I've got areas of fluffiness I don't like. Well, all of me is an area of fluffiness I don't like. I've lost 15lbs ,but I still have a ways to go. But in particular, there are the belly and love handle areas that are fluffy and not liked. But I'm cheap and skeered of scalpels slicing into me, and I've SEEN Nip/Tuck and the idea of fat being vacuumed out of my body makes me want to throw up a lot. So what to do? Work out? Eat right? Pshaw.
I found this CoolSculpt thing and after reading reviews, it's not something I'd spend my money on. Expensive! Multiple treatments! Sitting bored in a doctor's office for hours! It can take up to 6 weeks to see results!? The idea is probably a load of poo! Because in that 6 weeks maybe you were eating better, because they do recommend a healthy diet to keep it off, so... who says the results you see in six weeks aren't just from eating better and a few crunches?
But I'm not so skeptical that I won't strap ice packs here at home to my belly and love handles with my belly-burny-fat waist thingy and sit on the computer for a few hours. I mean hey, at the very least, being cold burns more calories, so that can't be bad, right? If there are results, maybe I'll freeze my thighs next.
Thursday, June 27, 2013
Wednesday, June 19, 2013
what do we need?
A big deal is always made about what women need and want, and what men need and want. What we need and want as a gender is thought to be different than the needs of the opposite sex. Women want romance and affection and mushiness; men want sex and food and time alone with the tv remote. Women need romantic sex and men need is on a purely carnal level. Women want less sex than men. Over the course of three marriages, however, and along with the help of informal interwebz observations and relationships with men and women both, I've learned that this is complete bullshit. The lines between genders are really blurred when it comes to both our emotional and sexual needs.
It's a lie, the idea that men would just as soon skip the date, the roses, the eye contact. Men get the same high women do, when they're in love. They need the same emotional connection that comes with intimacy. Sometimes, they, too, just need to be held. There have been nights after an argument where Greg and I have gone to bed not mad, but disgruntled. Both of us felt inadequate and less than wanted. All I wanted, in those moments, was for my husband to roll over and pull me close and hold me and reassure me. But he never did. Why? Not because he didn't want to, apparently. Apparently, it was because he needed the same from me! I would occasionally reach out and touch him, briefly, hoping he'd know how much I needed him to come hold me, and while I was doing it, he was hoping I would come closer and hold him.
Men, as much as women, need to feel safe. They need to be able to cry in front of you. They need to be able to unload their worries. They need their wives to listen. They need to be able to trust you enough to open up to you. They need to know you're not going to tell your mom or your sister or your best friend or hell, maybe even your cat. Just like women, sometimes men don't want their problem fixed, they just need you to listen. Sometimes that IS the fix.
On the other hand, I can tell you how much I like control of the remote now and then. I like Tosh.0 just fine, but what if I want to watch desperate housewife reruns? And sex. I crave just as much -- maybe more -- as Greg. I am somewhat insatiable. It doesn't vary by week of the month and it doesn't stop when I'm angry or stressed or in pain of any kind (except this one time I had a toothache and all I wanted was for someone to shoot me). It's like a bandaid. It helps destress. It helps me feel connected. Orgasms are really good, too, of course, and Greg's never failed to satisfy (he really might kill me for this entire paragraph) but my main need is to be as physically close as I can get. I'm like an alcoholic, self medicating with my addiction. And I'm obsessed. But sometimes... Sometimes it really is all about the damn orgasm. Or three... however many can be had, women want them. Sometimes it doesn't really matter who is giving said orgasms. You just neeeeed them. It's not about connection, just frantic, hard sex. Both sexes need all aspects; the romantic need and the biological need.
I've learned what bullshit it is, the idea that "men want to be respected and women want to be loved" in a relationship. Of course men want to be respected, but they also want to feel loved. They need you to tell them, unrestrained, how much you appreciate them and how the things they do make your heart swell. They like love letters. Mushy ones. They appreciate cards on random days that just tell them you love them. Wax poetic. He'll love it. I promise.
It is important for a woman to feel loved, but guys, we want to feel respected, too. We want to know that you notice a job well done. We need you to acknowledge that we worked our asses off to clean/remodel/cook/get promoted/get an A in that bitch of a math class we had to take/got out of the store with all three of the same kids we brought in, and not only that, they're alive. We want you to listen attentively to our days' details as if hearing us out and understanding our viewpoints is the most important thing in the world. We need you to not laugh if we miss a point or don't understand something, just like you. Who likes to be laughed at?
Give, all of yourself, as good as you'd like to get it. A relationship's quality and ability to last is entirely dependent on both consistent emotional and physical needs being met, and on mutual love and requited respect.
