I do believe I have been caffienated. DAMN. It happens every six months or so. I go to my favorite coffee shop and someone isn't paying attention and 2 hours later I realize there has been a serious mistake.
It's not like I'm some anti-caffiene activist who believes everyone should avoid it because it is the substance of the devil or something equally ridiculous. When I waitressed at the Rio I would drink a latte before every shift, it made me charming. (At least I believe it did, I'm sure you could find a number of people in Boulder who would disagree but that's a whole other story.) It's just that at some point my body started rejecting caffiene and not in a fun talk-a-mile-a-minute-and-bounce-off-the-walls way, it just makes me feel foggy and forgetful so I stopped drinking it.
The last time I was in Seattle I went to Peet's coffee for a mocha because, quite frankly, Peet's makes the best mochas in the world, caffienated or not. Anyway, I ordered a DECAF mocha, DECAF being the most important part of the order and two hours after drinking it started feeling foggy and forgetful and sleepy (yes, sleepy, go figure) and since I was with my son, nephew, niece and brother-in-law on an epic day of aquarium visiting and such it sucked.
Two days later I went back for another mocha, yes, they are that good. I explained to the barista what had happened the last time when the surly guy took five minutes to make me the wrong drink. I was very nice about it (I left out the part about the surly guy and five minute wait for the wrong drink) and just asked that she make sure it was decaf. I think her first instinct was to be a bitch to me, which I can't really complain about seeing as how my entire bartending career at the Rio was based on that instinct, and she asked me why I couldn't taste the difference between decaf and regular. NOT THE POINT. IT'S NOT MY JOB TO MAKE SURE YOU GET THE DRINK ORDER RIGHT. I did not say this out loud, remember I am still doing a lot of kharmic payback for my customer service years. (Besides, I'm sure that had I questioned the surly guy's drink making abilities he would not have taken it well at all. There are a lot of cranky people in Seattle who are better left alone, he was definitely one of them.) Instead I said that I couldn't taste the difference and I think my calm, dare I say sweet, demeanor disarmed her because she became instantly nicer, made my drink in about 1 minute and didn't make me pay for it. It was decaf which was a relief because if it wasn't I might have had to boycott Peet's on principle which would hurt no one but myself. I would do it anyway.
See, my drink this afternoon must have been full strength because I can't remember what the point of this rambling was. Not that that has ever stopped me before.
Jun 14, 2006
Apr 22, 2006
why?
First off, I just want to say that I love Michael Hutchence and I'm really sorry he's dead. Stupid, stupid, stupid. (Him, not me.)
Now that I've gotten that off my chest I just needed to get some thoughts down for the record. I'm going to ride to the top of Coal Bank pass tomorrow, 40 miles away from my house and pretty much uphill the whole way. The question that must be asked at this point is WHY?
I could be philosophical and answer, "Because it's there." but that is way too cliche and I'm really not sure I understand that logic anyway.
I could be a smart ass and answer, "Because I will do anything to avoid cleaning my house." but I'm still going to have to clean it when I'm done so it doesn't really change that fact.
I could be elusive and simply answer, "Because, just because." but elusive just isn't me.
So I will answer truthfully. Because I really need to know that I can do something like this.
I wrote all that almost a month ago and I made it all the way up to the top of Coal Bank Pass which is a grumpy little pass that tried to get the best of me and FAILED!
Apparently, I really can do something like this because I made it up and could have kept going had it been race day, I felt that good.... YIPEE!
However, Alicia and I got cocky and attempted the same ride a mere 6 days later and the experience was less than stellar. The good news is we are training enough to actually have to worry about over training. The bad news is we were over training and for the six days after the second summit attempt I had no energy at all... for anything... my house got very dirty.
Race day is a mere 18 days away and I am excited, petrified and a bit impatient. Training for something like this is very time consuming and I'm really ready to not have to worry about getting three rides a week in because it's really cutting into my free time to do things like playing computer games, sleeping in and writing in my blog.
I am also really anxious to prove to myself that I can do this without crying or falling apart, I don't think I have ever been in better shape than I am in right now. What a great feeling!
Not that I like to toot my own horn or anything... or maybe I do.... but today was Tuesday which means a scheduled group ride at noon at the Sports Club, which is owned by a madman, and today at noon it was raining with gale force winds (or at least what passes for gale force winds here in Durango) The organizers stress that we will ride come rain or shine so I reluctantly suited up, steeled my nerve, whimpered a bit when I stepped outside and headed for the Club. When I got there the ride leader, whose name I will not reveal to protect the wuss, was not at all pleased to see me because he had just decided that since only he and the owner of the club where there they were going to call it a day and cancel the ride.
I want it on record that I was ready to ride, my logic being the more I ride on shitty days the better the chance of the actual day of the race being beautiful. That makes complete sense to me and the worse the weather I ride in the more the odds increase in my favor. That's my logic, I won't apologize but you should have heard these two men whining and complaining about the weather and how I had ruined all their plans to go home and curl up with their cats in front of a roaring fire. PANSIES.
I took pity on them because frankly neither of them has much body fat and I didn't fancy having to administer emergency hypothermia first aid half way through the ride due to their skinny-ness. There is also the very slight possibility I let them off the hook because I really didn't want to ride in that weather either but I didn't want to be the on whose idea it was to not go.
So, the agreement is that I let them bow out of the ride if they promised to tell everyone else that I was the only one who showed up for the ride AND I was ready to go.
Was that a bit too much? Probably, but I have never been the one who shows up no matter what so I had to revel in the feeling. I'm done reveling now.
The bottom line is this, with 18 days to go I feel good and ready. I'm extremely proud of myself for committing to this and I can't wait to see how I rise to the occasion.
Now that I've gotten that off my chest I just needed to get some thoughts down for the record. I'm going to ride to the top of Coal Bank pass tomorrow, 40 miles away from my house and pretty much uphill the whole way. The question that must be asked at this point is WHY?
I could be philosophical and answer, "Because it's there." but that is way too cliche and I'm really not sure I understand that logic anyway.
I could be a smart ass and answer, "Because I will do anything to avoid cleaning my house." but I'm still going to have to clean it when I'm done so it doesn't really change that fact.
I could be elusive and simply answer, "Because, just because." but elusive just isn't me.
So I will answer truthfully. Because I really need to know that I can do something like this.
I wrote all that almost a month ago and I made it all the way up to the top of Coal Bank Pass which is a grumpy little pass that tried to get the best of me and FAILED!
Apparently, I really can do something like this because I made it up and could have kept going had it been race day, I felt that good.... YIPEE!
However, Alicia and I got cocky and attempted the same ride a mere 6 days later and the experience was less than stellar. The good news is we are training enough to actually have to worry about over training. The bad news is we were over training and for the six days after the second summit attempt I had no energy at all... for anything... my house got very dirty.
Race day is a mere 18 days away and I am excited, petrified and a bit impatient. Training for something like this is very time consuming and I'm really ready to not have to worry about getting three rides a week in because it's really cutting into my free time to do things like playing computer games, sleeping in and writing in my blog.
I am also really anxious to prove to myself that I can do this without crying or falling apart, I don't think I have ever been in better shape than I am in right now. What a great feeling!
Not that I like to toot my own horn or anything... or maybe I do.... but today was Tuesday which means a scheduled group ride at noon at the Sports Club, which is owned by a madman, and today at noon it was raining with gale force winds (or at least what passes for gale force winds here in Durango) The organizers stress that we will ride come rain or shine so I reluctantly suited up, steeled my nerve, whimpered a bit when I stepped outside and headed for the Club. When I got there the ride leader, whose name I will not reveal to protect the wuss, was not at all pleased to see me because he had just decided that since only he and the owner of the club where there they were going to call it a day and cancel the ride.
