Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
I have been so stupid busy with stuff that my house is in desperate need of a TOTAL FUCKING MAKEOVER! Grab your mops and hike over. STAT!
Also: I had a great training run last night, so I celebrated by dancing my ass off to Milkshake by Kelis. Get up in your cubicles, your dirty showers - whatev. GO AHEAD, LADIES! Web shout to SALY! (Wish I could have posted the video here, but alas, there is no embed code.)
I'm off to defunk my house!
Monday, August 18, 2008
Last week was a little rocky for me. So many things in my life are changing that I get dizzy just thinking about it all. Occasionally, I become overwhelmed. She's the one that gets me through.
I was crying pretty hard after a rough afternoon. Little Diva approached me quietly and calmly with little soft steps and concern on her face.
"Mommy, why are you crying?"
How should I answer a question like that to a three-year-old? I wiped my face with a kleenex and pulled her onto my lap. We talked about how it's okay to cry because sometimes we just get so much built up inside that we have to let it out. We talked about how she cries when she's scared and sad, and sometimes mommies feel those things, too. We talked about how it's okay to feel all of these things, and that it's perfectly fine to cry.
She sat quietly for a moment. I could see in her eyes that she was thinking pretty hard. And then she blessed me in a way only a child can. She took my face in her chubby little preschool hands, looked me in the eyes, and said, "I love you, Mommy."
"I love you, too, boo," I said.
She gave me a sweet little kiss and said, "You're going to be just fine. We're going to be okay."
Yes, we are, boo. Yes, we are.
In the Celtic tradition - a tradition from which I derive much of my philosophy - there are no words for "hello" and "goodbye." Each meeting and parting of souls is framed with blessing. Because I have been so blessed by Little Diva, I in turn offer a blessing for all of you and yours. It's a song called "The Blessing" that I sing to LD. Here's wishing you the warmth and wisdom of preschool hands upon your face...
In the morning when you rise
I bless the sun, I bless the skies
I bless your lips, I bless your eyes
My blessing goes with you
In the nighttime when you sleep
Oh I bless you while a watch I keep
As you lie in slumber deep
My blessing goes with you
This is my prayer for you
There for you, ever true
Each, every day for you
In everything you do
And when you come to me
And hold me close to you
I bless you
And you bless me, too
When your weary heart is tired
If the world would leave you uninspired
When nothing more of love's desired
My blessing goes with you
When the storms of life are strong
When you're wounded, when you don't belong
When you no longer hear my song
My blessing goes with you
This is my prayer for you
There for you, ever true
Each, every day for you
In everything you do
And when you come to me
And hold me close to you
I bless you
And you bless me, too
I bless you
And you bless me, too
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Friday, August 1, 2008
SBUX Pres: Hello, Target? Yeah, I need tongs.
Target Customer Service: How many, sir?
SBUX: Let's see. Well, I guess 15,011 pairs.
Target: Okay, sir. Is that all?
SBUX: Actually, make that double. Some jackass will undoubtedly drop them on the floor. So let's go with 2 pairs for every store.
Target: Okay. That's 30,022 pairs at $6.99 per pair with your volume discount?
Target: Your total is $209,853.78 plus shipping. Anything else?
SBUX: Yes! Can I return 1200 of those if I have the receipt?
Target: Certainly. As long as it's within 90 days.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Above: This one is making me cry because I know how I felt about my life. Last June. Me, on the left. Fat and happy? Bullshit.
Below: This one is making me cry because I can't believe how far I've come. 450 miles (and a whole reborn soul) later.
My doctor tells me that I have 14 pounds left to kick. At the most.
Friday, July 25, 2008
* 40 pounds down
* approx 450 miles run
* currently averaging a 12 minute mile
* running 5K a day
* signing up for the Nike Human Race 10K on 8/31/08
* sassiness restored
* spirit renewed
* running for the y'chi, baby
And since I'm feeling extra sassy and Tessie got me started with the quotes, here's mine:
"What do you know about game? I got ALL the game."
If I can get up the guts, maybe you'd like to see some then/now pix. But you'll have to comment/e-mail me and beg, because it's a pretty difficult thing for me to look at myself in those before pix.
Got to go hit another 5. Peace, y'all.
Friday, July 18, 2008
Also, I've started building the web zine (so far it's just a starter page that's live) and the Landlocked Media, LLC paperwork is being filed as we speak. Can you believe this shit? I've got some distributors talking with me about the print version and all kinds of crazy stuff. Shar and Matt - are you guys ready? I guess we're really going to make this happen, eh?
Aside: I think I just threw up a little.
Anyway, that's all for now. Have to go hit the trail!
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Ahem. I just had the most wonderful morning-creeping-into-afternoon coffee chat/solving-every-problem-in-the-world session with my friend Jim. He is an awesome writer, great thinker, and beautiful soul. Jim, if you stop by here today - thanks so much for being there and speaking The Truth in love. Us emotional-types will be just fine, yes? Much agape, babe. Much agape.
After coffee with Jim (uh, it was more like HOURS), I headed to Perk to journal a bit (stop fucking yawning, will you?) and had my favorite lunch. OH MY GOD! When you bitches come to town, I am SO taking you to lunch there. The hummus is the best I think I've ever had and that damn Mediterranean crepe rocks me so hard I could marry it. Forget men; it's me and the crepes. For reals, yo.
Anyway, I think I'm going to do something productive now and balance my checking account so I can see what the situation may be for registering the old LLC. I'll let you know!
And I'm sure I'll end up at yet another caffeinated establishment sometime today.
Peace (and caffeine)...
Sunday, July 13, 2008
As many of you know from reading an earlier post, Hubs (J Dizzle) and I are no longer an item. I mentioned in that post that I didn't want to discuss it, and it wasn't because anyone is angry or hateful or anything; it's just that the situation deserves its own post. So here is the truth coming to you live and direct to quell any rumors or speculation.
We've been separated for about two months, and it's not about us having "a difficult time." This is long overdue.
