Still Bottomless

My shopping day started with two very simple missions: buy a pair of pants and a new shade of red lipstick.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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'm looking at you, dear reader...I apologize in advance*

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.

p.s. Whew, almost forgot my NaBloPoMo post today. Under the wire again.
p.p.s. Speaking of under wire, I need a new bra.
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!
p.p.p.p.s. (nope, got nothing....)

Hitting the Trail in Style - I'm Almost There

My 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.

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.

I WILL be able to move again, right?

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.

But then I started flipping through the Title Nine sportswear catalog. Go visit the link, I'll wait.

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.

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.

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.

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 (wicking fabric is actually the best invention ever, sliced bread doesn't even come close). 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.

Oh...the fabric.

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.

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.

My goal is to own some of those clothes.
And, not just own them, but actually be able to wear them.
And not just wear them, but have them fit properly AND look good.

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.

When that happens, I'm buying a damn dress.
Or something.
Anything...any damn thing that fits, I'm buying it.
 

A Hike, The Ocean and Not Dying Today - NaBloPoMo Day 2

Yesterday I wrote about figurative risk.

Today?

Literal - as in, I almost died kind of risk.

O.k., not really. But, I could have died...if you consider that death can happen at any time, especially when it is super inconvenient and it would have been TOTALLY inconvenient today...especially for me. 

I went hiking with Hubbypants today.

Historically, hiking has been a risky event when we do it together...because, we don't seem to speak the same language when it comes to things like distance and difficulty.

He'll say, "It isn't that hard and there's only, like, one medium(ish) difficulty hill." What he neglects to say is that he considers "medium" a mountain that takes us from sea level, through the troposphere and onward to tickling the bottommost level of the stratosphere. (Dude, I got an A+ in my college geography class, I know this shit).

O.k., not really - the part about Hubbypants (he isn't that extreme), but I totally DID get that A+ in geography.

However, Hubbypants' idea of difficult and my idea of difficult really are beings from different solar systems.

Hubbypants is training to hike Mount Whitney this summer, which...knowing him, he likely considers a medium hike. When he isn't doing training hikes with his buddies, he likes to hike the local trails with me. I've been walking lots of hills, so they don't scare me as much as they used to, especially when I already know the terrain of our hike. When I don't? I get a little nervous and contact 911 in advance so they can start warming up the 911 chopper to airlift me out.

But today? Today I took a risk and agreed to a hike because 1) it involved the ocean and 2) I'm insane and I love Hubbypants and he makes me like doing stuff with him, despite my efforts not to. I think he's slipping something into my coffee.

Well, it totally worked in my favor and was a fabulous hike. We traipsed over 7 miles with NO HILLS. I know! Fucking awesome!!! Although, I do want to go on record saying that I was totally willing to walk some hills, because they've proven to be ass shrinkers and...well...mine still needs some shrinking.

I'm so glad I took the risk and put myself out there, willing to face whatever incline lay in my path...and potential certain death. Let's not forget how close y'all came to losing me today - those cliffs TOTALLY could have given way, sweeping me out to sea to become a hearty snack for Jaws.

But, I'm a survivor, I am.

I'll leave you with these images of our day - commence with the jealousy...

 And so it begins...

It looks as if the cliffs are thirsty and swallowing the sea!

I sent Hubbypants in first, 'cause I'm not an idiot.

I know I can't outrun the Kracken, unless its busy eating someone other than me.

Sometimes, sacrifices have to be made.

I love you, Hubbypants and I would have totally missed you!

He survived, I guess the Kracken wasn't hungry. Whew....close call...

Rugged California coast

Poor wittle rock...all alone on the beach, no one to play with.

Anyone else see the squat little face wearing a top hat as it rises from the sea?

No?

No one sees that?

Not even just a little, like if you squint your eyes and look at it sideways?

What if you do all of the above AFTER a shot or 3 of tequila?

Still no?

Yeah...um...I don't see it either.

As soon as Hubbypants was done hogging the view,

I went out there to look. 

Which, when you have a touch of vertigo, can be just downright stupid.

See, taking risks and living to tell the tale. 

Risk

Where will it lead you?

Risk Schmisk - Diving into NaBloPoMo

I am the worlds best ignorer. I can ignore things on an epic level.

Clutter? Where? I don't see any clutter.

The cat puked...again...? I don't see anything. 

Oh, you mean THOSE dirty dishes? Where'd they come from?

Then, something comes along that disrupts the force of my superpower and makes me pay attention, like this month's NaBloPoMo. NaBloPoMo is National Blog Posting Month, and the idea is to write a daily blog post for the entire month. On BlogHer, NaBloPoMo is perpetual, like...every month is National Blog Posting Month. Everyone seems to be o.k. with this, despite the fact that BlogHer is also INTERnational.  I totally vote we update the wording on this.

But, I digress....

THIS month's NaBloPoMo theme is RISK.

