Butts Butts and more Butts!

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Oh hello.  Were you looking at my butt?  Not yet?  Still looking at others’ butts?  It’s ok, I’ll wait.  My butt size is super important, you see.  Everyone’s is these days.  In the mid-2010s, everyday is a booty contest du jour.  I’m not really sure what set all of this butt worshiping off.  I don’t want to give too much credit to J-Lo when Sir Mix-a-Lot seems to have had the time advantage on this one.

We find ourselves here in a cheeky moment in time… a posterior promenade, a fanny festival, a jubilee de keister, if you will, where butts are front and center (wait, that is totally a weird visual) and all eyes are focused on oiled up, well lit, celebrity glutes.  If baby don’t got back, baby get back.

Let me state here that I am not #blessed with an enormous rump.  In fact, I’m pretty sure it has never been the focus of anyone’s adoring gaze.  It does it’s job.  I sit on it.  It never fails me, but no one is getting Insta-famous with this rear of mine and here’s the kicker, IT DOESN’T BOTHER ME.

*collective American culture gasp*

Shouldn’t I be running to the nearest fill-it-up doctor to fix my flat?  Shouldn’t I be strategically styling to hide my flagrant flaw?  Shouldn’t I be ashamed of myself?

I like to think back to the 70s, which I admit I was only around for the last few years of that, but there are pictures, so I can pretend to know some things about the culture then.  In the 70s, it was Flat Butt City.  Man, people were working hard on their aerobic fitness to get those buns down to the minimum.  Also, thin lips.  Oh those thin, frosted thin lips of the disco era.  And OH, the body hair.  It’s almost like it was the COMPLETE OPPOSITE OF TODAY.  Whoa.

This was a very long way of saying, rather than worrying about your butt (which is the most ridiculous body part I can think of focusing on), turn your gaze outward and focus on something that doesn’t go in and out of fashion, like how many rescue animals can you help?  How can you get involved in your city and make a difference?  How can you be more kind?  Learn how to build websites, robots, make art…or start a business sewing clothes that fit stylishly and snugly around giant behinds, because there’s definitely a market for that, ya know.

*end of preachy rant*

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You need a pep talk… come here little one. Let me tell you about hats.

I’m an accessories girl.  I wear all the scarves.  All the hats.  2 pairs of earrings at once.  Give me 3 necklaces and 5 rings.  While I am aiming for minimalism in my life, my actions definitely read MAXIMUM DECORATION.  I can’t help it.  I am a human Christmas Tree.

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The IKEA scarf hanger.  I cannot live without this.

Everywhere I go in my tower of 13 hats and sea of 8 scarves, someone finds the need to tell me, “I love your scarf!  Oh I WISH I could wear scarves!” or “I really want to be a hat person too but I just can’t.”  I always find this so bizarre.  Why can’t you just put in on your body and go out?  I do.not.understand.

So I’m sitting here with my new bangs (pronounced BANG!s)  and I’m recalling something my sister said to me a long time ago when she had bangs and I didn’t.  She said about herself, “I have to have bangs.  I don’t look right without them!” like it would be the end of the world if she shared her forehead with us.  Then a few years after that, she began silently growing them out and she hasn’t had bangs since.  She was adamant that she couldn’t do this thing then she did it and it was actually not a big deal at all.  She never acknowledged that she ever said it.  She never told me she was growing out.  It’s almost like she doesn’t want to admit SHE WAS WRONG about everything.  Anyhow, the whole point of this blog post is:  you’re probably wrong about that thing you’re sure you can’t do/wear/be.  Just do the thing.  Put on the hat.  Wear the scarf.  Cut/grow the bangs.  Learn the language.  Sew the dress.  Play the instrument.  Just start and keep going… and then suddenly, look, you’re a hat person!

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Attain pure minimalist bliss! …or rather, just try to throw out one thing a day.

My life is an experiment in minimalism.  I live in a tiny house.  With me, a little guy, and a big guy that I’m married to, there’s no room for extras here.  Maybe it’s just a delusion, or maybe I lose my perspective from being cooped up in here, but every once in a while it even feels a little spacious.  One time when it was feeling spacious for no reason, I couldn’t help myself and picked up a foster dog.  With a sweet little face and a funky mohawk, I thought I could for sure get her adopted within a month.  But it turned out she was really grumpy, and territorial.  One month went by, two months, three…then eventually, TWO YEARS.  It took two years to get this dog adopted into a loving home (who knew that grumpy dogs were popular with a few people?)  Well within just about five minutes of her arriving here, it wasn’t feeling very spacious anymore but there was no turning back.img_4169

Ever since she has moved on to her forever home, I have been scaling back everything in an attempt to enjoy that spacious feeling again.  I have vowed to throw out a thing a day until my house resembles Dwell magazine, which won’t happen, but just go with my daydream here.  The first day went really well.  Entire trash bags of clothes and random kitchen items went out the door.  I was quite a success.  But now, a few weeks in, I’m running out of things to toss.  Well, not really, I’m just running out of things that I’m comfortable tossing.  There are actually a lot of items that I know need to go but I can’t do it.  I was thinking that instead of just unceremoniously throwing them out, maybe I could write about them here as a way of memorializing them and as a way of talking myself into it.  Anyhow, here goes.

