Well, maybe I just need to blog -it-out here because my crabby pants are wound super tight tonight!
Reasons why I could POSSIBLY be so damn crabby the day after the oh-so-holly-jolly-Christmas-day....
1.) Felt like I was going to work on a Saturday as the roads were dead, weary was my head, and I didn’t feel particularly “alert” in any fashion.
2.) My boots were in slush for like 1/2 a f’n second and the socks were already wet before I stepped into work.
3.) I was all geared up to NOT eat shit today and was greeted by an 8 lb carrot cake someone brought as “leftovers.” Played the whole not-gonna-have-any, wait-maybe-a-little-slice, should-I?, no!yes!no!yes! game and the next thing you know I ate way too much carrot cake and scolded myself continuously all morning long. F%#k!
4.) Was told that I looked tired. Granted maybe I WAS tired but I don’t need confirmation .
5.) Felt sad. Just cuz. People aren’t always nice. A reminder that no one needs to be “good” anymore as Christmas is over.
6.) The Christmas tunes played extra loud today and I wasn’t in the mood for any more chestnuts roasting on an open fire lyrics. Do people really do that anyways?! And what the hell are chestnuts?!
7.) I realized that I am lonely. Lonely for friends and companionship and laughter. Things that should happen more often in my life than once every few months. Realized that I need to call more people. Got sad again. Realized no one calls ME.
8.) Got my period. Realized I had no tampons. Ran out to my car and found one in the glove box. May as well have been an icicle. I had to crank up the thermostat after that one.
9.) Realized how much I despise Winter and darkness and all things COLD. Realized I cannot escape this.
10.) After working a 10 1/2 hr day and finally starting to drive home I had the pleasure of being greeted by a douchebag on wheels right up on my ass within the first 2 miles. I impatiently switched lanes and so did he. Tailing my ass like a f’n moth to a flame. My inner road rage demon of which I never allow to release herself suddenly ripped through my chest with a vengeance that no part of my conscious mind could contain. GAME ON. I’m not sure what happened after that but I snapped. Suddenly it became the first scene from National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation. He sped by me just so I could see him wave his middle finger at me only to then slow down and revert back to tailing my ass again because the other lane was slower. I was now doing 75 in a 55 for fear his bumper would end up inside my trunk. This shit went on as I spewed words that would make a trucker cringe and literally was out of my mind. He then thought it would be a smart ass move to blow past me in the right lane as the vehicles started to veer towards the exit ramp. I saw his finger once again begin to raise although it never quite made it’s full erection because a yellow van with no windows suddenly decided it was NOT the exit they were to take and quickly veered directly in front of douchebag on wheels, cutting him off in such a manner that his only option was to veer off into the ditch. Where he stayed. Stuck I presume. My cuss words turned to praise. A loud, singing, hahaha, jubilantly revenge ridden type of ditty. Eat my slush succcckkkkkaaaa!! Ha!
Anyhow, so the day after Christmas wasn’t so jolly. In part I think it’s because there’s this ridiculously over-rated hype and build up for December 25th. What goes up must come down. Once it’s over, it’s kind of like “huh, well I guess life goes on now...” Life is good, life is great, but it’s possibly a reminder that we shouldn’t just feel this way once a year. The gathering of family and loved ones, the dressing up and cooking a nice dinner for those who mean something to you, or sending a card just to say hello with a few pictures inside could go on all year round at random instead of just this one month. I think that’s what hit me. I need more excitement in my life. I need more real conversation. More real moments. That is what makes me tick. Everyone goes into hibernation in Winter! Come out and play people! (Just not in the snow, I can’t stand that stuff)
So tomorrow? I vow to not be crabby. And if I run into douchebag on wheels again I’ll keep my mouth shut and be polite with a smile and a wave as I run him off the road.
Thursday, December 26, 2013
Tuesday, December 17, 2013
~Love Actually~
Love Actually....
It’s the movie of all movies. From the moment it starts, ten different baits are cast at my heart, hooked at all angles and reeled in. My soul is taken to a magical land of emotion for over an hour and a half then returned to my fluttering chest. Swollen, burning and beaming with sensations that only a good film can create. Every time I watch it I pick up on something new and the lessons so eloquently imbedded in this motion picture are endless. It’s like some intense educational course that rides you along a roller coaster of love, wisdom, and the ever-changing adventures of the heart.
Here is my take on the top TEN lessons on love brought to you by the glorious film “Love Actually”
1.) Love speaks no language, knows no age, and has no agenda. It has no comprehension of inconvenience, no sense of time and no control, yet if you let it, it can still conquer all.
2.) There may be more than one person in the world for you but nobody in the world will be able to tell you that when you are deep in the throes of love. If someone has it bad for a particular person they get tunnel vision and there is nothing you can do to change their mind.
3.) It’s true. Women love musicians. If you don’t have looks on your side I suggest you pick up a guitar and give it your all. Even the ugliest of musicians can find love! Look at Mick Jagger and Steven Tyler.
4.) If you go to a bar in Wisconsin it’s pretty easy to get laid, especially if you have an accent and are willing to shell out a few bucks to buy her drinks. Or just hit up the Midwest in general. Preferably the small towns, those girls like to party and are drawn to guys that “aren’t from around here.” It’s like a moth to a flame.
5.) Music touches the soul. Joni Mitchell writes from down deep and even though she claims to not know love at all I think she has a pretty good grasp at the strings of it. Evidence found in lyrics such as:
“Tears and fears and feeling proud to say "i love you" right out loud,
Dreams and schemes and circus crowds, i've looked at life that way.
But now old friends are acting strange, they shake their heads, they say
I've changed.
Something's lost but something's gained in living every day.
I've looked at life from both sides now,
From win and lose, and still somehow
It's life's illusions i recall.
I really don't know life at all.”
6.) You can’t help the ones you love. Whether it be your best friend’s wife, your much older and very married boss, or a brown eyed beauty that doesn’t speak a lick of English. It’s really worth saying again: You can’t help the ones you love. Sometimes it feels wrong and sometimes it feels right but either way sometimes it’s out of your hands. It may work in your favor or it may teach you a lesson. Do with it what you may but be aware that love can be a gamble. Know when to held ‘em and know when to fold ‘em.
7.) Love is everywhere. You can’t escape it. Even if your heart feels like it has been ripped out of your chest by a dagger and left to wither away slowly, aching and swollen and totally disarranged. I assure you love is waiting on the side lines. You may lose a spouse. Your wife may be sleeping with your brother. Your husband has a wandering eye. These things happen every day but I assure you LOVE will still be there, in a new form just around the corner. It waits patiently. You cannot hide from it, love will find you.
8.) The purchasing of jewelry is reserved for your significant other. Women always appreciate a nice piece of jewelry and don’t think otherwise. Nothing says I Love You more than diamonds.
9.) If you can’t say it show it. When you have no voice whether you’re too shy or just plain scared remember there is always the written word. Even if their ears can’t hear your voice, their heart can still be thrilled by the message. Remember that your eyes are the window to your soul, use them to your benefit!
10.) If you want the rainbow you have to put up with the rain. What could be worse than the total agony of being in love? The unknown. The risk. The rejection. The happily ever after dream that taunts you in your sleep. Loving someone who doesn’t love you back? Ugh, it can be brutal. But love, TRUE love is worth it in the end. It’s worth the fight. It’s worth the tears. It’s worth the risk of knowing you could lose it. Believe and open your eyes....
because love actually IS all around you. And love actually IS worth it all.
It’s the movie of all movies. From the moment it starts, ten different baits are cast at my heart, hooked at all angles and reeled in. My soul is taken to a magical land of emotion for over an hour and a half then returned to my fluttering chest. Swollen, burning and beaming with sensations that only a good film can create. Every time I watch it I pick up on something new and the lessons so eloquently imbedded in this motion picture are endless. It’s like some intense educational course that rides you along a roller coaster of love, wisdom, and the ever-changing adventures of the heart.
Here is my take on the top TEN lessons on love brought to you by the glorious film “Love Actually”
1.) Love speaks no language, knows no age, and has no agenda. It has no comprehension of inconvenience, no sense of time and no control, yet if you let it, it can still conquer all.
2.) There may be more than one person in the world for you but nobody in the world will be able to tell you that when you are deep in the throes of love. If someone has it bad for a particular person they get tunnel vision and there is nothing you can do to change their mind.
3.) It’s true. Women love musicians. If you don’t have looks on your side I suggest you pick up a guitar and give it your all. Even the ugliest of musicians can find love! Look at Mick Jagger and Steven Tyler.
4.) If you go to a bar in Wisconsin it’s pretty easy to get laid, especially if you have an accent and are willing to shell out a few bucks to buy her drinks. Or just hit up the Midwest in general. Preferably the small towns, those girls like to party and are drawn to guys that “aren’t from around here.” It’s like a moth to a flame.
5.) Music touches the soul. Joni Mitchell writes from down deep and even though she claims to not know love at all I think she has a pretty good grasp at the strings of it. Evidence found in lyrics such as:
“Tears and fears and feeling proud to say "i love you" right out loud,
Dreams and schemes and circus crowds, i've looked at life that way.
But now old friends are acting strange, they shake their heads, they say
I've changed.
Something's lost but something's gained in living every day.
I've looked at life from both sides now,
From win and lose, and still somehow
It's life's illusions i recall.
I really don't know life at all.”
6.) You can’t help the ones you love. Whether it be your best friend’s wife, your much older and very married boss, or a brown eyed beauty that doesn’t speak a lick of English. It’s really worth saying again: You can’t help the ones you love. Sometimes it feels wrong and sometimes it feels right but either way sometimes it’s out of your hands. It may work in your favor or it may teach you a lesson. Do with it what you may but be aware that love can be a gamble. Know when to held ‘em and know when to fold ‘em.
