Letter to Michelle

Hello Michelle


How are you? How do you like your new place? I am certain that you’ve already made a name for yourself and everyone adores you! I cannot possibly express how much I miss you! I actually feel like there is a HUGE hole in my chest....like a Bugs Bunny cartoon where Sylvester the Cat would be shot through the chest with a cannon...leaving a big through-and-through hole. I know I have to stop being so selfish...wishing you back. I keep picking up the phone to call you...we have so much to catch up on...but Thank God I come to my senses...as I would surely sound like a lunatic leaving you a message to call me back...or emailing you. I know you are needed where you are...they are so lucky to have you!

I hope that you still need your hearing aids up there. People at work are telling me their favourite stories about working with you...and your answers to what you thought you heard versus what they actually said...resulting in gut busting laughs time and time again! Remember that time I told you about Mike’s chat with deaf old man Les at the bar? There was a wicked heat wave one year and Mike asked Les “How do you like this heat Les?” and Lester answered “Teeth! I ain’t got no teeth!” I loved those damned hearing aids...it made your voice louder...and your presence in a room well known...but it wasn’t the hearing issue...it was your contagious and effervescent glow. At least you had the hearing aid excuse for inappropriate answers or behaviours... I had no excuse! LOL! Remember how you’d pull at your ears to feign deafness when you actually didn’t want to hear whatever bullshit was going on? That was a hoot...I would always have to turn away and feign a cough to cover up my laughter!

I must say I feel so blessed that you fell into my life as you did. I find it so crazy that we worked side by side as acquaintances more or less for well over a decade...and then after you moved away we veered into this deep heart and soul connection via long and tearful/funny/ serious/ counsellor-esque Dr. Phil-would-be-proud type emails. You got me through many a rough patch...and to this day when I feel troubled I ask myself “WWMD” (what would Michelle do?). One of my favourite pieces of calm down advice you gave me is “God takes care of drunks and little children.” I inappropriately smile when some near death experience drunken moron rolls through the ER doors....surviving without a scratch. People probably think I am sick with that smirk/smile on my face...but it is because I am thinking of you and it helps to calm me down. I often think of that magical night that we were both able to comfort our “teacup collector” friend...to both be present to get him through his soul mate’s death. What an amazing twist of fate... I know that you cherished the teacups from his mammoth collection that he gave you. It is those random connections through life that makes it so magical don’t you think? What are the chances that this teacup man would cross our paths many times over many years? What are the chances over and above that we’d both be working and have the time to be there for him...together on one of the worst days of his life... during his time of need? What a Virtue indeed! (I thought you’d get a kick out of that!).

I am so grateful for my blog! It was the blog that truly drew us together...you started to write to me first about that...and then we gradually dove deeper into our realities/hopes/dreams. Without judgement...we could openly vent and whine with no expectations of patronizing advice or action to be taken...just shoulders to whine on and open ears and hearts. What an amazing gift you had... to realize that you were exactly where you were supposed to be and had been blessed with a great husband and amazing kids!! If it weren’t for the blog I would never have had the immense pleasure of meeting your fabulous mother, Sharon. I thought you were nuts when you told me she was a HUGE fan of my blog and wanted to meet me. One of my all time favourite and everlasting memories of my lifetime will be our wild and crazy Cape Breton adventure...for it has surely changed my life forever...on so many levels. How it is even possible to remember this trip after drinking such vast quantities’ of wine is beyond me...must be just meant to be....just as that kick ass road kill hat was NOT meant to be ($350!)That funky hat store visit was hysterical fun! I kept asking you both... “What did I ever do to deserve you guys?” and both of you rolled your eyes in frustration and exasperatedly said, “You were born! Damn it! You were born!” I am so blessed to have been invited into the hearth of your family’s home. I am so grateful that you shared them with me. I cannot possibly verbalize how this short but extremely meaningful trip, has positively changed my life forever.

It was on that week end we got to laugh hysterically about your NDE (near death experience). How much fun was that for you to proclaim your “special” status as the “NDE girl” with privileges’ of being in line first, selecting the stores we would shop in, deciding what was for supper? “Uh...excuse me...I am the NDE girl...so we’ll do what I want!” LOL! It was over this week end that I got to share my sheer terror during the time we almost lost you. I ate an entire bag of donuts over the 10 minute course of Maurice’s phone call to tell me about your critical and uncertain situation...I don’t even like donuts! I had no regrets because I had told you that I loved you and adored you all the time before the “kerfuffle” as my Mother would say. I was so grateful that I had told you these things...all the time...for no reason other than you had to know. I spoke to you all the time over those stressful weeks...I kept telling you to wake up...I screamed at you... “How dare you make me love you so much...and then leave me?” I prayed to God...and made those usual stress-based promises to never do this or never do that ever again if He let you live. I was elated to have the chance to tell you in person how profoundly devastated I was at the thought of never seeing you again. I loved that we laughed about how you were able to cheat Death...and kick him swiftly in the crotch! (Looks like the asshole got the last laugh on that one; I know you’ll get a kick out of that one!). It was unimaginable at the time...but somehow we got closer than ever...we were so fortunate...so blessed to have such a priceless opportunity...say anything we ever felt or wanted to say...no- holds-barred! We got another 2 years almost to the day...it wasn’t enough...but certainly better than no opportunity at all...laughing all the way! It was on that weekend you rubbed my back and made what I thought was my worst fear of puking...less traumatic. It was on that weekend that you told me that you felt one of your roles in life was to propel me to greatness...if only you knew then how profoundly you affected me and every move that I will make in the future because of you.

So, along comes the unavoidable diagnosis....at least a warning with a timeline of sorts. I still can’t decide which was scarier...or worse...truthfully I think both ways sucked shit...I personally wouldn’t chose either...as I am sure you wouldn’t have either! I listened to you...told you I was strong and would ALWAYS be there...but I smoked and emotionally ate anything while we talked...sometimes I just recall setting down the empty package or wrapper and having no recollection of eating whatever it was. You didn’t want me to ask you how you were doing...you always called me for diversion...and I happily gave it to you...so glad we got to keep laughing like fools...I LOVED your sound advice...I LOVED our chats about the nursing book and seminars we were going to do...I LOVED how we talked about you managing my “Chubby Chicken” book tour...I LOVED your enthusiasm...your passion...your pride in your family...everything about you!

