Day 33: Getting Blond Now

(Cue today's theme music: Getting Strong Now from Rocky---http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TnqZl_blT7E)....

Even though this is my 40th year, I am really a 12-year-old at heart about some things.   Today is the day that I am going to become considerably blonder.  Excited and nervous.   Feeling a bit like a cowgirl in old western as the blonding commences at high noon.  Thinking that I should have worn my cowgirl boots and spurs instead of black dress pants and a teal blouse.  

(Wardrobe digression but somewhat relevant to the issue of being a 12-year-old--the teal blouse is new, bought on clearance last night.   Paired with new vintage-y earrings with teal and tiny seed pearls and matching nail polish, even though I seldom wear polish on my fingernails, named "Mermaid to Order" and matching eyeliner "sparkling emerald" and a matching, vintage-y bracelet, which I already had in my jewelry arsenal.  Both the matching and the purchasing of nail polish based largely on the name also serve as evidence of my inner 12 year old self.  For the record, the earrings were also on sale!)

On the way to work, excited about the next step in my blonding, I catalogued my progress on my other--mental, emotional, and financial stability.  So far, my progress has been mixed on the mental and emotional and a failure on the financial with one notable exception.   Today marks my 9th day sans liquid crack from Starbucks which is a $50 savings.  Progress on my other recently added goals--drinking more water, a minimum of 3 gym workouts per week, and more sleep have also been a mixed bag.  Near total fail on the drinking more water, at least 1 workout per week, and some real progress on the sleep.  Hoping that the getting blond now will help ignite a spark and get me strong.

So, in sum, the state of my union remains in flux but with forward progress.  Life is a marathon, not a sprint. It's training to build up endurance for challenges big and small.   Here's to moving forward, embracing our inner 12 year olds, and discovering the beauty in the ordinary....And to the weekend as an almost blonde!  Cheers.

"It was chaos. Rocky, you went the distance. You went the 15 rounds. How do you feel? "

"[about Apollo] I've never seen a fighter that concerned about his hair."

"Tonight, we have had the privilege of witnessing the greatest exhibition of guts and stamina in the history of the ring!"

Day 32: On sex and other random musings

Let's talk about sex.   Frankly.   I like to talk about sex and sexuality and various sexual acts.  In generalities. Not who did what to whom and when and where. I find the topic fascinating and under-discussed.  But is it possible to talk about sex, especially with men, without been viewed as a sexual object or a pervert or a bad girl?   Does living in a Christian society guarantee that we cannot talk about sex or that we must necessarily view sex and sexuality as something inherently secret or bad or sinful or dirty?  And is the intimation that sex is secret or inherently sinful part of what makes it thrilling?  In other words, would we still like sex as much as we do, if we discussed it openly and frankly?

(Am listening to Salt-n-Peppa singing "Let's talk about sex."*   I do tend toward being thematic, apparently even when blogging.)

Theoretically, men want a woman who is sexual and open about her sexuality.   Maybe, even practically, men want to have a sexual relationship with a woman who is sexual and open about her sexuality.   But, do men marry women who are sexual and open about their sexuality? Do men take women who are sexual home to meet their mothers? Or are sexual women destined to be relegated to the category of "whores in the bedroom", playthings--online or in the imagination?  Or is being sexual and open about sexuality tantamount to being a bad girl?  And I am not even talking about women who look overtly sexual or who you meet online in a sexual chat-room.  I am talking about real-life women, who do not look like they work the pole.  Who are ladies in the parlour.   Can a man have a long-term, serious relationship with a woman that he sees as sexual and open about her sexuality?  Or does the sex get in the way?

I guess that I will have to keep this one in the category of things to be continued and that make you go hmmmm....**

Day 2 of No Starbucks fared better than Day 1.  Just like my merry band of supporters said it would.  Of course, I started my day off with a large, black coffee from McDonald's with a shot of espresso.  At 12 pm.  After I woke up with a combination extreme migraine and sinus headache.   And locked my house key and link to civilization (blackberry) in the house.   I proceeded to break into my ex-laws house (not really--I know where they hide the key) and obtain their spare key.  I am fairly certain that it is not breaking and entering as they have given me permission in the past to do that and have not yet revoked their permission.  I also took some lilacs from the large lilac bush.  (Is it a bush or a tree?  Believe it or not, I once got into a debate with someone over the difference between a bush and a tree.  The green thumb having skipped a generation when it got to me, I still have no idea what the difference is or why it makes a difference in the context of a general, non-gardening conversation).  

I love lilacs.   Lovely and fragrant.  My dream is to someday have one outside my bedroom window.  


