I'm feeling very moody, in a Bette Davis, All About Eve, sort of way.
I don't want to do anything productive. All I really want to do is retire to my boudoir with a bottle of liquor in one hand, and the TV remote in the other. My beloved isn't really getting me today, so he is practicing his expertly-honed avoidance techniques. OR, I should say that he was practicing those skills until he discovered that half of the chocolate covered cherries, and ALL of the chocolate covered cranberries are gone. "We were going to take those to the party tonight", attempting to sound confronting -- Button it up, Buster! I am having ISSUES!
I don't want to see people. I don't want to do anything planned. And, I especially don't want anyone showing up at my house for a visit. I just really, really want to lie around with the remote in my hand. Really. It's the last day of 2007, and I think I want to end it with a whimper. Some people don't want me to have what I want, thus the bumpy ride. Now, If I had that dress Bette is wearing perhaps I could handle the day with more grace. That is a damn sexy dress. Notice that it has sleeves. It has sleeves because no woman likes to expose her arms. 99% of all women do not like the way their arms look in sleeveless attire yet, 95% of all evening wear is sleeveless. Why is this? I don't get it. I have several evening gowns, and cocktail dresses; all of which are sans sleeves. I just ordered two today. NO FREAKING SLEEVES. However, they were 70% off. (I also bought a lovely wrap with the same discount).
We are going to a fabulous party tonight -- of course, that is what is expected of fabulous goddesses. I know that I will have a lot of fun. I know that I will look gorgeous, hot and sexy beyond words. That is not the point. I am in hibernation mode. Due to this randomly occurring manifestation I will moan and groan about having to get ready all day, torturing everyone (my husband) around me. Bumpity, bump, bump, bump. If only I had Bette's dress, maybe I wouldn't be so bitchy about doing something that requires me to change out of my pajamas, and leave the house.
May peace and flattering evening attire be yours from, The Goddess of Everything.
Today the goddess speaks about herself: I feel incompetent at the stupid MySpace site, and I am tired of it. I am completely frustrated with my inability to post videos on my blog. This is not rocket science people. It isn't even junk science.
Why can't I do it?????? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?
Here is a cute picture to make everyone feel better. At least I know how to upload pictures.
May peace and cute nieces be yours from, The Goddess of Everything.
Two days until I will be living it up in Hawaii! I can hardly wait to get back to the beach. I can smell the surf and feel the sand between my toes.
The waves are calling, "Everyone weighs less in the water".
I am sitting here in my new bathing suit and fabulous matching cover-up. So, the halter top pulls slightly on the back of my neck. So what? This is the second suit, same as the first, in a larger size, that I've had shipped to me this week. I don't have time to order yet another one. I should have gone with the long torso suit. Every time I do, though, the crotch hangs down. I'd rather have a crick in my neck than an exposed crotch. It wouldn't be decent (I'm an outie). Plus, I would be over-exposed, if you know what I mean. I didn't go for the bikini wax, but I did do some major remodeling -- I may have gotten a little carried away with the electric razor. (Shhh, don't tell my husband; I'm not supposed to use his beard trimmer).
I do wish I had done the spray-on tan thing. I am so white. I am beyond white. I am white on white. I'd rub on some instant tanning lotion if I could do it without turning my hands seven shades of sienna, while the rest of me is merely transformed to a shade of sickly- ecru. I've just never had any luck with fake tan. It is funny how I spend a fortune on products that protect my skin from the sun, but one week out of every year I spend a much larger chunk of change to travel somewhere that I can purposely damage it. It makes no sense. Really darling, I don't care about making sense when it comes to my island vacation. All I care about is reveling in the sand, sea, sun and mai tais.
So, picture me: catching a wave, on my surf board, in my sexy new bathing suit, while holding a perfectly balanced, umbrella drink in my hand. I'll be the extraordinarily hot, white chick with the hunchback, and all of her bits and pieces tidily covered.
May peace and a strong sense of style be yours from, The Goddess of Everything.
Oh, look! I'm a awake and it's the middle of the night. Shocker of shockers, I am not sleeping through the night. Despite my doc's best efforts, I still wake up after a few hours. Sometimes I stay in bed, but that only disturbs the heavenly, snoring one. He doesn't always sleep through the night either. However, his sleepless nights are fewer.
I wonder what other people with my condition do? I usually scan the online tabloids. I know more about the lives of strangers, as seen behind a camera lens, than I do about members of my own family. Last Thursday, I was actually searching for Britney Spears' address, in my address book, to send her a Christmas card. But, what do others do? Do they write the great American novel? Do they knit hats for the homeless? Or, are they as shallow as me when I'm not sleeping? I think of doing something more worthwhile with my unplanned time. It is just that I am so tired, cranky, and bleary eyed. Yes, I could be writing to my legislators, or soldiers in the war, but I am not. I am not, I am not, I am not.
I feel another list coming on. This one will provide me with alternate, more altruistic endeavors for my sleepless nights. I will keep it by my computer to refer to when I'm thinking about Brad and Angie dragging their kids all over the globe. How many schools has their oldest child attended in the last two years anyway? I think it's 12.
Of course, I will have to be careful that I don't do something really rash in my befuddled state. I could get up in the morning to find that I have adopted an orphan, or three, from an internet orphanage. I'm sure that is possible. I'm such a sucker for little kids. I can identify 13 out of 15 babies belonging to movie stars, by their picture alone. (I just love those Us Weekly quizzes).
