We're Getting All Rebellious In Here

This post might be a bit hard to understand but I'll do my best to explain where I am coming from. I was raised in a family that took certain aspects of their ethnic/religious group/religious beliefs to what some would consider extremes. One such "extreme," dancing was and still is strictly verboten (forbidden).

While there are some religious circles who believe dancing leads to sex, Mennonites seem to believe that sex leads to dancing, which is to say that it is the worst possible activity a single 31 year old woman could be engaging in, even if she was, as I was last night, very clothed.

I still remember my mother's reaction when at 13 she found out that I had been to a lunch time dance that our public school put on (truth be told I'd been to a few of them before she found out about that one). But a 12 or 13 year old's awkward swaying most often at arms length was nothing really and if anything when I look back on it, it wasn't a place for me. That is not reflective of any faith values, but more so being the awkward nerdy plus sized kid that I was with little to no self esteem and no support network, I was easy pickings for being teased and being groped. Let us be honest, regardless of how curvy I might have been I was the only girl in our class with breasts, like real full on breasts and I had had them for a while. Everyone knew it and I knew everyone did. And so when my mother declared that I had seriously transgressed an boundary I was perfectly fine with getting my insecure ass back on the "right side" of it and staying there.

Interestingly our grade 12 grad, non-school sanctioned because there was dancing, boat cruise played out in much the same way, though there was a little more girls dancing with girls. In the end one of my classmates still thought my ass was the best place for his hands and that soured the night.

I have had roommates and even a boss try to get me on the dance floor in various situations, even in East Indian weddings where even the bride joked that I just needed to "open the door" and "screw in the light bulb."

Stepping on to a dance floor as I realized walking home last night was a space I never felt safe in, not so much about the groping and the grinding but more so me. Stepping on to a dance floor meant that I truly needed to be okay with me. I needed to know that I was okay, awkward or not awkward, chubby or curvy and well spanxed, that I, me, this person, in this body was okay and even more mind bending for me worth acknowledging in a celebratory fashion. That I needed to be able embrace a kind of freedom I'm not sure I ever would have been really ready to embrace. But like those things in life that I don't feel ready to embrace there comes a time when I receive the necessary kick in the ass to make me realize I was ready.

I was finally ready last night and it might have been awkward, it might still be awkward from now until the last time I step on a dance floor but you know what, I'm okay with that, even if I'm not sure about some of the song selections.

Thanks to KAB and AE I crossed a major life threshold and we had fun doing it.

One of the songs it is no secret that I do and will always love:

# 56 of the Many Reasons I Have A Blog

I drink.


And when I drink gin I normally want to say things to the boy I like or do things I shouldn't.  I think the Fall of 2009 was a perfect example of the cascade of stupid events that more than one G&T, a hot summer night and a now infamous blue dress can lead to.  So tonight when I purchased a gin based drink RB did come to mind.  Now thankfully he wasn't with us and he and I don't have that kind of texting relationship that can lead to scandalous flirting and thankfully he doesn't follow me on Twitter where I hinted to a secret affection.  No things were safe.  But mostly because I have this outlet.  I can say to you what I have been wishing I could say to RB.

I like you.  I know our relationship is going to be awkward and I'm sure you aren't going to reciprocate.  And you know what?  I am okay with that.  Actually the reason I'm telling you this is I would like to move on.  I would like to be able to stick the final nail in this emotional coffin of sorts, bury it and move the heck on.  So there you go I like you.  And now we move on from that.  Sort of the awesomely horribly kind of drunk FB message I would love to post at this moment but I will not.  No instead I will have a chocolate chip gluten free cookie and fall asleep to 16 Candles or something and let the gin leave my blood stream.

So night all, thanks for listening and staging this gin intervention. *smooches*

I Think I'll be Living in the Gym for the Next 17 days

So time for some honesty - I did have to count those days for this blog, but now that I have eek, I should not, will not, cannot sweat this pseudo platonic meeting (it's a non-date that at this point might as well be one, I mean really folks). So that being said, I think I will be doing some serious sweating though... see here's the issue. OM hasn't really seen me face to face or more accurately body to body, though that sounds rather risque, in a year. Yep, maybe the slow burning crushes are better, there's a whole lot more fuel to, well let's leave that train of thought. Anyways, I have to admit, I'm not the same size I was last year. Well maybe I should clarify I am the same size, I'm just a little soft in spots. I personally don't really care, because I know why I'm soft. Quite simply I filled the big open sore in my life with ice cream and Burger King hamburgers (the baby ones) until it started to close up on it's own. Yes there was cheese, dairy and alcohol thrown in there too for sure. But looking back I have to say in the end from everything I went through I managed to ditch the more than 10 pounds of emotional and psychological baggage in my life and traded it for 10 pounds. I think I got the better end of the deal... sure I could have hoped to not have gained it in the first place, but you know what, in the gaining I also gained something else, the ability to say I like me. Sure I like me when I'm firmer, we all like ourselves with more muscle and less muffin, but hey, it is what it is. So that being said, I'm conscious like J and every other single gal out there that our male cohorts want something that looks and acts in private like Jenna Jamieson and yet is packaged like Michelle Obama - intelligent, clean and classy. I think it's a load of whatever, and yet, and yet I can't help but when I look at myself in the mirror now hear Leaha's words about my reduced JLo and see that well that things ain't what they used to be...

So back to the original train of thought, do I think OM is going to notice what is now about 5 more to go, nope I doubt it, and since there was never any poking going on before, tone isn't going to be noticed, but just like we all need a pair of sexy shoes, sometimes even more we need to feel hot, whether that's a size 14, 2 or a Banana Republic 6/8 (call it whatever size you want)...

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