Wedding belles

In a turn of events I never thought would happen, I’m getting married again. I guess all I needed was to find the best man ever out there and that would break down my angst built walls. But I won’t get into all the lovey dovey details.

Being a former wedding photographer, I’ve been to a LOT of weddings. I’ve seen grooms sweat, brides drink until they can barely walk down the aisle, wedding attendants hook up in broom closets, and some things so insane I chose to put the camera down lest I be called in to testify. Needless to say, at first, I was looking far more forward to the marriage than the wedding. Well… to be honest, still am… but I’m warming to it all since we made a few decisions.

Small wedding 30-40 people (which with someone with a big family, means that we’re down to close friends only— sorry family) at a local gorgeous restaurant venue (Canlis), in May so definitely going with peonies for flowers, sent our save the dates already (holiday weekend), and have now started the dress process. Which is really what I’m here today to discuss.

So let’s discuss wedding dress shopping for a hot minute. Yes, I was married before… But I was young, different, and cheap. I bought a hundred dollar David’s Bridal special that my mother tailored for me (rest in peace mama). This time, I was wise, fashionable, highly paid, and determined to knock his socks off. First thing I did was drag my wedding fanatic of a friend with me (thanks Briana!!) to help translate. Second thing I did was book appointments with all the places in Seattle that sold wedding dresses. Finally I tried on every single dress that met at least two of the requested assets I wanted. My design wants could be boiled down to about six words/phrases. But after shop after shop and dress after dress, I couldn’t find one that hit all of them. Finally I was ready to settle. I found a dress that made me relatively happy, not too over priced ($3,300 pre-alterations), and got the seal of approval from my future daughter-in-law.


If you’ve read my blog before, you know I’m not exactly your typical model body (who the hell *IS* anyway?), so I had some hard times going into the dress shopping situation. First of all I am short AF, so the places would have to bring out taller boxes for me to stand on. Then I’m not the sample size, so they’d have to strap me in using a crazy amount of gaffer’s clamps that would come undone at the slightest movement. Finally, after choosing said lovely gown, the stylist sent me an email after the fact telling me that because my measurements made me a triple split size and it would cost an additional $600 pre-alteration (so we’re now at $3900 before needed alterations). *insert side eye emoji here* Alright, I’m not ‘perfect’ by any means but I buy dresses all the time… what I believe telling me is wedding dresses are so screwed up in sizing that I would be three DIFFERENT sizes in the bust, waist, and hips (I’m a 32, 25, 37– baby got back)? At this point in the process you can safely I’ve given up on the stylist, the process, the dresses, the shops, and everything in between.

I decided I was going custom. After a conversation with a custom dress designer locally, I was already 3 months behind in the process and with what I wanted it would cost me about three times my first wedding’s budget ($7500 was my quote). Okay… I have money now, sure, I’ll swallow that if I have to so the dress is what I want. Then Google came up with a different option; Anomalie. Bay Area startup, female founder, under $2K, disrupting the wedding industry… they had my attention. I then proceeded to read every review ever been written about the, where their funding came from, who the founder was, their Crunchbase information… then I set up my call. Prior to I was able to create a simplified version of my dress after answering a series of questions, during the call, my stylist was able to make real time updates to the sketch so that it was ALMOST perfect.

I put my deposit down two days later (ya know, after looking at the reviews all over again). Within minutes I received a slew of emails from the company, including my stylist and her friends. Within two days I received digital photos of lace and beading options to choose from and an email stating they’d be sending out fabric samples shortly. Thus far… A+ experience.

Obviously, I’ll keep you updated on the progress (or check out my instagram at @currentlyclare).

The Syrian Tragedy Continues…

…even if we’re choosing to not talk about it anymore.

In this coming week’s issue of The New Yorker, Ben Taub outlines the atrocities that have occurred in Syria from the viewpoint of the medical industry as told through the eyes of British surgeon David Nott. Not eliminating their typical spare-no-details mentality, Taub describes details so ghastly, so heart-wrenching, so completely unbearable to fathom, it made me tear up while reading it as I sat on the public bus to work this morning. Explaining the last five plus years of how the Syrian government and their allies have targeted, tortured and murdered medical professionals across the country. Physicians for Human Rights reports that health care facilities have been attacked at least 365 times since the start of the war. Targeted specifically because of what they are.


