tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-278502732024-03-16T00:08:13.032-07:00This n ThatZombies happen and when they do, you just need to add whipped cream to your coffee. And maybe some Bailey's. You just do.alienbodyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15947554046117906104noreply@blogger.comBlogger321125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27850273.post-41495965529292441382014-09-16T10:34:00.000-07:002014-09-16T10:38:24.810-07:00Learning to Draw A Story: My New HobbyThe words don't come anymore.<br />
<br />
They haven't, not for awhile now.<br />
<br />
I guess, to be honest, that isn't entirely true.<br />
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The words DO come, but mostly in fragments.<br />
<br />
They hold hands, in some shy, chaste form of courting.<br />
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But, they refuse to consummate their union.<br />
<br />
There's no mating, no creating of more words. No birth of a post.<br />
<br />
Wow, see what I did there? I just totally sexed up sentence forming.<br />
<br />
I'm sure this is a sign that I should totally stop writing, like, RIGHT. NOW.<br />
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But, I never was one to take a hint.<br />
<br />
So....<br />
<br />
When words fail, then it's time to turn to pictures. Or drawings? <br />
<br />
Oh, yeah...I'm learning to draw.<br />
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I've always doodled, but mostly inanimate things. <br />
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Recently, however...my doodles became more animated.<br />
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It's kind of amazing, really, the things we discover about ourselves.<br />
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I'm not an artist...yet. Some of my friends would disagree with that emphatic declaration. But, I'm not sure I can claim such a title at this point of my self discovery journey. I don't feel I deserve it. I haven't worked for it, and therefore, haven't earned it.<br />
<br />
Yet. <br />
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Same goes for 'talent'. I do suppose I have some - I can mimic and mash up images I've seen to create what I want. That's either talent or creativity - possibly both.<br />
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I certainly possess the ability to follow step-by-step drawing instructions...mostly.<br />
I often tweak it...a bit.... <br />
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">(Dinosaurs drawn from instruction book. Outfits and personality straight from my imagination</span></i>)</div>
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This may be 'talent'. I call it an ability to follow direction with a heaping side of quirky. What I bring to the drawing table is imagination - those of you that know me, KNOW I am full to brimming with imagination.<br />
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<i>Above 3 images were possibly created after too much Bourbon. </i></div>
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I used to love writing flash fiction stories. An idea would come and *BAM* a super short story would flow from my fingertips. Since those words aren't as available to me as they used to be, my brain decided it STILL needed an outlet for certain thoughts. One of those thoughts is the desire to look on the outside the way we feel on the inside.<br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><i>Everyone loves a mermaid.</i></span></div>
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<i>"I'm tall, thin and beautiful"</i></div>
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<i>Work in progress - Dragon wants to be a unicorn.</i></div>
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I have more images in my head, which may some day come to life.<br />
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I go to drawing class once a week through the community center. My goal is to learn the fundamentals of drawing and to connect with peoplewho can help me continue to tell stories, even when words fail. I'm even considering drawing meet-ups. Yes, me...Ms. Shy and Introverted. Drawing is, apparently, luring me out to frolic on the dark side. Scary stuff.<br />
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What's also scary is sharing with you. Despite an outpouring of supportiveness, it is never easy to let people see what I've created. Each time I post a drawing on Facebook I know there will be a small group of friends who love it. I also know there is a group that think I've lost my mind...again. And, there is a fear that people will think I do it just for the kudos (<i>the compliment kind of kudos, not the granola bar</i>).<br />
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I share because I am still a work-in-progress. At 45 I'm finally starting to say "YES" to things that interest me, instead of wrapping those nagging voices in duct tape to shut them up - because, people can't hate what you don't create, right? <br />
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But, the desire to create and let those voices speak is becoming too great to suppress - I'm giving in and going for it.<br />
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<i>Inspired by a greeting card I found at Trade Joe's.</i></div>
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p.s. I may even start writing again.<br />
p.p.s. This post doesn't count as writing.<br />
p.p.p.s. If you make fun of my drawings, I'll probably cry.<br />
p.p.p.p.s. Then, I'll hunt you down and pinch you.<br />
p.p.p.p.p.s. Really, really hard.<br />
p.p.p.p.p.p.s. And maybe kick you in the shins. <br />
p.p.p.p.p.p.p.s. So, be nice - I'm a newbie. <br />
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<br />alienbodyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16553792913801374123noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27850273.post-62885530460874739992014-02-01T19:06:00.000-08:002014-02-01T19:09:13.548-08:00The Human Canvas - Phase One: Art In ProgressOh, the itch. Itchyitchyitchitch!<br />
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And the twinges of pain, when the skin puckers and pulls - the tortured skin pulling against the unmarred.<br />
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The will to not scratch is hard to summon - instead, scratching is replaced by a brisk slap to the uppity area, as if punishing the skin for having the nerve to react to what has been done to it. <br />
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Such is the lot of The Human Canvas during the healing phase of a new tattoo.<br />
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I've got at least 3 more sittings, approximately 6+ more hours, of actual tattooing - along with a repeat of the healing process. Every. Stinking. Time.<br />
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Why do I do it?<br />
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Well, I guess...<br />
<br />
Because...I want to.<br />
Because...I live by so many rules, that I feel the need to break a few - specifically, the one that says I'm too old for this.<br />
Because...I lack common sense. <br />
Because...Today's artist are phenomenal with what they can create on skin.<br />
Because...I want to literally imprint my figurative heart on my sleeve. Did I use literal and figurative right in this case?<br />
Because...I'm mostly nuts. <br />
Because...When everyone is 80 their skin will sag and be full of liver spots and bruises, so aged tattoos will just make it a bit more interesting. We'll all sit around the nursing home playing a game of 'Guess The Ink Blob'. <br />
Because...I'm bad-ass. O.k., not really...but for the sake of this post, let's just pretend I am.<br />
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I've loved tattoos since I was a kid, well before every hipster in the universe started sporting them. I loved them back when only military guys and scary bikers got them.<br />
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Despite their increasing popularity and normalcy, people still have some pretty strong opinions about tattoos. While I'm not entirely sure Hubbypants likes having an inked wife, he's been silent about any displeasure while being outwardly supportive - I'm truly a lucky gal.<br />
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However, I do think, should Hubbypants decide to leave me, that I'll have a hard time finding anyone as accepting. Basically, by inking-up, I'm guaranteeing my future as a lonely, crazy cat lady - I've already got 3 cats...for practice.<br />
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I suppose you'd like to see what my new work of art looks like, right? Of course you do, duh...<br />
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Sadly, the picture quality isn't all that great,</div>
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but fear not!!</div>
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My next appointment is in just a little over 3 weeks,</div>
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so I'll be back to <strike>whine some more</strike> share my progress! </div>
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I know you'll be waiting on the edge of your seat</div>
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to read more adventures of The Human Canvas! </div>
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p.s. I've totally glossed over how much getting a tattoo hurts.<br />
p.p.s. Like, I'm not kidding, it fucking hurts.<br />
p.p.p.s. Anyone who gets a tattoo is crazy.<br />
p.p.p.p.s. Speaking of crazy, can cats be trained to be minions?<br />
p.p.p.p.p.s. Because, really...if I'm going to have a lot of them, I might as well start working on an army to carry out my plan of world domination.<br />
p.p.p.p.p.p.s. Wow, I guess I really am a bad-ass after all. <br />
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<br />alienbodyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16553792913801374123noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27850273.post-499855096770355802013-12-08T11:14:00.000-08:002013-12-08T21:55:37.623-08:00The WagonThe Wagon was so much taller than She remembered.<br />
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When She fell off of it the last time, the ground felt closer - the fall shorter.<br />
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Now, She stands staring up at the drivers seat - a shadowed figure holding the reins that were once hers. <br />
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"Your wagon has come and gone," The Shadow hisses, "just accept the new dreams and plans I've made for you. Your place is there...on the ground, not up here in the What Could Be. There is no room for you up here."<br />
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And the wagon grew taller.</div>
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A noise rose from the back of the wagon, smaller shadows peering over the edge, shouting down at her, each baring the mark of what is already etched into her brain: <i>Fear, Failure, Doubt, Insecurity.</i><br />
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They taunt Her with stories of all Her past failures - convincing Her how easy it is to not even try. "Regret," they shout, "is just a fact of life. What's one more to add to the mountain? Just give up, this wagon belongs to us now!"<br />
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And more shadows appeared. </div>
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She looked around her, at all the comforts that giving up offered - knowing that the familiar would accept her back with open arms. <br />
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The Shadow sat at the head of the wagon holding reins She willingly handed over. She watched as decay started to seep from the Shadow's hands into the lines that harnessed all of her plans and dreams - threatening to spread and contaminate all future attempts to create a new part of Herself. <br />
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And so.... <br />
<br />
Despite her fear of heights...<br />
Despite a climb that seemed impossible...<br />
Despite the threat of losing her grip and hurtling toward the ground...again....<br />
Despite the assault of taunts thrown by shadows that have overtaken HER wagon...<br />
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She decided the reins were hers...and She wants them back.<br />
