Category: Fun Pile

Last year on my birthday I had dinner with girlfriends at a great steak house called Jimmy Mac’s where they play loud country music and throw peanut shells on the floor. The conversation eventually took the turn that all female conversations do when drinking is involved… a turn toward any subject that makes some people blush.

In particular, we landed on a discussion of bras.

I had never paid much attention to my bras, but thought of them more as the bastard step-child of my wardrobe. To me they are constricting and uncomfortable, and for the most part I hate them. My girls are… not large… and don’t require much support, so it never occurred to me that there would be a right or a wrong bra for me.

Somebody mentioned getting a bra fitting, and I was intrigued. I had never heard such a thing. Another friend explained the way a bra is SUPPOSED to fit, and I wondered, How did I get to be 34 years old and not know the fabric in your cleavage was supposed to lay flat against your chest?

I decided that evening that once I weaned Thomas and my voluptuous ladies returned to their former modest selves, I would celebrate by buying new bras that fit correctly (sadly, I wore my nursing bras long after weaning Ruthie, and in comparison to what I NOW am wearing, they are NOT flattering).

Yesterday was that day.

A friend and I went to Nordstrom’s by recommendation. I knew in part what to expect, based on Melissa’s description of her experience in this post at Suburban Bliss, but you’re never quite prepared for what actually happens.

I was fitted by a gal named Isabella, who had a fabulous accent. I think it might have been Russian. As she fondled my ladies she would say, “See how the bra cohvers all of the bress teeshu?” She measured my circumference, then declared I was a D cup.

Had I been drinking coffee at that moment, I would have spewed it all over her in utter shock. Nevertheless, I humored Isabella and tried on several D cups, only to have this reaction. I may be the only woman on the planet who LIKES her small ladies – I was irritated that I might actually be bigger. I pushed her to try on a smaller size, and in the end she acquiesced that I was a C cup – albeit a BORDERLINE C cup.

I am now obsessed with my ladies. I want to fondle them all the time because they look so perky. I went from having embarrassingly few bras to now having a black one, a lacey red one, a seamless one, a few everyday whities, and a sports bra. I am in the midst of a BRA REVOLUTION!

Bryan is in full support. (Ha! Get it?)

Last night Bryan and I had the privilege of attending the launch party for Naked Conversations, the new book by Robert Scoble and Shel Israel. Knowing I was the non-geek wife who was about to enter a Den of Geeks, I brushed up on the recommended Survivial Guide Maryam recently published on her site. But just to be safe, on the way to the event I instructed Bryan that he was NOT PERMITTED TO LEAVE ME ALONE at any point during the evening.

Ironically, ten minutes into the evening I ditched him and found a group of ladies out on the deck, never to see him again until it was over.

I found Julie Leung, whom I had met at previous functions, and we had a chance to catch up with each other ‘offline.’ She introduced me to Liz Lawley and Anita Rowland and we enjoyed warm conversation about our children, work, and finding time to blog. Nabila Lacey (wife of Steve), a lovely, lovely woman with two children the same age as mine, joined the conversation as well.

Anita Rowland organizes ‘meet-ups’ for Seattle area bloggers, so perhaps I will drop in on the next one with my children.

I also met the wife of Ben Connor, though I am ashamed to say that after nearly thirty minutes of conversation about children, geek husbands, and her fascinating educational path toward a career in Genetic Research, I cannot remember her name. I am so sorry your name slipped my mind, but know that it was fun talking to you.

It was nice to finally meet Maryam Scoble, whose blog I follow. She has such a warm and inviting presence about her, such a hospitable personality — the perfect complement to a man whose very public career requires many events, gatherings, and opportunities for networking. Her devotion to him makes him shine.

Here is a photo of Bryan and I at the event.

Here is an article about the beautiful home we were hosted in (thanks to the link by Steve). While Bryan geeked out with his tech friends, I ‘geeked’ out over beautiful woodwork, grand staircases, and ancient wisteria vines.

Thank you to the Scobles for inviting us to share in the celebration of your accomplishments. We hope to see you again soon.

I always feel a bit reminiscent on my birthday because it also marks the anniversary of my arrival in Seattle, of the day I left home forever, of the day I met my lifelong friends. I spent my eighteenth birthday on an airplane, terrified and excited about my new adventure.

Inevitably I think back to the first time I met my new family. I was wearing a plaid skirt and I probably looked like I was twelve years old. Alecia had a perm. The names on the door across from mine were Sarah and Larah, and before I met those girls and realized one was a Philippina and one was ghostly white, I thought they might be twins. Kristin tried to convince everyone that her hair was naturally blond. My roommate was Genevieve, a sophomore. She was bold and confident and popular, and seemed invincible to me.

In 1996 I was living in New York, and on my birthday my friends, led by Sarah, sent me a memory book they made of our friendship to date. In it, they recapped the first few birthdays we spent together:

I remember how you used to sit and sulk on your birthday because no one paid attention to it (it being the first day of school and all). Let’s have a revue of the last five big B-days:

#1: We completely overlooked it because, heck, we hardly knew you.
#2: We forced you out of bed and dragged you to Red Robin where you paid for your own meal.
#3: We can’t remember what happened this year (1992), we think Jeff took you out, but we are not sure.
#4: This year we had a party at the girls’ house. You wore a green sweater. That’s the extent of my memory.
#5: This year was the big hooplah. This year made up for the other years. The 70s party was the event of the season and Chris’ suit was the envy of all.

And now we are celebrating birthday number six. Do you feel old yet? Don’t expect me to keep track after this year.

Tonight I will see my friends, and we will drink, and we will toast to our friendship of fifteen years, and we will likely choke at the realization that we are old enough to have known each other for so long.

I’m not usually one to feel like I’m old. Having children doesn’t make me feel old, driving a minivan doesn’t make me feel old, even gaining a few pounds doesn’t make me feel old.

What makes me feel old is when college students call me ma’am, when they say to me that U2 must be really important to my generation, and when I start a story with the words, “Fifteen years ago, when I was in college…”

But I guess maybe if I really thought about it, I feel old in the way wine ages. Wine tastes better with age, its flavor is reminiscent of its beginnings, and the oak barrel infuses its spice and vanilla aroma. Exposure to oxygen changes the wine.

Everything that touches wine – from the grape, to the barrel, to the type of glass we pour it into, to the air we breath – it all influences its outcome, its flavor, its impact on who comes in contact with it. We reject distasteful wine and we savor beautiful wine.

I feel beautiful in my age because of all that has touched me. Thank you.