I want it on record that I was ready to ride, my logic being the more I ride on shitty days the better the chance of the actual day of the race being beautiful. That makes complete sense to me and the worse the weather I ride in the more the odds increase in my favor. That's my logic, I won't apologize but you should have heard these two men whining and complaining about the weather and how I had ruined all their plans to go home and curl up with their cats in front of a roaring fire. PANSIES.
I took pity on them because frankly neither of them has much body fat and I didn't fancy having to administer emergency hypothermia first aid half way through the ride due to their skinny-ness. There is also the very slight possibility I let them off the hook because I really didn't want to ride in that weather either but I didn't want to be the on whose idea it was to not go.
So, the agreement is that I let them bow out of the ride if they promised to tell everyone else that I was the only one who showed up for the ride AND I was ready to go.
Was that a bit too much? Probably, but I have never been the one who shows up no matter what so I had to revel in the feeling. I'm done reveling now.
The bottom line is this, with 18 days to go I feel good and ready. I'm extremely proud of myself for committing to this and I can't wait to see how I rise to the occasion.
Apr 11, 2006
wisdom
I was driving around, running errands with Keiran yesterday and out of the blue he says, "Mama, I don't think it would be a very good idea to do a flip when you have a sword in your belt."
This is very true.
This is very true.
Apr 3, 2006
Archives
I don't know if anyone else noticed but I have ARCHIVES now on my blog. ARCHIVES! Do you realize what that means? It means I have written enough posts to have ARCHIVES. It means that if people I don't even know happen to read my blog they are going to think I am quite the prolific blogger because I have ARCHIVES. With any luck they won't investigate any further than that because then they will find out I'm not really a very prolific blogger and my reputation will suffer. Maybe this whole ARCHIVES thing is not such a great idea.
Now that I'm done raining on my own parade I have a question. Why can I never let well enough alone? That expression, "let sleeping dogs lie" is an expression for a reason and yet I just can't seem to be able to do that. Fortunately the incident that triggered this philosophical debate (yes, for me this qualifies as a philosophical debate) didn't involve anyone else but myself. I did not try to straighten out a family member's life (not that there aren't one or two that could use it), I did not try to change the course of American politics single handedly (I'm not that optimistic) and I did not try to get Duffy to actually put his breakfast dishes in the dishwasher even though he somehow gets them to the sink which is right next to the dishwasher. All I did was try to change my bike tube, that's all and then my world, which had been going along so calmly, dissolved into chaos.
Part of this bike training thing I am doing involves education for those of us who have never undertaken anything like this before. We get to talk about things like what to wear (definitely not jean shorts), what to eat, (they discourage taking Doritos along for a snack) and how to change a flat. I know the basics of how to change a bike tube but thought I could use a refresher so last week when Instructor Ken told us to bring our front wheel to class so we could practice under the watchful eye of trained professionals I thought that sounded like a great idea. How could I have been so wrong?
I should give some biographical information regarding my bike at this point. I have had it for almost three years during which time I have put roughly 1000 miles on it and I have never had a flat so the tubes the bike came with are the ones still going strong in the tires.
The first sign that things were not going to go easily for me came after I managed to get the tire loosened from the wheel. At this point Instructor Ken said, "Once you have the tire loosened reach in and pull the tube out" like it was the easiest thing in the world which I'm sure it is if your tube hasn't been in there for almost three years of riding on hot roads, at blistering speeds causing it to become fucking welded to the tire.
At first when I couldn't get it out I thought I was just being an idiot (because that is the most logical explanation in almost every case) but then when one of the guys in the class who hadn't brought his wheel and was just watching for his own amusement tried to pull it out he couldn't get it to budge either. It took Instuctor Ken a good five minutes of pulling and tugging and exclaiming in amazement that he had "never seen anything like this" before that tube was finally liberated. Needless to say it looked like the bike tube version of Stretch Armstrong and the chances of it being unharmed where slim.
It was... harmed that is. When I pumped it up it held air for a minutes before giving up and letting it all go. My tube, the one that had seen me faithfully through 1000 miles of riding without ever once giving out, had been done in by a training exercise. Now that I think about it, I've never had much luck when it comes to tires. The first car I ever owned was a saucy little yellow VW Superbeetle my dad and I purchased from a man named Dallas Pistols (I am not kidding). The first time I got a flat on that car I was actually excited by the challenge of proving to myself that I could change a tire. I was so excited I took off and replaced the wrong tire before I realized my mistake.
Just like this one little bike tube that was never actually flat was giving me so much trouble. To make a long story... um... longer, I ended up patching that poor little tube (twice because the first time I did it with no air in the tube so when I inflated it, well it didn't go well) and trading it out for my replacement tube. I feel I have somehow betrayed that loyal little tube by making it the spare. I'm sure I'll get over it. My point is, had I just "let sleeping dogs lie" I would not have had to go through all this trouble. What are the chances I learned anything from this?
Now that I'm done raining on my own parade I have a question. Why can I never let well enough alone? That expression, "let sleeping dogs lie" is an expression for a reason and yet I just can't seem to be able to do that. Fortunately the incident that triggered this philosophical debate (yes, for me this qualifies as a philosophical debate) didn't involve anyone else but myself. I did not try to straighten out a family member's life (not that there aren't one or two that could use it), I did not try to change the course of American politics single handedly (I'm not that optimistic) and I did not try to get Duffy to actually put his breakfast dishes in the dishwasher even though he somehow gets them to the sink which is right next to the dishwasher. All I did was try to change my bike tube, that's all and then my world, which had been going along so calmly, dissolved into chaos.
Part of this bike training thing I am doing involves education for those of us who have never undertaken anything like this before. We get to talk about things like what to wear (definitely not jean shorts), what to eat, (they discourage taking Doritos along for a snack) and how to change a flat. I know the basics of how to change a bike tube but thought I could use a refresher so last week when Instructor Ken told us to bring our front wheel to class so we could practice under the watchful eye of trained professionals I thought that sounded like a great idea. How could I have been so wrong?
I should give some biographical information regarding my bike at this point. I have had it for almost three years during which time I have put roughly 1000 miles on it and I have never had a flat so the tubes the bike came with are the ones still going strong in the tires.
The first sign that things were not going to go easily for me came after I managed to get the tire loosened from the wheel. At this point Instructor Ken said, "Once you have the tire loosened reach in and pull the tube out" like it was the easiest thing in the world which I'm sure it is if your tube hasn't been in there for almost three years of riding on hot roads, at blistering speeds causing it to become fucking welded to the tire.
At first when I couldn't get it out I thought I was just being an idiot (because that is the most logical explanation in almost every case) but then when one of the guys in the class who hadn't brought his wheel and was just watching for his own amusement tried to pull it out he couldn't get it to budge either. It took Instuctor Ken a good five minutes of pulling and tugging and exclaiming in amazement that he had "never seen anything like this" before that tube was finally liberated. Needless to say it looked like the bike tube version of Stretch Armstrong and the chances of it being unharmed where slim.
It was... harmed that is. When I pumped it up it held air for a minutes before giving up and letting it all go. My tube, the one that had seen me faithfully through 1000 miles of riding without ever once giving out, had been done in by a training exercise. Now that I think about it, I've never had much luck when it comes to tires. The first car I ever owned was a saucy little yellow VW Superbeetle my dad and I purchased from a man named Dallas Pistols (I am not kidding). The first time I got a flat on that car I was actually excited by the challenge of proving to myself that I could change a tire. I was so excited I took off and replaced the wrong tire before I realized my mistake.
