Author: the outside lane

Happy. That about covers it.
2the9s, Advice, Explaining the Strange Behavior, Howling Sea Lane, music, parenting

Do You Think I’m Sexy?

the outside lane

You know I can’t resist a challenge, so when Mommyfriend posted about the Nickelodeon ParentsConnect Sexy Mama Month, I had to step up to collect my (hopefully well-earned) badge, and nominate a few ladies whose sexiness is undeniable.  But first, in the interest of feminism and my own temper, let’s talk about sexy.

I was actually thinking about “sexy” this morning: what constitutes it, what it isn’t, why it is such hard word to use.  The latter was the easiest for me to answer.  Our society pushes the Virgin/Whore dichotomy on women from the earliest ages.  It’s adorable to dress your daughter in Prostitot Chic, but even while she’s bouncing her buttons off to Rhianna’s latest ode to getting the booty, she must be sure to blow the most innocent of kisses, lest you focus on her bare midriff and get the wrong idea.  As a society, we can’t decide if we want women to be independently minded regarding their sexuality, or if we want them to conform to patriarchal  ideals of chastity.  To paraphrase Tom Jones (and you should absolutely do this in any situation even remotely apropos) the ideal is someone you’d like to flaunt AND take to dinner.  Or, to quote Nikki Sixx (all my role models are rock stars),  “A woman should be a lady on your arm and whore behind the door.”

Do you have any idea how exhausting it is to attempt to fill all those roles?  And at the right times?  Lord above.  Sexy is a hard word to use because it is a major bitch to fulfill!  Now I won’t win my badge because I cursed.  But according to AskMen.com, men find dirty mouths really sexy, so maybe I’m still in!

What isn’t sexy is a trick question because there is an audience for everything.  Just watch a season of Secret Diary of a Call Girl and you’ll get filled in on folks who fancy sploshing, pony play, toilet bowl licking, and all manner of things you’d need to be either very desperate, or very bored to even imagine in the first place.  Even the star of the show, Billie Piper, is a big question mark.  I know men who find her luscious, and men who find her completely unbelievable as a sex symbol.

What we are told is not sexy is anything that does not conform to the Playboy ideal of big hair, big boobs, and a big Photoshop brush.  If it is obviously over 30 years of age, 130lbs, and/or has hips, throw it back.  We are told that sexy is young, tight, sleek, slightly moist, and ready to say yes to you, and no to everyone else.

What is actually sexy is entirely relative, and is absolutely why I will never try to fight you for your husband.  I find my husband absolutely attractive and very sexy, and I’m so blinded by all things Bryan that no one else even registers–that’s actually true, and possibly embarrassing in its schoolgirl crushiness.  But as Salt-n-Pepa said, “He keeps me on Cloud Nine just like the Temps; He’s not a fake wannabe tryin’ to be a pimp; He dresses like a dapper don, but even in jeans; He’s a God-sent original, the man of my dreams.”*

Sexy is difficult to pin down because it means so many different things to so many different people.  So while some might find the ParentsConnect Sexy Mamas Month icon picture of a thin, mostly naked woman, jumping on a bed sexy, I find the angle of her legs alarming  because that’s not going to be a pretty landing.  I also find it insulting because it insinuates that this is what a “Sexy Mama” looks like.  And while some Sexy Mamas might look like this or better, there are hosts of brilliant and beautiful women who do not find representation here.

But I should get to the question portion of the blog, shouldn’t I?  ParentsConnect asks:

  • What makes you feel sexy?
  • Who’s your sexy mama role model?
  • What’s your best tip to help other moms feel super-confident and sexy?
And The Outside Lane answers:
  1. I feel sexy all damned day long (that’s more dirty talk for the male audience.)  You know why?  Because I feel sexy when I feel powerful, and I feel powerful because of my intelligence, my wit, and my strong legs.  I feel sexy because when I walk, my posture tells you that I am force to be reckoned with, the world is my catwalk, and my theme song is The Imperial March.  When I am strutting across the office, that’s what is playing in my head.  The only times I don’t feel sexy are when I am feeling stupid over a mistake I’ve made, or when I’m bent over the backseat trying to scrub baby vomit out of the floorboard, but even then I’m aware that for some people (like the aforementioned husband) my backside is a major selling point.
  2. My imaginary sexy mama role model is Judy Dench as M in the James Bond series.  She is strong.  She is powerful.  She is a snappy dresser, and she doesn’t have to resort to flirtation to get her way. My reality sexy mama role model is Hilary Clinton.  Our politics differ, but she is strong, she is powerful, she is a snappy dresser, and she doesn’t have to resort to flirtation to get her way.
  3. My best tip to help other mothers feel sexy and confident is this:  Find your strengths and play to them.  Find your weaknesses and make peace with them.  Get yourself a theme song, and then strut because the world is your catwalk, too.
ParentsConnect also wanted to know if there were other Sexy Mamas we wanted to nominate, and why.  Here are a few of mine:
  • Jamie of A Dash of Domestic, who is strong, powerful, a snappy dresser, and who makes managing a home economy look easy.  She is huge-hearted, giving, and does her utmost to mentor her fellow women into more successful lifestyles.  Sharing is sexy.
  • Krista of One & Four, who is strong, powerful, a snappy dresser, and who is one of the best graphic artists I know.  She has battled just about everything life can throw at you with bravery and grace, and is making the world a better place for four very lucky men.
  • Arwen, of ArwenBicknell.com, who is strong, powerful, a snappy dresser, and who makes Having It All look like a piece of cake, even when she’s stuck in traffic for eight hours in a snowstorm.  Actually, Arwen is probably my real Sexy Mama role model.  If I weren’t so lazy, I might have a shot at molding myself in her image, alas.
  • Gina, who doesn’t have an open blog yet, but who should because she is strong, powerful, a snappy dresser, and an example of how Single Parenting is not only just okay, but can produce excellence, intelligence, and massive contribution to society.
  • Irene, who also needs an open blog, though the world might not be ready to laugh that hard.  She is also strong, powerful, and a snappy dresser.
  • As are June, Amy, JulieAnne, Emily (who might just become Thor’s Sexy Mama-in-Law one day) and a score of other women who haven’t taken to the internets yet.
Sexy, to quote Fun Boy Three, ain’t what you do, it’s the way that you do it.  And that’s what gets results.

