Friday, July 31, 2009

By Request and with Permission

In a recent blog "Did I ever tell you", I wrote of an audition I subjected myself to earlier this year. It had been years since I'd auditioned for anything outside of my church so I hadn't experienced the "real" competitive side of auditioning for some time. Which is not to say that the auditions held at my church are not serious. They are. We don't fool around, when we work on a production, we're doing it because we want to make an impact, so you gotta take it seriously, comedy or not. You get my drift.

My cousin Anita (castlescrownscottages) commented on that particular blog entry and mentioned an audition she and I were a part of many, many... hmmmm...yes, many moons ago. It wasn't an actual audition where you were either cast or given the boot, it was a workshop at a small dance studio in Uptown Whittier where she and I attended dance classes. We wanted to expand our horizons and be more than just dancers. A workshop was offered and since we were lovers of musical theatre, it only made sense that we should sign up. Sign up, we did and intentionally dug our heels in to learn eveything we'd ever wanted to know about musical theater.

Amoung the various assignments we touched on, we were asked to prepare and sing an auditon song as if it were a "real" audition. Easy enough. We set out to find our music which in itself proved to be a pain in the bahooty. At that particular point in time, I always sang Soprano because somehow, someone convinced me that I was a Soprano and I never thought to question. Why would I? My grandmother was a professional musician, my brother Rusty played piano and sang, brother Greg played drums and fiddled around with the guitar and my sister was and still is a drummer. I'd played Rosie in "Bye Bye Birdie" and dabbled in and out of theater before deciding it was time to become a real dancer. Music was all around me for as long as I could remember. I should know that if I was told I was a Soprano and I could hit the notes, I must be a Soprano. My mother was a Soprano; she sang like a Lark. I found out years later through my first real voice instructor that I was and still am an Alto.

Anita's father (my Uncle Joe), played and taught piano. He loved to play piano and even the accordian on occasion. And we had many occasion since she had a piano at her house and of course we had one at mine. So, as you see, we were both surrounded by music all our lives.

I'd never thought about it but looking back through the years I now recall that I never, not once, heard my cousin sing. Odd, don't you think? Well, maybe not. But in our family once the party got started and maybe a few drinks down the hatch, there was bound to be music. At some point she must have sung something...but then again, she was very shy as a child so it could be she sang in a small voice and I just didn't notice. You know how it is when you're a kid, you don't put a whole lot importance on things like tempo or intonation or pitch. You just sing. Who really cares, just gimme something to have fun about.

Well the day for our big song debut is just around the corner and I'm still not sure of my song. I call Anita and say "hey, ask your dad if I can come over and have him play my song to see if it's in the right key. I'm not sure what key I sing in and if someone is going to accompany us, I'd better make sure this is ok". She checks with my Uncle and they decide I can come on over. Viola! Should be a piece of cake.

I show up at the house, ready to sing with my musical choice "You Made Me Love You". If you don't remember the song, it's one that Judy Garland sang to a picture of Clark Gabel in Broadway Melody of 1938. It's a sweet song.

Anita has chosen a song from "Summer Stock", called "Get Happy".

She starts to sing and this little shy, thing blasts the lyrics so loud and with so much vigor I felt like I had to hold on to keep my feet from flying off the ground. Let me tell you, the girl has a great set of lungs and she can carry a good tune. But what happened to timid, I'll never know because she was singing to get the job. I'd done the Bye Bye Birdie thing and my voice was so weak they had to mic me. There I was, the lead and the only person who could not project. And here's my cousin causing multiple sonic booms while I was trying to hear myself over the piano. Whoaaaa Nelly!

Now, before I go any further, I must tell you about my Aunt Gracie, Anita's mother. She too was shy. She loved music though. But because of her shyness, when all were around the piano she'd sit quietly enjoying. My dad, the instigator, would often ask her to sing. It was partly because he knew she was just waiting for someone to ask and partly because when she sang, it was very, very entertaining. Bless her heart, she was a good sport. Anita, my dear, I have no other way of saying it, except to say that, my Aunt who I love with all my heart, could not sing. Sorry. But you know what, once she was bribed into singing (and it didn't take much), she let go as if her life depended on it. As painful as it was for all those around to hear, it was also a joy. The biggest problem was that we had to, with all we could muster, keep from laughing. It was a little like dare not. You just gotta take my word, it was interesting. My dad who didn't laugh out loud much, would cover his mouth like a little girl and back out of my Aunt's view because he just could not hold it in. Ahhh, the good 'ol days.