Item #1:  That full length Italian wool body-con dress  Oh body-con dress.  I remember the days when I didn’t have an everyday mom belly and I would wear you so confidently.  You were a demure grey but your fitted shape said “POW!”  Now it just says, “Meh, you’re ok.  Can I just go home to the closet so you can get back to eating some pizza?”  And wine.  Please.

Item #2 That blue pot  Ugly blue pot that doesn’t match any of the other pots that I have.  Ugly blue pot that has a loose handle.  Ugly blue pot doesn’t even have a lid that fits!  Ugly blue pot that I use every once in a while, so I keep thinking that I need it.  I don’t need you.  I need to be free of you, ugly blue pot!  Out you go!

Item #3 Box of Rocks  I can’t.  How did I end up being a person with a box of rocks in her house?  A box of rocks that I can’t let go of?  That sounds ridiculous but they were collected over many family trips to the beach and I like them!  So how about I try to switch the way I think about these rocks?  Like, why do I think these rocks are really mine?  I stole them from the earth.  Can one really own the earth?  So, it turns out I really don’t own them at all.  Good riddance box of rocks.  Back to your homeland.

Well this has been cathartic for me and I’m sure it’s been a complete waste of time for you, but only because you did not just throw out three things.  But maybe, just maybe, you can get rid of 3 ridiculous things right now.

Do it.  DO IT NOW!

I am a grown up! So why am I still attempting to cut my own bangs?

At one point in my life, my hairdresser told me I shouldn’t keep scissors in my house.  She had witnessed my impulsive ways too many times.  She could not always rescue me from my self-inflicted haircuts.  I just cannot help myself when I’m feeling the itch to try something new.  It’s almost instantaneous.  Maybe I should get layers?  *10 seconds later standing in the bathroom mirror with a yeti-looking pile of hair in the sink*  That’s me.  I cannot be stopped.

Yesterday it happened again.  Was it because it was my 40th birthday and that should feel as traumatic as the college breakup that caused me to take the sword in my hand and go from long, flowing seductress hair to “mom in the suburbs” (my kind friends’ words)?  Nah, I didn’t really care that much about 40.  Was it one of those moments where you’re certain you could change the world if you only just had the balls to cut your hair shorter?  Nah, not this time at least.  It was actually three pictures on my camera.  I thought to myself, why does my forehead look so big in every pict…*instantaneously* I SHOULD GET BANGS AGAIN I NEED BANGS RIGHT NOW WHERE ARE THE SCISSORS OMG.  This time, I really tried to call my hairdresser first.  I tried!  3 weeks for an appointment?  Bah!  No way!  Forget you, professional!  I will attempt your job that took years upon years of study and practice with sharp objects and I WILL SUCCEED RIGHT HERE IN MY DIMLY LIT BATHROOM. RIGHT. NOW.

Bam!

airbrush_20170210092250Bangs.  Lots of bangs I tell ya.  Copious bangs.  Maybe too much.  Too late now.

I may be 40, and those silvers popping out cannot be denied, but I’m still totally a naive teenager that can’t control herself.  I might be a grown up but some things can’t be grown out of.  This didn’t turn out that horribly (this time), but luckily, haircuts are one thing that can be grown.

 

Ok, it’s my 40th birthday. Ok.

This is very exciting… except it isn’t really.  Well, I’m alive, and that’s great!  I love that.

40 has been staring me in the face now for 40 years or so, but luckily I had enough foresight to plan to distract myself from my own personal doomsday.  A few months ago I started to learn Spanish, started a ceramics class, and I put a bunch of my spit in a jar to send off to a lab that will finally shed some light on my mutt heritage.  So far, I have been not very successful at learning Spanish or getting my clay centered on the wheel but I did a hell of a job getting all that spit in a jar.  Go me!  You have to take your successes where you can get them.  All of this activity has been great for keeping my mind off of birthdays and such.  So here it is, and it turns out that it is not as painful as I thought it would be.  For the past 5 years, my older friends thought it was their mission to warn me about the perils of 40.  But actually, being 15-23 was kind of rough and no one warned me about that.  That time of life was filled with doubts, questionable decisions, and seemingly everyone else’s opinions.  But here at 40, I kind of have it together-ish, and now, mine is the only opinion that matters.  So there.  *sticks tongue out because I’m grown up but not very mature*

Welcome to my blog.  I’ll be updating every other day or so.  Let’s be best friends… the kind of best friends that never have time to go out to lunch or call each other, because who has time for that? Love you!

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