7.) Love is everywhere. You can’t escape it. Even if your heart feels like it has been ripped out of your chest by a dagger and left to wither away slowly, aching and swollen and totally disarranged. I assure you love is waiting on the side lines. You may lose a spouse. Your wife may be sleeping with your brother. Your husband has a wandering eye. These things happen every day but I assure you LOVE will still be there, in a new form just around the corner. It waits patiently. You cannot hide from it, love will find you.
8.) The purchasing of jewelry is reserved for your significant other. Women always appreciate a nice piece of jewelry and don’t think otherwise. Nothing says I Love You more than diamonds.
9.) If you can’t say it show it. When you have no voice whether you’re too shy or just plain scared remember there is always the written word. Even if their ears can’t hear your voice, their heart can still be thrilled by the message. Remember that your eyes are the window to your soul, use them to your benefit!
10.) If you want the rainbow you have to put up with the rain. What could be worse than the total agony of being in love? The unknown. The risk. The rejection. The happily ever after dream that taunts you in your sleep. Loving someone who doesn’t love you back? Ugh, it can be brutal. But love, TRUE love is worth it in the end. It’s worth the fight. It’s worth the tears. It’s worth the risk of knowing you could lose it. Believe and open your eyes....
because love actually IS all around you. And love actually IS worth it all.
Friday, November 1, 2013
~The Tree In Me~
Lay down my roots and plant me up
a portrait of sorts and mixed up muck
through heat and chill and winds whipped raw
I sprouted. I weathered. I owned. I saw.
There’s a fire that burns. Inside the tree of me.
It gleams of love dripped in mystery.
It’s bolder than a forest of vibrant dreams
Twisted weeds. Torn up. Laced tight at the seams.
My colors are sporadic, adapting to my tree.
I open one eye. Tuck it all inside of me.
Swaying within the winds of my mind
Hope flutters. Wilts. Leaves burdens behind.
Seeds can flourish but with knowledge and might
A regret. A whisper, A struggle. A fight.
But it’s when the worst has finally past
Then the truth sets in. Blinds you. Like a flash.
Delicate am I in my firm little stance
Unaware of the beast. A game. A dance.
Of mingles and spice and leaves and rain.
Lifts you up high, cuts your branches to shame.
The storm can be bred from a glimmer of sun
Starts softly. Solo. Hugged up in a hum.
Rumbles of thunder haste to tackle your core.
Give you noise, and dilemma, and utter uproar.
Though withered up fierce and wrinkled inside
I took the beatings, I groaned in stride.
A strong arm pierced amid that gust
Spins all the maybes into one big MUST.
Mighty fierce am I. Tough as bark can be.
Grace ignites. Flares up. Batters the coat that covers me.
It nurtures through every ache. It weeps.
Tears shed. And water. Grinds the roots in deep.
Through contorted vines built on twisted lies
It glows. Truth burns. Pokes holes in jagged lines.
Roots intertwine around deceitful tales
A heart withers. Rebuilds. And thy will prevails.
Between Summer’s scorch and Winter’s freeze
Of farewells and loss and dampened dreams
Blossoms of Spring weaves the gold of Fall
My soul flies away while my insides crawl.
A trunk of secrets bears leaves of remorse.
I scoff. They shed. Grow up. Trek the course.
Inhale come together. Exhale fall apart.
Acceptance wraps me up. A noose around my heart.
Weathering it all. Those roots won’t quit.
Day in day out. They endure. They Commit.
Wrongdoings hidden in the shadow of dark.
Light brings out truth. Wisdom strengthens the bark.
I stand tall. I stretch far. The sky is my domain.
It fuels me. Heals me. The Earth. It knows my name.
I am shining in the NOW. That is the tree in me.
Beautifully weathered.
Firmly planted.
wild
scarred
.....and Free.
Wednesday, September 11, 2013
Not such a bad day after all....
I had a rough morning. A rough night rather. My little biological extension, my munchkin, my only, my 6-year old little boy with the longest legs on the planet was not doing well. He had an unexplained outbreak of hives all over his tiny frame and an itchy scalp, rashed up belly, a fever, and according to him “a tongue that felt scratchy and hot”. Poor little boo. He slept beside me as I lay awake to his scratching and rustling about trying to get comfy. His refusal to let us put any type of cream on the welts (because that would require us touching them) had left Steve and I to watch in sorrow as he chose the burning and inflammation over a remedy.
So yea, my night was not of the sleeping kind and by morning we had decided to split the day staying home with the little munchkin. I headed to work at 7 a.m. with a numb headache and a hot cup of coffee to save me. By 8 a.m. the hot cup of coffee in my cute new ceramic thermos had gotten knocked off the counter by my elbow during an urgent situation at work. It shattered and took 1/2 roll of paper towels to clean up. I had to shout out a quick “F my life!” just to validate the fact that this was NOT my morning. The icing on the cake of course was that I had my period and had forgotten to toss tampons in my purse (that would be the cherry on top of it) No pun, really people. My mood was sour and stressed until I started to print the reports for the day and clicked on the calendar day of Sept.11th.
Then I snapped into reality. And felt like a shit.
The switch flipped and I felt sorrow, regret, and then deep THANKS for the good news in my life. Such as:
I am ALIVE.
This is a day of remembrance for many lives lost but not for the life lost of MY husband, MY sister, or MY child.
I am glad to have a child covered in hives because that is all it is: HIVES. It will go away, he will get better, and the hugs I get will continue to multiply.
The sky isn’t falling. I am safe, worry free and loved.
I have a beautiful home that awaits my return every day.
I have the most exuberant free spirited bunch of giggle boxes for friends. I couldn’t have molded a better selection from my dreams than what I already have in my reality.
I have all my limbs and they work. My lungs have air and my eyes are clear. (I was really feeling grateful here...)
I have money to buy a new coffee mug.
I have the ability to create light at the end of the tunnel no matter how long or twisted that tunnel may be.
This is very important: I am having ice cream for breakfast tomorrow because life is too short to not spoil myself and because I CAN.
Lesson being is this: No matter how crappy your day is someone in the world is always having a worse day than you. No day is really that bad so as long as you can retire at the end of it and start a fresh one again in the morning. Be grateful for what IS and forget about the minor things that don’t really matter. Difficulties pass. Days move on. Life slips by. Hold onto the good things, blink away the hardships and keep looking forward towards the light because that is where the beauty is.
Saturday, August 10, 2013
Friday Night Confessions...
Vikings game? Free tickets? Whoo-hoo lezzzzzzgo! Ok, so perhaps I was more sold on the idea of a night out with friends and some cold beer at the end of the work week but what the hell. Game on however you want to look at it.
So we hip hop over to Grumpy’s bar last night to meet up with a bunch of our friends pre-game. Rocked a big ol’ plate of tater tots and some drinks then we walked our purple attired bodies over to the dome. I wore my one and only dark purple colored tank so at least I looked the part of a legit Viking/football fan, but that was about the extent of it.
This blog is a confession actually. So it’s not like I despise football or anything, it’s just that... well it’s not my “thing.” I used to cheer for it in high school and all, but that was mainly because I liked to dance and wear a short skirt and watch the boys run around in tight uniforms (that would be confession #1). Confession #2 is that I never truly understood all the rules of the game and thank god the other cheerleaders had somewhat of a clue or I would have been totally confused as to when I should be jumping and rah-rah-ing for joy or when to put on my cute little concerned face when the play didn’t go in our favor. Ok, so I’m not dumb (my I.Q. is pleasurably above average), but like I said, the sport isn’t really my choice of interest. I’d rather be shopping. (When wouldn’t I rather be shopping?) Or reading a book for that matter. I’m a book worm shop-a-holic who isn’t into football. Yup that’s me.
It was a blast though! Not because of the game or anything, I maybe watched 1 minute total. The conversation with the ladies though? Fabulous. We debated the "age span" of a Vikings cheerleader and how often we shower a week, it was great. I could sit and chat with women all night long while sipping beers and munching on popcorn. That was some damn good popcorn by the way, but $9 for a beer was completely nonsensical.
Oh yeah, this is a confessional. So confession #3 is that (*WARNING: this is cringe worthy) for the 2+ hours I spent sitting in my seat, semi-peeking up at the players running and tossing a ball 'round the field and no doubt some touchdowns happened (yes I know what that is), I can honestly say without a shadow of a doubt that I have NO idea what team they played. Not a clue. I know! It’s horrible! And the final confession I have is this: I have NO idea what the score was. Tsk-tsk. I’m still a fan though because I was wearing purple and I did scream a few whoo-hoos when prompted by screams and fireworks.
What I can tell you though is that the cheerleaders had gold pom-poms and white boots. Oh and my seat was blue.
Excuse me while I go figure out my penance....
So we hip hop over to Grumpy’s bar last night to meet up with a bunch of our friends pre-game. Rocked a big ol’ plate of tater tots and some drinks then we walked our purple attired bodies over to the dome. I wore my one and only dark purple colored tank so at least I looked the part of a legit Viking/football fan, but that was about the extent of it.
This blog is a confession actually. So it’s not like I despise football or anything, it’s just that... well it’s not my “thing.” I used to cheer for it in high school and all, but that was mainly because I liked to dance and wear a short skirt and watch the boys run around in tight uniforms (that would be confession #1). Confession #2 is that I never truly understood all the rules of the game and thank god the other cheerleaders had somewhat of a clue or I would have been totally confused as to when I should be jumping and rah-rah-ing for joy or when to put on my cute little concerned face when the play didn’t go in our favor. Ok, so I’m not dumb (my I.Q. is pleasurably above average), but like I said, the sport isn’t really my choice of interest. I’d rather be shopping. (When wouldn’t I rather be shopping?) Or reading a book for that matter. I’m a book worm shop-a-holic who isn’t into football. Yup that’s me.
It was a blast though! Not because of the game or anything, I maybe watched 1 minute total. The conversation with the ladies though? Fabulous. We debated the "age span" of a Vikings cheerleader and how often we shower a week, it was great. I could sit and chat with women all night long while sipping beers and munching on popcorn. That was some damn good popcorn by the way, but $9 for a beer was completely nonsensical.
