Yoga: A Story Of Jealousy

This used to be way too true in my life. I bought yoga pants with zest and wore them when I felt spunky, lazy, and for every school drop off from September through May. I never wore them to a yoga class. When I worked out at home, I traded yoga pants for shorty shorts that I had banned myself from wearing in public until I figured out how to treat the condition that had caused pubic hair to grow down my thigh. Yoga pants were always a part of my go-to ensemble. I would pair them with a loose fitting tank, some cheap flip flops, a beer stained hoodie or my Jesus tee shirt. I could take on the world. Or hide on my couch with a book and my 17th cup of coffee. The options were endless. Then I stopped running. I also stopped working out at home. Every pair of yoga pants I owned suddenly became two sizes too small and I was forced to consider buying sweatpants. The kind with the elastic ankle and a tie cord waistband. It was a low point, I'll admit. I had so many wonderful pairs of yoga pants, many that I had paid way too much for (I'm looking at you Athleta), and I wasn't going into sweats without a fight.

I went to a yoga class with my sister one month ago, and similar to the way you would stuff sausage into a casing, I stuffed my midsection/midlife crisis into my Athleta yoga pants and held my head high. The class was beyond my wildest dreams. The man who taught it looked to weigh as much as a third grader and the way he was able to fold forward, from a standing position, and lick his spine was really quite inspiring. I also enjoyed the moments when the extra skin from my belly gave itself over to gravity, my tank top inching it's way up and I spotted my mommy bagel. My prayer was that everyone else attending the class enjoyed those free carbs as well. I woke up the next day feeling as though I had been living in the stone age when people were pulled apart by their appendages and yes, it was awesome as it sounds. My yoga pants were going back, with or without me.

The next class was called Ashtung and after a Google search regarding the relaxing quality of this type of yoga, I was informed that it was great for athletes, marathon runners and Type A personalities with rock hard abs. I had almost made the list. When I crept in the door, I found the instructor to be the spitten image of what I had hoped I would look like when I grew up. She was very tall and very beautiful with long dark hair and bright red lips. She could lick her toes in a back bend and float into a perfectly straight head stand at a moments notice. Which is why I wanted to hate her. Then I realized, to my horror, that she was friendly and clearly not aware of how she could easily use her great looks to threaten and intimidate others. She must of missed that meeting. It was the best class I have ever taken and to top it off, this perfect human has a double first name. I wouldn't expect anything less from from you, Sarah Jane.

That's It, I Quit

Hold on to your granny panties for this revelation....I over-committed. Again. Remember when I needed a job where I was moving around all the time, you know, like 5 weeks ago? Yeah, about that. I loved being on my feet all day, I loved the people I worked with and I was finally getting good at it. Then Tuesday happened. We had a full day of cleans scheduled, my husband had to take the puppy to work, the kids had soccer and drama class, and the neighbor who picks up after school didn't pick up after school. When I got to my phone, 30 minutes after school ended, I had a barrage of messages asking if I could pick up or if the kids could walk home. I couldn't pick up and it was pouring rain outside. We were having a freak thunderstorm that was complete with thunder, lighting and sheets of rain that would drown a small child in five minutes flat. I scrambled to make phone calls, attempting to find out where my kids were. Did they get picked up? Were they trudging through a river, barefoot and uphill both ways? My husband confirmed that they weren't home, my neighbor confirmed that her husband was running late, and I confirmed that I was in the midst of a mommy panic attack. Drama class started in fifteen minutes, soccer in thirty minutes and my husband was home with a puppy who was full of shenanigans. I was at work. I couldn't deal with any of it over the phone and it was making me crazy.

When I got home, my kids were soaked, my husband looked ready to throw in the towel and everyone was piled in the car on their way to late starts at each and every activity. This wasn't working. That evening, I talked to my husband about an extra cleaning job I had picked up in trade for free yoga classes. He wasn't as excited as I was.
"So, now your going to be gone two full days and three nights a week? This is what you want?"

I admitted that I don't know what I want. It changes all the time and I take on too many jobs for one glaring reason....I want to prove that I am worthy. Worthy of a nice home, a great husband, money in the bank that I don't work for, and worthy to live a blessed life. I don't know who I need to prove it to, but I feel like I need to prove it. Very rarely does my husband question why I do the things I do and when he does, I know it's not working.
"I like having you as a stay-at-home mom. I like that you are writing and taking care of the house. I can make money, that's not a problem."

It's only a problem for me. A problem that I have been obsessing about for the entirety of our marriage. I stayed home when my kids were babies, worked minimum wage jobs as they got older and have never made as much money as my husband. It's a pride thing. We are in it together and he is supportive and I have let it become my issue. So, I quit. I quit my cleaning job. It's one of those lessons in life that makes me crazy because I want to commit to everything, forever, and be great every single day. This time I get to commit to letting it go and finding the joy in that.  

Image courtesy of careerrocketeer.com Check out their awesome post about how to quit a job the right way. http://careerrocketeer.com/2011/03/resignation-without-reservation-the-how-tos-of-quitting.html

My Monkey Business

Image courtesy of http://mrmarksclassroom.com

My business, your business, our business, monkey business, mind your own business.....I understand all of these concepts. Problem is, I don't always abide by them. Case in point: A close family member was recently in a destructive relationship. Initially, I liked the guy and I honestly didn't know how bad it was for a very long time, but when I became aware, I made it my business. Why? Here are just three of the thousands of reasons. 1) abusive relationships piss me off 2) my family is the most important unit in my life 3) I have a tendency to be very protective. Overly protective. Scary protective.  What did I do? I had a heart to heart with this family member about why she chose to stay, what it was like and whether or not she thought she had options to leave. She was in an emotionally abusive relationship, but she didn't see it. It was too close. When I pointed it out and reminded her of what an amazingly bright and beautiful person she really was, she decided to leave and take control of her life. Was it my business? No. Did I make it my business? Yes. Would I do it again? In a heartbeat. It's a fine line to walk and I would venture to guess that most people would label me as nosey and over protective. I'll wear both badges.

It's all the rage in self-help books these days; mind your own business, let people learn their own lessons, stop being an intrusive bitch....I'm not sure that last one was ever written, but you can keep that idea for free. Most of the time, I agree with them. Social media has made it too easy to be so far up everyone else's ass that you forget wipe your own. We all know how complicated your relationship is, how no one appreciates you and your financial history down to the last penny. I get it, we are all waiting for payday and no, you aren't the only one who eats ramen noodles for dinner. Everything is everyone's business and it takes Jedi manuevers to keep from giving advice or taking advice about every single status update. There are times I have to duct tape my hands to my desk to keep from posting "Stop buying stupid shit" or "Why are you dating guys who are complete fucking tools?". That wouldn't be my business. Those people are acquaintances and their problems are not mine to navigate. But my family? It's different.

It's like I'm Italian the way I feel about family. Mob boss status. I'm the Tony Soprano of la mia famiglia and I mean business when it comes to how my family is treated by other people. Especially people who claim to love them. I tend to go against the teachings of self help gurus and I make it my business. Is it wrong? Maybe. Should I stop? Probably. But I won't. It's a part of my genetic makeup, like my unruly hair and the way my left eye is smaller than my right eye when I smile. Sometimes it's appreciated and sometimes I am loathed, but I know I am always living in my truth. New self-help book idea...."Your Business Unless You're Related To Me". It has an annoying ring about it, don't you think?

