There I was, sitting astride the Monster in the paddocks when he up and quit on me! And only after two sessions. I checked everything: he had been fed and fueled; he was fully charged; he had sufficient fluids. What was a girl to do? I got off and then was embraced by an entire team of men, desperate to give me what I wanted- the ride of my life.
Men whom I’d never met opened it up, took it apart, poked, cajoled, and prodded to no avail. The sexy beast was determined to scorn me. I think maybe I’ve been neglectful. And they do need so much attention, these Italians. I relinquished control and have lost him momentarily. But when he comes back, I will love him all the more.
He will never know that I remained faithful despite the Japanese rolling out in front of me, begging to be ridden fast and dirty. After all, I am a lady so I stayed by the one with whom I came. It did inspire me though to consider that maybe I have more than one need, which in order to be satisfied, will require more than one arrow in my quiver. And so, I pictured what it would be like to ride a Ninja as I lay in bed replaying the events of the day.
And I think I had a sort of epiphany…it’s all about body positioning, looking at where you want to go, and throttle control, which reminded me of skiing. All of a sudden, it dawned on me…I love to carve. And to do that on ice is different than powder skiing, thus requiring a different tool. So I pictured myself with a lightweight, easily maneuverable, and responsive Japanese version and have decided that yes, it is okay for me to have more than one.
Duc won’t mind. He was my first and there is just something about that Italian that is so sexy so I will always return to him. However, his scorn taught me something valuable: With or without him, I must seek my own bliss. Because in that place, I am the best version of me.
Nearly two decades ago, I had the opportunity to sing a duet with my then 4-year-old daughter at the La Paloma Theatre in Encinitis, California. We were both taking piano and voice lessons from Miss Peggy Lebo at the time. Or well, I was taking lessons and Aziza was playing along with me. So when it came time for a recital that was also a fund raiser, Peggy proposed that Aziza and I sit down and bang out a song that we would sing together from Oliver and Company. I said, “No”. I just couldn’t do it. I could not get on stage and do anything, much less sing or play the piano. That stage fright kept me from doing a lot of things.
But I was heartbroken. How pathetic was I that I was unable to squelch my fears enough to embrace the opportunity to do such a thing with my little peanut who so desperately wanted to sing with mommy. She still performed…with a band and everything. Watching her stand up there with a microphone bigger than her body and sing “Castle on a Cloud” was such a gift and the memory still floods me with pride and joy. And how lucky was I to have that sweet little thing turn to me in the midst of it all, cup her hand in a wave and say, “Hi Mommy!” The best ever!
Now this many years later, it is she who is coaching me through a voice lesson and the audition process. Belting out “Maybe This Time” while we walk down the street on our way to get a cocktail takes me back to the shared piano bench and lesson that came with a cookie afterward. What a blessing.
The audition was okay. I sort of bombed it. But I laughed and had a great time. And no, I did not picture everyone in their underwear like Marcia Brady. Instead, I tried to be as good as I could and as delightful as possible so as to make the experience fun for the panel of people watching me dance and listening to me sing. If nothing else, they will remember me for making them smile. And I am grateful to them for making me feel relaxed and welcomed.
Wouldn’t it be nice if every time we challenged ourselves, we had a support system like I did with my daughter who helped and encouraged me, as well as came alongside to see me through? Isn’t that what life is about? Getting out of our comfort zones to try new things, growing, and becoming better, more empathetic, and courageous people is what makes the journey exciting.
I may not get a call back, but I won all the same. Whereas a fear formerly paralyzed me, now courage, strength, and hope have inspired me to strive for greater things for myself. And the next time she asks me to do a duet, you can bet your bootie that I will say “Yes!”
Altogether and to the tune of “I Feel Pretty”- “I feel icky, oh so icky. I feel icky and blecky and gray!” Okay, that is all I’ve got. I am sure there is some medical condition that goes along with my symptoms. WebMD says either appendicitis or a strained muscle. Now if I had stools that looked like little fingers, it could also be colitis, or something like that. Regardless, it is totally my fault, I am certain, and is definitely a result of the prescription I’ve given myself to create a bigger and bolder me.
As I mentioned in “Serving Size, My Ass” some months back, I’ve been doing a bit of an experiment. Though not stuffing my face with quarter pounders, mostly because I am terrified of eating at establishments where they have to remind their employees to wash their hands after wiping their asses; oh and I don’t consider “beef product” to be acceptable for human consumption (Yeah Andy, I hope you are reading this!), I have been eating as much and exercising as little as the average American 45-year-old woman. I’ve reached two conclusions: genetics and lifetime habits give us the bodies our personalities inhabit. That works for me but some of you poor suckers out there are doomed. Best to kill yourselves now. Oops, just kidding. Unless you are nearly 100, you still have the lifetime habits thing to work for you. So get on it!
