Tasty! The tales of a 30-something chickadee trying to find the spice in life without upsetting the natural order of her suroundings.
Life can be tasty if you know how to eat it up.
For some reason those new, stupid Geiko commercials that have a real person telling about a claim, then have a star like Little Richard or Charo sitting next to them giving a fun version of the same story crack me up. I have no idea why because they really are a bit imbecilic, maybe it says something about my own personal maturity and intelligence. Oh well, there are few things in this world more humorous than Little Richard saying, "Mashed potatoes, gravy, and cranberry sauce. Mmmmmm!" while sitting next to a sedate, straight-faced woman on her sofa.
Well there is some distention building up between myself and the man in my life. We have been suffering from a bit of financial tension, probably the surest cause of most romantic discontentment, and have spent most nights going to sleep staring at opposite walls, hoping the other would roll over and say something kind. Sadly, with us both being so alike, it doesn't happen and we are both left silently pretending to sleep, screaming with our hearts for a good round of make up sex that never happens. We'll get through, its not even serious quarrels we are having, just those silly ones that seam to happen way too frequently, causing us both to wake in the morning wondering we got so carried away in the first place.
I should try to sleep, I suppose.
Daily Confession: I can get really mean when I am in the heat of an argument...so mean that it surprises even me.
So we had a brilliant weekend of relaxation and fun and now I am nursing a mild sunburn, a slight hangover, and some fabulous memories.
I still have a lot of unpacking and cleaning up to do, but I am feeling pretty damned good. Being out in the middle of nowhere, laughing our asses off put the man in my life in a fairly amorous mood, so much so I am still not certain of the stability of my legs even now. I am not sure if its the tingling sunburn or not, but I am pretty sure that I am positively glowing, despite the sand that may or may not have been permanently implanted into my unthinkable regions. I may not be happy about saying goodbye to the summer, but I am thrilled with the going away party we just threw my favorite of all seasons.
My family is now breathing down my neck wanting details of the little get away, and my answering machine is blinking with unrelenting fury so I should go now, but I had to say somewhere that it is highly likely that at this moment I am probably the most sexually gratified woman on the planet and I was not sure it would be the best statement to make on the phone to my mother. ;)
On with the week, and back to the everyday. Ahh, but it was good.
Daily Confession: Sexually gratified or not, I am about to lure him into the shower.
So the weekend is here and I have plans to have some much needed leisure time at a nearby lake with the man in my life. I will don one of my rather flimsy bikinis, since we will be alone enough not to have various men gawking at me, angering my significant other's overflowing testosterone volcano, and will soak up the warm beams of the summer sun's final fair well.
Being an accused 'Tom Boy' means I completely love lounging by the lake. We have fishing poles handy, coolers of cold beer, and the radio blaring my sometimes obnoxious music while we sit and laugh about the days that have passed recently. Unlike most of my female friends, I don't mind getting sand in my hair, and don't even hesitate a moment to plunge into the cool water, despite the slimy layer that coats the sandy bottom of the lake.
I am really looking forward to cooking under the stars, and enjoying the relaxed company of my man when he is at his most serene. When we are away from the world he opens up in a way that I have never seen elsewhere. He is bright, funny, completely without stress or fatigue it seams.
Good times ahead, I can't pack fast enough.
Daily Confession: I have some seriously naughty plans for this trip.
I am often baffled by the way the man in my life's brain works. He will make comments about this ex, or that ex talking about the intricate details of his previous relationships and expect me to sit by, without the slightest hint of jealousy or trepidation, and yet if I even casually mention a lover of my past he reacts in a way that suggests I have violated some trust by daring to have a life before him. Its insane!
We had a deep discussion last night of why one of his prior interludes had such a messy end, and I tried to relate to him, in effort to show compassion for the pain caused by the rather brutal break up, by sharing a story of my own and he promptly informed me he didn't care to hear about my rather promiscuous past.
I find it ironic that woman, typically, are promiscuous if they have had several previous romantic relationships but men just get big pats on the back for being a ladies man for all their sexual conquests.
I'm still slightly injured and the words flung at my head last night still sting. I guess I will have to learn that I deserve double standards for having the audacity to be born with a vagina, huh?
I am not anti-man, I am just anti-hypocrite.
Whew, feels good to rant a bit. Today is a new day and with that heavy hindrance off my mind I think it can proceed to be a happier afternoon.
Daily Confession: I dropped his toast on the floor this morning and didn't even tell him. Just picked it up, brushed off the visible dirt, and carried it to him. He is lucky I didn't spit on it, too.