*http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MT0E72qnjro

**Things that make you go hmmm was a regular segment on a late-night talk show hosted by Arsenio Hall in the late 80s and 90s.  This segment inspired a song by C & C Music Factory called "things that make you go hmmm."  In addition to hosting this show, Hall was also known for dating Paula Abdul.  

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XF2ayWcJfxo

Day 31 or Day 1 without Starbucks

A great workout and 8 hours of sleep last night should have been the perfect set-up for Day 1 without my liquid crack.   Should have been.   Am currently on cup number seven of super-duper French Roast brewed in my office and I cannot wake up.  It is is like I am running in slow motion, my thoughts and words are moving in slow motion, and I cannot seem to utter an articulate sentence.  There is a space missing between the thing-y that transmits the brain words into spoken words.   (See, the preceding sentence pretty much proves the point).  

My co-workers are urging me on, suggesting that my espresso-addicted body needs a couple days to adjust.   My hands are shaking.  My brain is in open revolt, refusing to do any concrete work until it gets its fix.   And all I want to do is go to sleep.   Like for about 30 hours.   The siren song is strong through the waves of fog, the slow-motion water--just one more quad-grande-skinny-upside-down-caramel macchiato, just to get the brain fired up.   Maybe, Indy's dad is there getting an afternoon fix, and your shared addiction will lead to true love.  As a Louis Armstrong/Ella Fitzgerald duet plays from one of the Starbucks compilations, the earthy, warm smell of fresh, hot coffee brewing, the soft whirl of the milk steamer, the sharp hiss of the liquid crack dropping into my cup....Mmmmm....

Alas, I have .75 in my checking account, which makes me about $5.00 short of a fix.  So unless I am willing to become the first liquid crack whore in history, it looks like I will have hold fast to my NO-Starbucks vow.  And make another pot of coffee.             

Day 30: Things that make me smile

I am trying to make good on my vows.  So far, with the work day over in 25 minutes, I have drank almost an entire 16.9 ounce bottle of water.  It's a start, and I have several hours to make good on the remaining 40 or so ounces.   The others are more long term goals or cannot be accomplished yet. 

I am beginning to feel melancholy.  Listening to Rain Delays by Crash Parallel and Somewhere out there by Our Lady Peace a gazillion times is probably not helping.  Yet, somehow, I cannot seem to stop myself from hitting replay.  

So, I am going to work on Vow 6 and list some things that have made me smile today.   First, the drive into school and work for me and my sunshine girl.  She was in a particularly silly mood, and her silliness and smile are always contagious.  We were pretending to be mice/mouses.  She pointed out that her nose (and mine) are already pink and that she has whiskers like her dog except that hers are invisible.   I have my rear-view mirror titled so that I can see her sweet face.   She can also see my face so we were twitching our noses at each other and cracking up.  When we got to her school, I made another comment about our mouseness, and she felt the need to remind me that we were just "pretending, mommy, to be mouses."  In fact, I smiled so much that I thought my face might freeze in a permanent smile. 

Second, after dropping my sunshine girl off, I decided to get my next-to-last coffee at Starbucks.  The magic Starbucks is right by her school, and in the back of my mind I realized that given the lateness of the hour that I might run into my Starbucks crush.   Just in case, I freshened up my lipstick, ignoring my frizzy, rain-affected hair.  As I walked in and headed to the counter, I saw his shoes, combination running/hiking shoes, and my heart skipped a beat when I saw that it was him.  Indy's dad!  Another addict, er patron, separated us in the line.  He looked over at me, his blue eyes met mine, and we smiled at each other.  Sometimes, I am shy.   And  I quickly rifled through my bag looking for a distraction.  Our eyes met a couple more times, including when he passed me again as I placed my order and he heading down the long aisle to the door.  He stopped and talked to a barista on her break as I had moved to the other end of the counter--leaving us at separate ends of the store.  He looked down at me, smiling again, and I got those jittery, roller coastery butterflies.  I pulled out a business card and wrote my cell number on the back.  Alas, the dealer, er barista, took too long with my drink, and he was gone, walking off into the morning rain and fog.   Ah, maybe next time....

Third, snow showers of apple blossoms falling from the row of trees along my building.   Lovely, magical, bits of flowered hope on a cold, rainy day.  