So, getting back to Anita...she was LOUD! And to write it without an exclamation point would not fully express the LOUD! I'm referring to. On top of that, there was a little problem with the lyrics. Not the lyrics as they were written and meant to be sung, the lyrics as Anita sang them. See for some reason she just could not say Shout. It's an easy word, I know. Say it with me "Shout". Simple, no? Maybe it was the combination of words "Shout Hallelujah". Whatever it her particular version it became "Shit Hallelujah". And it wasn't a little "shit" it was a very big "shit" because it was the first word of the second verse in the song and Anita had every intention of singing that song with every ounce of her body. I mean she gave it everything and she was quite engaging and dynamic and all the stuff you'd want a performer to be! She's one of those people that when she takes the stage, she doesn't have to ask for the attention, she just get's it. I believe it's called charisma. Yep, that she gots!

She tried over and over again to "Shout Hallelujah" but for some reason, she could only "Shit Hallelujah". It was hysterically funny. We laughed so hard and it was such a unforgettable afternoon that my girls even know the story and that was umpteen years ago. My cousin performs all out even when rehearsing and that afternoon was no different. She tried and tried but the poopoo word was to make it's mark.

Well...I don't recall how it finally came out the actual day of our workshop. But I can promise you this, if by some chance Anita's lyrics came out "Shit Hallelujah", it was one of the most convincing and authentic shit's you'd ever wanna hear.

How Much Chemistry Is In Your Resume?

I'm sitting here at the computer...where else would I be looking for work?

Isn't it strange how you no longer look for work by dressing up, walking in the front door of a business and asking if there are any job opportunities while showing off your pearly white smile. Or as would be in my case, "smile". I've never had pearly whites, probably never will.

It doesn't bother me all that much, even though I must admit I do admire and even envy those who do. I'm okay with my smile. I try to stay away from too much punch, coffee or cherries and brush often. What else can I do? I work with what God gave me.

But still find it odd that the majority of jobs these days are filled by a resume found or submitted on-line. True, some may be faxed in and few, very few hand walked into a business but even then they'll only end up at the front desk with a receptionist who, if you haven't been nice, may just file it in the 'ol circular file. TA-RASH!

And then there are the job opportunities that come few and far between due to who you know. Apparently, I don't know anyone because I haven't been given any leads. And I thought I was popular.....Geez...what an ugly way to start my day. What a sad realization. My teeth are yellow and I have no friends. Heavy sigh. Back to the subject at hand.

Sometimes I feel cheated of that opportunity to meet face to face with the person reading my resume. See when I do get the opportunity, I'm able to make a far better impression that when not. Not that I'm so strikingly beautiful, incredibly intelligent, or profoundly personable....I need to think about that.... doesn't chemistry count for something. When you mix talent and chemistry together, sometimes it's the best combination to a strong working relationship.

Now, I do realize that people are not hired until they're interviewed. But can you imagine how many are passed over because they were nothing but a piece of paper to the person trying to fill a position. At this moment, I'm a piece of paper or better still, a screen on a computer. I have no shape. No presence. I'm being dismissed without even a chance to walk through the door. True some of that depends on how my resume looks and reads. I understand that. But from past experience, I can tell you that I worked with a salesman who I trained and quite frankly, did most of his work. He said to me, "I cheated my way through college". I just sat there thinking, so this guy cheats his way through college, I didn't even finish college yet I'm doing the majority of his work but because he was a smooth talker, good looking and had a degree, he's making the bucks. Now I'm really frustrated.

