Day, uhm, 2 of my mega transformation

How did days 1 go, you ask? Well... when my brother asked, I looked at him blankly as I tried to figure out what he was talking about. So, tip #1 for trying to implement 25 goals is....

Remember that you HAVE goals.  Yes, it's true. Knowing is half the battle.

That brought us to day 2.  Today was cray-cray-CRAZY for us.  I started with a clinic visit for a nutrition trial I've reluctantly agreed to do (6 ounces twice a day in exchange for political brownie points? Sign me up! Well, I said that less enthusiastically. I hate yogurt.) and ended with Ry's first Youth Conservatory class (Did anyone else hear that crash and burn? It wasn't on the news, but it was catastrophic. Apparently the 'music virtuoso' dream is experiencing a similar fate as 'soccer star.') We drug ourselves home at 7 so the boys could eat Ritz crackers (tonight's rather yummy crock pot chicken was 'too disgusting' per the non-budding virtuoso).  But in the yay-me column, I actually bathed the boys tonight.  That makes 3 times this week! I am so acing this motherhood thing.

So, we're back to the experiment.  Last night, after I finally figured out what my brother was talking about (and I wonder why he doesn't talk to me more what with all the blank staring and prolonged comprehension times. I. Am. Fascinating.), my mother learned with horror the details of this experiment.  She cautioned me to have caution.  Ha! I laughed in her face. Caution is for people who actually intend to ADOPT new behaviors.  I plan to prove that I was right to avoid expert recommendations by eating cookie dough on the couch while my children played until they fell asleep on the floor.  It's a genius plan, I tell you.  (I would have added an evil laugh, but I've had a cold lately so all my laughing comes out as an odd half-bark. I. Am. Awesome.)

Before I tell you the score for today's attempt, I need to tell you what 25 recommendations I have adoped:

Physical/Emotional Health Goals
1. Eat 2.5 cups vegetables daily: This is a cancer and heart disease prevention recommendation with good, strong evidence.  The only problem is that I do not 'like' vegetables on my Facebook page. No, we are not pals.  So, I actually paid for a meal plan/recipe service to help me with this one. It's a lot more vegetables than it seems.

2. Consume fewer than 1500 Calories per day: This is a goal recommended by my doctor. Since it's a personalized recommendation, I accepted it.  There is some reduction in risk for heart disease and cancer IF this Caloric intake results in weight loss.

3.Moderate exercise for 300 minutes per week: To quote a popular LDS book, "I hate it when exercise is the answer." However, for most health conditions, exercise is the primary health indicator.

4. A full 8 hours of sleep per night: If you look at the time stamp on this post, you will understand why I need this goal.  I love to work late into the night but I recognize that my body and emotional wellbeing pay a price for this lifestyle.

5. Do a brain activity or challenging puzzle every day: I have no idea how I'll fit a challenge into my life (isn't being a mostly-on-my-own mom enough of one?) but I am hoping to avoid Alzheimers disease, so a puzzle I must complete!

6. Clean hands, clean nose: Ha! Got your attention! Ok - it's not that I don't wash my hands. I worked in a hospital, for heaven's sake.  However, I don't wash my hands correctly.  For info on this subtle distinction, the CDC has a web page devoted to the topic. I have selected to sing "What's Love Got to Do With It" as my 20-second reminder since I have equivocal feelings about that anthem.

Professional Goals
7. Give work a full 8 hours during the workday: I have become a Queen Multitasker (a.k.a. Jack of all trades but master of none), so I'm always distracted.  I need to give work my due diligence by focusing 100% of my attention for 8 full hours on campus.

8. Arrive before 8:30 am: This recommendation is on a bundle of How to Succeed websites. It will also make the 8 hours on-campus rule more amenable to my childcare schedule.

9. Wear make-up and fashionable clothes: Women who participate in makeup and modest fashion are more likely to be rated favorably and promoted.  I could handle both outcomes but I've been lazy about both inputs.

10. Leave work at work: I hope this is possible with a full 8-hour workday.  I'm a little burned out on the work til 2 am plan.
 
Spiritual Goals
11. Read scriptures for 10 minutes daily: for increased spiritual vitality and answer response time

12. Pray on my knees twice daily: C.S. Lewis wrote, "Your mind will follow where you body leads." In the Screwtape Letters, not kneeling to pray is the first step to losing your way spiritually.  I've been lazy since the boys were born, so it's time to get back to the basics.

13. Meditate 10 minutes daily: Meditaiton has been linked to multiple emotional and health benefits, including decreasing inflammation that can cause chronic conditions. Spritually, meditations enhances the ability to connect to the divine and to create peace/contentment in life.


Parenting Goals
14. Absolutely no harsh treatment: This includes yelling, physical punishment (including my favorite painful-grip arm drag), and embarrassment (i.e. screaming at my child in front of his cousins that I have "absolutely lost patience with the non-stop whining").  I'm a yeller (not a beater, in case you were worried), so this one is high on my Seriously?! list.  It's a whole new world of parenting ahead. We will either perfect the idea of home as a refuge or my children will turn into complete nightmares of misbehavior.

15. If I say it, I have to do it immediately: No empty threats or requests I don't mean, such as "Go get ready to leave" when I'm engrossed in a book with no intention of leaving anytime soon.  According to parenting experts, once my children realize that I mean what I say, it won't take 20 minutes of shouting and threats to get Ry to put on his shoes in the morning.

16. Read with children for 20 minutes daily: This recommendation correlates with so many markers of success. Reading affinity, school achievement, and drug use are cited as reasons to implement.  My children are not fun for me to read to since they are 100% action-oriented, but maybe in 40 days we will figure out how to make it anything approximating fun.

17. Family meals: Beating out reading in the success-making correlates, family meals is the parenting equivalent of the BMI.  It correlates with everything even though no one knows why.  Our bad habit in this category is that I let the boys watch Netflix episodes while we eat.  I have 2 boys and Dave is on the road.  No one wants to talk to me at dinner, so I enjoy me some Disney Channel.  Yet, that must end.  I need to train the boys to talk at dinner. (Cue the headache.)

18. One-on-one listening time: Each child gets 15 minutes of mom attention. I can't be distracted by other concerns or the other child.  Still working out the details on this one, but it shows nice correlations with self-esteem, drug use, and high school completion.

