Saturday, December 19, 2009

Make Up or Not to Make Up


I have a love-hate relationship with make-up. It began at a very early age. Well, the love part came about early, and now the hate pops up on random days. The women we grow up with in our families leave a heavy mark on us, rather we like it or not. Some of us may be successful in debunking those influences if we consciously oppose them and want to reach a comfort zone free from such opinions and routines. Most of us end up with an imprint, influence from the women who raised us up, rather we like it or not.

My mother wore make-up. My paternal grandmother wore make-up, always. (My maternal grandmother died while I was a baby.) I remember that my mother seemed to get self-esteem, the motivation to socialize through her make-up. She did the full-face... foundation to dark creamy eye shadow, to lipstick, and always lots of mascara. She never told me that I needed to wear it... my grandma is a different story. My grandmother always had on make-up and her hair was always perfectly coifed. She had a huge mirror mounted on the wall of her hallway that had two sides on hinges that would swing out so she could examine her hair from all angles, to be sure all was smoothed, no holes, no awkward pieces sticking out or up. Perfect. Now I don't know exactly how big her contribution was to the thinning of the ozone, but before CFC's were taken out of aerosol hairspray, I'm sure she socked it her share of damage.


Appearance was of moderate to high concern and we were coached, assisted, and reminded of this on a regular basis. The biggest beauty production of all occurred each Sunday, getting ready for church. The process began on Saturday evening. My grandmother would wash my hair, let it dry in front of the fireplace, and then she would roll it in big, squishy, pink rollers, and/or socks for me to sleep in. We had to style our hair, we had to wear stockings, we had heels on our shoes from a young age, and of course, we had to wear make-up.

My grandmother had a very passive-aggressive way about her. I remember visiting her once in my twenties and she made breakfast for me like she always did (she loved to cook for everybody and often and as much as possible.), so I got myself presentable enough to visit the breakfast table, or so I thought. No one else was visiting at the time or stopping by to join us for breakfast. I think my grandpa was out hunting or mowing the lawn.

I brushed my teeth, brushed my hair (which is about the most I do to my straight hair anyway), got dressed, and put on make-up. I walked down the hall and through the living room, reached my seat and began chit-chatting with MaMa as she prepared the food. The first thing she asked was if I was feeling okay. She said that I looked a little peaked (read: code word for Southern women which really means, "You look like shit darling!"), probably because I didn't have my face on yet. Remember, I had on full make-up sans lipstick. After pointing that out, she said that putting on some lip color should perk me up. Oy vey.


I purposely did not put anything on my lips because I was going to be eating immediately AND the only person to see me was my dear, sweet grandmother. Alas, I still wasn't pulled together enough for the occasion.

A few years ago, what the hell was she called? A motivational speaker maybe? She wasn't. A lot of it turned out to be a joke, but she provided a free workshop for the staff where I worked. It was just ever so difficult for her audience to take her seriously, due to the fact that much of her spiel was focused on nutrition, exercising, and maintaining a healthy weight... meanwhile we were all staring at - not a chubby woman - but a significantly overweight woman in poor physical shape. Back to why this is related to make-up. In the midst of discussing how we can feel better at work, she mentioned make-up. She was actually talking about being observant of your co-workers and recognizing when they may be getting depressed, in a rut with work, burned out, etc. Basically letting themselves go. What she said created a lot of upset among many of the women on staff. It was interesting to learn how differently some of us interpreted what she was saying. A few of the women were ranting and pissed. Yes, I have always been taught that putting on make-up is part of preparing to go out into the world, but I totally get it when women find that insulting. Here's the thing, she wasn't suggesting for women who never wear make-up to suddenly start wearing it. She was encouraging us all to pay attention to changes from the norm for a person. So if a co-worker who usually wears make-up and styles her hair a certain way, begins showing up for work with a naked face and hair pulled back in a messy bun, then something may be going on with that person... because it's not typical for that person. No matter how I tried to explain that rationale, my co-workers were pissed!



I started wearing make-up way too young. I had on full make-up in my 5th grade school photo! It starts out fun. But then you feel like you need it... making one feel self-conscious without it... and that kind of sucks. No, it really sucks! I didn't even need make-up when I was young. I always had great skin overall, no acne, no uneven coloration, but I thought I needed to paint on it. The real bummer is that right when I stopped enjoying putting on make-up and just got down right sick of the whole routine, I actually need it now. I mean, I don't think I would stop breathing or anything, but I am aging and dealing with dark under eye circles and the other little not-so-cute things that happen. If I had a daughter, I wouldn't want it to feel like an expectation of her, and I would not want her to build her self-esteem based on such at any age. I am actually envious of women who feel most comfortable naked-faced. The sick truth of it is, I still get all giddy shopping for make-up and trying out new products. Call me shallow, but it is ingrained in my brain... blame it on grandma!

Sunday, December 13, 2009

You're Not One of Those Feminists Are You? - additional cartoons and pic




You're Not One of Those Feminists Are You?

