I know…. I’ve been M to the freakin I to the freakin mother of an A…. MIA… just in case you don’t understand the chaos I call writing. Anywho,  yes, I haven’t posted in ages and it’s not because I have lack of great stories from you gorgeous ladies or that I don’t embarrass myself daily…… because I certainly do. I just decided to do an Usher and disappear for dramatic effect then come back BETTER THAN EVER!! WOOOHOOOO!! This is my come back, baby!!! DIG?? That’s a big load of crap….. but, let’s just go with that. Because, I, indeed, am back.

Today, I was reminded of my lengthy absence with a jolt or more like a jolt then a rip. I’m in the airport… right now.  Wait, let me back-up about 10 minutes….. EVEN BETTER….. indulge me, please, in a third person play-by-play:

Lauren is worrying about making her flight

Lauren gets through security

Lauren starts running to the gate. She almost runs over a small child. She swerves.

Lauren then does a Lady Gaga in the airport hallway, but not from lack of shoe control, rather from falling over a stranger’s computer bag.

Lauren free falls to the ground.

Her purse spills all over the floor, lip gloss spiraling through the air and into random seating areas.

Her computer bag knocks her in the side of the face. Her face numbs.

Lauren then gets up after hearing gasps and various “Are you okay?”

She collects her bag’s contents from the floor……. She hears a rip. The arm of her jacket is ripped. No time.

She runs with a numb face, sore knee, bruised pride and a ripped jacket. She feels like a complete ass of a jack.

She gets to the gate to find her flight cancelled. Humilation rushes…rushes… oh yeah… it RUSHES in!

A man approaches her to tell her about the rip in the back arm of her jacket. No shit, buddy. Lauren ignores him from fear of losing emotional control.

Lauren then tries to find a plane to strap herself to and jump from.  No dice.

Lauren reverts to emotional eating. She goes to the airport Popeyes and buys enough fried chicken to feed the entire cast of “The Biggest Loser” before they lose a 1,000 lbs. Add a side of mashed potatoes swimming in cajun gravy, please.

GYNA Gals… I believe in signs, as I type this with the left side of my face throbbing, I realize, it throbs for a post.  Never again will I leave you. Never.  And never again will I dodge small children when running through the airport. They can take it…. they’re resilient.

The final winner of the “Age, She’s Such a Beotch” story contest with three winners receiving a copy of  author Stephanie Dolgoff’s, “My Formerly Hot Life”, is Kim.  Her story proves that men’s chauvinism can still cause us embarrassment, then we bounce back and remember they are the gender that shifts themselves in public and think no one saw them.  Mamas… don’t let your babies grow up to be Joaquin Phoenix.

Here I am at one of the best street fests in Chicago, Retro on Roscoe, with my younger brother and a couple of his friends.  Retro is great because it tends to be a little bit of an older crowd no 20 something’s getting under my feet.  Here we are, enjoying a few drinks having a great time, I’m checking out the scenery – very nice – when I turn to see my brother talking to a pretty good looking guy, we’ll call him random guy – RG.  I’m half eavesdrop, half paying attention to one of the girls with us when the friend turns to me. Wow, really cute, and he starts making the idle chit chat.  I think it’s going well and he looks a bit older than my brother, which is even better.  We’re having great conversation, laughing , witty banter and then it happens. “So are you Joe’s younger or older sister?” Now make no mistake, I look good for my age, but there should be no question that I am older than my brother.  ”I’m his older sister.” That should be it, right?  Move on, next question, right? NO!  “ Oh really,”  look of utter shock  ”by how much?”  I pause, partly because it’s difficult to do math after 4 drinks and partly never really paying attention to my brother’s age. “You don’t know?” he says getting anxious.  I look at my brother, “How old are you, again?” then back to RG,  “Oh, yea, there’s 6 years difference between us,” and before difference has left my lips, he has his back to me excusing himself to get another drink!  Nice! REAL NICE!!! Way to be subtle! 

