Let My Boobies Go

In DBo's family, the tendency is to be super thin with a moderate rack. I mean, that's cool with me, I'm not one to hate on the fortune of others. I'm not particularly thin myself - I mean, I work at it, I'm fit, but I would say I am more of the "boobs-and-ass" variety than the "twig" variety. And that's generally cool with me too.

What bothers me, is that because I am curvy and they are not, I have been consistently held to a higher standard of prudish dressing than the women in DBo's family.

Whenever I wear something that is remotely cleavage-y, or a teensy bit shorter than normal, I get the same death stare I’d expect to receive if I walked in wearing stripper heels and a strap-on.

On the other hand, DBo’s sister is constantly prancing around in teeny rolled-down shorts (like she’s 13 and trying to impress a boy in PE class) spaghetti-strapped midriffs that seem to say ‘Yeah I’m slutty, who cares?” and dresses from Forever 21 that look more like slips than something one would reasonably leave the house in.

Yet somehow, this is all passable, because she’s a twig. And yes, she looks good in her outfits, but there is no way in hell I would get away with some of the shit she wears. (Proof: I have been pulled aside at family parties for wearing a v-neck.)

I decided to try and get around this issue this weekend at my engagement party, where I chose a somewhat tight/boob-a-licious Band-Aid dress.

In reality, it's the opposite of scandalous, but it shows a bit of tit. So in the eyes of the fam, it might as well be a thong.

I was super excited to wear this dress out, and spent the week before the party tanning, working out, and getting the necessary waxes. However, when I showed up on Saturday night, I saw DBo's sister in a conservative flowy dress, and his mom was in an age-appropriate skirt. Of course, I started feeling insanely self-conscious. And of course, as expected I got the surprised look from his mom that says, “You’re really wearing that!”

Long story short, I spent the first hour of the party pulling the hemline down and the neckline up, and it wasn’t until I had a couple of Flaming Dr Peppers that I began to feel like myself, and stopped giving a shit. I ended up getting quite a few compliments, a few that I didn’t hear about until after the party, and, I suppose that all-in-all it was a good outfit choice for a party that’s all about me.

What’s amazing to me though, is just how much the judgment of thin girls can turn me into an insecure wall-flower. The first hour, I was ashamed to be in pictures, I couldn't make eye contact, and I didn't feel like talking to anyone. It makes me sad that I try so hard to please people who don’t seem to understand that there are only a few years where you can wear crazy red dresses and not be called a “Cougar” or a “Home-wrecker” or a flat out "Slut" and that you need to take advantage of them.

I mostly hate the fact that I apparently need to have a minimalist body type to be able to wear what I want around my future family. Unless I develop an allergic reaction to food or boobs in the near future, this is a problem I don't see going away . . . . and I have no clue how to A. shut them up, or B. make myself stop caring. Fuck'n sucks.

An Unfortunate Symptom of Maturity

There are days when I wish I was "more mature," and had a better understanding of "it all," and there are days when I don't.

Today is the latter.

Today is one of those days when I realize that gaining perspective and wisdom is like leaving Plato's cave - once you've grasped certain truths, it's impossible to go back to the naivety you so enjoyed before. (I've also decided that seeing naivety for what it is is a big indication that you no longer possess it.)

You age with or without gaining wisdom, so I still think "wise" is the way to go, but I think it would be easier to go through life learning nothing, so you can retain the high hopes, bold courage, and open-mindedness of childhood.

Not to mention, the more you figure shit out, the more annoyed you get by everyone who hasn't.

I think about all the drunk evenings riding back on Cal train from San Francisco, not caring who saw me or if I even had a seat. Or walking down the street on a summer's day San Luis Obispo, requiring nothing but a friend and a hidden pipe to have the best day ever. Or befriending everyone I met, accepting the motives of everyone as pure.

Sometimes I even miss the times that made for the worst experiences but the best stories. Or the times when I was surprised by the way a situation turned out, for better or worse. With age, things become less volatile, and better overall, but as they say, the sweet isn't as sweet without the sour.

I find myself living now-a-days with the stifling lens of experience. I know what I like, I know what annoys me, and I generally know what warning signs to look for in any given situation, what triggers drama, what missteps could turn around and bite me, etc. With this clear sense of how situations might pan out, I have a hard time understanding or excusing people for their ignorance about "obvious" things. And I have a hard time just letting things ride, because I can see a mistake or a misstep as it's beginning to happen.

This is making planning for Europe a little bit harder than anticipated, because I know what can go wrong so I'm going a little bit crazy ensuring that it doesn't, wanting to plan things down to the last, carefully organized detail. Wanting to prove that I can "do this trip right" and without making the sorts of crazy mistakes that are probably part of most nomadic journeys across multiple countries.

It leads me to wonder, is this why so many people become "set in their ways?" Because they've done things differently or let things go in the past to their detriment? Stayed up too late and suffered at work, neglected to be on time and missed their ride, failed to pay attention and ended up in the wrong part of town, trusted the wrong person and gotten their shit stolen? Can we blame them for knowing what works, and sticking to the script? Should we look at this as stagnant rigidity, or as an awareness of outcomes?

