Adversity

Everyday, we make choices. Some are agonized over, some are as simple as what should i have for breakfast or do i want butter or cream cheese on my bagel....and with all of the seemingly irrelevant decisions, how often do we really think about their universal impact on who we, as a person, ultimately are.

Yet, today, I have to make a decision that will have profound impact on every part of my life....on every part of my soul.

I am faced with 2 roads to walk down. One decision will bring my entire family along with me. It will not be easy, there will be bumps and hills and challenges for everyone at different points along the way. Each will be effected both positively and negatively at various times in there life because of this choice. Because of my choice. But, we will all be in it together.

The second choice will only truly and adversely effect me. It will be my cross to bear and it will be a dark and infinitely windy road. The decision will be made and locked away in some far away corner of my mind. It will be my memory and mine alone. Life will go on for those around me because they never knew...and I will never tell. I know for everyone this might be the right choice. Why disrupt life for so many on the whim of just one. Is that really fair?

And through all of this, my heart and my head rally for two different choices. What I want, everyone says is impossible or ridiculous or selfish. What I want should not be an option for consideration.

I look at my family and my heart aches. In the end, they will not know what I faced and how I agonized and cried...I will change and they will not and it is so. It is not fair, either way. It just is. It is life. And life is full of adversity.

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I am.

Am I a Super Woman? I am.

I have been knocked down, chewed and spit out. My cape may not be as brilliant as it once was. There are tears, imperfections....but they make me wise.

They make me smile. They remind me to laugh, to be, and to sometimes just be still.

I have so many facets, yet not enough time to let them all shine. A diamond, solid and tough. Brilliant and elusive.

I am every woman and you are me.

Fat Grrrl, Thin Grrrl

Some one once told me, with a very straight face, that inside every fat girl, there is a thin girl dying to be let out...what a load of crap! Or in my case, abdominal fat. Once again, I've found myself at the heavy end of the gain-lose-gain-lose-gain roller coaster that dominated my twenties and early thirties. But as I inch toward 40, it is time to get off.

These days I find myself trying to mentally peel away the layers of stress, inadequacy, failure, fear, loneliness and unfulfillment that have encircled my thighs, arms, chin, neck and torso in a cage of fat. There is no thin girl underneath it all, just me. Looking deep this time, beyond appearances, beyond feelings, beyond excuses and rationalizations to solve the riddle that is me: fat girl, thin girl, girl caught in the middle.... Yet, all three are one and the same.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Inner Peace is Hard Work

I am not perfect. I am not always silly, funny, snarky.  I am not always organized, thoughtful, together.  There are some days in which I feel that all that I am and all that I offer is the sum of what I am not.

As the first weeks of the new year unfold, I resolve to be at peace with who I am.  To be at peace with what I am not.  To be at peace with my mistakes.  To be at peace with forgiveness. To be be at peace so that I can let it all go. 

Below is my poem, my mantra, my mission statement. When you read it, know that however you are, however you feel, however life finds you at this moment, it is okay.

Taming The Demons Within

Tonight I want to howl at the moon

with wild, visceral abandon.
To cast off cobwebs and shadows and demons of the past.

I want to throw my head back and let out a throaty, reckless moan.
From deep in my chest, from the curve of my spine, to the kink in my neck
I need to let go.

Of anger and guilt and shame and regret.
Of numbing emotions that caused me to forget
What it is like to live, to thrive, to be.

I need to release the memories, the excuses, the fear
That have woven themselves into my mind, my being,
The very essence of my soul.

I have let this happen. I have indulged those thoughts.
I have rewritten and crossed out and amended myself according to the interpretation of strangers.
And over time I believed this was my story, my sacred text, my I Ching of me.

Tonight I want to howl at the moon, to reclaim myself. To cancel, erase and delete the untruths.
To cast off the worries, the bandaged battle scars, the mantle of discontent that I has hung over my shoulders and neck and temples in an illusion of watery, dripping jewels.

And now I, and only I
In one long guttural burst can let it all go, can shatter the past, release the future, and recreate the mold of myself
Only I can blossom and boom and start anew
With passion, and zest and strength.
In one long guttural burst I can embrace my strength and chart my direction and my find my true self.

