The Artful Waggle: Updated

I was in the town that I went to college in last night. That's a horrible sentence but bear with me here.


So I was back at school and my friend and I went to my favorite restaurant, the famous Earth and Tea Cafe, for tea and Princess Cake (you have no idea what you're missing). On our way to the car after tea and shopping I spotted a glorious waggle. It was yet another man waggle, I tend to notice them more because, well, lady boobs aren't really my thing. This man had a front and back waggle, hips and buns swinging in his swishy pants on his way to the only athletic establishment in the tiny downtown area, the stripercize studio.

Good for him, you know, if your best assets look best bouncing why not bounce them in style while toning and strengthening your body, mind and spirit? Oh, so stripping isn't the same as yoga or meditation or long distance running?

My statement stands: If you bounce best, bounce well.

But I should also clarify that I don't want this to be something I an forced to observe while trying to diminish my midsection bounce while bounding doing a stationary machine that somehow forces me to look at myself run even if the TV is turned on to such exercise shows as Top Chef: Just Desserts. I don't want to see boobs, I don't want to see bums and I sure as hell don't want to see them in all of the splendor while I'm attempting to be discrete.

The waggle has a scary side and it is apparent in the locker room. While I'm not privy to what goes on in a men's locker room (and am eternally grateful because if it's half as bad as what goes on in the ladies' locker room I'd die) the women's locker room is where the waggle rears its ugly head and causes nightmares. I will never judge a fatty at the gym, I am not so stealth myself, and it can only be an improvement for their health, what I will judge is the lack of shame some people feel in a locker room. I have had a few encounters with men in the locker room, more than enough to keep any need to uncover  covered, but I hide when it's just the ladies too.

Some people not so much. My favorites are the towel on the head ladies, they like to put lotion on their legs while using the counter to prop up said legs while only wearing the aforementioned towel. I also like the large lady whose aquatic class has tuckered her out so thoroughly that she has to sit her naked bottom on the bench to get dressed, this lady is always social. All of these ladies are wiggling and jiggling into their clothes and entire bodies waggle. Entire bodies!

Please, if you dare, share your waggles with me, sexy and un. But be kind, use words not visuals.

Growing Up

It has become painfully obvious that this year, my 23rd, is quickly wrapping up. And again, as it has been every year since I turned 21 (yeah, I know, oh so many years ago) I'm beginning to panic. People seem distracted, preoccupied, and they are going to forget again. Two people at work know my birthday is next week. A few friends know (one shares my birthday, one was sweet enough to take me to Whose Live?, one may remember or may forget but he knows its here). My grandparents remembered, I got my card today. It'll be a miracle if my dad remembers, though I'm not sure why. Facebook will remember.

The plus side to my birthday blues: this year no one has pointed out what they were doing at my age. Last year it was all, "I'd been married for five years and had two kids." I think by now they realize this isn't how my life is working.

I think the fact that my loosely laid out life plan isn't shaping up the way I had pictured brings me down more than my dad not remembering and his mother reminding me that I haven't seen her in a long time can't seem to remember that birthdays other than hers exist. Apple and tree situation maybe?

I also think my panic comes from not having an adventure in sight. I can't seen a clear moment of joy in my future, I see working, I see grocery shopping and I see not enough time in the day. I think maybe I crave adventure too much, I spoiled myself with it too early... or not. Maybe I'm just playing it too safe now. Maybe I should get on a bike and ride across the country? Only I don't like bikes, but there has to be something sort of like that that I'm afraid of doing, something that I would actually.

Maybe, just maybe, I show become a roadie. I know, the whole thing has a certain skeeze factor, dirty clothes and buses and late nights and too much to drink. But I don't know that it would be bad. Maybe I should freak my mom out, join the Peace Corp like I always planned, throw caution to the wind, learn a new language, live in poverty in a strange place and maybe make a difference. I wouldn't be any worse off than I am today.

I could go back to school, take on that debt. Learn and end up actually working in a place I despise instead of just in an unstimulating job that I despise some of the time.

Operation Ada Jane seems more like a trap these days than a genius idea, but some genius ideas are traps aren't they?

Haha, who am I kidding?

Whatever you do this week don't compare me to you. Thanks a bunch!

It's 1:30 on a Wednesday, Do you know where your children are?