Day 30: Try, try, trying again

If at first you don't succeed, try again and again and again.  Last week was definitely a week that tried this woman's soul and resolve.  A week where it seemed that nothing could ever be good again, that my goals of becoming blonde, financially solvent, a fully-realized, fully-actualized person seemed destined for failure.  For a millisecond, I even considered trying to reconcile with my ex.  We have been getting along and it's nice to be part of a team, a unit, a traditional family.  But the end of the week demonstrated that he will never change, compromise, or fight for me, for us.  It would be me alone, trying to change, compromise, fight and nothing will ever be enough for him, and he is incapable of giving me what I need, long for--intimacy, emotionally or physically--a true partner.  

It's a new week, and I vowed to try again.   As Annie* was told in Bridesmaids, "you're your problem, Annie, and your solution."   This resonated with me and drove home the point--again--that the crucial part of this journey that I am on is learning to be self-sufficient, to fill myself up, and not to count anyone other than myself.  Appreciate and savour my friendships and "friend"ships but do not count on them. Don't use them as oars.  I am the captain of my own ship, my destiny.  Only I can save myself and get where I need, where I want to be. 

So, I have set some new goals to strive toward this week.   First, I vow to give up my daily Starbucks habit.  My daily crack is $5.67, before tip.  Or over $40 per week.  Or over $160 per month.   At least until I get my financial house in order.  This is vital because I need to get out of my current physical house and into my own place.  I have $2.99 left on my card and when it's done, no more Starbucks.  I am not giving up coffee (I am not insane, just a little nutty from time to time) but will stick with that brewed in my office or in my home.  

Second, I vow to get to the gym and my classes this week.  At least, three times.  I went to kickboxing on Saturday morning.  Got my ass kicked but kicked some metaphorical ass myself.  I have a lot of anger right now.  It scares me and kickboxing provided the perfect outlet for releasing it.  Master Sensei T taught our regular teacher V, who is pregnant and has been ordered to take it down a couple notches for the duration of her pregnancy.  Master T is a former Navy Seal and is tough as nails but he also has this zen-like quality about him.  He started from the beginning and to the chagrin of some of my fellow women warriors, he began with the fundamentals.  Think wax-on, wax-off.  Teaching us the correct form and breathing for each punch, cross, hook, and kick.  Integrating some yoga and core work into the class. The first class was even without music.  Last Saturday, we had music and it was more intense, more cardio.  We are still mastering the fundamentals but we did end the class with the crane technique as Master T chanted "Ralph Macchio, Ralph Macchio, RM, RM" as we jumped from leg to leg trying to perfect the crane technique.*  Plus, I got to punch him several times, very hard, on his rock hard stomach.  

Third, I vow to drink at least 64 ounces of water per day.  

Fourth, I vow to try and get a minimum of 7 hours of sleep per night.  

Fifth, I vow to stop living in the past and ruminating over the "if onlies" and the "why not mes?."  It is counter-productive and lacking a time machine, I cannot go back and change anything.  Truthfully, much of what I'd like to change would also alter the best parts of my present and my future, specifically my daughter's existence.  She is the best thing that I have ever done or will do.    As much as I have come to accept that her dad was unavailable to me and that I knew that before I married him, before I created a human life with him, she is my true love, my destiny.  She is what keeps me here on my worst days and what propels me forward on my best days.  She makes me want to be a complete, whole woman so I can help her become a complete, whole, self-sufficient, confident woman who cannot be held back by her fear, her insecurities.

Sixth, I vow to acknowledge every day at least one moment of beauty or one moment of goodness or one thing that has made me smile  

Seventh, I vow to stop making decisions based on superstitions or stemming from "magical thinking" or acting for the sake of acting.  But I vow not to do this at the expense of acknowledging that magic and beauty and passion do exist.   (I have already broken this vow because I wanted to end my vows with an odd number, which is superstitious.  Baby steps.)

So, it is written.  So, it shall be done. 

*Bridesmaids is Judd Apatow's new movie that has been marketed as The Hangover for chicks.   It was good and funny but Apatow did not quite hit his mark.  Annie reminded me very much of Meg Ryan, like a 2000s version of the character that Meg Ryan perfected in the 80s and the 90s.   But updated to fit the current times and current challenges--the failing economy, the new un-dating dating rules like Friends with Benefits.   

**Ralph Macchio was the original Karate Kid in 1984 (what a great year--the Karate Kid and the Tigers won the world series after a magical start  that included over 20 wins in a row to start of the season and a no-hitter).  I was in middle school and we got these magazines every week, and they featured bits of screenplays or just regular plays and we had to read them in class.   The Karate Kid was one of them.  