Cleaning Lady And The Butter Dish

Image courtesy of http://intodesigninc.wordpress.com/tag/cleaning/

(If I looked like this is an apron, I would burn all the clothes I own and wear this to the grocery store)

We have touched on this before, but here we go again....I like to stay busy. Okay, that is putting it mildly, I am addicted to being busy and I find myself itching to accomplish something even on vacation. When people tout the joys of meditation or a mid-afternoon siesta, all I can think is "How long is that going to take? I have shit to do". Call it OCD or Type A personality or being an oldest child, whatever it is, I have it. When I quit my day job last October to focus on writing and doing payroll for our small business, I was giddy. No more clocking in, cleaning up, uniforms or set schedules. (That's funny considering what I have taken on this week.) While it has been great, it has also made me crazy. I have plenty to do, but most of it involves sitting at a desk.....lots of sitting at a desk. I have gained 10 pounds and realized something about myself, I need to move. Being busy isn't enough, my body needs to be moving and I ache for the socialization that comes from working with other people. People I am not having sex with. It's cool that my husband and I can transition from a work/home relationship, but there is only so much grab ass and fantasy football updates a girl can handle at the office. I was in need of a new job.

This all leads up to what I chose to take on this week.....I have decided to work for a cleaning company two days a week. It was fairly easy to get hired, the owner is this really cool chick who I grew up torturing from the time she was an infant....sisters are the best. My first week was exhausting and it reminded me of why I hate being the newbie at a job. I want to be good from day one, I don't take criticism well and I detest standing by watching someone else work in the name of training. I imagine it was sweet payback for my sister who was able to critique my cleaning style and teach me the right way to do things. I liked it better when I was in charge. Now she's the boss and it's clear why her company has done so well, she is really fucking good at what she does. Hiring a cleaning crew to take over your house can be daunting and you can never be sure about what kind of work you are going to get. People touching your personal shit and having to pay for a clean that doesn't live up to your expectations. When you hire my sister, you never have to worry about any of that. It's top to bottom perfection in every single home she takes on. There is an expectation of quality and integrity that is in short supply at most companies I have worked for. She reminded me on my first day that even a penny on the floor gets put on the closest available, clean surface....never in your apron. She wants every surface touched, cleaned and shined to perfection. At one home, she showed me something I had missed while cleaning the kitchen, a butter dish. I told her that I had moved it, wiped the top and placed it in the correct place.
"That's okay, but we want to wow our clients."
She proceeded to take a piece of paper towel, open the butter dish and wipe around the butter so you could never tell it was used. I thought I had issues. Truth be told, I have a whole new respect for my sister and the people who work for her. I came home after my first day ready to pass out on the dining room floor. I am overwhelmed, excited and I now have a something else to add to my current job line up, cleaning lady. This ain't no desk job, that's for sure.

What I Love And Love To Hate

I am a voyeur. I love to know creepy details about other people and I absolutely adore watching how other people function on a day to day basis. It explains my obsession with people watching at Starbucks and watching reality shows back when they were actually real, ie: Intervention, Dateline and Cops. Huge fan. Maybe you don't care about knowing the details of other people's lives and if that is the case, this post is not for you. Today, I will delve in to the nitty gritty of what I love and the crap that makes me want to slam my head into a brick wall. For those of you who stay interested, it may surprise you to know a few of these things and some of them may have you questioning your affection for me.

Things I Love

-Hiking
This is surprising to me because I hate camping. Find out why in my semi-amusing post about this childhood activity. http://busybeinghappy.blogspot.com/2013/03/why-camping-is-like-work-without.html
I realized two years ago, that being in the mountains without having to sleep there was actually quite therapeutic and an amazing workout. I enjoy pushing my body past what I thought it was capable of, I like sweating a ton, seeing an amazing view and then stuffing more calories in my body than humanly possible. I can justify an Old Fashioned burger from Dairy Delight (the size of my head, no joke) after burning 1,000 calories hauling my ass up a mountain. I look at the top of that mountain and I see food, it's why I don't give up when I really want to sit down and cry.

-Brussel Sprouts
I think they taste yummy, so fuck you.

-Neil Diamond
Huge fan. I grew up listening to to this man and wondering why he didn't marry my mom when he had the opportunity, they would have made an adorable couple. I listen to Neil Diamond radio on Pandora at least once a day and saw the man, the myth, the legend in concert last year. (You will see in the hate list below why I would rather enjoy him on Pandora.) He may not make your list, but I love this son of a bitch.

-Rage Against The Machine When I Am Angry
The proof is in the pudding on this one. It makes me feel better. I crank it up on my shitty car speakers, they crackle and I feel so much better screaming "Fuck you, I won't do what you tell me."

-Bottled water
It tastes better. It's more convenient. I don't care that I have to pay for it. You think I'm a dick and that's just fine with me.

-Smoking
Yes, I have read the Surgeon General's warning. I know about the health effects. I know it makes people angry to see someone they love choosing to smoke. I know people view me as a bad parent for doing it in front of my kids. I know there are consequences. All that being said, I like to smoke and I don't plan to quit anytime soon. I don't need warnings from strangers or eye rolls from people I love and here is why....you get to decide what to put in your body and so do I. Whether you have a taste for prescription drugs, McDonald's burgers or Diet Shit Cola, it's your choice. I get to have one, too.

Things I Love To Hate

-The Goo Goo Dolls, Pink Floyd and The B-52's
Shitty music that makes my ears bleed.

-Concerts
I hate the parking, the crowds, and spending a car payment on one ticket. The real fun begins when I get to my nosebleed seat next to some ass bag who sings louder than the person I paid to see. I need binoculars to see the stage and I want to punch a baby. (I don't punch babies, so relax.) My concert going experience gets worse the older I get, so my one wish is that I never have to go to another one again. Ever.

-Diet Drinks
They taste worse than ass. Don't ask me how I know that. I don't care how overweight I get, I will never volunteer my taste buds for that kind of torture. Drinks were meant to taste yummy....beer, wine, milkshakes, Red Bull, iced tea. You see what I'm saying?

-Waking Up Early
I love people who endlessly vomit the benefits of seeing a sunrise and getting in a 20 mile run before heading to work at 8 am. And by love, I mean hate. There is nothing I need to see more at 6 am than my fucking eyelids. If I have to work early, fine. If I have an event, fine. You will never see me wake up early for the joy of waking up early. Because that is not joy.

-Newborns
I love my kids. I have loved them from the moment that they were a pinto bean in my belly, but I never loved the newborn stage of human beings. It's a lot of crying, pooping, nipple chomping, screaming and restless nights that I just never enjoyed. I suffered through the first three months because people told me it got better and they were right. I love having kids who talk to me, grab a drink out of the fridge and sleep for longer than 2 hours a night. Bless the babies, but I am not a person who wishes my kids were infants again.

-Horror Movies
At the tender age of 10, I was invited to a birthday party for a girl in my class whom I didn't know very well. When I arrived we did normal kid stuff like eating cake and playing games. Then the party took a turn for the worse. She put in Nightmare on Elm Street and while everyone else watched in amazement, I secretly puckered my asshole for fear I would shit myself. We were then led outside where we would be sleeping in a tent and waiting for Freddy Kruger to come tie us up over a bed where we would plummet into the depths of hell. No thanks. I called my mom, went home early and have hated horror movies ever since. Please argue this point with me...how fun it is to be scared. Wrong. I get scared when my seven year old jumps out from behind a door and I nearly fainted when the guy with the fake chain saw chased me out of the haunted house. Pass.

-Sex Anywhere But In A Bed
Yes I am a Scorpio and yes I have a sex drive. I don't like being uncomfortable. I don't like giving others the opportunity to see me in a vulnerable position. Don't feel bad for my husband, the thirteen years we have been together tells me he has accepted this quality in me. I have sex in the comfort of sheets and memory foam mattresses. No elevators, no tents (SOOO GROSS), no stairwells or back seats. I have tried it, and similar to Pink Floyd The Wall, I fucking hate it.

I will be honest, I could go on and on, but I think we have made good progress today. Please, please, please comment below and let me know what you hate, what you love and why.Your favorite food or a band that you wish would get lost in the Bermuda Triangle. I'd like to know that I'm not the only one who wonders how the Goo Goo Dolls ever obtained a record deal. It's like my own reality show.