I'd better get back into bed before I do too much for the world. I don't think I've done the proper research. I could end up offering to drive Lindsey to rehab when I really meant to offer to build a school in Afghanistan.
May peace and better drugs be yours from, The Goddess of Everything.
One can cause a lot of confusion by calling up a friend, when not in one's right mind. This happened to me this week. I truly regret making my friend worry about me for even a second. It was selfish on my part. I was feeling silly and lonely. I reached out without thinking of the consequences. May a level head be yours from, The Goddess of Everything.
Today the goddess speaks about herself: I am amazing! I don't know how I do it, but everyday my students love me. Today, Tylor Christie said, "You are so pretty". Six years old, and he is the most astute male on the planet. I am so pretty. May a heady compliment from an unexpected quarter be yours from, The Goddess of Everything.
Today the goddess speaks about herself: I am still hung up on the recent haircut. The one where I held up my fingers with this much space between them [ ], and the stylist cut this much hair off [ ________________ ]. I had really long hair. I mean, I was only 8 inches away from my fanny. Now I have 'longish' hair -- above my freaking bra strap. (And, as low as that is these days, it isn't all THAT low).
I don't get these people! She said she understood about long hair. She said someone had once cut off too much of her hair. Whatever . . . What trip are these hair people on?
I am sad, sad, sad about my hair. Grandma died, but all I can think about is my hair. Is that demented, or what? Grandma would understand though. Just last month she was eating soup when she asked, "Is this for me to weave a rope to heaven?" as she held up a single strand of my hair. Ooops . . .
Will I ever dig myself out of this grief? Only grandma will understand what I am really crying about at her funeral on Friday. She gets it. She was a goddess too.
May your grief be frivolous when frivolous is called for from, The Goddess of Everything. (Wishing you jewels in heaven, Grandma)
Today the goddess speaks about herself: Wine, wine, wine. Why do I drink so much wine?Why can't I stop with just one glass? Why does my brain not have an off switch? It used to have an off switch. At least, I have a vague memory of being able to stop drinking before my nose turned red. Of course, like any little disturbance in my life, drinking too much wine triggers a nocturnal awakening. The kind where I would really rather be sleeping, but I can't -- no matter how much I lay there tossing and turning. And, why may I ask, doesn't tossing and turning wear one out enough to fall back to sleep? At least I'm burning calories in bed. It would be great if they weren't the same empty ones I had so recently consumed. Wine is just so good. I love it so much. I love the shape of the glass, holding the stem, bringing it to my lips. I love that first touch on the tongue, when I can feel it silky smoothness just before I taste it. Ahhh. . . that is a relaxing thought. Perhaps I will go back to bed, and imagine myself bobbing, in a wine glass, in a sea of wine. May the memory of sobriety be yours from, The Goddess of Everything.
Today the goddess speaks about herself: As I am inspired by my goddess sister, Katy, I will make a list. Here are ten things you may now know about me: 1. I prefer red wine to white 2. I can walk around in the dark like a blind person 3. Cow milk upsets my stomach 4. I dream in color 5. I prefer silence to background noise, except the sound of the ocean 6. I used to ride a motorcycle, but now I'm afraid to 7. Other than my husband, my best friends are all women 8. When I drink alcohol, I almost always overindulge 9. I don't eat fast food 10. When I share a bed, I have to be touching the other person, or it takes me hours to fall asleep Bonus. I've read Wuthering Heights 17 times. May indulgence be yours from, The Goddess of Everything
Are you looking for me? Here I am. Simply sign up, and make a comment. I will respond. As always I am stunning, intelligent, kind, and under the spell of the moon. May you find your inner Batgirl from, The Goddess of Everything.
Another sleepless night in goddess land. When will I ever sleep through the night again? Is this nocturnal alertness a sign of something? An opportunity? This is how I feel about not sleeping:Not good. Now I can't even upload the video I want to share. Very, very cranky goddess!!!
Today the goddess speaks about herself: Here I sit, in my undies, in the middle of the night because I can't sleep -- again. This time it's because I have a headache. When I have a headache I have to elevate my head. No matter how tired I am I have to keep my head up. I tossed back a couple of painkillers, and tiptoed downstairs to find the pain relieving gel I'd left in the kitchen. I got this stuff from my chiropractor. (It was Wednesday, Olgalita; not one of your days in the office, and my bedroom was too messy to ask you to come over and poke me with needles) One must make asides to one's doctor when one's doctor reads one's blog. (Plus, in an act of utter stupidity but, with the best intentions, I gave away the pain relieving stuff you gave me) That was another aside. I need little talking balloons, like in cartoons, only the ones with the little bubbles.
As usual, when I awake in the wee hours, I read the gossip columns. I know that Rosie is not coming back to The View; Apollo Ohno is going to suspend his Dancing With the Stars disco ball trophy from the ceiling, and have it drop down every time someone walks in the door; and Dean McDermott's ex was wearing an old, unflattering bikini when he told her he was leaving her for Tori Spelling. (That sort of puts the icing on a sucky day -- men should wait until their wives are looking totally hot before wiping the floor with them by informing them a younger, more digitally enhanced, nymphet is actually their soul mate).
