Nice girls finish last, but they get to wear the princess dress

We have reached the portion of the vacation where I may have possibly run out of nice. One of the best perks of my job is that I get to spend great portions of my time alone, whether it's in my car driving to and from my jobs or working on my computer, all alone. I love spending time with family but I most certainly reach a point where I just need to be alone some, too. Luckily, I always have work with me. So when I open my laptop and put my headphones on, everyone leaves me alone.

I used to want to be NICE to everyone. I really did. I loved being nice and having people be nice to me. If someone would smile at me in the hall at school, it would just make my day. As I got older, I realized that I don't need someone to be nice to me to make me want to just be nice to everyone else. Now, don't get me wrong. I still want to be nice. I strive to be nicer, gentler. But there's a drawback to that, as well. Take, for example, my sister-in-law. She's possibly the nicest person I've ever met (aside from her mother, my mother-in-law, who may very well be sainted). She is kind and gentle. A true motherly figure. My daughter calls her Nicki-Mama with good reason. She is gentle and kind and reminds me of Snow White in the woods with all the animals surrounding her while she sings a song. But because of this, her children take advantage of her kind nature. She waits on them hand and foot. They merely say "I'm thirsty" and she jumps up and gets them a drink. And when it's the wrong drink or not the right cup or straw, she smiles and goes and gets the right one, washing the wrong one by hand and putting it away without a complaint or dirty look. "I'm hungry" and she's off to McDonald's or into the kitchen to fix them a snack. Now, understand, her children are 14 and 11. Spoiled children are a whole other blog.

But I just can't do it. I don't mean to say I don't take care of my two-year-old. I do. She's two. She can't open the fridge or pour herself some milk. Yet. But she will when she's able. I will never forget my friend's three-year-old going to the fridge, getting his yogurt, getting his spoon, bringing it to his mother to open, taking the lid to the trash and going and eating his snack. At three. His mother is also one of the kindest, sweetest, most caring people I've ever known. But she's not a slave to her children. She is teaching them to take care of themselves. And she's still nice, kind, and gentle.

I try very hard to be gentle and sweet with K. I really do. When I lose my temper and yell, I always apologize. But I also talk with her about it. I want her to understand we all get mad, frustrated, lose our tempers. And it's okay. We can't BE NICE every minute of every day. I always use the Belle/Beast analogy with K. Belle is beautiful and kind and patient. The Beast yells and is snarly and mean. I want to teach her to be kind and "nice" to people. But at the same time not to the point of being a victim or a slave to others. As with everything else, I think it's a balancing act. We all want to be a nice person. But sometimes it is necessary to growl and snarl and let a little of the beast out, too. Sporting events are good for this. Yelling loudly at a football team is very acceptable. Whereas, screaming at your child for dumping flour all over the floor is not. (I did not yell at her this morning, by the way. I laughed when she dumped an entire cup of flour on the floor while her grandmother smiled and watched her be creative...I'm pretty sure all she "made" was a mess)

I will wrap this up. Maybe I can find the place to be, between sweetest ever and mean, foul bitch. Maybe not. Just stay away if you see me with a snarl on my face. I will have the yellow, flower Belle dress on again later.

To blog or not to blog, that is the question...

I watched Julie & Julia the other night and it really made me want to write again. Not because I think I'm such a talented writer, but because it's one of my favorite outlets and I don't get many opportunities to be creative (not counting entertaining K while she's pooping by seeing how many things I can make out of a square of toilet paper, because I did this for 20 minutes today and she was hysterical.) And I love giving my opinion. Having a blog is like the perfect opportunity for someone like me to just rant and rave about whatever pops into my sometimes deranged mind and then go on about my day.

But then I read a post like my sister's tonight. And it was talking about how this stranger e-mailed her to trash her and tell her what a horrible person she is because of a blog she wrote. Now, don't get me wrong. I'm not so thin-skinned that I give a pile of steaming poo what Joe Schmoe from Alamo thinks about me. I stopped somewhere in my 20's caring if, as Sally Fields put it, "You like me." But at the same time, I don't exactly want to get lambasted because I made an off-color joke, or talked about my dysfunctional relationship with my mother. I realize that with the freedom of speach for me comes the freedom of speach for these wing nuts. (you really gotta be angry to go out of your way to write a stranger an e-mail about a blog they post)

And then there's the privacy factor. My husband is a very private person. One of my favorite things about him is he never talks about himself or anyone else. (sometimes this can be maddening, like when he gets off the phone with his cousin or a friend he hasn't spoken with in years and I ask what's new with them or what's going on and he's like "oh, not much" and that's all I get) And he certainly never shares his thoughts and feelings like I do on a regular basis. I like just being me. I like that I don't have to be a different me depending on who I'm with. I like being somewhat of an open book, no mysteries here. But then I had little K. And things really changed. I shudder at the thought of some pervie stranger whacking one off to pictures of me bathing my beautiful little girl. Or the thought of one of my less-than-stellar ex's finding me and then *finding* me after they're released from jail or the military or their cult or whatever. I really waver back and forth between wanting to post every little thought that pops into my brain to never writing anything more personal than a one-liner once a day on facebook.