Oh yeah, this is a confessional. So confession #3 is that (*WARNING: this is cringe worthy) for the 2+ hours I spent sitting in my seat, semi-peeking up at the players running and tossing a ball 'round the field and no doubt some touchdowns happened (yes I know what that is), I can honestly say without a shadow of a doubt that I have NO idea what team they played. Not a clue. I know! It’s horrible! And the final confession I have is this: I have NO idea what the score was. Tsk-tsk. I’m still a fan though because I was wearing purple and I did scream a few whoo-hoos when prompted by screams and fireworks.
What I can tell you though is that the cheerleaders had gold pom-poms and white boots. Oh and my seat was blue.
Excuse me while I go figure out my penance....
Saturday, July 13, 2013
The heart's connection to a pan of brownies: A dedication to my Mom
I believe that memories and feelings are tied to certain “objects or tastes” throughout our lives. For example, the smell of bubble gum (Hubba Bubba watermelon flavor) instantly takes me back 20 plus years and puts me in my childhood driveway, colored chalk in hand and drawing a hopscotch game onto the cement. I’m in jean shorts smacking and popping bubbles under the sun and can feel the warmth of the driveway on my butt. When I smell suntan lotion I can also simultaneously smell the fabric softener my Mom used on my beach towel and feel the sensation of my body laying on it, the tiny blades of grass poking through onto my back and the feel of sunshine on my face and the tightness of my ponytail.
Smells are huge for me and memories flood back once I catch a whiff of something familiar. Wrigleys Spearmint gum makes me think of my Grandma’s purse as she always carried that green gum with her and gave me a piece every time I rode in her car. Fried fish, boom I’m a child back at our cabin in Alexandria, I can hear the waves of the lake and my dad is standing over the frying pan with a spatula in hand and I can hear every sizzle. One of the biggest memory trips I get is when I smell baked goods. In particular, bars, cookies, and brownies. Oh, my Mom’s brownies were divine. I remember running through our front door when I got home from school and right away I’d know that she made them even before I saw the 9x13 pan on the counter. The scent gave it away. I’d open the lid and the frosting was still warm and gooey as if she had timed it just perfectly to when we walked in the door. She was so sweet like that. They always had a tiny little corner piece taken out because she always had to give it a taste. Damn they were good and I haven’t had them in years.
What I do have though is the recipe and so today I decided to glance it over. Hmmmm, well the only healthy ingredient on the list was the 1/2 cup of boiling water and I’m trying to eat very clean and conscious as of late so I thought I’d make a few substitutions. I mean it can’t hurt to swap a few things out right? So instead of butter I used coconut oil. White flour, bleh, I used some gluten free flour mix. I thought it looked a little thick so I added another egg. I didn’t use the regular white sugar Mom would use but opted for some raw cane sugar and a little coconut palm sugar. The mix looked the right consistency so I crossed my fingers and stuck it in the oven, getting excited for the wonderful smell that would soon fill my house.
Five minutes passed, then ten, then fifteen. What the hell? Did I forget to turn on the oven? Nope, it’s hot. I walked outside and walked back in, and still I smelled no chocolate. Did I remember to put in the damn cocoa? Yes, I had. Is my nose broken!? I opened up a jar of peanut butter and sniffed. No my senses were definitely in working condition. Then the timer went off but the smell never came. WTF!? Ok so I stuck the toothpick in and it was perfectly done and looked really good even though the smell was blank. Maybe the taste will make up for the non existing aroma?
Um, yeah, not so much. I let them cool just enough to dig a fork in and take a nice big bite. Huh? Where’s my Mom’s brownies? I got a hint of candle wax flavor on my tongue. This rectangular pan of dark brown something was a mirage to what should have been a sweet moist bite of warm chocolate sin. Granted, I hadn’t attempted to create the frosting yet but why bother if the base is all jacked up? Crazy enough though, the kid thinks they’re great (under a mountain of whipped cream that is).
Lesson learned: Some things you just can’t mess with. If it isn’t broke, don’t fix it. And honestly? Sometimes it’s worth it to just keep things as they are, even if they’re on the unhealthy side for the sake of memories and satisfaction. My Mom had tons of cookbooks and recipe boxes and this was the ONE AND ONLY brownie recipe she reverted back to for as long as I can remember. Obviously, she knew it was the best and if she knew anything it was how to bake. So I’ll put a little star in the corner of the recipe and note “No adjustments” because at the end of the day, you just can’t mess with perfection.
Smells are huge for me and memories flood back once I catch a whiff of something familiar. Wrigleys Spearmint gum makes me think of my Grandma’s purse as she always carried that green gum with her and gave me a piece every time I rode in her car. Fried fish, boom I’m a child back at our cabin in Alexandria, I can hear the waves of the lake and my dad is standing over the frying pan with a spatula in hand and I can hear every sizzle. One of the biggest memory trips I get is when I smell baked goods. In particular, bars, cookies, and brownies. Oh, my Mom’s brownies were divine. I remember running through our front door when I got home from school and right away I’d know that she made them even before I saw the 9x13 pan on the counter. The scent gave it away. I’d open the lid and the frosting was still warm and gooey as if she had timed it just perfectly to when we walked in the door. She was so sweet like that. They always had a tiny little corner piece taken out because she always had to give it a taste. Damn they were good and I haven’t had them in years.
What I do have though is the recipe and so today I decided to glance it over. Hmmmm, well the only healthy ingredient on the list was the 1/2 cup of boiling water and I’m trying to eat very clean and conscious as of late so I thought I’d make a few substitutions. I mean it can’t hurt to swap a few things out right? So instead of butter I used coconut oil. White flour, bleh, I used some gluten free flour mix. I thought it looked a little thick so I added another egg. I didn’t use the regular white sugar Mom would use but opted for some raw cane sugar and a little coconut palm sugar. The mix looked the right consistency so I crossed my fingers and stuck it in the oven, getting excited for the wonderful smell that would soon fill my house.
Five minutes passed, then ten, then fifteen. What the hell? Did I forget to turn on the oven? Nope, it’s hot. I walked outside and walked back in, and still I smelled no chocolate. Did I remember to put in the damn cocoa? Yes, I had. Is my nose broken!? I opened up a jar of peanut butter and sniffed. No my senses were definitely in working condition. Then the timer went off but the smell never came. WTF!? Ok so I stuck the toothpick in and it was perfectly done and looked really good even though the smell was blank. Maybe the taste will make up for the non existing aroma?
Um, yeah, not so much. I let them cool just enough to dig a fork in and take a nice big bite. Huh? Where’s my Mom’s brownies? I got a hint of candle wax flavor on my tongue. This rectangular pan of dark brown something was a mirage to what should have been a sweet moist bite of warm chocolate sin. Granted, I hadn’t attempted to create the frosting yet but why bother if the base is all jacked up? Crazy enough though, the kid thinks they’re great (under a mountain of whipped cream that is).
Lesson learned: Some things you just can’t mess with. If it isn’t broke, don’t fix it. And honestly? Sometimes it’s worth it to just keep things as they are, even if they’re on the unhealthy side for the sake of memories and satisfaction. My Mom had tons of cookbooks and recipe boxes and this was the ONE AND ONLY brownie recipe she reverted back to for as long as I can remember. Obviously, she knew it was the best and if she knew anything it was how to bake. So I’ll put a little star in the corner of the recipe and note “No adjustments” because at the end of the day, you just can’t mess with perfection.
Thursday, July 11, 2013
Exclusive: Kim, Kanye, and baby North "take naps together!"
Warning: Venting ahead.
OK so I just saw this “update” in my news feed as if it were some ground breaking-OMG-can you believe it?! type of jaw dropping news and well I have to blog it out and give it a big old “WHO GIVES A F#@K?!”
So let me break it down for you famous people who think that spending 5 hours on your Swarovski encrusted fingernails and 1/2 day in the make-up chair, oh and wearing a $10,000 pair of socks equates to your worth, you need a reality check (no your Kardashian show does not count as reality). This is not how normal people in society function.
Just because you are so busy spending money and time trying to look hot (your double plumped lips are not by the way), this does not constitute as a job. Just because people publish ridiculous articles about how doting you are to your child or how miraculous it was that you actually made the time to sit by your (not yet divorced) girlfriend while she pushed a baby out of her (Brazilian waxed) vagina, this does not mean you are actually worthy of any praise doing what all of us other normal people in the world would do without thinking.
Just because you are famous does not make you more special for oh let me see here...holding your child, napping with your child, or giving them a bottle. Wake up people this shit is normal, even if you think you came up with some erratically cool, “no one will ever be able to copy” name for your wrinkled baby such as North West. It isn’t original, it’s obvious. It’s not cool, it’s desperation. The shock wore off after 6 seconds. Poor little North West (who will likely end up directionally challenged) was worthy of about 10.5 million eye rolls before he hit his first 24 hours of life all for a little “oh they finally reveled the name!” publication.
Word up Kanye and Kim: No one gives a shit. Nobody cares that Kanye is by your side certain hours of the day during his busy schedule, or that the crib cost $10,000 (they just piss all over the sheets anyway fyi) or that Kanye refuses to change diapers (really!?). Just because people know your name it doesn’t make your baby any more special even if the gossip mags do pay you multi-millions for a brief (likely exaggerated) 1/2 page print of a few sweet words that you whispered or photos of the cute baby blankets and booties you bought. Ugh.
Get over yourselves. I’d like to see a nice real article about how the baby pooped on your Gucci skirt or how you only got 2 hours of sleep because your bawling baby kept you up all night and it took 2 more hours in the make-up chair to fix the under-eye bags. Because honestly? Having a newborn is not all sunshine and roses (even if you toss out the money to make it appear so in the glossy pages of a magazine). Us real people know better.
So shut-up. Put away the false lashes and put on the sweat pants like a new mommy should. And Kanye, I don’t care how much money those jeans cost or how toned your ass is, you still need to pull up those damn pants.
