When he Cracks.

My boy stands lately

Slight bend in the knees

Carrying a house

Crack

            That smarts

      Right to the pit of where his world began

            Crack 

        Carrying those babies on an empty stomach 

And the two that tire  his arms

        So much pushing apart, and,

Spinning those plates on one foot

        On a wave

                    Tiny surfboard large feet

                                              Crack

(Mama didn't tell me about this part)

                    Eyes empty, soul diffused.  Crack

That vertebrae is gone

Stand up anyway

                          Stand up anyway

            Stand up anyway

Face the sky

Heart split like a ripe pomegranate 

            Pecked by sharp beasts

And still,

      He shines like a moonbeam in a lost sailor's dream

Knees inches from the sand

                                                      Crack

That was the one he was waiting for.

11/13

On this day:

I am officially nobody
Got it.
Thanks for putting me in my place.

Borderline

You have them all fooled
I helped create the facade -
Your ally, your beard,
Your whipping stone,
Your mask, your cloak,
Your public relations banner,
Your public fantasy,
Your crutch, your step stool.
My head, my back, my shoulders,
My spine, my hips, my soul,
My soul, my soul, my soul
Fractured
Twisted
Fragile
Bending to your will,
Your coercive nasty biting will.
Gratitude is exacted as a toll.
Poor you, poor you, poor you.
They actually believe you.
That leaves me where?

I eavesdroopped on a call one day.
Man on the other line spoke sage,
"You're not nice at all.
That's a game you play.
You even believe it yourself.
But I see through it."
As if to prove his point,
You snarled back in biting tones.
Crouching by the door
I imagined him wise and soft.
If only I could wiggle like a worm through the phone wire
To meet the man
Who in 5 minutes recognized
what it's taken me years to discern.

You fooled me.
You got my heart, my youth, my joy.
You praised my art, you loved my music,
You cushioned my feet so I would never walk hard pavement.
(The geishas also had special shoes.)
I felt beautiful and rare.
But then you mangled, suppressed, and repressed my joy.
Under your dark cloud.
I struggled not to wilt beneath your shadow
While you molded me determinedly into a You.
Publicly disarming
Privately destroyed.

THINX again...

Okay ladies, I promised I would post a follow up on the THINX period panties and here it is.

Get ready for TMI. Today I was having a medium/heavy flow day and I wore my THINX heavy panties that I first tried last month. Except this time I was brave enough to wear them out all day. I put them on at 1pm and went out to get a mani / pedi, then I ran a bunch of errands, came home and cleaned up my house after a party we threw last night. So I was flattening boxes, mopping, lots of running up and down stairs, dishes, putting away patio furniture, etc. I finally jumped in the shower just after 10pm. I was going to shower before Game of Thrones but lost track of time!! So that's 9 hours straight wear. The verdict?

They're still wonderful and I still highly recommend them! I only felt a slight heaviness in the crotch of the panty when I went to pee sometime around the 7th hour or so. They do seem to keep "cleaner" than pads. Not to get too gross but with pads I usually can't go this long mostly because they tend to start to get a little smelly. But for reasons I cannot understand, even after so many hours, the only smell I could detect is that sort of heavy iron smell that you sometimes get from blood. Not strong even. And certainly not bacterial smelling. And that was after almost an entire day.

Gross alert...

I cleaned them the same way I had the first time. I soaked them for only about 1 minute or so, then rubbed the crotch a little, drained the sink and repeated again. That was twice where the water turned red but by the third round it was running clear. That's when I add the mild soap and hand wash, wring and hang in the shower on a rack.

I am now really sold on these and plan to buy a second pair. Let me know if you you've done it or are considering it because I'm still curious if other people are having success with these. Hope all this helps!

Real Mother's Day Cards...

Wouldn't it be great if we could have some honest damn holiday cards? Especially Mother's Day. Seriously. So many people I know are like, "I love my mom sooooo much" and "I have so much to thank her for." Well. what if you don't quite feel that way about your mother? I know what we're supposed to feel. We're supposed to feel all those happy, safe memories of mommy kissing your boo boo or reading you a story at bedtime or stroking your head when you were sick. But... what if your mother didn't have particularly strong mothering instincts?

Today at yoga the class started with a meditation. We were supposed to set an intention for our mothers. I wondered what everyone else was thinking. I lay there blank. Mildly uncomfortable. "Dear Gods of Vishnu and Durga... please make my mother stop being such a needy, greedy mommy." That was the closest thing to an "intention" I could come up with. I don't like the woman. I never have. And why? Because she's never really liked me either. In fact, the one thing my mother really taught me is how easy it is to love people you don't like. She'll never admit it. But it's true. She loved me because she isn't a monster. But she never really knew what to make of me or how to connect with me and at some point that got to be too difficult for me.

The other day, in fact, she was telling me on the phone (I call her every day because I believe in obligations and promises). So she's telling me on the phone how my aunt and her were conversing and that her daughters made some bad decisions "on their own"... she had nothing to do with it. She did her best. After some fishing around, she finally brought up the day I left home. (I ran screaming in the middle of the night... from HER at the age of 19.) I had to remind her that on that particular night she was waiting at the dining room table looking like she wanted to wring my neck. I was 19, I had gotten into a good conservatory after pulling straight A's in HS and my new college schedule was really grueling. She started going on and on (for the umpteenth time) about how "girls like me" don't amount to anything. That my boyfriend was just using me and I would wind up alone and no one would want me. Something inside me broke. I just knew that I couldn't do this one more day. I just couldn't. So I went into my room and started packing. More happened. It doesn't matter that I go into any more detail. But she completely forgot anything she said or how it lead to my leaving. In her version, I merely got home and announced I was leaving.