I do!

Ok, so this is an easy game because I don't have any offspring. But at 1:30pm on a Wednesday I should be working or something, but I'm not. I'm sitting around letting my mind wander, and it hurts a little bit, drinking coffee wondering what to do next.

I could put the wash into the dryer, but that would mean getting up and then in an hour or so I'd have to get up and fold it. All of this seems like too much effort right now. I mean when I got out of the shower I didn't really even get dressed. I'm wearing clothes, a lot of clothes, but I look like a homeless person. My mom told my sister I was practicing for pregnancy (third you should have a baby in two days). My plaid, flannel dress is so super shapeless that she might be right.

Oh, goodness yes, the washing machine is still going so I don't have to get up just yet!

But while I'm wasting my day being pathetic and trying to make my room smell like a human room people are out there living life and facing the world. I would be too, but it's raining and I'm broke and didn't have to work today. The rain and the broke sort of suck, and while I don't want to work being at work wouldn't be so bad.

Heck, I'm on facebook looking at pages of people who've passed away wondering why people still comment on their walls. Maybe facebook is the new religion? I dare say many people would go for that before they went for Jesus, who interestingly enough my wireless network has been named after.

Like how this didn't go anywhere?

Me too.

Chompy McHumperson

My mom got a puppy this past August and he is absolutely adorable. I trained him to lay down in three tries, then was told never to teach him another thing because he stopped sitting and started doing all of his other tricks. His one fault is biting. He bites out of love and out of play. He bites anything he can get his mouth around, sometimes amounting to two or three toys at a time.

Or...

My right breast. He's always lunging at and chomping the right one. And now that he is an adolescent dog after getting excited after a nice chomp he wraps himself around my arm and if I'm not quick he'll hump it. Between the chomping and the humping and this odd nose pushing thing he does I'm covered in bruises and flinch when he comes up to me.

The relationship has become abusive, he loves me, if he didn't he wouldn't chomp me.

Help me train my dog to be nicer to the boob, and less nice to my arm!

This Post Proves Itself Wrong. I am Lazy.

Yesterday, I was at work and one of the regular clients came in and was chatting, they do this sometimes, and he brought up some current news topics. So he sidles on to the Occupy Wall Street protests and that is where the encounter goes south.

I should have learned by now that I am of a different world view than most of the people that I work with, live near, and am forced to interact with in a fake-smiley work way, and at this point I should have learned that the fake smiling gets me farther with people than opening my mouth and expressing an opinion. All that said, I am human and apparently like the abuse that comes with being a young adult that can't afford to live on their own.

So he blabs about the protesters being lazy, no-goods, and says, and this is a real quote, not something like a quote that I'm putting in quotation marks, "This is America, there are plenty of jobs, they can have any job they want." Ok, Herman Cain, whatever you say.

I stupidly said, "we (referring to my fellow teller and myself) only work three days a week," as in the company that we work for, that I actually like, doesn't have the money to employ full-timers, so I'm happy to have my sad hours instead of nothing, while I try to figure out what to do with the BA I earned in three and a half years. Though, I only said the stupid part, so when he called me lazy and said I should get a second job, I probably deserved it, right?

I don't think so.

But we're all entitled to our opinions and Fox News in a legitimate news source so I guess I should be happy he isn't completely ignorant.

For the record, I am many things but I am not lazy. I quit my second job because I was actually spending more money to get to it than I was making. I hated it, I hated myself while being there, I hated how I was treated by customers, I hated how I was treated by fellow employees and I hated how it looked on my resume. So I quit, I am picking up gigs that I wouldn't have been able to do otherwise, I am picking up hours that I wouldn't have been able to pick up otherwise. I am still looking for a job that is both satisfying, interesting and pays enough (because I can't hold out for decently or even reasonably). And I've been called pretty twice in a week by people who had never seen me outside of my former work place. As in, "You're so pretty, that place must of been aweful! Look at you're smile!"

So I don't regret backing down to one part-time job. But walk a mile in my shoes.

Also the man is a small business owner. I don't have much money. He has the same amount as me in all of his accounts combined. He makes daily deposits that are twice the size of my savings account, so somehow I win.

That was mean. But I'm not lazy.

Copy and pasted from noboomerangleftbehind.blogspot.com

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.-