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And so, She reaches up to grab the first spoke of the wheel...<br />
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and begins to climb. alienbodyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16553792913801374123noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27850273.post-38858222148877055102013-11-16T20:52:00.002-08:002013-11-16T21:16:03.706-08:00Giovanni's Last ChapterI found something today.<br />
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Two somethings, actually.<br />
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We are painting our family room, or at least we will be once we've removed all the furniture from the room. Part of the preparation involved purging a filing cabinet of college school work of mine...from 2009 (I'm a late bloomer). I threw most of it away, but there were a few pieces of early writing that I just had to keep.<br />
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In 2009, during English Comp 1B at my local community college, my professor gave us a creative writing assignment. This was NOT a creative writing class, I was NOT a creative writer - it stressed me the hell out. Even the assurance from him that merely trying to write something was worthy of an A did not detour me from fretting over it.<br />
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The theme of this particular class was "Love Sucks". Yeah, Mr. Teacher was the king of negativity and felt the need to assign reading that made one want to jump in front of a train. Most. Depressing. Class. Ever! <br />
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One of the stories was Giovanni's Room by James Baldwin. The novel has 5 chapters, so our assignment was to write a 6th. The reason I'm going to share this with you is this - my teacher really liked it. Also, too? He said I made him rethink his hatred of the main character. That was huge, for me.<br />
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So, if you've read Giovanni's Room then you'll get my final chapter. If you haven't, then you won't. But, I hope you enjoy it anyway.<br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Chapter SIX</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I was taken aback by how much my father had aged during my residence in France. Had I been gone that long? Or, was it the burden of my absence that brought about the years that now etched his face?</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Standing in the doorway, facing his questioning eyes made me want to flee; after all, fleeing seems to be what I do best. But the long journey across the ocean was for a reason; I had to face him to reveal myself, a telegram or letter would not do. I do not know why, after all this time avoiding myself, that I suddenly felt the need to reveal to my father that Butch was not the man he envisioned. Perhaps it was the endless hours staring at the ocean and seeing Giovanni’s face in every crest and cloud, in every ray of sunlight, that made me crave the harsh punishment I knew my father could be capable of. What I did not expect though, was to find him so much older and so much more frail. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“David? Is that really you? Why didn’t you wire ahead to say you were coming home?”</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“Hi Dad.” I set my bag down, my one bag that contained all of who I had become. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> My fathers eyes glanced at the bag, “I take it you are not staying?” </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“No, Dad. I can’t, at least not yet. I need to tell you something, before I lose the nerve forever.” And there it was, right there on his face, the ‘knowing’. He’s known all along and now he is coming face to face with his most haunted reality. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“David, please.” he said looking up and down the hallway. “Come inside won’t you?”</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“No, it has to be here, right now.” I could feel myself breathing and I look down to see my chest moving up and down; I gazed in wonder at how it was possible when I suddenly feel so dead. “I don’t know who I am, dad. I’m not Butch, I’m not David, I’m not even sure I’m human. Hella and I have called off the engagement. She left me when she found out….” </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">It is hard now, so hard to find the words. I practiced them on the ship, day after day, even rehearsing them with the ship steward I had befriended. He found it amusing that I planned to travel “all those thousands of miles to get punched in the face”, for he was sure all American men hated men who loved other men. “But you are different”, he said stroking my bare back as we lay there in my bunk, “you are not a man, you are a fag.” He was right. I am American and I wanted to hurt him for that; and the small part of me that was a man wanted to punch him in the face until nothing remained that could smile at me with shrewd contempt. But I didn’t, he was right; I would not be a man to my father.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I saw my father shrink before my eyes, becoming more hollow. Knowing spread across his face and he sways slightly, griping the door for support, “That isn’t the life for you, David”, his voice soft as a whisper. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“It isn’t a matter of choice anymore, Dad.”</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“You can overcome this, it’s possible you know.”</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“How can you say that? How can you even know what I’ve been through? How can you even know what it took to stand here in front of you today?” </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“Listen to me, David. You can change this,” his voice becoming desperate, “It’s happened before, to someone I know. You surround yourself with women, you bury yourself with them, then you marry and have a child and you carry on with your life, like normal people do. You can change this, David. You can change this.” </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">He looks down at his feet, using his other hand to further steady himself in the doorway. His stance effectively serves to bar my entrance should I suddenly decide to go in and make myself at home. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">It couldn’t be. What he said, what he implied could not be true. “Who, Dad, who is this….person you know who lived such a lie?” I knew the minute the words took their fateful leap off my tongue that I really did not want to know. Yet, my mind reeled and his silence spoke volumes. It was then that another horrible truth started to seep into my thoughts and I ask the question before I can stop myself. “How did my mother die?”</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“What the hell are you talking about, David? How does your mother have anything to do with this? It was a sudden illness, you know that.”</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“No, actually I don’t. I don’t know anything anymore. Did she know….about you, I mean?” I did not come here to hurt him, but suddenly I wanted nothing more than to make him suffer.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">My father’s face crumbled, the sadness now unrestrained, he begins to weep silently. I knew instantly that my mother’s illness was shame; the only cure that she knew of to escape the pain was to take her own life. I did not expect the reality of truth to hit me so hard. I pick up my bag, my life, and I leave. </span></div>
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**</div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">It is supposed to be easier now. The conversation with my father is over. My room is small, often dark, and affords a view of all the pleasures poverty has to offer. No doubt it is this view, the bleak neighborhood, which is causing the man standing in front of me to fear the future well being of the child. The nurse, sensing his unease, clutches the child closer in her arms trying to shield it from the bewilderment and angst emanating from me. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“I’m sure this comes as a great shock. I assumed you already knew.” The words the man is speaking seem to come from somewhere else. The whole scene playing out in front of my eyes seems to be happening to </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">someone</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> else.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“No. I had no idea. Hella and I parted in France. I never knew she was pregnant.” The baby turns and looks at me and then, perhaps sensing my own fear, begins to cry tears from eyes that look so very much like my own. “The child can’t be mine. Are you sure you have the right man?</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“Forgive me, sir, but I’m afraid that question can only be answered by Hella,” and the man squirms slightly, apparently uncomfortable keeping such close company with death. “We have brought the child’s, I mean Giovanni’s, belongings. It isn’t much, but Hella left some money in a trust fund to care for his needs. Hella also requested that you be given this letter”</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I see my hand reach for the letter, receive the letter and then fall back to rest at my side. “Wha..what did you say its name is?”</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">His</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> name is Giovanni. Seems a bit of an extravagant name for a child who isn’t even Italian, but then Hella was an unusual woman. Shall I have the nurse bring his bag inside while you sign the receiving papers?”</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“No!” The sound of my voice, so high and shrill, astounds even me. The nurse took several steps back and volleyed a desperate look between the man and I. He is quick, “This is no doubt difficult, but you must understand that I have a duty to carry out Hella’s wishes as defined by her will. She requested custody go to the father, which is apparently you.”</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">The saccharine smile on his face hides nothing. Hella is getting her revenge, “What about Hella’s parents? Can’t they take him?”</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">The man shakes his head, “I’m sorry to say they have declined any contact with the child. He is all yours.” </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“And should I decline? You’ve no proof that I’m the father.” The truth being there is no amount of denial in the universe that could defend against the fact that the child is the spitting image of me. I feel like a monster; this child is my flesh, my blood, and I want the man and his anxious nurse to make him disappear. “I just don’t think this is a healthy place for child. There has to be some other option.”</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">The man’s eyes grow small and hard, he does not want to leave the child with me any more than I want to take it. “The orphanages around here are full right now. There will be a bed available for him in a week. Until then, he has no one.” He stares at me, his lips tight, the muscles in his jaw working to control the anger that seethes beneath his starched, white collar. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I step aside to let them in, the nurse immediately goes to work like a little bird building a nest. And then they were gone. The room is completely silent but for the roar of my own blood pounding in my ears. “This is wrong” I say to myself over and over. “This can’t be happening.” We stare at each other for a long time, Giovanni and I; and then he drifts off to sleep leaving me to calculate how many hours, minutes, seconds would need to pass until I am free of him. One week. </span></div>
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**</div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Hella’s letter couldn’t have been more cruel. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">David, If this letter makes it into your hands then it means I have been given the ultimate freedom. Bearing this child of yours has been torture for me; it is like carrying a huge ball of shame that kicks at my insides. It is a parasite waiting to eat me alive. I thought I was free of you, free to get on with the life you came so close to destroying. I guess you got the last laugh, because it is in fact, destroyed. The doctors tell me that I am frail and childbirth might be difficult. Of course it will, I must endure it alone. That is something you gave me, David, loneliness. The doctors suggested that I have a plan, someone to care for the child should I die during the birth. You have hurt so many people and you should be punished. This is your punishment; if the child is a girl, she will be Hella and if it is a boy, Giovanni. I know what you did to Giovanni; I know you used him like you used me. I can’t feel love or the expectant joy that women feel when they are with child. It eludes me. What is there for you David? Destruction or redemption? Perhaps neither, then you will be dead like me. Hella </span></div>
