This summer.

All of this nice weather started so fast-I feel like I can't enjoy it. Time is just this wave crashing over me- in and out, water pushing against my lungs, I rise up to the surface and take a breath, and back under. Each day-each moment.

Lately I've been thinking about having a blog, and what it even means. How much of yourself do you write about-how much do you disclose. Is it better to just have a journal-or do you need an audience (waiting) for you to unfurl yourself to? Audience. Yeah. right.

I saw my uncle the other day and he said, "Sara. You're just an open book, totally open-everything is there for people to see."

And I went to a psychic-and she told me, "When I tried to look into you and get some information-you started to show me around your LITERAL house-you redirected me from who you really are-trying to put on a good show. You'll be really good at what you do with how well you compartmentalize."

Maybe I am putting on a show-carefully crafting words. Waiting for them to hit you the right way-hoping that you will feel affected. See me. SEE me.

Why do I want you to look when I don't even know what's there?

Procrastinating.

I really know there's a lot to do when I'm tempted to "blog". Is blogging becoming outdated now-going the way of Myspace and whatever else used to be cool, but now isn't. It's not cool to just have an amorphous blog that's not related to some topic or theme. I should totally have a legal theme or young lawyers theme or graduating with a shitload of debt and chronicling my poor ass life theme. I'm just too lazy and I always get too distracted with surfing the Internet for celebrity gossip or free feminist porn (which is really hard to find-I guess if you want to feel morally justified in looking at porn you're going to have to pay for it).

As I've started to move into my summer, I've noticed my OCD really flaring up. Since I now have time to read I've spent hours on the Hennepin County library website searching through books I've heard of and wanted to read or just searching for books that sound appealing-and I can't even judge them by their cover since I only have the titles to go by. That's how I end up with books like, "The Complete Idiot's Guide to Changing Old Habits for Good" and "The Advocate's Devil" I left the library yesterday afternoon with a pile of 30 books, embarrassed by my library greed, as I stood behind a small child with curly hair and sticky fingers standing on a step stool, waiting to check myself out. The little girl was painstakingly checking out each book, not understanding that she had to put the bar code under the damn red laser thingy, before that satisfying beep would sound and the book would be hers for a few weeks. I was fumbling with my huge pile of books trying to shove "DON'T PANIC: How to Stop Anxiety Attacks for Good" to the bottom, so I didn't look more like the anxious skeezed out crazy lady that I have obviously become.

I get home and sorted my books into piles that don't really make sense. General books about food and cooking in one pile, self-help/reference in another (ranging from a memoir of a women who disparages all forms of self-help advice spending a year taking self-help classes, to eating for my metabolism) It's like I don't even read the books I just spend hours picking them out and meticulously organizing them into piles by the bed. My husband, in the middle of making dinner last night, came into the bedroom while I was doing this. Small stacks of books on the floor by my side of the bed, next to the "Total Yoga Kit" and Yoga ball I never use, and the laundry baskets full of clothes-some of them folded others balled up after I threw them on top of the folded piles. He just stared at me and said, "You're so messy. With all of your piles. Are you a hoarder?" I looked around the house and realized I do have little piles everywhere. I get so interested and obsessed with things. I looked up at him slightly shocked. Like he saw me for the first time doing something I've been doing all of my life. All of my private moments and rituals are coming unbound to the point that he is able to witness them.

I sit and think about all the places I want to go. San Francisco and wine country-touring through vineyards on an antique train car. Prince Edward Island in Canada to fulfill my childhood dream of visiting the place where Anne of Green Gables lived (I've always wondered if it was my huge, unruly hair, tendency towards chubbiness, and my overbite that led to a life of utter nerdiness or if my early tastes in literature destined me to a life of unhipness) A vacation on the east coast exploring the haunts of our founding fathers. Taking my husband to Spain where I lived what were some of the most glorious months of my life-drinking Sangria with him in the Plaza Mayor on a warm summer evening. I will take out every book on yogic practices and lifestyles and meditation practices and nutrition and just constantly want to absorb, absorb, absorb. My mind is moving so fast that the only way I can seem to slow it down is through alcohol or sex. Wow. How novel. I must be the only person on earth that uses those two vices to achieve some sense of being in the present.

All of this, all of my piles-literal and figurative-push this fear I have of not having enough time. And this fear keeps me stuck and I don't do anything. It's not money, it's not being busy with other things. I have to accept that there is not enough time. Not enough time to do everything that I think would be fulfilling and exciting. But all this thinking about it and planning for a future I don't even know if I can finance prevents me from experiencing the things I am able to. Right now.

My little-teeny house in Robbinsdale. I have to tear myself away from the paint peeling around the window sills and the stains on the roof. Here I am. My own little piece of home. I can keep it clean and beautiful-it's not opulent and never will be. But it's my own.

Reading about yoga, meditation, being present is wonderful-but it's not the practice. When I don't slow down and sit with my fears and my breath and feel all of my weight-instead of judging it- that is when the anxiety comes rushing up out of my abdomen and comes crushing down on my chest. All the planning and thinking in the world will not take away from the sacred and eternal/internal reality that is my breath flowing in and out of my body-a breath that will someday cease-but a breath that moves through me now.

Being alive is a scary thing. Especially when you step away from your piles of stuff and begin living it.

Remember the Time.

I haven't updated in awhile. Sorry? If anyone is still checking.

I've been busy with finals, working full-time, and figuring out if I still want to be an attorney.

Lately there have been a whirlwind of things going on around me. My best friend since we were twelve is having twin boys!! I was already excited to become the drunken auntie-now I'll be the drunken auntie x 2. Just remembering how little we were-growing up together-and now she's going to me a mama. Life-speeds along doesn't it?

Speaking of life-and two that have passed-I can't believe that both Farrah Fawcett and Michael Jackson died on the same day. I grew up with Michael Jackson's music. I remember when I was little my mom used to put on a Michael Jackson record to calm my sister down-it was the only thing that would get her to stop crying at times.

I know that through the years Michael Jackson became "Wacko Jacko" and had a totally fucked up life. I want to remember him as he was-a really talented musician and singer who I think (and forgive me) really did want to heal the world and make it a better place. Here he is-in all of his early glory.



I don't want to write about life and how it's over so fast and blah, blah, blah. It's always on my mind anyway. We get just a glimpse. I want to spend it in the arms and presence of the people I love, listening to good music, and feeling thankful for every second of awareness I have.

God speed.

31 Again.

Today is my husband's 31st.  Into his 30's they say.  It will go by in a flash. Much faster than his 20's.  

Birthdays.  They surround our relationship.  I met my husband when I was 20 and fresh back from Spain-wearing these hip red "trainers" and totally 20 pounds skinnier than I am now.  He was dating my friend Leah.  

Ah, the good old days. 

My husband came to my 21st birthday.  Of course I didn't know he was my husband at the time.  Although it seems like such a short time ago-in that moment-a life of domesticity seemed way off-it went by in a flash!  

We started dating, and by that I mean "dating" right after his 26th birthday.  I was still 21.  Oh, but so stupid.  I am still stupid.  But maybe the kind of stupid I was then was helpful to our relationship.  Because I kept seeing him.  

Even at 21 I felt like-this weird awkwardness-that I still feel with him-but also THIS I want to take you home and keep you forever. 

Other people have told me this about him-Oh, he's so comfortable-he's so easy to talk to- and I see how you could feel that-I did. 

But it was more-Hello you-here we are-and WHOA-we bought a house together and got married. 

I loved my husband before he was my husband.  And I loved him more after.  

carrying on-he is 31 today.  5 years after we met.  

Why do I worship my relationship so?  

Because.  Life is messy.  Professional relationships are built on a certain amount of misrepresentation.  Family relationships are operating out of years of dysfunction.  Friendships-although invaluable-end at the door and good-bye.  Friendships are extremely necessary-and often help you live longer-but that person at the end of the line-when it's all good. 

They are who you COME home to.   Because they are home. 

That's why I totally glorify relationships that last a lifetime and the partners die within hours/months/weeks of each other.  

You operate as a unit-but this cool family/sleeping with each other-unit.  I don't know. 

