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I Like Big Blogs & I Cannot Lie

I don’t really like blogging. More specifically, I don’t really like my own blog (yours is lovely, I swear).

In fact, if this was somebody else’s blog, I’m not sure I would even be reading it.

Sure, some of my titles are catchy: The one about Slutty Costumes got a few extra readers, as did the one where I mis-lead the reader by suggestion my marriage is over (nothing makes for more compelling reading than a crumbling marriage, right?

But a fish must learn to crawl before it can learn to fly right? And that’s what I’m shooting for.

I was reminded of this today, while reading a post by  SharonDV and her adventures in speed-skating. She was describing a less than stellar speed skater and the “strength of character to put yourself out there”. He was clearly not going to win this race, in fact he was last from the start. Yet he entered the dang race anyway…

That’s when I remembered: I’m such a sucker for the underdog. The one’s who haven’t really got a chance, who go unnoticed and get trampled over…and decide (crazily!) to persevere anyhow. That’s my tribe.

I’ve spent most of time, reading really well-established bloggers – those who have most likely spent years crafting the art of blogging (cause, really it is an art). And yes, I learn from them. And am entertained by them. More importantly, I am drawn to them because I am inspired by them.

But I am not growing with… Continue reading

15 years ago I said I Do…but now I Don’t…

15 years ago I found the shoes, the flowers, the photographer, the dress, the registry…and most importantly, The Guy.

And we got married.

Since then, we have plowed through countries, cities, jobs, takeout containers and coffee makers.

We have had 2 kids, three houses, endless colds, fights and giggles.

But it all boils down to just this:

The wedding dress…..that no longer fits…..

For the most part, I never think about it. But when we moved a few months ago, it ended up at the bottom of my closet, taunting me with it’s cinched waist and narrow shoulders.

And now I have to figure out what to do with it.

Cause it doesn’t fit.

It is severely jaundiced.

It has *princess sleeves* (romantic way of saying batwings).

It’s probably for the best that it doesn’t fit, I’d totally wear it otherwise.

Like out, in public…

I’d start to sneak it in at Halloween, totally reasonably….but I know myself.

Before long, I’d organize a Bridesmaids Party…which could be fun, except, I wouldn’t know that we were being ironic and I’d suggest we do it monthly…and people would stop replying to my Evites and Facebook Events….that’s how much I wish I could still wear the dang dress!

Because the truth is, I loved this dress.

And the body that fit into it (Mine).

And the body that snuggled up against it (His).

And all the friends and family that accidentally stepped on it.

And I am so grateful that I still look back on that date, and all of the wonderful days… Continue reading

Turning Tricks on Haloween

Dressing like a tiger does not turn you into one. Even if you have a really good growl. It simply does not work that way.

It never occurred to me that my cousin was a doctor, simply because he dressed as one for Halloween last year. In no way was I tempted to show him my “rash”.

Nor do I believe that if a woman dresses like a slutty-anything it will turn her into one.

It’s as if men shamed us into wearing the slutty costumes and now women have shamed us out of them.

The talk of the town has been focused on judgement and bullying this past week. Ok, that is awesome. We all agree that judging each other based on what we wear to the dogpark or the mall is counter-productive. And that words are just as harmful as fists when it comes to bullying. So why is bashing the slut costume (and by extension, those that choose to wear them) exempted from this inclusiveness?

I rarely see people judging others based  on their choice of clothing for Mardi Gras or a pride Day parade…in these cases we generally applaud creating an environment that let people feel safe and welcome, regardless of how little clothing they have one..or the amount of body glitter they choose to abuse. Nor do we regard them as boring, right?

“Women can be anything their imaginations can dream of, as long as you can’t see their boobs.” Emily McCombs

The biggest argument I have heard about slutty costumes is… Continue reading

Blissdom Blisters

Imagine you are in a room, surrounded by rainbows and cherry lollipops and kelly green cashmere cardigans…. playing softly in the background is this hybrid mix of Adele, Florence and The Machine and bon iver.

