renaissance men

This past Saturday, the family and I headed out to one of our annual summer traditions - the Renaissance Faire. (Note the "e" at the end...very important.  It lets you know that this is not a "fair" filled with farm animals and overpriced rides with creepy carnies.) I love going and getting lost in the sounds, the costumes, the food and sometimes the heat. This year's heat was certainly no exception.  Unfortunately, I wasn't able to lose myself as much as I had hoped because I was dealing with two very strong personalities that don't deal well with heat.  But I'm not here to talk about family issues...

One of the things that people (especially men) tend to notice at the Faire (notice that "e" again) is the amount of cleavage.  Some men that I know call it "Boobfest".  Bodices push the bosoms high up into the air creating a high shelf on which a lady could easily rest her ale.  The blouses sometimes barely cover the areola, but because it's still covered, it's still approved for family viewing.  Women of all ages, shapes, sizes and tastes attend the RenFaire in costume which provides many an, "I really didn't want to see that," moment.  I really don't feel the need to stare at the cleavage because I have my own (see previous post)...mine just isn't hiked up to my chin.

Being in my mid-thirties and feeling a tad more randy than in previous years there (which is apparently completely natural in my "older" age according to this article), I happened to take notice of some of the men.  Finding an attractive man there is sometimes a daunting task as a good portion of the men are either goth, gay, old, 7-feet-tall, dressed up a little too "fancy" for me, or suburban tourists.  I wasn't trying to seek out the attractive men, they just happened to show up from time to time - like diamonds in the rough. 

As the family and I were walking through the park, I was accosted by a shirtless barbarian.  He walked up to me and hit me with his big foam sword.  After shaking off the fact that a half-clothed stranger hit me with a phallic instrument causing a very mild amount of pain, I noticed that this guy was actually kind of cute.  He went on talking to my son about how they have these barbarian tournaments at certain times with swords just like the foam one he was carrying...blah, blah, blah.  I nodded, "Yeah that sounds great!" not actually listening to much of what he was saying.  I was just hoping he'd hit me with his sword again - that was kinda fun.  He let me hold it though...his sword, that is.  I told him we'd definitely be there for the afternoon tournament.  I'd be happy to let my son get pummelled by some foam-wielding uber-geek in order to drool a little bit more.  He gave me a smile, walked off, and my husband proceeded to tell me how brave the guy must be to walk around shirtless like that with man-boobs.  Ah, silly jealous husband.  Wait...man-boobs?  I was so busy looking at his face and thinking about what fun we could have with those swords that I didn't even take the time to check out the rest of him.  We did make it to the tournament...too late to enter, but we were still able to take a look at what was there.  My son took plenty of time picking out exactly which one he wanted, so I had time to check out what..er..who I wanted to.  I had to sadly agree with the hubby about his chest area, but it wasn't nearly as bad as I had pictured it.  I tried getting a picture of him, but didn't want it to be obvious, so unfortunately the only one I got doesn't even show his good-looking face...just the chest.  Ah, well. 

The day wore on, full of sweat, whining, pouting, occasional laughter and little food.  Eventually, we made our way down to the jousting tournament.  It was, of course, packed.  The seats were full, people were standing everywhere...which is what we ended up doing as well.  The nice thing about standing is that you're able to be closer to the knights, the sights, the sounds, and unfortunately the smells.  Anyhoo, going to see the knights tends to bring out the ladies' inner romantic, daydreaming schoolgirls and they swoon over the men in armor.  Fortunately, this year there were a couple of attractive men on horseback.  To top off the fun in fantasy - they were the bad guys.  Now would they be considered as cute if they were in modern clothing or even regular costume as opposed to shiny metal suits carrying swords?  I'm guessing no, but the wenches won't care.