I'm just spewing smashed words. 

I so believe in monogamy and marriage.  Everyone should be allowed to get married and everyone should. 

Because when this whole fucking world is against you-having someone stand up and hang their hat with yours-in front of whatever community is important to you-it's pretty strong. 

It at least gives you someone to hold onto while you're waiting to die.  

Sometimes morbid thoughts make you very sentimental for great romance.  

I'm just beginning to accept that I'm awesome.

My high-school boyfriend, who I was totally in love with and lost my virginity to on FUCKING prom night ( I know-What the fuck) was like a total douche in a lot of ways, but I was young and you know-stupid.

But he was a good guy on some levels and super sexy to me for some reason (DAMN you oxytocin) so I could never really get him out of my system. Finally, a few years ago (read: after I got married) we became "friendly" like as friends that speak every couple of months, but also went through a period of life together where they were like licking out each others assholes.

Anyway, he's got like the HUGEST ego That only a Leo narcissist could, but most of the time I find it fairly amusing-although when I was obsessed with his every move I found it incredibly destructive-to say the least. But he's always had this thing where he thought he was better and smarter than everyone around him. Even his elders.

Now, I don't know if it's a gender thing, or a me questioning myself thing, but I never got him being all on his high horse. Well, I guess I got it to the extent I rationalized it as a result of him being mentally ill/raised my a mother who constantly praised him while she regaled us with stories of her acid dropping hippy days (Seriously, this dude used to mutter in his sleep from all the Lorazapam he ingested-she loved to feed her kids pharmaceuticals) I mean really. I was like-why do you think you're all that? You seem like a pretty huge nerd, weirdo to me.

Back to the present-we were talking the other day. Yadda, Yadda, Yadda. How are you? , What are you up to? And he's like, "I'm just beginning to accept I'm awesome. I mean I always knew I was good. But I mean, I'm really awesome. At my job, life, etc."

Me? I'm like barf, gag me, you're so full of yourself, good thing you have a picture perfect dick to back up that huge ego-you know. Just like-REALLY this guy is deluded.

But today-at my volunteership-I was listening to the volunteer lawyers talk to a group of women. I'm so used to being in this world full of people training to be lawyers-but we have no clients. OUR WHOLE GOAL of works-and I don't know how to talk to people. And the way this lawyer was explaining the law and the job to this group of women-it HIT me. BAM. SHAzam!

I'm not just paying for the smarts, for the intellect part of it (where I feel, frankly, pretty fucking weak). I'm paying for access to a community, where I know people, and network and act with integrity and build a reputation. It all depends on ME. Just me SISTAH. I gotta work the rope line, flatter, call shots, and do it with a shit load of class and just the right amount of aggression and little bit of brain power to round it all out. FUCK! No wonder the law isn't an easy job. And no wonder, for so long, it belonged to men. It's built for men. You have to be KING COCK in the law, strut your shit, talk the dude langauge, and leave no doubt in your mind or anyone elses just how fucking awesome you are.

I won't even go into how as a feminist things need to change and gender rolls and bullshit. But here's this. If I'm entering this legal world-which really was just opened up to women 150 years ago after 100's of years of monopoly by men-I'm going to have to learn how to play the game.
Which means I have to get all liberal feminist on this legal ass and gain full access before I can change it from the inside out. Or at least so I can make a ton of money.

Which means I need to play up my strengths. And get ready to shout from the fucking roof-tops, " You know, I'm beginning to accept that I'm awesome. I knew I was good. But I'm awesome."

Because, half the battle is walking into a room, and sending out that message and not giving them any other reason to think otherwise.

So thanks. Thanks high-school boyfriend. For teaching me this weird lesson. Sometimes taking life by the balls, and telling it you're better than most, even if it isn't true, really works in driving you towards success.

If the law won't work for me with how I think as a woman, I'm going to start to act like a man-and think I'm and the mother fucking shit regardless.

Whoa. It felt good to get that off my chest. And my balls.

Note to Self.

Don't write blog about having crush on someone and leave computer screen open to said blog so that husband will see (and read it).  

Idiot!

5 Things on My Mind-Sunday Night Edition

1. Swine Flu

This shit reminds me reading "The Plague" by Camus when I was in college and all going through this existentialist, everything is meaningless phase.  But reading about it in a book while chain-smoking in front of your dorm and watching kids in Mexico ride bikes around wearing surgical masks are two different things.  I really don't understand this virus thing-and I don't know what to believe from the news.  Are they telling us everything, are they going overboard to keep up with the crazy-ass news cycle we have going these day, who are "they" any way?  FUCK.  Well, if I get swine flu at least I won't have to go to class.  

2. Reality programming.

It seems that everywhere you turn, if you are me, there's reality t.v.  involving some sort of prize (love/money/infamy) waiting for the contestants at the end.  I just watched the movie "Grey Gardens" inspired by the documentary "Grey Gardens"  and it's like these two women were the original-and ultimate- reality t.v. show characters.  I wonder what would have happened to them had their lives been made into a serialized television program?  Reality shows put this thin layer of cheapened slime all over pop culture-has pop culture always been slightly cheapened though?  Maybe just not as slimy.  

I don't know.  With the Internet, facebook, blogs, reality t.v., 24 hour news cycles, and texting it just seems like my mind isn't getting out and stretching its mind legs.  I zip through websites, drinking in what I can in a few minutes or less, and communicating through 5 word sentence texts to friends-too lazy to even have an actual conversation.  I can't even drag my ass off the damn couch to take a shower on weekends.  I'm too busy spoon feeding myself dribble about celebrity relationships and pandemics that may or may not occur at any second.  

The ladies that lived in Grey Gardens, although they were off their rockers and lived in a condemnable home, spent their days singing, dancing, creating costumes and stories.  Living, crazily, but living taking full advantage of their imaginations and creativity.  The most creative thing I've done lately is create a sorority avatar on facebook.  And here I am bitching about it all on my blog.  While watching narcissistic people exploit themselves on camera for my viewing pleasure.  While I blog.  And receive texts.    

3. Break-ups.  

Yeah, not the kind-of break-ups that involved cutting it off with someone you're doing it with.  Like break-ups with someone your friends with.  It's seriously one of those things I don't know how to handle.  It's like I'm growing up-and those that I've been through a lot of fun times with-It's just that we're not flying in the same direction.  I want to have one of those, "It's not you, it's me" conversations.  Because really. It is.  But who am I kidding.  I'm not any good at ending relationships.  I'm always like, I'll either still fuck you or drink with you-It's something I have to get better at.  

4. Finals, money, summer school, weight-loss.  

These 4 thoughts stream through my mind at relentless pace, streaming through all my other daily concerns, until I have one big mind fuck at the end of the day-pushing them to the back burner-balancing not going into denial about my bills and studying, but also trying to stay focused on one thing at a time.  Welcome to being an adult bitch.  It only took me like through half my 20's to get here. 

5. Insomnia. 

I cannot sleep lately.  Maybe if I showered once in awhile my weekend stench wouldn't keep me awake on Sunday nights.  

The dog doesn't know to go to bed.

My life is so lame.  But weird. And awesome.  

I'm feeling conflicted. 

I decided today that I'm going to school through the summer.  My response: 

Well, duh.  FIRST watch "the biggest loser", which is not only the best show ever, but the only redeeming show on television.  I fucking love that shit, and now I have dry eyes from crying, (which I do every week).  That show and LOST are my only two favorites and LOST is such a pile of turd, but I can't turn away.  I'm too invested and it's too satisfying. 

I met up with Steve and Ann today.  Steve is the dude that got me into law school by writing by resume and making it sound awesome (which was fairly difficult, since the most I've done is like drink alcohol and make lattes) and his wife Ann, who went to law school and now works for West publishing in a super boring job, but makes a shit ton of money.  

Steve is a chef. Ann is a lawyer.  Sort of reflects my own life.  

They've been married 30 years and made it work. BUt here's the thing.  Steve had a goal.  He not only had an undergraduate degree-he got his masters and wrote a fucking book!  My husband seems like he's just hanging out.  And I hate it when he's all depressed and music is the only thing that makes him happy.  It's a bad sign.  

