Who Stole My Spandex | Indie Author Spotlight

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Hey y’all! I have an exciting offer for you today. So exciting that I had to come out of my hiatus to tell you about it. Have you met Marcia Kester Doyle? She is the hilarious genius behind the blog Menopausal Mother in addition to her frank look at dealing with grumpy husbands, teenagers and the change of life:  Who Stole My Spandex? Midlife Musings from a Middle-Aged MILFHer open and honest approach has endeared her to fans and her willingness to help other fellow bloggers definitely makes her one of my favorites.

Let me tell you a little bit more about the book:

Who Stole My Spandex? Midlife Musings from a Middle-Aged MILF is a witty selection of stories from my madcap world of menopausal pitfalls, wardrobe malfunctions, and a family full of pranksters. The book provides an unvarnished account of humorous stories depicting nightmare holidays, couples’ colonoscopies, neighbors from hell, and my wild ride on the crazy train into middle-age mayhem. Additional stories include my family’s love of a good food fight and our reputation for wearing cat masks around the fire pit on a cold winter’s night. We’re not ashamed of our Flintstone-era minivan, or the fact that our home could easily be mistaken for a petting zoo. With a heavy dose of self-deprecating humor, and just a dash of sentiment, this brand of quirky humor will resonate with anyone who has hurt their back while twerking in a Zumba class, pilfered candy from their children’s Easter baskets (and blamed it on the dogs), or felt the call of nature at exactly the wrong time.

Today we’re lucky indeed. Marcia is gracing us with a story from her book and there’s a giveaway at the end of this post. This excerpt is talking about Marcia’s experience with trying to lose a few pounds. You’ll giggle and wince in sympathy. Seriously, who made Spandex a thing?

Livin’ Large in Zumba Land

Book Cover- Front- MarciaI like to eat. A lot. I don’t even need a holiday as an excuse to strap on the ol’ feed bag. The Vikings have nothing on me when it comes to feasting. My love for food spirals out of control once I lose that first little bit of will power.

My wake-up call came during my annual physical, when I complained to the doctor about my achy back and weak knees. She noticed my recent weight gain and suggested that I lose a few pounds. I wasn’t happy about it, but I knew she was right—if I didn’t cut back on the chow and start exercising regularly, I’d wind up with a butt the size of Texas.
 
The first thing I did was join an all-female gym, and I quickly realized that my workout clothes from the Richard Simmons era were sadly outdated. I needed a new gym wardrobe, but visiting a sporting-goods store for clothes to sweat in was an intimidating prospect. I needed a support system.
 
I made the mistake of inviting my husband along to help me choose my new gear. He was a little TOO enthusiastic at the prospect of his wife getting back into shape. I ditched him in the men’s department and went roaming the aisles until I found the women’s workout clothes section—and stopped dead in my tracks. Who were these manufacturers kidding? The “large” tops were the size of small sausage casings. I would have been lucky to fit an entire shirt over one arm. Further down the aisle, I came across a row of “grande” tank tops. In white. I envisioned myself sweating through the fabric to the point of transparency and I shuddered.
 
Then the unthinkable happened—every woman’s worst nightmare. My clueless husband held up an armload of colorful men’s T-shirts and shouted from across the store, “Hey, Hon, you need a larger size? I found a 2X in the men’s department that might fit you!” I knew I should have slapped a muzzle on that man years ago.
 
After scanning the racks for the largest sizes available, I grabbed a few pairs of yoga pants and some T-shirts with motivational sayings on them such as “Just Do It” and “Live Strong.” At that point, the only T-shirt that I was fit to wear was one saying “I Lick Cake Batter Off of Electric Beaters,” but apparently they were sold out of those.
 
I decided it wouldn’t be fair to suffer alone in my quest to get back into shape, so I convinced one of my daughters to join the gym with me. Misery loves company, after all. The day we were scheduled to start, I grabbed some Spanx to wear under my shorts. Squeezing my hips into those suckers was like packing seven pounds of cellulite into a three-pound bag. When my daughter and I arrived at the gym, the Spanx were constricting my stomach so tightly I could almost hear them protesting loudly in a Scottish accent: “I can’t do it, Captain! I don’t have the power!”
 
We spent our first few torturous days with a personal trainer who taught us how to use the equipment. The entire time my daughter and I were lifting weights, we were also trying not to grimace or sweat like two sumo wrestlers in a sauna. By the time we hit the treadmills that were set at warp speed, I was already perspiring heavily and thinking, “Beam me up, Scotty!” Preferably to a planet that believes chocolate should be the largest block in the food pyramid.
 
As I struggled to keep up my pace on the evil treadmill, the uncomfortable tightness of the Spanx was becoming further aggravated by my profuse sweating. The dampness was causing my thighs to chafe, and I started to get worried that I might need a large fire extinguisher just to put out the flames. Was healthy living supposed to be this painful?
 
I decided to try something that was a little less strenuous and a lot more fun, and Zumba class was the answer. I loved the idea of incorporating salsa moves into my exercise routine, because it would trick my brain into thinking it was 1978. The only things that were missing were a spinning disco ball and John Travolta wearing a white leisure suit.
 
The day of our first Zumba class, I surveyed the group of ladies and was pleased to see a nice mix of ages and body types. Women’s shapes are often compared to certain fruits: apples, pears, oranges, and the occasional grapefruit. I was in the midst of a fruit salad, ready to learn some sexy dance moves.
 
