Jabba the Puff.

"Wow, you were definitely smaller then!" The older I get the more I realize that I will NEVER look the way I did when I was 19....ever again, and THAT, is depressing. We look at ourselves everyday in the mirror and typically think that not much has changed since our carefree days of college. And then you see it, a picture of yourself in college, and you think to yourself..."Wait, I can't be wearing shorts in that picture, I don't wear shorts." And then he (as in your sensitively retarded boyfriend) says, "Look how small your legs were back then!" Puff.

Not only do I now want to put a lifesize snuggie over my entire body, but I immediately look down at my legs....then at the picture...then back at my legs, and realize that not only was that me, but "WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO MY EFFING LEGS AND WHAT THE HELL DID I EAT THAT MAKES ME FEEL LIKE JABBA THE HUT NOW!?" I retort with, "I don't look that much different!" knowing full well that I probably have eaten my weight in the skinny bitch that was me ten years ago....and then some. And then they alllllways say, "But I like you the way you are now." Right. Why don't you just give me a fat kid pity pat and give me a snack pack!? Ugh. Puff.

Getting older is not fun, and I'm not even 30 yet. When did I go from being a petite college chick to being a "thick" (for the record I hate that word!) professional woman...whenever it was, I want that time back and I want to tell myself to wear every tube tob, every junior size and every pair of shorts I possibly could because I will never look like that again. Wow....talk about a proverbial smack in the face, which by the way is now showing its first sign of wrinkles. Puff.

But I will say this...Although my pant size has grown and I've gone from "chicken legs" to "softball legs," I still get carded for Rated R movies, and I still get whistled at when I go running, and I still have a birthday every year...which in itself is a blessing. DePuff.

Puffy things I don't wanna see!

Last night, for the first time in a very long time, I changed for the gym in the Ladies Locker room. Typically I have no problem walking around in my bra and underwear (you will NEVER hear me use the word panties…I despise it!), even when I’m not feeling my hottest. But, who in the world told these chicks that walking around with all of their lady parts exposed was ok!? Puff.
I remember sitting in the YMCA ladies locker room with my mom when I was 8 or 9 and it was just a sea of floppy boobs. I remember thinking, “Whoa this is weird!” and feeling reallllly uncomfortable coming face to face…errr nose to boobs with ladies who looked like my principal. This is exactly how my experience was last night. Boobs…lots and lots of sagging, sweaty boobs greeted me the instant I stepped foot in to the Nakey Zone…aka…ladies locker room. I mean, am I not supposed to stare!? I feel like I’ve stepped back into my eight year old self and instantly feel awkward and want to be invisible. There’s only one half of a bench available and the other half of the bench is occupied by a very large pair of cream colored Hanes her ways. This only means one thing…there’s someone…very close by…whose bum belongs in those things! And before I can make my move to a bathroom stall or another bench, I see her. She is old. She is white. Irredescently white, with bright purple varicose veins begging to get out of her pasty legs. I try not to look, but she’s right next to me! I put my ipod on, but then that makes it almost pornish…providing a soundtrack to the nakedness…eww! Her boobs are large and there is no distinction in color from areola to boob….none! Weird! And then, of course, the 70’s bush. PUT THE UNDIES ON LADY! NO ONE wants to see this. I look around to see if anyone else is as uncomfortable as me, and other women are just carrying on half dressed conversations about their kids and their cats. Puff.
Eventually, Hanes her way puts on her undies and I breathe a huge sigh of relief. I go into auto pilot and change as fast as humanly possible and pretty much run out of the locker room. My entire spin class, I’m plagued with the images I’ve just witnessed in the “comfort” of the Ladies Locker Room and I decided that I will ALWAYS…ALWAYS change before I get to the gym. De-puff.

Smooch.