Alas, those were the only attractive men I saw there.  Perhaps I was blinded by the sun reflecting off of all of the pale white suburbanite and goth skin and I missed some along the way.  Like I said, I wasn't really looking for anything, it's just that once I saw one attractive guy, it made me hungry for more.  Of course, my own husband was there and attractive as always, but remember - I go there to escape.  Now maybe if we end up going in costume next year, he'll be part of the escape as well.

a change would do me good

I know in previous posts, I've mentioned the fact that there have been too many changes around me.  Well, that's somewhat true.  The unfortunate part about all of the change is that none of the changes were really happening to me directly.  I need something new and fun and exciting.  A new job, a cheap vacation, hell - I'd even settle for a new pair of shoes at this point.  Gimme something good!

dirty pillows

I have breasts.

Doesn't really surprise you, does it?  I'm a woman of childbearing age, I have some meat on my bones, therefore...I have breasts.  Fortunately for me, they're also on the larger average size.  I enjoy them being this size.  Not too small, not too large.  They look good under clothing, give me a nice figure, and don't quite strain the buttons on my blouses.  For the most part...I'm pretty dang happy with them.

I also have a longish neck and broadish shoulders, so clothing with a lower neckline looks quite becoming on me, if I do say so myself.  So what do decent-sized breasts and low-cut shirts equal?  Cleavage, of course!

I need to ask some of my male friends exactly what they find so appealing about seeing, but not really seeing someone's breasts.  What part of the cleavage is it that they are attracted to - the tops of the breasts, or the space between them?  They're just fat and mammary glands - what's so sexy about that?  Why is it so hard to look away from the cleavage?  Is it like women and sparkly jewelry?  "Must. look. at. boobs."  I do know some men - usually the married ones - who have trained themselves to keep their eyeballs focused on anything but the breasts.  Sometimes it's kind of obvious and I chuckle silently to myself, but I applaud them for their efforts.

I am not offended when a man looks at my chest.  In fact, I usually find it amusing.  (I say "usually" because if it is one of my bosses or some dirty, toothless, drooling man, I get quite creeped out.)  If they want to get their jollies by looking at something that's just there naturally, go right ahead - as long as they make some effort to look me in the eye a couple of times and aren't staring at them like zombies (again, the creepy factor).  I don't find it degrading or feel as though I'm being objectified.  Like I said - I think it's some sort of natural thing.  To try to stop that would be like trying to stop mosquitos from being attracted to bug zappers.

As long as everyone plays nice, I can keep wearing the shirts I feel comfortable wearing and we can keep this cycle going.  Yes, that's right - I'm only here to help!

it's the little things

Inspired by my friend's Minus 10 in 2010 blog, I thought I'd post some pictures of the little things that I try to enjoy when I can.









The wildflowers that grow alongside the roads where I take my (almost) daily walks.  They really are beautiful and the bees just love them.

Cool clouds.  Sometimes I just stop and look up and gaze in awe at these things.  Luckily we get a great view of them where I live - edge of town, no big trees.

Sunsets.  Who doesn't like a good sunset?







Here's one...the fact that the moon is actually in space and we can see it and can actually get there if we want to.  Sometimes that just blows my mind!  (Let's not even get into how bad my brain hurts when I watch Stephen Hawking...)





Then, of course there is time spent with family and friends, laughter, good food, a good book, time spent daydreaming (which I'm really good at), and on and on.  When one has no money, they amuse themselves with things that are completely free but somehow much more fulfilling.  Don't you agree?

snap! crackle! pop!

Am I talking about some old-fashioned breakfast cereal?  Oh, how I wish!  No, dear reader, these words are the sounds that my body has started making when I move.  I never used to make uncontrollable cracking sounds when I walked.  In fact, I used to make fun of my husband for not being able to sneak up on someone because his knees were constantly cracking.  Now he can make fun of me too - there's nothing right about that.