President Assad is responsible for the deaths of up to 350,000 people, and here in the US, you hardly hear a mention of it in the news these days. Talk of IS, and homegrown terrorism, and Kardashians, and sports teams… but little, if anything of the senselessness of a dictator bombing hospitals which house newborn babies and the doctors who are trying their best to save them.


It is real. It is happening. And there are people risking everything to help. Help these children and their families. The innocents. While the countries around the world can’t develop a no-fly zone, oust Assad, or even UN allies agree if he needs to go (the US and UK have both changed their position on this point), some people are doing something, and they need help. UNESCO, UNICEF, PHR, Doctors Without Borders… don’t even get me started on how long we’ve ignoring, and they’ve been fighting, the brutality of civilians in Sudan… There are ways to help, donate or volunteer. Speak up. And for fuckssake, don’t vote based on what you think the president of the United States is able to do for us here on our land, think of the global ‘we’ for once. Please.

Fate or Luck?

I believe that what we have chosen to call fate is no more than where chaos theory and the butterfly effect overlap. Manufactured to rationalise the fact that every single decision we make has an infinite number of plausible outcomes attached which can determine our future options. We call it fate and destiny because we want to absolve ourselves of the idea that we control our future, that all of our actions hold consequences, even benign ones. I believe it’s better to learn from and study our decisions carefully, be grateful when they lead us to know good people and rejoice in our successes with vigour. 

Whales Need Not Apply

Dear Mojito drinking friends… We all know it… Drinking a mojito is a one of the most singularly pleasurable and annoying experiences in the world. There is something uniquely frustrating about a chunk of mint disrupting your sip. But there’s no real way to get the full mint infusion without having it float around in your glass. UNTIL NOW. 
Enter the Nuevo Mojito into your life. Go ahead, grab your serving glass, your mixer, your mint and your muddler. Add the mint and lime juice to the mixer and muddle the heck out of it. Strain that into your highball filled half-ish with ice, yes, strain out that mint. Then add a dram of the wonderful mint infused simple syrup that you made with enough time to cool it before pouring. Exactly. There it is. The secret weapon. Add your sparkly water of choice to the top and stir. 

BAM! Mojito that you don’t need to possess a baleen to drink. 

You’re welcome.

This is not an atheist blog

But it does however belong to an atheist. I didn’t start out this way. Oh no, far from it. It’s the Protestant years brain in my head that made me who I am today. According to Merriam Webster the definition of Protestant, beside the one about the certain version of Christian and the Germanic princes who started this movement, is “one who makes or enters a protest.” It itself comes from the Latin word protestant which directly translates to protests. In case you’ve forgotten, the Martin Luther story is all about the Germanic monks of Saxony believing the Pope was too powerful and believed himself to be too godlike. So he translated the bible into German and wrote the Ninety-Five Thesis. Bada-bing-bada-boom we have Protestants. *rough account* My churchly account was as follows: Go to Evangelical Pentecostal Assemblies of God church, sing Jesus Loves Me, get baptized, become indoctrinated, then brainwashed, believe that my conscience was the word of  god and that I was ordained to be a youth pastor, have thoughts, ask questions, get shot down, have doubts, become youth pastor, love the kids, stop believing in god and start believing in people, meet my first husband, get pregnant, get kicked out of church, realise that religion is run by people not god, become atheist, live happily ever after.

With all of this, a good part of my family is still devout Christian with a special flavour of crazy coming from my sister’s ex-husband’s family and tainting my nephew like there’s no tomorrow.  I’m talking full on whitewashing his poor little brain into thinking god speaks to him and that the bible is the only book worth reading and that it is 120% infallible and never contradicts itself. First of all, by most culture’s viewpoints, if you hear voices in your head, you belong on medication, and if you talk back to the voices, the medication should be administered in a room with padded walls by a nurse ready to tranquillize you if needed.

For years and years, rational people have used atheological arguments when talking about the nonexistence of a god, any god. Atheism comes from the Greek atheos meaning godless or without god. Modern atheists positively deny that there is a god. I am positively an atheist and I can state with all rational certainty that there is no god.

