In pure delight, I have reached several of my goals regarding Prude to Sexy, including the guitar purchase and kayaking. I still desire to take those guitar lessons and start belly dancing. Might trade in the ankle tattoo idea for a belly button ring, though….
My middle son is convinced this is all a midlife crisis. My husband is quite smitten. And my dog, well she is happy as a clam with all the walking we’ve been doing. I’m averaging five to seven miles a day of walking, and hope to continue when the rain makes its way to my town and sticks around.
My BIG GOAL of bikini purchase and wearing the bikini in public was achieved last week at a lake with hundreds of people!
Although, in all honesty, my bikini is really “boy shorts.” But the attire is skimpy enough to qualify as bikini in my book. I haven’t worn a bikini or anything like it in over twenty years. My stomach hadn’t seen the light of days in decades.
When I wore my bikini at the lake, I spent the whole two hours processing with my husband about my bikini and my body. I still harbor some childhood bleak memories of naked grownups at nude beaches.
And I’ve been revisiting the past, some of the haunting tauntings that occurred in my freshman year of high school on the east coast, where kids called me slut and such because of my figure.
I’m learning to embrace my body….and reprogramming thoughts I have about words like voluptuous.
It’s taken me over a week to post my bikini photo, and this IS a thumbnail size photo. But it counts! OH, and did I mention, since February, I lost 21 pounds?
And for those of you that want the Full Effect…..here you go!!!!
What my Husband Hears (aka: Why my Husband is a Saint)
Words I spoke today during our time together. Mostly on our walk through the forest.
1. Do you think I look slutty? Are you sure? Do other women dress like this? Is this shirt too tight? I don’t think I should wear this shirt in public? Does it make me look fat? How do you know I don’t look slutty?
2. Look at my eye again. In the light. Can you see the pink in my eye? Does it look better? Are you sure? How do you know it is better? What if it gets worse. I think it feels better. Do you think my eye will be okay? Can you see the dry skin in the corner? What do you think it is? Look closer!
3. I am taking so many photos. Thank you for being patient. This is more of a leisure walk. We are stopping a lot. I’ll have to walk more later around the lake. I haven’t walked in two days. These shorts are too big. You are right. I should buy some new shorts today. I wonder if I am a size four yet. These are too baggy. Yes, they are too baggy.
4. Take a photo here. Oh, stop here. Oh, look there. Oh, look at that tree. Oh my, look at that. Oh, look, look! Look up. Look at the spider web. Look at the water. Take one of me from uphill. I look better if you stand uphill. Not so much of my chest. You are showing too much of my chest. How do I look? Do I look okay? Can you tell my eye is pink?
5. I ate too much caffeine. I had that tea, and chocolate bar, and the chocolate gluten-free cake. Feel my heartbeat. Is it beating too fast? Are you sure it’s not? I think it’s too fast. I’m okay, right? Feel here. I need to rest. I am tired. It’s so fast. I have to stop here and catch my breath. This walk is not enough to burn off all the calories from the cake.
6. Oh, we should go this way, and when we get to the fork in the path then we’ll need to go up and to the right; otherwise we will end up on the wrong street. These maps are not designed well. We are educated and intelligent people, and we can’t even figure these signs out! How are other people who aren’t as smart supposed to figure them out? I don’t mean that we are smarter than everyone. Well, you know what I mean. Maybe we should turn and go the other way. What do you think? …..I told you this was the wrong way!
7. Are you staring at my butt and smiling. I can feel you smiling behind me and staring at my butt. You are staring at my butt. And you are picturing grabbing it. I can see you. I am psychic, you know. This proves it. You are staring, aren’t you?
8. Oh, it’s a little Toto dog. How cute. Look at that Toto dog. Oh, he is so cute. Did you see that little dog?
9. I think I would like to have relations with a ninety year old man to give him his dying wish. Is that wrong to feel that way? To want to fulfill a man’s dying wish like that? It doesn’t feel wrong. But maybe it is.
10. You know if you cheated on me, I would forgive you. It would be okay. I know it would only be out of lust, because I know I am sweet and you will not find anyone as sweet and kind as me. So I know it would only be a physical thing. And by me saying this, it will probably make you less likely to cheat, because part of the reason men do cheat is because it is a no-no and forbidden, and you are not supposed to. So, really, since I’m giving you permission, it takes the danger element out of it. But if by me saying this to you makes you want to cheat more, then I take it back. You don’t want to cheat on me now because I said that, do you? Should I take it back?
11. So there are different types of men I am noticing. There are married men who stare and I think oh they are thinking they don’t want to be with their wife and are sad, and they wish they were with another woman. But then there are men who look, but love their wives, and want to be with their wives, but they cannot help but look at other women. You’re a man. All men look, right? And I understand if you have to look. All men look at other women, don’t they? You look, and that’s okay, but you do it in a sly careful way. Some men aren’t careful, and that would be hard. But if I was ever single, I would never meet the type of man I am attracted to. Because I’m not attracted to the men that stare in an obvious way. I’m attracted to the men who don’t look, or look really fast, and I would never know they were looking at me; so how would I ever know they liked me? You see it would be hard for me, because I like the shy guy who is a little insecure and doesn’t know he is handsome, and those are the type that would never approach me.
