Apparently, I need to be more specific with my resolutions. I have indeed lost 20 pounds, largely by donating some furniture and books to the Salvation Army after I moved. My personal body weight on the other hand has increased to the point where I'm afraid that should I ever be making out with a guy again, I'm going to have to stop the proceedings to point out that he is in fact, groping my belly and not my boobs. Yes, both are squishy and hanging out over my clothes. The boobs are on purpose, the belly is muffin top. Kindly re-engage at your convenience.
As an aside, I had a mortifying experience recently at an airport. No matter what I do, I set off the alarm even after taking off my shoes, jewellery, depositing my pocket change and performing the Hokey Pokey. Regardless, I always require "wanding" to ensure I really do look this bitchy all the time, and my anti-social facial expression is not an indicator of terrorist activity.
This time, the female security guard began poking at my muffin top with her magic metal detecting wand. It's muffin top. It's only dangerous to my health and self- esteem, and poking it is not going to reveal it to be an explosive device. She poked it so many times I was actually forced to be helpful, just in case she wasn't sure what she had discovered.
"Um. That's my belly."
She said she knew that, and then commented that it was quite hard, which actually forced me to say to this random female security guard that I was constipated due to stress. I felt it important to explain the source of my constipation, should she think for a second that I was trying to smuggle 82 balloons of top-grade heroin into Kelowna, that proverbial hotbed of drug smuggling activity, instead of just needing to chill-out and go number two.
She poked my muffin top and hard belly once more, perhaps confirming my story, and declared me, "all good." Many things are all good. This experience was not one of them.
However, back to my resolutions. Having completely buggered my sworn oath to lose 20 pounds, I've had equal difficulties with my resolution to not do anything stupid. While it may seem obvious what should constitute stupid, I've realized that defining stupid is really much more of a free-flowing activity.
Put in more simple terms, I find doing stupid things as hard to resist as fattening food. And so I don't. Rather than resist, I keep redefining what I consider stupid. Now about the only stupid activities I will avoid for absolute certain involve smuggling 82 balloons of top-grade heroin into Kelowna via my belly, anything to do with mimes, attempting to fix my own plumbing, and watching the TV show, The Hills. Anything else I will likely be able to justify.
It's not that I've gone completely off the rails, and in my defense...I'm pretty sure I'll remain firmly against anything to do with mimes. However, activities that may seem more questionable to polite society, my four readers, and are also safe to publish without fear of further drama are as follows:
Without Question: I told many people that I was going to look for a nice, normal, decent guy for a real relationship. (Nice, normal and decent meaning no hero complex, no adrenaline addiction, no wife, no Kevlar, no cute little firefighter uniform, no macho, no shirt, no shoes, no service.)
Questionable: I am now kind of sort of dating a military bomb tech with post-traumatic stress disorder. I say kind of sort of dating because largely thanks to the Olympics and some issues he has due in part to an ex-wife, we've only seen each other a handful of times and the rest of our dating relationship has consisted of MSN, text and phone messages. Should we upgrade to Facebook, I'll know it's really for real.
On the plus side, because we've barely had time to make-out, I've not needed to correct him on which lady lumps he should be squeezing and which should be politely ignored.
(For those wondering what a bomb tech does, I'm dating the lead character from the movie, The Hurt Locker. He only used to be a firefighter, so it's not like I'm not trying over here.)
Without Question: I told many people it was over, and spent the last couple of months preparing to have a very serious discussion with my boy Alex in which I told him that I wanted no further contact with him ever, as the contact we do have with one another is too painful for me given my feelings for him, and then one of several wonderful things would happen simply as a reward from the universe for doing something so fucking hard. I would walk away feeling liberated, I would lose 20 pounds immediately, he would realize what an ass-hat he is and declare his undying love for me, and or failing all of these things, I would be content just knowing I did the right thing.
Questionable: While I did have a serious discussion with Alex during my stay in Kelowna, the topic wasn't so much my feelings for him and how we would no longer have any contact, but rather whether we should remove an item of clothing every time Luongo stopped a goal by Slovakia during the Olympic hockey game we were cuddled in bed watching, or should we wait until commercials.
I was a coward, but I'm actually at peace with that. At some point between jumping up and down on the hotel room beds in our undies when Team Canada won, me still feeling like a sex goddess with him despite all the extra weight I've gained, terrorizing room service and laughing hysterically at which one of us room service likely thought was the hired escort, my knowing him well enough to remember his irrational fear of hotel room soap, and his knowing me well enough to remember my irrational fear of going to sleep without a glass of water I realized...I really do kind of love this guy, and that's OK.
He'll never be who I want him to be, and that's OK too. Life requires all different kinds of friendships. He owns a special category, and that may be stupid, but also...OK.
Rest assured, these are not the only stupid activities I've undertaken in the recent past. My next posting will talk about the dangers of using bedroom/intimate products without adequate safety testing. Prepare yourselves accordingly.
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