What year is this?

Years... it's been years since I've even thought about writing.. okay, maybe I've thought about it.  I've thought about it enough to hear the voices in my head that say.. "Forget it! You don't have a voice that can be translated! No one cares what you say: you're erradict and scare people though your writing like you do in real life. If someone wants to hear what you have to say~they'll tell you!  But less you forget, they won't."  It's the same voice that crosses over to pretty much every aspect of life.. the "You best be finding a gym girl, that ass is dropping and those quads are equal to your average 70 year old. It's the voice that says "You should have taken back end on that album and put your name out there!" "You're a fool for worrying that people will think you're bragging or 'sleeping with one of the band,' so you fucked yourself and now you can't even look at that.

Maybe the voice came along because of the ADHD; the struggle to remember how to fly the same rig day after day and not knowing why.  It was certainly added to by the person you respected that asked if you were a heroin addict because you lost and found 50k all in one day.  Yes, physically lost 50k.  Later, after you ran from that person, friends and the city that was helping you make a name you started realizing that there's something more and that the Dr. might be right.  By then, bridges had been burned and taking the meds would help daily but they don't reconstruct those bridges.  They don't fix the damage you did to yourself.  Something you did, something you said with a broken filter.  The image you've created in your head from glances that weren't even meant for you.  But they might help you look in the right direction.  Maybe..

After all of this, you now find yourself in the amazing position of not being able to identify with the things that made you feel whole, powerful, happy, fulfilled, proud of you as a being.  Why?  Well, now your disabled and most days feel like you should just spare yourself and others the joy of your leaving your home.  Pity Party for One?  YES.  Yes, I'll take it.  I'll take that bitch and ride it like a Brahma Bull that's late for dinner and not amused by the flies.  It's not that my disability is worse than any other, it's not that my disability is even worthy of a second glance.  It's that the bitch took all that I worked for with those fucking meds, and constant battles against who may have the biggest dick, because, of course, when you don't have one yours has to be bigger.. Bigger as in large enough to swing over your shoulder and wave it around.  It's best if when you whip that bad boy out and it slaps the stage you don't whince because it's hot.  Just smile and throw it over your shoulder like a warm scarf in a blizzard.  Don't worry they'll call you ice queen so the analogy will fit.

After you've worked your way through the mourning of your old life, (yes, the one you finally got a grasp of) and accepted that you now have this ridiculous issue that warrants the use of a Service Dog. After you've dealt with the crippling doubt brought on by everyone assuming the beast has to be for emotional support, that you have to be faking it because you're working on lifting your ass off the floor and finding your quads again.  Thats when it hits.. you don't know who you are.. you don't know where your support lies.  you don't know how to become a better person again... you only know that you want to hide.... The voice now, it doesn't berate you, it doesn't have to.  The voice now says "if you'd moved left instead of right, you might be fine.'  The voice doesn't help you to feel patient, or fine.  The voice is still your tiny nemesis

the classism of working out~

Lately I've come to realize there is a secret hierarchy  to working out in the world of "elite" (read expensive) studios.   It's a subtle thing that one might not notice if you were just passing through or even taking a tour and thinking about joining.  This, of course, is by design.   But once you're in the locker room the gloves (or leggings if you prefer) are off and it's an all out war.  Subtle as far as wars go, but it's there.  


Besides work... lets face it, I have one of the most rewarding jobs in the world and not doing it, well.. sucks!  The only thing that comes close to work?  Working out.  
Meeting people has never been my thing.. My husband, he was literally pushed into me by a friend that said "you two will go have a drink and get to know each other, TONIGHT!"  I of course,  was too busy.  Yes, I live in the constant danger of being a legend in my own mind.   Why go drink with some guy that is incredibly handsome and makes you laugh in the first 3 min, when you're  enjoying ones wonderful job and headed home to be with your critters?  In not so many words and omitting the critter part I said just that,  to which he said "You can wait."   So I did and proceeded to "lean" literally into him, which apparently means I made the first move.  He did text first though!  Anyway I digress, if I'm not working out and not working for a living then I'm not having any social life.. Enter my attempt to be physically fit while also being the walking wounded and the class wars that come with being a part of an environment that generally attracts an incredibly competitive lot. 

It begins upon arrival,  the race for the parking spot.  This is something that usually involves a bit of swearing, lots of hand gestures and a few choice words.  This is also a time when there's NO mercy.  Just because you know the driver in that Tank of an SUV saw you pulling into the spot, this should not lead to the illusion of comfort and relief of parking.  The driver of said SUV will run that Bitch right over your cute little car with zero regard for you or your car.  NONE!  Trust me here people, this is just shy of throwing someone into a pit of vipers and watching as they flail about trying to escape. 

