Come and get it?

I’m so frustrated… with myself, with men, with the universe.  Out tonight to play a little pool (I did well by the way).  Its slow night at the pub.  Maybe 20-30 people.  In walks the best looking older (30+) man I’ve seen in a while.  I know I’m not the hottest girl in the bar but its slow night and I can pass for darn cute (or hot for 60). 

He sits at the bar with a friend.  I give the surreptitious glance.  I glance again.  He’s still cute, he’s still at the bar.  Here’s the dilemma.  What do I do?  Has he just come out for a beer with a bud.  Do I go up anyway?  What do I say when I get there?  Surely he’s noticed there’s only about 5 women in the bar for God’s sake.  Did I catch his eye?  Oh crap, did I get caught looking? 

So do guys want the girl to approach?  Does that intimidate their fragile ego?  Aren’t they the hunter?  The Mars to my Venus?  Will I look like a wacko? Easy?  You’d think by mid-life crisis one would have figured this stuff out. 

 

So as I debate and analyze the multitude of options, approaches and rejections I could do/get, he pays the bill and leaves.  Is that opportunity lost or the plan of destiny?  Next time I’m taking control of my own destiny…this time I really mean it!

 

p.s.  i might need blog intervention.  this is twice in one day

Just Relax

A softly lit room, candles, mood music….  Me naked, a man’s hands all over me….. all this before lunch and it only cost me $85.  I love getting a massage.   I generally prefer a male masseuse.   If you have the option, why wouldn’t you have the opposite sex do the rubbing.  Though it is odd to let some guy you’ve never met see you naked and put his hands on you.  Well odd if its not the average Saturday night …. kidding.  Massages are one of the best services ever invented.  You lay there, you feel good and you don’t have get up, turn over and do them.  I picked the deep tissue massage today.  That’s legalize torture.  It hurts so good.  I especially love it when they knead the butt and pull my hair.  Probably too much information I know.   Getting a massage by a man is great but it takes some time to relax and enjoy it.  Its nerve wracking for about the first 15 minutes.  Here’s the dialog that goes through your head… “Ok that feels good.  I wonder how many women he’s seen naked?  Ow, there’s a knot.  Can he see my boobs? Mmmmm that’s it.  That feels good. Did you just hear my back pop? Does he think I’m fat?  Ahhhhh, that feels good.  Yes, the feet! Shit I should’ve got my pedicure first.   Did he notice how little my feet are? That feels good.  Is he licking my toes?  Oh no, here he goes.  He’s moving up. That feels good.  Does he plan on stopping?  What if he doesn’t?  What if he does?  Did I shave?  Do you think while he’s down there…no don’t think about that.  Ouch another knot.  Oh there it goes.  That feels good.  That feels good.   Turn over.  How long can I hold my stomach in?  That feels good.   That feels good.   That feels good.   That feels good.   That feels good.   That feels good. The hardest part of the massage is the end.  Its awkward.  You’ve just spent an hour with a stranger in an intimate and odd positions.  You look at each other and what do you say…Thanks, Great job,  I love you?    Finally he says, ” Drink lots of water “.  “Ok I will” I say.  Going to get facial tomorrow to help relieve some of the stress the massage created.

Let’s get physical!

Let’s get physical!

I know, I know.  If you want to lose weight, fight the aging process, protect against diseases like osteoporosis, yadda yadda … you’ve got to exercise.  While I philosophically agree with the principle, it’s the actually delivery I’m having a little problem with.    I’ve settled on three different strategies to get my exercise, each with varying degrees of success.

I have played soccer for years and amazingly in the 12 years I’ve played I’ve not made any significant improvement.  I seemed to have found my stride (solid mediocre) my very first season and managed to plateau there.  My strategy in co-ed is to play decoy.  I’m a  petite female with no real skills so opponents don’t see me as much of a threat(understandably).  So I just try to be in the right place in the right time.  I have managed to score on occasion. 

I think I read that 40 minutes of indoor soccer burns about 500 calories.  So if I add up my field time, 20 minutes on a good day, then the time I actually run after the ball ( limited to 3 good 2 minute sprints per half) I’m lucky to burn 43 calories.  But I do usually play twice a week so that should at least burn those couple glasses of wine I had for happy hour.