19. Limit screen time to 2 hours or less: New research indicates that watching TV or playing games excessively actually stymies brain growth.  I love TV so this is a sacrifice for all of us, but I have to admit that I don't like how their activity and imagination flatline once the giant screen begins to do all the thinking and talking.

20. In their own beds by 8:30 pm: Mama allowed the snuggle monsters to develop.  It's nicer to have a baby body when there is no daddy body.  However, I have heard this recommendation from everyone from the pediatrician to the Today Show, so we must comply.

Home/Finance Goals 
21. Stick to a strict budget: We recently bought and remodeled a house, so we need to recover.  The budget is very tight with only $3.25 in discretionary spending per day.  I will be taking my lunch, buying liter Diet Cokes rather than buying them each day, and avoiding taking the children to any store.  The gas budget is also set and, if we run out, we have to take the bus. We aren't that financially desperate, but I like a bigger number in our savings account.

22. Create a clutter-free home: This is more than a Martha Stewart-ism.  Apparently, a cluttered home leads to increased family tension.  So, the rule is that the house must be in order before we go to bed.

Social Goals
23. Listen more than I talk: An oldie but goodie - those who listen more than they talk make more lasting friendships and are more highly regarded than those who enjoy the opposing state of things.

24. Speak only positive ideas: I am already gagging on this one, but research shows that positive people have twice as many friends as those of us who place ourselves in the realist column.  Sadly, I think I'm being funny most of the time, but it comes across as complaining.  So, Polyanna-me-up!

25. Call someone (other than my mom) on the phone each day: I am a big texter but it's cost me some relationships. I really hate the phone so I know this one will be hard.  I'm committed, but it will be hard.  Trust me, to all my irritated friends and family, it's not you - it's the medium.  

I should mention the rules for this challenge:

• I have to TRY to accomplish everything.  I had plans of making it strict that I couldn't go to bed until I finishes, but then I read the research on sleep and realized that I need to sleep. Thus, I just have to try and finish everything in the course of the day.
• No rest time until I complete my tasks.  Being lazy is my reward.
• I must post my results for each day.

That's it. No biggie.  Just 25 tasks to complete each day. Daunting, but do-able.

Here's my day 1 and day 2 report cards

 Day 1 

• Accomplished: 7,9,16, 20, 21
• Partially Complete: 3
• Not completed: 1,2,4,5,6,8,10,11,12,13,14,15,17,18, 19, 22, 23, 24, 25
• Score:  20%

Day 2 

• Accomplished: 7,9,16,20, 21
• Partially Complete: 3,11,12,13
• Not completed: 1,2,4,5,6,8,10,14,15,17,18,19, 22, 23, 24, 25
• Score:  28% (partial receives half credit)

(I am working on a more reader-friendly chart for this information, but I'm about to violate my no more than 15-minute personal stuff at work rule.  Sigh. My life is full of rules. Please note sarcasm.)

Thanks for reading! I hope your days are full of good things, too!

What can I say - after all these years, I've become a joiner.

First, I joined this club...

Then I joined this club...

Now I'm well on my way to joining this club...

DUE DATE December 24, 2009 (poor baby)

P.S. While nothing in life is perfect, I do want to go on record as saying that dreams do come true. Things that you really want can come to pass. While no one gets a guaranteed pass to happiness, you can have perfect little moments. So, never give up & never surrender, my fellow mortals.

Oh Most Callous Wife!

I'm beginning to believe that the surest way to bring on drama in my life is to make a resolution that I'm going to blog regularly!

Last Thursday night, Dave started complaining about a stomach ache. I love my husband, but he is obsessed with body stasis, meaning that I get to hear about every bodily element not in perfect working order. I'm a woman of variability, so this ongoing discussion about every muscle spasms wears me out. (Seriously, if anyone knows an occupation that requires ongoing, non-stop body scanning to check for any changes...maybe astronaut?....let me know because I married the perfect candidate.) However, since this is only one of two less-than-wonderful elements of his personality, I'm trying to learn to cope with the need to explain to me, in depth, how each system is functioning and where every glimmer of pain resides.

So, I admit, I ignored his report of stomach pain. I offered medical advice and went to bed. I woke up the next morning with no husband in bed. He was on the couch. His first words were, "My stomach hurts." Okay, I responded, it's probably food poisoning. I wished him well and left for work.

At around 11:30, I called to check on him. He had his weak voice, which I hear frequently before the body scan begins. I told him that if he feels badly, he should go to the doctor. Admittedly, I didn't say it very nicely. I was raised that your bodily pain is no one's business but your own and I could feel my mother in my head. She wanted me to say, "Go to bed or go to the doctor but stop bothering me about it. It's your body, take care of it!" My mom is wonderful but not sympathetic in times of minor illness. Still, I managed to compose myself and give him information about our insurance and the available options.

A few minutes later, he called back because his mom wanted to talk to me. She told me that he didn't look good and she wanted him to go to the doctor. I rolled my eyes since this seemed like a lot of hubbub over food poisoning. But I was a good daughter-in-law and told Husband that he should go to the doctor.

At 1:30, I checked in again between work meetings. He was still sounding weak and complaining about having to sit in a doctor's office for an hour. I decided that if he was irritated and not desperate for help, he must be making a big deal out of gas. I wished him luck.

I was sitting in a meeting at 2:30 when my phone vibrated with a message. Dave let me know that he was going to the ER. I texted back, "Do you have a doctor's order? If not, we have to pay 100% so you better be near death before you enter that ER!" I'm sure he felt very loved. He texted back that he had paperwork from the doctor. I warned him not to lose the paperwork and said I'd leave very soon and meet him at the ER. However, for the first time, I felt a little concerned.

That morning, the train I usually take had left 5 minutes early. It had been very frustrating, but I'd made the drive to work. At that moment, I was grateful for God's intervention, since the first afternoon train didn't leave until 4:30 pm. I gathered up my gear, cancelled my meeting, and left for the hospital.

Traffic was miserable. I knew it would be since Fridays are already bad and I needed to drive the most crowded thoroughway in Los Angeles. I crept along, growing more worried as hours passed with no word from Dave. His mom hadn't heard from him, either. I was getting very anxious to arrive and speak personally to the doctors.