The final visit in Sydney was both tragic and priceless. I got to see you in your parent’s home and celebrate you once again...but the reality of your fate when I saw you slapped me in the face. You looked so fabulous in the red wig and purple feather boa that I brought for you! I loved how you strutted about and flung your new locks like a super model. We got to laugh and chat and hug and kiss. You told me to get my book done and publish it...you told me to save the nurses...you made me promise to live my best life...and I will not let you down my friend. On the night you died, I felt you rubbing my back again...telling me everything was going to be OK. I was confused at the time...but totally understood when I got the news the next day. I am so grateful again that you took some time out to help me out...like you always did. You were one of the few that recognized my heart and head are actually made out of glass...and not stone like most would think.

As promised, I will share the secrets to a great life from the most amazing woman I have ever known:

Don’t think a must do thing in life is a bucket list...don’t cross things off as it is a reminder of time that is no longer there. What happens when you cross off the last thing...are you done? Take life day by day...don’t ever waste a moment wishing you coulda, shoulda, woulda. Don’t put your life on hold waiting for a specific number on the scale, marriage or life event, or lotto win...don’t ever say “I’ll be happy when this or that happens”...that would be tragic...be happy now...be happy in the minutiae of daily things like sunshine, family, friends, your morning coffee, your garden, your dog holding its leash in his mouth. Life is not a race...you don’t “win” by taking the most trips, making the most money, having the most friends on Facebook...you get the picture...it’s about what’s happening now...not maybe later...there may not be a later. Laundry, housekeeping, dusting, and daily activities of must do’s will always exist so get on with it and be grateful you have a house to keep, or dust bunnies, or dirty laundry from your family living life as they should. There is no prize for having the cleanest or tidiest house, laundry will still be there tomorrow...so don’t obsess over such an unimportant things. If you have to choose between coffee and chocolate cake with a friend or something else...the choice is obvious. Don’t pulverize yourself for eating it either!! Eating a spoonful of icing right out of the can never killed anyone. Life is too short not to bake brownies and chocolate chip cookies...nothing is better than having your house smell like that and watching your kids eat them through a smile while they tell you about their day in school. Live, Love, Laugh is not just a cheesy sign to hang above a door. Spend as much time as possible surrounded by your feel good friends and family, call them, e mail them, send a card and most of all tell them that you love them and adore them as much as you can (but not like a stalker maniac or anything!). If someone consistently drags you down with negativity or makes you feel bad about yourself...cut them off and kick them to the curb...people should want to be around you and lift you up just because you are you...they are lucky to have met you...and YES you are worth it...just because you were born!

I miss you terribly my friend. I will chat to you often, especially when swinging in the hammock of my gazebo...drinking wine like we did. I will think of you, smile from ear to ear, lift my glass and say Cheers to my fabulous friend!

“Don’t forget out heart to heart meetings on the star that Abraham lit just for you...I will bring the wine!”

Love,

Lynn

Don’t Judge a Book by its Blubber!!

Ever since I can remember I have been a physically active person. When I was a kid, I would run all over Hell’s creation with my little French boyfriend Freddie. Freddie and I played Cowboys and Indians, Johnny and Roy (from that ER show in the 70’s), Cops and Robbers, Jungle Warriors and/or whatever else seemed fun for the day. We would run to the frog pond daily, climb huge cliffs (which now as an adult turn out to be a 5 foot tall rock wall), bike anywhere and everywhere... until the street lights came on and we were dragged inside every night by our mothers. Then the next day, we would start the magic all over again like kids do....with an endless supply of energy and excitement. Then one day, Freddie told his Dad that he could not go to hockey because I wanted him to stay home and play Barbie’s with me...Freddie’s family moved away in the middle of the night because I wouldn’t let Freddie play hockey....or so it seemed to me as a kid!


So, I ventured out of our yard and found another fun friend in Barbara-Lynn. We hooked up with other neighbourhood kids and played hide and go seek, freezer tag, dodge ball, hopscotch, skipped (double Dutch of course!) and biked everywhere possible! We went swimming, ice skating, and roller skating (with those old metal 4 wheels that attached to your sneakers). Let’s not forget about climbing the mammoth steep walls of the gravel pit over and over again for an incredibly dangerous sliding adventure in the winter (sorry you broke your tailbone Barb!). If I was on my own, I biked or hiked the trails down to 3rd Falls, went worm digging or stared up into the sky with bewilderment just for the heck of it. I twirled baton as a Loch Lomond majorette and gathered swimming badges every year until there weren’t any more badges left to get! Activity has (and always will) remain to be a mainstay in my life. I enjoy hiking, biking, skiing, snow shoeing, spinning, golfing and anything else that may fall into my adventurous path. So, despite being a full figured woman, I am a fit (albeit fat) adult.


A couple of weeks ago I participated in a 10 km Legs for Literacy charity walk. It was a gorgeous sunny day...a perfect day for a walk with a friend. We finished the walk 1 minute shy of 2 hours and we were so thrilled with our accomplishment! The day was pretty much uneventful...with the exception of random strangers cheering us on in what I perceived as patronizing. “WOW! YOU CAN DO IT! KEEP GOING! GOOD FOR YOU GUYS! DON’T’ QUIT NOW!!!” I never heard these comments made to the people in front or behind us....because we were really the only fatties in the immediate vicinity! We are not morbidly obese...we are not 500 pounds, we were not crawling on hands and knees or dragging our knuckles, crying...we weren’t eating Big Mac combos as we walked...so why on earth would anyone say...DON’T QUIT! Did I SAY I was going to quit? Now before you even think that I may be a little too “sensitive”....please read on. This is merely the springboard that has inspired me to write this blog!


Years ago, I randomly pulled into the Running Room. I was 270 pounds and a pack a day smoker. I stomped out my cigarette and walked in to sign up for a ‘Learn to Run’ clinic. It wasn’t easy by any means....but I did it (and smoked a pack a day!). I met one of my most awesome gal pals of all time Carol because the two of us were always in the back of the pack. We would joke about how we were assigned to ensure everyone in the pack stayed together and did not get lost...and this was the ONLY reason that we were constantly in the back....to watch out for stragglers. One day, when Carol and I were running with the group (in the very back as usual) to the 2 km marker on the trail and back. We were just about past the 1km marker when the front of the pack was on their way back to the finish line. All of a sudden... a gazelle-esque Barbie doll with long blonde hair to her ass (perfectly swaying in place with the wind)...broke free from the “perfect people formation”, jumped in front of Carol and me and started running backwards with ease. As “Barbie” ran backwards with no effort...Carol and I forced a smile between our extremely laboured breaths...and before either one of us could say a polite rendition of “what the fuck do you want?”...Barbie slapped her fist on her chest (in a Celine Dion kind of way)...and in a very thick French accent squealed... “LOOK AT YOU GO!!!! LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOK at you GOOOOO!!!” She was smiling broadly at me....she actually had a little tear in her eye...and continued to point and say “YOU...CAN...DO... IT!!!! LOOK AT YOU GO!!!! Then, just like a vampire out of Twilight, Barbie did a few cartwheels and was back sprinting at the front of the perfect people pack.


