Bikiniexperiment's Blog

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boy shorts and bad news May 14, 2010

Filed under: actual bikininess,My Milkshake and the yard,Uncategorized — bikiniexperiment @ 2:57 am

as the day draws nigh, I am reminded that I will at some point actually have to wear a bikini, which I’m totallyexcited about. Totally.

Ok, I’m not.

I’m plauged by things like stretch marks, cottage cheesy thighs..genearl sagginess reality and such. I have read about a thousand articles on what flatters different body types and what to do if you are pear shaped or apple shaped or bottle shaped or you know human shaped. And so although I LOVE boy shorts and frequently wear them underneath, you know, my  clothes, it turns out they do not flatter my body type not even a little bit. Le sigh. So sad. Which leads to the age old question, do you chose what you like or what flatters you? Ideally, the two things would be one and the same. I think we both know that this isn’t always the case.

I’m sure once I actually venture out for the shopping and the (ACK!) trying on of the bikini, I will hopefully come to terms with what I like and what is going to look the best. I’m super nervous about both trying on and walking on a beach, but I’m pretty sure that given the wackiness of the last month I can handle a few scraps of nylon and the glaring whiteness of my skin. I jsut have to be real with myself about it.

And that’s the bad news.


The Story of Us May 13, 2010

Filed under: general funkiness,Uncategorized — bikiniexperiment @ 3:47 am

This is not my title, by the way, it’s the title of an obscure movie starring Michelle Pfeiffer and Bruce Willis and it is about the impending demise of their fifteen plus year relationship and marriage.

And I love it.

Every single time Mike and I have had messy, ugly fights I pop it in and it makes me feel better. It’s a sad movie, but ala’ Rob Reiner it does have a happy ending. I prefer to think that things will work out. I have always been that way. A week after the big earth crashing decision to separate we are both still upset and angry and just plain frustrated.

I like to think that things will work out, but that we have to be apart for awhile. To appreciate each other, to gain a little perspective and to see if it’s what we really need and want.

We are separate, but so much of are lives are entwined and that makes it emotional and difficult. I know we love our children and we will always love each other, but sometimes people make each other miserable.

I would like to thank all my friends who’ve taken time to drop a comment or an email, it does mean alot to me. I escaped home to the mountains for a few days, they loved on me and it did build me up a bit. I have a million decisions and a thousand thoughts always, but I will be OK.

I have been accused of being one-sided on my blog, that is not my intention, but my blog is mine, I can’t express what M is feeling, that would be unfair for me to assume and to be his mouthpiece. He and I are both hurting, and I am going to choose not to lend credence to the unsupportive and negative voices. He and I are both facing things we’ve never dealt with, and we are doing the best we can.

Now, on to more fun bikini-experiment business. I have located three or four stores locally that sell the pieces separately (absolute necessity) and am enlisting my bff Brae to shop with me within the next couple of weeks and will hopefully have good news. I have been eating marginally healthier (lie, I haven’t been eating..but that’s healthier than Mcdonalds, right?)and making toning and weight lifting efforts. I still have every intention of attempting oneness with a bikini for the first time ever ever ever at the beginning of July. I’m not sure if this is possible optimistic, but we will see more as the deadline approaches and hopefully I will have some good pics from shopping to post soon. I hope everyone will be kind, fair and honest when I post pictures..cuz..I don’t want to have to cut anyone..Just kidding. (not really)


When it rains, it monsoons May 5, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — bikiniexperiment @ 12:10 am

So, as my first bikini deadline approaches, a million other things in my life that I thought were certain, are certainly not.

It seems my husband and best friend of ten years and I are going to separate. We are hurting each other far more than we are helping each other and we are both exhausted from the effort of trying to be what the other needs. I will always love him, and we will always be friends, but for now, the reality is we may not always be married.

Understandably we are both adrift and defeated. My experiment will go on and now my quest for self esteem and self discovery will take on new facets.

I hope you won’t feel sorry for me. I am going to do my very best to be brave and be a good mother and do my tasks at hand with the same gusto. I don’t want to be sorry for myself. I want to be OK, although this is the thunderclap and it’s over, it’s been blowing up a storm for a long time.

I am surprised at my friends and families reactions and not. I mean, I’ve heard at least twelve times ‘ I just thought you guys would always be together.’

I thought that too, unfortunately, what things are like on the inside of a marriage are often not apparent to everyone.

We do love each other, and that’s why we can’t continue to hurt each other.

So, if I’m maudlin and mopey, don’t let me be. I have three little people and two little girls in particular who need me very much.

and life will go on….


The D word April 30, 2010

Filed under: My Milkshake and the yard — bikiniexperiment @ 1:06 am

I have to eat better.