Okay. I started writing today to take a little break from job hunting on the internet. I, by no means, intended to get myself worked up by writing a few thoughts about job hunting. And while the thought occurs to me that I could lie on my resume to make it more impressive, not only am I too chicken at the thought that they would do a background check, how on earth do you get away with lying when the time comes to prove yourself on the job. Either you do major homework to learn what you've said you already know OR you find someone like me who does the job for you while you sit there with your good looks and smooth talk. And don't think I don't remember his name! I do.

Ahhh heck. Why get my panties in a bunch. When the good Lord wants me to have a job, He'll give it to me free of charge. I'll keep looking but I'm gonna believe that God knows where he wants me and when and when it's time for whoever my employer will be to see my resume, they will.

Thursday, July 30, 2009

Did I ever tell you.........

That last November I auditioned for "In the Heights"? Probably not.

If you don't know what "In the Heights" is, it's a wonderful musical currently running on Broadway.
Check out the clip: In-the-Heights

So, as you may have figured, I didn't expect to get the part of one of those young girls. I'm over that. By that I mean, I realize I no longer fall into the young and pretty category and if I tried to dance like that I'd probably end up on my face within the first hour.

HowEver! There are two parts for older women (I'm sure there are more for chorus parts, which I am not above). I try to tell myself I couldn't play the grandma part but then again, at 54 I could without a doubt be a grandma, so why not. Some might say I'm too old to play the mother's part but in this case the kid(s) is probably in the 20's and if I have a daughter that's just turned 15....I fit.

But getting back to the "did I ever tell you" part. My very young and talented friend Evan D'Angeles and I were working on something creative for church. I don't remember what exactly because we worked on quite a few "somethings". ANYWAY, we were working and he asks if I'd heard the sound track to "In the Heights", which I hadn't. He was nearly shocked and said "Get it. There's a part in the show that's perfect for you and when it comes out here I'm gonna audition and so are you." I'm sure I ignored him because there is no way I can even see myself auditioning for something that Evan would be auditioning for. Does this guy have faith in me or what?

Months later I get an email with the audition information attached. He writes "You have to come with me to this". And that was all it said. I write back "I haven't auditioned for so long, I have no resume or headshot but I'd love to. I need music so I'll have to find something. I think you have more faith in me than I do". He ignored me. No response.

See, Evan auditions on a regular basis. He's got a voice that does not quit and it pisses me off. Not because he's so talented but because when I am involved in creatives with him, he treats me like I know what I'm doing. That is not to say that I'm illiterate in terms of theater.... it's just been a long time! I still love it, I still have it in me and I love doing it. But to even put myself in the same category is almost sacrilegious. Seriously. Like with anything else, auditioning is an art and if not done frequently it can get stale and, well, embarrassing. Not the audition part as a performer but the performance part as an auditioner.

Either way, I went to the audition. The sign in sheet was about 150 strong when we arrived and I'm thinking "they know, I'm insecure as all get out". They probably didn't but I was. About an hour into waiting they decided that they would call for a line-up and then keep only those who "look the part". We lined up and lo and behold, they pick me to stay. Get outta here! They ask Evan to leave.....Get way outta here! Of course, he is Filipino and not "Hispanic" as we would define Hispanic, but so what. They also ask Evan's friends to leave, all of which are Filipino. This puts me in a predicament because, of the group there, I was probably the last person in any position to audition. But I'm there so I decide this is not time to chicken out.

After a long wait, they call my name. I go into the audition room (which by now has been separated in two) and hand my photo and resume to the guy who is the assistant to the assistant. My room does not get a piano so I must sing a Capella. I'm praying I start in the correct key so that I can use my range but not break it. Somehow I find it and halfway through the second line...I'm lost! Oh no. I'm lost! I forgot my lyrics. I stop, look the assistant to the assistant squarely in the eye and say "I just forgot. Can I start again?". He smiles and says "hey, I'm an actor. I know what it's like. Don't worry, just start when you're ready". Of course I'm thinking I was never ready, I'll never be ready, what was I thinking? What am I doing here? Evan you punk!" and then I start again. I sing the song all the way through at which time the guy says "That was nice. You sing really good." Liar! I found it hard to believe. I wanted to cry, take off my shoes, sit on the floor and cry. I wanted to say "I can do this better. I'm good. I'm a good actress. I'm a good dancer and if you just give me a chance you won't regret it." Then I realized those were all lines out of "A Chorus Line" and it wasn't even original. How sad is that; I'm about to plead my case and I wanna use lines out of a play. Geez!