If you haven't had a chance, please read my most recent article on making a bucket list, it's over at mythirtyspot.
http://www.mythirtyspot.com/2013/08/finding-bucket-list-in-our-30s.html

My Giving Challenge: Small Tokens And My Writing Journey

Day 26 & 27: Small Tokens

Giving has been hard for me the last two days,all I want to do is crawl under my comforter and wait for this black cloud to lift. I am not at the top of my game this week. I've spent the better part of every day wallowing in what I perceive as my greatest defeat, losing one writing competition. I am slowly realizing how insignificant it is and that I had better learn to take defeats in stride if I want to keep writing. I know it won't be the last. I strive to be the best at everything I do and when I don't succeed in that unrealistic venture, I want to give up and let myself sit in my shit. I'm a monkey with rotten peanuts that I just won't let go of. (It's a training reference that usually makes me want to slap the person who mentions it, so slap away.) That has been my week in a nutshell. (Ha, I've still got it.)

On Day 26, my gift was playing with my son. I'm terrible at video games and he rarely asks me to play, but today he did and it was one of the few moments I have felt happy this week. My mind wasn't swirling about writing or making an income or being enough, I was just playing and it was wonderful. He had to remind me numerous times which buttons to push and how to jump over the bad guys. Laughing and playing felt so good....I hate that I forget that sometimes.

My gift on Day 27 was taking my kids and their friend to the pool for a much needed outing. While it wasn't in the budget, we all needed some Vitamin D and a couple hours away from the house. I also connected with my step-mom who has been one of my staunchest supporters when it comes to my writing career. After she updated me on her new job she asked "How's the famous writer doing?" I was honest. I was shitty, but I knew it would pass. "Give yourself a break." she said. I am still learning how to do that.


I am working on my last two days of giving and I want to go out with a bang. One of the stretches that was shared in the book was to give something away that you never thought you could part with. While I don't have many possessions that I feel overly attached to, minus my wedding ring and family photos, I am going to let that be my guide during these last two days of giving.

Thank you for all the support and shares this week!!! My blog has doubled the number of hits it receives on Monday, Wednesday and Friday and that is a big deal. Also, I was pursued by a company to put ads on my blog this week and while it wasn't clear as to whether I would be paid or not, my instinct was to turn them down. When I asked if it was a free or compensated advertisement, they never got back to me. I'm actually really glad. The intention of this blog is to hone my writing skills, find readers who enjoy my writing style, touch people who love to share my stories and eventually have a group of people who would be interested in buying and reading a book authored by me. I am not in the advertising business and I want you, the reader, to know that until further notice, this is an ad free blog. I am a writer, not a marketer or an advertiser. Thank you for supporting my writing journey.    

My Giving Challenge: PDA, A Pedicure and The Universe (Again!!)

Day 19: Public Display of Affection

I am sure I have covered this issue inside and out, but here is a refresher....I hate big, public activities. While most people are wetting their pants to get to the outdoor free concert series, I am grateful to be living in the suburbs with an elderly dog that needs me to let him outside every hour. I couldn't possibly make it. Between the the traffic, the lack of parking, waiting in lines, and standing shoulder to shoulder with drunk assholes I just can't get excited about any of it. I avoid concerts, fireworks shows, festivals and farmer's markets. It's not that I hate people, I just hate being around them.

This year there is a ban on outdoor fireworks where we live, so short of driving past the rule breakers on our way home from the grocery store, we haven't seen any lights in the sky. I could survive the entire summer without a fireworks show, but our kids have only one childhood and they deserve every experience we can pack into the 18 years we have them around. I know the day is not too far off when no one will be asking to go to the park or wanting to see a drive in movie with their old, gross parents.

My husband thought it would be "fun" to take the kids to the largest July 24th fireworks display. He offered to take them alone because he is well aware that I would rather eat my weight in pickled beets than go to a park to see fireworks. Initially I took him up on the offer. I could sit at home reading a book or visit my sister and have a few beers with her on the patio. Both options sounded like heaven. The closer we got the more I realized that I didn't want to stay home, I didn't want to miss seeing my son's face when the sky lit up or miss my daughter laughing at her dad's jokes. I also wanted to give them the gift of my time and get out of my comfort zone to do it.

We packed the car with blankets and I committed to having a positive attitude the entire night, no traffic irritation, no swearing at strangers under my breath, no losing my patience over parking or flipping off pedestrians. It was quite a commitment and we had a wonderful time. We walked five blocks from our parking spot, initially sat in an area where we couldn't see the fireworks and sat in traffic for an hour to get back home, all for 25 minutes of lights in the sky.
"Thanks Mom and Dad for taking us to see the fireworks. That was so much fun."
That's all it took. My gift was my time and getting out of my comfort zone in order to give my kids an experience and I received so much more in return. It's becoming the theme of this giving month.

Day 20: Pedicure for Mom

We had this great little pedicure place where Mom and I would get pampered, it was inexpensive and they were fantastic. It's gotten complicated over there and the last time Mom went in, she spent a very long time getting her toes painted and most of the time being someone's shoulder to cry on. Needless to say, we both have really ugly feet right now, my toenails are so long that I can't wear half the shoes in my closet and Mom has been needing to borrow some polish from us to fix up her own toe issues.

Yesterday, while contemplating my gift for the day, I thought about Mom's feet. That sounds weird, but I wanted to share a talent with someone I love. What talent do I have? I am great at massaging people's feet, scrubbing callouses and painting toes. And I actually like it. It's a weird talent, but we all have the make the best with what we are given. While a lot of people are grossed out by feet and toes, I don't mind scrubbing, rubbing and smelling people's feet. Chalk it up to being an oddball.

Our bathroom cabinet is chocked full of nail polish, a pedicure set and a massaging foot bath. I threw them all in my trunk, dropped the kids off at the movies theater and headed over to tackle mom's feet. Mom and I laughed and chatted as I massaged her tootsies and painted her toes. A gift for the person who has loved me from the minute I was born. It's the very least I could do.

Interesting Turn of Events

I am not going to preach to anyone about what to believe or what not to believe, that's not my business. I believe that there is a higher power guiding my life and that when I ask the Universe for something, it is provided. That works for me. Here is how it worked for me 5 minutes ago: I wanted to do an outdoor service project tomorrow, it has been on my mind since Monday. I had every intention of calling my neighbor to see if she knew of anyone who needed yard work, clean up or moving done. I was tempted to ask on FB as well, but I hadn't gotten around to it yet. While I was writing this blog, I got an invitation from a FB group, Love Does Stuff (lovedoesstuff.org)  for a service project tomorrow morning doing clean up and landscaping. Coincidence? Not in my mind. The Universe gave me exactly what I wanted. Thanks for that, Universe.

My Giving Challenge: Parting With Money And Food

Quote courtesy of cloverquotes.com


Day 12: Parting With Money

There are times in my life where I needed help. I was 19 years old when I started school and decided that having roommates while I attempted to work full time, attend classes at night and try to sleep, just wasn't going to work out. I found an awesome deal on my first place sans roommates and carted over the four pieces of furniture I owned. The joy quickly wore off as I realized that I only made enough money to pay rent, utilities, a small car payment and gas to get around. I was broke. My fridge was bare and my weekends consisted of laundry and feeding my face at my parent's house in hopes that I could consume enough food to last through the winter. Or at least until next weekend. My best friend was living at home at the time and he spent many evenings picking me up from school and taking me out for fast food, on his dime. My mom would show up to my apartment with Tupperware bowls filled to the brim with macaroni salad and a grocery bag full of snacks that would get me through until my next payday. It saved my life.

I have a family member who is in need of assistance in his life right now, and while I am not financially rich by any means, I am blessed to have the basics and more in my life covered. My gift today was a card, filled with blessings and good luck, a book that inspired me, and a check. When my husband asked me what the check was for I said "It's a gift. It's for whatever he chooses it to be for." I was blessed to have people feed me when times were tough and I am grateful to have the opportunity to share that with someone I love. The quote above is true....the more I give, the richer I feel.

