Tag Archives: young gun

Getting My Shit Together

I have got to get my shit together. I finally snapped out of the cloud of ambiguity and now I am slapping myself for not planning accordingly. There are several items on the List of To Do’s for 2015. Normally, I do not engage in the whole new year’s resolution thing, but I am afraid I will have to give it the ol’ college try (only better than I actually did in college…sigh).

I do not plan on revealing everything on the List of To Do’s here because I am still working on the whole transparency/vulnerability thing (ok…there’s one for the List), but I will reveal two of the most important for (mostly) selfish reasons: accountability.

Numero Uno: I gotta get this fat off of my body. I have been complaining about this forever and the older I get the more I want it gone. Young Gun challenged me to a weight loss duel. I probably should not have taken the challenge, however, I am a sucker for competition. Dude is 11 years younger than me with strength and reflexes like Superman. I, on the other hand, have the strength and reflexes of an old fat cat. Never the less, I took him up on his challenge and now I am adding another ticking clock to my already crowded shelf of ticking time bombs (Half Iron Man 2015, Marathon 2015…should I bother naming more craziness???). The goal: Reach 175lbs by June 30th. Doable, right? You’d think so considering I should know how to do this shit already but, err, uh…my brain/body is revolting.

Numero Dos: I gotta get my finances under control. Luckily, I do not have much debt–hardly any really–but the little I do have, I want it gone. I want to be able to sign on the dotted line in 2020 for the Beach House and pay cash. I want to be able to support the kids financially while they are in college so they don’t pick up the bad habit of being 18 with credit cards. I want to be able to start the Business and the Foundation. Shoot, I want to use my passport before it expires naked! I don’t make much but living takes everything I have. I need to operate on a budget and stick with it, no matter what.

Those are some grown up, important goals, right? I think so, too. Life is what it is, we all know that, but we have to strive to live our best lives or else it will be wasted. My best life is being fit, both physically and financially. Guess I’d better get to workin’ on that. I can’t keep letting life pass me by and I can’t keep living in this fog of numb. I gotta get my ish together–it’s about time. ;P

~SM

What The Heck Am I Suppose To Do With That???

Me. Meet Crossroads. Crossroads. Meet Me. I suppose this feeling of slightly lost could be attributed to the new year approaching, the Boy getting older, and the Girl’s new found teenage attitude. There is something brewing in this head/heart/soul of mine and I am uneasy with not being able to put a finger on what to do with it.

As a gift to myself, I purchased Act Like A Success by Steve Harvey. His explanation of the Gift is interesting and makes much sense, however, what is confusing about the Gift is how exactly one is to operate in the gift. I know my gift…the strongest one of them anyway…and it is writing. I can write with my eyes closed. I can write in my sleep. I could probably write standing on my head if my cleavage didn’t smother me first. I. Can. Write. It is my gift. Period. Score one for me (because I actually know that), but–err–what the hell am I suppose to do with it?

I sat at work and took about (5) internet quizzes on gift assessment. Know what all of them said? Artist. Duh. I knew that already. What each quiz failed to explain is what I was suppose to do with that knowledge. Young Gun said I should just have fun with it and explore, but (as I so cheerfully explained to him) I am almost 40…he is not even close so he can explore until his heart is content. My clock is ticking. Yes, yes, I know what some of you are probably thinking: there is no time limit on exploration. I got that. What there is a time limit on is operating in one’s gift and that (for me) is not up for debate.

I am annoyed by not knowing what to do with what was given. I feel like I have been given an engine to put together with no Chilton’s for reference. I suppose I will stop with the internet quizzes (as they are only telling me what I already know) and just continue to float until I get to the per-ordained destination. I am not chasing money. I am not chasing fame. I am not chasing tangible, external power stuff. I am chasing the unabashed freedom that operating fully in the Gift will give. Doesn’t that count for sun’tin?

~SM

Simple Girl or Just Lazy?

worstoutfitever23

So, I have a date on Saturday. It is with Young Gun, who I have been conversing with regularly for a couple of months now. Unfortunately, due to my schedule and his we don’t seem to find the time to enjoy one another’s company often. This weekend, however, we set aside the time to do just that. With that being said, I have a very first-world-problem situation happening. What do I wear?

I am a simple gal. Sweats, ball caps, bandanas, sneaks, GAP sweatshirts, and baggy tees are my thing. Sure I like to throw on the make-up and the heels Monday through Friday for the office show, but on the weekend I take dressing down to a whole new level. That makes me wonder though…is that being simple or is that just being lazy? Does it say I am confident enough to look like a truck driver on purpose or does it just lend a huge helping hand to me not caring about my appearance at all?

When I mumbled under my breath that I would have to find something to wear, YG replied: Honestly, just wear shoes that make you low to the ground, your hair in that cute little fro, jeans and a tee. No need to get dressed up or wear heels or anything. To this I responded: Excuse me sir, but I don’t do that. I dress up Monday through Friday, but the weekends are dedicated to baseball hats, workout clothes and sweatshirts. So…that’s what you’ll get.  According to Tobago and Emily, I am not allowed to do that.

