Dancing With Myself....and Billy Idol

Dancing With Myself....and Billy IdolShare
Today at 9:40am | Edit Note | Delete
After a great day of bowl games I settled into bed last night watching NPT, Nashville Public Television (....and yes, I was....). They have some pretty cool stuff on that channel. I'm usually spending an evening watching David Foster specials with various artists, or Josh Groban and Michael Buble, Bette Midler or Barbra Streisand. Last night was especially surprising and entertaining. Billy Idol.
I grew up in the 80s a HUGE rock/pop fan. I adorned my walls with lots of posters torn from my TigerBeat magazines and was always playing records or cassesttes. MJ, Culture Club, Duran Duran, Billy Idol, and many many more. I was far from normal as a kid but pretty normal in this part of being a "tween" and teenager.
Anyway, I was amazed at what I was watching last night. Billy Idol, probably 55 or 60 years old was HOT! He still has the punked up white hair and a body to compliment his punky "do". At times he was not wearing a shirt and probably looked even better than back in the 80s. I found myself desiring this older man. I began humming "Flesh for Fantasy"! He had six-pack abs, nice pecs, and that dent in the man's body that shows the pelvic muscles. Oh.... His voice didn't sound at all bad, either. Oh to be in my 50s and throwing my underwear on stage at this man!
The camera would do close-ups on Billy's long time guitarist, Steve Stevens, but I was not so impressed with him. When they would show his hands playing the guitar it reminded me of my mom's hands. Truly...they looked like a woman's hands. Then they would pan up his body and to his face. Ewww! He looked like Phylis Diller with black hair, only she was wearing tight leather pants and a faux snake skin shirt. Scary.
But back to Billy Idol. I suddenly remembered only months ago when I went on the date with the 53 yr old man. Why couldn't I have picked a fella that age that looked like Billy Idol, not one with incontinent issus?! We would have been rockin' the "Cradle of Love" instead of me avoiding annoying texts and phone calls.
It's a new year and I have 363 more days to date in 2010. Sometimes I find myself as a "cougar". Those young men lifeguards at the Y make my tummy feel funny. ;o) Yet some of these older men I see make me want to be more mature and sophisticated. I should probably stick to finding someone my age so we can grow old rocking each other's worlds.
Anyway, after the Billy Idol concert special was over I went on to flip thru channels. I came a across a story on MSNBC about the porn industry. It was focusing quite a bit of attention on how there are so many women CEOs in that industry and how successful they are. Hmmmm. I'm thinking there is an opportunity there for me to find the young, middle, and older man. Hmmmm
Don't worry, Fro. I'm just thinking out loud.
Chances are I won't find a man to date today since there are more bowl games on, so I'll just keep re-living those Bily Idol moments from last night.
I wonder if he pees in public.

Peace my Peeps

Adjusting One's Self In Front Of 75,000

So I'm watching my beloved Yankees tear up the Angels. I'm conflicted, though. I adored Mike Sciocia when I was younger. Oh, the crush I had on that Dodger's catcher! But now he's going against my beloved Yankees!!
Anyway, A-Rod was up to bat a minute ago and as he stepped out of the batter's box he grabbed his crotch, slightly pulled in an upward position, and stepped back in the batter's box. I giggled.

It's so common to see men in their respected sports adjusting their package. I ain't mad at ya! It's really almost normal and we don't think much of it. The producers don't say "change cameras!" when Tiger pulls at his cub....when Jevon Kearse pushes his "Freak"....when Peyton tucks at his "manning". It must be normal if A-Rod can casually step up to the plate and completely manhandle his manhood in front of 75,000 people. Do you get my point?
Not yet, you don't!

Go back to your day today. Your boss walks in to your morning meeting and takes hold of the "boys", adjusts them to his liking, and takes a seat at the head of the conference table. You look across the table at your buddies and stare in disbelief, or cough/laugh, trying to be cool about this awkward situation. But it wasn't normal, was it?
Or how about the VP of your company walking down the hall and he takes a full hand around his crotch to take away an uncomfortable feeling brought on by his tighty-whities. Approaching him are a few office women who happen to catch the sight. As high and mighty as he is, he may very well find himself sitting across from the HR guru, talking about manners.
Or for my guy readers.....a woman in the breakroom is having a "pressing" issue within her bra and starts to tug at the occupants. She casually walks past the group of men playing "Go Fish" on their break, as if she were all alone, just she and "the girls".
Now do you get my point?

I'm going to finish watching the game. I'll be willing to bet I'm gonna see more of these guys playing pocket pool before it's over. I just wanted to share my giggle.

