There are a few online journals that I have been reading for so many years that I can’t remember when or where I found them. There is Heather , who is also the founder of Scarleteen ; there is Noah Grey, who recently started writing again after the death of his husband, and Jane from JanesGuide. Jane is no longer writing a journal so when I received an email from her old notify list I was excited to click on it, thinking that she had changed her mind. She was pointing out a contest on her site where she would be giving away sex toys. I commented and won. I was shocked because I wasn’t even thinking about that when I commented. It was nice to correspond with her via email after reading about her for close to ten years. I had a similarly heartwarming moment earlier this year when Heather emailed me and offered her friendship when I was trying to decide about the hysterectomy. I’ll keep the details of the sex toys I won a secret for now in case Alex peeks in here, although he usually doesn’t read, because the package of goodies is a surprise for him for Christmas.

Jane asked me what size T shirt I wanted and I said that I didn’t have the body for the shirts, having seen her wearing one on her site. She sent me two anyway, because she is sweet like that.

As much as I think breasts are beautiful: my breasts, your breasts, all breasts; I have spent the years of my life between nine years old and today hiding mine under baggy clothes. When my package arrived I tried on one of the shirts from Jane and walked by Alex. This man has seen my breasts for almost two decades and he might be just a wee bit bored with them by now, but he actually turned away from the computer and stared at me. I felt funny, strange, self conscious.

I am trying to raise my daughter to love her body just they way it is and I can’t love myself. How does that even work? Today I took a picture of myself wearing one of the shirts. I was trying to get a close up of the words, but it’s still hard to read. The shirt says “This is Jane. (Jane likes it dirty)”

I was thinking about the women I have known who have lost their breasts to cancer. I thought about their strength and their sense of humor regarding the subject. I’ve never been able to fathom strength like that. Everyday I hope that I can get just a little bit more comfortable in my own skin; in my own mind.

Thank you Jane for the beautifully wrapped gifts. I was very touched by your thoughtfulness and the handwritten card.

After several attempts at using the timer on my camera to take a photo of myself and ending up with results ranging from my deranged killer face, the oh my god is my double chin really that big?, the DUI mugshot, the half blink and the no, I am not stoned, why do you ask? Polly came in and offered her assistance. She still wants to be a photographer and I applaud her efforts. She has now started giving directions while shooting. “Don’t look at the camera! Smile! No, not a fake smile, a real smile! Suck your stomach in! Arch your back! Let’s get some animals to pose with you! It’s not supposed to look posed, but pose!”

I was beginning to wonder if maybe watching America’s Next Top Model with her had been a big mistake, although she never did tell me to “Bring it” or to “Look fierce.”

I finally couldn’t take anymore and thanked her as she went on her merry way. I looked through the photos and the only smiles that looked genuine were the ones where Maggie and I were goofing around so I selected this one. No doubt Tyra is going to have to send me home this week. I am no longer in the running towards becoming America’s Next Top Model.

Hair by Tammy using the “Can I skip a shampoo today?” method (answer is no) and also the this is what happens when you need a trim and your color touched up but you’re too cheap to pay for it. I also had a stocking cap on today because I am tired of being cold. Kudos to Hat Head for the help achieving this style.

Makeup by “Who’s Got the Time”with a special addition of Blistex Fruit Smoothie lip balm that came as a gift with the purchase of a Stridex product.

Teeth appear courtesy of Camel cigarettes, coffee and my dental hygienist who WAS dropping a hint when she told me bleaching was half off for the month of November.

Black T shirt and underwear by Hanes , with special thanks to Jennifer Love Hewitt . I only wish she’d said, “So what if I have cellulite? Fuckers!”

Paint on sleeve of shirt by Ralph Lauren in a color I can’t remember the name of, but the room I painted (as a job for a woman who will only use Ralph Lauren paint) with it looked like pottery clay when it was done.

Jeans (not pictured) off of Ebay in the style cheap with a size of I think these will fit! only to find out that they are too big and I need to get a belt, some suspenders, or gain 20 lbs. .

Dog: One of a kind original German Shepard complete with overbite.

Being in a relationship for 19 years means that certain rules are established; there is no need to speak of them, they are silently there. Since my husband works the graveyard shift things are a little wacky in the rules department, but I stupidly thought we had established rules for when it is OK to wake one another up years ago. In order for me to wake him up, it must be a true bona fide emergency. That is the only rule, and I’d better be sure that is in an emergency, not a pseudo-emergency, otherwise he’ll whine about it all day.