I had a friend say to me the other day, "don't you blog? Give me your Web site, I want to read it." And I had to laugh uncomfortably and say how I don't really write much anymore. And I HATE that. Because writing used to be one of my biggest passions. And it sucks when I read people's blogs or facebook posts and it's only ever "life is so amazing and here's us making Christmas cookies and posing in front of our perfect tree" Because doing what I do for a living, I hear people's secrets. I know no one leads a perfect, happy, straight from a yoga class-high life. I tend to be more amused by the splashes from a puddle when a bus drove by me type of life introspections anyway. That's the real stuff. The zit on your face, can't poop after 20 minutes of straining, farting in a crowded elevator, bad breath when you're whispering in a movie theater. That's way more interesting to me than the posed pictures and fortune cookie insights.

I guess I need to learn how to balance it. Because this not writing at all thing is really getting to me. Or I need to just make my blog private or something. I don't know the answer. I do know that putting my thoughts out there on the Internet for all to read is what I do when I hit publish.
I also know that besides my sister and maybe one friend no one is going to read this anyway. So I'm pretty sure there's no book deal, reality show, or People magazine interview in my future.
Maybe an Oprah makeover (I wish). I don't know. Maybe I can let go of my hangups and figure out how to share and not overshare. There was a part in that Julie/Julia movie where she and her husband are screaming and fighting and he's like, "and do NOT blog about this fight" and I really don't want that to ever be us. But what on earth do I talk about if not him, me, our daughter, our life and my experiences in it? Maybe I just make lists of good books and movies.
Or celebrities who need to be my friend. Or I just go back to not writing and lamenting the fact that I never write....

Required Reading

I have read just about every self-help book on the market. I find this kind of reading so facinating. I really do feel like this world would be a better place if people would read these books. I strongly believe we would do better if we knew better.

I have read more in-depth self-help books (hello, Eckhart Tolle!), ones that are deeper and more complex. I have read books that are more textbook-y and dry and boring. I have read memoirs and autobiographies that changed the way I thought about things. I could make lists all day every day about books, movies, and music. In an alternate universe I get paid to make lists.

Books that have changed my life (Part 1)

* The Four Agreements by Don Miguel Ruiz
* You Can Heal Your Life by Louise L. Hay
* A Return to Love by Marianne Williamson
* Who Moved My Cheese? by Spencer Johnson
* Men are From Mars Women are From Venus by John Gray

All work and no play

I am in super busy work mode. But I seriously miss writing. I wish there was a way to blog or write e-mails (or even text) while I'm driving. I don't do this (seriously, Travis, if you're reading this. I don't!), but I think it would be a fantastic time saver if I could just tap into my brain while I'm driving and type. I also would have two or three of the amazing stories floating around in my head on paper and being sent to publishers.

I swear, I was just THINKING about one book idea I have the other day and I got off at the wrong exit and was almost lost for a minute before I realized what I'd done. This is why I haven't been dictating my ideas lately. I don't think it's safe for me to drive and think so hard. I really do have a couple of amazing ideas. I just don't stay in the zone long enough after getting somewhere to get it all down. It seems like I get my best book ideas when it's impossible to capture it.

What would you take?

I want to start off by saying all is well and thank goodness for the brave and hardworking Orange County firefighters.

The last two days, our neighborhood has been covered by black, acrid smoke. Apparently two different fires broke out (I'm not sure of the how's, where's or when's) in the last two days and both were VERY close to my neighborhood. They were so close today, in fact, that the Orange County Fire Department left a recorded message on our answering machine, telling us that we are on alert and might be evacuated.

Well, I went into high gear. I packed an evacuation bag. I walked through my house, looking around at all my wonderful belongings and realized that although I love my house and my *stuff* very much, in the event of an emergency, the only things that matter to me in the world is my family and my two dogs. Of course, in my evacuation bag, I packed all of our important papers. I packed up my work bags. And then I sort of wandered around a bit, wondering what else I should attempt to pack up. Thank goodness, Travis was calmly eating the lunch I'd just made and convinced me to stop packing and come eat before it got cold. I didn't get to keep wandering around my house and figure out what else to take. As the day wore on, the huge black clouds of billowing smoke petered off to a haze of stinky yellow hanging around and I realized the imminent danger had passed.