I was going to post the definition of RISK according to dictionary.com, but damn...someone was having a bad day when they wrote the definitions and was being a total Debbie Downer: risk of war, risk of injury, risk of death. Sheesh, it's like a black hole opened up and sucked out all the happy!

So, I'll define it myself:

Risk - doing something which scares the pants off of you. 

See, Dictionary.com - this is NOT depressing. Terrifying, yes...but NOT a total downer.

I am a huge fan of taking risks. That doesn't always mean I do it myself. I often like reading about risks OTHER people take, especially when they are successful. I don't like reading about risks that end tragically. However, a risk that falls flat on its face, but ends well despite the crash? Yeah, I'm o.k. with those as well.

Are you with me so far?

All of my references to RISK are not physical. When I talk of RISK, I talk about the theoretical - where you remove the barbed wire that prevents you from stepping out of your comfort zone. Once you do, there are perimeter risks. Most of us are comfortable with small risks, posting a blog update daily is one of them. Once you move past that mine field, there are more topics to explore with riskier results - what will my readers think of me if I reveal more of myself? I don't me me, literally...I mean the community of bloggers who write about life in general.

Being genuine is a risk. Telling someone you keep a blog is a risk. Writing about a deep place inside ourselves is a huge risk. Exposing ourselves is a risk (this is one of those risks that is also literal - exposing unmentionable body parts to people on the street is against the law, so think before you  flash).

I attempt to do all of the above with some regularity, except the physical exposure...which I'm sure hubbypants will feel compelled to comment on.

I don't usually  tell people I have a blog. I have my blog link as an automatic signature on my email, but I often erase it when sending email to people I don't know (sometimes, even to people I do know).

I don't know why. It's fear, I suppose. Fear of being thought of as ridiculous, despite my love of all things ridiculous. While I love being wacky, I don't REALLY want people to think I'm a complete wackadoodle. Quirky and randomly whimsical - yes. Bat shit crazy - no.

Of all the risky things I've done in my life, revealing to a stranger that I write a blog shouldn't even be on my RISKY radar. But it is. And, because of this month's NaBloPoMo theme, I've decided to call myself out and face my fear.

I'm taking on the blogging challenge this month - 31 days of blog posts. I'm challenging myself to be less reluctant to share myself with people I don't know. I'll have to RISK being thought of as weird and awkward to some. Perhaps others will think of me as doing the back stroke in a pool of awesome sauce.

NaBloPoMo...here I come!

When Words are like Ninjas

I recently lamented, to anyone that still listens to me, about my having pieces of a story I was unable to make whole.

It happens frequently, an idea slams my brain leaving me unable to focus on the task of living, instead filling my thoughts with potential beginnings and endings. I'm good at that - bookend thoughts, without any real filling.

It also started me thinking about how I create what I call a story. It begins as a glimmer, something fluttering in on tiny fragile wings, hoping to take a breath and become flesh. I've written a number of things I call super short stories, which in reality are likely just drafts of a story - words flung onto paper because they were just too fidgety for me to keep inside my head until they matured. They aren't really stories yet, they could just linger in this stage forever. Well, actually, only until I wake up the next morning and forget everything. So, these ideas do, apparently, have a shelf life. 

Beginnings are my specialty, I start things like a boss. It is the follow through, in depth thought and completion where I falter...so, like all of it really. This brain fog that settles in, refusing to evaporate, doesn't help. I feel as if the completion to my ideas is forever out of my grasp.

But I still try, because I cannot escape the words, those little ninja acrobats that bounce around in my head, and I've come to think of myself as a Story Starter. Maybe I'm someone who writes a draftory (draft + story = draftory...it's brilliant, I'm a genius) and offers it up to the world, sparking a story idea in someone who isn't bound and gagged by their soggy brain. Someone who can actually put a story together. Do people pay for this sort of thing, draftories?


The creating part is so frustrating, especially for someone like me who is so UN-trained in  the art. The idea spills forward like a flood, I edit all the misspelled words, glaring grammar errors (while ignoring those that I deem cute) and then hit 'publish'. That's it. What results is whatever people perceive it to be.

However, it's really just a draft. It needs fermentation, to bubble and toil and be made just right. I have little patience (or skill) for that. And, besides...it is the danger zone. I've hastily written down great story ideas and then let them sit to contemplate. I edit - and wait. I edit some more, because I've done some thinking - ALWAYS a bad idea - and then edited some more. Now, my story resembles nothing of its former self - it has now become Frankenprose, a monster story that I don't like anymore.

It could be I've been impatient, yet again. Maybe I'm not giving my edits enough time, I'm not fermenting the changes long enough to evolve from a tart, juicy thought to a smooth finish. Perhaps.

I feel as if I'm bound within a glass box, where I see the end - but can only dream of it. My stories deserve a writer who can pump oxygen into them. Not all of my ideas are good, but some of them are. Alas, we may never know.

I'll leave you with the latest idea that's been plaguing my brain. It is still a draft, a story in its infancy. We'll see if it grows up some day.

Stairs

Every day after school this is where Gracie stops, the 6th stair. One foot tentatively touching the 7th, one foot up, one foot down - straddled between what is and what may be.

