OK, cough it up!I want to know what your FORMERLY is, not least of all because perhaps it'll be as superficial and relatively unimportant in the scheme of things as is mine.
Obviously, the fact that you've always been the smartest kid in your family and yet couldn't bring yourself to finish your dissertation is nothing compared to the problems of veterans returning minus a limb, but it's still worth a few words. Or that your high school peers voted you most likely to get rich quick and you're working at Dunkin' Donuts. Or that you had the marriage and little blond children that seemed so perfect, and now you have an ex and bigger blond children that you see every other weekend.
Boo-effin'-hoo, some will say. You're not homeless. You're not trapped in some abandoned bomb shelter with nothing but a skeleton and some plant water to drink like that girl on All My Children. Get some real problems. And you will, at some point. But for now, I want to hear about your FORMERLY.
Go to the drop-down menu, and select a FORMERLY from among the ones I posted. If none apply, write your own in the box to the right. And then give me a few words (no more than 200) on your FORMERLY, what it meant to you and how you're dealing. You can also post a relevant picture (it needn't be you but something that says it all). Keep it relatively clean, kids, and feel free to post more than one. You can be serious, self-mocking, however you feel.
LEANNE WROTE: Pressure! Am feeling self-generated pressure to maintain the physically fit, post-Menopause body I created within the last couple years. When does conscientious working out slink into obsession? But, how not to stay this way when the attention is so captivating? It is so nice to feel confident. Maybe I could start a “formerly nothot” site. Returning to Key West where I intend to strut my 51-year-old stuff.
Photo by , CC
LAURA WROTE: I turned 32 this week, and am no longer officially young (thanks to Asher Roth’s MILF age qualifier of being at least 32 - I don’t even have KIDS, and I’m officially a frigging MILF?). When did I cross the line from Miss to Ma’am?
Yes, you read it right. Not a Dolly Parton, 9 to 5, 401K, 2 weeks vacation a year, Christmas party working girl…the real kind. Use any euphamism you like, lady of the night, hooker, whore (not a hoe, they give it up for free), prostitute, woman of ill repute (my all time favorite), streetwalker (my least favorite b/c I’ve never walked the streets…I’ve walked the carpets in casinos though), independent contractor, entrepreneur, etc. Awww, the good ole days. I’m 3 1/2 years retired now and have been sucked into the suburban portal of mommydom, yikes! Anybody got a time machine? If I look at another sip cup toting, minivan driving, ballet class attending, soccer practice screaming, swim team leaving, rice krispy treat making, garage sell having mom I’m going to re-enter therapy. It’s usually those kinds of moms who’s husband were my regular clients anyway.
Photo by Captain Giona CC
I’m still what the Irish call a “big horse of a girl.” But I OWN my body now. Every dimple, wrinkle, stretch mark, downward spiral. I swim, bike and run every day. This body has completed 2 Ironmans, birthed 2 11 lb babies and survived many accidents. The 22-year-olds can have their belly rings, I’m perfectly content not being able to FIND my belly button….