We don’t choose to whom we are born, though Hollywood and uber rich people, who have the good sense to know that they are entirely unattractive and ought not to procreate filling the world with mini-me’s, have introduced sperm and egg discrimination, an unnatural selection, if you will. For the rest of us, we’re stuck with the couple who fucked each other. In the memorable words of my then 6-year-old, “The daddy put his penis in the mommy’s vagina and his sperm chased down her egg and got it.” And if they were fat, knock-kneed, and hairy, good chance you too will look like a troll. But as I said, lifetime habits… and a good wax job will help a lot!
And what are some of these habits? Well Grandma Leone taught me to drink a glass of water first thing in the morning, which I do, as does my daughter. At some point that habit will affect genetics, I am sure. (I just had a very disturbing vision of a kangaroo pouch developing where biceps are that collects water. Don’t ask me where the water will come from but you must admit that the placement of the pouch is handy because immediately after drinking you can wipe your mouth on your forearm.)
And Grandpa Nick was a lifetime gardener who taught me the indispensable worth of growing a home garden from which one can harvest the vegetables at the time they are ripened with all of the delicious micronutrients and enzymes at their peak. My mother and her parents insisted that salad is something to eat in addition to cooked vegetables, as well, reinforcing the habit of eating raw and colorful foods daily.
And let’s not forget the importance of moving the body. I have seen firsthand what not doing that will do as my mother has become quite sedentary the last ten years. She actually broke her foot getting up to turn off the tele. And to think that our neighbors thought it dangerous for us to be skateboarding off the roof! But truly that has been the most painful part of this process for me. Sitting still is an art form; being slothful is gross. So upon my return last week to what would have been an hour a day of exercise, something anyone can do, even if in increments throughout the day, I thought I’d jump right in. Well let me tell you, moving a body that has not really been moving for six months is a bit of a chore. But if you’ve always been an athlete, it is relatively easy to get back on that horse. Which is what I did and most likely the reason I have now been laid up doing nothing for three days. My strength and muscle memory did not account for the stiffness and rigidity of my ligaments. Damn! Hello 45-year-old body, you suck!
Persistence and perseverance are key. Blown ACL and meniscus, broken leg, broken foot, torn hamstring, dislocated shoulder, broken tailbone are injuries I’ve rehabilitated from and other than being a human barometer, I’m no worse for the wear. However, after this little injury and the last one, oh yeah the one when I broke my nose the first day back after breaking my tailbone, I am going to try walking the horse before galloping or even trotting. After all, there is still plenty of time to jump fences for all of us. We just have to get there one step, habit, and sometimes faceplant-at-a-time.
But in the eternal words of Rob Schneider, “You can do it!”
One serving of this sweet, delicate “Queen of almonds” provides 70% of the recommended daily allowance for vitamin E. You know, the one that your body doesn’t produce but is an antioxidant that protects and repairs your skin! And they are so yummy! Plain or flavored, I find them to taste, well…sexy!
Antioxidants are agents that neutralize the oxidant effect of free radicals, which are molecules that damage collagen and cause skin dryness, fine lines and wrinkles. Free radicals are atoms with an uneven number of electrons, and when they form inside your body, they steal electrons from healthy cells like the ones that make up your skin. This can cause a damaging chain reaction, and that’s where antioxidants like vitamin E come in to play.
Almonds are also great sources of healthy fats, protein, and are gluten-free. They are a dream food for people with diabetes, those trying to control weight, and people with any hormone-related concerns. A handful a day will stave off hunger, regulate blood sugar, and reduce LDL- the cholesterol you don’t want.
Currently, I am in love with rosemary garlic-flavored ones, as well as curry-spiced, both of which you can find at Whole Foods.
Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes! Dancing is one thing that I can do to reach nirvana now, heaven-on-earth, effortless joy. The term “dancing on air” may refer to the sure-footed, graceful artistry of a Fred Astaire, but I believe it to be a state-of-mind. I have always loved dancing. Ballet, tap, modern, lyrical, hip-hop, hoofin, funk-in-the-trunk, booty-shakin boogie woogie- I love it all.
And then, there is partner dancing, specifically ballroom. I have taken group and private ballroom dance lessons in several places, in several cities, and for several reasons, but only once have I taken a bachata class. It was just over a year ago while I was in Florida for a holiday. I had never seen or heard of it before so I had no point of reference. The environment and coaching were both five stars, but sadly, I didn’t have the right dance partner so the experience was only a two for me. However, my interest was piqued.