Every day she hesitates, steadying her breath, going over the plan: who to call first? Her best friend or 911? To call a friend means a comforting hand when the paramedics arrive. The one friend who knows everything, who knows how hard it is for mom to make it through some days. The one friend who was there for Gracie through each attempt. The one friend who knew Gracie's pain from Mom begging her not to tell anyone about what she tried to do, explaining them away as accidents, the mishaps of a klutz. Mom could be so persuasive, pleading like a heartbroken child. She was, really, so very heartbroken. Something was so wrongly shattered in Mom that no amount of love or good grades Gracie showered upon her would bring light to her eyes - only shadows lurked there.

One more step and a turn of the knob. One more step to know if fates will be changed forever and whether two people will finally be set free. A turn of the knob and quiet shout, "Hi mom. I'm home. Was today a good day?"

Juicageddon Day 2, 3 & 4 - Or, How I Almost Died

O.k., obviously I'm not dead. {unless I'm a highly dexterous Zombie who's fingers have not yet atrophied).

But I was almost dead!

Well, not so much.. But, if you think about it, we could die at any time - it's not something you can actually predict. So, yeah....

Perhaps the truth is that I was no where near death, but might have 'felt' like I was. A smidgen.

And so, today's post will be to tell y'all how my Juicing challenge is going to hell in a hand basket, like the express bullet train to hell. 

Day 2 was fine, I went through the day feeling hungry, but physically doing o.k. I was run down, feeling a bit tired, but nothing that slowed me down too much.

My breakfast and lunch consisted of:
Sweet potato
Carrot
Pear
Apple
Cucumber
Celery
Ginger

This was THE tastiest juice yet! I really liked it, but alas did not save any for Hubbypants to try. Sorry, Hubbypants. Love you!

I'll skip the rest of the juices I made, because it's B.O.R.I.N.G. Other than to say, don't juice Swiss chard, unless you enjoy drinking things that taste like lawn clippings that turned to the dark side or holding your nose while you drink. I'm still gagging just thinking about it.

I started feeling a bit run down the evening of day 2 and ended up slogging through day 3. I stuck to the plan of just juice, but the night of Day 3 did me in.  While sitting on the couch, playing on my laptop, I felt as if my brain did a reboot - things got twirly, as if a giant troll picked up my house, spun it around quickly and set it back down. I had to go to bed after that. (let's note, here, that Hubbypants has been doing perfectly fine...the bastard...Love you oodles, sweet of my heart).  


The morning of Day 4, still feeling a bit woozy, found me inhaling three heapinglyginromouslyhumungous soup spoon size bites of leftover soup before leaving for an appointment. Said appointment took much longer than I expected, so I was HON-GRAY by the time I got home. I then whipped up some juice for lunch, which...I think...actually evaporated before it hit my stomach. The run down feeling, achy tummy and blah feeling persisted, so I ate two heapinglyginromouslyhumungous spoonfuls of peanut butter. I didn't even care about potential gluten cross contamination - shoveled that shit right into my mouth. At least it was a smaller spoon than I used for the soup. (have you ever noticed how much peanut butter you can fit on a little spoon? I'm equally adept with Nutella). I drank my dinner juice, thought I was doing fine, until that sneaky woozy feeling started to come on. So, I said, "Screw it", and had more soup. Slightly more than the morning, but certainly NOT what a normal person would consider a serving. Poor Hubbypants, I sat right next to him while I ate it. It might have been a passive/aggressive attempt at getting back at him for doing so well.

How well IS he doing, you ask?

Oh, he's doing fine. Dandy, even. He isn't even feeling hungry. It is merely because I love him so dearly and that we don't have enough life insurance on him to keep me in the princess lifestyle I've grown accustomed to that I don't kill him in his sleep.

To round out my rapid descent into Hell is the glasses glass (singular...that's my story, sticking to it) of tequila I sipped last night. Apparently, soup is a gateway food. What? I just enrolled my daughter in the homeschooling program through our school district. She's in 9th grade, so it isn't like the work is easy. Did I mention that I'm the 'teacher' according to the district. You would deny me tequila? No...no, you would not.

Besides, tequila is 'natural'. It is 100% agave after all. I think that is considered a vegetable, right? A vegetable that has, for all practical purposes, been juiced...and fermented. Fermented stuff is good for you.

Anywhooo...I'm going to wrap up with some thoughts, because all the stuff above didn't involve any brain power - pretty much like most of my blog posts.

• Juicing is a pain in the ass.
• Juicing takes a huge amount of effort as well as produce.
• Planning is super important for anyone planning to bring juice to work. Hubbypants needed a breakfast juice AND a lunch juice, plus a snack juice. 
• We FAILED on planning a snack juice. Big time. 
• Everyone is different, but for us we should have been drinking AT LEAST 4-5 twenty ounce glasses of juice. AT LEAST. To get enough calories to not feel woozy and out of sorts, I think closer to 30 ounces per juice would have been wise. Hubbypants did fine on 3-4 sixteen ounce juices a day, but I did not. 
• I got sick of juicing, the actual preparing of the juice, 2 days ago. Too much work for a long period of time.
• Ease back into solid food with small, nutritious meals. Going the veggie route for a couple of days is probably the best choice. You certainly wouldn't want to cancel out all the effort of several days of fasting in one meal!

