Lashes

Lets talk eyelashes! well I got me some, the store bought kind, but fancier. I thought as a treat for myself for just, you know, being me- I would get me some salon lash extensions that's all the rage these days (by rage I mean people in my office). After many months of deliberation, I finally settled on the deal of a lifetime at my hair salon where they were having a sale on the lash applications and gave into temptation! That, and Grandmas crisp Christmas fifty dollar bill still fresh in its envelope, burning a hole in my pocket.

So I made an appointment at my usual salon, with a guy I don't know, who specializes in applying these permanent lash extensions. With the help of my college friend/hair stylist I just 'happened' to know he was having a cheap Amazon deal and wheeled and dealed my way into a Saturday appointment.

The setup was this: in the salon I normally go to, there is a small closet size room with a curtain that is mostly open. so as you lie on this hospital type bed you can hear all that goes on at the salon, yet they cannot really see you lying on the hospital bed since you are mostly obscured by this curtain. Eyelash guy then applies these permanent individual lashes with professional glue onto your actual lash line in between your actual lashes. The effect is stunning-picture a modern day natural twiggy meets Sophia Loren. I was really excited to HAVE the lashes, but not excited about actually going through the process of GETTING the lashes.

OK, I thought- don't freak out, just lay down and chill out-who cares if you don't know this guy and he's about to stick his fingers in your eye? whatever right? No. Wrong. I laid down on the hospital bed where he then informed me "you are gonna be lying here for at least two hours so you probably don't want to drink any more coffee". Hmm OK. I will be zen and just focus on my inner light or whatever to pass the time.

So I laid there while he taped my eyelids shut. I can't quite explain why this is claustrophobic to me, but it is. I couldn't get over the feeling of being trapped. It didn't help that I am so damn tall that my feet were butted up against the wall of this tiny closet I was in, which I'm sure no one thought of since no one else in the world is as tall as me, and seems to have these types of problems. The thought of course of just ripping the tape off my eyes to freedom, did not escape me. Even though I rationalized in my mind that in the event of an emergency I would be able to perform this task of desperately tearing the tape off my eyes like a wild animal and thus sit up to safety, I still felt trapped.

So I managed to be an adult and lie still awaiting the torture that I assumed would ensue after the taping, but alas it was mind numbingly benign. Unlike the dentist, where you can focus on your hatred for the Dentist, here I just had to wait out what felt like someone 'sort of' about to touch my eyeball with a paint brush and then stopping at my eyelash at the last minute a million times in a row.

I started to relax, even though I couldn't move (or shouldn't move I should say). I realized that soon enough it would all be over and I would look like Bambi, I focused on my end results and zoned out on the hairdresser chatter outside the closet.

...and then, there is was, like nails on a chalk board-that familiar voice: friendly, withholding, and slightly hungover-HER voice, the voice of my ex best friend. It was unmistakable, I had known it since kindergarten, it was for sure Ex best friend. I haven't seen or spoken to her in four years, after knowing her my entire life. Even with sharing a manicurist, hair stylist, facialist, and multitudes of friends- I have yet to run in to her once in these last four years...

...until now. When I am laying on a friggen gurney with my eyelids taped shut. I immediately panic. I can feel my eyeballs go into what can only be described as an REM state back and forth inside my head like someone getting electrocuted. I can feel my neck pulsating, and my palms start sweating. It was horrible. I actually think I lost a year of my life from the panic alone. Wild thoughts crossed my mind: 'should I bolt upright and run to the bathroom before she has a chance to get settled? Maybe there's a window I can climb out of. " The idea of being trapped in this closet with this man I barley knew, locked in this corpse-like position while my frenemy lurked mere feet away, alerted all my warlike instincts: The enemy was approaching! and I couldn't just take it lying down!

I had to keep it together. "Get control bitch!" I yelled internally at myself: "You are 36 years old, you can handle this! You gave birth for fucks sake! You've done a triathlon! Stop acting like a crazy person!" and so, slowly I started the process of calming myself down. Crazy eye rolling and panting wasn't gonna cut it while some dude is trying to apply lashes to my face-I had to get my mind right. I had to stop my body from going into full blown panic, otherwise it was gonna be disastrous. The main reason I think i was able to physically slow my pulse down, was imagining the conversation I would have to have with eyelash man, that I didn't particularly like that much to begin with, about why I had bolted upright like a Frankenstein bride. "Well you see, I haven't seen this woman in four years and she slept with my ex boyfriend, no not while we were together, but it was going on for a long time behind my back and well, you know..." Uch, it just seemed so fucking stupid to be brutally honest, I just couldn't bare it.