But it's funny to realize. I love my books. I love my pictures hanging on the walls. I love Kennedy's toys and clothes (and a few of my own). I love all our gadgets and electronics and comfie furniture. But really, the ONLY thing that matters is us. And that we're all okay. All the other stuff is just that, stuff.

The Power of Prayer

Okay. For starters, anyone that knows me knows I don't often ask favors. But this is a biggie. I don't even have a clue who (if anyone) will read this blog/note. But I beseach you, implore you even, please help. I believe very strongly in the power of prayer, or the power of positive thinking or mind over matter or however you are comfortable terming it.

So here's the favor. Whoever you are, wherever you are, will you please pray for (send positive energy to, etc) my sister for the next two weeks? She's had an IUI done and now it's just two weeks to see if it took. So thank you to anyone in advance who even just spends a minute thinking babymaking thoughts for her. I have just read too many studies about the positive effects of prayer groups to not feel/hope that this will work. And I promise in return to pray for/think of anyone you all ask me to in return!

I wish I was a Charlotte but I'm really more of a Miranda

I had the best Sex and the City kind of night tonight with two of my girlfriends (I suppose my Carrie and my Samantha). We went to a dive bar for the best oysters I've eaten in years only to be followed up with a swank downtown bar's chocolate souffle with white chocolate and some liqueur that I can't think of sauce that was sex in a dessert. And of course my friend is a regular in both places, has never met a stranger and is a party all by herself.

So thank you to my husband for letting me have some girl time! Even though I can't for the life of me figure out why those super fun single girls want to hang out with a dorkwad like me.

Profiling

I don't often find myself racial profiling. I try really hard not to. I am always, however, crazy (dangerous) profiling. The guy sitting on his duffel bag outside 7/11 eating nachos and talking to himself at 8:48 a.m., he scares the bejeezus out of me.

I feel like a Cathy comic strip this morning, with my super huge sugar-free redbull and my frazzled hair. "Darn Mondays."

Word of the Day

hypo-Christian, pronunciation [hippo-Christian]
-noun
a person who claims to be a Christian and is actually the opposite of what "being a Christian" really means.


This word's origin is a friend of a friend. We'll call her Beth (because that's her name) ahahaha
stole that one from my sister. Sorry. We were out Christmas shopping. We were trying to switch lanes at a red traffic light. This woman was pulling out of a Christian bookstore and we motioned to her and asked if we could turn in, in front of her. She shook her head no and didn't let us in. Hypo-Christian to the core.

I have known many hypo-Christians in my lifetime. Girlfriend beaters. People who will screw you out of a dime faster than you can say, where'd my dime go? The epitome of why I won't join or go to a church. Don't get me wrong. I've been to a few churches I liked very much. And I'm not a God-hater and I'm not going to describe all of my religious and spiritual beliefs right here, right now.

I just detest people who *claim* to be all right with God and Jesus, their God, mind you, not everyone's. And yet, will treat you like you are the lowest form of dirt. Or even worse, try to mess with you or yours. Just for the power trip. Or whatever.

I will quote William Shakespeare to sum this now ridiculously deep blog up.
To thine own self be true.

Do the Bird!

I just uploaded some of the funniest pictures to facebook. I can't stop laughing at how ridiculous I look! It was over Christmas and a group of us went to Butterfly World. My niece and I decided to feed these birds with little cups of nectar. I felt like I was conquering one of my big fears. I'm so scared of birds. Mostly I'm afraid of their flappy little wings getting all tangled up in my hair. I've also had experiences with little hoppy birds pecking at my freckles like they were food.

My girlfriend has a bird that does tricks and hangs out on her shoulder. I'm pretty sure whenver I'm over there, it's plotting my early demise. I'm not positive how a ten-inch bird is going to kill me but I'm sure it will be slow and I'm sure it will be painful. She always says "oh, see? She likes you!" when the bird is eyeing me and trying to decide the quickest way to attack.

But I faced my fear! I had at least six or seven birds ALL over me. They were fighting over the nectar and squawking up a storm. One landed on the top of my head and I thought I might run screaming out of the screened-in atrium. I'm pretty sure after this experience (and one of the dumb-ass birds biting her) my niece now has a pretty deep-seeded fear of birds.