Just like this one little bike tube that was never actually flat was giving me so much trouble. To make a long story... um... longer, I ended up patching that poor little tube (twice because the first time I did it with no air in the tube so when I inflated it, well it didn't go well) and trading it out for my replacement tube. I feel I have somehow betrayed that loyal little tube by making it the spare. I'm sure I'll get over it. My point is, had I just "let sleeping dogs lie" I would not have had to go through all this trouble. What are the chances I learned anything from this?
Mar 7, 2006
Scaring Sammy
I have two dogs, Emma and Sammy. I have mentioned before that Emma is obsessive/compulsive but it isn't her fault. She is an Australian Shepard/border collie mix and should really have a job herding something but is instead forced to live in a townhouse with us. Since we refuse her constant attempts to herd us into an organized group she must focus her energy on something that will cooperate... the ball or the frisbee. She is very dedicated to both these things to the point where she spends long periods of time lovingly licking her frisbee, god love her, she's got her dress on backwards!
Sammy is a different story. He is a rescue dog who came into our lives when he was three months old and I was fostering dogs for the Animal Rescue Foundation (ARF... get it?) in the Bay area. We have no idea who he was with before as he was left on the doorstep of ARF with his mother, in the middle of the night, covered in poop and dirt and obviously traumatized. We added to his trauma by separating him from his mother so that the first night he was away from her was the first night he was with us. I think he decided since she was gone we were his new family and that's when he formerly adopted us. It took us a few weeks to get the memo that he was now ours, we even put him up for adoption once but he was having none of that and we finally got the message.
Anyway, something happened to Sammy before he came to us that was not good. He was definitely either abused or completely neglected except for the attention someone gave to cropping his tail without the benefit of a veterinarian's help. Bastards. He is a sweet boy if you know him otherwise he comes off as being a little scary and he is also very serious except when he and Emma and I go for our morning hikes where he lets his hair down and allows himself to have some fun. He also doesn't like chaos or ruckus' or crazy behavior. I am telling you this for a reason, I really am.
You see, I have a temper. I know for those of you who know me this may be news to you but I do. Fortunately, it is a flash temper, fast to explode and fast to die, (at least I think it is, Duffy may have a different opinion on that subject but this is my blog, only what I say goes.) and I like to think that over the years it has mellowed and that I'm not so quick to lose it. (Again, Duffy may have a different opinion but we will never know.) As you can imagine, Sammy does not like it when I lose my temper, he either jumps up and growls at me as a warning to cool it or he leaves the room and hides under our bed. This really isn't making me sound good, is it? Yes, I am getting to the point.
I am training for the Iron Horse Bicycle Classic which is a bike "race" that was conceived by a lunatic. It happens every year on Memorial Day weekend and goes from Durango to Silverton, 50 miles and 4,000 feet pretty much straight up from Durango. I'm still not sure why I think this would be a fun thing to do. I blame my friend, Alicia, who I'm pretty sure talked me into this on one of our rides when I was oxygen deprived and would have agreed that robbing a bank was a brilliant idea. The problem is I have committed myself to this goal by signing up for the Iron Horse training at the Rec Center so backing out now would expose me as the wuss I am at heart and I'm not really ready to step out of that closet just yet. At this point the training consists of spin classes three days a week until the weather warms up at which point we trade the virtual training for the real thing.
I have to be at the rec center Tuesdays and Thursdays at 7AM for an hour of spinning fun and then again on Saturdays. (We are finally getting to the heart of this matter... really) Last Thursday as I drove home I was fantasizing about the breakfast bagel sandwich I was going to make with MY poppy seed bagel, scrambled eggs and some melted cheddar cheese. Yum. I had an appointment in less than an hour so I was a bit pressed for time and got right down to business as soon as I fed Sammy and Emma. With them happily devouring their yummy kibbles in the kitchen under my feet, I started to assemble the necessary ingredients for my feast. To my horror I found the bag MY bagel had been in EMPTY, sitting on the counter, full of discarded poppy seeds. (It's not my intention to point fingers here but I will say Keiran doesn't like bagels so I think we can be fairly certain who is responsible for eating MY bagel.) I let out a controlled exclamation of despair but quickly regrouped. I could still have my scrambled eggs, that would work. I opened the fridge and discovered the unthinkable.... ALL THE EGGS WHERE GONE. (Again, Keiran is too small to cook his own eggs so we all know who the culprit is.) This was too much. I let lose with a string of obscenities that would have made George Carlin blush and I did it in my loud voice. (I was pissed and I was hungry, what do you want from me?)
Remember how I said the dogs where busy eating their breakfast while this tragedy was unfolding? Well, when I let lose with that string of obscenities in my loud voice, I scared the piss out of Sammy... literally. He stopped eating and peed all over the kitchen floor. Emma continued eating but with her tail tucked so firmly between her legs she's lucky she didn't take a bite out of it. I felt terrible after I stopped laughing... poor Sammy, he never gets a break.
Sammy is a different story. He is a rescue dog who came into our lives when he was three months old and I was fostering dogs for the Animal Rescue Foundation (ARF... get it?) in the Bay area. We have no idea who he was with before as he was left on the doorstep of ARF with his mother, in the middle of the night, covered in poop and dirt and obviously traumatized. We added to his trauma by separating him from his mother so that the first night he was away from her was the first night he was with us. I think he decided since she was gone we were his new family and that's when he formerly adopted us. It took us a few weeks to get the memo that he was now ours, we even put him up for adoption once but he was having none of that and we finally got the message.
Anyway, something happened to Sammy before he came to us that was not good. He was definitely either abused or completely neglected except for the attention someone gave to cropping his tail without the benefit of a veterinarian's help. Bastards. He is a sweet boy if you know him otherwise he comes off as being a little scary and he is also very serious except when he and Emma and I go for our morning hikes where he lets his hair down and allows himself to have some fun. He also doesn't like chaos or ruckus' or crazy behavior. I am telling you this for a reason, I really am.
You see, I have a temper. I know for those of you who know me this may be news to you but I do. Fortunately, it is a flash temper, fast to explode and fast to die, (at least I think it is, Duffy may have a different opinion on that subject but this is my blog, only what I say goes.) and I like to think that over the years it has mellowed and that I'm not so quick to lose it. (Again, Duffy may have a different opinion but we will never know.) As you can imagine, Sammy does not like it when I lose my temper, he either jumps up and growls at me as a warning to cool it or he leaves the room and hides under our bed. This really isn't making me sound good, is it? Yes, I am getting to the point.
I am training for the Iron Horse Bicycle Classic which is a bike "race" that was conceived by a lunatic. It happens every year on Memorial Day weekend and goes from Durango to Silverton, 50 miles and 4,000 feet pretty much straight up from Durango. I'm still not sure why I think this would be a fun thing to do. I blame my friend, Alicia, who I'm pretty sure talked me into this on one of our rides when I was oxygen deprived and would have agreed that robbing a bank was a brilliant idea. The problem is I have committed myself to this goal by signing up for the Iron Horse training at the Rec Center so backing out now would expose me as the wuss I am at heart and I'm not really ready to step out of that closet just yet. At this point the training consists of spin classes three days a week until the weather warms up at which point we trade the virtual training for the real thing.