So this got me to thinking... can't we have honest Mother's Day Cards? I've had some ideas...

Happy Mother's Day. You weren't that good at being a mom but you should still enjoy these flowers.
Happy Mother's Day even though you spent most of the time checked out.
Happy Mother's Day, mom. You taught me what not to do.
Happy Mother's Day, mom. I understand now that you did your best. It kind of sucked, but I forgive you.

I won't come up with any for people who were seriously abused by their mom's because I don't think those mom's should be getting any kind of card or gift. Except for a card that maybe says,  "Thank you for bringing me into the world. Good job at that."

For anyone reading this who got it right (or mostly right) and/or remember your mothers with warm fuzzy feelings, congratulations to you! Happy Mother's Day for real! xo

ADDENDUM: I felt a need to add to this because I just got back from spending the afternoon with mom and I was happy she had a good afternoon. I wish my feelings about her weren't so mixed. Lots of negative in there. But I am happy when she's happy and I am glad I could spend some time with her on Mother's Day and bring a smile to her face. I know she hasn't had much joy and is sad a lot and has suffered with depression her whole life and... I'm not making excuses for her. She's fragile and broken and not aware how she sometimes can hurt others. But I don't like to see her suffer needlessly. So... Happy Mother's Day to my mom. Glad we had this sunny day.

Fat Girls Cry during Yoga.

This is me after hot yoga. I don't usually put up pictures of me with my fat rolls hanging out of my failing old sports bra (I should throw it out, it does nothing), but today I feel bold. Today I went to my 3rd official hot yoga class. And it was taught by a woman I already see I will love and hate in quick succession.  I twisted and contorted and tried to do the beginning of a handstand (I got nowhere... don't even ask). The whole time I was facing a mirror thinking I've never looked fatter. Rolls of fat being squished to this side during one pose then squashed to the other side. During a sitting squat I looked in the mirror and my thighs looked enormous!! I mean... soooo big. I'm surrounded by mostly thin women in the class. The instructor is actually slightly softer than some of the women in the class but I am the largest of the women. And some of the poses are not kind. They just get my belly out in front of me. Two things soothed my poor sweaty ego. One was that there is a gigantic Haitian (he sounds Haitian to me... I'll ask him next class). Anyway, there's this gigantic Haitian man who likes to be in the front of the class and he's hefty. Not fat. But he's a large man. Very strong and very good at yoga. Does all the complicated poses. He makes me feel smaller, by comparison. So I don't feel like the largest thing in the room. Second, I was lucky that there was a very thin Indian girl next to me today who is also at my level. In fact, I am definitely more flexible than she is and was able to do a little more than her. We commiserated and it made me feel less singled out.  I know it shouldn't matter but it's hard to be in any kind of fitness class when you're larger because there is some judgement from some types of people. Luckily, I feel very safe in this class. There are a couple girls who weren't there today who I think might be "mean" girls but so far I haven't had to deal with them.

Class started and we were in starting to warm up and I felt weepy. This has happened a time or two in other workout classes for me. I feel like I'm stirring up my chemistry and it sometimes causes me to feel weepy. I managed to hold it together and keep moving. We did our series, then some modified side planks and I started the beginnings of crow and those attempts at handstand. Then when we were in child's pose the water works started for real. We moved into table and I was weeping. I debated if I should stop it. But I decided to quietly let it happen. The lights are really low and everyone is sweating so much at this point that they can't discern tears from sweat streaming down my face. I kept moving through the final stretches while crying. It felt good after. My body was releasing everything. 

I wondered if the skinny girls every cry during yoga. It was a combination of pent up emotions from my week and a feeling of gratitude that I am allowing myself this. That I am complicit with my own body right now to be better. To be stronger. To not hide. To not apologize for the fat. To not apologize for the fat. I had to write that twice. Because as I am writing this I realize that's why I was crying. Because I was looking at my fat reflection in the mirror and admiring myself for being there, working, sweating, and not caring really that my fat was off doing its own thing. On some level that felt really good, I felt unapologetic - for real. Not defiantly. But really feeling there was nothing to apologize for. And I was proud of my body for nearly doing a split and holding warrior for longer than many of the other people in the class. I was proud of myself. This is new, this not feeling like I have to apologize. I like it. And I hope I cry next class too.

Period Panties...

Yup... I'm blogging about period panties. This is really a review and doesn't belong here. I copied it from my other blog where I used to do reviews years ago - Girl with Gadgets. I think I may start putting up more reviews there. Anyway.... I copied that review here but you should be warned... it's not pretty. Men might consider moving along. But if you stick around and actually read it all, you should totally leave a comment because you're my new hero!

HERE IT IS:

I had let this blog die but I am taking it out of retirement to blog about these period panties we're all hearing about. THINX is just one of the companies making them. Apparently there are others. But what I like about THINX is that they're using a portion of their proceeds towards getting this period underwear to girls in third world countries where getting your period means you can't go to school or participate in many other activities. I would buy them for this alone. Luckily, turns out it's a really good product.