Now, let’s try to figure out why Barbie selected me out of a group of 40 people.....Saucany running shoes...check...Running Room jacket...check...black spandex leggings...IS THE ASS SPLIT OUT OF THEM??????.... NO? (Phew!)... Hummmmmm...let me see (scratching me head here)...did I have a Terry Fox steel peg leg? Nope...both legs...check. In that blink of an eye...before you can even ask yourself what the hell just happened...the all too familiar reason why I was selected by Barbie reared its ugly head and TUBBY was born! I slapped my chest in a “My Left Foot” kind of way (rather than a Celine Dion kind of way) and in my very best gimpy voice....I loudly and proudly proclaimed “TUBBY takes a run! TUBBY takes a run!” Carol and I pissed ourselves laughing and continued to run. I know Barbie meant well with her tearful and sincere proclamation...but it broke my heart...and really PISSED me off!


Recently, a BBW (big beautiful woman) friend of mine inspired me to hurry up and complete this blog after she told me a similar story about her experiences with ignoranus (ignorani?). It broke my heart to learn that I am not alone in my “Close Encounters of the TUBBY kind!” She told me about bumping into an instructor from her gym while out shopping. The instructor excitedly turned to her husband and said “honey this is the lady from the gym that I was telling you about!”....sounds good so far right? ... Then she went on to say “you really do put those skinny girls to shame in class...they should be ashamed of themselves if they can’t keep up with you!” OK gym bitch....please continue on shoving your size nine Nikes in your big mouth... let’s put the cherry on top... “You truly should be an inspiration to the skinny girls in class...if you can do it anybody can!” WTF? EX-SQUEEZE-ME? Did I just hear you right? ARE YOU SERIAL???


I have experienced these uncomfortable and ridiculously ignorant moments many times. One time, I was happily sifting through a selection of black thigh highs at a specialty panty hose shop when the clerk randomly came along (with a face crunched up like someone had farted) and said “Excuse me...but there is a store for YOU people next door.”(A plus-sized woman’s clothing store). I said “MY people? What kind of people would be MY people?” Without pause she said “we have nothing here for you”. Now, those who know me would brace themselves for what would happen next...but truth be told...I was so flabbergasted and shocked that I just had to walk away. I was so full of rage that I feared for the clerk’s safety and mine....so in hindsight it was probably still the best thing to do. Another time, I was helping a male friend do some Christmas shopping for his petite girlfriend. As I was sifting through some very expensive Far West ski jackets in the small sizes....a clerk randomly approached me and informed me that there was NOTHING in the store for me. My male friend (who was prepared to drop some major coin in this store) said “we’re outta here” and we left. This bullshit happens to me more often than you’d ever want to know, let alone experience...OH MY! There’s a new inspiration for a title here...”TUBBY goes to the mall!”....or maybe better still... “TUBBY punches the shit out of an IGNORANUS (ignorant+ asshole) store clerk!


I digress; when the winter approached I took to running at the gym on the treadmill. I could not help but notice people stopping their workout and staring. Others would wander in for a drink from the fountain and look at me...look up at the clock...and look back to me in amazement. My all time favourites were the ones who were on the treadmills beside me. The skinny ninnies would look at my speed, up their speed over and above it, and would stop breathless moments later....while TUBBY continue to trudge along. I would smack my chest and say in my very best gimpy voice...“TUBBY takes a run! TUBBY takes a run!” I must admit that I started to take some pleasure from their unsolicited and shocked responses...so I would run even longer than I had planned....sometimes for over an hour! Skinny bitch after skinny bitch would step on to the treadmill beside me...heads going back and forth from my speed setting and time to their speed setting...again and again...in a panic they would set their speed higher over and over again...only to surrender prematurely to the epic (and perplexing) physical capabilities of TUBBY!


One of my favourite classes at my gym is called Body Pump. It involves an hour of squats, lunges, abs and ridiculous contortionist positions while holding a barbell with weights and simultaneously performing upper body work. Truth be told it is a bitch...but worth the “high” to successfully complete this physically challenging and tortuous class. So now...I get a masochistic and sick satisfaction in watching the horrified faces of these skinny ninnies who struggle (and ultimately fail) to keep up with me. I park myself in the very front of the class, in front of the mirror....not to watch my form...but to watch them all suffer and struggle to keep up with me, and then take a break or better still quit. This keeps my motivation up....and I LOVE IT! When I am having a difficult time...and my asshole inner voice says “just quit”...I take a glance in the mirror and smirk...I gather the strength from their suffering to continue. These all too often and humiliating experiences have led me to the conclusion that it is my destiny is to write a series of children’s books featuring TUBBY! TUBBY wants you to know...just because someone is skinny it does not mean that they are fit. In fact, sometimes TUBBY wants to flip the bird and say... "You just can’t judge a book by its blubber!!”


“When you judge another, you do not define them, you define yourself.”~ Wayne Dyer


Lynn
;)

If You Really Knew Me...

I recently had the pleasure to catch a TV documentary named “If You Really Knew Me” on MTV. It is an adaptation of the “Breakfast Club” movie where they basically mix and match high school students in small groups to share their stories about the “real” and harsh realities of their lives. One is always the popular prom queen, a nerd, a mysterious quiet person, a fat guy, the guy who picks on everybody, and a major outcast be that a metal head or Goth-like person. Over the course of what they term “Challenge Day” tear filled confessions flow like lava and everybody becomes great friends…at least for that day. The ultimate goal is to help transform the lives of the kids who are involved in the seminar by letting them realize that they are not alone. It is a pretty amazing and powerful show to watch.

At first they have a motivational and comical presentation of sorts to capture the audience’s attention. Then, the moderator shares a painful story about her and thanks everyone for listening. Then, we move on to splitting into small groups of 5 in a circle where their knees touch and the lava flow gets started with each student starting their statements with “if you really knew me you’d know that...” One prom queen admitted that her parents were divorced and that they actually lived in sleaze bag motels most of her life, daddy drank lots and never called or visited, and mom had to work long hours and dated a string of strange men. The next guy admits that because he was horribly teased about having Tourrets Syndrome when he was young that he basically decided to be the meanest and biggest bully first. He also admitted that his Dad talks to people that way and so he adopted that behaviour as well. The metal head was very quiet and private…but soon let loose that her Father basically doesn’t speak to her unless she hunts and kills a turkey, that he openly tells her daily that he wished she was a boy, and her mother has long ago left the nest to pursue greatness (which turns out to be a diner waitress in Vegas). This leaves the turkey killer to care for 3 young siblings at home at the ripe old age of 15. The best story of the group belongs to the quiet and very private Goth girl. She admits that her mother is in prison and her father is a crack head. She has constantly been told that she is the worst daughter ever, a loser and a curse to the planet. When she was diagnosed with bipolar disorder at age 14 she was kicked out and now lives with a family friend. She also admits a failed suicide pact with a friend…no bloody wonder! These small but painful confessions act as an eye opener for the group; they (hopefully) gain a greater insight as to why people act as they do…and learn that others are suffering too. Basically you cannot judge a book by its cover...everybody hurts.

