Across the Universe

Sadly, I am uninspired... and I feel utterly lost.

There are several deep questions I am mulling over at the moment, and have been sitting here trying to write, but for some reason the words will not flow...

Why is it that at the time when writing these swirling thoughts down in some type of medium would help me the most, I cannot seem to find the words? I could easily have the conversation with any of you at this very moment, should we happen to speak, but as I try to convey these thoughts into sentences....I cant....

I know, I am as shocked as you are...Beth is unable to grace us all with her opinions and granules of wisdom...write the date down...

And, whats even worse, not only can I not seem to put into words these thoughts, I also cannot stop from having the conversations about these things, with myself....inside my own head....

I am exhausted, but I cannot make myself go to bed. All I want to do is sleep, but my mind will not shut down. It continues to ask the same questions over and over, desperately grasping for some semblance of order and clarity...

Why keep picking from the pile?
Why ask why?!
Why NOT?!
Why did everyone on the SS Minnow pack so much crap for a 3 hour cruise?!

All fabulous questions, to which I have equally well-thought-out, compelling arguments for...but for some reason a complete and utter inability to express said well-thought-out, compelling answers, in a clear, concise manner...

While you look at the above questions and chuckle to yourself wondering what the hell kind of questions those are, and what quirky answers I will come up with to try to be clever, these are serious questions. And while they also seem completely random, they are in fact all different components of the same stream of conscious thought. Seriously, these are real and big questions and not whimsical or non-sensical ravings of a lunatic (or exhausted, you be the judge) mind...

Perhaps tomorrow I will have the ability to convey the answer to these burning questions....tonight I can only sit and feel helplessly tormented by the melancholy veil cast over my heart at the moment...

I can only sit and cry and wish I could put into words the colors and sounds and feelings that are trapped inside my chest, welling up and threatening to drown me....

Some people paint, some people sculpt, some people make music to express the things inside of them...I write...but I cant at the moment...and it makes me desperately sad....

I guess its a good thing it is raining right now, then no one can see that I am crying, because that is an expression of weakness, and I am always the one who is able to remain strong.

Crying is a healthy expression of vulnerability and humanity- I fully support you in it..... I however....I choose not to indulge in it because I am able to accept that life just sucks sometimes and I am good at handling adversity... I do not crack under pressure, but thrive under it.
Adapt and overcome.

Climb out of the pile, because whining is a waste of energy.

Wasting energy is not efficient.

Inefficient tactics are not a logical solution to any problem.

I am strong.

I always have been.

And not because I necessarily want to (or have wanted to), for reasons of pride or self-importance, but because perhaps I have lived my whole life not knowing any other way to be.

Falling apart has never been an option or luxury afforded to me.

Bold statements?

Truth.

Truth?

Perhaps weakness is just a luxury I have never afforded myself...

Sadly, all I can do tonight is cry and watch the colors, shapes, and melodies dance around my room, taunting me to reach out and take hold of them before they slip and slither away across the universe...

My paint brush does not work...my paints are all dry...

My clay has hardened...

My guitar has no strings...

Perhaps I really am drowning, and these tears are just the overflow escaping out of the windows to my soul...

Personally, I dont want to get up to look and check, so I think I the best thing for me to do is just turn the computer off and try to get in my 3 hours of sleep for today...

Dichotomy, Unapologetically

I am a very practical person, but I think life is too short to wear plain cotton underwear- especially white ones.

I am pretty low maintenance, but rarely go out of the house without cleaning myself up a bit. Frankly I believe that one should take care of themself, and this includes taking pride in the way one looks.

I look like a prissy girly girl who only eats salads, water, and air, but I can probably put down as much food as you can, and I can definitely eat my weight in sweets!

I believe everyone deserves a little grace, but cant stand those who continually see fit to skate by with "just good enough".

I admire those who live their lives to a higher set of standards morally and otherwise, but I do not look down on those who do not. Ya know, that whole glass houses thing...

I have a very serious side, but prefer to only pull it out at work, or in case of dire emergency. Life is just too short to be serious all of the time.

