Dedication:

A wise man once taught me that life is worth living if you face everyday with a smile and laughter in your heart. That man was my father and he lived by his words. On his dying bed, New Year's Eve, my sisters and I bent over him and whispered, "Happy New Years, Dad". With a sweet smile, he blurted out his last words....., "Break out the whiskey! It's going to be a good year." Yes, Dad, you were right...this year and every year is a good year because of you.... Thank you for instilling joy and laughter in my life.... I'll never forget you.

Prologue:

I'm not afraid anymore. I'm not afraid to speak out. I want the world to know that I am here and hear me yell... hear me bitch, hear me rant, rave and spew. Some women, as I was, tend to suppress their opinions, afraid to be made fun of because of the way they feel. Most of the time, when we do speak out, our opinions are misinterpreted as bitching, so we hold them in, hold them in, hold them in and then KABOOM... we explode! Lord help me, when I blow, I make Mount Saint Helen look like an anthill. What most of us don't realize is that there is always someone who will agree with us...even if our opinion is off the wall or just plain stupid. This little tidbit of writing is my outlet to express how I feel on a potpourri of many subjects. I'm betting that many of you ladies, will say, "Hey...I feel that way!", and a few will probably say, "The woman is a full fledged nutcake.". That's ok, too.

Prologue after the Prologue:

Of course by now, we have been bombarded with self help books .... books telling us how to get, how to be, how to not be, how to hold on to, how to let go and how to feel. Why do we need a self help book on every common occurrence that happens in a woman's life?. Life goes on. Next thing you know, we will be reading a self help book on how to have a bowel movement. God knows, that can be a major event....especially, after a night of tequila, with a generous helping of jalapinos, cheese and chips. Enough on that. This article is not a self help book. It is not going to tell you how to do anything. So sit down, grab a glass of wine, beer or whatever it a takes to make you happy and let's talk, laugh and cry together. Let's just get it off our chest and be best friends...ok?

A LITTLE BLUBBER OF FAT

Yesterday, while making the bed, I heard my husband in the living room discussing with my 17 year old daughter on how attractive Jessica Alba looked. "Pssshhh..", I thought. No matter how hard I dieted and exercised I could never mold my body into a Jessica Alba lookalike. So this is what he wants in a woman. Hmmmm, I thought, not much to want.... actually. Her body takes less airspace than a pretzel. Doesn't keep him from wanting to dip that pretzel in some cheese, though. But you know, really...when I compare my body to Jessica's, I notice that our left pinky fingers are very similiar....and seriously, I think mine is a tad bit, smaller.

I am overwhelmed with all the magazines, television and media showing me what I should look like. I am still waiting for that virtual computer program that airbrushes me into size 0, all the while cutting and pasting me a pair of D cup boobs. Dialogue to the husband: "Hey honey....Happy Birthday...here's a pair of virtual goggles. put them on,...look at me...now I'm a real babe!" Hey and guess what..(added bonus), no need for anymore of the headache excuses, just hide his virtual goggle in your kotex box.

Mirrors and I do not get along. Most of the mirrors in our house show the face only... not the body. That's ok,...really. Unfortunately, I seem to reflect upon all my facial flaws every time glance in the mirror. Crow's eyes, puffy bags, wrinkled neck skin, and hair chins to name a few. My mind can only deal with the face right now,....God forbid I would have to critique my whole body. A tidal wave of vanity pang would be sure to hit...and with this type of shallow thinking...my self esteem (or what's left of it) would surely hit the floor and die. With all the primping I do, searching for just the right lower eye tightening cremes, wrinkle reducers, pore minimizers and cover-ups I should be able to look 46 instead of 47, if I'm lucky. But still, I have to deal with this body, the one I neglected to see in my small mirrors. The day of reckoning will be - when I walk by a large, plate glass window, downtown, and see a reflection of a fairly nice looking face sitting on the frame of a 600 pound woman in a tube top.

Speaking of that, have you ever noticed that you can spend hundreds of dollars on those girdle like body shells that promise you a slim waist and hip reductions with no bulging,...but no matter how hard you try to get that "I've never ate a an Oreo cookie in my life" look, once on, something always bulges out or spills over somewhere. On my 25th reunion, my younger sis, had me come over to try on a peach colored, suit dress that she thought I would look great in. Unfortunately, I could not get the back zipper to drive over a speed bump in the middle of my back. After effortless attempts, one which involved, Rosanne, straddling over me on the bed... while I lay on my stomach, sucking in every little air follicle in the room. She used a pair of needle nose pliers to try and pry the zipper to the top. We got the zipper up, but I was unable to get off the bed, since bending was not an option, lest I popped open any seams. I had to lay on my side and roll to the edge while three of Rosanne's six kids, (the strongest) stood at the side of the bed and caught me as I fell off the bed and lifted me in an upright position.

Rosanne, dug through her wardrobe and came back with a 'Body Toner Plus', one of those bra/girdle contraptions that promise a size ll the glories of a size 6. It was a struggle getting it on... really quite a feat, (much like trying to stretch a small balloon up and over your body). Once on, I chose to ignore my hands and feet, which slightly began to swell. I could swear I heard a "bubble coming to the surface sound', when out popped a protrusion of skin below my neck. I guess you would call it a bubble of fat. With my sister's help....I pushed and prodded it back in the BTP, only to hear another pop and the blubber bubble emerged again, under my right armpit. I figured, I could probably deal with that, as long as I kept my arm lowered for most of the reunion. I got the suit on, and damn, it fit fine. No speed bumps and zzzzipp, I was ready to go...except for the armpit bulge. I practiced disguising it well, holding my arm down firmly while I grasped my matching peach colored handbag.

When I reached the reunion, I had a little trouble getting out of the car. Expressing a little more pressure on the armpit lump causing the bubble to retreat back into the BTP, which I thought was a good thing. Walking into the reunion...I felt fine...looking good,...a sexy 6, ok, I lied, a 8 at the most. On the steps, I heard a blurp sound, thinking it was my husband's nervous stomach since he had just downed nearly a whole roll of Rolaids on the drive over. The bubble had decided to travel to my front right thigh, popping out giving others the image that I had a large tumor on my leg...and was stupid enough to wear a skin tight dress to accent it. I lowered my handbag to that area, and avoided a few lewd remarks from the high school drunk, standing on the steps, puking. I hurriedly crossed the room to the ladies restroom,..ignoring calls from old friends. As I stood in the small stall, sweating like a pink pig, I had a revelation!.

I don't know why I didn't think of this before. Ok, readers, ...moment of truth. All my life, my boobs never matched. Come on girls, kiss and tell, I'm not the only one. If I am, I don't want to know. I would use this embarrassing truth to my advantage, so...after a few minutes of pushing, squeezing, tugging, pinching and pulling, I managed to move the stubborn blubber of fat directly to my smaller boob and WALLA!. I was a perfect size C, on both sides, this time. Yowza...I looked good, and the blubber bubble wasn't fighting for air anymore,,,,just loving it's new home. That's what I call, a boob job in a can. Of course, later that evening, when the 'Body Toner Plus' was taken off with a loud sucking sound, I once more reverted back to the happy B and C cup woman, my husband loves. Chalk another one up for ingenuity.