I've been suffering from insomnia..........AGAIN. I stay up and watch awful television until I can feel tired enough to drag myself into bed. Then I lay there for awhile because the walk to the bedroom woke me up enough for my brain to start up again.
The other night I was going through this whole tricking my tired self dance when a commercial came on that I found disturbing. It started like this:
"If you were born between the years of 1918-1963, you have to get your funeral arrangements in order."
Then it went on to end the commercial by saying:
"If you are between the ages of 40-85, why leave your family to suffer through your loss with a financial burden."
Ok, so not only am I almost 40, but I'm almost dead.
So, last night we went to a comedy show. One of our favorite comedians, Patton Oswalt, was performing. He rocked, as always. But after the show I recognized another comedian and this is what happened:
Me: (grabbed the guy by the shoulders and said) Ian, look who it is!!
Ian: (confused then recognition with smile) Oh, wow. Hey.
Me: It's Randy Rhoads.
anyway, we stood there and talked for awhile. It was great. He was really sweet and funny. But, walking to the car I realized that I said the wrong name. His name is Tom Rhodes NOT Randy Rhodes.
Me: Holy shit, Ian!! His name is Tom Rhodes, not Randy . SHIT!!
Ian: Is that what you called him? (laugh laugh) Randy Rhoads is the dead guitar player for Ozzy Osborne.
Me: Oh NO!! I feel like a fucking idiot. Maybe he didn't hear me.
I worried for the rest of the night. I'm a worrier. That's what I do.
After an hour and a half of yoga bliss I have to exit my class only to be trampled by the next class. They push and shove their way into the yoga class. They don't wait for the first class to exit. They don't move aside and make a path for the people exiting.
Three people bumped into me this morning. With no regard. And this ruins my yoga high.
Today I just stopped in my tracks and said, "People, do NOT harsh my yoga mellow."
Yoga was wonderful this morning. Every time my hip started to tighten up, I would just say, "I love you, hip. Just let it go." haha. I'm a hippie.
But then we did this really hard pose that I've never been able to do and BLAM I just did it like it was easy. I kept thinking, "Huh, I'm gonna fall over and break my nose in a second, right?" But no, I held it for like EVER. It was insane. This is how un-yoga I am, though. After I mastered this really really hard arm balance, I looked around and noticed that nobody had seen me do it. I was all, "DAMMIT!! I did it and only I know that it happened. Can I get a muthafuck'n witness?"
I didn't say that out loud. I used my inner voice.
The moral of this story is, I still have a lot to learn about the inner workings of yoga. It's about peace, serenity and inner strength as well as body strength. There isn't any room for my "I need to be the star" bullshit. I mean there is no such thing as a yoga diva. Is there? Well, other than Madonna.
I think I'll just nurture my inner yoga diva. Maybe she just wants ME to pay attention to her. And eventually, everyone will know that I am the star of the yoga class. haha. I'm hopeless.
Britney and Christina did a poor job at best trying to sing Madonna's "Like a Virgin." Christina being the only one of the two with any vocal talent. Britney being all hott all the time. Christina being dirty. But not dirty/sexy like her song implies. I mean literally. "Take a bath for fucksake." And another thing,"Stop with the fake tan, already. It only adds to your layer of dirt. You just look like a dirty hippy."
The kiss that rocked Justin. Did you see his disdain? Ah, it was beautiful. You have no one to blame but yourself, dude. She's hot. You lose.
Anyway, I wish the shock factor would have worked. That would've been nice. But they failed. It just looked like an old lady trying to be controversial. Don't get me wrong. I love Madonna and all her crazy antics. But she needs to just pass on the legacy to the children and let it go.
To recap:
1. Britney is hott but can't sing. Oh, and I would kiss her in a New York second.
2. Attention Christina: George Hamilton called. He wants his tan back.
He and I have been close friends for almost 18 years now. He is my match. There is no one in the world more perfect than this man. He's kind, gentle, loving and oh so generous. Not to mention sexy as hell. OH and he's a genius. Have I said funny? HIGHlarious, he is.
I've lost 13 pounds. 13!! That's my lucky number. This is wonderful, right? But, here's the thing. I had just bought a bunch of clothes prior to losing the weight. I was resigned that I was a bigger size and I would have to accept that fact. "It's an age thing," I told myself. It turns out, it's an eating thing. Who knew?
See, if you don't eat crap, you will maintain your normal healthy body weight. If you eat crap, your body swells up. And when you eat crap AND you're getting older, your body swells up and your mind demands sugar and salt.
The hard part will be maintaining healthy eating habits. I guess I'll take it one day at a time.......................................... Right, but what about tomorrow? Oops.
I came into work today and was immediately slammed with fires to put out. People frantic about their problem and expecting me to freak out with them. Because only then, they will have faith that you are troubled enough to truly help them.
So, I took a walk with a friend. When I returned I did the only thing I could do in the moment to solve the problems and then I let it go. The best advice I've ever gotten is from AA. "When agitated, pause." And you don't have to be a recovering drunk/drug addict to use this advice. Please, feel free.
On to better topics. Ian and I went to Chicago last week. We attended two baseball games. We were there for the only Giants win out of the series. That was exciting. But the best part was the autographs. I got my all time favorite ball players autograph. Benito Santiago.
He is like the coolest. I told him that I'm the girl that's always screaming his name near the Giants bullpen at home games. I didn't think he was really paying attention to my fan spewing. He's heard it all before, I'm sure.
But.............at Pac Bell Park this past Tuesday night, I was screaming at Benito from my seat near the bullpen and guess what? He looked over, smiled, laughed, waved and seemed genuinely happy to see me. How fucking cool is that?
I'm going to the game tonight and I will try it again. Benito kicks ass. He's my age and he's living his dream. He's still strong physically and mentally. He's my role model.
Now, don't forget to pause today, kids. Don't let other people's negative energy soak into your skin.
Here's a funny picture of me that my friend Lina took at a barbecue. For some reason people were playing the "throw the tofu dogs" game. Luckily I caught the dog before getting hit with it.
I was in a hurry to get to my car. I had a massage appointment to get to. I was walking really fast with long strides. Well, as long as my stubby legs would allow. Suddenly I felt unbalanced and I thought, "Shit, I'm gonna fall. I'm gonna fuck'n hit the ground, HARD." But still even as I was inches from the ground I was sure I would recover before smashing into the ground.
SMASH, BLAM...........embarrassment, humiliation......I look up and up ahead is a man walking toward me. I thought, "Dammit! Don't EVEN talk to me. I can't handle it." I was just so embarrassed and it really hurt.
I got up, brushed myself off, and with strength and pride in my gait, I proceeded onward. As the guy approached me, he said, "Hey. Are you okay?"
Now, here is where I have no idea what happened because for some strange reason, this is how I responded. I did the heavy metal devil horns hand thing and said, "Rock and Roll!!!"
WHAT??? What the hell? Who said that? Was that me?
This concerned citizen walked past and said, "Well, alright." Ugh. I hung my head and did the walk of shame all the way to my car. I called a friend and we laughed at how fucking retarded it was to be all, "ROCK AND ROLL." That made me feel better.
Sometimes in times of shock or dismay or general discomfort, stupid shit just falls out of my mouth. And that's O.K.. Cuz I'm good enough. I'm smart enough. And doggonit, people like me.
I was walking with a friend to get coffee this morning. We passed two women who were in a deeply emotional conversation. One of the women was sobbing. Between sobs I heard, "Women are just the worst thing! They talk about each other."
Poor thing. Yes, women can be evil. It's true. But the worst thing? Funny young girl. She's in for a rude awakening when the rest of her life starts to happen. I don't mean to be cynical, but come on. The worst thing? Women? I think not.
God forbid she get a hang nail. Or what if someone gives her a dirty look?
Wait a minute. What am I doing if not proving her right? It turns out that she's right after all. Women ARE the worst thing. We DO talk about each other. DRATS!!
I got pissed off enough to write a complaint letter today. I've never done this before. I kind of feel bad for doing it, but I was so not okay with the way I was treated that I had to complain. I ordered some stuff from Victoria's Secret on line on July 2nd. As of today I still haven't received the courtesy email with the shipping information. So, I've been calling them and getting all kinds of excuses and I just go, "Okay, thanks for checking." Fucking wimp. Well today, the person on the phone was such a raging cunt, that I had to take action. Below is the letter I sent after they replied to my email inquiry on ship date. Enjoy.
To whom it may concern,
Thank you for getting back to me. Since you stated that my package should arrive on or before July 17th (today), I assumed I would get a shipping confirmation email prior to the delivery. Since I still haven't I'm worried that the package is lost or something.