Three hours later, I pulled into the emergency room. I entered and found my husband hooked up to an IV. Dave mumbled that he'd had morphine and a heart test. His bloodwork had come back normal except for elevated white blood cells. The initial report from the doctor was that Dave had gastritis but would confirm it with a CT Scan. Inwardly, I grumbled that we were going to be sent from the ER with a prescription for TUMS, which I'd told Dave to take that morning.

Dave left for his abdominal CT Scan around 6:30 pm. I went to find a snack and verify with the insurance that all of this would be covered. The insurance company grumbled until I told them we had paperwork from a doctor and then they grumbled about doctors over-ordering ER visits. But in the end, they said that we'd acted correctly (I hope that's true when the bill needs to be paid).

I returned to the ER in time to meet a doctor sitting at Dave's bedside. The earlier diagnosis was wrong. Dave did not have gastritis. He had appendicitis. The surgeon was already prepping for an urgent procedure, which was to happen at 8:30 that night.

We continued to wait in the ER. We waited and waited and waited. I read a smut novel someone had left behind - it was really lame but all I had. Let me tell you, that protagonist wasted a lot of effort on a chronic cheater who would likely ditch her for a French ballet star after her first child, but since she abandoned her dignity in the pursuit of "true love" I guess she'd chosen to learn about reality the hard way.

Finally, the surgeon came to speak with us around 9:30pm. They'd had a procedure turn difficult so they were seriously delayed and had decided to turn our case over to the fresher night staff. We had no choice in the matter. I went back to talk to our insurance again and authorize the emergency procedure since the doctor did not want him transported to our home hospital. The insurance company grumbled but gave permission (may it still be in effect when the charges process).

Dave went into surgery at 10:30 pm. The surgery was supposed to last 30 minutes, but it was almost 11:00pm before the surgeon came into the waiting room. The appendix had perforated, so they'd had to clean him out. There was quite a bit of leakage, so he was to be a guest at the hospital for some time.

I went home like a dutiful patient that night. By the time I got back to the hospital, I could tell that had been a mistake. The hospital was busy so Dave was getting overlooked. He was upset about the surgery, the drain in his stomach, the IV antibiotics, and generally just by being ill. He wasn't happy that the nurses had a tendency to shout, his roommate was always in the bathroom, and the nurses acted irritated about helping him to walk, which had been an order given by his surgeon. He did not want to be left alone again, ever, during his hospital stay.

We passed a good first day. We walked him every hour as we'd been told. He took his medicines on time and passed all the first day milestones. Then came nighttime. The nurses did not want me there. They wer grumpy and insisted I was making the other patient uncomfortable. I calmly explained that patient rights legislation dictated that patients were not to be kept imprisoned without access to persons carrying power of attorney. As Dave's wife, I had every right to spend the night in the hospital. I was given no accommodation and even yelled at for laying my head on the bed. The next morning, everything got worse. The nurses were convinced I was trouble. We were yelled at for walking too much and then, when we skipped a walk at their urgence, yelled at for not following directions. We were both embarrassed by the loud voices used to give us direction.

Then came my breaking point. Dave's sister had lent us a mini-DVD player so that Dave could watch movies. I plugged it into the wall, since we needed power. A nurse got in my face and yelled that we had broken yet another rule. I asked how we were to know the rules when we had no orientation to the hospital. She huffed, "Well, we told your husband when he was admitted." I laughed outright. I had been standing 50 feet away while she had supposedly told my doped-up husband, 20 minutes after surgery, all the rules of the hospital. I demanded to see the nurse manager at that point, since it was obvious the nurse and I were at an impasse.

Unfortunately, I was so exhausted from two nights of minimal sleep, that all I could do was cry through my conversation with the nurse manager. He promised me a sleeper chair, which, of course, never materialized. I spent another exhausted night on the floor while nurses huffed and yelled at regular intervals. At that point, I decided I hate County hospitals. I was feeling pretty Jekyll & Hyde by the next morning. When Dave needed me, I was all smiles. Then he fell asleep and I snarled my way through the next hour until he was up again. I was so grateful when his parents showed up to relieve me for a few hours. As predicted, I make a terrible caregiver for the infirm. I just don't have the patience.

Dave's fever stayed down all day, so we were pleasantly surprised at 3:30PM by a joyful nurse telling us we should leave immediately with the doctor's blessings. I was a little hurt by the sound of confetti blasts and relieved sobbing as I stepped out the door with Dave, and I was livid that they let us walk out and didn't even give the guy a wheelchair escort and help to the car. I really hated that hospital. I guess the feeling was mutual.

Dave's been home for almost a week now. He's doing better every day. I'm still so tired that I fall asleep randomly if I sit for too long...I'm like a little old man watching golf on TV. It will get better. I know it will. But I'm so completely tired. Maybe if I'm nicer next time he complains, I'll get a blessing to help me through the caregiving!

Just when you've convinced yourself to ignore the gnawing commitment-based panic in your gut...

What?! I'm a MEREDITH. A....a....a Meredith! I hate her! She can't be....oh....no...my commitment phobia...but...but....it's...totally justified!

*sigh*

I guess I am a Meredith.

I am....

concerned that my new theme song was written by a 15-year-old but I love the song too much to be bothered by such trivia.

The weekly summary

I'm watching the Lakers game and decided to post a weekly wrap-up. I love the I am segments because they let me be creative yet brief in my busy life.



Well, it's happened. I've become that girl. The one who dates guys and never calls back?...I'm sure the men of the world know her. It wasn't really intentional (though thankfully fortunate). My cell phone blipped out on me and erased my call log and text messages. I no longer store men's numbers - saves me the pain of erasing them at end of relationship - so all the guy's numbers were gone in one blip. I had promised Salesguy that I would hang out with him last weekend. But nope. Didn't happen. I went on a train ride with FrontRunner instead. Oh, well. This is what the rest get for trying to make it all be "in my court" every so often. But, alas, I feel badly. I was planning to hang out with Salesguy. I had my pics of England all ready. But, alas and alack - it was a no go. I have become that girl who claims she'll call and never does. As for the obvious maybe you should enter in their numbers, I reply: I will on our wedding day. Maybe. I prefer never trusting in tomorrows. I can't believe how marvelously successful dating became after I stopped pretending one date can lead to another.