And when the dawn has broke and the day has begun,
When old familiar thoughts start to creep back in, and ooze about the cracks in my resolve like hot, sticky paving tar.
I will howl to myself, in my heart, with a clear conscience and true vision of how I want to life my life.
To make bold colorful choices and harbor no regrets.

I will howl and howl and howl. Until the negative is no more.
Until I use my internal compass to find my way again. Until the only voice I hear is my own.

Neil Diamond + Chanukah Song = GROOVY

So over Thankgiving, as we were driving up to my in-laws, the song "Forever in Blue Jeans" by Neil Diamond comes up on our iPod.  I've always liked that song, and I start humming along.  About 1 minute into it, my husband proceeds to tell me, "you know, this song is all about Neil Diamond wanting to have hot animal sex with his woman....listen to the lyrics".  I was totally appalled.....that literal bastard had done this to me before with "Shipping Up to Boston" being about a pirate's lost wooden leg, and with George Michael's "Freedom 90" about him struggling to come out of the closet. Sure enough, he managed to do it again....I can never listen to that song without thinking about leopard print rug, a young Neil Diamond (whose modern equivalent, btw, is the one and only John Mayer) and some coked up '70s skank getting it on in a California chalet.

So on the heels of that....I found out today that old Neil just posted a cover of Adam Sandler's "The Chanukah Song" on his website, with a South Park like animated video.  Given that Friday is the first day of Chanukah, I thought I would pass it along to you as my gift.  I don't believe there is any hidden meaning to the lyrics of this one, but I am sure my asshole husband will figure out a way to ruin it for me somehow.  In the mean time, enjoy!




UPDATE:  There is now a YouTube version for those of you on your phones!  Click here!

WTF! It's The Most Gaaawwd Awful Gift Guide

For the Wife whose husband has "DONE" everything & everyone:

Okay, okay, that was a fake book.  I was being silly and milking the Tiger Woods story as much as everyone else is.  But the following are actual products I found at Ocean State Job Lot in RI that you can buy a loved one this Christmas....

The perfect bedtime read-aloud series for the Parent who wants to "Scare the Shit Out of Your Kids":

Book 1:  "Don't ask why Mommy is frantically flushing the toilet"

Books 2 & 3:  "Oh, Look!  It's A Kitty...Sweet Dreams!" & "No honey, I don't think the book will be staring at you while you sleep "

Book 4: An instant classic, as is the sequel "Rivers of Blood"

For that annoying Religious Zealot in your life (or elderly family member):

"BYO H2O" Bring Your Own Holy Water Bottle (be sure to pour some out for your homeys) & "Show Jesus the Money" Coin Purse...'cause he'll holla' for a dolla'!

For the person who just needs one reason to protest:

Move over (RED), 'cuz you're about to be overtaken by elves (and not the Keebler kind or the ones you can toss)!

Nightmare on Tiger Street

As I read more about the Tiger Woods saga, it has become abundently clear that he is stonewalling the situation.

My stoic grandmother always said, "nothing good ever happens after 2:00 a.m." And while we may never find out what happened outside Tiger's house in the wee hours of November 27, there is plenty of web speculation to chew on.

Another of granny's favorite sayings was, "Shit happens. If you don't look down, you'll step in it."


Tiger, in many ways, really stepped in it. And his wife is pretty damn angry.

I know this because after 12 years of marriage and various domestic disagreements, a spouse does not swing a golf club in the early a.m. without just cause. Hell, my temper has flared over much stupider things and once impulsively kicked a hole in my bedroom wall with a clog....but that's another story for another day....