Day 13: Food

It's interesting how many times this has shown up for me during this challenge, giving food to others. Growing up, my friends thought we had the cool house. We had a pantry full of snacks, soda pop, sugar cereals and chips in dozens of flavors. They were for everyone. Food was something that you shared, enjoyed with others and didn't hoard for only yourself. As a child, my dad went hungry more than I care to think about and he made it his life mission to ensure his children never knew what it was like to go to bed without a meal. We spent more on our grocery bill than we ever did on clothing or electronics. Food was love. Food was shared. While I did struggle with weight issues, I am forever grateful for what my parents taught me about sharing food. My mom was always making cookies for neighbors and casseroles for families who had a new baby. We ate meals together and celebrated holidays with a bounty that filled our house with the endearing smell of baked bread and succulent turkey. We shared love and we shared food.

When I was younger, my maternal grandma lived on a farm where we would spend our Sundays playing board games, investigating the attic and eating grandma's rolls. The rolls I spoke of in the last post. I wish grandma was here to make them, because yeast and I are mortal enemies. I have never attempted to make her rolls or any others after an incident that resulted in hockey puck style white bread. However, after sharing that recipe with family and friends, I was craving those rolls along with some yummy soup. I was also missing my grandma like crazy. So, without the assistance of anyone else, I took a deep breath and pulled the yeast out of my fridge. After mixing and covering my bowl, I checked back to see if I needed to punch yeast in the face. The dough had doubled in size. I had done it!!!! I made those rolls my bitch and we ate one of the best meals I have had in weeks. The recipe  makes over two dozen rolls so I bagged up a dozen for my next door neighbor. I can't tell you how many times she has saved my bacon when I ran out of eggs in the middle of breakfast, forgot to buy more baking powder or recently didn't have toilet paper in my front bathroom. I wanted to say thank you. She sent me a text after her roll delivery and here is what it said:

"Thank SO much!!! I've had a rough morning. A homemade roll smothered  in butter and honey sounds perfect to turn my day around."

Grandma would have wanted it that way.

My Giving Challenge: Food, A Bag and Thanks

Day 5: Dish Bitch

I have never struggled with food insecurity. I have never gone hungry lest by my own choice. I have never stood in a food line or looked into a bare pantry. I have also never volunteered my time to serve those who know what it feels like to desperately need a hot meal. There have been many times when I have donated to food banks, given cans of food to the Boy Scouts and added a buck at the grocery store register for a local soup kitchen. Those things are well within my comfort zone. Seeing it firsthand...not so much.

I had the opportunity to volunteer my time this week to serve at a soup kitchen and I signed up without really thinking it through. That's the only way that I knew I wouldn't be able to flake out. When the time came to leave work and make the thirty minute drive, I was moody and  I didn't want to go. I only knew one person there, I wouldn't know what I was doing, there would be no parking, they wouldn't need me and on and on the story went. There were few times during my drive that I contemplated turning around, going shopping, stopping at a coffee shop or faking an illness to get out of my commitment. This was way out of my comfort zone, which is exactly why I showed up.

When I arrived, I was greeted by Russ, the person I knew, and immediately introduced to everyone else. There was a large LDS youth group, a few regulars, some employees and a man with blue bandanna and a Jersey accent, John. He was harassing Russ and when it was time to get started, he began recruiting for dish duty. Russ had wanted me to be on the line filling up trays, but the larger volunteer group had that area covered, so I raised my hand.
"I'll be on dishes with you guys."
John didn't look too thrilled to have me on the team and when I volunteered for pots and pans, I thought he was going to have a coronary.
"I don't let ladies in my dish pit, I just want you to know. It can get real crazy back here."
He was tough on the outside, loud as a motherfucker and pretty good at intimidating people. It would have worked on me, except my dad could be his evil twin. I grew up with that shit, so I let him know what was up.
"I've been doing dishes since I could walk and you don't scare me."
The other two guys in the dish pit laughed.

The first group let in to eat are the families and the disabled. As I watched a young woman strap her baby in a highchair and get her three other children trays of food, I imagined her standing outside in the sweltering heat waiting for a chance to feed her kids. I can't imagine what that is like. There were older men in wheelchairs and young men with mental illnesses, there were women with all their belongings in a backpack and teens who looked too young to be away from home. To say it was humbling would be an understatement. Then there were the amazing people who work at this soup kitchen and start their day at 6 am, while I am still sleeping. They begin prepping for the meals that they will serve before most of us are getting up for work and the majority of them are volunteers. They show up every single day to serve this community.

Back on dish duty, I was scrubbing the shit out of the pots and pans, throwing them in the sanitizer and cleaning my area as I went along.
"She's pretty good, huh?" Russ nudged John. "You ever have someone detail your sink in the middle of a rush?"
John came over to check out my work and to remind me, once again, that he doesn't let ladies in his dish pit.
"Only my wife's been back here, but you come back whenever you like."
He thanked me numerous times and patted me on the back. We posed for a cheesy photo, covered in soapy water and dinner leftovers, all of us grinning from ear to ear. As we were leaving, John reached over and gave me the biggest bear hug I have ever lived through.
"I best be seeing you back here in my dish pit, you got it?"

Oh, you can bet your sweet ass I'm coming back, someone's gotta scrub those pans.

Day 6: A Bag and A Card

We went grocery shopping yesterday and as we were grabbing veggies, I spotted a lady in a wheelchair heading straight for us. I was pushing one of those fucking carts that moonlights as a race car with my 50 pound kid twisting and turning the fake steering wheel. These things are harder to maneuver than a semi truck on a sheet of ice. I stayed put, as to not injure her any further, while she reached for a bunch of broccoli from behind me, barely able to pull it off the shelf.

(A little side note before we go any further, I don't offer help to strangers. I am afraid that they will be angry and yell at me, or that they are ax murderers who want to kill me, or that I will have to make small talk about weather and cute kids during the transaction. It makes me uncomfortable.) 

Against my better judgement, I asked her if I could grab a bag for her broccoli, since the store designers seem to think that only people who stand at 5'9 or above deserve the luxury of a plastic bag.
"That would be great, thank you."

As I was walking away with my bag of broccoli, she began talking to me again. Initially, I was concerned as per my side note above.
"They have a deal right now where if you get one of these white bags, you can fill it with all the produce it can hold for just $10."
I feigned interest initially because I thought she blowing smoke up my ass and then I noticed a sign giving me the exact information she had just offered.
"Thank you so much." I smiled as I grabbed my white bag and began a competition in my own mind for who could fit more shit inside of it.
(Another side note, I fit fifteen pounds of produce in that bag at a total cost of ten dollars and the checkout lady seemed as impressed as I was. Winning. I'm the winner of that fake contest.)

I also wrote a card to someone in my life whom I love very much and haven't had much contact with recently. This will be a reoccurring theme during my giving challenge, because I want to train myself to send love and gratitude via snail mail on a more regular basis. There is nothing sweeter than finding a brightly colored envelope addressed to you, stuck between that bullshit magazine you never read and the water bill you want to hide in a vat of coleslaw. Handwritten cards are where it's at, bitches. Tell a friend.

In the book, The 29 Gifts, the author talks about how when you begin to give consciously, you will begin to receive. You can call it what you want...karma, good juju, or just chance, but it happens.

Here is a list of what I have received this week.

-Cookies and a card from my neighbor who I rarely talk to. (In the card, she refers to herself as "weird and anti-social". Just my kind of peeps.)
-Two meals paid for by my dad. (Who hides money under his mattress and claims to be broke all the time.)
-Eight dollars off my grocery bill.
-Five days of feeling grateful, happy and stress free. I haven't done laundry and my sink is full of dirty dishes, but I am so fulfilled.

It's fucking weird.