I haven't posted this before because J Dizzle has friends that read this blog, and out of respect for him, I wanted to be sure that he was able to communicate with them on his own rather than having me drag our shit out into the limelight. We're cool like that. This whole thing is cool like that. We're grown-ups.
Those of you out there in the blogosphere who've been around a while know that this blog has become increasingly introspective over the last year. When I joined up with the bloggers last year, things had already been spiraling towards the end of our marriage for a long time. This blog was a place where I could hang and be all snarkalicious and sassy and foul-mouthed and all of that other shit (he he). The reality of all of this nonsense is that humor is the shovel for the shit-pile of life. My blog became a bulldozer, and I've known why for a long time.
J Dizzle and I have been living separate lives emotionally for many years. This separation is not about an incident that made us question anything, or some unforgivable something. This separation is because we are not a good fit for each other, and we have both acknowledged that we mutually deserve to be happy and in healthy relationships.
When I said I was going to rock my THIRTIES, I wasn't lying. Ya feel me?
The truth is, if he came home and told me that he met some woman that he wanted to get to know better, I'd go grab a couple of beers, plop down on the couch with him, and want to know all about her. Why? Because I want him to be happy. And I know that he's talked to some honeys, and it's all good.
I'm totally open to anything you all want to know. Seriously. You can e-mail questions to me at momoftheyearblog at gmail dot com. Nothing is off of the table. I imagine there are several of you going through similar things, and the best thing I can do to help any of you get through situations that may not be as amicable as mine is to offer up my story. So whatever it is - sex, money, living arrangements, support - just send it or post it in the comments.
Mom of the Year
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
Before I made the decision to hop on the vacation train, I had a short but intense conversation with my parents. Well, actually, that's kind of sugar-coating it. I basically sat them down and read them the pre-riot act, letting them know that at the first sign of them all up in my shit or whining about things they have no right to discuss, my ass would be back on a plane to St. Louis. After all, I'm thirty for chrissake; support my decisions or get off of the fucking bus.
There have been a couple of close calls, but I've stepped right up and told them to kindly shut the hell up (in nicer words USUALLY), and they've respected that. So, in short, it's all good.
Take home message for all of you with familial troubles: stop the hand wringing. Make your own decisions and give them two choices - support you or get the hell out. If they truly love you, they'll choose the former. PERIOD.
We're all laughing, drinking, and generally enjoying the wicked coolness of all things beach-like. I've managed to get in some running around the area, which I think does definitely put me in the "made lifestyle change" category. Speaking of that, my one year anniversary of running is next month!
Anyway, LD wants to hit the beach. Gotta go sunscreen up, pack up my books and journal (my sis just remarked that I look like a librarian right now with the glasses and all), and hit the sand.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Which is the other interesting point - they drive. Two days of driving each way. I actually took my car last year, and I have to say that LD does well with road trips. However, this year it would just be her and me (hubs and I are no longer an item, and no, I do not wish to discuss that right now), and we'd be rotating cars with my brother and my parents.
And my parents are driving me CRAZY.
In addition to all of the stuff that's gone on inside of me over the last three years (and has produced a much more fabulous me), one of the stark realizations I've had is that my family was not as normal and well-functioning as I grew up believing. In fact, we were about as far from fucking normal as a family can get. Well, OK. I won't take that from the TRULY fucked up, but it's fair to say that there was plenty of shit that went down that certainly colored the way I handled my own life. Let's just say that love for me had always come with guilt and strings attached. Metric tons of guilt and more strings than a violin factory. And it should never have been MY guilt to begin with.
The beach would be lovely. I love the whole idea of returning to the one place I don't recall any Family Weirdness and Stress occuring when I was a kid. But I'm wondering how much of my time will be spent with my family all up in my grill about my personal shit, and how come I don't want to do this, or why am I doing that, or when will I just be the little typical suburban mom they all dreamed I would be.
So in case you were wondering, I had pretty much decided that I wouldn't go. But then, my sister (who truly is one of my best friends) had this to say. Are you ready for this???
"You know, though, Mom and Dad won't be around forever. And LD loves Niece and Nephew so much. It'd be really sad if she didn't get to enjoy this vacation."
UGH. MAJOR FAMILY GUILT PANG. WHICH IS ONE OF THE THINGS I'VE ALWAYS HAD HANGING OVER MY HEAD ANYWAY.
But she is right - my parents won't be around forever, and I love my bro and sis with every ounce of family love possible. And LD would love to be with her cousins at the beach. But nine fucking days???
How's this for timing? LD has just come into my office, picked up a large seashell, held it to her ear, and excitedly proclaimed, "The BEACH! I want to go to the beach!"
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Yesterday I received a piece of GREAT news. So I'm feeling the whole Joseph Campbell "follow your bliss" vibe here lately. Anyway, I got a phone call from a good friend just moments after receiving the news. I was still riding the "CAN I GET A HELL YEAH?" wave and doing fist pumps in my office. Now, said friend was excited for me and all but I detected a HINT of SMART-ASSERY as the friend said, "You know, you should blog that."
I love smart-assery. I can kick some smart-assery, too.
BLOG MOCKERY! HE WHO MOCKS THE BLOG GOES BACK TO THE HOUSE OF PAIN! There is a fun-loving history of such with this person, and it is slightly endearing. So here it is, JB, you lovely smartass. "It is what it is," yeah?
ANYWAY, THE NEWS... one of my introspective-retrospectives will be published in the summer issue (print version) of Hip Mama. TA DA!
Go sign up for a subscription to the print version of this zine for two reasons:
1) because it rocks; and
2) because I fucking said so!
Monday, June 23, 2008
Who lined up with the RUNNERS? Who?! ME, bitches!!!
Know why? BECAUSE I AM ONE!
Crossing that line was one of the greatest moments of my life.
For those of you arriving late on the set, it's been a long three or so years for me. I've done a lot of readjusting, a lot of getting real about myself. I started running late last summer, just a little at a time (and I mean a little at a time) just to find a good life-groove. I never thought that I would do this whole "distance running" thing, especially FOR FUN. Totally would have never believed I'd be doing this shit daily.