Then after you've parked, retrieved your bag and somehow made it through the human version of Frogger, you've arrived in the lobby.   Sadly, this is no safer than the car park.  This is where you will gently but quite firmly elbow your way to the front of the que to scan your card that says you are worthy and fluid enough in your cash flow to be here.   This is also where someone who can't afford to workout in said establishment will look down there nose at you based on how you might look upon arrival.  It's best to smile and say something witty as you march past them and hope they don't feel the need to snicker at you, as opposed to what you've said as you move on to your designated workout area.  Remember people, these are the beings that will decide if you will fit in said workout area or if it's suddenly "full".  So, no matter how much you'd like to remind them that there are several different demigods that could strike them down at any moment,walk on.     

Now your onto the claiming of the coveted spot.  The place that might some how supply you with fresh air and hopefully block anyone from getting to close to your air space.   This is a dual event, if you can get a spot that serves this purpose you just might not have to smell that guy next to you that is clueless as to why he should, oh I dunno, SHOWER.  Or maybe it'll keep the person away from you that thinks blowing snot out of there nose like their in the 18th mile of the NYC marathon is acceptable.  If you're late and have to squeeze in next to someone of the "compulsive mat placement" category, you will more than likely feel the wrath of their stare.  Yes, this is real people.  There's been times that I've had to stop what I was doing and move mid~workout due to the glare that is headed my way, that should it burn through me it just may explode a small planet.  Once you finally get through all this theres the dreaded locker room....

This is where the classicism really shines.  This is where the professional showgirls throw down with the A-list strippers and the "Convention" girls.  You know who they are, they're  the ones that stand in front of that beautiful new item you've seen while at a convention  giving that princess wave, showing you how much you need to order not one, but three top of the line new Bentleys all of the same make and model.  These girls are out to show all that they are the creme-deal-creme of 5'10 breastless, perfect hipped specimens.   This is where the gloves come off and god help you if you've taken anything less than a Spin class followed by 90 minutes of Battle Ropes, you're a born failure!  Should you be a mere 5'8" and have breast, you're screwed.  Especially if you're anything but angular, if you're you know a step above average but below a Hollywood 9.
Then there's the sub group of girls... These are the girls with Breast implants, Arse implants and their bottom three ribs removed.  These girls, of course, are born like this and have had no surgical help (no really, isn't this a god given look?)  How do you know this?  Because they prance around naked with not a scar to be seen.  These girls, they've come to take the spin class followed by Hot Pilates after their 90 minute weight lifting session earlier today at the gym.   Generally, they're nonworking and some how always sporting the finest of everything.  These girls don't even bother with the other groups of women.  They don't need too, they've got someone to take care of any confrontations for them, usually someone named Boris or Neil.  

Should you find yourself trying to hold your own and some how navigating all the cliques make sure to bring an outfit that will at least leave the girls out front wondering if you're the same person that showed up 2 hours before.  This may be your only chance of surviving.. And if that doesn't work Starbucks always works.. Just assume whatever it is you bribe them with it's smothered in whip cream and full of calories.  Why? Because maybe, just maybe it'll go straight to their hips!

Whiskey Bottles over Jesus~

Neither of which to I have in my life right now~ and the latter will probably not be crossing my path anytime soon. 
Perhaps it's the holiday but it's an odd day.  Not really a holiday but a day of memorial and that is what's impacting me.  Unfortunately, it hits home for so many.  Fortunately so many choose to be thankful for what others have done for them.  Me, well, it makes me home sick for my family and friends.  Friends that are spread out over the country, the ones you wish you had so dearly near you.  And the ones you've lost before their time.  Most days you can pretend life carries on without... But it's not real.  Makes you look for the shortest path to the bar, at least for a while.  Hence the "Whiskey bottles over Jesus for something to believe."


Maybe the motto of the day should be "Not forever, just for now.."  Now I think my garden needs more weeding before it becomes blistering hot out and the whiskey finds its way to my coffee.

Did you really have it if you didn't tell anyone?

A friend of mine is going through a bit of a stressful time.  She's been diagnosed with Breast Cancer.  She isn't the kind of person to run screaming to her bed and hide her head beneath her covers but she is concerned and she should be.  This is a woman who has researched every option until there are zero options to go forward with that she is not aware of.  In a nut shell, she's on it.