It's a lie, the idea that men would just as soon skip the date, the roses, the eye contact. Men get the same high women do, when they're in love. They need the same emotional connection that comes with intimacy. Sometimes, they, too, just need to be held. There have been nights after an argument where Greg and I have gone to bed not mad, but disgruntled. Both of us felt inadequate and less than wanted. All I wanted, in those moments, was for my husband to roll over and pull me close and hold me and reassure me. But he never did. Why? Not because he didn't want to, apparently. Apparently, it was because he needed the same from me! I would occasionally reach out and touch him, briefly, hoping he'd know how much I needed him to come hold me, and while I was doing it, he was hoping I would come closer and hold him.
Men, as much as women, need to feel safe. They need to be able to cry in front of you. They need to be able to unload their worries. They need their wives to listen. They need to be able to trust you enough to open up to you. They need to know you're not going to tell your mom or your sister or your best friend or hell, maybe even your cat. Just like women, sometimes men don't want their problem fixed, they just need you to listen. Sometimes that IS the fix.
On the other hand, I can tell you how much I like control of the remote now and then. I like Tosh.0 just fine, but what if I want to watch desperate housewife reruns? And sex. I crave just as much -- maybe more -- as Greg. I am somewhat insatiable. It doesn't vary by week of the month and it doesn't stop when I'm angry or stressed or in pain of any kind (except this one time I had a toothache and all I wanted was for someone to shoot me). It's like a bandaid. It helps destress. It helps me feel connected. Orgasms are really good, too, of course, and Greg's never failed to satisfy (he really might kill me for this entire paragraph) but my main need is to be as physically close as I can get. I'm like an alcoholic, self medicating with my addiction. And I'm obsessed. But sometimes... Sometimes it really is all about the damn orgasm. Or three... however many can be had, women want them. Sometimes it doesn't really matter who is giving said orgasms. You just neeeeed them. It's not about connection, just frantic, hard sex. Both sexes need all aspects; the romantic need and the biological need.
I've learned what bullshit it is, the idea that "men want to be respected and women want to be loved" in a relationship. Of course men want to be respected, but they also want to feel loved. They need you to tell them, unrestrained, how much you appreciate them and how the things they do make your heart swell. They like love letters. Mushy ones. They appreciate cards on random days that just tell them you love them. Wax poetic. He'll love it. I promise.
It is important for a woman to feel loved, but guys, we want to feel respected, too. We want to know that you notice a job well done. We need you to acknowledge that we worked our asses off to clean/remodel/cook/get promoted/get an A in that bitch of a math class we had to take/got out of the store with all three of the same kids we brought in, and not only that, they're alive. We want you to listen attentively to our days' details as if hearing us out and understanding our viewpoints is the most important thing in the world. We need you to not laugh if we miss a point or don't understand something, just like you. Who likes to be laughed at?
Give, all of yourself, as good as you'd like to get it. A relationship's quality and ability to last is entirely dependent on both consistent emotional and physical needs being met, and on mutual love and requited respect.
Monday, June 17, 2013
father's day, kids' resilience, amazing husband, good stuff.
My friend told me her husband asked if I'd married Greg for money. Bahaha! I'd certainly be disappointed if I had! She was worried I'd be mad. I definitely am not; amused is what I am. I married Greg because he's amazing, he's my best friend, and because no one has ever made me feel more loved and wanted and full. Because he's the first man who has encouraged me to grow. He challenges my mind and my heart. He accepts me as I am, and at the same time helps me to be the best woman I can be.
I knew how wonderful he was long before we were together, but what I knew then barely scraped the surface. What I know now makes my heart ache with happiness. I know that he's not just an amazing husband, but an amazing dad as well. He thinks about the kids, he praises their strengths and encourages them to grow and learn as well. His patience brings out the best in them. He gives them stability and affection and love. Yesterday, while Olivia read a book to him, he rested his head on hers and closed his eyes and at first I thought he was sleepy, but no... he was enjoying the time with our daughter. His daughter. He makes her feel treasured. He makes the boys feel respected and loved. There's nothing That makes me doubt that he deserves the title of "dad."
The kids don't call him dad -- well, Olivia does, about half the time. But they all insisted on giving him a good father's day. Cards, Candy, lunch, sleeping in. They all mentioned Karl briefly once or twice, why wouldn't they? We certainly don't want them to forget him. But they don't dwell on him. They have hit a point in their healing where they remember happily, but they are able to live in the moment and accept what is. People have said things that sound like the kids need a lot more time, that they should still be grieving. And maybe they are; a therapist once told me that the grieving process is sometimes never completely gone, that sometimes we keep revisiting it or coming across triggers for years after. And every now and then, one of the kids says they miss Karl, and they say what they need to and we listen and respond. But for the most part, the kids accept what is and are happy and adjusted better than I could have imagined. They're resilient. They're strong. They have the ability to heal that we lose as we get older, physically and emotionally. I think that going through everything we went through helped them grow. They're strong because they went through what, by all rights, could very well break a person and they pushed through it. They were tested beyond what a kid should Have To endure. They saw things no kid should have to and are still able to laugh and be kids, are still able to celebrate the things they have.