But I am. Running is my new religion. (Note: OK, maybe supplementary to my original faith).
I'm sure sometime in the future I will write some pithy Chicken-Soupy essay about it because I always do that introspective retrospective shit, you know? OK, just kidding - it's already in the works. Like you didn't know.
I kid you not, kids (heh heh heh)... this running thing has changed my life.
EVERYONE ON THE ENDORPHIN BUS! NOW!
An extra-special shout out to KW and MA for the training dates (I love you girls - you did me wonders) and to SY for cheering me on and enduring my narcissism (we'll do a 5K together SOON!).
Peace and good vibes,
mom of the year (AKA She Who Runs As A Goddess)
Monday, June 16, 2008
I slammed on my brakes at the white line silently cursing the intersection red-light cameras. I’d missed the left turn arrow by seconds. Milliseconds. Nanoseconds. My Honda Accord recoiled momentarily as the procession of drivers privileged to have a green light passed by my front bumper with mere inches to spare. Lucky bastards, I thought.
Little Diva and I were late returning home from our mother-daughter excursion. The dash clock blurted out 9:15 PM. I knew that this delay in our arrival home meant one thing – bedtime would be more hellacious than usual. As I considered the impending battle of the bedroom, a completely surprising remark came boldly from Little Diva's mouth.
“You’re a bad girl and a mom.”
I sat in a confused silence. Had she actually said what I thought she said? We never used the term “bad girl” at home. I needed to hear it again. “What did you say?” I asked.
“You’re a bad girl and a mom, mommy,” she smiled, as I watched her in the review mirror.
“Is that right?”
“Yes, ma’am. And I love you.”
The light turned green and I chuckled as we headed to the highway. Although I was sure that Little Diva wasn’t entirely knowledgeable about the term “bad girl,” there was truth to the idea, especially the way my life had been changing for the last three years.
Following Little Diva's birth, I spent a great deal of time in varying stages of depression. I sought counseling, wrote in multiple journals, and tried to deal with the silence that always ended in a late-night downward spiral of emptiness. One day last summer, I took a walk to clear my head. During my walk, I asked a lot of hard questions of myself, of my soul, of my beliefs. And something unexplainable happened – I rediscovered who I am.
I realized that my depression was not about the changes of life. The sinking hopelessness I felt was a result of me having changed who I was to fit the world’s expectations of mothers. When I returned from that walk, I resolved to get back to being the only thing that will ever satisfy my soul – me. The other woman that left the house to walk that day has never returned.
I am a bad girl of sorts. Always have been. What does that look like for me? What do I hope “bad girl” means to my daughter? I considered these questions as we headed down the dark highway. From that drive, I now have my own manifesto for bad girl motherhood. I know what it means for me, and what I hope it means to my daughter.
As a bad girl, I live my life unapologetically on the entire page – in the written ink and also in the white space. Sometimes it’s the white space, the place where things are only felt or understood, that matters the most. I honor my sacred space, the place in my soul where I am most at peace with who I am. Honoring that place means I can’t be everything to everyone all of the time – and I shouldn’t be. I respect my body in all of its unique perfection and imperfection. When I make time to love and respect my body, my body is good for my soul.
What else do I know about being a bad girl and a mom? I don’t have to be a part of the Proper Mother Minivan Cult or enroll my child in soccer to be a good mother. I’ll continue to drive my fuel-efficient four-door and allow Little Diva to choose the activities that fit her desires. I shouldn’t force myself into awkward playgroups or hang out at kiddie gyms to be a good mother. I’ll still hang out in bookstores to meet like-minded moms. I won’t wear a coordinated jogging suit complete with designer sunglasses to be a good mother. My jeans with funky t-shirts and Chuck Taylor sneakers or Doc Martens fit me better anyway. My music collection should be a collection of the music that speaks to me and not be replaced by the latest Create-A-Genius collection. Little Diva and I will continue our life-groove to everything from hip-hop and Sarah McLachlan to Ella Fitzgerald and Bach, and all of the indie noise in between.
All of the things that made me the person that I was before motherhood are even more important now that I have a child, especially a daughter. The best gift I can ever give Little Diva is the knowledge that arranging life to satisfy the status quo is not living. I want her to see that real living comes from understanding there are not good choices and bad choices – there are only choices. Her choices and her needs are different from every other person’s needs and choices. She is the only one who can understand the completeness of her soul. No one else can decide what completeness will be for her. And if believing these things makes me a bad girl and a mom, I’m all about it.
As Little Diva and I pulled into our parking space at home that night, I turned to face her and asked, “Do you like that I’m a bad girl and a mom?”
She shook her head intensely. “You’re the best mom in the whole world.”
I've been writing A LOT. In all fairness, I won't say it's GOOD writing; I've just been writing. So I've been keeping busy.
Anyway, just wanted to say thanks and send out a shout to let you know I'm thinking of you all.
Oh, and I've posted some ramblings above for your pleasure/loathing...
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
It's your cousin here in St. Louis. I wish I knew where to start this letter, but when it comes down to a time such as this, I suppose that it really doesn't matter. I know we haven't seen each other in ten or so years, since you made a career of the military and all, but I want you to know how much you mean to all of us, and how much we'll miss you.
My last visual memory of you is from Grandma's funeral back in 1997. I was nearly catatonic with grief most of that day, but I vividly remember you in your Marine dress blues. I remember how you stood at the rear of the chapel before the service began, your uniform arranged in perfect presentation, crisp crimson lines on deep blue, regalia placed upon your chest without a millimeter's imprecision. You balanced your white cap with perfect symmetry on your forearm as you held the solid presence and reserve we all needed that day.
As the service began, our whole family gathered in a small room to shield us from the finality of closing Grandma's casket. Do you remember that? As the doors to the room closed, I witnessed something I will never forget - your white-gloved hands holding the shoulders of your parents, the sound of your sobbing, your tears falling down your heroic face and landing on the tops of your impeccably shined shoes as we all mourned as a family. To anyone who says that the military turns people into savage murderers, I offer this image.