It is one of my top ten twenty goals to take better care of myself as I age. I have a sensitive stomach and well, I’m not technically supposed to eat a lot of sugar or carbohydrates or anything with flavor. I can have all the water I want! Woohoo!

But, unfortunately, I do not have a ton of time to make perfect meals, but along with all the hullaballo of excercising and trying on bathing suits, I realize that stepping up my efforts to eat better is going to be in short order.

And so, I cut out all the things I love for the betterment of the booty, and the tummy, and after one week of beef jerkey and peanut butter, I’m ready to kill somebody for a kit kat. But I’ve resisted and been good and worked out, and I’ll ruin it if I go off my dreaded D word, won’t I?

Well, not so much.

First of all, I never call eating well a diet. Eating well should be a way of life. I read something, somewhere, by a very smart person presumably that as long as you eat well 90% of the time, you’re good.

I like this theory. A Lot.

I totally bought into it. It allows me to egg and cheese it up all week,but (and this is key) I allow a little breathing room, otherwise it would be


But, as I smell my brownies baking, I try and remind myself that ONE is plenty.

And therein lies the problem. I heart brownies.


this is so hard.


Workout Barbie & I’m wearin’ this iPod for a reason, yo. April 28, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — bikiniexperiment @ 3:00 am

Obviously, now that I’ve made this crazy commitment to actually wear a bikini in public, I’ve upped my workout schedule to include more than one day a week.I could go on for literally ever about my pet peeves at the gym, today I’m going to talk about why I don’t like to be approached at the gym, and how I will nevah, evah wear make up and have my hair all did at the gym.

I go to a little ole regular YMCA and most of the time, it’s regular ole people (read: moms who have approx. half an hour to try and blast some booty. Some days however (like, you know, today) there are lots of random people, and lots of conversations going on all around. I hate this. I not only plug into my iPod, but also am usually reading a magazine/book, watching whatever is on the TV, being a general antisocial somebody.

A side note: away from the gym I love people, embrace them and their stories and blah, blah, blah.

But, for some reason, while I’m working out, I don’t want to interact. This means, I don’t want to  figure out where you might know me from, I don’t want to have dinner, or tell you where I bought a particular piece of clothing, or tell you what I’m listening to, or any other rigamarole. I just don’t.

However, today, at said , not just one, but FIVE (!) people tried to chat me up.

FIVE! What fresh hell is this? I feigned politeness every single time, the first two times, but then I just about slapped a sweet older woman who was just asking if I knew what time it was. Um, hey how bout try that clock behind you?

I finally gave it up and ran around the track, try and catch me now beeyotches!

Now, while I’m moaning on about shit at the gym that bothers me, I cannot stand the girl (and you know who you are) who comes into the gym with more spandex than the entire cast of Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders, and your hair DOWN (geez!) and curled (!) What????? and an entire broadway worthy face full of make up, who are you fooling? Did someone tell you that there would be casting at the gym, or are you under the impression that your face will not slide off if you exert any sort of energy? but of course not, these are the same girls that will walk for two laps and then check their phone for ten minutes, then lift two pound weights three whole reps on each side. (Listen, twiglett, am pretty sure you don’t need to workout that grain of rice you had for breakfast anyway and if you want to meet a beefcake? move to Jersey Shore and add some blue eye shadow to your ensemble..mkay?)

Ok, seriously, I do love a good workout, I just happen to be quite surly at the gym, though I maintain that in real life I’m pretty mild-mannered.


Just don’t approach me when I’m rocking to the purple iPod.


a little bout a lot April 25, 2010

Filed under: actual bikininess,My Milkshake and the yard — bikiniexperiment @ 11:48 pm

I have a big booty rear a lot of junk in the trunk big ass. This has made it difficult to buy not only bathing suits, but all manner of apparel from jeans to undies for as long as I can remember. I’m divulging this nugget of info to tell you that my search for a suit is going to be fraught with all sorts of minefields emotional, physical and spiritual. I know this because, believe it or not, I’ve actually bought a few bathing suits in my time.

The first time I can remember solo suit shopping I was about sixteen, you know, rocking and rolling and making my own dough and itching to spend it on accentuating my junk. I spent one entire day perusing and trying on and pinching, tying and stuffing various body parts before settling on swimwear that Christine, a BFF who also spent half the summer lifeguarding, appropriated for work while I lounged poolside in some hot cutoffs and worn out t-shirt. Swim suit shopping from there on out was never, ever fun. If the bottoms fit, the tops didn’t and vice versa. I practically wept for joy when the trend of buying pieces separately started.

Even so, Bathing suits just don’t fit me well, ever. Neither do bras, jeans or hosiery of any kind, but I digress.