I also read my Tarot.com horoscope. Today it ends with: Kindness will grease the path to satisfaction. What does that even mean? Don't be a bitch today? A greasy path doesn't sound all that appealing to me, or safe. Maybe it means that if I am kind today I will get some action from my husband? I don't think it would be kind to leave a greasy path for him to follow if that's the case. What satisfaction am I looking for today? Well, I did want to paint the bathroom and install a mirror and a vanity light. I would be really satisfied if that got done today. I guess if I follow the advice of my horoscope being kind will be a better tool than snarking about what kind of help I expect. I still don't want to be greasy. (My neck is all greasy from this headache gel stuff).
I don't really have to put in all of these asides I just realized. Olgalita is in Belize. She asked me last October if I wanted to go with her, and some other women. I said that I couldn't miss a week of work. Stupid! Stupid! Head-Slapping Stupid! I could be in Belize, right this very minute instead of sitting, cross-legged, in my underwear in front of my computer in the middle of the night. AND, I wouldn't have this headache because I would be on a relaxing vacation. I also wouldn't be wondering what it means to be kind in order to grease a path. Is that like, you can attract more flies with honey than with vinegar? I guess that means, don't be a bitch, as well. Being attractive to flies has never been high on my list either. I'm not supposed to begin sentences with a gerund am I? Or, am I? I don't care. What does that really mean either. Practically no one attempts to use gerunds correctly anymore.
Now that I am just getting silly with fatigue, maybe I should attempt to get back to sleep. May peace and a better understanding of grammar be yours from, The Goddess of Everything.
Today the goddess speaks about herself: Crap! Crap! Crap! I hate that word but, I can't think of a better word to describe how I am feeling right now. It doesn't matter that I took my niece on a shopping spree that totaled nearly $500, today was her birthday and I didn't call and I didn't send a card. I am probably in the doghouse, with my sister, because said niece did not receive anything in the mail today. Plus, THE GUILT. I have been heavily medicated since Monday due to major migraine activity. I haven't missed a day of work but, while I probably wasn't legal to drive, I still had to manage a classroom of miscreants. For the last two weeks I have called upon every extra reserve that exists in me to just get through each day. Today, for instance (and this is just today mind you, not atypical for the last couple of weeks) I got to tell parents that their little darlings called someone an F-ing asshole, made lewd gestures with their genitalia, and flipped off classmates and a teacher. Wow, six and seven year olds gone wild. Welcome to the world where children are allowed to watch everything on television, and play any video game they want. I have barely made it through the last two weeks. All I do is sleep, take (legal) drugs, and go to work. That's it. Top three most stressful jobs in the world: Policeman, Fireman, Teacher (I don't know why soldier isn't on the list -- I'm guessing soldier rates up there with policeman..) Then, air traffic controllers, and prison guards for juvenile prisons. Hmmmm. . . . Not feeling the respect right now people. I do a damn fine job. I believe in public education. I just don't believe everyone should be out there procreating. Can we have a psych eval. for prospective parents please? Helicopter parents would be out, crack whores -- out, abusive S.O.B.'s out. Parents who think they know more than a specially trained professional --OUT! I want to hear, "yes Ma'am, No Ma'am", and that is it. I want to hear it from the kids and the parents. I don't care if you have a PhD in anything. Learn to say NO to your child. Don't hit them, don't use empty threats, don't give them everything they want, feed them, make them wear a coat when it's cold, and a helmet when they ride a bike, AND freakin' say NO and mean it. This week I had a kid enrolled, who was apparently kidnapped from the custodial parent. I had several students make lewd sexual gestures to other students, a boy who said he watched a pirated version of a movie that had just been released the day before, foul language was flying, and all this before I am officially on duty. I actually apologized to a parent for waking him up, at noon, to tell him his son had flipped someone off and, been disrespectful to the 45 year veteran teacher who was guiding him through the district discipline plan. Tomorrow is Friday. I am going to teach. I am not going to spend my day "problem solving" with children who have the misfortune of having bad parents. I don't know what I am going to do with those kids who can't behave but, I will think of something before tomorrow. May peace and a strong prophylactic be yours from, The Goddess of Everything.
Today the Goddess speaks about herself: Do you feel torn between a desire to spend the day as quietly as you can, and your irrepressible restlessness? This was my horoscope, on Tarot.com, today. It also told me to be careful about creating unnecessary drama just to spice things up. Since I am the antithesis of drama queen that was a pretty funny suggestion. Anyway, my horoscope made me think. Irrepressible Restlessness. I've decided that is a good book title (copyright!), and many of you could probably contribute to a chapter or six. If you are not the biggest drama queen, I will have to look elsewhere for those insights. I will have to contemplate what this restlessness, irrepressibly means in my life, and write more on it later. Two books that have hugely influenced me this week: On Becoming Fearless, by Arianna Huffington (I'm going to be her in my next life), and Life Laughs, by Jenny McCarthy (I might choose to be her in another life, minus the spread in playboy, and the farting in an elevator filled with hot guys). Having Arianna as an icon in ones life might not seem as much of a stretch as subscribing to Jenny McCarthy-isms but, when you hear what movie my parenting style was based on you will better understand. Go right out, NOW, and rent Back to the Beach. It's when Annette Funicello and Frankie Avalon (as themselves) take their teenage son back to the beach, where they met, to visit their college aged daughter. My children have memorized the movie, as have I, and we are all better people for it. Plus, it is just darned funny. Even my grandma, Arlene, sat through the entire movie, and that woman never even sat down long enough to watch her favorite, The Lawrence Welk Show. Then you can read Jenny and Arianna, in that order. Here is an insight from Jenny on marriage: "So even though there are times you want to run like hell or when you feel stale and bored, remember that opening your heart and refilling it with love just might keep you married long enough to beat each other with canes." ( p.47) While Arianna inspires me to be a better person, Jenny just gets it said. May peace and a sturdy cane be yours from, The Goddess of Everything.