But enough about that....by default, I've entered the boring date only one guy routine. FR remains a super-nice guy and he seems fond of me. But dang - I really want to play Guitar Hero. Oh, sorry, television distraction. We had a really good weekend together. The train from Fillmore to Santa Paula is a blast. It's an old-fashioned crawler train. We sat outside for part of the trip - gorgeous vistas. In Santa Paula, we saw the only working model of a wooden oil pump and met the nicest tour guide named Barry. The oil museum was so lovely - I had no idea the various aspects of drilling here in California. Barry was amazing - he gave us this wonderful tour of the upstairs rooms, which have been restored to 1890s glory. The tile and colored glass were superb. We saw ancient cash machines and one of the oldest working vaults in Cali. I was so excited to discover some close-to-home history!



After the train, we came back to the house to watch a movie and have dinner. Since I live with Big Sis and family, private moments like that are rare. We enjoyed ourselves. He's a nice person to have in my life. We passed a pleasant spring. I know there's a next date this time - we're going to Get Smart on Friday. He's been talking about this movie since we first went out in February. I never though we'd actually go together to the premiere. Life. It's kooky. So, while he's still not Prince Charming (and definitely no David Duchovny), he's a pretty good piece of life as it realistically is for me.



Speaking of FR, my nephew laid down by me on the couch the other day. FR had dropped off a present for me (see I am statement). The Philosopher said, "That FR is a pretty nice guy." I agreed. The Philosopher continued, "Of course, you can never know for sure. Maybe he's just being that way so that you'll like him and think he's a nice guy."

I looked over at the ever-wise one. "Yep. That's the big problem with dating. You can never be sure."

Phil nodded intelligently. "But I think he's nice. I only have one worry about him."

I started to laugh but encouraged him by saying, "Oh, what's that?"

Phil answered, "Well, he never seems very sure what to say! I mean - I'm 7 - and I know what to say. So why doesn't he know what to say?"

I leaned down and kissed his forehead. "This is a big concern for your aunt as well."

Ah, Phil. He remains ever-wise and too grown up.

Now on to other news. I remain employed though I have started going to burn-out counseling. I kid not. In our environment, we have an entire department dedicated to trying to keep us one step outside of crazy. I took the step inside shortly before I left for Chicago - a tantrum the likes of which I never even saw in my toddlerhood. So, someone noticed - finally - and while the workload didn't change, at least I have a dedicated dumping spot for all my anger, disillusion and stress. I think I feel better just knowing that I have someone to hear me scream. I keep a log now of all my tasks. On average, I start every day with 27 hours worth of work. I get to log all of this and submit the log monthly to my supervisor and the clinic manager. If no one responds in 3 months, then my counselor will help me to contact human resources and find a new job. It's all very strange. It's the most gentle "don't let the door hit you on your way out" that I've ever experienced. I feel better about this path than just quitting cold, though. At least I will document the ridiculous nature of my job - and maybe leave things better for the next person...or at least leave a crumb trail for them when said next employee hits this region of the darkened tunnel.

I still long for London. I really want to be a mom and a doctor. In London, both dreams could be a reality rather than sacrificing one or the other here in the States. So, I wonder. I sorta brought up the topic with FR but then decided that it's much too early. After all, his number isn't even in my phone.

School is on break for a blessed 3 weeks. I am busy writing. I have several projects that I would like to complete before homework demands my time and energy!

The rest of life continues its never-ending evolution. I have but one goal right now - to learn to live in complete honesty. I find as I do so that I love God more and the world less. So many lies in the world - drink this, sleep with that, look like her....and so many people who have decided that the this and that is exactly the God they desire. God took me on an amazing but sad journey to realize that everyone in the whole world has exactly what they want - they just don't always want it once they have it. I have even met a Simon who asked how to buy the spiritual light that I enjoy every day. But I recognize my almost daily struggle to actually keep focused on important goals and to let long-held dreams (and friends I always wanted to impress) fall out of my life. I have accepted people who please God into my world. They are a hodge podge mess that would be shunned in almost any circle but I love them and want to treat them as kindly and mercifully as God treats us all.

So - may everyone have a wonderful week! I think of y'all frequently even if I write/call only rarely. Once I get myself firmly into this new life I'm trying to lead, I'll be better...okay, probably not until after graduate school...but eventually.

Genetics. How You Vex Me.

As a dietitian, I feel obligated to find out how to lose weight. I contemplated various methods and decided that since weight gain is supposedly a "Calorie equation" that I would do a 90-day experiment of eating the "right" number of Calories. Here are my results:



Yes, after months of carefully keeping my Caloric intake at 1500 Calories or below *(okay, there were a few glitches along the way), I am pleased to announce my net weight loss of....

ZERO POUNDS

Thank you. Thank you very much.

Ah...my poetic compadre

a beloved verse from John Donne....

If 'twere not so, what did become
Of my heart when I first saw thee?I brought a heart into the room,
But from the room I carried none with me.
If it had gone to thee, I know
Mine would have taught thine heart to show
More pity unto me ; but Love, alas !
At one first blow did shiver it as glass.Yet nothing can to nothing fall,
Nor any place be empty quite ;Therefore I think my breast hath all
Those pieces still, though they be not unite ;
And now, as broken glasses show
A hundred lesser faces, so
My rags of heart can like, wish, and adore,
But after one such love, can love no more.

Brought to you by the Shakespeare was a Whiny Hack Foundation.

I'm Allergic to my Hair

*sniffle, sniffle*

"You okay?" My assistant asked.

"Huh, wha? I can barely hear. Yeah, I'm fine."

"Ah-ah-ah-CHOO!"

"Seriously. Are you sick?"

"Oh, how I wish."

*Ah-ah-AH-CHOOOOOO*

*sniffle* *blow*

"I'm allergic to my hair." I said truthfully.

The assistant guffaws. "What? Looks nice, by the way."

"My stylist. She used something new and....AH CHOO!"

*snigger* "You really ARE allergic to your hair!"

"Every time I turn my head, I catch the scetn and I snee-snee-sneee---CHOO!"

I looked over at her. I'm amused by the situation despite being completely miserable. "I suppose this begs a question. Why don't I wash my hair...."

Assistant nodded, then grinned as if she already knew the answer.

"Yup," I agreed. "Two hundred dollars worth of hair dye. To save that, I will su-su-su-FEEEEEEER!"

*snigger* "Well, then I suggest you stop turning your head."