I finally calmed myself enough, to not appear to be an epileptic on this mans table. I accepted the fact that Ex best friend would be there for the full two hours, getting her hair done while I silently listened to her every word. She would also be there when I would have to get up and pay at the front desk in this small salon. I accepted the fact that I would have to deal with the cold Clint Eastwood western style confrontation, while we obviously ignored each other while I tried to pay my bill. Each word out of her mouth made me panic deeper, but I was determined to gain the upper hand and be the adult. I would handle this, and I would do it with dignity God Damnit!

That's when I heard it, her flurry of goodbyes. She had come apparently to collect some product or the other and then leave again. I felt relief like no other, as I heard the jingle of the doorbell on her way out. Could it be? I wasn't just wishing it to be true, had she really left? Could I be that lucky? I strained my ears listening hard for her voice to re emerge amongst the hair dresser chorus-it was true, she was gone! ...and she had never even known I was there.

I excused myself from my death tomb to use the bathroom and stared at myself half finished in the mirror for a few minutes in great relief and exhilaration. I returned back to the hospital bed exhausted from from my panic. "Did you peek?" eyelash guy asked. "Yes" I said "and I look fucking amazing!".

Middle aged Lady

When I looked around my weight sculpting class at the gym the other day I realized something: I have become a middle aged woman. I'm no longer the 24 year old party girl. I'm 35 and I have reached that middle aged woman status in my life.

I looked at the other women in the class: All women in their 30's and 40's, (keep in mind these are LA women), most of them are blond, toned and fit. I looked at the teacher; a beautiful black male dancer in his late 40's, flamboyant and fabulous. He was telling one of his slightly crude yet hilarious jokes and we all laughed. Suddenly I caught a glimpse of myself: finally fit again, blond (with dark roots), laughing at fabulous gay Marvin's jokes, and there it was- I am now a middle aged lady. Whats even weirder? I friggen love it!

I love that I am finally in shape and actually know what I should be eating and wearing instead of trying the latest trends. I love that at 35 I have pretty much figured out how to wear my hair, and that if I pee when I laugh I don't really care. What I really love is that I don't have to try and be cool anymore, I'm just me. I have arrived at middle age and guess what? Its rad. I can see the stereotype of the fabulous gay teacher at the gym teaching all the middle aged moms, but whatever. I love Marvin, I love his crude jokes, I love how when he teaches us how to tone our butts he says things like "just think of George Clooney ladies as you raise those glutes, are you ready for George to stare at your ass?".

That's the thing about being a middle aged lady, you don't care anymore about who's watching or how cute you look while doing whatever it is you have to do. I'm married, I have a son, I don't have to be the cute young thing in the room anymore, the pressure is gone and it feels great.

Lets be clear: my vanity isn't gone- lets not get crazy. I still need to look good, but see that's also a part of the middle aged lady club-we care about our appearance we just don't care what you think about our appearance, and that's where the liberation begins. I know exactly what angle I look best in photos, where to place my fat upper arms so they don't look like marshmallows. I know how to tilt my head so my chin doesn't disappear into my neck, and when I walk into a room I don't have to be the hottest thing in it, because I'm not 22 and everyone knows it, and its ok with me.

This new found freedom has had a great effect on my life. I am now able to do a great many things I wasn't able to do before: like talk to people I used to get nervous around. I'm also lucky enough to have my career, so its not like I need to impress anyone there either, I can just be free to be me. I'm not the young- just- out- of- college -woman trying to climb the latter anymore, I'm fine with where I am at.

What it all boils down to is this:

I really don't give a flying fuck. If you don't think I'm thin enough, pretty enough, smart enough or funny enough- it doesn't matter. I'm a middle aged lady, and the thing that us middle aged ladies know the best is: time flies, and most likely we'll forget what it was we were supposed to be upset about because who can even remember a half hour ago and who the hell cares anyway?