Happy Hump Day

I have come to a place in my life where I love writing. I love talking on the phone. I love articulating my thoughts, emotions and perceptions. And yet, I find that I'm hesitant to expound so much energy on things. I feel like my energy is going in so many different directions as it is, what with work, home, friends, family, etc. And then to actually *think* about things and also articulate them to someone else besides myself or my husband seems like a waste of energy.
I feel like I've been working so hard to evolve spiritually and emotionally that I'm cutting myself off from the rest of the world. It's almost like I'm working so hard on me over here that I don't have time to think about me. Does that make any sense?

I realize that I can't be such a hermit. Just because a book seems like better company than a friend. I WILL have lunch on occasion with friends. I WILL make a phone call while I'm cooking dinner instead of just listening to Barney and talking about crayons with Kennedy. At least I'll try. I'm having lunch with a girlfriend tomorrow. See how it goes....

The Sunday Crazies

I swear this blog is not about me identifying crazy people. I also realize that one of the reasons I can so easily identify crazy in other people is because I see it in myself.

Anyway, this is about the insane way I feel on Sundays. My sister just recently blogged about this strange phenomenon, as she feels the same way I do. It is almost indescribable but I will give it a try.

I get this feeling of dread and panic on Sundays. I get it especially bad when we leave somewhere we spent the weekend (multiplied a few times when it's longer than a weekend, such as a couple weeks at Christmas). Some days it's so bad I have to ask my husband "everything is okay, right? we're fine, right?" He's used to my crazy, so he always reassures me. Sometimes it gets so bad only a xanax will help. (Believe me, I KNOW how addictive these things are so I try not to take them more than once every few weeks or less) But I get very anxious. I feel like I need to be SO prepared for Monday. And usually, with my job I don't even have something first thing Monday morning.

I have a theory that it comes from when I was in school. I was such a horrible procrastinator that I would inevitably have a project or paper due that I hadn't even begun. So Sunday night was the time to cram or haphazardly put something together for Monday. I was always a decent student but I tended to not plan ahead much so I had a lot to worry about on Sundays.

I love spending time with my family and I know a good part of the dread is the fact that the next day is back to the grind. And sometimes I think working at home makes it worse, the missing of T and K. So it's silly to waste HALF of my precious time with them dreading and panicking and being anxious. And yet, the funny thing about mental stuff, rationale has nothing to do with it. It's like telling a depressed person to "cheer up". I have found that keeping busy with doing house things or working on Sundays helps some. I also am most likely to not get a good night sleep Sunday nights. I hate anxiety. It's so humbling. All my "evolving" and spiritual seeking and all that just melts away on a Sunday when I'm in a frenzy and can't figure out why and it's infuriating. I have come so very far in my spiritual search and yet it is all moot on a Sunday.

Googly-eyed crazy

In my 36 years on this earth, I have made one of my favorite past-times just observing humans. At work, I get to do this every day and get paid for it. But I also like observing my friends and family. I like "people watching" at airports and malls. One might even say I study humankind in a scientific and sociological experiment kind of way.

I have made some serious conclusions about crazy. Now, don't get me wrong. I can only *see* crazy in people because I've seen it in my own two eyes looking back at me in the mirror. I like to think that life situations and certain harmful relationships I've been in has triggered my crazy. Either way, having seen it in myself, makes it easier to see it in others.

So the dead giveaway? The cookie monster eyes. Or as I like to call it googly (pronounced like google, but it's not about surfing the web) eyes. You can look in their eyes and see that they're not quite *right*. If you look at all the other muppets/puppets on Sesame Street, they all have fixed eyes. Elmo, Big Bird, Zoey. Even Oscar the Grouch has fixed eyes. But not cookie monster. He has wiggly, roll around in his head eyes. And he's the only one on Sesame Street that's batshit crazy. Cookie cookie cookie and then he eats the cookie and it's all over the place, crumbs flying. Like a crazy person would.

So next time you're hearing someone talk and what they're saying doesn't quite sound *right*, check their eyes. You'll know it when you see it. Unless YOU are googly eyed crazy. In which case, I highly recommend medical intervention. There's no reason for so many people to suffer googly-eyed crazy people.


POST SCRIPT.....This is how freaking lame I am. I have already discussed my googly-eyed observations of people in my blog. ALMOST. TO. THE. WORD. I am so pathetic. I have one funny, unique thought and write about it twice in the same blog. I rock. I think I either lack sleep or sex or both! My brain power is elsewhere.

Actually my brain power has been in reading books lately. I am back to reading like my life depends on it. Thanks to my fantastic husband and my Christmas present (bookie), I can read 150 books at a time, wherever, whenever I want. I think I haven't cared about much else since.