Friday, September 30, 2011

Slapping the Girl Inside My Head!

Check her out. You'd slap her too.
Photo: Millie and Andrea
from the album "Temper Tantrum"
Lately I've been feeling really stupid. 

I don't mean that I think I can't do anything right, but there are two things that are important to me that I have been positive would be easy. Pieces of cake, as it were. (See Idioms...) However, these two things have not been easy and have, in fact, been more work than my tender heart can handle.

Who gets to be in charge when "it" isn't as easy as you, me, we thought it would be? Read on, friends.

This week has been a struggle and there have been more moments of self-doubt and negative inner monologue than my psychic adult usually allows. Generally I can shut the little kid voice right up and remind her that we're all the same in our heads. Her cries of woe aren't different than anyone else's. 


But not this week.

This week my inner brat has been having a full on, room crashing, brain rattling temper tantrum that just doesn't want to quit. I've put her in time-out (read: glass of wine) I've talked to her in even tempered tones and explained how the wide world works and how we're all the same, I've even yelled at her for being so stupid as to call herself stupid.

The brat is getting the best of me and I'm letting her derail my plans for myself. Why the hell does she get so much power?

Deepak Chopra (courtesy of Dr. Oprah, Ph.Diety) told me this:  

"stand back and be objective. If a good friend came to you with the same guilt you feel right now, what would you tell your friend to do? Don't aim in the dark. Don't offer a big answer to make your friend go away."
Read more here.

That means: do as you say, not as you do. Come up with a real piece of loving advice and then give it to yourself.

It's very difficult to speak to ourselves the way we'd speak to someone else we care about, and we'd certainly never let someone talk to us the way we speak to ourselves. But what if "it" feels like too much work, and the inner brat starts the wind up to the full blown melt down? What do we do?

What do you do?

Does the little kid win? This week, for me, she has. She has worn me down and taken the life right out of me. Too bad her room is still in my brain, because even when I send her there I can still hear her kicking and screaming. She's telling me that if I were any good at what I want to do then it would come easily; I'd take no criticism and I wouldn't have to work hard. I am agreeing with her even though I know she's a baby brat who just wants to eat Popsicles and see her name in magazines and be on Oprah's talk show.

Today I am putting the brat outside to play. She and I need some fresh air in this brain and psyche of mine...so off she goes. 

I just hope she doesn't stand outside banging at the door.

Tuesday, September 20, 2011

John Mayer Can't Sing

I bet you already thought you knew that....


Michael Loccisano  /  Getty Images

I read yesterday that John Mayer has a nodule on his vocal cord that’s preventing him from singing.

I’ll give you a moment to let that sink in.

Now, before you go off a cliff in some kind of insane rage or inconsolable fit of despair, let me remind you that his vocal cords are nowhere near his genitals, so he’s still just fine in the womanizing and dating five year old categories. The princesses in tiaras have NOTHING to worry about...

But the 3 or 4 people planning to see him at the iheartradio Music Fest in Vegas will be quite sad indeed.

The crooner is delaying the release of his new album <Insert name here> until next year so that his throat can heal. It's all VERY touch and go...so light a candle or something because a world without new John Mayer music is a world I don't care to know.

Mayer wrote on his blog: "I've got the best doctors in the country looking after me and I will be singing and touring again as soon as I get the all-clear. Until then I'll be spending time writing and composing more music and kicking an empty soup can around the West Village." 


Honestly, I'd like to see him kicking an empty soup can and not with a fedora on his head, emo look his face...or hands shoved down into his pockets, lamenting his soulful removal from the music scene.

Anyway, my point is that poor John Mayer can't sing.

Friday, September 16, 2011

Slap! Now Manifest!

Thanks Wikipedia!


Dear reader,

A long time ago, in a geographic location far, far away (or present day America) some drunk dudes who knew how to write decided the country wasn't big enough and had to convince its populace that expansion was THE way to go.

I'm not here to debate that. It's ancient American history and look how pretty that picture up there is...who's arguing THAT?

The drunk dudes called it "Manifest Destiny" and here's what it meant:

"The philosophical support for manifest destiny was based on the idea that America was destined to expand democratic institutions in North America, which gave the nation a superior moral right to govern areas where other interests would not respect this goal."
Excerpted from- United States History

I don't really think we have anywhere to GO these days, and I don't believe that our moral compasses all actually point the same "true north" so for today's violence against your face I'm going to bastardize the concept of Manifest Destiny and use it thusly:

Go out there and get what you want.

Unless what you want is illegal or immoral no matter whose compass is facing you....liability issues here, people.

If the drunk founding fathers of these United States could understand that we must harness our energies, direct them towards our goals and convince everyone in our path (including ourselves) that what we want is right and good, then can't you and I do the same?

Woman at her Writing Desk
Museen der Stadt, Vienna

Look at me in that picture! (Pretend it's me...it could be. All it says is "woman"...you don't know.) I'm writing at my desk! With some sort of spaniel and a dude with a medically concerning forehead watching me! If I can write under these circumstances then what can you do?