I am a very polite and nice person, but tend to tease my friends and family frequently. You can usually tell if I dont like you if I leave you alone. You may think its because I am shy or quiet, but in all honesty its simply because I do not want to take the time and effort to think up a witty zinger to tease you with.

I am very much an extrovert, and almost always prefer to be around other people, however I value my time to myself.

I am very neat and meticulous, but I cant seem to ever fold all of my laundry each week.

I hate reading bad writing, but I cant be bothered to ever punctuate anything I write- I know how, but feel such an expenditure of time on literary pomp and circumstance might hinder the thoughts which flow from my mind...

I love intelligent conversation and debate, but cant stand the type of people who are prone to fanatical and frequent conspiracy theories such as I got my coffee refilled first because the waitress is a Republican subversive who is merely trying to snub you because you carry around a copy of Michael Moore's "Dude Wheres My Country?" like a Bible.

I come across often as very self-assured and perhaps even times cocky, but am my own worst critic. Dont get me wrong, I dont really care what anyone else thinks about me (well, except for my family and close friends), but I care about how *I* _____ (do at work, look, present myself, etc., etc.).

Reading over this I think perhaps this is what Daisy was talking about when she said that I am an "eccentric" individual...

I guess I prefer to look at it as Dichotomy.....

Unapologetically.

Carousel

Its funny how a lot of the time, if you ask me what I miss about my "old" life, I will say its having my time to myself. That is one of the things I always proclaim to love best about my gym time, is that it is the one part of my day where I do not have to answer to anyone, cater to anyone, or kiss anyone's ass, but in truth I never spend this time mindless meditating.



My mind is always whirling with the ins and outs of my life- what I have done, what I need to do, what I want to do... and of course what I have done and still need to do in order to be able to do what I want to do.

When I am not thinking about the neverending barrage of tasks and checklists that my life consists of, I am processing everything else. All of the news of the day, both politically and personally, seem to seep into my consciousness.

Why the hell is everyone working themselves into such a tizzy over the damned democratic primary? Only one will remain standing at the end, so why waste all this energy on the "what if's" and "maybes" of each hypothetical scenario, and tear each other down in the melee?

Personally I think it is a paramount waste of time and proves that our society is addicted to drama and loves to blow things completely out of proportion. Frankly even the mention of this into the stream of my conscious thought is a waste of time and energy, and Im over it. But really it just proves my point that eventhough I dont care about it, I am annoyed enough to be at least momentarily invested, enough so that it leaks into my brain as I run down the list of things that currently annoy me, and feel the need to at least expend the energy to type it.

But as I move out of the realm of things that I dont care to invest any more in, I think of the things of a personal nature that tend to fill my mind as I am blissfully drifting off into my responsibility-free meditation time.

These are the things that make me smile to think about- things like Lindsay's new home and new job... Annette's new home, and the fact that they are having another baby, especially after how hard it was to get there the first time... Sarah finally moving to Colorado and rekindling a lost connection that meant so much... Amy doing so well at work and all the other areas of her life beginning to come together in amazing ways... Hearing Julie so happy that I can see her beaming smile through the phone... Having Matt back after such a long time...

All these things make me truly happy. I feel blessed to see these things happening for those I love, I tell myself that means things are going to happen for me soon. I believe good things are going to happen for me soon. I cling to the promise that good things are coming, but lately I am having a hard time feeling it anymore.

It occurred to me Monday that I am genuinely and sincerely happy for the things happening for those I love, and I am not jealous of them, but I am starting to tire of being happy for everyone else.

I want my ray of sunshine.

I want my break in the clouds- my rainbow.

I want the dove to actually land on my deck, instead of merely circling my ark holding the olive branch with the deceptive promise of landing.

I feel as though the world is running around me in color, and I am trapped in slow motion, and black and white.

I feel sad.

But then the phone rings and brings unexpected news from an old friend, and suddenly all of the clouds lift and I am pulled away from all that was weighing me down. I am happy once again...

How can you not be happy when one of your best friends has great news?

You Dont Mess Around with GYM

Today I was feeling a little bit under the weather, and actually did something I never do- I skipped my date with my most steady and reliable boyfriend, GYM.

I know, I know. Dont look at me like that!! Its the first time in probably 6 months that Ive missed a day, but yes... today I stood up GYM.