12. What’s your type of woman? Is that your type? How about her? You like women who are more like me, now, right? Before you liked tall and blonde. But not anymore. Do you know which of your friends I used to be most attracted to? Do you know why? No, not him. He is not my type at all.
13. If I die this is where I want you to spread my ashes. Right under this tree. Right here. Remember, okay. Here or Mt. Rainier. But this is much closer to home. Don’t you think? This would be a good place. This is just as pretty as Mt. Rainier and that is a wonderful tree.
14. I used to date the most handsome men, and it was so difficult. I would never do that again. They were handsome but not very smart, and I’d walk in a room and all eyes would be on them. And people would come up to me and say how handsome they were. And I knew those guys cheated. They had all theses chances. It’s no good dating a man like that. No good at all. Don’t you agree?
15. Oh, you are a good catch. As you get older, you out shine more and more of the men that are getting old like you. You are aging well, and they aren’t.
16. I’ve loved you through thick and thin. Mostly thick. Except for those two months you paid all that money to lose that weight. Other than that, mostly thick.
I didn’t know my husband was taking the photo. The trunk of the tree was so lovely.
I took a photo of this trail. Then my husband did. His photo was much better. He won the contest between us. I told him my photo would be better. I was wrong. The photo below was not taken from uphill. Still not too bad. And you can’t tell I have a cold in my eye. Or can you?
~
(This post was originally marked day 125….that’s my mistake…from a combo of after midnight, dyslexia, and too much caffeine. It’s day 205. No way am I going back 80 days!)
For day 200 I couldn’t think of anything better than James Blunt singing and stripping! Now that’s hot (and snowy cold).
A fictional piece of writing based on emotions of the past.
Goodbye Sunshine
There were small dresses hovering above. Light spilled in through the bottom of the closet door in the shape of a crescent moon. From where I sat, I let the moon kiss the back of my hand. Then I stretched my hand through the narrow crack beneath the door and wiggled my tiny fingers in the space outside the darkness. After counting to three, I pulled my hand back and returned it to the thick warmth of my dog’s fur.
An hour earlier, draped in my yellow shooting-star-patterned nightgown, I head reached across the dining table, and said, “One plate for you handsome Mr. Thumper and one for you dashing Blue Pony.” My animals stared back at me and smiled then, Pony resting on his side in the side chair, because he kept falling down with his bad balance, and Thumper on his tail with his paws on the table. “No arms on the table,” I said, and placed Thumper on his rump. “That’s better. Did you wash your hands?” They nodded. “Did you say grace?” They nodded again. “Good,” I praised, picking up my red plastic piggybank from my chair and taking a seat.
“Good job,” Mother said, as she walked in through the kitchen door. She plopped down a platter of cold meatloaf and a blue bowl of buttered potatoes, and then lit up four candles.
I held my plastic piggybank up to my ear. “What’s that? Let me see.” I looked up. “He wants to know if he can come to the sitter’s on Monday.”
If we went out for coffee and I drank coffee, and you looked like you might be at least half awake, this is likely what I’d tell you:
Four teenage boys are up at my house celebrating my oldest’s birthday. Their record is 6:00 a.m. bedtime. At least that is how late they stayed up the last time they all gathered at someone else’s house. So looks like I’m in for a long night! Or at least they are. However, I had that quarter cup of coffee at eight in the morning, and that’s enough to keep me still awake at this late hour of 1:40 a.m.
Of course letting my son buy Hostess desserts that have enough sugar and preservatives in them to last until his hundredth birthday was likely not a keen idea on my part. It is the first time I’ve actually bought Hostess products. Twinkies scare me.
I always feel weird filling my grocery cart up with junk food. I want to wear a sign that says: “I normally do not poison my children, but it is a special occasion!”
Today’s shopping excursion with my newly fifteen-year-old was painless. Just a few swipes off the shelves…..first stop Coke, second stop large bag of Doritos, third stop Klondike ice cream bars, fourth stop donuts. Okay, I managed to convince him to buy some orange juice. Of course, I normally don’t buy orange juice because of the lack of nutritional value and high sugar content. But considering what else was in my cart, the OJ came up on top as feasibly the only product that had real food inside of it.
The boys are loud. Very loud. My husband assures me that wrestling at this age is perfectly normal. They are testing out their manhood and showing who is top dog. I’m sure glad I’m a girl. I am not good at wrestling. I did warn them to stay clear of the fireplace hearth as they are throwing each other down on the ground.
The first time I went into the daylight basement game room to see the boys, the first words out of my mouth were: “Wow! It sure stinks in here.” I then opened the sliding door and turned towards the teens to smile. The boys looked at me like I was very odd. One boy shyly asked if I was indeed Michael’s mother. I’m not sure what to think of that comment. Who does he exactly think I might be? A friendly neighbor bringing junk food and candy to random children?