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**<br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Never, not in a million centuries, did I envision once again standing in front of my father’s door. How I arrived here from the orphanage, I do not know. But here I stand, wet, cold, full of fear with the smell of feces, urine and vomit still assaulting my nostrils. Are they all that way? Does every orphan become a nobody?</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I push the buzzer with such urgency and force that I’m sure I will push it right through the wall where it will land at my father’s feet as he reaches for the door.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“David? What’s wrong? Who is this? What happened?” My fathers questions are frenzied as he looks me over, fearful and unsure of what is about to play out before him.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“I’m sorry. I don’t know what to do. I can’t bring him back. I can’t fix it. Please help me not destroy him again. I’m sorry.”</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">The fright on my fathers face dissolved. He looks at Giovanni, his sleeping head resting against my shoulder, and steps aside to let us in. “Come in David. We should finally have that talk.” </span></div>
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<br />alienbodyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16553792913801374123noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27850273.post-58900516864824189272013-09-14T11:35:00.001-07:002013-09-14T12:17:36.229-07:00Time to Start Being MoreNext week marks the 6th month anniversary of my foray into the No Longer A Stay At Home Mom arena. <br />
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SIX MONTHS!<br />
<br />
I'm not sure what I expected from the part time, a few days/hours a week, job offered to me so many months ago. The friend who presented it has an All Knowing Eye - in that she predicted the job evolving into full time and beyond.<br />
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She was right.<br />
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We're busy. We aren't just busy, we're over busy. Not only are we over busy, we're launching a new company - yeah, we're THAT kind of busy. <br />
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And, I wasn't prepared to like my job as much as I do. It's kind of annoying, y'all. Really.<br />
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It's so much simpler when you can go into the office, do whatever needs doing and whatever "doing's" you don't get to...meh...they can wait, after all...I'm just an employee.<br />
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Am I right? That's simple shit right there...easy peasy.<br />
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But, what happens when you like that job? What happens when you care whether things get done? What happens when it makes you feel all hivey and agitated when you can't get around to calling people back rigth away? What happens when all that drives you into working overtime - overtime that you feel guilty billing for <span style="font-size: x-small;">(which you often don't, because you've lots track of the hours you work)</span> because you KNOW that expanding a business <u><i><b>and </b></i></u>launching a business take oodles of money?<br />
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Yeah, you suddenly find yourself NOT just an employee, but an investor (not monetarily, but emotionally).<br />
<br />
I attended training this past week to learn an accounting program we'll use to track both businesses. Sitting in a room full of people who were much more knowledgeable is sobering. I started thinking about all the books I need to read and classes I need to take to be the Office Manager they need and deserve, all of which I don't see myself as currently.<br />
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<i>This is all related to my own ongoing self esteem and confidence issues, to be sure. However, you can't fault my logic. They could have done better hiring someone else, because there is always someone out there who is just 'more' of what you are.</i> <i>And, this is my blog so I can purge all of my feelings here...so there. </i><br />
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What they did get in me is someone who cares. I care about where money is being spent, even though I'm terrible with budgets, math and numbers - I want to learn not to be. I care when I screw something up, even when my boss says it's okay - it bothers me to the point of dreaming about it, or worse...laying awake running over every detail. I care that I can't complete all the tasks every day that need completing, I care that some customers get pissed off <i>(every business has this, no matter how great...but I still care)</i>. I'm thrilled when we win bids, even though I tremble in my shoes thinking about how we'll manage it and whether I'm organized enough to handle it. I'm THRILLED when checks come in. And I feel protective - of my boss, of the business...all of it.<br />
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I'm trying to figure out my place. Those books and classes I mentioned? I don't know whether to take the leap and start learning ALL THE THINGS, because I don't know what my bosses have in mind for me. Do I have 'a place' and should I stick to it? Or, do I do what comes natural to me and just sort of insinuate myself into the fray? Do I just go out and learn ALL THE THINGS (as is my inclination) with the anticipation they'll need me to posses those skills? Or, do I do it with the intent that if I move on at some point I'll have the skills to do so? And, when will I find time to learn ALL THE THINGS...or the energy? <br />
<br />
I answer to more than just one person now, too. With the new company launching, there are 3 bosses. My skin prickles and ignites when I think about not letting just one person down, but 3! I have no idea how they see me occupying space in their future vision of the company. I'm pretty sure they don't either, it's all so new. <br />
<br />
I like the feeling of being part of something that is growing wings and talking flight. I'm anxious for organization and a direct vision on how tings are going to work - I need definition on what my role is going to be. The problem is, it is still evolving - the ducks are being put in rows, the chickens are being counted before they are hatched...all those things that small businesses must do to get off the ground. It's exciting and frustrating and thrilling and just thinking about it now is causing a hot flash - cue tingling skin and hives! <br />
<br />
So, there you have it. All this is why I'm not writing much....or at all, really. All of this is why I'm not as active on Facebook or why I haven't picked up a book in months or why feel sort of paralyzed.<br />
<br />
My goal, for the next 6 months is to figure out what role I'll be playing in my professional life - because I have to own that, at least.<br />
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My goal, for the next 6 months is to figure out what personal goals I want to accomplish to further my creativity outside of work.<br />
<br />
My goal, for the rest of my life, is to stop putting off ALL THE THINGS I want to do for enjoyment and self improvement - take those baby steps! <br />
<br />
It's time to focus on what I want from this next phase in my life, regardless of the role others have in mind for me.<br />
<br />
Time to start being 'more'.alienbodyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16553792913801374123noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27850273.post-6368233474042828802013-08-04T13:46:00.000-07:002013-08-04T13:46:14.233-07:00A City Through My Eyes - Chicago and Cleveland<div style="text-align: center;">
BlogHer'13 was awesome!</div>
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Traveling is awesome! </div>
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And a bit of a blur.</div>
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The words I need to write a real blog post have grown wings, </div>
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found an escape via my ears and </div>
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flown the belfry.</div>
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While I work on capturing those flighty words </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>(visions of me leaping in the air with a giant butterfly net entered your mind, didn't they)</i></span></div>
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here is a photo tour of my trip to Chicago, with a side trip to Cleveland thrown in. </div>
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This is both cities, through my eyes...in no particular order.</div>
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I hope you enjoy the tour. </div>
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Oh...and...these are my images, thus the lack of image credits. </div>
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All the credit goes to me! </div>
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No, actually...Instagram gets the credit for having all the cool</div>
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photo effects that allowed some of these images to POP! </div>
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So...yeah...thanks Instagram! </div>
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<br />alienbodyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16553792913801374123noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27850273.post-50162598793098842452013-07-11T22:38:00.000-07:002013-07-11T22:40:21.862-07:00She Wondered....<div style="text-align: center;">
She wondered what it would be like</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
To not have to ask permission</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
For permission to accept</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Herself</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
For permission to like</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
What she sees in the mirror</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
For permission to believe</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
She's enough</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
For permission to believe </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
That the way she is now</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Can either be the way she is</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Or a transition to who'll she'll become </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
She wondered what it would be like</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
If she were to just to say,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
"No one gets to make the decision, but me..." </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And have the permission she seeks</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Be hers alone to give. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />alienbodyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16553792913801374123noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27850273.post-78188911010417597232013-07-07T00:53:00.001-07:002013-07-07T10:21:15.380-07:00 I just do...I'm not supposed to like him this much.<br />
<br />
Right?<br />
<br />
I mean, really....<br />
<br />
I've been married to this man for 21 years.<br />
<br />
The movies tell me that being married for a long period of time just leads to animosity.<br />
<br />
I get that.<br />
<br />
People change and become more quirky with age.<br />
<br />
Except, when you are my Hubbypants.<br />
<br />
He has the freakin' nerve to improve with age.<br />
<br />
Like, he's Scotch or something.<br />
<br />
Fucker. He's not following the unwritten rules!<br />
<br />