Recently, I decided that I really need to meet people and get out a bit. What does one do if they are new to an area, work from home, and do not drink, in order to meet people once in their 40’s? Ballroom dance lessons are ideal in so many ways. So for me, it is a huge bonus since I adore dancing anyway. I am also competitive and like to challenge myself, learning new skills. So when asked what dances specifically I would like to work on, I scanned down the list with “yeah, yeah, nah, yeah, nah, sure” and then arrived at “other”. Hmm. Hmmm. Ah! I know…bachata!
It was just a thought. Considering I had never even watched a video of people dancing bachata, and my experience with it sort of a disappointment in the way that being on a deserted island complete with filtered water, a bountiful garden, and all the toys for awesome play only the person there with you is not a good fit, well, it has all of the potential, but no closure possibility. Sigh. But then, there is Google and YouTube and they delivered me this: http://:
Women like Eliane Elias make being a woman look so good. Never mind that she is 53, she is sexier with her talent and sultriness at her age than any 20-something-year-old woman I can think of. Find your fire. Light it and let it be lit. Burning passion warms your soul and ignites those around you.
Feeling a bit nostalgic, I thought I’d pay homage to a gal pal whose Facebook posts included a Throwback Thursday music surprise that would delight me and is in fact one of the few things I miss about being on FB. But like so often, one thought morphed into another. Within only a few leaps, my mind stumbled upon yet another example of how different things are today than when I was a kid.
The song below was sung by a man who had a music revue show in the way of Sony and Cher, a rock-and-roll version of Lawrence Welk if anyone still recalls who that was. Anyway, the guy committed suicide- totally tragic. But that is not what gave me pause. Rather it is the title of the song that is loved by so many people of my generation, or well… a little older than I. “Candida”. Hmm…I wonder if there will be love songs written titled, “Herpes” or “Human Papilloma Virus” that people will dance to and remember fondly 20 years from now. Maybe someone can do a remake and title it “Christina” or some other three-syllable word that is not associated with disease…so no to Hillary, Margaret, Obama, and Pelosi, but maybe Diana. http://
In all seriousness, yeast in the body is a major contributor to cancer and all other auto-immune disorders. Mike Adams, AKA Health Ranger of NaturalNews gives a general overview if you aren’t aware of the pervasiveness of the fungal disease nor the inexpensive and available home remedies. Hint: Grandma knew what she was talking about with the garlic.
For the second time, I am subscribed to Match.com. It has been an interesting experience and one which I see evolving into an opportunity for some great material for stand-up more than a love connection, but I still have one week left. Anything is possible.
During the first round, I was living in New Hampshire, in the woods none-the-less, and having a hard time meeting men around my age. There was no shortage of twenty-somethings vying for my attention but that Demi-Ashton thing has an expiration date, in my opinion. Or maybe it was just that I wanted someone who could understand The Partridge Family being my first album…or what an album was for that matter. Sadly, men mostly wanted to take me hunting or fishing, neither of which is my idea of a dream date. Or they would see that I had a Ducati and insisted I’d have a much better time on the back of their bike with my arms wrapped tightly around them. Heh! They didn’t get me at all. The only fruit of my endeavor was a lovely gift bag of One Buck Chuck and a loaf of bread from a man who cycles. Not one kiss was granted.
Most recently, I joined because I was new in town and wanted to meet some people. It gets difficult once you are out of school or don’t have a work place where you interact with an assortment of folks to know what it is you want. Or at least it is for me. I have figured out what I don’t want however. Ready? I don’t want you if you hate your “Ex” and talk about her (s) constantly; I don’t want to be a therapist to your bad-boy inclinations that you should have reconciled by 30; I don’t want to ride on the back of your Harley while you cruise in shorts and flip flops…mostly because I think you are an idiot for not wearing boots and leathers; and no, I do not want to put a strap-on on and fuck you in the ass. Not ever. Yes, I was asked that one by a man on our first and only date.
The getting-to-know-you process has become arduous and exhausting. And I am ready to be done with it. In fact, I am going on my last date today. It’s just coffee. (He is nervous that I won’t look like my photos because women lie; I’m nervous that he is better in my head than real life because men lie.) He seems like a swell fellow though. Most likely nothing will come of it, but it will be nice to end on a good note. The whole “Will you fuck me in the ass?” one was a tad discordant and ended flat.
But speaking of lying…how do you know how much to share? What is the authentic you? What if you are 50 but your lilting laugh causes people to mistake you for 40? What if you have a child who is in jail? What if you don’t have a degree but you are incredibly well-educated? What if you have several degrees but, like my son’s dean, you don’t know what the 16th Amendment is or that it forced everyone into slavery, regardless of color? What if you hate football, except for the Ducks because they have costume changes? (Yeah, that’s me.)