This week, David, we are mourning our loss of you.
My memories of childhood summers are dotted with you in the pictures. I recall the nighttime jug-fishing excursions with your dad and my brother (I was always left behind), flying leaps from a dock at the lake house in backwoods Missouri, playing endless rounds of cards with Grandma, hitting all the landmarks in St. Louis when you came to town. I can still hear you, at about the age of fourteen or so, near tears as you pleaded with your dad not to make you hurt that monstrous fish. I remember it all.
After your years in the Marine Corps, you went into the Army National Guard. This latest tour was your second in Afghanistan. Your unit from South Carolina came home earlier this month; you chose to stay behind. I know you chose to stay and help that unit from New York not because of any beliefs you held about this war, or about your service being the patriotic thing to do, or for any reason that the propaganda might offer. You stayed because you wanted to help some guys out - guys just like you, the kid I remember.
I found out today that your unit came under attack with small arms fire and rocket-propelled grenades. I don't even want to think about it. I want to believe that you were not the last one standing. I want to believe that you went quickly. Most of all, I want to know that God, in His divine power, let you feel all of the love from your lifetime all at once, carrying you on to the next place.
The one peace I have right now is that Grandma has her David back in her arms. Someday, God-willing, we'll all be together again just like we were at the lake. Until then, please know how much I love you and how immensely honored I am to have been able to call you family.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
You can leave anonymous comments on the site. Please show Jason some love. What he is doing truly crosses cultural, educational, socio-economic and a list of other boundaries.
Peace and love.
Thursday, May 8, 2008
I am currently suffering from not only a case of the marital fuck-its but also a scorching case of OCD (Obsessive Coffee Disorder). I refuse to even tally up the amount of money I've spent in the last week on coffee and miscellaneous coffeehouse crap. Between Starbucks, Murdoch Perk, Borders, Barnes & Noble, Wired Coffee, and Kaldi's, I could have supported several families in Myanmar. This makes me a complete asshat. So I have been attempting to do more of the grind here at home.
The Fates are not happy.
The other night when I totaled my flash drive, what was I doing? Returning from the kitchen with a fresh cup from the Cuisinart (thank you, Fana). Disaster. Last night, while heading back with a cup of coffee from the kitchen, guess what? ANOTHER BIGGER MORE TREACHEROUS DISASTER!
Kids, this totally sucks ass because it happened on a total FUCK-IT Day. I heard running water as I came down the upstairs hallway with my coffee. I peaked into the upstairs bathroom to see if maybe LD had been playing with the faucet or something. NO SUCH LUCK! Instead, I heard water hitting the bathroom floor as a large puddle began to spread across the tile.
The fucking toilet tank (CLEAN WATER PEOPLE!) cracked. I immediately went into home-improvement superheroine mode and attempted to shut the water off at the wall. The damn valve got stuck. So I shoved a bucket under the crack and ran to grab the phone to call my dad (thank God he only lives a few miles away) because, after all, Hubs was at work at 1 AM. And then I heard the second crack in the tank. All I could think was "HOLY SHIT, KIDS! GRAB YOUR LIFE VESTS!"
It was hell. HELL, I SAY! The water ran down between the walls and into the basement, so I had that clean-up to deal with in addition to the water all over the bathroom floor. Bonus - even my dad struggled to get the water shut off, so I don't feel too badly about my lack of LONE WOMAN AT HOME IN CRISIS MODE POWER.
So much for that tax return.
Fuck the home brew. Got to go see Jared and Rob at Starbucks. MUST HAVE COFFEE...
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
I was going to ask all of you Internets if you were of the opinion that I should add yoga (peace = balancing chakras) or kickboxing (peace = I'M GONNA KICK YOUR ASS) to my fitness program. However, my sister has informed me that kickboxing is a better approach for my current level of stress. Who knew?
SOOOOO - burning the midnight oil. Yeah. The number one rule of writing when using a PC is to have your working copy, a back-up copy, and a hard copy AT ALL TIMES. Guess who got lazy and didn't triple check to make sure that her GHOSTWRITING PROJECT was saved in two different locations? And she didn't print a hard copy because she was so close to the end that it would have been wasting paper? And then proceeded to leave her office to get another cup of coffee to finish up? And then came back into the office and
BROKE HER FUCKING FLASH DRIVE WITH HER FOOT AS SHE SAT DOWN!!! GAH!
Yeah. Sweet deal, eh?
You totally wish you were me right now. I just know it.
And for Tessie: This is why all of my personal stuff is in notebooks. I kick it old school.
Friday, May 2, 2008
I'm taking on an array of projects these days and am allowing them to occupy the white space that should be filled with how to deal with some Major Bullshit. I won't fill you in on the details of said bullshit here; let's leave that for the Pink Apartment I'm working on renting. WHICH, I may add, I would already be living in EXCEPT that [other blog site] won't let me FUCKING LOG IN ALREADY! Ahem. So, I present for your viewing pleasure, the list of projects (i.e. Tools of Bullshit Avoidance) which keep me running full speed from my worries:
1) my own writing
2) collaborating with artist Sharlene Kindt
3) street teaming for Jason and the Beast
4) editing and potentially ghostwriting for, well, a "ghost"
5) starting up a web zine (I registered the domain, but nothing's built yet)
6) potentially writing lyrics with my brother
7) attending every poetry reading possible in the metro area
Aside from these things, I am still Chief Executive Nose-Wiper and running a household of 3 (plus one large irreverent dog).
So, yeah, I'm fucking busy. But it's how this game is best played for me. I need to get back on here every day, firstly because you wenches ROCK and secondly because I hate missing the damn party. I'm still short on snark and sarcasm. FUCKING GAH!