The exercise then continues on to everyone standing behind a line in the gym. They are instructed to cross to the other side if any of the following phrases are applicable to them. If you ever have been a victim of divorce, abuse, sexual assault, drugs and alcohol in your home, left alone as a child, picked on for your appearance, and so on. Basically over the course of the exercise everyone crosses the line a couple of times. The exercise is to show you that you are not alone, and in fact you share atrocities with the rest of the group standing beside you on the “other” side. The day ends with positive affirmations for change and a commitment to change nasty behaviours to make the world a better place. Everybody hugs and cries. It’s a great concept.

Now, as a 42 year old, I have enough life experience under my belt to know that I am not alone in my struggles. The best thing about our age is we can indeed share these struggles or painful events with our girlfriends. But, I figure I may as well play the game with you, so to speak.

If you really knew me, you’d know that I have an extremely blessed life. I come from a home with parents who have been married for over 50 years and they are fantastic parents to me and my friends. I have a witty brother with a sense of dry humour that would make you pee from laughing so hard. My sister is the hardest working most kind hearted person on the planet. She would give you the shirt off her back and her last piece of bread if you needed it. She is hysterically funny too. I am the baby…and I happen to really enjoy that position in life. In fact, truth be told, I milk it for all it is worth! Either way, I know I am one of very few with the same family I started out with and for that I am extremely grateful.

If you really knew me you’d know that I am even more amply blessed to be married to my true soul mate, Boo. I believe that he was custom cut by God just for me. So, just the fact that we managed to meet in the first place is a miracle to me since I am not originally from here. We are adventurous, spontaneous, and laugh lots (that does not imply that he is perfect, as he requires frequent discipline!). From him, I have also been granted two amazing step kids who absolutely fill my life with great joy. I am forever grateful to their mother for selflessly sharing her children with me. They have all taken me in as their own and I say with amazing grace that these kids think of me as their second mother and sometimes best friend. I would take a bullet for them without hesitation. One time a girl broke Kris’ heart and I still have urges to hunt her down and beat the bejesus out of her. Another time one of my step daughter Michalla’s friends viciously attacked her….I still want to bitch slap her across the face really hard! Anyone who hurts my step kids hurts me and should be punished…but unfortunately I know that this is inappropriate and jail worthy behaviour so I suffer and stew about it! LOL! Boo and I are having the time of our lives...all the time. Either way, I know I am one of the few on the planet to meet and marry my soul mate (and have children with no stretch marks) and for that I am extremely grateful.

If you really know me you’d know that I am surrounded by an amazing bouquet of girlfriends; all sorts of different girlfriends whose uniqueness form the most jaw dropping and colourful of floral arrangements. Without them I would no doubt wither and die…my sanity depends on them. Even the ones that come and go on the fringe…who lightly step in and out of my life from time to time. The hydrangea says “be careful” and the “tiger lilies” say “go crazy we only bloom once a year!” LOL! I am truly blessed to have found them, and in turn to have them want to stick around. I love that I have a selection to choose from at any given time and that I can call any one of them crying and get 5 different perspectives on something…all of which make total sense. Either way, I am grateful that I am able to tell them that I love them and adore them…and need them…on a regular basis.

If you really knew me, you’d know that if you ever hurt me or screwed me over …a month ago or over 20 years ago… I have never forgotten it and never will. I am easily hurt and not a forgiving person at all. It is not a characteristic that I am proud to embrace, it just “is”. My Mother says “all wounds leave a scar”…and by God she is right! I may talk to you…but you’ll never be given a chance to fuck me over twice. I will never openly let you in again. I often have a hot red ball burning in my chest that can be there all day because of one e mail with a patronizing tone…or 2 ignorant sentences from someone can basically fuck my whole day….which can potentially burn for another week or two or three…it will fester like pus….and blow…but sadly…again…only I feel sick from it…only I lose sleep from it…only my health suffers…but I cannot blow it off…I have tried relaxing, breathing, reading, distractions…and here I sit mad as hell…fucking burning…and the instigator often has no clue…because I do not trust myself to let my true feelings out. Whether I like you or not, I never want you to feel what I feel when I am patronized or hurt by others. Either way, I am grateful that I know this about me and that I ALMOST always seem to manage it without blowing a gasket.

If you really knew me you’d know that for years I thought that I was a bundle of nerves, over flowing with overwhelming anxiety. But, I’ve recently discovered that what I thought it was anxiety is actually suppressed RAGE…pure and unadulterated RAGE! I guess my wires in my brain are crossed somewhere because I sit here totally confused by this revelation. All of these years of suffering…thinking that I had an anxiety disorder…was a nervous wreck...when in fact it turns out that what I read to be anxiety….was actually explosive fucking rage!!! I hate being patronized…for no acceptable reason…or any reason really. I will no longer apologize for being me…or thinking how I think…or saying what I say…when or how I say it. I am sick and fucking tired of tip toeing when I speak…for fear someone may not like it or most likely take exception with it…or simply disagree with it; Or better still…someone will calmly say my name in a low and patronizing tone like I am a child being scolded...that is my personal favorite! I am tired of having “norms” forced upon me…society fucking rolling their eyes at me. I am mostly outraged by my own reactions or inaction. My parents have taught me to be kind and graceful…which most times lead to swallowing the abuse…and basically thanking the culprit for kicking me in the crotch. Because I hate feeling this way, I would NEVER hurt you or patronize you unless you’ve pushed me into it. If I don’t look you in the eye or dodge you on a regular basis, you’d best keep on moving because you are in the line of fire and I am trying not to hurt you. Either way, I am grateful that I still prefer to spare your feelings…despite my own demise.