The Ex

Well, it was bound to happen someday, in a city of only 4 million people.... last Sunday I ran into my ex-boyfriend on the street while out shopping with Toddler and Husband.

You know the one, the Ex who I was with for 6 years before I met Husband, the one who I haven't seen in about 3 years since "the incident". The Ex who went through AA, and on his stepping stone process stepped on my head by telling me he had been sleeping with my best friend for the past 5 years. That lovable Ex who after our separation ended up working in the porn industry, only to become some big wig who started a whole new type of porn, ya know; girls with blue hair having sex....

As far as run ins go, broken down into a point system- 10 being the best, I feel pretty good about it:

My outfit was decent = 4 (even though it was a Sunday and I was caught off guard, so add an extra point there = 5)

My hair was a little crazy = 2

I didn't have a spec of make up on = 1

...8 out of 10 not so bad...

However, The Family really represented: Husband for some unknown reason had thrown on a nice sweater before leaving the house and Toddler was in my favorite outfit of his.

We stood on the corner the three of us, a picturesque image if you will; Husband and I both with lattes in hand, Husband (wearing the sweater) pushing Toddler in the stroller. We were waiting for the light to change when Ex Boyfriend appeared out of nowhere, as if he had been standing there the whole time I lived in this town and I hadn't noticed before. He looked at me and smiled "Hi". what's even stranger is how casual I was about the whole thing. I looked over at him as if just running into a neighbor while out on a Sunday stroll, instead of an ex boyfriend I hadn't spoken too since he announced step 8 of the program over the phone. He said he had appreciated the person he was with me the most, and that after our break up he had become a totally despicable human being consuming endless amounts of drugs and sleeping with inappropriate women. He may not have said that exactly, but you get the gist...

After the run in Husband commended me: "you were really amazing!". Was I? I knew my voice was calm, I knew that I hadn't throat punched The Ex, I knew that it didn't really seem like that big of a deal at the moment. It actually seemed kind of normal to be honest. We chatted, he told me he wasn't working in porn anymore, wasn't living in the house he had bought, was looking for a place to live, and was now working at a dub house. It appeared quitting drugs had done some changes on him.

I was struck by a few things while talking with him:

1. How nice he was, there was no weird bragging like he used to do. He was actually a nice thoughtful person with nice things to say.

2. How genuinely happy he was to see not only me, but Husband and Toddler as well, like he had just run into old friends on the street...and

3. how very much like an old gay Queen he had become...

Now I say this with wonder, respect and curiosity. It was hard for me to get over his interesting mannerisms: The hands whipping flamboyantly through the air, the odd speech pattern, the pitch of his voice. I tried to decipher: has he always been like this and I just never noticed before? or was this something new? Best Friend # 1 generously offered upon hearing my story that maybe I was taping into his softer, nicer side. Could this be a new softer version of this man humbled by excess, coming out in a Queenish lilting vibe? Was I reading him wrong or was this the man he had always been and I had never seen it before?

Its hard to say, but my mind was boggled. To not have ever noticed these apparent glaringly obvious personalty traits before was eating away at me. I questioned Husband:

"Did he seem different to you?"

To which Husband responded helpfully:

"I don't know babe, I've always thought he was a weird guy"

The bottom line was Queen or not; it was working for him, and I suddenly liked him so much better then I had in years. If this was the real version or softer side of this man, the true person inside after the drugs and endless years of editing close up shots of Vajayjays, then I rejoiced for him! This newer 2.0 version of The Ex, was the better version as far as I was concerned and I was happy to see the transformation.

Where is your Mother?

Last weekend I took Toddler to the park. He drove his little blue car while I pushed him along. Let me explain that I was also utterly exhausted and the only reason I took Toddler to the park to begin with was that I was hoping that the fresh air and the exercise might wake me up. Seeing that there is really is no other option then to be awake while Toddler is awake. It was one of those days where sweatpants and an incredibly large sweatshirt were the only clothes I could even consider putting on. Toddler and I had a nice time. He is still getting his legs used to walking, he often resembles and a drunken Frankenstein trying to traverse the land. He also seemed stumped as to why there were wood chips on the ground and kept picking the pieces of wood off his hands each time he fell down like: "how the hell did that get there?" He picked the wood chips off his palms flummoxed each time it would happen again.