If anyone can find where I left that box of FUCKING HILARITY, please drop it by. And leaving it on the stoop with a bottle of Grey Goose would be extra groovy. Oh, the hell with it. Just make it Mad Dog. These are tough times.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
KT TUNSTALL LYRICS
Everybody says it's just another decay of the soul
But I know I'm a hopeless follower of anything to take me
Away from this hole in the ground
I found it's hopeless clinging to a feeling
Like a fish on a line, so blinded by the lately
Hopeless, no more saying that there's no more time.
I've was trying far too hard
To be what I thought I should be
I was playing wild cards and
Seeing things that weren't in front of me
Like a little tiger, play fighting,
I was hurting myself, again and again
Because I'm hopeless.
That there's no more time.
Well I'm just discovering
I'm living in a different body
Caught a little insight into everything thats happening to me
Like a little spider, I'm climbing the insurmountable
But I'll never hold myself accountable, no.
'Cause I'm hopeless.
Everybody says I'm hopeless
But I got a bit of hopelessness
Oh and you can never bring me down
Even though I've got some silent ground
Oh because I love it so
And I think you should know
Because I'm hopeless.
Everybody says it's just another decay of the soul
But I know I'm a hopeless follower of anything to take me
Away from this hole in the ground
I found it's hopeless clinging to a feeling
Like a fish on a line, so blinded by the lately
Hopeless, hopeless, hopeless
No more saying that there's no more time.
Friday, April 18, 2008
Yes, internets, we felt the earthquake here in The Lou in the wee hours of the morning. I think it was around 4:30 AM. I was sort of in a sleepy haze, but I remember my heart was racing and I woke up. I thought I was having a panic attack with all of the shaking. I laid in bed for a second and then I heard a picture frame and a metal vase start hopping around on my dresser. It was the same kind of my-bass-canon-is-rattling-my-trunk unsettling noise that I recall from high school (and now wish that I could recreate in my yuppie ride). By the time it really sunk in that we were experiencing an earthquake, it was over. I checked the house and everything appeared to be okay, except for the pictures on the walls.
Talking to my dad this morning, I learned that the whole showdown was more powerful than I thought. He said he could hear the roof cracking and popping and creaking. THAT IS SOME CRAZY SHIT. I mean, come on - the damned ROOF!
Well, that's about it. I'm trying to get back in the groove for you all...
Edited: It's 10:16 AM and we just had an aftershock...
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Beneath the snark, sarcasm, and intentional gratuitous swearing of yours truly, there lies a woman with an expansive soul, a huge heart, and deep faith (yes, in God). For those of you who've been with me a while, you know that I've been going through a lot of transformation since I began this blog. The mind-body-spirit connection has become paramount to my life - I run, I write, I ask God a lot of questions. I'm learning to accept that life is a much more complicated beast than previously thought; however, I don't think it needs to seem impossible to navigate.
I've seen life quite differently since the birth of my daughter three years ago. I've faced a lot of challenges and changes in these past three years. I want to take a moment to send out my undying thanks to a whole alphabet soup of friends who have loved me beyond the realm of any human understanding. You are the mainstays of my heart, and I love you dearly. You know who you are.
Also, to my blogger bitches - I think of you all lots and check in daily. You make me smile. Thanks for being out here in the blogosphere, hanging out as the really cool bitches (gratuitous profanity for your pleasure) that you are.
And lastly, to a group of truly inspirational people in the literati and ANTI-literati circles who've taken me under their wings. I don't know if you'll ever know how much that means to me. My dreams have life because of you. Whatever you need to further your career, I'm your girl. Call. Ask. You will not be denied.
I'll be back on with some snarkiness as it becomes readily available. Until then, peace and love...
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
For a lot of people, poetry is sort of this black hole into which all sorts of writing is dumped. I concur that this is quite the case in our current culture. However, there is a very real background to poetry and its creation. For some, it's a natural gift. For others, it's a learned skill. I liken it to those who can play the piano by ear and those who have to take lessons - both make music, some instinctively and some out of practice. I don't want to bore you with the didactic snobbery of it all, for that is the shit that makes most people give up on poetry before they ever even have the chance to discover the intricacies with which it is created. And that's a damn shame.
Poetry is continually evolving. There are always new forms in development. There are new rules created by poets. There are awesome combinations of poetry + insert-just-about-anything. And on that note, I'll take a moment to set you up with some links to some cool shit going on with poetry.
Hip-Hop and Poetry - Jason and the Beast
This cat is a Lou local. You've never heard Shakespeare like this. And his own lyrics kick ass, too. I know you bitches will be dancing in your cubicles. Web shout to JASON!
Poetry Chicks Will Dig - Kim Addonizio
You'll want to be her best friend/wine drinking bitch.
Poems for Every Occasion
If you're bored at work, check this out.
Poetic Forms and Techniques
This list is SHORT and leaves off some good stuff. But, hey - it's a fairly snot-like literary site. What would one expect???
Knowledge is power. Learn by reading.
I could go on and on, but I'll stop here. If you've got any poetry questions/thoughts/frustrations about the whole art form, post them in the comments. I'd love to get a discussion going...
NIKE HALF-MARATHON UPDATE: Unfortunately, The Dirty Thirties were not pulled in the lottery to run in San Fran this fall. BOO HISS. So my bitches and I are on the hunt for a different one to run...
Friday, March 28, 2008
LD and I are a lot alike. Needless to say, the toddler stage was a little, well, wearisome for both of us. But lately we've reached this great equilibrium in our relationship. She starts conversations with me, gives me kisses and lovies for no reason, and tells me that I'm the best mom in the world. I'm amazed by her thought processes and can't get over how much she has grown. A potential Einstein? Maybe. But I'll settle for whatever she wants to be, because I've never wanted happiness for anyone in the entire world as much as I want it for her.
So, today, I would like to share my birth story of this incredible little human with you.