If you really knew me you would know that I am an empathetic person, meaning I feel your emotional pain and take it on as my own; in a desperate attempt to relieve you of it. You would know that I silently hurt for you when you’ve been hurt by others, or patronized or kicked in the crotch. I feel sorry for you when you don’t even feel sorry for yourself. Sometimes I will see sadness in the passing eyes of strangers and I will carry it with me all day…I may not even know your name…or your grief…but I carry your sadness. Injustice in just about anything at all will set me off. You would know that I have been heart sick for days about total strangers who have been a victim of ignorance or injustice in my midst. I will and have stood up for total strangers or acquaintances but I have silently suffered and tolerated the inexcusable ignorance to me of epic proportion over and over again. This behavior spoon feeds my loneliness monster and makes him angrier at himself….thus a viscous circle and perpetual feast. How ironic, I despise martyrs but sign on to be a stranger’s beast of burden…a.k.a. an ass! Sometimes I feel like I am walking on a very sharp edge of a bowl…in bare feet….bleeding and burning…but I do not want to fall in….and I dare not fall out….as I lose in both scenarios. Either way, I am grateful for this misguided passion because the apathetic make me nauseous and piss me off.

If you really knew me, you’d know that I am profoundly lonely; despite being popular. I pride myself on being a chameleon of sorts. I can morph and fit into any group or setting…but my puzzle piece never quite fits. This chameleon-like characteristic that allows me to step into any group or situation paradoxically keeps me out of it…on the periphery looking in. Years ago I saw a sculpture of wooden people that showed a man walking through a huge crowd of people and it is aptly named “alone in a crowd.” This sculpture encapsulates how I feel…alone in a crowd. Now I am not asking for accolades or sympathy. Loneliness is the first feeling I recall. I have always felt lonely. Without loneliness I would not be able to write. The writing comes from hours of keeping myself company in my head…I feel lonely, but must be alone to create. I do feel compelled to write all the time. Although this “square peg round hole phenomenon” is hard for me to accept some days, I love making people laugh and telling my crazy stories. I am grateful for this “quirky” curse; otherwise I would be boring and wouldn’t have a story to tell.

If you really knew me, you’d know that my “inner voice” is the nastiest most hateful bitch you could ever meet! She constantly asks me what I think I did to deserve such a great life. She asks me why did you say this or that… I lose sleep over something I had said months or years before…can you imagine? She reminds me of all of my “faults” both physical and emotional, reminds me of the failed weight loss attempts, and reminds me of every “wrong doing” ever done to me by others since the age of 5…and then throws in some highly probable fuck ups for the future. She reminds me that my hopes and dreams for the future are stupid and not worth the time or effort. Then she always reverts to calling me a fat pig if she does not get the response she seeks. She constantly reminds me that I am an abysmal failure at weight loss with just about every bite I take. Then she prods me to eat something outrageous because it is a hopeless effort anyways. She is a rotten bitch whom I have been able to tame over the years…actually sometimes she responds to a simple “fuck off and shut up! I DO deserve this bitch!” I am grateful for my extreme feelings because it is without a doubt far better than feeling nothing at all. Coasting through life sedate would be boring.

And finally, if you really knew me, you’d know that I am a control freak. I often get overwhelmed about things which I cannot control….such as life and death, the weather, the air we breathe, accidents, the things that strangers or irrelevant people may say or do. I have always placed myself in high intensity jobs and positions of authority because I love the thrill of being in control of something…even if a mistake could cause a death…no big deal...the clearer the thought process is under extreme stress. Throw it at me! On the other hand, choosing an entree at a restaurant or which colour Popsicle I would prefer could easily lead me to a nervous fucking breakdown! God forbid I chose the movie of the night and it sucks! Sometimes I am so overwhelmed by something I cannot even identify…that I retreat to my cocoon and nap in fetal position. I am both blessed and cursed to see the fragility of life first hand at the hospital; however, I live everyday in sheer terror of losing it all. I tell everyone before trips or before I leave that I love them and adore them. I am terrified of good byes. I feel both guilt and fear for having such an incredible and blessed life. Then I get irate with myself for whining about something as stupid as my weight while I have it so good! I love my family and friends so much my heart could easily burst…so I live in fear of it all coming to an end…the sky falling, the other shoe dropping….instead of embracing what is…I mourn what could be lost while I have it....how crazy is that? Either way, I am most grateful that I have something to fear losing. I am grateful to you all.

“Heaven is not a place where you go when you die, it’s that place in your life when you feel so alive.”- Spilled Canvas “The Tide”

Lynn
;)

Morgue for Breakfast

First of all I would like to apologize to all my readers for my absence on the blog. I truly love to write, but I have been suffering from major writers block and I think that I know why. I first must warn you though....this blog is far from funny.

Any day that starts in the morgue is not a good day. Part of my job as nursing supervisor involves receiving DOA’s into the morgue and dealing with shocked family members who come to identify their loved one. It is with great difficulty that I must admit that this is a routine aspect of my work day...and I consider myself quite lucky to be able to step outside myself and morph into an indifferent person to deal with this aspect of my job. For the most part, I really thought that I was left unaffected...but I have come to the grim realization that I am not left unaffected...my deep seeded emotions and subsequent actions scream that I am.

Every time I deal with a tragedy in the morgue, I say to myself “life is too short...start living for now...don’t waste one more day waiting to be a size 14 to start living...live right now!” I say this, but I have just realized through my feelings and actions (or inactions) that this mentality is not working for me at all. What I am actually feeling is...”there but for the grace of God go I.” Now this all sounds good in theory....but let me tell you what this really means in my world. In my world, this actually means instant gratification....and instant gratification my friend...is extremely dangerous.

If tomorrow never comes I want a full tummy. If tomorrow never comes, it would be truly be tragic had I passed on having ooey-gooey- caramel- soaked brie cheese with baguette chunks. If tomorrow never comes, I may have been croaking for a cigarette just before I get wiped off the planet....and that is just not right (smoking like a chimney right now...there is a smoke hanging from my mouth as I type...and I will light another when it is done.) Being a morgue traffic controller shows you that chances of being wiped off the planet for absolutely no rational reason is higher than dying from smoking long term. Now, statistically this is totally untrue...but in my subconscious brain it is my reality. I am a mess.

I pride myself on my tough bullet proof exterior. Throw it at me...I can handle it. I actually thrive on split second life and death situations. I have worked in high intensity areas to expose myself to just that. I have worked in emergency, intensive cares, flight nursing, and now supervisor...and supervisor gives me an all inclusive back stage pass to everything. What a rush! I truly love my job (most times)...but when I get home and out of the chaos...I fall to pieces...and unfortunately it is not a conscious expression of emotions....it manifests itself into an eating-smoking-out of control-frenzy. I pride myself on control...which paradoxically is knocking me “out of the ball park” out of control.