And, as I sat and battled the wave of anxiety that swept over me as 9pm rolled around and I didnt get dressed and go, I was certain I could feel myself getting fatter. But, then thankfully I got over it, and instead sat and began pondering the intriguing parade of people who frequent the gym.... Anyone who goes to the gym on a semi-frequent basis knows what I am talking about, but what I want to know is seriously, who are these people?!!

First off, we have the Lazy Ass. These are those annoying people who circle the parking lot searching for the closest spot possible. I mean seriously, WTF?!! Isnt the entire point of going to the gym to break a sweat? Or what about the people who will actually follow you as you walk to your car to take your spot? I mean, how lazy are you?! There are 100 spots further back, but youve got to follow me as if its 2 days before Christmas at Fashion Valley and there might not be another empty spot for an hour. Sometimes I seriously consider for a moment walking all over the parking lot, acting like I am going to my car, just to mess with these idiots.

The next character I usually notice is the Muscle Head. I mean, who *DOESNT* love the sight of a guy in spandex who is so pumped up on steriods that he cant put his arms down?! You know what I mean, the guys who walk around looking like a cartoon character- anyone remember Popeye?

Or how about his little wannabe friend whom I shall call "Mini Me"? Youve seen the Mini Me's- the guys who walk around behind the Muscle Head and emulate him, much the way little children emulate their parents. The only real difference though is between perception and reality, and well, the Mini Me can always be spotted by the unmistakeable prescence of "Air Lats". What are "Air Lats" you ask? Well, Mini Me is muscular, but he is by no means actually so muscular (like the Muscle Head) that he has lost the ability to put his arms down at his sides and walk around like Modern Man. I suppose "Air Lats" are a means of wishful thinking, much like the idea that you dress for the job you want. So I guess really that would actually make these guys posers, but now were getting into semantics, so Ill just go ahead and wrap this one up.

One last thing of note which I find particularly amusing about this prison-like segment of the gym population is those great shirts they love to wear. You know, the tshirts that have been gutted, into these tiny pieces of cloth that barely cover anything. The male version of the bikini? A Man-kini?! Or is this shirt a closer relative of the thong (the underwear, not the sandals)?? The mystery may never be solved, but regardless, the man-kini seems to be a sort of Muscle Head uniform, and is required attire for the gym.

I always have to stiffle a bout of laughter when I am assulted by the sight of our next character, the FAT personal trainer. I mean, talk about the blind leading the blind. I seriously dont get why: A) the gym hires people who look like they live next door to Krisy Kreme or B) people actually pay these Fatty McFatty's to help them get into shape. Its disgusting how easy it is for one to get certified as a trainer nowadays. The test is just that, a test, on paper, of book knowledge. Most of these people have no idea the proper way to train someone else, otherwise they wouldnt be obese themselves. Dont get me wrong, I am not ripping on people who are overweight at the gym, I love these people! They are there making the effort to get themselves healthy and I applaud them for it. I am just saying no one should ever pay someone else their hard earned money to get them in shape, if that person cant even see their own toes past their big huge gut.

And, while I hate trainer Fatty McFatty, I really cant stand Super Trainer either. You know the ones I am talking about- often a muscle head, or the female version... that chick at the gym who has rectangular boobs, man hands, and a booming voice which is freakishly deeper than your man's alluring verbal communcae. While Fat Trainer has no expertise whatsoever, Super Trainer has too much, and both are equally dangerous to Joe Average who is seeking their help in getting healthy.

Super Trainer doesnt seem to be able to identify the fact that their client doesnt compete in the Mr/Ms. Fitness competition, and end up making their obese and desperately out of shape clients do the same exercises that they themselves, Super Trainer, do in their own routine. It makes me so mad when I see some poor mother of 3 attempting to get rid of her badonk-a-dunk, struggling to do a 3 part lunge with weights, and falling down or getting hurt as a result. Mother of 3 isnt fit enough to do this exercise, and Super Trainer should know better, but they dont. As a result, their clients end up either leaving them because they get hurt, or are not getting the results promised. Bad trainers make me ill! Unfortunately, the gym is rampant with these people.