Today the goddess speaks about herself: Major stress time in my life, and it is capitol N o w. Wednesday afternoon I drug my husband to the bar for straight shots. Then, he hauled me home for smoking and cursing in front of the outdoor fire. (I did all of the smoking and cursing; he built the fire -- we were made for each other) Yesterday, I called up two other hot chicks, and we headed down to the pier for drinks in funny glasses with chips and seven different kinds of salsa. Sometimes you can only commiserate over mango and blackberry salsa. (It's a girl thing) Two days of partying should have assuaged my restless soul but, tonight I find myself downing one limoncello after another, and licking the wrapper of an old chili-chocolate bar. Sadly, I am home alone. Not even the fear of gaining weight, from my excessive stress disorder, is slowing me down. We are supposed to be having prohibition at the house. I climbed onto the kitchen bar stool, tossing the butt pillow aside, and rummaged through the liquor cabinet. The only bottles in there are filled with things even I wouldn't drink. Here is what I will NOT drink, even in desperation: triple sec, sake, gin, ancient kahlua, peppermint schnapps, and half a bottle of chambourg. There's vodka, but it is the special Icelandic vodka that hasn't been opened yet. I don't want to have to explain opening that for no special reason. Just as I was resigning myself to my Friday night alcohol free state, I remembered to check the freezer. Joy of joys. A shiny gold cap was sticking out from amongst the 3 cheese raviolis and the sweet potato fries. Vodka! Or, so I assumed. As I pulled the long-necked bottle out it seemed to be very, very yellow in hue. Maybe lemon vodka? No, it was limoncello. Mmmm. . . the drink that Danny DeVito claimed he and George Clooney got wasted on the night before he went on The View. I don't know where it came from or, who put it there but was I happy to see it. Icy cold, it is an amazing drink. (Kind of girlie for Danny and George, if you ask me). What to drink it out of was my only thought. After snagging a martini glass from waaay back on the top shelf of the glasses we never use, I happily settled myself in front of the computer to watch last night's episode of Grey's Anatomy. Good thing I was drinking. The writers really let me down tonight. I am never watching that show again. No one had a happy ending. It sucked! This morning, everyone at Curves wanted to talk about it but, they held back in deference to me. They should have just hashed it out. An ending episode like that deserves a good griping over with the girls while they are all in a sweaty, breathless oblivion. I have nothing to do now except laundry for the weekend. Boring. I forgot to return a stupid movie rental from last night. I didn't even watch that movie. I didn't even rent that movie. Let the man return and pay for it. I'm going to have one last limoncello. May peace and an ice cold martini be yours from, The Goddess of Everything.
Today the goddess speaks about herself: The alcohol in the cupboard calls to me. It calls like a yodeler on an alpine mountain top, annoying but, crystal clear. Therefore today I have told my husband to prepare for in-house prohibition. We will drink no more after the last of the alcohol in the house has been consumed. Turns out there is quite a bit of liquor in the old cabinet above the fridge (not to mention the wine cooler). We are both doing our part to make prohibition happen. It could take weeks, if we go slow, so we are not going so slowly. I predict that we will be free of the devil Drink within 48 hours. I am now preparing myself with an elixir of wolf berry juice and painkillers. There will not be a drop of spirits, in this house, within the next two days, if it kills me. This is my declaration. May Peace and a cast iron stomach be yours from: The Goddess of Everything
Today the goddess speaks about herself: Oops! I did a little sliding off of my saddle recently. Those teeny little goddess jeans that I bought yesterday are not going to fit for long if I allow myself to backslide on the health plan. Thursday: Happy hour at Morton's with Mary and Karen. Karen didn't have a drink, why did I think I had to have one? I haven't had a drink in months. Well, what's one little glass of chardonnay after all? Turns out Chardonnay is a gateway to two little glasses of Pinot Grigio, two little glasses of Chianti, and a portion of the mudslide (crazy good ice cream cake) I felt compelled to bring home from the big and tall store of restaurants. It's all Mary's fault, then, Lee's, then Barbara's. You know how it started, here's the middle and end. I wasn't feeling too guilty about the glass of wine Thursday night. The late dinner after the glass of wine was only a minor concern. Part of my plan is that no food will enter my body after 7 PM. We didn't even order dinner until 7:30. By then we had moved on to Southpark, I had the paella, it was just OK-- nothing to write home about. It's no fun when you splurge, and it isn't really worth it. My eyes did not roll back into my head in other words. But, I did sleep better than I had in over a year. I was wondering if I shouldn't have a glass of wine each night, strictly as a sleep aid. Funny, wine used to make me wake up in the middle of the night. Remorse woke me up in the morning though. I was thinking that that was my last slip for a long while. I went nervously to the gym Friday