Cheerio

When I was a little girl, if you had asked me who the most beautiful woman in the world was, or who I wanted to be like when I grew up, I would have given you one of two answers. Both were about equally delusional, and at completely opposite ends of the spectrum of sophistication. One was a Dallas Cowboy cheerleader. I used to practice cheerleading for hours, I loved pom-pons, I wanted gymnastic lessons more than anything. Then someone broke the news that Dallas Cowboy cheerleaders weren't short and chubby, and my dream died (and Ed lived). But the person I admired most in the world, who I thought was even more beautiful and classy than a Dallas Cowboy Cheerleader (if that's possible) was Princess Diana. In a time before mass marketing of Disney princesses, she was a real live, beautiful princess splashed across magazines and headlines everywhere for me to see. My friends may have been admiring the cast of 90210 or Alyssa Milano, but I wanted to be Princess Diana.Other girls read Seventeen magazine, I read books about the Royal Family.
When Princess Diana died in 1997, I cried for days. I got up at 3am to watch her funeral and sat with my baby in my lap bawling my eyes out. I wasn't a little girl anymore, I was a mother-like Diana-and by then I knew the things about her I hadn't seen in the pictures as a little girl. Her life was far from perfect, she was living proof that money, fame, and beauty are not always keys to happiness. I loved her as a Princess, but grew to admire her as a real person, a mother, and someone who's struggles I could identify with even if her life was very far removed from mine.

Single mom, like me

My love of Princess Diana meant as a kid, and even now as an adult, I was obsessed with the United Kingdom. I still am. My phone is set to the UK keyboard & settings-as is my Facebook-; my bedroom decorated with pictures of London; and my speech is littered with British slang (probably incorrectly, but just try and correct me, you pratt). Many of my favourite authors and books are British-I find British writers funnier. I follow the British Prime Minister, and Clarence House, as well as several UK authors (like the hilarious Jenny Colgan) on Twitter.
 I applied to teach there a few years ago, but emigration laws and my financial status are not exactly in line right now-or ever. I have a fit for British accents..Once or twice I might have told people I was from England and therefore I don't celebrate the 4th of July. (stop judging, I really dislike fireworks and potato salad, okay?) Prince Harry is one of the only white guys on the planet that I find attractive. Obviously, then, I am more than a little excited about the Olympics in London. Its going to be like a two-week British binge and I am all for it.

The man who taught my son what the word "bong" means...

There's something about the Olympics that brings out that part of me that buys all that questionable music on Itunes completely takes over. "Is gymnastics on?"-excited, Nickelback loving Jean Ann will ask. "I love gymnastics!!" Because sadly, I do-I'll watch every event, every tumble, every sappy story. Keri Shrug and her ankle-I was on that like a teenybopper on Bieber. Give me an Olympic feel good story and I am like an American Idol fan (do those still exist?), glued to my television cheering. Phelps fans? You better believe it, my whole house was. We watched every swimming event in the 2008 games. Some people criticise Michael Phelps for smoking weed, I say -"Thank you, I had to have the Just Say No talk with my kids sometime....why not when they were still only in elementary school." Its just one more special family moment Michael shared with us.

Each ring symbolizes...I have no idea. 

You better believe I will be watching track-and- field. It's like all the action of NASCAR, only quieter and with trained athletes. In honor of the Olympians, I will not snarl and grimace when my new trainers tell me to "sprint!"-I will be motivated by Olympic greatness and achieve greatness myself, or at least run faster and not curse at them under my breath. I'll watch sports I know nothing about just because its the Olympics, perhaps I will become interested in archery again (or never). And it's the Olympics from London-LONDON. There will be such media saturation of the country I love so much...err I mean I will cheer for the USA again and again.
How about that new Dream Team? I sure hope they defeat Spain in the finals and bring home the gold (read: I hope I get to see more of Serge Ibaka on tv-- go Spain, go...oops did I type that outloud?) Maybe for the love of my country I will finally embrace that muppet-looking kid from Kentucky and forgive him for beating Kansas. (That's not required, though, right? I can still support Team USA and carry my grudge like an Olympic Torch, right?)

More TV time, Team Spain

Anyway, because I love all things British, and Olympic, tomorrow night I am hoping to watch the Opening Ceremonies with my family and I will be asking myself many important Olympic questions. Is it too late for me to learn a back handspring? ...How are my flip turns these days? Would I drop the baton? (yes) How heavy is a gold medal to wear? ...Why did all the really hot members of Team USA get hurt? Is Lebron hot or not? .Will they focus the camera more on Serge Ibaka, less on Kobe?..What sport is this? What are the damn rules to this sport? Is that water ballet, is that really an Olympic sport? Would the kids laugh if I bought some of these rhythmic gymnastic ribbons? ....How many days in London would I need to see things properly? How much would like two weeks in the UK cost? .... Is it wrong to be attracted to Prince Harry? Why isn't there more Olympic coverage of Prince Harry?....  Will my trainers know how many biscuits (that's cookies in the States) I ate while watching this Olympic coverage? How old is Bob Costas? His work looks good...how do you find out who his Botox guy is? ..... Oh, the Olympics are over? Is the BBC running a program about Prince Harry?

Big Cats

I don't really know what a cougar is. I'm good with lions (King of the Jungle, Disney cash cow, sketchy brothers) and tigers (overused school mascot, loses easily to midmajors in NCAA Tournament play, really should have just eaten Mike Tyson in that movie as a public service); I know leopards and cheetahs have spots, but maybe not because a black leopard might not so I'm confused again. My son, who has a vast storehouse of animal fact knowledge was trying to explain the Big Cat question (mountain lion? panther?  puma? cougar?) to us the other day, when he finally said "If you want to see a cougar look on the couch."