Vent over. Aaaaaand breathe.
OK so I just saw this “update” in my news feed as if it were some ground breaking-OMG-can you believe it?! type of jaw dropping news and well I have to blog it out and give it a big old “WHO GIVES A F#@K?!”
So let me break it down for you famous people who think that spending 5 hours on your Swarovski encrusted fingernails and 1/2 day in the make-up chair, oh and wearing a $10,000 pair of socks equates to your worth, you need a reality check (no your Kardashian show does not count as reality). This is not how normal people in society function.
Just because you are so busy spending money and time trying to look hot (your double plumped lips are not by the way), this does not constitute as a job. Just because people publish ridiculous articles about how doting you are to your child or how miraculous it was that you actually made the time to sit by your (not yet divorced) girlfriend while she pushed a baby out of her (Brazilian waxed) vagina, this does not mean you are actually worthy of any praise doing what all of us other normal people in the world would do without thinking.
Just because you are famous does not make you more special for oh let me see here...holding your child, napping with your child, or giving them a bottle. Wake up people this shit is normal, even if you think you came up with some erratically cool, “no one will ever be able to copy” name for your wrinkled baby such as North West. It isn’t original, it’s obvious. It’s not cool, it’s desperation. The shock wore off after 6 seconds. Poor little North West (who will likely end up directionally challenged) was worthy of about 10.5 million eye rolls before he hit his first 24 hours of life all for a little “oh they finally reveled the name!” publication.
Word up Kanye and Kim: No one gives a shit. Nobody cares that Kanye is by your side certain hours of the day during his busy schedule, or that the crib cost $10,000 (they just piss all over the sheets anyway fyi) or that Kanye refuses to change diapers (really!?). Just because people know your name it doesn’t make your baby any more special even if the gossip mags do pay you multi-millions for a brief (likely exaggerated) 1/2 page print of a few sweet words that you whispered or photos of the cute baby blankets and booties you bought. Ugh.
Get over yourselves. I’d like to see a nice real article about how the baby pooped on your Gucci skirt or how you only got 2 hours of sleep because your bawling baby kept you up all night and it took 2 more hours in the make-up chair to fix the under-eye bags. Because honestly? Having a newborn is not all sunshine and roses (even if you toss out the money to make it appear so in the glossy pages of a magazine). Us real people know better.
So shut-up. Put away the false lashes and put on the sweat pants like a new mommy should. And Kanye, I don’t care how much money those jeans cost or how toned your ass is, you still need to pull up those damn pants.
Vent over. Aaaaaand breathe.
Friday, June 14, 2013
The five year twitch
Our cell phone. Our “smart” phone. Our love. Our wing man, assistant, stereo, camera, and calendar in one. These tiny rectangular objects have slowly become our LIFE all wrapped up in a cute little package that can fit in the palm of our hand. Access to anything our heart desires is practically a click away. We are spoiled incessantly by the convenience of this little smart rectangle and yet we completely take it for granted, but what the hell it’s technology, times have changed and I love to love it. My iphone and I were inseparable for almost 5 years...
But....
Like any relationship...
Things get a little too comfortable after awhile. Things get slightly uneventful. Same ol’ same ol’. The parts feel the same, the sounds are repetitious, same colors, blah. Sometimes you want to spice things up a bit. Try something new. Could the grass be greener? Could the mind be quicker? Maybe there’s a better fit for me? What can I say, I got the itch. My palm? It got the twitch.
Along comes something “bigger.” Enter "The Samsung Galaxy" (even sounds more macho doesn’t it?) Wow! The size spoke volumes right away. The face was brighter, the package was larger. Made my little iphone look like a teeny weenie next to a rocket. It took awhile to figure out my new relationship and how “we” would work together. At first it kept piping up and beeping, ringing, vibrating at all intervals through out the day and I was powerless to stop it. I went nuts. It finally stopped for no reason on day 2. By day 3 I had stopped text messaging all together as the keyboard was a pain in the ass. Mr. Samsung couldn’t read my body language and adjust to my touch like thee old iphone could. You literally have to have fingers the size of toothpicks to hit the damn keys right. But the ring tones of seagulls and waves? Well, my ears were in love. I didn’t have time to figure out this new personality and what keys to press for what. We had more than one verbal altercation which resulted in me saying : “I f#%*@g hate this phone!”
But....
My new case with the bright colored stripes looked all hot and fashion forward. It went with my personality. We looked good together. Things were going alright for a new relationship but while I had Mr Macho Samsung charging up on my night stand I was still sleeping with my iphone. As in spooning it actually.
Why?
Because there’s a particular sleep app that I rely on the soothe me to sleep and to wake me with angelic harps and a breeze. Samsung doesn’t have the app. There are similar apps with similar features, but not like this one. (It’s called sleep cycle and it’s the bomb)There’s just certain things an ex has that the new fling will never have. I missed my itunes. I missed the way my iphone knew my thoughts before I thought them. Read my mind and practically typed my messages for me. It spoke my language, understood my slang, and well, it just “got me.” I tried to get over it but couldn’t. I still found myself yearning for my old comfortable relationship and still reached for my old iphone in the morning only to be reminded that the functions have been stolen away from it. I felt like I was cheating on a rectangular object. How messed up have I become?
End scenario? I got me a new iphone5. I love the iphone. I didn’t need a new relationship, I just needed to work on the old one. It’s like my technological box got a makeover, worked out a bit, and slipped into a new pair of skinny jeans. I just need to get a hot new case for it to slide into and we’ll be rocking the world again.
I broke up with Samsung and won’t look back. At the end of the day “size doesn’t matter.” At least not in the smart phone world! But if you love something? Go ahead and set it free, it will always come back if it’s meant to be. Me and my iphone, my iphone and me, forever and always in “sync” we will be.
But....
Like any relationship...
Things get a little too comfortable after awhile. Things get slightly uneventful. Same ol’ same ol’. The parts feel the same, the sounds are repetitious, same colors, blah. Sometimes you want to spice things up a bit. Try something new. Could the grass be greener? Could the mind be quicker? Maybe there’s a better fit for me? What can I say, I got the itch. My palm? It got the twitch.
Along comes something “bigger.” Enter "The Samsung Galaxy" (even sounds more macho doesn’t it?) Wow! The size spoke volumes right away. The face was brighter, the package was larger. Made my little iphone look like a teeny weenie next to a rocket. It took awhile to figure out my new relationship and how “we” would work together. At first it kept piping up and beeping, ringing, vibrating at all intervals through out the day and I was powerless to stop it. I went nuts. It finally stopped for no reason on day 2. By day 3 I had stopped text messaging all together as the keyboard was a pain in the ass. Mr. Samsung couldn’t read my body language and adjust to my touch like thee old iphone could. You literally have to have fingers the size of toothpicks to hit the damn keys right. But the ring tones of seagulls and waves? Well, my ears were in love. I didn’t have time to figure out this new personality and what keys to press for what. We had more than one verbal altercation which resulted in me saying : “I f#%*@g hate this phone!”
But....
My new case with the bright colored stripes looked all hot and fashion forward. It went with my personality. We looked good together. Things were going alright for a new relationship but while I had Mr Macho Samsung charging up on my night stand I was still sleeping with my iphone. As in spooning it actually.
Why?
Because there’s a particular sleep app that I rely on the soothe me to sleep and to wake me with angelic harps and a breeze. Samsung doesn’t have the app. There are similar apps with similar features, but not like this one. (It’s called sleep cycle and it’s the bomb)There’s just certain things an ex has that the new fling will never have. I missed my itunes. I missed the way my iphone knew my thoughts before I thought them. Read my mind and practically typed my messages for me. It spoke my language, understood my slang, and well, it just “got me.” I tried to get over it but couldn’t. I still found myself yearning for my old comfortable relationship and still reached for my old iphone in the morning only to be reminded that the functions have been stolen away from it. I felt like I was cheating on a rectangular object. How messed up have I become?
End scenario? I got me a new iphone5. I love the iphone. I didn’t need a new relationship, I just needed to work on the old one. It’s like my technological box got a makeover, worked out a bit, and slipped into a new pair of skinny jeans. I just need to get a hot new case for it to slide into and we’ll be rocking the world again.
I broke up with Samsung and won’t look back. At the end of the day “size doesn’t matter.” At least not in the smart phone world! But if you love something? Go ahead and set it free, it will always come back if it’s meant to be. Me and my iphone, my iphone and me, forever and always in “sync” we will be.
Monday, May 6, 2013
Death and New Beginnings
Death.
The word that sounds like darkness. It makes me feel cold and if spoken in the right tone can create a tiny trail of goosebumps along the outer portion of my arms. It’s not a pretty word. It’s a clouded term dripping with depression. I think of graves, gloomy skies, black weeds, sunken hearts, and a deep night sky. It feels like an END. A sorrowful end. I like happy endings so the word death does not appeal to me.
I don’t like the word die either. Again it sounds like an end. A life has now become final. They have DIED. They are no more. Gone. Evaporated. Nothing.
I don’t belief in death and I don’t believe in dying.
I believe that people move on to the next the level. I believe they change forms. They graduate. They blossom. They start anew like a sunset in the early dawn. They wake up in another place. Their soul floats away into the beauty of their next phase. When they leave this world another one awaits and greets them with open arms of which they willingly embrace and breathe a sigh of appreciation for. This is the circle of life. There are no end-of-the-roads here, but a constant turn of phases. A ring of change, a big circle of constant improvement and growth. A horizon.
New beginnings. This sounds like a light-hearted phrase. I see sunshine. I feel hope. A challenge perhaps, but change is a certainty in life. You accept it or resist it. I see it as a clean state.
I wrote a little poem about it. Just kept typing as the thoughts popped up. Random and quick but true to my perceptions on the topic. Wanna hear it? Here it goes...