Main Entry: fem·i·nism
Pronunciation: \ˈfe-mə-ˌni-zəm\
Function: noun
Date: 1895
1 : the theory of the political, economic, and social equality of the sexes
2 : organized activity on behalf of women's rights and interests
Merriam-Webster, Feminism

Why do so many people think of "feminist" and "feminism" as negative words? An unflattering description. Men AND women think this, and I am reminded of it often. Have you had this experience? Someone referred to me as a feminist in a conversation the other day, and then immediately took it back, clearly indicating that he didn't mean to insult me, and added that he knows I'm not really "one of them." Oh dear. I mean how can people be so ignorant? Educated, worldly people, but yet so skewed on this topic. I'm not red-in-the-face fuming over this... it has irritated me from time to time... I'm just mostly, well, bemused. I don't mean that in an insulting or condescending way (well maybe just a little), but DUDE!



With that said, I guess I understand where the confusion comes from... extremists have slapped a negative connotation on the word/cause. It happens. It sucks. People who take something and run with it, tipping over the edge of reason, and twisting the original meaning and intent. I do not approve. Allowing others to manipulate our vocabulary and just go along with new definitions, distant versions of the origin... not until the dictionary concurs at least.

Though you do not have to be a woman to be a feminist, you're better off accusing most straight men of being a flaming homosexual than being a feminist... or they take it as pretty much one in the same, a shocking insult. Oy. The word is feminist because it is the belief of equal rights for females, not feminist = a female. Certainly any man that I would be with damn sure is one... now he may not have a bumper sticker indicating such label, but as far as the actual definition (see above), yep, we would have a problem if he were not.



Now, I was born and raised and still live in the good ole south. I honestly like some old-fashioned customs, manners typical of the region, that may be gender biased... BUT just because I allow a fella to hold a building door for me or open my car door doesn't mean I shouldn't be able to vote, earn as much money as a man, have less independence in any way, shape, or form... any education level, driving privileges, political voice or position, influence in whatever area I shall choose.

And I use the word "chick" to refer to myself or other women occasionally, but I promise that doesn't devalue or diminish any of the equalities that I or any chick has and is entitled to keep. I am not opposed to several traditional scenarios between men and women. I don't talk smack about women who choose to not work outside of the home. Nor do I look down on women who have children and then work full-time. I do, however, appreciate a woman who can think for herself. That's all I ask sisters. You know, to represent and all. That we have a brain and deserve to be equals, no matter in which capacity we choose to carry out and deliver our contributions to family, work, society.


Believing in feminism does not mean that one hates or devalues men in any way. That notion bugs the bejeezus outta me! It doesn't mean that we think we are superior to men... that men need to be knocked down in some way. It means that we should have the same rights and opportunities and be able to pursue those things free from discrimination and gender suppression. The option needs to be there. All women do not have to want those things, but they should support equality for women who do. Furthermore, men nor women should insult a woman if she does NOT want to be a CEO, senator, or other job or post traditionally thought of as part of the boys club. The entire point is that we should have CHOICES. The right to choose what suits us best, as individuals. No different from men.



"Contrary to popular opinion, feminism and romance are not incompatible and feminism may actually improve the quality of heterosexual relationships..."
If you want to read more, the entire article is:
Feminism and Romance Go Hand and Hand
I happened upon the article and thought it fitting to share.

Okay, one more thing. If you find yourself being asked the question: "You're not one of those feminists are you?", don't take the easy way out, just because it saves your breath and all. Nicely respond to the question with a question(s): "How can I be a woman and not believe in equal rights for women? I am a feminist. What rights do you think women should not have?" If you ask this in a non-pissy way, suppressing snarky attitude in tone and expression, it can be amusing to watch the person come up with an intelligent response... and you may just teach somebody something, or in the least make 'em think twice before piping up like that again. I suppose the above advice wouldn't work well for you in the event that you are not a feminist. But in that case, you probably shouldn't be reading my blog anyway... because you won't like it and stuff.



I invite you to share any related stories or thoughts that come to mind!

Wednesday, December 9, 2009

Puhsonahlitee

I was hanging out with my fella and a couple of our friends the other night. They have known my man for 10 years (she) or 20 years (he). It doesn't really matter what led up to this comment... and to be quite honest, I don't exactly remember. The point is that the "she" friend said to me:
"Well at least they will always make us laugh... no matter what else,
we will always have fun with them!"



When we are younger, we are reminded by our elders how much personality matters and that it should be developed and valued over physical traits and appearance (if we were lucky enough to have smart elders around). With a little age and experience, one realizes how essential a stellar personality is in your other person... to find that person attractive and enjoyable day to day and year after more years. It has to work for you and only you... but no matter what keeps you smitten, laughing, interested, whatever, whatever, it always comes back to personality. Period.