I have to be at the rec center Tuesdays and Thursdays at 7AM for an hour of spinning fun and then again on Saturdays. (We are finally getting to the heart of this matter... really) Last Thursday as I drove home I was fantasizing about the breakfast bagel sandwich I was going to make with MY poppy seed bagel, scrambled eggs and some melted cheddar cheese. Yum. I had an appointment in less than an hour so I was a bit pressed for time and got right down to business as soon as I fed Sammy and Emma. With them happily devouring their yummy kibbles in the kitchen under my feet, I started to assemble the necessary ingredients for my feast. To my horror I found the bag MY bagel had been in EMPTY, sitting on the counter, full of discarded poppy seeds. (It's not my intention to point fingers here but I will say Keiran doesn't like bagels so I think we can be fairly certain who is responsible for eating MY bagel.) I let out a controlled exclamation of despair but quickly regrouped. I could still have my scrambled eggs, that would work. I opened the fridge and discovered the unthinkable.... ALL THE EGGS WHERE GONE. (Again, Keiran is too small to cook his own eggs so we all know who the culprit is.) This was too much. I let lose with a string of obscenities that would have made George Carlin blush and I did it in my loud voice. (I was pissed and I was hungry, what do you want from me?)
Remember how I said the dogs where busy eating their breakfast while this tragedy was unfolding? Well, when I let lose with that string of obscenities in my loud voice, I scared the piss out of Sammy... literally. He stopped eating and peed all over the kitchen floor. Emma continued eating but with her tail tucked so firmly between her legs she's lucky she didn't take a bite out of it. I felt terrible after I stopped laughing... poor Sammy, he never gets a break.
Feb 15, 2006
Recommendations
Being bossy is a gift as much as it is a curse. It is a gift because it comes with this sense of entitlement, like I am meant to straighten everybody out so without much thought I just go ahead and boss those who so obviously need it. It is a curse because, at least in my case, the people I am trying to boss around rarely listen to me. When I turned 40 I became aware of this tendency in myself and have been trying very hard to temper it, with mixed results.
Now that I am done with my disclaimer I am going to share some great movies and books I have recently watched or read. I will not be issuing a test or demands for a book report, as much as I would like to because I firmly believe that because I like these things, everybody should. These are just recommendations for those evenings when you want to rent a movie but have no idea what to get, or you're going on vacation and need a good book.
MOVIES
Just Like Heaven Reece Witherspoon, Mark Ruffalo This is a romantic comedy which is a genre I have been rather disappointed with in the last few years. They've become so formulaic (How often do you get to use that word?) and yet, being the eternal optimist I am, I keep watching them, hoping someone will come up with something original. This one is very close to being the original one I've been looking for but not quite. It is refreshingly sweet and despite a questionable premise, they manage to pull it off. The story is about a man who rents an apartment in SanFransisco only to find it is haunted by a young woman who is not happy about the water stains he's leaving on her table. He calls in a number of "experts" to get rid of this ghost with no success and finally decides to find out what this woman's story is. In the process he and the ghost become friends with predictable results that are complicated by the fact she's ethereal.
In Her Shoes Cameron Diaz, Toni Collette, Shirley MacLaine
I'm not sure what to classify this as, it's not really a romantic comedy, it's not really a drama and I would say due to the absence of any car chases or explosions, it's definitely not an action movie. I will just call it a chick flick. Alicia recommended it to me and I have to say I was skeptical mainly because I find Cameron Diaz to be extremely annoying. Happily, she was not in this movie and actually had a more challenging role than I've seen her tackle yet so I was pleasantly surprised.
The story revolves around two sisters, one extremely responsible, one not so much. Their mother died when they were young, an event which is still affecting both their lives even though they don't know it. After a major falling out, the irresponsible sister discovers a grandmother neither of them knew was still alive and goes to Florida to live with her. The younger sister is played by Diaz and is really unlikable through most of the movie. The older sister is likable but annoying because she's so emotionally cold. What I like about this movie is that the characters are given a chance to redeem themselves, I hate movies where everyone is doomed to be unhappy, I just don't think that's all that realistic.
Serenity Nathan Fillion, Gina Torres, Alan Tudyk
This is a sci-fi flick written by the guy who created Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I'm not a huge sci-fi fan but I really liked this movie. It's a good story and I loved the language they use, old but new at the same time. Watch it and you'll understand what I'm talking about. Serenity is a space ship crewed by misfits who are borderline pirates but with good intentions. The story begins when the ship's doctor rescues his sister, a psychic, from the government and brings her on the ship. Naturally, the government wants her back because as everyone knows in the future psychics are commonly brainwashed and used as weapons. This girl is not only a weapon, she knows something the government doesn't want the rest of the universe to know making getting her back imperative so they send an assassin after her and the crew of the Serenity. Of course the girl doesn't even know she knows a secret because she is so messed up she barely knows who she is but little bits of the secret sneak out of her at inopportune moments and are usually followed by her wreaking havoc on whatever place she happens to be in. It's great fun and the secret is brilliant in the way it brings so many elements of the story together.
Empire Falls Paul Newman, Ed Harris, Joanne Woodward
This was an HBO mini-series, I think, I could be making that mini-series thing up but it did definitely air on HBO. Anyway, it's set in a small town in Maine and Paul Newman proves that even at 81 years old he's still got it. I loved his character, it was the best role in the movie, mini-series or whatever it is. Ed Harris is good too. It's a story about a small town in Maine that is whose inhabitants are controlled in one way or another by the matriarch of the town's oldest and wealthiest family. Ed Harris is the main character who runs a diner and is going through a divorce and trying to find himself all at the same time. He seems to be some sort of indentured slave to the matriarch and he loses his spine whenever he's around her. As with anyone who is not living the life they where meant to eventually the universe decides to smack you in the head until you change for the better and that's what happens to this character with interesting results.
That's it for movies. I have read one or two good books lately also.
BOOKS
The Ghost Orchid by Carol Goodman
I took this to Keystone when Duffy and I went for three days and finished it in two. It's part mystery, part romance and part ghost story. I loved it. It opens at a writer's retreat somewhere in New England. The main character is a woman who has come to this retreat to write a novel that is based on events that occurred at the estate the retreat is located on many years earlier. The events involved a spirit medium who is brought there by the lady of the manor who wants to contact the three children she lost the year before in a diphtheria epidemic. The story alternates between the present and the past. There are very predictable aspects to this story but I found it very engrossing despite these small flaws.
The Lighthouse P.D. James I love this author. She writes such complete characters and the setting of her books always becomes a character itself. The other thing I like about her writing is the story line is never predictable. This book is set on an island off the coast of England where a murder has taken place. (Yes, it's another mystery and contrary to what some people may think, mysteries are literature and count as reading.) The island is a haven for government officials who need a break from body guards, the press and life in general. When a murder occurs on the island the author has set up a typical scenario with a contained environment which limits the number of suspects. Thankfully she foregoes the drawing room climax in favor of giving the main investigator a case of SARS which means his underlings are going to have to solve the murder which they do rather satisfyingly. I was sorry to finish this book because I had fallen in love with the island and I knew I was going to miss some of the characters. I love it when I a book does that to me!
Now that I am done with my disclaimer I am going to share some great movies and books I have recently watched or read. I will not be issuing a test or demands for a book report, as much as I would like to because I firmly believe that because I like these things, everybody should. These are just recommendations for those evenings when you want to rent a movie but have no idea what to get, or you're going on vacation and need a good book.