Well, as it turns out, Evan and his friends somehow managed to get into line to audition (they cheated) and even though two of them were asked to audition for the assistant and not the assistant to the assistant, neither of them got the call.

Did I ever tell you that story?

Monday, July 27, 2009

Ahhhh, I remember

I read my cousin's blog ( ) in which she discusses lavender. Although she's referring to the scent and it's ability to help you relax it got me thinking about the color lavender. I've was never one to get too hung up on color or style a whole lot, or so I thought.

Sooooo....after reading Anita's blog, I was reminded of when I was pregnant with Karina. Because I was already 39 and having my first child, they did 3 ultra sounds and an Amniocentesis which involves sticking a great, big, long, hairy needle in your belly. Okay, it wasn't hairy but it sounded so dramatic I had to put it in. The up side of having the amniocentesis was that I would know the babies gender and that was exciting because at my age I figured the odds of me having another child were probably nil and I wanted to decorate the babies room appropriately.

Less than a week after the
amnio I received a call from the doctor with the results "a girl". How did I know. Seriously, how did I know? I'll tell you how. I had a dream that I was carrying a girl. All I saw were dark brown eyes but those eyes told me "I'm your baby and I'm a girl". So thanks doc for confirming what I knew and now I can move forward with my plans.

It came to me one day that I had to decorate her room with the color lavender and I couldn't for the life of me let go of the idea. So the search was on and you know what? I couldn't find anything lavender. Nuthin! No, nuthin! I was so frustrated, but boy was I determined. I looked high and low for curtains, sheers, mini blinds, crib bedding, you name it and couldn't find it.

One day I was out looking for, what else, lavender anything and as I mozied into a carpet place I found lavender carpet. It was like GOLD from the gods. (I only believe in one God but the saying works well so, just let me use it and we can move on) It was like gold from the gods and I didn't have the money to buy it. BUMMER. Later that evening I mentioned to my mother that I had been out looking for anything lavender...which she already knew...and happened to come across lavender carpet. You do know what happened next, right? She asked me to take her to see it and the next thing I know it was ordered and paid. It was one of two things: A) She was sick and tired of hearing about Lavender and thought maybe this would shut me up once and for all or B)
She was sick and tired of hearing about Lavender and thought maybe this would shut me up for a while. Nah! She was far too nice for that, but I was seriously getting on my own nerves so I can imagine how she felt.

So the carpet was installed and if you asked me it was beautiful. All through this decorating period I would ask myself "What's the big deal, why don't you just change colors?" but I couldn't shake the feeling that it had to be lavender. I was obsessed with the idea and looked through every baby department and baby store imaginable. Finally I found the quilt for her crib. It was white with lavender flowers air brushed on it and had a matching lamp shade. At last...I was getting somewhere.

As the time drew nearer and nearer, I was in total panic. I couldn't find curtains to match anywhere. I was sick of looking and sick at the thought that I couldn't find the right color. I don't think I've ever been so obsessed with anything like I was at that time. And then it hit me. If I can't find curtains, I'll just make some. So I set out to find lavender material. Another impossibility until I went to the last yardage store I could think of in Uptown Whittier. And there it was...sheer material the exact color. I was so excited I couldn't wait to take the scissors to it. I pulled out my little paper with measurements to determine exactly how much I needed, had the material lady cut it for me and off I went happier than a dog in a bath of Pedigree.

I made my little shears and hung them up as fast as I could. They were the cutest things ever, I was so pleased I cried.

A few years later as my mom and I sat in the room thinking back on how obsessed I'd become with lavender she says "I had lavender curtains in your room when you were a baby". What?!

Wednesday, July 15, 2009

Hunting, hunting, hunting

A hunting we will go, a hunting we will go, hi ho the merry o, a hunting we will go......or how about....Going on a squeegie hunt, gonna catch a big one....

