I am a f-ing genius.
I have solved a riddle that has caused much controversy within our society for years. The question of nature vs. lifestyle.....genetics vs. choice.....right vs. wrong, blah, blah, blah has been answered!!!!
Lesbians. They neither were born that way or chose to be that way.
They simply ran out of other options.
This past Saturday I went out with my friend *Anastasia. Anastasia met her husband in high school, married him soon after, stayed unhappily married through most of her twenties, and today is a single mother learning to window shop for men. She is just browsing - not interested in buying. Curious about what's out there; what updates have been added to the newest version of men available on the market.
Unfortunately...it's less like 'Williams and Sonoma' and more like your local thrift store. You end up poking through what others have 'weeded through and gotten rid of' and hope to find that rare vintage piece that the previous owner dropped off in a box alongside three pairs of women's orthopedic shoes. You hope he's worth a million dollars and only cost a penny. Just imagine yourself showing off your new man at the next BBQ and telling all your friends, "Yep - I was just looking through 'housewares' and there he was. Barely used. He came with a job and his own home and everything. I swooped him right up. You just never see one that's used in that good of a condition. Got a few minor dents - ex-wife and child every other weekend - but just couldn't pass him up for the price they were asking."
So, Anastasia, my husband, and I go out last Saturday night. We were going to a local bar where a band was going to be covering 90s rock songs; think Matchbox 20 and Candlebox. My husband was going to invite some of his friends and cohorts from work in an attempt to pull together some kind of Saturday night awesomeness. I say 'attempt' because after 3 years of marriage and 4 kids, our version of Saturday night awesomeness is still being awake after all the kids have fallen asleep and getting to watch 'Real Sex' on HBO. Yee haw.
So, there we are - the three of us, plus three cohorts - jamming out to psuedo-Pantera. My husband and his friend are talking about either boobs or going in on a deer lease and Anastasia and I are scoping out the latest and greatest that men have to offer as they sit perched atop their bar stools. I go down my checklist that I had when I was single. Eyes, teeth, nails, brains.
For me - the eyes must be dark. Or, rather the eyebrows must be. Blue eyes are fine, but sometimes blond hair comes with blue eyes and then comes blond eyebrows....blond hair on the legs.....you get my drift. Dark eyes almost always mean dark hair. Teeth must be nice and straight. I'm fortunate in that my teeth are naturally straight and I didn't require braces growing up, but I do love a man with perfect, straight, only achieved with braces, teeth. For some reason, every time I notice that a man has perfect teeth I can't help but think he must be a good kisser.....and good at kissing other things....you get my drift. Nails must be short - and CLEAN! I don't think any explanation is necessary there. And then finally brains. I love, love, love smart men. In high school I always had a thing for the nerds. Give me a dark headed boy with braces on his teeth and a calculus book under his arm and I will show you a woman in love!
My husband has dark brown hair, brown eyes, works on airplanes and had braces the first time I met him. :)
So, I'm scanning through the crowd - going through my checklist - and I get nada. Well not, quite true; I did find some dark eyes. Couldn't really tell about the teeth though; hard to see hidden under the full beard. Of course, not all the men with dark eyes had a full beard. I might have been able to check out those grills when they opened their mouths, but the cigarettes hanging out of their mouths - bobbing up and down - was kind of a distraction. (Even now, I must admit I am fascinated by the ability that some smokers have to talk, inhale, and exhale with the cigarette in their mouths the whole time. And without the use of hands! Just amazing!) And, I know it's not always possible to judge the intelligence of someone in the first five minutes without ever having met the person.....but when a guy who weighs about 350.....and is bald....and is wearing a shirt that says F.B.I. Female Body Inspector.....watches a less than supermodel woman walk by and says to his friend, 'Man - look at that ugly bitch'......well, I have a pretty good idea as to the level of intelligence residing there. I'm going to go out on a whim and guess that man did not ever carry a calculus book in school. Just a hunch.