Conclusion:
Yes, I would do it again. My experience with our very first fast will help me prepare much better for future fasts. I'll certainly plan to juice double the amount to make sure we are getting enough calories. Losing weight is great, but losing it from severe calorie deprivation isn't good, since it will likely come flooding back. I'm going to work really hard to keep off most, if not all, of the 9 pounds I lost this week.

Also, I do think juice (or even green smoothie) fasts are great. It is a challenge to disengage ourselves from food and can also help us gain a bit of control over cravings. If the volume of work, or buying a juicer scares you, there are alternatives...like purchasing prepared juices (and not just a giant jug of orange juice).

Whatever you do, read...read...read...to understand how much you should consume, what the side effects might be and to listen to your body. I did, but fell short.

That's it, my descent into hell is complete. I'm not unhappy about it, I'm pretty sure I was destined to live eternity there anyway.

p.s. You may have noticed there is no day 5. Shut up, someone will hear you. I'm hoping no one else notices.
p.p.s. The chicken sausage and egg I ate this morning was practically orgasmic.
p.p.p.s. Hubbypants is STILL sticking to plan. Because he is awesome, a natural at it even.
p.p.p.p.s. I hate him just a little bit.

Juicageddon - Day 1: I'm Alive!!

We lived!

Dude...

I miss food.

Day 1 of the juicing fast was fine, except that we lost a soldier. Three of us went in, only 2 came out to plow ahead toward Day 2.

My daughter caved, she couldn't take it. After going all day she melted down and ate a bagel with pepper jack cheese.

I can still smell it.

And then she ate a bowl of Chocolate Cheerios.

I can still smell those, too.

S'ok, because it just means that I only need to buy enough veggies and fruit for just Hubbypants and I to continue this fast for 4 more days.

I need to buy a damn farm. The amount of veggies and fruit needed to make enough juice for at least 3 meals, plus more if we are feeling fragile, is staggering. I'm kind of glad my daughter dropped out. Cha-ching, baby! Oy.

However, so far everything I've created has been drinkable - not that we wouldn't choke it down if it weren't, no way are we wasting all that money nutritious gold.

Day 1 started with a 16 ounce juice made of:
Kale
Blueberries
Blackberries
Red pepper
Carrot
Celery
Apple
Cucumber

Lunch was a 16 ounce Berry Upbeet smoothie from Jamba Juice - made with beet/veggie and berry juices, nothing else.  It was tasty - but boy, something with sherbet in it would have been divine.

I spent the next hour and a half salivating every time we walked past the food court. Only crazy-ass people go to the mall during the first phase of a fast. While my sister-in-law enjoyed her lunch, I drank a venti chamomile tea from Starbucks. And it sucked donkey balls I was totally happy and satisfied with that.

The rest of the day was spent drinking various herbal teas and drinking gallons of water, 100+ ounces to be exact...enough to fill a damn swimming pool. That sloshing noise is me walking through the house.

When Hubbypants got home from work we walked for 30 minutes - up hill - before making our dinner juice. I made it up the hill, despite my deprived state...weakened from hunger, struggling for each step. O.k. not so much, but my tummy was rumbley and someone nearby was making something that smelled really 'effing yummy.

Dinner juice was:
Broccoli
Red & green bell pepper
Cilantro
Spinach
Apple
Celery
Orange
Cucumber
Avocado
Ginger

It was...fine. It tasted like a glass of veggies and fruit, so I guess I'm doing something right. Although, if I were to make it all taste like a chocolate milk shake? Well, then...I'd market that bitch and be richer than J.K. Rowling, those guys who founded Facebook and Microsoft and all the oil sheiks in the Middle East. I'mma get right on that.

As for how I'm feeling?  Fine. I'm hungry and I feel like I want to eat - like, chew something - but, I'm not feeling bad. I've got energy, no headaches or feeling faint, etc.

As of this morning I was down 4 pounds from yesterday's morning weight. That means that my body has expelled every ounce of liquid I consumed. I counted my eleventybillion trips to the bathroom toward my daily aerobic activity. Although, I must say I have not experienced the...um...cleansing...part of the fast yet. I just know there is another 2 pounds - AT LEAST - of horrid toxicity hanging around in my intestines and colon. Apparently my body is being a toxic hoarding jerk. Whatever, I'll just drown it again today and show it who's boss.

So, there ya go, Day 1. I'm now into Day 2 and...well...you'll just have to wait until tomorrow.

And So She Agreed - NaBloPoMo Begins

Big She wasn't feeling it, the whole writing thing.

Little She thought Big She was being a lazy-pants, just sitting there staring at all the unfinished drafts piling up and looking pitiful.

