The World According to EDW

As I may have mentioned, I'm pretty excited about Halloween this year. I have a totally cool costume. I'm going to be Magenta from Rocky Horror. I've got the dress, the fishnets, the boots, the crazy eyelashes, and tons of makeup to be put on. I even remembered how to do the Time Warp. And I've got a wig.

My girlfriends wax on about wigs; how cool they are, how fun they are to wear, how any Halloween costume with a wig is automatically better. So I bought the wig, or rather, Jodi ordered it for me. I wasn't convinced that I needed one, per se, but they convinced me.

And then it arrived in the mail.

Do you remember Magenta's hair? It's not pretty. And now I have this huge red 'fro on my head. It's massive and it's slightly itchy and did I mention it's a 'fro? My costume was all sexy scary. How am I going to be sexy scary with a huge red 'fro on my head?

And while we're on the topic of Halloween, I think I hate being class mom. I don't want to call strangers and tell them things. I don't want to be the great communicator. I feel fairly stupid being perky. I know, shocker, because I spend a lot of my life perky. But still, it feels lame.

I don't mind the parties, so far. Of course, tomorrow is my first one, so time will tell. The other class moms, my committee, if you will, are very nice if not exactly my brand of slacker mom. I fear they all do crafts with their children. For fun. But I could be misjudging them. Maybe they only pretend to do crafts to fool the other moms.

Insecurities about wigs and class parties aside, I feel like a little kid waiting for Halloween to start. Tomorrow, it's drop off Emily, go pick up her vaccine form (finally, before they kick her out of school), then back to school and the party, then lunch with Kim, then back to school, then trick or treating, then the hand off to the grandparents for more trick or treating and an overnight stay. Then it's adult time. The house is ready for my friends to come over. Pizza will ordered, beer will be drunk, costumes will be put on. Pictures will be taken of all of it, and posted.

I hope your day is super fun, too.

It's breast cancer awareness month, and I figure this is as good a time as any to write about mine. The girls, if you will.

I know I'm squeaking in under the wire with this post, but as I mentioned before, I had to wait for Jodi to come home from vacation. But here I am, as promised.

Today I went for a mammogram, my first, what's called a baseline. 35 is the normal age for a baseline, but with what they like to call a "family history", I get to go at the tender age of 34.

What's interesting about going today versus going last year at this time is there's a lot less to squeeze in there. Now don't get me wrong - I'm totally happy about the nearly 80lbs lost. But the truth is, I lost something else, too.

Pre-WW, I had what my friend Jami refers to as "suffocate you when you sleep" on top. They were, perhaps, too big. Think there's no such thing? Oh, but there is. It's true. There are times when you wish you could wear a tank top and not look whorish. But despite any debate about their appropriateness, they were good. There was none of the post-baby horror you hear about. No, sir, they did their job and looked good doing it.

And I had fun with them. They gave great cleavage. They filled out dresses and shirts in a way I had never experienced. Tshirts were tight! Who knew?

Sure, they had their drawbacks. Many a time I would scoot home and change, because what was appropriate for the playground with all women was not when having dinner with the inlaws, or having to see a friend's husband. Hot mom is cool, but slut mom is not.

As I lost the weight, I lost them, bit by bit. At first I was ecstatic. I went from a 40DD to a mere 40D to a 38D. Finally, I could buy bras in normal sizes again! I could fit into shirts. Then I was a 36C, OMG, totally normal! I could buy bras on sale again.

And then it happened.

My girls went back right to where they were before all the weight gain, before the baby and the marriage and even college graduation. Now they are the size they were in, say, 1995. Yes, my girls have regressed 13 years. The bonus from pregnancy, which I thought I would keep forever, is gone. I'm back to my original size, a totally respectable size. But who knows where they will end up? After four years of wowza, the thought horrified me.

You might think, what is her problem? Is it not enough to be healthy? After all, my mom has battled breast cancer as you well know. And I did think that. But reason and logic are not emotion, and wowza was all about emotion.

So I mourned the loss of the big girls. For about three weeks in the summer, I talked implants. "I think I want implants," I announced at one of the summer concerts. "Really?" Teri queried. "Have you always wanted them?" "No", I replied. "I just don't want to have small boobs." My girlfriends, God Bless them, responded in the way you do when your friend is having a moment; support without the hint of "you're talking crazy talk, sister". They let the moment pass.