Man - the pickens are looking slim for my friend. At this point we're just looking for a guy....who probably has hair.......most of his teeth.......and a waist under 40 inches. Eye color is optional.
I glance back at my husband - who is no longer talking about a deer lease, but is now admiring his friend's lifetime hunting and fishing license.
There is no way in hell I would want to be single again. Fuck that.
As I'm watching the band I start thinking back to my single days (after my divorce and before I met my present husband) and have to admit that things were bleak back then. I remember some of the bozos I dated.
There was the douche that told me he didn't want to date anyone but wanted to be my friend and 'hang out'. 'Hanging out' involved 'hanging' at his house and eventually 'humping' at his house. Oh, I told myself that even though he didn't want a relationship he must surely care about me. I mean, he did want me to stay the night. Yes - he wouldn't let me sleep in his room in his bed; we always slept on the living room floor, but still....I knew he loved me. And I loved him in return. In fact, one day he did call me and tell me he was ready to be in a relationship......only not with me. With the other girl he had also been 'hanging out' with.
Next came the guy who was from Alaska. He was in the military and had a son from a previous relationship. His friends would always tease him about how much he loved kids. I thought, 'What could be better than a guy who is also a great dad to his young son!' I'll tell you what's better. A guy who is a great dad to his young son....and a dad to another son by another ex-girlfriend that he didn't tell you about....and also a dad or rather possibly a dad (DNA results pending) to his latest ex-girlfriend who was still pregnant and due to deliver anytime. Now, being the understanding woman that I am, I forgave him for those little lies of omission. Especially after the DNA test came back and it turned out he only had two kids and not three. But I could not forgive him when he went MIA on me for a week and then called to tell me that the reason he would not return my calls was because he had woken up one morning with sores all over his junk and freaked out, thinking he had an STD. He had to go to the Dr. and get the sores swabbed and sent off. It took a week before he found out that he didn't have an STD, but did in fact have some type of skin infection. At that point he decided that since I obviously hadn't given him an STD he should give me a call and fill me in on what was going on. Oh, and could he also come over that weekend and 'hang'? Real winner there.
There was the guy who was a seemingly nice and was even going to college and trying to get into Pharmacy school. Yes, he was over 30 and still lived with his mother and her 15 cats (I counted them) but I thought he had potential. I just couldn't used to having to sneak out of his room in the morning before his mother woke up.
And of course, who couldn't forget the guy that I discovered was actually my friend's ex husband. I had never met him when I was with my friend. I told him that I couldn't go out with him and that it would be best for us to not even be friends. He was persistent though and told me that his ex was crazy and that eventually she would go crazy in front of me and then I would know she was nuts and would not want to hang out with her anymore. He said when that happened he would be waiting for me. Yeah....um....okay. You want to know what happened with that guy?
I married him.
But that's a crazy story for another time that deserves a lot more explanation.
Poor Anastasia. Her dating pool freakin sucks.
Towards the end of the night I started to notice the drummer of the band. What I noticed first was that he was drinking water the whole night. The other guys in the band would do a shot with the crowd every now and then, but the drummer just kept on drinking his water. I like things that are not easily predicted. He also had a great smile - with great teeth. His mother spent thousands of dollars on that smile, I can tell you that. He just had a really friendly approachable look about him and kind of resembled Ryan Reynolds. I pointed him out to Anastasia. "That is your man." I said. "You should buy him a drink after the show."
During the last song of their set, Anastasia and I got up and stood in front of the band - dancing and swaying along. There was some pretty significant eye contact made between my friend and the drummer. She was looking, he was noticing.....he was smiling back, she was flirting. So far so good.
The set ended.
This drummer got up and walked right up to my friend and started talking to her; just like that. I turned my attention elsewhere, but kept one eye on their conversation.
Now - having only one ear on their conversation....and that ear being slightly deaf from listening to loud psuedo-Pantera all night, I thought I had to be mistaken when I heard Drummer Boy say:
"If you really liked the show, you'll show me your boob."