I've been job hunting for so long now, there really should be a song for it. Those cute little rhymes were all I could think of and they just make me wish I were a kid again and didn't have to deal with this. Downfall is, I'd eventually get back to the adult stage and be right where I am so I suppose I should just drop that wish and deal with the reality of finding work.

I've hunted on,, only God knows how many other sites, not to mention Comet Employment in Whittier who work endlessly to get me off their backs. All I can say is "Thank you Comet, I'm so happy you like me". If they didn't, there's a good possibility I'd be on their hit list right now.

So, I keep hunting and as I do, I think how I'm not the only person in this predicament. There are plenty of others out there spending countless hours in search of a job. Many who are employed are not necessarily comfortable enough to think that it could last forever. I imagine that when they see a co-worker given that Friday afternoon pink slip they sit in fear of being next and being unemployed isn't all it's made out to be. If you're lucky enough to get unemployment, you'd better pray you'll find work before it runs out. You may or may not be able to file an extension but even if you do, your only getting a percentage of what you made anyway. Say bye, bye to Starbucks hello to McDonalds. And even then, you may have to count your pennies before getting in line.We're spoiled, aren't we? What was it my mother would say "there are children in Africa who are starving". Did it worry me? Heck no. Truth is, there are children in our own backyards who are feeling the result of their parent(s) unemployment. Thank God we have systems in place who can help a large majority of them. I, however, am not one of them. When Karina was hospitalized for her Pancreatitis the last time, we had no insurance. MediCal refused to help because we had enough money to make two mortgage payments. I was not working so I knew that those monies would go to just that, the mortgage. Did they care? Uh,uh. They told me I should sell one of my cars to help pay my debts. And what then, I asked, will I use to get to a job when I find one. I should have known...the bus. Whatever! This is why I paid into the system for so many years.

So, I suppose I should get off my soapbox and back to the issue at hand.

A hunting we will go!

Sunday, July 12, 2009

The devil made me do it!

It's 12:30 Saturday....strike that, Sunday morning. I'm getting ready for bed when I get this sudden desire to eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I look at the clock and think "No! It's too late."

I set my alarm and change my clothes and then head toward the bathroom to brush my teeth, side tracked, as I so easily am, I decide I should check on Karina and Donte who are sleeping in the living room on an air mattress. Did I mention I didn't brush my teeth?

I wanted to brush my teeth but you know, if you brush them and then happen to go into the kitchen and have to eat something, you'll have to brush your teeth again. AND in an effort to support my city and it's attempt to reduce water usage I must be 100% sure I'll be going to bed directly after brushing; I wouldn't want my breath to be offensive during my sleep.

I walk quietly down the hall and into the living room where the two knuckle heads are sound asleep on the air mattress. What luck! They're asleep. "Who will know" I think as I slip past them, into the kitchen and directly to the most evil of evils, the White Bread. I'm already in a full fledged sinful state of mind as I pull out two slices from the middle of the loaf where only the freshest of evils reside.'s soft to the touch and oh so wicked to the mind.

I lay the enemies cohorts side by side on a paper towel (something that can be crumpled and destroyed as quickly as I can put my two hands together, removing all evidence), take a quick glance around the kitchen corner into the living room to find the two kitchen guards fast asleep. Now's my chance, they'll never know. I grab the peanut butter and smear in on, all the while drooling at the though of my first bite. I quietly open the refrigerator and make a run with the raspberry preserves. Lord, I pray, why am I so sinful. Tears roll down my cheeks yet I cannot, no I cannot control myself. I prepare for that first bite when...could it be?!?...there's a noise in the hall. Who? Who would pee at this hour and why? I bite my tongue to keep from yelling at the top of my lungs "Just hold it till morning!", but that would draw suspicion. I slump onto a kitchen chair and wait until the weak bladdered occupant of my home has flushed and gone back to bed. There's been entirely too much time to think. By now I need chips and a coke to go with that luscious sandwich. I'm growing weaker by the moment, if I don't eat soon I'll be frying ham and eggs and throwing pancakes on the griddle too.