And pass it did. I went to a really good lingerie store, where they measured me and comforted me, providing me with two bra sizes - believe it or not, 34C and 36B are the same size - and many pretty options at my tinier size. They also urged me to come back when I was done losing weight, and promised me the girls looked good, despite what they'd been through. "We see a lot," said one woman, "and you got lucky."

I think so, too. Today when I went for my mammogram, my tech was the nicest woman imaginable. About my age, the mom of two young kids, she was determined to make me feel comfortable during an uncomfortable exam. She explained everything she did, why she positioned me one way or the other, and showed me the images on the screen. The girls looked pretty good in their xray form, and the tech payed me the nicest compliment. As she was scrunching one side into the machine, she apologized for hurting me. "You're such a skinny little thing, it's probably coming down right on your bone!". I started to laugh, and had to explain why. So we had a really nice chat about weight, breasts, and Disney, where she is headed in December for a long-planned vacation. By the time it was over, I felt great. We parted like old friends.

So for right now, I'm happy with my petit seins. They work in my new smaller dresses and tshirts, and if they don't have the impact the big girls did, oh, well. I've got other charms.

When Richelle was here, she took a lot of pictures of us for our Christmas card. Go look at them, please, and tell me which ones you like. And if you'd like, you can hire Richelle, too. All the cool kids are doing it.










Totally amazing, right?

Today is a year since I started Weight Watchers. I am very proud that I have kept this going for a year. I am very proud of the changes I have made. They are, pun intended, huge changes. I went from a size 20 to a size 10, from 237lbs to 158lbs. I literally do not recognize myself in the mirror.

I know some people cannot relate to this. That's fine; you don't have to relate to it. But it's a big (again, the pun) deal to me. The numbers matter to me. The tracking of this, the marking of it, the before and after pictures, matter to me.

It's as if my body changed faster than my brain. This is not some pre-feminism bullshit, some body image garbage from a woman who has always been thin. This is the truth from a woman who never was the thin girl, who was always the heavy one, who could never borrow a girlfriend's clothes.

Yet, despite that role, I felt good about myself. Maybe I was delusional, but I rocked it. And then I lost the weight, and suddenly I have no idea what I look like. I don't know what clothes fit, even what size to pick up half the time. When your weight is steady, you know exactly which stores to go into, which sizes to pick up, which tops to try on and which you can just buy without trying on. Now, my size changes every month, and sometimes store to store. I'm so far down from my normal "skinny" sizes that picking up the ones that might fit seem like picking up child's clothing.

Girlfriends tell me I'm skinny and roll their eyes when I wonder out loud if I am. I have to look twice, because while I recognize the hair and the smile and the shape of my body, the size is stuck somewhere about 30lbs back. I literally do not know if certain items of clothing look good on me.

Inexplicably, my body changed faster than my head.

Thus, the post Wednesday, and my need, today, to carry two pictures of me: what I looked like before and what I look like now. One day this will not matter, but until my head catches up, it does. It matters a lot. If I don't do this work now, I will never move forward.

So today let me celebrate and thank those who have come here with me. Erika and Lyz and Kat, who make the blog often but never by name - I would not be here without your support. Jodi, who got on the train with me - I'm so glad we are doing this like we do everything - together. Nick, because you support me even when you don't get it.

And thank you, for reading this. I looked over a lot of old posts tonight while I was writing this one, and the kindness and support and friendship you have extended me is priceless. You might not always comment, but you always reach out when I need you, and that's really wonderful. I feel very lucky to know you, and very right about writing out my life like this.

Hi.

I know that you know this is coming. In fact, it's been a long time in coming. Every day that we have coexisted has lead us to this moment.

It's time for me to say goodbye to you.

I have loved you. You have brought me so many things - Nick, Emily, nearly every friend I have. You have brought me support and safety, comfort and knowledge. I knew who I was with you, and you were rock steady with that assurance. You got along well with my family and friends, you were with me as I charmed and flirted, fell in and out of love. You came with me on every job interview, every date, every first cup of coffee or glass of beer.

It's not you; it's me. You did your job. I had an identity and I always, always knew my place. I love knowing my place. But right now, I don't know it. And you want me to feel that cushion of safety, and I can't. I just can't anymore. That cushion is gone, and frankly, it's too big for my ass anyway.