No - I really couldn't have heard that. What he probably said was, 'If you really liked the show, recommend us on YouTube.'
I look at Anastasia and she gave a laugh and tried to brush the comment aside but I could tell she was thinking, 'He wants to see my boob; I just met him. Is this how things are done now? Is showing one boob acceptable, but showing both boobs slutty? Wait - did I even hear him right? Should I clarify that we are in fact discussing my boobs and if we are, does he have a preference on which boob?' Do I slap his face or grab it and motorboat him?'
She ended up laughing like he was being sarcastic and pulled her dress strap down on her shoulder just barely to show she was playing along. Both boobs firmly contained and a possible misunderstanding avoided. They continued their conversation and I wandered over to my husband to tell him that I either wanted to go get some fries with mustard or go home and have sex. Either one was fine with me. I walked back over to Anastasia to let her know we were leaving and hear Drummer Boy say:
"You know what's really hot? When two girls kiss." (Looking back and forth between me and Anastasia.)
Now, I have no doubt what he said this time.
I look at Anastasia and she gave a laugh and tried to brush the comment aside but I could tell she was thinking, 'Two women kissing; is he sharing his opinion or making a request? Does he think I'm a lesbian? Is it because I didn't show him a boob; maybe he throws this out there to see which way I swing? Wait - did he specifically mean my friend or just me and some other girl in general? Should I clarify that and ask him if he has someone else in mind?'
She ended up having to do nothing - because right after that a girl walked up to him and made a point of asking him (right in front of us):
"Hey! I didn't even get a chance to say hi to you. Where is Tisla at?"
To which Drummer Boy replied:
"Oh, she's at home with the kids."
To which Anastasia and I turned right around and left.
I just could not believe that guy! I felt so sorry for poor Tisla waiting at home...with the kids.
On the way home, I told my husband what had happened. My husband just couldn't understand why Anastasia kept meeting losers. Anastasia is smart, funny, pretty, has a great job and a great pair of boobs. All the single guys that me and my husband know are unemployed couch potatoes who still live at home with either their parents or no less than four roomates and are always getting their cell phones turned off. And it's not just the guys you meet in bars. Out of all the idiots I dated when I was single, only one I met at a bar. Losers are everywhere.
And that's when it hit me.
There is no rare vintage piece out there. They're all gone. All that's left are orthopedic shoes. The good ones really are taken. I am so glad I manged to find my husband. (Ironically - he really was the good thing that his ex threw out. True - she didn't exactly offer him to me after she decided she didn't want him....but I didn't exactly rifle him out of her garbage either. I prefer to think of it like his ex and I went to a rummage sale together and I found him. How was I supposed to know she was the one who donated him?)
But, like I said, I am lucky to have my husband. I can't imagine being single and trying to date now.
Shooot - I'd Rather Be A Lesbian.
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
Yes, I'm a litte late with this.
Sunday, May 6th, 2012 was my first boudoir shoot. I have been preparing for this for the last few months. The photographer who did my shoot was Joanne Olsen. (Shameless plug)
On the day that I committed to doing to the shoot, I weighed 169. On the day of the shoot I weighed 143. Although that is not my ultimate goal weight, it did give me the confidence to go forward with the shoot. I approached this shoot like I did my wedding. I made hair appointments and spray tan appointments, manicures and eyebrow waxings. I even made a playlist of sexy music that I put on my I-Phone to take with me.
Scratch that – I didn’t approach this like my wedding. I approached this like any girl does before she goes on a date with a guy and knows that night is going to be the night that they have sex for the first time.
Shaved legs – check. Shaved pits – check. Shaved lady business – check.
My photo shoot wasn’t until 5:30pm and my hair appointment wasn’t until 4:00pm, so that gave me the whole morning and afternoon to just be the mommy that I am; cleaning up the house, doing laundry for the upcoming week……things like that. Around 2:45pm, I hit the play button on my playlist and stepped into the shower. I washed all the ‘mommy smell’ off of me when ‘Dirty’ by Christina Aguilara came blasting on my I-Phone, I came busting out of the shower…….”let’s get dirty; it’s about time for my arrival.”