I do indeed have an experience from my past that vividly solidified this for me, at the age of 18. I went on two dates with a physical trainer who had the most muscular body I have ever hugged in real life. I didn't have a boyfriend at the time, was bored, and this guy was really good looking. I thought, he's different than other guys I have dated, but what the hell? Different may be better. Unfortunately, he had the personality and excitement of a doormat. Not a doormat with a clever quote or cute greeting... but rather one who found it necessary to worry about how many fat grams were in my bean burrito and nachos and cheese dip. (At the time I weighed about 112 lbs. at 5'7".) If you know me at all, insulting my divine obsession for and enjoyment of authentic Mexican cuisine is a heinous act to commit. The only conversation he could participate in was telling me how many miles he had run that day, how much weight he had lifted, and how many calories he had not consumed by abstaining from beer, food that taste worth a damn, and any other indulgence that is usually normal for a 21 year old. It was enough for me to realize that I never cared to go on another date with anyone based on looks from that point forward and forever more.



I mean, you have to be attracted to someone... but again that brings you back around to personality, or at least it does for me. A magnetic personality can physically transform a person before your very eyes. It may sound cheesy and cliché, but it is the absolute truth. How else can women still get all googly over their men even after he has lost some or all of his hair, gained a lil or a lotta weight, and may not even be deemed attractive by the average woman? That's what we all want though... not that we hope and pray that our men will fall apart over the years... but let's face it, the aging process is not equally kind to everyone. It can be a little unpredictable at best, and basically I want to really like someone at their core, for the energy they exude and for their place in the world (not their career status or such but for their contributions to humanity on even the tiniest day-to-day scale). I want a man who can easily make me laugh, carry on an intellectual conversation, be open enough and secure with himself to learn from me, and be interesting enough to teach me new things or prompt new thought or debate... and be amusing, lively, and straight-up FUN!


When you've had a bad day, are struggling with stresses from work, children, parents or other family members, whomever the pains in your arse may be, it sure is nice to have someone to spend time with who just makes you giggle. And if you're lucky, that person can help you forget the troubles of the world (when you need it most) and make you laugh your arse off!





ENDING NOTE: I previously thought I could only be physically attracted to a guy over 6 feet tall. I am a tall chick in heels and one of my superficial preferences was to have a guy who would always be taller than I, regardless of my foot attire. Well, my man is 5'11" and I look him square in the eyes while wearing pumps... but I couldn't be more smitten. Personality baby! Don't sell it short and don't overlook the short(er). Dammit I'm cheesy today!

Tuesday, December 8, 2009

The Little Things... in Movies.




I can't help but notice inconsistencies while watching movies and TV shows. I wish I didn't notice... because it bugs me when I do, and then I can't pretend it's okay and believable. The way a person's hair is swept across their face or shoulders, how much soup is in their bowl... when it doesn't match up throughout a scene due to different camera angles and editing, non-continuity. Phooey.

If we are to buy into the scene of a film, and hopefully get sucked in for the duration... to stir our emotions as if these people on screen are real people, feeling real pain, or whatever emotion they intend to elicit from us... it has to seem real. I find it difficult to stay in it while details (or due to someone's lack of attention to) are distracting... pulling me away from their dialogue, inserting a record scratch, skip into my head, so to speak.

When things just don't make sense, I get annoyed at myself for allowing the "this or that" to yank me out of the movie. One example that comes to mind is a scene in "The Notebook." It is summer on the South Carolina coast, yet it is so cold that you can see the breath of the actors as they speak! Now, how can I believe they are strolling along on a hot summer night below the Mason-Dixon? Dang you obvious physics for taunting me. Anachronisms are all over the place since the film is supposed to take place in the 40's. Continuity issues are rampant. It kind of turns into a game.



I know there are people on set paid to take notice of these things while filming, and then there is the art of editing. The way most films are shot these days, editing makes or breaks the whole biscuit. If more takes have to be done,  dude needs to begin eating a new sandwich (but not too new). Homegirl's hair doesn't need to randomly switch from curly/poofy to straight/flat. The candle needs to burn at a reasonable rate, comparable with the pace of the conversation, and in sync with filming. Is that asking so much?

(Ooh, have to add one I just thought of... I mean this is really old but each time I watch "The Wizard of Oz", I can't help but twitch a little as the length of Dorothy's hair magically grows and shrinks by 5 inches or so, in the same scene.) 

I think I missed my calling. I would kick ass.

I called attention to "The Notebook" above because it is easy to pick on. I could list others, but it would be more fun if you all would add your observations from other films. Anyone? (If only one person participates, I'm expecting Julie.)

Wednesday, December 2, 2009

The Search for The Perfect Boobie Holster

"The Catholic type supports the masses, the Salvation Army type lifts up the fallen, and the Baptist type makes mountains out of mole hills."