Next, we have the odd creature called the Barbie girl. Again, I have to take a minute to ask seriously, WTF?! Who are these girls who show up in their $300 sweat suits, make-up applied with a trowel, and their blinged out cell phone? You know, the girls who spend more time talking to other Barbie girls, or Barbie girl wanna-bes, than they actually do working out. Then they leave and gulp down their Grande Caramel Mochaccino from Starbucks, and are actually seriously wondering why they havent reached their fitness goals. Fortunately, some of these Barbie girls will find happiness, when they marry and become real housewives of the OC, and can afford to get lipo. The cruel cycle of Juicy Couture sweats, too much make-up, and excessive calorie consumption is allowed to continue with new results. Hooray for plastic surgery and perverted old men!

Lastly, and perhaps the most annoying of all habitual gym frequenters is Sweaty Talker Guy. This is truly one of the most hideous and perpetually inevitable pariahs who always seem to find me at the gym. Just in case you are lucky enough to not know of whom I speak, this is the big guy who gets next to you on the treadmill and tries to talk to you, eventhough youve got headphones on, all while he sweats profusely in your general direction. LOVE this guy!! And its even better when he really smells to top it off.... Seriously, unless I know you, I do not want to talk to you at the gym. Its nothing personal.

It seems that those of us who come to the gym, for the sole purpose of working on our fitness, are a bit of a rare breed. I dont come to the gym to make friends, or flirt with anyone (especially not the old perverted guys who are older than my dad. I mean, sometimes I want to tell them they should be ashamed of themselves, because they probably have a daughter my age.... EWWWW!). Infact, I dont even always wear matching gym clothes, and I certainly dont wear expensive ones. If I happen to be wearing make-up, it is because its the end of the day, and I have already been out and about being a productive, contributing member of society.

When I am at the gym, I am there for the sole purpose of making sure people are shocked when they find out that I am in fact a mommy. Thats right, I go to the gym to combat the possibility of having to wear "Mom Jeans"!! "Because shes not a woman, shes a MOM!".... Call it vanity if you want, but I simply refuse to go out like that! Truth be told, its not due to vanity at all, but instead my life-long *pathological* fear of being overweight... and anyone who knows me well, knows sadly why I have this particular fear...

That ackward glimpse into my pschye aside, the most important thing a date with GYM means is quiet time- a little "me" time- time to recharge and regain my sanity. A date with GYM is the 2 hours or so of my day when no one is asking me to tend to them...no clients, no boss, no children, no babydaddy.... Just me, and my music, and all the random thoughts rattling around in my head. And the simple act of having a nice date with GYM helps me feel like me again, so that I can go back to tending to needy clients, a rambunctious baby, housework, email, whiny babydaddy, etc., etc.

Yay for the gym!!

The Candy Man Returneth!

Who can take a sunrise

Sprinkle it in Dew

Cover it with Chocolate

And a miracle or two?

The Candy Man can
The Candy Man can

The Candy Man can, cause he sprinkles it with love and makes the world taste good

(BARF)



Thats right folks, he's baaaack!!

How stoked are you?!

I for one am very pleased! No, for real! I really am glad to hear from him...

Most of the time, when you tell someone you dont ever want to talk to/see them again for the rest of your life, they tend to shy away from further interaction with you. In a lot of cases, the disposed individual strives to avoid you in social scenarios or even the mention of you in conversation because, as the "dumpee", its an uncomfortable situation to be in. There is then of course the other extreme, which is the bitter "dumpee". This is the person who was dumped but cannot seem to shut up about how glad they are that they got kicked to the curb. They protest loudly, and often, and to anyone who is willing to listen or merely within earshot. As with all those who protest too loudly, well, you know...

But The Candy Man is different- his Modus Operandi doesnt fit neatly into either of the above mentioned categories, and thus makes him an intriguing specimen to observe. Of course, I recommend that observation be carried out only from behind the dark side of a one way mirror, so that he cannot actually see who it is that is dissecting the minute aspects of his mania.

This is merely to avoid the possibility of him striking out at you, or even worse, deciding he is interested in you. The latter scenario is the worst of all possible outcomes, as you will most likely never be rid of him without having him disassembled at the cellular level. Since this is a very costly and for all intense purposes, illegal feat, The Candy Man is still alive and well, roaming the streets demoralizing young girls nationwide.