He complains about the house, and the chores, and the responsibility.  Finally I was like, BABE-fuck you a million times over because I feel like I'm the one that MADE us buy this house ( I supplied the down payment) and encouraged the dog, and forced the marriage, and maybe I would like a little romance or thanks in return for basically me turning your life around from being some roommate/pot-smoking musician into a responsible home-owning husband.  

BUT maybe he didn't want that.  Maybe he wanted to be the pot-smoking roommate. 

Ahhh...I really don't think so.  I wanted to marry the dude for some reason.  Here's the thing.  

That asshole needs to reach WAY down deep and figure out what he wants to do with this one, short, sweet life.  I want him to be satisfied, fulfilled, happy.  I don't want some bump on the couch that complains all day.  

I'm moving on with my life.  figuring out what I can.  I can't hand-hold him into a sense of worth for him.   He needs to know-what can I handle-what am I able to figure out-who do I want to serve? 

Sometimes when I get pissed and frustrated, I remember.  I remember that person I fell in love with-so deeply.  Not to sound like a total asshole, but in that love I found myself.  It's amazing, but true.  I tumbled into someone that gave me permission to be myself.  It sounds so simple, but when you live it-it's unreal.  

I became myself and I wanted to marry him.  This is how I feel about marriage.  This is why EVERYONE should be legally allowed to engage in it.  

I was 100% committed to the idea of him becoming my family.  My other.  I wanted to kiss him on my honeymoon ( see above) and deal with all the administrative shit after the fact.  

Let me tell you, the " after the fact" is really what marriage is about.  

Sometimes I can't stand the look of his face, other's I want to make a pact to die together because I can't imagine living without him by my side.  

that's what long-term love is.  It's overcoming the hormonal/chemical connection (that is proven to wear off after 5 years) 

It's overcoming the momentary issues (when it's not meant to be-you know it). 

It's standing at the aisle in front of 100 family/strangers and declaring your ultimate love in front of a God you don't really believe in (but believe in enough to capitalize), an idea of commitment and sacrifice.  An idea of love that exists, not all the time, but sometimes.  In the glance, in the touch of your fingers, in paying God damn bills together.  That belief that sometimes is enough, that the sacrifice is worth it.  That at the end of the day-the only person the gives your orgasms and light and calls you on your bullshit is worth all the conflict.  

He's the one you marry in a Russian vodka bar and the one you go away with to a sheltered resort in Wisconsin.  He's the one you kiss in a photo and it doesn't seem cheesy-although if it were anyone else it would.  

In the middle of the night-when you're worried and anxious and you feel the most alone.  

Who's there? 

They are.  The ones that sleep with you.  

Unconscious, but subconsciously alert to your slightest touch and movement.  Spooning a little bit tighter, moving their leg so you can slip yours in between, loving you even though you are vulnerable-alone-afraid or unsure-holding you tight and not judging that your belly had started to spill over the edge of your pajama bottoms just a bit more.  

THEY are what you've been waiting for.  It may not always be exciting.  

It make not always be romantic.  

But it is real-and it is you-and it is them.  

It is a kiss on a honeymoon  declaring-I am yours-no matter what.  

Beyond that-What is there? 

Sunday at Home.

I can't believe how goofy my husband is.  And the dog is always all over him-like attached to him by the head or paw or belly always.  Gawd.  She's so cute. After I write this I'm going sneak back into bed between the two of them and scratch her ears.   

I was so looking forward to spending the summer with them.  SO SO SO!  Instead, I've decided to take 8-10 credits over my "break" and graduate a semester early.  Why?  I'm not sure if it's stupid yet, and probably won't know until I've actually done it, but at this point if feels like a no-brainer.  The classes are easier, 2 classes are done in 1 WEEK!, and I'll be able to get the fuck out of there.  Seriously.  I can't live like a student anymore.  It's my 27th birthday this year, and I cannot imagine waiting until I'm 28 to actually get my license and start practicing.  I've been doing this shit since I was 23.  It's taking forever!  I want to get this show on the road.  

That means another 3 months of not seeing the dog and the husband.  No wonder she's so attached to him. 

I am thrilled about spending a weekend at the end of May at Fitgers (we have a 2 for 1 coupon for being member of MPR-Sweet).  I love Duluth in the spring-and Dustin's band is playing with a group called Too Many Banjos (?) and a magician (Gob Bluth?)  at Luce.   As long as I'm able to walk by the lake and shop and have brunch and bloody mary's on Sunday morning-I'm happy.  The week after that I'll be starting all over again.  I just have to hold onto the things I'm looking forward to and attempt to put a positive spin on the things I'm not.  Sometimes, I think I'm crazy when I see other people with jobs and lives and no school debt.  FUCK!  I guess I just wouldn't know any other way to live.  Even if it's totally dumb.  

Wow. Seriously.

I hope it is infinitely clear that the blog directly below this one was written while...well...smashed.  I had no idea how ridiculous it was until my sister insisted on reading it aloud to me while we both laughed out loud-tears streaming down my cheeks at least.  

I feel I at least owe it to whomever reads this blog to update while at least partially in my right mind.  

I went to the psychic.  It was an interesting experience.  One I know I'll repeat again.  I'm not really sure she gave me any new information, but she confirmed things that I already knew.  That was something-right? 

Also, GD it all to hell. I have a freaking high school crush on someone-WHAT a freaking joke.  I'm so embarrassed about it-but it's also kind-of fun-but mostly embarrassing.  I'm like totally not mature enough to have a platonic relationship with a man.  I have to be all dumb about.  Maybe because ultimately I'm just looking for a father figure.  

But ultimately my husband is home and I know his arms are the only ones I belong in-momentary crushes aside.  

Good night sweet blog readers.  I have to get my cuddle on. 

I feel.

I feel that, as women, we've been too dainty of fingers and light of toes.  

Too beautiful as we come and too beautiful as we go. 

Competitive facing and nothing to show. 

As women we are too light as they come and too light as they go.  

I lay next to my husband and he doesn't know.  

We are too light as we come and too heavy as we grow.  

To take care of it all and to let nothing of it show. 

To be willing, and grateful, and open and down low...

We are...we

As much as I've referenced light...that's what I mean.  LIGHT.  I only see it in women...but I only experience it in women.  and no one say it like she....Maya Angelou

we are...

Coming down from my week.

Whew.  That was a tough week.  Time change, Friday the 13th, realizing that work isn't always wonderful.  

I'm growing up  just in time for my brain to start slowing down.

I was helped along immensely by the chicken nuggets with truffles at the Bulldog N.E., 3 pints of beer, and beautiful weather.  

I stopped by an old friend's house on  Friday and looking through an old photo album realized that things weren't how I remembered them.  Or, at least weren't how he remembered them.  It made me feel strangely nostalgic and somewhat gratified.  Ended up having to take a taxi back home from Northeast though.  That made me feel like a cheap hooker.

My girlfriends and I went to breakfast on Saturday.  I love breakfast.  One of us has gotten a huge pay raise (not me!) Huge.  Like more than our parents make big.  The other is as fabulous and lovely as usual.  

I feel like I reconnected with a lot of things this weekend.  My past, myself, my dog, my husband.  Although, we did bicker today-even while we walked the dog-and now that he's as practice and I've had three hours off from him I'm starting to miss him.  

I made some more snotty remarks to my step-mother in law on Facebook because she is against medical marijuana-like testifying at the capital against it.  I just don't understand a. why anyone rational person would take that stance and b. why it bothers me so much.  Anyway, I had unfriended her on Facebook just to avoid this type of issue and now, not only did she friend me again (I had to accept it-what else can I do?) now her sister is trying to friend me as well.  GAWD when will my big mouth stop getting me in trouble.  Now I'm causing drama trauma with a fucking bunch of 50 year olds over legalizing medical cannabis.  My husband thinks I'm alienating our future children's grandparents and that I just like the sound of my own voice.  Shrug.  He's probably right on both counts.  I guess we just get along anyway.  Reading that paragraph over again makes me realize how desperately pathetic I am sometimes.