It took me aback for a second, but like any smart 40 something , I promptly sprung back and yelled to him to,  ”You can get us all a drink… we’ll be right here.”  He brought back the drinks, but that’s the last contact we had that day. Upon discussing, and laughing about this incident with my brother, he said “he didn’t leave that fast….well, yea, I guess he did, but he’s like 33.”  And I thought Cougars were in… 

Victoria… that naughty little vixen…. sometimes she’s not so Secret. Our next winner of the “Age, She’s Such a Beotch” story contest with three winners receiving a copy of  author Stephanie Dolgoff’s, “My Formerly Hot Life”, is Kelly.  Not only did Kelly have enough emotion with gravity trying to death-grip her boobs, she also had to deal with a unwanted man having a front seat to it all! 

Ladies, let’s support Kelly… literally…read this in your push-up bras. I’m writing this with no shirt on and sporting some lacy lock and lift action.  Kelly, you now have the floor as my boobs have cleared it…

As I enjoy my late twenties, I have noticed my body beginning to change, things are starting to sag and move south.  Now, I have lost a significant amount of weight in the past year – probably about 15 of those pounds from my breasts. I’m not making excuses for my sagging breasts; only trying to justify a portion of their current position with my weight loss.  I’m a woman of good sense, so I know part of it is the gradual approach of the big 3-0.  To remedy this very physical and obvious maturation of my body, I decided to venture into the push-up bra sector of the world.  Mind you, I have had breasts since I was in the second grade.  I have very distinct memories of my mother crying as I tried on training bras.  Because of the longevity of the relationship between me and my breasts, they have had ample time to grow and have always been on the larger side.  My excitement to enter the land of push-up’s was heightened by the idea of thin pretty straps and beautiful lace details that the full-figured section could never quite offer.

I  had recruited my sister to join me on the breast relocation project.  We started at Victoria’s Secret because my sister loves their push-up bras.  We barrelled through the store, on a mission, scooping up every fit of push-up and headed to the fitting rooms.  So, if you have ever traveled to push-up land, you understand that there is a very fine line between beautifully elevated breasts and the dreaded double boob.  With the bras that we thought might work, I tried on a t-shirt over each for the ultimate test.  My assistant, my only sister, was of little help.  She purchased her breasts back in 2003 after the birth of her second son.  Hers are destined to always be a comfortable chin rest whether they are in a bra or not.  Confused as to how a push-up bra should fit a natural breast, my sister ran out and retrieved the nearest saleswoman to help us decipher the bra fit.  What my sister returned with was a snotty 21 year old who has yet to see the flip side of perky breasts and looked at me with a bit of disgust as we explained the situation.  She quickly suggested that I try a few of their fuller coverage bras since I seemed to have ample breasts.  I had to re-explain to this 21 year child that it was the height of my breasts that I was concerned about, not the fullness.  As we sat and discussed (my sister poked and prodded my chest to see if the bra actually fit correctly), a male voice chimed in.  In the midst of the already perplexing chaos, I hadn’t noticed that the fitting room door was completely open. In the reflection of the mirror across from the door was the image of a man in his early fifties sitting comfortably in the husband/boyfriend chair with a perfect view.  He assured me that my breasts were beautiful for a 30 year old and to enjoy them while they were at their current elevation.  His vote was for the bra I was currently wearing.  Stunned and in shock, I quickly shut to door, regrouped and yelled to him behind door, “Sir, I appreciate your compliment, but I am 28, not 30.”

Needless to say I left Victoria’s Secret without that particular bra, but with the two runner ups. Oh.. and with my sunglasses on so I wouldn’t have to make eye contact with the older male stranger that experienced the entire debacle with me.

