It's All Good...

When I was a younger person, you know like late teens...early 20's I was afflicted with (what I now realize were) utterly ludicrous body image issues. It wasn't that I felt that I was particularly overweight really (ummmm...approaching pudgy - at my fattest...maybe) and at times I was even in relatively good shape since for years, my beloved, turquoise beach cruiser with the fancy fenders, whitewall tires and pale pink racing stripes - was my primary mode of transportation. But no matter how fit (or not) I was, I always hated that I couldn't seem to do a thing about all that junk inside-a my trunk and that my moderately muscular build and my lack of a rack negated what little femininity I actually did possess. I didn't even bother to try and look pretty most of the time, and my style during that era could probably best be described as "grungy thrift store tomboy". Oh sure, I would rip and tear and cut up my clothes in order to reveal the better parts of my body (that recessive slut gene has presented itself in varying degrees throughout my life...) but at the same time I would do silly shit like wear shorts over my bathing suit whenever friends and I broke into the neighborhood pools for late night dips, or sunned ourselves on rocks down at the river - simply because I was unduly paranoid about the size and the shape of my butt (what I wouldn't do to have that ass back, right now...oh well, hindsight)

Back then, I adored boys and I masochistically thrived on the torture of impossible crushes...(quite obviously...a legacy...) And if ever I found myself rollin' in the hay with a fella, my most favorite part was always the making out and the tingles and all of that delicious build-up...I liked the actual sex and all, but the damned nakey part was really hard for me...I couldn't stand for guys to see my bare body and my near absence of self-confidence completely slaughtered my ability to demonstrate any real skills. I didn't realize it at the time, but I now know that as a youngster, I really just kinda sucked in the sack. The absolute pinnacle of pain for me though, was the whole "morning after" business. There I'd be, in broad daylight, hunched over right in front of whatever poor soul was still laying there in the bed ...my hands frantically doing their best to cover my "big boom" and my itty bitty titties, while still struggling to pull my clothes back on...mortifying...

Luckily, things took a dramatic change for the better (as far as my self-image was concerned) after I made it through pregnancy and the birth of my first child...Sounds strange perhaps, but I gotta tell ya', the ole modesty goes straight out the window once you've squirted out a pup (or four) in front of a handful of complete strangers, along with your gyno and your husband. Having a baby is like being naked...in triplicate...times a million...under a spotlight...in front of an audience...and the whole humiliating process somehow miraculously eradicated my prior inhibitions. Post pregnancy and childbirth, I was immediately comfortable with my body...I nursed anytime and anywhere that my babies were hungee (descretely, but I wasn't foolin' anyone) I often paraded around the house naked as a jaybird (much to the chagrin of the poor UPS guy) and consequently, so did the rest of my growing family. To this day, I still prefer to be au naturel and find clothing in general, to be a sorely overrated concept.

So, pretty much from Oct. '95 - Sept. '03 I was either pregnant or nursing (my youngest nursed til she was 22 months old, ridiculous - I know - but she was hooked) When I finally snapped out of my years long maternity-induced fog, I not only realized that my ailing marriage was beyond resuscitation but also that my drastically overworked breasts, ehemm...had literally had the life sucked out of them. Unlike Demi Moore and others, I did not come out on the other side of the young mommy years replete with a voluptuous new set...my chest was now nothing more than tightly stretched skin over ribs (with cherries on top!) And it was a demoralizing wake-up call when my 2 year old daughter (whose first word was not surprisingly, "booby" and who continued to climb into bed with me, ever hopeful that I might reconsider this whole ridiculous weaning thing) reached up under my shirt one morning, felt around a bit and jarred me from the tail-end of my slumber when she declared, "litta booby!" Well, that was freakin' it! Something had to be done, and I knew just the thing...

During my consult, the plastic surgeon that I'd chosen to restore my womanhood, told me that throughout his entire career, he had never met a better candidate for a boob job... So see? There ya' go...