It's gone. Faster than I could conjure up a the whole plan to begin with, my sandwich is gone and I'm left with nothing but a paper towel and some crumbs. My mind begins to play tricks on me. I feel myself weakening as I tell myself I should eat more. THIS is hard. Jesus is speaking but I'm not listening. I'm in a bad frame of mind. I know I'm looking for the pleasures of this world and ignoring God at this moment but I'm weak....There! I've said it. I've come to the first step for recovery; "admit you have a problem".

The sandwich; was it worth it? The chips...the coke....all tools of the enemy. I understand now. But it's not my fault you know, the devil did make me do it.

No Wonder Massage Therapists Get Bad Rap

Tuesday, July 7, 2009

Fourth of July blues

I woke up on the 4th, not to the sound of fireworks but to the beat of warriors drums. No wait! It's the pulse in my head that's pounding so loudly. Holy! Was I out on a sleep walking escapade that included an over indulgence of some tainted alcohol? What the heck. I tried to think quickly but my thoughts were like sludge. If I didn't know better I'd think I was coming out of a heavy sedative or anesthesia.

I opened my eyes slowly because I couldn't do it any other way. I knew once they were fully open a lot of pain would be involved but why? Was partying involved? Am I now making up for all the years I watched friends drink themselves into oblivion by sneaking around in the night with an open bottle? I kept trying to think back; what did I do last night? Nothing. I couldn't think of a thing.

I tried to get up but found it completely impossible. Tried to talk to Juan Carlos but he had no idea what I was saying. Twilight Zone at the Boza residence.

It was possibly one of the strangest mornings I've ever had and then all of a sudden it hits me.....Not the why. Oh, no. It couldn't be that easy. What hit me was the desire to run and run fast. My bathroom! They've moved it. Instead of the 8 steps it takes to get to the toi-toi it's a mile and a half through dry desert, uphill. I'm not gonna make it... ..I'm not gonna make it.. ..I'm....Ahhhhhhhhh...I made it. Not what you think, but bad enough. Dry heaves.

Who invented dry heaves, and why? Why get the dry heaves when something could come out? That would make more sense wouldn't it? It's bad enough you have to go through the motion..wouldn't it just be better to get something out while your in such a ridiculous position?

Well, I hung around the bowl for a while, nothing like water cooler jokes at work, I promise. I finally managed to get myself back to the bed and knocked out for quite some time before Juan Carlos shows up again to ask how I'm doing. I'm thinking "Oh sure. Now you come to ask". He wouldn't dare show up if he thought there was a remote possibility of my tossing my cookies and if I did, I'd be on my own I promise you. He doesn't do well around sick.

I give him credit though, he stroked my hair and massaged my back for a while, while we tried to figure out what the heck was happening. And then I remembered that my Aunt had come to the house the day before saying she'd been sick the previous day with a really bad headache and vomiting. Her neck was killing her and she needed me to work on it a little to see if I could help alleviate the pain. Poor Auntie. To think she went through this alone. Made me feel like a big baby for wanting my husband to sit and pamper me.

I spent the entire day in bed. I tried to get up and move about but only made it to the love seat in the living room and then had to lay down again. I was pitiful.

I didn't feel sorry for myself even though Karina was in New Orleans having a wonderful time, Jenifer took off to go to some family event and Matthew went with Juan Carlos to a gig. Instead I slept and dreamt strange things leaning toward the bizarre.

I didnt feel bad that I missed out on the fourth. There's always next year. If I double up on the influenza immunization, drink a lot of water, take vitamin C, drink Theraflu, drink some draino and vinegar, start exercising, lose weight, eat healthy lie about my age, I should be fine.

Wednesday, July 1, 2009

To Suit Up Or Not

In my previous post I mentioned how difficult it is for me to wear a bathing suit. I think it goes way back to when I was in middle school. I can remember being in gym class and being self conscious of my....hmmmm....back side. Some would say I'm blessed in that area, but others who suffer, and I do mean suffer, the same problem understand that it feels like quite the curse to be large butted (if butted is a word).