One time I received two young DOA’s under 30 years old. During the “admission” process into the morgue, their cell phones were ringing off the hook with text messages. “Hey dawg....where u at?” “Party tonight!” “What’s taking u so long?” In my sick twisted brain I want to text back....”sorry dude I am dead”...but of course I don’t...I turn them off. Then, I think to myself...all these friends and family members have about 30 more minutes of a “normal” life left until they find out the truth. This boy’s mother has less than 30 minutes left...before her life is shattered into a million little pieces forever. The boys both have a new package of cigarettes in their pockets. In my twisted brain I say to myself “well nobody is going to throw $10 on a pack of cigarettes if they know they are about to die.” In my sick twisted brain I think... “well I may as well smoke them then”...but of course I do not...I discard them...”what a waste”....and I am not talking about the cigarettes as I watch them land in the trash...I am really talking about the loss of a young life...a STUPID loss of a young life. The ringing text messages from the morgue fridge haunt me...still. For as long as those text messages keep coming, the dead are still alive...still a part of this world. Next thing you know, I am staring at an empty plate...I had somehow managed to eat two cheeseburgers, three chocolate bars and a real coke without any recollection. I have no memory of leaving the morgue....walking to a vending machine... going to the coffee shop...ordering the food...or eating one bite of it. I can only thank God that I am not a drinking woman...I eat until I am comfortably numb...or think I am anyway...the food didn’t do anything but make me fatter and feel like shit...no soothing effect at all!

My breakthrough came yesterday, through a breakdown of epic proportion. Before I could take a sip of my first morning coffee...I had to go to the morgue. Any day that starts out in the morgue...is not going to be a good day. A family came to see their loved one in the morgue....because they had to see it to believe it. I escorted them to the family room to wait and then I set about my task of preparing the viewing. I washed her face and hands, covered her in clean blankets and made her look as best I could. Her son proudly introduced his aunts (the deceased sisters) and his brothers. He was a well brought up brave boy in his 20’s. When he saw his mother...when he broke down and whispered “mom, mom, mom” over and over again...I LOST IT!! I finally lost it...the damn broke loose and there was no stopping it now. I was able to maintain a minimal level of composure to get the family through this and escort them back to their car. Then, once left alone to my own demise...I found an isolated place to sit and smoke...and had one hell of an out of control ugly cry. I released months of captivated grief over the course of 3 cigarettes in a row. I admitted my perceived weakness of losing it to everyone I encountered that day...and believe it or not...the world did not crumble down around me...people did not say “you suck.” This unexpected release...released me of this ridiculous coat of armour that protected myself with...an imaginary but all too real titanium shield...that I hid behind...actually crouched behind in fetal position sucking my thumb.

I am not asking for a back-pat or a “junior G man badge of courage”. I do not want to be told that I am strong or wonderful or courageous or special. I could not write because I felt like a fraud...how dare I think of motivating others when I am a mental mess? How dare I try to make you laugh when I am dying inside? I am begging you to please help me...I am free falling...and I am trying to get back up.


I've never gone so wrong
As to telling lies to you
What you see and what I am
There is nothing I could hide from you
You see me better than I can
Out on the road that lies before me now
There are some turns where I will spin
I only hope that you can hold me now
Til I can gain control again
And like a lighthouse you must stand alone
Landmark a safe journey's end
No matter what sea I've been sailing on
I'll always come back home again
Out on the road that lies before me now
There are some turns where I will spin
I only hope that you can hold me now
Til I can gain control again
~Blue Rodeo

Lynn

;)

The Sex Kitten and the Rolling Pin!

Several years ago, I went away to Cuba with a group of 8 people. Again, I grieved about being so big and going with 2 other couples who were comprised of skinny and perfect chicks! On the very first night, the smiling Cuban men started staring and smiling, pointing, waving and following me! My husband got nervous again! Everyday, the workers gave me flowers for my hair, grasshoppers made from palm leaves, and any other tropical plant treats they could think of. One of our waiters gave me a cross necklace! I even got marriage proposals! Now, you have to remember there were 2 skinny girls and 5 other men everywhere we went. The Cubans did not acknowledge them…just me. It became a fun 'theme' for the week...the sex kitten goes to Cuba! BUT, there are dangers to being a sex goddess in a foreign land…let me explain.

One day while the bunch of us were lying on the beach and soaking up the sun…the physician for the resort wandered along and offered massages for $20 USD. I could NOT believe my ears…only $20 USD for a full body massage? I did not even hesitate…I was all in!!! No questions asked. I mean he was a physician…and resort staff…so why ask any questions besides where and when? The guys in the group had absolutely no interest in massage by a man at all…they did not want anything to do with it. I am certain if it were a female physician of the Latino persuasion who was offering a full body rub with oil that they would look at it differently…but there was no talking them into getting a massage with a man! So, that left only my sister-in-law Kim and my gal pal Trisha to convince…can you imagine that…having to convince anyone to get a massage? Now…here comes a jaw dropper…both gals admitted to me that neither of them had ever had a massage! I was like….WHAT??? What do you mean you’ve never had a massage? Like….never had a massage in Cuba before…right? No…never had a massage….like ever! Both women explained that they were uncomfortable with the entire concept of being partially naked and touched by a total stranger…worried the masseuse might see something...yadda, yadda, yadda. I explained that the masseuse does not look at a massage in a sexual nature in any way. I even went so far as to compare a masseuse to a nurse to alleviate their fears. I explained that we nurses see all kinds of wieners and ‘hoo-has’ and in no way do we ever regard the human body in a sexual way at all. I also threw in a little extra…that there is no need to wear clean under wear everytime you leave the house just in case you get into an accident…because we do not check your underwear before we cut it off in the Emergency Room…and you will most likely shit your pants if you are in an accident anyway!!!

I digress, I could NOT believe that I actually had to try to convince them of what they were missing…I went on and on about the benefits of massage…extreme relaxation…and the total endorphin rushes from it…to name a few. Then I carried on and on about the ridiculously cheap price…nothing to lose….yadda, yadda, yadda. I finally broke them both…and they too (albeit reluctantly) signed on for a massage with the physician for the next morning. My sister-in-law Kim was first in line at 8am, Trisha at 9 am and my massage was booked for 10am. I was so excited for them both to experience their very first massage…I could barely wait to see their faces! We agreed to all meet up at the beach afterwards.

