by | October 7, 2016 · 7:05 pm

Guest Post: What Exercises Should You Do in Your Forties? by Kelly Wilson


Photo source: Unsplash.com/Dominik Wycislo

Photo source: Unsplash.com/Dominik Wycislo

Exercising becomes increasingly important as we age, especially when reaching 40-years-old and beyond. However, it is really easy to feel discouraged, especially when models in major magazines and actresses in our favorite TV shows and movies are about a size 0.

Achieving a size 0 is just not realistic for me, a 41-year-old suburban mom who drives a minivan and has a weakness for gin every Friday evening. I had to make my own personal exercise goals to ensure that I could still drink gin, stay healthy, and continue to be kind and loving to my body. Let’s face it, my body has done a ton of good for me, it deserves to be treated well. Here are my personal and realistic body goals for women over 40.

Do Not Reduce Wine or Gin Intake

This is very important to me. I feel like it’s self-explanatory. Once someone suggests that maybe once-a-week alcohol consumption may have something to do with my spreading girth, he or she is dead to me. Well, “he” is dead to me, because no woman would ever suggest it. Especially if she has a spouse, a job, and/or kids. Or simply lives life.

Make Side Boobs Fit into My Bra

Side boobs hang out underneath the armpit, and basically do nothing. They aren’t sexy like regular boobs. They don’t make clothes fit better. They don’t solve mysteries or relieve social anxiety by suggesting topics for small talk.

One way to deal with abundant side boob is to eat less and exercise that area to tone it up. Exercises incorporated into yoga or weight lifting routines can help reduce side boob.

Or you can just bend over, settle the ladies into the cups, and squish that side boob up into your bra, like I do. Believe me, you will work up a sweat.

Sun’s Out, Guns Out

My biceps are impressive, and one of my goals is to show them off without feeling self-conscious. I mean, yeah, my arm workout includes lifting weights, but it also involves lifting a heavy margarita glass back and forth from the tabletop to my mouth. If it’s a strawberry margarita, I count it as a serving of fruit.

Don’t Injure Myself

Because I deal with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, there are times that I find myself filled with rage. Trump has a lot to do with it lately, and his face precipitated the purchase of a punching bag. Because I wanted to punch it – his face, that is.

The punching bag hangs in my garage. I can slip on my boxing gloves and go a few rounds whenever I feel the need. However, I am also very interested in not injuring myself. I spent several hours on YouTube, reviewing how best to punch and kick my bag. I found myself fascinated by footwork and the new vocabulary and ways that I could spend my PTSD rage without injuring myself.

I told my best friend about my YouTube punching bag adventures, and she laughed. Hard.

“Only you would research the ‘best way’ to punch a bag,” she gasped. “I mean, it’s literally a bag to punch on.”

Well, I am a little sore from punching and kicking. But I’m not injured. So there.

Literally Do Anything

This Huffington Post article details the best exercises for individuals based on their ages. For those in their 20s, running and yoga are great choices. In the 30s, exercises need to include intervals and lift heavy weights. In the 50s, activities like hiking, dancing, and tennis are great. Those in their 60s need to focus on consistent weight training.

What happened to the 40s, you ask? Take a gander:

exercises-in-your-40s

Apparently we need to get off our butts when we’re in our 40s and literally do any exercise at all.

If you’re in your 40s, apparently the best exercises are anything. Anything at all.

I suppose it’s time to get back to lifting those margaritas.

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kelly-wilson-famKelly Wilson is an author and comedian who entertains and inspires with stories of humor, healing, and hope. She is the author of Live Cheap and Free, Don’t Punch People in the Junk, and Kelly Wilson’s The Art of Seduction: Nine Easy Ways to Get Sex From Your Mate. Her latest book, Caskets From Costco, has been chosen as a finalist in the 18th annual Foreword Reviews’ INDIEFAB Book of the Year Awards, the 10th annual National Indie Excellence Book Awards, and the 2016 Readers’ Favorite International Book Award Contest. Kelly Wilson currently writes for a living and lives with her Magically Delicious husband, junk-punching children, dog, cat, and stereotypical minivan in Portland, Oregon. Read more about her at www.wilsonwrites.com.

 

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by | August 18, 2016 · 5:36 pm

This is Why I Think I’m Done with Online Dating


Photo source: Unsplash.com/Cristian Newman

Photo source: Unsplash.com/Cristian Newman

Recently, I had the opportunity to meet and interact with an intelligent, tall, handsome man my age… Online… eHarmony.com to be exact.

Over the past few years years, several people – including, more recently, my therapist – have recommended dating sites as a way to meet a potential “life partner,” since I’ve not had much luck with that in real life to date. Don’t get me wrong, I know A LOT of men who fit the bill – both in my religious/spiritual circle and co-workers. But (apparently) no mutual attractions…unless these guys are REALLY shy…and if they’re my age and shy, well… I’m not the woman for them.

So a few months ago I renewed my lax eHarmony membership and also joined match.com. (Two such sites should be sufficient, right?) I had a few “bites” and interactions on both sites, but nothing really blipped on my radar until this particular guy.

We went through a few rounds of the getting to know you questionnaires on the site and I was becoming cautiously optimistic. His answers in the latest round were quite nice and complimentary of my profile & photos…he’s attracted to me, yada, yada, yada… (Maybe I should’ve allowed my cynical side to the forefront at that point?) So when I responded with my answers to his questions, I naturally expected that we would venture into the next level of communication. Later that day, I received a notification that he’d read my responses. So I was awaiting his reply.