What's your destiny and how can you manifest that into reality? You already have a name for it (Manifest Destiny...keep up!), and if you live in Nevada, California, Oregon, Montana or...you know, places near there (I don't care about geography) then you're in BELLY of the manifestation! It's a lot harder for the poor schlubs in Connecticut to manifest any kind of destiny...but you folks in Utah need to hop to it. 

The point is that you can think it and dream as much as you like but if what you want isn't in your hands then you need to step up your game. Take a risk, go ahead and gamble on what you think is your true calling. Whatever first step needs to take place: DO IT. 

If you took the first step and got stuck...pick up that foot and take the second step. Destinations don't often come to us; they take work and travel and time. Sometimes they take detours. All of that is okay as long as you stay on course and manifest what it is you want from life.


So what is it? What do you want? The question really is that simple but the answer may be the most complex you've ever faced. I think that's just life and difficult as it may be, make the most of it...because we only get today and after that we're promised nothing. 


Manifest your destiny...and take it.


Sincerely, 
Liz


Tuesday, September 13, 2011

My Greatest Post EVER.

Photo: Allison Dyskstra

I'm so busy today I can't see straight. I've got a million things to do before the day's end so quit being a pea brain and get off my back.


Some days take forever and even the leaves dancing in the breeze aren't enough to shake you from your cage. That's the day I'm having, so this one is being written super fast because I'm greased lightning when it comes to building sandcastles out of air. You probably think this joke is so overdone you can use it for a hockey puck but I beg to differ.


The responsibility of making you laugh week after week weighs a ton and if I can't make it happen I'll die. So even though you have hundreds of other things to do, I'm glad you jumped off the track to read this. You might not know it but the whole world is staring at me...waiting for a laugh. That's a mountain of pressure and it'd be the crime of the century if I couldn't deliver. 


But I'm fine with all that because this is greatest blog post of all time. Signed in blood.


I'll tell a hundred people right now that if you don't love hyperbole then knock me over with a feather, alright? I'd give my right arm to make you laugh your ass off, and that's no joke. If you think it's easy to write these little grammar gems, then you're usually right. But I'd rather have a root canal than write hyperbolic-ally, because everyone knows I NEVER EVER exaggerate. 


Anyway, happy Tuesday everyone. I have to eat breakfast because I'm starving to death and then I have to take a nap. After writing this, I could sleep for a week.





Friday, September 9, 2011

Slapping Granny

A Cautionary Tale....


She looks sweet doesn't she?
Photo courtesy of AP news.



Sit back kiddie-o’s and read a true story that I have just laying around in my brain.

The scene is this- my mom and I take my Grandma to Florida for a vacation after my Grandpa died. I know, I know...more dead people. But people die; it’s a fact of life and Buddha says you better damn well get used to it. So saddle up.

Grandma, mom and me...down in Florida. Grandma doesn’t want to go to the beach, because it’s too hot and she doesn’t like the sand. She doesn’t want to sit at the pool because it’s too hot and she doesn’t like to swim. She doesn’t want to go to any restaurants because they’re too expensive and she doesn’t like seafood, and forget about shopping at all the touristy outlets...she just can't walk that much anymore. Sounds like a super fun vacay to you, doesn’t it?

Here’s a fair question to ask and believe me we DID, “Hey, you old biddy. What DO you want to do?”  And, to be fair, there was an answer. It was this, “Why don’t go to the grocery store and buy some bags of chicken Voila, and then we can come back to the condo and dust and vacuum?” 

For reals, peeps. That was the answer.

And for any reader who wasn’t upwardly mobile in 1999, chicken Voila was a precursor to the Bertolli meals in a bag type thing. Except it was awful...awfuler than what you can buy today. What can I say, it was the late 90’s, and the world was in flux.

We decided to get an umbrella for the day to lure the woman away from the 24 hour news cycle and whatever Giraldo Rivera was doing at the time. (This is post-Capone’s tomb, FYI.) Mom went up to the room to grab another batch of drinks, and took longer than I thought was necessary. When she got back...she was laughing hysterically...not a good sign. I think you should be able to guess that by now.

“Hey Liz, look back at the condo.”
“Why Mom...I’m relaxing...”

(Anyway, what could I possibly be looking for? Everyone knows that rules at beach condos are that you can’t even hang a beach towel over the balcony rails...what’s to see?)

Here’s the part where you scream for me NOT to look back, kind of like when you want the dumb chick to NOT go into the woods, or the dark house, or the basement.....but I'm the dumb chick in this story and so I looked.  

My super sweet granny had been scrubbing MY UNDERWEAR and had hung them off the balcony to dry.... From the beach, one could see 5 or 6 pair of industrial underwear....flapping in the sea breeze.

Picture the scene, if you will. Take a moment. 

What does a 26 year old woman who packed her work undies for a vacation with a mom and a grandma do when she sees aforementioned unmentionables hanging from a balcony, visible to the naked eye, from the beach?

