My Cup Runneth Over

     I have large breasts. I have had big ones since I was about 12. As soon as puberty hit and all the natural changes started happening I sprouted a set of breasts that embarrassed me, made me insecure, made me unhappy with my body. I wasn't the only one to notice the new editions to my newly pubescent body. Attention was coming from all sides; boys in school, adult men, flatter chested girls in my classes. I hated them. I hated the attention. I pretended it didn't bother me. I walked with a slouch. As I got older I learned what an "asset" they could be. I started to like the attention I would get from the boys in school and later, men in college/bars/clubs. I showed them off, flaunted them. Years later, I would love them for another reason. They provided nurtition and comfort to my newborns. By that time I was sporting a bra sized 40E. After I weaned the babes, they shrunk down to a "tiny" 36DDD. 
     They are saggy. They are covered in stretch marks and "Lefty" has a scar from a surgery I had when I was 21. They have been ultrsounded, mammogrammed, poked and prodded. They get in the way when I do yoga. Forget any kind of cardio. They flop around like two large tunas pulled from the ocean, gasping for air only to find none.  I have thought about breast reduction surgery for quite a few years. I always thought I would wait until I was 40. Now, a few months shy of 35, I have decided I can no longer wait. My back kills, I have chronic neck and shoulder pains. I have daily headaches. My shoulders have deep gouge marks where my bra straps dig deeper into the skin by the day. The skin on my back is constantly chafed.
     Aside from the physical pain, I can't find any shirts that fit properly.  I have to buy bigger shirts so they will fit across my chest but they don't fit properly on my narrow shoulders. Button downs are a joke. Anything that has a slightly tighter fit looks positively pornographic.
     Now I know some of you less well endowed ladies are probably rolling your eyes and sarastically muttering, "Oh poor you." and that is fine. This is my thing, my own personal hangup. The thing that I hate about my body. The thing I have to deal with in every aspect of my life. The thing that makes dressing difficult (and we all know how much I love my fashion), yoga postions uncomfortable, running impossible. I am going to chronicle my experience with my breast reduction surgery.  I already had my consult and that went well. I like my surgeon. And while I am very excited, I will admit that I am scared silly. Surgery isn't something to take lightly. Pain and I are don't like to hang out much but I am intrigued to see how I react to my new physical self. A body that will be so different from the one I've had for the last (almost) 35 years.

Hold The Pose, Not The Breath

When I am in class and in a pose that I find difficult, I keep in mind the saying "Hold the pose, not the breath." Taking a super deep breath while in a twist can be hard. Concentrating on proper alignment and remembering to keep breathing isn't easy. For 90 minutes during class I put so much effort into breathing but as soon as class is over I forget. I forget to take time to stop and fill my lungs and clear my head. There are moments in the day that an "ocean sounding" breath would provide so much relief. Stuck in traffic, dealing with an upset child, holiday blues all warrant taking a few seconds to stop and breath. Don't hold your breath when going through the poses of life.

It's Been a Long Long Time.

Life has been crazy hectic lately and with the impending doom, ahem holidays, approaching it doesn't appear that the Crazy Train will be slowing down or making any stops in the near future.  As some of you may know, I am not a huge fan of the holidays. I have something close to PTSD when it comes to this time of year. The stress and memories of holidays past often result in sleepless nights, crying, yelling and full body hives.  I try every year to slow down and be thankful for the things I have and concentrate on the positives, blah blah fucking blah.  I decided instead to concentrate and write down two lists. The things I hate and the things I love. This is probably going be really silly, and that is my point entirely. Please feel free to add your own list of irrational hatreds. I now present to you, in no particular order...

Things I Hate
*obviously I hate pedophiles, rape, murder and homophobia so I won't include those because you should just know that*

*drivers not using their blinkers
*the following words: panties, moist, precious
*inane FB status updates. Wow, your to do list. I don't give a shit.
*toothpaste in the sink
*indecisiveness
*not eating dinner early (I love the Early Bird Special)
*too much cologne
*rednecks and country music
*people who can't park correctly
*older white women who use the word "bling"
*people who don't figure out what they want to order until they are at the front of the line. Figure that shit out before hand people
*socks and sandles
*snakes
*cheap tissues
*picking up dog poo
*people who don't pick up their dogs poo
*constipation
*the Catholic Church/religious zealots
*skeevy older men
*guys that wear their pants 18 sizes too big/too small
*smoking
*stoners
*bad spelling
*Cambridge women and their long smelly gray braids

Things I Love
*my babes are number one forever and always*

*yoga
*the color pink
*black coffee
*chandeliers
*getting flowers
*when my kids fart. It is always funny.
*a good blow out
*sweater vests
*cats
*vampires of any kind/scary stuff
*going to the movies
*napping
*good tequila
*the Fall
*fashion
*dancing/disco balls/LADY GAGA
*snuggling
*nice hotels
*musicmusicmusicsingingsingingsinging
*exploring
*clothes on dogs
*my best friend Paul's sense of humor
*my girlfriends
*fake eyelashes
*drag queens
*goat cheese
*farm animals
*high heels
*my house
*legalizing gay marriage
*home improvement shows
*books
*internet shopping
*people watching


I'm sure that I will think of many more throughout the day but this little smattering of my warped psyche should be enough to give you pause to think and please, judge me freely.

When It's Time to Change....