Ralph Macchio starred in two Karate Kid sequels but there was no improving on the first, which also had a killer soundtrack, including Banarama's Cruel Summer.   Naturally, I had a crush on him.   Back then, I fancied myself a would-be novelist and wrote a novel about a girl named Elizabeth Sanderson who was selected to be an intern with him in real life and live in his house.  Of course, we had Tiger Beat back then and so I knew all the details of his life, which I integrated into my novel.  (Tiger Beat was a magazine geared to teenagers and their celebrity crushes.  All told, my novel consisted of over a 100 handwritten pages, which I burned in a fit of temper and the recognition that I would never be a great writer and was unwilling to settle for being a mediocre writer.   During my tempestuous 20s is when I burned it along with a bunch of short stories and poems.   Of course, now, in my reflective 30s, I wish that I had not burned these artifacts of my youth.  

Besides the dreaminess of Daniel-san and the David vs. Goliath, rich vs poor themes, the Karate Kid contains several quotable lines that are often uttered by those of us who came of age in the 80s and that have become enmeshed in later incantations of pop culture.  For instance, the evil sensei who leads the Kobra Kais instructs one of his students to "sweep the leg" during the karate match.   "Sweep the leg" found its way into an episode of the Office where Michael took the office on a field trip to watch a match between himself and Dwight.  Kevin utters the infamous line "sweep the leg."   Those already of age in 1984 (my ex) and those not born until the 1980s undoubtedly missed this reference which increased the hilarity of the scene by a thousand-fold.   

Moreover, Mr. Miyagi shares several bits of wisdom imbued with good-old fashioned common sense that seem relevant to my own "vision quest":   (1)   "We make sacred pact. I promise teach karate to you, you promise learn. I say, you do, no questions"; (2) "First learn stand, then learn fly. Nature rule, Daniel-san, not mine"; (3) "Wax on, right hand. Wax off, left hand. Wax on, wax off. Breathe in through nose, out the mouth. Wax on, wax off. Don't forget to breathe, very important"; (4) "Punch! Drive a punch! Not just arm, whole body! Hip, leg, drive a punch! Make "kiai." Kiai! Give you power. Now, drive punch"; (5) "I tell you what Miyagi think! I think you *dance around* too much! I think you *talk* too much! I think you not concentrate enough! Lots of work to be done! Tournament just around corner!"; (6)  "Better learn balance. Balance is key. Balance good, karate good. Everything good. Balance bad, better pack up, go home. Understand?"; and (7) "Lesson not just karate only. Lesson for whole life. Whole life have a balance. Everything be better. Understand?"



The first photo is Daniel-san (Daniel Russo) and Mr. Miyagi.  Daniel-san demonstrates the crane technique on the beach.   The second photo is just the Karate Kid in his dreaminess.  Elisabeth Shue was his love interest, Ali Mills.  

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T99hbumhePA (Cruel Summer)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VCRTbh3D_us&feature=related (You're the Best)

Day 29: My Dad

May 15 was my dad's birthday.  May 15, 2005 was his last birthday.  It was sunny and warm, and he grilled cheeseburgers for us.  We sat in his backyard, in lawn chairs near his Japanese koi pond.    Owing to distance and my evil stepmonster and her reciprocal, mutual affection for my dad's offspring, we generally only saw my dad on holidays, his birthday, our birthdays, Father's Day.  I always remember his birthday being sunny and warm.  

This year marks the fifth anniversary of my dad's death.  Several of my friends lost their dads last year, and I have reassured them it gets easier.  And it has gotten easier.  But sometimes, it comes rushing back and the loss feels palpable and new, like it just happened.  And this year, this May 15, I really miss him.  His sarcastic, at times caustic wit, his politically incorrect sense of humor, his dark eyes exactly like mine and my daughter, his granddaughter who he never got to meet.   Yes, he was the tough guy who pushed a burning plane off his base in Vietnam, who scared the hell out of my sister's beaus with a single look, and who his co-workers called Rambo at work.  But he had this inner gentleness.  Gentleness is not the right word.  He was much more emotional and passionate than my mom.  Kindness, maybe.  Behind this gruff, tough exterior, he was kind.  Taking my nephew downstairs into his basement at Christmas to feed the Japanese koi that he kept there during our freezing months.

Today was dreary and rainy and cold.  (Yes, more weather talk).  My dad hated the cold, and yet, he spent his entire life in it, working outside in it.  He loved going on trips to warm, exotic locales.  To see giant turtles and snorkel, to watch scantily-clad women frolicking on the beach.  About our "fair" state and its highly changeable weather, he always said "if you don't like the weather, wait a minute and it will change."

