My funny Valentine

Is his figure less than greek..?

Naked man - My funny valentine - sexy

Is his mouth a little weak..? When he opens it to speak, is he smart….?

Yes he is. My wonderful sexy husband. With his big heart and warm brown eyes. His physically big head, that he had to order a special helmet to fit, after I had insisted that he would always protect his wonderful brain when riding his bike.

So – don’t change a hair for me, not if you care for me.

My funny valentine - naked man - vintage

Because I love him so, his incredible body, his proud chest, his strong arms. His grumpiness, his worrying. And his patience with me when I am difficult, or crying, or overenthusiastic expectantly jumping on him as soon as he comes in the door tired from a 12 hour day of work.

I am so happy, and so lucky!

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That woman in Yoga who takes off her top

Hello world!

Life has been busy as I have been working five/six different FUN jobs and there has been birthdays and Halloween. I am very happy now that I am bringing in some bacon, and my husband is cooking it happily up for us both, and is able to take some time off whenever the pressure at school takes off.

I am a roller-coaster of emotions, which can change a lot throughout the day, and quickly, and sometimes without warning. I had the day off today to lay about and do some paperwork at my own pace, while my husband was at school. When he was there I sent him such a happy message. About how happy and proud I am of our life, that we fought so hard for, and he worked so hard for. How much fun we’ve had lately, with his family and together, and how much passion and great sex. How I’m loving feeling like I am getting into a better shape, and I love how I look and how his compliments make me feel great.

He cooked up a delicious pasta dish when he came home, and I ate with him happily and rested a bit to digest the food before I headed off, to the gym, to do an hour of Zumba and then another hour of yoga. The past two weeks have been so busy I’ve only gone twice a week to the gym, when I usually try to keep the minimum to three days at least, with some cardio. I’ve been very active however, and I can tell I am getting more control over my body again, which I LOVE. I DO NOT, however, LOVE working out. I DESPISE it, and most of all…  YOGA. Yes yes yes… eeeeeverybody looooooooves Yoga. Ohh it’s so good for you, ahhh I feel so good and reenergized, Ohhh I love stretching, ah gash, I just had a granola bar and I am soooo ready for some yoga. NOOOOOT.

I’ve done Yoga for six years now, (for two years of the beginning I did it everyday as part of my theatrical training) and back then I was a lump of doughy nothing, so it took me a looooong time to progress. And After that I’ve done it (not religiously) but now and then. And trust me, I do NOT look like I’ve done it for six years..! I Do NOt have a yoga body, and never will, I am simply not built that way. Which is fine. I love how I am built. 🙂 But for the past two years I have done VERY little of it, and even less stretching, as I HATE it. it is so painful. I am really flexible ALL over my body, except my hamstrings, which are insanely tight. I can open my hips wiiiiide, and put my legs behind my neck, but I can’t for the love of me, stretch my legs out. And I am FAR from reaching my toes. This is bad, and gives me pains in my lower back. And tears of frustration comes easily when I am stretching them, as they are far more painful than in a normal stretch. So Today during the yoga, (in which I am not one of the good students that can do all the poses and moves easily) It’s frustrating and sometimes depressing feeling how I’ve gone backwards in my progress, and trying not to compare myself to others, – which is hard, when I see most other people doing the things with ease.

Than there are those women…. In this case, THAT woman, the tall slender woman, with an athletic body with long legs, stretching beautifully in front of me, that gets SO hot in there, in that big air-conditioned room with men and women posing on their mats, She gets SO hot, MORE hot than everyone else clearly, because She HAS to take of that little loose fitted top OFF to continue to practice in her little sports bra with her ripped abs and tanned skin. The man behind her certainly doesn’t mind. I felt like going; “oH Yeah! Me too man! I Am SOO hot..” And taking off my top to reveal my jiggly Buddah belly. And stand there in unflattering positions right in front of her and that guy. But no, NO ONE ELSE takes off their top. Just her. As I leave I am in need of a rant, and comes home to a husband who has no Idea what is coming to him, and sets off complaining and tries to compare it in as many understandable ways as possible. But he isn’t one of us. He is not MY kind. He is THEIR kind. He looks so good that he feels totally fine taking off his clothes in public, in fact he is frustrated that HE has to feel self conscious around the big guy who looks at him and thinks he is a douche. Ahhh…. How frustrating.

Well. Even WHEN I get my flat beautiful NON ripped belly, which is more than fine to show off in Yoga, I WON’T. Because I am totally fine with keeping my top on in class like everybody else. However, on the beach, while tanning. I am totally bare chested. Laying there, tanning my nipples. Like my mother and her saggy mommy boobs, that’s the woman I am.

