Getting over being ashamed of monogamy

I recently had a conversation with a friend about polyamory.  We've both known couples who've opened up their relationships.  Either to just one other person or to several who come and go. Some to great success. 

It's none of my business what anyone does inside of their own relationships.  It doesn't make any difference in my life and I have no problem discussing it with my kids.  

In addition to the couples I've known who opened their relationships, I also have heard of people who tried to open up their partnerships.  

After a number of years being monogamous, one person met someone they really felt they could connect with.  They then went to their long term partner to discuss the possibility of trying out a polyamorous lifestyle. Maybe, just maybe mind you, changing the contract they made a long time ago. The issue was approached in a very intellectual manner.  A "we're just discussing the possible situation and how that would impact the two of us"  sort of conversation starter.  

It used to make feel unsophisticated or maybe emotional to a fault knowing that I would react, shall we say, badly to that particular topic.  I'd be hurt and pissed.  I'd feel like the person I really loved was asking for permission to cheat on me.  I'd demand my husband not even be friends with this person he wanted to spent more time with.   As much as I hate the word "disrespected"  I find it appropriate in this hypothetical situation.  

Years ago I watched the documentary When Two Won't Do about a woman who convinced her boyfriend to open up their semi-live in status.  But, when she would visit her other partner, she would repeatedly ask for validation.  "Are you sure?  Are you sure?  Are you sure?"  At one point she had three men in her life.  One was the man she lived next door to.  The other a man who was seeing just her.  The third a man who was actively involved in a polyamorous relationship. 

By the end of the film, the man who was seeing just her had met another woman who didn't dig the sharing thing.  He agreed to the new woman's terms.  And our heroine felt hurt and confused and mad.  

Her married but poly man brought his wife to meet her and the semi-live in boyfriend.  Things did not go well.  The wife said "You can't think you'll ever be as important as me".  And screamed they were breaking every rule before storming out of the room.  Later, the wife goes to see HER lover.  When they call her she yells at them on the phone before hanging up and refusing to speak to them. 

And in all this looking for attention and love and validation the wife never found it.  Not in any of the relationships she was a part of.  During filming she committed suicide.  Everyone sat around wondering what happened. 

I knew what happened.  Nobody loved just her.  She wasn't enough.  She wasn't special.  She was one of a cast of characters that moved in and out of her life.  Everyone left her.  And I felt sick to my stomach.  

And, during the documentary, there was a great deal of self-congratulation on how well everyone was able to keep their egos in check and accept the needs of everyone they were involved with.  

As I said, I've felt like I'm unable to separate my emotions from my intellect to understand that my husband DOESN'T feel unfulfilled or unhappy or dissatisfied with me should the topic come up.  He's just met someone he likes and thinks he could have a separate connection with them would be the reality.  Something DIFFERENT from our connection.  Not in place of, not to fill a need, just something DIFFERENT.  I'd still be the alpha bitch.  I'd still be number one. Should I be open to such a suggestion.  (I want to make sure I'm clear that this hasn't happened. However, I'm very aware of my feelings about it.)  But my complete opposition to this idea has left me pretty convinced this makes me insecure and lacking in the smarts department. Especially, the smarts department.  

As my friend and I talked I realized that that's not the truth for me.  That's me finding something to beat myself up about.  

The way I really feel, is that I deserve to have someone be faithful to me.   I have a good man.  He loves me to distraction and takes his responsibility to me and our children very seriously.  He puts up with my sometimes shrew-like behavior and need for attention. We have horrible fights and no one runs off to someone else until it all blows over.   We work it out and if that doesn't go anywhere we get some help.  

He loves me enough to want to be with just me.  And I love him so much I want to be with just him. That's pretty amazing.  

I'll take amazing.  Why would I give up amazing?  We're both worth amazing.  

Does that make me rigid, square, prudish, old-fashioned, a buyer of the society norms we've been sold by the media?  Maybe.  

Or maybe it makes me amazing.

A message from my mom

My mom has asked me to tell you something.  Wear sunscreen!

Our family had a scary couple of days last week.  My mom had a mole on her leg for as long as she could remember.  Her regular doctor didn't like the look of it and took it off.  The biopsy determined it was melanoma.  My mom was referred to a surgeon the next day to schedule the procedure to remove additional tissue around the area.  Her lymph nodes would need to be checked.  