Sunday, March 26, 2005 was Easter Sunday. Hubs and I were at the traditional post-church family throw-down at my brother and sister-in-law's house. My due date was two days away, and I was bone-tired. I made my plate for lunch, complete with this taco-saladiness that my mom makes and I usually couldn't get enough of, especially when I was pregnant. (Come to think of it, the weekend LD was conceived, I think I'd had several servings of it at our BBQ. Ponder.) That day, the sight of it made me want to BARF. I should have known something was up, despite the fact that I really hadn't had much activity at the ob/gyn on Friday. My doc had pretty much convinced me I would pass my due date. FOOL.
Hubs and I got home in the early evening, and I gave him the green light to go out for a while with a buddy of his. It was, I concluded, his last shot at having a decent time out. He headed out and I slopped around the house in my pajamas. He came home at midnight. We got into bed. I rolled over and said to him, "This kid's coming tonight." He rolled his eyes and we went to sleep. Lesson to all men - WOMEN ARE ALWAYS RIGHT.
At one AM, I woke up. I grabbed his arm and said, "Don't move. I either just peed or my water broke." I stood up slowly, and it was definitely NOT urine I found, but rather fluid with meconium. For those of you who have not had the pleasure of this occurrence, I will put it mildly - pea soup and lake scum. Gross. And vile.
We headed to the hospital, and by 1:30 AM I had been admitted. The nurse who did my admitting paperwork was a bitch; every other nurse I had was AMAZING. Anyway, because of the meconium, I had every monitor in the hospital shoved up into my vajayjay from the get-go; they were not going to fuck around with this. My contractions would not fall into a regular pattern, so enter the PITOCIN. And I was all, "Hey, my Lamaze instructor said I can wait on that until I've had my epidural."
Denied. I was in a serious time frame, working against the clock now. So I got to go through labor with pitocin and no epi in sight because my dilation come to an abrupt halt at 2 cm. I breathed through contractions and focused on, of all things, the power button the DVD/VCR across my room. I am now a fervent believer that you do not chose focal points; they choose you. My chosen focal point, a tiny stuffed fluffy lamb, never saw the light of day from the bottom of my bag at the hospital. If it had, I probably would have mutilated it. Example: at some point just after sunrise, my dad came into my room and was chatting his ass off like it was fucking happy hour. I was in the middle of a contraction and (remember the evil stares in The Exorcist) turned to my dad and said, "SHUT UP! JUST SHUT UP YOU ASSHOLE!" He announced that he would be going for coffee and didn't return for about an hour.
That said, upon dad's return, he gave hubs a break and took me through some contractions. He cried. That's what daddies do. And it was one of the most profound moments I've ever had with my dad.
Finally, around 8:30 AM, I was told I would have the chance to meet the man of my dreams - THE ANESTHESIOLOGIST! I did, yes I did, propose to him. I also asked if I could have an extra epi to save for this kid's first date (we still didn't know the sex of LD). Denied, but I did get a laugh.
The rest of my labor went really well. I was able to sleep, and hubs did, too. And of course, who doesn't love popsicles all day?
But I'd had enough as the sun started to go down. And apparently, so had the nurses. That's when the showdown began just a little after 6 PM Easter Monday. For those of you counting, you are correct - 17 hours of labor...
Monday, March 24, 2008
Also - any actuaries in the crowd? I need one. I'm trying to decide which body part would give me the most bang for my buck if I put it up on eBay. Why? Because Chrysler is being a pain in my ass. Those of you that remember the contract negotiation saga will love this.
Before I go any further, YES - I DO KNOW I CHOSE THIS LIFE FOR NOW. But, still, just let me get my whine in and I'll be done.
Anyway, hubs was laid off the entire month of January. They worked in February, and then he was laid off AGAIN for two weeks in March. Yes, he does get partial pay. The problem? The checks are delayed AT LEAST two weeks. And when one gets paid every week, which is already shitty, this whole delay thing totally bites the big one. So, again, any recommendations on which body part to auction? OK, I'm done with that.
Moving on. Why the hell did it snow on Easter? And not just ANY snow - HUGE-ASS POPCORN-LIKE FLUFFY FLAKES. Weird. Totally. Welcome to The Lou.
I'm going to grab a shower and head to Starbucks, courtesy of a well-timed gift card, and indulge my snot-nosed intellectual side by reading "The Ode Less Travelled." Need to do some brushing up; free verse has gotten the best of me lately. Anyway, cheers!!!
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
I say, screw the CFLs and let's invest in solar or wind instead. And, look - that would be mercury free!
Edited to clarify: Do I think CFLs are a bad thing? Not entirely. But think about how many people you know throw batteries, smoke alarms, and other miscellaneous hazardous crap into the trash without thinking. We're by and large a country of people who don't think about this stuff...
Monday, March 17, 2008
And because I'm an awesome sister, when my little sis called me from a bar in Soulard, I did, in fact, go and pick up her DRUNK ASS. Here she is with a friend...
My husband also is quite the character, LITERALLY, when it comes to St. Pats. Here he is in all of his glory.
Yes, he made that thing. Cute. Also - fucking annoying.
Anyway, I'm off to get some corned beef and cabbage (which is an American thing, by the way). Yeah, I know. It's so stereotypical. What is with us Americans and our food stereotyping? Oh my GOD. Don't get me started on that one. Because I have SOUTHERN roots as well. Assume what you will about that, and you're probably right when it comes to the food.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
In short, I've already mentioned I placed in the top three essays for the STL Writers' Guild contest, but I didn't know HOW I placed (first, second, or third) until tonight (incidentally, first place gets published in a paper with a circulation of 35,000+). And so, without further explanation, I won first place, and I'm telling you, well, I just can't. I'll let my free writing journal entry do it for me. And for the record, smartasses, I don't edit my journal entries. And my love of parentheses knows no bounds. ()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()
Also, a HUGE thank you to all of you who offered your insights into the piece that took the prize. Your support and comments were wonderful. Can I buy y'all bitches a beer???
