High School Graduation: One Down, One To Go

Ever since I decided to become a Pilates instructor, finding a teacher training facility, jobs or clients have come with surprising ease. So when I was recently offered a position teaching Pilates in Dubai this summer (departing soon) I thought, of course, because it's Pilates! If only it had been this easy when I was pursuing a career in show business.

In all of the years I struggled to claw my way up to the middle rung of the entertainment ladder, I never heard, "You've got the job", as frequently as I do now as a Pilates instructor. I recently submitted a video application for some online iVoices, for iVillage thingy, and just to keep my rejection track record consistent, I was not chosen as one of their new iVoices.

It's so curious to me, actually. It's as if anytime I veer over to the entertainment side of things, a big fat hand comes down and slaps me hard across the face, saying, "That's not Pilates, knock it off."

Anyhoo, yesterday was my boyfriend's daughter's high school graduation. The last time I attended a high school graduation, I was walking down the aisle in my white gown, overly large earrings, high heels, and borderline mullet hairdoo. A sight for the sorriest of eyes to be sure.

It was held outside on the football field. We climbed the stairs of the bleachers, looking for seats, and happened to find spots in the exact same row as my boyfriend's ex-wife. Oh what fun. Long story (very) short, the two don't speak. At all. Fortunately, my boyfriend's daughter's boyfriend's family (I have got to start using actual names) sat in between us, creating a ginormous and much needed chasm (metaphorically speaking of course).

We sat through the obligatory speeches and musical performance, until finally, the diplomas were handed out. Boring, and tedious are just two of the words used to describe this long standing tradition. Until of course, you hear your boyfriend's daughter name being read. Then it's as if the Queen of England is being introduced.

I was surprised by my excitement in seeing her walk up the stairs to the stage, reach out her hand to accept her diploma and pose for the professional photographer. So young, so beautiful, so innocent. I thought I might feel a twinge of envy.

She's embarking on a world of endless possibilities and opportunities. To be starting out, the future unknown, believing that all your dreams can come true. Unless of course you go into show business. On second thought, not so much envy, as glad I don't have to go through all that again. It makes me tired just thinking about all those dreams.

After the caps were thrown high in the air and the graduates scrambled to retrieve them (those caps ain't cheap) parents and friends quickly descended upon the field, my boyfriend and I included.

We found 'our' graduate and my boyfriend took his daughter in his arms, holding her tightly, only letting go when he was ready. (Is any father ever ready) I watched as my eyes formed pools of tears. I was overjoyed for her, but I was also overcome with a subtle, yet palpable feeling of connectedness. The pride and selfless happiness a mother has for their child? I think subconsciously I had been waiting for this feeling to reveal itself to this Girlfriend Mom, and now it has.

It's The Boobie (as in mammary) Generation

 My boyfriend and I went to a prom photo shoot at his daughter's friend's house. I'd never seen anything like it. Then again, I've never seen anything related to a prom because I didn't go to mine. And before anyone thinks that no one asked me, hush up. I was dating someone at the time but I didn't want to go. Corsages make my wrists look fat.

There must of been 50 couples milling around the backyard of this over the top McMansion. Think stone fountains, sweeping balconies and a perfectly manicured lawn; Housewives of New Jersey territory. Not only were the kids there, but the parents (and The Girlfriend Mom) were there too. It was like an award show with the adults standing outside the red carpet, as the kids sashayed in. Click, click, "Hey Tiffany, over here." Click, click "Michael smile." Click, click, "Brandy, you look beautiful." 

But as I snapped a few candids of my boyfriend's daughter and her beau, I was less interested in the dresses and more intrigued by the parade of ginormous mammaries! If anyone doubts the effects of hormones in our food, as well as environmental shifts (and not for the better) on prepubescent bodies, seeing this group of teenagers would dispel those doubts.

I've never seen so much cleavage in my life. Not only were there big boobies, but these girls looked like they were in their twenties and had already been ravaged by life. I think in some cases, they were ravaged by tanning beds. This is surely a different breed of teenage girl.

And then I looked at some of the mothers, because in some cases, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. Maybe the way today's youth looks is a combination of hormones and their mother's influences on them. Maybe some mother's project their own views of beauty onto their daughters.

I know mine did. Beauty and fashion were never her passion, which is why she still hasn't mastered foundation application and lives most of her life in leggings. You gotta lover her though, she looks about ten years younger than her peers.

When my boyfriend and I got in the car, I had to ask. "Do I look like those other women?"  I know as women there's always a tinge of distortion when it comes to being objective about how old we look, especially when we hit 40 and the rings around the neck start to look like those inside a giant sequoia. I like to think that I'm pretty truthful about my signs of age and to be honest, I DO NOT LOOK LIKE THOSE OTHER WOMEN.

And my boyfriend, god bless him, read from the only acceptable script for this scene. "Not at all, honey. You look half their age." Of course I returned the favor, it was the right thing to do. "You don't look like those fathers either." Holy crap we're attractive, youthful looking and humble.