I’ll tell you what she does. She sprints, full on, back to the condo and rips the things off the balcony screaming, 
“You’re not allowed to hang things from the balcony! It’s in the rules!”

Yes, that's what I came up with...that was my argument. It was only later that I had the wherewithal to ask, “Um...why were you cleaning my underwear?” Whatever the answer was, I can’t remember it. I don’t really think it matters much.

Don't let this happen to you!
Photo courtesy of amygump.org


Here’s what you need to know of my cautionary tale of horror: if you ever take Grandma on a beach vacation, remember to buy fancy new underwear that you’ve never, ever worn before. Make sure they're something that will enrich the lives and photos of other beach goers, and for the love of all that’s decent in the world....remember: Grandmas really don’t belong on vacation anyway.

Have a great week end pals!!

Tuesday, September 6, 2011

Google Doodles Freddie Mercury

-Bet he never thought THAT would happen....




Happy Birthday Freddie Mercury! 


Today Mr. Mercury would have been 65 years old and Google has dedicated bandwidth and speed to a doodle...no doubt the fuddy duddies who think Google DOODLES are serious will piss and moan about it.


I'll tell you this: if you're too busy that you can't stop for one minute and thirty eight seconds to pay homage to the Champion maker or to sway to the Rhapsody of Bohemians...then you need to get out from Under the Pressure, my friend. Because Mister Freddie Mercury is still creating A Kind of Magic that Will Rock You


These days no one is Radio Ga Ga anymore, and as we all know The Show Must Go On but I just don't see where we'll get the Staying Power. Without the talent of Freddie M in the world, we might just go Stone Cold Crazy. I guess I'm not too worried about that however, because just when things seem unbearable, a Killer Queen comes along and Saves Me.


For today, Don't Stop Me Now because I have One Vision...and that is to join in the Bicycle Race before Another One Bites the Dust!


Happy Birthday Freddie. No one else could have done a concert in a giant white diaper masquerading as shorts!






*coolimage.blogspot.com





Friday, September 2, 2011

Good Job! You Can Do It!


In the past few days I have had an opportunity to take stock of what it means to be a mother and these reflections aren’t singular to motherhood; they can be applied to being a spouse or partner, friend or sibling. We all need people who “have our back” or serve as our unfailing cheerleaders in life, because the reality is that we can’t ever do this alone.

Life requires partnership.

For a very long time my own mother was my back bone and cheerleader. Many mothers are and I don’t think I’m unique here. During a search for something unrelated, I came across this magazine clipping she sent to me when I was away from home for the first time as a freshman in college. There are so many things I’ve found since her death that come from times when we were apart and her messages to me then seem to come back and speak to me again…now that we’re separated by time, space, heaven and earth.

LOOK! The actual clipping!
Now she's your cheerleader, too!


And what they’re teaching me is that we all need support.

I see people on the Internet all the time, through the veil of anonymity or the shade of the “Comments Section” being absolutely awful to one another, saying things they’d never dream of letting pass their lips. But when they are typing the words seem to come so freely. The words my mother wrote to me are my living reminders of the best she had for me, the encouragement and love.

I wonder what reminders we’re leaving for each other in comments and snippets all over the internet…when a friend needs a small boost, can they look to your written words to see how you felt? To draw a “re-meaning” from your old messages? I wonder what trails we’re leaving under names like “misskitty420” that are mean-spirited and spiteful. Someday someone will go back to that one and feel something about it…was it the best Miss Kitty420 could leave?


When I find these long lost reminders from my mom it’s like she’s back with me for two seconds. Her intention re-imparts itself to me and the support is there, the cheerleader shakes her pom-poms once more. I NEED that in my life and I don’t think it’s showing a weakness to say it.

I NEED people around me who support me and cheer for me, no matter how badly I’m playing the game! No matter how much I’m whining and moaning about my position or performance; I need people who tell me I’m doing great, and keep it up.



Everyone does.

Whether we admit it openly or not, we all feel like little kids whose bodies have gotten bigger, whose allowances have turned into direct deposits and whose toys now have titles and bank loans attached. We’re all walking around wondering when someone’s going to figure out that we’re a fraud and have no business having the responsibility that we do. And here’s when our mothers, fathers, spouses, friends and even children come in to save the day and give us the “Atta boy/girl!”

Who are you leading through cheer? Which person in your life will someday find a small reminder of the care you felt for them? And to whom do you look for the care?

Everything from a jet plane to a slug leaves a trail…and some trails are more dynamic than others. Each day we are given an opportunity to leave a trail and choose which type it’ll be. Every day you have the opportunity to be a dynamic cheerleader for friends and strangers alike.

Which will you choose? Which trail will you leave behind? I challenge you to leave behind the spectacular trail of the jet plane, of the mother who loved her child beyond space and time or life and death, or the trail of a good and dear friend.

I know you can do it, because I think you're the best!



*PHOTOS!  truegroovez.com, my phone, and graphicleftovers.com