So, I got really curious and decided to order a pair of these panties. I am a US size 16 and I bought the 2X after reading other people's reviews and being advised to order up. It's good advice. They do run small. And while the fabric has some elasticity to it, it's not much. They fit a bit like good swimwear.  They have a bit of give but some hug to them as well. The fabric has that nice smooth, slick feel to it that you want in underwear. It feels very nice and lies well under even clingy dresses or pants. The VERY surprising thing is that even though I bought what is their heaviest flow panty, the crotch part of the panty was not very thick. I was expecting it to feel like a pad. But it feels like a few layers of fabric maybe as thick as a panty liner. It seemed impossible that it could do what it claims to do. But it did.

The panties come not just in different sizes but also in different shapes (hip hugger, boy short, hi waist, thong, etc) and different absorbencies. They rate the absorbency with a system women can relate to. From 1/2 tampon to 2 tampons. I went ahead and got the heavy flow hip huggers straight away. I figured if I was going to test these, I would start on my heaviest day - really see what this product can do. Ah, also, they currently only come in two colors - black and beige - and not all styles come in both colors.

From here on out things are going to start to get gross, friends. If you're squeamish you might want to run away now. Most of the reviews I read tried to keep the language pretty antiseptic and therefore glossed over some points I think most people want to know. So I'm not going to be tame in my descriptions from here on end. So last warning. Leave now if you think you may get ill at the mention of menstrual blood and other such details. It's okay. I forgive you.

Okay. So I got the heavy hip hugger in black and on day 2 of my cycle, which is when it's always absolutely the worst for me, I decided to put them on after my afternoon workout and shower so that I could stay in them from roughly 7pm until morning. I wanted to spend a little time awake in them walking around the house, doing light chores, sitting at my computer and then go to bed and see how they hold up as an overnight pad. I did this because, frankly, I wasn't ready to wear them out in public all day the first time. I wanted to try them out in a "safe" environment first.

Gross alert.

So, I had done my workout and showered and my flow was very heavy. I put them on and thought "there's no way I'm not waking up to a blood bath in my bed." Before bed I went to pee and was pleasantly shocked that they seemed pretty dry. Slept till 7am, woke up and felt around the bed. Everything was fine. I felt dry. What?!!! I go into the bathroom and check. Aside from a little film of blood and uterine lining (if you're a woman you know what I mean... some kind of shedding stuff that sometimes ends up in your pad, which is why I think tampons are really not healthy... but that's another topic entirely). Anyway, after 12 hours of pretty heavy flow, they felt mildly heavy, had a slight film to them that I brushed off with toilet tissue but there hadn't been a leak. I woke up feeling comfortable and if I absolutely needed to rush out and make a milk run, I think I could have maybe even gotten away with it. But I'm glad I didn't.

Even grosser alert.

So now comes the part where things get super intimate. Time to take them off and wash them. You can't just throw these into the wash. In fact, THINX website has very specific instructions for washing them. No fabric softener, it ruins the bacterial shield in it. I figured, something like this, there was only one way to do it right. Just hand wash it - old school. So I filled the sink with warmish water and soaked them. That's the advice from the website and from previous reviewers. However, what they don't tell you is that you should prepare for a shock. The panties, when you take them off, feel slightly weighted but not that much. Because they're black, they don't look especially gross. And because of the magic fabric they're using in the crotch area, the whole garment looks perfectly fine when you pull them off. Like a normal pair of panties should look. However, the second you dip them into the water it's a blood bath. I mean, literally. The water began to turn a deep shade of crimson almost immediately. As Western privileged women who don't have to deal with our biological processes quite this intimately. It came as a bit of a shock to me. I mean... I knew it was going to happen and still, I was a little bit shocked to see this much blood in my sink. I drained the sink, refilled it, and did this process again 2 more times while lightly rubbing the crotch of the panty to get it out. By the 3rd time around, you'll notice the water already gets clear.

Now... there's more. This is the first time I have every had my hands in bloody water. I mean, I've had to scrub some blood off a panty or some sheets where I'd had a leak in the middle of the night. But this does not compare to that at all. Ladies.... hold on to your hats!! This is next level. I mean... it's a sink full of blood and your hands are in it moving around and working the fabric. It was kind of surreal.

Mystical alert.

But also... it put me in touch with how powerful we really are. We don't even realize it. We bleed this much on a regular basis and we still go to work, do workouts, feed babies, build houses, run marathons. I mean... come on!!! It really brought me up close and personal with just how freaking strong we are. And yet we are constantly allowing people to make us feel weak. And at that moment with my hands in the bloody water, it all clicked. We survive the bleeding and life comes out of us. We are freaking magical! And we should spend more time contemplating that.

But I digress... It took only 2 soaks and a final rinse to get the water completely clear. Then I added some mild soap and scrubbed the entire garment lightly, rinsed it, wringed it gently - it wrings out pretty well. The whole process takes a few minutes tops. Then I hung it over a towel to dry. It was completely dry that night in a bathroom that usually seems to keep our towels damp.

So my experience with these so far is fantastic. I would totally recommend them. The washing part is probably the worst part. But you're doing something good for yourself - they're comfortable and you're saving money and the environment. And you're also doing something good for all those girls who will now not have to stay home from school because of something their bodies are meant to do. It's a total win-win. :)

Well meaning people!!!