Wednesday March 12, 2008
It’s almost one in the morning, and I’m still awake. I’m still reeling, unable to really comprehend all that has transpired in the last six hours. I went to my first public reading tonight and read my material, my first-place essay, to a packed house. A crazy thing happened up there at the mic – I couldn't stop shaking. My voice was steady and appropriately dramatic (I am a sucker for the dramatic pause), my body relaxed – except for my damn hands. My hands shook as though I was having some crazy seizure stemming from holding a single piece of printer paper. Whether there were 200 eyes or two million focused on me, it wouldn’t have mattered; I’ve never been afraid of public performance. But my past experiences have always been with someone else’s work. This time it was mine.
I caught a glimpse of myself in the shop windows as I headed into the coffee house. For a moment, I had one of those “do I know you” experiences. Suddenly I saw myself, for the very first time, doing the thing I’ve always wanted to do. And it was amazing. I’ve been a closet writer since I was nine years old, too afraid to put my work up for anyone to see. And tonight, after nearly 20 years of self-doubt, I got to be the person I’ve always wanted to be – the one who wasn’t afraid to be honest about my thoughts, to read the things I think about when no one else is paying attention.
And I loved every minute of it.
The shaking? Well, my best guess is that it was something psychological – or maybe spiritual - like holding my own words in my hands to give them up to other people was like giving birth. Now that I think about it, I haven’t shaken like that since I went into labor with my daughter. And the shaking wasn’t out of fear then, or now – but perhaps out of a sense that my life is changing in ways I couldn’t have dreamed, going in a direction I always knew it should go, but was afraid to pursue.
Some people may say that this is only one contest. To them, firstly I say FUCK YOU – I conquered my fiercest demon. How about you? Secondly, I say that tonight in some sort of metaphysical way, I became myself, not because I won anything, but because I’m being true to myself, to my soul. And that really is all I need to be at the end of the day, no matter what anyone else says or thinks about it.
So now, it’s official – I’m a published writer. And, man, does it feel good. Damn good.
Friday, March 7, 2008
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
I got a call from her around 1 AM and she had been having some weak contractions. Her husband K was snowed in at a hotel by his office, so she was by herself and a little nervous. We started timing the contractions and after a while I went to her house (she only lives 2 miles from me). She was leaking fluid (we strongly think), and the contractions were becoming more frequent, so she called her doc and he sent her to the hospital.
Fana is only 33 weeks, and although she's one of the strongest people I know, she's obviously very nervous. Because she had complications with O, she was really hoping for a normal, as natural as possible delivery this time around. I am holding out every hope that she will still get that scenario.
At 4:45 AM, I just received word that she made it to the hospital via her dad (I stayed until her folks showed up at her house because her son O was sleeping) and K is meeting them there. They've been at the hospital about 15 minutes, but we don't know anything yet. Her mom is staying with O and I will be in touch with her in the morning to see what has transpired.
Please keep Fana, K, O, and baby in your prayers. I will let you know when I have news.
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
There's been a lot going on around here lately. OK, admittedly, a lot of it has been going on in my head. But I've not had the same snarkiness that you all have come to expect in my bloggerworld, so I've refrained from posting lately. I miss you guys, though.
So what's up with me? Well, actually a lot. I've been pretty introspective as of late which brings out all sorts of crap from the deep recesses of my head, and really doesn't make for good blog fodder. Stuff about marriage, soulmates, the direction (or lack thereof) for my life, career changes, etc etc. BAH. So we'll leave it at that for now.
On the YAY front - I've registered for the Nike Half Marathon. We'll see on April 1st if my Dirty Thirties and I will actually be running in San Fran, since Nike's gone to a lottery system of entry. I'm not Catholic, although St. Sebastian is getting a few messages from me as of late...
If you will recall, my Dirty Thirty girls and I recently celebrated our collective birthdays in San Diego. As a reminder, the half-marathon crew will be these fine people:
Not that we have a collective drinking problem or anything. I'm just saying. Beer anyone???
My sister and I are thinking about doing the St. Patrick's Day run here, although it doesn't start until 9 or something. I'm Irish and may have pounded some pints by then, so I guess we'll have to see...
P.S. An update on my neighbor - she's been in the hospital fighting off some pneumonia since the day after the fall. I've been in touch with her grandchildren (who actually are really great people), and we'll see what happens...
Thursday, February 21, 2008
I'll have an update on the neighbor situation later...
Monday, February 18, 2008
She's the sweetest grandmotherly type you'll ever meet. She's witty and totally hilarious. But she has macular degeneration, and quite honestly needs some serious home care to help her with her house. In short, I would poke out both of my eyes before I'd let my mother live the way she does.
Today she fell - again. This is the fourth time in the last year that I know of. There are probably more instances than that, but she doesn't speak up when things happen. So her neighbor on the other side of her house (K) went to check on her since she hadn't seen any activity over there. When K knocked on the door, she heard the woman call for help. K ran to my house looking for a phone and we called the paramedics and got the house key from J (I was damn near ready to break through the large plate-glass window, but since N was speaking knew we had some time to work with).
When we got inside, N was laid out on the floor looking totally awful, no color in her face. Apparently, she'd ended up on the floor SATURDAY (but couldn't remember how she got there). What the FUCK? While we waited on the paramedics, I made several attempts to reach her granddaughter, but to no avail at either of her numbers. The granddaughter and I have had several of these conversations in the past, and I wasn't looking forward to having this one.
The paramedics came and checked N over, gave her fluids, and did what they could. But N refused to go to the hospital. Her grandson finally showed up and is now sitting with her.
Here's what bothers me kids. I get that N is an independent woman and really just wants to be on her own. But, seriously kids, believe me when I tell you that most of you and I would fight hell or high water to get her some home care, or at the very least, a Life Alert. If K hadn't been curious, N would have died. No joke.
My whole thing is this: how do I tell her family they need to do something? Or can I even say that? They are good people. Maybe they just don't really realize how things are? Really? Is that possible?
Do I say anything? What do I say?
K and I are going to start a rotation checking on N every day, and that's about all we can do. It just makes my ass twitch...
Friday, February 15, 2008
Today, before lunch, my husband was helping LD wash her hands. She was trying to get down from the stool, and hubs pointed out she still had soap on her hands to rinse off, and she needed to finish that first.