We went on the swings and down the slide, we even went face to face on the spring loaded duck and elephant chairs-mine apparently having a lot more "spring" in it due to the weight limit then his, as I bounded forward almost touching my ducks bill to the wood chipped ground as I rode the thing like a bear on a tricycle. We'd made our second circle around the playground when I noticed two kids playing with Toddlers car, which we had parked near the swings.

It was an older girl and her little brother. The girl was about 7 and the brother was probably about 5. The girl was pushing the brother in Toddlers car. It seemed harmless enough, Toddler and I were still playing and planned on doing another round on the slides. Then I noticed that sister was really pushing little brother pretty fast in the car and that I wasn't sure how long they would be staying inside the park the rate they were going in the thing. I collected Toddler and walked quickly over to them.

"Hey!" I said casually, holding Toddler on my hip, "that's our car, but you can play with it as long as you stay around here". They paused and stared at me with wide eyes, then continued to play. "Good" I thought "that went well, what a great example I am " I thought congratulating myself -"cheerful, diplomatic, generous even". Toddler and I then went over to the swings, to be close to the car, yet with a safe 'trusting' distance. As I pushed Toddler on the swing I noticed that even with his mild temperament he seemed to be very distracted that the kids were playing with his car. I figured "its probably time to go anyway' we should wrap it up".

"hey guys" I called over cheerfully. "its time for us to go now!". The kids continued to play. I walked closer, maybe they didn't hear me "OK!" I said a little louder, "its time for us to go now! We need our car!" I smiled with a cheerfulness I wasn't quite feeling. They stopped their game and looked at me, both smiling as they stood on the other side of a concrete picnic table. The boys legs crunched up into the car, the girl with her hands on the handle. I stepped closer to them, Toddler on my hip. The girl smiled at me manically and pushed Little brother to the opposite side of the table. I tried going the other way toward them and she went the opposite way smiling at me the whole time. I tried again thinking this couldn't be happening, she wasn't deliberately going the opposite way? I tried again and her smile grew as she moved away from me like some Laurel and Hardy movie. We went back and forth around this table, each time I stepped one way she would step the other way, grinning like some demented clown. "It's time for us to go, we need our car back! " I said loudly, this time hearing the desperation in my voice. This kid had me by the balls and she knew it. I couldn't chase them, not only would it be ridiculous, but I was carrying Toddler who weighs a solid 30 pounds. Upon hearing me ask for the third time if I could get the car back, the brother and sister jerks laughed and kept playing. I wanted to scream, but I realized that wasn't gonna help my cause of looking like a moron. I stopped in my tracks realizing quickly that this was a game for them and by going around this table- they were winning. The girl stopped on the other side mirroring me, tilted her head and then smiled a wide grin. I paused for a long moment considering my options, I had to out smart them if I wanted to get Toddlers car back. Suddenly it hit me: "where's your Mother?" I said loudly in my deepest voice. "Is that her over there?" I pointed to a group of women in the distance. suddenly the boys face went serious, clearly the jig was up. He looked up at the sister waiting for her next move. "No" the girl said grinning, "she's over there" and pointed to a woman standing by a cart. "OK" I said knowingly. "Maybe I'll have to go talk to her". The boy looked up at his sister alarmed. I seized my moment as they paused in fear, to attack. I quickly walked over to them and grabbed the handle of the car with my free hand. The boy immediately got out of the car not wanting to push his luck any further. I held fast onto the handle trying to balance Toddler and negotiate him into the seat. Toddler looked at the kids with an innocent smile of excitement, like here was his chance to get to play with them. I had a good grip on the car when the girl jumped back into the seat pushing past Toddler saying loudly "My turn!". I blocked her, with a death grip on the car handle with one hand and Toddler now hanging like a sack under the other arm, I held fast filled with rage and determination. I stopped myself from throat punching this kid as I said in my deepest dog training voice "IT IS NOT YOUR TURN, IT IS TIME TO GOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!". I plopped smiling Toddler into the seat and took off in anger down the street.

