Dina won't you blow, Dina won't you blow, Dina won't you blow your hor-or-ornn.....

A very wise woman, lets call her .... Dina....., once told me, "Life isn't tidy." She's right. At least in my case. And , alright... in the case of my house. Now, at the time, she wasn't talking about housework, per se, but I'll get to that in a minute.

I do have a room in my house that is tidy. It moves around a lot. Sometimes it is the living room (with the exception of that one spot behind the sofa, where son #3 stashes his dirty sock, his homework from last week, his bowl of cucumber salad, and my daughters latest stuffed unicorn for blackmail purposes. This goes without saying). Sometimes, my bedroom is the tidy spot. This happens when i proclaim that my room is "my space", and all kids and/or husband has got 10 seconds to get their blankets, shoes, homework/work laptop, and swords out of it RIGHT NOW, or someone's going to get whipped with a wet noodle. And on rainy days when i get in a mood, the tidy spot could just be the kitchen, although i know that as soon as i clean it sons #1 and #2, along with the friends they have chosen for the day, will promptly walk through the front door, drop their backpacks/shoes/blades and/or boards, and raid my fridge of anything remotely resembling sandwich material. What's the point of cleaning it then? So it can be tidy for the minute and a half before the kids come home. Silly. You know, the calm before the storm? Sometimes the journey of getting the room tidy is satisfying enough, knowing it will be a memory before long.

And that is a good point that i missed, until Dina was kind enough to talk with me about it. Although life isn't tidy, striving for tidiness can be fulfilling. AS LONG AS we realize that we are fooling ourselves, JUST a smidge. Playing a practical joke on ourselves, really. We know we can't always be tidy, but tidying up a bit makes us FEEL like we are closer to the end result. And if we have 1 part of life that is tidy, well then that is the part we will show to the public, right?

Now, I come from an environment where perfecting ones self is just part of the package. It's what we do, it's who we are, it's how we roll. So perpetual guilt about falling short of that perfection is also part of the package. And so is tidiness. Or striving for tidiness. How freeing, then, for the notion that life isn't tidy can come into play. "WHAT?" i thought, sitting on the other end of the sofa as Dina dropped the bomb. " I have assumed that life WAS tidy, and i was the one dropping the ball!" WHEW!!!!

Did it occur to me that in an environment where we seemed to run around sweeping up after ourselves and others, that all these people occasionally dropped the ball? Nope. Not once. I assumed i was odd to not want to keep tidying up all the time. With plates of cookies for the downtrodden, and good-natured snooping on the police scanner,( just to see who's house the ambulance was going to, in order to keep them in our prayers, of course), the tidying up of self and others went on and i assumed the look of tidiness was real.

What a fantastic release to know that i could live next door to a freak, just like me, with a corner of the living room that has a hidden mess. Maybe they have a fridge that also has sticky chocolate syrup on the 3rd shelf, still not cleaned up after 2 weeks. ORRRR..... they might even have some lint behind the door of the downstairs bathroom. Gulp. Think of the possibilities!!!!! Well, its just a logical leap to think that the guy across the street may have a dark side too. Does it mean i will stop asking him for a cup of sugar? NOPE. After all, at some point i would have to supply my OWN sugar if i did that. Silly. I don't care if he brushed his teeth before bed last night. And do i keep myself awake at night about whether there is an oil spot on his driveway? um, no. I just think it's fascinating that it took me a while to realize that no one is caring whether my shed that has garden supplies in it is organized or not.

What the???? How did this happen?