So, when Big She was occupied with the day-to-dayness of that thing called 'The Doing of Stuff that Needs Doing', Little She signed her up for November NaBloPoMo '12.

"Big She had done it before", rationalized Little She, so she put on her Growed Up panties and told Big She.

Well, Big She being the drama-lama that she is went all batty in the belfry, yelling such things as, "And where am I supposed pull inspiration from? My [censored](insert your own 3 letter word here)."

Little She could not be detoured - no, she was a tenacious little [censored] (insert your own 4 letter word here). So she said, "But it's like riding a Unicorn, once you do it you'll never forget! So, get back on your cone headed beastie and ride...or, write...write like the wind!"

Big She really couldn't think of a reason NOT to participate and, really...Big She wanted to avoid further discussion with Little She, because it was just getting too weird.

And so...Big She agreed to give NaBloPoMo a shot. A day late.

p.s. - This Blogger is not opposed to colorful 'adult' words, but since some people might be reading for the first time it seemed like a good idea to encourage participation from the audience.

p.p.s. - Yes, I'm always like this.

Midlife and Tattoos: Why I Ink.

No, I am not barreling at the speed of light toward a midlife crisis, I'd like to squash that idea right now.

Yes, I realize that at 40-something many people are removing their tattoos not getting them.

No, I am not desperately clinging to my youth by pretending to be edgy and cool - I'm ALREADY edgy and cool, just ask my kids and then ignore their snorts and eye-rolling.

Yes, I may possibly be out of my mind, but the crazy is what keeps y'all coming back for more so I'm  unleashing a whirling dervish of it here in today's post. You're welcome.

I am getting another tattoo. 1 + 1 {will soon} = 2.  (pfft, who says I'm bad at math)

Saturday I have an appointment with a tattoo artist to realize an image I've carried in my head for a long time. I'll be armed with printed examples, several of them, and a whole bunch of vague ideas of what I want. With any luck, Mr. Artist won't hang up his stabby-inkgun-thingy forever when he's done with my consult. Check out my inspiration wall.

Why? Why am I marring my body forever? Again.

I suppose saying "because I want to" isn't enough of an answer, so I'll try and explain.

I've wanted a tattoo since I was a teenager - way, way back in the day when parlors were few and far between and the only people you saw exiting them were likely on a first name basis with the booking officer at the local jail. Where I grew up the tattooed teardrop next to the eye was all the rage - a favorite of the gangs, who were usually the only ones sporting ink. The tramp stamps, tribal bands, sleeves and torso/back covering murals were virtually non-existent - at least they were not on public display.

Yet, I loved the simple tattoos I did see and I've watched the craft evolve into a true art form over theses many years. Call me crazy (if you haven't already, you know you want to), but I love the idea of using skin as a canvas. Also, too...it is incredible the amount of skill and talent necessary to create a work of art on the human body. Tattooist, good ones, are amazing.

I know, I know...your fingers are poised over your keyboard, ready to regal me with all the virtues of not marring my body for the rest of my personal eternity. Here, let me save some time - just visit this link to the Mayo Clinic and it will cover all the basic health risks. Yes, there are more, I know. And, you can research the risk for contracting AIDS and such via tattooing on the CDC website, but I think you'll find the risks are just as great, or greater, in...say...going to the dentist. Yup, through a clean reputable tattoo parlor the risk for illness is very small.


The biggest risk of tattooing? Society - mainly the perception of me they'll form once I show inked skin.  In other words, if my ink is in a highly visible spot, getting a job might be THAT much harder.

Societal perception, as a whole, is very negative toward The Inked.  But I want to challenge those stereotypes and preconceived ideas - ideas formed through word of mouth, not real experience with an individual. We form our ideas based on outward appearance - you are less likely to trust the teller at the bank with your deposit if you can see lots of inked up skin. So, companies ask their employees to cover them up. Isn't that person still the same under their clothing? Does dapper attire make a person more respectable, responsible and trustworthy? For heaven sake, our politicians and smarmy bank executives who've bilked oodles of money from people wear suits and 'respectable' attire! I don't know what their skin looks like under their suites, but I'm willing to bet it isn't covered in tattoos (and honestly, I really don't want to envision them nekkid so soon after eating breakfast).

I want to challenge you to think of that heavily tattooed (or not so inked up) person as someone who can help balance your checkbook, not just your tires. I want you to think that person is able to manage a successful business or care for your children, not just serve up perfect foam atop your cappuccino. The number of tattoos does not translate to a lack of brain function or propensity toward crime, manual labor or living a lifestyle on the fringe of society. Many of you already know this and I'm likely preaching to the choir.

But some of you don't and will no doubt tell me that it is a bad idea to join the ranks of The Inked. This post is to acknowledge that your concern is valid and to thank you for it. It is also to let you know that I fully understand my one person crusade will not change eons of negative attitudes toward tattoos.

