Swass and Swoobs: Real Talk

If you don't know what swass and swoobs are, shit's about to get REAL up in here. Let me preface the subject by saying that I think sweat (mainly referring to the workout variety) is sexy. It's a natural bodily function, a pretty little sheen of sparkle that coats your body while you bump and grind your way to a bangin' boday.

However, sweat isn't cool enough to just hang out on the 'pretty' places...wouldn't it be nice if it did? Sparkly shoulders, collar bones, maybe a little bit on the upper cheek bones? But no, not so much. Sweat likes to hang out and accumulate in your 'hot spots'. We're talking your pits, your lower back, and we know it doesn't stop there.

Ladies, let's chat. One of the hottest spots on our bodies is obviously the zone between our waists and our thighs. If we just walked around or ran at the gym (or otherwise stayed standing), this conversation would be over. However, I had a situation happen in the gym yesterday which made me wonder what all of my fellow gals were doing about the dreaded phenomenon of the swass (sweaty ass). I could use more explicit words, but this is a family show it's kind of embarrassing.

I've been going to the gym with my boyfriend for a couple of weeks now, and for the most part we do our own thing. I've mainly stuck to cardio and body weight exercises, while he does some cardio and then goes to the weight machines. I've been wanting to try out some of the machines, but there have been groups of young guys all over them when I've wanted to explore, and I was a little intimidated. Yesterday was the perfect scenario: early on a Sunday morning, and we pretty much had the whole place to ourselves. I asked if he would mind walking me through a few things (again taking advantage of him being a personal trainer), and we first spent 10 minutes warming up with cardio. I hit the elliptical, and hit it hard. High resistance, hills, speed, all of it. Including SWEAT. I didn't think much of it until I had just completed my first set on the bicep curl machine and had to stand up. As I rose, I looked down with complete mortification to see the imprint of my ladiest of parts outlined in sweat on the seat. Ugh. I tried to do the maneuver where you slide off the seat and wipe it with your butt cheek (that's my move on the stationary bike), but to no avail...I just ended up looking like my legs went out on me. I then tried to distract him for the 5-10 seconds it would take for the imprint to dry (look! over here! a UNICORN!!!), but he bent over to adjust the weight for him and spotted it. He looked up at me and immediately started laughing, presumably at the mortified expression on my face. I mean, we haven't been together for too long--I'm trying to keep it pretty here. I kind of mumbled 'uh...that's my butt sweat' (no shit, Sherlock) and awkwardly laughed. 

Luckily, he's awesome and laughed it off. But seriously ladies, how can we prevent this totally normal but not remotely attractive situation? Any tips?

Wait, what? WHOA.

I have the most ridiculous confession to make. As the daughter of an electrician (or maybe because I'm the daughter of an electrician) I have zero knowledge about electricity. In fact, I have a very healthy fear of respect for it. 

Tonight I did the bravest thing I've ever done in terms of playing with electricity. I have an electric stove (boo, hiss) and I was trying to figure out how to clean the gross pans under the burners. I lift them up sometimes (ohhhh so gingerly) but I looked at them tonight and had enough. I know that you can buy new pans, so there MUST be a way to get them off. Yet they've always been kind of like one of those puzzles to me where you have to get the ring off the ropes but there's no opening. 

I was cleaning near and around them, and suddenly I thought...what if I pull it?  I hesitantly gave it a tiny tug and nothing happened. I envisioned a large spark, maybe an explosion even, where my hair would singe off and my face would look like pizza for life. But I conquered the fear and realized I'm in my 30s, I live alone, and at the current time I have no one to come in and clean my stove top for me.

So I pulled it. AND OHMYGOD THOSE THINGS COME OUT!!!! 

I know you probably already know this, and I'm glad I'm imparting the information via the internet so you can mock me in private, but if I could have taught one new person one new piece of information today my work here is done.

Next step: Changing a lightbulb with the light switch turned on. I'm fearless!

Game on...wanna play?

I started this thing last week with my little sister where we text each other at any given time with a quick set of workout orders, including basics like crunches, squats, pushups, etc. The rule is supposed to be that no matter where we are, who we are with, or what we are wearing we MUST complete the task and respond when we’re done. This has led to some awkward moments, but I like it. It’s a good reminder that just because you don’t have an hour or two to go to the gym, you can still work little bits of fitness into your life. Last week my orders from her were:

• Assignment: 10 girl push-ups, 20 sit-ups, 50 crunches
  (embarrassing story of the day: remember in 6th grade when we used to have to do as many legit sit-ups in one minute while someone held our feet? While I was doing mine, I farted—SO embarrassing in 6th grade but still funny—and my foot holder and I spent the rest of the minute laughing hysterically. I got a ‘5’.)
  Location: my living room, after another workout so no biggie

• Assignment: 50 crunches
  Location: In my office, in a (short) dress. Definitely made eye contact with the girl who sits in the office diagonally across from mine. She definitely called someone else over to look at me and try to figure out wtf I was doing.

