shame and disconcerting embarrassment on sunset boulevard.

i won tickets to go see the band bleachers today.  they had posted on facebook yesterday, something about a secret show in hollywood, and i threw my name in the email hat.  i never, ever win these kind of things.

except this time.

so i try to find someone to go with; a last-minute date on a work night, someone who really likes jack antonoff and his music.  i come up short, and therein begins an four-hour debate with myself about whether or not i attempt this concert thing by myself.

the general consensus from work people and family people is that i should go.  i ask facebook people, and their replies are similar.  "fuck yeah!" seems to be a common response.

i decide to do it.

i leave school without my phone.  after retrieving it and leaving again, i realize i have left the only piece of clothing that can possibly make me feel somewhat appropriate to this endeavor: my faux leather jacket.  i rush back and get that too.  

let me also say that the doors open at 8pm, but that i have a conference call set for 7pm regarding one of my students.  it is a call filled with all kinds of therapists, parents, and teachers; one that will require me to use my teacher brain and voice and words to foster the discussion.  

so i run home, telling alex that i will not enter my house, but that he must meet me in the driveway with the phone charger.  i pull up to see my family dancing in the driveway for me.  they are so proud of me!  they think i'm awesome, driving into hollywood on a thursday night to see a band by myself!  they make me feel really good.

i stop at whole foods and get a crappy-ass burrito and a wonderful holiday-themed peppermint stick dark chocolate bar.  i start the drive into the city.

at 7 pm i illegally dial the call-in number for the conference; and approximately 7 minutes later as the psychologist is about to give the official diagnosis i am driving past highland and the call is dropped.  after dialing back in, i try to glean what the good word is from context.  i am trying to navigate and listen at the same time.  

it's all a wee bit absurd.

i turn onto sunset boulevard and i see the venue.  there is a bright yellow fiat or something outside, all lit up with lights and a couple lines of people who look really happy to be there.  i find an outstanding parking spot and sit and listen to the conference call.  it is in-depth and thoughtful.  i am listening intently, while staring at the clock, thinking about the inevitability of me leaving my car and joining that line of people outside the place.

i put my key in my tiny zipper pocket of my jacket, my license in my back pocket, my lipstick on --because it is the only weapon i have to protect me-- and i head out. 

when i get into the VIP line i'm still on the phone, trying desperately to muffle the sounds of sunset blvd. in the background.  i am checked in by a nice young woman.  i am standing in front of two nice young men, and surrounded by many nice young people looking at their phones.  

i am 15 years younger than most of these people.  i have on bigger clothes than most of these people. i have more children than most of these people.  i have less money, less credibility, more stretch marks, and more solid footwear than most of these people.

i am also wearing my docs.  i forgot.  weapons on the feet and face.

we wrap up the call. there is gratitude for the collaboration, for the upcoming work we will do together to support the child. it's too bizarre, standing outside, having this discussion while limos drop off important-looking people in front of me.

i am caught between two worlds: one i know really well and the other i'm trying to date, but just for tonight.

the line starts moving and we head inside.

everyone's hair looks really good.

i feel the corporate sponsors' presence.

i imagine the music being played in front of me.

i try to imagine the floor filled with jumping, dancing bodies; everyone enjoying the music.  everyone happy to be there.

it is now 8:40.  i am sitting on a huge couch by myself, with a free rolling stone magazine in my hand.  i try to read, but the lights are red and low and i don't have my glasses.  i. don't. have. my. glasses.  see that young man above?  he is without his glasses as well, but that doesn't seem to be stopping him because he probably does not need them yet.

i sit there and try to look casual.  i imagine that people are seeing me and thinking that maybe i am a seasoned music critic for an online magazine, or maybe one of rolling stone's old stand-by journalists. 

i do not belong to anyone else there.  there is no one i know, or can relate to.  i start to feel like i'm going to cry, which makes me chuckle softly to myself.

i get up, look for the bathroom, which takes me downstairs.  i peek into a corridor where the band has a dressing room, and see two other band names (unknown to this music critic) on the other doors.  i hang a left and hit the women's bathroom and as i pee i know that i am on my way home.

i grab my free magazine and head out, brushing past smoking hipsters, fancy music execs (I assume) and very, very pretty women.  i leave through the VIP stanchions and brush past fancy-pants people--past the 20s-themed bar next door where the flapper and her boyfriend are entering--round the corner past the homeless woman on her couch and into my car, where i phone my people and tell them that i have failed.