MOVIES
Just Like Heaven Reece Witherspoon, Mark Ruffalo This is a romantic comedy which is a genre I have been rather disappointed with in the last few years. They've become so formulaic (How often do you get to use that word?) and yet, being the eternal optimist I am, I keep watching them, hoping someone will come up with something original. This one is very close to being the original one I've been looking for but not quite. It is refreshingly sweet and despite a questionable premise, they manage to pull it off. The story is about a man who rents an apartment in SanFransisco only to find it is haunted by a young woman who is not happy about the water stains he's leaving on her table. He calls in a number of "experts" to get rid of this ghost with no success and finally decides to find out what this woman's story is. In the process he and the ghost become friends with predictable results that are complicated by the fact she's ethereal.
In Her Shoes Cameron Diaz, Toni Collette, Shirley MacLaine
I'm not sure what to classify this as, it's not really a romantic comedy, it's not really a drama and I would say due to the absence of any car chases or explosions, it's definitely not an action movie. I will just call it a chick flick. Alicia recommended it to me and I have to say I was skeptical mainly because I find Cameron Diaz to be extremely annoying. Happily, she was not in this movie and actually had a more challenging role than I've seen her tackle yet so I was pleasantly surprised.
The story revolves around two sisters, one extremely responsible, one not so much. Their mother died when they were young, an event which is still affecting both their lives even though they don't know it. After a major falling out, the irresponsible sister discovers a grandmother neither of them knew was still alive and goes to Florida to live with her. The younger sister is played by Diaz and is really unlikable through most of the movie. The older sister is likable but annoying because she's so emotionally cold. What I like about this movie is that the characters are given a chance to redeem themselves, I hate movies where everyone is doomed to be unhappy, I just don't think that's all that realistic.
Serenity Nathan Fillion, Gina Torres, Alan Tudyk
This is a sci-fi flick written by the guy who created Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I'm not a huge sci-fi fan but I really liked this movie. It's a good story and I loved the language they use, old but new at the same time. Watch it and you'll understand what I'm talking about. Serenity is a space ship crewed by misfits who are borderline pirates but with good intentions. The story begins when the ship's doctor rescues his sister, a psychic, from the government and brings her on the ship. Naturally, the government wants her back because as everyone knows in the future psychics are commonly brainwashed and used as weapons. This girl is not only a weapon, she knows something the government doesn't want the rest of the universe to know making getting her back imperative so they send an assassin after her and the crew of the Serenity. Of course the girl doesn't even know she knows a secret because she is so messed up she barely knows who she is but little bits of the secret sneak out of her at inopportune moments and are usually followed by her wreaking havoc on whatever place she happens to be in. It's great fun and the secret is brilliant in the way it brings so many elements of the story together.
Empire Falls Paul Newman, Ed Harris, Joanne Woodward
This was an HBO mini-series, I think, I could be making that mini-series thing up but it did definitely air on HBO. Anyway, it's set in a small town in Maine and Paul Newman proves that even at 81 years old he's still got it. I loved his character, it was the best role in the movie, mini-series or whatever it is. Ed Harris is good too. It's a story about a small town in Maine that is whose inhabitants are controlled in one way or another by the matriarch of the town's oldest and wealthiest family. Ed Harris is the main character who runs a diner and is going through a divorce and trying to find himself all at the same time. He seems to be some sort of indentured slave to the matriarch and he loses his spine whenever he's around her. As with anyone who is not living the life they where meant to eventually the universe decides to smack you in the head until you change for the better and that's what happens to this character with interesting results.
That's it for movies. I have read one or two good books lately also.
BOOKS
The Ghost Orchid by Carol Goodman
I took this to Keystone when Duffy and I went for three days and finished it in two. It's part mystery, part romance and part ghost story. I loved it. It opens at a writer's retreat somewhere in New England. The main character is a woman who has come to this retreat to write a novel that is based on events that occurred at the estate the retreat is located on many years earlier. The events involved a spirit medium who is brought there by the lady of the manor who wants to contact the three children she lost the year before in a diphtheria epidemic. The story alternates between the present and the past. There are very predictable aspects to this story but I found it very engrossing despite these small flaws.
The Lighthouse P.D. James I love this author. She writes such complete characters and the setting of her books always becomes a character itself. The other thing I like about her writing is the story line is never predictable. This book is set on an island off the coast of England where a murder has taken place. (Yes, it's another mystery and contrary to what some people may think, mysteries are literature and count as reading.) The island is a haven for government officials who need a break from body guards, the press and life in general. When a murder occurs on the island the author has set up a typical scenario with a contained environment which limits the number of suspects. Thankfully she foregoes the drawing room climax in favor of giving the main investigator a case of SARS which means his underlings are going to have to solve the murder which they do rather satisfyingly. I was sorry to finish this book because I had fallen in love with the island and I knew I was going to miss some of the characters. I love it when I a book does that to me!
my voice
I am losing my voice. My chiropractor thinks it's because I don't feel like I'm being heard. While there is a very good possibility that is part of it, I grew up with four very talkative siblings and a mother who dominates conversations, I have a different theory. I think I am losing my voice because the universe is trying to tell me to shut the fuck up.
Feb 4, 2006
How many things can go wrong?
I love doing massage, I really do. I like to believe that after 10 years (yes, 10 YEARS) I have become quite good at what I do. The one thing I still struggle with is keeping my brain focused on what I'm doing for the entirety of the session. It's something I have been working on I'd like to say since day one but really it's only been for the last maybe three years when I realized that being mentally present during a massage may make a difference. I don't know, I could be wrong. Anyway, in case you're wondering if this is actually going somewhere, yes, it is, be patient and all will become clear, grasshopper.
I love doing massage and I love my massage office and I'm really getting much better at paying attention while I'm giving someone a massage but I have this problem. The guy who lives right next to my office, he is my problem, as is the dog that lives next to him and the flight for life helicopter our city insists on using. Those are my problems in a nutshell.
Let me explain. This afternoon I was giving this really nice woman a massage. Today is her birthday, she's up here from Albuquerque and she's a massage therapist. Can I just say I really wish I didn't know that last little bit of information. It gives me a terrible case of stage fright and then I'm just sure they are hating everything I do. Yes, I realize this is a confidence problem and I need to get over it and I'm quite competent at what I do but I'm trying to stay focused during my massages. I can't stay focused AND work on my confidence problem all at the same time. I'M JUST NOT THAT AMAZING. Anyway, despite the fact that I know she is a massage therapist I felt the massage was going well, we were 30 minutes in and she hadn't expressed disgust and demanded to leave so I felt pretty good... and then it all started.
It began with ADD boy next door. ADD boy does not live next door, thank god, but he is either a relative of the man who lives next door or the son of a friend of the man who lives next door. I don't really feel it's my place to criticize the way other people raise the children... alright maybe I do, but this boy's father needs to be smacked repeatedly. He pulls his van into the drive way which is right next to my office window and then goes inside, leaving one, possibly two highly excitable boys in the car with DUCK CALLS. I kid you not. At first I thought some bird was being slowly tortured by a cat but then I realized it was not a real bird making those sounds, it was ADD boy and his brother. I tried to ride it out thinking surely the dad will come out and tell them to quiet it down but after what seemed like an hour but was really only 5 minutes I gave up hope of that happening. In the meantime I was so distracted I'm pretty sure I massaged my clients hair rather than her back because, as I have mentioned, I have a problem with staying focused. I finally gave up hope that that loser of a father was going to do anything about the racket and excused myself, went outside, yelled at the boy with the duck call and I had to yell because he was being so loud a normal tone of voice would have been pointless, and then returned to my client after putting the fear of god into ADD boy. It actually worked for about 5 minutes before the fear of god wore off and he started up again but thankfully his loser dad came out and took him and his brother and their stupid duck calls away. Who gives a hyperactive child a duck call anyway? How is that a good idea?
