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.
Friday, May 30, 2003