Within the past year or so, I've noticed strange cracks coming from my right foot as I walked across the office.  Those were followed a few months ago by the crackling, grinding sound of my left knee as I go up or down stairs.  (It's especially lovely first thing in the morning when I'm heading down my apartment stairs to our garage.)  Then, yesterday morning as I was putting on my pantyhose (a task I despise anyway), I noticed a popping sound coming from my left elbow as I was using my thumb to roll them up.  My body has become a symphony of the sounds of tendon erosion.

Seriously?  Have I aged so much in the past year that now my joints are cursing me?  Come on!  Remember a few posts ago, I started talking about how I'm losing weight and feeling better about myself?  Yeah, well now I'm feeling self-conscious about all of the unexpected and unwelcome noises that I make when I move.  Maybe if I just stand still when flirting, I'll be okay...

where does the pollen go?

Why is it that every time I see bees pollenating flowers, this song comes to mind?



Maybe it's a good thing as it reminds me about the different parts of the flower and the things I learned about in 6th grade science class. Of course, I don't know why I would need to know those terms for any practical purposes. I don't have conversations about stamens and pistils at the office or while hanging out with my friends - well, not the ones on flowers anyway. 

Here's another thought regarding this video - why didn't we ever break out into song and dance in high school?  (Well, some of us sang New Kids on the Block songs in homeroom, but that's just a whole different beast.)   And I don't mean some Glee-esque irritating auto-tuned harmonies, I mean a good, raunchy, belt it out high school hormone-filled romp. I think this kind of scene would have been quite appropriate for my French 4 class when our teacher would teach us all the curse words we needed to know.  A little ditty with "merde" and "salope" in it could have been lots of fun.  I mean, we listened to a French rock opera in that class, why not have our own impromptu performance?   Now that would have been something to liven up the class.

time, time, time...see what's become of me

When I was in kindergarten, I was asked what I wanted to be when I grew up.  I answered a ballerina, a policewoman, and a singer.  (I only know this because my parents kept it and gave it to me.)  When I was in 5th grade, I decided I wanted to become an archaeologist or Egyptologist.  In 8th grade, my passion was animals, so I decided I wanted to be a veterinarian in a zoo.  In high school, my head went back into the clouds that it had visited in kindergarten and I again wanted to be a singer. 

I also fell in love in high school right when I was starting to make decisions regarding colleges, what I wanted to pursue, where I wanted to live, etc.  So, I decided to go to a liberal arts college about 2 hours away from me where I would be in a big city, but still be able to come home on the weekends to see my honey.  (Ick, I can't believe I just called him that.  That was way too girly for me.)  It was a great choice, my best friend also went there, so we roomed together for the first semester, I hung out at museums during my off time and took the train home every weekend.  The only problem was that all of the vocal classes took place on the weekends.  Oh no, that wasn't going to do.  I ended up taking classes in drawing, English, poetry, advertising, art history, and my favorite, "biology of human sexuality."  After two semesters, I realized that I had no idea what direction I wanted to take in pursuit of a major.  I didn't want to spend my parents' money in order to figure it out either, so I decided to leave after my second semester.

Jump ahead 6 or 7 years and I'm married to that aforementioned "honey" and have a baby.  After having said offspring, I do a little soul searching - wanting to be the best role model I could possibly be for him by being a happy, well-adjusted grown up.  One thing I realized was that I knew what I wanted to be.  I finally had it figured out!  I wanted to be one of the fortunate few who got to design exhibits for museums.  I wanted to put my love of learning together with my little bit of creativity and desire to be in museums, wrap them all together, and have my dream job! 

Yes!  Wait...no! 

I do not live close enough to a city to commute daily, and I'm not going to uproot the family in order to get closer.  I don't have any money for school - Yes, I know there's financial aid, but I'd also want to cut back on my hours at work in order to be able to focus on school work.  And to top it all off...there's not a big job market in the museum exhibit design field.  I do not want to go through 4-8 years of schooling to get a dream job that isn't feasible.