THIS IS OFFICIALLY A RANT... (you've been warned)

SHUT UP!! Just shut up!!!! I hate it when people try to push their agendas down your throat all the while making it seem like they're just telling you a story about something that happened to them. Or they're just telling you what THEY do!!! Listen, assholes. I have been around the block a few times. I'm not overreacting or being oversensitive. I read between the lines very well. Sometimes, it's true... someone really is just telling you something about themselves. Something they do or like to do or they have a system for doing something and they're sharing. I'm like 1000% okay with that!! I really am. In fact, that's when I listen. When I feel it's genuinely just a retelling and if I get something out of it, great, if not, the person speaking isn't at all invested in whether or not I want to follow their example. That's totally cool with me. 

It's the fucking assholes in my life who tell how "Oh, I use my Fitbit every day... have you tried that?" or "If you just skim the fat off the top of the roast, it really cuts the fat way down... that's what I do." Those people. You know... they claim they're not trying to proselytize but they totally ARE! I find that shit so fucking aggravating! The worst is when it's a pseudo friend. You know the ones. You're friends... mostly. But what they don't realize is they do this pretty regularly and you limit your exposure to them because they don't even realize they're doing it. And the one time you attempted to gently clue them in, they vehemently denied that this was their motivation. So fine... I guess I'll just continue to avoid you and you can continue to wonder why. 

People sometimes are unconscious of their own motivations so I get it. I'm sure I'm guilty too. I probably do some version of this. But I really do try not to. I just had to get it off my chest because someone just did this to me and it just annoyed the freaking beJesus out of me!!

Okay... done.

Desert Fish

Imagine being in a desert. The sun is beating down on you. Sand and cacti for miles. Yet you spot a source of clear, blue, fresh water. Only about a foot away from you. Except you’re down on the ground. Legs and arms mangled. So you wriggle your way to the edge of the water. You can smell its sweet freshness. You bring your lips to it and you take a sip. You take two sips. Then it moves away. It moves 2 feet to your left. Despite your fatigue, you start to writhe on your belly in that direction. This goes on for 20 years. For 20 years you are playing this game with the water in the desert. Sometimes your legs and arms get just healthy enough for you to walk to the water or reach out for it. But then it moves faster and further so you have to chase it. Sometimes you are able to take a very good clear drink and feel refreshed for days. But always it is fleeting. The water refuses to stay and allow you to have your fill. If you got healthy and strong enough you could choose to leave the desert. Walk right out and into another sphere. But you live in this desert. And the day you are waiting for is the day you are strong enough to catch up to the water and dive right in. The day you are able to dive into the water. That will be the day. You will then finally become a proud desert fish.

Re-finder's fee

I painted this. I started working on it over the summer. I wasn't sure what it would become. But I knew I wanted something new to hang in the dining room. And I didn't want to buy something. I wanted to make it. Is it great art? Nope. But I worked on it on and off for weeks until it spoke to me. Early this morning it said, "Hang me up now." I grabbed a hammer, some nails, and wire. I prepped the back of the canvas. Banging away at 6am while my husband slept upstairs. Wondering, probably, what on earth I was doing. Or maybe not. He's used to me waking up suddenly inspired to scrub the bathroom, practice or rearrange the kitchen cabinet. It can be anything at all. I used to wonder if this was a kind of madness but I've decided nothing in my life would ever get done if it weren't for these bursts of energy. It's just how I get things done.

I am, I've decided, in a period of redefining myself. Or, perhaps, better said, re-finding myself. For a period of a couple of years I've been drifting. Unsure of my purpose or direction. Just toiling and moving forward. I suppose that's the best any of us manage. I'm not saying there's anything wrong with that. But it sure is nice to actually have a sense of knowing where you're headed or where you are at any given moment. I may not know either of those two things, but I'm definitely feeling more proactive about which way I'm moving along this river called Life. That's better than nothing for now.While musing over this this morning I thought, "When I do find myself where I'd like to be, do I collect a re-finder's fee?"

Dark Day.

I'm having a dark day. We're not supposed to talk about them. We're not supposed to belly ache. We're not supposed to "wallow." We are not supposed to cry in public. We are not supposed to admit to our weakness, our frailty, our out-of-controlness- or our incompetence. When someone asks, "How are you?" the socially acceptable response is "I'm fine, how are you?" It would be impolite to dump your darkness all over another human being. This darkness is further exacerbated by shame. We are "supposed" to be happy. There is a stigma attached to being unhappy. As if someone who is unhappy is choosing to be. Insisting upon dwelling there. But that doesn't stopped the darkness from setting up a residence in some people's souls. Beneath the smiles and the glossy exteriors of some of your friends there might be a black hole that sucks them in but which they have learned to cover up. In fact, I'm going to assume that right now someone you think is exceedingly charmed is sitting home pacifying their dark beast. Someone you believe to be blessed is lulling themselves to sleep with an arsenal of weapons - sad movies, ice cream, alcohol, cutting, sex, heroin... so much to choose from. All in the hope of making the beast abate so they can go back to their seemingly carefree existence.

I just read an article that Russell Brand wrote about his 10 year sobriety. In the wake of the death of Philip Seymour Hoffman, his story touched me deeply. He talked very candidly about the way heroin lured him and continues to lure him daily. His struggle with sobriety was described in nearly poetic terms. The seduction from his heroin lover was described as the "... bilious kiss of the greedy bliss." I read that several times over. I've never done heroin but I've heard many descriptors for it and this one reaches me viscerally. Good job, Mr. Brand, at helping a non user grasp the surrender to a greedy master. It is the thing of vampire romances.