The health experts say that as women ages she should incorporate strength training into her exercise program to prevent muscle loss.   To that end, I joined the gym.   This activity had immediate effect of lessening the weight in my banking account but I’ve yet to see a significant difference on the scale.  I’m taking a body pump class 3 days a week, or at least I try to but I keep running into conflicts with happy hour, Survivor, Dancing with the Stars, Flavor of Love, etc.  Class is a struggle and it has nothing to do with the weights.  The instructor is not your typical personal trainer type.  Stocky might be the best word to describe her.  But she can pump some weights.  She can even dance and pump.  She’s way too perky.  I think it is meant to be motivational but I just find it highly annoying.  “Shoulders back!  I can’t hear you!  Do you want some pushups?”  I usually answer this with … No, do you want me to smash you in the face with my hand weight?

What really motivates me in this class is the 20 something hottie in the front row.  She has the best butt I’ve ever seen.  When she does squats it’s a work of art. I actually want to go up and touch it.  I’m not lesbian (at least I don’t think I am) but it looks great.    I want that butt so I load mine into the truck and haul it to class. 

My final strategy of staying in shape is the Bikram yoga.  Now this is something I have been practicing for a couple years with some success.   I have even been known to do my best and favorite Dandayamana – Dhanurasana pose at the pub.

I had been on a yoga hiatus over the summer and have just recently started back.  I took the break because I couldn’t force myself to go into 100 degree room when its 104 degrees outside, at least that was my excuse.  

I know yoga isn’t supposed to be competitive but I am.  I usually pick someone in the class and I put myself up against them.  I bend a little deeper, twist a little further.   I used to be able to hang with the 20 somethings.  I might have even been into the top 10%.  By my own scoring standards of course, because yoga isn’t about competition.  It’s about finding YOUR center, being at peace with YOURself… blah blah blah.  WHATEVER!

This hiatus has set me way back.  The first couple of times back have been torturous.    I’m getting beat by pregnant women!  I think my boobs have grown and make the floor exercises especially fun.  I’m going to pretend it’s the excellent chest definition I’m getting from my power pump class.  I find myself wanting to push over my fellow students and to scream at the instructors:  Turn on the damn air conditioning!  I’m sure this will pass,  until it does I need to find some exercise to bring a little peace and tranquility.

Post Partum Birthday

I went to England to visit the Queen and she had decided to spend the holiday in Scotland.  How rude!  After a fantastic ride over in first class (how many people can say they’ve slept on their stomach on an airplane!) and terrible delay at car rental (the steering wheel came off in my hands), we eventually head west to the beautiful city of Bath.  We (my BFF and the BFF’s husband) make good time and arrive in Bath by noon.  After an hour of driving around the city the size of Addison circle we finally find the hotel.  There were only a few snide remarks and well placed punches.  It rained in Bath the entire weekend, we couldn’t get to the spa and apparently the city was sold out because of some kind of kite tournament.  Not quite the same fun as the year before when there was a La Cross tournament.  On the morning of my birthday I  awoke and lay there to check for changes.  Do I feel older, wiser,  smarter, more confident.   Few minutes more,  and except the minor headache from the wine the night before,  I feel no different.  A bit disappointing start but its still early.   I open my eyes and the first view that greets my eye is the BFF’s husband’s tighty whities.  Again just a minor setback.  After I flush the eyes and get the ringing out of my head I feel mostly recovered. We decide to take a scenic route back into London and see Stonehenge.  This is perfect.  I can have my mystical birthday experience at one of the most mystical places on earth.  I drive with eager anticipation, singing along to the crappy English radio and enjoying the beautiful countryside.  As we approach Stonehenge and my excitement is building.  I adroitly maneuver through the maze of the tourist coaches and find a key parking spot near the snack shack (I’m hungry as well as excited by the point).  We walk across the road to Stonehenge (if you been there you know its basically sitting out in field next to a 2 lane road) and I find the right spot.  I stand silently, eyes closed communing with the 5,000 other tourists and couple hundred sheep.  Ok so maybe I need to do this with my eyes open.  I’m waiting. Not sure what’s going to happen.  Will I have my wisdom cup filled, will I get the secrets of the universe, will I lose my fear of death, will I travel through time and find a Scottish highland kilted warrior and throw his skirts over his head and have my way with him.   Hey I know I’m in England but we are talking about magic here. I’m not sure exactly what would happen but I was sure something would.  I’m staring and concentrating, and do you know what I see?  …  Rocks,  big rocks,  big rocks standing together in a feat of engineering, a real marvel, but still just rocks.  So a little dejected and deflated, we putter on in to London, have dinner a few drinks and off to bed.   Happy Birthday to me…..