Yesterday I called the customer service number and a very wonderful woman helped me. I can't remember her name. Sorry. She was wonderful. I told her how disappointed I was and she went to a supervisor to talk it over. She told me that her supervisor had located a tracking number for me from UPS. She then stated that they JUST got this number (July 16th, the day before the latest delivery date) and that I should be fine. She said that I should check the UPS website to track the package on the 17th and if I didn't see it there, to call back.
Soooo, I checked UPS and that tracking number isn't recognized. I called the customer service number to let them know. This is where it gets weird. Mindy answered the phone. I can't forget that name because she was awful and rude to me. She tells me that the UPS website is down and that's why I couldn't track my package. I then quickly checked another tracking number I had for my Sephora order and it worked. So I told her the website was fine that I just checked. I thought I was helping. Well, she did NOT like being contradicted apparently because she then said, "Well, you weren't even supposed to call today. It says right here in the notes that we asked you to call back on Friday if the package hadn't arrived." I can't even type the tone in her voice but I assure you it was nasty if not hateful.
So, I explained that, yes that was true, but that I was also told to check UPS and if the tracking number didn't work today to call back. Which I did. She said, "Well, call back tomorrow because today is the last day to receive the package so our promise to deliver on or before July 17th is still valid and you just have to wait. That's all we can do."
Ok, I'm very upset and frustrated with all this. I've never been treated so rudely before. If I'd received a shipping confirmation in the first place, which I still haven't, I never would've had to "bother" Mindy about what was going on.
It's not fair to treat the customer like they've done something wrong when they clearly haven't. I worked in customer service for years and I would NEVER treat someone the way that Mindy treated me today.
I'm so sorry for complaining. I just felt like you should know how your "valued" customer wasn't provided with excellent customer service.
Ok, so I went to see Pirates of the Caribbean last night. Holy shit. It was wonderful. It was funny, exciting, and full of wonderful Johnny Depp eye candy. He was more beautiful then ever. And he played the shit out of that pirate. Yarrrrrrrr, he didn't blow.
Johnny Depp swaggered and slurred and tongue-in-cheeked his way through the role of Captain Jack Sparrow. Apparently he came up with how the character would act on his own. And it was great. He was great. Brilliant.
Last night was opening night. There were a few people there dressed in pirate gear. As cool as you think that might be, it wasn't. They looked dumb. Especially this guy who was taking himself super seriously. I mean, dorks are cute. This guy was a dweeb. Trust me, there's a difference.
The theatre crowd cheered and clapped and laughed throughout the film. But especially during the first appearance of Johnny Depp. The crowd went wild. Screaming and whooping it up. Or was that just me. How embarrassing. I've never been to a movie where the people were so excited that they couldn't contain themselves. It made it even more exciting to be around the crowd energy.
You must drop what you're doing and go to this movie. Um, I mean......Avast ye. Go forth and see this film.......yaaaaarrrrrrrrrr.
I've been trying to eat better. Less carbs, more vegan protein and more good fats. The result is that I'm happier and I have a lot more energy.
I feel thinner already. Don't know if that's true because I refuse to weigh myself. That would only make me do stupid shit to get to an unrealistic number. But the feeling of smaller makes me shop. Well, at least that's the excuse I'm using today.
Heeeee. I'm a clothesaholic. I can't stop myself. I love clothes. It makes me happy. Or does it? Hmmmm. Fuck it. Who cares? I don't spend a lot. My finances are solid. Why not buy stuff.
I grew up very poor. I didn't even know I was poor until my family moved to Ohio before my Sophomore year in high school. This school was populated with wealthy kids and they had great clothes. My JC Penney clothes just didn't compare. I started to feel self-conscious about my wardrobe. But we were poor. My girlfriends would give me the clothes they didn't want anymore. That was great. But I had so much shame.
Seems silly to me now, but those are important years to kind of "fit in." I pretended like it didn't matter. I was really popular and junk. It probably didn't matter to anyone but me.
Now I'm old and I can buy shit. So I do. lalalala. And I give ass loads of my old clothes to friends and to my little sister. Passing on the love, you know?
From Justin To Kelly was a HUGE disappointment. All of you who snickered when I wrote about going, well........you were right. It sucked. I bet you can't guess how many people were in the theatre with me watching the film. Ok, I'll tell you. Just me. One person. Me, no one else. Me and only me. Has this ever happened to you? It was SO creepy.
Justin is actually good in this. He can act. Kelly? Not so much. But she can SANG!! The plot was stupid and contrived and unrealistic and did I say stupid. I think the funniest, most absurd scene was when Justin and the other guy that wanted Kelly fought for her love. They rode these hover crafts and whoever could throw the most balls in the basket of the opponents hovercraft, won Kelly. HAHAHAHA. What?
It's like they didn't even try! They needed a movie for the American Idol stars so they whipped one up in two days? So, so bad. You have to see it to believe it.
This was a movie weekend for me. Ian and I went to see 28 Days Later. Totally awesome. That's all I'll say. You have to go see this. During this film, Ian slipped out to the bathroom. When he came back, he whispered, "Charlie's Angels is playing across the hall at 5:30. So, after this movie ends, we'll go to the bathroom and then sneak into the other theatre."
I was filled with fear and excitement. How fun! Stealing movies! So, we did it and even though I was afraid that some big bouncer was going to pick us out of thousands in the pitch dark as the two who didn't pay, I had so much fun. I laughed so hard. I totally recommend this film. A must see.
On to darker movie related topics. The wonderful Katherine Hepburn died. Rest in peace, Katherine. You will be fondly remembered.
I'm going to see this movie today. I'm going alone because I don't know anyone else that would admit that they want to see it. Maybe everyone, except pre-teen girls, will go in secret. Not telling their friends or family that they really loved the first American Idol show and have a special place in their hearts for Kelly Clarkson. Oh, just me? SO!!
I don't care what you think. (when people say this, it means that they care.....REALLY care what people think.) I guess a more truthful statement would be that I'm going to see this movie with or without your support.
Jeez! I'm so defensive. Maybe I'll just talk about my thoughts and feelings and stop being so concerned about what other people think about that. I'm gonna try that some day.
I think that From Justin To Kelly is going to be funny and pure camp. The dancing, the attempt at acting, the awful songs. I'm just so excited. I'll work on giving a review tomorrow.
If you're at the UA Berkeley showing of this movie at noon today, I'll be the one with the cute toile print sun dress, eating a tub of popcorn and beaming with joy.
When Ian and I decided to go to the Hard Rock Hotel in Vegas to celebrate our 13th wedding anniversary, I started to panic. There is an incredible beach/pool area there where only perfectly tanned, siliconed, tight people hang out. So I did what anyone would do, I ordered a super cute, too expensive, swimsuit on line. I was so excited and checked the progress of the shipment daily.
The suit arrived two days before our trip. I ripped the package open and tugged and pulled the suit onto my body. I looked in the mirror and to my horror, I saw something that I never want to see again. The top fit fine. Super cute. But the bottoms were the horrifying part. They were advertised as bikini bottoms, but in fact, they were boy shorts. But not completely. They were too short for the actual cute boy short look. And the leg openings were a tad tight. So, the only result that could possibly happen, unless you have twigs for legs, is the "spill over." Only it was worse. More like a flesh volcano erupting.
At first I thought, "Ah hell. That sucks. I'll just have to wear my old bikini. That'll be fine. I look fine in that one, anyway." But I couldn't erase the horrible image of the squozed thighs from my mind. I was literally depressed for two days after.
Anyway, I wrote all of that only to get to what happened today when I went to the post office to return the horrible, hateful suit. Here is the conversation I had with the mean postal employee lady:
Me: I'd like to send this regular mail.
Postal Employee: (stoic and monotone) Are there any breakables or hazardous materials in the package, ma'am?
Me: No.
P.E.: (smirking) I hate having to ask that question. I mean, your package is a return to Victoria's Secret. Of course there isn't anything hazardous in there.
Me: Well, it would have been hazardous to my marriage if I hadn't returned it. That's how awful it looked.
P.E.: BAHAHAHAHA
Me: (encouraged by her laughter I made another joke.) And completely hazardous to my self esteem. Know what I'm say'n?
P.E. hahahaha. All right. You have a nice day.
So, something good came out of the hideous, hateful swimsuit experience. In the end it made me AND the meanest postal employee in the world laugh.
We were at my in-laws on Sunday. I was looking through the guest book in the vestibule and I noticed an entry from me.