Mammograms at the Y?

So if you keep up with me you know I am on a journey to become a plus size model. If you don't keep up with me, NO...that does not mean I am eating super sized meals topped with gravy in order to get there!

I have been devoted with my recent YMCA membership and must admit, I'm enjoying it. My workout buddy, Jess, and I attend regular water aerobics classes, sweaty treadmill sessions, and a strength training program. The physical transformation we are seeing, and will see, is going to be worth it. Heck, the eye candy is worth it...but that will be in another story.

Last night was water aerobics and then the beginning of our phase 2 strength training. We both weighed in and lost weight, which is a super plus. We did the normal fitness routine of body fat and BMI analyis, discussion of our phase 1 circuit, and decided what we would add for our phase 2. I had asked "Cutie Alan" about a machine that firms the backside...the one that you lay on your belly and pull your legs up behind you. He suggested that it was used mostly by men and one of the machines we had been using gives the same results. I asked why it was used mostly by men and he said that women felt uncomfortable laying down with their rear in the air....meaning men would just stare. I said, "Sign me up!" After all, in my mind, I have three physical things going for me.....eyes, breasts, and junk in my trunk.

After I finished my flirting with "Cutie Alan" he took Jess and I around to introduce us to our new machines. We would find out soon enough that our new program was really designed by Satan. OMG!! My body was put in some pretty compromising positions with one machine in particular. I pointed that out to "Cutie Alan" and he quickly responded with something along the lines of "that is the reason it's behind this pillar". Nearly all my parts were exposed!

The next machine felt really good on my back but when my reps were over I had to have help getting out of it. No lie. Jess had to pull me out because I was stuck in this god-awful position! It's a good thing we are able to laugh at each other during these moments.

After our introduction of the "Hades Herculean" routine it was time to do our remaining reps on our own. I get in the one that spreads my legs to an almost dislocated state...no problem. Move to the next one....I get stuck in it again. We move on down the line, easily thru the machines we had in phase 1 (but 5 lbs more weight). The last one we get to is the "chest butterfly"....a new phase 2 machine.

Neither of us are lacking in the chest area. As mentioned before, it's a gift. However, as with any gift, you have to take care of it. With this in mind, I push thru my first rep of the "chest butterfly", hardly able to finish 10, 11, and finally 12. Jess does her first rep. Time for my second rep. I get in, press the handle to make it a comfortable fit, pull the pads together, apart, together, apart......then it happened.

I heard this crash and the pads immediately SLAM together, pinning my boobs as if they were in some kind of vice. I have no idea what my face looked like but I was about to burst into tears when I said to Jess, "my girls are trapped". I couldn't get them out! Imagine, I'm sitting on this bench, my back against a pad, and my boobs are stuck in this mechanism, not allowing me to move forward.
She pulled the handle back from over my head and determined I had not locked the machine properly.

As soon as she "released" me I got out of that demon machine from hell. I think she could sense the pain I was in and repeatedly asked if I was okay. I swear if I had sat there any longer there would have been a puddle of milk on the floor....and I'm not even lactating! I can only imagine it's what a guy feels like when his "boys" are injured.

I am at the age to have had one mammogram and it wasn't a pleasant experience. This made my mammogram feel like a fondling. I'm now wondering why "Cutie Alan" was more concerned with my arse in the air and not with this machine about to "castrate" my breasts.
If I'm going to reach my goal I've got to be more careful with my goods.

Peace my peeps.

Christian Sportsmanship

I was reading an article involving Tony Dungy. I love that man! The article was about christians in professional sports. It reminded me of a story....
A friend of mine joined her church women's softball team last year. Her husband had already joined a team and she, too, wanted the fellowship and exercise. I went to watch her play one night and she did really well. One ball was hit way out to left field but caught just before going over the head of the left-fielder.
After the game the teams got in a circle and prayed, then parted ways. My friend walked over to my car and I told her what an awesome game she played...and what a great hit she had.
Her response....
"Yeah, but the bitch caught the ball."

My misfortune...

So I had a little misfortune yesterday and I'm pretty sure I brought it on myself. I've been working out very often with my workout buddy and pressing on towards my goal of plus size model. I had to go to Krogers after work and pick up some groceries and while I was in there I made the mistake of turning down the frozen dessert aisle. I wanted to see if the Klondike bars were on sale. They weren't....but it didn't matter. I bought a pack anyway! It's not going to kill me to have them as long as I don't eat them for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Having one on a weekend night is as much pleasure as I can get lately. Cut me some slack!
I check out, go to my car, get in and turn the key. Hmmm. Now this noise I am NOT hearing is NOT normal. I turn the key again. Hmmm. Again, no noise. My battery is dead. I immediately think that this is my "workout karma" purposefully restraining me to cause my Klondikes to melt.
I wait and wait and wait for someone to come out who is parked around me to jump me off.
Finally, after I could use a spoon to eat my Klondike bars, a gentleman parked in front of me comes to his car. Oh...nice looking, clean cut, wedding ring, and it was a minivan. I knew he was someone safe and would be willing to help. He jumped me off and I was on my way.