Yesterday was the day that I finally mustered up the motivation to embark on one of the most annoying of all tasks for women these days... shopping for bras. I mean really, why is this such a damn chore? You would think with all of the innovatative technology of our day that it would be a cinch. They really should have the perfect bra by now... a magical one that molds and conforms for any woman... bubble boobs, teardrop boobs, pointy-down boobs, flat boobs, giant boobs, perky boobs, wide boobs, narrow boobs, swing-low boobs, and whatever other kind of boobs there are out there. Nope. Heidi Klum's latest "design" is the so called "Perfect One"... well, I'm here to tell you that it sucks the big one.

When I shop, and I don't do it often, I like to grab every possible item to try on and head to the fitting room once and only once. I chose about 30 different bras in size 32C, thinking that at least 1, and if I were lucky, 2 out of the batch would work. (I will be specific about the sizes so that those of you who know me may appreciate my ordeal even more.) Not a single damn one of them fit. I couldn't even get them on, wouldn't cover the girls at all! A couple of them were even 34C and they were too small. What in the hell is going on with bra sizes? What moron is sizing these boobie cups?

One would think that in this age of implants all over the place, soccer moms and school teachers and the like, not to mention the increase in breast size in young girls from all of the hormones in meat, that bra makers would make the cups BIGGER. Why in the hell are the cup sizes shrinking... I can't make sense of it for the life of me.

I summoned the fitting room attendant by way of the push button inside of the room and told her that none of them worked. Blonde girl with massive amounts of black eyeliner looked at me like I was a dumbass, as if she were thinking, "damn lady, how did you get as old as you are and be so clueless about yourself?" She stepped away and returned with the measuring tape. She informed me that I am a 34C, and then added that the bra I was wearing was a full size too small. She left, I took the bra off and checked the tag, it was a 34C. A moment later she delivered a box of their "most popular styles" so that I could try every 34C they had to offer. A 'C' is not a 'C' is not a 'C'. The cup size does increase as you increase the measurement, in addition to the fit around the back. I stared at the box for a second and thought about just getting the hell out of there, but I persevered.



One after one, I was getting aggravated as all get out. If the cup fit around the full circumference of my boob, the bra would pucker at the top... and if I tightened the straps to remedy the pucker, I would form a double-boob situation squishing outta the tops of the cups, wtf?!?

The most ridiculous was yet to come. I tried on the 7-way bra because it can be strapless, etc. and so on. I like multi-functional thingees. I fastened the 34C and I looked like a damn mess! I requested my patient helper/consultant with the black eyeliner one more time, and she agreed that it did not work and said that she would fetch me a D-cup. Are you friggin' kidding me?! Gaw.

I put on the D's and she confirmed that it was the perfect fit. My question is, if I have to wear a D, what in the hell are the women supposed to do who actually have large boobies? Vic's sizes only go up to a DD. Does everyone else have to shop at some speciality store for freakishly large boobs and pay more $ because their boobage girth surpassed the mainstream (according to delusional designers)? Do they, the bra fairies, think they are tricking us into thinking our boobs are whopping knockers when they are really just somewhere in the middle of the pack. If I were still a teenager, it may tickle me to have to buy a "bigger" bra, but at this age, really. Do they think all women get a self-esteem boost by having a different letter on our bra tag? How insulting.

When I first got boobs in my teen years, I remember wanting bigger ones. I think most girls did back then unless they were part of the big tit club from puberty. I know I'm not a member of the IBTC, but I don't have knockers either... and no offense to anyone who has the big girls, but I wouldn't want mine any bigger than they are.

I do wonder if you chicas out there have had this experience yourself. BTW, I have shopped for bras at many different types of stores... I just happened to have a gift card for Vic's Secret, and their bras do seem to last longer.

To wrap up, I finally found a style that didn't have any padding, push-cushion, or other contraption, just lightly lined so as to not be transparent, that fits well and is comfortable (as far as bras go). I have written many a college paper and/or extensive scientific lab report in my day in far less time than it took me to find a holster for my boobies. The things we spend our time on in life, pfft.

saggy boobs

Monday, November 23, 2009

Auntie Love


This is a dreary, icky, melancholy day. It is the week of Thanksgiving and what is on my mind most is that I miss my Aunt Tammie. Her birthday is November 28th, and so she is on my mind. She died at the age of 37, car accident. My dad, her big brother, died when he was 27, car accident.

It felt strange when I outlived my father's age, and it will be weird to live longer than my aunt did, unless something happens to me. I guess there is still plenty of time for something to take me out early... for what little bit of family I have left, I hope not.

I want to think about all of the fun and crazy times I shared with Tammie. She was a character! She was boisterous, animated, hysterical, and the list goes on and on. She was only 12 years older than I, so we did some really silly things to pass the time. When I was 11 or 12 and she was in her early twenties, we would stay up all night finding something to entertain us. We made videos pretending we were MTV VJs, made up dances, dressed in costumes... she taught me how to twirl a baton and how to do "The Bus Stop" and other dances from the late 70's. She introduced me to music that was before my time. We watched countless 80's movies over and over. She taught me how to play poker... and lots of other things. But most importantly, Tammie would tell me stories about my father... funny, silly stories... memories that would really give me a sense of what it was like to hang out with him. She painted pictures for me that I so desperately needed. No one else did that in my life.