I'm seeing a psychic/medium tomorrow.  CRAZY!  For an hour.  I have to make a list tonight, after I take a bath, about all of the things I want to ask about.  I'm actually really looking forward to it.  I'll update about it here if it's not too boring.  Oh, even if it is I'll update.  

Now, I must go shut the window, shave my legs, figure out dinner, write my psychic list, and begin obsessively calling my husband to see when he's getting done with practice.  

I love spring.

I am in a place...

where I feel like I'm surrounded by fucking nut jobs. Seriously, fucking nut cakes.

I need like 1,000,000 hours of therapy just to ease into my new life.

If I am feeling like the most sane person in the room-and I am acting insane something is seriously wrong in the universe.

Thank God for jazz on the radio, half a glass of red wine, a sleeping dog on the couch, and a husband coming home with mashed potato pizza.

I always have to remember-this is my real world and this is my real life-I can give myself permission to the be the pleasant yet somewhat cold, newbie at work. GAWD.

The reasons older lawyers love their jobs so much is because they have other people doing all the shit work. And when that person is me...poor both of us.

Stress Release

I'm always looking for new supplements, magical pills, and activities that will help me live my life in way where my fight of flight response isn't always kicked into high gear. I realize that I'm a naturally very high-strung person, but throw in law school (this place was MADE for testing ones ability to stay emotionally, physically and mentally balanced or even remotely sane) and I'm one crazy mother fucker. First, I'll do anything to distract myself from thinking about my real concerns: bills and school work.

I'm having a heart attack, an aneurysm, breast cancer, brain tumor, sexual dysfunction, emphysema, early Alzheimer's, Parkinson's, MS. I only exaggerate slightly. My panic attacks on the road were so bad I once was convinced that I had had a stroke, my hands tensed up and I couldn't move my fingers (as a result of the stroke of course) and I called my mom all-I can't move my hands (of course I somehow found the ability to move them enough to dial her number) I think I was even convincing myself that the left side of my face on gone numb. I give my mom much credit for not laughing her ass off during that situation.

That's around the time I was like-yeah this whole alcohol thing every day to the point of oblivion really isn't working for me in the way self-medication should.

Over time I have gotten better and at least I can talk myself out of the panic attack now. I read about Ashwagandha awhile ago, but had only tried it in tincture form. I bought some in concentrated pill form last night and it is the Ayurveda bomb! Instantly I was like-whoa muscles relaxed, breath slowed down, all stoned but alert. I love it! So far it's my favorite chill pill. And though it pains me to refer to is as a chill pill, I really couldn't help myself. Too easy.

Grey Gardens and Grey Gardens Redux

If you haven't seen the documentary Grey Gardens than you are probably not a gay man. If you haven't seen it-really you should. It's follows the lives of two women-the aunt and first cousin of Jackie Kennedy. The huge mansion they live in has become a ruin. I can't do justice to it with my explanation. Show the clip, Jimmy:




When I heard that Drew Barrymore and Jessica Lange were in a new film-a remake of the original-I was like, "Come again?" But when I saw the trailer I decided I'm totally willing to give it another chance. I mean,it does look sort of awesome.

This is why today wasn't easy. This is why today was still o.k.

I cried at work.

This is me:

Except with tears. And apparently a choker.

I really can't explain it in detail in the fucking off chance someone in my office will come across this.

I felt really overwhelmed and my boss is basically like..."ummm... you do it and you do it right."

I got to work this morning and through miscommunication from her I just felt totally used. Sort of like I'm doing her job. And I was so PISSED and I felt so helpless to do anything about it.
I got back to my desk---"look it up!"(see above)---my ass! 

 I was going to totally lose my shit. Like if one tear trickled out I was doomed.

I was all curious about it. Why am I crying now? I never cry-or if I do it's only at Oprah? I've taken so much shit at my job-at school-at life. Why now? Why am I so close to the sobbing point.

I realized, it's because I can take constructive criticism. It's o.k. Yeah, I fucked up. I'm pretty good at accepting that. I'm not going to fucking cry about it.

But it was just this situation where I knew I wasn't in the wrong and I felt wronged, yet I'm a subordinate. I can't talk back or get angry or defensive or even offensive. That's how I felt. Like a schmuck and a fucking legal bitch. So I cried. What else is there?

Than I left work and my car wouldn't start and I had to be at school for class.

And it was hail/snow/rain/sleeting out. These days. It's always these days. Upset and snowy, wet socks and pants, hands tucked into a jacket that isn't warm enough, wanting to just get the fuck away from it all.

I felt all down and out like only a little entitled white girl can.

BUT, this thing happened. I'm reading this book, "Small Miracles" about the everyday coincidences that happen in life that mean something more-like the universe is directing you to the right places when you are open and free-or whatever. I'm usually pretty skeptical to that shit-but I'm into it enough to read about it.

Anyway, yesterday I'm reading it-trying to get comfortable with laying in between my husband's clunky legs;a big boxer dog snoring in the crook of my arm, and I'm on this this story about the lady that really wrote Ann Landers. It wasn't Ann Landers (I guess I kind-of knew this in the back of my mind). It was this other woman. Who lived in Chicago. She wanted to write the column, but kept getting refused when she tried to get the job. She eventually wrote her way onto the newspaper in a blind contest-even after being repeatedly rejected. They told her she wasn't going to last after she won. She wrote for decades.

Well, great. Nice random story about real Ann Landers and coincidence and perseverance and achieving against all odds and stuff.

Then today in class which I was totally running late for since my OTHER boss had to give me a ride to school (lame! I'm a loser). I'm sitting there zoning and mostly checking out Jezebel.

My prof. is talking about a sport's car and why it's worth more to this dude because it was owned by Tiger Woods. He goes on to say that the problem in the book used to say the car was owned by Ann Landers, but they had to change it because not enough students knew who she was.

My ears perked up a bit. Strange, Ann Landers. I never hear her referenced-there isn't even a column anymore- and all of a sudden I read about her (as in the real) Ann Landers and hear about her in UCC Sales of all things. He goes on to say, "Did you know that Ann Landers didn't write her column. I lived next door to the REAL Ann Landers in Chicago-this lady that wrote the column used to get boxes and boxes of mail delivered to her house. Bet you didn't know that."

So here I am-all pissed about my day, depressed about my memo, sick of law school, wanting to give up.

And here on I am. Not just reading about Ann Landers or hearing my Prof. mention Ann Landers-

No, I'm reading about this obscure (relatively) lady who wrote an advice column under a pseudonym in a book about meaningful coincidence and than the NEXT day hear her mentioned-not just Ann Landers-but the lady behind Ann Landers who I had just been reading about the day before.

I'm reading a book about coincidences and one of the stories in the book leads to my own coincidence.

Even though today sucked in a way-I'm taking my coincidence that occurred due to me reading about meaningful coincidence as a sign-or something-that I am on the right path and that I am going to keep moving forward.

I guess that's all it took. Thanks Eppie Lederer. You helped bring it all together for me today.

Even though it started with tears-it ended with a smile.

March 10th is National Day of Appreciation for Abortion Providers! Do your part.

Hey, Abortions. No one really wants to talk about them. But if you're like me-you have and know those-who have benefited from having one. People may accuse you of being selfish-they may want you to feel guilty-but you know what...no one, NO MAN, NO WOMAN, NO GOVERNMENT can stand in the way of women exerting their fucking right to.

But you know what does. NO providers. It's a job that's getting harder and harder to do.

SO

Thank you to all of those that stand on the front lines of protecting women's rights, women's bodies, and ultimately women's freedom.

Here's a link to a group that helps low income women get access to emergency contraception and abortions.

It's a good thing.

5 Things on My Mind: March Edition

1. Legal memos.  Writing them.  Totally freaks me out.  It's like-the partner reading them knows how well you can (or cannot) reason and distill information-I feel so vulnerable and stupid.  It's like I'd rather walk into their office and let them examine my cellulite ass before picking over my memo.  And this particular partner was a journalism major and EDITOR of the newspaper at freaking Madison.  I got my first piece of writing back from her covered in red ink.  BLARGH!  I have to write it anyway.  At the very least, it's an interesting topic area, there was a ton of information available, and it shouldn't take me too long to piece together something that is at least fairly cognizant.  Blast!  