Much like a boil on the butt of society, The Candy Man is a literal pain in the ass. You may not always see him, but damnit can you feel the lingering twinge of his presence, always lurking in the shadows, threatening to flare up at any time. This is why I should not have been surprised at all to receive an email from him today, however, after our last communication, I thought he might have actually gotten the point. I guess I just assumed, and you know what happens when you assume...

As the only known survivor of (a relationship with) The Candy Man, I am the reigning authority on the subject. Admit it, youre jealous! (wink, wink). Well, dont be, its kinda like winning The Bachelor... In the end you beat out everyone else for a phony relationship with someone you dont really like in the first place. Whats the point?! Unless there is cash involved, then its totally not like that. Id take winning The Bachelor any day over the 3 years I wasted on The Candy Man...

But I digress...

As the ultimate authority on The Candy Man, I should not have been surprised to see an email from him, a mere 6 months after I told him to kiss his own ass. When I broke off all communication with him for good in the very beginning of 2004, he did the exact same thing. Ok, lets be fair, in 2004 he started calling me 2 weeks after I had told him to drop dead, so he has shown improvement. But, seeing as the last time we started talking (6 months ago) he asked me for naked pictures (after we mended fences), and then proceeded to act shocked, offended, and "unbelieveably hurt" that I thought thats what he was insinuating by saying he knows I am indeed a NATURAL blonde, I knew better this time.

The email title was "Im ready...", and this time instead of even considering for a moment old times and opening the email, I laughed heartily as my fingers slammed down on the enter key in affirmation to delete his message without opening it. While the possibilities are endless as to what he is actually ready to do, I have lost all interest, and dont think its possible for me to care any less at this point.

So, I know you are all a little confused now because at the beginning of the post I said I was excited to hear from him, but just now I said I deleted it and didnt care what it said... contradictory, I know. But, let me tell you why its not! While I dont really give a shit what The Candy Man has to say, I am happy that his ego knows no bounds, and convinced him it would be a good idea to email me...

WHY?!

Because now I get to post that incredibly ridiculous picture of him, and we can all laugh at it again together!

Now, I dont know about you, but that shits funny! Especially considering the fact that he told me this was one of his headshots he had done and submitted to a modeling agency.

Classic.

Good Manners

So today in the OC, it was uncharacteristically warm for this time of year. I am sure some of you had it worse, like all my peeps in the 951, or East County San Diego, but 90 is plenty hot for me(well, ok, its not fun when you dont have the luxury of air conditioning). And, to that point, I seriously dont understand why anyone would want to live anywhere other than Southern California, given that the weather is always more extreme (hot or cold, and/or humid) than it is here.

But, I digress....

Today was spent trying not to die, which is precisely what the power did several times, taking our air conditioning with it. This little tragedy forced us to venture out into the world, to seek refuge from the scorching SoCal heat. Naturally, we found repreive at the local movie theater.

Once our movie was over, we decided to go back home and see if we could salvage our plans to have a nice relaxing evening at home doing nothing, but alas, it was not so. Upon returning to the house, we found the power was working, but since the air conditioning isnt central air, and had been off for more than 5 hours, the house was still hotter than the 7th circle of Hell, so we all decided it would be best to go out to dinner.

Thankfully, we made it to a local watering hole, and were able to be seated almost immediately. We also had the luxury of being seated in an area where there were not a lot of other people. This is always helpful when you have a 2 year old in your party, and is very, VERY helpful when said 2 year old is hot, tired, and hungry.

So, as we sat and enjoyed the nice refreshing air conditioned atmosphere, we were finally able to relax a little bit, which was really nice. Luca, who really had been a trooper all day, was running around the room, playing, and making everyone laugh as usual.

When dinner arrived and we all began to eat, I had to pay special attention to Luca to make sure he didnt fall out of his chair. As most of you probably know, Luca is very independent, and hates anything that makes him different from all the adults around him. This includes, but is not limited to: sippy cups, childrens cutlery, and in particular, high chairs and booster seats. The child simply HATES these things, and insists on eating with adult sized utensils, and sitting in an adult sized chair. And, to his credit, he does pretty darn well all by himself.