On this side and on that side

My heart is on both sides of the earth

On one side of the planet, I wake up, after a long nightmare about my mother dying, about loosing all my possessions including my passport. I overslept, I had written the wrong time down on my calendar on my phone, so my husband wakes me with a stressed call from my sister in law. I scream as he startled me. I feel depressed. Then I remember with delight that we are going on a spa day,that my husband bought for us as a treat, a full package with a facial and all. I run downstairs and we get there 7 minutes late. The spa was a strange experience, I was sure I was being punk’d or something on a hidden camera because of the characters that were there. It was nice, and relaxing at times but, I didn’t expect to be doing crunches in the middle of a facial. As I sat in the waiting room afterwards, eating grapes and chilling out, I read a few messages from my mum.

On the other side of the planet, my niece has been institutionalized, my mother had waited with her for a really long time, not slept, my niece had finally gotten a place somewhere, but what shook me to my core was, it was the same hospital as my brother used to live in. The name of the hospital in itself, it affects me. The kids in my class teasing me, and singing that stupid song about it in primary school. The countless visitations there, that were both fun, and despairing. The celebration of Christmas at that institution. The constant fear that my brother would kill himself. And after over a decade, he killed himself. Now his daughter is there. After all she’s been through, Loosing her father, being sexually abused by her step father, and betrayed by her mother, she is now finally getting some help, 24/7 attention with professionals, in a safe atmosphere. I hope it’s okay, I hope she’ll feel better. I hope this isn’t one of those cases where there is no turning back. I’m scared. Again. I know it’s not all about me, this is about her, and her well being, and her improvement, but the fact that she is THERE made me feel worse. I am scared for her. Her being suicidal frightens me to the core. Loosing her.. she is so young, younger than me, smarter, brighter and more beautiful than me. She is better than me. But she was given the shortest straw. I have been lucky. I am frightened, worried and trauma from the past is threatening to come out through vomit, tears and hyper breathing. But I’m keeping calm. Calm.

Perfection

I am following in Dawn D‘s footsteps and being inspired by OctPoWriMo, and today’s word was, PERFECT. These are the thoughts that were triggered for me.

I have met women, girls and cats, that I thought were close, to perfect.

My mother always said to me, that nobody is perfect, and the definition of perfect changes quickly, as quickly as a decade, sometimes only a year.

Therefore when I met the women, girls and cats, that I thought were close, to perfect,

I knew they really weren’t and somehow that made me smile.

When I was little, there was a girl in my class. All the boys saw her and all the girls loved her, and she was so pretty, sporty and smart, she always finished her math tasks first, and had lots of friends. I thought she must be perfect, since everybody wants to copy her, but I am not like her, not one little bit, then what am I, if that is perfection?

Imperfect.

When I became a young woman, I came to know a young woman, she was a year under me in school, and she was so perfect. Her short platinum blonde hair, perfect on her perfect head. Her stunning face, with light makeup, collar bones, glowing skin, womanly beautiful body. She was funny, talented and had a unique style, I was blown away, to the point of obsession, a girl crush, the wonder, how did she do it? Why was she this flawless? Everyday?

And what was I? Next to her?

Cats are so perfect, their bodies so strong, sleek and flexible, their faces are stunning and so god damned cute. They jump and stretch and purr when they’re happy and lay in the sun with a grin on their face.

I wish I was a cat.

But I knew all along, and I still know it true.

The little girl I once knew, She wasn’t perfect, she was spoiled, she manipulated, took advantage of her assets and hurt people’s feelings. It made her imperfect, it made her foul. And now she is plane, boring and uninteresting. Maybe she’ll learn, like I did.

The young woman I still know, she had her teeth done, the two corner teeth in her pearly white smile, were crooked and made her the most unique face ever. Now her teeth are straight, and her face slightly less interesting, I loved that “imperfection” but vanity got her. I know she’s not perfect, but she is a good person. The pressure of looking like this and that, it affects her, as much as it does me.

The cat, it is dead. It used it’s nine lives. It purred, jumped, screeched, scratched, played and made my life so good. But it’s gone now, his kidney failed him, and he had to go to sleep. But he reminds me of how someone, and something can be perfect to me, to you and to all.

Perfect is a vague word, it’s flawed and ever-changing. But it’s handy for a situation, a moment, a second,

when you’re truly happy, and all worries are gone, when someone looks indescribable, or it lands, hand in glove. Perfection, I’ve felt it, I’ve seen it, I’ve stroked it. But it never stays the same.