• Assignment: 50 crunches, 10 girl push-ups, 25 sit-ups (she loves the crunch/sit-up combo)
  Location: my place, where I had a friend over for drinks and appetizers before going out. I let out a big sigh when I got the text from my sister, but when my friend realized what the mission was, she stood over me with her wine and cheese and counted out my reps. That’s a good friend right derrrr.

Anyone want in on this? This could be a major mistake, but if you want to challenge me I will complete your tasks! (maximum of 2-3 exercises per text please…girl’s gotta work for a living)

Commando

Alternatively titled, "Em-bare-ass-ing Story of the Day"

Oh, man. I kicked it up a notch last night in terms of stupid shit I do to mortify myself. Lest I ever get caught up in my awesomazingness, there's always a swift kick in the pants from karma to remind me who the boss is.

Let's start at around 3pm yesterday. All day long at work I had been trying to mediate a war between my dress and my unders. Both being made of cotton, the unders kept gripping my dress and making it pull up in the back. In an effort to defend my modesty (stop laughing...I do have a sliver of it), I finally decided to ditch my drawers at the end of the day. I had to go shopping and I sure as hell wasn't about to walk through the Natick Collection with my dress hiked up on my behind like some hussy.

Off I went to the mall, quite aware of my nothingness down under. I tried on many, many dresses and finally found one for the wedding I'm going to this weekend. (The invitation says "Attire...Fabulous!")

Quite proud of myself for snagging the perfect dress and in such short time, I headed out. As I walked down the stairs to exit the mall via JC Penney, the thought crossed my mind that due to the rain outside, the floor was probably going to be quite slippery. Forward thinking, but it did not help. Alas, I went sprawling on all fours, actually feeling the air on the sides of my hips. Holy shit. I didn't stop to see who was behind me, I just quickly scrambled to my feet and hustled out of there, head tucked into my armpit. I managed to get most of the way to my car before the giggles started bubbling out of me.

When I got to work this morning, I had a voicemail waiting for me from "Paul, one of the security guards at JC Penney", wanting to discuss the 'incident' they saw on the security tapes and stating that some things should probably be erased. I have no idea who thought to have "Paul" call, but bravo. Bravo, indeed. I'm still laughing...

Seriously, you can't take me anywhere.

Dude...this turtle? Love.

I was having a discussion with a friend the other day about how people perceive us, first impressions, non-verbal cues and all that jazz. We agreed that judgments are not only made almost immediately, but are incredibly difficult to let go of. For example...I danced with this kid at a middle school dance. I had previously ADORED this boy from afar. While dancing, I actually felt him fart. He FARTED while slow dancing with me to Stairway to Heaven! Very unprofessional. It was not acknowledged, but I felt my interest in him float up out of my body, across the swaying dance floor of hormones and out the door into the night. I never spoke to him again.

And there you have it, a story of a terrible first impression. Lesson learned? Be aware of what you're putting out. Literally.

 

Full Disclosure Friday (Not Just a Pretty Face)

When I started Full Disclosure Fridays, I intended them to be a very honest glimpse into my life and emotions. Granted, I’m pretty much an open book anyway (um hello, yesterday I told you I peed my pants while jump roping), but you know what I mean. So far most of my disclosures have been embarrassing stories, but today I’m taking a different path.

I told you guys the other day that I found my old diaries. A lot of them had pages ripped out (I would kill to know what they said) and some of the stuff was mindless, funny even. However, I came across an event that has truly shaped my life and how I’ve viewed myself, and it hurts so much to look back on it. I’d like to share it with you.

If you know me in real life, you’d know that the compliment that makes me want to kill puppies and crash cars into trees is someone telling me I have a pretty face. Let’s pause for a moment for me to assure you I would NEVER kill a puppy. Unless I smothered it with kisses. But I digress…what on Earth is the problem with someone giving my face a compliment? The problem is the inherent ‘but the rest of you…not so much’. I have a very specific reason for feeling this way, and when I found it in my diary I cried to see how shattered and naive 13-year-old me was.