When discussing with them what I should wear, they both adamantly said no to the compression pants and the GAP sweatshirt. Emily emphatically shot down the baseball cap. *sad face* “You’re going on a date!” she said. “Ok, if you have been married to him for 40 years, throw on a hat and sweats, but you haven’t. No hats of any kind.” Tobago said she would hunt me down if I wore workout clothes. *sigh*

When do you know which is which–laziness or simple? And what fashion caters to either one that doesn’t involve yoga pants and holey tee shirts? It is safe to say that I probably won’t rock the baseball hat (although I am highly tempted) and I probably won’t wear my running pants either (even though they suck in my stomach like Spanx). I will probably slip into something plain Jane simple–something where I can sit with my legs open–and enjoy the company all the while wondering if I am just a simple chick or a lazy one. Perhaps I will opt for being just a simple kinda gal who enjoys being comfy with a slight fashionably lazy potential.

~SM

A New Pace: Smitten

Smitten: be strongly attracted to someone or something.

That’s the definition of smitten (well, smite actually but who’s splitting hairs). According to that particular definition, I suppose I am smitten at this juncture. Weird to say–even weirder to feel.

They say the best way to get over a man is to get under another one. Personally, I find that to be stupid advice. Luckily (even though it felt pretty unlucky at the time), I had the opportunity to get over a man the hard way–alone. And while I still hold gentleman callers waaaaaay far away, I must say this particular one has me…well…you know.

Recognizing the error of my ways previously, I am making no rush moves or quick judgements. I am still very much seeing other people. I do not change plans or make major attempts to make room. I also don’t make excuses nor do I hide who I am. He seems to be ok with it (well, except the seeing other people part) and the strangest thing keeps happening….he accepts me as is. It is a nice change of pace.

No egg shells. No dirty laundry. No pressure. When we talk, time flies. When we find ourselves together, smiles beam. We converse about nothing but everything: the importance of South Park, the heart of living life to the fullest, just letting go and doing, sports, hurt, love, and Family Guy. Nothing hard or harsh. No ridiculous expectations. What ever is just is. Stolen glances and shy smiles…it’s all so sweet. Such a delightful pace.

I keep reminding myself that it’s ok to be smitten. There is nothing wrong with it at all as long as all lines are drawn and no boundaries are crossed. I have to keep telling myself I deserve to smile (which is often because it appears I have been doing that quite a bit lately). It is funny, really. The smiles and the blushing and the giggles and the bubbly. He isn’t the reason for any of it. He is an addition to it. How’s that for growth? 😛

~SM

Young Gun: Yoga Pants and Boy Stink

Ever decide to go against the grain and find yourself in your Friday cleaning clothes smelling of sweat & boy deodorant stink on a sorta-date? No? Never? Hmmm….Perhaps that’s just me.

Friday evening I found myself at the Old House packing up and throwing away. The plan was not to stay there for hours. The plan was quite simple: pick up kids from school, drop them off at The He’s house, do a little damage for about an hour, hug goodbye (uh…the kids…The He isn’t included in displays of affection), and go home to get dressed.

I had the perfect outfit all primed and ready to go. A cute little gray and black number with my fave pair of five inch black booties would suit the occasion just fine: Me Time. No, I wasn’t celebrating anything really…just a sorta coming up for air is all. A cute dress, some good eye make up, glossed lips, an amazing salad paired with a chilled glass of wine and a comfy bar-side seat was just what the Friday Teen/Pre-teen Child Free Doc ordered.

The He came to the Old House with a packing plan hatched. I had no formal plans, no dates to worry about canceling (just Me Time…sigh) so I stayed and moved and sweated and packed.

By 8:00pm I had worked up a sweat and all of us had worked up an appetite. Off to get food The He and I go. My phone rings and to my surprise its Young Gun. He wants to see me. Now? I look awful, I say. Ok, so, he says. He had sort of a bad moment at work and wanted to hang….with me. Yoga pants, dirty t-shirt and all.

I mentioned the fact that I looked like I had just left a random late night Wal-Mart excursion, but he seemed not to care. Besides, we are just friends and friends see one another in all sorts of get ups. Yoga pants and dirt t-shirts wouldn’t be the worst thing a girl could wear.

I put on the only deodorant stashed away in the car…Kid 1’s Right Guard sport something. The girly smelling Dove I kept in the car had disappeared. I found a practically empty bottle of girly lotion and attempted to cover up the boy stink deodorant. Not a great sorta-date first impression, but it was better than flat out stinking.

The moment I saw Young Gun, the terrible outfit and boy stink dissipated. No, not because he took my breath away in that Nicolas Sparks movie kinda way, but because I felt completely comfortable and accepted. It also didn’t hurt that when he saw me he said “You had me worried. I thought you’d be all tore up….but u still look pretty to me”.

We spent the next hour laughing and talking in the late summer night air. No make up. No heels. No dress. No perfume. No Spanx. Just me. Just little old me, giddy about the pumpkin spice latte and the good company.

With every passing day I am learning to accept myself where I am, how I am, why I am and who I am. And not that it matters much what Young Gun accepts of me or thinks, but that night I felt light….free. For him, in that moment, the bells and whistles didn’t quite matter. All he wanted was company…my company…sweaty tee, boy stink and all.

~SM