For 26 hours, we were all pretty frightened.  My mom called to tell me she was scared.  I told her I was too.  She called her dear friend, who is a cancer survivor for advice and information.

When she saw the surgeon, his opinion was that it had been caught very early and precautionary treatment would be the appropriate route.  He had an opening the next day, but my mom had moved her hair appointment to that day.  She needed a cut as her hair was so grown out she wouldn't be able to see to clean her incision.  So, she goes in today.  

As she'll have a nice sized incision, she'll need to have her leg up for a while.  To complicate matters, my mom's female English bulldog, a shown dog, is pregnant.  The puppies are due in about ten days.  Taking care of the puppies is a full time job involving several loads of laundry a day, making sure the mom is not laying on he pups, keeping the pups from crawling out of the whelping area and generally standing sentry over them.  Since my mom will be laid up, she had to call her friend to see if she could take them.  My mom's friend agreed right away and has collected the gestating Honey dog.  (her full name is Havana Honeymoon, they call her Honey.)  Then there were things to cancel and people to talk to.  My mom has a lot going on!  

Day before yesterday, she saw a dermatologist who looked at every inch of her skin starting between her toes.  This involved, well, the stirrups.  She has one more spot that needs to be removed and tested, but that won't happen until her leg has healed.  

When my mom called to tell me what the surgeon said, we talked awhile about how the attitude toward sun exposure has changed. The products, specifically, have gone through a big change in the last 20 years.  

When my mom was going to the beach in the sixties, she used cocoa butter.  She says it made you smell like chocolate.  The only time she and her friends would use any kind of sunscreen was to write their boyfriends name on their leg.  A solar, temporary tattoo.    

In the seventies, it was Bain de Soleil Orange Gelee ("For the Saint-Tropez tan" my mom's friend Julie said with regularity.  Mom says she was going to smack Julie if she said it one more time) with an SPF of 4 and mineral oil as the number one ingredient.  When it was applied, you skin looked tan due to the orange coloring in the lotion.  And you'd be sticky for a while.  The plus was that it felt WONDERFUL and you skin was sooooo soft afterwards.  I have memories of swimming in Julie's pool while she and my mom reapplied Bain de Soleil,  turning over when their timer dinged, indicating an hour had gone by.  

Hawaiian Tropic Tanning Oil was also popular in the late seventies and early eighties.  It featured a sunscreen of zero.  Mineral oil, number one ingredient, the rest appears to be fragrance and additional moisturizers.  

There was an aluminum, tanning blanket that increased the UV rays hitting your skin, allowing you to get a deeper tan in less time.  And there were the three-fold reflectors made just to increase the UV rays to your face.  

When I was reading Seventeen magazine, there was an article one summer featuring beautiful teenage girls in bikinis telling about their weekend at the beach, the photographer they met named Roger and tips for getting the same tan these girls were sporting.  These tips included being sure to tan between ten a.m. and two p.m., when the tanning rays were at their strongest.  

A tanning salon opened near our house in 1984.  My mom went regularly and I'd go sometimes too.  My mom's always at the head of the pack in the latest beauty procedure/service and tanning was no different.  A tan looked great! Healthy!  Like you'd been playing tennis!  

I stopped tanning when I was eighteen, when I got the information sun would damage my skin and increase my chances of having skin cancer.  I allow myself one day a year to lay out.  That's it. 

I just stay pale. I find self-tanner too much work.  And getting my face all bronze would mean I'd have to replace all my foundations.  Again, too much work!  Pale, pinky skin goes better with red hair anyway.  

But, since my mom has just gone through the unpleasant process of discovering a melanoma on her body and the resulting fear, doctor's appointments, stirrups, having her life disrupted and, today, surgery she's asked me to give you this message:  Wear sunscreen!  Don't tan! Wear sunscreen!  Don't make me call you!

Trust me, you don't want my mom to have to call you. And I WILL give her your number.  

Amanda's beauty tip of the day:  Toners are completely unnecessary.  If you have oily, breakout prone skin, you can use hydrogen peroxide before applying salicylic acid and a foundation with a SUNSCREEN.  But toners are an extra step cosmetic companies recommend in order to help you give them more cash.  

On frugality

Since this is my blog and I can choose what I want to blog about, I choose to blog about money.  