Reading his article, so close to this other brilliant man's tragic death, on a day when I am feeling the desire to feel such exquisite surrender, such sublime escape from my own black depths - it has made me think. In my current raw state I am, luckily, not ashamed to write about this topic. Because I've always felt that if more of us exposed our souls in this manner, we might prevent future senseless deaths. I know it isn't that simple. I realize the problem is compounded by the physical dependency that comes with using drugs or other substances. I know it isn't as easy as giving someone a hug. But maybe, just maybe, if he'd felt like there was a person or persons he could go to who would see him - really see him - light and dark. If he'd felt he had a lap he could wallow and wail into until his darkness passed. Then, maybe the needle would have stopped calling him so loudly. Maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't have succumbed to that "bilious kiss of the greedy bliss."

We must become more human. We need to be less media driven and less star crazed. Philip Seymour Hoffman was one of the most gifted actors to grace our screens. Amy Winehouse was one of the most talented singers I'd heard in a very long time when she died. Why are so many brilliant people giving in and giving up? I speculate that despite their incredible success and fame, they still feel like they are falling short. Even if only in their minds - they feel it. Nothing can soothe the furious and unrelenting voice beating them up from the inside. And surely, this must be compounded by a pressure to be Godlike. To be above it. Perhaps they feel they couldn't possibly admit to being unhappy. How dare they complain about anything, graced as they are with good fortune? We mere mortals cannot relate to that kind of pressure. But if I put myself in their shoes for a few moments, I can imagine that it must become a terrible double edged burden. 

This leads me to the final point of this article. Mental health in this country is woefully deemphasized - shunned by many. Mental and spiritual instability brings with it societal ostracization. The devalued homeless are systematically swept off city streets and hidden away so as not to blemish cities' outward images of tidiness and order. It is just another way in which our denial of emotional imbalance manifests itself. The bureaucratic answer is to hide the dark creatures, and then they won't exist. But they do. The mentally ill and spiritually lost on the streets are the most blatant example of our loss of humanity. These are the people who stopped smiling and saying, "I'm fine, how are you?" Either they surrendered to the needle entirely or they chose to walk away from a society that gave up on them. Either way, they're not all that different from Philip Seymour Huffman in the end. Their life just took them on a different journey.

We must be less afraid of peering into those dark places. We must, as a society, honor each other. Not by shunning or whitewashing and denying the existence of our dark places, but gently shedding a soft embracing light into those spaces. As such, I think it is high time we discuss why most insurance plans barely cover mental health services. I think it is high time we consider having more humane systems in place for people who have drifted outside of the community. In particular, we need to bring mental and spiritual services back to schools. When I say spiritual, I don't mean religious. What I mean is that kids need a sense of community and peoplehood and empathy and lovingness that is too often being replaced by material pursuits and the attainment of surface, goal oriented success. 

Adam Lanza of the Sandy Hook tragedy might have turned to drugs but instead he turned to violence. This is just another side of the same coin. And it didn't need to happen. After that tragedy there was some noise here and there in some of the media circles about mental health. There was talk of how his mental health was neglected and schools needed better ways of identifying at-risk youth. But then it went quiet. I had hoped that Obamacare would come with better mental health coverage and make a statement about caring for the souls of our citizens, as well as our bodies. But then that didn't manifest either. 

So on this dark day, with my dark thoughts pursuing me, I have put my own inner voices on pause so I can listen to the wailing of the many who don't just have dark days, but dark weeks, months, years. And as a fellow human, I wish to speak for all of us. We need to do better. Each and every one of us needs to do better. We can't shake our heads as if the tragedies have nothing to do with us. We can't post a message and be consider our part done. We must live with our eyes where our hearts are. Aware and unashamed. Loving enough to care and brave enough to face the ugly sides of our natures. We may not have the assistance of our representatives but we can look out for each other. Because we are all close enough to someone else to catch them before they fall.

On "Girls" (the HBO show)

Since everyone else seems to have something to say about the HBO show, Girls, including the National Review, I kind of feel it's time for me to weigh in. Especially since I've apparently got a problem wrapping my head around it. I have attempted to watch a couple of episodes but each time I cringe inwardly (and sometimes outwardly) at how bad I think it is. I realize many, many people must love it. I mean... it's making millions. Yet, somehow, the appeal is lost on me. The first time I watched it I told my husband I think it should be renamed "Sad." Because it seemed like all the characters were sad, empty shells of some other characters that might have had life once. And the events, even if funny at times, seemed kind of pathetic. After trying a second episode I then informed my husband that it would be a good show to play a drinking game to. We could take a shot of tequila each time one of the characters actually uttered the word "sad". (I'd heard it a few times during the particular episode I'd watched.)