The next morning I showed up at the doctor’s office bright-eyed and bushy tailed…ready for my massage at 10 am. I stripped down to my bra and panties lay on my stomach and covered myself with the sheet. Let the good times roll…let the massage begin! The physician/masseuse cracked his fingers and dug in. For all intensive purposes, the massage started out as any other would and it was great…until the rolling pin came out. You heard me right…the ROLLING PIN! At first he rolled the pin up and down my legs and back…kneading my muscles like I was a piece of dough…it felt great…wow…what a great idea….oh my. Then…OH MY…did the handle of that rolling pin just poke me in the hoo-hah!? No it couldn’t possibly have been aimed for my muffin! Surely, he must have slipped! The rolling pin started up the inside of my right thigh…and then on the way over to my left thigh…KERPLUNK…poke right in my hooch again! Out of all the things that could have been racing through my brain at that point… images of Kim and Trisha’s horrified faces during the rolling pin violation were screaming at me…then images of them beating me to death with a rolling pin came to mind. I was mortified that I talked them into this! The TRAUMA of it all!

I abruptly said “Ok…that’s enough of that!” As I sat up he said “I do you front now.” I flipped over on my back and the massage resumed normally again…until the doctor’s male assistant waltzed in. He said “Oh me so sorry…I need medicine for a people here.” He went over to a medication cupboard and removed a bottle and went back out…slowly. Then, as the massage resumed the little man sauntered in again and said “Oops, me forget something.” This time he stared…with a big huge smile on his face. I said “Uh…didn’t you forget something?” He nodded yes…and while smiling broadly and staring at my lady humps…he reached into the cupboard without looking away from my juicy white bosom and grabbed a bottle. Sensing my agitation, I believe the doctor got a little nervous and he dismissed the little assistant in Spanish and out he went. Then the massage started again.

Everything was great…until the rolling pin came out again. He started rolling the pin up and down like he was kneading dough again…and it felt great…until he started rolling my boobs! You’d think he was Michelangelo working on a beloved sculpture the way he went at them. His tongue was sticking out like a little kid concentrating really hard on something. I broke his concentration when I said “those ain’t muscles you know!” He looked embarrassed as he snapped out of his reverie and resumed the massage….or the rolling I should say. Up my right thigh…and HELLO!!!...another pit-stop probing into my monkey again! I said “OK…we are done here!” At this point he looked petrified….mad Canadian guest in Cuba most likely equals a kick in the nut sack and a firing at best. I grabbed my clothes and left with the sheet wrapped around me. He ran after me…”you like?” I answered “NO ME NO LIKE!” and marched off.

At this point I was less worried about me…and more worried about Kim and Trisha’s first experience. I whipped on my bathing suit and nervously headed to the beach. I found them both there with all the boys… chatting and laughing …most likely plotting my death! As I joined the group I very sarcastically said… “What did you guys think about THAT massage?” They both answered that is was “amazing”….”awesome”…”everything I said it would be”….they loved it! I was shocked…puzzled….and scratching my head I said “What did you think about that rolling pin?”…and they both looked bewildered and said in unison…” WHAT ROLLING PIN?!?”

“You have to be born a sex symbol. You don’t just become one. If you are born with it, you will have it until you are 100 years old"~ Sophia Loren

Lynn
;)

Weight Watchers Can Kiss My Ass (Part Deux)

Ten years ago I went on my first trip south. Instead of being excited like most 'normal' people... I spent months grieving about my size before-hand. I obsessed over how HUGE I was going to look on the beach. Tons and tons of grief for months before I even got on the plane…and the grief continued in my head throughout the entire trip! I decided this time that life was far too short (and expensive!) to ruin a perfectly good holiday down south by tormenting myself over the number on the scales! So, I finally did it! I said I would…but never thought I could ever actually follow through with it! I managed to go away on a vacation down south without crucifying myself over my weight and/or size….not once…and it was fantastic!

For starters, I got sick and tired of being limited to those plus sized potato sacks at the local plus sized store. I HATE those HUGE sack-like dresses in dreary gray or black with tacky bedazzled rhinestones on them or bozo-esque three ring circus themes on them. Now can you please tell me which BBW designer says…”please make me a little something that screams I am huge as an elephant and belong in a circus tent-like dress? Make sure you put obnoxious patterns, rouging and ruffle on my trouble spots too please! Oh and please make it pull and stretch with all of its screaming might across my gut and ass please! Put letters across it too….that draws some more attention to my sweet spots” I was disheartened and disgusted. So, I stepped way out of my comfort zone and did some online shopping. I measured myself…found stuff I liked….and ordered it on a wing and a prayer! I can hear all of you sucking in air in disbelief….but yes…I did it with NO REGRETS! I got a couple of funky bathing suits, a sassy hot pink wrap dress….and the BIGGEST prize of all was my plus sized Barbie dress!!!

My plus-sized Barbie dress is a purple sequined number…the tank-style-top of the dress is covered in various sparkling shades of hot purple sequins, then a black elastic band waist (a la 80’s style) and finished off with purple chiffon ruffles that stopped at the top of my thighs! When the dress arrived in the mail, I whipped my nightie right up over my head and threw it right there it on the floor by the front door (I closed the front door first by the way!). I whipped the dress over my head…and it slid right on me like a glove! The hem is a little short….so short I cannot bend over or sit in public without showing my Brittany (hooch)…but I didn’t give a shit! I immediately woke up my husband by posing on his bed like Wonder Woman and I squealed “Look at me Boo!!! LOOK!” His jaw dropped and he said “Oh my God that dress is fantastic!” I agreed immediately and said “I hope you like it…because I am wearing it to breakfast, lunch, dinner, the pool and to bed every day of the cruise!” LOL! Throughout our entire vacation…I wore big sparkly jewellery, brightly coloured fitted funky tops, and outfits that hugged my curves…I felt amazing! I always wanted gel nails (so I got my hands and feet done!) I dyed my hair the lightest blonde possible…and VOILA….a sexkitten was born! All those things with a wickedly cool dark tan…and I felt like a million bucks every single moment of every single day. Step back! I felt like I am ten feet tall and bullet proof throughout the entire vacation.

So, one day last week I was standing at the Panama Canal….minding my business…and all of a sudden I begin to feel a little nervous… like a ‘virgin at a prison rodeo’ kind of nervous. I was getting WAY too much attention from the male Panamanians! While I am waiting for my guide, workers in passing trucks whistled and ogled at me. One guy almost hit another car because he is rubber necking in my direction. Tons of passing workmen were pointing, smiling, waving and calling me “precioso” (precious), “bello” (beautiful) and “linda” (pretty).! Then in my usual innocent-like fashion I batted my eye lashes and in an utter-disbelief-like-fashion I ask incredulously…”are they talking about me?” Some of them snapped photos of me with their cell phones! One guy asked to have his picture taken with me! I felt like a plus-sized version of Madonna!