Ever been in over your head? For me, I have never had the experience of diving in to something over my head. Ohhhh, no. It's usually something that i dip my toe in, decide to go thigh high because i can handle the gentle swaying on my....hips?....., have no problem with the tugging of the water on my...torso..., and then...gulp!.... How did i get to floating flat on my back, hoping the fat content in my body and visualization of me with dorsal fins will keep me afloat in this pooh-storm? Now that i think on it, it's kind of my signature. In fact, if you are a distant, casual, or recent friend/relative/parent, you will have probably pulled me out of the pooh a few times. And honestly, the ones i really should be thanking are any recent/distant/casual guardian angels i've had the privilege of burning out. No, No! I have no illusion about me burning out my share, believe me. The latest one was last night. I'm going to chalk that one up to the guardian angel, lets call him Stan. Stan and i went with a friend to a 5 band punk concert at a place i'm pretty sure my 2 oldest boys would think was Suuh-LAAAMIN. they would have been right. I ended up in a mosh-pit. I'm not dead, don't worry. But that was the time that i went, "What the??? How did this happen?" Again, i didn't walk in the doors, and stroll down the isle to the 12 men and 2 women/beasts that were a spinning vortex of smiles, booze, and aggression. No, i started out in a rational, mature state of mind. As a side note, I had no idea there was mosh-pit etiquette. It goes like this: 1. Anyone, of any age, may mosh. Assuming you are allowed into the establishment in the first place. Basically, if you have the guts, we have the slams. 2. A few elbows to the ribs and shoulders are perfectly acceptable to the outside crowd near enough to reach. This lets them know you are interested in another partner (as the previous one just slammed her head on the cement floor again, got up laughing, but is a bit more woozy than normal.) 3. If anyone falls, all slamming and pushing ceases around that person while the guy/girl is picked up, dusted off, and put back on their feet, or carried to the nearest chair so they can finish bandaging the puncture wound that was inflicted by the woman with 5 inch stilettos, the result of a playful step on the forearm RIGHT before saying sorry and helping the unfortunate up. (p.s. the polite thing for the victim to do is to bleed OUTSIDE, so as not to alarm the rest of the crowd that moshing might be dangerous. no one needs to see blood when they are having a good time. really.) 4. Shaking a beer in a bottle and spraying it into the moshing mass and/or crowd that might be watching in horrified fascination is perfectly acceptable. This is what makes the night....interesting.... Please watch your step. The logical thing would have been to get away from this if i was not interested. That would be logical, however, i was ALREADY IN OVER MY HEAD, being stuck between the stage, acting as bodyguard while my friend shot pics for the gig she had gotten, and the fight-or-flight-reflex I was supposed to rely on, being stuck in neutral. Again, this didn't start out with the mosh pit. This started out with the 2nd experience as my friend's (lets call her...Flo...) "assistant". Flo has the hookup to some great shows. 1 All-access press pass for her. CHECK. 1 evening of Look-the-other-way from the bouncers for me, the lucky friend that gets to schmooze backstage with the bands, joke with the M.C.'s and enjoy the music on the pretense of being an assistant to the "official" photographer for a local radio/internet station. CHECK. Now, as i didn't do the concert scene growing up, and feeling slightly ripped of for it, i had no problem living my teen years again, this time to see what i had been missing. (dip of the toe) Besides, i reasoned, it didn't hurt to know what my boys were listening to now. (and it reaches my thighs) Lastly, i had already done this once and was an immense help to Flo, keeping people at a reasonable distance while she used the inside of the crowd/cattle guard fence to snap shots of the lead singer, bass, and drummers. (And, up to my bellybutton.) A few differences this time around: A. I had my own press pass. B. I had more confidence. C. There was no safety rail between the stage and the crowd. D. Did i mention i had more confidence? OKKKK. The night starts off on a great note. And if by great i mean the bands of choice were local scream bands, heavy on the drums and light on any intelligible words, then yes, great. I'm not knocking this genre of music. It's just new to me. But, as an observer, i can handle this. (Key word in my sticky situations seems to be OBSERVER) The M.C. is hilarious and i'm enjoying an easy conversation with he and Flo, looking at potential spots for Flo to work her magic. As the night progresses and the booze begin to flow, i again observe the distinct differences in logical choices people make on their first beer and their fourth. This is not new to me. where i grew up, there were not a lot of teenage things to do, so LOGICALLY, the crowd would turn to booze/partying (and toilet-papering trees/cars/people. Why? because we were bold, but not THAT bold.) My known role in this was always to watch others drink. I've been told i don't need any alcohol for me to be a spaz. I think it's true. I think most of you reading this know it for a fact. ANYHOOOO..... Like i said before, enjoying the entertainment on stage, off-stage, and back-stage was great. I was not a mom, a wife, or a survivor of the days batterings of appointments, arguments, and daily decisions. Nope. I was just me, and living in the moment.... A moment that was lengthening into alarm. I'm thinking the haze in the air wasn't COMPLETELY from the smoke machine on stage after the 4th band. I'm thinking that front and center isn't always a good idea, when the casual observation is that we are the shortest, most petite, and sanest people in the crowd. and I'm thinking that the black broken-in casual boots (you know, the ones with the deep crack running the width of the shoe on the left side?) will soak up whatever is on the floor. Dang it. This is when i look around, and that tingling sensation in my belly tells me i'm probably the only one in this place that doesn't exactly fit. It's ok, i reason to my belly. I'm just OBSERVING. Calm down. Back to looking for good shots, nice angles, and oh-click-on-the-fan-that-is-over-the-top-excited-and-tries-to-clamber-on-stage-but-her-shape-and-current-state-of-mind-prevents-it. Fast forward to the last band. The headliner. The legend band that everyone has gotten keyed up to see. Silly me. I had NO idea what that meant. Did i put together the facts? nope. Did i put together the clues that were warning me to move to higher ground? NOPE. Lets recap, shall we? 1. lots of people, front and center, no safety rail whatsoever. 