The quiet was blissful. My heart rate returned to normal, I was back to focusing and had managed to convince myself my client may actually be enjoying the massage when the big dog with the really booming bark started up. Who knows what that dog barks at, it could be someone walking down the street. It could be a cat skulking around just out of big dog's reach. It could be leaf fluttering down to the side walk. I don't know but I do know it doesn't seem to take much to set him off. Yes, I realize it is probably karmic payback for all the ALLEGED barking my dogs have been accused of doing but once again I am trying to work on focusing during a massage, not trying to be understanding when karmic payback picks a really bad time to occur. Finally, big dog decided whatever he was barking at was not the threat he imagined and stopped, only to start up again a few minutes later and then stop again. At least he wasn't as loud as ADD boy with the duck call but still.
At this point I was really having a hard time focusing on what I was doing but with a herculean effort I managed to get back into focus when the flight for life helicopter flew over. When I say flew over I may be exaggerating because what I think it actually did was hover over my building for a good 15 minutes before remembering to move on. I swear to god I expected storm troopers to break down my door and demand to know what I thought I was doing giving a massage to a massage therapist who would know what a fraud I am and couldn't possibly be enjoying the experience.
Thankfully, after the helicopter moved on the rest of the massage was uneventful. I was a basket case but apparently I give a really good massage when operating in basket case mode because she said it was one of the best she's ever had and she gave me a $15 dollar tip... not that I'm tooting my own horn or anything.
I love doing massage and I love my massage office and I'm really getting much better at paying attention while I'm giving someone a massage but I have this problem. The guy who lives right next to my office, he is my problem, as is the dog that lives next to him and the flight for life helicopter our city insists on using. Those are my problems in a nutshell.
Let me explain. This afternoon I was giving this really nice woman a massage. Today is her birthday, she's up here from Albuquerque and she's a massage therapist. Can I just say I really wish I didn't know that last little bit of information. It gives me a terrible case of stage fright and then I'm just sure they are hating everything I do. Yes, I realize this is a confidence problem and I need to get over it and I'm quite competent at what I do but I'm trying to stay focused during my massages. I can't stay focused AND work on my confidence problem all at the same time. I'M JUST NOT THAT AMAZING. Anyway, despite the fact that I know she is a massage therapist I felt the massage was going well, we were 30 minutes in and she hadn't expressed disgust and demanded to leave so I felt pretty good... and then it all started.
It began with ADD boy next door. ADD boy does not live next door, thank god, but he is either a relative of the man who lives next door or the son of a friend of the man who lives next door. I don't really feel it's my place to criticize the way other people raise the children... alright maybe I do, but this boy's father needs to be smacked repeatedly. He pulls his van into the drive way which is right next to my office window and then goes inside, leaving one, possibly two highly excitable boys in the car with DUCK CALLS. I kid you not. At first I thought some bird was being slowly tortured by a cat but then I realized it was not a real bird making those sounds, it was ADD boy and his brother. I tried to ride it out thinking surely the dad will come out and tell them to quiet it down but after what seemed like an hour but was really only 5 minutes I gave up hope of that happening. In the meantime I was so distracted I'm pretty sure I massaged my clients hair rather than her back because, as I have mentioned, I have a problem with staying focused. I finally gave up hope that that loser of a father was going to do anything about the racket and excused myself, went outside, yelled at the boy with the duck call and I had to yell because he was being so loud a normal tone of voice would have been pointless, and then returned to my client after putting the fear of god into ADD boy. It actually worked for about 5 minutes before the fear of god wore off and he started up again but thankfully his loser dad came out and took him and his brother and their stupid duck calls away. Who gives a hyperactive child a duck call anyway? How is that a good idea?
The quiet was blissful. My heart rate returned to normal, I was back to focusing and had managed to convince myself my client may actually be enjoying the massage when the big dog with the really booming bark started up. Who knows what that dog barks at, it could be someone walking down the street. It could be a cat skulking around just out of big dog's reach. It could be leaf fluttering down to the side walk. I don't know but I do know it doesn't seem to take much to set him off. Yes, I realize it is probably karmic payback for all the ALLEGED barking my dogs have been accused of doing but once again I am trying to work on focusing during a massage, not trying to be understanding when karmic payback picks a really bad time to occur. Finally, big dog decided whatever he was barking at was not the threat he imagined and stopped, only to start up again a few minutes later and then stop again. At least he wasn't as loud as ADD boy with the duck call but still.
At this point I was really having a hard time focusing on what I was doing but with a herculean effort I managed to get back into focus when the flight for life helicopter flew over. When I say flew over I may be exaggerating because what I think it actually did was hover over my building for a good 15 minutes before remembering to move on. I swear to god I expected storm troopers to break down my door and demand to know what I thought I was doing giving a massage to a massage therapist who would know what a fraud I am and couldn't possibly be enjoying the experience.
Thankfully, after the helicopter moved on the rest of the massage was uneventful. I was a basket case but apparently I give a really good massage when operating in basket case mode because she said it was one of the best she's ever had and she gave me a $15 dollar tip... not that I'm tooting my own horn or anything.
Jan 31, 2006
crazy
A few weeks ago, on a Wednesday, which is my day to take Keiran to school, I took him dressed in my pajamas....with a coat on over them of course, it was freezing. As we were getting into the car he was eyeing my attire and asked me if that was what I was wearing to take him to school. I said it was. He said I shouldn't because people will think I'm crazy. I laughed and informed him that that was okay.
What I really wanted to say was, "Honey, you come from a long line of crazy. This is nothing compared to what some of your distant relatives have been seen doing. I suggest you watch out who you call crazy because it's in your blood and we've talked about karma."
What I really wanted to say was, "Honey, you come from a long line of crazy. This is nothing compared to what some of your distant relatives have been seen doing. I suggest you watch out who you call crazy because it's in your blood and we've talked about karma."
Jan 22, 2006
Is it important?
What to write? What to write? Between that question and "why am I not getting a lot of massage clients?" I seem to be purposely trying to speed skate my way to insanity.
Is it really so important that I write? No, in fact the argument could be made that the world would be better off if I kept my thoughts to myself. Then why do I think about it more than I should and attempt to do it when I really have nothing to say that hasn't already been said before? Obviously it has something to do with being the second of five children and feeling, subconsciously, that I was never heard so now I am over-compensating by demanding to be heard through the written word. OBVIOUSLY. Which really doesn't change the fact I have nothing to say.
As to the second question... oh, the thought processes my mind takes me on in an effort to find an answer. Follow along, if you can and if I get lost on the way... welcome to my world. First I think it's because something about my attitude is telling the universe that I don't really want to do massage so no one calls. In order to fix this I try to think positively and politely inform the universe that I do indeed want to do massage and I'm ready and willing and all set up with an office and a table and even a little water fountain to relax people (or make them feel the need to pee half way through a massage) and an iPod with soothing music and all that. But then the evil side of my brain takes over and tries to convince me that maybe I really don't want to be a massage therapist and it is evil because I have moments of pure joy when I'm doing a massage so it can't be right. What, then, is the problem? Who knows and I'm tired of driving myself crazy trying to figure it out.
This believing in making your own destiny and karma and all that stuff can be exhausting.
