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.