Money, I'm bad with it.  I am.  I do best with an envelope of cash bearing the label "Available funds until the 15th".  

Money issues are stressful.  Paycheck to paycheck is scary if you think about it too hard.  But, being broke is pretty liberating.  There are no difficult decisions about where to invest, what restaurant to go to, which shoes to buy, you can't do any of them.  See?  Easy!  

The Husband and I try to be Buddhist in our consumption.  I am fond of telling my children "You NEED air, food, water, shelter and an education.  You WANT that." I've explained to Zoe that 'poor' means not having enough money to buy what you need.  If you have what you need, you can't be defined as 'poor'.  

I'm trying to live that philosophy myself.  And I'm learning.  We're finding ways to spend our time that don't involve cover charges.  We play game demos on our Xbox.  We take the dogs for hikes at the off-leash trail, where everyone you meet is your friend and fellow dog owner club member.  We go to the grounds of the capital building to roll down the hills and chase squirrels.  

We have friends over for grilled hot dogs.  Sometimes, we just stay home.  Ask some of the kids' friends to come over so we can goof off with less guilt.  The Husband has found a free online game he can play with his brother and a good friend.  They put on their headsets and talk with they beat creatures.  He's also found a trivia event at a really cool lounge with discounted drinks.  He meets up with friends and blows off steam.  

I go to my mom's club meetings and some of the gatherings.  Luckily, our club president this year is sensitive to the  current economic climate, outings are inexpensive or can be attended without the benefit of cash.  

For the most part, our life is good.  I'm learning to be appreciative for the things we have.  

When I get resentful of our situation I remind myself that we have health insurance.  In the past, when The Husband and I would discuss a job offer, the first question I would ask would be about benefits.  When he was in graduate school, the health benefits from my $7 an hour retail job came in handy more than once. 

When he got the job offer to work for Microsoft in 2000 we were most excited about the benefits.  God's own benefits we called them.  

In addition to health insurance, we have a great house in a good neighborhood in an excellent school district with dozens of kids nearby.  There are many teenagers willing to mow my lawn.  (although my regular guy is going to have to be let go as he ran over our hose and didn't tell us.  It would have been okay if he'd told us, but the exclusion of this info means he can't mow our lawn for awhile)  

Sometimes, I have to be firm with myself, listing clean water, access to medical care and an ability to buy food among the things I should be thankful for.  

I've been saying since the banks crashed, that frugality is the new luxury.  There is a great deal of status to be gained by purchasing second hand and reduce/reuse/recycling.  More and more people are staying home.  We realization that we are not alone in our troubles makes it easier.  

But, there are days I pack the dishwasher as full as it can possibly be, put a package of beans into the slow cooker, make tortillas and then sit on our ratty couch to daydream about restaurants with valet parking.  I fantasize about flipping through 180 channels of programming while having fresh bagels from the local bakery before heading off to the gourmet grocery store.  Vacations in the U.K, home renovations, a new car every five years.  

Then I move my laundry to the dryer, take the morning break I allow myself to watch Judge Judy on Youtube while having a cup of coffee made in the coffee maker we got for free by trading in MySurvey credits.  

It's a tough lifestyle to accept, having grown up in the crazy 80's and with the extreme, over the top consumerism of the 2000's  still lingering, but I'm slowly learning.

Pass the beans and rice, it's a complete protein.

Amanda's beauty tip of the day:  Curling your eyelashes will make your eyes look bigger.  If you need help figuring out the eyelash curler, drop me a line I'll walk you through it.  :)

Going bra shopping

To the males who read this, I'm going to talk about shopping for underwear.  If you'd like to feel grateful that you never have to measure for, shop for or wear a bra continue on! 

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Scott and I instant message thought the day, usually started by me because I like communicating with him during the day. 

Not long ago, he told me "You need to wear a bra.  You're going to be playing soccer with those things soon." 

I was aghast. But, he was right.  I'm almost forty, larger than a B cup and I've nursed two children.  Surgery isn't an option right now.  Beside the financial consideration, I think Will should be a little older so I can lie in bed moaning in a painkiller haze.

I whole heartedly agree with Trinny and Susannah from the U.K show "What Not To Wear" who say you must have the correct foundation garment in order to look your best.  But I've been lax about updating my lingerie.  Why I put off undergarment shopping will be apparent after I tell you the whole song and dance I go through on every bra shopping trip. 