The moment is here. You're about to have your first smooch with the gorgeous piece of man that has just taken you out for the second time...or maybe first.You've imagined what it's like to kiss him. You watched the way a drop of water caught his lip after he took a sip of water, and the way he licked it off. That could be you!You could be the drip! You've imagined standing on your tippy toes and him leaning down to kiss you. He'll touch your chin with his finger ever so slightly and it will be heaven. You've inhaled 4 pieces of gum, 1 tic tac and used a brush-up in the bathroom all in preparation for this moment. You close your eyes, minty fresh breath ready to go, and pucker up...and then it happens...TONGUE! Lots and lots of sloppy boy tongue grossness! PUFF!
Where did some boys learn to kiss? Last time I checked, we were born with tonsels for a reason and I'm pretty sure the male tongue is not supposed to violate and/or try to remove them during a sensual smooch. They touch your face like they're going to give you a tom cuise "jerry maguire" kinda kiss, and instead he ends up vaccum sucking your face and it ends up being more like the exorcist! A perfectly good guy...ruined...kaput...all because the poor fella doesn't know how to work his mouth and all of its innards! Puff.
And now let me introduce you to the no tongue "This is my sweet side" kisser. Bore. These fellas do lots...and lots of short overly lippy kisses. There's not even an instant where we, as ladies who loovvve romance and passion, even get remotely turned on...not even a smidge! There's no time to even get the turned on twinge! It's like little lip cotton balls being dabbed on your face every 3 seconds...again...BORE!They kiss your eyelids, the top of your ears, and of course the tip of your nose with the danityness of a freaking butterfly...Not hot...Not hot at all. Puff.
The kiss can make or break the potential for another date. No matter how smart, good looking, charming or irresistable the boy may be...it's all about the kiss.De-puff.

A single puff.

In the past two years I have had many moments of clarity, some so profound that I can’t help but give myself a figurative slap in the face. I’m a Cancer…so technically I can’t “help” the way I am sometimes. I mean, my astrology book tells me that Cancers are sensitive, emotional, have stomach issues (hellllllo IBS! That’s right…I said it!) AND have big boobs (hello double effing D!). So if that’s accurate, can I blame my astrological sign on being an overanalyzing, often irrational maniac!? Please say yes. Puff.
Why, please somebody tell me WHHHHHY, I can’t seem to grasp the concept of letting things go. And it’s not just me! In my circle of friends it’s amazing how many times we will bring up the crummy things that people have said or done, months or sometimes even YEARS ago and no matter what fantastic things they’ve done since said crummy event, we NEVER….EVER forget! Puff.
“Remember when he told me that he didn’t like my favorite pair of pants because they made me look like I had swamp ass!?” We’ve allll had a moment like this! You think you’re looking F-I-N-E and then BAM, he doesn’t like it! However, nine out the ten times you dress up to go out you practically can’t leave the house without him trying to molest you! But still, you will not forget the one time he didn’t like your damn pants. Puff.
The older I get the more I tend to overanalyze things and I think I’ve figured out why. I’m almost 30. I thought I would have my life right where it needed to be by 30. Not so much! So, when things don’t go according to “plan,” it’s like you’re running out of time to make…shit…happen. Be married, have a baby, have core group of friends, great job and nice house. Whoa. Talk about pressure! Who the hell said we had to have life and alllll of its perfections down to a science by the time we are 30!? Puff.
Is it easier to be single because we just don’t want to deal with the let down of ANOTHER douchelord messing with our life plan!? Here’s how it goes down…You and Prince kind- of –charming have been dating for 6 months. 6 months…that’s half a year. Half a year closer to you being another year older. Half a year closer to you maybe or maybe not having said perfect life. No effing pressure! Sheesh! So, if it doesn’t work out have you wasted 6 months on someone, when you should have been with someone else? ORRR, do you take it for what it was worth and be thankful for the fun you had and the lessons you learned?! Hmm…I go with choice A! I mean, tick tock people! I got over that whole “be thankful for what you had and what you learned” bullshit 1 divorce and 3712839 bad dates ago! Puff.
The one thing we can count on is that no matter what, we will be ok. We were ok before crappy, not so crappy, and life changing relationships….so we’ll be ok after. We can count on ourselves, our family and our girlfriends to be there when life throws us a curveball and the “plan” doesn’t go quite the way you thought it would. Take chances, but don’t settle. Love, but don’t lose yourself. And at the end of the day, and on my last day of 29, with that thought in my pocket, I know that I’ll be A-OK, no matter what. De-puff.