My kids are amazing, inspiring little people.
I knew how wonderful he was long before we were together, but what I knew then barely scraped the surface. What I know now makes my heart ache with happiness. I know that he's not just an amazing husband, but an amazing dad as well. He thinks about the kids, he praises their strengths and encourages them to grow and learn as well. His patience brings out the best in them. He gives them stability and affection and love. Yesterday, while Olivia read a book to him, he rested his head on hers and closed his eyes and at first I thought he was sleepy, but no... he was enjoying the time with our daughter. His daughter. He makes her feel treasured. He makes the boys feel respected and loved. There's nothing That makes me doubt that he deserves the title of "dad."
The kids don't call him dad -- well, Olivia does, about half the time. But they all insisted on giving him a good father's day. Cards, Candy, lunch, sleeping in. They all mentioned Karl briefly once or twice, why wouldn't they? We certainly don't want them to forget him. But they don't dwell on him. They have hit a point in their healing where they remember happily, but they are able to live in the moment and accept what is. People have said things that sound like the kids need a lot more time, that they should still be grieving. And maybe they are; a therapist once told me that the grieving process is sometimes never completely gone, that sometimes we keep revisiting it or coming across triggers for years after. And every now and then, one of the kids says they miss Karl, and they say what they need to and we listen and respond. But for the most part, the kids accept what is and are happy and adjusted better than I could have imagined. They're resilient. They're strong. They have the ability to heal that we lose as we get older, physically and emotionally. I think that going through everything we went through helped them grow. They're strong because they went through what, by all rights, could very well break a person and they pushed through it. They were tested beyond what a kid should Have To endure. They saw things no kid should have to and are still able to laugh and be kids, are still able to celebrate the things they have.
My kids are amazing, inspiring little people.
Tuesday, June 11, 2013
Wax: DO NOT WANT.
SO we've all seen that episode of Friends, Where Monica and Phoebe try Waxine, right? And we're like, oh they're exaggerating. It can't hurt that much.
Let me tell you how very wrong we were.
I found an unopened package of Nads under the sink, that apparently Greg had from before I moved in. And I was like, oh! Maybe I won't shave my lady bits, maybe I'll wax instead! It looks so easy!
So I opened the package. I read the instructions. Apply a thin layer of wax, slap that cloth strip on and rip it off. It alleges that the pain will be minimal and your unwanted hair will be gone! ALLEGES.
I did exactly what the instructions said, noting that the wax is somewhat harder to spread than Nads implies. So far so good. I unrolled the strip of cotton cloth. I smoothed it over the waxy area. I took a deep breath and I yanked that shit off my lady bits. And I screamed.
"MOTHERFUCKER."
Yes, I was quite vulgar. And when I immediately noticed that there had been no actual hair removal, my head nearly popped. Had I done something wrong? Maybe that was why it hurt so much!
And now you're thinking, she didn't try it again, did she?
Yes. Yes I did. With the same results and louder swearing.
So now I am waxy, stuck together, still hairy, and stinging too much to shave.
Eff you, Nads. Eff you.
Let me tell you how very wrong we were.
I found an unopened package of Nads under the sink, that apparently Greg had from before I moved in. And I was like, oh! Maybe I won't shave my lady bits, maybe I'll wax instead! It looks so easy!
So I opened the package. I read the instructions. Apply a thin layer of wax, slap that cloth strip on and rip it off. It alleges that the pain will be minimal and your unwanted hair will be gone! ALLEGES.
I did exactly what the instructions said, noting that the wax is somewhat harder to spread than Nads implies. So far so good. I unrolled the strip of cotton cloth. I smoothed it over the waxy area. I took a deep breath and I yanked that shit off my lady bits. And I screamed.
"MOTHERFUCKER."
Yes, I was quite vulgar. And when I immediately noticed that there had been no actual hair removal, my head nearly popped. Had I done something wrong? Maybe that was why it hurt so much!
And now you're thinking, she didn't try it again, did she?
Yes. Yes I did. With the same results and louder swearing.
So now I am waxy, stuck together, still hairy, and stinging too much to shave.
Eff you, Nads. Eff you.
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