First, there is measuring.  Measuring your self is easy. 

These are the steps as I prefer to perform them:

1.  Wearing you bra, measure around your ribcage, just under your bust.   Round this number up to make an even             number if you need to.  This is the number in the sizing.

2.  Measure around your breasts at the fullest point. 

3.  The difference between these two measurments will determine your cup size using this chart:

A DDD is generally the largest size you can find in most department stores and even plus size stores.  Larger sizes are available online, I've listed a few sites at the bottom.  

I completed all these steps and armed with the information that I was a size 38 or 40 DD I was ready to go.  

But where to go?  Victoria's Secret is out for a woman of my size.  I went to Sears of course.  They carry a generous collection of what I call "lunchroom lady" bras.  Super-structured, under wired, uber supportive with four hooks, which is the style to which my body has evolved.  

Trying on bras is a pain in the ass.  It's time consuming, frustrating and can be physically demanding.  (this point was hammered home when Scott went to pick out underwear after my marathon underwear shopping.  He looked at the back of a package and declared he'd found his size. Grrrrrr!)

It is just a big pain.  Here's what I do:

1. Find the racks with my size.

2. Pull out the styles I like in both a 38 and a 40 DD.  Every brand is sized differently.  It's the same with all women's clothing.  It's not standardized.  

3.  Take a metric ton of bras into the fitting room.

4.  Try on the first one.  Look in the mirror taking in front and side view.  Then check that the band fits underneath my shoulder blades.  

5.  Double check that I've used the first eyes for the hooks.  As the bra stretches I can use the second and third rows of eyes.  

6.  Put blouse on and repeat the front and side view in the mirror.  

7.  Move arms in all directions.  Squirm around, sit down and asses comfort level.  

8. Repeat with the rest of the metric assload of bras. 

This process needs to be repeated regularly as they stretch out and don't fit right anymore.  

Now for Amanda's advice for bras.

Bra shopping is generally done alone just because of how long it takes.  If you have a trusted friend you can bring with you who will tell you if you've got one on that gives you too much of a Jane Russell point, that's great. 

When you find a bra you like, buy multiples.  One in nude and one in black at a minimum.  

As for care, you can opt to machine or hand wash.  But!  Do. Not. Put. Them. In. The. Dryer.  Hang them up!  

The results of a well fitting bra are worth the trouble of all the measuring and shopping.  I was reminded of this when I put my blouse back on in the fitting room.   It puts everything into proportion.  

Now that I have given you all the information, go try on your dainties to see if you need a new one. I'll wait here.

Larger bras:  www.braexperience.com,   www.biggerbras.com,  www.lindasonline.com, 

Amanda's beauty tip of the day:  If you're large busted and sweat under there, put antiperspirant under the girls.  

Why, thank you.

When Scott and I were in Las Vegas we went to the Penn and Teller show with our friends Scott and Lisa.  They were generous enough to treat us to tickets as an anniversary gift. 

I love Penn and Teller.  I've had a crush on Penn Jillette for years.  He's a big, smart, funny guy and I like big, smart, funny guys.  I'm married to a big, smart, funny guy.  

Turned out our friend got seats in the fourth row and I ended up on the aisle.  This was very exciting for me.  I got see things up close and hear all the banter going back and forth between the magicians and the audience volunteers.  Of which my Scott got to be one!  When he came back to his seat I seized his right hand and rubbed it on my face, just being silly. 

Scott made a Facebook post from his seat "Just got off the stage with Penn and Teller!".  I couldn't believe how many responses he got to that!  Many "No way!  That's so cool!" statements.  

After the show Penn and Teller sign autographs and pose for pictures.  We got to tell their piano player, an amazing jazz musician, how much we enjoyed his music.  I also wanted to look at all his tattoos.  It appears he has a full bodysuit and horns tattooed on his scalp.  

When we met Penn I spoke from my heart saying "I've had a crush on you for like, eight years, so I feel like I'm thirteen years old right now."  He was very gracious, said it was kind of me to say so.  He thanked Scott for coming up on stage and took a photo with us. 

In the photo I'm pointing at Penn with a big open mouth smile.  It looks quite a lot like I'm posing with a marlin I just caught.  