If you haven't checked it out already, here is a link to my article on mariashriver.com.
http://mariashriver.com/blog/2013/07/what-i-learned-from-the-end-of-my-parents-29-year-marriage-mandy-brasher

A Month of Giving: My Challenge

Last week my mom let me borrow an audio book she had on loan from the library. I have never actually listened to a book on tape (what's a cassette tape???) because I love to read books and I prefer to spend my drive time listening to NPR or rap music. Pretty gangster, right? There was a part of me that thought about returning it and getting the book instead, but I decided to give it a try as I chauffeured the kids across the hundreds of miles we trek in our car every week. When I slid it in the CD player I was prepared to hear some very loud objections from my kiddos similar to the whining they display when I mention chores, bedtime and my desire to hear that Jay Z song one more time. They were silent. We were driving to my dads, which is a good 40 minutes from our house, and for the entire trip they didn't speak. They also didn't fight, attack each other or stick their sweaty feet in one another's face. It was most peaceful time I have had in a car since.....God, I don't know.....1999?

When we arrived, they both begged me not to listen to any of it without them. They were hooked. The story revolves around a woman who has MS and isn't able to function the way she has been use to. She receives guidance to give a gift every day for 29 days and the story grows from there. I won't give it away because every person on this planet should experience the joy she finds for themselves. Please read or listen to this book as soon as possible. It is inspiring and a beautiful way to look at how giving can create abundance in your life and has the ability to heal you. My kids were inspired and my daughter is now reading the book and committing to begin her own month of giving, as am I.

My month of giving will be shared with you on this blog. I will continue to post on the usual Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, but it won't be the content you are use to. I will be sharing with you my giving, what it means to me and how my life is changed by it. It sounds a lot like bragging, right? I worried about that. I want you to know that my intention is not to put myself on a pedestal or create the appearance that I am better than any one else. My intention is to inspire you to begin a month, a year or a lifetime of giving. It is to step outside of my comfort zone and give to strangers. It is to face what I perceive as lack in my life and give it away.

As I listened to this woman's journey, I began to wonder what our world would look like if we all focused on giving daily instead of hating daily or worrying daily. That is the world I want to live in. That is the world I want to leave for my kids. Today I make a commitment to myself and to you, I will be beginning my month of giving tomorrow. There are guidelines that you can find in the book, all of which I intend to follow.

I urge you to read this book (I gave you the link to purchase the book on Amazon) and to check out the website listed below. The website has followers from all over the world who share their month of giving, their ideas for gifts and inspiration to others interested in giving. I look forward to the next 29 days, not only to share this with you, but to experience the joy, humility and peace that comes from giving.

29 Gifts: How A Month of Giving Can Change Your Life by Cami Walker
http://www.amazon.com/29-Gifts-Month-Giving-Change/dp/0738214302/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1373055701&sr=1-1&keywords=29+gifts

www.29gifts.org

See you Monday!!!

Wine-ing

As previously stated, I can't drink like I use to back in the day. I'm older and after giving up alcohol during my pregnancies, I have a low tolerance. Which is great at the bar because I'm a cheap date. My husband has made it his mission in life to question my ability to drink more than two beers.
Him: "You sure you want that third?"
Me: "You sure you want to see me naked at some point in the next 6 months? Mind your own business."

But he's right, I have had a few brushes with vomiting after only a couple hours of drinking and one episode of Double Dragon. Google that and then try not to judge too harshly. That particular event occurred at my sister's house after an 8 hour shift, no food and a bottle of wine. Not my proudest moment.
As I have been writing more, I can see why so many writers, past and present, have been alcoholics. It is very challenging to rip your soul out in words every single day and then feel like you haven't contributed to society in any functional way. Writing a book is especially taxing on my self esteem as I am not sure if or when anyone will ever see it, publish it or love it. It's like running in circles and telling everyone that's your job. It creates an overwhelming desire to drink.

Alcohol also has a creative element to it that I am sure any artist can attest to. After a couple of glasses of white wine, I have a slew of ideas for my blog, my book and for articles that I feel are like nothing anyone has ever written before. Then I sober up and wonder why anyone reads the shitty shit I write. It's enough to want to commit myself to a psychiatric hospital and go crawling back to Starbucks begging for my "real" job back. If you are interested in working your ass off, feeling like you haven't done a damn thing and becoming an alcoholic, become a writer.

Don't forget to check out my article about marriage and faith on mythirtyspot.com and follow me on Twitter @BrasherMandy. Strangely I have 300 followers over there, because there seem to be other like minded drunks who think I am as funny as I do.

These Are A Few Of My Favorite Things

I spend a lot of time sharing with you all the shit I really don't like. A lot of time. Perhaps you have wondered what I do like? Perhaps not. I'm in no way assuming my favorites list will get your panties wet the way Oprah's does, but maybe you will find something new to love or another reason to hate me. I will admit that I have never been a purse whore, make up whore or clothing whore. I have no taste when it comes to expensive shit and I will never understand $5,000 purses or $300 flats. Sorry. Brand names mean nothing to me and I usually pretend to know what people are talking about when it comes to designers, then Google their name and realize that I would never buy their ugly shit. I shop at the thrift store. I get most of my make up at Walmart or on Amazon. I buy purses at Target, usually on sale. I'm thrifty by nature and have little interest in expensive shit. You won't find designer handbags or pricey jewelry on this list. I am no food critic either, but I know what is good in my mouth. I have things that I love to use, love to buy and would not be happy living without.

Here are my faves...from food to drinks to lotion and a few other gems. (This is not sponsored by any company and no one gave me free shit to pick there product.)

1. Aveeno Positively Radiant Moisturizer with SPF 15. This stuff is the tits for oily/combo skin that tends to look like an Exxon Valdez spill by afternoon. It clears up red areas I have from acne scars and uneven skin tone and looks smooth under make up. I know, it's not a $500 lotion, but you can always donate the $490 you'll save to someone who is in need. Find it at your local drug store.

2. Coffee Lip Balm by Ellen Bee Farms. I have been a lip balm girl my whole life and I know good lip shit when I find it. Red lipstick makes me look like Ronald McDonald and everything else looks orange on my skin, so I skip color and go for moisture. This favorite smells like coffee brewing in the morning and makes my lips feel soft all day. They offer many other flavors including my daughter's fave Wild Cherry. While I am related to the peeps who make this yummer stuff, I endorse it on my own accord not because I know them but because they make great lip balm. Find it at ellenbeesoaps.com

3. Aveda Control Paste. I am a freak about my hair. It's curly, short, graying, course, thick and on most days, completely unmanageable. I was introduced to this little gem when I started seeing my fave stylist, Scott. It's great for men or women and gives my hair that piecey look without being porcupine stiff. A little goes a long way, so even though it's costs a bit up front it lasts through many crazy hair days. Great in humidity and for little dudes with faux hawks. I wish my son still had one...so adorable. Find it at your local Aveda salon or online. Duh.

4. Guinness and Baba. If this is news, you haven't been here very long. Dark beer is my boyfriend. I love dark, smooth, heavy, delicious stout. The darker, the more head, the better. (You are disgusting...I am talking about beer). There is nothing better than a pint of Guinness at the pub, but now that they have it available in cans and bottles, I can stay in my yoga pants and drink at home. Baba is a fantastic brew from Uinta that is available in an industrial size at Costco. Dark and delicious, this is my beer for BBQ's, house parties and afternoon reading sessions on my porch. Get some in your mouth. Now.

5. Camper's Soap from Ellen Bee Farms. I promise, I am not being paid by anyone. I gave up body wash when I started running because it left a nasty film. While it doesn't make sense to my brain, I feel cleaner after using bar soap. Any who, I bought a few different brands from the devil big box store, but my  one true love came as a sample around Christmas last year. It smells like every yummy summer event, musky and sweet with all natural goodies so it never dries my skin. Our other family favorite is Monkey Farts, which smells better in the shower than an actual fart. Check them out this summer at the Farmer's Market Downtown or at ellenbeesoaps.com

6. Trader Joe's Angel Food Cake. New favorite as of this week, but don't let that throw you off, this stuff is the shit. Ate it with strawberries, cream, and finally straight out of the container with my fingers. I have never eaten cake that tasted like heaven, but now the name makes perfect sense. You know where to get this one, right?