I whip around to glare at her but...AH AH AH CHOOOOOOO!!!

"Are you okay?" A doctor entered after Assistant had left. "I can hear you sneezing clear down the hall."

Assistant responded, "I'm allergic to my hair."

Puzzled, the doctor replied, "I hope you feel better tomorrow." Then she wisely backed out of the room before I leashed more mucous molecules on the world.

P.S. I am addicted to Jericho. CBS wants to cancel it for more formulaic reality shows and CSI knock-offs. If you've ever enjoyed this little gem of a show (or - even better - have yet to discover it) get thee over to CBS and watch some episodes so they get hits or send an email. Maybe do it for me as a belated 30th birthday present.

I've Decided to Go Public

It starts as a tingle in the back of my skull. An inkling of desire. Then a flash followed by a desire. A strong desire growing with every moment. Finally, the full impression emerges and I know what I'm seeing is true.

Yes. True.

I'm a psychic.

It was high time I just came out and said it. My gift is rather specific and a little spooky. No matter where I am, no matter what I'm doing, I can tell you if there's a new Hannah Montana on TV at that moment.

When this started happening, I figured it was an accident of luck. After all, Hannah Montana is on TV at least 12 times a day. But there I was, doing dishes, suddenly aware that I needed to watch Hannah right now. I turned on the TV to see an episode I'd never seen. (No, I won't comment on why I watch so much Hannah Montana*. It's quality TV. No need to justify.) A few days later, I was in my room watching watching something grown up and supposedly absorbing when I realized I *had* to check Disney. Yep, that's right. New episode. And then today as I was eating dinner - the familiar feeling. I turned on the TV. Yup. New Hannah. Uplink working. Do I understand why The Universe has chosen me for this calling? I must just be blessed.

Sure, you could pay me for my services...but who would want to?

Quote of the day:

"I quit therapy because my analyst was trying to help me behind my back." -- Richard Lewis

*It probably has something to do with Billy Ray Cyrus saying, "I'm the hot chick's father. How do I look?" Or the fact that it's just good, clean fun. Or the enterprising Jackson who makes me laugh just like Shia LeBoe....I can't spell his name...used to do.

A Lesser Person Might Be Embarrassed...

to be 30years old and crying (just a little, I promise) after watching this video of her favorite star-crossed (and per fan reaction to the idea) and unlikely General Hospital couple....



Liason - I Can't Take My Eyes Off of You

*sniffle*

If I were only 13 yet again....

I had a massive stream of consciousness day yesterday. To amuse and organize myself, I pretended to write the day in a diary, 13-year-old style, of course.

Dear Diary,

Today I stole a magazine from a homeless woman. I didn't mean to do it. Sorta. It's just - well, it was the HOT BACHELORS issue of People magazine. And she just left it lying there. It's not like I took her coat or anything. Plus, it had this cool Harry Potter story in it. I sure hope Harry doesn't die in the next book. I would be so mad. Though, he really didn't DO anything in the last book. He just follows Dumbledore around. So, I guess it won't really matter if he dies so long as Hermione lives since she's the only one who knows the spells and stuff.

Dear Diary,

I just don't know what to do! I mean, I came to California to get famous and be on film and be super-duper popular, and date a lot of boys....and that happened! Well, mostly happened. But now what?! I just feel so much pressure...and why do I really just want a quiet place to live and a place to feel at home. Why can't I just be like everyone else and want to be fabulously rich and famous?! Do you think there's something wrong with me?! You know - like instead of agoraphobia, I have famophobia or something. I'm the MTV GENERATION, dangit - I can't just slink away into nothing at the height of my fame without a jail sentence! Though that is very Julia Roberts classy of me, isn't it?!

Dear Diary,

I think my sister is ready to get rid of me. I guess it's healthy for us both. I've been an exhausting person of late and I'm such an attention-seeker. I embarrass myself all the time. Oh - why must I be so dramatic?! Hmm...I guess writing as a 13-year-old in a fake diary is hardly proof that I've overcome that tendency, eh? Oh why oh why oh me oh my!

Dear Diary,

Today I found out that the Vedanta Society is a cult. I'm laughing so hard. Out there in the world are a whole bunch of people who just suddenly dropped me. I wondered why. Now I know! They thought I was gone cult-crazy. Oh what a joke! I was just investigating options for enlightenment. Sheesh. Wanna know the creepy part? I never could find the place. I drove for hours looking for it - and never could find it. So, in the end, I went to the temple and found that my religion had what I was looking for....but the people who thought I was in a cult - now that's a real RIOT! Once I read more on the subject, I felt icky inside and realized it wasn't for me. Shee-eesh, people. Really. Have some faith in a soul. After all, according to half of Christendom, my religion IS a cult - so why would i need another?! Ha ha. This is all very funny to me.

Dear Diary,

I really have issues with decision making. So why do people keep saying, "You know what to do, you just don't believe you can do it." That makes no sense. I'm starting a society. A Society of Clear-Spoken Advice. It'll be a cult. HA HA!

Why, yes, I DO golf...

Last Saturday, I took off with a galpal for a good game of golf. Well, she had a good game of golf. I played badly. It's my favorite way to play and why change a good thing?!

I had purchased a new putter. Here was my strategy for choosing the best club: I stumbled across the sports section at Wal-Mart while looking for Reese's Peanut Butter Eggs and thought, "Hm. I could use a new putter." Then I looked for that lovely roll-back label and picked myself up the most-likely-worst in discount putters. And I got a lot of discount putting out of that thing. I didn't complete a green in fewer than 5 putts. On a par 3 course. (Yes, golf fanatics, you may groan.)

I decided it just wasn't a green game for me. So, I pulled out my 5-iron and overshot the green so badly that I landed halfway up the next hole. "Woo! That's some power!" I said proudly, until the ball bounced back into the water I'd craftily avoided earlier in the game. Then I doubled over with giggles.

At this point, my friend glanced up from teeing her ball (and doing all that doo-dad check-the-wind stuff good golfers do) to shake her head at me. "I'm lousy," I announced. I saw her desperately grasp for a positive comment. Then I laughed harder. She fell silent, I followed suit, and she hit a perfect 9-iron shot to the edge of the green. "Sure," I said. "Lots of people do that. But it takes real skill to miss the hole completely AND find your way back to the water." She just shook her head and asked if I was going to keep score. Boy! That made me laugh!