I knew I was going straight from getting my hair styled to the shoot, so I knew I would have to take my outfit and all of my other things with me. For funzy, I decided after I did my makeup, I would put on my outfit, chicken cutlets, and hooker heels and see how I looked (sans hair fixed).
My outfit by the way was a baby doll-looking thing. It was sheer white with the tiniest ruffle at the bottom, covered by a layer of white silk, and then covered by black lace. In the middle of my cleavage was a teeny, tiny white bow. It was pretty and sexy and showed off just enough while covering up just enough. It was perfect.
I am so glad that I did put everything on. I realized that I needed to do some minor adjustments, tweaking here and there – and then I was glad that I didn’t discover all of this when I was at the shoot and didn’t have anything handy to tweak or adjust with. I paused as I was going to take everything off and wondered if I should just leave everything on and just put a cover up on over it. I mean, it took me a while to get everything situated just right and it was as perfect as I could get it; why chance having to do it again at the shoot? I looked in my full-length mirror as I was pondering this and standing there 26lbs lighter, tan, and appearing to have monstrous cleavage, I decided that I really just did not want to take it off. Heck, I was so proud of how I looked, I seriously would have strutted myself on down to the club just like that – if showing bare ass cheeks was something you would not be arrested for.
So, decision made, I went into my closet for a cover up and about the only thing I could find that would not totally wrinkle or runch my ensemble was this short, blue cotton robe that I have. I put it on and rolled up the sleeves and tied it at the side and it actually looked like a wrap dress.
Good enough. Outfit on and ready to go – check.
I headed to my friend’s house (who is also a hair dresser) to have her do my hair. I had told her to make my hair look like I had just spent an evening with the Dothraki Lord from Game of Thrones (see the 1st season, episodes 1 & 2 – I highly recommend it). So, we’re talking as she’s curling and scrunching and spraying and I couldn’t really tell how it was going to look, but I just hoped that her definition of ‘sex hair’ was not the same as my definition of ‘hung over – slept with my head smashed up against a wall after skinny dipping in the lake hair’.
So, she finishes and I go to look in her full-length mirror and thought, ‘Ok – that’s it; I am going to strut myself on down to the club just like this – I don’t care if showing bare ass cheeks is something you can be arrested for.’
I looked H-O-T. Hair styled – check.
Off in my mini-van (I’m so caught up in all of this, I almost wished I had rented a flashy sports car), I go. I, again, turn on my sexy playlist and head to the shoot. At every light or every car I pass, I smile to myself and wonder what their expression would be if I just ditched the robe. I almost felt like I was sneaking over to a lover’s house (I DON’T HAVE A LOVER) and surprising him with the ole ‘nothing underneath the trench coat’ routine. “Pour Some Sugar On Me” came on my playlist and I laughed out loud at the irony of it. I AM MY SEX DRIVE! SERIOUSLY! (*See my post, ‘Pour Some Sugar On Me’.)
A light caught my attention and I notice that my gas light has come on. Well, that’s a little awkward. At some point, I’m going to have to get out and get gas. I guess the next time I decide to drive across town in lingerie, I need to make sure I have a full tank. Then another thought comes to me as I remember that my tag on my van is actually expired. It expired a few days ago and I just hadn’t made it to the tag agency yet. Oh goodie. I had joked in a previous post about getting pulled over on the way to the shoot half naked, but that was in reference to getting drunk before the photo shoot. I wasn’t really intending on getting pulled over half naked because of an expired tag. And don’t ask me why, but for some reason having an expired tag seems a little white trash to me; I know, I don’t get it either. So, I’m going to be pulled over, driving a mini-van, because I have an expired tag…..and I will be half naked. CALASSSY!