Here’s the story: I had been talking to a boy on the phone, a boy my friend knew from her school. I had never seen the boy, but ohhhh was I in love! We talked on the phone for hours every day, probably about nonsense but enough to fill my little heart with hope. I said things like “he’s so funny and sweet” and “he thinks people should be in love before they go all the way just like me!” and “my stepfather is going to kill me when he sees the phone bill”. Anyway, I went to my friend’s school dance to meet him for the first time. The date was in February 1990. I had a stomach full of butterflies and tight acid washed jeans on. I was still self-confident enough to only be concerned with how I cute I would think HE was. It honestly never occurred to me that he wouldn’t think I was awesome. (Oh, to be a confident young man eater again.)

Rather than try and describe it, let me take the liberty of writing exactly what I wrote. Please don’t laugh…this is my heart you’re hearing from!

I hate Mike C.! He is such an asshole!! Okay, let me back up. I met him Saturday nite and I thought he was okay but not gorgeous! Plus, he was drunk! Nice life, huh? He ignored me all night. Then tonight Steph called him on 3-way. (He didn’t know I was on). He said that I was a fat shit-but I had a pretty face-ASSHOLE! God, I hate him! I cried all the way to CCD and while I was there. Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day-how depressing! I wish I was going out with some awesome guy!

But folks, the sign-off is the saddest part, and probably the first record of my weight loss struggles (mind you, I was probably a juniors size 9 or 11 at the time).

Well, 13-year-old me, I’m on it. It’s more than 20 years later, but we’re going to make this happen, you and me together. We’re going to regain our confidence in our body no matter its size or shape.

Oh, and Mike C? Go fuck yourself. I would have dumped you after 3 days anyway.

I should be banned from asking questions

Me: Do chickens count as birds?

Him: (pause…blink, blink…squinty stare…head tilt…pause) Would you like to take that question back?

Me: Yes…well, I mean…they don’t, right? Oh wait YES! I think they probably do.

Him (in best kindergarten teacher voice): Yes, Tammy. Chickens count as birds.

Me, 20 seconds after getting to work the next morning and logging into my computer:

The Subtle Startle

One thing you may or may not know about me is that I have a very sensitive startle reflex. Not only do I startle easily, I hate to be startled. It's the underlying source of my fear of fireworks, thunderstorms and balloons. Perhaps the worst type of startle, the one that really stops the heart from beating for a moment, is what I'll call the "subtle startle". This occurs when a very slight noise or movement somehow scares the bejeezus out of you for NO APPARENT REASON. This just happened to me about 5 minutes ago. I was in the open kitchen area of my office, where the microwave, sink, water and coffee machines form a nice little line to the bathroom area. There are several different (carpeted) entrances to the kitchen area--it's kind of like a little Mecca in the middle of a cube farm--so you don't really see or hear someone until they have turned the corner and are right on top of you. I am aware of this phenomenon because I have a perfect view of it from my office (SO entertaining when it happens to someone else) and therefore turn up my hypersensitive hearing and surround vision when I am out there so as to not be startled. Considering the fact that I am just now recovering from a severe neck injury, I should be making every effort not to jump like a kitten on a cactus.
So here's the scene: I witnessed someone else making popcorn. I, of course, had to make my own popcorn because who can smell it and not want to eat it? Enter background noise #1: the microwave. While waiting for the popcorn to reduce it's popping frequency to 1 pop every 3 seconds (1 Mississippi, 2 Mississippi...) I decided I would be a multitasker and wash my Tupperware from my lunch. BIG mistake. Enter background noise #2: the sink. Now add the third confounding factor of my hair hanging down and obscuring my peripheral vision and you have yourself the perfect storm of a subtle startle. It all happened so fast. Just as I thought I might be feeling the floor quivering with the footsteps of an impending kitchen guest, I turned my head slightly to the right and just caught a glimpse of a guy running past me towards the bathroom. Did I just have a quiet intake of breath and little shoulder jump? Ohhhhhh no. Not only did my body jump as if I had been singed with a cattle prod, I also let out this startled, hysterical high-pitched bleat which caused the bathroom runner to jump around and stare at me with shock and confusion! I sincerely hope he wasn't getting to the bathroom totally last minute to begin with, because my mini-scream may have put him over the edge. As he looked at me wild-eyed I could only mumble a lame excuse for my unexpected response, "ooh sorry, you startled me". (No sh*t, Sherlock) He just replied, "oh..." and continued on to the men's room. Dear God, please prevent me from running into that poor man again.