My friend ignored me and launched an animated ramble about her goals of beating her dad one day in the family grudge match. I listened politely but realized I have no such illusions - and probably wouldn't make that a goal even if I had any talent whatsoever for the sport. I have so little competitive edge that I scare myself. I just play badly. Maybe one day I'll play better. I don't even keep score when I'm playing - if someone else wants to scratch the pad, I won't ruin their jolly, but, really, I'm terrible, why would I care to know just how that compares with par??

In the meantime, golf remains a great way to be outside and enjoy nice weather with good friends. I really don't see any point to ruin it with sportsmanship.

(Aside: Don't get me wrong. I like to win when I can. I'll even pout in order to make others play worse so I can win. I'm not above that. I'll even temper tantrum if necessary to appease my ego. But to legitimately win...well, that just takes me a really long time to pull off, so I keep the other strategies in order to maintain vain appearances while I become something other than....well, to be honest...awful.)

An Almost-Correctly Done Meme (modified)

To please Cate, who suggested I complete this meme. There were a list of titles and something about a random list from...but I'll admit that's where I stopped playing fair. The songs were chosen randomly off Radio Blog by selecting a song in a random list and then clicking that song to create a new random list. Radio Blog is definitely my new favorite fun site (see theme song on left). So, here are my semi-genuine results.

The Soundtrack of My Life

Told movie pitch style.... *some events told out of order for dramatic effect*

Picture a childhood. An idyllic one. Big river. Nice people. Cute kid. Nothing wrong can happen in this world, right?

Opening Credits: Practically Perfect (Mary Poppins)

Trouble Comes. It always does. But this kid...she's a rock, man. A rock. Known for sweetness, caring, loving disposition. Protected by this idyllic town, right? Nothing can shake her.

Waking Up: Bridge Over Troubled Water (Johnny Cash)


She goes to school. BIG mistake. Town gone. Support gone. Ground starts to shake a little.

First Day At School : We used to vacation (Cold War Kids)


Then she meets this guy...yeah, you know this story. Love plus youth equals tragedy.

Falling in Love: Extraordinary Machine (Fiona Apple)


She leaves him. For the better of all. That's how she functions. A rock, this kid. Total rock. Right is right and wrong is wrong.

Breaking Up: A Better Version of Me (Fiona Apple)


As the years go by, she grows more lonely for him. But he's gone. Maybe really gone. No way to know. The world's not that small.

Getting Back Together: Enjoy the Silence (DePeche Mode)


But the rock? There's no stopping this kid. She throws herself into life. Dancing on tables. Laughing outrageously. Clubbing across Los Angeles. She "doesn't believe in the wasting of time."

Dating: Waltz (better than fine) (Unknown)


Man after man. 47 in 5 years. She rejects some. Gets her heart trampled a dozen times. She's alive. But not...attached. And growing less with each day. Apart. Detached. Left behind.

Dance Sequence: Theme from Peter Gunn smashup with Every Breath You Take (Henry Mancini/The Police)

But despite that, she's the queen of dreams. She believes. In love. In people. In life. In giving back. Seriously, she's something that way. A rock.

Life's OK: More Than You Take (Joseph, King of Dreams)


Until. The right circumstances. The right Hurricane. Georges. On a small island where she's trying to "give a little more than she takes."

Breakdown: Funkin' 4 Jamaica (Tom Browne)


Things get a little wonky. Enter the 42-year-old, marijuana-smoking, garage band guy. He's a treat. I'm thinking Sting minus the fame with extra drugs.

Driving: Wanna Get Funky With Me (Peter Brown)


The relationship ends. No drama. It was. It's not. No one is sad. Best damn relationship she's had. The girl starts to realize life has jacked her up. And fixes it. Every bad day just a bridge to a new existence.

Flashback: Tymps (the sick in the head song) (Fiona Apple)


The rest of the story. Well. She realizes something. Her friends. Her family. That's her joy. She stops pushing. Love for her? Maybe too elusive. We see her at a friend's wedding. Happy. Peaceful. At one with life. Rejoicing in what love exists in the world as the couple expresses commitment.

Wedding: Every Little Thing He Does Is Magic (Shawn Colvin)


She gets one more shot at love. It seems perfect. But not stable. At first, they waltz together, but the music keeps changing. Her hope conflicts with her reason. Sand. The rock is on sand. Betrayal. Love eludes her. Again. Forever.

Love Scene: O' Sailor (Fiona Apple)


Smash this together. Births of babies to friends and families. Deaths at work. The whole scheme of human life. And the rock walking among it, not really part, just touching it.

Birth of a Child: I Know (Unkown)


At first. Anger. Sadness. Grief. Despair. Then, she finds her place. Her home. Alongside. Smiling Supporter. Days take meaning again. Her joy through other's joys. Lifting each baby with love, not longing. The rock returns. Breathes. Lives. Resurrects.

Final Battle: The First Taste (Fiona Apple)


Her life goes by like the words of a poem...Let me live in a house by the side of the road, Where the race of men go by- The men who are good and the men who are bad, As good and as bad as I. I would not sit in the scorner's seat. Nor hurl the cynic's ban- Let me live in a house by the side of the road, And be a friend to man -- Sam Foss

Death Scene: I Will (Allison Krauss)


In a quiet moment. The scenes of life pass like ghosts under a foreground of the Rock sitting quietly. Now old. But happy. Sense of hopefulness. Sense of joy. We meet her niece - very similar - a feeling of second chance in a new generation. A goodbye to past. Until the morrow.

Funeral Song: Goodbye until tomorrow (The Last 5 Years)


Folks. Sign on now. I smell Sundance....The niece stands amidst photo albums. Smiling at smiling faces. Lives that passed by only to leave a photo in the life that left no mark.

End Credits: I Think of You (Gregory Charles)


And that's me. Creatively expressed. With some creative license, of course. In other words, it's a story loosely based on a story I once wrote in my journal.

Even Heidi Can't Fade Me

I was standing in the entry way to the kitchen as I chatted with my sister about various aspects of our day. I was laughing and joking, just like I normally do when my world isn't spinning so fast I can't breathe. I felt calm, happy, joyful, and hopeful.

My one remaining cat curled around my feet. I glanced down at him, "So, you want a new kitten? There's a cute orange one at the shelter."

