The Artful Waggle

I understand now. At least I think I do. No, this isn't a meaning of life type thing, though maybe it is. It's more a breast thing, not just breasts but chiefly breasts, and breasts are sort of meaning of life for babies and some of the male of my species. And while I've got a set I've never really understood the fascination, that is, as I stated earlier, until now.

This afternoon I was driving and as I sat at a stop light waiting for my green, a pedestrian crossed the opposite crosswalk, halfway across a car forced the walker into a job and there it was, the ever so elusive, meaning of life, life changing, life affirming, breast waggle.

And now you're shaking your head. First of all I should try to explain what a waggle is, I do indeed use the word a lot in real life, if perhaps not here.

Waggle verb : a motion that resides somewhere between swaying or waving to and fro and jiggling or vibrating.

Unbound breasts do waggle, I have a hand motion that is a waggle (Jamie Lose and Christine Bowden witnessed it once and each has a wonderful impression). Waggles happen often enough that Merriam-Webster will eventually pick it up, but not until Oxford English does (I just talking about dictionaries like they're not dictionaries, what now?).

This waggling episode of this afternoon wasn't as beautiful as you XYs are thinking because this waggle was the waggle of male mammaries (Google is telling me this is spelled incorrectly, forgive me but mammary just doesn't work, it was a plural waggle.)

Yes, a man jogged across the street and his breasts bounced and shook like a slo-mo Baywatch shot, only much less appealing. I was repulsed. And I'm not being sizest here, I should clarify that this was not a fat man but a fit man, at least his legs were fit, he could have used a few reps in the chestical region, light weights just to firm those puppies up.

It was this repulsion that made me understand though. I understand a bit more of the mystery of the love of boob. Breasts have they're own magical motion, and as the tele-tube has led me to believe in a fuller form the waggle is wonderfully hypnotizing. So I hear. I'm still pulling two sports bras at the gym to keep the waggle to a minimum because the TV doesn't understand how uncomfortable treadmill waggle is.

I am feeling more enlightened today. I hope you are too.

Movie Time

I'm not sure that I'm in my right mind, I've pulled back from the crazies lately (partly because I quit my one job, and making decisions feels good) but I can still see them lingering, like a shadow in the periphery. I'm trying my best to focus on happy things, I even went to far as to explain to a woman that a week of rain and flooding is a good thing because it keeps the grass green, she said miserable too many times, and it was bringing me down.

Today I decided that after some super unsuccessful window shopping I'd grab a movie to watch and just enjoy the day. I watched Something Borrowed, that was a mistake. Movies are supposed to have happy endings, or at least American movies are, everyone is supposed to end up with the right person and the bad guys are supposed to end up alone. It didn't happen. Where is my catharsis? I need to know that the best friend who was in love ends up happy. Where is his justice? Yeah, he goes to London, and that would make me happy but he doesn't get his girl not even after being super patient.

I must move on. I must trust that the actor had a scheduling conflict because that best friend was better than the other guy who came across as the "bad guy" even when everyone was doing stupid things.

Maybe the problem with movies is that somehow every movie ends with you, the viewer, connected to a character. That's supposed to happen, you're supposed to relate to someone, but I always relate the the one who doesn't win. I'm Ben Affleck in The Company Men, I'm Annie in Bridesmaids, I'm Ethan in Something Borrowed (even the "I kind of love you, kind of" thing, I did that in London too, and I was also told "darn, too bad"). I don't care to be these characters, and yes, they do find something like peace or happiness, but they are defeated versions of themselves by the end of the movie and I'm hoping for something other than defeat.

Maybe Logan is right , I have to write a book. I have to create something out of the defeat I'm feeling. Or I have to accept it.
You don't need to know who Logan is, he's important in terms of this idea but becoming less and less important in the big picture. It's sad how friends fade.-

To Weight Loss

So I'm doing it again. Dieting. I'm an expert at this point, yet it's a cycle, an ugly expensive cycle. There is way too much popcorn and water involved in my life when I'm trying to be good. And not even good popcorn, the oil-free kind without much flavor. And yet I continue pop-pop-popping away.

I need help. I need motivation and group fitness classes. I need the people I work with the quit with the food. No more candy in my drawer, no more pie runs (yes, this happens at my job, people go for expensive pie on a regular basis) no more goading me, if I say I'm starving half an hour before I go to lunch do not tell me to eat dried fruit or a granola bar.

I need other types of success in my life, personal success begets personal success in my case. I have "when it rains it pours" type of "luck", good and bad. So let the good rain fall.

Grad School: An Idea

So I have options, right? I'm a smart cookie, got the degree, not the/a job, and am willing to wait out the next recession in a classroom with a crap job on top. I could perhaps just stick up my place o' business and pay for this wondrous idea.

Um, no, that's probably a bad idea. A very, very bad idea. Stealing is bad.

Ok, next!

What should I get a master's degree in? Basket weaving, a good option. But really do I go international somethingerother or publishing or communications somethingerother? Wine making would be a sound step but I'm not sure I can handle the caloric intake, the alcohol, or the lifestyle. Weekends, I need them.

All of my options are limited by my background, English and British are a touch of what I want, words and foreign. Peace Corps is an option. One that involves isolation and foreign languages. Also, latex, which you know isn't my favorite thing.

Help!

Oh Hey!

It's bit a while. I know this, you know this. We'll blame it on busyness but that's a lie and you know it.

So here goes honesty:

I downloaded Scrabble on the Kindle, had a dark moment, played some more Scrabble, slept a bit, played with my puppy, Scrabble, puppy, Scrabble, Scrabble, wine, Scrabble, new fall premieres on the on-demand and I went the the gym a few times.

Yeah, since my interview I've been offline for the most part, the rejection is beginning to eat away at the soul just a bit. Scrabble is the 99 cent cure. And Al is always beating me.

Today I have a list of things to do, post office, Costco, cleaning, gym, cleaning my room, a shower so instead of doing those things I'm here!

So I've become insanely unproductive. What of it?

Grasping the Glimmer

Hope has a funny way of shining through even when you least expect it. I put in my notice at the dreaded retail job and applied myself to applying to jobs. Got a near immediate hit, woot! Interviewed today, woot! And can see myself making money now, being happy, moving away eventually. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Hope is the interviews, my friend Katie and I each had one today and are praying that it's the out we've each been looking for. My birthday twin started his trudge though retail hell today, for a good cause, he's back in school, he'll finish it soon enough and be back to work in the real world.

So we each have our little taste of hope. And it is sort of a fleeting taste, now that things have started rolling we take a passive role in respective fates. Hoping. Waiting. It's enough to make one drink. But maybe tomorrow night, tonight we're broke.