2. Stirring the turd.  I like to do it.  Riling shit up.  Picking at the drama scab.  Just a little.  It's a bad habit.   BUT sometimes I think it's good to remind a woman that there's still enough interest and connection for her to get jealous.  I did that yesterday.  Just left a little comment for someone other than who the comment was for to see.   Fucked up, but effective.  It keeps my life interesting and their lives interesting.  Although it's not my place and I have boundary issues, but I backed off pretty fast and completely.  I know people have done that shit to me.  It's fun sometimes.  

3. Wine country USA here I come.  I've decided that after graduation my BIG celebratory vacation will be to California-all Sideways style-to visit vineyards and drink wine.  I kept on feeling pressure to like go to a beach in some tropical land and force my husband through drugs and emotional blackmail to get on a plane.  Then I was like-wait a minute.  I can't sit in the sun due to my skin that's just asking for cancer burn-in fact I don't really like sitting in the sun.  I get kind-of bored.  I don't like the heat all that much.  I mean-who isn't awe inspired my the ocean-but I don't need it out my window.  What I do like: 1. Drinking wine, 2. Dining al fresco and eating really, really well made food, 3. Going for walks at dusk when it's just starting to cool down, 4. Making love in pretty places. 

Voila-California.  Never been.  Can do all of the above. And we can drive there.  Case Closed.  I'm taking two weeks to explore a part of the country I've never seen and drink wine.  WHY didn't I think of this sooner?!

4. Extracurricular activities.  I'm constantly reading about very cool things to do in the cities, but we rarely do.  We don't go go movies, shows, art exhibits. Nada.  I do that stuff with my girlfriends, but not my husband.  Why?  Partly because we're such HUGE homebodies, partly because we're broke, and partly because we're lazy.  I think it's also partly because all my husband really wants to do is pick up a guitar and watch Netflix movies and I'm not stopping him.  Also, he's all fucking responsible now.  Like-we can't spend money, we have to pay the bills, we can get food at the grocery store, blah, blah, blah.  FUCK! I thought I married a musician/artist not a fucking PAPA in training.  I can't believe he's on the fence about kids sometimes-he's already making dad jokes and driving around an efficient SUV just asking for a car seat to be put in the back.  I want to get my kicks in while we're young.  Well, while I'm young.   Since he's hit 30 he wants to be close to home in case the sudden urge for a nap hits. 

5. School.  It really should be on my mind-but isn't which is slightly worrisome.  It's like I'm on mile 23 of a marathon and am like-FUCK this, I'm going to go get a beer and a burger. I need to get back on the horse, back in the saddle, back in the game, back into anywhere.  But it's so hard and I feel so whiny about it.  Can't I just read blogs and watch LOST.  LOST is another thing on my mind, but it's so deeply nerdy and overwhelmingly boring (even more so than the rest of this post) to anyone that doesn't watch I won't talk about it here.  I'll leave that discussion for the message boards.  Anyway, it's March.  It's daylight savings.  And I have a whole semester ahead of me to not screw up.  What else is new?  

Vibrators (and etc.).

I've quite a collection if I do say so myself. Ever since a girlfriend introduced me to their beauty my freshmen year of college.
And mom-if you're reading this-JESUS read no further. SISTER-You too!

I remember getting my first vibe like it was yesterday. My girlfriend and I were at Perkins-weren't we all always at Perkins before bars?-and somehow the topic of orgasms and toys came up. I was a pretty naive little girl I guess-but I had never even thought to own a vibrator before she mentioned it. She was shocked that I had been so deprived through my masturbatory youth-and she was so excited about the idea and I was so excited about her excitement that we immediately shot up from the table and ran out on both our bill and my ice cream sundae and 10th cup of coffee. I totally broke the law just to get a sex toy.

We went to Sex World which was garish and dangerous and gross and exciting. My first vibrator was pink, cheap, and covered in some kind of bizarre rubbery thing which the salesman told me was edible, but he was fat and sweaty and probably just got off the idea of girls gnawing through their first sex toys. In fact, this thing was so novice that it should have had a My Little Pony on the package with the words "Girl's First Vibrator" written underneath in rainbow colors.

It sort of looked like this:


Except-decidedly not ribbed for her pleasure. It was more like, encased in rubber jelly which meant that it was always sticky and covered in hair and lint from being hastily shoved under my pillow.

I didn't realize at the time that that pink jelly was actually toxic and melting poison into my little v-jay-and I'm sure I wouldn't have cared. Using that toy was like seeing the face of God the first time-like WHAT-I can have a quickie with myself and barely do any work?

Over the years I bought more toys here and there-even buying one when I lived in Spain and bringing it home in my carry on. I don't know what I was thinking-like I could join the solo mile high club?

When I started dating my husband I realized he was a lady in the streets, but a freak in the bed-and once we had gone through several break-ups and decided it was just you and me always and forever we amped up the sex life. While, it had been amped, but we decided to throw it all in (pun intended-and achieved) My husband isn't one of those dude's that's all intimated by a lady's best friend-in fact he has gotten me two beautiful (and expensive) vibes as gifts-something I prefer over flowers and chocolate any day.

I mean-as long as you're all committed to one person and you're not into open relationship shit-I thought why not try sex in every possible way and with as much accoutrement as we could afford. I went from not knowing that a vibrator is something a real girl could own to practically having my own sex toy store in the closet.

Not that I pull out a trunk o' tricks every time we do it. But it definitely comes in handy for the nights every few weeks when we both have the next day off, the house to ourselves, whiskey, and hours to get nice and warm and buzzed and I get my just rewards for taking care of everything else in our lives, by him taking care of me. Being a woman is so cool sometimes.

And Smitten Kitten has allowed us to really push the boundaries and explore in a way that isn't giving us private part cancer or making me feel all awkward in a cum covered sex shop for men.

BUT

Here's what sucks. I keep breaking all of my fancy vibrators. The cheapo ones seem to go on forever. But the nice toys we have-at least those that require battery power-are shot. I'm so disappointed. I don't know if it's me and my overuse-or the fact that the toys aren't meant to be used-they are so pretty perhaps I am supposed to put them in a glass case and display them like a bunch of knick knacks.  Maybe they are just not meant to last forever and I totally put in my mileage on them really fast.  

Regardless-I've learned that one of the worst things in life is that slow whurr, whurr, whurr, sound right before your vibrator bites the big one (and right before you have the big one).

I have decided that I need to take the next step.

Vibrators that plug into the wall. Oh, that's right. I'm finally ready for the big guns:



The Hitachi Magic Wand-The King of All Vibrators-or at least Traci thinks so. She has me convinced.  

Through my history of buying vibrators, breaking vibrators, and using vibrators in the bedroom with my "try anything once" hubby-I'm totally ready to go old school on this shit and plug in a super powered machine that won't die on me right in the middle.  

Speaking of Traci-she's shown me that you never know how many different ways you can use the magic wand.  Skip to 1:48 if you don't have time for the lesson.  

On the topic of lessons and vagina This link is seriously not safe for work, but it provides some solid info. for dudes about the vagina and making it happy. Click on the link for Nina Hartley and learn even more with video!  Even my husband-who thinks he has nothing to learn just because he's brought me to tears-learned something-and I was thankful he did.  The new tricks were a welcome surprise.  Almost as welcome a surprise as a new Hitachi Magic Wand for my birthday (I hope he's reading this).  

Sweet Berry Wine.

Wednesday night I went out for wine and pizza with my law school girlfriends. The Riverview Wine Bar does not mess around with their wine portions-which is why I'm shocked I've never been there before. After two glasses of wine and a wine flight my night quickly went from discussing our job prospects to this:





I've posted that clip before and I'll post it again, because Dr. Steve Brule's wine experience was the fucking funniest thing I've seen in a long time. The first half-with his wine stained lips-that is my life. My husband is obsessed with Tim and Eric's Awesome Show-but I could just watch that clip over and over.