When our guide Elvis arrived, I asked him “Elvis….do Panamanian men tend to favor big white women with bodacious ta-tas?” The big black man blushed from ear to ear…giggled like a school boy….and while twisting his feet in the sand like a little boy he whispered (giggled)….”yes…there are not any blonde white women here…especially as BEEEEEG and CUUURRRRVY like you! You are like a rare gem here!” A rare gem huh? My proclamation from previous trips south echoed through my head…“Weight Watchers can KISS MY ASS!!!”

So ladies…are you feeling down? Crucifying yourself over another failed diet? Are you disappointed about your current size? Do you cringe at the thought of squeezing into a tummy tuck bathing suit and walking in public? Well, worry no more! Get your ‘cottage-cheese-esque’ asses on a plane to Central America….because in Central America… Plus-sized Barbies and BBW’s are nothing less than GODDESSES!

"Confidence is the sexiest thing a woman can have. It's much sexier than any body part."~Aimee Mullins

Lynn
;)

Check out this fabulous video!!!

Embrace your Curves!

Suck-Me-In Suits

So, what is a “suck-me-in” suit you ask? It’s most commonly known as SPANX but goes by many other brand names as well. In short, SPANX-like apparel is the girdle of the 20th century! Bottom line, it is the apparel equivalent to a “sausage casing” for women. Many women (and some men) will attest that these ‘suits’ are the best thing since sliced bread...but in my humble opinion it is all in the way you look (“squeeze”) at it (and if you don’t eat too much sliced bread you don’t need one!) I consider these “super-stretchy-gut-sucking-ass-flattening-zone-compression-stocking-suits” to be a psychotic testament to the twisted view of today’s society! God has secretly blessed you if you haven’t a clue what I am talking about!

I find the name SPANX itself is indicative of something painful (pleasurable to a few people) but for the most part...painful, so the name has been well thought out, planned and appropriately chosen...for one thousand-bare-bummed spankings would be far less painful to endure than an ‘event’ in one of my suck-me-in suit selections. Yes, I said ’selections’. I have a full suck-me-in body suit, suck-me-in panties with panels that go up to and tuck under my bra, suck-me-in thighs to waist, suck-me-in thighs to bra, suck-me-in camisoles that go down past my butt; all in that all too familiar nude color...I am not sure what options (if any) women of color may have, as I have only seen the across the board white woman nude. All I have to say to those people who testify that these torture devices are ‘so comfortable’is “PHOOEY YOU LIARS!”

From the very beginning women have squeezed themselves into teeny corsets that restrict breathing, Asian women have had their feet bound to fit into too-small shoes, women have and still do have their ribs removed to emulate a smaller waist! I truly believe it is genetic because women have been doing this to themselves ever since the beginning of time. I have no doubt that even EVE probably wrapped herself tightly in palm leaves to suck it all in. I mean she considered an apple a ‘cheat’...I don’t get it...I could understand chocolate dipped strawberries...but an apple for a cheat...was it worth it? I doubt it! She didn’t need a palm leave girdle or a cross your heart bra! I digress. I can definitely relate to the twisted thinking of no pain…no gain all for the sake of beauty.

My earliest memory of a girdle involved my Grandmother. Well beyond her curvy years...I recall my Aunt Esther placing her foot in Nanny’s back and pulling with all her might to hook those damned little hooks and eyes;about a million clasps from arsehole to appetite. I remember Esther and Nanny both gasping for breath and sweating profusely...but the end result was worth the effort because my Nanny felt gorgeous...and that was all that mattered! I myself chose a much more ‘civilized’ route. I bought too-tight jeans thinking that if I fit into them I would automatically look that size! How on earth do you explain a bleeding blister and callous on your index finger from pulling your zipper up with an untwisted coat hangar? Sometimes I drew blood...but my God I looked good! Of course, my tops would be loose fitting to hide the prominent ‘muffin top’ of fat drooping (and screaming) over the edges of the too-tight jeans. One night, the zipper decided to commit suicide as the pressure was simply too much...and gave out...a total blow out! I had somehow located a bag full of safety pins and proceeded to safety pin the zipper closed. There started my romance with bartering not to pee...as it was not worth the effort! From there, I graduated to simply emptying my bladder, lying down on the bed….sucking in my gut and holding my breath until I was blue in the face and hallucinating from lack of oxygen and pulling up the zipper with all of my might! Then I found the SPANX!

My full suck-me-in body suit is the most challenging of all of my shape-slimming suits by far. It has a special crotch clasp opening that is beyond impossible to open at any time whilst the suit is donned. Besides being impossible to bend over and reach the tiny twisted clasps at a critical moment of need (full bladder or my personal favourite...sudden-onset of explosive diarrhea!) if and when you could manage to undo the offensive crotch clasp...it would whip open and flip upwards; releasing all of the oppressed (excuse me zone-compressed) body infarctions! I can see it now (from personal experience)...just like those out-of-control horizontal blinds that whip up right to the top when you lose control of the draw-string...I liken releasing the crotch clasps in this psycho suit it to pulling the pin on a grenade! Just wait a few seconds and then KABOOM...major GUNT and perineal fall-out (now there’s a pretty picture for you!).

I wear these damned things all the time...well not at the beach or under my nighties. I sometimes imagine that taking a leap off of my dresser into it would be far easier than my wiggly squiggly callisthenic routines of getting into these suck-me-in suits….then be all breathless pissy and sweaty! I must admit that when I am all ‘sucked in’ I do feel like a million bucks...from an aesthetic perspective...definitely not from a comfort perspective! When I have to pee...I will confess I do the old ‘pull the crotch to the side trick’...otherwise I would have to take off my top, slip out of the full body suck-me-in suit, drop my drawers, sit and pee in a ridiculously small public washroom cubicle, and then endure the nightmare of trying to get the damned thing back on without lying down or having room to jump about. I have done this once or twice...and I have had images of being knocked out (and subsequently discovered) unconscious on a bathroom floor with my SPANX twisted around my ankles!

Up until last night, I thought wearing any garment that requires you to barter and plead with God to avoid urinating, sneezing and/or sometimes even breathing...should be banned! But...a strange thing happened when my night was almost over. I was undressing and my husband came rushing in excitedly asking when I got the new lingerie. Lingerie? Where? I have managed to hide the fact that I am wearing suck-me-in suits for over 10 years and I finally got ‘caught’. I was about to remind him that this was not lingerie...that the politically correct term was ‘suck-me-in-suit...but before I could he said “that suit is so SEXY baby!” Instead, (in a sex kitten voice)... I said " What this old thing?"...and brought in the New Year with a KABOOM!

During a trial in which she was accused of indecency on stage:

Judge: 'Miss West, are you trying to show contempt for this court?'

Mae West: 'On the contrary, your Honor, I was doin' my best to conceal it.'”

Lynn
;)