I need to say goodbye to you, and toddle uncertainly towards not knowing, to no safety, to finding a new place. I might feel uneasy or unsteady, for sure. I might wobble a bit and expose my insecurities. But it will be me doing it, on my own, and not you behind me.

Thank you for all you have done for me. Thank you for always being confident and believing in me, for that brazen air when I walked into a room. Thank you for all the good times we had, and everything you did to get me to where I am right now. Thank you, too, for the people you attracted that walked with me to this point, holding my hand when I faltered. God Bless you, because without you, I wouldn't have them.

But now it's time to say goodbye. So, goodbye. I might miss you, but I know there is no place to go but forward. So, thank you, and please understand, we're not going to talk again. No messages left for me, no return calls. It's been real, but this is my reality now.

xoxo

Me

One of the things about going to the dermatologist to have "atypical" skin dug out of your body on a Monday morning is that it pretty much renders everything you did the two or three previous days, namely your weekend, moot. You forget instantly the fun you had, because some very nice woman is telling you to relax and do your yoga breathing as she digs a needle into your back to numb it before she takes a razor blade to your skin.

But if you're white like me, and you get regular skin cancer checks, you know this is no big deal. In fact, it doesn't even hurt, except for the pinch of that numbing needle. And it's not alarming, not even when she decides you need something dug out of your leg, too. It is funny, though, when she explains that it's small and she was careful, so as not to cause a divot in your leg, because, you know, it's your leg. People see that. They might not notice the divot in your back so much, though.

Hilarious stuff.

The very best part of it, though, is when she discusses the premiere place to get a bikini wax, and you get to share your knowledge with your doctor. I've just got to love a woman who discusses waxing with me, needle and razor or not. And it's really no big deal that her mapping of my many, many freckles took so long that Kim had to get Emily from school, because thank God Emily is in love with Kim's entire family.

Nope, the part that sucks is two-fold: The way my back hurts now, hours after the biopsy; and knowing that I have to do this again in six months.

I've got one word for you: sunscreen. It's no joke. I'm a beach girl and I love a tan, but good God in heaven if I don't regret every day in the sun without major protection. I don't think for one second "pale is the new tan" but damn it if I won't buy into "45 is the new 30". I have upped my daily sunscreen from 15 to 45 and I am upgrading all our family sunscreen to 45, too, and Emily has always had 50. But now I see even more why she needs it every single day, and why I need to have it in my car at all times. I don't want her to be 34, coming off a great weekend, and have to think about every freckle.

Rob and Richelle have been in NYC since Saturday, but they came to us last night. We went to pick them up at the train station, Emily and I, but by the time the train pulled in, she was fast asleep. We got some Brothers pizza to take home - if you've been here and never had it, then I have failed you as a friend.

We ate our pizza and drank our beer and wine (we had to get in supplies, immediately) and just fell into the routine. Today we went to Red Bank and got Elsie's Subs, and again, if you've never had them, I am failing you as a friend. Then we went to Asbury Park and ate our subs and walked around and bought tshirts. These shirts are great, but totally something you only understand if you have been here or lived here.

Richelle took a lots of pictures, because that's what she does. Rob smiled and petted cats and looked after Emily, because that's what he does. Then we went to Harmon, where I take everyone I truly adore, and across the street to The Grove, where I bought a dress. I might wear it this weekend. It's green and short and very girly and not something I would have bought on my own, but probably exactly my kind of dress. Rob and Richelle insisted I buy it, so I did. And it was a size eight and on sale. Will wonders never cease?

Tomorrow Nick will work from home and Emily will go to school and Richelle will come with me to spin class with me and Rob will sleep in. Then we are going to lunch at the diner, and shopping in Red Bank, and for drinks at the Dublin House. On Saturday we will go to Emily's soccer game, and then down to AC, Emily going to my mom and dad's.

So that's our story for the weekend. I'll take some pictures. And post them. Cheers!

It's National Breast Cancer Awareness month, but today's post is not about my breasts. Simply because Jodi is on vacation and I absolutely swore to her that I'd wait until she got home to post about my breasts. The things we do for friends.

No, today's post is about something Jodi usually abhors talking about, except for this year when she is quite fired up. Politics, my friends. We are going to talk politics.