What an odd week. Everything felt like it just missed the mark….kind of like the whole universe was singing off-key and I was tone-deaf. So I didn’t really notice, but knew something was askew.
My ankle went weak on me on my walk a few days ago and I just about ate dust. Hip still healing.
A friend from California called me out of the blue and I totally freaked out because I had to change my plans for the day. But we had a grand time. The second day I saw her we took a walk. My ankle went out on me, again, and this time I slammed my wrists down to stop my fall. Ouch. And we took this walk on this road, and every time a car came by, clouds of dust blew up into our face. Oh. But we did find this vacant house and sat on their deck and admired one of the most awesome views of water and layers of foliage and hills and mountains I’ve ever seen in my life. But I had decided to leave my camera at home. Later my friend informs me that her husband heard swear words coming out of my oldest son’s mouth that even he hadn’t heard before. That was a pleasant surprise. Almost as pleasant as the fall and dust clouds, but not quite. It was fun watching her elderly father fall asleep with his finger still pointing to the line of text he was reading from in his political book, and hearing from him that divorce is just a way to legalize prostitution, and finding out that he thought I was my sister. (I don’t have a sister.)
When I tried to go to my weekly massage appointment…I know, I know…but it’s for pain management…really it is. Well, they had just finished putting in a new floor. Seriously just finished. I mean I watched the carpenter’s van drive away. Well the whole building smelled of toxic floor glue. So I had to reschedule my massage (weep-weep) and calm my lovely masseuse down, as she wasn’t too pleased with the smell herself. Which turned out to be okay, because my three boys were home alone, and I’d forgotten my cellular phone. And I figured that the fact my massage appointment was canceled was a darn good excuse to treat myself to a gourmet chocolate truffle at the Food-Co-Op. Of course, the CoOp had just finished pouring a new driveway which smelled like tar. But I risked the stench for chocolate.
A couple of days ago, my dog (Spastic Colon–her name, not her condition) took a crap at the lake where we walk everyday; and me being so utterly unprepared, because she only does number two at home, started worry frantically about the poop on the ground. I was so embarrassed that I yanked her before she was done and left a trail of her droppings. I noticed later a sneaker print in one of the droppings. Icky. After her “accident” I had to go retrieve the intolerably-smelling blue doggy bags the city provides and walk back and scoop up the poop. The poop doesn’t bother me so much. Well, it does. But those dang doggy bags that are scented with this awful artificial smell that stays on my hands and whatever else they come in random contact with are the worst! Once I forgot a city bag in my pocket, and the bag served as a laundry freshener. The wash came out smelling like doggy bags: a pungent rancid baby powder smell.
Today, when I tried to walk Spastic Colon she decided it was way too hot and just spread out on the grass. I had to yank her back to the van.
After meeting my neighbor for tea, five minutes into our conversation, a much-needed conversation, and much-needed company, I get a text from my oldest: “Mom. Please stop what you are doing and come home now. I cannot stop myself from punching my brothers.” That was fun. Then what had to be the largest bug in the world flew into our faces at our outside table, where we were having our tea, (well actually I was having sparkling water) and we both stood up and screamed and flapped our hands. Then the bug came back again. Turns out it was two black insects in the heat of romance. I still don’t know what they were, but they looked and sounded scary, with those black wings flapping and their darting about. I wonder what that would be like though….flying and doing what they were doing.
Today it was so very hot, some 95 degrees hot. That’s hot for here. We have no air conditioning. Our upstairs was eighty-eight degrees at 10:00 tonight.
Earlier, I took my two youngest chaps miniature golfing and my “baby” swung the club super hard and smacked a ball right into my ankle. Ouch! Then at dinner, a vegetarian trying to cut spare ribs for her son, (that would be me), with a butter knife, ended up sliding the ribs off the plate and smack onto the floor. Smack again.
I’m just glad it’s finally officially Sunday, the start of a new week in my book, so I can get back to my normal life. Like a few months ago when I came home from a walk to find my youngest two barricaded in the bedroom screaming as my eldest (then an immature fourteen year old) was threatening to kill them with an iron fire poker.
Oh, I forgot to mention. While I was at the restaurant supping with my boys this evening, a half-naked drunkardly-looking guy, carrying a toddler in his arms, rode by on a green fluorescent unicycle. And when we left the restaurant a fire truck was stopped in traffic with the fireman staring at me with wide fearful eyes, while I was staring at the scary man standing in front of the boys and me on the sidewalk, who had on sloppy white clown makeup and a costume red nose and old tattered clothes. He was attempting to do magic tricks by pulling out some type of tattered colorful scarves out of an old black wagon.
My middle son, with ASD, after we are seated in the van, he looks up and, with a deep sigh, says: “Did you see that fireman? Did you see his weird expression? He gave me the creeps!”
Everyday Asperger's 