morning. It was my monthly weigh and measure day. I was sure I wouldn't show a loss after my dreadful behavior the night before. NOT TRUE! I'd lost pounds and inches. After the trainer ran the numbers she brought me a copy of my progress since the very beginning. I've lost a lot of weight, baby! Even more inches! She said that I was doing so well she was going to nominate me for Member of The Month. This was just the incentive I needed to stay firmly in the saddle with my thighs clenched and toes pointed down. I took my report card, from the gym, home to show my husband. He rewarded me well. . . OK, I had a little lapse on Thursday night -- no big deal. Saturday, I raced to the mall to meet my sister-in-law for power shopping and a belated birthday lunch. Since I'd lost so much weight everything looked good on me. Lee and I had a great time, sharing a dressing room, and telling each other how good we looked. (Three kids and that woman can still wear a bikini; WOW!) We were grabbing shorts and shirts and dresses and shoes, barely looking at each item. Everything looked good on us so we bought everything. Luckily, everything was half off so we were feeling no pain when we headed out for lunch. The restaurant had just opened for business. I'd never heard of the chain, but apparently they are famous for their giant portions. I don't know what I was thinking when I ordered a martini. Lee didn't feel the urge to have a drink. Now, this is a drink I don't think I mentioned in my opening. This was some kind of crazy blue colored, rum martini. Looking back, I'm sure it was the Chardonnay talking. I'd raised my hand once now, I had somehow forgotten to say, "Just water for me, thanks". It was no small drink either. In my defense I did not drink all of it. I also barely made a dent in my ginormous lunch offering. The waitress had to bring two boxes just for me (giant boxes). Lee looked over at the drink to which she had just treated me. I looked too. It looked kind of forlorn but, what could I do? I was going to be driving in the next five minutes. That's when the waitress brought me my 'free' birthday treat. She had thoughtfully wrapped it up for me as she could see I was kind of a wimp in the cleaning my plate department. I tried to give the dessert to Lee but, she just smiled at me and told me to take it home to my kids. MY KIDS DON'T EAT SUGAR. This humongous concoction of ice cream and chocolate was not going to be calling to them from the freezer all night. I gave birth to mutants. Non-sugar eating mutants!! When I got home I ignored the voice in my head that was shouting, "Throw it away! Throw it away!" and popped it into the freezer right along with the containers of extra fudge sauce and whipped cream (there was even a marachino cherry peaking out from the center of the whipped cream). Quickly, I ran upstairs to try on all of my new clothes. This was to remind myself of why I eschew monster calorie loaded sweets. Trying on all of my new clothes did take my mind off of the devil in the freezer. Plus, it was family dinner night at Barbara's. The boys hadn't eaten all day in anticipation. The youngest was even experiencing low blood sugar fatigue such was his dedication to saving room for a nine course dinner at Barb's bistro. OK, here is where it is Barbara's fault; if she hadn't decided to put on these monthly dinners, and if we hadn't gone to the last one and been so impressed that we arranged to have the boys join us for this dinner, I never would have had four more glasses of wine. While last month, I had easily said, "Just water, thanks," this month the food begged to be partnered with wine. (I did pass on the pre-dinner champagne). The asparagus wrapped in prosciutto called out for pinot grigio. The eggplant parmesan cried for Chianti, and the Chianti soaked pear sang as if it's heart was breaking to be partnered with one final taste from the glass (so, it was a pretty long pour. Is that my fault?) I wobbled home on my high heels. I told myself that this was it for months and months. I would not need to indulge my inner calorie hog again for ages. But, oh how the saddle slips when it has been loosened. It really needs an expert to tighten the straps, and I am no expert! I made it all day Sunday without even thinking about the dessert in the freezer. Well, other than to try to talk my eldest son into eating it before he took himself back to college. (Did I mention that I gave birth to mutants?) He just laughed at me and told me to toss it. TOSS IT! This is free birthday mudslide for God's sake. It will stay in that freezer until someone eats it, or it turns to inedible ice cream goo. Turns out that someone was me. About 4:30 in the afternoon I took that sucker out of the freezer and carved of a little sliver. Then, I went back and carved off another little sliver. As I was wrapping it back up for the second time something in my brain turned on; some little voice in my head, maybe my mutant son's said, "Toss it", and I did. I didn't just throw it in the garbage under the sink where I could dig it out in five minutes either. I tied that devil, with its extra fudge, whipped cream, and half of a maraschino cherry and I put it in the outside garbage!! Yeah baby! Take that! Girlfriend is clenching her thighs for all she's worth. I will not lose my seat completely. I may be under the horse but, I am still attached to that saddle. May peace and a firm grip be yours from, The Goddess of Everything.