i failed!  i am full of shame!  i am crying from embarrassment!  i feel stupid!

i talk to myself on the drive home and reason that common sense has won, that bleachers wouldn't have gone on until 10:30 or so, that i wouldn't have gotten home until after 1 am, that i was so far out of my comfort zone that i could give myself a ticket out of there without judgment.  

but man, i felt like an asshole.

i did feel so brave, trying this on for size tonight.  doing something that was so out of character--bold and brazen and alive.  but it didn't fit me.  it really didn't fit me.  i didn't look good in VIP-event attire. 

i look much better in my pajamas and cozy socks, at home with my people.

goddamnit, though, i really wanted to post pictures of up close shots of the band, and be able to tell you all that i rocked it.  but i didn't. 

in the end, it was just me in a pleather jacket, biding my time until i could escape.

body.

i'm writing this standing up, in my kitchen, making butternut squash risotto with toasted sage.  i'm wearing my pajamas and my coziest socks, and i have just finished listening to "the moth".  i am feeling content.  happy.  peaceful.

in a few days, my husband and i will renew our vows in front of our Los Angeles family.  it's an excuse for a party, really, but why not throw in a ritual on top of it?  i'm especially looking forward to the part after all the business stuff when i can throw it down on the dance floor with all of my people, mixed together in one glorious, sweaty mashup of dance fever.  

i love these people.

in the midst of preparation for all of this--making lists, ordering tables, checking on rsvp's--i've been struggling with the very ridiculous dilemma of what to wear.  in my mind, this time i would wear white (since last time i wore blue and shocked my grandmother; not sure she even considered it a real wedding).  i thought maybe i'd buy a new dress, which didn't seem feasible until my best friend gave me a gift certificate to modcloth (i am truly spoiled by my eternal best woman) and then alex helped me pick one out, and it turned out to be blue again.

hell, it worked the first time.

it hasn't arrived yet, but i'm not hopeful it's gonna fit me. the warning was there, in the review section: "this tends to run large in the bust."  HA!

it turns out i am not PROPORTIONAL.  this is the fancy way of saying that i am crooked through and through, and out of whack like a broken teeter-totter.  in short:

my hips are very wide

my middle is expansive

my breasts are tiny

and my heart is askew.

here's the thing, damnit:

i know, I KNOW, that all of this meandering and mucking in my mind is bullshit.  Bullshit.  i know that my body is a good one, a damn good one, actually; it has served me well and treated me to a life of strong movements.  i can dance, i can run, i can stretch, i can be turned on, i can cuddle, i can snuggle with my children, i can comfort with these arms of mine.  it is a good body, and decidedly deserves better than me.  however, it's stuck with me, so i must continue to strive to love it, above all else.

i am a size 8-10-12 from top to bottom, and they don't make dresses like that.  my husband likes to imagine me in flirty dresses from the fifties, but all of those women had waists, honey; mine left around 2011.  i daydream about having the bustline to fill out those dresses as well, but my little breasts are just not going to do me the justice of growing up.  

(although i once heard someone say breasts can grow during menopause: can it be true? do i dare hope?)

no matter what, this saturday i will tell my husband that i'll spend more time with him, that i am in for another chunk of time in this marriage, that we are too good to not do this for as long as we can.  forever, if i dare say so.  he loves me and i love him and we have a great family and saturday is about celebrating that, no matter what i look like and what dress i can squeeze into.  

he thinks i'm beautiful.  i think i'm beautiful, too; at least i try to.  today i'm trying to.  i'd like to feel beautiful in a dress that fits my body well.  

i know i'm better than this post, but i need to talk about it; if i don't, the quiet little crappy-ass voice in my head will work its nasty magic and make me feel shame-y about this little body o'mine.

i think i'll be okay.  i have women around me to help me figure this out; i have the words of jena strong and anne lamott to fall back on (like i do, again and again); i have a family who loves me no matter what; i have the ability to rise above this societal machine that makes me feel less than--or more specifically, more than i'm supposed to be.

this is all me; these hips, this belly, the wideness in my shoulders and back, the small breasts that fed two babies so frickin' well, the shoulders that alex loves, the thighs that touch--they fucking rub against each other all day long, people, just like they should!--this is all me, and i claim it, over and over again.

i just had to remind myself out loud here.  thanks for listening.