Tammie was so loving and she just wanted to feel loved and appreciated in return. Unfortunately, people found a way to take advantage of her good nature and she did not have the best relationships with men in her life. She had the potential to do anything in the world she wanted to do. She was mad smart and could get any room rolling with laughter. She also had a multitude of talents. The thing is, she got bored really easy... so she tried out a variety of occupations. She was a passionate person. She loved animals and gave that to me. I looked up to her so much. Even though she was unstable a lot of the time... she was artistic, crafty, wrote poetry, painted, had a beautiful voice, could play the piano by ear, was a fabulous cook... and was also good at math, computer work, and interested in science. I thought she was amazing! I wish that she had felt amazing... I am certain that she never really did.

Tammie never recovered from losing her big brother, my dad. I didn't realize to what extent until I went to her funeral. I won't go into details here, but she carried that broken heart around her entire adult life. I later learned that she spent a significant amount of time at his grave site. When we buried her, she was placed beside him.

Back to the fun stuff... she used to dress me up like I was her doll. I was 5 and she would paint my face with make-up, complete with a beauty mark - always - and curl my blonde hair into ringlets with shiny ribbons tied in bows. She taught me how to roller skate and we would go to the rink in the middle of the day and skate under the disco balls and flashing lights until dinner time.

One of my fondest memories is being on a cruise ship docked in Mexico... it was incredibly windy, and the band played "American Pie" and "Brown-Eyed Girl"... Tammie, my sister, and I twirled around and ran around dancing for what seemed like forever. It was one of those magical moments in time. We had a blast! I am so thankful for that. You couldn't be around Tammie and not have fun!

Okay, now I am ecstatic! I just stepped away from the computer to try and find a picture of the two of us... and I found one from the night in Mexico!!!



One summer at camp I went by her name instead of my own. It wasn't on purpose exactly, but I played along. I had an old t-shirt of hers that was black with gold sparkly letters that spelled her name. I wore it to camp one day and the girls I met there called me "Tammie" for the next couple of weeks. I never told her that.

She took me to the beach several times while I was a pre-teen. We would take our floats out past the wave break and float and talk all day long. She took me to my first Bon Jovi concert. I was 10 and obsessed with the band. She stood outside in the rain in line for hours so we would get good seats. She also drove me an hour away and stood in line so that I could have my picture taken with Kirk Cameron (you know, the kid from "Growing Pains" back when he was cute and before he went crazy).

I wish that I also had a picture of her before my father passed away, back when she took better care of herself and still had her dreams alive for a bright future. When I think about it, I carry on a lot of things I picked up from her. She absolutely loved Halloween, made a big deal out of birthdays, always wanted to learn something new, and she treated her pets like her children. I hope that she recognized, even a little, that she gave me so much and influenced me in some pretty damn cool ways!

I just had to get out the mixture of thoughts and memories swimming around in my noggin today. I miss my big "sister"... I always will.

Wednesday, November 18, 2009

GLEE!



I just love this show! A new episode will air tonight.
Most television shows that are highly promoted prior to debut
don't live up to the hype and end up being disappointing.
This one is an exception.
The cast is so talented!
Anyone who hasn't given it a chance should check it out!




Tuesday, November 17, 2009

Midnitemonologues


Written by a dear friend I have known since the 7th grade!

Rosalind Russell by Midnitemonologues

"Flops are a part of life's menu and I've never been a girl to miss out on any of the courses". ~ Rosalind Russell

Rosalind Russell, is hands down one of my top 3 old Hollywood actresses. She was such a lively, spirited woman. My favorite movie of hers was Auntie Mame. I feel such a connection to her that I know I will post more on this wonderful woman! What I want to focus on today is the aforementioned quote. What an awesome perspective...I have always felt this way throughout my life...but...never had the words to express my feelings. What can I say...I love life and I love food...so...I can totally relate with this quote. (sigh)
There have been "meals" in my life that I've tried...and definitely had to secretly spit back into my napkin and out of my system...and there have been other "meals" that I have gorged upon and gotten sick afterwards...still others that I have enjoyed and relished and will never forget.
Life is most definitely a banquet (another set of words from Rosalind) and it is how you approach the meal. Here's to full courses with lots of dessert, my friends!
xoxo -
Kasey

Sunday, November 15, 2009

Is Italian Strip on the Menu?

I was reminded of this little adventure while talking to a friend the other day.....

A girl friend and I were in San Francisco a few years ago. This was my second trip to San Fran, but it was a very different experience than the first go round. The first time, we knew locals and they drove us around in their car(s) to their favorite spots, which was kind of boring. This time we were explorers. We used public transit to get everywhere, and those journeys, no matter how brief, provided colorful memories each and every time. I love that city! Just thinking about it makes me squeeeal!