Do Not Think Of Me as Death (a tale on new beginnings)
Do not think of me as Death
I am a new Beginning
I am not dark
I am not withered
I am glowing, awake and singing.
Do not think that I am over
I am not final
Forever is me
My journey here is complete
I came, I conquered
now I’m free.
Do not think of me as death
I did not stop,
Just left an open space
My soul went up and away
gave me new meaning
in a brand new place.
Do not think of me as gone
You can’t see me
can’t touch me, but I’m here
I’m not tangible
to your hands
but an emotion
full of love, not fear.
Do not think that I have died
I live in your mind
I can’t be erased.
I’m the warmth in your heart
the swell of your chest
The catch in your breathe
and the tears on your face.
Death didn’t take me away
My path changed
a new journey has begun
A world unknown
to those still here
I’m one with the stars
the moon and the sun.
I am not death
I did not die
I moved on to a new beginning
On a road built of peace and love
still growing
still learning
and still singing....
The word that sounds like darkness. It makes me feel cold and if spoken in the right tone can create a tiny trail of goosebumps along the outer portion of my arms. It’s not a pretty word. It’s a clouded term dripping with depression. I think of graves, gloomy skies, black weeds, sunken hearts, and a deep night sky. It feels like an END. A sorrowful end. I like happy endings so the word death does not appeal to me.
I don’t like the word die either. Again it sounds like an end. A life has now become final. They have DIED. They are no more. Gone. Evaporated. Nothing.
I don’t belief in death and I don’t believe in dying.
I believe that people move on to the next the level. I believe they change forms. They graduate. They blossom. They start anew like a sunset in the early dawn. They wake up in another place. Their soul floats away into the beauty of their next phase. When they leave this world another one awaits and greets them with open arms of which they willingly embrace and breathe a sigh of appreciation for. This is the circle of life. There are no end-of-the-roads here, but a constant turn of phases. A ring of change, a big circle of constant improvement and growth. A horizon.
New beginnings. This sounds like a light-hearted phrase. I see sunshine. I feel hope. A challenge perhaps, but change is a certainty in life. You accept it or resist it. I see it as a clean state.
I wrote a little poem about it. Just kept typing as the thoughts popped up. Random and quick but true to my perceptions on the topic. Wanna hear it? Here it goes...
Do Not Think Of Me as Death (a tale on new beginnings)
Do not think of me as Death
I am a new Beginning
I am not dark
I am not withered
I am glowing, awake and singing.
Do not think that I am over
I am not final
Forever is me
My journey here is complete
I came, I conquered
now I’m free.
Do not think of me as death
I did not stop,
Just left an open space
My soul went up and away
gave me new meaning
in a brand new place.
Do not think of me as gone
You can’t see me
can’t touch me, but I’m here
I’m not tangible
to your hands
but an emotion
full of love, not fear.
Do not think that I have died
I live in your mind
I can’t be erased.
I’m the warmth in your heart
the swell of your chest
The catch in your breathe
and the tears on your face.
Death didn’t take me away
My path changed
a new journey has begun
A world unknown
to those still here
I’m one with the stars
the moon and the sun.
I am not death
I did not die
I moved on to a new beginning
On a road built of peace and love
still growing
still learning
and still singing....
Tuesday, March 19, 2013
~~~The art of forgiveness~~~
Forgiveness.
The word alone is like an open door surrounded by a foggy peace and an echo of “aaah...” in angelic tune.
The possibilities are endless and the beauty of forgiveness is like artistry for the soul. Forgiveness gives you control of your life, wisdom for your mind, fuel for your soul and is honestly the greatest gift you can give to yourself. It takes all grudges, misfortunes, regrets, and wrong doings and wipes them away like a big black eraser over a dirty chalkboard. Shit be gone, that is the art of forgiveness.
Forgiveness allows you to:
Not understand things but release them with love anyways.
Not know for sure if there is a light at the end of the tunnel, but hold a match on your path to find it.
Not know all the answers, but have faith that solutions will come.
Not sweat the small things because it’s the big things that count.
When you forgive you are allowing yourself the recognition of what you deserve and do not deserve in your life. You care about yourself enough to know that you don’t need petty discrepancies weighing down your happy mind and hurtful feelings taking up space in your precious heart. Other peoples words and actions have nothing to do with you and to forgive is to repel them. You release the negative and embrace the positive for the better of YOU. Forgiveness is looking at your heart and saying “you’re worth it.” You owe it to yourself to forgive.
Forgiveness doesn’t require any physical strength, it doesn’t cost a dime, and it can recreate your mind instantly.
It doesn’t even require an apology, that is the beauty of forgiveness.
*Poof*----forgive and be free.
The word alone is like an open door surrounded by a foggy peace and an echo of “aaah...” in angelic tune.
The possibilities are endless and the beauty of forgiveness is like artistry for the soul. Forgiveness gives you control of your life, wisdom for your mind, fuel for your soul and is honestly the greatest gift you can give to yourself. It takes all grudges, misfortunes, regrets, and wrong doings and wipes them away like a big black eraser over a dirty chalkboard. Shit be gone, that is the art of forgiveness.
Forgiveness allows you to:
Not understand things but release them with love anyways.
Not know for sure if there is a light at the end of the tunnel, but hold a match on your path to find it.
Not know all the answers, but have faith that solutions will come.
Not sweat the small things because it’s the big things that count.
When you forgive you are allowing yourself the recognition of what you deserve and do not deserve in your life. You care about yourself enough to know that you don’t need petty discrepancies weighing down your happy mind and hurtful feelings taking up space in your precious heart. Other peoples words and actions have nothing to do with you and to forgive is to repel them. You release the negative and embrace the positive for the better of YOU. Forgiveness is looking at your heart and saying “you’re worth it.” You owe it to yourself to forgive.
Forgiveness doesn’t require any physical strength, it doesn’t cost a dime, and it can recreate your mind instantly.
It doesn’t even require an apology, that is the beauty of forgiveness.
*Poof*----forgive and be free.
Monday, March 18, 2013
Aging: The inevitable mosquito
I had a feeling this day would come…it has been slowly blowing
across my shoulder like a whisper, well perhaps more like a mosquito that I
kept swatting away. I don’t know if I’m trying to deny the inevitable or
perhaps I’m in a funk or have some preconceived inkling that I should feel a
certain way so I am trying to turn into something else in a resentful manner. Maybe
it’s Winter. It’s easy to blame the snow on my mood. Perhaps a lack of sun is
playing tricks with my brain and yet I can’t help but conclude that I may have
reached that point in my life where I feel I have crossed over that hill
between youth and mid-life and fell into that sinkhole where I can honestly say
without trepidation “I think I’m getting old.”
I do not like this. I do not feel “older” inside and my mind
is like a rainbow of vibrancy ready to burst through my eyeballs and yet many of
my surroundings and subtle hints along the way are leading to this conclusion. Case in point: I went to brunch with 5
girlfriends yesterday. We went to a bar in northeast called Legends. Their
specialty is Bloody Mary’s and vodka sunrises however nobody ordered alcohol.
(I would have but everyone else got virgin Bloody Mary’s and since I hate that
drink I ordered a hot tea with lemon- who orders that in a bar?!) Last year at
this time I was bar hopping in 4 inch pumps and green attire with a flashing
leprechaun on my left tit and swinging down colored beers while chanting along
to Irish songs. I do believe I was prancing, gleefully down Grand Avenue and it
felt GOOD. I was also hiding my grief behind a mug of beer but it felt right
and it worked. The sun was also shining and I felt more alive, ready to live
every day of my life like it could be my last. This year on St. Patrick’s day I
was at a bar not drinking, dressed in all black and discussing the proper age
to potty train a child and getting excited about planning a garage sale. I love
my girlfriends and I really need to sell some shit at a garage sale, but how is
it that I suddenly feel like I have aged 10 years in the span of one. What’s my
problem?
Am I old? Middle aged? Young at heart but wrinkled on the
eyes? Looking back I remember the strange point where you’re in your mid-to
late twenties and every now and then you go into a bar and don’t get carded.
You know you’re over 21 and know you look over 21 but you wonder why everyone
else thinks you look over 21. Then you’d meet some guys and they’d ask your age
and your girlfriends would say with a cute smirk “how old do you think we are?”
They’d say 22 when you’re 25 or 25 when you’re 27 and you sort of giggle inside
thinking it’s a compliment (even though they’re likely humoring you) and then
there’s the day where your 26 year old girlfriend asks that innocent little
question of “how old do you think I am?” and the guy says “28?” And that’s the
day you no longer ask that stupid question. Who the hell cares anyway? There’s
nothing wrong with looking your age, that only makes sense, but when someone
guesses you’re older than you are? You’d think the world was ending.
It’s true what they say; when you’re 16 you want to look 21
and when you’re 28 you want to look 22. Life moves on. Numbers go up. Breasts
go down. It’s all relative, it’s all gravity. It’s life. My whole issue lately
is trying to decide when the hell this aging thing seemed to hit me so hard. I
try to figure out exactly what has changed and when the hell it happened. I’m
happy. I love my life. I want to embrace this whole getting older thing and not
let a silly number dictate how I behave but I have a difficult time with
maturity and adulthood. I’m a big kid and I like to rebel and stand on my own
little pedestal while peering into the box that everyone else is thinking
inside of. I am a black sheep. I march to my own drum in my own band on my own
turf in my own world. I can’t control the getting older thing and quite
frankly, it ruffles my feathers (my bold, sparkly, in-your-face feathers).
What changes? When I look in the mirror I still see the eyes
of that six year old girl in blonde ponytails with 3 pieces of pink hubba bubba
gum in her mouth, trying to blow a bubble bigger than her head. I still like
her. She was comfortable in her skin and effortless in her confidence. I still
feel like I want to draw pictures with colored pencils and play hopscotch til
the sun goes down. Maybe I just miss the fresh air of Summer.