7. Athleta Hannah Running Shorts. Here is where my thriftiness flies out the window. I am a sucker for exercise clothing, there is more of that in my closet than anything else. It's comfortable, lightweight and gives people the impression that I have put in hours at the gym even when I haven't. These shorts are the perfect length, light enough to sweat in and versatile enough to wear to the grocery store. Here is the kicker: built in underwear. If you are a runner, you know how fabulous this is. I have given up wearing underwear when I work out but these built in numbers are a blessing from baby Jesus because they don't ride up my crack while I'm hitting the pavement. Find these at athleta.com

8. Clean and Clear Deep Action Scrub. I still have acne. I don't know how common this is in women in their 30's but I really thought I would be done with it by this point. The breakouts I was having were not clearing up with my regular face wash so I grabbed this little gem in desperation. I have tried hundreds of scrubs, face washes, and mail order acne treatments and this is the best. I use it 3-4 times a week in combination with Clean and Clear Daily Cleanser and my skin looks better than it has in years. Find it on amazon.com or your local drug store.

It's no Oprah list and no one is getting a free car. Yeah, that pretty much covers it, no free car, no surprise under you seat, but you also didn't have to stand in line or know someone famous to get in. Bonus.

I'm interested in your favorite things. Use the comment section and tell me what you shove in your mouth, put on your face or rub yourself down with in the shower. Skip the naughty bits.

Flushing My Self Respect

There was always that nagging question in my head "Who goes to Walmart in an outfit worthy of being posted on a website dedicated to booty short wearing trannys with their balls hanging out?" The answer was revealed to me last night. I have become one of those people who will, cross your fingers, be immortalized on the Internet for years to come.

It began with guilt, as most disturbing choices in my life do. The last day of school and my kids had no teacher gifts. Now, keep in mind, I live on Pinterest Princess Circle and every mom, with the exception of yours truly,  has been working on their teacher gifts for months now. The handmade rug from a loom that their husband built from recycled lumber, an exotic flower in a pot that was created on their potter's wheel in the basement, and a full herb garden encased in a hand blown glass terrarium. I am constantly out of my league. It was also retirement day for their principal who should be named a saint for what she deals with on a daily basis. I received an urgent email from a PTA someone or another suggesting, at 9pm the evening before, that we should all shower her with gifts and appreciation. I had the appreciation thing handled but the gift thing was tricky. I don't buy extra gifts and discreetly keep them in my front closet labeled " GIFTS/GIFT BAGS/CURLY RIBBON". My gift bags are plastic bags from my pantry and curly ribbon is for Christmas. Only Santa deals with that shit. I am screwed. I text my crafty mom with the full intention of driving to her house, stealing an adorable craft she made, sticking in an old grocery bag and taking credit for the whole thing. She knows I'm a dick. When I got to her house, my life went from annoying to exhausting when I saw that she had figured out how to use her computer. She was on Pinterest scrolling through craft projects for teacher appreciation. Apparently, I am the only asshole who doesn't plan this shit out. I am sure you can imagine all the sickeningly adorable sayings, candy cards and shit filled baskets that were available for our amusement. It's now 11:35 pm. The clock is ticking and I am not making a fucking craft.

So I am making a craft and it needed color coded goodies, so my next stop was Walmart. I had gone to my moms with the intention of not getting in an accident (I'm not wearing underwear), not getting pulled over (I am wearing booty shorts) and taking a total of 12 steps outside (I am wearing slippers). I was headed into the thunder dome. I sat in the parking lot waiting for a group of teenagers to drive away and to see if I could run special ops on the employee pushing carts in.  I then proceeded to lie to myself by saying that I didn't look that bad and I didn't care what people thought. While I was walking through the parking lot, the wind whipped through my hair. The hair on my legs. It is currently long enough to braid and visible from space. While I am usually a fast walker, I amazed even myself with the sprint I made from one aisle to the next. Eventually I made it to the single checkout line that was wrapped around two freestanding displays full of s'more ingredients. Could I cover my legs in marshmallows? Are graham cracker pants a thing? I waited impatiently and rubbed my furry calves together like a grasshopper. I was disgusted with myself and my Pinterest inspired teacher gift wasn't making me feel any better.

It's anyone's guess as to whether or not there was a iPhone snapping shots behind my back, I only noticed the creep with a Lean Cuisine and a 2 liter of soda who was standing inside my "GET THE FUCK OUT" bubble. As he eyed my wallet, I had a strange feeling that wearing slippers to the store wasn't going to be the biggest problem I had that evening/morning. The moral of this story? I am still going to judge people who have their ass crack showing and white Lycra on anyone never ceases to amuse. However, I now know that I can never leave my house without proper attire: yoga pants, a tank and flip flops. Lesson learned.

                                                      Call in the troops...I made this shit.

Too Old For Twitter And Other Shocking Developments

There's no picture. This post is meant to go against every thing I have read about being a successful writer in this day of mass media. I knew I had to write it and post it when every thing about it made me uncomfortable and I worried about people hating it. Here is my truth, I don't want to have a monetized blog or website. Money is a necessity and I know that I will make money from my writing in the near future, but not through ads or sponsors. That is someone else's gig, not mine. I want to gain readers who like my writing and find value in it. My niche? Don't have one. I write about my life and my life isn't a niche. ISO: Readers who can relate to real life.

I started to pursue building an audience by fitting into a pretty little box, but it never felt authentic. It made me feel dirty, like when I was young and I would be anyone a boy wanted me to be if he would say he liked me. Tell his friends about me. Sound familiar? Like me here, like me there, share me here and everywhere. Then I will know how important I am. Then I will be someone. I have set up thumbnails of myself all over the world wide web to find out who likes me and who will share me and I check those numbers often. Too often I have found. I let them dictate how I feel about my writing. I'm a 34 year old version of my 18 year old self, hoping I'm good enough to be LIKED. Hooray!!! Two more people that say I am okay. Two more LIKES that confirm I am a good enough writer to have self esteem today. Then I wake up to other insecurities.

A new day holds the thousands of other bloggers, writers, published authors, writers with degrees, writers with  connections, and mommy bloggers who I "need" to read. So I do. Then all the LIKES become dog shit on my Old Navy flip flop. Being smart and witty is the norm out in the blogosphere, having your own voice is a requirement, and being edgy isn't even edgy anymore. Without a few titty pics to link to Twitter, no one cares. You're UNFOLLOWED as quickly as you were LIKED and FOLLOWED. I think I met Twitter too late in life, because there is only one person who gets to see my mammary glands and you should consider yourself blessed it isn't you. I sold out too many times when I had no self esteem, I'm not selling out to get the inside scoop on whether or not I can write. I can.

Another shocking revelation? I'm too sweet for Twitter in my elderly state (I know, right)  and it only took me 24 hours to realize that. There were all these tweets going back and forth about who was funnier than who, which Twit had the best line, retweet me so I can feel like a whole person for 30 seconds. Thousands of followers for people who pick fights with complete strangers and post pics of their bare tits while bragging about how they need to be treated like a princess. It was frightening and a very clear glimpse into what our society has become. This is what we want. We then become disinterested seconds later and tune in to some other train wreck IE; jackass CEO of a clothing company, pageant moms and abusive athletes. I have become disinterested. I thought I wanted thousands of followers to my blog every day, thousands of people following my sass mouth on Twitter and eventually a published book about my crazy life. Revelation: I don't have a sass mouth, my tweets are so mild in comparison that people would assume I'm a nun. If I can have thousands of passionate followers without being a fucking sell out, I'll take it. Otherwise, I will keep blogging and writing and loving the 100 people per day who are interested.