Still... the show's popularity had been gnawing at me - quietly - like a virus that runs through your body without your knowledge until you suddenly develop a rash and a fever, by which point, it's usually too late. It lead to the following. One day while I was headed int NYC on NJ Transit, I found myself sitting next to a pretty, white, bookish 24 year old girl who was on her cell phone to her dad. She was explaining how she'd gotten off a plane from Spain and was headed into the city to meet up with a co-worker then headed to Brooklyn. Then she said some things that made me think she might be a writer or her job entails writing because she said something about needing to hand in a writing assignment to her boss. Ding, ding, ding!! Perfect!!  If ANYONE on the planet could explain "Girls" to me, it HAD to be this girl sitting next to me! I saw my chance and took it. I engaged her in conversation and asked her if she watched the show. She said she'd only seen one episode but her friends loved it. Great! I asked her if she could explain why her and her friends seemed to love the show so much (because, I explained... I just wasn't getting it). She looked somewhat bemused and like she was debating if she should continue speaking to me but then decided to play along. She said she thought the characters were a lot like people she actually knew. That other shows about girls have historically sent a signal that girls are supposed to be cute and sweet and charming and always have perfect hair and this show showed girls could be fat and awkward and fart. Okay.... I get that. I do. But looking at her, it still wasn't adding up. Here was a pretty girl who seemed to actually have her shit pretty together, judging from the conversation I'd just overheard. Even if she did fart she seemed to be doing it with a real job and responsibilities. And, frankly, she was about a size 4 and quite cute... so I'm not sure how she felt she identified with these misfits on "Girls' but... okay... I get that part of it. I get that we women are sick and tired of being told what we're supposed to look like, how we're supposed to act, what is respectable and what isn't... I DO get that. But still... "Girls"? Really? Is this the only way we have right now to get that point across?

Hm. I will concede that it is progress of a kind. Imperfect, but heading in a generally progressive direction. Ultimately, time will tell. However, I reserve to the right to continue thinking it's a little bit sad. But I also concede that maybe I don't "get" it because it isn't a show targeting my demographic. It is a show targeting a group of disaffected, frustrated 20 and 30 somethings. Mostly white, mostly college educated and mostly totally out of the realm of my understanding. So I accept that maybe I can't give this show a truly unbiased review any more than the National Review can. The pretty 24 year old on NJ Transit did kind of look at me as though my opening line to her was "I come in peace". That should have been my cue to stop trying to "get" this show. Maybe I just won't ever. And that is probably fine.

Women, Take Back Our Power

I was just reading the headlines today about the big rape cases in South Africa and India. It breaks my heart. Together with the persecution of Malala Yousoufzai, the young Pakistani girl being targeted by the Taliban, I feel we women in more progressive nations cannot afford to shake our heads and think how terrible it is for "them." We, women as a whole, continue to be part of the problem.

I'm not saying these terrible animals should not be brought to justice. What I'm saying is that women need to take back our power. Everywhere in the world. And it should begin here at home where we mistakenly believe these issues don't effect us as much. If you believe that, you are wrong.

Every time a woman tears down another woman because "how dare she wear that?" we are contributing. We are not giving each other strength. Every time a woman excuses a man's behavior with "it's in his DNA, he's a man..." we contribute to rape. Every time a woman behaves as a man might but is ostracized because "she should be better than a man" we are contributing to a double standard and helping to keep it alive. The truth is we are not that different from men except that we give away our power on a regular basis to them. Allowing them all kinds of excuses for bad behavior while simultaneously holding ourselves to a standard they are only too happy to exploit.

We are life givers. If you think about it, that is the most powerful force we have as humans. Yet we somehow are not properly revered and respected for having this amazing gift. Instead, in many countries, it is a shameful condition. We bleed and are in pain every month yet we go to work, play sports and hold down jobs, all the while trying to keep fit, hairless and young. We exhaust ourselves to do and be everything and on top of it. We are super strong. Yet we give the men and boys in our lives a free pass to be jerks. We are contributing to a mindset. We, the women of the world, have to stop contributing to the mindset that allows rape to be a sport. We have to start by taking back our power.

Don't believe yourself to be better than your sister. And don't laugh when your brother calls a girl at school a whore. Just because maybe she is sexy and the boys chase her and maybe you're a bit jealous. Instead tell your brother he is being a jerk and that girl is free like he is to do the same things he does. Why must we tear down other women? When were some of us anointed saints? This has to stop. If a young girl in Pakistan can stand up to bullies who want her dead for wanting an education, we who are free to have educations and good jobs need to continue to fight in our own back yards by making sure men respect us on an equal footing. Only by taking back our power will we eventually change the mentality that allows rape to continue to flourish everywhere.

Xmas Traditions and Christianity

It's a good thing no one really reads this blog because I'm probably going to say some things to upset some people but... that's life on the internet.


This morning the local fire department came past our house, like they do every year, with their Santa Claus. It's one of the things about living in the suburbs that makes me not miss life in New York City. It's sweet. I don't have children but the little kid inside me smiles big whenever they come past here and I know the kids next door are thrilled. It's these little heart warming traditions that Christmas is supposed to be about. Not the gifts or the glitzy stores or the pricey toys. It has become commercialized to the point of excess. It saddens me.

I married a Jewish man. So I have learned a bit about Jewish traditions. Not much, mind you. But some. And even though he is not religious by any stretch and his brother's family is only moderately religious, I am touched by their traditions. I think it's important that even though his brother does spoil his children, they still light the Hanukkah candles and sing the Hanunkkah prayer every night. It emphasizes the real reason they are celebrating - not just because of presents and chocolates.