The date was June 13, 1987. I wrote:
Tracy Brooks (alias: pughie bear) Thanx for letting me recuperate here. Ian is the best medicine in the history of medicines. I'm madly in love with him.
I was so touched by this entry. I mean, that will be 16 years ago this coming Friday. I remember that summer in 1987. Ian and I were newly in love. He was back home for the summer in Connecticut. I was in New Orleans. I broke my ankle playing baseball and couldn't work for a few weeks. I was a waitress. So, Ian paid for me to take the train to Connecticut to stay with him for a week. A 30 hour train ride or something crazy like that.
I'll never forget getting off the train, throwing my crutches and hopping on one leg into Ian's arms. Or leaving and sobbing for the first 15 hours home while other passengers stared with deep concern for the sad little cripple.
Anyway, It's even stranger that I would look at that entry when our 13th wedding anniversary is next Monday June 16, 2003. We are leaving for Vegas on June 13, 2003. Exactly 16 years from the day I wrote that sappy entry in the Miller's guest registry.
_________
Ian,
I still see you with the same love in my heart that I did that day I hopped into your arms back in June of 1987. You are the love of my life. Without you, I wouldn't know what true love is. Thank you and Happy Anniversary, shmoopie.
I keep looking at my page and seeing that sad entry about my Mom and it SUCKS. I'm just going to write anything at all to push that other entry down the page a bit.
ANY
THING
That same crazy ass bird woke me up at 5AM again this morning. I tried to plug my ears to see if I could fall asleep that way. I figured that when I fell asleep my hands would just fall away from my ears naturally and I would sleep like a baby. But the reality was that when I would start to doze off, my hands drifted from my ears and.........CHIRP CHIRP CHIRP. That's what happened.
We might have to put a toy owl or something in the tree to scare crazy loud chirping bird away. Does anyone have any other cruelty-free solutions? Although, scaring an animal is pretty cruel, huh? Ah well, my sanity is at stake. I'm like the Hulk when it comes to sleep deprivation.
I just got off the phone with my Mom and I was struck with sadness. I was telling her a story about a personality issue I'm having here at work. I was explaining how frustrating it is when my Mom said, "Well, you've got to be nice and respectful and make sure you aren't being mean to them." I just went silent and finally said, "Of course, I'm always very kind and loving to everyone I deal with." Even in that moment, I was kind. I added, "That's great advice."
When I hung up the phone I was feeling sad and trying to figure out why. I think it's because by saying that to me it's proof that my Mom obviously doesn't know me. She has no idea who I am. The kind of person I am. The loving and caring human I've turned out to be. The efforts that I take to do the right thing.
Perhaps she's still trying and failing to parent me. I just wish she could see me. I wish she knew me. I feel sad for her. I think she'd really like me.
Last night I dreamt that I was lounging on a grassy knoll and I was hassled by two teenage girls. Each time they passed by me they would step on my leg or kick me. Finally I walked over to them and beat them up. Both of them. Pummeled them.
In the next scene of my dream, a group of teens were touring campus and the same two girls that I had beaten the day before were a part of the group. I sensed that something was wrong so I went to my office and looked in my purse. My wallet was gone. I ran down the hall and confronted the girls. They had my wallet. Then I locked them in a room and kept them there.
I didn't tell anyone they were there. I just held them hostage. The whole time fearing that I could be jailed for doing this. Harming these minors.
That's it. The dream just sort of ended there. What in heck does it mean? I wish no harm on teenagers. I've never been harassed by teens. I've never felt the urge to take teenagers hostage. It's so weird how my mind works while I'm supposed to be comatose.
I am in an incredibly decent mood this morning. My friend Mahta is having the same surprisingly happy day. I love that. Is anyone else experiencing this?
My mood is totally a carry over from last night. When I came home from work I had "fun" with my husband. Then he prepared the most scrumptious meal. A friend came to dinner that we both adore and we hardly ever see. And the evening is a blur of food, laughter and talking. I had so much fun. Suddenly it was 10:30 and our friend said, "You two have tired eyes, I'm gonna go." I didn't even feel tired and sooooo didn't want her to leave, but she had to drive back to San Francisco.
I was wired with happiness and didn't get to sleep till midnight. Strangely I was still able to wake up at 6 AM, make up the bed, get dressed and go to yoga.
Yoga class was wonderful and painful. I feel great like I've just come from the chiropractor and I'm fully aligned. The only difference is that I didn't have to pay $75. Free alignment at yoga class. I should do a commercial. I'd say, "So, come on.....take yoga. You'll be happy you did."
I'm looking forward to the weekend. Ya'll have fun now, ya hear!
At 5 AM every morning I'm slowly awakened by a sharp squeaking noise. It gets louder and louder as I become more and more awake. Once I'm awake, there's no going back to sleep for me. It sucks. Fucking bird.
What kind of bird's chirp sounds like a sneaker skidding on linoleum? I'll have to google that. But what will I put in my search? "Fucking loud chirping bird." Or maybe, "Squeaking brain deafening asshole bird."
I've never wanted another living thing to die........until now. Not really, but I would like it to pack it's bags and move to another tree. Is that so wrong? I think wishing it's relocation is better than wishing it dead.
Me and the other bad ass christians would have to think of ways to entertain ourselves at church camp. One thing we used to do was replace all the curse words with code words. As you know there is no cussing at church camp. Here is a list of curse words, the replacement curse words, and an example of how it might be used by us bad ass christian types.
Fuck: Fire Truck ex. Fire truck YOU!
Damn: Dog ex. Dog YOU!
God Dammit: Dog Gonnit ex. DOG GONNIT!!
Shit: Shirt ex. Eat shirt!
Fart: Yes, in my home fart was a cuss word. So instead of fart, we would say fart. See, we just couldn't think of a better word. My mother thought that if you "made wind" that you would soon be unloading a pile of shirt. She would exclaim, in her cute little southern drawl, "Tracy Lynn! Go to the bathroom!" I'd whine, "But I don't have to!" *stomp stomp.* My mother thought that a good bowel movement would fix anything.
Me: Mom, I have a headache.
Mom: Have you had a BM? (the M would sound like it had 3 syllables when my mom said it.)
I mean, you could say ANYthing and in her mind it was nothing that a good BM wouldn't fix.
Don't you wish that YOU grew up in my house? Preachers kid. Church camp every summer. All the fun fake cuss words. Being terrorized about having regular BM's after an accidental wind making. Good times.
For some reason I just remembered an incident from my freshman year in high school.
My science lab teacher was going through roll call and when he got to my name, he insisted that I had skipped a class earlier in the week. I said that I hadn't because I hadn't. I was super studious. I would have thrown up if I had skipped a class. I turned to my lab partner and said, "I was here, right?" My lab partner concurred. The teacher said, "You weren't here. I don't have you checked in the roll for having been here that day. Therefore, you skipped class." I exclaimed, "NO. That's not fair. I was here. I swear!"
So, I'm sitting in the Principals office and he's not trying to hear my side of the story. The teacher is right and that's it. He brings up a few times that my insisting that I was right wasn't very lady-like. What did that mean? Looking back at that I can see how fucking misogynist that was. "Just sit there and look pretty." That's what he should have said. I mean, that's what he meant, right?
My father was called. He came in and didn't stand up for me. My whole idea of the adult world changed that day. They were all against me. No matter how good you are, one lie from an adult and your word is shit. Now, I'm not saying that this is why I became an alcoholic/drug addict class skipper, but I'm sure it helped. I mean if nothing else, I wanted to rebel after that. I became a regular class skipper. We would go get high and drunk or we would skip class and go sit in the library. Not very smart, but we got away with it. Isn't that weird? When I didn't do it, I was accused of doing it. When I did skip, I never got caught.
The moral of the story is..........authority figures suck. Parents and Principals are in some kind of "fuck up your children's ideals" club. Oh, and apparently, I'm still bitter.
In yoga class this morning, my right shoulder started to hurt. Felt kind of like a pulling twingy owie thingy. While getting undressed I really felt the extent of my injury. Pulling off my shirt, arms crossed and twisting them up and over my head to a completely free and untangled position, like Houdini struggling to free himself from a straight jacket, a jolt of pain shot through my shoulder and arm. UGH!! I don't want to be hurt. I still think I'm 18 and invincible. Like I can do anything and not get hurt. This whole aging thing has been an actual pain! My shit just don't work like it use to. I hope that ice and a massage (get ready Ian!) will make the pain go bye bye. I think I might actually have to take advil. Send out the healing vibes, people. I thank you in advance.