After 23ish years together shouldn't I be bitchin' about how much he ignores my needs?<br />
<br />
Shouldn't I be lamenting the time he wants to spend apart?<br />
<br />
Or, should I be trying to shoo him out of the house and away from my business?<br />
<br />
Shouldn't I be bitching about how uninterested he is in my being nekkid?<br />
<br />
<br />
I told him I wanted to get a Tablet for my trip to BlogHer'13...and for our anniversary he gives me a Nexus 7. I needed business cards for BlogHer'13, and after much lamenting, he does them for me.<br />
needed a fan for my office, because it's been a tad warm, and Hubbypants shows up, out of the blue, with a fan.<br />
<br />
He also wants to make sure my breast health is optimum, and thus feels he should check them....daily. <br />
<br />
He wants to go places with me. He wants to hike with me. He even wants me to go to Happy Hour with him!<br />
<br />
Clearly, something is wrong with him if he wants to spend that much time with his WIFE! Did I mention we've been married 21 years?<br />
<br />
<br />
What's wrong with him?<br />
<br />
But, more importantly...what the hell is the matter with me?<br />
<br />
Shouldn't I be less interested in getting nekkid with him? Or, even partially nekkid? Shouldn't I be uninterested in spending MORE time with him while hiking? Or running errands together?<br />
<br />
I like his company, I just do.<br />
<br />
I think he's an alien. He can't be human, because who does that? Who loves the person they committed to over 21 years ago? Who loves the person (the whole package) they committed to over two decades ago? Despite the changes - some good, some not so good. <br />
<br />
Is that even fair?<br />
<br />
I told him, Hubbypants, tonight that I was surprised that after so many years, I still liked him. I was surprised because television told me it was unusual. I was surprised because experience, other than a few select situations, told me that long term love was more akin to Bigfoot than reality. I had been led to believe that loving someone so much and for so long was fiction.<br />
<br />
It isn't, by the way.<br />
<br />
If you were to corner me and ask me to commit, then yes...I'd tell you this is the love of my life. Because, right now I believe this to be true. Right now I want this to be my forever and my always. I don't want to imagine rolling over at night and having anyone else touching my skin and kissing my lips like Hubbypants does now. I can't imagine anyone else running errands with me or traveling with me or sitting on the stool next to me during happy hour. <br />
<br />
This person is the one I want to spend the rest of my life with.<br />
<br />
Whatever life throws at me, I will carry this love I feel for him into my future.<br />
<br />
Is this what is supposed to happen? Am I supposed to love him this much?<br />
<br />
I don't know. I don't care.<br />
<br />
I just do.alienbodyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16553792913801374123noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27850273.post-88566572661783314572013-06-17T22:05:00.003-07:002013-06-17T22:05:33.372-07:00She Forgot To RememberSo, there was this girl who couldn't do things.<br />
<br />
Well, she could, but she just didn't know it.<br />
<br />
She felt as if anything and everything was just too hard and her capabilities just too soft. She knew there was this thing called Drive, a force that delivered a person from a desired goal to an achieved goal. She was sure she didn't have the directions to such a place, her GPS was pretty useless for that.<br />
<br />
And then, the strangest thing happened - she tried.<br />
<br />
She started slow and talked herself through it, sometimes through gasping breaths and the threat of throwing up everything she'd ever eaten...like, ever. <br />
<br />
She felt as if she was going to die.<br />
<br />
She's pretty sure she did, at least 3 or 4 times.<br />
<br />
She went farther, she went higher. It hurt more, it hurt longer.<br />
<br />
But she wouldn't stop. <br />
<br />
And at some point, she looked back and discovered that she forgot to remember her limitations.<br />
<br />
Now, she looks into the distance, which is like gazing into the future, and gives those limitations her best Clint Eastwood gunslinger stare-down (spaghetti western music echos).<br />
<br />
She's quick on the draw now, because she forgot to remember that she wasn't.alienbodyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16553792913801374123noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27850273.post-46589778620464055142013-06-09T11:50:00.000-07:002013-06-09T19:02:05.570-07:00BlogHer'13, Business Cards and Nekkid-nessYou TOTALLY clicked on the link because it said "nekkid-ness", didn't ya? Perv....<br />
<br />
But, seriously... <br />
<br />
Have you ever looked forward to something so exponentially that you get squishy every time you think about it?<br />
<br />
But, when you thought about it too deeply, as in the planning and details, you started to feel overwhelmed and the squishy turned to<i> "OH-MY-FUCKING-GAWD-SOMEONE-DO-THIS-FOR-ME-BECAUSE-I'M-TOO-LAZY-AND-I-DON'T-WANNA!"?</i><br />
<br />
<br />
This is exactly how I feel right now about ordering business cards and booking my flight for <a href="http://www.blogher.com/blogher-13?from=menu">BlogHer'13</a>.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.blogher.com/frame.php?url=http://www.elainegriffindesigns.com/blog/">Elaine</a>, who is also a speaker at the event, AND MY ROOMMATE *WOOT*, <a href="http://www.blogher.com/everything-you-need-know-about-business-cards-blogher-13">wrote a great post about what to include on business cards</a>. Yes,y'all, she is MY roommate...I'm going to be sleeping with a blogging Rock Star. Jealous much? No, you aren't jealous, because you know that we'll be too busy partying and that sleeping while conferencing is a myth. <span style="font-size: small;"><i>(note to self: start saving all loose change for my Lush Fund)</i></span><br />
<br />
In her post she recommends putting a picture on the card, blog logo, contact info and a brief description of what my blog is about.<br />
<br />
Ruh roh, Shaggy...<br />
<br />
...how do you condense: <i>"I'm just a girl who rambles on about nothing, creator of stories that leave people pondering the stability of my sanity, who is also slayer of non- existent zombies from an unlikely fictional future apocalypse (although zombies could happen, you don't know...you aren't a scientist) and drawer of stick figures who are often maimed in the process</i>.<i>"</i> How does one fit that onto a business card? I might need to have a poster size version made.<br />
<br />
Or, I could say, <i>"My blog theme is so secret, even I don't know what it's about." </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Whatever I do, I need to do it quickly, since there are only 6 1/2 weeks left before BlogHer'13 - my very first blogging conference evah! I'm finally 100% sure I need to go, despite moments of doubt over spending the money AND my falling off the blogging wagon. Poor Spike and Flattop, they must feel so abandoned.<br />
<br />
Sigh...<br />
<br />
For now, here is my draft, just a quick and dirty sketch. Yes, my stick self is wearing a corset and skirt, because somehow a nekkid stick figure seems indecent at a conference, ya know? I mean, children could see this.<br />
<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq73XN6YFPn0Cour6Mg4h5BLytskxsu66_Ey1FKopBQV6wPXqbyCx2HC03QuxEBY4xApCm3MG_T8Vc7ZJeouItwGFkfzq6MQeInoxtndUZ8RuZC2myNyRfagucAgAHLHVSot76AQ/s1600/Blog+business+card+logo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq73XN6YFPn0Cour6Mg4h5BLytskxsu66_Ey1FKopBQV6wPXqbyCx2HC03QuxEBY4xApCm3MG_T8Vc7ZJeouItwGFkfzq6MQeInoxtndUZ8RuZC2myNyRfagucAgAHLHVSot76AQ/s320/Blog+business+card+logo.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
<i> </i><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Thoughts? Ideas? Anyone want to draw this for me FOR REAL??</div>
<br />
<i> p.s. This whole working thing is cutting into my loafing time, like...hugely. Oh, and writing time, yeah that. </i><br />
<i>p.p.s. Whoever draws this stick figure might want to draw one that isn't about to spill her coffee.</i><br />
<i>p.p.p.s. I'm willing to pay black market prices for a new Mojo, because I seem to have lost mine.</i><br />
<i>p.p.p.p.s. I think my Mojo vanished right about the same time I stopped putting Bailey's and whipped cream in my coffee.</i><br />
<i>p.p.p.p.p.s Are nekkid stick figures really inappropriate? I mean, it's not like they have stick bits hanging out...right?Oh, that reminds me of the time my son was in first grade and he and his classmates drew penis' on power rangers. I should blog about that some day.</i><br />
<i>p.p.p.p.p.p.s. Ignore that last post script, this is just getting weird now. </i><br />
<i>p.p.p.p.p.p.p.s. I totally never discussed buying plane fare! Sigh...anyone want to buy it for me? I'll be your BFF for, like, evah. </i>alienbodyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16553792913801374123noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27850273.post-47668572673413969002013-05-21T21:45:00.000-07:002013-05-21T21:58:35.499-07:00Infinity Has to Start Somewhere"We are infinite!", She screamed, raising her hands in the air as if she were gliding on the downhill rails of the worlds most thrilling coaster. The feeling of possibility exactly like that of ones stomach trying to sprout wings and fly to the heavens. <br />
<br />
"Are we? Really? Are we infinite or are we stifled, limited and constrained?" Said Other She.<br />
<br />
She stopped to think, "Well...it <i>IS </i>easier to be told what we are capable of instead of discovering it for ourselves. It's the path of least resistance, after all...and well traveled - I'll never be alone." She lowered her arms, the thrill of just being and doing diminished by the reality of human defined 'possible' and 'probable'. <br />
<br />
"Right!", said Other She. "Failing is hard and it stings. Pride can only be found in feeling the ceiling beneath your toes."<br />
<br />
"But," said She, "how does the ceiling support itself without the floor? Isn't the base of the ladder crucial in enabling the traveler to climb to the top? How does anything begin without a beginning?"<br />
<br />
Other she just shrugged, "There are rules, you know. Don't think outside of what you are taught, it's rude."<br />
<br />
"But," said She, "who makes these "rules"?"<br />
<br />
"Does it matter?", said Other she.<br />
<br />
"Well...yes", said She, "it matters a lot. My infinite belongs to me, exclusively. It's mine. No one has the right to define my limits but me."<br />
<br />
Other she smirked, "You'll learn. Life isn't all coasters and thrills. Stick to what you know. Rules are rules."<br />
<br />
She just smiled and nodded, because she knew that in order to soar above the mountain top you have to first stand in its shadow.alienbodyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16553792913801374123noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27850273.post-29914884117420479232013-04-23T08:13:00.000-07:002013-04-23T08:13:00.546-07:00Just BreatheLittle She knelt beside Big She, "I'm sorry for what I said earlier."<br />
<br />
Big
She cupped Little She's chin in her hand, "I love you immensly. No
matter what I yell at you or what you hear...I love you more than I love
breathing."<br />
<br />
"Hey, you'll give me a double chin", said Little She with a touch of sass, but without pulling away.<br />
<br />
A
brief moment shared between mom and daugther, a quick communication to
affirm that what lay ahead will always be buffered with love and,
hopefully, humor.<br />
<br />
The small moments are, sometimes, when we hope to communicate the largest of messages.<br />
<br />
<em>I
love you, Little She...with everything I have, everything I am and
everything I will be. I love you and we'll get through this.</em>alienbodyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16553792913801374123noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27850273.post-60373738555478728812013-04-16T22:31:00.002-07:002013-04-16T22:36:45.955-07:00Take my thoughts, Please! There are just so many things in my head, so I'll dump a few of them here.<br />
<br />
1)
BlogHer, you're killin' me...please, for the love of Pete...notify the
volunteers you selected for BlogHer'13. I've got no nails left, having bitten them to
the core in anticipation.<br />
<br />
2) I need easy to use (free is good, too) software that will allow me to build a customer tracking database.<br />
<br />
3) Why, dear all that is holy, did my
mother never tell me that copious amounts of hair could grow On.My.Toes!
