What's Victoria's Secret?

I don't know if other mere mortals with XX chromosomes feel this.  But my husband yet again recorded the annual Victoria's Secret fashion show.  Is it wrong to feel small?  Is it wrong to feel like it's a punch to the gut?

BEFORE:  Under construction

 Is this just because my period is coming in six days so my hormones are turning me into a super nova of emotions?

AFTER: Worship meeeee!  Wish you were meeeee!

This is one of those instances where I wish I were a man.  All they suffer from is penis envy.  Females of the species on the other hand, have to suffer quietly every time their boyfriend / husband / significant other of the moment gives a walking (or God forbid, JOGGING) Barbie the head-to-toe-and-toe-to-head drinking-it-all-in gaze.  

Yes, I know, Christina Aguilera.  We're beautiful no matter what they say et cetera, et cetera.  And I'm really thankful for the more than adequate endowments the Almighty gave me.

But seriously, whoever didn't feel like booger watching the Victoria's Secret Fashion show is either:
a) Heidi Klum, or
b) a heterosexual man

Case closed.  ...And now, to start saving for a boob job.  HAHAHAHAHAHA.

No, seriously.

Why That Career Change, Huh? Part I

I was often asked why I never went back to being a news reporter.  They, especially my family, were baffled when I announced I wanted to trade the microphone for a stethoscope.  My old fashioned father seemed to think being an R.N. is inferior to being a news reporter.  He didn't like it one bit.

People seem to think it's a "cool", "glamorous" gig to be seen on tv, schmoozing with people in power, traveling constantly and being in the center of things that "mattered" to the public. 

Well...I still do believe in all of the above.  It really is effing cool, especially for a young reporter, like I was.  I was on call most of the time.  I never had vacations, because it is during the holidays when a lot of crap happens and you have to be there to report it live.  Safety was never an issue.  While people sped away for their dear lives from something or evacuated from somewhere, I had to be neck deep in whatever it was they were running away from.

The news coverages I loved the most were those that put me in mortal danger.  It wasn't the fluffy human interest stories, the travel documentaries or the political interviews.  I found that to be indubitably boring.  I did like getting made up though for in-studio broadcasts.  Hey, someone does your hair and make up for you?  C'mon.  Who doesn't like that?

But the highlight in my career wasn't that White House assignment through which I met my husband.  Hmm...now that I think about it, why yes, that was the highlight.  If that didn't happen, we wouldn't have met and fallen in love, and I wouldn't have that ball of limitless energy otherwise known as our son, Little BB.

But going back, the hard core stuff was the turn-on for me.  I've slid down landslides, trapped in liquid mud.  I've hiked in rebel encampments while praying to God I wouldn't be kidnapped and be another slain journalist.  Somehow, I often found myself and my cameraman in the middle of rallies gone amuck.  We've had rocks and whatnot thrown at us by activists / anarchists.  But also, we've had policemen hose us down and throw tear gas at us too.

One time, when there was a shower of rocks and a smattering of Molotov cocktails here and there, I ran and skidded towards the belly of a truck.  I only had a nanosecond of relief cause I turned to see the damn truck was copiously leaking oil in the middle of the fires caused by the bombs and burnt effigies.  That was fun.

At twenty-something years old, the thought of marriage was detestable.  I told my mom that I'd give her granchildren, but not a son-in-law.  My parents aren't in a happy marriage.  So this line of thinking was inevitable for me, their eldest child.


Then of course life throws you a curveball.  And God said "Let there be light"...and behold, there was my husband-to-be.  In our first year of marriage, we were blessed with Little BB, our miracle baby (again, let's save that for later).