Thinking about the weekend will get me through the pain. I have a lovely weekend ahead. Tonight I have a date with my husband. Prrrrrrrrrr.
We're gonna see the Giants on Saturday and then a fun party after.
Sunday we get to play baseball with a great and funny group of people. And hopefully we'll get to see our nephew, the lovely and amazing Kai.
So, I will pound the advil if I have to. I'm not going to let my aged brittle body hold me back from having a wonderful weekend. I suggest you do the same.
Today is Thursday which means that Friday is tomorrow.
I'm getting a facial tonight. This will include some kind of industrial strength chemical peel that will scrape off the top 10 or so layers of skin. I asked the facial giving lady (like my technical term?) if this meant I would look 10 years younger and she said very enthusiastically, "Oh YES!" I looked at her in the eyes and said, "Don't ever lie to me again. You hear me?" She laughed nervously and said, "Ok. I'm sorry." I mean I know there are benefits to scraping all the dirt off my face, but come on! Do I look that gullible? Puh-leez!
American Idol? What a disaster that show is lately. Why do they torture us for an hour with stupid filler? Why, Baby Jesus? How awful was Justin Guarini? Oh lord, he was bad. Just as bad as he was when he shouldn't have been in last seasons show. So alls I gots to say for next week is, "Ruben...Rube....Ru.....Dawg! You keep doin' your thang."
One more thing then.
I repaired a rip in a pair of jeans right below the right cheek. I'm wearing them today and the rip is somehow unraveling. So, by day end my right ass cheek should be hanging out for the world to see. Sorry, world.
Yesterday, Ian and I were enjoying a beautiful Sunday. Running fun errands and enjoying each others company. Between two of our destinations, it started. The beginnings of a migraine. I thought, "This is NOT happening." My peripheral vision was quickly leaving my right eye. That's always the first thing to happen.
Every time I start to get a migraine my peripheral vision goes away first. Even knowing this, I thought I could beat it this time. I continued driving my car. DUMB. I didn't tell Ian that my vision was going. REALLY DUMB.
By the time we got home, I was almost in full migraine mode. Nausea set in. My vision started to come back which only means that the horrible pain is about to start near my left temple. Ian made me a sandwich and I went to bed. I rolled around in the bed for 3 hours. The pain was intense and I felt like I would vomit the whole time. Alas, I did not.
That sounded really dramatic. It felt really dramatic. I'm always surprised by this pain. Always. Thank god I only get these like once a year now. I used to get them once a month. UGH!!
I just can't get over how they come out of the blue. But as soon as the symptoms start, I get this rush of fear and dread. And no medicine has ever worked for me. I've tried them all. I just have to wait it out.
How was your weekend? posted by The Closet Shopper at 12:05 PM
Wednesday, May 07, 2003
Note to sweet lady that partnered with me in yoga today for handstands :
When I say I've got it, I really do. You can let go. In fact, when I told you that I can already do these completely on my own before we began the partnering, I meant that too. Loosen your grip, sweetie. I mean I'm happy that you care enough to try to help me with all your heart. Really.
When it's time to come down from the handstand you need to hold me in my hip creases. Not my legs. See, my legs are attached to my feet. My feet are precisely the part of my body that I'm trying to step down to the floor with. I need them in order to do this dismount. If you have a devils grip on my legs, I can't step down. In fact, what will happen is that I will fall and I will take you with me. Do you really want that?
Growing up as a preachers' kid had it's down sides. Wait a minute, it was all on the down side. No upside whatsoever. For example, every summer I had to go to church camp. I was reminded of this recently and it sent me into memory hell.
Every summer, right when I was starting to really enjoy myself, we would ship out to some remote location for church camp. The days consisted of getting up at the crack of dawn, going to breakfast, going to morning church service, off for crafts and crap with your age group, lunch, choir practice, evening service where if people aren't getting saved, they were rededicating their life to Jesus.
At the end of every church service there is this thing called "the invitation." This is where the congregation stands up and sings a hymn, usually something like, Jesus Saves or some shit. Then people in the congregation are moved by the spirit to be saved or something and they cry and walk down the aisle to the minister and cry some more. Praise Jesus. The funny part is that it's so momentary. Once they get back home they are back to their hypocritical ways.
I remember feeling moved by the brainwashing week long church camp almost every year. In the beginning I was just this cursing angry teen that only wanted to have sex or think about having sex. Oh and being pissed that I wasn't at home getting high and drunk with my peeps. But during that week, I would get broken down to where I actually believed that I had changed. It only took the drive home to snap out of it.
Now I lovingly refer to church camp as Nazi Jesus Camp. It was hell on earth. Literally.
It's that time of year again when commercials on television and ads in magazines turn their focus on promoting self-hate in women. Not that they aren't focused on that throughout the year, but when Summer approaches, they amp it up. You MUST look hot in your bikini for crying out loud. And you know what? It's okay to stop wearing a bikini, ladies. Just wear what's comfortable. If it's a bikini, more power to you. I'm just saying that there are other options.
Everywhere I look, there are advertisements for anti-cellulite creams and quick fix work out regimes to get "thinner thighs in just 20 seconds a day." Satisfaction guaranteed. Oh, and I love this picture. In the before picture she is clearly squeezing her ass cheeks to get that rippled butt appearance and in the after picture she's all relaxed. But they claim that it has to do with the cream and the rubbing and the..................
Bullshit.
There are no miracle creams. There isn't a work out you can do that will focus on just reducing your thighs alone. There is no such thing as spot reduction. Diet and exercise. DIET AND EXERCISE, dammit!
I know all of this intellectually and yet........every year I think, "Hmm, that's new. I wonder if that really works?" One year I bought this anti-cellulite cream and thigh scrubbing device. You know what it did? Nothing. SHOCKING!! The scrubber left my legs red for like an hour after I used it and that's it.
Upon closer inspection of this anti-cellulite cream, I noticed that in small print it said, "Will reduce the appearance of cellulite." Not that it disappears, but that you won't be able to see it under the big red welts that will appear after you scrub the shit out of your thighs. So now I get it. And even though I want to reach for the phone when I see these commercials, I know it's just another way to promote self-loathing in women.
It's cold and rainy and normally that would "dampen" my spirits. But not today. I'm a bundle of energy and just whizzing around the place. Much to the delight of my co-workers. Or at least that's how I've chosen to take their glares and hateful half-grins. "Why are YOU so happy?" they say feigning interest. I just say, "I don't know. Just happy for no reason." I practically have to dodge the daggers shooting from their hate-filled eyes.
I wonder how it feels to be mad at people cuz they're happy. I don't think I've ever done that. I mean I can remember a time when Ian and I were very newly in love. He was in England for a year and I was in New Orleans. It was torture to be so far away from him. When I would see couples walking hand in hand, smiling and gazing at each other I secretly wished them harm. But I didn't really mean it. But WHY did they have to flaunt it in front of me? Didn't they know that my love was far far away? How cruel.
Maybe this is what's going on for my co-workers when they hate my happy. Maybe they're thinking, "Why does she flaunt her happiness? Doesn't she know how miserable I am? And that I breed misery as my companion? Not this happy flitty beast!" Now I get it. Just had to walk through their feelings to understand it.
I'm still all happy though. So there! Neener Neener Neener!
Last night we went to see the Yeah Yeah Yeah's at Bottom of the Hill. We see them again tonight at Great American. I'm glad we bought tickets for both nights cuz last night ROCKED! The singer has a raucous voice and attitude and is absolutely amazing. She is up there owning that stage. No insecurity or self-consciousness whatsoever. I couldn't take my eyes off her.
The only time I wasn't staring at the singer was when some stupid patrons decided to push through the crowd and squeeze in front of me. Then they proceeded to dance around as if they were in an empty club. This girl was bashing into me as if that's what you do. There is "sardine crowd" etiquette, people. She and her grotesque date were bumping and grinding on each other. I mean, I remember my first trip on ecstasy, but come on. Go home and take nude photos of each other. Don't have foreplay with each other on MY leg!
I had the most fun sewing yesterday. My mother in-law gave me a very cool Giants shirt which I proceeded to cut up and make into a really cool halter tank. AND it's wicked cute. I can't believe I did it. My own design. I started thinking of all the possibilities. Tracy Miller designs. What do you think? Or Redhott designs. Hmmmmmm, I like it.
When I was a kid, Easter meant a new dress and new shoes.............for church. And that usually meant that my mother would help pick it out. Which could only lead to froo froo lacy wrongness. But the worst part was getting my ass kicked after church by my fellow tom-boys. And I deserved it for letting my mother guilt me into wearing a hideous ruffled dress.