It's made me think about my own Catholic upbringing and Christmas. Growing up, my dad, a deeply Catholic man, stressed going to Christmas mass and the Virgin birth and celebrating the birth of Jesus. We had a tree and I believed in Santa Claus and I got modest gifts. But the idea that the holiday was connected to a Christian event was something that was always stressed in my house. Of course, over the years, I've gotten away from that, lapsed Catholic that I am. But I'm glad that I grew up with a sense of Christmas as something other than a greedfest.

I think if modern day Catholics and other Christians want their religions to thrive and their children to have a sense of reverence, they need to do at least what my father did or... maybe they need to take a lesson from our friends, the Jews. If you notice, they have prayer as a part of every holiday they celebrate. How many Christians you know say a prayer before unwrapping gifts? Or light a candle for baby Jesus the night before instead of going to bed dreaming of Xboxes and diamond necklaces? I'm not saying I plan to do any of these things. I want to be honest and say I'm a lapsed Catholic and I probably will not return to my faith as it was when I was growing up. It is my choice. I'm an adult. BUT, for those of you who do still follow your faith - I watch you complaining about dwindling congregations and kids who don't care and I say you need to take a look inside and see why this is. Traditions are important. Instilling future generations with a sense of awe and wonder and reverence for their faith is something that has to come before bright lights, new Nike's or the latest blast 'em and crash 'em video game. If you're getting lost in the greedfest, you are only contributing to the demise of your faith.

I know I'm preaching and I'm not even a "follower" but maybe I'm a watcher and this morning, when Santa came down my street not even bearing presents, it's the most Christmas spirit I've felt in a while. It's the little things. The representations of kindness and humanity that matter. And I just wanted to put that out there.

Progress!

Well, I came on here to blog about something else but saw my last post and must comment on it. I have gotten quite a lot of that list done!! The garage is fairly tidy now. The basement is now painted white and tidy and is a nice gym area!!! It was  LOT of work but I'm much happier now going down there and things are more organized! The clothing situation and the kitchen are not quite done but I will get to that too. :) Yay me!

Cleaning out my closets

It's funny how the psyche works. For the past few months I've had this nagging compulsion to tidy up my life. I don't just mean file a few papers or organize my iTunes playlists. I mean everything.  I don't have a lot of time so I haven't gotten very far but here's what I've managed to do so far:

1. Clean up the garage. What that meant was going through boxes of stuff, throwing out things that were obviously garbage, reorganize and reboxing a BUTTLOAD of books that will eventually be donated or sold, restacking everything so it's not taking up so much space and then sweeping. 

2. Clean up basement and paint it white then get remnant carpeting for floor. This has proven to be much harder and is still a work in progress. Before doing any of this I needed workmen to come in and remove some old cabinets left by the past homeowners. That got done a few weeks ago. All of the paint/tools/etc from that cabinet is now at least in boxes or bins. I have an Ikea unit I need to build to put the TV and Wii on but first I need to paint. I have not had time to actually paint. Also, there are boxes of more books and random crap in the basement that need to be reboxed and binned, organized and stacked. So... it's going to be a while before the basement is ready.

3. I did make a call today that will hopefully make getting rid of books easier. Turns out the local community college will take most of our books if we can get them over there. So one week I will make that a priority. I swear we have about 20-30 boxes of books.

4. Clothes. I've started sorting clothes - mine and Rich's and I'm bagging and binning and donating. Also promises to be a long term project.

5. Kitchen items. I barely cook and yet there is so much clutter in the kitchen cabinets. For starters, today I carefully wrapped an old china set we had been given. I labeled the box clearly, taped it up and put it in the garage. Why did we even have that out? 

It occurred to me that I'm packing things up as if we're moving. We're not. We're about to redo the bathroom. But somewhere deep in my psyche I feel like I'm preparing for that possibility and I don't want to be scrambling at the last minute. Weird.

Lies of Omission

I'm reading a NY Times Bestseller. I won't say which. It's not relevant. But the main protagonist - a man - just said he is a "big fan of the lie of omission". It made me put the book down and blog. Because lies of omission are my least favorite lies. I hate them. They are the most deceitful of all. Because you can't see 'em coming or going and, often times, when they finally come to light, you are completely sideswiped by them. Nope. Give me a good bold in-your-face kind of lie. If you are going to lie to me, do it like that, because it gives me a chance. A chance to detect a foul stench lingering in the air – even if all I get is a faint hint of it.

A lie doesn't have the ring of truth to it that truth has. Something about it is "off key". The lie hangs in the air a microsecond longer than the truth or else it skips a beat and races. It's cadence seems uneven.  As if the molecules of exhaled CO2 get caught in gauze and have to squirm to get free before the sound hits your ear. Something about it doesn't go smoothly but it’s happening at such a meta level that most of the time we aren’t even aware we reacted to it. We might brush something off our clothing or squirm in our seat or bite our lip. Still listening but mildly unsettled… or very unsettled if we’re certain we’re being lied to.

Yet I have come to value these horrendous acts of betrayal because, even if at the time you had no idea you were being lied to and accepted it as truth, somewhere in your psyche it got red flagged. Lies get stored in a little “Lying Space” in your brain. Of this I'm certain. There are the ones you might think you actually believe, the ones you pretend to believe because it's just easier, the ones you don't believe at all but can't prove and the ones you know for a fact are a lie but the liar will not budge and you find yourself at an impasse. We won't discuss the lies you actually can prove.  I believe all these other lies get flagged and stored. At some point - minutes, days, years later, when the truth comes out, even if you're angry or sad or disappointed because you'd been hoping maybe it wasn't a lie, you kind of feel relieved to be able to pull the red flag off that one. At least now you know you weren't imagining things. You feel somehow vindicated. The liar did not totally dupe you. You had that little red flag on the play all along.