I love the way ink looks on the body, maybe not the scary and gross ones, but generally...I love them. As my skin ages, the tattoo will morph and age as well. Some day it will likely become a wrinkled mess, I realize that. Have you seen the skin of old people? It is already a wrinkled mess, often filled with liver spots and bruises, because old people bruise easily - that is just what happens to our bodies, all of us.

If I'm lucky, I'll go into my twilight years with much of my memory in tact (I hope), so when my grandchildren ask what that mark on my skin is, I can tell them that it was once a beautiful butterfly that reminded me of all the people I loved who battled cancer. "And the other blob, grandma? What did that one mean?"  That was a compass, each way point bearing the initials of my family, so that no matter where I might roam or what direction life would take me, those way points always point toward people I love - people who hold the true meaning of 'home' to me.

When I'm 80 and my skin decides to make my ink more of a puzzle than a portrait, I'll still know what they mean. I'm o.k. if they won't look attractive, I'll be 80 - I'll be farting in public, wearing an adult diaper and pondering the early bird special for supper at 3:00pm. With any luck, I'll be conspiring with my grand kids to give their parents gray hair, stealing the car keys to go on a joyride or giving my own children headaches when I try my hand at shoplifting for the first time.

Hmmm...perhaps these tattoos DO lead to nefarious thoughts and actions. Well, I've got another 40-ish years to come up with a few doozies!

Please stay tuned for the next installment of Melissa Ink's, where you'll {hopefully} see pictures of my next memory in the making.

Peace!

It's That Simple

There was a time when I wondered where my blog fit. The blogosphere has so many categories, but at first it just didn't seem like my corner of it had a niche.


But it did. There are lots of blogs that drift along, discussing bits of this n that - just sort of meandering through life.


Then I started to wonder, as I read the "this and that" of other blogs, how insignificant and pointless my words were. Was I really brewing up a batch of drivel and serving it up on my blog?  Do I HAVE a point? Am I striving to communicate anything specific to the world?


I don't know.
Maybe?
Sometimes?


So, what am I here for?


There are plenty of blog posts about writing for oneself and writing for the sake of writing. I do both of those things. But...but...I don't want to be out here all by myself! Who wants to write JUST for themselves? I guess there are people that do, and that is fine...to each her own. And really, I DO write for me, yet I also write to connect. I write with the hope that someone out there will 'get me' and want to continue reading 'me' and...and...maaaaaaybe even get so far as to comment and interact.  Even if they don't ('get me', that is), then at least I hope they keep coming back to marvel and shake their heads and wonder, "What the fuck??", all while experiencing a fit of giggles.


Yup, that right there...THAT. IS. WHAT. I. WANT.


I am capable of more and there will be times where I feel the need to fire up the serious cells in the brain, flex those writing fingers and dig a big deeper. But, truth be told, there are plenty of other bloggers that do a much better job of it.


So, I choose to *mostly* stick with the simple, substance free approach (substance as in: substantial material, not anything naughty -with the occasional exception of Bailey's in my morning coffee(s)...yes, plural).


I think it is the April NaBloPoMo that inspired me to ponder the 'weight' of my blog and what I'm trying to communicating here. There are so many blogs to discover, so many new voices joining the ranks daily, that it made me question whether some of my readers would stick around if I were not giving them meaty enough topics or giving weight and substance to my words.


And then I realized what utter nonsense that line of thinking was. Some readers will come and go, that is just par for the blogging course. But, my core group of readers will stick around, because there are enough serious bloggers to give them heavy topics and keep them firmly rooted in reality.


So, what am I here for?


I'm here for when reality gets to be too much, when that brow knits itself into a knot or when you feel that you are forgetting how to smile and *snort* a giggle out of your nose.


THAT...is what I'm here for and THAT is what I want to communicate to the world. (Except if you blow snot out of your nose while you *snort*...that ISN'T why I'm here. O.k. that isn't entirely true...that would be rather funny, but it isn't my GOAL.)


Happy NaBloPoMo Day 2.

Wordless Wednesday 14: Writer's Block

Click image to enlarge for your reading pleasure

Won't you be mine?

Haunted by Drafts

In the middle of the night gremlins sneaked into the computer and put up a marquee with throbbing strobe lights and HUGE, GIANT arrows that point directly to the 'Drafts' section of my blog.

All 27 of them - in their unfinished glory. Pathetic, really.

They've now been whittled down to 18.

Before you fret about the recently disposed of, let me tell you that they were not words of merit.

I've been told never to delete a draft and I really understand why. Those thoughts were, at one time, urgent enough to document. But now, not so much.

Of the 27, some were completely blank or duplicates of other published blogs (false starts, if you will).  Some merely had one word, or a single phrase - just not enough umph for the real estate they took up. Don't mourn for these lost ideas, they were never meant to strut across the page. Sometimes that just happens. 

So that leaves 18, of which several teeter on the precipice, waiting for the delete button to send them to their eternal rest. Before they go, I'm giving each wannabe blog post a moment in the spotlight - a little credit for having sparked a flame of inspiration.