But the good part was always the Easter basket. My mother would hide our Easter baskets around the house. We would wake up early on Easter Sunday and run around the house like crazy Tasmanian Devils, papers and clothes littering our wake. And then EUREKA!! Candy and more candy. When we were extremely poor, the basket would consist of only the broken over-cooked, badly colored eggs that we had dipped and decorated the night before. They smelled terrible but we ate them because it was Easter and that's what you do.
It's kind of confusing that a bunny delivers eggs and candy. Why not the Easter Hen? And the Easter Willy Wonka? Eh, why question a holiday that encourages the eating of sugar? Ain't nothin' wrong with that. I say, bring on the peeps and the chocolate bunnies and the boiled chicken fetus. Eat till your bellies bulge and overheat. God bless us........everyone.
I'm so tired, I can barely keep my eyes open. I'm gonna have to prop them open with toothpicks. Or those clamps they use during Lasik surgery. Mother fuckin' YAWN, bitch!
I didn't work out last week and have only worked out once this week. I will be working out the next two days, though. It's called "periodizing." So that your body doesn't plateau. You do the laying off for a week every now and then and it's really good for your progress, strangely. But as a result, I'm tired. Now ain't that about a bitch? You would think that pushing yourself in a rigorous week of workouts would be tiring, but it turns out that when you don't work out, THAT'S when you get all sluggish.
So, Sunday night my rock star was playing a show. It was an all ages show. There were children everywhere. I've never felt so old in my life. Well, not until the end of the show when this happened:
Ian was playing pinball and I was sitting on a stool behind him. We were holding and hugging and nibbling on each other after each pinball sunk. Oblivious to the crowd around us. Then Ian had to "load out" and I stayed on my stool. Loading out is what band members say when they have to put their equipment in the van or other vehicle after the show. I was schooled about this one time when I mistakenly called it "unloading the equipment." So, just in case you needed to know that......
Anyway when Ian left, this girl ran over to talk to me. I hadn't noticed her before but apparently she had been observing us.
Teenager: Is that like your boyfriend?
Me: (nod and smile) Husband.
Teenager: (shock and awe) Oh my god. That's like SO adorable.
Me: (RED in the face) Thanks.
Teenager: Is it hard for you when girls throw themselves at him because he's on stage?
Me: If it was a problem for him, it would be a problem for me. But it isn't, so no.
Teenager: Wow. I mean, Oh my GOD!! That is just SO adorable.
Luckily Ian came back about that time and the girl was so afraid of the power of the ROCK that she ran away. I told Ian and we got a good laugh. Ian's exact words were, "Dood, you HAVE to blog that."
I just got back from a nice lunchtime workout. While I was in the locker room, minding my own business, I kept hearing this saliva based smacking/snapping noise. It was making my mouth water, the kind of saliva that's lubricating your throat in preparation for a violent throw up. You get me?
The offender was a smallish woman. She was snapping her chewing gum. Mouth agape.
When I was a little girl, this beautiful teenage girl at my church used to snap her gum. I thought she was like the coolest girl, EVER. So, I would go home and sit in my room and practice the snapping. You have to fondle the gum with your tongue to get it to form a little bubble before you chew. You have to do this very fast in order to snap the gum at each chomp. When I finally figured it out, I decided to debut my new "coolness" to my family. I went into the living room. Or rather, I strutted into the living room. Smacking and snapping. My whole family started to stare at me in disgust. My Dad said, "You enjoying that gum?" I did it. I was cool and he knew it. Then in the next breath he said, "Sure sounds like it. KNOCK IT OFF!!"
The moral of that story is that my Dad really doesn't want to hear you snapping and smacking your fucking gum, so........KNOCK IT OFF.
I'm tired this morning. So tired that I couldn't pull my lazy-ass out the bed to go to yoga class at 6AM. Maybe cuz my body thought it was 5AM. This is the time of year that I love. After I'm on track with the time, that is. It should only take a few days and then I'll be golden.
It's so wonderful to go home after work and have at least three more hours of sunlight. That three hours sometimes feels like a whole extra day. I get so much done. I go out more. I am seemingly happier.
And then I am reminded of all the colossalmistakes the U.S. Troops are making every day and I feel kicked in the gut.
Now I'm pissed!! This war is fucking with my Spring joy. I can go back into my denial of world events on Friday when I go to my first Giants game of the season. I LOVE baseball and I especially love the Giants. Benito! Benito!
I'm the most immature 39 year-old that I know. Not that I know too many. My friends are all way younger than me. Don't know why. Hmmm.
Anyway, I was looking up a word on the wonderful Merriam-Webster site when I came across a fun little tool. Beside the word that you look up is a megaphone thingy. If you click on it, a computerized male voice says the word aloud for you to hear the pronunciation.
So I promptly put in the word VAGINA and clicked on the megaphone. When the guy said, "Vagina," I lost it. I practically fell out of my chair in hysterics.
I think my age level in times like this should be 9 instead of 39. Don't you?
Here's the deal. I watch American Idol. There, I've said it. Last season was way better than this season. I really cared about the outcome last time. This time? Not so much. But still, I can't stop watching it. I'll admit something even more humiliating. Last season when Kelly Clarkson won and she was trying to get through A Moment Like This, I sobbed.
Wow, I feel so much better. I'd been hiding my crazy love for this show for too long. You all deserve to know who you're dealing with here. All two of you.
This season, I really enjoyed the first few episodes when they were just auditioning fools. I never laughed so hard. My favorite parts were when Simon was telling everyone the truth in his own way. And that's still what I'm enjoying. He tells the truth and the other judges are just sucking up. But why? Why do they care? Are they trying to look good for the public or are they concerned about the contestants' feelings? If it's the latter, that's fucked. The contestants need to improve and can't benefit from the false praise. That will only hurt them in the long run.
Last night, Simon told Ricky that he sounded like someone performing at a "children's party." This was true but the crowd boo'd him. And then he told Clay that he was awful. Again, true. In my opinion, up to this point in the competition, Ruben is the only keeper. Maybe Kimberly Locke as well. Too bad America will vote them off before too long. The reason? Because they are over weight. I hope I'm wrong. I fear I am not.
Anyway, I love Simon. He's spot on every freaking time. Except maybe for his Carmen obsession. He just knows that she has the "look" of a pop idol. Not so much the chops. So, I guess I don't always agree with him. But when he's being honest, I totally agree.
And then there's Corey Clark. Thank fuck he was caught lying about his past. Cuz he SUCKED but fucking Paula loved him and for some reason, so did the fans. Weird.
I would like to thank my friend Lina for encouraging me to confess my dark secret on this page. Thanks, Lina! Mucho love to you.
There's a woman in my yoga class that is quite old and seemingly out of shape. She pushes herself so hard in class that I fear for her life. No shit. I fear for her life. I don't necessarily want to give her CPR, either. She's nasty. So I really need her to take better care of herself in class. Do you feel me?
Today she was over there grunting and huffing around. The teacher even asked her if she was okay at one point. Staying in Adho Mukha Svanasana or Downward Dog pose, she gave out a big grunt and said she was fine. I thought, "Please Lady! Take it easy over there. It's ok. You're no spring chicken, for cryin' out loud."
One day that will be me. Struggling to get into a pose that no one in their right mind should be able to get into. I'll struggle and grunt and pretend that I'm okay. Some bitch sitting next to me will go to work and write about it in her blog. I think Ratt said it best when they said, "What comes around goes around."
So, we're back from Austin. The Scheme rocked Buffalo Billiards. I'm so happy I was there to witness it. Ian is my very own rock star. How cool is that? Very. That's how.
While we were in Austin, I saw Neko Case walking down the street. I leaned out of the car and screamed, "I love you Neko!!!" She turned around, waved, smiled and said, "HEY!" I was so excited that I cried. Just a little. No heavy sobs or anything. Just a few poignant tears of joy.
We didn't have wrist bands or any stinking badges, so we couldn't get into any shows while we were there. However, we did get to see Mary Lou Lord play on the street two nights in a row. On the second night, she was taking a break, so I went over to tell her how cool she is. This is how the conversation went.
Me: Hi. You were really good last night. I enjoyed hearing you.
MLL: Thank you! You were standing over there, (points to where I was standing the night before) right?
Me: Yes. You remember me?
MLL: Well, you're so cute!
Then I shook her hand, told her my name and ran over to Ian and Micki (my little sister) to report in. I was so excited that she had remembered me. I am such a huge dork. But that totally made my night.