One of the problems with dating (or attempting to date...or talk...maybe make eye contact) as a single woman over the age of about 25 (ok, 30) is you earn a label "out there." Pretty women who date older men become "arm candy" or gold diggers (Kanye didn't write a song about it because it's a compliment). Any woman who has children and who has maintained her appearance an figure is a MILF, and to me that's not a compliment. I'd like to personally punch in the face whoever wrote the song Stacy's Mom a few years ago, or maybe I could just beat the crap out of Stifler's mom instead because a generation of now twentysomething males have grown up with MILF fantasies that are-quite frankly-a little creepy. I don't care if I'm a MILF, I see too many women pushing expensive strollers with well-dressed but screaming or whining exhausted children every day because their MILF status is more important to them than their child's nap. I don't need attention that badly anymore. And if you are too busy shopping for cute clothes, new lingerie, or high heels, let me take your baby to the park. I was awfully busy when mine were growing up-I understand what you are missing.

The truth is, my children are partly grown and I don't want to raise someone else's. I've done an okay job by myself. I don't need someone to pay my bills, fix my car, or buy me gifts. I am a child of parents from a generation in which women were taught to find men to take care of them, and I won't teach my daughter what was taught to me. So if I want someone in my life it's because I like talking to them, spending time with them, or sharing common interests. I don't know a lot of 50 year old guys who went to Wiz Khalifa. I quit my own generation (see previous blog) so I rarely have much in common with men my own age, much less someone older. I'm just not at the same place in my life many women in my age range or age group are -I wasted much of my life in a relationship with Ed, I'm not ready to settle for stability and comfort while I'm still figuring my life out

I asked my doctor the other day if I could still have children. Not that I want another baby, but the truth is I don't know that I don't want another baby-look at im there in this random picture I found, maybe I want one of those...or not. I don't know exactly what my job will be in a year. I'd like to sell my house, so I don't know where I will be living in a year. I'm at a jw place in my life. (just wondering, maybe I will name  that baby JW..not really) It is easy for me to talk to people who are are still wondering about their lives too, who don't have it all figured out yet. Most of my friends are younger, they are still wondering, so we have great times together-sometimes those are at night clubs (night club might be a stretch for Downtown Springfield, but still you get the idea). We go to concerts together, read popular books, try new workout programs and talk about celebrity gossip sometimes. I watch sports, mostly the NBA, and college basketball. I like people who share those interests, therefore I usually talk to or date younger men. Which brings me to, the previous Big Cat reference. Much like the poor confused panther, I am not really sure if I am a cougar or not. Technically (and by technically, I mean according to the definition I found on Urban Dictionary) I don't think I am really old enough to be a cougar yet. But there is usually a pretty healthy age gap between me and any given man (I think the term is cub) I am talking to.

(Cougar Cub...actual)

If I am, in fact, a true cougar. I am a pretty weak one. I am the runt (do cougars have litters?). In the cougar pack (do cougars travel in packs? or is that only on singles cruises?), I would be the omega...I think that's more of a wolf reference but wild animals, hunting prey-it's like trying to find someone to date in Springfield-so same difference. According to Urban Dictionary as a cougar I think I am supposed to be aggressive, straight forward, possibly even domineering. I think I am supposed to have a lot of money-and spend much of it on self improvement-and also on my cubs. Cougars should probably dress in very high heels, possibly a lot of leopard or cheetah print and a high percentage of spandex in their clothes. I think they are supposed to take charge or relationships and call the shots, being all impressive with their cougar selves.

(Cougar Cub...delusional)

I read Harry Potter books. When I go out with my friends, I try to stand as near the wall as possible and make myself look small. If I see someone I find attractive, I look at the ground. I am poor, really really poor.The only leopard print I own stays hidden under my clothes, but includes underwear with actual leopards on them because I thought they were funny -I'm hoping for underwear of all styles-maybe bras too-that celebrate the Big Cats. I own many pairs of high heels, but don't wear them very often because I have a running injury. My idea of self improvement is a morning at the gym boxing, not a day at the spa. I don't even have big blonde hair, and I've never been able to save up enough for Botox. 

My most recent attempt at stalking prey almost killed my cat. And I really didn't do a very bang up job of stalking since the cub in question never even took me on a real date, and almost killed my cat. I may be new to this dating idea but I think the ultimate goal is dates (and not dead pets) so I believe the score would be Cougar Jean Ann 0, Playa Cubs 1. This is not how we win championships, Team Cougar. I know that some of you might be reading this and thinking-maybe you aren't a cougar or a MILF, but just a nice active mom who would like to meet someone who shares your interest.....that would be a too simple thought, my friends. Without labels, stereotypes and terrible communication, really what is this nightmare we call dating? (oh, yeah-a relationship, like the kind that might actually work)

With my children in Florida this week on that hard earned (read grandma treat) vacation, I figure it would be an excellent time to brush up on my cougar skills. So I've decided to call Joan Rivers. That was a cougar joke, disguised as a puma joke so it probably only seemed funny in certain parts of the country. I'll probably check my Twitter, since that seems to be the only place I can actually interact with males since in their actual presence I lose the ability to speak to anything except the ground. I think we are getting in some new underwear with tigers on them to add to my jungle collection.  I have a really fantastic plan to reread Harry Potter books 1-7 because that's.....well, that's who I am. I read Harry Potter. I watch the NBA. I listen to Ice Cream Paint Job Remix. Call me a cougar-or better yet, just call me Jean Ann.