A Sign for the Puff

I think I had a major sign from the “Stop eating yourself into your fatpants” gods today. No lie. I was at lunch with a friend, and once again, I was chomping on the salty goodness of tortilla chips and salsa, a routine activity for me. I was thinking to myself, “Man, these things are delicious, I can’t wait to have anoth-----------“ OUUUUUUUUUUCHHHHHHHH!Right there, in mid bite, an itty bitty rock of salt leapt off of the chip and into my right eyeball. This….hurt like a bitch. A BITTTTCH! One eye closed Puff.
I quickly grabbed a wet napkin and plunged it into my eyeball trying to melt the meteor of salt that just embedded itself into my contact. It took two napkins, half a glass of water, one contact lense and looking like a crackwhore in the middle of a restaurant for me to say to myself, “PUT THE CHIPS DOWN!” Speaking of crackwhores…I am a chipwhore. Who the hell needs drugs when you can fiend for something much more delicious? ANNND certainly no one’s gonna plot an intervention over your adoration of the tortilla chip? At least crack makes you skinny! Bad joke. But still…Puff.
The older we get the more I realize what bitches age and metabolism are. My roommate and I had an ENORMOUS candy drawer in college that we had to fill weekly because we showed no mercy to a Twix bar. Now, I even think about a Twix bar and my ass not only grows a little bit, but I also get a stomach ache. What happened to just doin whatcha want!? Eating whatcha want? I’ll tell ya…Skinny Bitches took all that glory and soak it up for themselves. Not only that, but for those of us who actually have to work on our aging bods, it gets more and more…oh, and more discouraging trying to attain a great…or even pretty good bod. Puff.
This puff will be short and will end with a rhyme.
How do we lose weight if we don’t have the time
You pick up a chip and almost lose sight
And all you want is another bite
The things that taste good are so bad, but delish
I’d rather eat pizza instead of grilled fish
I’d die for some ice cream
I’d sing for some cheese
But I really want to just fit in my jeans
So with much hesitation, I’ll say with a sigh
I’m gonna lay low on the things that are fried
I may wine a little, I’ll bitch and I’ll huff
But nothin’s as good as a much needed DE-PUFF!

MeatPuffs

The Gym.Is.Hilarious. Nowhere else on earth can you find such an eclectic group of people allll trying to achieve the same goal. Look HOT. In general, I am a people watcher. I’ve always wanted to know everything about everyone and often wonder, “What’s their story?” The gym is a fantastic place to do this. Not only can you be incognito because you’re struttin yourself on the elliptical, but you can also have a soundtrack for this incredible journey all in the form of an ipod.
The gym is A LOT like high school. Puff. You’ve got your meatheads, your fat kids
(I may or may not fit in that category…depends on who’s doing cardio next to me!), your “wanna be” meatheads, your workout barbies and your couples. The best part about the gym is the outfits that these gaggles of gregarious gymgoers sport while lifting, spinning and running.
One corner of my gym is like a mini South Beach with a vast aray of wolverine like men in thee smallest tanktop you’ve ever seen on a man… all held together by miniscule “sleeves.” They’re pecs bulge out from either side and they walk like they’ve just been violated by something in their southern hemisphere. No thanks. Puff.
The other, more ridiculous version of a meathead is straiiiight outta Jersey Shore. They own stock in LA Looks hair gel and probably sleep in a tanning bed at night. These guys wear winter hats with those cute little brims perched to the side with huge sweatpants and a T shirt that they’ve intentionally shrunk 36 times in the dryer to get it just right. They probably played football in high school and think they’re still Captain. Go team! Puff. These guys make me want to vomit into my treadmill cup holder simply just watching them. Sure, they’re in shape and they’re there to work out, but the moves these fellas make is straight outta National Effing Geographic. “Watch carefully as the Lion (Meathead) stalks its prey (Skinny Bitch). He lurks through the grasslands (treadmills) and makes his way slowly towards his next meal (next conquest) and suddenly, BAM, ATTACK, the cheetah lunges (approaches carefully not to mess up his perfectly gelled do) and takes down his prey (idiot girl who thinks he’s cute and has never done this before.) These people need their own gym... and maybe even their own planet. Puff.
Fat Kids. I’m not commenting on the fat kids. They’re at the gym…they’re doing their thing. Good for them.
Wanna Be Meatheads. Ahhh ha! Hilarious. Probably my favorite spectacle at the gym. Often decked out with a bandana (which yes, I am guilty of once sporting the bandana…it was pink and it was cute! Suck it!) hugging their hedgehog like coiffe for dear life and usually some sort of lame tribal tattoo on their arm. They’re skin has never even been even remotely kissed by a ray of sunshine and they usually have some sort of perv patch growing somewhere sporadically on their face. However, these guys walk around like they owwwwn this gym, think that chicks love them and usually come in pairs. Keep an eye out. Puff.
Workout Barbie. I complain enough about Skinny Bitches so I will only say one thing. I seriously saw a skinny bitch with FAKE eyelashes reapplying lipgloss while taking a kickboxing class and flirting with the guy next to her. Nuff said. Puff.