I absolutely LOVED my new tits, (to this day, they're my #1 favorite accessory) even taking into account that mine were the smallest implants that my surgeon had ever worked with. He had vehemently tried in vain to get me to go a couple of sizes bigger, promising me that I would be disappointed if I stuck with the size that I'd picked, but I was sure that they would be just perfect for my boyish build as well as - terribly convincing. I'll never forget the first time that I got to check those bad boys out for myself. Standing in front of my mirror, I unzipped and unhooked that Fort Knox of a bra which had kept the precious packages safe and secure during their first 24 hours inside of my body...and then just like that...there they were (can you hear the harps and angel chorus in the background?)...I was flabbergasted by how thrilled I was with 'em. They looked so insanely good to me...that I got horny...no lie...

You're probably wondering where I'm going with all of this pointless blabber. My explanation is twofold.

First: I am not the slightest bit shy about my body anymore, which has dramatically upped my game, so to speak. I have learned how to get what I want out of sex and curiously my selfish motivation to satisfy myself, has helped me to become a much more giving lover. And I hope that by enthusiastically making sure that my own needs are met during sex, thus learning how to truly enjoy it - I may have inadvertently become a better sexual partner in general...especially with the lights on...

Second: Exhibitionism...I'm afraid that I may have let this whole concept sorta run amok...

So by now you know that I've been posting racy(ish) photos of myself on my online dating site profiles to entice more men to "view" me, my falling down stairs vids. and my blog - so there's that. Ok, so a few weekends ago, as is customary, Willow and Curlymoe and I went out to paint the town red. We ended up at our usual, favorite haunt and glory be! There was a DJ spinning all of those crappy pop songs that somehow, like the Sirens, lure my ass out onto the dance floor. This night, the bar was crowded and the place was hot...temperature hot. I was glad that I had made the decision to sport a virtually nonexistent (I'm talking like one step down from pasties) bikini top under my simple black sheath. Down below, it was ripped up black tights and a teeny pair of boy shorts and heels. I lifted my dress a little, to cool my sweaty body and Willow was like, "Awww, just take the damned thing off, already!" And so with a modicum of prodding, I did just that...

After a song or two, I figured it was inevitable that management would be over soon to ask me to please get dressed, and so I decided to beat them to the punch and went to go put my dress back on. I returned to the table where our drinks and pocketbooks were still in place, but discovered that my cute, little black dress was...GONE?!

I didn't react, because I knew that some stupid bitch was just fuckin' with me, and I didn't want the scag to mistakenly assume that she'd gotten to me. (Not sure why any girl would want to draw attention away from herself by mandating that another girl stay nearly naked on the dance floor, but whatever...) The only thing that upset me was losing the little dress, it was cute and I didn't want that ho' to have it...Aaaaand...there was still the potential threat of the staff insisting that I cover up - and at this point - that would pretty much be impossible. But no one ever bothered me. In fact, I wound up ordering drinks for the rest of the night, right up at the bar alongside the hot and sweaty fools who had worn all of that superfluous clothing out to the bar that night (hee hee) and nobody said a word. Only once, did someone untie my tiny top (probably the same hag who stole the dress) but I caught the strings in time and Curlymoe tied it back for me before disaster struck. Everything was cool, until I realized that I would eventually have to make the 3 block walk back to the car, rawther scantily clad, drunk and wobbly on my four inch heels...

My friends and I made it back to the car mostly without incident. Sure, I withstood a few cat calls and all that, but no one solicited me for sex even though I did pretty much resemble a common hooker...so that was good...