I'm inspired now to really learn how to play that acoustic guitar that Ian bought me months ago. Maybe someday I too can play and sing like Neko and Mary Lou. And if nothing else, I can pursue that dream to whatever end it takes me to. I'm willing to take that risk.
My last entry was so dark that I thought I'd lighten things up a bit. (twiddling thumbs) Ummmmmmmm..........I can't think of anything. Sorry, I tried.
Wait, there was one thing. This morning in yoga class when we were transitioning from one pose to the next, my yoga instructor said, "Swing your arm around like your playing an air guitar. Airguitarasana." Bwahahaha. I swear! I get such a kick out of this guy and his made up yoga words. He cracks me up.
Ok, if you don't take yoga class or you don't give a rats ass about yoga, this won't be funny. I suggest then that you move along to the next blog.
And may I suggest you move along and urge my beautiful friend, Kris to update. She is SO funny and I love to read her posts imagining that I can hear exactly how she would say it. I've almost got all her mannerisms down and vocal inflections. Yes, I'm that friend. The annoying "I can impersonate you," friend. But at least I perform it to the actual person. If they like it, it's a keeper. If they frown, I apologize and never do it again. Well, as far as they know. (wringing hands and furrowing brow.) But Kris seems to enjoy it. She is just TOO cute.
I have no witty ending to this blog entry. Goodbye.
When I was a senior in high school I was at the most dangerous stage of my anorexia. MY anorexia. Funny, I still say it like it's a badge of honor. I was that girl that when people would say, "Jesus Tracy, you look like death." I would smile and simply say, "Thank you." Oh, and I meant it. I loved that feeling of being thin. Too thin didn't matter. I was thin and you were jealous.
On the day that the blood donor van came to our school, we all waited in line to do our part. I walked into the van where I was horrified to see a full sized doctors office scale. They were weighing everyone before they stuck them for their blood. I was afraid for anyone to see how much I weighed. Not because I thought they would discover how little I weighed but that I STILL thought I was too heavy and didn't want to be humiliated. But what happened next took my sick mind to a whole new level of glee.
The nurse said, "I'm sorry, honey but you don't weigh enough to give blood." I felt like I was winning the academy award for skinniest senior. When I looked at the nurse, she had a frightened look on her face. She asked me to sit down because she wanted to talk privately with me. Well, I wasn't going to sit there and let this jealous woman tell me that I was too thin. I just gave her a blank look and walked away.
Blah blah blah. I recovered from that awful disease but from time to time I slip back into that sick thinking. Today I was walking to my office after lunch. There was a table of college students asking passers-by to sign up to donate blood. Here's what briefly went through my mind, "They asked me to donate because I'm fat. Clearly I weigh enough to give blood." Do you believe that? First of all, I'm far from fat. But why do I care what someone else thinks of me?
I've been working on that for awhile and I guess what I know is that these thoughts pass through my mind but they don't hang out and rule me anymore. Progress.
Ian and I went to a play last night called The Chairs. When I go to plays, I either leave knowing full well that I got it and understood it. OR I leave thinking, "Wait a minute. What the hell just happened?" I look around at the smug faces of all the people pretending that they got it and I believe that they did. I leave feeling like the biggest dumbtard alive.
But last night as we were walking to the car I blurted out, "I didn't get it! It wasn't very good." You have no idea how hard it was for me to say that. So, we discussed it, like adults.
Ok, so here is my point. The person that doesn't want to say what she really thinks is that child that doesn't want to be embarrassed by not getting it. The person who says what she really thinks is the adult in me, hungry to learn and grow. Eager to be heard but not validated.
Why did it take me 39 years to figure that out? I haven't a clue. But what freedom it is to have an opinion AND to be open to the discussion that follows.
I've added three lovely and HIGHsterical boys to my side bar. Jason, Sean and William Ted.
Warning: You need to do many sit-ups prior to reading their blogs. Otherwise you will pull a stomach muscle from laughter. Oh, and maybe you should have a firm grip on your asses too, just in case you are tempted to laugh your ass off. Badum Chhhhhh.
But seriously, they make me laugh so I wanted to share them with all of you. Enjoy.
Yesterday was summer. Today is winter. I don't know how I'm supposed to dress anymore. This is truly a dilemma. See, I pack my clothes at night to wear the next day. I work out in the morning. Why don't you watch the news, you may ask. Well, I do but it turns out that they are faking it. The weather people have no idea what they're talking about.
So, each day I have to wing it. Today, I assumed it would be summer just like yesterday. I packed a cute little flimsy skirt. A peasant top and a jean jacket. Oh, and sandals. At 6AM I decided to throw some knee high boots in my bag just in case the weather turned on me. Well, the haze never burned off. It's freezing and miserable.
A friend from work brought in a long, thick black skirt to give to me today. Thank god for that. So, I'm wearing a totally different outfit than the one that I brought to wear today. Maybe I should bring in part of my wardrobe and store it here at work for just such occasions. OR perhaps the weather man/woman could tell the truth............for once!! Assholes!
It's that time of year again. Everywhere you go there are card tables set up on the sidewalks. Two little girls and at least four adult women yelling " Girl Scout Cookies!!!"
Evil, I tell you. I try to walk past the table but my legs take me there against my will. And I buy two boxes of thin mints. My favorite.
It happened this morning. I was going to get my coffee. There they were with their shiny boxes of cookies and their plotting grins. They know that their cookies are addictive. The reason must be that we only get them once a year. So we yearn for them for 11 months and then on the 12th month when they are available, we go nuts. I for one, cannot resist the power of the Girl Scout cookies.
So, I will place my boxes of thin mints in the freezer and pretend like I will not eat them all today. And I will not share. No, I will not. "Hello, my name is Tracy and I am a Girl Scout cookie addict."
I was feeling guilty about my blog and how unpolitical it is. Especially now in these really scary times. I consulted with my husband on AIM. Here is our conversation.
millertrc: i feel like my blog is crap and trite
millertrc: not talking about the war. just that i look like britney. how fucking dumb.
Ian87sf: oh baby
Ian87sf: takes all kinds
Ian87sf: i feel like that too sometimes tho
millertrc: it just reads like i'm super shallow
Ian87sf: yeah?
Ian87sf: i don't think so
millertrc: really?
Ian87sf: but honestly '
millertrc: yes
Ian87sf: if everything was war war war, that would suck ass
millertrc: true
Ian87sf: we need britney now more than ever.
millertrc: LOL
millertrc: i love you
Ian87sf: i think you should post this as your blog entry.
millertrc: cool. i will
Ian87sf: nice.
Ian87sf: i should say something really embarrassing now then
millertrc: make with the funny then, jerry.
Ian87sf: ummmm
Ian87sf: ovaltine?
millertrc: nice
millertrc: comedy gold
On Saturday night I was hanging out at Ian's show. This woman stopped me and said, "Do you know who you look like?" I said that I didn't know and she said,"Britney Spears."
Now, to me that is a compliment for a couple of reasons. One that I'm like a million years older than Ms. Spears, so that must mean I look young and the other thing is that she's ummmmmm................HOT. So, I was all tra lalala and decided to blurt out the good news to all of my friends. I had some mixed reactions.
One person said, "WHAT? What a bitch! Did you tell her to go fuck herself?" I just said, "Umm, no. Britney's hot! I took it as a compliment."
Another friend said, "Is that the look you were going for?" I said, "No, I mean, I was, ummm. Britney's hot."
There were also the friends that said, "Oh my god. I can totally see that." LOVE these friends. But the truth is that the friends who said they could totally see that are probably big fat liars. They just saw my enthusiasm and went for it. haha. Ah well, a bit of an ego stroke is just what the doctor ordered.
Ok, I'll start this out with a cheer. The introduce yourself cheer. But you pronounce it innerduce yerself. Oh, the hours of fun we had with this one. Good times..........
Check us out
The HORNET team will win no doubt
We'll fight with all our might
And win this game tonight
Show your spirit's above the rest
Yell with us
Yell L-M-H-S!
All the cheerleaders except the person you're asking:
"Hey JENNIFER?"
Cheerleader that you are talking to (ex. JENNIFER)
"Hey what?"
All the cheerleaders:
"Introduce yourself."
Cheerleader:
"No way!"
All:
"Introduce yourself."
Cheerleader:
"Okay 1-2-3-4-5 My name is JENNIFER and I say HI 6-7-8-9-10"
if the cheerleader is in the back row she says:
"Lets move it up and meet my friend"
if the cheerleader is in the front row she says:
"Lets back it up and meet my friend"
Then you start all over and go through all the cheerleaders! It's a lot of fun!