As we ate, Luca exercised his usual good manners. He used his fork to eat, and frequently wiped the corners of his mouth with his napkin. Inwardly, I observed quietly, and couldnt help but feel pleased with myself that my child was so well mannered. No sooner had this thought crossed my mind, than my child started acting up. They just seem to know, dont they?!

Luca, deciding he had had enough, began to get real rowdy. At first it was just a little bit of over-excitement and loud laughing, but then he started shrieking. When I asked him to calm down, and not bother the other people in the restarant, he responded with a loud growling grunt, as if to say "I am disinclined to acquiesce to your request Mommy!", and I ignored it. The next time I asked him to calm down, he screamed "NO!". (Sigh) I was clearly not pleased, but simply told my little monster, "Yes!" With a scowl on his face, Luca sat down, but refused to look at me. This after all, was what I get for crossing him.

Happy that my child decided to behave himself, I continued with my meal. But, as you can imagine, the peace did not last long. Something (I couldnt even tell you what) made Luca start laughing anew, and he started shrieking again. So, again, I asked him to please sit down and behave himself. As you can imagine, he didnt like my suggestion, and so continued to yell, but this time also decided to stand on his chair while letting little pieces of food fall out of his mouth onto the table and floor. Laughing jubilantly, it was apparent that Luca thought this was hysterical, I however, did not.

Once again I sternly warned my child to sit down in his chair and behave himself, and this time he did..... just kidding! What a boring story would this be if he just sat down and went back to dabbing the corners of his mouth with his napkin?! This isnt the Brady bunch! The truth is, Luca did not decide to behave, and he did not sit down.... instead he again yelled "NO!"

Pulling Luca down so that he was looking me in the eye, I sternly told him:

"You need to sit down and stop acting like a naughty little boy! You know better than to behave like this, Daddy would be very unhappy with you for acting this way!!"

I kid you not, you can ask anyone who was there, but the snotty little retort I got blew me away. Without skipping a beat, Luca looked back sternly at me, and replied with a defiant gleam in his eye...

"Daddy's not here!"

Then he smirked, and let more food fall out of his mouth. While part of me wanted to smack the smirk right off his chubby little face, I couldnt help but laugh.

Ahhhh sarcasm! He is my child after all!

Ohhhh, Snap!

Today's story comes courtesy of my penchant for sarcastic toddler t-shirts...

So being that it yesterday was an international holiday today, I had the obligation to speak to Mark briefly on the phone. After the perfunctory and glib holiday well wishes, he cheerfully asked to talk to his son. Usually Luca is all for chatting it up on the phone any chance he gets, but apparently he wasnt feeling very Canadian, and did nothing but stare at the phone.

Feeling dejected, Mark turned his sights on me, and began punishing me for our offspring's insolence. While I cannot manage to remember how in the world the conversation brought us to the topic (most likely because all I was hearing on the other end of the line was blah blah blah), Mark decided to make a snide comment about one of Luca's tshirts.

"I love how you dress our kid in stupid shit like, 'My Moms Outta Your League'. Shows that youre really insecure about yourself", he retorted venomously.

I rolled my eyes as I prepared for myself for what would likely be a lengthy adolescent tirade aimed at tearing me down, but under the guise, of course, of friendly joking.

"Ive got a tshirt of my own", he continued.

Yup, here we go! I thought to myself.

"It says 'I Support Single Moms', and it has a nice picture of a lady that looks like you, on a stripper pole", he said, clearly pleased with himself.

What happened next was one of those beautiful moments where despite being taken aback by someone's boorishness, the perfect rebuttal flows effortlessly and coolly from your lips.

"Well Im glad to hear you are supporting a single mother SOMEWHERE."

As the words flew from my mouth, they sliced the air with such precision and landed upon their target with such stinging accuracy, that I could practically hear the sound of leather meeting flesh. All of the sudden the phrase "Ohhhh, snap!!" had very real meaning, and the stunned silence that emanated from the other end of the line was sweet.

Ahhhh, nothing beats a well worded BURN. Happy Easter to me.