Here's the thing-kids are rotten, most of em genuinely are. I have known this fact since I was a kid myself, but Toddler has instilled in me over the last year a love and kindness toward all children that I never had before. I now cry at those sappy commercials that have kids or puppies, because in each child I now see my sons sweet little face. Not these kids though- I have never wanted to clock a kid as much as I wanted to clock that girl as she smiled at me with each step she took away with my sons car.

Never again will I be the pushover at the park, who assumes all kids are as sweet as my kid. I now rightly know that they are all assholes.

Teen Mom

Something huge happened this weekend, and I mean big, really big- try not to be jealous....I got carded at the Trader Joe's on Sunday while buying our weekly groceries with Baby and Husband.

It wasn't one of those 'we card everyone, so show us your ID even if your ninety' kind of cardings. This was "I'm sorry mam, but I really have to card you, you look young" kind of cardings. I of course levitated about two feet off the floor, got a huge grin on my face and sweetly said "of course you can!!! I COMPLETELY UNDERSTAND!!!" a little too enthusiastically. Completely uncaring about the fact that I didn't actually have ID on me, and was using Husbands bank card to pay since my purse was in the car. Or how it kind of turned into a little bit of a hassle, since Baby was bored in line and Husband had been just about to step out to try and entertain baby with the fountain in the flower section when this all went down. Husband had to step in hand Baby over to me and pay for our groceries (and two bottles of wine). I was suddenly transported back to another time. I'm 35, I've been able to buy alcohol for many many years now, so it felt so strange to be in this place again. I flashed on my older boyfriend when I was in my early 20s and how I couldn't even go to his rock bands shows at bars cause I was too young to get in.

I also wondered what this alternate 20 year old (me) life looked like from the outside. There I was holding Baby and buying groceries with Husband. I knew why I got carded. To be honest I was wearing jeans, a T shirt and a hooded sweatshirt that a teenager would wear. I recently had my roots done, so my hair is platinum, my bangs are very short and I was wearing no make up at all. In all aspects I wasn't dressed much differently then when I actually used to be 20, which is not necessarily appropriate at age 35. I also tend to look younger on the weekends when I'm being a Mom because I spend the entire time rolling around the floor with Husband and Baby and can't wear anything that won't withstand food, snot, hairballs or a good wrestling match. I wondered about this alternate Me's life and what this Checker saw: there I was age 20 with a 16 month old Baby and a Husband buying me wine-would I still be in college? Or would having Baby have stopped all that? Would I be working at some dead end job at the mall now part time? This alternate me was really fascinating. I spent the entire car ride home pondering this other universe.

Of course when we entered the car I quickly exclaimed to Husband:

"Hello not quite 21 yet!! Did you hear that!!!! " To which he replied

"uh yeah I was the one who had to pay- how irritating was that? That Checker is so annoying, does she not see us in there every week?..."

"No no no, not important, focus! She thought I was 20!!!!!!"

"oh yea, and then that women ahead of us in line could you believe her? what was she thinking? I couldn't believe how long it took her to pay, it was taking forever..."

Clearly Husband was not understanding the gravity of this moment. I spent the rest of our afternoon wondering about alternate 20 year old me, what my life was like, who I would hang with out, what we did for fun.... and then suddenly I realized: Yuck, I don't want to be 20. It sounded awful.

By the time we got home I was really happy to be 35... but what I was really happy about was being 35 and looking like I was 20.

what goes around...

At the age of 35 I have reached that point in my career where I have come full circle in my small industry to see my past haunt me...why age and treachery will always overcome youth and skill in two stories.....

story #1

A long time ago I worked at my first job making those general mistakes one makes when one is young and stupid. Like wearing really short skirts and inappropriate outfits to work, acting annoyed when asked to do menial tasks, and dating the boss's 19 year old son.

At 24 I was recently broken up after a long term relationship and single for the first time. I made the poor decision of dating the VP of the companies borderline manic depressive, drug addicted, immature son. Not only was I working with him at the time, but he also still lived at home with the VP. To be fair, in my mind I wasn't technically dating him; I never considered him my boyfriend, and always felt free to do as I pleased, I cannot say the same was true for him. I did none the the less date him on and off for about 3 years without really openly admitting this to anyone, as far as I was concerned I was single. The VP was known to be a few things: flamboyant, irrational, emotional with a fierce temper. I personally never had a problem with VP myself and can honestly say I was always done right by. The VP not only had the son working there but also a daughter who was my age, as well as an ex- spouse. These are things that happen in my industry: inappropriate nepotism is common place.