My sister glanced up at me. "It's only been 2 weeks!" She laughed, shook her head and then shouted to her husband at the computer. "Remind me not to annoy my sister. She's definitely the move-on type."

I tossed my hair as I picked up the cat. "No use crying over what can't be changed." Big Sis laughed again as she rolled her eyes.

I trudged up the stairs with cat in arms whilst I acknowledged my new personal philosophy. See - life isn't stable. It changes. Sometimes you lose things and no amount of love will call a lost cat (or guy or job or opportunity or sense of self or philosophy or anything, really) back from pursuit of better bunnies on the other side of the fence. So, why worry about it? Let it be. Instead of building castles in the sky, build one in your own backyard. I glanced around at the amazing people who love me and tolerate me and see in me someone of highest value. As I did so, I felt all that warm fuzzy stuff of Bambi (the deer, not the porn star) fame.

Happy and content at all my inner wise-stuff, I literally jumped onto my new cozy chair with the book I've been reading by Orson Scott Card. A few minutes later, a little blonde appeared. She had dressed in green tutu, Princess underwear, a shirt rolled up to her armpits and a pink fuzzy headband.

"Auntie, my cat is sooooo fat," she said in perfect Queen Bee tones.

I looked at her seriously. "Channeling Heidi Klum again?" I asked.

She tossed her head. "Yes. We're fw-ends."

I opened my arms so she could climb her little 3-year-old self into my arms. "So, am I in or out?" I pondered aloud, very concerned about my fashion state.

"You in." The Diva proclaimed.

Phew, I thought. My life really is as good as it feels. We snuggled together as we watched TV. Then The Diva pranced off to annoy her parents until well after their bedtime.

Mattel's My Home Dawg

New! Improved! Real!

The amazing....the wonderful....the thoroughly unnecessary.......

Glo Barbie Collection!!

Crowd response: Oooooooh! Whooooooooa! Awwwww!

Whyyyyy???

News release from Mattel:

Barbie has long been criticised for unexpected body proportions, multiple eclectic personalities, spiffy fashion sense full of impractical shoes, a close but asexual relationship with a guy who most people suspect is gay, and a somewhat vacant expression.

We at Mattel have, at long last, answered these criticisms. As part of a nation-wide search, Mattel has located a REAL LIFE Barbie. No - she isn't 6 feet tall with DDD breasts who topples over as she walks on tip toe. And no - she didn't spend excessive amounts of money to help pay malpractice insurance rates in Beverly Hills. But she matches every criticism placed on Barbie.

Although a full 5 inches shorter than Jayne Mansfield and other reigning sex goddesses, Glo possesses those infamous 36-25-36 measurements. How her chest cavity doesn't collapse on her hips is one of the REAL 7 wonders of the modern world! She can change mood and personality faster than shoes, but on that topic - her closet is a wonder - full of t-shirts for bands she barely knows, universities she didn't attend, and jackets she can't be bothered to wear! Her relationship with James Spader...hmm....well, no one can really explain that ongoing fantasy friendship with the possibly not-heterosexual sex symbol. Not even she, as the somewhat vacant expression tells us.

In honor of this amazing mix of contradiction (and so that the left-wing feminazis will leave us alone), Mattel redesigned the Barbie collection to better match the real beauty of the American woman (not that she's all that representative - but hopefully the feminazis will get the point.)

The New Line!

Happy Glo: Our flagship edition. Wearing a Doors t-shirt and hair in pigtails, she goes anywhere her strappy sandals will take her. She's always fully dressed with that smile.

Yoga Glo: Flexible from head to toe but not conducive to the little moves intended for tiny Chinese women. She may plow with the best, but her crane leaves much to be desired. Comes with yoga mat and programmable mantra!

Wild Glo: Don't be fooled by innocent appearances. The smirk says it all. Dressed in a deep-cut top, jeans, and stilettos....expect the unexpected with a touch of class.

Roughing It Glo: Dressed in the finest Dominican garb with her hair pulled back, a bucket on her head, and a look of determination on her face. Take her swimming across a river or on a Red Cross truck. Comes with a goat programmed to run her out of the Glo-Barbie Cement House.

Career Girl Glo: Gone is the vapid expression and strappy sandals! In her element, Career Girl Glo is assertive, forthright, energetic, capable and a little bit scary. Programmed to say "eat your veggies" in 4 different languages! Comes armed with a pager and ambition!

Not So Smart Glo: Programmed with just one response, "I don't know." This Glo has no opinion on music, apparently missed most pop culture, and would lose terribly at any sports trivia game. She can't recall political events, world history, or the name of her first cat. Guaranteed to make you wonder if Career Girl Glo went extinct unexpectedly.

Blogger Glo: Our most beloved version. Witty. Sarcastic. Self-deprecating. Sweet. Capable. Kind to a fault. Programmed with 7 favorite blog stories, including the much-lauded "Naked in LAX." Comes dressed in pajamas with computer-friendly smart-girl glasses.

Freaked-out Glo: Did someone imply a loss of freedom? *gulp* Glo runs around in circles and pushes her boundaries. She knows why the caged bird sings. Her brain whirls around and around in her head as it spits out list upon list of reasons why she's better off....anywhere but here. Link up the Friends and Buddies set so that Glo's brain can stop whirling and she can sit calmly in any situation. Comes with cell phone and IM platform.

Best Friend Glo: Programmed with 15,000 compliments and supportive statements. May not be exceptionally attractive in everyday clothes, but a good Glo to keep in your purse when you need her. She'll go anywhere, do anything, and meet anyone. That's our favorite Glo!

Launch date to be determined. Now taking pre-orders.

Dang Gina! What did I do that for?!

I was on the phone last night with SillyBoy. It was late and I had long gone to my "why am I still awake" frame of mind. I had a CD in my hand that had useless information on it.

We were chatting along when I got the bright idea to see if I could crush the CD with one hand. So, I tried it.

"Hot dang! That HURTS!" I shrieked as the CD shattered and shards cut into my hand.

SillyBoy and my sister shouted, "What?! What did you do?"

"Oh," I said, perfectly calm. "Crushed a CD with one hand. That really hurt."

My sister didn't respond. Many years have taught her to tune me out. But SillyBoy started to laugh. "What made you decide to do that?"

