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Many preponderances have been dancing through this head of mine as of late.

I’m on fire. Focus, now.

I have been devouring my fellow blogger’s articles

Helen has had success with her Lymph Node Transfer and I couldn’t be happier for her.  Cristian is trying to raise funds for a medical procedure that he needs.

People are chatting about anything and everything these days.  I can dig it..

There have been several articles regarding health and body image offered up.

Women cry out vehemently about the state of the ‘Barbie Syndrome’ and how it is affecting our culture, sub-culture, confidence, health, relationships, etc.

There is a whole hell of a lot more going on here, folks.

Cristan posted a sketch the other day depicting what ‘real women’ looked like.

This was interesting considering he is a young man who lives in Romania and is now disillusioned by the truth of the female anatomy.  Of course, I say this with tongue firmly planted in cheek.  I’ve never met Cristian.

It got me thinking though.  What I pondered briefly is what would I look like with a boob job?

I’ve got big enough ones, by the way.  Size isn’t the issue here, stamina is quite another.  Trying to prop these babies up is a lesson in futility.  They fight me every step of the way.

When the bra comes off I swear the ladies heave an enormous sigh of relief.

Now if I were successful in getting them to be the perky little darlings they once were, what picture would that paint?

The beauty of aging is that everything begins to sag in unison.

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I would look rather foolish with boobs that were army ready when the rest of me began to succumb to the laws of gravity a few years back.

And if these lethal weapons of mine were plumped up like an Oscar Mayer wiener all the time, then the massage I had tonight would have been incredibly uncomfortable.

I was laying face down and lifted myself briefly to sweep my boobage into their respective armpit.

I’ve never liked Barbie, by the way.  She’s always kind of pissed me off, though I don’t know why.  She is a doll after all.

I can’t tell you how proud I felt when my daughter and her friend at the age of eleven years laid their dolls out on the road in front of our house to watch them get run over.  Ken was included by the way.  He and the gal both went down without a fight.

I might well have strutted about like an abstract peacock, albeit quietly.   After all throwing someone, even a doll, under the bus isn’t a good way to teach problem resolution.

The other thing though is just how reliant we’ve become on what is on the shelves in our grocery stores.  It’s changing us, messing us up.  Processed foods are killing us, slowly.

I picked up a can of Lobster Bisque soup.  It had 46% sodium content.  My arteries began to harden at that point.  I never made it to the sugar and saturated fat percentages as I returned the can to the shelf.

Soup is one of the easiest and least expensive dishes one can make.  Perhaps not Lobster Bisque, mind you, but chowders, bean soups, etc.  Good stuff.

I don’t buy into the ‘stick woman’ ideal.  I never have.  A healthy weight for me is in the 145 to 155 lb. range.  I’ve got to drop about 50 lbs. to reach that goal.

The effects of the Cancer treatments threw me into a tailspin of sorts.  But hey, I’m turning it around.  I’ll get my health back.  I’m easing back into my fitness regiment now and will step it up gradually.

We all want to be beautiful, I suppose.  We chase it, covet it…but what is it?

Like art, beauty if very subjective.  What I may find incredibly beautiful another might well scoff at.  In turn, I might shudder in horror at someone elses choice of ‘beauty defined’.

A while back I was at a friend’s house watching the Rolling Stone’s 50th Anniversary special.

Scary, eh?

In any case, Rose and Kathy gushed about Mick.  They would have sex with him in a heartbeat.  Rosey’s hubby seemed to be in agreement that should the occasion present itself, then yes, his wife should do the nasty with Mick.

I shuddered as if a thousand creepy crawlers were on me at that moment.

As the show progressed, The Boss…the one and only Bruce Springsteen came out to do a number.  I felt the juices begin to flow.

“Now there’s a real man!” I proclaimed

My friends both shuddered in horror emitting an exaggerated ‘Ewwww!”

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I’ve stood in art galleries spell-bound by the piece before me.  Emotions that are elicited are at times incredibly deep.  I’ll glance around to see if others are having a similar response and at times want to scream incoherently ‘Don’t you see it?  Don’t you get it?’

Of course what I see and feel is mine alone to experience and appreciate. That is the beauty of it. Pun intended.

What message then does it send when men tell us they like women with a ‘little extra meat on them’.  Later you catch the guy jerking off with a picture of some emaciated model gazing back at him from a magazine.  Her breast implants seemingly a workout just to maintain her balance on a daily basis.  No wonder the poor girl is so thin!

Hmmm!

The idea of beauty is definitely being marketed big time.  Packaged up and offered for a hefty price.  Women are not the only ones buying into this.

The boobs will cost you $5,000 to $10,000.  A tummy tuck…facelift…Botox…skin resurfacing…

It will add up quickly.

Now as you stand before the mirror having gone into debt to buy the perfect ‘beauty package’ designed to give you the life you thought you wanted, that you thought you deserved…I have just one question.

Was it worth it?

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