Wearing this outfit to the shoot was a bad idea…….or was it? Getting pulled over while looking totally hot, flirting with the cop while showing him small glimpses of cleavage, and getting to cross that off my bucket list – check.
I do stop to get gas (which the gas station was deserted) and arrive at my shoot, which was actually taking place at a hotel. I strut right into that lobby, wearing a short robe, sex hair, and 6 inch come-fuck-me-heels……. and carrying no luggage. I look like a hooker. It was straight out of ‘Pretty Woman’.
In the elevator I picture walking into the room – where there is a smoke machine and wind machine going – and I throw off my robe, hop up on the bed and boom; I’m already in the perfect pose. The lights are low and all the other girls who did their shoots are there (standing around naked) and everyone is drinking champagne and the photographer says, ‘Oh, there’s been a change of plans; I decided that the shoot needed a little something, so I brought a friend.’ And out of the bathroom steps the Dothraki Lord from Game of Thrones (see the 1st season, episodes 1 & 2 – I highly recommend it).
Now, let me say that I knew it was not going to be anything like that.
I go into the room and the only two people there were the photographer and my friend (who organized this). Well, I guess there were actually 2 and ½ people there. The photographer brought her baby with her. Let me just say I have to give that photographer/mother props. My baby is only just a year old and I remember what it was like when I was nursing him and pretty much had to take him everywhere with me. Not only did she travel from out of town with this young baby by herself, but she also managed to do a boudoir shoot and keep an eye on her baby at the same time. At one point, she strapped the baby in a snuggly to her back and stood on top of the bed to shoot a photo from above. The baby never even made a peep. It totally gave me new respect for women of the bush who deliver their babies and then the very next day are out in the field shucking corn with their infants strapped to their boobs.
The room is also…….very bright. All of the curtains on the windows are open. (Thank God we were on the 3rd floor!) I was not expecting that. I should have; I mean, I get that you have to have light to take pictures and natural light is the best. But I couldn’t help but think, ‘I do not believe that I should be wearing lingerie with this much light. I don’t even have sex with my husband with this much light.’ I started to feel a little less confident. I did not just throw off my robe as I had intended. I waited until I was already on the bed and the photographer was ready to start shooting before I shyly peeled it off and tossed it in the corner.
Yep – this reminded me exactly of how it was when I would go on a date with a guy and knew that night was going to be the night that we had sex for the first time.
Wondering if your weird moles are noticeable – check.
Wanting to hide under the covers – check.
Feeling awkward – check, check.
The photographer and my friend saved the day though. They just kept talking to me like we were just hanging out – like I wasn’t sitting on the edge of the bed caressing my own boob. They also told me exactly how to pose – I didn’t have to wing it or anything. For some reason, I had it in my head that the photographer was going to say something like, ‘Ok, show me what you got – come on, work it, work it. Ok, give me sexy…..you’ve just came home from work and feeling naughty – very naughty.’ It was all very matter-of-fact though, like ‘Ok, scoot down here – closer to the edge, bring your knees here, and smile.’ Kind of like the gynecologist – well, except for the ‘smile’ part.
The photographer did one other thing that helped me tremendously. After the first shot I took that was pretty good – she showed it to me. I couldn’t believe that was me! I looked great! That was all I needed for my confidence to come back in full force and to start really getting into it.
Before I knew it – the shoot was over. It was so much fun.
I strutted right back through that lobby, wearing a short robe, sex hair, and 6 inch come-fuck-me-heels…….exactly one hour after I had arrived. The front desk clerk had no doubts that I was a hooker. It was straight out of ‘Pretty Woman’.
I was on such a high that the whole drive home, I just couldn’t wait to walk into my house and pounce on my hubby.
Of course when I walked into my house, the only pouncing was done by my four kids – all jumping on me at the same time. And then after they had all gone to bed, my husband had to go to work. Sigh.
Oh well, another night.
Sitting on your couch –all four kids asleep – with the TV completely to yourself and watching the Dothraki Lord from Game of Thrones (the 1st season, episodes 1 & 2)……..