So, in the tongue and cheek vein of my "Sesame Street Layoffs" post and an "open letter from Barbara Walter's Vagina, The Cha-Cha Chow-enge," here's my view of what really happened:

All was quiet in the sprawling Florida home. The children, safely under the nanny's care, had long been bathed and put to bed miles away in the estate's southeast wing. The lights were dim. She sat alone at the sleek modern dining table. The places were still set with Hermes china - a gift from Oprah - featuring a tiger design and starched linen napkins featuring an embroidered entwined double E. "Elin and Eldrick....it really meant something...once," she sighed. Bacarat crystal golblets glinted in the mix of candle and moonlight that flooded into the room from the bare baywindow. Yet, even in the shadows she seethed. Perhaps it was the rumors of an affair or maybe just the effects of the Pinot Noir-fueled "American Psycho," "Saw III," and "Fatal Attraction" filmfest she insisted upon earlier in the evening. The regal profile and mantle of platinum hair was offset by the cold, hard stare in her eyes. The time on her Tag Heurer watch read 2:00 a.m.

"Where the fuck was he?" she thought. "Rvvhel!" (swedish for asshole) she muttered under her breathe as she fixed her eyes on the long, gated drive, looking for the tell-tale headlights of his Cadiallac Escalade. The Buick Enclave was already parked at the start of the front walk along the circular drive. It was packed and ready for an errant getaway. "I have had enough," she thought. "He will not make a rvvhel out of me!"

She could no longer sit, and strode down the long hallway to the garage. "Everything is set," she thought. The pristine, damask couches in the study had been stripped of their pillows and covered in layers of course canvas tarp, mylar and industrial plastic. "That is where he will see me," she told herself as she opened the door into the garage and scanned the wall for power tools. "Rvvhel knuller!" she breathed (asshole fucker) as she walked toward the DeWalt chainsaw. There, standing stoic and mocking underneath the horror movie weapon of choice, was his prized set of Nike Titanium golf clubs. These were no practice set, or reserves. Encased in a glowing halo of stainless steel, these clubs were the PGA equivalent to the holy grail. This was the set that had won countless titles and championships. The set that helped construct the large and looming ego that he could do no wrong.

Without a thought, she grabbed the driver with the largest, widest, sharpest head and resumed her perch in the dining room. Then, the gates opened. He killed the headlights and eased up the driveway. It was too much, and she snapped.

"Where the hell where you?" she screamed as she leapt out the front door, brandishing the driver high over her head. "Were you with HER! Were you with that jdvlar fitta hora ab ab ab?" she screamed (fucking c-word whore).

"Whoa! Whoa! Eels, baby. I was with the guys." he explained and opened the car door.

"On Thanksgiving? You shit, you should be with your family! Where were you? Where did you go? WHO WERE you with?"

"Jesus Christ, you Nordic bitch, I was with Shaq and Mike....we were watching the game. What the hell? I just lost track of time...and besides you said it was a silly American holiday...."

"YOU JUST lost track of time. You have a mother fucking Rolex watch for every day of the year and you LOST track of time?" She swung at him hard. Nearly missing his Nike Golf hat. She hit the hood of the car. "Your stupid fuckin' cheating friends." she cried and hit the grill. "Why can't you just hang out with that nice Bill Nye the science guy we met at the block party last year." She swung wildly, hitting him squarely on the shoulder.

"Ouch! That's the money arm you crazy motherfucking Dane. You better settle yourself down, you live in Tiger's Den, under Tiger's rule."

"Aggghhh....I'm SWEDISH, you ass!" She hit the windshield.

"Damn." he said and jumped back in the car, turning on the ignition and shifting to reverse. He hit the gas and didn't even look. Bam. Right into the Buick Enclave. Reverse again as she hit a quarter panel. Bam. "Shit." he thought as he backed through the gate and hit the fire hydrant across the street. She was foaming at the mouth, running after him.

He quickly tried to Twitter, "Wife is crazy, mad, hot, mess. Damn I'm turned on. Tiger Out." But before he hit send, she sent the driver crashing through the back window hitting him in the head. Trying to dodge the club, he veered and hit a tree.

As he was slumped over, she dropped the clubs and cried, "Oh Eldrick! Eldrick! Are you hurt? Can you hear me? I'm so sorry! Oh God, I'm so sorry."

"Fuck," he thought to himself, "crazy wife, broken golf clubs, two wrecked cars....Steel, I mean Shaq, where the hell are you man, hook a brother up...Fuck TMZ, the make-up sex on this one alone is gonna kill me...."