2. late at night/early morning, and lots of booze flowing. 3. 4 other scream bands to whip the crowd into a frenzy, waiting for the main attraction. 4. no body armor or spikes at ALL. Silly me. I'm just an observer. Plus i have Stan, my guardian angel, don't i? he's a good guy. The M.C. introduces the band, the crowd goes wild, and the snapping of pics commences. At first, i actually thought i'd look at the stage and see the band. Or at least get through the band because, lets be clear, i was deaf from the noise, blind from the smoke, and my taste buds had turned to ash from wondering what was on the floor. (did i mention seeing the nice girl alternately yarking and squatting at the bottom of the stairs? All in good fun, i'm sure. She probably won't even remember the reason i will have lengthened my therapy sessions by 3 visits.) I turn to the stage and think thoughts like, "As an observer, i think this guy had the best power scream of the night. I am a bit put off by the drummer with spittle flying from his mouth. So this is what would be fun for my boys...." when WHAM! I'm elbowed in the neck. all in good fun, by the way. I turn around and see that the entire crowd behind me, Flo, and the 1st row has moved to make room for 14 entertainers who are checking for any other takers (thus the friendly elbow to the neck check). My thoughts immediately turn to Flo's last statement, which was, "Can you create a bit of space on my left so i can concentrate and get steady shots without anyone jostling me?" and i think.........ummm lets see if i can do this or not. Side note. when getting ready to fend off a band of drunk hoodlums, do these things first: 1. plant your feet. check. 2. visualize the bubble of positive energy surrounding yourself and friend (learned in a moment of zen) Check. 3. get the attention of the woman next to you who, with 2 beers in her hand (drinking from both AT THE SAME TIME, might i add), readily decides to champion your cause by saying, "un gotcha baaak, yo." And steps behind the oblivious FLO in her 4 inch heels, pushing and jostling the swirling assorted limbs coming at us, causing the ENTIRE MOSH PIT to come attack her, and us by proxy. It was at this time that it occurred to me that i was no longer an OBSERVER. I was a PLAYER. Yo. I'm thinking the bubble of energy worked. Or maybe the moshers saw the deer-in-headlights look on my face, and being the gentle-moshers that they are, took pity on me. Or who knows, they could have been taken in by the miracle of a woman chugging 2 beers at once. I choose to believe that Stan did a stand up job. The crowd missed me (and Flo) by millimeters, the beating that 2-beer bula took was welcomed and reciprocated, and time started ticking again. My body regained feeling somewhere on the ride home. Now the interesting thing is that, looking back, i find that Stan, or his predecessors, do a fantastic job of keeping me afloat through the pooh-storms. I just can't figure out why i get so many chances. I'm thankful, though, don't get me wrong. I could tell you about the time the raft i was on flipped over and Flo and i went through the rapids on top of the raft, no handholds at all. (Flo still has the halo that was given to her for keeping me calm while my reflex was to splutter, cuss incoherently, and drown.) I believe Jethro was the angel on duty at that time. Or i could expand on the time that i went on a train, current occupation as a newly licensed financial adviser, to visit family, but ended up chatting harmlessly with a wealthy, bored elderly gentleman who wanted nothing more than to pick my brain, be fascinated that i could be a mom/wife/career woman, and ultimately frown when he was turned down as i was invited back to his "cozy little car up front". Note to self: Do not divulge you know anything about money to a stranger in a confident way with no thought as to whether they will ask your advice, invite your opinion, shoot the hypotheticals, and eventually have a cozy 3-way chat with just you, the nice gentleman, and his stock guy. Even if it is all casual, hypothetical, and entertaining. My guardian angel that night was Evan. Now retired. I could even touch on that one night as a teen in the back of a car with 2 very drunk just-turned-21 yr olds careening down a mountain path right through the surprised looks of 2 cops and 2 parents that just happened to be looking for us. this turns into a police chase and involves dumping 2/8ths of a ton of warm beer and other assorted alcoholic beverages on the front lawn of some lucky senior citizen, and ends with me eating mints on the doorstep of my mom's house and knowing i'll be yanked out of school. WISH GRANTED. Nope, again i didn't die, wasn't harmed in any way and came out the better. Thanks Ed, Joe, and Bob the current guardian angels pulled from nearby to assist angel Jack with my current situation. But, i won't bore you. Needless to say, I have a lot of thank you cards to write (FAX? PRAY? how does one get a thank you note to those shaking, retired angels from long ago? And maybe they would rather have brownies anyway....) Each time, my reflexes are getting better. By the time i'm 80, i should JUST ABOUT be able to listen to the tingle in my belly before the waves go over my head and i pray that the pathetic doggy paddle will hold out a bit longer than the lack of good sense i seem to have. HMMMM i wonder if i'll remember the doggy paddle when i'm 80..... Man i hope i haven't run through all the sensible angels by then. Maybe i'll get the goofy one that looks pretty but can only count up to potato.....