We set out one evening to go to an Italian restaurant. We had asked around to figure out which one we should patron. A local guy we had met was emphatic that we must dine at one in particular. This was in the area that tourists call "Little Italy" and the locals make fun of it being labeled as such, and they never refer to it the same... or so we were told. Anyway, we made a reservation and then hit Union Square for some pre-dinner shopping. We were caught a little off guard when the streets of Union Square abruptly went from congested with other shoppers, hustling and bustling about, to completely abandoned in the matter of 2 minutes. Everything had closed and we needed to get catch a bus. 

We figured out our route to the bus stop, but before we reached it, a scruffy guy on a bicycle started following us. He was circling around us as we walked and wanted to know where we were going. He kept repeating: "You are the most beautiful woman I have seen, just tell me where you need to go and I will get you there." Really, all 3 of us are gonna pile onto your bicycle mister? By this point, we had had many encounters with "street people" and the homeless of the city. But this guy wouldn't go away! Something about a person feeling the need to tell you, "I'm not dangerous... you don't have to be afraid" tends to make one uncomfortable. We ditched that bus stop and set off to find another one.

We jumped off the bus in the area we had set out for, but we didn't really know how to find the restaurant. We were late. This area of the city was still very active and loud. As we made our way down the street, we were stopped by a few flamboyant guys who were working the doors of other restaurants. Well, we needed directions, but they spinned me around and danced and tried to sweet talk us into dining at "their place" instead. This was fun and cute in the beginning, but was quickly getting annoying by the 3rd twirl. I was hungry. Anyone who knows me well knows that when I am really hungry, I get cranky! And it ain't pretty.

We found our destination! Of course I do not remember the name. We asked the guy out front about our reservation... without verbally responding, he grabbed me and kissed me, almost on the mouth, but I jerked just quick enough that his lips landed just to the side of my mouth. I must have shot him one hell of a dirty look.

Keep in mind that I was separated from my ex and going through a divorce. I was in my "men need not exist" phase... and it irritated me when men assumed I wanted their attention.

He then proceeded to get pissy with me because I didn't kiss him back in return. Are you kidding me? I want food. I do not want to stand out in the street playing kissy-face with some cocky Italian stranger!

We were soon to learn that this place had a reputation... we may have been the first girls to show up for dinner and not melt over the advances of Mr. Kissy-face.

We were seated upstairs where we had a view of the entire restaurant around and below. It was so nice to drink a glass of wine. Only men worked at this place, and every one of them was Italian, complete with thick accent. Each one that stopped by the table flirted and fawned over us. I mean, they do work for tips. I will skip some of the boring details, but I couldn't help but notice that most of the diners were women.

At this point, we had our food, which was yummy, were on our second glass of wine, and feeling much better. Then, the lights turned off. Uh-oh, power failure? Dammit! Oh... not so much. Club lights began spinning around and the loud music kicked on. An Italian voice from the microphone announced: "It's Tiffany's birthday and we are gonna help her celebrate!"

Tiffany was seated in a chair in the center of the restaurant and was quickly being surrounded by the waiters taking off their shirts. One of the guys spread his legs and jumped on her lap! Tiffany was getting a full-on-grind-dry-hump in the middle of my dinner. My friend and I looked at each and both had the light bulb... THIS is why the local guy enthusiastically told us we "would love this place." That was the first and last time this vegetarian "had" Italian sausage during dinner.

Friday, November 13, 2009

Picking Myself Up


My friend Leslee inspired this post. She asked me to write about an "a-ha" moment for a click story on her blog Waiting for the Click

I was married for 10 years, almost 11 including the separation, but I don't count that. I won't go into how or why I got myself into the marriage or all of the awful things that occurred during the marriage (that would take another blog post or maybe a book to cover). This is about getting out and the "a-ha" moment I had in the midst of the insanity.

My ex was a vicious, threatening, horrible excuse for a person during much of the separation. He loved feeling like he had the power to screw up my life, even more than he already had. During one particular phone conversation, he was refusing to cooperate with anything that would enable me to take care of myself financially. He had run up debt that was either in both of our names or solely in my name. In fact, his accruing debt behind my back was the straw that broke it all and prompted me to kick him out months earlier. While listening to his booming voice-from-hell threatening to force me out of the house, thereby making me homeless and preventing me from keeping my animals, I went to the zoo! Or maybe I was trying to escape from the zoo. I threw my phone as hard as I could, and bust it into 20 pieces. It didn't stop there.

I had remained calm and rational during most of the madness. Well, not this day. I went monkey-butt-marble-free! I was suffocating. I couldn't breathe. I was swallowed by my environment. I couldn't escape my past. It was staring at me from everywhere I looked and it was taunting me wicked. I looked around and all I could see was one of the same rooms I had shared with him for 9 years... the furniture we had chosen, the art prints and personal items we had acquired together. Meanwhile, he was sharing a new home with his 25 year old girlfriend (he was 42 at the time). He fucked up my life for years and then cleanly moved on and started over. I was left in the same mess... the same debt, the same house... the daily reminders and memories haunting me. I am not exaggerating here... I felt haunted and smothered! Let me be clear, I did NOT want him back. I wanted to be completely free from him.