Do I regret any of the decisions I've made?  Oh, hell no!  I do think that everyone wonders from time to time where they would be if they had turned left instead of right or said yes instead of no.  I can't imagine my life without my husband or my son and am perfectly content with small town life.  I'm not very content with my job, but I'm working on that.  If / when I do find another job, I know it won't be my dream job, but how would we have a functioning society if most of the kindergartners in the world grew up to be ballerinas, singers or princesses?

some thoughts on cankles

Cankles: The area in affected female legs where the calf meets the foot in an abrupt, nontapering terminus; medical cause: adipose tissue surrounding the soleus tendon, probably congenital, worsened by weight gain and improved in appearance only by boots. From the English "calf" meaning wide portion of the lower leg, and "ankle" meaning slender joint of leg with foot.
(From urbandictionary.com)













As I was walking through my local Wal-Mart this evening, I happened past the pharmacy where there was a line of about 5 people. 4 of those people were terribly afflicted with some pretty nasty cankles. I wondered to myself if the drug companies had just recently released some sort of new anti-cankle pill, or if it was just coincidence.  If there isn't a pill, will there be one soon? Are they hereditary? Are they contagious? Eek! Sure, they're cute on babies, but everything is cute on a baby. (A bowl of spaghetti is cute on a baby's head, but not on a 40-year-old's.)

Have cankles always been around?  Did cavewomen have to sit a spell and rest their swollen hairy feet?  Did Cleopatra suffer not only from some really bad facial features, but also a nasty case of cankles?  What in the world did they do in the Victorian era with those high laced boots? I can't imaging cankles hiding under those, or did they just lace the boots so tight that the fat was pushed up into their calves creating some sort of mushroom cloud effect?  Or is this some new affliction in the era of fast food and remote controls?

Well, whatever the case may be, I do not want them. I enjoy wearing socks without the elastic burrowing into my skin.  I want to be able to wear shoes without having my puffy feet pushing out of the tops of them like bread dough rising out of the pan.  I shall now add that to my list of things that I would like to see cures for: heart disease, cancer, AIDS, diabetes, mental disorders and cankles.

fare thee well, henry

I'm in a small mourning period over the end of The Tudors on Showtime.  (Not as large of a mourning period as I had for HBO's Rome though. I'm still mourning that one.)  Four great seasons, six wives, three children (well, four if you count the one he didn't), tons of illicit affairs, numerous religious reforms and temper tantrums, all wrapped up in one amazing hour.  This was the best series finale that I have ever seen.  No disappointments, no big bangs, no reason to scratch your head afterwards.  It was satisfying, sad and beautiful.  If you haven't watched the show, I highly suggest you go out and rent the DVD's. 

I found a clip of my favorite line from the night.  Because of recent events in my own life, I've found this to be very poignant.

*Editing note: The previous video had been removed by Showtime, so here's another of the same line. Hopefully this one stays.

a public service announcement

I'm taking a moment away from my normal fun and entertaining posts and giving y'all a bit of education. I might do this again from time to time just to make myself feel like I'm contributing a little something to the world. This topic, however, is very near and dear to me at the moment.

What comes to mind when you think of the symptoms of a heart attack? Most likely it's what you see on tv or in the movies: chest pain radiating out into the shoulders or arm, shortness of breath, etc. People clutching their chest, gasping for air and then falling to the ground, right? Well, yes, those are certainly symptoms, but did you know that you might just feel like you have heartburn?

I had never heard of it until that and fatigue were the only symptoms that my dad had on Monday night when he had his heart attack. Unfortunately, because he didn't know it was a sign (and none of us had a clue either), he put off going to the doctor for two days and it went untreated, killing some of his heart muscle. When he was admitted, the doctors and nurses told him that 3 out of 5 times, when someone comes in for heartburn it turns out to be a heart attack. If that's the case, don't you think there should be a little more education about that? Well...I'm doing my part. :)

I'm not usually one to post anything from WebMD (mainly because my borderline hypochondriac husband reads it far too often), but HERE is a great page giving the list of symptoms of heart-related events. Read it, remember it.