Life happens. I just talk about it.: Gratitude. It's the key to abundance. So why have i lost that key so many times?

Life happens. I just talk about it.: Gratitude. It's the key to abundance. So why have i lost that key so many times?

so about death and feet....

Ever had your weakness turn into your strength? It's a bizarre twist to me. Sometimes odd things happen in moments of ....panic....or grief even. To me, anyway. I tend to let go of the script about how things should look in society and just.....go. Sometimes that is good and sometimes is turns out to bite me in the hindparts. Look at this, for instance: I used to hate feet. HATE them. I used to fixate on how ugly my toes were, how yucky other peoples feet looked, and even wondered what sorts of oddness lived in between the 2nd and 3rd toes of the grumpy cat neighbor 2 doors down the street. So imagine my surprise when, years later, i embraced and loved on some feet at a nursing home. Hmmm. Some explanation may be necessary. Several years ago, I was in a nursing home hallway, getting ready to visit my grandpa. He had just had a stroke, and some of the family were gathering around. Clearly, it was a somber occasion. As i geared up for this I thought, "The same man that used to call me 'kiddledid' and sneak me out for ice cream was not the same anymore", and i knew i'd be crying soon. So this was the mood as I walked in, and saw the "RESPECTFUL" society space that people gave him. Then I got a look at my Grandpa, and all I could think of was this: "Sheesh. He needs his toenails clipped!", because he did. Here was this dignified, strong, amazing man, and the toenails, well, they were just hanging out on his bare feet, getting long and unattractive. Grandpa wouldn't want that at all! While people were shaking their heads, tut-tutting or wringing their hands, his toenails had been overlooked, and they looked like they must hurt. I just assumed he hated nasty feet as much as i did, and being the unwilling occupant of such was not ok with me. What I did then was something that crossed the line. The TABOO don't-touch-him-he's-dying line. I grabbed some clippers. They were conveniently at a shelf by his legs, and maybe this is what gave me the motivation. Now he couldn't talk very well, if at all, and people basically talked at him, or around him, so when i walked up to him and just started speaking with him a bit, touching him, and rubbing his legs and feet, people hushed up in a hurry. I didn't notice them till later, in fact. I just did the natural thing. I didn't worry that there was some shocked looks on faces as i joked with Grandpa, the patriarch of the family. I just gave him a quick touch up with the clippers. I just assumed he was ok with me touching his feet. His legs. His TOENAILS. I took that risk without asking. The unmitigated gall, eh? Seriously, if I would have been conscious of the looks I'm now pretty sure I was getting in the beginning, I probably would have stepped away and apologized. After all, who was this young whippersnapper, coming in and being so assumptive? A few years later, my mom let me know I was very tender with him and had a way with people. None of the perceived taboo backlash ever did happen, but I thought it was because my mom did damage control or something. Later I realized that it worked out well because it felt right to me. I didn't ask permission, I just went with it. Life lesson learned. wahooo! It is still odd to me that no one had thought of dealing with my grandpa's toes, and maybe they were icked out about feet too, but I'm thankful for the opportunity to get over myself by doing some service. He still passed away. I'm still sad, and I wish he were around, but I loved serving him. Strangely, that was a good memory for me. It goes against the ick factor directly, and yet, feels natural and right for me. OK.... it isn't like it was some heroic thing. I'm not saying it to be about Grandpa at all, really. I'm just saying that sometimes the things that we ick out about can be turned around and used as a growing point. I know now that I have no problem getting into people's space when others will back away. In fact, while some people bake brownies and funeral potatoes for life's tragedies, and to be of service, I am more at ease giving a back rub, or holding the hand, or listening to the heartache. I would not know that about me if I hadn't grabbed those clippers in the first place. I just had known, up to the clippers point, that I was uncomfortable in "old people" places, and hated feet. 2 very shallow ways of being, looking back. Now when life gives me an uncomfortable situation, maybe something that I would automatically discount with, "um I don't do...that", (cooking, for instance...), I can choose to take it on and looking for the good that comes in growing up. After all, who am I to say I don't cook well? My dog likes my cooking. Sometimes. Now if I can just clip the DOG's nasty nails...Hmmmm another opportunity. For later.

Gratitude. It's the key to abundance. So why have i lost that key so many times?