Needless to say, my relationship with the son did not end well. It became a long winded emotional albatross for many months afterward. Although I had what I consider a wonderful phrase with the VP's son, I realize now that he was in many ways a stepping stone to who I am presently, he was never going to be the person I wanted to be with.

Here's what happens in a small industry: years later I would be married with child when I would become VP's daughters boss. At first this feels strange (there are more stories here that I'll have to go into at another time) but then the feeling passes as I realize she wants as little to do with me as I with her. She also happens to oddly be an excellent employee. She begins to date and become serious with a supervisor. This supervisor one day asks me if I would hire the VP's daughters parent-and no this is not a riddle, he actually asked me if I would hire VP...

supervisor: would you be opposed to working with VP again?

me: um,...well, not exactly...

What I wised I could say to supervisor, which I did not say, because I was busy being diplomatic and appropriate, was this:

"Are you fucking kidding me?! First off this person was the VP of the company I used to work for when I was a mere peon, and you are now asking me to hire this person as a peon with me as their boss?! Secondly you have just informed me that clearly this person is desperate for work which alone seems vastly private considering the fact of my history with this persons daughter whom I continue to work with.... and thirdly, oh yes lets not forget the most important part of this: I may or may not have had sex in this persons bed while they were on vacation, and lets not forget that when I broke up with this persons son he then threatened to kill himself.... so the answer here would have to be "no, I don't think I would consider working with VP again at this time".

What I did say was: "I'm not quite certain this will work out at this time, I would have to approach my boss with this question as we are not currently hiring for this position".

story #2

One day a new employee came into my office to be introduced to me. I had heard his name floating around that he was looking for a job. I had worked with him before and knew him to be a good employee. I hadn't seen or thought about him in years. When he walked into my office his face turned red as I stood up to shake his hand. Suddenly, I remembered that the last time I saw him was at his house where I had done a line of coke for the first time with him and some friends.

I flashed back to his dark apartment where he lived alone. I was there with Best Friend number 1 and two dudes we were hanging out with. God only knows why we were there. It was the first and last time I would be at his apartment. We had snorted a line after drinking beer all night at his house after work. The guys teaching me what to do, how to to use a dollar bill as a straw, how to use some water so my nose wouldn't dry out. I was wearing a short jean skirt that one of the guys kept jokingly lifting up like we were in lower school and then laughing. We went to a party afterward at this weird house with a giant art installation in the front yard shaped like a uterus. I used the bathroom high as balls wondering if the space was where the person lived or worked. I remember sitting on the toilet flummoxed by the question and trying to lean out the tiny bathroom and read the books stacked on the floor to figure out if someone actually lived in this space or merely used it as their personal art office.

"Don't forget all the cats" Best Friend number one reminds me when I retell her this story. "what cats ?" I ask "You don't remember how at his house we kept talking about how he had all these stray cats in his yard that were pissing all over the place? It was like the main topic of conversation the whole night".

I realize standing there in my office that this is why his face is red, because he is remembering this same night. We smile, and he laughs nervously and we shake hands as if we have never met before and then both awkwardly say at the same time "oh we used to work together". He then walks around my office and says "Wow, your office is really big and your hair is blonde?'" and I think to myself...' jesus christ I've come a long way...'

Skinny Jeans

So I've lost 17 pounds. This sounds like a lot, and its great, but there is a lot more to loose. After Baby was born and I went back to work I lost my will. I went into survival mode and said "fuck this man! There is no way I can exercise and work and take care of Baby- are you kidding me?!" After a year of this attitude the clouds parted, work got easier, Baby got easier and it was time to get back in the saddle of the treadmill again.

A lot of my time off from the gym was spent thinking about the gym, and how it was all going to work its way out- so to speak. At first when I had gone back to work I tried getting up at 6am to work out, then get Baby up and so on. However, the first night Baby decided not to sleep through the night ruined all that. Baby is an amazing sleeper, I'm not going to lie- I have it good and I know this. There was just no way I was getting up any earlier then I had to, to work out. I'm not a morning person and just because I'm a mom doesn't change this fact. There are things that change after childbirth, and there are things that don't. The fact that I hate everyone and everything in the morning did not change.

