This week in the world of SBG:
Last Friday while out and about after seeing Iron Man 3 (I went at 10:45 am. Yes, the thirst was real and yes, the movie was dope), I wandered into Marshalls to do some window shopping and learned that lo and behold, my body has curved out and aged into women’s wear. I tried on a size 2 coral wrap dress from Ralph Lauren’s Lauren line and it hugged my boobs and hips like a dream. It took every shred of restraint in my soul not to walk out of the store with that dress, but I left with something just as satisfying: happiness that I’m no longer shaped like a wiry teenager.
So Sunday morning, as I laid in bed letting my mind wander, I concluded that it was time to purge all my clothes that screamed “Juniors Department.” In the process, I ditched everything that I no longer enjoy wearing. If I hadn’t worn it in the last two years? I got rid of it. By the time I finished, I’d reduced my wardrobe by 45%.
That shit felt amazing.
There’s a balance between impulse control and over-thinking that I consider my sweet spot. The best version of myself is one who acknowledges her emotions while not acting out of them impulsively. I knew I was out of wack for awhile when I felt myself reacting to and participating in conversations that I normally find tedious and draining. Clinging to ideas, scrambling and grasping for validation, letting things fester in my mind until the stink of my bad thoughts came pouring out of my finger tips.
This week, I paid attention to and became selective of what I said and where I added input. I was mindful of what I let sit on my mind versus what needed to fly over my head. And you know what? Shutting the fuck up goes a long way. I felt better than I’d felt in weeks.
I promise, not all of your thoughts/feelings need to be voiced.
While waiting for Iron Man 3 to come on, I saw trailers for The Wolverine and the Thor sequel. Marvel is slowly becoming the Jay-Z of comic book movies. You know what movie (not a Marvel comic) that I’ll be late for? The Superman reboot. Despite his Cleveland roots, I don’t like Superman because he looks like he’s wack in bed. If you’re a super hero, I want to imagine you’re super in every way. I’m not the only woman with this opinion. When I consulted with my lady Twitter followers, there was a general consensus that Superman looks like he cries when he climaxes.
Why is it that we can’t give compliments without comparisons? “Yes, this good, but it’s not as good as blah blah blah” or “THIS THING IS SO MUCH MORE AWESOME THAN ANY OF THE OTHER THINGS!” I’m working to let things just be great sans commas and buts.
It’s Mother’s Day weekend. I’m taking Mama SBG to dinner Monday evening because we’re way too cool for crowds. Remind me to buy her a glass of wine and turn on my voice recorder to catch hilarious quotables for next week’s Skinny Bits.
Shout out to all the mamas out there. I can’t even begin to comprehend the work that you do, I’m just thankful you do it. Enjoy your weekends!