I think The Clapper is ingenious. You lose something, like light in a dark room. You clap for it, and BOOM! There is light! Now put it into play with my keys, which I am constantly losing. If I wasn't sure I'd look like a wilderness kid clapping to scare the bears away, I would hook the clapper on my key ring so I can hunt it down effectively at 6:33 AM when I'm running out the door to work. Hmmmm, now let's think about it for a second. I would be grateful for the Clapper, if it were attached to my keys. But, I would still trip over the cat, the last pair of jeans i wore, the unicorn Paint-By-Numbers set that my daughter was working on, and the book, "Dr. George Washington Carver" (it's a good read. i highly recommend it.). Because i still would run into the room, late at 6:33 A.M. and be in too much of a hurry to turn the light on! But that's just me. My common sense doesn't kick in until at least 8:07 A.M. i wish i had a clapper equivalent for gratitude. i mean, really, there are so many great things that come with life. Lessons, good or bad, have a consequence and a silver lining sometimes. But i find that the gratitude gets lost sometimes. Somewhere under the books, the pets, the business of life, the gratitude for those very things can get lost. And don't even get me started on lessons and gifts that are coming my way every day! The miracles that show up every day seem to fade into ordinary routine, until gratitude is factored in. For instance, I don't think about electricity, until a snow storm makes me frantically look for a flashlight (ANY flashlight, including the pink one under my daughters bed, or the pen light on my keys... which i can't find in the dark, without the Clapper). Also, I never think about the battery in Hoss, my ridiculous but comfortable vehicle, until I'm running out the door at 6:34 a.m., slide into the leather seats, anticipating the warmth of the bum warmer as i turn the key, and i hear the "CLICK-CLICK-C.L.I.C.K.-cli..." and then nothing. Then I'm thankful for the battery chargers that son #1 automatically has in his truck as he fixes me up and sends me on my way. You know, stuff like that. Gratitude is the key to abundance. It is just up to me to find the silver lining when the lessons that come my way aren't easy, or fun. Thus the Clapper idea. Of course, that would be too easy. When son #3 says he doesn't like my cooking (again), i could just clap at him, and I'd be grateful we had food at all. Or grateful that i didn't strangle him with a wet noodle. Maybe i should get a gratitude Clapper for him. Then he can be glad i didn't make him eat my hamburger/eggplant/noodle surprise.

So a trout walks into a bar, and orders some Spam....

INFATUATION. Yark. Not because it isn't fun. Yark because, well, infatuation is the limbo of the harsh reality of love. There is a start. There is a middle, and sometimes, there is an end. Infatuation comes in like, ummm, like...like the spam on a hook to bait the unsuspecting river trout. Trout: Just floating along, maybe looking for a bug, or a bit of Flotsom to chow on. Maybe just feeling out the current. Then WHAM!!!!! A bit of Spam is just dangling along in the current with him/her. "What kind of goodness is this?" He thinks....And takes the bite of apparent goodness. Only, after he takes that first blissful bite, with maybe a bit of perma-grin as he looks around at his trout-posse, knowing THEY don't have Spam in THEIR mouths.... does he realize that this goodness comes with some commitment. And that's what I'm talking about. The hook. Now this hook is just there, shoring up the Spam of love, at first. We may even call it fun, a tool, or no strings attached....Spam. But there is, each time, a leee-eetle bit of e-ouch!-what-was-that?...ness.... It may even be that as long as it does not start to pull too much ,too hard, or too many times, that we can get used to that Spam flavored hook. Ok enough with the fish stories. All hooked fish end up getting pulled out of the river of comfort to be dashed against the rocks of reality at some point. Depressing? YOU try having a spam covered hook in your mouth, with all your friends laughing at you..... I guess what i think about infatuation is this: It HAS to be that alluring, because if we knew or thought about what happened AFTER the infatuation, we may just pass on it and go back to the safety of our ho hum lives. OH YEAH..., our lives seemed so ho hum, before infatuation came sniffing around. All of a sudden, it doesn't matter how late we stay up, how little sleep we get, how many dollars we may spend, or how many daydreams float by at work, as long as we can get just a LITTLE bit more of the elixir of love. DANG IT!!!!! And while we are at it....Have you ever wondered about how stupid we look to others when we are infatuated? like the fish with a hook in his mouth swimming around looking smug. What his friends see is a fish that's going to get it in the end. But the hook guy is happy about it!!!!!! Ok well , the same thing happens on dry land. Our friends look over our heads at each other and roll their eyes. Or when we are texting with that stupid perma-grin look on our face?..... Yeah, they roll their eyes then too. Now why do they roll their eyes??? BECAUSE THEY KNOW THE DIFFERENCE between love and infatuation, apparently. The only ones that don't get it are the ones going ga ga in stupid meeting places, like across a crowded KFC to get together for 1/2 hr of what-if-ness. Like i said before, Yark.

If he laughs at THAT joke, he must be a horrible guy....