So after my year of thought, I realized that joining the gym in my work building and working out at lunch would do the trick. Low and behold it worked! I actually made it work, and I actually enjoy going since its not at the end of the day when I am exhausted, I'm not taking any time away from my family, and its not in the dreaded morning time. The only thing I miss out on is my girl time at lunch, but Best Friend number 1 now lives down the street so we carpool and I have also made it a point to have girls nights at least once a week to see Best Friend number 2 and Best Friend number 3. Not to mention Good Friend Boss has also now joined the gym so I get to pal around with her and lament about the Gym to someone which is like a bonus!

But lets get real here- rainbows and butterflies aside: loosing weight sucks a bag of dicks. Before I was pregnant I had gotten down to a size 8. Now for me being 6 feet tall this is like a Christmas miracle, like turning water into wine. I have never been a fat girl, but I have never been a small girl either. I'm tall, big, a curvy woman- so a size 2 is never gonna be my life, like not ever. But a size 8?! This was like heaven for me and all because I had finally after all the years of going up and down on the scale figured it out. I figured out the food and the exercise and I managed to actually enjoy my life also, meaning: I wasn't throwing up, starving myself or being unreasonable. I was just a fit person who ate healthy. Then I got pregnant and yada yada you know the rest. Sooo I know after all these years what it takes to become that size 8 again. I know that you don't just magically get there with no work. You get there with a hellava lot of work and then once you are there, you relax because the metabolism is working again and the body is lookin' hot and having wine and cookies on the weekend doesn't even effect you because you 'got this'.

However, getting to this weight nirvana is like a slow unicycle ride up a graded hillside in the snow. Here's what it means for me:

5 to 6 day a week workouts lasting at least an hour long, which consist of cardio and weights. Cardio being either hour long spin classes, running on the tread mill or the boring, grueling eliptical machine. Doing weights every other day. Constantly pushing myself to the next level and not getting lazy about it by sticking to the same routine, it means mixing it up and looking for the next challenge. It means 1600 calories or less a day, 7 days a week- no cheating until the weight is off. It means eating six small boring meals a day- and where the exercise has to change regularly to keep weight coming off, the food is the exact opposite and needs to stay mind numbingly boring sameness day in and day out. It means preparing meals at home and being constantly prepared during the week. Having to compromise during the weekends. It means if Husband wants to go to In-n-out on the weekend that I have to get a protein style burger which consists of a single meat patty between two sheets of ice berg lettuce, no fries. It means always being on top of the grocery lists and knowing there is food in the house. Making sure that if there is a meal eaten out that its a salad and not the good kind with candied walnuts and blue cheese dressing, but the boring salads with a lot of dreaded greens. It means no cake at office parties, no enchiladas at work lunches, it quite frankly means : I hate you if you are eating anything remotely that looks like it might taste good.

Now I know all this, and this is why I put it off for a year. The stress of having a new baby and being a first time Mom meant to me that I got to eat. I didn't have the time or the money to shop, I couldn't go out with friends, I barely had time to take a good crap so I got to eat whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted and I stopped caring. I didn't have to figure out my next workout or my next meal. I could just relax when I had the time to sit still, and that was my way of giving myself a break after giving birth: a little back on the back-'you did it you had a child!' Unfortunately now, I am paying it back full time.

Oddly its not as hard as it seems. I am a slave to routine, and by slave I mean a joyful S&M slave and not someone chained against their will. I enjoy routine and the mediation it brings to my life, it helps me feel secure. I like knowing what is coming next. so I do well with it and once I work out the bugs it goes pretty smoothly for me. I've always been an all or nothing kind of girl anyway.

So Ive lost 17 pounds in two months and I still have another 27 to go before I reach that size 8 again, seeing as how I didn't loose any of that Baby weight like I was supposed to after giving birth. Instead I just lost the basket ball in my stomach and kept the rest. its a long road but I am determined to get there. I will be wearing my skinny jeans again by the end of this year!