So, ParentsConnect, I humbly submit myblogself for your perusal, not unlike one of Littlefinger’s girls in his King’s Landing brothel.  Check me out.  Judge the straightness of my teeth, the curve of my lips, the heft of my–well, let’s not get too close.  We’ve only just met.  But let me know, as Rod Stewart so prophetically asked, “Do ya think I’m sexy?”

*I would have chosen the lyrics in verse 4, but my dad reads this.

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Ouch

the outside lane

Some days the bear gets you.

Y’all, that was one helluva bear today.  But, today is nearly tonight, and tonight is baseball.  We will be getting to watch Thor play in his first actual pitched game.  I have a feeling the intense pride is going to burn away the chaff of my mistake riddled workday, then I can wake up fresh in the morning and do better tomorrow.

At least my mistakes were paperwork.

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Neural Pathways

the outside lane

There is a lot outside my window that I will genuinely miss seeing after we move on Monday.  I will definitely miss the canal, which feels more like home to me than anything has since we left Virginia.  I will miss the varied trees and foliage.  I will miss being able to go upstairs and look out the windows.  And, I will miss standing at the top of the stairs, looking out that one unreachable window, watching the street lights turn a mile away.  Visibility is good from upstairs.

I will not miss the bugs, the mud, the rank smell on hot days, the extra humidity, the worry that Thor will fall down the stairs (now I can worry he’ll fall out of his loft bed), or the fact that the a/c doesn’t work well upstairs.  I will also not miss the clanging of the jogging trail gate, or having strangers walk past and look into my windows.

Since we moved in, I have known we would not be staying here, so I have tried to fill up my eyes with the sights and sounds, and commit them to memory for when we leave.  That way, I have my own little meditation reel when I need it.  For example, when I am extremely stressed, I will focus on rebuilding my grandparents’ living room, how it looked, how it sounded, how it smelled, what I could see through the window, the clicks and hums of the house, the sound of the clock, and once I have it built, I let my brain sit in there for a while and recharge.  I have several different places like this to visit in my mind, and this home here will be cataloged among them now.

And, now I get to build new neural pathways at the new place.  New streets to explore, new neighbors to be met, new experiences to be had.  It will be very good.

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Everyone’s Baby is Cute. Mine Was REALLY Cute

the outside lane

I came home sick today, and I entertained myself by looking at old videos of Thor.  I am posting a few that I think exemplify him as a personality.  He’s a happy guy.  He hasn’t let me take any video of him in a long time, but he’s still just as much fun as he was back in his more exhibitionistic phase.

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Getting the Finger

the outside lane

A friend and I were talking about hating gyno visits. Her first doctor visit was a horror, and mine wasn’t much better. Actually, my first three could make up an SNL sketch.

I was 15 when I went the first time. It was already horrible because my mother had to work, so my father took me to the appointment. (No offense, Dad, it was just really embarrassing, and you did do a great job pretending it was the ENT, not the OB/GYN.) It only got worse once I was in the stirrups.

The doctor started the exam and then exclaimed suddenly. She sent her nurse to go fetch the girl from the front desk, and the office manager. Once the three of them were reassembled, me wondering wtf was going on, she stood them in front of my wide open thighs and said, presenting my youngladybits with a wave of her hand, “Ladies, this is what an in-tact hymen looks like.” My jaw dropped, much like my panties had only moments before.

Then, she made quick work of that in-tact hymen with her speculum, saying she was doing me a favor. It would be another five years before I would brave the lady-doctor again.

My next visit was to the physician at the university quack-shack. I went in for a sore throat–kid you not–and ended up in the stirrups. I was still pure as the driven snow, but this doctor was unimpressed. She stared intently at my crotchal regions and proclaimed in heavily accented English, “You have an STD.”

I was as upset as you might expect, asking how in the world I might have come by such a thing, having never put anything remotely diseased near my hooha. The doctor narrowed her eyes at me. “Your boyfriend touchy you down there?”

“No,” I squeaked out honestly, because it would still be a few months before I got up that courage.

“You touchy yourself down there?” It was an accusation more than a question, and she even grabbed my hands to look at them.

I was even more emphatic about that answer. I let her do the STD workup, which came back SURPRISINGLY NEGATIVE, then stormed out of her office with her telling me that the test was clearly wrong, and I was up to my eyeballs with filth. I was nearly hysterical when I called my mother, who set me up with an appointment with her doctor.

The next week, I was in the stirrups for the third time in my life, being examined by a man for the first time. He was in his 60s and had a wonderful bedside manner, and I was feeling very comfortable and thinking, “This is the way these appointments should be. Whew!”

Then, while he had a digit inserted in my person, he said these words, “You know, I have a son about your age. He’s a really good boy. Plays violin. Loves to read.” He smiled and looked me in the eye, a second digit inserted into another orifice. “I think you two would get along very well. Would you mind if I gave him your number?”

I didn’t go back to the lady doctor until the month before I got married, and then only so I could get on the Pill. Fortunately, I’ve had much better luck since then.