In preparation for that moment I'd gotten myself all dolled up with my Russian Red lipstick and my hair done up in victory rolls with a pink flower.  When we met Teller we got his autograph, told him how much we enjoyed the show.  I was standing aside waiting for Scott to look at our photo in our friend's camera.  

Teller leaned over to me and said  "I was noticing your hair from the stage.  It's very attractive."  

And my heart went pitter-pat-pat.  

Scott said he was just being nice.  I am choosing to believe that he thought I was a dollie and decided to tell me so.  At first I was telling myself that I was being pitiful making so much of this compliment.  Acting like Norma Desmond going over and over the glory days, clinging to straws in order to deny my inevitable aging. 

But why wouldn't I be flattered and pleased that a smart, funny celebrity gave me a compliment like that? Especially when he didn't have to.  

So I'm keeping that memory for days when I'm feeling particularly crappy.  It will remind me to slap on my lipstick because I'm my dishy self when I've got it on. 

Where's my compact? 

Amanda's beauty tip of the day:  Drink water!  

Because there's always room for Jell-0

My father's side of the family is German Lutheran.  If you've ever listened to "The Prairie Home Companion" you know all about them.  Stoic, church going people who cook a mean hot-dish and feel comfortable on folding chairs.  

My family was very much like this.  They attended church every Sunday and quite a lot of volunteer work to boot.  My aunties all baked and froze what they baked.  Or they cooked and froze what they cooked.  Their men went fishing and they froze the fish.  They all grew fruits which they canned.  (Did you know apricots turn black when you can them?  They taste fine, they just turn black.)  They'd rather be slapped in the face than complain they didn't have enough of anything.    

My grandfather is one child of eight and many of them still lived within a ten mile radius of each other. For years and years there was a big, family Christmas Eve gathering.  Eight children, all their children and then the grandchildren made for a chaotic but joyful gathering.

When Scott and I were first married this party was still happening every year.  His family is Lutheran too, so we found the whole ritual comforting and hilarious at the same time. 

Everyone would bring a dish to share and there would be a ham.  My parents served pork roast one year and the family talked about it for a decade.

The aunties would always bring big pans of Jell-0.  Jell-0 with stuff.  This would make my husband very happy.  Green Jell-0 with cream cheese.  Red Jell-0 with fruit cocktail.  Orange Jell-0 with oranges.  He loves the stuff.  This made my aunties very happy.  

Especially my Aunt Alma who said "Oh, I like that new husband of Amanda's.  He's my kind of man."  

I'm a gelatin purist.  I like my Jell-0 with nothing in it.  Just plain Jell-0.  Maybe a little Cool Whip.  For some reason whipped cream doesn't taste right on Jell-0.  It needs to be Cool Whip. 

On our way to the Christmas Eve party, Scott and I would joke around about what kind of Jell-0 would be there.  Scott was always hoping for Jell-0 with everything. I would grouse that there was never plain Jell-0.  Scott would pile his plate high with ham, scalloped potatoes, brown-n-serve rolls and Jell-0.  Me too, but without Jell-0, I would opt for the peas. 

When my grandmother died in 1999, her church catered the reception.  It was held in one of their event rooms and several church members had brought food. I knew it would be good as my grandma was very popular in her church.  She was popular with everyone who met her.  Ruth was awesome.

There were big pans of lasagne, a big bowl of green salad, garlic bread, little sandwiches.  When Scott and I got down to the end of the buffet table, there were two big pans of Jell-0.  Red Jell-0 and orange Jell-0.  And my giggle loop started. 

I know I exclaimed "Oh my god!"  then I couldn't hold in my laughter and ran out of the room, pretending I was just upset.  We'd all been crying and keening all day so it wasn't unusual for me to be bursting into tears and runnig outside. 

My friend Kathye ran out after me, finding me with my hands over my mouth, trembling with effort to not laugh out loud, tears running down my face. 

She said "I know why your laughing!"  And I just couldn't hold it in anymore.  We both laughed until no sound came out. Then I wiped my face and went back in to eat my iceberg lettuce salad. 

When I sat down Scott said "The Jell-0's good." 

So, if we're ever at a gathering together and you see me giggling over a dish of Jell-0 you know why.