Music with a heavy Latin beat reverberated against the walls and we started hopping around on the wooden floor like Mexican jumping beans. I tried to concentrate on the dance steps, but my mind kept wandering—clearly a defense mechanism against the extreme pain I was in from my previous workouts with the trainer. Rather than listening to the Zumba instructor, I found myself being swept along with the cluttered debris of distracted thoughts:
 
Drop it, drop it low girl. Drop it like it’s hot. Oh yeah, I got this booty-shakin’ thing down … wait. Why isn’t my butt moving like everyone else’s? And what’s that popping sound in my lower back?”
At least I’m rockin’ these new, neon green Nikes. Actually, they kinda look like twin sand barges in the ocean.”
Uh-oh, my junk is jiggling in all the wrong places. I swear I can still see those birthday cupcakes sitting on my hips, mocking me. Damn, these Spanx are still too tight. I wonder what happened to the old Lycra shorts I used to have that sucked in my gut. Who stole my spandex?”
Geez, I’m tired. Dear Lord, don’t let me drop dead in Zumba class! It would scar my daughter for life. Hey, where did she learn to shake her butt like that, anyway? Probably snuck out of her bedroom window to hit the dance clubs on all those nights I thought she was snug in bed.”
Um … am I in Pole Dancing 101 right now? I would have never guessed this many women would be comfortable in booty shorts, playing beaver peek-a-boo! And whose bright idea was it to place mirrors around this brightly lit room? I’m so pale I look like I’ve been cohabiting with a family of moles.”
HOLY MOTHER OF GOD! Is that what I think it is … camel toe? I need new pants!”
Wait … what fresh hell is this … more squats? Yoo-hoo, teacher! I’m dying over here. I’m not gonna Busta Rhymes … I’m gonna busta femur.”
Oh, great! Now I’m sweating so much my makeup is running down my face. I look like I belong at a KISS concert. Huh? Cool down time already? You mean we’re done? I made it! I didn’t die on the Zumba floor!”
 
I survived my first class, but all of that salsa music had made me hungry for Mexican food and margaritas. So what did I do? Headed for the nearest taco stand to make my Viking ancestors proud—one double-stuffed enchilada at a time.

Now here’s your chance to win an autographed copy of Who Stole My Spandex?
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Marcia Bio Pic

 

Marcia Kester Doyle is the author of the humor book, “Who Stole My Spandex?” and the voice behind the popular blog, “Menopausal Mother.” Her work has been featured on numerous sites, including The Huffington Post, Scary Mommy, Blunt Moms, BlogHer, In The Powder Room, Erma Bombeck Writer’s Workshop, and Midlife Boulevard, among others. Marcia is also a contributing author to nine anthologies, and a Blogher 2014 VOTY winner in humor along with the VoiceBoks Top Humor Blog Award the same year. She lives in sunny Florida, is the mother of four children and a grandmother to a feisty toddler. Marcia can usually be found with a fan in one hand to ward off hot flashes and a jar of Nutella in the other, in case of a chocolate emergency.

 

 

You can find her:

At her Author page
Her Facebook Fan page:
Her Twitter:

Who Stole My Spandex is available now on:
Amazon: http://amzn.to/11uY6fD
Barnes & Noble: http://bit.ly/1y5rh88

Are you interested in hosting Marcia on your blog? Check out the info here.

Indie Author Spotlight 2

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Hiatus

Hey everyone! I’m visiting family and friends. I’m taking a week hiatus so I can just enjoy them. I’ll be back next week with more poetry, short stories and videos.

 

~Aloha y’all!

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Silly Suzie’s Grin- A Children’s Poem

A children's poem about accepting sadness. http://penpaperpad.com

Silly Suzie lived in the valley,
Where daisies and dogwoods did grow.
She ran far and wide
over the countryside
Smile everywhere she’d go!

“Look at her,” the neighbors said.
“Grinning from here to there,
her smile’s so big,
singing songs all day
Let’s hope her smile
Never goes away.”

But one day it did,
much to her chagrin.
Suzie’s scowl fierce and dark.
Long gone was her grin
leaving the valley she lives in
alone in the dark.

She looked for her grin
under her chin,
down by the river with the frogs.
In the early morn’s sun,
And late at night with the fog.
Serious Suzie looked here,
Serious Suzie looked there.

“Mama!” she cried,”I’ve looked everywhere!”
“How can I find my grin?”

Her mama sat her down
beside her on the ground
and pointed up to the sky.
“Today the sky is blue,
the sun is shining bright.
Tomorrow it may be raining.
But we know it’ll be alright.
The sun will come again.
You don’t always have to grin.
Being unhappy isn’t bad.
Just remember like a rainy day,
It won’t always feel so bad.”

She gave her daughter a hug,
kissed her cheek
and left her there
for a think.

Suzie tossed the thought around
Decided it was sound
Figuring there wasn’t much to do.

She decided to stop looking under logs
And behind the barn house door
No more checking in the tree house
Or in her puppy’s snore.

She didn’t know where it was,
or where it might have been.
But when it felt like coming back,
Suzie would find her grin.

This poem was written in response to The Reverie Journal‘s weekly prompt to try to write a children’s poem.

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