Grab some puffs...

The first time I saw my ex husband after we had separated was FAR from graceful. There I was…at a bar…with my party girl cohort, and we were ready to celebrate a night of singlehood. I walked in like I owned the joint…huge smile, huge cleavage and a huge…HOLY SHIT…out of all the bars in this cheesy beach town, why, out of all bars does HE have to be here!? My girlfriend shreaked as if she had just seen a rat and quickly ushered me under a stair well, but not before I was spotted by the ex and his scantily clad and beer chugging entourage. I immediately left feeling defeated.Puff.
In retrospect I should have walked right up to him, said “Oh hi, fancy seeing you here,” and walked away, flaunting my post divorce hot bod for all to see. But NO! That is NOT the way the real world…or a girls world works! We don’t want to say hello! No! We want to run and hide and probably cry and maybe even vomit! It’s so easy, once we see them…or hear about them, to remember the good times and glorify them, so that by the time we get back in our car or we sign off our computer…we want to cry, and probably do…and then we watch The Notebook and cry even more! Boo effing hoo!Puff.
We certainly don’t want their beer guzzling, porn watching, non sensitive, immature ass, so then WHY do we become so mortified and upset when we see them or hear that they’ve moved on, even if we, moved on before them!? I think the reason is simple. As women, we put ourselves back into our old shoes and try to figure out WHY that wasn’t us. Why is new girlfriend/wife good enough to take on trips and I wasn’t? Why does she get to be the mother of your child and I, who spent a bajillion years with you, am not? We love the “what if’s?” Ugh. Puff!
So what has worked for me? Crying…crying usually works. Kidding, I’m kidding! Listen to some good chick music, look around your current world and be proud of how you got here. Thank said ex for teaching you what you don’t want, and maybe even some things you do want. Take a deep breath, grab a piece of chocolate and move…on. Depuff.

Chameleon.

I remember standing in Home Depot the day I left my husband (now ex-husband). At that point I was still trying to make thee hardest decision I’ve ever made….little did I know I was just a few hours from leaving everything behind. I stood in Home Depot picking out paint colors for my new home with my husband. While I was being instructed as to which colors HE liked and HE wanted in the house, my eyes drifted to the Disney collection of colors on the far side of the wall that would soon represent my life. I saw a vibrantly awesome shade of hot pink. I picked up the paint swatch and said to my best friend, “This is me. I’m hot pink. I lost that part of me. Where’s the hot pink!? I am NOT camo green!” It was at that moment that I realized that I had changed….for a man and for a life I thought was what I wanted. Puff.
There are times in a relationship where we step back and have a moment of clarity, an “ah ha” moment where we ask ourselves, “Do I actually enjoy this? Or do I do it because HE enjoys it?” This…is a tough question. We all know girls who are chameleons. If they date a guy who’s into sports, the girl suddenly knows everything about said boys favorite players and sports teams. She invests in cute pink sports jerseys and indulges in Sunday football with the utmost enthusiasm (this is usually the point where I want to punch her), when months ago they were complaining about how much they hate football season. So where is the line between Chameleon and Adjustment. At what point are we changing ourselves to coexist with the other person rather than just partaking in a few of their interests? Puff.
Sometimes, like in my situation, it blindsides you and before you know it, you’ve lost yourself, or who you used to be. I HATE camping and I found myself pretending to enjoy it because my husband liked it. I slept in mildewey tents and peed outside (which I am MISERABLE at doing!) all because I had convinced myself that because he loved it, and I loved him…that I too, loved camping. I did not. I do love singing. And dancing. And writing. I love going to bookstores. I forgot who that person was until the week after I left my husband and my best friend put a journal on my desk at work with the simple inscription, “Hoping you find your inspiration.” I have NOT stopped writing ever since. So, is it the guys fault or is it our fault for letting ourselves get so intertwined in someone elses life that we forget what WE actually enjoy. I’ll often people watch, especially at parties or social gatherings, and I’ll watch the girl, sitting loyally next to her fella, nodding at everything he says. She laughs when he laughs, rarely speaks and certainly never asserts her opinion. I often wonder what she’s like when she’s with her girlfriends, or alone in the car. Puff.
I still write in my journal, and nestled inside the front cover is a taped Hot Pink Disney paint swatch reminding me to never lose the hot pink that is me.Depuff.

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!