Match and other on-line dating venues make it so bloody awkward. You are supposed to list your preferences and ideals to enlist the best opportunity for a match and yet those on it never respect anything but the photo. And then men complain that the women never look like their photo. Men typically are much shorter than they portend, by the way. I have had the best time telling men before meeting them that I don’t really look like my photos. They always sound so nervous. “What do you mean? they ask tenuously sometimes, and other times with heated indignation. And I respond, “Well, I’ve gained weight.” It is hysterical the way they unravel. Sometimes I explain that I was too tiny in the first place and gained weight in preparation for a surgery that I fortunately did not have to have and then discovered that, with the weight gain came my boobs again. And I gotta admit, waking up and reaching down and feeling my once-again big tits is pretty awesome. And then they meet me and say, “You’re right, you don’t look like your photos. You are stunning!” Well, gee, glad you liked me for me???
So yeah, sometimes I’m stunning; sometimes, I am not. Sometimes I like to exhaust myself skiing, or doing some other sport that threatens to cause me injury; sometimes I like hanging out in my pj’s writing…for days in a row, only brushing my teeth and checking to make sure I cannot smell myself. Sometimes I eat meat and sometimes I do juice fasts. Sometimes I go to church; sometimes I just read and pray on my own. The point is, I am way more complicated and dynamic than what can be shared in a few lines. And my problem is that what I have found is that most other people on there are not. One-dimensional, boring, undereducated where critical thinking is concerned, not traveled…their lives are lived in a very small box. And then there are the others, who like me, have big lives and don’t really know how to be any other way. So I cannot entirely blame Match for its limitations. And I am very grateful for the fodder it has provided. Who knows what will be hatched of it? Who would have thought that a flood would bring me my darling Etoile who will forever me imprinted upon me with an intense love and affection? One never knows…
However, if I am going to be my authentic self and trust and believe in the reality of Happy Accidents, Magic Moments, Soul Mates, and Love-at-first-sight, I am going to have to withdraw from these forced situations and rest in the confidence that someday I will meet the man who makes me catch my breath and for whom I will settle down from my gypsy life to happily bask in the glow of our sickening affection for one another that causes my children to both roll their eyes and secretly hope that they are blessed to someday have the same. Just like my Petite Etoile who landed in my lap, so will true love, I am sure. Until then, the worse that can happen is I get shit on a bit which is exactly what was happening in the photo. Teaching the little darling to fly and she poops right on me. Shit happens. So does love.
Cleaning out the tank from time-to-time is a good thing! It is sort of like re-booting your body, wiping out the gunk and clearing the path for the good stuff that feeds your organs, cells, and blood. I have used juicing for general health purposes as well as to treat illness. Aside from the fact that you cannot possibly eat as much in vegetables as you can if the juice is extracted and the pulp discarded, a liquid diet for a time enables the digestive system to rest.
There is a really good video titled “Fat, Sick, and Nearly Dead” that I saw for the first time just over a year ago. It was educational and a fantastic “pay-it-forward” story of redemption and renewal. Indeed the gentleman who created it overcame tremendous health problems and earned himself a hot bod, but he also cleared his head and has admittedly become a much happier person.
I would argue that not all juicers are created equal. I have a slow juicer made by Hurom that is my favorite one yet. (I believe that Joe Cross uses a Breville, which may even be a step up from mine.) It acts like a masticating juicer in that it is able to extract the juice from leafy greens better than the less expensive models that simply press, but is upright, much easier to clean, and completely separates the pulp, which comes out nearly dry.
I try to include both green and orange/red vegetables, incorporating either a squeeze of lemon, some fresh ginger, or some green apple to cut the grassy flavor of the greens. My kids shy away when the juice is loaded with beets, but I love the earthy flavor. Warning, your poop will be red if beets are used. Just sayin’.
So as spring is upon us and you get the urge for some cleaning, don’t neglect that which is the most important- your own health. Clean out the toxins, waste, and indigestible stuff that sits in your belly and watch your skin become more radiant, eyes more clear, tummy less bloated. I will be doing a juice fast starting March 1st if you care to join me.
Yes it can take weight off and tighten up that core like nobody’s business. But even better than that is the attitude adjuster it is for me and others. My kids called it my “therapy” and right they were. It kept endorphins flowing through health and fitness set-backs, a divorce, and more gray days than this California girl thought she could tolerate.
I suggest wearing something comfortable and trying it out. This video has clear steps and pretty girls. Shake that moneymaker and get out there and sweat!