Aging is hard because the number tells a different story
than my mind. I feel like it’s a deception of reality, a lie almost. Not that
35 is a bad number or anything, but I feel like I don’t match the mold. I’m not ready for this sinkhole I feel like
I’ve fallen into. I see eye bags that don’t
belong on my face, wrinkles that don’t blend with this skin and the aging hairs that
don’t belong on my head and I will never embrace that shit. I feel healthy, full
of energy, and I feel like I will forever be in my 20’s no matter how many days
I wake up and how many calendar pages I flip. The hands of time will always be
in control and I will keep getting older and older and older but my heart will
forever be young and that will never change.
So the whole “I think I’m getting old” thing? The thought is
inevitable. I just need to rephrase it as a positive: “I’m blossoming with
age.” “I’m ripe in my years.” “I’m growing with enthusiasm.” Screw it. I’m
getting old, but nonetheless, it’s still better than the alternative and I’m
very grateful to be alive even if I have to swat at my age like a mosquito.
Thursday, March 14, 2013
367 days and counting
365.366.367. Does it matter when that one year anniversary
marks a day that put a scratch on your heart? What’s with the whole “year”
thing anyway? Who decided that precisely 365 days constitutes a year composed
into 12 sections called months and increments called days made of 24 hours made
of 60 minutes made of 60 seconds and so on. BOOM. It’s been a year and 2 days since a piece
of my heart seemed to vaporize and slip away to the other side with my Mom’s
soul leaving a hollowness that will forever reside in me. I don’t like dates,
months, and numbers anymore, never cared for them actually. I wish time could
just be time, days could be days and we could all just live. If we’re all
supposed to live for the day and live like it’s our last then what’s with all the
counting and numbers and keeping track?
It was like March crept up like some impending doom this
year. Knowing this was the month that was horrendous last year, I really wanted
to just forward through the first couple weeks of this month because even though
I know that 365 days doesn’t mean anything and time is irrelevant when it comes
to matters of the heart, the calendar still told me that on THIS PARTICULAR
DAY, March 12th, 365 days ago my Mom died. I couldn’t avoid it. Just when you think you’re
at peace with everything and understand the who what when where and why the
hell did that have to happen, you can’t help but think back on those moments
last year and wonder “how the hell did I make it through all that?” and begin
to unravel everything in your head and replay images, thoughts, words like some
movie you need to watch 20 times just to understand the plot. I get it. It
happened. I just wish I knew then what I know now because things may have been
different. Or not. We’ll never know.
What I do know is this: The more life goes on the more I
miss her because that time span between the last time we had an eye to eye
conversation seems to stretch longer and longer apart. I yearn to see her to
tell her about all these things in my life that I’m supposed to tell to a Mom.
Since that won’t happen but in my dreams, of which I have had many
conversations with her in the deep of nocturnal world and I believe them to be
real, I also just talk out loud to her in my car. All the time. Like a lunatic.
I can feel her in the passenger seat next to me and I talk to her out loud like
she’s physically present. I always feel better after doing this. I ask her
questions out loud and the answers seem to come to me, floating through my mind
like snowflakes and suddenly certain ones stick and I know that’s her.
I ask for signs from her incessantly, acting as if she’s
some genie in a bottle and the world is this crystal ball she now has the power
to manipulate and mold in my favor. I imagine her as this angelic guide who
follows me around and puts a protective bubble of mystical good fortune over my
life. She’s my secret miracle maker and I feel like this invisible chain of
love and understanding forever links us.
It’s been a year if you want to count about it. One whole
year. I don’t know what I expected to happen on the anniversary of her death. It’s
not like the sky would open up and this ray of light would shoot down so I’d
know she was happy or something. Oh wait, that did happen. That is the photo
above. I stopped traffic to take it on the side of the highway with my hazards
on but I never worry anymore about getting hit by passing cars since there’s an
angel on the other side who has my back.
Anyhow, it’s not like 365 days would suddenly turn and I’d
feel better. I just got a flood of memories and images of her last
days. Her lying in that bed in our living room watching her gasp for breath
wondering if she felt the pain and knowing she did. Being powerless to stop it.
Holding her hand that was so warm and swollen and stroking her fingernails that
were positively perfect looking. Her hands always looked like she had a French
manicure even though she has never had her nails done in her life. The whites of her nails were amazing. I
have her pinkies. The look of their slender elongated grace and the personality
of how they perk out when sipping on a cup of coffee. Every time I look at my
hands I think of her and remember the beauty of her fingernails and the last time I held her hand.
I tried to focus on the normal things about her rather than
the moan of her breathing and the vacant look in her eyes. I thought of the
warmth of her hand in mine. I stared at her hand for what felt like hours when she was slipping away and
remembered all the beautiful things those hands have done from cradling babies
to planting flowers, wiping tears to peeling potatoes. Those hands must have
applied over 100 band-aids, started hundreds of bubble baths, raked a million
leaves, made a thousand braids of hair, and rolled out countless pounds of
dough. Her delicate fingers held Danielle Steele novels, made the beds of far
too many people, hung laundry with clothespins nearly every year of her life,
and sewed with pride matching outfits for her daughters. Those hands never
stopped. They decorated cookies, washed windows, placed the needle on record
players, twirled baton, changed diapers, delivered Avon orders door to door, held countless nursery rhyme books, painted ceramics, decorated birthday cakes, tied shoelaces, wrapped scarves, tied ties, fastened
necklaces, and put in her gas permeable contacts that she always said were “the
only contacts she could ever wear.” That always made me giggle inside. Her
hands were indicative to her soul and I felt lucky to be stroking her perfect
fingers.
My Mom becomes more special to me as time goes on. The
things she did for me hold a more powerful value than they used to. I delve deeper to
find the meaning in things. I pick apart my childhood and sort happy memories
into this imaginary scrapbook in my mind that I can page through at any moment
and it exudes comfort and puts a happy bubble in my heart. She lived a beautiful
life of wondrous moments. I was so lucky to have been given the gift of a
delicate and sweet mother who was warm hearted, nurturing, and forgiving. Those
are the things I like to hold in my mind. The good stuff is worth recapturing and meditating on and no
matter how many days have passed and how many March 12ths I will see in this
lifetime I can still feel her hand in mine like it was yesterday.
Sunday, March 10, 2013
~The bread you'll go bananas for~
I combined a couple of recipes I found online and came up with the precise combination of ingredients to make this one a winner!
Of course I’ll share it. Oh and plus it has zero processed sugar, it’s dairy free, gluten free and vegan...YES it is possible to make the perfect bread without those items :)
~The Bread you’ll go Bananas for~
Preheat the oven to 350.
Dry ingredients:
1 tsp. baking soda
3/4 tsp. baking powder
3/4 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. cinnamon
2 cups spelt flour
1 stevia packet
1/3 cup chocolate chips
Wet ingredients:
1/3 cup coconut milk (or almond milk)
1 1/2 tsp. vanilla
1/4 cup organic pure maple syrup
1/4 cup organic blue agave
2 tbsp fresh lemon juice
2 cups mashed banana (measure after mashing, it took 5 large for mine)
Combine the dry and wet ingredients and mix gently with a wooden spoon and then just use your hands to incorporate it all. You don’t need to over-do the mixing it will look nice and blended quickly.
Grease a loaf pan and bake for about 40 minutes. The top will be slightly brown when done.
Cool at least 20 minutes before slicing into (ok so the smell got to me and I dug in after 10 and really didn’t care if it crumbled because it was so damn good)
It’s difficult to not want to devour the entire loaf. Next time I’ll just double up on everything and make 2 loaves. One for ME and one for the boys :-)
Tuesday, March 5, 2013
A little tale of being stuck in the snow
I’m making progress.
The ONLY time I swore at the snow today was when my tires got wedged into a slushy pile after fully stopping at the stop sign (why oh why I didn’t just floor it through the shit--oops I mean snow). Anyway, so I maneuvered the vehicle in a creative fashion by going into the obvious forward reverse forward reverse motion whilst cranking the wheel from right to left and pushing my foot onto the gas pedal in a fit of frustration. I got a slight bit of satisfaction because I felt a momentary rush of heat flood through my body. Anger gave me a blood flow of warmth to my chest and I relished in it as my cheeks turned a flush of pink.
I could feel the presence of a vehicle waiting for the jackass (being me) at the stop sign to get the hell moving. I finally gave it one big PUSH equipped with a trail of f-bombs that may easily have been heard 3 miles down. I gave a quick glance in my rear view mirror for a 3 second “aha!” grin to the dude behind me. He seemed pleased, which is more than I can say for the poor gentlemen who was attempting to shovel his sidewalk to the left of me. I’m assuming he was in a snowsuit although he looked more like a walking snowman covered head to toe in the backwash of slush and snow that my fierce moment of gear thrusting tire spinning action had turned him into. I thought of going back to apologize but feared getting re-stuck, hell I was glad to be moving!
It’s ok though. I don’t think he was in the mood for an apology as I saw his snow covered fist raise in the air as his middle finger slightly rose above the rest.
I wasn’t offended in the least as I felt completely worthy of it.
The ONLY time I swore at the snow today was when my tires got wedged into a slushy pile after fully stopping at the stop sign (why oh why I didn’t just floor it through the shit--oops I mean snow). Anyway, so I maneuvered the vehicle in a creative fashion by going into the obvious forward reverse forward reverse motion whilst cranking the wheel from right to left and pushing my foot onto the gas pedal in a fit of frustration. I got a slight bit of satisfaction because I felt a momentary rush of heat flood through my body. Anger gave me a blood flow of warmth to my chest and I relished in it as my cheeks turned a flush of pink.
I could feel the presence of a vehicle waiting for the jackass (being me) at the stop sign to get the hell moving. I finally gave it one big PUSH equipped with a trail of f-bombs that may easily have been heard 3 miles down. I gave a quick glance in my rear view mirror for a 3 second “aha!” grin to the dude behind me. He seemed pleased, which is more than I can say for the poor gentlemen who was attempting to shovel his sidewalk to the left of me. I’m assuming he was in a snowsuit although he looked more like a walking snowman covered head to toe in the backwash of slush and snow that my fierce moment of gear thrusting tire spinning action had turned him into. I thought of going back to apologize but feared getting re-stuck, hell I was glad to be moving!