I proceeded to rip everything off the walls, and throw and bash all of my framed pictures on the floor. I was crazed and I wanted to rip it all down and start over. I wanted my fresh start damn it! I hated everything my surroundings represented and of what they reminded me. I was on a rampage and it had to run its course.

What did I accomplish? A completely trashed room, a broken phone, and other demolished personal possessions. But something WAS accomplished in the end. While I lay on the floor sobbing, I had my "a-ha" moment. Who is going to come to my rescue? Who is going to pick me up off that floor? Who is going to make it all better? Who will make me happy again? I only laid there for a short time before I thought to myself... no one is gonna pick my ass up and make things better... except me.

I peeled myself off the floor and stood up with a refreshed outlook and plan of attack.

In that moment, I let go of anger and regret. The only person those malevolent feelings were consuming and hurting was me. I realized that I had needed that explosion of emotion to get it all out and in the end switch my energy and redirect my focus.

I looked at my situation and decided it was time to get real and take control. I contacted my car loan company, my mortgage company and everyone else I could think of to get the ball rolling to officially separate myself from the monster. I couldn't wait for him to cooperate and do it with me. There were difficult days ahead. The separation lasted longer than it legally had to because he refused to sign papers. I also knew that his mood changed with the wind and I would eventually catch him on a "less-hateful" day. I had to be patient. I had to play the game to get what I needed and to get out for good.

He thrived on me getting upset. He had his way for the last time. My "a-ha" moment pushed me to research every possibility for taking better care of myself, to keep my home, to keep my animals... and it was also the last time I allowed him to upset me. From that point forward, any time he would act psycho and begin yelling over the phone, I would simply say in a calm, matter-of-fact, manner: "You are now yelling at me, so the conversation is over and I am hanging up now."

The divorce was eventually finalized and now I can breathe. I can take care of myself. I have control over my life and my happiness.
A-ha!

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

Authentic Anyone?



Okay, so one thing I really want from people... is for them to say what they mean and mean what they say. Is that too much to ask? Gheesh. I appreciate a brutally direct person more than one sugar-coating bullshit any day of the week. Now, I realize this goes against my Southern upbringing. I was surrounded by women who were sweet as brown sugar pie to people around them, and then bash them to bits as soon as they were out of earshot. Especially at church. What the hell? Being polite when called for and having basic manners is one thing... but that's not really what I'm talking about here.

Men do it too. My ex used to commit to plans with friends all of the time, just to blow them off and not follow through. He did this over and over. It pissed me off so much! Why not at least tell me that you have no interest in going to that dinner, to that party, etc.

I know I am all over the place here.

My family, though I love them, have always been that stereotypical Southern family that looks all peachy fine on the outside while there is an astronomical mess about to explode on the inside. But shhhhh, don't talk about it. Damn sure don't mention anything to someone outside of the family circle. Hell, be in denial within the family. I have still not figured out how this helps anything or anyone. You know why? Because it doesn't. How could it? Don't get me wrong, I love my Southern roots for many reasons. But I have to say that I have had a green eye on occasion for those boisterous Italian or Jewish families who just let it all hang out, speaking their mind and rolling with it. It just seems easier that way. I would rather a person tell me they hate me to my face than tell me they love me only to be lying. 

This entire issue is why I have had few close friends in my life... lack of authenticity. Who is real? Who will turn around and stab you in the back, talk rubbish behind your back, or just use you for their best interest while providing nothing in return? What I call a "one-way friendship."

I realize that this could be easily divided into two different topics... maybe I will write more later and it will be more focused.

I like real people. I want to know what I am dealing with, and then I can decide if I want you around. ;o)

So, "say what you mean and mean what you say!" If you say you are going to do something, do it. If you say something, mean it!

This concludes my rant for the day. =)

Monday, November 9, 2009

A Bubbly Surprise or Two



It always amazes me when people complain about the very personality trait in others that they themselves possess. Do you know people like this? How does someone spew negativity on a daily and sometimes by-the-minute basis, yet proclaim him or herself to be a positive person? Well, it seems to be more common than ever. When I began writing this, I was annoyed with seeing so many whiny, complaining, “Oh, woe is me” spouts on Facebook. Instead of ranting about that, I’m going to talk about the flipside. Is it possible for that same lack of self-recognition to work in the reverse manner? Well, I have learned the answer to the latter.

The way we see ourselves is not always how others perceive us. I think we all know this regarding certain characteristics. Although… what comes to mind is physical attributes. I know beautiful swans who truly see themselves as ugly ducklings… and I certainly know of many obnoxious material girls who think so highly of themselves, they tarnish whatever shine they may otherwise project.