Here lie the Eighteen Blog Posts That May Never Be - along with their birth dates.  I'm sorry, Ideas...I meant well, I really did.

1. Ode to P!nk lyrics (11/3/11) - I intended to write about how her lyrics inspire more than anything from with Dr. Phil (who, creeps me out and makes me feel all throwupy). 

2. "The work of art is a scream of freedom"(11/6/11) - I love this quote, but after one sentence, I just couldn't figure out how to take it further.

3. A poem (11/18/11) - I wrote a damn poem. I don't like poetry, but sometimes words come at me...all lined up in poem form, mocking my hatred of them. But I can't seem to delete it, because it isn't terrible. It is about the friendships/connections we make with people we have never met face-to-face.

4. A Facebook rant (12/4/11) - "Repost this if..."  A plea to copy/paste in your status if you agree...etc. For example, "Most people are too selfish to repost this..." or "People who don't repost this have no heart..." Yeah, that's me alright, Ms. Selfishheartlessbitch. Nails on chalkboard, that is what these post remind me of. I guess I don't need to blog about it now...check that one off the list.

5. What is a blogger? (12/14/11) - I Googled the definition and even wrote over 1/4 of a page. I don't think this one is going to make it. This idea has been done to death already by much better writers.

6. Mom clothes (12/29/11) - Self image, we are what we wear, yada yada yada...but, I can't bring myself to delete it, because it has a grip on me and I might need to finish it. We'll see.

7. Writing without looking (1/5/12) - something like a stream of consciousness, but without actually watching what you type. I did it, turned off the screen let my fingers loose. (Heading toward delete.)

8. Ribbons (1/7/11) - At a party I was asked about my tattoo, which has a butterfly and cancer ribbon. The assumption was for breast cancer, because that is what we are conditioned to think.

9. Magic & Hope (1/11/12) - Magic & hope through words. I think. I'm not sure where this one was going. It's just weird. You're not surprised I wrote something weird, I can tell by the look on your face...that I can't actually see, but I bet it is there anyway.

10. Black holes/White holes (1/11/12) - Weird was the theme for the day, since I started writing this 'story' just after #9. Don't ask...I just...don't really know.

11. Passwords & Money (1/17/12) - To Captcha comments or not? To allow advertising or not? Eh...

12. Big vs. Small impacts (1/17/12) - I really, really have no fucking idea where I was heading with this. Sometimes I wonder about myself.

13. Angst (1/20/12) - Just so much of it, everywhere...especially Twitter. Holy hell, peeps just spewing cynicism because they like the sound of their own voice. Oy. This one will likely be wearing cement shoes for an imminent swim with the fishes. Sorry, Angst I just don't think I have this rant in me anymore.

14. Right vs. Wrong (1/20/12) - Me witnessing a shoplifter and then doing nothing about it. Yup. You heard that right. I suck. I couldn't bring myself to have the grocery store crew scramble after the homeless guy. It was wrong. I suck (again).

15. Food, INC. (1/23/12) - This movie is to blame for making grocery shopping harder. Oy.

16. Bee dream (2/1/12) - I've only dreamt about bees once before, during they RAI treatment for my thyroid cancer. This second dream was unwelcome...negative association and all that.

17. Gibber Jabber Zombie Stuff (2/2/12) - It has Zombies and other stuff, I think.

18. Whine (2/8/12) - That about says it all. Me, whining about my smoldering skin and what the hell is causing it. 

There you have it. This list doesn't even include some of the stories I've started writing - stories moaning to be finished or put out of their half-life misery.

I could just ignore the 'Drafts' tab, I should....but I can't, ya know? I think I either need to give them a voice or silence them forever. I anticipate half of them, or more, falling in to the latter category.

Is your Draft folder like mine?

What do you do about it?

p.s.
What do you think I should finish?

p.p.s.
There isn't any thing else. I just like typing "p.p.s."

p.p.p.s.
But not as much as "p.p.p.s."

p.p.p.p.s.
O.k., I'm done now...for reals.

p.p.p.p.p.s.
Not really.

Wordless Wednesday 13: Hitting The Pavement

Click Image to Enlarge

Sunday: NaBloPoMo Day 5 & A New Plot to Kill Me

NaBloPoMo: The February Edition is on Day 5 and I've had very little time to write this weekend.

It's also Super Bowl Sunday, which I could care less about. Maybe even less than less.

But, what I do care about is the party that we'll be going to and the great people we'll get to hang out with and the food and the wine and...I'll tolerate the football for all of the aforementioned.

Before I head off to shower, I'd like to revisit the possibility that my husband is trying to kill me. This morning we walked some hills...the fatal cardiac event inducing kind of hills. It was his idea....to walk these hills. This isn't the first time Hubbypants has tried to kill me. You can read about it here: Of Mountains and Murder

That's all I have for you today. I'm going to shower now and try not to slip on the slick tub...I think Hubbypants is oiling it down, making it extra slippery. It couldn't possibly be the fact that it needs to be cleaned.