You are all now honorary cheerleaders. Welcome. Now off you go. Wave your spirit stick high and cheer to your hearts content. Always remember to stomp and clap and insert pauses wherever possible. Jumps are also encouraged. Such as the toe touch. Or the herkie. That should get you started. Enjoy your inner cheerleader!!!
PMS has rendered me speechless or typeless. I honestly can't think of anything to write about that I haven't already written about over and over again. Like getting my vagina waxed, or the ever popular, "A funny thing happened at Yoga class this morning." I mean, what the hell? Or what the cock? As my friend Kris would say.
At some point I am going to regale you with each and every cheerleading memory I possess. Every cheerleading camp story I can come up with. Good times.
And maybe I'll write about growing up as a PK (preacher's kid.) And how that shaped me as a person. All sorts of funny shapes.
Or about my first marriage at 18 years of age and its demise at 18 1/2 years of age. This ones good, cause it involves Texans and pigs. Real pigs and the people that raise them for slaughter. It's no wonder that I'm a vegetarian.
So, I leave you to pick. Which one would you like to hear about first? You, the faithful viewer, decide. All three or four of you. Vote today. Don't delay.
Oh, and another thing is that Ian and I were showered with compliments by a stranger called William Ted. I love it...I LOVE it.
When I was in the fifth grade, I had a traumatic experience. Only two days before Valentines Day, my boyfriend and I got into a big fight. I think he said something like, "I quit you." That's what we did in the south. We "went with" people. That means going out like exclusive and junk. And when you got bored you "quit" that person. Which means being dumped. Anyway it was the first time I had been "quit." I mean, I was the Christmas Queen for cryn' out loud. What was he THINKing.
As a result I freaked out. Insecurity set in for the first time in my short little life. I frantically went from boy to boy asking them to be my boyfriend and they all said no. Even at ten years old they could smell desperation and it scared them. And rightly so. They knew that I just wanted to be someone's valentine. Finally, Keith with the glass eye, said yes. The other little 10 year old boys, especially the boy who had quit me, convinced Keith the glass eyed boy to break my heart on Valentines Day.
On that fateful February 14th, I waited for my card and candy but all I got was this.
Keith: I quit you.
Tracy: .......
Keith: Happy Valentines Day.
Tracy:.........(sniff sniff) GLASS EYE!
Ok, I didn't really say that. I just slithered away and cried. But I wish I would have said that. He was right to have quit me. I was going to quit him the next day. I just wanted some fucking candy.
I learned a lot from that experience. If you get quit, hold your head high and move on proudly. And don't rush around trying to fill that position just to get candy on Valentines Day, you'll get hurt by a boy with a glass eye.
Now back to reality. Today I have a beautiful love with someone who shows me daily with adoration, affection, interest, and friendship that I am his special girl. I know that I am one of the lucky ones. So, to Ian I say, "Baby, Baby, Baby..........I love you baby."
I was at the grocery store last night. I'm standing in line when I hear this woman screaming at her child. She said, "Come over here before I punch you in your fuckin' face!" I froze. Is that a healthy response? Anyway, I was paying for my food when.........BLAM.......SPLASH! Orange drink EVERYwhere. This poor child had dropped the gallon of orange punch she was lugging. Her mother called her some names and when the security guard asked the little girl if she dropped the jug of orange colored water, she said calmly and with purpose, "No."
I have no witty remarks to go with that. It just happened, that's all.
I had this really strange dream last night. I was stuck in traffic. The man in the car ahead of me was road raging with the person in the next car. Suddenly we were all out of our cars and just walking in line somewhere. I was patting the road rager guy on the back to calm him. I said, "Don't rage.......umm........Sage?" We all laughed and then marched off to our anti-war rally.
I couldn't have made either one of those things up. It's a crazy world. Somebody oughta sell tickets. I'd buy one.
In yoga class today, the instructor said, "In this pose you must lengthen your arm pits. One of the benefits of yoga is you get longer in the arm pits." He ends with a big goofy grin, like this revelation will make us all go, "oooooo, ahhhhhhhhh."
Hmmm......why is this a benefit? So, I'm going to have a larger area to cover with my deodorant? I don't see the benefit of that. Too time consuming AND I will run out of the stuff sooner. Well maybe it's a benefit if you have someone in a headlock. You can hold them there longer.
Last night there was an incredibly LOUD wind storm. I'm surprised my house didn't just up and take flight. I went to bed reasonably early. Lights out no later than 11PM. The wind began to howl and scream from like 11:30 until 6:30AM. And I lay awake. During all of this crazy howling wind, I had to go outside several times to see what the hell just hit the deck or the house and bring moveable objects inside. It was truly like a tornado that lasted 8 hours. Awful.
Anyway, I look like hell today as a result. You know you look bad when people come up to you just to say, "You look tired." They might as well say, "Jeez, what happened to you? You look like hell. So so ugly." Cuz, that's what I hear. That says more about me, though. In fact, it says more than I really want to reveal so I'd better shut the fuck up.
Just wanted to say that I have nothing to say. I'm operating on lack of sleep and lots of coffee. Not a bad combination until the coffee wears off.
So until I feel better, I cannot update this here blog. At least not with anything interesting. I will leave you with a conversation I just overheard.
Girl: Hey! How are you?
Boy: I'm fine. You?
Girl: I'm FREEZING.
Boy: (incredulous) WHY?!
Girl: (confused) ummm, because it's cold?
That's all I heard. I'm guessing they don't really like each other. Or maybe it was all laced with sexual frustration and innuendo and it went right over my head.
I went to my yoga class this morning. It's a good hurt. Anyway, we had to pick partners for some grueling stretches and poses. My partner was perfect. She and I are both strong and flexible. A perfect match.
We were getting along fine and actually smiling and laughing when the pain was too intense. Talking each other through the pain. We were facing each other for all of the poses. Twisting and pulling. Really great.
I went to the locker room in good spirits with a bounce in my step. Passing by the mirror, I glanced over to admire myself when I saw the most horrible humiliating thing. In my right nostril was a visible booger. The kind that looks like a thread. You know the kind. The ones that move in and out with every breath? That's the one.
I went from that happy bouncy girl to that drooping posture full of shame girl. A bit of a panic set in when I thought that this girl had been subjected to my booger the entire time we were partnering. And then I thought, well maybe she didn't see it. And with this lie, my bounce came back and I happily went on with my day.
To be fair to Ian, we were all screaming! But when I heard Ian screaming above all of us, I laughed till I just about urinated on myself. Luckily, he wrote about it on blawg, so I'm in the clear to make fun.
On the screaming front, I lost my voice from screaming on the rollercoasters and such. I sound like Debra Winger. I keep walking around quoting Urban Cowboy. It's so much fun. I'll be sad when my regular voice comes back. No more, "Mama. My legs er sweat'n." Or, "You're a real cowboy, ain't choo?" Oh, Sissy and Bud! I love you guys.
My only complaint about Disney Land and California Adventure was, and I'll go straight to hell for this one, the number of fucking fatty fat people. Where do they come from? At one point, I felt like I was in a pin ball game bouncing from fat person to fat person trying to squeeze through the crowd. I'm surprised they could fit their fat asses in the rides!
I've decided that the reason everyone is so fat is the "dip" option at every restaurant. No matter what you buy the helpful wait person says, "What kind of dippin' sauce you want with that?" It's just too easy. Of course, they all choose the flavored mayonnaise dipping sauce. The more fat the more alluring, not to mention more tasty. It's called willpower, look into it.
Aye Caramba!! I'm hooked on crap television. A guilty pleasure? I don't know. I'm talking about American Idol. What the rest of the world is talking about. As if there aren't any WARS or anything to be concerned about. I am a bad human, I know.
It's just that I love to feed off the humiliation of others. Secretly, quietly in my own home. Laughing with every awful mean thing that Simon blurts out to the contestants. Freaking out at the delusions of the truly heinous singers that think they are all that. The ones that were arguing with the judges last night, were really really bad! I can't believe that they don't know that. But then I worry for Simon. People are crazy. Somebody could come back and try to do harm to him. He is brutal and people leave feeling hurt and perhaps homicidal. I'm just sayn'.
Then I go to bed and I'm trying to go to sleep, but to no avail. At 3 AM I turned on the TV and the only thing on was an Oprah repeat. This is how tired and fragile I was. I lay there and cried through the whole Oprah episode. They were helping people realize their dreams and it was strangely touching. How embarrassing. I am such a LOSER!
Ok, I've confessed some pretty ugly shit to you guys this morning. What are you ashamed of?