Yea, so this is the story of my life. I have been called a tom boy most of my life. I am not sure why I am considered to be so boyish because I do wear pink sometimes, I can soak in a bubble bath for hours on end, Victoria's Secret gift cards get me all giddy, and I cry during romantic or sad movies even if I have seen them 500 times and already know how it will end.
Of course the man in my life has never complained at my masculine tendencies. I mean not only does he get a sexy woman to put on slinky lingerie before sliding into bed with him, but he also gets a buddy to hang out at bars drinking beer checking out hot chicks while taking bets on who
You Are Boyish Sexy
You're the kind of girl who gets along with all the boys Whether it's holding your own in a game of touch football... Or kicking some major butt while playing Xbox. You hang with the guys easily, while still keeping your girly sexiness.
I guess every girl wants to be thought of as a girl from time to time, so this is why I have such a problem actually being called a tom boy. Some days I want people to just picture me in a pink flowing skirt, running careful through a field of daisies singing, while blue birds and butterflies flutter around my halo of golden locks. Ridiculous, huh? In reality you will more likely sweeping my messy mop of hair out of my face, using a pencil or old rubber band to hold it back, while walking barefoot through the muddy flowerbeds. There are very few bluebirds and butterflies in my life, and the only singing I do is either in my car when I am alone, or in the shower when I don't care who hears me. We can't all be a Disney Princess, I suppose.
Growing up a tom boy was actually more fun I think, because I wasn't worrying about what to wear, or what color my fingernails were. Plus I made a lot of the girly girls pretty jealous because I just happened to be best friends with all the hottest guys on the football team, the only problem is that they didn't see me as potential girlfriend material, just another one of the guys to enter belching contests. There were a few stray moments here and there, when an after-football party would lead to a drunken make out session with one of my various pals, but the next day it was understood that it was not worth losing a friendship over, and he'd move on to a girl that actually used hair spray and curling irons.
Oh well, I guess there are worse things to be than a tom boy. I could be one of those overly emotional girly-girls(like the ones I have...dare I say-had relationships with?) that bursts into tears over a broken nail, and spends 20 minutes placing orders at a restaurant to make sure the 'FAT FREE dressing is served on the side, and that the chicken is not breaded, and can you substitute the potatoes with some steamed fresh veggies?'.
I've been a tom boy for 30-something years. Maybe I should try to find a balance between womanhood and boyishness...like giving myself a pedicure while I sit on the lakeshore with a fishing rod in my lap.
Daily Confession: I did a lot more of those silly quizzes than I really care to ever admit.
I guess its a bit silly to put up a blog without telling any potential readers who you actually are, huh? Its hard to explain oneself though when you'd really like to stay somewhat vague and discreet. There have been so many online tales of jobs lost and relationships ruined by content found on a public blog.
The very idea of a blog is a bit narcissistic, isn't it? You just simply assume there are hordes of people flocking to the web to hear all about the trivialities of your everyday life. Obviously I don't expect hordes of people, but from the blogs I have quietly lurked in the past it seams the main theme appears to be obtaining mass readership. They want to be able to stand up in the crowd and scream "I AM IMPORTANT BECAUSE PEOPLE READ ME!", and I have even laughed when highly published and read blogs post pitiful stories of not getting enough hits or comments. I guess it is easy to get caught up in the illusion of popularity, just like it was in high school. Everyone wants to be liked, everyone wants to be considered to be special and important, so blogging turns into this raging obsession where you tell half truths and exaggerated hilarities in hopes that the cool kids will let you sit at their table at lunch.
As for me, I like to think I am a what you see is what you get. I prefer not to embellish, though when I have a few beers in me I do admit my tales do get a bit taller, and I don't like to have to pretend to be something I am not to appease the people around me. I have spent the vast majority of my life doing my best to make other people happy, thinking my primary obligation in this world was to assure the needs of others were met, forgetting to worry about myself at all. I have recently made a life choice to smile more, laugh often, and try to concentrate on the happiness within myself. I honestly think I can make other people happier by leading with an example of happiness, because its common knowledge that laughter is infectious and joy is highly contagious.
Why 'TastyMama'? I saw this name somewhere a long time ago, and decided it suited me. Not that I am saying I am overly Tasty(but, my man seams to think I taste just fine), but I love the idea of being tasty, in every way you can take the word, while still being able to retain the identity of being a Mama, in every sense of that word as well. I believe in eating it all up, odd from someone that has spent much of her adolescent and adult life battling an assorted multitude of eating disorders.
So, here I am. Still left stumbling over my own words, trying to explain who I am without letting anything too personal out. I guess it is a bit odd a woman with a phobia of being caught pouring her heart out online by friends and family to have started a public blog at all, but I am hoping to hide behind the mask of anonymity.