I’m pretty sure most women lament this very thing and volumes have been written on the subject and the series The Sisterhood of the traveling pants is about what it feels like as a woman when we find something, friendships… pants…anything that fit us so perfectly that it transforms your soul. I have yet to become one with an actual bikini. I have had great suits. I continue to doubt my ability to bond with any two piece set of clothing and I’ll tell you why.

All women have that THING.

The one thing that they love on the rack, in the catalog or on other people, but for whatever reason, they absolutely cannot wear without feeling as if they bought said item a size too large/small or in the wrong color. It just doesn’t WORK, for whatever reason, they don’t wear it.

For my friend Amy, it’s wraps skirts. She moons over this seasons Ann Taylor, but she refuses to buy another one because, as she says, her hips look weird. Now, I have not seen Amy in a wrap skirt, but I’d be willing to bet an Ann Taylor wrap skirt that she looks fine, it’s something about the way she feels in it that’s all wrong.

and, as my other friend Meegs says, if it doesn’t feel good, you won’t wear it, so don’t waste your money.

I do believe Meagan, after all, she’s super smart and she has yet to lay any heinous lies on me, but the thing is, I have about six or five hundred and twelve things that I won’t buy or wear because I have some sort of excuse. I don’t wear anything but v-necks or boat necks because my neck line is strange (oh yeah, I said it) I hate capris (and shorts, and most skirts) because I have funky knees. I don’t wear crocs (even though every other woman in the south owns like sixty seven pair) because my feet look ‘boaty’.

I’m sure you get what I’m saying. I make excuses when the only excuse is I’m uncomfortable with my skin. And that is plain silly.

I have lots of voices telling me that I look fine, great and sometimes even downright hot, but the louder voice, and the one I can’t silence is my inner critic. The one who laments the size of my thighs and the freckles and fine laugh lines around my mouth. She is so loud and all I want to do is smack her sometimes.

So, while I search for a suit and some semblance of sanity, think about your thing, and I’m sure all things considered, You look great.


The island of misfit self-esteem April 23, 2010

Filed under: general funkiness,Rhiannaisms,Self esteem and other monsters — bikiniexperiment @ 1:49 pm

I don’t have a mom.

Ok, that’s a lie, but as I understand it, mother abandonment ranks right up there with having a teenage boyfriend call you fat in the echelon of shit that will make you have complexes forever.

What really happened was, round about kindergarten, my biological mother split and notsovery much later my step mom, grandmother and a rotating bevy of aunts, mothers friends and teachers shaped what I thought women should be like. I will start with my stepmom, a whipsmart funky woman who helped shape my sexual independence, my vocabulary and my devotion to my friends. She is a no-nonsense lady who loves Prince and has a presence that is both immediate and hard to emulate (not that I would try, our very natures are so radically different that early on I realized her abrupt approach to life would not work for me). I adore her to this day, I am eternally grateful for the millions of lessons I learned from her, but the biggest thing I took from our relationship is that no one else makes YOU feel bad, YOU make you feel bad when you compare yourself to someone or let yourself believe you’re not worthy of something that you absolutely are.

From my childhood BFF Melissa (who, for a brief time, spelled her name Mylisa, and made no apologies) I gleaned the fine art of quiet confidence. Melissa wore an orange dress with lime green accents (that she made!). Her parents were artists and she was unapologetic about her intelligence and the freckle on her face that would have mortified me, she embraced and men loved her. I love her, to this day.

From my adult girl friends, I am everyday learning the art of individuality. So much of life, my friends and acquaintances were treated to a not quite genuine version of me, because I wanted to please others so much. Now, I am myself, now I won’t betray the deep southerness that runs in me and flat out offend someone just cause, but I will not cow down when pressed on as I did for most of my twenties.

I am saying all this to say that I have issue still, at thirty one, with what others think of me, I have a fledging sense of self and sense of what my self esteem should be. I don’t want and so so so badly want to wear a bikini to prove to myself that I won’t be thinking of all the cottage cheesy things wrong with me, but I also want to believe that I can.

My lovely husband of ten years once said to me that my confidence is what initially attracted him, I was stunned. I have little, if no actual confidence. What I do have, apparently, is the ability to fake it.

I started my quest for wearable bikini at a local Belks yesterday and I will take it as a good sign that I didn’t leave the store crying. (ok, I got a mani, pedi and that may or may not have done some panic attack damage), but I am looking for something IN black or blacker and a oh-so-helpful teenager salesgirl lopes up and hands me a turquoise something something, with these stone looking things on it and declares, this is your color…um, no. First of all, I refuse to wear things with rhinestones, jewelry, or any other ornamentation on them, on the basis that, my hair is red and is blingy enough without more crap. But I humored the sadist employee, and I will say, I didn’t hate it. But, I didn’t love it, so the quest continues.

any thoughts on where to shop?