After a couple hours, I checked my messages and discovered that “he’s moved on.” The man obviously didn’t like something I said or the way I said it…would’ve been nice to know what it was…I’m not ashamed to admit that I took it personally (because, well, it WAS personal). I had already become emotionally invested in this guy I met online and knew next to nothing about. And then eHarmony proceeds to tell me something to the effect of: but that’s okay, because you’re closer to finding the one. (Way to be sympathetic, eHarmony.)

Online DatingReally? Just because HE isn’t “the one,” doesn’t mean any of the other guys you’ve “matched” me with will be “the one” either. Frankly, the idea of meeting someone online instead of in real life and trying to build a relationship with no real-world-in-person connection – or worse, when a guy says “Hi, I like your pics. Want to get together this weekend?” (Umm…NO! Where’s the foreplay?!) – makes me feel like I’m teetering on the edge of a cliff over a bottomless pit with no safety line. (Dramatic, yes… Have you met me?) It’s enough to know that finding “the one” means putting a large portion of my happiness in human, fallible hands. (I have trust issues…just in case you didn’t figure that out already…) Sure, I have lots of online male friends – on Facebook, for example – whom I’ve never met in real life, but the potential is always there to do so someday. Meanwhile, we’re getting to know each other without the pressure of time. I’ve known people for whom the online introduction and relationship building has worked and is still working. But I have a feeling that, as much as the idea appeals to me (after all, it’s simply a modern, cyber version of mail order brides and grooms), I may not be one of those people for whom it works.

I’m not sure how I’ll meet “the one,” or if I ever will…or if there’s even “the one” out there for me. Any number of things may have happened to him…or he may not exist other than in my imagination…I may have to travel half-way around the world to meet him (which would be fine with me, actually)…he may be married to someone else (very depressing possibility). God knows I’d like to meet “the one,” partly (okay, mostly) because quite often being a single woman of a certain age (42, if you must know) with a healthy sex drive SUCKS EGGS. (Have you ever tried to suck an egg? Especially a raw one? Very messy and unsatisfying.) But somehow I feel that if he’s out there, I’m destined to meet him in real life rather than via a network of wires and Ethernet. Or at least, if I meet him online initially, I think it’ll be through a mutual acquaintance or some such.

I think I’m done with online dating. I prefer the “organic” method: letting events play out naturally, without forcing them. Maybe I’ll meet “the one” during a stroll in a park or down a sidewalk or in a bookstore. Until then, I’ll do my best to leave it in God’s hands (a big deal for me, because faith and patience aren’t two of my best traits…but since my first foray into marriage ended in disaster, I’m determined not to make the same mistake again)…which, when it comes down to the nuts and bolts, is really the best place to leave my future husband. 🙂

Have you ever tried online dating? If yes, did it work for you? If no, why not? Please leave comments below.

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Filed under Anxiety, Life, Musings, Online Dating, Relationships, Romance, Sarcasm, Writing

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by | June 8, 2016 · 5:25 pm

When Your First Kiss Causes a Full-Blown Panic Attack


By Ryan Moreno

Photo source: Unsplash.com/Ryan Moreno

Do first kisses usually cause panic attacks?

I don’t mean a heart-racing-weak-in-the-knees anticipation kind of feeling, either. I mean a full-blown, honest-to-God panic attack.

Thought I didn’t realize it at the time, mine did. The muscle memory is still with me. My heart is hammering my chest just from the memory. I remember the physical sensations, the thoughts that ran through my head and the emotional upheaval as clearly as if it’d happened only yesterday:

Sweat beaded my lip and brow, and ran its cool fingers down my spine. I was so flushed, my body was burning up. I hyperventilated and my heart beat so hard I thought it would jump out of my chest (due to a heart condition, when I’m having a panic attack, I can look down and literally SEE my heart pounding). It felt like I was on a roller coast (I LOVE roller coasters, but I didn’t love this one – it felt more like drowning), and the contents of my stomach were threatening imminent reappearance. This was my first kiss panic attack. I was 15.

It took him hours to wear me down. Maybe days. That part is kind of hazy. He was also 15, but either much more experienced or simply more confident than I. He was persistent and wore me down. That I was quite attracted to him might’ve helped to tip the scales in his favor. Even while we were kissing – French, of course 😉 – my heart ran a marathon. That fight or flight syndrome. I didn’t know what to do, how to handle the sensations running through me. I let him take the lead and he devoured me.

Kissing came easier after that. Until a few weeks later when I became uncomfortable with him slidding his hand up my skirt and attempting to fondle my breasts. He called me a prude. I’d never been called that before and had to find a dictionary. When I told my mother he’d called me a prude, she said I should be proud of that. At 15, I was just as uncomfortable with the idea of being a prude as I was with his hands on the covered parts of my body.

I don’t know if he really was looking to “score” or just wanted to fool around a little. After establishing my “prudishness,” he quickly lost interest. And I became a subtle stalker. I didn’t have the confidence to confront him, so I prank-called his house multiple times, wrote a lot of bad poetry, broke a few of my figurines, and cried. It wasn’t the first time – nor would it be the last – I cried over a male who didn’t deserve my tears.

I hated to say no to him…when I was younger I had that “want to please everyone” personality. I hated confrontation. It made me sick to my stomach. But at the same time, I was willful and stubborn. Great tug-o-war combo. I still sometimes struggle with wanting to make everyone else happy. But I’m less afraid of confrontation.

Something inside wouldn’t let me say yes to him…So I was a prude. Until I was 19. A guy I’d known for several years (my brother’s best friend, in fact), who was a couple years younger than me, said the right words, at the right time, and wooed me in just the right way…I let him in where another male hadn’t been since my CSA 15 years before (I talk about that HERE.) Eventually, this younger guy became abusive and the end of our relationship was a disaster and emotionally traumatic for me…but that’s another story for another time…

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