     The Autumnal Equinox is upon us kids and with each new season comes a wave of change. The Winter is a cold hard time where plants and animals escape the bitterness by hunkering down, hiding  and hiberbating; waiting until the Spring brings a little bit of warmth, sunshine and linger days, an awakening. The Summer gives us heat and sunshine that goes past childrens bedtimes. The Fall brings us change. It brings about a shedding of sorts and a need for preparedness. The trees drop their leaves. The animals forage and store food. The weather cools and we begin our subconsious descent into a slower time, a longer night. I love the Fall. I love that manditory change.
      I can't stop the seasons. I can't stop time and the Fall reminds me to accept these changes.  It's in those moments that I choose to breathe. Breathe deeply and let go. Sit and watch the leaves move in the breeze. Feel the chill in the air and wrap your arms a little more tightly around yourself. Take a walk and listen and feel and just breathe in the changes.  Accept what is going on around you and embrace it. Be thankful for this reminder, the reminder that sometimes there are things we can't control. Sometimes things in our lives will change, will wither, will leave. We may want to run but we shouldn't because change will always catch up with you. I'm going to try and be more like the tree than the leaf. I will drop the things I need to let go of to change, to become a better  more deeply rooted person. I will try and be the tree.
     Yes Ned Stark, the Winter is indeed coming. I think the Fall is a brilliant and beautiful way to cast things off and prepare for the darker, more cold days ahead. Shed what we don't need in order to focus on what we do for the what we may face ahead. Let go and accept and breathe.

9.11

     I am surprised at how emotional I am right now. I've been seeing pictures of the devastation on 9.11. I remember exactly where I was that day. I remember hearing the news. I remember trying to think of everyone I knew living in NYC. I remember hoping and wishing that everyone was okay and being thankful that my Dad was retired and that he wouldn't have to go to New York and fight the fires. I was mildly ashamed for being so selfish for having that thought.
     My 8 year old was asking me about 9.11 on Friday. They had discussed it at school that day and she wasn't sure about what exactly happened that day. We were driving and I was trying to describe the events of that day. Keeping in mind that she is only 8 and that her Dad has to travel to Chicago a few times a year for work, I tried to keep it child friendly. My breath caught in my throat and realized that there is no way that I could possibly put a child friendly spin on anything that happened that day. Children were murdered that day. Children were robbed of their parents that day. Unborn children never met their fathers because they were murdered on that day. Americans were murdered for being American. For being born in this country or choosing to come here and become American. Ten years later and I still can't wrap my head around that.
     We should remember to hug, kiss and tell our loved ones we love them everyday. Today we should send our love to the heroes of that day. To the innocent Americans going about their everyday business. To the first responders who rushed in while others were rushing out. To the dead and sick and broken. To each other.

I Hate to Quarrel With You Biggie But...

     I've had this song in my head all morning.  http://youtu.be/nIyzG8i7Kg0 At first I was singing along, working it the only way I know how (which is fabulously, by the way) when I stopped suddenly. While "Mo Money, Mo Problems" makes a better song title than, say, "Less Money, Mo Problems" the first just doesn't make any kind of sense to me.
     Puffy (or Sean Combs, or Diddy, or Diddy Dirty Money, whoever he is this week) raps about his yacht (I don't even have a raft made of twigs) and his numerous Rolex watches (my wrist is bare) and I was wondering how having these extravegant items were possibly hindering his advancements in life. I decided to play detective (which means I googled his net worth and went with the first website that popped up) to find that his current 2011 net worth, according to Forbes magazine, is 475 MILLION dollars, making Sean Combs the Richest Rapper in the Game.  Real Estate properties are not something that he is running short on. He is currently selling his New York City townhouse. The listed price on that is 17 million. He is also selling his New Jersey mansion. The asking price on that Bad Boy (pun entirely intended) is 13.5 million. He currently owns a 15 million dollar home in Miami (recently purchased from Tommy Matolla) as well as a large estate in Atlanta and a summer mansion in the Hamptons. I can barely afford my house in Central MA and I'm in panic mode with the winterizing that MUST be done in the next month. Diddy drives a Lamborghini. The starting MSRP on a basic model is $199,000. And Sean Combs treats his kids great. He bought his son, for his 16th birthday a $360,000 car (which is, by the way, what my house cost. My HOUSE.) The best part of that whole thing is, that at the time he was given the car, his son did not have a drivers license. Am I too old to be adopted?
     The Notorious B.I.G., still deceased, has a net worth of 160 MILLION dollars. And he's dead. Christopher Wallace is dead and he is still making more money than me. But I guess I win in that respect because I am here blogging while Biggie obviously isn't.
     Famous people really can't bitch about their vast wealth causing problems in their lives. People busting their asses and still living next paycheck to next paycheck have a right to complain. Parents who can't afford basic things like food, clothing and shelter for their kids because they don't have enough money can complain. Things like not having the "luxury" of health insurance give folks the right to be a little perturbed. The elderly and the destitute sleeping in the kitchen next to an open oven because that is their only means of staying warm have the right be pissed off. Rich people who live in 15 million dollar homes, who drive Rolls Royces, who wear Rolex watches and Louboutan shoes and have warm homes in the winter, cool summer homes by the ocean, the money on hand to pay for doctors visits really can't justifiably complain that more money cause more problems.

Something Less Heavy

I have a few Celeb Crushes.  Here they are, in no particular order...

Helloooo Chris Evans, I wanna have your babies.

Hellooo Colin Farrell. I wanna bite your apple.

Hellooo Peter Dinklange. Don't question it, just go with it.

Hellooo Salma Hayek. I just want to be you when I grow up. And besides, look at those boobs. They're magical.