Take karma, for instance. If someone is rude to me, someone in a position of customer service who should not be rude to me but they are for whatever reason, I write it off to all the bad customer service I inflicted on people during my days behind the bar at the Rio Grande Mexican Restaurant. I suck it up and hope it will be paid up soon. But then I have to wonder what happens to the people who are being rude to me? Are they now racking up bad customer service karma which will be paid off by a waitress telling them to "fuck off" because they dared to ask that the cheese on their burrito be melted? Or does it have something to do with the fact that this person, who is a complete stranger to me in this lifetime, may have been betrayed by me in a past lifetime and summarily banished from the kingdom by the sea because I coveted his wife and camels? How am I supposed to know if this is something that I deserve or if it is just some ass-hole having a bad day and taking it out on me? Do you see how close I am to going bonkers on a daily basis?
But back to my question of it being important for me to write, I guess I would have to answer, "yes, it's very important" seeing as how I can't draw, paint, dance or be a politician but I can, occasionally, write something worth reading and everyone needs a creative outlet. Yes, it is important for me to write. It is not, however important for anyone to read what I write, there seems to be enough suffering in the world as it is.
Is it really so important that I write? No, in fact the argument could be made that the world would be better off if I kept my thoughts to myself. Then why do I think about it more than I should and attempt to do it when I really have nothing to say that hasn't already been said before? Obviously it has something to do with being the second of five children and feeling, subconsciously, that I was never heard so now I am over-compensating by demanding to be heard through the written word. OBVIOUSLY. Which really doesn't change the fact I have nothing to say.
As to the second question... oh, the thought processes my mind takes me on in an effort to find an answer. Follow along, if you can and if I get lost on the way... welcome to my world. First I think it's because something about my attitude is telling the universe that I don't really want to do massage so no one calls. In order to fix this I try to think positively and politely inform the universe that I do indeed want to do massage and I'm ready and willing and all set up with an office and a table and even a little water fountain to relax people (or make them feel the need to pee half way through a massage) and an iPod with soothing music and all that. But then the evil side of my brain takes over and tries to convince me that maybe I really don't want to be a massage therapist and it is evil because I have moments of pure joy when I'm doing a massage so it can't be right. What, then, is the problem? Who knows and I'm tired of driving myself crazy trying to figure it out.
This believing in making your own destiny and karma and all that stuff can be exhausting.
Take karma, for instance. If someone is rude to me, someone in a position of customer service who should not be rude to me but they are for whatever reason, I write it off to all the bad customer service I inflicted on people during my days behind the bar at the Rio Grande Mexican Restaurant. I suck it up and hope it will be paid up soon. But then I have to wonder what happens to the people who are being rude to me? Are they now racking up bad customer service karma which will be paid off by a waitress telling them to "fuck off" because they dared to ask that the cheese on their burrito be melted? Or does it have something to do with the fact that this person, who is a complete stranger to me in this lifetime, may have been betrayed by me in a past lifetime and summarily banished from the kingdom by the sea because I coveted his wife and camels? How am I supposed to know if this is something that I deserve or if it is just some ass-hole having a bad day and taking it out on me? Do you see how close I am to going bonkers on a daily basis?
But back to my question of it being important for me to write, I guess I would have to answer, "yes, it's very important" seeing as how I can't draw, paint, dance or be a politician but I can, occasionally, write something worth reading and everyone needs a creative outlet. Yes, it is important for me to write. It is not, however important for anyone to read what I write, there seems to be enough suffering in the world as it is.
Jan 13, 2006
My ass hurts.
I've been trying to think of something to write about, racking my brains over a subject that I can natter on about for at least four paragraphs and....nothing. Nothing was coming to me. Nothing was striking my fancy. Am I getting too old to use my brain without help? Am I not nearly as creative as I think I am? I couldn't figure out what the hell was wrong until I realized why I could think of nothing to write about.... my ass has been killing me for the last 5 days and has been pretty much monopolizing all my brain power.
I should clarify that when I say my ass is hurting I mean the MUSCLES in my ass are killing me, not the other part of my ass. These muscles are not happy about the chiropratic adjustment I had last week. My massage office is in a chiropractor's office and my low back was bugging me so I thought, what the heck, I've never had an adjustment, why not give it a try. I should state that I in no way blame the chiropractor for the state of my ass. My philospohy, in a nut shell, is that when he adjusted my hips and put them back the way they are supposed to be so that I'm not walking down the street totally lopsided because one hip is just lazy, the muscles around my hip on the lazy side went, "WHAT THE FUCK? THIS ISN'T RIGHT. DAMN IT!" and then they proceeded to rebel by clamping down in an effort to put things back the way they like them. Basically, my muscles are pissed and having a major tantrum designed to cause as much pain as possible and make me look like a mentally challenged penquin when I walk. The thing that these muscles don't understand is there isn't a lot I can do about this state of affairs short of going back to the chiropractor and demanding he de-adjust me, he'll think I'm just another wack-job massage therapist, which, even on a bad day, I'm not. I'm very normal.
The biggest pain in the ass about having a pain in the ass is how much those muscles get used which is a lot. For everything. Getting in the car? Yup, you use them. Walking down the stairs? Yup. Rolling over in bed? Holy shit do you use them. There seems to be precious little these muscles don't participate in, maybe sitting on the couch while asking your husband to get the ice pack for your ass, but other than that they seem to be constantly working.
Then there is the mental toll something like this takes on someone like me. There is a slight possibility that I have a tiny tendancy to be obsessive-compulsive, but only mentally. I mean I don't wash my hands fifty times a day or smack the nearest person everytime someone mentions that idiot of a president's name, nothing like that but sometimes when my mind gets a hold of an idea it works it until it looks like my dog Emma's frisbee. (She is obsessive-compulsive, definitely.) The problem is that having been a massage therapist for ten years and having worked with sports injuries for three years before that I know that most problems like this don't just happen out of the blue. Some event in the near or distant past led directly to the present state of affairs, which really does nothing to make my ass feel better. If anything it makes me feel guilty for not taking care of the hip injury I sustained 15 years ago when I threw myself over the handle bars of my bike on the Slick Rock Trail in Moab (in front of a bunch of people I was really trying to impress, all of whom I have lost contact with). (Isn't that pathetic? I was mainly trying to impress this guy I thought was dreamy who later cut all his hair off and got hair extentions. How did I not see that coming?) I know it is my lack of proper care for that injury that has led to the present state of affairs where my ass is concerned, I just know it.
My mental obsession with my sore ass goes something like this: My ass hurts so I am walking funny, getting in my car funny, doing everything I can to avoid making those muscles scream at me SO what bad habits am I setting up in an effort to avoid pain that are going to come back and, pardon the pun, bite me in the ass 15 years from now? This is really stressing me out, unnecessarily, I realize but I CAN"T STOP THINKING ABOUT IT. I told my massage therapist friend, Chris, this while he was working on my hip, he just laughed and continued to contort my body in ways that made me want to cry. (I didn't, I'm nothing if not tough, I waited until I got in my car to cry.)
Now that you know more than you could have every possibly wanted to about the state of my ass I will say that it does feel better since Chris worked on it and I am going to try really hard to not convince myself that I'm doomed to walk like my mother for the rest of my life. (Not that my mother walks like a mentally challenged penquin or anything, she just has a distinctive way of walking that I do not aspire to.)