Seriously, do I need to tip the person who does my pedicure extra if
she also braids my toe knuckle hair? What if I add beads?<br />
<br />
4) Wanted: Ideas for a Blog Post. Will pay top dollar! And by "top dollar", I mean I'll be your BFF. <br />
<br />
5) If one is expecting a call to arrange an appointment for...say...emergency plumbing service, what sort of logic does one employ that compels one to give a contact phone number checked, like...maybe...once a day...if that?<br />
<br />
6) When buying a hybrid, please...PLEASE...buy a model with a gas pedal. <br />
<br />
7) The next person who makes me miss a left turn light because they are trying to perform a u-turn, but instead turns it into 12 point turn, <i>because they can't put their fucking phone down</i>, will find themselves cursed to an eternity of anal warts! <br />
<br />
8) The world isn't "...coming to..." anything. There has always been evil, violence, hate and destruction of epic levels. Go read a history book. By that very logic...there is an equally epic opportunity for goodness, fairness, kindness and hope.<br />
<br />
9) Why the HELL can't Facebook get it through their thick skull that I just want to change my profile picture and that I do <i>NOT</i> want to broadcast said picture to all my friends timelines as well. Just change the picture...that's it. Sheesh!<br />
<br />
10) Let's say I were traveling to Chicago this summer and didn't want to carry a laptop, but instead wanted some sort of tablet - what kind should I get? And why?<br />
<br />
11) I don't think my cats like their new food. They feel the need to express that dissatisfaction at 5:00 a.m. feeding time by meowing incessantly afterward. They do NOT seem to feel the same at 5:00 p.m. feeding time. On an unrelated note, anyone in need of 3 cats? <br />
<br />
12) Step away from the "share" button - just don't. And if you must, at least read it first. OMG, people. OH..EHM..GEEE.<br />
<br />
p.s. This post has been brought to you by the letter 'B' for 'B'itchy and 'B'ossy.<br />
p.p.s. I do believe I've expelled a good majority of my PMS angst. <br />
p.p.p.s. Please excuse me while I go shave my toes.<br />
p.p.p.p.s. Oh, like you've never.<br />
p.p.p.p.p.s. You'd think after Midol, 3 glasses of wine and Rocky Road ice cream I'd have a much cheerier disposition.<br />
p.p.p.p.p.p.s. You'd be wrong.<br />
p.p.p.p.p.p.p.s. This post was also brought to you by the letter 'P' for 'P'hooey.<br />
p.p.p.p.p.p.p.p.s. Ha! I bet you thought I was going to use a different word. Like, 'P'fft.<br />
p.p.p.p.p.p.p.p.p.s. STOP LOOKING FOR MORE POSTSCRIPTS, I'M OUT OF IDEAS!! <br />
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<br />alienbodyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16553792913801374123noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27850273.post-63357593758095920422013-03-30T12:31:00.002-07:002013-03-30T21:45:13.383-07:00And Now She Brings Home the Bacon<div style="text-align: left;">
Have you ever had one of those<i>, "This is the beginning of the rest of my life moments?"</i></div>
<br />
Yeah, me either.<br />
<br />
But, just recently I <i>HAVE </i>had a, <i>"This could very well be the next major step in rounding a bend toward a few pretty freakin' gnarly moments...dude."</i><br />
<br />
It all started with a simple text message that read, "<i>Want a part time job?</i>"<br />
<br />
And so, here I am, an employed woman. In fact, in the last two weeks I've managed not to set fire to or destroy anything major, nor have I screwed up anything significant <strike>yet</strike>. This is pretty epic...the not screwing stuff up part. The being employed thing is pretty cool, too!<br />
<br />
I know y'all have been anxious to hear about it, so...<br />
<br />
I'm providing office support for a small, but extremely busy, plumbing & construction company in the process of growing their business. They use the term "office manager", I use "office support", because the former just smacks of <i>professional </i>and <i>responsible</i>...terms I should probably look up some day, but they just SOUND scary.<br />
<br />
My boss is the fiancé of a friend of mine, who I also get to work with. It's a good thing I like her and enjoy her company! She's working on business development and together we're transitioning a business run by a single person, from his home and truck, into a business office. For the most part it's just the two of us, sometimes just me. The space is great with oodles of potential lurking in the corners. My boss(es) want to immerse themselves in the community to form relationships with neighboring businesses. Since this just so happens to be <i>MY </i>community (I live a mere 2 miles from work)...I like that a lot.<br />
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I'm already emotionally invested in this job. I want this venture to succeed. I want the job to evolve in a way I find interesting and exciting. I want their vision for the business to come to fruition. I want them to start flipping houses so I can be part of that too...wait, that's just my own personal fantasy. Never mind...<br />
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I want...I want...I want...(just ask Hubbypants, I say it a lot...)<br />
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But...I'm a little <i>(read A LOT)</i> nervous. I'm afraid my poor memory will be a nuisance (despite my compulsively writing detailed notes on every damn piece of paper I touch). I worry about my lack of technical skills or general business knowledge - despite being something I can learn, I feel disabled not having the skill base right now. Mostly, I worry that the part of my 'working outside of the home' brain that went dormant 15 years ago will remain sleepy and sluggish.<br />
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And yet, I'm thrilled to be working, regardless of the fears. I look forward to Mondays. Hey, I see you giving me stern eyebrows...yeah, I said it...I DON'T HATE MONDAYS! That isn't to say I like my weekends going so quickly, I'm not completely insane <strike>yet</strike>...so, you can put down whatever it is you were going to throw at me.<br />
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This is such an exciting time for me and the business I'm helping to grow. It's going to get (hopefully) extremely busy and my goal will be to minimize the pains that always plague growth. I've got a bazillion thoughts racing through my head at any given time, even weekends, vying for my attention. I really need to break out the steel bristled brush and aggressively scrub away the rust from my brain. I can do this, I can!<br />
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So, stay tuned for more adventures from our intrepid heroine as <i><b>Melissa - The Journey of a Thousand Thoughts: Phase One</b></i> plays out.<br />
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Wish me luck!<br />
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p.s. Please feel free to offer support and advice.<br />
p.p.s. Also accepting gifts of chocolate and wine, for moral support through this new life transisition.<br />
p.p.p.s. And by wine I mean whiskey. The big bottle. Costco carries it.<br />
p.p.p.p.s. Y'all are the bestest most supportingest peeps evah! <br />
<br />alienbodyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16553792913801374123noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27850273.post-82061893475830105572013-03-13T16:17:00.000-07:002013-03-13T16:17:00.547-07:00Adapting a DreamWhen it comes to dreams, I have oodles. I'm full to over flowing with them, so much so that they're seeping out of my ears.<br />
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Recently I've started working a few, but so many more have been filed away for "some day".<br />
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One of my dreams is to have an epic road trip. I want to drive across the country and set my feet in every state, seeing the vast countryside at ground level instead of 30,000 feet in the air.<br />
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I realize the hazards, much of which is boredom...long, long strips of road over flat, scenery starved terra firma. But, I want to see it all - the beautiful AND mundane.<br />
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Another dream is to attend <a href="http://www.blogher.com/blogher-13?from=menu">BlogHer'13 in Chicago.</a> I'm going to be right up front and say that the biggest reason I want to go is to personally hug and hang out with women I've become friends with through blogging, specifically via BlogHer. Learning something new to improve my blogging is a close second. <br />
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So, when I wrote about<a href="http://www.myalienbody.com/2013/03/all-good-ideas-begin-with-touch-of-crazy.html"> my crazy idea to have a car company sponsor a road trip</a> that would take me from my home in NorCal to Chicago, it was me attempting to fulfill two biggies.<br />
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And, <a href="http://www.myalienbody.com/2013/03/of-asking-risks-and-rewards.html">when that same post received attention from someone that could possibly make that dream a reality</a>, well...it felt within reach, even if it was a remote possibly.<br />
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Another dream of mine is to find a career. I don't have a burning desire to do anything in particular. While I have a blog, I'm not sure that blogging - as a career - is my thing. Even if it were, I don't see myself making much of an income from it.<br />
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So, when a friend asked if I'd be interested in an entry level job, something to ease me back into the world of working people, how could I not jump on it?<br />
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The job sounds right up my alley. I'd also be working with someone I like, in an environment that sounds (and looks) fantastic, with a ground floor opportunity to grow and develop the job into something more. Not only that, but the business wants to immerse itself into my community through events and general involvement. What'd I tell ya - hard to ignore such an opportunity, am I right?<br />
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And here is where dreams collide.<br />
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A cross country road trip, even if I were only going so far as Chicago, would take at least 3-ish days each way. The conference, should I be accepted as a volunteer, is roughly 4 days (including training time, travel, etc). Expecting such a journey to be any shorter than 10 days is deliriously optimistic. It would be more like a full two weeks.<br />
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I don't know if the job is mine yet. I have another person to meet, someone I'd need to work closely with - so, we need to see if he'll think I'm a good fit...and, honestly...if he even likes me. However, if this DOES come through then I need to put my dream of a road trip on the back burner. While I'm comfortable being up front with my plans to attend BlogHer'13 in July (and, it sounds as if it would be fine on their end as well), I am NOT comfortable leaving for 2 weeks after just being with the company after 4 short months. <br />
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When I started to ponder the intricacy of traveling cross country, I realized how much more would be involved. Traveling by air would be a fraction of the cost. Driving involves gas, accommodations, food - all of it adding up. And, that's just for the trip to and from. It does NOT include accommodations I'd need AT the conference.<br />
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Reality not only set it, it dug in with sharp talons! In order to afford such a trip, I'd need multiple sponsorships. Multiple sponsorships requires research, planning, calling, contacting - WORK.<br />
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All of which is a possibly.<br />
