Friday, March 28, 2008

Snowstorm in March or Bashful Bather

Today the goddess speaks about herself:
I cannot 'flower blooming' believe it. I am in the middle of a snowstorm in March.
It is my 'flower blooming' spring break, for flowers sake. Snow, hail, sun, snow, hail, sun, snow. What am I supposed to do with this weather? What have I done other than sleep, read, eat, sleep some more, and generally let the blood settle in my lovely ass-ets?
The one really good thing about adding extra pounds, due to my snowstorm inactivity, is that my bottom is so amazingly lush and full. I am not kidding. If you tell me differently I will poke your eyes out with my nose. I can't stop running my hand over my own round bottom. It is so easy for me to get fixated on anything though. For instance, on one of my TV marathon days, I watched a 30 minute show on Paul McKenna's weight loss strategy. He has four rules, and I have centered my attention on the first two, when the last two are significantly the more important ones. There are also ten of these segments, and I only watched the first one. What I am suggesting here is that I am not necessarily making good choices with my temporary fascinations. My ass may be gorgeous, but the muffin top above my jeans is a tad alarming. As are the first two of Paul's strategies if the last two are not followed. Here are Paul's four rules, so you don't have to watch his first segment and get stuck in the lower gears as I did:
1. Eat whatever you want
2. Eat when you are hungry
3. Eat consciously (no distractions like TV, or books, chew 20 times, etc. . .)
And here is the really important, not to be hastily cast aside rule,
4. Stop when you are full
Whatever. I don't think it is possible to get full on coconut, double dark, chocolate ice cream anyway.

I will be donning a bathing suit tonight. If I might compare myself to a tropical rain forest here, I'll be sharing my dense lusciousness with others. Hopefully it will be just the right amount of dark. We are going to some friends for dinner and hot tubbing. Thank god, they mentioned suits because they also suggested we could spend the night if we wanted. Had there been no mention of suits, implying nakedness, I might have thought they wanted to swing, and not the kind of swinging the monkeys in the rain forest do. I have been in their hot tub naked, it was quite the floating boob fest, but that is where I draw the line. I don't care to be surrounded by floating boy bits not belonging to my husband. As I told my friend, "I'm just not that groovy". My first two, mixed doubles, hot tub experiences left me a little shy of co-ed bathing.

I know that you are dying to hear the stories so here goes. When I was a sweet young thing, just nineteen years old, and barely not a virgin, my boss invited me over to her house to practice for our sign language test, and soak in her hot tub. To get a visual image of my boss, imagine small, demure, measured, and soft spoken. In fact she was so demure and controlled that she could not form a facial expression to accompany her sign language, which is an integral part of signing. That is why we were having the extra practice at her house. A glass of wine, and a soak were supposed to help to loosen her up. (My facial expressions were spot on; some might say that my every thought could be read in my face).

Excitedly, I packed a little bag, in preparation. I carefully considered my two suits; one a bikini, the other my swim team speedo. I chose the speedo, since it covered more skin. I felt I should be more conservative since I was dressing down with my boss, who was on the shy side.

I had never been in a hot tub. It was a cold night, snowing slightly, and I couldn't wait to experience being outside in the snow, yet cozy and warm in the hot water. It sounded delicious. Swinging my swim bag, I blithely, and light heartedly tra-la-laed to my boss' house. She was just getting home herself when I arrived. As we stood on her stoop, unlocking her door, she turned to me and said, "Oh, did I remember to tell you that we don't wear clothes in the hot tub; is that cool with you?" I can only imagine the expression on my face which did not match the words, "Sure, no problem", that spontaneously spouted from my mouth.

All through our sign language practice, I thought calming thoughts. "Why am I so dumb?" "Why didn't I say, but I'll be wearing clothes, thank you?" "What's the big deal, I walk around naked in the locker room all of the time." By the time I had convinced myself that it was perfectly cool to get in the hot tub, naked, with my boss, the front door opened, and in walked her boyfriend. A much older, shaggy haired, Lebanese man. "Great, I can join you in the hot tub!" he exclaimed.