Always keep a quarter in your purse, just in case... Keep your ankles decently crossed.You never know who's looking..... Have a friend call with an "emergency" when you get in trouble.... Look in his bathroom medicine cabinet. THAT says a lot about him... If he goes for 1st, 2nd, or 3rd base on the first date.... RUN!!!! (and be very angry when he doesn't call later)... I have more. Every woman does. It makes us feel better when we are giving advice to an innocent woman. I think every teenage chick, and most pre-teens, have something like this in their arsenal. These are the tools that we have for the battle. Um, THE BATTLE.... The Battle Of The Sexes??? Yyeeah, it's still going on. At least that's what I hear. And fear. This is what I was armed with from the time Adrian B. got booted from my house because "girls don't play with boys" when I was ... 8? Little by little, Adrian, Matt, Steve, and...What's-His-Face... the guy with the curly hair and dimples????... got culled from the neighborhood play group and tossed into the boys club where trucks, trees, and anything that got them dirty and scraped up was acceptable. Us girls usually were led into Barbie play dates, dress up, and cooking. (For the record, I hated Barbies and cooking. My cooking attests to it.) I think it was just easier for moms of girls to get that look on their face... the one of disdain and just a leeettle bit of nausea, when boys got older (the unmitigated gall!) as their girls did too. And like a light going on around the neighborhood, mom's would tug on their daughters apron strings and tell them little things to make the culling a bit easier...."Well, you are getting too old to play with him. He is paying too much attention to you." And all of a sudden the question was, "Is that bad? Am I bad? I was having fun playing in the trees/scraping my knees/playing Barbie with him". The next thought being, "boys have fun this way, and girls have fun that way..." and never the two shall mix. All of a sudden, we were DIFFERENT. Instead of there just being friends, it was Boys, and it was Girls. We knew that already, of course, but suddenly it mattered to the moms, so it had to matter to us. The leap from friends to US VS. THEM looked like this: A. we are different from boys. B. mom doesn't like us to play with "different" anymore. C. Different must be BAD D. BOYS ARE BAD and must be watched out for.... I know. Guys, if you are reading this, you either have a story like this but it's turned around so the girls are the enemy, or you are scratching your goatee and saying, "what the?????" Does it explain why girls got so creepy from about 8 years old on? Now you know the secret. We were told you were the enemy. Its true. Ask any girl in G-ville. (They are all on Facebook anyway.) In fact, just look in my Facebook friends for the girl that was in your neighborhood. She's the one you used to hang out with, and then BAM!! kicked you in the shins when you passed them. For no apparent reason. Now you know.... Here's the reason I bring it up in the first place: I'm a little bit bitter about it. I lost some really good guy friends when I was 8. Well, I (being the stubborn girl I was) hung out with them, off and on all the way until high school. Maybe, Neighbor Friend Around The Corner, you were just as stubborn as I was, and that's why we didn't care what our mom's said, but still.... Guy Across The Street And 2 Houses Down, we got the short end of the stick because my mom and yours were of the same mind that we both were the devil to the other.... The point is...... Ladies....... What if the boys/guys/men in our lives weren't the horrible people we were supposed to watch out for? What if there are guys out there that are gentle, kind, and want whats best for them and us? What if, dare I say, we are so conditioned to watch out and identify the bad in the boy that we don't know what to do if a good guy walked up to us and treated us right? I'm pretty bold to say that there could be amazing men out there. I know it because at any point now I'll get some emails letting me know I've been brainwashed. Here is where I get really bold, though. What if it is the WOMEN who have been out of the loop? What if we are so worried, and freaked out about getting taken advantage of/ripped off/hurt (and sometimes for good reason), that we have forgotten how to be open to the good that a guy could bring to a friendship/relationship????? hmmm? I speak about this because..... well..... I was dumped. By a really good guy. A really really excellent guy. nope, not my hubby. although he is a good guy too. I'm talking about someone that is no longer able to talk to me because he has been forbidden. By his love interest. His love, lets call her Brenda, is not assuming I will seduce him, necessarily. She assumes HE WILL CAVE. For the reason that he is a man and therefore BAD, he must be reined in with the friends that he has. As in, no women friends. Did I mention I've known him all my life? No? Well, yeah, I'm bitter. But really I don't have anyone to blame but my womenfolk. Do we know lying, cheating jerks? yup. But the real question is, DO WE KNOW ANY GENUINELY GOOD GUYS?.....Cricket....Cricket..... These are guys that have been upstanding through life. Made mistakes, sure, like we all do.. But have learned from them and used them as stepping stones. Just like the goals the women who have struggled in life strive to reach. And here is the scarier question: Do I know any women who are genuinely good? OF COURSE..... (I look past my own flaws, don't I) :) And I look past the flaws of my friends and any woman I admire..... yada yada..... Do some of us women to know what to do with a guy that is just good? And, is it just me that flounders with how to treat a guy that isn't a perv, a creep, and a loser? I'm at a loss. Mostly because I realize that somewhere down the line, it went from guys hanging around and being in the club of life, to creating the "What does he mean by THAT comment" girl only club that turns everything into a nuance or need for a comeback. Not good. Not good for me at all, and Not good for us as the genteel, tender strong loving powerful compassionate ladies we are capable of. Competition and competitiveness just has it's drawbacks here. What if a guy wants in? What if he means what he says? What if he wasn't meaning what we thought he really meant? The questions all come down to this: Are we, ladies, strong enough to let that in? Guys, this might also answer the question of why, when you are being genuine, the lady you want to impress (or had no idea you were impressing) got that odd look on her face that says, "SURE your a nice guy. Sure I'll take what you say at face value" but the attitude is like being back handed by a tennis pro. I'd love the input, not from the moms that have never had anything go wrong with their kids, but the moms that were the kids. I'd love input from the guys that were put in their place by the women they unintentionally offended and didn't know why. Or the dads that have insight to us crazy women.... Or the men and women that know what to do when a nice guy/girl shows up in their space and they buy in. Not necessarily because they are infatuated, as this could be a co-worker, a potential friend of a spouse, or a waiter/worker/server that you see isn't out to make you bleed. But infatuation could play in just the same. Ladies? What input do you have as to knowing that there are jerks out there because we have all dated one, had one for a (possibly) brother/uncle/cousin/dad/grandpa/nephew..... but how to treat a guy that isn't a jerk? What if we have been conditioned to watch out for the bad so much that we don't recognize the good? Ever happened to you? And..... GO.