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Unless...I was working. Then, not so much.<br />
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There are people who could make this happen, but I'm not one of them. I can't manage a job and devote the hours necessary to arranging sponsorships.<br />
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And here, in the spot where dreams collide, is where they adapt.<br />
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I'm not giving up a cross country dream...nope, never. What I am doing is looking at what path will help me fulfill more of my dreams - I think a job would do that more than a road trip will. And, the epic road trip dream isn't a bust. With any luck, and careful maintenance on my part, I'll live many more happy and healthy years to fulfill this dream later on. <br />
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I'm in limbo right now, but I'll know soon enough if they want me. I'll keep my options for soliciting sponsors open, just in case. After all, there is no limit to how often we can adapt our dreams! alienbodyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16553792913801374123noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27850273.post-44832305598563599462013-03-12T22:20:00.001-07:002013-03-12T22:20:14.120-07:00A View From the TopWhile walking a hilly neighborhood with Hubbypants tonight we chatted about a trail booklet he received from our county parks system.<br />
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To my surprise, the trails we've walked recently were rated strenuous.<br />
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Really? I've been walking strenuous hills?<br />
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Hot damn, I'm a rock star!<br />
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Well, maybe like the D list version of rock stardom.<br />
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I'm sure there are plenty of hikers and exercise enthusiast who would snort while "pfft"ing over the rating, thinking it more of a brisk stroll.<br />
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But those naysayers can't take away my zen...they can't take away the fact that I've stood on the top of my own personal mountain.<br />
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A year ago Hubbypants and I started walking Communications Hill, a community near us with two pretty significant hills. The first time we walked them together I knew death was imminent. At the very least, I <i>wanted </i>it to claim me so the pain in my lungs would cease. <br />
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When I got to the point of walking the hill without an ambulance following close behind, we tackled the stairs...almost 300 of them. They never got easy, but the did get easier.<br />
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Then, we expanded our walk to include the other hill...the steeper one. Two hills, one walk...please let the paramedic look like George Clooney.<br />
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But, I never needed a paramedic. I went from stopping a couple of times up the BIG hill, gasping for breath...readY to keel over, to continually increasing my pace, stopping less and less and then...the biggest win of all...doing the whole thing with no stops. Not only that, but I can now hold a conversation all the way up AND my recovery time when we reach the top is practically instantaneous.<br />
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I am not at my peak fitness level. I don't even know what that might look like, nor if I'll ever achieve it.<br />
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But, right here...right now? I've reached an endurance level I never thought possible at this point in my life. I'm still 60+ pounds overweight and hauling every last ounce of it toward the sky.<br />
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I can't describe how it feels to turn around to see your car sitting there in the parking lot several hundred feet below you, looking like something from a Matchbox toy collection.<br />
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I never thought I'd hike over 6 miles in a day. But, I did it twice in one weekend. <br />
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I never thought I'd reach the top of a steep hill and think, "That's it? Oh...that wasn't so bad".<br />
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Some of those hills still kick my ass and I have a stream of obscenities coursing through my head as I'm walking up them. I know I've reached a new level of fitness when I can leap straight up in the air and OVER a snake slithering across the trial without stepping on it. That, my friends, is a feat I never would have dreamed possible after already walking up some really steep hills. But, it happened just last weekend. <br />
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But when I finally get to the top? It's transforming in a way I can't describe.<br />
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It burns. It hurts. It makes you want to kill the person who talked you into doing the hike. <br />
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But...when you've convinced yourself that you'll never accomplish such a thing only to find yourself the master of that task - standing on top of it - you feel as if all those other walls you've created to corral other parts of your life are not as solid as they seem. They are merely doors with knobs that just need you to turn them and walk through to a whole new level of you. <br />
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Some of you will read this and think, "There is NO WAY IN HELL I can walk up a hill, on a trail, in the woods." Yeah, you and me both. I'm not just saying that...it really was me, Hubbypants can attest to that. but, that's o.k. Your door may not look like mine. Your path may not have rocks and snakes. Those walls you think are 10 feet thick and made of brick? Look closer...they are like a Hollywood movie set. They're merely an optical illusion. It's your movie, you're the director. Where is it going to lead you?alienbodyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16553792913801374123noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27850273.post-15835410459441887362013-03-11T11:40:00.002-07:002013-03-11T12:28:13.391-07:00Guardedly Grateful NaBloPoMo day 11 and I'm hanging on by the hair on my chinny chin chin! <br />
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It's been a pretty amazing month so far. Actually, I can pinpoint it down to a pretty amazing week.<br />
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Why has it been great? Because...<br />
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<ol>
<li>I achieved a 28 pound weight loss.</li>
<li>Having<a href="http://www.myalienbody.com/2013/03/all-good-ideas-begin-with-touch-of-crazy.html"> my big crazy idea</a> post recognized by someone who could actually make that crazy idea a reality. </li>
<li>Having my <a href="http://www.myalienbody.com/2013/03/she-wore-red.html">red lipstick post</a> featured on BlogHer and spread across the interwebz by readers and friends.</li>
<li>Having a friend tell me that same post is worthy of submitting to BlogHer's Voices of the Year.</li>
<li>Having a friend contact me about a potential part time job that sounds right up my alley. </li>
</ol>
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These may not seem like a big deal to some, but they are huge to me - especially 3 and 4. Specifically, because they involve something I created, so extremely personal. And, while #1 is awesome, it has <a href="http://www.myalienbody.com/2013/03/still-bottomless.html">left me pantsless</a>, #2 still requires me to <a href="http://www.myalienbody.com/2013/03/of-asking-risks-and-rewards.html">pitch my crazy idea</a> (<i>something I'm not entirely sure how to do</i>) and #5 is just a matter of figuring out if it will work for both parties (fingers crossed). <br />
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I lead a wonderful life. I cannot tell you how fortunate I am to have the family, friends and lifestyle I have. I am astoundingly blessed.<br />
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But, those things I mentioned above? They come after a dry spell of feeling...well, like I've been in some cryogenic freeze waiting for that vague future that holds a cure for my inability to decide what I'd like to do with the rest of my life.<br />
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This past week made me feel charmed, as if I've rounded a bend and I'm now racing down the block with direction - actually knowing where I'm going. How could I not, with all those things happening at once. Weird, if you ask me. <br />
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So, it may not surprise you much to hear that I wonder if I'm dying.<br />
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I'll wait until you're done snorting and rolling your eyes at me.<br />
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Finished?<br />
<br />
Think about it: <br />
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Just before my thyroid cancer surgery and treatment I was --->this<--- close to getting my A.A. degree from a local community college. I wasn't entirely sure what career I was heading toward, but I was enjoying the process and thinking of the next step.<br />
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And now, two years layer, I'm still in a state of limbo. Not just limbo, but complete disinterest in going back to school. It's a funk that settled after surgery that hasn't lifted. I've tried crawling out of it, but I keep getting sucked in (<i>much like being pulled into Hell by invisible Hell Hounds - I *may* have watched too many episodes of Supernatural with my daughter</i>). I keep thinking I can do something creative, I've got at least a finger full of creativity in me. Then, I think..."Meh, not so much". This up and down is making me dizzy, which is hazardous when my thyroid medication already makes my head spiny sometimes. Weeee.....<br />
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It isn't just this situation. It's a lifetime of things going really well with opportunities waiting in the wings that just fizzled. So, when thrilling things happen, I start to wonder when that hammer is going to beat me back to reality.<br />
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Let's just say that I'm so thankful for everything that happened this week, especially after such a rocky start to the new year (that's a WHOLE other post). But, I'm guarded...and checking my body for strange lumps and bumps and marks...just in case.<br />
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<i><b> Come on, wouldn't you be skeptical, too? </b></i></div>
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<i><b>Have you ever felt like this?</b></i></div>
alienbodyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16553792913801374123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27850273.post-34798888889671164362013-03-10T18:46:00.000-07:002013-03-10T18:47:47.412-07:00The Perfect Shade <div style="text-align: center;">
My exhaustion is exhausted. </div>
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I'm too tired to write, but the NaBloPoMo beast must be fed. </div>
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So, I'll leave you with this - the perfect shade of red (so far). </div>
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This is totally going with me to Chicago...(fingers crossed).</div>
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<b><i>SMOOOOOCH! </i></b>alienbodyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16553792913801374123noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27850273.post-90642554630983384182013-03-09T22:03:00.000-08:002013-03-09T22:03:55.142-08:00Still Bottomless My shopping day started with two very simple missions: buy a pair of pants and a new shade of <a href="http://www.myalienbody.com/2013/03/she-wore-red.html">red lipstick.</a><br />