It’s ok though. I don’t think he was in the mood for an apology as I saw his snow covered fist raise in the air as his middle finger slightly rose above the rest.
I wasn’t offended in the least as I felt completely worthy of it.
Saturday, February 23, 2013
Sticky Sweet
It’s Winter. It’s dark. Ladies night was called off and I was bored so I decided to spice things up by myself and look into creating a homemade facial mask with honey. I always read about the many benefits of honey and skin. It softens, reduces wrinkles, prevents acne, blah blah blah. I have the best honey in the world in my cupboard so why not give it a whirl? By the way, the best honey in the world is by Y.S. Bee Farms in Illinois. It’s organic RAW honey with the maximum level of antioxidants. (Also great in tea, oatmeal, or just by the spoonful).
So I melted it a little to make it spreadable but it got a little too warm so I put some coconut milk in it but then it got too runny so I added some oatmeal but I only had steel cut oatmeal which is more like sharp little pebbles than soft oats but whatever. It became a new concoction. Along with my creative face mask I decided to also do a steamy oatmeal bath (this was from a prepared pouch so I couldn’t mess that up).
So the bath was all ready and I was putting on my face mask...the oats were super sharp so I sort of had to dab it on and then I just tilted my head back and drizzled it on in clumps with a spoon, thinking it would dry? Maybe? I carefully walked to the tub and submerged.
Aaahhh... the perfect temperature and my face mask smelled divine. It tasted even better as the steam from the bath started to melt rather than dry my honey drizzled experiment. I licked my lips a few times and it was really good actually! (I may be on to something else here...ideas for creating a homemade honey granola bar or energy bites were drifting through my mind...)
The dripping and melting of this magical mask continued. Directly onto my eyelids. There would be no opening up and tasting from this area of my face. I tried to search for a towel without opening my eyes to perhaps dab away the sticky goo but I couldn’t locate one and had to resort to using my hand which only made the mask liquify more and I could feel the sharp steel cut oats begin to poke into the corner of my eye so I chose to shut it and try to stick out the duration of the 20 minutes that were suggested for the mask to beautify my skin. WTF. I was like 3 minutes in only. I lasted about 4.
I then tried to just rinse the damn thing off with the bath water, which was a thick mocha oatmeal concoction itself. Things were not going well. My hair line was rimmed with sticky honey and my eyelashes were damn near glued shut. The sharp oats were scratching my face. The process of removing this from my face took 3 times longer than the preparation of it.
However. I think if I were to redo it and do it correctly, it would really work. Below the sticky scratchy layer of honey milk paste I do believe I saw a hint of a softened glow. Although the tint could have been due to my frustration. Anyhow. I plan to try this again tomorrow morning. Maybe I’ll even throw in some almond oil and avocado just for fun!
Tonight I think I'll treat my face to a good book instead. After I apply my aloe oil hair mask...
So I melted it a little to make it spreadable but it got a little too warm so I put some coconut milk in it but then it got too runny so I added some oatmeal but I only had steel cut oatmeal which is more like sharp little pebbles than soft oats but whatever. It became a new concoction. Along with my creative face mask I decided to also do a steamy oatmeal bath (this was from a prepared pouch so I couldn’t mess that up).
So the bath was all ready and I was putting on my face mask...the oats were super sharp so I sort of had to dab it on and then I just tilted my head back and drizzled it on in clumps with a spoon, thinking it would dry? Maybe? I carefully walked to the tub and submerged.
Aaahhh... the perfect temperature and my face mask smelled divine. It tasted even better as the steam from the bath started to melt rather than dry my honey drizzled experiment. I licked my lips a few times and it was really good actually! (I may be on to something else here...ideas for creating a homemade honey granola bar or energy bites were drifting through my mind...)
The dripping and melting of this magical mask continued. Directly onto my eyelids. There would be no opening up and tasting from this area of my face. I tried to search for a towel without opening my eyes to perhaps dab away the sticky goo but I couldn’t locate one and had to resort to using my hand which only made the mask liquify more and I could feel the sharp steel cut oats begin to poke into the corner of my eye so I chose to shut it and try to stick out the duration of the 20 minutes that were suggested for the mask to beautify my skin. WTF. I was like 3 minutes in only. I lasted about 4.
I then tried to just rinse the damn thing off with the bath water, which was a thick mocha oatmeal concoction itself. Things were not going well. My hair line was rimmed with sticky honey and my eyelashes were damn near glued shut. The sharp oats were scratching my face. The process of removing this from my face took 3 times longer than the preparation of it.
However. I think if I were to redo it and do it correctly, it would really work. Below the sticky scratchy layer of honey milk paste I do believe I saw a hint of a softened glow. Although the tint could have been due to my frustration. Anyhow. I plan to try this again tomorrow morning. Maybe I’ll even throw in some almond oil and avocado just for fun!
Tonight I think I'll treat my face to a good book instead. After I apply my aloe oil hair mask...
Wednesday, January 30, 2013
Cobwebs and Stilettos
The toes? They are cold 24/7. And my fingers? Let’s just say the tips are so rarely blessed with blood flow that I instinctively do a double take when they’re actually pink. I have resorted to wearing fuzzy gloves at work so my wrists don’t freeze upon contact with the ceramic counter when I’m typing. These are the things we resort to when we’re deep in the throes of the post tis-the-season, we’re over-the-holidays, enough with this bullshit let’s move onto Spring already mode.
Winter has become treacherous and after running from my garage to the house while the wind ripped threw my hair and left a trail of icicles upon my scalp tonight I screamed obscenities (under my tongue as I had the kid in tow) toward my unashamed dislike for this bitter heartless vengeful f’ing Winter.
Take off the gloves, the scarf, the coat, the boots, the anger and ahhh I’m in my cozy home again. But my pants are cold. I’m still cold! Up the stairs I go into my closet and put on my fuzzy zebra fleece lounge pants (my saving grace from this spiteful cold), put on a shirt and another shirt and a sweatshirt and the 3-layered-fleece-socks that are so thick I had to buy a size larger boot just so they could fit inside. And ahhh...I think I fixed it now. Just as I feel human again I peer up at my shoe rack and see a glisten of something...A little shimmer of...what is that?
I lean in closer and sure shit there it is. This perfectly orchestrated octagon-ally woven piece of artwork created by none other than a spider. It was displayed like some sort of “ha-ha looky what I made” type of web. An intricate design laid perfectly within the outward edge of my strappy stiletto heel. My favorite glistening pink with a gold finish 4 inch pointy toed stiletto. This flickering web was spun tip to heel and not beyond.
Who? What? Where is this little bastard? Spiders are NOT allowed in my closet!
NOBODY and NO INSECT is allowed by my beloved footwear. The ONLY thing allowed to spin within the confines of my dazzling arches is my feet when they’re spinning about on the dance floor. Spiders? Spinning webs? In MY shoes? Oh hell no. But I stared at it in awe. The remarkable ability of this spider left me speechless. He must be a genius...oh wait it must be a she. Plus she picked the most perfect shoe. Middle of the rack. At eye level. Is it a sign? I pondered what this could mean for a good 3 minutes until it dawned on me...
The cold weather has frozen my brain into trying to read a message from a damn spider web.
The only thing that it means is this : WINTER HAS BECOME TOO LONG WHEN YOUR SUMMER FOOTWEAR STARTS TO GET COVERED IN COBWEBS.
The end.
Winter has become treacherous and after running from my garage to the house while the wind ripped threw my hair and left a trail of icicles upon my scalp tonight I screamed obscenities (under my tongue as I had the kid in tow) toward my unashamed dislike for this bitter heartless vengeful f’ing Winter.
Take off the gloves, the scarf, the coat, the boots, the anger and ahhh I’m in my cozy home again. But my pants are cold. I’m still cold! Up the stairs I go into my closet and put on my fuzzy zebra fleece lounge pants (my saving grace from this spiteful cold), put on a shirt and another shirt and a sweatshirt and the 3-layered-fleece-socks that are so thick I had to buy a size larger boot just so they could fit inside. And ahhh...I think I fixed it now. Just as I feel human again I peer up at my shoe rack and see a glisten of something...A little shimmer of...what is that?
I lean in closer and sure shit there it is. This perfectly orchestrated octagon-ally woven piece of artwork created by none other than a spider. It was displayed like some sort of “ha-ha looky what I made” type of web. An intricate design laid perfectly within the outward edge of my strappy stiletto heel. My favorite glistening pink with a gold finish 4 inch pointy toed stiletto. This flickering web was spun tip to heel and not beyond.
Who? What? Where is this little bastard? Spiders are NOT allowed in my closet!
NOBODY and NO INSECT is allowed by my beloved footwear. The ONLY thing allowed to spin within the confines of my dazzling arches is my feet when they’re spinning about on the dance floor. Spiders? Spinning webs? In MY shoes? Oh hell no. But I stared at it in awe. The remarkable ability of this spider left me speechless. He must be a genius...oh wait it must be a she. Plus she picked the most perfect shoe. Middle of the rack. At eye level. Is it a sign? I pondered what this could mean for a good 3 minutes until it dawned on me...
The cold weather has frozen my brain into trying to read a message from a damn spider web.
The only thing that it means is this : WINTER HAS BECOME TOO LONG WHEN YOUR SUMMER FOOTWEAR STARTS TO GET COVERED IN COBWEBS.
The end.
Sunday, January 27, 2013
Melicious Peanut Butter Cookies
I’m proud so I’ll share:
*Melicious Peanut Butter Cookies
3 tbsp. whole-wheat flour
1 tbsp. wheat germ
3/4 tsp. baking soda
1/4 cup Sugar (In the raw)
2 tbsp. coconut palm sugar
1/2 tsp. celtic sea salt
1/2 cup chunky peanut butter
1/2 banana (very very ripe and mushy)
1/2 tsp. vanilla
*I used all organic ingredients of course.