The deadline to register to vote has passed in most states, so I have truly failed in my civic duty to remind you to register to vote. But let's assume you have. I don't want to know who you are voting for, mainly because if you read my blog and I know you read my blog, we've probably already discussed it. I'm voting for Obama, but you knew that, didn't you? There are a few cases where family or friends (read: my dad and mom) are on the fence, not voting for Obama in a million years, but not happy about McCain, either, and in those cases I feel my job is to get them to split the vote. Write in someone. Go for it. I am amassing a list of good write-ins for them, so feel free to leave a comment with a potential candidate, and I'll evaluate the list, pick the one most likely to work on my dad, and start my counter-email campaign. If he can send me ludicrous emails about Barack Obama, I can certainly pester him to write-in someone. Isn't that how family works?

So today we are not going to discuss the two Presidential hopefuls, or their running mates. No, friends, today we are going to laugh. So I'm linking you to my favorite political funny, Why Republicans Are Better in Bed. It's hilarious and possibly very true. This is for my friend who once said "friends don't let friends sleep with Republicans". She was kidding. I think.

Do you have something equally funny? That's not a rant against a political party or beliefs but is actually funny? Then please, please link me.

So many random things today...Halloween costumes, private blogs, work or the lack therefore of, parties and events. Let's start with blogging.

Right now, I have two friends who have private blogs. This is killing me because they don't show up in my Google reader, and so I have to remind myself to go look at them. And I also can't link to those two friends anymore when I write about them, which sucks. But when I do go look at them, it's wonderful and I love reading them. I just need a little nudge, like a "Hey, Liz, post up!" Any suggestions?

Schools are closed today, and it was the breast cancer walk at my parent's community, so Emily and I got up early and went down there. I walked with my mom and dad; she rode in a red wagon. And old school one, metal and spray-painted, the one that was mine when I was a kid. The community photographers took a lot of pictures of her, so she will probably end up in their paper, or maybe on the calendar again. She's on their current calendar in a group shot from last year.

After we walked and ate bagels and debated the various Weight Watchers points of bagels (there is nothing older women love like talking WW points, I have discovered) my mom and I headed out to do some shopping. Halloween shopping, to be exact. She was going to make my costume, but I think we have come up with an even better, more cost effective and more kick-ass option. Anyway, she is invested this year is what her child is dressing up as. Isn't that sweet? My costume is not sweet, though. It will be, I hope, cool as hell. And slightly sexy.

If you are anywhere in NJ and would like to come out on Halloween, please email me. I keep meaning to send an email out to the locals, but the story is, several of us are going out, dressed up, to have fun. Nothing crazy, nothing complicated. I have an awesome costume - did I mention that? - and I just want to feel like a kid, dressing up, but with the benefits of being an adult. So come. It will be fun.

My husband asked me the other day if I ever got the car flirt. You know, when you smile at someone next to you and they smile at you, and it's just a cute little nothing. I had to answer him honestly. No, I never do. In fact, while I still feel like my old flirty self, no one normal flirts with me anymore. Creepy guys at bars, sure, they hit on me. But the rest of the male population that I used to have these nice, innocent flirts with...it's no longer. Boys 24 and under have taken to calling me ma'am recently. And the ones over 24 seem to be looking at me as...as I don't know what. A mom? People still smile at me all the time, but I smile at them, so that explains it. But am I too old to be cute? How could it have happened in only a year???

There's a flirting crisis, dear readers. Something must be done.

Tonight was one of those nights, and days, I fully intended to write about. I sit down and mean to write it all out. But it gets lost in conversations, and living, and pretty soon the words get sucked away from me, spent elsewhere in the currency of life.

Emily has had a hard time with soccer. Today she got on the field and played and she made contact with the ball and it was triumphant. She was so proud. "Mommy, I kicked the ball!" she cried, jumping up and down on the field. It was as if she had made the game winning goal.

I was snack mom, and I brought the right thing. My kid played the entire game, stayed in tune, and didn't pick flowers. My husband had his friends over to watch the Rutgers game, and we drank the beer we bottled. I met up with my high school friend Sean, who I wrote about before and am just going to call Sean from now on, no qualifier. He charmed both my husband and daughter, the latter of which hugged him and petted his arm, telling him he "could come over anytime he liked" and that was before he drew her animals to paint and color on request.

We spent a few hours not talking about anything we swore to talk about, and then I came home and hung out with my husband. Today I drank beer and drank coffee and looked at beautiful shoes and had good conversations. It was all good, all of it. My luminescent and brilliant and beautiful friends are in town, and I can literally feel them from here. Tomorrow is more old friends, and some newer ones and more music and then our week starts again, and Rob and Richelle show up and it flows on. There is everything to look forward to.