Now this is where I was traumatized. Not only did I get into the hot tub, naked, with this naked couple, but when the water got too hot for the boyfriend, he stood up. He stood up and preened. That is the only way to describe it. I didn't know where to look. I tried to be cool. I tried not to be too obvious about commenting on the night sky. The time his privates spent above the water line was interminable.
And, the thing is, they both had to know how uncomfortable I was. I'm sure I hadn't suddenly learned to mask the betrayal of my oh so expressive face. I never hot tubbed with them again. I chose to pretend the night had never happened. Unfortunately, I still can't wipe the image of that naked man and his floppy penis out of my mind.

The other story is less time consuming. It was like a Saturday Night Live skit. A bunch of science teachers at a week long workshop, staying in a mountain lodge. Twelve of us crammed into a hot tub, laughing and drinking, and clothed. I came late to the party so I didn't know that one of the men was only wearing a pair of tighty whiteys. Tighty whiteys are not so tighty when they are wet. This guy started telling a story in a very lugubrious, listen to my every word, manner. During his very long story that he kept telling us had a hilarious punch line, he kept getting in and out of the hot tub in all his flabby, hairy, soggy underpantedness. It was absolutely gross. Another image emblazoned on my brain for all eternity. So, you can see why I am a little nervous at the prospect of sharing a soak with men.

Think of me tonight. No amount of alcohol could loosen me up if someone should choose to bare all. This time I will not be silent. I will rain my own snowstorm down upon my host if he so much as jokes about going naked bottom. If I'm not showing my yummy bottom then no one else is either.

May peace and a strong resolve be yours from, The Goddess of Everything.

Saturday, March 15, 2008

One of Those Days

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

The grocery store was out of flax seed muffins, cherry yogurt AND TURKEY MEATLOAF!!! My world is tilting on it's axis, and I am out of coherence with the universe.

Monday, March 10, 2008


Today the goddess speaks about herself:

I tend to show a lot of cleavage these days. One could say that I am in the d├ęcolletage phase of life. That's somewhere between mom and crone, isn't it?
After spending years hiding my perfect breasts due to misplaced modesty, I have been celebrating them. Modesty flew out the window with six straight years of breast feeding; probably within the first six feedings truth be told. Now, I try to make the girls the center of attention whenever I can.

I was such such a tomboy as a preteen. I was embarrassed to get breasts, which to my great anguish appeared early. By 11 a bra was a good idea, by 12 a necessity to cover the dark crowns and constant nipping. The tact I chose for dealing with the onset of womanhood was to ignore it as best I could. Thus, I am still surprised every time I get my period. These things have a way of not being ignored, however. Boys and girls alike pointed them out to me. I was mildly teased by boys. The girls were more prone to open dialog. One of my best friends unexpectedly broke into tears, saying how unfair it was that I had breasts and a waist when she had neither. She couldn't see how I could possibly be embarrassed to shower in P.E. (I believed everyone was embarrassed, I never questioned that we were all in the same boat, apparently my friend thought differently). My father even commented, not in an icky way, but because he was my dad his outward acknowledgment that I was a girl caused me great shame. All of these factors: tomboy, early puberty, teasing, jealousy and shaming contributed to my not making the most of a really good thing. I covered those beauties up during some of their best years -- certainly their pertest.

For the past many years now, I have tried to rectify the injustice I did to myself, and to the rest of the world by hiding my light under a bushel. My friends and family can all confirm that I have done everything in my power to tastefully display 'The Girls'. It's not as easy as it would have been before gravity took hold, but I do my best. Now a bra is not just something to keep my nipples from showing, but a harness to keep the set from blending into my belly, creating a blob around my waist. They're not perfect anymore, but I haven't heard any complaining from the peanut gallery.

This brings me to the anxiety I have been experiencing for the past year. A future heart surgery is going to bring a blight to my cleavage. I am going to have a humdinger of a scar right where I generally try to create a focal point for my audience. ( I know, weeny whine -- at least I'll have breasts when the surgery is over). Pathetic whining aside, the anxiety still exists. My husband says that I can get a tattoo there. Since he has never been amenable to a tattoo this does give me something to look forward to. I could get a tattoo. But, could I get a tattoo of perfect skin? Somehow a picture of, well, anything on my chest seems a little biker chick. That's a phase I'm not sure is on my particular path of phases.

I want to keep showing off my cleavage. I do. I am considering not letting the scar stop me. Now to get over my anxiety. After all, I still owe the world for the 'hiding my assets during their best years' thing.

May peace and confidence be yours from, The Goddess of Everything.