It is hereditary and I get it from both my mother and fathers sides. Of course my dad wasn't big butted (I'm beginning to like that word), but his sisters were and my mother was quite blessed herself. My half aunt was blessed enough for at least three. I never envied her for that, rather, I prayed that I would never see the day when I found myself matching her pant size.

I'm sure some of you are thinking it's foolish I should even mention my big buttedness but I don't do it to draw attention or belittle myself, really. It's just a fact. It's there, it's mine and it ain't going anywhere.

So we're in Hawaii and I'm wearing a suit that quite frankly looks like an old ladies suit. Pretty, but old ladyish. When I go into the water, the suit floats up because it was made with inserts. So here I am this lovely colored bathing suit that makes me look like a living buoy. Between my breastes floating, due to the buoy inserts and my skirt going up allowing my butt to take me to a floating position, I begin to get a little annoyed. I can't keep my feet on the ground and my buoyies, rather, breastes are floating. Every time a wave hits I have to hang on to the top and then quickly grab my bottom. Had I been born an octopus I still would not have enough hands to hold my suit in place. Michael Jackson would have envied my moves. By this time, to say that I'm annoyed would be underplaying my emotions. Carlos and I head out of the water and back to the beach towels.

I look at Pam and she not only read my mind, she saw first hand what I was up against and say's "noticed your having a little trouble". Simple as that. I'm thinking - this is day one, I got eight more to go....hmmmm.

I sit on my towel and start watching. Watching. Watching. Watching. Being the observant person I am, I notice that the majority of women, ladies, girls, those of the female gender are all just about as "sturdy" as I am. They're all wearing the latest in fashion suits without the least care of how much is hanging, and I mean hanging, out. I don't think I've ever seen more flab, blubber or dimples in my entire life. The wheels are turning girls.

We get back to our room. I try on a two/three piece suit I bought a year back after having lost about 15 pounds. So I put 10 of it back on, with a little Vaseline I can still get into it. The 3rd piece is a skirted bottom. I try it on but although I'm not wearing panties, I have panty lines. Whatever! I decide to wear my jean shorts to the beach the next day.

Day two: Carlos and I discuss the bathing suit situation and decide I should just wear my jeans, I'll feel more comfortable and get a little tan on my mid-section too. It's not perfect but at least I'll be able to keep myself down in the water. We have a great day at the beach until we decide to walk back to the condo. I'm still in my jean shorts because I didn't think to take anything to change into after the water. Duh!

As we walk along the boulevard we're feeling great except for one thing; my legs are chaffing due to the sand caught in the jeans. We still have quite a ways to go and although sand paper may work well on wood, it can be most uncomfortable when rubbed between your legs. Do not try it at home, just take my word for it.

As my light goes on, I tell Carlos "we're stopping at one of these stores so I can buy some men's trunks, I can't take this anymore". He's cool with the whole idea so we go into the local ABC store which is much like 7-Eleven except that they also sell clothes and of course all the tourist junk anyone could ever want. It's here that I find the "Hawaii" skort. It's perfect! I'm hearing angels sing in jubilation. I find a peace about me I haven't known since that day at 39 years of age and unmarried to JC that I was able to get through the words "I'm pregnant" to my mother. It's an "ahhhhh" moment indeed.

We get home and while JCarlosBoza is in the shower I quickly try on my newly acquired bathing girdle to make sure I can actually fit into it without breaking my husbands heart that it just isn't big enough. It fits! Yes, it fits! A little snug but I'm in, and that is all that matters. There's a slight overflow around the top of the short, and a wee bit making every effort to slip out the bottom but if I fold my arms around my mid-section and pay careful attention not to let it sneak up too much, I can pass just as well as any of those women, ladies, girls, those of the female gender who are just as flabby, blubbery, dimplery and sturdy as I am.

Darn it! I will not allow my imperfect body to keep me off that beach and out of the water. I will have a good time. I will, I will, I will!

And so, there you have it. True confessions from a woman who has come to accept that if your gonna be self conscience to the point that you cannot have fun....your not gonna have fun. Sometimes you just gotta let it all hang out, as they say, and go with the flow. It wasn't the easiest thing to do, but once I did it baaaaby was I free!