Mix the first 6 ingredients in a bowl then add in your peanut butter, banana, and vanilla.
Scoop round balls of dough onto a cookies sheet (I used a cookie scooper and lightly sprayed my pan with extra virgin olive oil). Put them into a 350 degree oven for 9 minutes. They will look under done when you take them out. Cool for a few minutes and remove from pan.
They will be warm and gooey and bring an immediate smile to your face. Next time I will double or even triple this recipe as they only make about 14 cookies and they are not likely to last long!
You’re welcome.
*Melicious = delicious things that Mel creates.
Sunday, January 20, 2013
~Lessons in the check-out lane~
Oh the lovely check-out lane. The sheer excitement of gambling on which lane will get you to the cashier the quickest. Peeking at peoples carts to see how long it will take them to check out and imagining time spans in your head. A bunch of clothes on multiple hangars? Nope not going in that lane. Heaping piles of multiple snacks and a seat filled with toiletries? Lower rack filled up? Nope not going in that lane either. Oh look! Someone thought another lane would be quicker and switched to the next register’s line. I slide into their spot thinking I lucked out as there were only 2 people now in this lane.
Turns out that doesn’t matter if the cashier is the slowest checker on the planet.
And she was. Not because she was chatty or disabled or anything, but she had this look of confusion on her face. Deep agitation. It led me to believe she wears that expression a lot judging from the crater deep lines between her brows. Every scan confused her. She’d scan an item, purse her lips, furrow her brow and look it up and down through her little spectacles after she scanned it. Then she’d give the same look to the screen. Up and down glance of confusion. And then she’d place it in the bag and repeat. I wanted to ask her “What are you so confused about!?” I thought it at least 72 times during a 5 minute period.
What confused me though was the guy checking out ahead of me. He was a mid thirties Dad wearing adidas pants and toting his 2 boys with him both in full on snow suits. I’d say the kids were 6 and 8. The 8 year old continuously slapped the other one on his head with this pair of gloves and the younger kid let him. So he hit harder and harder. Then he hit him in the face. Over and over. The Dad looked at the older boy a few times and kept saying the same thing “Hey now. You better stop that or else...” It continued, he’d repeat the same phrase and the little boy would repeatedly get his head beat by the gloves. I kept wondering “What is this ‘what else’ you’re speaking of?” What a meaningless noneffective threat! Bad parenting mister. I kept giving the glove slapper the stink eye and he’d give me this sheepish grin back. He even rolled his eyes at me. It pissed me off and you do NOT want to fuck with me when I am hungover. I had to bite my tongue to not yell “Knock it off!”
I finally looked around to see if anyone else was witnessing this episode of naughty behavior and lackadaisical parenting. I finally caught eyes with the guy behind me in line and he looked at me and said one sentence “I’m going to start a reality show called Clueless in America,” and shook his head.
He was pushing 350 and had a lovely beer gut protruding out the bottom of a 2-sizes-too-small sweatshirt. To top it off his fly was down. It’s cold as hell out dude! You didn’t feel the breeze?! Ha! Clueless in America? Yeah good luck with that one.
I turned back around so he wouldn’t see my jaw drop.
Turns out that doesn’t matter if the cashier is the slowest checker on the planet.
And she was. Not because she was chatty or disabled or anything, but she had this look of confusion on her face. Deep agitation. It led me to believe she wears that expression a lot judging from the crater deep lines between her brows. Every scan confused her. She’d scan an item, purse her lips, furrow her brow and look it up and down through her little spectacles after she scanned it. Then she’d give the same look to the screen. Up and down glance of confusion. And then she’d place it in the bag and repeat. I wanted to ask her “What are you so confused about!?” I thought it at least 72 times during a 5 minute period.
What confused me though was the guy checking out ahead of me. He was a mid thirties Dad wearing adidas pants and toting his 2 boys with him both in full on snow suits. I’d say the kids were 6 and 8. The 8 year old continuously slapped the other one on his head with this pair of gloves and the younger kid let him. So he hit harder and harder. Then he hit him in the face. Over and over. The Dad looked at the older boy a few times and kept saying the same thing “Hey now. You better stop that or else...” It continued, he’d repeat the same phrase and the little boy would repeatedly get his head beat by the gloves. I kept wondering “What is this ‘what else’ you’re speaking of?” What a meaningless noneffective threat! Bad parenting mister. I kept giving the glove slapper the stink eye and he’d give me this sheepish grin back. He even rolled his eyes at me. It pissed me off and you do NOT want to fuck with me when I am hungover. I had to bite my tongue to not yell “Knock it off!”
I finally looked around to see if anyone else was witnessing this episode of naughty behavior and lackadaisical parenting. I finally caught eyes with the guy behind me in line and he looked at me and said one sentence “I’m going to start a reality show called Clueless in America,” and shook his head.
He was pushing 350 and had a lovely beer gut protruding out the bottom of a 2-sizes-too-small sweatshirt. To top it off his fly was down. It’s cold as hell out dude! You didn’t feel the breeze?! Ha! Clueless in America? Yeah good luck with that one.
I turned back around so he wouldn’t see my jaw drop.
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
The mysterious post-it that changed my life
Books. I love them so much that the very word makes my insides flutter. I was going through some old books today as I do on occasion and found a tiny triangle of yellow paper jetting out from the top of a book by Maya Angelou, marking the page of one of my most beloved poems “Phenomenal Woman.” Right away I knew what it said and was flooded with memories of the day I found those words written on a post it that someone had left on their table at Barnes&Noble.
It was a chilly December day in 2002 and I found myself in a bookstore of course. I remember I was wearing a new pair of black boots and feeling uncomfortable about how they clicked on the floor so I tried to stay on carpeted areas except for when I went and bought a latte at the Starbucks in the center. I sat down on a table and there on this yellow post it, written in black marker bold and loud as if it was directed right to me were the words:
“If you want different you have to do different”
That was all it said. No one was around to claim the post-it and that whimsical imagination I have thought “Huh. What if this is a sign and I was meant to be brought to this table to read this?” I decided to read them again. And again. Those words changed the very direction of my life that day and I never knew who to thank for it. Nine words. That’s all it took. I remember deciding to end yet another relationship that I knew was headed nowhere. I deleted phone numbers of people that I knew didn’t benefit my life. It was like this light bulb turned on and followed me everywhere. Every time I didn’t like something about my life I remembered those words “If you want different you have to do different.”
I skipped to my car when I left just to feel my heart race. I was a new ME. I was in control of my destiny.
I took that post-it home with me that day and used it as a book marker so I’d never forget it’s impact. Finding it today gave me goose bumps and I realized that over the years I haven’t always lived by those words.
I stapled that post-it to a piece of my journal paper the following summer as it was getting a little worn. I was sitting by my pool at my apartment complex sometime in July of 2002 and I wrote these words underneath it:
You.
Yes you. Only YOU have the power to change the things in your life.
If you don’t like what you’re getting then change what you’re doing.
If you don’t like how you’re feeling then change how you’re thinking.
If you don’t like what you’re seeing then change your perception.
If you don’t like someone then change how you treat them.
If you feel you deserve better, then strengthen your priorities.
If you want to improve yourself then raise your standards.
If you want to blame someone then go find a mirror.
You are your own worst enemy and your own best friend it is up to you to figure out how to iron out the wrinkles of inner conflicts and feel complete and beautiful in your own skin.
Repeat this until it sinks in.
First of all, how was I so smart in my early 20‘s?! Ha ha. And the moral of this blog is this: The beauty of life is that at any given moment you can recreate yourself and redirect your life if you just fix YOU. Oh and good advice never gets old as long as you remember to follow it :)
It was a chilly December day in 2002 and I found myself in a bookstore of course. I remember I was wearing a new pair of black boots and feeling uncomfortable about how they clicked on the floor so I tried to stay on carpeted areas except for when I went and bought a latte at the Starbucks in the center. I sat down on a table and there on this yellow post it, written in black marker bold and loud as if it was directed right to me were the words:
“If you want different you have to do different”
That was all it said. No one was around to claim the post-it and that whimsical imagination I have thought “Huh. What if this is a sign and I was meant to be brought to this table to read this?” I decided to read them again. And again. Those words changed the very direction of my life that day and I never knew who to thank for it. Nine words. That’s all it took. I remember deciding to end yet another relationship that I knew was headed nowhere. I deleted phone numbers of people that I knew didn’t benefit my life. It was like this light bulb turned on and followed me everywhere. Every time I didn’t like something about my life I remembered those words “If you want different you have to do different.”
I skipped to my car when I left just to feel my heart race. I was a new ME. I was in control of my destiny.
I took that post-it home with me that day and used it as a book marker so I’d never forget it’s impact. Finding it today gave me goose bumps and I realized that over the years I haven’t always lived by those words.
I stapled that post-it to a piece of my journal paper the following summer as it was getting a little worn. I was sitting by my pool at my apartment complex sometime in July of 2002 and I wrote these words underneath it:
You.
Yes you. Only YOU have the power to change the things in your life.
If you don’t like what you’re getting then change what you’re doing.
If you don’t like how you’re feeling then change how you’re thinking.
If you don’t like what you’re seeing then change your perception.
If you don’t like someone then change how you treat them.
If you feel you deserve better, then strengthen your priorities.
If you want to improve yourself then raise your standards.
If you want to blame someone then go find a mirror.
You are your own worst enemy and your own best friend it is up to you to figure out how to iron out the wrinkles of inner conflicts and feel complete and beautiful in your own skin.
Repeat this until it sinks in.
First of all, how was I so smart in my early 20‘s?! Ha ha. And the moral of this blog is this: The beauty of life is that at any given moment you can recreate yourself and redirect your life if you just fix YOU. Oh and good advice never gets old as long as you remember to follow it :)
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