It's time to be funny again. I haven't been, or felt, particularly funny the last couple of months. Last night I went to see, 'Wild Hogs'. I laughed so hard I wet my pants-- several times. I have no idea what criteria movie critics use to critique a movie. I don't think they consider the watchability factor. Sure, a Brokeback Mountain, or a Capote are swell movie fodder, but you don't necessarily want to watch them more than once. Give me a two star movie any day over an art film. There's a time and place for artsy fartsy, but there are many more times and places for fun-time movies. The best time I ever had at a movie was watching, 'Snakes On A Plane', at the Baghdad, eating beer and pizza, and shouting at the screen with the rest of the movie revelers. I knew it was going to be good, and it was! This year I refused to see most of the Oscar nominated films because they were too much of a drag. I need laughter in my life. Not watching the movies didn't stop me from dressing up like a dreamgirl, and partying down at the nearest Oscar party. However, the only movies I cared about were Dreamgirls, and Little Miss Sunshine. Two very fun movies. This is going to be the year of fun for me. No raining on my parade from anyone, inside or outside of my personal reality. Today I went shopping to buy a new pair of pants, and a purse. I came home with two hot dresses, a ridiculous pair of shoes, and three pairs of wild earrings. I will not be constrained by the hum-drum right now. Apparently, hum-drum is not an exclusive category. I may have to wear evening gowns to teach in, having no desire to buy sensible attire, but the kids will love it! Who knows what the future holds, but at least I am sure it won't lack for laughs. May peace, laughter, and a silly pair of earrings be yours, from, The Goddess of Everything.
Today the goddess speaks about herself: Aaahhhhhh!!!! Is this day over yet?! I have been busting it out all day. This morning I conducted a conference call while applying my eyeliner, attended several meetings in person, and over the phone. Plus, many many e-mails to keep everyone in the loop. This is so not me. I am not this person. I like to spend my days with small children, and my nights with my honey or the girls or both. I like the hardest part of my day to be when the students are hooligans in their pigtails and shiny, innocent face disguises. KIDS! Kids are adorable. Adults? Not so much. (Yes, a phrase coined by Jon Stewart) Yesterday we were talking about Presidents' Day. Several of the kids wanted to know why we didn't go to school, and what they were expected to do that day to 'honor' the presidents. I told them they could write a letter to the president. (Now I live in a largely conservative town, some of these kids' parents don't think the abolition of slavery was necessarily a good thing). I try not to bring up the current occupant of the White House. It is just all too depressing for a Progressive, Bleeding Heart like me to hear the dark-side opinions of adults sweetly intoned out of the mouths of babes. Today was a little different. It must be a sign of the times (maybe those poll numbers are true) because so many of them raised their fists to say the prez was a bad guy. So, when I suggested they write a letter they said, "He wouldn't listen to us; He does whatever he wants; He doesn't care about anybody". Wow. Well, I assured them, regardless, they still have a voice. they can write, with respect, what they think the president should do, in their opinion. At the very least, they'll get a form letter back, on White House stationary. If they are very lucky they will get a glossy photo to throw their spit wads at, or perhaps store their gum upon. I know one of those things came in real handy for me in the early eighties. Think poor, unwed mother, college student trying to get an education, and find a sliding scale clinic while Reagan was president. Think again sister! Those were dark days. Thank goodness I had that glossy photo, of the guy with the big hairdo and movie star smile, on which to take out my frustrations. May peace and a clear conscience be yours from: The Goddess of Everything
Today the goddess speaks about herself:
Can't sleep, can't sleep, can't sleep. . . . . . . . . .
Once again I was awakened by some unknown force only to lie in bed, feeling deprived of a full night's rest. Is it the damned moon shining in my window? Is it a surge of hormones knocking my brain into hyper drive at four in the morning? What? What? What?
I don't want to get up and start my day because I know that I will be drooping again two hours later. I have this surge from four to six. I have no idea what causes it, but I will have no problem blaming the moon. The very same moon that insists that I come outside to look at it. Never mind that it is twenty-eight degrees outside (that's below freezing, for you non-Americans). Never mind that there are wild animals alerted to my presence as I stand underneath its demanding glow, shaking my fist. Although I probably look too crazy to the bears, raccoons, coyotes, mountain lion, and fox to bother with. They are more than likely shaking their heads at the idiot standing in her 'Juicy' pajama bottoms and Cher, The Final Tour, t-shirt railing at the moon with waving fists and two feet of hair going in every direction.
Fine. It's big. It's bright. It lights up the night sky, and causes the waves to go in and out.It's a freaking force of nature. I get it. It's THE MOON!
Does it have to come out so many nights of the month; waning, waxing, gibbousing. It never stops. Night after night after night another phase insists that I personally, stand under it, and admire it's versatility and brightness. "Look at me, I'm full" "Look at me, I can make a crescent" Blah, blah, blah, blah, freakin' blah.
I JUST WANT TO SLEEP!
May peace and a dark bedroom be yours from, The Goddess of Everything.