I had no response. I looked at the red welts on my hand and giggled a little.

"You know," he said thoughtfully. "I need a blog to write down all the stuff you do everyday."

I giggled more. Yep. I do actually tone things down for the blog....

To Dream is to Become

For almost 3 weeks, I have been having the most hilarious yet disturbing dreams. In each one, Someone comes in and asks me, "What do you want? Really want? You can have it if you ask for it." Then a scenario plays out offering me something. At the end, I'm asked again if it's what I really want. Very strange.

Most of them have been downright ridiculous. There was the one where I inherited a garden gnome who planted a rose garden for me. Another where Ed McMahon hired me to carry big checks - and if the people didn't sign them correctly, then he and I split the cash from the check. And my personal favorite - where I won the lottery.

This is funny because my religious leaders discourage playing the lottery and the Church won't accept donations from lottery money. So, I don't play. But in my dream, I was watching the Powerball draw. I'm fascinated by the machine. One of my early, early memories is watching the machine on TV and feeling compelled by it. In th dream, I was indulging this continued amazement with simple technology. The numbers were drawn. Then the Powerball came out.

It had no number. Just a name. MY name.

The phone rang. It was the lottery commissioner. I told him, "I don't play the lottery. I can't be the winner."

He became flustered and told me that the money had already been deposited in my bank account.

"Well, I don't want it," I retorted. "I can't pay tithing on it, so I don't want it."

He started to yell at me. "You have to take it! We already used it to buy big, expensive houses for every member of your family! Your name was on the ball! It's yours! Take it!"

We argued for several more minutes but to no avail. The money was mine. I could not give it back and if I donated it all to charity "the IRS will come and take away all your favorite things" the lottery commissioner assured.

I informed the Someone wandering around my dreams that I most definitely did not want that scenario.

it's said they can move mountains....

Having recently learned that my breasts have once again helped someone to achieve a long-held dream, I decided to write a little story of my past regarding the glorious beginnings of my love affair with the girls....after all, they're superheroes!

The Girls Sure Can Tote

A long, long time ago, I lived in the Dominican Republic. A little less long ago than that, Hurricane Georges came to visit. He was a terrible houseguest. He hit the island at 150 mph, stopped for 12 hours, and left after he'd eaten everything. My happy little village had been desecrated. While we all agreed that we'd never invite Georges over again, we still had cleanup to do.

As Americans, it was assumed we knew more about stuff than we did. Actually, we knew less. We were rather worthless. Couldn't even build a simple home out of tin cans. Really. I still can't. It's not in my American genetic code, I think. So - the Red Cross put us to work "assessing the damage"....or, in accurate terms, riding around in vehicles so we'd stay out of trouble and not die, thus invoking the wrath of the American CIA, who everyone believed had sent us there in the first place.

The only problem with the great riding around plan was that it left us little time to do the daily business of living - a task very difficult after a hurricane. With no electricity, washed out bridges, and increased levels of bacteria in the water and soil, obtaining water and food was no easy task. We had used up most of our money within the first week, so by the second week, we had to do for ourselves, just like the rest of the population.

It's important to note that *I* am a baby daughter. The first commandment to baby daughters is: Thou shalt do no labor if able to be done by anyone else. I was understandably disconcerted by the idea that I would have to walk the mile to the river several times a day to tote my own water, wash my own clothes, and beg for food from the passing relief trucks. What would my daddy think?! Would I be allowed home again?!

As I pushed a bucket onto my head to undertake the journey back to the house, I mentioned to one of my American friends that "several people seem to have cars taking 50-gallon buckets back to the village."

She scoffed. "Well, if you find a car, we'll take on that program."

I smiled. I owned better than a car. I owned breasts. Very, very nice breasts. I wonder what my breasts can do, I thought as I complained loudly about the uncomfortable trek up the hill to our house and how much water I was losing so it would take years and years to fill the 50-gallon bucket we had waiting at the house - a bucket, I reminded my friend, that could be easily carted in a car.

We got back to the house. My friend rejoiced in her fortitude. I changed my shirt into something much tighter. Then I quietly grabbed my bucket and led the trek back for more water.

I hadn't taken 5 steps when I heard a whistle. I turned, looking innocent as I pulled myself straighter, letting the shirt do my work for me. The car vrooomed up to us. "Chicas!" the man yelled.

I smiled shyly, "We can't stop and talk, gentleman. We have to tote water for a 50-gallon bucket."

I hadn't finished the phrase before 3 men were getting our bucket out of the house and into the car. My friend looked angry. "It's good for the people to see us be just like them!"

I rolled my eyes. It was good for this people to have water. Besides, I had a plan to help everyone else, too.

We got our bucket. I flirted outrageously in gratitude. Then I grabbed my little bucket and headed back down the hill.

"Chica!" came the yell. The car pulled up. "What are you doing? We just got water!"

I opened my eyes very wide. "Do you think I could leave my neighbors without water? I have to go and help them."

The car made runs for every house we could until nearly sundown. I leaned over the car door, allowing one last peek at the reward the generous men would never get. "I'll see you in a few days?" I suggested coyly.

They nodded.

We never toted another pail of water during the two weeks the power was out.

I got food, too. Same story. Different neighbors. Same shirt. Despite my friends' criticism, I never felt a moment's guilt. Work is a means to an end. Breasts are the same. Does it really matter as long as it served the people?

My Terrible Confession

I'm afraid you'll be ashamed when i tell you what I've done so recently.

One day, I realized something I had not suspected. It seems I use a great many staples in the doing of my job.

Yes.

It's true.

I'll give you a minute to process.

So - I noticed that I go to the supply room several times a week. Now - it should be noted that in hospitals - nothing is done if there aren't several forms filled out and several authorizations given. And that's how I got my staples. I asked. I signed. I got my staples.

Then - one day - as I needed yet MORE staples....I was at the copier. And there was sitting there a most peculiar thing. An unguarded box of staples. Right there. On the desk. Tempting me. Saying, "Take me! I come without forms! No authorization required! And who will know?! I am but one lowly box of staples."

And so I fell. I stole those staples. I signed no forms. I got no authorization. I just took.

It's very sad. But I am very happy.

Now when I need the umpteen million staples I use daily, I just reach into my drawer. And find those blessed staples waiting for me.

And that, dear reader, is today's horrifying confession.