Dear Bam-Bam

Dear Slushkitty,

How do I get my thighs to stop jiggling?

~ Bam-Bam

 

Dear Bam-Bam,

Thank you for your question… the question you asked on February 18th, which was my birthday! I apologize for the delay. My advice column is obviously going to have to appear in a quarterly.

So, to your question, you have always reminded me of a hot Mary Lou Retton, so I doubt your thighs jiggle much. Mine, on the other leg… I’m stopping there. I am actually trying (with about 15% success) this new thing where I do not complain about stuff that I have the opportunity to remedy or change, and if don’t think that is possible – or more likely if I don’t feel like making the effort – Lily suggests that I accept it. So jiggle I shall! You, on the other leg – though again, I don’t think it’s necessary – may want to try something by Jillian Michaels? Jillian Michaels coincidentally shares my birthday!

You know who else shares my birthday? Molly Ringwald and John Hughes! Which brings me to where I have been drowning lately:  my inner Teen Angst in all it’s gooey, innocent awkwardness, newness, and excitement, and the crushes o! the crushes! and the crushing crush of crushes that truly do crush us, don’t they? Crush. *Sigh*

A couple of months ago, I watched “16 Candles” for the 116thtime and quite unexpectedly found myself totally heartbroken and reevaluating my life, specifically my love life. Not long before I watched it for the 116th time, I was having a heart-to-heart chat with Celery, waxing melancholic about “16 Candles” and how I feared I’d never ever ever ever again feel anything the way I felt things back then, back in the mid-80s. I am so goddamn old. What got me all bummed out was the second to last scene, not the dining room table/cake/candles scene, but the one outside the church when Sam ran back into the church to get Ginny’s veil. When she came out, everyone was leaving and forgot about her yet again. She stood there pouting with those beautiful February 18th lips of hers, and when she looked up, the last wedding guest was driving away, and behind their car stood Jake: arms crossed, smiling, leaning against his Porsche, waiting for her. I just cried. My heart swelled and fell and it hurt, my face flushed and blushed, years of impractical romantic longing for that gooey, awkward, innocent crush broke that dam of trapped tears, and I cried. Wait – maybe it was just an intense hot flash? Regardless, I cried for Sam finally kissing her Jake, I cried for John Hughes’ dying and taking a bucket of my happy memories with him, I cried for the empty relationships of my past and for the time I wasted trying to convince myself they were more meaningful than they were, trying to convince myself that I felt anything resembling love because really I felt nothing but apathy and disappointment. I cried because it feels like summer vacation and I am happy. I cried because I am actually happy and I want a boyfriend. I cried because I know I have to be patient and I don’t want to be. I cried because I want a Jake. Where’s my Jake. I want my 16 Candles. *Sigh*

Ask and you shall receive! Or ask and you’ll totally get shaken up. Ask and you might wind up getting salt in your wounds. Ask and you will get a cold dose of reality. Ask and you’ll get a broken heart. When I first joined AA, I heard people say all the time, “We will love you until you love yourself”. Being Miss Angrypants, I scowled and mimicked them under my breath. Now that it’s been a little while and my heart has been resuscitated, I understand that they were indeed sincere. I have felt this Love for many a newcomer, and certainly for some more than others. I have most certainly not, however, ever felt this for anyone who shoe-gazed sadly into the rooms with one pocketful of broken heart and the other pocketful of 16 Candles. And it is certainly not wise, nor even the teeniest bit sensitive, even with the gentlest curiosity and honest-est heart, to mess with that. Alas, it would appear I didn’t get that memo, I missed that bus. Story of my life. *Sigh*