In talking to her about this a couple weeks ago I  mentioned to her that last year I went through the same thing....  Then today something strange happened, SHE CALLED ME OUT ON IT!  oddly I didn't have the answers for her: What kind did you have? (I don't know they just took it ALL away.  Why didn't I do chemo? (because they gave me the option of radiation and I said "Nope, if you got it, it's gone!") It occurred to me as she was drilling me on all this that she thought maybe I was making this up because she'd not known about it.  After our phone call I was about to text my friend living off in the south east and ask her "Did you know I had the Big C last year?"  But I stopped myself, took a breath and realized that she probably didn't either and here's why~  I was slated to get implants so the week before I went in for my semi annual boob squeeze and the test came back questionable.  The next few day went something like this:  My Doctor calls me and says I need to get an MRI and some other test that, quite honestly, wasn't gonna happen anytime soon the implant surgery had been saved for over an extensive amount of time, every since I'd seen the damage done from a lumpectomy a couple years before.  So, I said "o.k. I'll do that."  We said goodbye and I went back to doing whatever it was on that very busy day that I was surely having.  The phone rings again about 5 minutes later "Hello" Hi, This is Dr. Blank and I was just reviewing your results again and I really think you need to get some more testing.  "O.K. well, I will as soon as I can, you know the lack of insurance and all. "  Yes, I thought that might be an issue so we booked you for tomorrow morning 8 a.m.  everything is paid for.  "Uhm, o.k. Thank you.  I'm not sure what to say, except Thank you."  After hanging up it dawned on me that this might be something serious, something very serious, so I call my boyfriend and explain what's up.  Funny thing about all this is the night before I went for the boob zap I had told him that there had been a lumpectomy a few years before, his response "Clearly it was not big deal."  My response~ it was a pretty big deal a surgery a few days away in L.A. you know.  He says yep.  At that we let it go.

Not this time though.  Shortly after our call he's home for the day from work to hang out, odd considering his shift ends a few hours later. He was also kind enough to take the next day off without me asking..  All of a sudden, this shit got serious in his eyes.
Mine too, but it never dawned on me to go beyond my little home with the news because everyone was over reacting, I knew it in my heart.  At about 10 a.m. the next day I found out my heart was DAMN WRONG!  This was all slammed home when I hung up the phone at 10:10 with my surgeon who said we'd be going in on the following Tuesday, three days from then to clean this out and did I want to meet before then and talk about what was going on?  "Yeah, No. I trust you and you've already fixed what someone else screwed up before (see lumpectomy scar, seriously you don't get scars from them!!!!)."

So, he went in three days later, scraped it all out, did some otherworldly stuff to zap it then proceeded to reconstruct all in one fell swoop.  Yep, I was a lucky girl, I had one of the top rated Cancer docs in the U.S. who also did reconstructive and was kind enough to not charge me any extra for all the extra he had to do!

My Better half is the one that saw all the xrays and approved any all things while I was under, fortunately he has a great re-pore with my surgeon too.  When it was all said and done we told only a few people.. My Mom and dad, his parents and that may be it.  His brother found out three days later and called him and chewed him out for not telling him, then called me and chewed me out for not telling him while we had the kids out trick or treating the night before my surgery.  My response "I didn't want to ruin everyone's Halloween!'

A few weeks later I realized that I was in shock and telling people seemed redundant because I'd been down the lumpectomy road before..  Lesson learned, people do want to know.. even if sometimes we feel like they don't.

p.s. the above is my very large Baby Bengal snoozing!  just for fun.

Does it take away from Christmas if you punch the cashier?

It's that time of year, you know the time where you find yourself scrambling though the note program on your phone to see if by some strange gift of god you actually wrote down what you wanted to get people for Christmas, before your ADHD addled brain filed it under "remember this next August" file.  

Of course, I didn't.   So, I find myself standing somewhere generally close to the  item or such thinking " it's just there, on the tip of my brain."  We'll, guess what?  IT'S BLOODY NOT.  Fortunately my better half made me a list of things he'd like and emailed it to me, which is how I ended up in the Pig Patrol supply store, pretending that I'm not a tatted up rocker who doesn't belong and that I do think the idiot rent a cops there getting fake badges deserve my respect, while trying to wedge my way into the hand guns, so I can see I'd I like the fit of any of them. (Yeah, I'm a girl, yeah I like things that have the potential to rip ones head off and yes, I do think there should be much closer monitoring and gun control for people) lets put it this way, if you're not educated on its use and your not mentally stable you don't deserve access.  But alas I was not there for me.  

