Wednesday, December 10, 2008

Sex and Suburbia, Venting Part II, The "Blahs"

Sex and Suburbia, Venting Part II, The “Blahs”
By Julie Stankowski

Do you ever have the blahs? You know what I mean, right? Feeling blah about the way you look. Blah about your life. Blah about your friendships. Blah about your career, your cooking, your writing, blah, blah, blah.

What starts the blahs? Perhaps you have a vacation planned and you decide, begrudgingly, to go buy some new bathing suits. The last time you bought a bathing suit, bikini bottoms went up to your belly button. So you go to the bathing suit store and the sales girls are like 19 years old and look like they popped off the cover of Cosmo Girl. You’re a little self conscious because 20 years and three babies later, you have a few wrinkles, a little extra flab and, you just noticed, what some people may refer to as thunder thighs! Okay, you think, get over it. One of the Barbies offers to help you find a suit. She starts showing you styles that remind you of your grandmother in those ancient family photos. You say, “Um, I’d kind of like something a little more stylish.” So then, Barbie shows you some suits you think your mother may wear. Barbie assures you, however, that these styles look better on the body (yeah, her body maybe!) than they do on the hanger and that they are very flattering. You agree to try them on. When you’re walking into the dressing room, a 20-something woman who, dripping wet must weigh only 100 pounds and who obviously never had children and who apparently works out at the gym 10 hours a day, comes out of her fitting room looking like a super-model. She asks you if the bikini she’s modeling makes her look fat. You hold back the little bit of vomit you feel creeping up your throat and tell her, “No, it doesn’t. You look fabulous.” Bitch. Then you walk into your dressing room, look in the mirror, decide it will be too depressing to try on any bathing suits, walk out, run to the nearest bathroom because your aging bladder just cannot hold it anymore, drive home like a maniac and change your beach vacation to a skiing vacation so you can go shopping for big, baggy coats. Blah, blah, blah.

Perhaps the jerk in front of you in the supermarket express lane had 35 items. Perhaps when they opened up another check stand, a second rude shopper swarmed in and quickly started unloading her groceries and you were left behind the over-the-limit jerk. Perhaps you had your turn signal on waiting for a great parking spot at the mall after fifteen minutes of driving in circles and some obnoxious teenager drove down the aisle going the wrong direction and stole it. Perhaps you ordered a glass of red wine at dinner and it was served to you with “sloppy spillage” all over the rim so that when you had your first sip, an expensive drop of cabernet dripped from the rim onto your favorite winter white cashmere sweater. Perhaps you were excited because there was only one person in front of you at Starbucks, but when she walked up to the barista she pulled a list out of her pocket and ordered 20 Frappacinos. Perhaps the washing machine repair man, who was supposed to be at your house between 1:00 p.m. and 5:00 p.m. showed up at 6:00 p.m. Perhaps a mom of a girl in your sweet daughter’s class told you your daughter was a bully and would not be having any play dates with her daughter in the foreseeable future. Perhaps you feel fat. Perhaps you feel ugly. Perhaps everybody is irritating you. Perhaps you’re frickin’ sick of the word, “perhaps.” Blah, blah, blah.

Well, I will generously share with you my twenty-four ways to beat the blahs. Hang out at the mall’s food court and see how many women you can find that you think are fatter and uglier than you are. Watch reality TV. Drink wine. A lot of wine. Eat Haagen-Dazs. A lot of Haagen-Dazs. Get dressed to kill, look as hot as possible and bring toys to a fire station for the Toys for Tots Drive. That kills two birds with one stone. Not only will you feel good by giving to charity, but hopefully one of the hunky firemen will flash you a smile you are free to interpret as flirting. Call your best friend and have a bitch session. Play online poker. Smile and say hello to the person next to you at the post office. Write (handwrite, not computer write) a note to a friend you haven’t seen in a very long time. Make a list of all you are grateful for. Watch the Sex and the City movie. Wear comfy cozy flannel pajamas. Invite your girlfriends over for a pajama cocktail party. Get a pedicure. Go for a walk and blast your ipod. Eat Kraft macaroni and cheese. Buy a Spanx. Go through your closet and find cute clothes you forgot you had. Try a new lipstick color. Have sex. Don’t answer your telephone, cell phone or emails for at least an hour. Book a weekend in Las Vegas. If all else fails, pop a Xanax. And if that doesn’t work . . . remember how lucky you are to be you. No matter what brought on the blahs, you have one life to live and you must live it to the fullest! Do what you must to get yourself out of the blahs and into the Hahs! You know, don’t sweat the small stuff; it’s all small stuff. Okay, that’s one saying, but here’s another you should never forget: It is not the number of breaths you take that counts, but rather the quality of each breath. Or something like that. Now, go be happy and have a great day, dammit!

1 comment:

CarrieLovesBig said...

love spanx. nice article!