I should clarify that when I say my ass is hurting I mean the MUSCLES in my ass are killing me, not the other part of my ass. These muscles are not happy about the chiropratic adjustment I had last week. My massage office is in a chiropractor's office and my low back was bugging me so I thought, what the heck, I've never had an adjustment, why not give it a try. I should state that I in no way blame the chiropractor for the state of my ass. My philospohy, in a nut shell, is that when he adjusted my hips and put them back the way they are supposed to be so that I'm not walking down the street totally lopsided because one hip is just lazy, the muscles around my hip on the lazy side went, "WHAT THE FUCK? THIS ISN'T RIGHT. DAMN IT!" and then they proceeded to rebel by clamping down in an effort to put things back the way they like them. Basically, my muscles are pissed and having a major tantrum designed to cause as much pain as possible and make me look like a mentally challenged penquin when I walk. The thing that these muscles don't understand is there isn't a lot I can do about this state of affairs short of going back to the chiropractor and demanding he de-adjust me, he'll think I'm just another wack-job massage therapist, which, even on a bad day, I'm not. I'm very normal.
The biggest pain in the ass about having a pain in the ass is how much those muscles get used which is a lot. For everything. Getting in the car? Yup, you use them. Walking down the stairs? Yup. Rolling over in bed? Holy shit do you use them. There seems to be precious little these muscles don't participate in, maybe sitting on the couch while asking your husband to get the ice pack for your ass, but other than that they seem to be constantly working.
Then there is the mental toll something like this takes on someone like me. There is a slight possibility that I have a tiny tendancy to be obsessive-compulsive, but only mentally. I mean I don't wash my hands fifty times a day or smack the nearest person everytime someone mentions that idiot of a president's name, nothing like that but sometimes when my mind gets a hold of an idea it works it until it looks like my dog Emma's frisbee. (She is obsessive-compulsive, definitely.) The problem is that having been a massage therapist for ten years and having worked with sports injuries for three years before that I know that most problems like this don't just happen out of the blue. Some event in the near or distant past led directly to the present state of affairs, which really does nothing to make my ass feel better. If anything it makes me feel guilty for not taking care of the hip injury I sustained 15 years ago when I threw myself over the handle bars of my bike on the Slick Rock Trail in Moab (in front of a bunch of people I was really trying to impress, all of whom I have lost contact with). (Isn't that pathetic? I was mainly trying to impress this guy I thought was dreamy who later cut all his hair off and got hair extentions. How did I not see that coming?) I know it is my lack of proper care for that injury that has led to the present state of affairs where my ass is concerned, I just know it.
My mental obsession with my sore ass goes something like this: My ass hurts so I am walking funny, getting in my car funny, doing everything I can to avoid making those muscles scream at me SO what bad habits am I setting up in an effort to avoid pain that are going to come back and, pardon the pun, bite me in the ass 15 years from now? This is really stressing me out, unnecessarily, I realize but I CAN"T STOP THINKING ABOUT IT. I told my massage therapist friend, Chris, this while he was working on my hip, he just laughed and continued to contort my body in ways that made me want to cry. (I didn't, I'm nothing if not tough, I waited until I got in my car to cry.)
Now that you know more than you could have every possibly wanted to about the state of my ass I will say that it does feel better since Chris worked on it and I am going to try really hard to not convince myself that I'm doomed to walk like my mother for the rest of my life. (Not that my mother walks like a mentally challenged penquin or anything, she just has a distinctive way of walking that I do not aspire to.)
Jan 7, 2006
Random thoughts
Random thoughts lead to more random thoughts lead to more random thoughts untl I just want them all to stop. Sometimes my mind will stop on a random thought long enough to hope for a return to sanity only for it to move on with a jerk, snapping my head back, taking me along as an unwilling passenger. Some of the thoughts are really good, great even, if I could just get my mind to stop long enough to get a good look at them but it won't, can't it sometimes seems.
Fortunately, this isn't the constant state of my mind. It usually happens around a full moon or when I'm about to get sick or when my life has been so busy I can't think at all. When it isn't happening it feels quiet, calm or just plain boring because let's face it, a wild ride is better than no ride at all. Right now I'm thinking about the yummy mocha I'm drinking, if I'm really making the best use of my day off and whether or not I need to pee.
I wonder if monks or nuns or yogis have days full of random thoughts or if they ever get to a meditative state of mind where that never happens? Do they have days when every attempt to meditate is intruded upon by thoughts of a past lover who was particularly proficient? If they have thoughts like that do they have to go flog themselves or lie face down on a stone floor until their face goes numb? This sounds very deep and meaningful to me now but when I read it ten years from now will I shake my head in amazement of the lack of maturity it illustrates for a woman of 41? Only the person I will be 10 years from now can say for sure.
Whoa, running out of things to say... but that can't be right. I never run out of things to say, especially when you get a little vodka in me, then it becomes a question of will it be possible to shut me up. With limited research to date, the answer appears to be "NO". However, I find the chatty effects of vodka to be far preferable to the altered sanity effects of tequilla. Who wouldn't? I like to believe that while under the effect of vodka I am witty and charming. I happen to know that while under the effects of tequilla I become melancholy and inappropriately honest, not a pretty sight.
Listen to me writing about this as if I have vast stores of memories of drinking either vodka or tequilla to choose from. The truth is I don't really like to drink all that much. Beer rarely sounds good to me, wine looks like it should taste like Kool-Aid but never does and hard alcohol, other than vodka, just sounds more grown up than I ever feel. Mochas, on the other hand, yum. Especially Peet's mochas which taste only vaquely of chocolate and have that real whipped cream floating on top because really... what's the point of getting a mocha without whipped cream? There is no point, kind of like this unfortunate writing episode. Points are really not my strong suit. Meandering, on the other hand, is something at which I excel. Why does a story have to have a point? Sure, it makes for more satisfying reading but any reading can be satisfying in the right setting, like the bathroom, sitting on the pot. Do you really need a point whilst pooping? I think not, it sounds painful.
Fortunately, this isn't the constant state of my mind. It usually happens around a full moon or when I'm about to get sick or when my life has been so busy I can't think at all. When it isn't happening it feels quiet, calm or just plain boring because let's face it, a wild ride is better than no ride at all. Right now I'm thinking about the yummy mocha I'm drinking, if I'm really making the best use of my day off and whether or not I need to pee.
I wonder if monks or nuns or yogis have days full of random thoughts or if they ever get to a meditative state of mind where that never happens? Do they have days when every attempt to meditate is intruded upon by thoughts of a past lover who was particularly proficient? If they have thoughts like that do they have to go flog themselves or lie face down on a stone floor until their face goes numb? This sounds very deep and meaningful to me now but when I read it ten years from now will I shake my head in amazement of the lack of maturity it illustrates for a woman of 41? Only the person I will be 10 years from now can say for sure.
Whoa, running out of things to say... but that can't be right. I never run out of things to say, especially when you get a little vodka in me, then it becomes a question of will it be possible to shut me up. With limited research to date, the answer appears to be "NO". However, I find the chatty effects of vodka to be far preferable to the altered sanity effects of tequilla. Who wouldn't? I like to believe that while under the effect of vodka I am witty and charming. I happen to know that while under the effects of tequilla I become melancholy and inappropriately honest, not a pretty sight.
Listen to me writing about this as if I have vast stores of memories of drinking either vodka or tequilla to choose from. The truth is I don't really like to drink all that much. Beer rarely sounds good to me, wine looks like it should taste like Kool-Aid but never does and hard alcohol, other than vodka, just sounds more grown up than I ever feel. Mochas, on the other hand, yum. Especially Peet's mochas which taste only vaquely of chocolate and have that real whipped cream floating on top because really... what's the point of getting a mocha without whipped cream? There is no point, kind of like this unfortunate writing episode. Points are really not my strong suit. Meandering, on the other hand, is something at which I excel. Why does a story have to have a point? Sure, it makes for more satisfying reading but any reading can be satisfying in the right setting, like the bathroom, sitting on the pot. Do you really need a point whilst pooping? I think not, it sounds painful.
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