Now why is this coming about? I posted, as I am to do, on my Facebook page from I Fucking Love Science‘s page an article about how Molybdenum is thought to be required for the origin of life and how it was limited on Earth 4 billion years ago, but was readily abundant on Mars, so scientists are theorizing about how this was brought to Earth via a meteorite. Amazing discovery based on science, fact and the absolute amazing will of man to discover further than we ever thought possible.

My sweet and naïve thirteen year old nephew then shares it on his page with the following comments:

“This is crazy!


“Surely you know how it has been from of old, ever since mankind was placed on the earth, (Job 20:4 NIV)

Notice it says earth not Mars.

Why should we think that we are from Mars when the Word of GOD says Earth!

It is sad to think that there are people that would believe and turn to science before the Word of God.

I would like to match more scripture to this but really just look at the world we live in, us, nature, God’s creation. How could something so wonderfully made come from where else but the ONE and ONLY LOVING GOD!”

Oh zombie Jesus, where do I start. Let’s start at the beginning. I agree! This is ‘crazy’ as in wow this is craz-amaz, science is amazing! Waking up, I’m not sure what you mean by such things. Wake up from a nap? Wake up and smell the roses? Wake up to what kind of enlightenment and why do Christians use this term when they don’t really know the breadth and depth of how deeply asleep they are?

Now where do I begin with this Bible verse he’s used?

1. It’s in the Old Testament, where they also talked about not eating shellfish, bacon, women shouldn’t show their hair, men shouldn’t shave their facial hair (or whatever they did back then), no one should wear clothing of mixed fibers, and then there is that whole animal sacrifice thing. So I’m not sure it’s the book you should be getting your ‘facts’ from.

2. NIV version. Ohh, that’s a dead ringer for this to be inaccurate at best. Most of the Old Testament was written in Hebrew and Aramaic. The New Testament was written in Greek and the Old Testament was also translated into Greek at this time. Next came Latin, and portions were translated into everything from English to Nubian. Then there was that whole Martin Luther thing, which in bi-proxy lead to the creation of the King James Bible in 1611 because King James wanted to divorce his wife and the pope wouldn’t let him so he was all about this whole reformation against the pope thing. In 1901 America wanted a piece of the Bible thumping action and created the American Standard Version which was revised to the New American Standard in 1971. This is said to be the most accurate translation of the Bible to date, but because it wasn’t conversational and was only translated for accuracy in 1973 the New International Version came out. This version was only based on phrase for phrase accuracy and translation was loose at best. In 1982 the New King James version came out, assuming enough time had passed since he died that they could take out the ‘thee’, ‘thy’, ‘thou’ and such.

3. Will be covered shortly.

Now where were we, oh right. Of course it says Earth and not Mars. Mars wasn’t theorized to be a planet until the 1500’s. Done and done.

Oh yes, here’s the 3. Answer. Because it’s written by man! Even if god told man what to write, do you think man would actually listen? Man doesn’t even listen when woman tells man to take out the trash. I’m sure god was up in heaven saying, “So then there was this big bang, and black holes, and infinite denseness, and string theory, and…” and man was all, “‘So then god just did it and it was good.’ I’m done!”

This next part is sad. So sad. Sad that a teenage boy who should be excited to go to space camp and dissect a frog and learn about the scientific method is so science phobic. If god controls everything and has everything preplanned (Jeremiah 29:11, “For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope”), then why did he give us free will, a conscience and the ability to rationalize, think freely and create?

And finally look at the world around you and see that it was made by god? I look at the world around me and I see proven signs of evolution, constant change, human nature, and amazement. Science proves these things and the bible proves nothing. I have no other way to say it. I believe in truth. I believe in people.

Beauty and the Breast

As promised, I went to the first of a few plastic surgeons I am planning to consult with on Friday.

Driving into the office it was apparent I hadn’t picked the most posh of choices to walk into first. The cars in the lot weren’t’ the fanciest, the front desk reception was nice, dark but nice, the receptionist didn’t appear to have had any work done herself, which is actually nice, because it shows me that he doesn’t push it. image

The doctor was great. A funny guy from the Czech Republic. After taking my robe off, he asked me what I was looking for. I explained my woes and he said, “You’re a great candidate for augmentation. Have you every thought of fixing your belly too?” He kind of took me by surprise. I have always been self conscious about the extra skin that I have from babytime, but forgot that other people could see it. Apparently fixing both the top and middle bits is called a Mommy Makeover. *facepalm* Then he explains that this consultation is just for question answering, they schedule a secondary consultation if I decided to go forward with the procedure.