Fast forward about 30 minutes to O'Reilly's Auto Parts.

I go in O'Reillys to purchase a new battery. There are two men at the counter, one on the phone and the other helping a customer. As my bad luck would have it, the one on the phone ended his conversation and asked to help me. I told him I needed a battery and he told me he'd even be nice and install it. Up until this afternoon, I thought that was their job. A friend informed me that it is a service auto part stores provide. Um....I used to work in one in high school and Mr. Elliott would have never let Greg or Tim sell a battery to a woman without them installing it. Period.
Anyway, I have to describe this guy. I shall not be hypocritical of his completely tattooed arms because I am not without the permanent ink. However, he had one of those earrings in his ear that leaves really large holes....like he is a member of some primitive tribe. He looked like he could be a member of Black Sabbath. I had so wished the other guy was able to help me.
He tells me that I'd be surprised how many people can't install a battery. Nope, not surprised. He told me I should get new wipers. Nope, got them a couple oil changes ago. He told me it only takes him 10 minutes to change the oil in his girlfriend's car. I tell him that it's a wise thing to date a man that can fix a car.
Oh, bad move, Jen.
He looks up, says to me, "you're single aren't you?" I shake my head yes and at that very moment realize I should have lied to him. He says, "sweetie, if I were single you and me would go out".
I'm thinking..."I can put a bratwurst thru your earlobe".
Like hell we would.

Dating those in "Mid Life Crisis"

I must admit I debated on writing this note. I don't want to make fun of anything or anyone in it but there is just too much to let go without sharing with my "faithfuls". With that disclaimer, I write...
I went on a date Thursday night. Typically I wouldn't even put something like that on FB because it's my business and not necessary to share. The things I share on here are mostly for shock value anyway...but still very TRUE (most of it).
First, I'll state the facts. I've known him for a few months and have seen him a few times. Not in the dating situation but in, I'll say, social situations. I am 37 and he is 53. His oldest son is 6 years my junior. He has two grandchildren. You ask, "why Jenny Bruce, would you go out with a 53 year old with grandchildren?". My answer, "can't get much safer than that". It's not someone I would want a very serious relationship with so absolutely no chance of getting hurt.
Act 1. The plan was to go to the hockey game with tickets that my friend, Jess, set me up with. Shout out to Jess...AWESOME SEATS! We meet up and he is driving a brand new BMW. Taking me out in a brand new ultimate driving machine?.....I ain't mad at ya! No getting hurt and he's got class? Bonus! He even let me take it for a spin. The car.

Act 2. We switch seats and pull away and he punches it. I immediately grab the "oh sh*t" handle and my feet nearly press thru the floorboard. In like 3 seconds we are at 80 mph on a road that isn't but about a mile long. "Isn't it awesome?" Uh, no. My mother has already lost one child and I don't want her to lose another!
He continues to weave in and out of traffic at speeds of more than 80 mph, hitting brakes and punching the gas until suddenly I feel sick...like having just finished a roller coaster ride or having been in the backseat of a car on a winding road. He pauses at traffic lights after they turn green so he can have enough space to floor it again before nearly having to slam on brakes to keep from hitting the car in front of us.

Act 3. We get to the parking area outside the Sommet Center (thank God) and he cautiously backs the car into a parking space, leaving space between the car next to us, who's occupant is exiting. We get out and he proceeds to urinate beside his door.
As if I haven't just started asking myself, "What the heck are you doing with this guy?" after the NASCAR race to get to where we were going......I am now asking myself how I ever thought an older man would be considered "safe". He just pissed in public!
I have never been in a situation like that where a grown person pees in a parking lot. In public. In daylight. With someone standing at the very next car. Never. Who does that?
Obviously, I am really wanting this date to end.

Act 4. We get into the building and he says "Hi".."How you doin'?"..."How's it going?"...to nearly every person we pass. He puts my arm in his and even leaned in to kiss me. I cannot ever remember feeling so awkward in my life. If I weren't with him I would swear that he was drunk.
We get to our seats and proceed to watch the game. I could hardly enjoy it knowing what I had been through to get to this point and knowing I would have to endure it to get home.
At some point during the game he wants to leave because he's hungry.