And am I playing devil's advocate right now for everything that's wrong in the world, or have I stumbled upon an inconvenient and unsettling truth?

It's Too Damn Early For This Shit

The above clip bothers me for SEVERAL reasons - some of which are my own quirks (i.e. I am principally opposed to the long standing tradition of dudes asking fathers for their daughter's hand in marriage) but some of which are valid gripes.

For example, in what era do 30 year old women live at home, move directly from their father's house to their husband's house, and have a curfew of any kind? Is it really still "normal" that a woman's living arrangements are dictated by which man is overseeing her well-being? And if we were really going to chastise this woman for being out late, was it absolutely essential to the plot that Dad was the one doing the chastising? Does Mom play some kind of role in all of this, or is the whole marriage situation truly just a transfer between Dad and Todd?

The tribe of married women over at The Nest found this commercial absolutely adorable, and didn't understand the obvious issues with it. I guess that means our culture is still full of people who drive big trucks, keep their American flag next to their Bible on the nightstand, and think that Daddies are responsible for their Little Baby Girls until their Little Baby Girls find a husband and become his problem.

Maybe this upsets me more than normal because I just got engaged and am still struggling with the societal implications of being a "married woman," but at the very least I had hoped we were past the point as a society where patriarchy is endearing enough to sell coffee.

I did some research, and discovered that Folgers has been making sexist commercials for decades. In the one below, the husband actually shakes his finger in his wife's face for sucking at her wifely coffee-making duties (as opposed to thanking her for the effort, or just making his own damn coffee!) What's even more ridiculous is that the nice man at the drug store has to illustrate what a mountain looks like, otherwise the concept of mountain grown coffee would have gone right over her pretty little crappy-coffee-making head.




And if that wasn't obnoxious enough, here's another example. If this is where Folgers began, I guess I shoulda just been glad that Dad could make his own coffee while negotiating the details of his daughter's future.

Sitting on Faces, Babies, and Doorknobs

So I was reading my best friend's blog and I thought I would look around to see who else is posting to Blogger. I clicked "next blog," and found this.

And this.

And this.

In fact, in over 30 blogs browsed, only 9 were not a personal account of someone's kinky sexual exploration. (And those 9 were almost exclusively about babies, but more on that later.)

The fact that so many people are blogging about sex - and fisting/spanking/donkey sex at that - leads me to think that there must be an awful lot of sexually repressed and unfulfilled people out there.

There's also a lot of people who are into some weeeeird shit.

Sexual fulfillment is so important, but its more than just the frequency with which you fuck. Sometimes it's less about the orgasm, and more about what you get out of it, whether it's an exhibitionist thrill, an intense emotional connection, or a pass from doing the dishes. With all the shit out there that tells you what you want, there is a lot of pressure to stick to the script. But it seems that the people who claim sex is as simple as putting a dick-in-a-box are the ones who come out years later with a fetish for doorknobs, a collection of men's thongs, or whatever this is. So it's probably better to be honest from the beginning about what you want (MUCH easier said than done.)

Side note - does anyone else find it odd that Fox is covering the Tiger Woods debacle as news when there are earthquakes in Haiti to worry about?

In the name of full disclosure, I should admit that I've got sort of a weird relationship with sex myself. Growing up in a religious household with a super overprotective mother, sex was the one thing that was off limits, no matter how broke or horny I got. I knew I would smoke some day, I knew I might try drugs, but I was NOT going to have sex. Ha.

In hindsight, I hope my parents can see that the whole "abstinence thing" never works out well, especially for curious girls with a rebellious side. I mean, I'm no donkey-girl, but I still feel like I have my own shit to sort out in the sex department. I guess when it comes down to it, I'd rather be spilling my secrets to someone I can trust, rather than sharing my shit online. But who am I to judge? They're just looking for a way to fill the hole. That's what she said.

Here's the Thing . . .

It's been weighing on my mind lately what I should do with my life. Up until a certain time in our lives, we don't control the steering wheel. Yes, we choose our classes in high school, choose friends out of our hometown groups and associations, and have some say regarding the college or vocation we go into, but there is a lot of hand holding (at least for us lucky ones) from teachers, counselors, parents, along the way. Once you graduate college/enter the real world, are financially stable, and have tied up the loose ends from childhood, you take a second to stare down the horizon, and realize that there are no more flashing lights directing you where to go. You have complete freedom to realize your dreams, pursue your goals, fall in love with whomever and whatever you want.

You also have the freedom to do nothing. To be alone. To wander aimlessly. To fail.

One of the biggest realizations I've made so far in life is that freedom is scary. Maybe not for some people, guided by convention and the "shoulds" and "should nots" of life, but for people like me who see a truly blank slate, the only thing keeping you from failure or propelling you to success is you. It's exhilarating to be sure, but it's scary as hell.

I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world, but it's interesting to me that one of the things I crave most is what causes me the most anxiety on a day-to-day basis. If the dark underbelly of freedom and independence is fear, I'll still take it, but sometimes I wonder if I'm the only one who gets it, and who is scared to death about which way to go.

More thoughts on this to come.