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The pants were a ginormous fail. Losing 28 pounds has been wonderful, but it has stranded me in the dreaded purgatory of In Between Sizes. <br />
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The Gobi desert is more habitable than living in a state where you almost fit into one size, but not quite. At least in the Gobi they wear flowing material.<br />
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I was able to squeeze into the smaller size, but squatting down to test the PSI of the seams was a bit risky. I could even button them, after inhaling and sucking in my gut so much that I swear I drained all the oxygen out of the dressing room...women were dropping like flies in the rooms around me.<br />
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The next size up gaped way too much in the waist. The giant cavern between the fabric and my skin is usually a sign that the pants will stretch beyond aesthetically pleasing within the first hour. Also, if my shirt isn't long enough then the whole world gets to see whether it is sexy panties day or granny panties marching ever northward where they'll come to rest just under my boobs.<br />
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So, new pants will have to wait until another 10 pounds gets tired of hanging around and moves on to someone else. It does have to go somewhere, you know. You may be next. <i>*I'm looking at you, dear reader...I apologize in advance*</i><br />
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The lipstick was a success! While I love the color it isn't EXACTLY what I was looking for. When my lips were oodles younger I wore a shade that likely doesn't exist today - but I'm on the hunt for something close. I'll keep y'all posted.<br />
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p.s. Whew, almost forgot my NaBloPoMo post today. Under the wire again.<br />
p.p.s. Speaking of under wire, I need a new bra.<br />
p.p.p.s. I'd rather walk willingly unarmed into a dinner party hosted by zombies, where I'm the entree, than go bra shopping. It's the damn tags, they're deadly...paper cuts hurt, ya know!<br />
p.p.p.p.s. (nope, got nothing....) alienbodyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16553792913801374123noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27850273.post-80249352984855268532013-03-08T11:38:00.003-08:002013-03-08T12:19:17.287-08:00She Wore RedIt often lay there, at the bottom of the special little pocket in Her purse, buried beneath the less cheeky colors. <br />
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She shied away from this particular color, it always made too much of a statement. The other colors dressed her in subtlety - no flash, nothing to draw attention...safe and unseen.<br />
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To paint Herself in such a flirty color implied many things - It brazenly says, "<i>You can't ignore me! I'm not invisible today!</i>" It doesn't shout, "<i>Don't look at me!</i>" like the pale mauve gloss so often given the poll position on top of the lipstick pile. Red doesn't say, "<i>I'm just a Chapstick kind of girl</i>". It stands upon her skin as a battle cry to the world that would otherwise let her pass unnoticed - it shouts, "<i>You have no idea what you're missing!</i>".<br />
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No, Red was not her lipstick of choice.<br />
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So, imagine Red's surprise when it was lifted from the bottom of the pile, given a few quick twists to expose the erect shaft of deep ruby pigment, then slid across Her lips, caressing each and every inch of skin.<br />
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Hers were not young lips. They'd seen frowns and laughter and an gloriously infinite number of smiles. Red didn't care, they were lips that deserved a day of bold and sassy.<br />
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Red vowed to convince Her more days should be spent being noticed. Red wanted Her to know that even 30 years from now, when all the crevasses on her face finally connect, from under her eyes to the tip of her lip line - Red will still be there for her. Everyday can be a red lipstick day!<br />
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Today...Red will reign.<br />
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<br />alienbodyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16553792913801374123noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27850273.post-90288045968952358852013-03-07T19:12:00.002-08:002013-03-08T08:11:27.699-08:00Under the wire Post - Santa Cruz to the rescue! <br />
I think the Kaiser vampires sucked all the imagination out of me today.<br />
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Four stinkin' vials of blood - serves me right for going so close to lunch hour.<br />
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Greedy bastards.<br />
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And I have a bruise, because I got a stabby vampire who was a little over anxious - apparently I'm irresistible.<br />
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So, to ease the trauma I went to Santa Cruz, specifically to a coffee shop that has a fabulously moist and delicious gluten free pumpkin spice bread. I'm not entirely sure I ate it - I suspect I was hypnotized and someone stole it, because one second it was there and the next I was covered in crumbs and my fingers were sticky. My theory is that my mind was strong enough to fight the hypnosis to defend my breakfast. I gave the stink eye to everyone in the place, but no one looked like they were eating...so I think the thief ran out the back door. At least the coffee place let me top off my coffee before I left. Thank you, Coffeetopia and you might want to keep an eye out for that bread stealing hypnotist. <br />
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This day? Oy...attacked by vampires and bread stealing jerk, I felt the need for ocean rejuvenation.<br />
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The seashore never disappoints. An incoming storm tossed waves at the cliffs, frothing them into tufts of whipped cream. A pod of dolphins strolled by and no surfers became a lunchtime snack for a shark (because, it seems, sharks have more manners than the damn vampires). And the unicyclist...totally awesome. Quirky Santa Cruz never disappoints, thank you for that.<br />
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Yay! I wrote a post! Now time for laptop shopping with my teenage daughter.<br />
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Oh, this day just keeps getting better and better...(snark on steroids). <br />
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As usual, my time spent reading by the ocean was sublime - there really isn't anything like ocean rejuvenation. <br />
<br />alienbodyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16553792913801374123noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27850273.post-18272821355792362432013-03-06T15:17:00.000-08:002013-03-06T15:18:07.367-08:00Of Asking, Risks and Rewards You guys!<br />
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OMG<br />
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So much happened yesterday, like many muches of things.<br />
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Well, not really...it was just one thing. But a bigish, ginormous thing for me!<br />
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When I wrote about<a href="http://www.myalienbody.com/2013/03/all-good-ideas-begin-with-touch-of-crazy.html"> my big idea to have FORD loan me a hybrid car</a> to drive from California to Chicago so that I could attend BlogHer'13, while promoting their product...OF COURSE, I never expected in many millions of years a representative would actually leave a comment. <br />
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Little old me, in my mouse hole corner of the blogosphere, was noticed by an entity that makes stuff happen! I'm still a bit "wow" over it all.<br />
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I wasn't asking with any real seriousness, I was just having fun with my post. But, if I'm to be completely honest, I wasn't entirely not serious. I know, it's a little muddled - you should be used to me by now.<br />
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I copied FORD when I tweeted the link to my blog post. So, I WAS putting myself out there with a tiny grain of hope that it would be seen. It never occurred to me that it actually WOULD be noticed. I realize that sounds strange, but it is a bit like buying a lottery ticket - you know the chances of winning are pretty much nil, but you spend that dollar anyway with the hope that just maybe.<br />
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Receiving a comment from someone that represents FORD and having them offer to let me pitch my idea reminded me of a TED talk a friend of mine posted on my Facebook wall recently (thank you, A.), because she was feeding my girl crush on <a href="http://www.amandapalmer.net/">Amanda Palmer</a> <br />
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Watch it and swoon as I did. Go ahead...I'll wait... <br />
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Do y'all see the NaBloPoMo theme of 'risk' in her talk? </div>
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To ask is to risk. To trust is to risk. </div>
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It would be infinitely easier to thank the wonderful person from FORD and then dismiss it. There is no risk in that, it's completely safe. But, what is it safe from? The word "no"? It's not like they are going to yell at me and call me an idiot for wasting their time on such a ridiculous idea. <br />
<br />
The worst that will happen is they'll say, "No, thank you." <br />
<br />
I also can't ignore the enthusiastic and positive comments, both public and private, from friends and fellow bloggers, encouraging me to do it and to write that pitch in my voice - to just be me. I thought, "Really, y'all can't be serious about this...have you NOT read my posts? How could I possibly approach a giant professional company like that as...well...me?"<br />
<br />
Again...the video...and Amanda...and asking and risk and...and...why not?<br />
<br />
Every opportunity we take to put ourselves out there, stepping from behind the barbed wire boundary walls of our comfort zone is a reward wrapped in risk. Sure, we may be shot down - "We aren't interested" can cut and hurt. But the fear of hearing those words should never outweigh the thrill of being given the opportunity to ask. Someone saw me, I'm not invisible(<i>remember Amanda mentioning that in her speech?</i>), and wants to hear more from me. That counts for much, does it not?<br />
<br />
I've rarely shied away from risks, but 'asking' is something that has always been hard for me. Just ask all those friends who offered to do stuff for me when I was recovering from my thyroid cancer surgery. "<i>No, that's not necessary, I'll be fine</i>" was my frequent response.<br />
<br />
There are often great rewards from risk and then again, sometimes there isn't and all you have is the experience. I realize the infinitesimally small chance of this idea coming to fruition, but I'm also still buying lottery tickets...so...what the hell, right? <br />
<br />
Besides, I'm no stranger to being on the receiving end of "NO!"...I do have teenagers after all. <br />
<br />
Stay tuned for more BlogHer'13 or Bust updates! alienbodyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16553792913801374123noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27850273.post-60647949447402678932013-03-05T09:59:00.000-08:002013-03-05T10:00:32.361-08:00All Good Ideas Begin with a Touch of CrazyBy now my regular readers know I'm full of wild ideas about all sorts of things.<br />