This past April, I was at a meeting, and a woman asked me how I was doing. As occasionally is the case when a woman whose sobriety I admire asks me how I am doing, I fall apart and actually tell the truth. (I highly recommend this to everyone, btw), I was sad about my employment situation, sad about my love life, sad about the fact that if I hadn’t have relapsed I’d have three years of sobriety. In a word, I was heartbroken. Sometimes life leaves you heartbroken – that’s the way it goes, homey. And that’s OK. She hugged me and said, “There’s more room in a broken heart”. So sweet. She got that from Carly Simon and that’s OK, too. I got that song stuck in my head – “it’s coming around again, so don’t mind if I fall apart, there’s more room in a broken heart” – and then I remembered Nay Nay’s RecoveryMountain! This is the analogy that recovery is not an upward trajectory, but instead like going up and around a mountain. You have to go around the same treacherous cliffs but they become less treacherous each time because you know they’re coming around again, and you are learning how to not careen off them by slowing down and using your safety equipment. So, I went back through the SK archives to remind myself of the details of RecoveryMountain and man oh man am I glad I did! I found the entry that details my madness of being in a relationship waaaaaaay tooooo soooon in recovery – read all about the insanity here!

https://slushkitty.com/2012/09/12/then-and-now-recovery-mountain-adventures-on-lovesick-cliff/. What a confused, angry, and terrified little maniac I was! And heartbroken – am I always heartbroken?? Or do I just like writing about boys and love when I am lovelorn, which apparently is always? Am I terminally sentimental? *Sigh*

One of the many things I have learned in sobriety is that when I feel myself crumbling, I need to walk through the pain in the spirit and safety of Love and gratitude. I cannot die from rejection or from a broken heart. I have lots of evidence to back that up. Love takes care of me and if I am open to it, the signs are very very clear. If I care about “16 Candles” – and I do, I really really really do – in the spirit of Love, I will gracefully let go. Remembering how much agony I was in will make it bearable. Risking putting anyone I care about through anything like that pretty much guarantees me a one-way first-class ticket to Hell. I am grateful I wrote about that dark time – it might even be compassionate providence, if only for myself. No one could have told me what to do back then. They actually tried but I didn’t listen. I heard what I wanted to hear, saw what I wanted to see, felt what I wanted to feel. In this same exact way, I cannot make anyone or anything happen or change to suit my desires or needs. All I can do is watch “16 Candles” (the movie, not the person… unfortunately) and not give up on my Jake. He’s out there longing for me the same way I am longing for him. I am endlessly grateful to be able to feel so disappointed and so hopeful at the same time. I am endlessly grateful to feel anything at all. And isn’t that some kind of wonderful? I am so grateful to witness someone putting their recovery first, even though it means I can’t spend time with them anymore – he cannot see me anymore and I am so happy for him for making this decision. This is proof he is recovering and isn’t that beautiful! That I am not whimpering (that much) and clawing to find ways to numb this sadness is proof that I am recovering and who ever would have thought that was possible! Certainly not me.

Backing up a second, when I said that missing the bus was the story of my life, I should have said it was the story of my life, as in past tense. The story is not over, and in many ways, the good parts are just starting.

So, Bam-Bam, my hot Mary Lou, I hope that answered your question! To get the thighs to stop jiggling, you might want to try Jillian Michaels, or you might choose to accept it. You might also want to give some summer lovin’ a try! Summer sun, something’s begun, but oh oh the summer nights! Well-a well-a well-a Huh! (I also have the same birthday as John Travolta).

Much love to you, my lovely friend,

SK

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3 responses

  1. FanDamnTastic, as evah!

    Such a marvelous example of the progression of recovery, you are. (when did Yoda turn in to, did I?)

    xoxomarrymexoxo

    Nay

  2. SK,

    I can’t help loving you more and more for all of the times you wear your heart on your sleeve and capture it so brilliantly in your writing. I got a little choked up just now as I SO want you to find your “Jake”. I know it will happen! I just have faith that there is a man out there that will find you as lovely, bright and charming as I do. Hang in there SK. I can’t wait to be your Maid of Honor!

    Love you!

    Celery

    Ohhh, sexy girlfriend!… Bonzai!

  3. My heart is broken too though for a different reason. I can feel the emotional pain physically. Tightness in my chest and many sleepless nights. It is nice to know I am not alone. xoxo

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