No, being there for me would be simple, I would just walk away when the self righteous twit behind the counter offended me, but since I was there  Christmas  shopping I had to stay.  So, when I suggested to the fool behind the counter that perhaps they could assist me in finding what I came in for, the item I called and confirmed they had, and she said "No, I'm sorry you'll have to return the day after Christmas, we decided to change our hours today and we're closing three hours early."   My filter just slipped away and I may have implied that she was in the wrong industry to be shoving people out at will, along with a "You are kidding right?" To this she replied by telling me I had no idea what I was doing there.  Yep, me who researches everything due to the above mentioned ADHD thing. After she hissed this at me I turned and spelled out for her exactly what to find and "please could you hurry it up, because as you said your closing soon"   Followed by " I think you almost hurt my feelings."  Twits response " I can't imagine anyone hurting your feelings!"  Ha. Touché my little friend, now run along while I watch that wanna be cop over there stick another pair of handcuffs down his pants. 

Yep, Tis the Season and lord knows I really do love it!

Highways~

It's fitting that currently I'm feeling the angst of reflection, choices made, choices not made and the directions it's caused me to stumble as its that time of year: fall. Ok that is only part of the reason, it doesn't help that it's that time of year when all Jews ponder how they can become better, even at peace.

Once again it is not likely that peace is hovering over my door, ready to bounce in at a moments notice, waiting for my mind to clear of all that is troubling.  Not that life is not joyful and a daily blessing but damn, it's fucking hard.

While kvetching with a friend this evening, reviewing our life's decisions, good, bad, and down right dumb, she asked the age old question of all people who strive for zen;
"Can't we just stand in the field of flowers and be thankful for all we have, all we've done, the ones we've loved? "  after contemplating this for a time I realized:  NO we can't.   How the hell do you stand in the flowery field of life when you're worried that the beautiful pond under that amazing tree is probably infested with Mosquitoes, which will more than likely give you West Nile.  Then there's the realization as you approach said pond to make sure the water isn't stagnant like various times in life, that you're very likely to be bitten by the snake that is having a beverage after sunning himself on that comfy rock you were considering resting on while you reflect upon how lovely this field of flowers is.  
Come on, there's a reason life is fear based for some of us.  No, not that what might jump out at me now fear (but yes, I am one of those too), but that where am I?  Who am I?  Who will love me when I'm old?  For that matter will I have to worry about the dozen cats I'll more than likely have, eating me?

The level of comfort one feels as they literally drive down the highway that they have previously driven the opposite direction on,  to their past destinations, to see the sparkling blue pacific long enough to freak out, turn around, and drive 2000 miles back to the beginning, to then wake up the next day, and go back yet again to the land of the size 0s and double D's only to discover its not that bad, that level of comfort can be some what discerning.
The desire to mull that over, that, comes with fear.  Maybe knowing that it comes with fear is what helps you accomplish the current journey you're on, without going postal on your fellow drivers somewhere between Nashville and Memphis.   Or perhaps it's that fear that helps you push on.

All we do know is that this fear, it's a learned process and it comes with time, loss and betrayal. The questions that come with finding out your loved one strayed, the longing to know why and is he more dubious because he chose a married woman?  Does this answer ones questions about how he feels about the institution of marriage, or for that matter a life with another.

This fear, it developed with the haunting of what might have been.  The people lost by ones choice, and the ones gone by their own actions.  Either way, it's rejection and with that comes pain, and pain equals fear.

Everything is compounded by time, the wonderful time that either guides you to that lovely pond, you know the one.  Yes, the pond where you see your reflection and the beauty of life in the character of your face as the swarm of mosquitoes come in and eats you alive.

There's a monster under my bed!

Mom Humor!

O. k. there's not but there should be.  As I purged my closet today I realized something about beliefs in things such as: If you treat your money with respect it will treat you with respect, If you store things under the bed your blocking your flow (flow of what I don't know), If you leave a hat on the bed it's bad luck, etc.  

For no reason what so ever it occurred to me that someone some where woke up one morning and thought "damn, yesterday sucked it must be because I left my hat on the bed."  Or, wow, I'm broke, it's because I don't respect my money.  Well, last time I checked money had no feelers and my hats didn't dance around surrounded by luck.  This, of course does not mean that you don't have a lucky hat or that if you send money to charity it won't come back to you in the form of warm fuzzies.  It means, life is what we make of it, good, bad and sometimes down right indifferent. 
The trick, I'm learning is to ignore the indifferent part and hang on to the good and even the bad.  Why hang on to both?  Because they form who we are and how we behave during those sucky indifferent phases of life.