As I wait for next weeks appointment with a different doctor, I have been studying the other side of things. You know what I mean, the side where it’s okay for me to have small breasts. And how to live with them. In the process, I learned that some of my favourite actresses not only have small boobies like me, but also are short. [Forgive the fact that I’m in full on girl crush mode for Lea Michele right now but] Lea Michele is a half a cup bigger than me, one inch the waist bigger and same size hips and only two inches on me. She’s got a bit less muscle and a bit more fluff, but hey, if I could choose someone to share a body type with it’d be her (and not just because my husband is in love with her, but that’s mostly because he has a thing for long brown hair and brown eyes… and yes I do have short red hair and blue/green eyes).  Looking at pictures of these actresses, models and musicians, I realized that I wasn’t dressing for my body. I have always been fashion conscious and forward thinking when it comes to my wardrobe, but I realized when it comes to what sexy is, these women were helping me realise that I had a locked box and I wasn’t using the key.

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Then this morning, after B got out of the car and I could turn off the Taylor Swift channel, this song came on:

And I’d be lying if I didn’t say it made me think I’m being an idiot about all of this. If I (and CERTAINLY my partner) can’t be happy with my whole self, then going to a plastic surgeon isn’t the kind of doctor I need to go to.  But then again, who am I to not trust and use modern medicine. I am a torn little lady (I’ll expand on the little part in another post for another day).

So before my next appointment next week, I’ll be doing some shopping for some clothes, bras and fashion tape. #bewhoyouwereborntobe


The first time something recognized me from my Twitter picture, I knew I was in serious trouble. I had crossed over to the dark side. I even had someone come up to me in a bar once and ask me to sign a napkin, because I was obviously something big (now where is my “I’m kind of a big deal on Twitter” tshirt…), and a certain kind of famous. I do make my living on being a social media consulting/expert/mojo maker, but what does it really mean? How does it actually effect my life? I have just moved to Seattle and I don’t actually have many friends here. In my last town, #Boulder, I helped host Community Manager Meetups was gain a large base of ‘acquaintances’ and a smaller base of friends. Alas, I haven’t found that here in Seattle yet. Maybe it’s because I haven’t looked. Or maybe it’s because I truly am just a geeky homebody who would prefer to spend time with my family, go biking, and eat ice cream.

Maybe it’s time to go to one of those networking events hosted by the National Association of Professional women…

The Breast Files

In year five in school, I was one of the tallest kids in my class. My one growth spurt came and went like a fleet in the night. My doctor’s records will confirm (and my driver’s license will deny) that I am a miniscule 4 foot and 11.75 inches. When I was around 15 years old, I went in for knee surgery and after a round of x-rays the doctor, oh so nonchalantly, mentioned that my growth plates had fussed and I probably wouldn’t grow any taller. My dad was 5’4” and my mum is 5’1” so it’s not like I was expecting to be a WNBA star or anything, but stopping at under five feet always seemed like a cruel joke of nature. It wasn’t until I was 17 and truly discovered boys and how their brains work, that I realised my small height also meant small breasts. Now I don’t doubt my starving myself from the ages of 14 to 17 had an adverse effect on both my height and glandular growth, but there wasn’t anything I could have done to make a mountain out of these mole hills.

When I got pregnant, it was nice to finally fill up the entirety of my 34B bra, and once the baby came, actually have to get new bras to fit my new size. For two and a half years I enjoyed the ability to actually wear certain clothing styles, not have to worry about being mistaken for a teenage boy, and give nutrients to my son. It was like having the world’s coolest superpower! Yet, once my son could say, “Mother, dearest, I would like to nurse at your earliest convenience.” I figured it was time to stop (okay it wasn’t that bad, but at over 2 ½ years old it was getting too much). The first two weeks after weaning it was as if my breasts had been replaced by two over full water balloons. Then came the deflation. It wasn’t instant, but was more as if the balloons ended up with a small whole big enough for it to drip out slowly. Within a year of weaning B, I was desperately trying to find any 34A bras in the shops.