Even though life isn't tidy, on the whole, i still want it to be. I strive for it to be tidy, clean, and clear of .... ew-ness. Sometimes i win, sometimes i don't, and sometimes it's a tie. Today however, as i found the strength i'd been lacking when one recovers from an appendectomy, i won in a big way. I got up this evening and decided that the bathroom/kitchen buildup was not good for me anymore, and set about cleaning. hmmmmm back up. i never decide to clean. I do, however, decide to just pick up that one thing and put it back. That leads to another thing...and another... until the counter is clear. At that point, i can't just stare at a bare counter that has fuzz/goo/gunk/funk (and that toothpick that is always hiding behind the stuff) and not wipe it off! so out comes the spray, the cloth, and i just pick one spot at a time. the end result is the same, true, but i have to trick myself. Otherwise, it's just too overwhelming. Also, i can't just do one room at a time. when putting things away, i usually go up and down the stairs so while i'm up the stairs, i might as well work on that bathroom. and when i go back downstairs returning something else to it's spot, i work in the kitchen for a bit. did i mention i get bored easily? and distracted? and like bright, shiny objects??? Well, this is how i get things done at the same time. I trick myself. and as i'm tricking myself into getting what i want by doing the mundane, i allowed something in. I allowed myself to zen out, and just clean. no music to distract me. no talking on the phone....after a bit. i hung up and just cleaned. and, i noticed me noticing me. This is what i saw: me, cleaning the tile in the bathroom over the bathtub: "you know, this caked on, nastiness that has sat here for about 5 years..... how did i let it get this bad????" me, grabbing yet another wipe with bleach and some other mystical property: "Well, retard, you have been tricking yourself into thinking this is a fight with your hubby. it is a tug-o-war about who will break down and clean this particular spot." me, realizing i'm having a conversation with myself, but see a lesson coming: "no! i can't be that petty! really? really, i've neglected this particular corner, where the economy size shampoo and manly man body wash sit, just to make a point?" I had, in fact, tricked myself into letting my pettiness make that one corner into ew-ness. I thought that if i waited for him to get a clue, or get tired of it like i had, then he would just clean it (to my satisfaction, nonetheless...) and i could bob my head in "there now, that's more like it" arrogance. all i did, though, is close the curtain more. odd, that.

Have you ever googled yourself? We, as computer literate people, most likely have. I, as a busy person with life going on, haven't until tonight. Do you know how many me's there are out there? Apparently, i'm a singer, an executive, and a dorky student in texas that knows that it is " Deep Vein Thrombosis Awareness month" somewhere. Hmmmm, i should probably look up that need for awareness before i think of it as a dork trait to know about it. (maybe it's a life altering thing, and someone is suffering from it right now. i'm so insensitive. if so, my bad, and you may comment on it.) no wonder i can amuse myself so well. there are so many aspects of....well.... me. for instance, i had no idea that when i googled myself i would come across a blogspot, but not my blogspot. you know? i followed the link, and there my name was, but someone elses blog!!!! I got so excited!!!!!.... until i realized there was one and only one blog on this blogspot. "SUITCASES". um, yeah, the other me blogged about the correct way to shop for suitcases. How did i get so boring????? ye-ow-zah! of course, i'm technically talking to myself on here. a one way conversation, except for the nice guy, THEWIZARD, and thank you for making yourself known. Man, now i have competition, with myself, for THEWIZARD. It's between life not being tidy, or shopping for suitcases....... i'm worried. I hope you stay with the me me. I also didn't realize i was so many titles. mother, sister, daughter, granddaughter.... check. Now add to that GRANDMA (yikes, i'm not ready), publisher, caberet dancer/singer, talk show host, and trapeze artist. Yeah, i'm that good. So the next time you hear me say, "I'm every woman", I really am. :)

There once was a man from Nantucket.......