Anyway, I woke up feeling empty and sad, the steady rain providing a maudlin soundtrack.  My sunshine girl asked me if she could sit on my lap, and as I held her close and breathed in the scent of sunshine and joy and loveliness, she told me that she loved me and gave me a big hug.  I told her that I love her hugs and that I really needed one today because I was sad.  She turned and looked into my eyes and touched my face and asked me why I was sad.  I told her that it was my dad's birthday, and she asked if I was sad that I missed his birthday party.   I reminded her that my daddy was in heaven and our guardian angel but that I really missed him today.  She said: "you don't miss me, because I am not dead, right?"   I have explained to her that my daddy is dead but being 4, she does not grasp the finality of death and easily tosses the word "dead" around.  Hell, I am going to be 40 all too soon, it has been nearly 5.5 years, and I still cannot fully grasp that my dad is dead.

Dead.  Just writing that word made my heart seize and the tears flow.  What is it that makes certain words seem so taboo?  We try to disguise the word and make it more palatable with sayings like "we lost him" or "he passed away" or "he is no longer with us" or "he has gone onto a better place."  What horse shit.  I do it too but it's utter horse shit and I feel Holden Caulfield's disdain for phoniness even though I am equally phony for mouthing similar platitudes.  My dad is fucking dead.  He will never breathe in the sunshine that is his granddaughter, who has his eyes, his no-bullshit look, his love of nature and gardening.  He will never get to feel the love and light of her hugs, her kisses (real and fake), her wonderfully twisted sense of humor, her laugh that is joy and silliness personified. She will never get to feed the koi with him or sit on his lap and pull at his beard.  I will never get to hear another man, another person tell me that I was the best thing that he ever did.   I will never get to argue politics with him again; he probably would have thought that Sarah Palin was hot.   I will never get to watch another Michigan football game with him or a Tigers' game or listen to him rail against the government, his wife, or the democrats.  

He is dead.  I tell my daughter that Papa John is our angel in heaven and watches over us and keeps us safe.  But I have never been sure that I believe in heaven or angels.  I was raised to believe that there is a heaven, but I am a doubter, a skeptic, and have never been able to take things on faith.  I wish that I could but I cannot.  My dad was a doubter and skeptic and questioner but he did believe in God.  He claimed to have seen Jesus when he returned from Vietnam.  

Later in life, after having a falling out with the religion of my youth, I attended a Catholic law school and was impressed with the compassion, intelligence, and social justice of the Jesuits.  My ex's

Yet, still I doubt.  Not in the existence of God or a higher power.  I do believe in that.  I am just not sure that I believe in the constructs and tenets of religion, like heaven and hell.  It seems to me like it is a way to hedge our bets and a useful construct to keep humankind from contemplating the inescapable truth--that we are all born to die.   I hope that I am wrong.  That there is a heaven after we fulfill our ultimate destiny and that it is filled with unimaginable joy and peace and that it is never, ever cold.

The last time we celebrated my birthday together at a steak house playing country music, you expressed a desire for some rock-n-roll, and specifically mentioned Honky Tonk Woman.   You also loved One Night in Bangkok.  These are for you, dad.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2Kve_N8rmmQ (Honky Tonk Woman)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P9mwELXPGbA (One Night in Bangkok)

Day 28: Incessance or a Prelude

Tis is quite early on Day 28.  That time when it is still dark but the birds have begun their incessant chattering that is a prelude to dawn.  All the while the incessant chatter, the white noise continue to whir and churn through my brain...

Just before 3:00 a.m., I finished Jennifer Egan's "a visit from the goon squad" which recently won the Pulitzer or some other prestigious literary award.  Normally, this fact would not be an incentive to read it.  The Brit read it and gave it "at least one thumb up."  His recommendation* and the fact that the first sentence grabbed me led me to buy it.  It's acclaim was, if anything, a secondary reason buttressing my purchase of it.   It did not disappoint; in fact, it was remarkable.

The paradox of a remarkable novel for me is my inability to put it down and the fact that I don't want it to end.  Also, un-put-downable novels often get finished in the wee smalls, making them difficult to discuss with other three-dimensional humans at the moment of consummation, in the first flush of insight.  At least the ones that I know (where oh where is the 1-900 number for a book lover who has  the urge to discuss a novel that has her all hot and bothered?).

To bed.  To sleep and perchance to dream of the deep voice on the other end of the phone discussing plot points and language and themes and whether it was too stylized.

*The Brit's book recommendations have been spot on.  They include: On Love by Alain de Botton; High Fidelity by Nick Hornby; One Day by David Nicholls; and The Corrections and Freedom by Jonathan Franzen.