Spread out throughout the room are dishes of guacamole, lasagna and pie.

When you sit down, the table to your left is scattered with your old Judy Blumes and your new Hunger Games trilogy.

But then suddenly – and you don’t even know if it’s yours or belongs to another  - there is this long thick fart…the odor penetrates everything.

You really just want to curl up in a bowl of lasagna and listen to the music…but the smell, it permeates and distracts….This was my BlissdomCanada.

[For The Record:  This was an incredibly well-executed conference - there were generous sponsors and fun parties, enthusiastic volunteers and organizers. It was very clear how much time, energy and resources went into planning BlissdomCanada. What I discovered is that maybe Blissdom is not my bag....which would absolutely suck. I thirst for the connections, lessons, inspiration and  generosity of others. Blissdom, I need you to be more of  what I need though. The fart was a metaphor. Everybody there smelt really really good.]

My friend Alex  wrote a thoughtful  piece on her Blissdom reflections earlier today and y’all should read it. It echoes so many of my sentiments as do all of the thoughtful comments left by others. But where Alex writes about the disconnect between bloggers… Continue reading

Be The Tweet You Want To See In The World

I *may* spend a bit of time on twitter and facebook. In my defense, I also spend a lot time watching youtube videos and playing angrybirds too, so there’s that…

And I love it all. Mainly. But occasionally, certain updates frustrate the bejesus outta me [ok - very crazy digression. Spellcheck likes the word *bejesus* as much as I do, and has accepted it without prompting me to change it. Awesome]

The thing is, I wonder, are people intentionally trying to annoy with their status updates? Cause, that would actually be funny….

I mean, I get why blog posts may occasionally bore or annoy.

The potential for failure is accelerated with every allowable  character.

My idea of annoying may be your bliss…one persons self-righteous tweet is another’s plagiarized Oscar Wilde…

Here’s what I mean:

I just finished 687km in 43 minutes. What size jeans are your jeans?” (I am paraphrasing a tiny bit)

So sad when certain people can’t take the hint” OMG – NO MORE passive-aggressive tweets/updates please! and you know who I’m talking about  <——- SEE???!!!!

Can’t wait to go to the #RTH11 event and see all the #FHNNG gals…better than last years #TCGBV1o That was just lame” OK, seriously, nobody understands these tweets, it’s not just you, I promise!!

And then the PR guy called me a  f*cking B*tch” or ANYTHING by Jenny. Because when I read her blog and I should and you should and so should everybody else. Except maybe… Continue reading

Chicks to shake your sh*tty’s

Screw smart, witty, engaging, generous, funny. Today’s theme is kickass – the loud, raunchy, fierce kind.

I have a tendency to over-think and over-share and over-plan…and sometimes that leaves me 63 steps from where I actually need to be – like today…

Except that my world revolves online. So the same way when I was a kid, I was constantly editing my life as if it was a tv show. “What would Tootie do if I sent that boy in class a note” or “The Beav and I would kick-ass at building a fort together” these days I edit things into post sized thoughts.

Feeling like crap? I know, write a post on the “Top 10 Most Un-Sh*tty Things To Do” or a “How to Un-Sh*tty Your Mood In 5 Easy Steps – 3 of which include a package of Oreos, some whipcream and an avocado” .

Which really sucks because then I start thinking of all the bloggers who could do this post way better than I could, and there are tons. Except a post like this would likely not make it past the draft stage, that’s how silly and obvious it is…moping is for facebook and suckers, kiddo.

Regardless, I need to shake the sh*tty’s today, so rather than make lists of all the practical stuff that actually needs to be accomplished, I did this instead:

Who Shakes Your Sh*tty’s??

Fictitious Chicks Who Would Slay Me For Moping:

Music to ass kick my mope-y’s:

Weight or Salary??