I could end that little ditty so many ways. But i'll just say things didn't go well for him and he said CRAAAAAPPPPPPPPP!!!!!!! He threw up his hands, and kicked the dirt a bit, and cursed his misfortune. I hear stories like that. I see life like that, sometimes, you know when i'm driving down the street, changing a dvd, etc.... I have even been that guy a few times. Now to be clear, this isn't about when there is a little boo boo that gets brought to light. I'm talking about the rug being pulled out from under me. On a tall set of stairs. With stilettos on. And an audience. The bouncing and rolling and sliding in a downhill spiral that ends with an expletive and a groan. And uncertain clapping from the jerk in the way back. Just so we are clear. When life gives me lemons, i make lemonade...... who comes up with this positive crap? :) It is something for Person A to say to make themselves feel better about the chaos that Person B is going through, you know? How bout this? When life gives you lemons....... Throw them around a bit, hitting a wall or two and listen for that thumping sound as seeds go everywhere. After that, try to hit a do-gooder that calls happily about the mess you are in. Then, and ONLY then, in the remorse that you feel about nailing the do-gooder in the forehead, giving them a lemon-size shiner, notice that usually life will also give you someone, a Person C, that makes you lemonade from the mess you find yourself in. They don't give you a pep talk. They just easily wipe up or sweep up the rinds, the pulp from the walls and under the sneakers, and take what is left to whip up a lemonade smoothie. No fanfare, no need for thanks or awe. Just pulling you up from where you have you head between your knees, trying not to hyperventilate. Why is this? How does it happen that, after we have run out of all ideas on what to do next, someone else can look at the situation and say, "HMMMM, that does suck. Here's a lemonade frappachino, and i noticed that this is working for me." No drama. No judgement. Just a different perspective. And as quick as that, or as simple as that, there is a way out. A way through. The key? It is a DIFFERENT PERSPECTIVE. There is a reason we can think outside the box for others, but not ourselves. IT is because we don't bring just ideas to the situation. We color them with our fears, assumptions, reasonings, and judgements about the ideas. This is what makes them OURS. It is also what makes them not always work. No matter how smart, intelligent, strong, patient, loving, amazing, talented, or adoreable we are, they don't always play into how to do life. No matter what we want to happen, the reality sometimes just doesn't go along with our personality, and our shoulds. Enter, The Outside Perspective. This is something that doesn't have to sift through our personality to make things work. No need to know our history, or drama. Just the facts, ma'am. Sound cold? heartless? Nope. i'm going to say EFFECTIVE. If we listen, that is. If we can get our ego out of the way....... And it's not easy, i'm the first to admit. I would just love it if all my ideas worked. In fact, i just assume they do, deep down. So when i'm struck by the reality that my idea isn't working, then my ego kicks in and says, "well if I can't solve it, how could anyone else???? I know the situation the best, therefore, i MUST know best....." Yeah, it's a load of CRAP. Sometimes we just need someone who doesn't buy into our drama. And i'm not saying our drama is not real, sad, harsh, or tangled. Just that it is OUR drama, and not that other persons, so they can think clearheadedly about it. Here's the point: Just because one person can think clearly about another person's dilemma and note a possiblity that wasn't looked at before, this doesn't mean that the clear headed person hasn't or isn't at the same time going through their drama. It's not that bad things happen to bad people, or unlucky people. Bad things happen. Period. But i don't see many ditty's about what to do AFTER the drama unfolds. Because not a lot of people get past the "DUN DUN DUNNNNN NNNNN NNNN" to see the "What's next?" in their own life. We, as people, are the ones throwing the lemons, sitting down trying not to hyperventilate, or digging a hole in the sand to place our head. It's usually others that notice that our bald head is getting sunburned while we sit there immobilized, or that a fire ant is ready to bite us on the butt if we don't switch positions. And that's good news. Trusting ourselves is huge. It is important as all get out when we are living life. But when the rug is pulled out from under us, it is also important to know the difference between the weiner that is spouting happy songs to you as he walks past, and the person that has a different perspective, letting you out of the chaos that has been created around you. How to do that? Listen to both people. Your heart and good sense will tell you which one to take aim at, and which to use as a sounding board.