Amanda's beauty tip of the day:  If you are new to the make-up/skin care practice, get the book "Don't Go To the Cosmetics Counter Without Me" by Paula Begoun for the low down on products and ingredients.  Then, and I know this is scary, go to the MAC store and tell them you're brand new to make up and need some instruction.  MAC reps are hands down the nicest I've ever encountered.  

If that makes you uncomfortable, call your local Mary Kay representative who will come to your house and show you how to put on make up.  Foundation to mascara.

Why my job is great

I have a tendency to complain a bunch about my job. I really shouldn't, it's a great gig.  Everyone should aspire to my position.  I don't sit around all day eating potato chips and painting my toenails, like some assume I spend my time, but it's a neat workplace.  

As a housewife/stay-at-home-mom/keeper of hearth and home I set my own hours.  I work from my house.  There is no annual review, no written reprimands, no possibility of being fired.  None of these things happen.  I decide what my job description is.  I get up at the beginning of the day and evaluate what tasks need to be completed.  Should I choose to not complete those there's not anything anyone can do about that. 

As long as I'm not abusing or neglecting anyone, I'm golden.  It's better than tenure. 

I can wear my pajamas all day.  I can make other residents of my home get into bed. I control the household diet.   I have the authority to tell them if they don't like what I cooked they can go hungry.  I'm the one who decides if there is dessert served or not.  I'm able to make sure that my laundry is done to my specifications.  

If a member of my household makes the bad choice to suggest that I'm not performing to the standards expected, I have permission to whip around and exclaim "What did you just say to me?!"  It's a nice position to be in.  

In addition to the generous benefits listed above, I'm indispensable.  The family would have a difficult time getting along without me.  And if I'm not happy, nobody is happy!  

Are there days it sucks?  Sure.  I'm sure there are days it sucks to be Bret Michaels. (Dealing with the Blonde-tourage can't be easy) 

Family members get sick and cause worry.  Messes are made in rooms that have just been picked up.  Dogs track in mud or chew on things that don't belong to them.  Because I'm in control of, well, everything, I'm the one everyone asks me many questions everyday.  Even if I put things in the same place every time they ask me where it goes or where it is.  Rain traps us indoors with nothing that the kids want to do available.  There's no sick time, 401k or lunch breaks.  I'm on call 24 hours a day 7 days a week.  

Luckily,  I've got YouTube and Peggle to keep me sane.  Pass the chips.  

Amanda's beauty tip of the day:  Keeping the ends of your hair trimmed will give your 'do a sleeker, shinier look.  Find a school of cosmetology to have your split ends trimmed for very little money.  

Trying to keep it clean

I spent an hour and a half cleaning my bathroom today.  Some would say "Wow,  you got that bathroom sparkling clean!  Good for you!"  

Actually, not good for me.  It means my bathroom was so dirty it required 90 minutes to clean it.  And I didn't do anything with the floor or rugs.  

I have given my email over to www.flylady.com.  The woman who developed the Flylady housekeeping philosophy emails you a list of chores to do daily, plus an additional small task for one room in the house.  She tells you, if you are tackling a big job (cleaning out your junk room, a really big pile of laundry to be folded, a lot of clutter laying around) don't do it for more than 15 minutes.  Use a timer and then you may set it for another 15 minutes.  She stresses that you are not catching up, you're just going to jump in where you are and make progress slowly.  The house didn't get into this state in 15 minutes, it will take longer than that to get it into shape.  Once the house is good to go, it's a matter of daily maintenance. 

Daily, I should be brushing out and wiping down the toilets,  using a rag and spray cleaner on the bathroom counters, doing a load of laundry, decluttering for 15 minutes, clearing a hot spot for 2 minutes, unloading the dishwasher and shining my kitchen sink.  Her thought is that if you can walk into your kitchen and see your sink shiny clean, it means you accomplished something that day. 

I like this idea.  It goes right along with my motto "Sometimes, you have to give life some red lipstick and tell it to kiss your ass".  Even if you don't complete the massive list of things we're all 'supposed' to do in a day, you can walk into your kitchen and see that you are indeed making at least a little progress.  Put on some lipstick and you have taken care of yourself today.  You like yourself enough to put on some lipstick.  

Some days you put on lipstick, make a pouty mouth and strut around the house.  Some days you shine your sink and clean out the junk drawer.  Then there are the big days where you put on lipstick, a cute outfit and go to the store for the ingredients for a yummy dinner.  Or a day when you shine your sink, clean out the junk drawer, put all the laundry away and toss one hundred items that need to go.  