<br />
My regular readers should also be thankful I don't share all of those ideas. They are made up of the stuff that makes heads all explodey - dangerous, I am. <i>Not really, just odd and incomprehensible, but dangerous sounds much more mysterious and naughty, does it not?</i><br />
<br />
While waiting for BlogHer to publicize their call for volunteers, which they did yesterday and <a href="http://www.myalienbody.com/2013/03/blogher13-or-bust.html">I wrote about</a>, I was trying to think of ways that, should I be selected, I could afford to attend. Being a volunteer would mean my conference pass was covered, so I'd only be responsible for travel, accommodations and any special meals away from the conference, since food is also covered. <br />
<br />
In my typical fashion, I posted a status update on Facebook about volunteering: <i><span class="userContent">"I'm accepting any good luck mojo that y'all
want to send my way. I submitted my application to be a volunteer at the
BlogHer conference in Chicago this July. I'll hear by the end of April,
which is excruciatingly far away. I don't suppose anyone would like to
help sponsor my trip...I'll bake you cookies or something."</span></i><br />
<br />
<span class="userContent">I was kidding about having my friends sponsor my trip. There's no way I could accept anything but moral support. My blog isn't linked to a business of any kind, so there is no reciprocal value for them...meaning, I don't have anything to offer in return. I say this because two friends offered support - like, seriously. I really have the most wonderful friends in this or any universe. I'm truly grateful. </span><br />
<span class="userContent"><br /></span>
<span class="userContent">That being said, prior to all this, I had devised an idea for sponsorship that I thought was pretty cool. It isn't even remotely likely, but I'll share it with you anyway. </span><br />
<span class="userContent"><br /></span>
<span class="userContent">Hubbypants bought a new Ford C-Max Hybrid last month. It's a very cool little car, with buttons upon buttons that do all sorts of stuff. It's a smart car, much like our smart phones <i>(but it isn't even remotely like one of those itty bitty little Smart Cars</i>). These cars are relatively unknown...and thus...an idea was born.</span><br />
<span class="userContent"><br /></span>
<span class="userContent">I imagined contacting several dealerships <i>or </i>the big FORD giant themselves - HQ, baby - offering for them to GIVE me a car to drive from San Jose, CA all the way to BlogHer'13 in Chicago, with some stops along the way to explore this wonderfully great nation of ours. I'd dutifully track mileage, writing in-depthly of the comforts and gnarly cool features of the car (maybe not use 'gnarly'), how it navigates city and highway and how it performs on long trips - because let's face it, America...gas prices are more fickle than I am, so we need a good alternative for those of us that adore a good road trip. Once I arrived at BlogHer I would talk up the car, provided it was worthy, to anyone and everyone I met. Think of the exposure FORD would get! There will be THOUSANDS of women there. We moms are not all of the mindset that we need a mini-van or giant SUV. Although, I'd consider driving a FORD Escape, because they are darn cute and I'd look bitchin' in it (<i>I probably wouldn't use that last part in my pitch to FORD</i>). </span><br />
<span class="userContent"><br /></span>
<span class="userContent">I thought my idea was pretty inventive, having real potential to highlight the benefits of their cars beyond the typical daily commute and errand running. Am I right? Of course I am.</span><br />
<span class="userContent"><br /></span>
<span class="userContent">There was only one hitch...Hubbypants greatly dislikes the idea of me driving cross country on my own. I have no issue with it - I can stop where I want, when I want. I could pee at every damn Starbucks between here and Chicago! I'd stop in Wyoming to dig up dinosaurs, maybe sneak a piece into my pocket and take it with me to visit Sue at the Field Museum (<i>you'll have to <a href="http://www.myalienbody.com/2013/03/blogher13-or-bust.html">read yesterday's post</a> to understand</i>). Then there are the other bloggers along the way I would visit, convincing them to write about my journey, thus spreading the word across the blogosphere!! See, FORD...all of this could be yours! </span><br />
<span class="userContent"><br /></span>
<span class="userContent">Of course, I'm not limiting myself to FORD. If there were another car manufacturer interested in plugging their hybrid...welllll, have your people call my people and we'll work out some kind of deal. (<i>and by "my people" I mean me</i>). </span><br />
<span class="userContent"><br /></span>
<span class="userContent">Tell me this isn't a fantastically fabulous idea. (<i>I'm kidding, I don't want to know if you think this idea sucks</i>)</span><br />
<span class="userContent"><br /></span>
<span class="userContent">Alas, like many of my ideas...it will likely remain a dream. Le sigh.....but I'll keep thinking and I'll share those ideas with y'all. Hold on to your heads! </span>alienbodyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16553792913801374123noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27850273.post-41975846274128757582013-03-04T16:03:00.003-08:002013-03-04T16:11:27.776-08:00BlogHer'13 or Bust?Curious, I was.<br />
<br />
Curious to see how long I've been blogging.<br />
<br />
So, I built a time machine, then traveled back and back and back...landing in May of 2006.<i> (Not really, I just scrolled back through my blogs...but wouldn't a time machine be the bomb-diggity? Rhetorical question, of course it would). </i><br />
<br />
Seven years!<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.myalienbody.com/2006/05/hairless-alien.html">That first post</a> seems like an eternity ago. <br />
<br />
I'd like to think my blogging has evolved since then, but that thought just made me snort and shake my head. <br />
<br />
I've been a lazy blogger, not really approaching it as a serious interest. I must admit, I've thought about how I could turn it into something more significant. Then I think, <i>"Hell...that sounds like something really similar to 'work', which would totally interfere with my social media addiction, so...really...no thank you."</i><br />
<br />
But, if I'm going to be on the interwebz all stinking day <strike>being a creepy stalker of Facebook statuses</strike> reading deeply thought provoking journalism, then I should totally think about how to better my own writing and blog. Right?<br />
<br />
Of course. <br />
<br />
So, when my favorite place on the interwebz put out a call for volunteers to work the BlogHer'13 conference this July, I broke the sound barrier driving home from a <strike>lazy morning of having coffee with a friend</strike> therapy session, where I was counseling a friend in need <strike>of coffee</strike>. S'ok, her crisis was handled before I left her <strike>because, there was no crisis we just missed each other and love coffee</strike>. <br />
<br />
I've been <strike>insane with anticipation</strike> patiently waiting for BlogHer to announce they were accepting volunteer applications for their upcoming conference in July, because 1) I desperately want to go and can't afford the whole sha-bang and 2) I desperately want to meet certain bloggers IN PERSON that I've grown to love and 3) it's in Chicago and Sue lives there...she's a T-rex. What? You can't be surprised by that, it's me after all. People, you have NO. IDEA. how long I've wanted to see her bony ass - since I was a wee tyke...for reals! <br />
<br />
This would be a dream come true! I'm tempted to keep this a secret, so that I have no competition. But, then I think there has to be other out there like me who've made so many wonderful connections with far flung bloggers and who would love to see their faces in the flesh - and, besides...they announced it all over the damn blogosphere. I'm sure they are flooded with volunteer applications by now. However, I bet I'm the only one who wants to also go for the dinosaur. I'd bet money on that.<br />
<br />
Now the <strike>excruciatingly long</strike> wait begins until they notify all of us hopefuls sometime by the end of April. Heads up, Gmail...I'll be checking you with rabid regularity, you should limber up or something. <br />
<br />
For the rest of you out there, in the near future, should you hear a strange sound carried on the wind, like that of a howler monkey walking on hot coals, rest assured it is NOT a zombie invasion...it's just my cries of joy upon being accepted as a volunteer.<br />
<br />
Fingers and toes crossed for all of us hopefuls!! alienbodyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16553792913801374123noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27850273.post-79995374238111481322013-03-03T14:58:00.003-08:002013-03-03T15:03:14.962-08:00Hitting the Trail in Style - I'm Almost ThereMy butt hurts. Like, really hurts. The muscles and tendons and all the things that keep my legs attached to my butt? Well, they hurt too.<br />
<br />
And my feet...don't even get me started on my feet. I'm totally buying new walking shoes - tomorrow, when I'm able to move again.<br />
<br />
I WILL be able to move again, right?<br />
<br />
I was --->this<--- close to cancelling my plans to hike with Hubbypants again this morning. Over 7 miles yesterday left me feeling stiff and achy this morning, with a desire to curl up next to my coffee cup and not leave the couch.<br />
<br />
But then I started flipping through the <a href="http://www.titlenine.com/">Title Nine</a> sportswear catalog. Go visit the link, I'll wait.<br />
<br />
See? Functionally cute clothes! Everything wicks - as in, draws away perspiration, stretches in all the right places and then stretches back so you don't have any saggy-baggy areas.<br />
<br />
Whenever I walk through REI with Hubbypants I admire the functionality of the clothing, the soft and supple fabrics that are also stylish (a.k.a. no frumpy active wear). Target is starting to carry some things, but for the most part is is clearly active wear. Title Nine and REI have bridged the chasms, married the two sides and produced clothing you can look fucking awesome in, despite whatever grueling activity you are doing at the time. <br />
<br />
At least it looks that way on the hanger and in the catalog. I wouldn't know, because I've always fallen just outside of their sizing charts.<br />
<br />
How I long to wear a slinky sundress that I can walk around in on a hot day and not show how I'm sweating buckets (<i>wicking fabric is actually the best invention ever, sliced bread doesn't even come close</i>). How I've wanted to wear those cute peasant cut blouses that are also form fitting with those flouncy skirts that fall just above the knee. Everything made of that lush fabric.<br />
<br />
Oh...the fabric.<br />
<br />
So, it was Title Nine that inspired me to put on my sports bra (that I actually did buy from them), my shoes and hit the trail for ANOTHER 7+ mile hike.<br />
<br />
Oh, I put pants and shirt on, too. Just in case you were worried...I wasn't just wearing a bra and shoes. This time. I'm new to this hiking thing, I'm learning what is acceptable on the trails and I get so damn hot! Trust me...nekkidness is not generally acceptable attire for hiking.<br />
<br />
My goal is to own some of those clothes.<br />
And, not just own them, but actually be able to wear them.<br />
And not just wear them, but have them fit properly AND look good.<br />
<br />
Losing 25 pounds has gotten me closer, but Title Nine dresses are still just beyond my grasp. My next weight goal is 22 pounds away. By then I'll be inside of their sizing chart - barely, but I'll be there.<br />
<br />
When that happens, I'm buying a damn dress.<br />
Or something.<br />
Anything...any damn thing that fits, I'm buying it.<br />
alienbodyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16553792913801374123noreply@blogger.com2