes, I repeated that deliberately). 

Early Marilyn

I'm not either of those things. And I'm also short. If I'm true to what the first clip is telling me, I would say, "Yes, I am beautiful." But for the sake of this discussion, I'm pretty happy with "I'm normal-looking" - I'm not striking. I'm totally not Photoshopped! I think I look fat in photos, and that's after losing those 30 lbs. 

I am approximately a size 12-14, depending on what the outfit is, because of course, adding to the confusion, sizes in the US are not standardized. I used to say that I liked going into the Chico's because they have me at a size 4...notwithstanding the fact that their size 4 is just a marketing gimmick...all of their clothes are sized from 0 - 4. And most of them are things I wouldn't wear anyway. They fit funny, too. 

Marilyn Monroe was a size 14. So, Marilyn, the ultimate and timeless "goddess" -- she's a plus-sized person who isn't the conventional "beauty." I mean, good grief - yes, she was beautiful, but not necessarily because of physical beauty. Look at an "early Marilyn" shot above. (all of these photos were pulled from Google) She's a cute kid. There's a spark of "something" there, which is most likely what caught some producer's eye. But other than looking like a somewhat typical blonde, she's certainly not anything like she ended up looking after Hollywood got hold of her. Truth be told, she was a brunette anyway. Blonde came later.

Bathing suit shot

Here's Marilyn in a bathing suit. First of all, notice that the bathing suit actually consists of fabric... Ahem. Sorry. But this sideways shot shows (gasp!) a belly. And a bustline that looks pretty much the same as the "Early Marilyn." This is of course part of her "Hollywood-ization" and shows more of a glamour-girl persona. But you can still see that spark of her in there. 

Heck, she even looks like she's got a little meat on her bones in the area of her spine. I'm not being disrespectful. If anything, I'm trying to point out that we look a lot more like Marilyn than we do say... Heidi Montag. 

Take a look at Heidi's "before and after" picture below. Honestly. Really? I'm rather dumbfounded. Why on earth did she want to look like the image on the right? What did she learn? That she wasn't "good enough" looking like she did on the left? She was a pretty girl. 

Now? Not so much. Again, not being disrespectful. Disdainful maybe. Judgmental definitely. And that's because I see this kind of stuff happening when I see what's in the girl's department of the local stores. Hyper-sexualizing looks and making sure that the girl doesn't feel worthy of attention unless something's buffed, puffed, or sucked - often before they even have a chance to develop their own identities, much less their own bodies. Ms. Montag now says she "regrets" what she did to herself. That bit of maturity came at a heck of a price. Does anyone look her in the face anymore? Or are they stopped half-way up? 

Before and after...

I mean, I was an "early bird." I developed somehow overnight at age 11. Went past "training bra" into "real bra" well before my friends did; I remember my mother remarking on how those training bras "were a waste of money, but maybe your sister can use them." The joke among the females in my family was that I got everyone's share from the Bosom Fairy. I wasn't cool with that joke for a long time. Now, I'm resigned. 

 I've learned to cope with the girls, and I've learned that I often have to remind people (men, sorry, but there it is) that I do have a head stuck atop my neck, thank you very much. Particularly when I worked in a more male-dominated field. "Hey, what color are my eyes?" was a standard question when someone was being a jerk. I learned early to develop my sense of sarcasm and my brains, since my sister was "the cute one" (and yes, she's still paying for that one!). I never had a "typical" figure. My build was along my great-grandma's - very "zaftig" - curvy and rather classic. However - having said that, look here at Urban Dictionary... Check out the definitions. I'm looking at the word "zaftig" as in definition number three. That's what I was taught that the word means. It's been subverted. Look at definition number five. Fat? Thanks. I prefer "Rubenesque" if you don't mind. 

Yes, I was told at an early age that I was fat. My mother put me on my first diet somewhere around my freshman year in high school. That wasn't helpful. I've been battling my own body image ever since. One of my lasting later memories of Granny gets me right in the gut. No, that's not a pun. My grandmother had the luck to never fluctuate in weight. Except for pregnancy (I think, at least - I'm not sure), she never weighed more than about 128 lbs. her entire life. 

As she aged, the controls went off. You know what I mean. Some of it was deliberate. "I'm 90 years old, I can say what I want." And then closer to 95, sadly, she got downright mean. Along with the dementia, there was anger or something in there. I'm not sure what. But I do remember that I didn't like visiting her. I didn't mind repeating the same thing over and over and over. I didn't mind her stories about the relatives; I actually liked those! But I vividly remember coming into her room one afternoon. She always confused me with a cousin, which was funny since we are nothing like each other. Anyway, I said, "Hi Grandma, it's me!" and she looked me in the eye and said, "You've gotten fat again." 

Thanks. That made my visit even more fun. The sad thing was that my rational brain said "You know it's the dementia. You know she's been getting worse. Blow it off."

The 13-year-old girl in me just collapsed. I swallowed, tried not to cry, and said, "Nice to see you." I was thankful that my kids weren't with me. 

So I need to practice what I'm preaching here. My body in its younger years was amazing. I was a gymnast (no, not one of those skinny kids) and volleyball player. I had a strong serve, and while I wasn't tall enough to be a spiker, I was a mean setter. My apparatus in gymnastics was the even parallel bars. Yes, the guys' apparatus, thanks. And I was good at it. I loved to ride horses. I ice skated. I played tennis. I rode my bike all over God's green acres. It was an old bike, none of this fancy gear-shifting stuff. A one-speed! 

And now? I'm in my mid-50s. I teach yoga. I am still very flexible. I am capable of a lot of things. I can and do ride my bike (now it IS one of those fancy gear-shifting ones). I can still ice skate, thanks. I love to snow shoe. I play golf. I can shove furniture around with the best of them, and I can hike a whole case of copy paper up on my shoulder, taking it from point A to point B with no problem, thanks. I enjoy shoveling snow. 

Glam Marilyn

I need to make that my mantra. I need to accept what I have been given. Instead of saying, "Well, I'm better off than a lot of people," (which is still true, though somewhat self-defeating for this purpose) I need to specifically say, "I am grateful that I have flexibility. I am grateful that I am healthy." 

Here's a picture of "glam Marilyn." Is she beautiful? Undoubtedly. Ethereal. Otherworldy. Stunning. 

And with the saddest eyes I've ever seen.