My little bundle of joy is now 8 ½ years old and I barely fill out a 34AA with a push up insert. I am divorced from his dad, and am living with a man I adore and who loves me very much. He says he doesn’t compare me to other women, doesn’t care the size of my mosquito bites, finds me very beautiful and sexy and that I don’t need to do anything to change my body. The reason I say ‘he says’ is because he does care in some ways. I’ve seen the things he and his buddies send to each other, I notice where his eyes focus on a woman who’s got more going on up top than me and every time I mention the idea of having ‘the surgery’, he doesn’t say ‘Oh no, baby, don’t do that’ but rather says things like, ‘well okay, if you want to’ and ‘don’t worry about how much it costs’ Hell, he even bought me an ‘add-two-cup-sizes’ bra from Victoria’s Secret for Christmas (which does help with the fitting into certain clothing items problem). I know my breasts are NOT the reason he’s with me. Which, I suppose for a woman with large breasts, she could be concerned they’re the only reason her man is with her. The grass is always greener where ever you aren’t. And while we, as women, fight with that desire to want what the other woman has on a daily basis, we hope to god/God/-od/Buddha/Allah/Krishna that our man doesn’t see the greener grass and want it more than his perfectly green grass on this side of the fence.

All of this male absurdity aside, it just proves the point that men have no idea what it’s like for a woman on a daily basis. For centuries, women have endured painful procedures in the name of glamour, fashion, and attracting a mate. Every few centuries the tides change and different attributes are considered desirable. Big hips, twiggy bodies, thin brows, unshaved legs, blonde hair, dark hair, large noses, small ears, lather, rinse, repeat. Well currently we are in a phase where fit, toned, tanned bodies with a bit of curve on top and bottom, long dark hair and strong facial features reign. Open any magazine, talk to any man, watch any movie, television show or surf the web. Men have it pretty simple. As far as looks goes, women have always (reference: Michelangelo’s David) liked strong shoulders, chiseled jaw lines, kind eyes, and nicely sculpted muscles, but no woman will be with a man just because of the way he looks, she wants to know his financial status, ability to be a ‘nice guy,’ attitude toward children, clean, loyalty and sense of humour. If they have all of that, they’re pretty likely to land a lady.

At any point in my life I can say that I have always felt like the ‘different one.’ I have always been told (even before I open my mouth), “You’re not from around here, are you?” Sometimes they’re right and I don’t fit in, sometimes I am in my element and feel perfectly similar but just don’t seem to be able to blend. When I first moved to BFE, Idaho, I found myself being asked that question every time I stepped my foot out my door. Maybe it’s the short, red hair, my stature, my lack of fat tissue on my chest beneath my nipples, maybe it’s the fact that I have a booty for a skinny white girl, my attitude and the way I, at four foot nothing, can command the attention of a room if the need and desire arises. Whatever it is, being labeled ‘different’ is something that you can hold close and use as an advantage, or you can allow it to break you.

So, all that being said, Friday I have an appointment to see a plastic surgeon. I have a million questions to be asked and would like to know and understand the reality behind the hundreds of options available. At the same time, it scares me, makes me feel sad, and goes beyond my most basic beliefs to even step foot in that place. To have balance I’ve started to research another side of things, the side where there are actually more celebrities, models, singers, actresses than you can imagine, that are in the Itty Bitty Club too. Keira Knightly is considered pretty hot by most men with a penis, and her breasts are flatter than mine. Her breasts were actually painted on for Pirates of the Caribbean (which by the way was quite common practice in yesteryear). Lea Michele is a Barely B. My personal idol Audrey Hepburn was exactly my size (except her teeny waist and extra 7 inches in height) and my husband is madly in love with her.

Implant history lesson: Vincenz Czerny was the first doctor to perform breast augmentation surgery. He used tissue from a tumor. Silicone implants were developed in 1961 by Thomas Cronin and Frank Gerow. The problems were abundant and many women today suffer from silicone poisoning due to leaking implants. And then there are people who claim manual manipulation is enough to encourage enlargement (including the Thailand Breast Slapping people). I tell this to my partner all the time (not the slapping bit), as I think it works to some extent.

So, you’ll hear more from me after Friday’s appointment.

Hello gorgeous

Here she is world. Back at you… bigger… bolder… better than ever…? On a daily basis I am getting all of the above (well except bigger, the stretching doesn’t seem to be getting me any more inches in height).  What will this blog be? It’s me. It’s joy, life, fitness, marketing, family, love. It’s currentlyclare.