Small things can make a big difference.  A cup of tea and a deep breath.  A ten minute walk.  Driving a little farther/sitting in the driveway/making an extra turn in order to sing along with your favorite 80s song on the radio before going into your destination.  Any and all of these can help a person keep their sanity in the face of a day that would be committed to in-patient care were it a person. 

In may case, lipstick and a shiny sink.  Both of which I'm going to go do now.

Amanda's beauty tip of the day:  When you do dishes, put some lotion on your hands and then put on rubber gloves.  The big, old style kind that come up past your wrists.  The heat from the water will help the lotion penetrate and you'll protect your skin from chapping.

A little fat.....

On page 198 in the October 2010 issue of Cosmopolitan magazine there is an article about how men like curvy women.  "When men look at women's curves, the reward center in their minds lights up as though they were drinking alcohol or taking drugs."


This goes to support my thought that men are wired in their brains to like curvier women.  It makes sense from the man-as-an-animal-following-instincts point of view that they would gravitate towards a mate that can survive and have babies.  Curvier women give that visual cue.
Thin women, I got news for you.  Your man is looking at the voluptuous women.  Yes.  He is.  Doesn't mean he doesn't love you.  But he's lookin' all the same.  If you come to my house for dinner and I feed your man a banana pudding while wearing a push-up bra, he's going to be thinking about me later.  That's an arrogant statement, but it's true. 


Allow me to explain. I have a theory about men I call 'A Little Fat'.  Men like a little fat in their lives.  A little fat on their plate and a little fat on the woman serving it to them.
What do I mean by 'fat' when it comes to women?  Anything bigger than an A cup with hips larger than 34 inches, which is larger than a size 4.  "Fat" has become a judgmental word.  Donald Trump called Rosie O'donnell a fat slob.  Linda Tripp convinced Monica Lewinsky to not wear the infamous blue dress because she looked fat in it. 
I'm using the word 'fat' as a synonym for richness, sweetness and sensuality.  At least, as far as women are concerned. 
Fat makes things taste good.  And fat feels nice.  Breasts are made of fat.  Thin women don't have breasts.  Thin women don't have waists.  Nor do they have a nice round bottom.  It's the curvy girls who have that. Men generally like all those body parts.  
Men like a little softness in their lifestyle.  A little padding in the way their woman cares for them.  Many of them woudn't breathe a word of this for fear of being beaten by a mob of angry women armed with stilletos, but they like being taken care of.


They enjoy having their dinner brought to them at the table.  Having their coffee brought to them in bed.  Bacon and french toast on Sunday mornings while they sit and read the paper with a lovely woman in a pretty robe cinched up to show her hourglass figure smiling at him over their coffee.  They like the little touches and kisses and extra affection.


Women who have embraced their curves understand the sentiment It's said nothing tastes as good as thin feels, but self-denial starves your soul.
They've figured out that life is too short to live on air and string beans.  Some red wine and butter make life worth living.
I've noticed that women who eat with great appreciation of taste, and I don't mean "Oh I'll have one bite of bread pudding".  I mean when given the choices "Butter, sour cream, chives or cheese?" says "Yes."  These women laugh loudly, love intensely and give generously.
Toss on a pair of high heeled shoes and a layer of red lipstick, you get the message that she'll give you the sexual experience of your life before appearing with something rich and sweet from her kitchen.  Maybe a plate of bacon, which she'll feed to you with her soft hands. 
A woman who has a  sense of comfort in her skin has the knowledge that she can take care of her man but not be his doormat.  She does it because she's into him and likes to make him feel good.  She'll sit with him on Sunday morning having french toast and bacon without saying a word about how bad this food it for her.  She says "mmmmm" and accepts his kisses. 


 A little fat. Men like it.  As I said, they may not tell you, but it's true.   My husband tells me life is really about two things, boobs and bacon.  The order of those two things depends on how good of a day it is. 


Give them a plate of bacon, you'll see. 



Amanda's beauty tip of the day:  If you need a lip liner to prevent your lipcolor from bleeding but dislike the look of it, Maybelline makes a clear lipliner.  Use it to prevent bleeding without leaving the tell-tale outline after lunch and before you've been able to touch up.