Act 5. He wants to walk to the Hard Rock Cafe to eat so we stroll the few blocks to get there. Dear friends, he was again saying "hi" to everyone and pumping fists with homeless people playing guitar for money....saying "hey brother". I wanted to crawl in a drain.
We get to the Hard Rock and it's closed for remodeling so we head back. We get to our street and again, he wants to urinate. There is a landmark guitar at the corner of the street...probably stands 6 ft tall and is about 3 ft. wide. He states to me that he can pee right there and no one would ever know. I'm thinking to myself, "if you can whip it out right here and no one know you're peeing then I probably don't have any desire to get to know you better anyway". You get my drift? ;o) As if I needed any more reason! Thank goodness he decides to hold it. No pun intended.

We stroll pass a sports grill and decide to eat. It actually was not a bad time. He had water, no drinks, so he was pretty placid. We talked about his 33 year marriage and recent divorce. We talked some about his boys. We talked sports. We ate.

Act 6. We start to head what was what I hoped "home". He again shows off is car by disregarding all traffic laws. I promise if a cop had been around he would not have been ticketed...he would have been arrested. Here we go again...punching it and slamming on brakes. 90 mph down the interstate, weaving in and out of traffic. Thank God I see our exit sign ahead. We exit and he pulls into a Holiday Inn. Say what? I may be easy but I am not this easy!
He says he wants to go listen to the lounge singer. WHAT?! Lounge Singer?? At this point I am barely keeping my "Pauline" at surface and am about to break out the "Carolyne". I was thinking, "if I were a neutron bomb I would be going off about now". We go in and listen to two young ladies sing for about an hour. Actually, they were very good and it seemed to calm me. Or that could have been the rum and pineapple juice I ordered doing its work.....

Surely you realize I am now agreeing with you....Why, Jenny Bruce, would you date a 53 year old man? I do know that he is most likely the exception and not the rule. I know a few men that age and I would be blessed to date them (if they weren't already married). Heck, a couple of them I know I would marry!
Come on....I'm 37. I had a camero at 16 and got my speed demons out of the way. I learned how to pee in a private setting, on a toilet at a very young age. And I'm not near old enough to be lounge hopping. Turns out I wasn't "safe" at all. He put my life in jeopardy more times in one night than I have in my whole life.
Moral of the story......age + nice car + money DO NOT = class. I guess there really is a thing called mid-life crisis.
Peace my peeps.

Jenny Bruce Heifer

I can't make this stuff up.....
To those who have read my notes before, you know I dream alot. Too much. Last night, once again, proved no different.
You know how we tend to dream things we've thought about, talked about, seen, etc. during the day? Happens to me, too. I'm weird but not any different than you. Here goes....
I am the only woman in a department of men. Needless to say, I'm popular. I don't know if it's my supply of Willy Wonka candy, my darling personality, my ability to listen even when I'm screaming on the inside for the person to shut up, or my rather voluptuous breasts. Does it even matter? Anyway, they all stop by my office dozens of times a day and talk. They talk about their wives, girlfriends, work, weekends, our boss, sports....anything, and they talk about it. So needless to say it didn't surprise me when one of my "regulars" stopped by yesterday and talked about how slow work was. He went on to say that if it got too bad he could go back and work his farm. He said he would buy some "feeder calves", fatten' them up and sell them. He went on and on and it was then that I was screaming inside that I'd rather be submitting a document than listen to this man talk about fattening a calf up to be the quarter pounder it will eventually become.
Part two...
My last status post mentioned something about me knowing what I wanted to do. I stated in a response that I was going to trim down and be a plus size model. I will never be skinny. I don't want to be skinny. I heard growing up that meat is for the man, bone is for the dog. I live by that motto. I am big-boned and have curves, and I can do everything a little woman can, and just as well. Heck, I've heard a man scream my name more than once....you dig? ;o)
I'm getting somehwere with this...trust me....
So in the middle of the night I am dreaming about calves and weight loss. The two are not a pretty combination. I wake up thinking I have to lose the amount of weight equal to that of a calf. WTH? I promise I do not smoke 'da dope.
I say to myself...OUTLOUD....in the middle of the night..."Jenny, you have to lose the equivelant of a heifer.". So I immediately start to giggle that I'm carrying around extra weight equal to that of a heifer. It comes to mind, the Jenny Bruce Heifer has to go in order to achieve my plus size model goal.

When I lose this "heifer" I'll still be curvy and sexy, I just won't have half my body mooing or looking for a tit.