Happy Sunday Y'all!

The Stream of Consciousness that Wasn't

There is a day of the week when Bloggers unleash a stream of consciousness upon their keyboards - coming up with really brilliant, entertaining and read-worthy stuff.

Today isn't that day and this isn't that blog.

But, I've got nothing else to write about (despite having 26 - TWENTY SIX - drafts of mumbo jumbo saved), so I decide to see what happens when I just type and type and not really give too much thought and credit to what comes out.

Possibly one of the worst things I could ever attempt to do.

I might even publish this unedited, in all its raw rawness (and not like rah rah sis boom bah).

Or not.

It all might come crashing down now that I had to stop writing to pick up a deposit that missed its target - in other words, the cat missed the litter box. As in I had to pick up poop. Off the floor. Right next to the cat box. The cat? Yeah, she was scratching THE WALL to cover up the poop ON THE FLOOR. Don't ask.

And when I sat back down to write some more, I noticed the big pile of kitty puke and undigested cat food. Upon the floor. Next to where I sit.



And now? I'm half way through the page and running out of stuff to say.

My stream of consciousness is more of a trickle, like that leaky faucet in the bathroom that just drips, drips, drips insanity into your head until you take a sledge hammer to that infernal noise.

There are oodles of thoughts coursing through my head, yammering & vying to be first in print. It's possible I might have had too much caffeine today.

Oh, as for the caffeine vs. decaf conundrum, I've decided that adding MORE Bailey's to my coffee is a better option that switching to decaf.  The flavor of decaf is too weak. If my coffee isn't scratching and clawing its way out of the cup, then it isn't coffee.

I'm going to need another can of whipped cream as well.

Because apparently I'm including my grocery list in this stream of conscious writing. And the whole idea of whether this is conscious might need to be looked at, because I'm not so sure. Mostly it's random. And mostly all this typing means that my coffee is getting cold and my whipped cream is melting and SOMEONE really needs a shower and to do something more productive than sit here typing useless ramblings.

Are you rolling your eyes and thinking "WTF?" yet?

 Perhaps I'll try this stream thingy again when I'm less weird more coherent.


p.s.
And really, you didn't expect that I'd publish without at least a spell check.

p.p.s.
Did ya?

p.p.p.s.
I'd really like to find that recipe for Toasted Marshmallow Martinis.

p.p.p.p.s.
And yes, that was plural on the martini, on purpose. Come on...it's toasted marshmallow, duh!

p.p.p.p.p.s.
I'm not usually like this, I do hope you'll come back.

p.p.p.p.p.p.s.
Yes, I am. Come back anyway.

p.p.p.p.p.p.p.s.
NaBloPoMo Day #3 - by the hairs on my chinny-chin-chin...whew.

p.p.p.p.p.p.p.p.s.
Now, where are my tweezers.

Let's Go!!!

Two of my favorite words have been floating around mi casa the last couple of days.

Road Trip

Aren't they lovely, those words? So simple...and yet so BIG, or small...I guess...depending on the number of miles between where you start and where you end up.


If you've been reading me for any length of time you know of my desire to travel.

I've written about my Wanderlust and of hitting the road for a little Asphalt Rejuvenation.

My daughter and I love to watch travel shows and fantasize about going EVERYWHERE.

So, you can imagine how discussing a possible road trip to Seattle with Hubbypants would have my knickers in a bunch (but in a good way).


When I was a kid my grandparents would take me road trips in their motor home. My most vivid memories are from our stays at R.V. parks where I would covet the U.S. travel maps stuck to the sides of other R.V.'s. 

 Picture from: www.signsoflife.net/rv-travel-map.php

How I longed for one of these. A simple blank map with outlines for all the U.S. states - a rather unusual thing for a kid to long for, don't ya think?

The idea is to fill in the map as you visit each state. I loved seeing half full maps. Oh, the full maps were beautiful...all filled in with the colorful state stickers. But the quarter or half full? They hinted of what was to come and I found that ever so mysterious and exciting.

Fast forward oodles of years and I have no motor home and no U.S. travel map sticker. But, I'm over it (not really).

I STILL want one of those maps, but now I want to put it on this here blog. I'm on a mission to fill in the blanks and discover the wonders my country has to offer - and then explore what lay beyond the border. Like, perhaps, visiting these bookstores.

All that will take money...lots of money. That reminds me of a little story I wrote, My Little Secret. 
But it's just a story...no, REALLY it is! I wonder how much money those kind of writers make??

Anyhoooo....So, Hubbypants and I are still in the deciding phase, figuring out finances and such. However, my mind has already charted the course, fueled up the car and packed the necessities - my brain has already left the building! (Wow...I pretty much wrapped that up and handed it to y'all with a bow...can't wait to see the comments that arise from THAT statement).

Ah...open road. If this does happen, on the day that we leave, I'm going to jump in the car and shout:

"NORTH WESTWARD HO!" and fire up Willie Nelson on the iPod...

What did you covet as a kid? 

Were you a map geek, like me?