But the omissions... They are a way of keeping any and all knowledge of foul behavior from you so you can't even put your guard up when necessary. It leaves you totally defenseless and unprepared. These anger me the most because, usually, the liar thinks they are magnanimously saving you from a truth you cannot handle. And most times they are only saving themselves from the disgrace of discovery.

So phooey to lies of omission. Boo to the darkest of lies. Right this moment someone you love might be keeping something from you which later will anger you. Do yourself a favor when it finally comes out... Blink at them and walk away. Once it comes out, what they want is a showdown followed by eventual forgiveness. Even if you plan to forgive them later, don't let them off the hook that fast. Make them sweat it out. Just walk off leaving them in the dark about what will happen next. It's the least you can do.

Mother's Day is Coming...

God damn it! I am bending over backwards to be nice to my mother. I realize she's lonely since dad died and I realize she really has no one else to run to with every little thing so I try to be patient. But I am BUSTING MY HIDE trying to revive whatever might be left of an opera career and, frankly, I've never worked this hard at it before. I just got back from Minneapolis from a visit with another dear singer friend. I love her. She's like a sister. But in part I wanted to also do a little networking because I realize that most of my more successful friends are good at the networking part of this business. And I think I may be going back for auditions now. Good. But I get back and call mom and what does she do? "Oooh! Good, you're back!?" I know this doesn't sound like a crime but you don't get it. It's not "oh I miss my baby"... she literally went on to say that she "doesn't know what she would do without me." So I proceeded to tell her that if things go well I will be gone longer and more often. She went quiet then asked, "But you'll be here for my next doctor's appointment in July, right?" You see?

She didn't ask about my trip, showed no interest in whether or not I got anywhere while I was there... nothing. Proceeded to describe her visit to her doctor and sounded panicked whenever I tried to say anything about my progress. My tarot cards for the last two weeks have described a woman who will try to sabotage my efforts. Each time that card has come up I had a very strong feeling it refers to my mother. Not that she would "consciously" try to sabotage me. But the energy she sends in my direction and the energy she sends out to the universe is the opposite of what I really need. Which is why I have now made a very conscious decision to only deal with her when I have to. And, frankly, she should be happy I'm doing that. I keep her accounts, pay her bills and when I go visit I do whatever needs doing. She can't be happy that I'm trying to live my bliss then I can't give her more than a business relationship.

 God damn it... Happy Mother's Day.

Hurt Feelings

I’m watching this stupid movie, “Brief Interviews with Hideous Men”. Men’s ideas regarding a variety of things, but mostly about women and sex. As I’m listening it has occurred to me that when a woman is sitting there crying her eyes out because a man has wronged her, it’s really because of her unrealistic expectations. Often, if we’re being lied to, we kind of know it. Often, when you’re being played and some asshole is convincing you that you are the center of his universe, you are skeptical… but you want desperately to believe maybe he’s telling the truth… until you catch him kissing someone else. Then the crying happens. But what are these hurt feelings? We expected something else. We keep expecting better behavior from them than most of them are capable of. Perhaps it would hurt less to go in expecting less. If you were nursing a limping calf back to health, you wouldn’t expect it to carry you anywhere, would you? Just consider that men are limping calves. They will always be limping. Don’t expect much. You won’t be disappointed.

Mindful Eating

I dabble in Buddhism. "How is that?," you ask? Easy. The same way I'm a reformed Catholic. I believe in the tenets (which is, frankly, more than I can say about my Catholism) and, when I can get it together, I actually make attempts to follow the principles and even meditate. I wish I could stick to it long enough to call myself a true Buddhist but I obviously lack the discipline. So I guess you might call me a failed Buddist. Except in Buddhism there is no such thing. You do your best with each passing moment and don't judge it. It's a beautiful concept. That brings me to the concept of mindful eating. Like everything else Buddhist, the idea is to approach a meal with utter and sublime awareness. Sit without distractions. Take in the smells, texture, colors and tastes as if each morsel were a grand work of art. Allow it to nourish your body and feed your soul. Then stop when you are truly full. Not in the belly but wholly. This is something we do not do nearly enough. Why is it that restaurants play music? Serve alcohol? Because the noise, while adding "ambience" and the alcohol while "relaxing" you, also makes it impossible for you to actually be mindful of what you're eating. And so we often overeat. We are over stimulated. Today I sat down and had a brunch in total silence. The sunlight was streaming through my dining room window and there I sat with only the slight hum from the refrigerator coming from the kitchen behind me. I realized how loud my own chewing seemed within this utter quiet. But then, as I ate more, I also realized I was paying attention to chewing my food more thoroughly. Spending more time with each bite. I wasn't shoveling fast like I sometimes do when I'm busy talking over a meal or playing on the laptop while eating. I was noticing the textures of what I was eating and my coffee seemed tastier too. It made me wonder if perhaps some of my weight issues don't begin with the lack of mindfulness during my meals. It is something to consider. I will make attempts in the coming days to be more mindful while eating and I will post again in a few with my observations. I think it's worth taking a look at.