Needless to say Thursday morning I felt like my brain was attempting to exit my head through my eyeballs.

Gawk.

I barely remember writing my yoga/making my husband into Jesus blog. He had to come pick me up. LOL! He gets so pissed.

And I'm always just standing around where ever he has to get me-a glass of wine in my hand-Sweet Berry Wine if you will-grinning wildly and waiting for him to carry me home.

See Below...

For first example of smashed words.

Owww! My head! It's never worth it the next morning.

What's the diff?

So. I totally make my husband experience new things. And most of the time it doesn't even work, because he quit smoking the winter we got married and I keep smoking-one here and there when I'm with my friends-but-hence the title-what's ' the diff?

I'm feeling really closed off. I can't take a deep breath. I freak out when I'm driving.

Yesterday. Kundilni yoga. Some dude that invented it? Real stuff?

I don't know.


But on my way home from doing it-from which I find so much satisfaction:

I felt calm.
and I told him about how-at about 8 o clock I felt this intense-not really intense, but real feeling. Like, my husband loves me more each day. AND it sounds corny as shit.

and he felt the same. Like, this intense love and attraction.

Here's my secret.

And it should be all. To me.

I often quiver and quick with the meaning of life. Like I'm doing it right, or I'm not doing enough.


I'm confused and angry and lost. But here's the thing. I refuse to be lost with my partner. I can't handle it.

YOU are with me like family-and I hate you and love you and watch you play guitar.

But sometimes, at the end of the night, when all the disagreements and unsettled moral positions come to rest-I lay down in bed-and you wrap your arms around me-and stick you leg between mine-and we sigh-almost in unison-grateful for the warmth and the way we fit together-beyond all being-not quite, but almost, one.

I feel like the past is sucked beyond=and the future is one I am meant to create with you.

My love. My life. My infinite being.

How sweet it is.

When I am in yoga-opening myself up-and my husband feels at that time that he loves me so much-he needs to call and tell me-I know that I am more than my physical body to my partner. I AM his partner. I will not betray him, I will not lie to him, and I expect from him what I expect from myself-quite an old soul. but we wouldn't be here if not for him.

Turns, Wheel, Mushroom head?

This video has already been all over, but I'm amazed at how much this kid looks like a male version of me at that age. WHY oh why didn't I have YouTube? All I had was a pretend video camera when I busted mad moves and sang along to En Vouge, Boyz II Men, and Tony, Toni, Tone in my living room. With my mushroom hair and buck teeth.

Blind Item.

Just read this blind item on Dlisted:

"Which Twitter-happy star uses the social site to find his next hook-up? You could be next, he has no preference as long as you live within driving distance and seem somewhat discreet. It’s not Ashton Kutcher."

Micheal K's guess? John Mayer.

My response: Start following John Mayer on Twitter.

I'm not proud that I'm on Twitter or that I am now following John Mayer or that I read blind items and try to guess who they are about.

Let's just say that if I was within driving distance I WOULD be proud of how discrete I am.

DAMN you John Mayer...DAMN you for your cocky attitude that just keeps me coming back for more.



Well, I guess it's not just his attitude that's super cocky. It seems his actual cock is too.

FUCK you Chris Brown. And I'll say it again.

I'm having this really visceral reaction to these recent photos of Chris Brown enjoying life after beating the shit out of girlfriend.

It's as if this didn't happen:



or at the very least-doesn't rise to the level of importance where he would have some more sensitive PR work happening.

I know the photo of Rhianna is shocking and controversial-or maybe not anymore since it's kind-of old news and everyone has seen it. To me it's humiliating and sad and seems like it should be private. But I think it's good for young women and all women to see-this is what it looks like when you get your ass kicked inside of a relationship. Unfortunately, for this woman pictured above she's famous and so is her abuser so she's all of sudden become the de facto face of domestic violence-at least for now.

I volunteer at an organization that helps women leave abusive relationships and find emergency shelter and advocacy assistance-and while that doesn't making me an expert in this area-I know that abusive relationships are a dance of sorts- of codependency and unhealthy/dysfunctional patterns that allow the abuse to continue. That said-NO partner should kick the shit out of the other partner-regardless.

I don't know the details of what happened in this well publicized case-I don't know if she was hitting at him or provoking him. Things I've heard brought up to somehow (subtly) justify the abuse or explain Brown's behavior as being somewhat rational.

I was in a long-term severely emotionally dysfunctional relationships. It pains me to even call it abusive because A. It's embarrassing to think of myself as a victim in that sense and B. I really did love him and felt like it was normal at the time. I think of myself as a really strong, capable woman and what person wants to think or believe that they too are vulnerable to emotional and/or physical and/or psychological abuse.

But looking back I see how it happened. This cycle of codependency and control, humiliation and neglect. When I began a relationship with my husband I was stuck in that place still-I began a dance with him vacillating between extremes and I attempted to provoke him-several times through words, through actions, through so many things. We had all out brawls, neither one of us was very healthy (I did piss him off-OH MY GOD-did I piss him off to the point where he punched a punching bag OFF the ceiling it was hung on, kicked a table and cracked it in half, punched the back off a chair, threw shit at doors, and broke a handle off a pot by throwing it against the wall). It's like I was fucking daring him to fuck with me-and even though breaking shit isn't that most appropriate response he has not laid one hand on me. NOT ONCE has he grabbed me, pushed me, or tried to hurt me physically. Over time we've had to work really hard through our problems-which meant that BOTH of us had to come to the table acknowledging our roles and taking responsibility for our behavior. It sucks, but it's worth it and it doesn't allow one of us to be the "bad guy" and the other the "victim."

I could easily have ended up looking the Rhianna in the photo above. And I know that when I was in an emotionally dangerous relationship-if I had looked like that-I would have gone back. Just like she has.

It's not pretty.

And saying that does not mean that women are always victims and men are always aggressors (not to mention that abuse that happens in same-sex relationships) and it doesn't take away from the complexities and complications that I know-that I've experienced-exist in relationships.

But at the end of the day-when someone has a photo with their eyes closed and bruises all over their face put there by the hand of their partner-that isn't real love.

Chris Brown is a damaged person-sitting on his jet ski-seemingly without a care in the world.

And that is when the woman in the picture below him starts to look like a victim and he really starts to look like an unforgiveable asshole. And that pisses me off-him making it so easy to hate him and feel sorry for her.

So-I say-FUCK you Chris Brown and your stupid woman beating/shit eating grin.
FUCK you.

Jezebel did me wrong.

I love going to Jezebel and I visit the site several times a day, but this post was inaccurate and irresponsible:


A Bitter Pill To Swallow
From multivitamins to weight loss pills, some scientists are warning that dietary supplements are at best a waste of time, and at worst, a risk to women's health.

New research suggests that middle-aged women who take a multivitamin are just creating expensive urine, as there is no sign the pills reduce common cancers, heart disease or death, reports the Wall Street Journal. Results of the largest multivitamin study in postmenopausal women ever conducted were published yesterday in The Archives of Internal Medicine. Researchers analyzed data from 161,808 women between the ages of 50 and 79 who participated in the Women's Health Initiative, a government-funded clinical trial that studied the women's health for eight years on average.

The study found that there were few differences in disease outcomes between vitamin and nonvitamin users, and recommended that women focus on getting nutrients from the foods they eat, not vitamins. An excess of water soluble vitamins (whether from food or supplements) is excreted, but excess fat soluble vitamins like A, D, E, and K, are stored in the liver and can cause negative side effects. "Based on our results, if you fall into the category of the women described here and you do in fact have an adequate diet, there really is no reason to take a multivitamin," said researcher Dr Sylvia Wassertheil-Smoller, according to The Independent.

While multivitamins may not be helpful or harmful in most cases, today, the Food and Drug Administration is issuing warnings in its continuing investigation into weight loss supplements, according to The New York Times. StarCaps have been promoted by professional football players, featured on the Today show, and sold in vitamin stores without a prescription, as a natural papaya-based dietary supplement. But now the FDA has found that the pills also contain an unlisted ingredient: a pharmaceutical drug call bumetanide, which has dangerous side effects.