After a night like that one, where hanging out in a bar with nary a stitch on shoulda been awkward, embarrassing or humiliating - but wasn't, I realized that even though I'm probably too old to act the way that I do (although it might not be an age thing, since I don't often see young people display even remotely similar behavior in public...hmmmm...) evidently dignity is a trait of which I may be devoid and that shock value has become a rewarding byproduct of all of my antics. And so, because of my conduct and the fact that I advertise all of my questionable behavior in a public forum, there are lots of people out there in the world who truly don't "get" me. Most people make up their minds that I'm a certain way and they form opinions (some dead-on, some completely off the mark) based on this bizarre persona that I have created...I'm used to it by now (hell - I ask for it, for cryin' out loud!) and I seriously DO NOT care about what people (who are not my close friends or children) say or believe about me, I mean that. I do however, care about the idea of being alone...forever. And so the real question is this...After portraying myself as such a wackjob, what man out there is gonna be willing to put up with all of the nonsense that goes along with, well...me? He'd have to come to the table equipped with a high tolerance for imbecility but also meet my extreme standards of excellence and I'm afraid that finding the embodiment of THAT, may be a tall order to fill...So have I rendered myself undate-able? I'm friend-able, and I'm fuck-able...but am I date-able? Maybe not. And I have recently learned that I might not even be marry-able. After changing my "relationship status" from single to married on Facebook the other day, just to try and incite some innocent laughter...what I mostly wound up with was negative spin including a comment from one sceptic who ascertained that "married to yourself doesn't count" Jesus Christ! Do I seriously come across as THAT narcissistic? This is precisely why I fear that I may be paving the way to miss out on that critical part in anyone's life...settling into the golden years with a buddy, a traveling companion...a forever lover. I don't want to be alone forever. But I also don't want to manipulate my personality in order to fit into society better, or something...I dunno.

I would love to think that I could distract myself from all of this postulation by getting together with some brilliant, new hopeful this weekend (specifically a certain Mystery Man) but it looks like I'm heading into the third straight weekend of deferment from him, and - lest I look even more the fool and under the expert tutelage of my young but wise friends, I have decided to take the hint. (I'm thinkin' that he's way too good for a peon like me, anyway...)

So hey, how about a little online dating absurdity to lift the somber pall that has suddenly draped itself over this entry? Whaddya say, huh?

Late the other night, after my kids were tucked in, I was enjoying a cocktail, fiddling around on my trusty ole Mac when I was IM'd on one site by someone new. I didn't really have any business talking to the guy since he lives 500 miles or so away, but I was bored and buzzed and wanted some company. I'm not really sure why, but I always prefer the ones who dive right into the juicy shit as opposed to the ones who just say what they think that you want to hear...b o r i n g...So anyway, this guy opened the conversation by telling me that I reminded him of his first crush (respectable)...allegedly his neighbor...who was also his mother's best friend (ah ha! The plot thickens!) Right away, I knew that I was in for a treat. I asked him if he'd ever acted on his crush and he said not really, but that the woman had once watched him spankin' the monkey up in his bedroom window, as she sunbathed in her yard below. And that after that, he'd heard his mother and the crush, discussing his more than ample size...which oddly enough - got him more excited about his mother, than the crush...So now, I was like, "Oh dayum! This shit is mess up!" But in the interest of my Big Ugly Blog (and my own perverse fascination with most things off-kilter) I continued to put him at ease and goaded him into telling me more. He asked if I had ever done anything taboo, to which I honestly responded, "Yes" (don't even ask me to tell you what the thing is that I told him, cuz this is one secret that will NEVER rear its big ugly head in my blog) which prompted him to divulge even more...He said that as a young man he had become obsessed with his mother and his sister and that even now, he still ogled mother and daughter duos, while oh - say...strolling around the mall (gulp) He next told me that the reason that he had contacted me was because of the picture on my profile of me with my young (11 YEARS OLD, for godssakes!!!) daughter. Now I was beginning to regret responding to his IM...(CREEPY!) and I was more than grateful that he lived so very far away! Next he willingly offered up the fact that he had messed around with his sister (ewww?!?!) but not his mom (phew)...Feeling almost like I needed to contact some authority or something but before I had bailed out of the convo., the sicko dropped the other shoe, confessing that he'd had REAL LIVE ACTUAL SEX with his sist..."K BUD, PARTY'S OVER!"

You talk about awkward! Sheesh! I couldn't believe the Pandora's box that I had mistakenly opened...Close it, close it, close it up again!!!!

I sew this entry up with the secure knowledge that no matter how demented and warped I am or may appear to be, there are peeps out there who are WAY WORSE OFF THAN I!!! I may put people off with my brazen wantonness, but at the very least, I always feel understood, accepted, cradled and loved by my kids and my true friends, and because of that...it's all good...