Monday was so much fun. I didn't have to work. That always rules. But instead of lounging about the house, I did stuff all day.
First I went to a Yoga class. I had never been to this studio before. The teacher was an ex-dancer and so am I which made me kind of trust her more. Sound strange? Well that's because it is. The class was rigorous and wonderful. I kicked ass and felt strong and centered and "on my leg." There was a strange incident, however.
There's this whole partnering thing that sometimes happens in Yoga. Pushing people into difficult poses. Putting your smelly feet on that persons back or holding someone in a handstand. You know, stuff like that. I don't really mind it but yesterday I had a moment where I wanted to run screaming.
A few minutes into class, this guy takes off his shirt. He's not super fit yoga guy either. Kind of a thick torso with patches of hair on his back. I was behind him. I thought it was gross but I just didn't look at him. Oh, and he was super sweaty. So, the teacher brings a student to the front of the class to demonstrate a partnering stunt. The stunt was kind of intimate. Like you had to lay on the other person. Your back on their stomach in a sort of back bend. Suddenly I panicked. What if the fat sweaty naked torso guy tries to partner with me? I start to look to the girl next to me to ask her to be my partner when it happened. "Will you be my partner?" said the sweaty naked torso guy looking square at me. "Sure." I blurted out trying not to be obviously disgusted. I think my fake eagerness may have given me away.
So, I had to lie down on this guy. DUDE!!! It was gross. I pretended like it was ok. Then he had to lay on me, oh my god. It was a nightmare. Now, why do you think this guy wouldn't have put his shirt on before the partnering? What must he have been thinking? And WHY DID I SAY SURE? I've got to learn how to say no. Or at least I could have said, "Sure, but could you put your shirt on to absorb some of your gross sweat before I place my body on top of you? That'd be great."
Hi! How are you? I'm fine. I was just wondering why every day can't be followed with two days of leisure? Hmm? Why just you? And this time you are backed by your friends Saturday, Sunday, AND Monday. Three day weekends. Good times. And that means that I'll see you sooner next week. Or something.
I just wanted to write and let you know that I'm a big fan. Keep doing what you're doing.
Finally that blasted ad banner is GONE. Now, if only my archives would come back.
I had war dreams last night. I was at work talking to my Mom on the phone when someone came by my office and said, "Get off the phone. They're coming. The war is really close now." Bomb sounds in the background. "I have to go Mom, the war is coming. I love you. Please don't worry," I say and hang up the phone. I sort of slid from my chair to the floor into a fetal position and started to cry.
Then suddenly I was somewhere next to an ocean. Still in the school though. I was looking out the window and reporting to everyone that there was a convoy of moving trucks coming our way. Someone screamed, "They're gonna take everything." I thought that was really strange. What were they gonna take? Books? Paper supplies? File folders?
Then I looked outside and a plane crashed into the ocean. There were several big explosions. The school was blowing up around me. I thought, "Holy shit. This is it. I'm about to die."
Then I woke up. How's that for a pleasant how do ya do? My imagination just keeps on going even when my body is all tuckered out.
I hope you all enjoy the banner-free zone. And remember, sex not war.
So, the weekend was a total success. I had quality time with my wonderful husband. He installed the Replay TV and now we can record shows and rewind live TV and junk like that. Like last night? We were watching the Andy Richter Show, which by the way is hilarious. You must check it out. The funniest sitcom on network television since Seinfeld. So, there was this part that made Ian cough up a toenail, he laughed so hard. His laughter made it impossible to hear the next hilarious line, so we just hit rewind, laughed our asses off and continued on with the show. Freak'n brilliant.
I continued reading my book, Summerland by Michael Chabon. So so good.
I took down some mean shit that I wrote yesterday. I'm a-fraidy cat. My friend Lina said that she heard that someone got canned when her web site was discovered by her boss. That was sufficient to scare me into removing it immediately. I'm not going to remove the other one though about my rude co-worker.
So, I hope you all have a wonderful weekend. I will be spending quality hugfest time with Ian. I will try to nurse him back to health. My sick boy.
I will try to finish reading Summerland by Michael Chabon. It's magical and wonderful. A land of fairies and baseball. A killer combination.
Then on Monday I will get back to Yoga and start taking better care of myself. You all should come with me. That would be fun. We could laugh at all the funny things the yogi says and stifle our laughs when people surprise themselves with an audible fart. Comedy gold.
Do you remember when I told you guys about the woman at work who made fun of my outfit? When I was all cute and dressed up and she asked me if I was dressed for Halloween? Remember how we all wanted to kick her ass? She's just weird. She says mean shit and thinks she's being clever and funny. This pushes all of my "I hate my Dad" buttons. He is so like this. Now he just seems eccentric but growing up with this was unbearable.
Anyway, this co-worker struck again this morning. The background is that Sunday night I slept for less than two hours. I have intermittent insomnia. So, Monday I was a wreck at work. Super tired and dragging my feet. Last night I slept like a baby intoxicated with breast milk and I feel fucking great today.
I'm in the hallway and our receptionist asked me if I slept last night. I was telling her all about my wonderful restful night in excited tones filled with hyperbole after hyperbole when I hear a voice shouting, "Big stories in little lives." It was the "I say mean shit but I'm really being funny" co-worker. She even repeated it again, laughing hysterically. So, I did what anyone would do. I walked into her office and made a loud raspberry while smacking my ass, "PPPPPPPPPPPPBBBBBBBBTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT!!!" I think that was mature, don't you?
So, Ian says I have an incredibly vivid imagination. He's said this before and I laugh and say, "Really?" But today it struck me different. Perhaps because I'm sick and in turn sensitive. But the truth is that I DO have a very vivid imagination. But mostly about bad things happening to me. I think that says something about me that I'm not willing to look at right now. But what I will do is share at least one of my imaginative stories with you. In fact I will share the one that made Ian say, "Whoa, you have an incredibly vivid imagination."
So, I'm really sick, right? I was sneezing and coughing and blowing my nose all night. At one point I sneezed a couple of times in a row and was too weak to reach over to grab a tissue. I felt a drip of something fall onto my pillow from my nose. I reached for a tissue and this is where my imagination started to make up a story. It decided that the moistness dripping onto the pillow was blood. That I'd had a brain hemorrhage. Sometime in the night Ian would wake up and find me cold and gray with blood dripping from my nose. My mouth and eyes would be open but I would be incoherent. Still alive. Let me just break to say that when my imagination is talking to me, I am actually seeing all of this occur as if I'm in the middle of a dream.
Then Ian starts to panic and cry and starts praying that I will live. He packs me up in the car and cries all the way to the emergency room. The thing is that he doesn't know where to take me because we've just changed our insurance.
Then I reach for the tissue, blow my nose and fall asleep.
Weird, right? This could happen to me at any point in the day. While I'm crossing the street. While I'm in my car. In the middle of the night. I imagine terrible things that could happen. Like getting hit by a car and getting caught underneath the car and being dragged for blocks. Being in my car and driving under a semi. Being robbed in the middle of the night at gun point and then being shot. Am I alone here people? God, I hope not. I have decided to tell my self that this is completely normal. It's just that I'm a sensitive person and I have a very vivid imagination.
SO, vacation rules! Work sucks. This is my conclusion after having a bunch of days off. God, I loved sleeping in and I loved hanging out with Ian and enjoying our life together. But now I'm back at work rushing around trying to meet a stupid deadline. And to top it off, I'm sick.
The goddess of sick has swooped in and destroyed my nasal passages and put sleep in my eyes. So much sleep has settled in my eyes that I can barely keep my heavy lids atop my eyeballs.
Anyway, just wanted to say that we went to stay at the Madonna Inn for two nights and it was tacky and gaudy and fabulous! We stayed in the Tall and Short room. As you can see in the pic, it couldn't have been more pink. You've got to love that! And if you don't, you're high. Hey, I bet being high would have made it even more spectacular. But I cannot. It goes against the whole clean and sober trip.
We spent a whole day taking tours of the Hearst Castle. Holy COW!! What a huge and gold laden place. It's ridiculously flashy and jammed packed with expensive art, ceilings, and furniture. Two fabulous pools. You know, just cozy homey goodness. Some day. I wouldn't know what to do with a place like that, to be honest. It is just too lavish and rich for my blood.
I had friends over for my birthday and we had such a great time! Ian's new band, The Scheme, played their asses off on New Year's Eve. So so good. They rocked. I'm so excited about this band, people. They're gonna be huge. You heard it here first.
So, that happened. Hope you all had fun times too. posted by The Closet Shopper at 10:23 AM
Friday, October 24, 2003