It's a sunny day outside but, I choose to sit here in front of my portable luminaire. You know, the light box that is supposed to replicate sunlight for those with SAD. My annual Seasonal Affective Disorder started coming on a couple of weeks ago. It really hit last night. All of a sudden. The experience was very similar to feeling the 'whoosh' of serotonin leave my brain during PMS time. I was just sitting in the big chair, the one that makes me feel like that Lily Tomlin character -- fill in the blank -- I can't remember her character's name; the little girl one, who sat in a big chair. My big chair also has a giant ottoman so, my feet were up. I had my dinner plate on my lap. One minute I was enjoying my dinner and, caring about watching a particular show on TV. The next second I just didn't care about anything. I mechanically finished my dinner and kind of zoned out for an hour. I went to bed very early in the hopes that I would feel better in the morning. Morning. Nada. Sigh. I think my melanopsin proteins jumped ship, possibly my cones and rods as well. What's a SAD girl to do when she doesn't have enough melanopsin ganglion cells to trick her into feeling happy in the gloom of winter? I need some feedback here. Make it funny; I'm not interested in self-help. I've read all of the books. I need to laugh! Except-- wait-- I take that back. I do not want to be sent a lot of cute pictures of puppies and internet jokes that have been sent to me a million and one times already. (Trust me, there are no new ones). I need something bawdy, baby! I need to kick up my heels and DANCE!!!!! My remedy for my lack of melanopsin thingies is a laundry list of little things that may help. 1. Sit next to my light box for 30 minutes 2. Wear jeans to work on top of sexy underwear 3. Wear a sparkly top and pink lipstick 4. Make my students dance around me and sing 'She's The One', from A Chorus Line 5. Make slime, in Science, instead of doing the boring lesson that was planned 6. Buy a new pair of earrings Retail therapy really helps a lot but, I don't love to shop when I am in this mood. Also, there are a limited number of stores in my town. I can however, find earrings at the local art gallery. Notice that there are no food treats on my list. Due to my my internal flora balancing, of late, I have no cravings. Damn. All I do is sit around losing weight. If a girl can lose weight just by sitting around, and still be feeling down in the dumps, you know this is not the normal blues. So, I have a plan. A plan should be on my list of What To Do In Case My Melanopsin Proteins Jump Ship.(copyrighted title to my next book) 7. Make a plan to compensate for loss of melanopsin ganglion cells I have my plan. Do you have yours? I'd love to read your list! May peace and an abundance of melanopsin thingies be yours from, the Goddess of Everything
I keep staring in mirrors to see if I have any pigment left in my skin. A week of snow days kept me indoors and out of the light. There isn't one teensy tiny bit of melatonin left in my biggest organ. (No, not my goddess gut! Go skim your high school biology book now. I'll wait.) I'm already one of the whitest girls on the planet. If I don't get some significant reys soon I am going to fade away completely. Yesterday, at the market, I noticed another white chick leaning against the bin of oranges with her face turned up to the sun. She had her eyes closed and looked very serene. I was tempted to join her but, thought better of it, when I realized the glare from our duel foreheads could permanently blind anyone walking toward us. When I was a kid I had all sorts of melatonin. Some people even described me as being olive skinned. I could tan like a marshmallow over an open flame. Not anymore -- now I get very red before peeling, revealing even whiter skin; even my eye color is fading. I don't even want to talk about what is underneath my L'Oreal medium golden brown tresses. I have to say that getting older does have its advantages. For instance life insurance companies stop bugging you. Also, doctors want to give you a lot of drugs. They just offer them unsolicited. It's very nice. When my dentist inquired about my jaw pain and, I told him it was still 24/7, he offered to write me a prescription for something that would RELAX me. Only a few years ago he was sending me to physical therapy, bio-feedback, and the acupuncturist. My MD was the same with my recent knee injury. When the MRI didn't show any damage, he prescribed me a life-time supply of a top notch pain killer. Score! When I was younger these same docs would have tried to get to the root of the problem so I could get back on the ski slopes. Apparently, I am now past the point of no return. At the ripe old age of 44 and three-quarters I get to look forward to a life of sedation. Now all I need is for my alternative health practitioner to give me a medical MJ card and I'll be livin' large. Losing weight is very interesting at this age too. The more weight I lose, the more skin heads south. (Weight loss is only attained past the age of 40 by careful 'hormone balancing' -- don't even get me started) As much as I would like to celebrate my smaller pant size, I can't help but notice that my rear is getting caught in the top of my socks, and my breasts keep getting tangled up in my belt loops. And, I don't know what drug I need to cope with the belly skin that just won't snap back to its original position but, I want it! I really really do. Don't get me wrong; I'm still a red hot goddess! I'm just a little confused about how to arrange all of my parts into my clothes to achieve a desirable shape. It's a little like sculpting. I've become an artist of sorts. So, I have that going for me. Guess that will be my second career -- 'Sagging Body Part Rearranger'. I'm already a pretty good hair and face painter. Really, what I am at this point is a blank canvas, or a giant mass of sculpy clay. Hmmm. . . I always knew that I was a work of art. May peace and graceful aging be yours from, The Goddess of Everything