Turns out I don’t have any dirty little secrets. I was not a former beauty queen. I have never murdered a rainbow, nor have I ever participated in a hazing (but if I could, I would totally haze Jeremy Piven)

But I was thinking recently of an old friend who told me about the recent breakup with her boyfriend. They left each other, angrily and are not destined to *keep in touch*. Everything ended badly, the way these things do. And yet…the one pact they have made with each other  - and by pact it is everything short of a legal document – is that they won’t spill the beans on each other.  At various points in their relationship they confessed to previous lovers (this includes the number of & intimate tendencies). This also includes days taken off work that included trips to the mall, rather than the doctors…insider family information…and an indecent amount of gossip on their friends and co-workers.

So I was entertaining the thought of which parts of my past could come back to bite me…and really, though I am not sin-free (that would be boring) but there was nothing scandalous really.

I wondered aloud (ok, fine, on the twitter):

What would be worse : having your salary exposed or your weight?

Most people agreed that they were more comfortable revealing their weight than their salary.  One helpful gal admitted to wearing a size  7 shoe. My amazing buddy (who I have yet to meet in real… Continue reading

I really miss my boys.

Son 1, watching TV: “What’s GOP”?

Son 2, not missing a beat: “Gay Octopus Penis’”

I was not present for this exchange. This is what happens when the boys leave me out of things. (I *may* have choked I was laughing so hard when PJ sent this to me though)

What would YOU do?

So, my husband hates my birkenstocks. He has nothing against my somewhat loose hippy dippy happy ways – he himself used to sport a goatee, eat toffuti and play along to  Chris Kristopherson. He just sincerely doe not like the look of them on me and in the past month, has conveniently brought me home two new pairs of shoes to replace them with. And while super sweet, neither of them compare – in both looks and comfort – to my light purple metallic birks.

So, what do I do?

I mean this sincerely. I trust my husband implicitly. When pressed, he just mumbles something about them making my feet look like Barney Rubble impostors. But  I  have a wonky foot and these are sooo comfortable and they are PURPLE – nothing is ever bad in purple, right? ( My kids are tweens, so apparently Barney no longer exists in my universe)

I have little doubt that he is looking out for my best interest here, I am neither offended or hurt. That said, I am a little self-conscious wearing them out of the house now. He may likely be right, they are not flattering.  To be fair, I am a firm believer in being able to not look too schleppy and remain super comfortable – the days of  pitting comfort against style are dated and aged (and to the fashion editors who continue to battle them out – so are you, suckah!!).

So the question remains (Actually it has evolved into a few questions):

  1. Would you… Continue reading

denial, drugs and hookering….

It seems that when you have a blog about weight-loss  it is bound to be stuffed with angst and venomous body image. I have never read one where the author happily discusses her cellulite and jiggles. Oh, there was that one but then she was murdered by the rest of us…..

That said, it’s not as if I live off of Kraft dinner, hide out in my basement with all the friendly earwigs, avoiding daylight & camis.  Not anymore, at least. No, I have moved into Denial – it is way happier here! Denial encouraged me to buy all my new clothing one size up -I am swimming in delusion skinny jeans these days. Denial also helped me replace all of our full-length mirrors with this:

Denial believes that oreos are as wholesome as carrots, exercise hurts butterflies and that cellulite is actually caused by the oranges it resembles.

Denial told me that training for a 5km would take too much time away from kids, and that without parental supervision they were bound to get caught up in all the drugs and hookering going around. As if I’d want that to happen, right??


Still, I decided to put together a list of stuff about my body that doesn’t make me regret not spreading that rumour that I am addicted to eating teddy bears. At least then, I would be eccentric, y’know – rather than just an Oreo-eating chub-chub:

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About Me

marci

Willing to publicly shame myself into dropping my *thyroid* weight. Clothing Liaison, Non-housewife, with terrible grammar and a penchant for mixed metaphors. I also I like to dress women 4 free. I am a messy rotten cook that makes a wicked cappuccino

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