In addition to StarCaps, the F.D.A. has found that dozens of weight-loss supplements, most of them imported from China, contain hidden and possibly harmful drugs. The warnings have already prompted recalls by some distributors and an F.D.A. spokeswoman says the agency will issue a longer list of brands that are spiked with drugs in the next few weeks. The current list includes 69 tainted weight-loss supplements, which were marketed under names like Sliminate, Superslim, and Slim Up. The undeclared drugs could cause problems like elevated blood pressure or seizures, and may have toxic interactions with other medications.

The F.D.A. investigation is raising questions about the way dietary supplements are regulated. Unlike drugs, which must be approved before they go on sale, the agency can only spot check supplements after they've go on the market. Even when contaminated products are discovered, the F.D.A. can't remove the pills from stores. It must first try to get the manufacturers to issue a recall, and eventually if the companies do nothing it can seize the products or file criminal charges. The F.D.A. admits there may be hundreds of contaminated drugs on store shelves that they just haven't identified yet.

Sources

Vitamins Fail to Reduce Health Risks for Women [The Wall Street Journal]
Multivitamin Supplements A Waste Of Time [The Independent]
F.D.A. Finds ‘Natural' Diet Pills Laced With Drugs [The New York Times]

At first this information just felt intuitively wrong to me. I mentioned in an earlier post that I've been using the "natural family planning" method to prevent a baby from growing inside of me (although I'm sure my hostility and negativity has, at times, kept a new little soul from wanting to take hold), but I started noticing after a few months that I really couldn't use this method very effectively-because I wasn't ovulating. My period would have fits and starts and come every 5-6 months. So I went to a traditional western doctor (oh-I'm so anti-established medicine and progressive)-and they tested my hormone levels and came back with the results and were like, "Well you have a raised level of this hormone and it looks like polycystic ovarian syndrome (PCOS) and every three months you will have to take these birth control pills and force a cycle."

Here were the reasons I was upset with that result:
1. I didn't want to take synthetic hormones which cause cancer and force my body to have a reaction if I don't need to. They never discussed with me natural hormones and I got off the pill to get off the pill. I didn't want to get off the pill only to get back on it with a super dose every three months.

2. Doing my own research I discovered that not only is PCOS the leading cause of infertility in the United States (fine, I can't get pregnant) the bigger deal is that it causes weight gain, acne, excessive hair growth, and cardiovascular problems. So, great I'm going to be a fat, hairy, zitty lady with a heart condition. FUCK! I was so pissed-so I cried at work.

3. They never discussed with me what else could be causing this rise and shift in my hormone levels or what was going on in my life. It was just such a quick snapshot and one solution.

SO
I went to Dr. Mayfield my secret boyfriend and number one health guy. He's like, Oh PCOS is linked to raised insulin levels too-he measured that-it was fine. But in the meantime found out I was severly vitamin D deficient and had like toxic everything and and "OH YEAH" this raised hormone can also happen when you have stress-and I was working two jobs, going to law school, taking care of a teenage niece who was living with us, and helping my husband who was back in school after 12 years. So , I was a amped on the fucking stress.

I started taking a round of supplements to detox (yeah-shitting and even puking at times-it was FUN! I guess I wasn't supposed to puke-it just seemed so detoxy to me), supplements to help balance my hormones, a natural progesterone cream that I slathered on once a month, and supplements to help up my Vitamin D levels. I also quit one of my jobs, detached with love from my niece, started doing yoga again, and let my husband take the responsibilty for his own education. Overtime, my stress decreased and what do you know? My period is back like clock-work-every month-and now I'm not walking around with like 1/32nd of the amount of vitamin D I needed.

Anyway, the point of my story. There is a time and a place for Western medicine and a time and a place for Dr. Mayfield. I would argue there is always a time and place for Dr. Mayfield, but he can't do open heart sugery so I'm not going to stop going to the doctor. I recognize the value in each, but I feel like if I didn't have the option I would be stuck taking pills to force on my period, thinking I had PCOS and living my life at the same dangerously stressful levels causing even more problems down the road.

Needless to say I sent Dr. Mayfield the articles decrying the use of supplements and this was his response:

Sara,

The alleged 'experts' quoted in the article are very consevative ones. Even 18 years ago the conservative Journal of the American Medical Assoc (JAMA) published an extensive review of the health conditions that needed additional vitamin/mineral supplementation to support or reverse the health disorder. The summary was that 85% of all Americans needed a basic multiple. Even further are the two dozen nutritional related medical journals that discuss the rampant, extensive nutritional deficits found in average Americans eating a "healthy" diet. One example is that if you do not take a vitamin D3 supplement (2000-5000 IU) every day, you will end up in the 80th percentile who are markedly D3 deficient.

The article you referenced is old, rehashed conservatism based on antiquated concepts. The new paradigm held by the majority of real experts recommend antioxidants, minerals, etc to optimize one's genetic expression so that disease is prevented or modified. I will gladly experience 'expensive urine' as the multiple vitamin / minerals wash through my body cells to improve the gene/environment experience. It is much more than getting the RDA levels of 1948 level thinking.

I attend 30 plus conferences per year led by the top experts in their related field of medicine, and all of them advocate a minimal multiple. Every 5 years the government runs the HANES study where they survey people throughout the country. They take their health symptoms and compare it to what they are eating in the alleged "healthy diet". Bottom line: the average person measures out to be deficient (average) in at least 14 nutrient deficiencies.

I could go on and on to make my point, but you can get the general idea. Hope all is well your way!

That is why I love him. It also serves as another reminder to continue my skeptical view of anything I read in the Wall Street Journal-which really only happens by accident.

Dr. Mayfield 4 eva.

Weird!

My lovely (single) sister is on an Internet dating site-mostly because it's fucking hilarious. The other day she told me that there was a sleazy guy trying to go out with her, even though he's in a relationship, etc. The thing is, she said it was freaky how much he looked like my husband.

I'm like, "No way." I've really never seen anyone that looks like him.

But after she showed me his pictures I was a believer.

Sleazy Internet guy:





My husband:




As Joey from Blossom would say, "Whoa!"

My husband is way cuter. And I don't think he's trying to pick up any chicks on dating sites.

It's crazy-I found his doppelganger.
I wonder what a threesome would be like with my husband and my husband's look-a-like?

I'm creeping myself out.

This Freaks Me Out! And other stories.

There is this person who I feel very angry about when I go looking for things to make me angry and I find them. But like a big idiot I keep looking. My mom told me that Ram Dass says that ones ego is attracted to these "sticky things" that aren't real, but are so attractive to latch onto. It's so tempting and I have to remind myself that it's my ego wanting to latch on. It's difficult to let go, walk away, acknowledge that it's unimportant when it's so easy to take in personally and take it is a decree about the kind of person you are and what you represent. Sticky ego sauce.

I guess it doesn't really freak me out, but it does make me feel like I'm in a constant state of taking two steps forward and one step back.

5 Things On My Mind: The February Edition

1. Birth control in hormonal form.
My husband recently said to me that he feels like he is married to a teenage boy (me) due to my seemingly incessant desire to do it. I disagree that my sex drive parallels that of a teenage boy, but I digress. When I was on the pill-a marvelous invention for young women everywhere-I was still in the mood for sex-what teenager isn't? But about three years ago I decided that I didn't want to be on hormones anymore-my mom had actually had a friggin' heart attack from hormones-and I just wasn't into that artificial shit being pumped into my body tricking it into believing it was pregnant. I only want to trick my body into believing it's happy through the use of alcohol. I got off the pill and onto the diaphragm (so 1970's and I couldn't believe my doctor who seemed annoyed with the whole fitting me process-she could not understand WHY I would want to get off the pill). Anyway, the diaphragm was not my style-especially when I tried to use it while tricking my body into happiness-so I've been using "natural family planning" for over 2 years. So far it's worked like a charm-maybe I'm just sterile-but I won't worry about that now. I've noticed that natural hormonal peaks and valleys have brought back my "natural" sex drive in the form of a raging girl hard-on and I really think they don't tell young women that the pill can kill off your desire. Maybe not for every woman, but for me the pill was like a wet blanket on my sex fire. For a Scorpio-that's not good. So I'm all for non-hormonal, monogamous, horny sex now.