So if the words of this day and night get eaten up in the living of my life, so be it. There are more words and more nights and days and friends and stories to come.

Do you ever come here and think, damn, does she even blog anymore? Because I do. I think this all the time.

I have this huge promise to myself to reply to every comment I have gotten from every previous post, because they have been pretty awesome and I want to say thank you, and not in the "thank you, all of you" way but in that personal thank you way that is so much more meaningful than doing this blanket thing on my blog in my post about not having time to blog, again.

So right now I am literally going through all my email while Emily and Nick make lots of noise in the kitchen. When you get these emails from me, and they are totally random and reference stuff from like six weeks ago, you will know why. And if I accidentally type "please be quiet" you will not be surprised.

Be back soon. Xoxo.

Last night I went to see a band, Dramarama, which you surely know for their hits like "Last Cigarette" and "Anything, Anything". And while I was there, I was having my usual love fest with the experience of being in a bar to see a band and the people and the music and the place. I don't have this for every show I see or every band. But this band is one you should see live. They clearly love to play shows, and longtime fans told us this was an off night for them, yet they were still amazing. We met the drummer and bassist and the lead singer, John Easdale, and we gushed about how awesome it was to finally see them live. And they were gracious and cool and very laid back. They are totally the kind of band I'd follow and go to after parties and get sucked into their band culture, like we did with Marah, because they are nice and so are their fans.

While there, we ran into friends of Jodi and Greg's that we've known for a few years, Glenn and Michele. They have a very fun connection with Dramarama, and for Glenn and Michele's wedding last month, the band sent a video of themselves singing to the happy couple. Neat, huh? Well, the other cool thing is Michele is a girl who does shots and even though I gave them up for 2008, I love a girl who does shots. We had a great time with them. Let's say that we went into the night in a good place, but after some kind of heavy conversations about money, or our lack therefore of, and the night was one of those good times that reminds you why you live where you live and love who you love. I love this state, and this county, and this man, and all of them are in my heart forever.

So it's the morning after, and I am contemplating something a girlfriend wrote to me. I'm lucky enough to have a lot of people who get this, who understand how I feel when I write about shows, even if they skip of the details of the latest one. This friend and I (I'd tell you her name, but you'd never believe me) were writing to each other about feeling fully alive and I said that it's sad, but there's something about being in a bar on the Jersey shore hearing a great band that makes me feel like myself. And she said it wasn't sad, it was good. And then I got to thinking.

We give awards for the wrong things in this society. Like, what is wrong with knowing what you're good at? Or what makes you feel alive? I am parts of me shopping, singing in the car to music, being at the beach, in the midst of a crowd at a concert and good God, yes, when I make it to a running pace. Driving along Ocean Ave last night, I was me. In a restaurant, all dressed up with heels and lipstick and a glass of wine, I am fully me. In Disney, seeing the castle for the first time that trip, or hearing the music when you walk into Epcot, I feel like me. I take a deep breath at all of these times, because they are me and I want to be fully alive in those moments. I want to open my arms up and take it in, and share it with everyone I love in the world.

It is incredibly simplistic, I know that, but I am still stunned that we are all not walking around embracing our lives with joy. Why not? Sure, there are other things. I can dredge up cancer and money problems and death and sadness and hard times all in the blink of an eye. We all have shit, right? And sometimes the shit takes over for a time. But even when it's heavy, I am still a wide-eyed child at some things, surprised by joy.

Jodi told me once that I knew how to be happy. That some people don't but that I do. And a shaman (yeah, a real honest to Pete shaman) told me that not everyone lives in joy. Some people haven't danced in years. This strikes me as vastly sad and such a waste.

What do you think? Is it personality, knowing your passion, not being afraid? What is it that makes some of us embrace a moment and others never dance again?

I'm not dead yet.




I feel happy! I feel happy!

Anyhoo, it's October, and man, am I glad. September is over, and goodbye to all that. Hello fall weather and leaves and sweatshirts. Hello to getting rid of more stuff around my house, to new work, to friends coming to visit. Happy Birthday to Rob and Courtney, both born on the first day of the 10th month.

I'm going to have some time for blogging, and reading blogs, and talking to friends. Time for all of it. Starting now.