The days have been speeding pleasantly along. I have been up to everything and nothing. Work , work work, then two snow days in a row. Work again, go to class, come home to dinner, knit, watch Frasier, and go to bed. Not a bad way to fill the days. I'm taking a long weekend workshop called, "High Trust". Hours upon hours of sitting on a hard chair. Every ounce of my blood is now located in my delectable derriere. The high trust relationship I have with my own body, I fear, is almost certainly hopelessly corroded. Not a lot of thinking takes place in my lower regions thus, I believe I am not getting as much out of this class as I had hoped. Perhaps tomorrow I can stand on my head. I doubt that this would be anything out of the ordinary for the teacher as he is quite the cuckoo crazy. He has done/said everything except stand on his head. The first day he said that he would never use "that language" and today, the third day he is exploding the F word here and there. Now saying F- word, in my opinion is just like saying the actual word. Anyone within hearing automatically thinks the word in their head when they hear F-word. Am I not right?Mr. C. C. has totally given up the pretense and is using it in varying conjugations. I don't really care if people explode the F-bomb every now and then. What does bother me is some integrity imbalance in stating one will never do something and then, doing it. There were a few other irregularities like this. My reaction to this kind of conflicting behavior is to become a bit off-balanced myself. I had to go to my happy place several times today. My happy place is at home with B. I love to be curled up next to him doing anything. Lately, anything is knitting. B. gave me, "Stitch & Bitch", for Christmas. It's a beginning knitting book for women of a certain age. I love it. Everything is spelled out WITH pictures! After the author has talked you through knitting your first stitch, she says, "Sucked, didn't it?" And, it did!! Tell it like it is sister! I have tried to learn to knit a number of times over the years. I felt like I was knitting with the hooves of a water buffalo for hands. No, that's wrong. They don't have hooves, do they? Or, do they? Anyway, you get the picture. Knitting with any kind of hooves is not going to go well. After my first attempt at some oblong shape with a couple of unplanned button holes (I'm calling it a doll's blanket), I have advanced to a three colored scarf. It is quite satisfying to watch it grow each night. Last night I noticed that the last two squares seemed to be a little wider than the first three. I counted the stitches and there were 12. I had started out with 10. Now, in the book she says to unravel it no matter how far along you've come. I understand the concept of fix it now so you won't forever being noticing your mistake, and dwelling on it. But, I am a positive person. I choose to see this little foible as charming rather than aberrant. Knitting was a wonderful way to spend my time during the two snow days. I could stay in my pajamas all day, hang out on the couch, watching drivel on television, and still be productive. It was great! Practically no guilt. I will eventually have to deal with the 4 inches of dog hair on every surface of the house since I did NOTHING but knit for two days. The amount of dog hair inside rivals the amount of snow, on the ground, outside. No joke. We can't go half a day without swiffering if we don't want to be wading through wafting drifts of animal fluff. Hmmm . . . maybe I could knit a dog hair rug . . . My friend, Tita, claims to be the Queen of Dog Hair but, I don't know. I think I am definitely in the running for the title. Tomorrow is another day in class. I will try the standing on my head thing and let you know how it goes. Wish me luck! May peace and your own happy place be yours from, The Goddess of Everything.
Today the goddess speaks about herself: It was a cranky, after the full moon day, for me. Right off the bat I was dithering in my head. Dithering in the head is when many thoughts, that make you anxious, queasy and mad-all-over-again (that would make a great title for another blog) were rolling over each other in waves--literally, IN MY HEAD. It started with reading my horoscope. No, it started with me not being able to sleep, getting up to hang out on the net, and reading my horoscope. Anyway, 2007 is apparently going to be a roller coaster ride of change for everyone. This got me to thinking about all of the changes I would like to make in my life. Big changes, Baby! Right at the top is my job. I work in an insane asylum. Individual people are fine. The basics of my job can even be very enjoyable but, the system itself is bad enough to make a refined goddess rip a few heads off of skinny little necks. As I was obsessing-I mean mulling things over, my son was running around getting his stuff together to go snowboarding. He's an adult with his own apartment but, my brain still goes into worst case scenario mode anytime he is about to do anything remotely dangerous; and I know about it. He is a very conscientious son. He will always call me after the fact. I got a call right after he jumped out of an airplane the minute he turned 18. However, he does not know that things like, snowboarding, which he has done several times since being home for vacation, is one of those things I would rather not know about until he is safely home. (A goddess lets her children experience life without showing them her fear. . . for the most part). With all the dithering in my head I was kinda lookin' for a fight when who should arise from the marital bed but, my beloved. Our first fracas was over the tea kettle. He turned the stove off and opened the lid on the pot letting the steam out. This always makes me shake my head. Today I wasn't about to stand for it! I took the kettle off of the burner and snapped the lid shut. We argued over which way kept the water warm longer. Of course, he had no logic to back him up on this; I had just taught a two month unit on weather. I think I know which way keeps the heat AND the water in best! Well, you can kind of see how the morning went. We have nothing big to fight about and he doesn't really fight anyway; it's so maddening. Plus, after a half a dozen little tiffs like this he had to go to work. I got three separate kisses out of the deal. I did make him reach up from below and kiss me over the top of the stair railing. Ha! Take that! My day at work was ok. It was at the end of the day, when I was happily painting on the stage, where my worry button was pushed. The secretary found me to tell me I had a phone call. For one second I was relieved to hear my beloved's voice. The next second I was quelling panic. Our son had tried to call but, had not gotten through. He also wasn't answering his cell. Every kind of worst case went through my head: landed upside down in a snowbank, went off of a cliff, sustained a head injury, car accident on the way down the mountain. . . Since there was nothing I could do but wait I went back to painting with my cell phone in my back pocket on high and vibe. I spent the next hour trying to visualize my son in a safe place, waiting for a phone call that never came. Every time I tried tried to call either my husband or son there was no answer. Finally, I decided to go home to wait. As I drove up to the house I could see that my son's car was parked right where it always is when he's home. Of course, I was relieved. However, when I walked into the house to find my beloved, blithely sitting on the couch, eating bread and cheese, and watching the Sci Fi channel, I went from a little freaked out to a lot more than mildly frustrated. (A little head ripping off would have felt good). A switch clicked over in my head just then, and a voice said, "Refrain from ripping off anyone's head; hug your loved ones, who are safe, and ask what they want for dinner." So, girding my goddess loins, I did just that (after a teeny, tiny, itsy, bitsy bit of reproach). May peace be yours in this year of change from, The Goddess of Everything