2. Unfriending friends and family on Facebook.
Ugggg...facebook. It fulfills my desire to see what's (superficially) going on with old friends, kind-of strangers, enemies, this totally fucked up array of people that I would normally never know about. It's like disturbed the natural order of things. Knowing myself I don't need those constant pop up feed reminders about someone to remember-Oh I used to hate you and and you're from a time of my life when I totally felt like shit-but it's good to know that your office is cold or that you're just running on caffine today. Gross. So I had to weed out my facebook to just people I know or really don't care about knowing. That sounds harsh. It's like I'm trying to make the Facebook experience more psychologically sound when it's already sort-of a fucked up exercise in narcissism-at least if you're someone like me. That was step one.

Step two was unfriending each and every person I don't talk to in real life. I just want to be friends with people that A. I know about in real life and keep up with outside of the internet or 2. Whose posts I find entertaining and, at times, even enlightening.
That involved unfriending my parent's- in -law and their kids. That sounds doubly harsh, but I don't need people I see twice a year feeling like they know me through my stupid facebook posts. They can read my blog for Christ's sake.

This facebook thing can be innocuous or unhealthy-and I've talked about it way too much in this post showing that for me it's tends to be the latter. So I'm trying to keep that in check-I still can't let it go completely as it's convenient and gives me a place to talk about myself (my husband this morning, "Why do you like to talk about yourself so much?" I think it's just because I like to talk-something he's not a fan of-so I talk about the subject I know that most about-Myself. Also, I'm a self-centered asshole, but I'm always trying to find a way around that.)

3. Kundalini yoga.
I'm really getting into it and have found a studio right next to my office, which I take as a sign, but is really just a convenient coincidence. It's just on my mind-how and when I'll take classes. The end.

4. Amtrak vacations.
I want to go on a train vacation out west or to Canada. We can't afford it this year, but I have this romantic notion of sleeping in the sleeper car and drinking cocktails in the dining car. It's like an Alfred Hitchcock movie in my head without the murder and mystery-although if those things do happen it adds some spice to the equation.

5.Vegetarian Foods.
I love veggie burgers, veggie corn dogs, veggie taco meat, and veggie sausage. I really don't feel the need to eat meat anymore-unless it's all locally raised in a moral way and shit. But really, the only meat I would have trouble giving up is pepperoni and they must have an adequate substitute for that. It's somewhat telling that I'm only o.k. with becoming a full-on vegetarians because all of the substitutes make it easy to not really feel like I'm sacrificing anything. Lazy.

I'm now officially on spring break which puts me in the mood to do absolutely nothing. That's not true. It puts me in the mood to go through cookbooks and look at recipes, walk my dog in the snow, and research train vacations online. I do have to do to work, but at least at the end of the day I can go home and not to a classroom.


Expect increased blogging to ensue.

New Poll Alert Sickos.

So my last poll was kind-of a bust, partly because no one really knows about/reads my blog. At least I know that one person thinks I'm tacky like ads and another was just here for the porn.

Thus, the subject of poll #2. Knock yourselves out.

Weiner vs. Wiener

I write about weiners. A lot. But here's my problem. I always thought it was "weiner", but I guess it is "wiener". Why? I've seen it spelled both ways. I've very confused about this whole thing.

God damn weiner confusion. It's the worst.

This is the first image that comes up with "wiener" on google image search:



This is the first one the comes (no pun intended) up (no pun intended) with "weiner":


The second picture is a more accurate visual representation of the context in which I use the word "weiner". The first is a more accurate visual representation of how people respond when I use the word "weiner."

I'm going with wiener. I before E expect after C and all. And in my family the wiener never comes before the C (if you know what I'm sayin'-nudge nudge).

I can't play music...but I can sure make an album cover.

So, listen here's this super cool thing you can do all indie/hipster/facebook style. I can't do it b/c I don't have MsPaint or photoshop, but here's the gist...make your own album cover based on these random rules: (where it says "hit", instead just copy and paste into your browser).

1 - Go to “wikipedia.” Hit “Random Article”
or click http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Special:Random

The first random Wikipedia article you get is the name of your band.

2 - Go to “Random quotations”
or click http://www.quotationspage.com/random.php3
The last four or five words of the very last quote of the page is the title of your first album.

3 - Go to flickr and click on “explore the last seven days”
or click http://www.flickr.com/explore/interesting/7days
Third picture, no matter what it is, will be your album cover.

4 - Use Photoshop/MS Paint or similar to put it all together.

5- Post it in the comments! (Using Imageshack or any photo hoster)

I'm going to do the game without making the actual image.

Here's what mine would be:

The band name would be: Austria-Hungary

The album title would be: Walk rapidly and be unhappy

And this would be the album cover:


You guys-totally do this yourselves and post your faux album in the comments or give a link-I think it's fun. And deep! Wouldn't my created album look awesome all spliced together? I think so.

Update:
I just showed my husband this idea and he was like (more or less), "That's stupid.That picture with that band name...I'm going to do my own album, but I can't do it on this computer. So I'm going to do it on another computer." Yeah, like his random concoction is going to be any better than mine?! Anyway, here are some examples of fake album covers by those who were actually able to do it on "another computer". Just to give some inspiration:







You get the idea...I guess this must have been how all album covers were designed in the 90's.

Vampires for Breakfast

During the course of our relationship I've convinced my husband to experience-and like-many parts of life that he otherwise would have passed over. I mean he was already pretty good at the guitar, smoking cigs, and acting cool thing. When I first hung out with him-actually one of the first times-he was at an apartment upstairs from mine (his friend lived in my building) stoned, playing video games, and spitting the juice from a wad of tobacco stuffed into his cheek into a coke bottle (I know-totally be still my heart moment). I thought that I could slowly, but surely expand his horizons. He did try to expand mine as well, but somehow I never got into 1970's rock bands (although YES is actually cool), old kung-fu movies, or drinking whiskey straight from the bottle.

Over time I got him to read ALL of the Harry Potter series, get a dog (which was my idea even though a I backed off of it last minute), watch LOST/Spaced/myriad of documentaries on the Netflix list,Drink Diet Sodas if he has to drink it at all, get married, buy a house, and go back to school. The most shocking "get" I've made with him is Buffy the Vampire Slayer. He swore up and down that he would never watch the show, but he's so desperate at times for the pleasurable monotony that is watching episode after commercial free episode of television on DVD that he gave in. And even though the first season is kind-of lame-he's totally into it. Even if it's a girls show (Of course-right?-because it has a girl superhero)-but I also got him to sit down and watch Enchanted with me and I know he liked it even though he feigned disgust the whole way through.

I've had my failures-Dirty Dancing and When Harry Met Sally-Bye Bye Birdie-couples yoga(Sorta NSFW), and facebook. Certain things are enjoyed alone. The one thing I really want him to get into-which he won't since he can't wake up in the morning without a pressing reason-is going out for breakfast! Seriously, it is my favorite meal to pay someone else to make. Especially on Sunday mornings. It's early. The day is fresh, you can go over the paper and eat eggs a million different ways. So on this point I'm going to continue to enjoy breakfast with others in my life-while my husband sleeps in with the dog. Some things just aren't worth pushing. The dog on the other hand, glad I pushed on that one. Who else would keep my husband company when I'm off eating hash browns and drinking cup after glourious cup of coffee?

Sometimes Stalking Pays Off

One of my very favorite hobbies is stalking people online. I sit down with a cup of tea (or more likely a glass of wine) and slowly untangle relationships and histories as best one can through the filter of the internet. It's not healthy and definitely a waste of time, but I find such satisfaction in knowing, knowing, knowing-so I don't stop.

Once of these sessions-a connection which I won't even explain-led me to discover this photographer. He's actually really, really good and I am consistently pleased with his work. The photos are wonderful.

I check him out about once a month and it's a little treasure trove of how he sees the world. I dig it.