I am done marketing myself as something I am not and if that's what I "have" to do to get published, I will publish myself. And by publish I mean print off copies at my office, staple them and sell them out of my trunk. If  my family and friends are the only ones who buy my book, well I can rest assured that at least they have fantastic taste. I want to share my writing, not spend countless hours tweeting or checking my blog stats so I can be happy. I'm happy because I write and people like it. I write because I live my life and have experiences that shock my brain and make me want to tell a story.  That's my plan. I'm going to go live and write about it.  This is the first summer in six years that I get to make my own schedule and spend everyday with my kids,  I'm taking advantage of it. I will have blog posts, when I feel like it. I will honor my commitment to websites I contribute to. I won't be Tweeting nude pics or hourly updates and my Facebook page will return to the random shit you have come to love. No recipes or running tips. No links to shit you can find on your own. Just me and maybe a shameless plug for my blog. I'm weaning myself off so I can put one foot in front of the other and write a book for you to read. You know, like they did in the old days.

Written by Mandy Brasher owner/author of Busy Being Happy 2013 (Because people be some plagiarizing motherfuckers)

It's Friday And So What!

Happy Mother's Day!!! I am guessing most of you will be able to relate to today's post. We seem to have an illness as women these days, it could be labeled Super Mom or Super Fucking Exhausted Mom. If that sounds familiar, join me this weekend in finding a couple hours to do nothing, except maybe breathe, read, watch your favorite show or see a movie you actually want to sit through. You deserve it!!!

I do too many things. I am not bragging, I am admitting a weakness, like they do in AA. My name is Mandy and I can't relax. Last weekend, my husband asked me what 'normal' people do on Sundays and I spouted off a list of chores I felt would suit him well, to which he nodded and told me he was going golfing. I didn't remember listing that as one of the options. While he doesn't seem to have a problem chilling out for awhile, I haven't perfected that part of my life. Even on the weekends, I rarely sit through a movie at home without throwing in load of laundry or running the dishwasher. TGIF? It may as well be TGIM, it's all the same to me.

We have all heard the old adage about how many hats you wear. It symbolizes the different roles you fill in your life, from mother to PTA president to employee. I have a closet full of hats. I attended a women's retreat last year where we made a list of our roles and described how they made us feel. It took me awhile to get my list accumulated but when I did it was pretty telling. There wasn't one hat I wore that was for me. My hats included responsibilities at home, at work, at my kid's school, and in relationship to others. There wasn't one that said writer, reader, traveler, comedian, or photographer. I am so busy wearing my "for you" hats that I had bypassed the "for me" section. While most of them made me feel accomplished, there weren't any that filled the part of my soul that I freely drained for everyone else. I learned a lot about being a martyr that weekend and realized that I needed to make some changes.

Most days consisted of wearing my Work At Our Business hat immediately followed up by throwing on my Mommy hat so the house wouldn't burn down. I jumped in my car sporting my Other Job I Hate hat, all the time wondering if there was an end to the madness. On the weekends, I could be found doubling up with the Cook hat and then  racing around my house doing chores in my Housekeeper cap. I guzzled a glass of wine, got spotted by my kids and immediately felt the need to shop for an Alcoholic hat. By the end of the day I have worn all the hats I'm "supposed" to and completely bypassed the others. It's all been lovely, but I need to scream.

I made a few changes. They included being honest with my husband about my desire to quit a job I hated and my intention to be a writer. For real. I still wear a lot of hats, but I have since purchased ones that say Writer, Napper, Bath Taker and Hiker.  As a 30-something woman living in this century, I can choose thousands of hats, but now I get to learn how to wear one at a time and give up wearing the ones that drain me.  Now, if I could just figure out this whole 'relaxing on the weekend' thing.

I'm Not An Expert, Just Ask My Husband.

I haven't always been fit. I'm not sure I would really consider myself fit now, but I am a hell of a lot closer to it than I have ever been. While making better food choices and starting to work out,  I have attempted to share tidbits of this information with my husband. Being diabetic and a few extra pounds overweight, I assumed he would be interested in my helpful hints. That's why we never assume, because it makes an ass out of you and then I want to hit you with my car. I think that's how the saying goes?

Me: "Wheat bread without all the additives is really great for you. White bread is the devil".
My husband: "Bread is bread."
Me: "Did you know that echinacea helps you get over colds and builds your immune system?"
My husband: "Did you know I like Nyquil and it actually works?"
Me: "Diet soda is white bread's evil cousin. Yeah, worse than the devil. Think about that."
My husband: "You just drank your weight in coffee, but thanks of the update Miss Health." Included eye roll.

I don't have a degree in nutrition and it is true that I have smoked for over fifteen years. While I never claimed to be an expert, I felt that 97% of what I was putting in my body was better than what my husband was shoveling down his throat. He ate fast food every day and washed it down with a gallon of diet soda. He believed that he was never going to get old and that he possessed the same metabolism that kept him fit in high school. Plus he was married, why did he need to look good? (He really said that.) Thanks, dick. While the scale continued on a regular incline, he wasn't planning to let his uneducated wife give him tips on nutrition. Clearly, I knew nothing.
Fast forward to this year and my husband's realization that he was 40 pounds overweight. Due to my deep love for him and the understanding that he was never going to listen to a damn thing I said, I bought him some sessions with a personal trainer. During his first week he joyfully skipped home with information that was interesting only to him.

"I am giving up diet soda. Do you know how bad it is for me? Empty calories, my trainer tells me."
"I am not eating fast food all the time. The calorie count in that stuff is crazy, like 2,000 calories for one meal."
"I need to eat smaller meals all day and focus more on healthy grains, vegetables and lean meats. Can we buy that stuff?" (FYI-That's all I have bought for the last decade.)
"My trainer suggested I take garlic and echinacea for my cold. Were you aware of the health benefits of garlic?"

I wanted to punch a watermelon and his trainer.  Was I aware? Yes, Tweedle Dee, that's what I have been telling you for years. This is not news to me, but I am curious how you have conveniently missed the hundreds of conversations we have had about these exact same issues. Here is where the disconnect comes in for my husband...I am not an expert. I am just a thirty something mom with a massage therapy license and a history of shitty jobs. In his mind, taking nutrition advice from me would be similar to allowing me to pick his line up for this year's fantasy football team. I have only unreliable information. There may be a list of things that I could give him advice on, but I admit to never wanting to find out what those would be. I imagine his list would consist of; scrubbing toilets, refilling dog bowls, shaving legs, wiping baby butts and picking up dog shit in the back yard. Funny, I don't have a degree in any of those either.

The Chatter

I have days where I feel like myself, some may call it Happy. I'm motivated, inspired, full of dreams and ready to take on my life. I'm getting no noise from the dark side of me, the mean side. I treasure those days because I know about that shit storm waiting around the corner. I made a visit there on Monday. A case of the Mondays is one thing, but this was a case of the fuck every single thing I do because it sucks and will never work out. It's a bit more involved than hating Monday. Listening to the chatter in my head allows those days to paralyze me and that evil naysayer forces me to acknowledge that I will never achieve my absurd goals. "It's too hard," he chides "and no one cares what you have to say." He comes with reasons that are hard to debate. "See how they do it, yours is wrong. You should give up now so it won't hurt later." I agree. Then my dreams drop to floor, I walk over them and justify leaving them behind. It's okay because I can do something else. It's hard and it will never pay off. I owe it to ______ to give them what they need instead. I will be happy either way. That is the most detrimental lie of all.

My sister told me about a book or blog she had read about the lies we tell ourselves. Not me, I thought. I'm not a liar. Wrong. I lie to myself all the time. It's called chatter. The bullshit stories that I tell myself in order to stop forward movement. The lies that keep me from being my true self. While I may not lie to my children or my husband, I lie to myself every day about what I am capable of doing. Why is that acceptable? I respect others enough to be honest but I can't stop lying to myself.