In order for him to wake me up the following rules apply:

1) He wants sex? Sure, wake me. 99% of the time I am game as long as he doesn’t expect any reverse cowgirl acrobatics or anything else that requires amazing amounts of physical exertion and/or stamina on my part.

2) One of the kids is sick? Yes, wake me immediately.

3) One of the animals just barfed or shit on the floor? If he wakes me I will clean up the mess, go back to bed, and then secretly wish death on him for the rest of the day because he didn’t deal with it himself.

4) He can’t find something? I say no on this one, but he does it all of the time. He can’t find the Advil? He wakes me. It isn’t on the medicine cabinet so I get up and find it sitting on the desk or on top of the fridge. I shoot him hate rays as he blames me for things not being in their place. Apparently, as wife and mother, I am responsible for the proper whereabouts of every item in the house. This has happened with things in the fridge. I have stumbled out of bed, shoved aside the milk and pointed to the mustard, and then fallen back into bed. My word on this one is look harder for said item, or live without it.

5) To ask me if I am hungry? No. I am not hungry. I am tired. That is why I am sleeping. I must admit that I have caused this one to backfire on me many times when he has set a warm plate of freshly cooked hash browns by my head in the middle of the night and I have eaten them eagerly.

This morning, before the sun had its chance to rise, something new happened. I heard a loud whisper above my head, “Are you awake?” I mumbled “mmmm hmmmm” and he asked, “Could you tell me if this noodle is done?” I looked up and saw him standing there with a strand of spaghetti over my head. I mumbled something to the effect of “you’ve got to be fucking kidding me”, rolled over and tried to fall back to sleep. He used to work as a chef in an Italian restaurant for fuck’s sake.

Apparently, the rules are not yet carved in stone; there are variables. I did feel almost guilty when I finally woke up and ate his leftover spaghetti for breakfast though.

 So, riddle me this; If my Mom bought six cubic yards of gravel and asked me to lay it six inches deep in a space 14 ft. by 16ft., how much would I have left over when I was finished?

If you answered, a lot! you would be correct. I never did do the math on it because my mom had already ordered it and had it dumped in her driveway before she asked me so I figured why ask me now?

Before

After

The reason for the gravel is mom is having a shed delivered next week. I thought this was not so exciting until I went with her here . I can’t find a picture of the exact model she ordered, but it is so cute. It even has its own little front porch and dutch doors. Now I really want a shed all my own. Jane was recently writing about having difficulty writing at home, and since I have been dealing with the same issues here, I have decided that if I get a cute little shed and have it wired for electricity I will be able to sit in there and write and write. It will be the room of my own I’ve been waiting for. Of course it won’t happen and even if it did Polly would be knocking on my dutch door whining for me to play Life with her or to take her to the mall and Nathan will be asking me how much cash I have on hand and by the way, would I go to the store and pick him up a Snickers, and Alex would laugh at me as I sat in my shed and pouted as the dog scratched at the door, because he knew the whole time it wouldn’t work out the way I wanted it to. But a girl can dream.

Last week I moved the large wooden play structure in my mom’s yard because that is of course where she wanted her cute little shed placed. The tuffshed man said we (me) needed to shovel up all of the bark mulch because it would lead to sinkage. I thought that he said shrinkage and then I remembered that Seinfeld episode about what happens to penises in cold water and I giggled like a twelve year old boy. After I had done those tasks I filled wheelbarrow after wheelbarrow load with gravel and pushed it up the slope to the area and dumped it. My mom’s yard is huge, something like a half acre, and she wanted the shed at the back of the lot. She came out to cheer me on occasionally by telling me how much weight I have lost in the past few months.

The cool thing about working at her place is when she tells me to go and grab a bottle of water from her fridge and I return with a nice cold beer she doesn’t care. Plus, she lets me bring Maggie, and Maggie loves to play in that yard so much that she runs and runs in circles until she can no longer run and every night she sleeps straight through without asking me to take her pee at 3:30 a.m.

One more thing: My Notify List has been disabled so that I can go some tagging and editing with sending heaps of e-mails out to the two people who signed up for it. I am not sure if I should even bother with it even though I love those two people who signed up, even though I don’t know who they are.