But, how many of us are likely to describe our own personality traits the same way another person would depict us? I have known others who felt differently on the inside than what they felt comfortable putting out there… waiting to get to know someone before revealing their “full personality”. That was me when I was younger. I was often referred to as shy, and in high school I was called stuck-up a time or two. I was later told that it had been assumed that I thought I was too good to talk to certain people… when the truth is I was an introvert around people I didn’t really know.

Recently I had a realization that I needed another mirror-check. Well, not so much needed as it was nice to see. I am a confident, outspoken person who loves getting to know new people. While I accurately recognize these things about myself, and admit that all of this has changed since I was younger, I was still surprised when I recently heard adjectives to describe me.

A few months ago I met a friend of a friend. This woman is very nice, a sweet personality. I would also call her mild-mannered. We had been around one another for a couple of days when she said to me: “You have the bubbliest personality of anyone I’ve ever met!” I was taken aback. I mean it briefly stunned me a bit to be honest. My boyfriend was part of the group and heard her comment… and he did not protest or crack a joke. And, he really knows me!

If I were to break myself down into a list of adjectives, I would include the word “friendly”… but “bubbly” is on a vastly different level. There are two things here… first of all, the word bubbly has often implied that a gal may be a smidgen of an air-head. I don’t want to be thought of as an air-head! The second thing is that it was meant as a compliment, and I realized that I no longer hold back what I feel on the inside. She added that I am “full of life” and that sounds like a good thing to me! I asked my boyfriend if he thinks that I am “full of life”… he said, “Yes, that would actually be a good way to describe you.” Hmph.


Three days later, I was chatting with a lady who has known me for years, but has only known me fairly well in the past year. She said to me that I am always bubbly and have an effervescent personality. There was that word again! Then, a light bulb went off in my bubbly head… this is me! I am happy. This is what it is like to be so happy that people know it without you telling them… in fact, old friends have asked me what has changed because they have noticed “something different.”

I went through a lot of dark times during my childhood and younger years, bad marriage and all that, but I am ready to take ownership of the person I’ve become. I still have worries and challenges of course, but am refreshed to have evolved past allowing them to consume me and represent me. I focus on the positive without even thinking about it these days. When I hear someone spouting negativity, it jumps out at me like a bat hitting me over the head. What I mean is, I no longer feed into it and join in on the griping or agree with the person just to be agreeable. It jumps out as an avenue I do not want to go down… and usually tells me that I will not enjoy spending much time with that person. Life is too short to allow others to drag you down. Now I admit that I have a very sarcastic sense of humor. Sarcasm does not = negativity, necessarily. I guess one can be of a sarcastic and bubbly sort!

I will no longer think of me as a watered-down version of myself. Looking back, it was a journey to get here. I am happy, downright bubbly, and I own it!

Friday, November 6, 2009

Why Hello Kitty Has No Mouth




In just over 30 years Hello Kitty has become a multibillion-dollar model of resourceful minimalism within the global juggernaut of Japanese pop culture. But why is she mouthless? Because when you look at Hello Kitty, or “Kitty-chan,” as she is affectionately known in Japan, she will feel just like you do. As Japanese anime critic Hideki Ono says: “Your brain projects the missing information, then your imagination fills it in and feels the pleasure of participation.”

Thursday, November 5, 2009

September 1, 2009



August 31, 2009





We go to the beach every weekend, or at least that has been the routine for the summer of 2009. I went to the beach every summer throughout my childhood, and I loved it! But then I missed it for many years… I mean really missed it! I always treasured everything about the beach experience, including those details which some people complain about. I relish the feeling of sand on my skin, under my feet, the salty air, the sounds, the wildlife, and of course the water, the waves. It is a part of my life again and while there this past weekend, I was reminded of this poem...

“On the beach at night alone,
As the old mother sways her to and fro singing her husky song,
As I watch the bright stars shining, I think a thought of the clef of the universes and of the future.
A vast similitude interlocks all,
All spheres, grown, ungrown, small, large, suns, moons, planets,
All distances of place however wide,
All distances of time, all inanimate forms,
All souls, all living bodies though they be ever so different, or in different worlds,
All gaseous, watery, vegetable, mineral processes, the fishes, the brutes,
All nations, colors, barbarisms, civilizations, languages,
All identities that have existed or may exist on this globe, or any globe,
All lives and deaths, all of the past, present, future,”

~Walt Whitman

And so my blog begins... (August 29, 2009)



My first ever blog post is below. The girl who has been through it all with me, at least for everything in my adult life, since I was 19 actually. I have been active on Facebook for a while now and have enjoyed reconnecting with old friends more than I could have imagined. Here goes trying out the blog thing. I know that I will not necessarily post things daily. Well, I may post little snippets or photos, but I do not think I will be writing lengthy text. I’ll see how it goes. The thing is, I often have long thoughts on particular topics and inner dialogue with myself while driving. I don’t know if I will hang on to those thoughts long enough to share them through my keyboard. Hmmm… stay tuned.



My 15-year old baby girl doing her favorite thing. She is the happiest when the wind is in her fur.
We can all learn a lot from our furry friends… enjoy the little things each day!