The Bar Scene

Ugh, it’s SO not my scene!

Each year my aunt comes within an hour of my stomping grounds to visit her adult daughter, otherwise known as my hilarious cousin.  For the past couple of years they have included me for part of their girls’ weekend, and we have a blast!  We have our own exclusive club, the UM’s (unfit mothers), and we laugh and celebrate our ‘fantastic’ parenting moments.  The name was naturally born from some ridiculous paperwork my ex-husband #4 filed against me.  I have many faults, however, the one area of strength I own is my devotion and love for being a mother to my kids.  (Except at 6pm last night when I was about to put my daughter for sale on eBay.  Other than that, I love being a mom and feel a great sense of gratitude that I have spent TEN years at home with my kids, but that’s for another time).

This past weekend we went out in the city for a couple of drinks and some dancing.  I felt so old.  I looked around at all of the 20 and 30-somethings, all who have probably never changed a diaper, been through days in court fighting for custody of children and the silverware, and they all enjoyed gainful and exciting employment.  The feelings of inferiority swept over me.  I felt each wrinkle on my face as if they were on fire, and I was sure everyone could see all of my faults and failures.  After my second glass of ‘cougar juice’ I laughed at how silly my little life would seem to the young guys that bought me my drink and think I am 29. How they would run for cover grateful to have escaped my little hell. And I thought, I can’t stand bars:   Everyone trying to look relaxed while highly uncomfortable, dressed up specimens posturing importance while anxiously scanning the room for either a hook-up or a spouse.  Yuck.  Done.  No Thanks.  Yes, I’m getting older, but also wiser. These are not my people; I was only there to celebrate my family, so, attitude shift!  I spent the rest of the night focused on my outstanding company, led my cousin around the dance floor, and laughed until it hurt.  Bars aren’t so bad with that attitude.

But since I broached the subject of vanity, let’s go there.  Just for a shallow minute.  I admit that I am pretty obsessed with my weight; ridiculously consumed actually.  I haven’t really had a weight problem in my life, I added significant ‘poundage’ through pregnancy with my son, but I took it all off and got myself back into shape.  When I am stressed and anxious I don’t feel like eating.  I used to be really busy, so I didn’t have much time to think about eating.  And I used to dance all the time, so even when I did eat, it didn’t matter what I consumed.  M&M’s for dinner was common.  But now I am in-to my 40’s, very early in-to, but in-to nonetheless.  Stress certainly is part of my life, but it doesn’t keep me from downing those extra snacks anymore.  I graze all day long.  It was all fine and dandy when I was a size 00.  But now I have exploded into a 2.  (I just said that to piss you off, did it work?)  Why I am tied to the numbers on the scale and tag, I do not know, but I honestly and sadly am.  I surrender to it even.  I accept that my mood, demeanor, drive, and aura revolve around the size of my waistline.  What a waist of time and energy (pun intended).  Intellectually I know that.  I even took a field trip to the mall thinking that if I bought some bigger clothes and I wasn’t so uncomfortable all of the time I could think more productive thoughts.  But when I slipped on those size 4’s, I couldn’t buy them. I hate the games stores play – a size 4 at Express?  I had to run over to NY&Co just to be sure I was still a 2 in their store! I didn’t buy anything there either.  Instead I went to Old Navy and bought three $15 summer dresses (smalls) so I would have those to wear instead of shoving my insides into my denim.  Even writing this makes me feel so, what’s the word…..vain?  Stupid? (I already used shallow….)  So I just want to tell those of you that know me, I know it’s stupid, and my guess is I will continue to be stupid until I find some peace around this, or fit back into my 0’s (I can give up my 00’s, those were some bad, bad times).  And I am sitting here, writing about it while sipping on my green smoothie, which I made extra disgusting today; I cut back on the high-sugar berries, and added ginger root and more veggies than normal to punish myself for that extra glass of wine last night.

Even so, I have to admit that I feel a little bit of a shifting starting to happen.  I look younger with a couple of extra pounds, and I feel stronger and healthier when I eat and exercise.  I would like to focus on those feelings and let the feelings of panic and anxiety over the loss of part of my wardrobe (White House, Black Market isn’t cheap you know) and my total identity to being so thin go.  Health.  I need to see and feel health and not worry about the numbers. This is going to take some time, but oh the peace I would have; that would be worth it.  Issues like these are why I love writing this blog.  I find some clarity and my intuition starts driving my words, and girlfriend, I’m listening.  And staying away from the bars!