Over and over again my, “You’re Not Alone,” theory is proven!!  I’m a genius I tell you, sheer genius!! You may have an embarrassing moment, but someone out there is eating a gallon of ice cream with their eyes closed because of a kindred pain. I eat a gallon of ice cream simply because I know someone is feeling pain over embarrassment and I want to be supportive. So…. my cottage cheese ass is all your faults… but, apology accepted… I’m just a good person.

Most of us, feel embarrassment from an encumbering moment almost immediately…. we find ourselves running to the computer, going to THIS website, searching through the archives for a similar incident to laugh and find instant solace. OKAY – I made up the last part, but I’m trying to brainwash you to come to this website everytime you’re embarrassed!! 

However, some of us have a delayed reaction by, let’s say, I don’t know…. 5 to 10 years…. but the rest of the world sees it and winces for the victim of denial.

CASE IN POINT: the different varieties of  “The Real Housewives.”  For some reason, a few of them believe being featured on reality TV magically gives them the ability to sing and dance. I have no doubt, well….. I do have doubt, but I also have hope…. that one day in the future they will look back, see these videos,  then lock themselves in a closet for a week.  WHEN this day happens… they can rest assured… Reality Star That Made an Ass of Yourself, YOU ARE NOT ALONE!! You have each other!! I propose a reunion where you get together, burn your singles and hug it out while sipping champagne because you’re born-again classy.  Please refer to the below Exhibits for evidence…

Exhibit A: Kim Zolciak from “Real Housewives of Atlanta”

 

Exhibit B: Countess LuAnn from “Real Housewives of New York”

Exhibit C: Danielle Staub “Real Housewives of New Jersey”

If you’re happy with wrinkles and you have them, clap your hands….. clap…clap… WHAAATEVER!! I like wrinkles as much as I liked my 9th grade English teacher. She would read my papers aloud, correcting openly as she read. Suck it, lady! She was just upset because donning 80′s flybacks in ’92 with yellow hair/grey roots lead me to believe she was much older. At 14, I didn’t have mouth control, so when her 7 year old daughter visited class, I very politely said, “You have such a cute granddaughter.”  She corrected me immediately then hated and tortured me for the rest of the year. I didn’t know how I felt about wrinkles at 14, but I do now… and with experience, I realized my loathe for her and facial lines were the same.  I have a problem with harboring feelings…..

ANYWHO..to my point… At 25, we all start freaking out about age. At 33, I like it’s ridiculous that someone at the age of 25 doesn’t realize how young they are, then again, my girlfriends at 43 keep telling me I don’t realize how young I am… and so on…. and so on. Regardless of the decade  inhabited, we have an embarrassing story with age involved.  Whether someone got our age terribly wrong, we wore something too old or too young or we wet our pants from sneezing … most of us have a funny, embarrassing story attributed to age.

Tell us your story! I’ll sweeten the deal. With the help of  Stephanie Dolgoff, blogger and author of  “My Formerly Hot Life,”  I’m able to offer THREE lucky winners a copy of her book! It launches on August 17th which means.. the winners will be lucky owners of the book as it hits book stores!

Here’s the deal:

1) Submit your story here by August 18th or email your story to lauren@girlyourenotalone.com.  In the “title” or “subject” line please put “Contest – INSERT YOUR STORY TITLE.” **

2)Please keep entries to 700 words max!

3) Please make sure to add your full name, email address and home address at the end of your story to ensure winners receive their books!

4) Winners will be announced Sunday, August 22nd!

5) Share with as many of your friends as possible! Encourage anyone you know with a perplexing age story to SUBMIT! Regardless if your submission makes the Top Three, it is likely to be used for future posts and related GYNA publications.

6) What are you waiting for? Pour yourself a little vino, make a litte ice cream sandwich and start writing your experience! Get it in by August 18th! Don’t worry about grammer/misspellings! It’s the content we care about!

** By sending entry via email, you submit your story to girlyourenotalone.com, and it is understood that your story may be posted on girlyourenotalone.com or any future GYNA publication with no monetary compensation.