I also have a woman in my spin class who insists on doing ballet mid class. Right.
Couples. There is ZERO need to make out at the gym. Puff.
With that being said, I wear my black pants and black t shirt and black jacket (imposter North Face Jacket) that’s covered in dog hair. My hair is still a little bit wet from the shower I took 10 hours ago and plopped into a messy bun and I think my granny panties may be suffocating. But instead of a bitchfest I write this as a thank you…Thank you to all of you fantastically ridiculous people at the gym for making my workout go by SO much faster, and to my ipod, for putting a soundtrack to it all! De-puff!

Chocolate Cake A la Puff

If I could have a conversation with my 17 year old self the first thing I would say is…For the love of all things standardized, STUDY WAY MORE for your SAT’s, that way maybe when you’re 28 you won’t be stuck in a job you hate! Then I would tell myself NOT to cut my own bangs and to not date any more boys whose names begin with B. I remember my dad telling me to “pay attention to all of the history in England and France because you may never get this opportunity again.” Come again, by history did you mean foreign boys? Because I’m pretty sure that’s the ONLY think I paid attention to. Hindsight is a bitch. Puff.
Regret and hindsight are two different things. I REGRET eating the piece of 3 day old chocolate cake today that was stuffed with so much cherry pie filling goodness that I almost had a mini O. But, in hindsight, would I still eat it? You bet my ever growing ass I would. I REGRET not wearing knee highs with my pumps today because it’s 30 degrees outside. But, in hindsight, my feet look way cuter without them! And then the more serious note…the ever popular and always uncomfortable question…Do I REGRET getting married? And if my answer is yes, then what is my hindsight? And if my answer is No, then why did I get divorced? A lot of people say they don’t live with regrets because the things they have done in their life have made them who they are and have taught them a lesson. ..So what’s my excuse. Puff.
What is my answer to that question? I do regret getting married. I do. How can I possibly wish that I would ever feel that way? How could I not regret feeling ashamed that I made the wrong choice? Puff. Now on to my hindsight. In hindsight, I realized I have figurative balls the size of watermelons and that I am A-Ok livin life all by myself. So many of us wish we could change something in our past. A decision we made, a person we dated, a job we took or something we said. We harp on the what if’s? The truth of the matter is if we focus on the “Look at what happened,” instead of the “what if’s” we may be a little better off.
For instance, what if I didn’t eat that cake? Answer: I’d be sitting at my desk clawing at my mousepad and fiending for anything remotely chocolate. What if I did wear knee highs? I’d probably have had to go to CVS to buy some clear nailpolish to fix the runner I have in my pantyhose! And what if I hadn’t gotten married? Who the heck knows….That’s the best part about the “What if’s”….You never know what would have happened if you didn’t make the choice you did.
As women, we are tough cookies who can be balls of mush. We overanalyze and harp on things we can’t change…I…am the queen of this. Something I have learned is that we can't control the things that end up making us stronger, but we can cerainly learn how to evaluate why things happened and appreciate them for the purpose that they served. Instead of saying , “WHY MEEEEE!” Maybe say, “Ok, My turn…now what!?” and find a solution. We have more strength in us than we even know and if we can all just take a little gander at the inner cookie of toughness, our hindsight can be a great thing!....With that said, still NEVER EVER cut your own bangs.De-puff.