Would I sound like a horribly shallow person if I told you that swimsuit shopping is just as depressing as separating from my husband? Yes? Ok, we’ll just say that swimsuit shopping is not necessarily but may possibly be just as depressing as separating from my husband.

I greatly sympathized with Miss Kerflop’s entry about the sad state of the post-baby body and the desperate search for finding a suit that fits and looks good. I’ve been shopping around for a few months now because my current swimsuit is a hand-me-down from my aunt, and I’ve had it for about five years. That’s sad. But after trying suits on at store after store after store, I’ve come to the realization that the idea of finding a suit that fits and looks good is a ridiculous pipe dream. It will never happen. The suit does not exist. And after seeing my parts jiggle and squish and slide out of flimsy suits under the harsh lights of various dressing rooms, I’m about ready to sign up for some hardcore plastic surgery.

While I was attempting to coax my nonexistent breasts into filling up a cute little halter top in the Target dressing room the other day, I overheard some teenagers on the other side of the wall lamenting about their own swimsuit issues. Although their complaints made me want to go over there and beat some sense into the little twits.

Girl 1: I just can’t find a top that fits! All these suits are just totally too small!

Girl 2: But that one looks cute on you!

Girl 1: Yeah, the bottom fits. It’s a small. But look, the top is an extra large and my boobs are still spilling out!

Girl 2: Yeah, like why can’t they make swimsuits for girls who have real bodies? My boobs would never fit into these tiny things.

Girl 1: I know, I’m a size 2 but that doesn’t mean I don’t have tits!

Grrrrrrrr. Real bodies? Real bodies? Let me give you fillies a little reality check on what a real body looks like. A real body has about six or seven wiggly places that should never, under any circumstances, be seen in the light of day. However, unless one is in the market for a wet suit, one cannot possibly find a swimsuit that will cover those places and flatter a real woman’s body. You, my sweet naive little children, do not have a real body. You have a teenager’s body. And I promise you, unless you die tomorrow that body of yours is only temporary. Come back to me in ten or fifteen years and we can discuss the perils of swimsuit shopping for a real body. Until then, please enjoy this knuckle sandwich.

After many many failed attempts, I did end up finding something today that hides the most heinous parts and pretends to flatter the chestal area. I had to mix and match two sets to make it work, but I think it’ll be ok. I went with this top, although I obviously don’t fill it out quite as well as she does:

And this bottom, and let’s please all imagine my thighs looking that lovely:

I’m ready to hit the beach! If only it would quit raining here and let some summer in.

Go HERE and listen to “Keep Breathing.” If you watched the Grey’s Anatomy finale you’ve already heard it, but even still it’s worth listening to again and again. Ingrid Michaelson is coming to Seattle next month, and I am so planning on being there with a box of tissues and some waterproof mascara.

My beautiful friend Christie stopped by the other day with a jar of homemade cookies and a pocket full of hope.

Christie’s husband served her with divorce papers last fall… at a Starbucks. After he left, after she cried in the bathroom for awhile, she went up to the counter to order another drink. The man at the cash register had overheard everything, and when he saw her tearstained face he opened up his wallet and pulled out a simple silver ring. “Here,” he told her. “This was given to me when I went through something similar, and now I’d like to pass it on to you.” Christie told me she wore it on a string around her neck for months- that sometimes, on the difficult days, it was the only thing that kept her moving through the hurt. I was so touched by Christie’s story, amazed that a complete stranger who had witnessed one of the most painful moments in her life had enough courage and compassion to reach out and help her heal. There is such beauty in that.

As I was shaking my head at the wonder of what she had told me, Christie reached into her pocket and pulled out the ring tied to a black piece of string. “It gave me hope when I needed it the most,” she said. “And now I want you to have it.” She placed the it in the palm of my hand and told me to look at what was written on the outside of the ring. It says: TRUE LOVE WAITS.

And then, with the deep female wisdom that is forced upon a woman who walks through her pain, Christie looked at me and said, “I’m not sure who I’m supposed to be waiting for to show up and love me, but I have a funny feeling that it might actually be me.”

What a gift this woman is to me.

All of you who have been here before- in this terrible place where life as you know it has to end and another one must begin- I need your help. I need to hear that it’s possible to get through this, to not die of a broken heart, and that things can be ok (even better) on the other side. How do you explain divorce to your babies? How do you muster up the strength and courage it takes to walk through it every day?

Back when I was fifteen and my parents knew I was doing the drugs, they used to take me in for a urinalysis every few weeks to try and get me to stay clean. Didn’t work of course, but like any user worth their salt I still didn’t want whoever was looking at the results to actually know I was using. One guy I knew brought a ziplock bag of his friend’s pee to the rehab clinic. He kept it tucked into his armpit in order to warm it up to body temperature. I thought he was a genius. The problem was all my friends were users too, and their pee was probably was worse off than mine. But one day an acquaintance mentioned a failsafe method for cleansing your urine: drinking a glass of vinegar. She said it would flush my system so thoroughly that my pee would come out cleaner than holy water. I was fifteen and stupid, so I tried it.

Please. Please promise me you will never, ever do this.

It was one of the single most disgusting experiences of my life. I took a bottle of distilled white vinegar up to my bedroom, poured myself a nice tall glass of the stuff, and chugged. I got through about half the glass before the vomiting started. I tried, really I did, but I couldn’t hold it down. So I raced down the stairs to the bathroom and very loudly puked my guts into the toilet. My mom came rushing in to see what was wrong, and since I honestly thought I was in the process of a very painful death, I confessed what I had done. She called poison control who assured her that I would be fine, as long as I didn’t take any antacids for my stomach pain. Wouldn’t want a vinegar and baking soda effect! I spent the rest of the day feeling like death on toast and haven’t touched vinegar since. Until today.

Two days ago I spent a warm, sunny afternoon hanging out in my neighbor’s backyard, and I came home with one of the worst sunburns I’ve had in a long time. I was doing fine until this morning, when I woke up with the most painful stinging itch all over my skin. I thought I was going to lose my mind. It hurt so freaking bad, but I couldn’t scratch it because that made it all worse. I tried aloe gel which didn’t help at all. I tried some after sun cooling lotion, which made things much worse. Then in desperation I googled something along the lines of help me stingy sunburn owie whining I want my mommy. Maybe I was a bit more specific than that. Anyway, I came across this article. This lady claims that spraying vinegar on your sunburn will take away any pain, burning, stinging, or itching. I was willing to do anything, so I poured some vinegar on a washcloth and gently dabbed my sore skin. And people. It worked. I am sitting here almost completely sting-free and I feel like making out with that woman, wherever she may be, for telling the world about this miracle cure. I may smell like a science experiment, but I’ll take that any day over the crazy making itchiness of this morning.

And vinegar, I’d just like to say how sorry I am for shunning you all these years. You really are amazing. You clean dishwashers, spice up salads, freshen laundry, and cure sunburns. I had you pegged all wrong, buddy. Thanks for taking me back. I promise I’ll never quit you again.