She put her hand on her hip and gave him a hooded stare. Then she got sassy. "But, Dad, I have things to do."
Thursday, February 14, 2008
| My Peculiar Aristocratic Title is: |
Her Noble Excellency Mom Of The Year in the Middle of Old Tonbridge Wafers
Get your Peculiar Aristocratic Title
Friday, February 8, 2008
Thursday, February 7, 2008
Tonight I attended a memorial service for my husband's cousin, who at the young age of 26, took his own life. He was an actor in New York, and at the risk of revealing anything about who I am, will only say that his face would be recognizable from bit parts in some films you may have seen. He'd lost two people close to him in a couple of years, the first being the love of his life in a car accident, and then later a friend.
Upon returning home, we learned that a suburb within a stone's throw of our home has suffered a major tragedy. Anytime a cop is shot, I freak out. I have friends who are cops. There are two dead in Kirkwood tonight, along with 3 city officials and the gunman. I do not know any of them personally, but I can't believe this has happened. http://www.cnn.com/2008/CRIME/02/07/city.council.shooting/index.html
Anyway, I guess the point of all of this is that our own personal crosses are often so much lighter than those belonging to others. Kiss your babies, hug your friends, tell everyone you love them.
Because I've decided to completely ROCK my thirties.
As the big 3-0 birthday looms just two months away, I'm so ready to kick my twenties to the curb and take on the decade of ME - beginning with finishing the novel and interval running the Nike Half-Marathon in October. Me? Yes, me. Why? Because life is not a dress rehearsal, dammit!
I'm working on a post that will explain my delirium over this whole thing, but just wanted to pop in and say hi to everyone. I hope you are all well...
Friday, February 1, 2008
Please note the snowboarding boots on hubs. Approximate number of times they have been used for snowboarding in the last 5 years? Zero. Why does he own them? They go with the snowboard propped up against our basement wall. I suppose at one time in his twenties, hubs made an attempt at being EXTREME. The only thing really extreme about him now is the EXTREME lack of hair on his pastey Irish head. So, Tessie, tell BR not to feel bad. HA HA HA!
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Exhibit C: Lunch DAY TWO at The Spot in La Jolla.
Exhibit D: Dinner DAY TWO. Are you seeing a pattern???
Exhibit E: Uh, yeah. DON'T WE ALL????????
Exhibit F: Yours truly having polished off the first of, well, just a few, car bombs. YUMMY! Please note the unruly hair and crazed eyes. I guess I won't be using this shot in the old blogger profile!!!
For all you animal lovers, we took a break from the bacchanalia and saw some seals and shit, too.
I'll have some killer thoughts on the weekend with more pix later. Just couldn't wait to put something up here and say HI!!!
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Exhibit A: The air puff test thing. Yeah, you know the drill. They shoot air into your eye to check the pressure. Totally sucks and I flinch every time, meaning it takes like 10 tries to get it right.
Exhibit B: The stupid eye charts. Damn. I feel like I'm being given a pop quiz or something. What letter is that? G, or maybe a C? Wait. Is that a O or a D? And just for shits and giggles to scare the hell out of you, there are numbers now on that thing, too.
Exhibit C: The corrective lenses eye test. Which is clearer, this or this? OK. Is this better or worse? Fuzzy or clearer? 1 or 2? OK. 3 or 4? OK 5 or 6? What the hell number are we on?! No dammit, I don't know which is better! Which is the right answer????????? Stop the insanity!
Exhibit D: Field vision screening. Every time the doc sees that my mom has developing glaucoma, I am automatically subjected to the stupid test where you click a button every time you see a line disturbance in a vision field. And I'm all, GOD, I DON'T FUCKING KNOW! Did I just see one there? Or there? Or was that just an artifact from the last one? Someone tell me the answer!
Yeah, so that was my day. I'm going for coffee and a Prozac, perhaps...
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Peace. I'm out!!!
Monday, January 14, 2008
ANYWAY - the highlight reel. So, even after the madness of the holidays, being sick for two weeks, and a weather system so crazy it's a wonder no one has said the world is ending, I have managed not to gain back any weight and reclaimed the minute on my running intervals that I had previously lost. I'm down a total of 24 pounds. WOO HOO! And remember - my only philosophy on this whole this is to do what feels good and not a speck more, which has translated so nicely to weightloss for me. What's on the highlight reel? Two cool things:
1) From under the net - My postal woman cheers me on every day, but hadn't seen me because I was sick for a couple of weeks. I saw her on Friday, and she said had to do a double-take because she said she didn't recognize me.
2) And from the three-point line, a married father-of-two neighbor of mine that I usually see while out running actually came to my house, rang my damn doorbell, and asked if I was okay since he hadn't seen me in a while. Then, as he was leaving, he turned around, gave me the twice over with THE EYE, and said, "Damn. You're looking good, mama."
What the hell? It was so weird, and yet, somehow awesome.
Anyway, I'm powering writing the book this week since on Friday I will be flying to Southern California for the Eternal 29th Birthday Convention (AKA the gathering of The Dirty Thirties) - a trip that I'm sure, as you would guess, will no doubt involve much dancing, drinking, and male-bashing. YAY!
I'll have more for you later...
Thursday, January 10, 2008
I'm writing that fucking book. Finally.
So ANYWAY... what have you all been up to? I've actually been checking up on you guys a lot; I just haven't been posting and such. But now that a good deal of my research is done for this motherfucker, let's get this party started AGAIN!
My hats off to everyone who survived the holidays complete with car trips, multiple familial homes to visit, and cranky babies. We have three days of Christmas, of which Christmas Day is actually spent sitting on our asses, opening presents at home, and ordering Chinese take-out for dinner. Bonus - all of our family lives within 20 minutes of us. So, even if I had any holiday complaints, I would feel like a complete asshat for airing them here as I saw so many of you rolled down the open road with screaming kiddos.
My love and middle finger to all my bitches. Literary Slut is back.