Friday, April 5, 2013

I'm moaning...

I've mentioned several times in the past that I'm a moaner.  I moan over everything.  Likes, dislikes, aches, pains, and yes - of course...great sex.  My moaning; however, is not limited to the privacy of my own home - no.  I've become extremely rowdy in my noises.  It's embarrassing actually.  Just a few weeks ago, I was caught, rather unceremoniously and unknowingly, moaning over a pair a black Vera Wang stiletto pumps in a department store.  Now, most shoe lovin' females would actually understand this and perhaps even approve.  There is - as always - a story behind my opening paragraph...

Dear friends and blog readers, I've also mentioned in prior posts that I was once a tomboy.  I grew up in a home with two older sisters, an older brother, and eleven years later - a younger brother.  When the hand-me-downs finally caught up with me, I asked my mother for my brother's jeans and t-shirts.  There was even a time, before the family moved into our second, larger home, when I shared a bedroom as a baby with my brother.

I fought the "girlie" stuff as long as I could.  Because I had golden hair and blue eyes, my mother took advantage of dressing me in anything and everything pink.  I remember the battle over wearing dresses to pre-school and kindergarten.  I was stubborn.  I will also mention that since I've moved out of my parent's home - some 33 years later -  I've never purchased anything pink again.

Did I have crushes growing up?  Sure I did but on sports figures for instance, Mike Scioscia, then catcher for the Los Angeles Dodgers or Pat Riley, then announcer and eventually the Head Coach for the LA Lakers.  I was an odd duck.  I never, if I could help it, wore dresses.  I hated them.  My clothing of choice; jeans, over sized t-shirts, and Nike high-tops.

Since I had to wear uniform skirts to attend Catholic private school, I was miserable.  The moment I came home or school let out, I changed into shorts or jeans.  In junior high, I played on the school's sports teams.  I considered myself athletic.  I was good at volleyball, okay at basketball, and terrible at softball.

Basketball kept my weight in check but my boobs were so big that I practically had to hold them down with my elbows when I ran.  In the late 1970's and early 80's, sports bras hadn't been developed yet for big girls like me.  I hated my chest.  The gym was normally filled to capacity with boys and I had a sneaky suspicion why.  I also tend to sweat terribly so it was always a wet t-shirt exhibit.  I'm surprised the nuns didn't pull me out at half-time.  Good grief.

Softball, be told, I was afraid of the ball.  This certainly says something about my ability.  The only reason I signed up was that I knew I'd receive the coveted trophy having been the only girl in all three sports.  Yes, I would be the Female Athlete of the Year (apparently I was born vain). 

Initially our coach, also my 8th grade teacher, placed me as the catcher.  Not the wisest decision for a kid terrified of the ball.  He felt I was big and could block the plate and I figured if I closed my eyes I wouldn't get whacked.  Mr. Rouch eventually figured out what was happening and placed me in left field where no one EVER hit the ball.  He regretted this decision the day I stuffed an entire package of Big League Chew bubble gum in my cheek to look as if I were chewing on real tobacco.  Of course, this was the only time in the history of Catholic girl junior league softball that a grounder was hit into left field.  The ball rolled directly in front of me.  I panicked and choked on my gum.   In the meantime, the other team scored an infield grand slam.  Oh, and I believe that was the same game I threw the bat and nailed one of my team mates (my cousin) giving her a serious concussion.  Did I mention my dad left work early to watch that game?

So here's the story behind the first paragraph, well - actually it's a question; when the Hell did the transformation from Nike high-top wearing, Big League bubble gum chewing tomboy to moaning,  high heeled, red-headed, middle-aged woman occur?  DON'T ANSWER THAT!  I'm too busy moaning to hear your answer anyway.