After two days of recovery, I talked with a close friend and she asked me where my writing spark was, why did I sound so shaky about my work? I was floored. In one phone conversation, she had honed in on exactly what Mr. Chatter had been bullying me about all week. I was listening to the lies, the dark passenger (I love you, Dexter) who doesn't want a body wrapped in plastic, but wants me to stop pursuing my dreams. The one who wants to go down the well traveled road of mediocrity in order to save me from possible disappointment. He is also the one who likes to remind me how I owe it to everyone else to _________. Even when my heart is screaming for him to shut the fuck up. He's a devious little bastard and his attempts to foil my entire week were interrupted by regularly scheduled programming. The people who love me, and thankfully have a louder voice. Nice try, asshole.

Aging And My Genitalia

My mom has the best attitude about aging. I am constantly in a state of panic about getting old, mostly due to sheer vanity, and she will tell me "Well, it's better than the other option." I can see the truth in that, but as the days start to fly by I am struck by how repulsed I am at getting really old.

The commercial that nearly brought me to tears was one for a trans-vaginal mesh. The part of me that wants to believe I am young wanted to make a nasty joke, the part of me that knows I will live to be ninety-nine was wondering if I should start a savings jar for that surgery immediately. Did you know your vag needs to be held up by foreign material after a certain point? Yea, me either. It was the worse news I had heard since learning that my husband's balls will one day reach his knees. It's happening, ladies. Start marking his thigh now so you can watch the natural progression of his nut sack from between his thighs to around his ankles. I knew the outside of my body would age, I've had grandparents. They were soft and wrinkly and all around wonderful. What they never told me was that the inside of your body is deteriorating at the same rate and that your insides have no where to go but down. Think about that for a minute....mesh holding in your privates. NO FUCKING WAY!! I plan to invent a better option. Super tight rubber panties, a vag sling that doubles as suspenders, or perhaps a wheelchair that has a elevated crotch area for those in need of some between the legs support.

One of the other issues I lose sleep over are my teeth. Teeth make me crazy...good teeth and bad.  I am more likely to describe someone by their teeth than their skin color, body size or facial hair.
Me: "Remember that guy at the bar the other night, the one with gangly teeth?"
My Sister: "You mean that cute guy with dreads? He was really nice."
Me: "Did you see his teeth? Damn. I didn't know he had dreads. Weird."
This leads us to old person teeth, also known as dentures. My second worst nightmare. My great-grandma had dentures and while I never noticed them as a kid, I did notice the weird cup on the bathroom sink set up and waiting for something to soak. Denture cup. Gummy kisses and soft food. I just can't accept the fact that one day I would wake up next to my husband and look like my face had been sucked in through my mouth. Shear vanity. I have heard of younger folks who had drug problems or face-to-curb issues and have had to get dentures. That would make me manic. What if you forget to glue your teeth in? What if you have a one night stand and wake up next to some dude who suddenly has no teeth? I guess breakfast is out.

I know I will get old and simply because I detest the idea of being a hundred years old, I will be one day. The Universe will feel an overwhelming desire to smash my self-confidence and force me to love the parts of aging that I can't yet wrap my mind around. At which point, I will discontinue the use of mirrors.

Move Your Ass

NYC View 

I'm off on another adventure today. I have a friend getting married in New York tomorrow so I am leaving on a jet plane. It's more flying, more TSA fondling and more of me hating people on planes. Which brings us to Fuck That Shit Friday. Today I say fuck that shit to being excited you scored a window seat only to realize you were sat next to two of the biggest douche bags on the planet. 

It never fails that these are the moments that I need to take a piss. I am notorious for drinking an extra large coffee on the way to the airport, grabbing another one while I wait and attempting to guzzle 60 ounces of water when I finally get on the plane so I won't be dehydrated. That thimble full of water they so graciously serve ain't gonna quench this thirst. I realize before we even start taxiing that I have made a huge fucking mistake. I am sitting next to a married couple who has been eyeballing my head wrap and complete lack of fashion sense. I go comfort. I assume my yoga pants sans undies, tank top, and flip flops aren't what they consider appropriate plane attire. She is dressed to the nines and I think she may have gotten on this plane by accident, she clearly looks more suited for an opera. Her husband is all business in his tasseled loafers and professionally pressed Armani suit. I don't really know what an Armani suit looks like but let's pretend that's what he's wearing. They are better than me and I know that my urinating condition is going to cause huge fucking problems for everyone involved.

I hold it for as long as possible and even decline my free sample drink. I know I can't make it for the entire two hour flight without bothering Mr. and Mrs. Fancy Pants, but I have yet to figure out a way to let them know that I'm not some hippie who's going to hot box the restroom. She keeps doing the judgmental side glance to make sure I'm not slipping my sticky fingers into her Chanel purse. Do they make purses? Her husband has pulled out his over priced salad and set up a  what appears to be a permanent meal station. I'm on the verge of kidney failure, my eyes are tearing up and I am unable to make polite conversation. Can I wait until he finishes his meal? 

I suck it up and apologize profusely while I share with them the complexities of my caffeine addiction. I'm really sorry, so sorry, oh sorry about your feet, sorry you can't fucking stand up and let me out. They pretend to be gracious about my exit but I feel the burn of their eyes on me as I attempt to climb the maze of their legs. The pleasure of finally draining my bladder is overshadowed by the realization that my crotch may need make contact with a salad in order to make it back to my seat. Could I stay in the bathroom and read my Kindle? Could I collect garbage for the flight attendant? Would it be possible to switch seats? I begrudgingly make my way back to my window seat. That fucking window seat that I was so happy about. As my ass rubs their arms and my hippie toes dirty up her purse, I realize that that was my first and last trip to the closet toilet. Note to self: My carry on must include diapers, a can of mace and a shirt that tell people how I really feel. I'm thinking "I HATE YOU AS MUCH AS YOU HATE ME, SO FUCK OFF". 

Yes, I Hate That Too.

Fuck That Shit Friday is quite possibly my favorite day to blog. My mind starts reeling the moment I wake up and I have so many things to write about. Instead of picking one today, I will give you a sweet little list of my biggest pet peeves. Perhaps I will expand on some of these one day, perhaps not. Until I decide, here's to you, Friday.

Fuck This Shit:

1. People who constantly break for no reason on the freeway. I'm talking to you, old lady.
2. People who stand too close to me. Anywhere. I don't need you breathing down my fucking neck in the buffet line/grocery store/bus stop.
3. Finding the perfect piece of clothing online, deciding to buy it and finding out that it comes in every size but mine.
4. Getting to the checkout line and realizing some asshole poked a hole in the bag of sugar I grabbed. I'm not going back for another one and now my coffee will taste like shit.
5. The sound of crumpling grocery bags.
6. Leg hair.
7. Shaving above mentioned leg hair with soap because my kids used all the shaving cream to make creations in the tub.
8. Strangers that touch me. If I don't go in for a handshake or a hug, please assume I want nothing to do with you. Ever.
9. Receipts. I need extra paper in my purse like I need a hole in the head.
10. Needing to explain my smoking. If I don't do it around you, what the fuck do you care?
11. Workout pants that don't have a smooth crotch but instead have the largest seam known to man. Vaginal chaffing sends me into a fit.
12. Putting in contacts.
13. Flat pillows.
14. That awkward moment I take off my sandals and my feet smell like corn chips.
15. Getting a sunburn on my forehead. Since it's the size of a drive in movie screen, it creates problems when you are viewing the rest of my face.
16. Running into people from high school. There are only a handful of people I liked and I never seem to run into them.
17. Pretending to like people. No one ever believes it, so I don't know why I try.
18. Shitty service at a restaurant. I'm really glad I dropped 70 bucks so I could be ignored for an hour.
19. Slow walkers. This covers most people I know. I just keep going and figure at some point they will catch up. Or they won't.
20. Getting old. I haven't found one part of my aging body that I think is super attractive but I will let you know if it happens.