The importance of Rituals - Part III - my birthday ritual

The thing is, it really doesn't matter what you do.

All that matters is that you set aside a little space, make your intentions clear, go to it and have the courage to be honest about what you want - with no regard to whether other people will think the dreams you have are silly, unrealistic or better left in fairytale ville.

And remember, it's suppose to be fun.

So screw those naysayers and that overrated, annoying internal dialogue of munchkins telling you it's time to be 'realistic' at the ripe old age of n (that's algebra for all you non-math types).

(By the way, that's how old I am, in case you were wondering).

Anyway, when I sat down to write my letter to Damabiah (that's the angel assigned to me according to the kabbalah and based on my date of birth) and I started to make fun OF MYSELF for this exercise, I said aloud...

"Shut your traps, you subconscious warfaring bubble-bursting miscreants"!

... and felt much better.

Further more, don't feel despair over goals not achieved, (as I did) and permit yourself to be forthright with your angels, your guides, or whoever else you call upon to assist you in the coming year.

And expected the miraculous.

DREAM BIG.

This year, I set 20 minutes aside from my party (and Xmas) and went to my apartment for a little 'me' time.

For those of you unawares, I live in the same building as my Dad and stepmom. While this often leads to exclamations of 'ewwwwwwwww' from some, the truth of the matter is, it rocks (for the most part - I have yet to bring a date home but I do go upstairs and help myself to their cheese their vacuum all the time).

Anyway, while everyone was still playing cards, Wii and enjoying a variety of libations in my honor (the best excuse EVER), I snuck back to my apartment to light a candle and write a letter.

Here's what it said:

Dear Damabiah,

Pleased to make your acquaintance after all these years.

I wish I had known of your existence way back when but it never occured to me to check the rules and regs of the Kabbalah (considering I was a Catholic n' all). Go figure.

Truth be told, you could have made your presence known to me in a blazing flash of light at the foot of my bed when I was GOING THROUGH HELL - that would have been kinda cool - but whatev, water under the bridge.

Anyway, it's all good.

As you probably know, today is my birthday. (I dare say you do know considering you were assigned to me and I didn't know about it and you did this whole time, but I digress)...

I also heard that you angels don't have a sense of humor, so I'll get right down to business.

First of all, thanks for being there.

I know I know, considering my caddy remarks above you're thinking, "riiiiiiiight" but seriously, I'm lucky to be alive on so many counts, the only thing I can attribute this good fortune to is you and your legion of winged buddies.

(I owe ya one).

Anyway, as I said before it's my birthday. Here's my wishlist:

yadda yadda yadda
blah blah blah
yadda yadda yadda
blah blah blah

And just so you know, this list comes with a disclaimer...

If I get all the things that I wish for and start acting like an asshole, you can take them away.

Except maybe for that BMW - I'd like to keep that as a freebie. I think that's reasonable. You know, for all those years I didn't know of your existence.

I any case, I promise to be the best person I can and in the end, I only truly desire those things that are beneficial to my evolution as a human being.

(And I mean that).

Love from the bottom of my heart n' soul,
Nicole

p.s. Are you a guy in white tights and abs to die for?

-----
Then I blew out my candle and went back to my party.

Next: Bringing in the New Year in style!

The Importance of Rituals - Part II -first, a little friendly advice and how to find your angel

Don't cut your own hair.

You know... as part of a ritual. Like I did.

Before I get started on this whole ritual business and what I did on my b-day, I wanted to share that little tidbit because I just looked in the mirror at my haircut and realized that I... look...

...wrong... just plain wrong.

You know, like some throwback to the 80's. (Like that chick in the photo).

All I'm missing to finish this A-line frizzy hair look are some shoulder pads and a lot of blush. It's the same look I had in my grade 12 photo.

I should have gone to my barber.

(That's right, I go to a barber. At least I did six years ago which was the last time I let someone else cut my hair).

Or better yet, I should have left my hair alone.

But I couldn't help it.

When I got out of the shower earlier that day and realized that my ends were so brittle they had insta-dried, I knew it was time to chop chop chop.

Now I might be feeling like this because my jowls are still swollen from my lingering bronchitis and my eyes are peepholes constantly in the process of expansion but I can't say fer shur.

And to make matters worse, I've never liked the visual effects of my clothes (and face) feeling 'xmas tight' (which always gives me postsantum depression)- but I could be wrong.

All I know is I looked in the mirror and didn't like what I saw.

And it didn't matter how much I fussed with it, or put pins in it, or sprayed it, or pulled it back, it still looked like I butchered it.

I figure once my hair is feeling less stressed over the whole thing, it will spring back to its regular state but for now, I'll just have to live with it.

But perhaps what surprised me the most as I stood there dissatisfied for probably the millionth time in my life, is what a royal waste of time my vanity was causing me. And what an unnecessary amount of psychological discomfort.

After all, the damn stuff is gonna to grow back.

And here I am, talking about rituals and the importance of INTERNAL growth as good for your soul.

Sheesh. I'd call myself a hypocrite except I don't think it counts if you bust yourself early enough in the process of being exactly the opposite of what you've been advocating.

Or does it?

Anyway, whatever.

It did however, bring to mind a thought that left me feeling warm and fuzzy.

According to the Kabbalah, I have an angel called Damabiah who doesn't give a rat's ass what I look like and loves me anyway. He was assigned to me on my birth day.

"Ain't that right 'Bi"?

Check these out:

http://guideangel.com/

http://www.ucm.ca/en/traditionalstudyofangels/how-to-find-your-birth-angels.html

Now, I've never been into angels, though at one time or another I think we all secretly hope those winged men and women in white, (FYI- I hope mine's a guy in white tights who works out all the time), will be there to bail us out when we really need it).

But again, that's not the point.

For those of you who have been reading this blog, you'll know I don't subscribe to any particular religion (or their formal rituals), but I do take bits from different spiritual belief systems and incorporate them as I see fit.

This fits. And I used it on my birthday.

What I like about the first website is how the main page explains how different cultures/religions of the world acknowledge different levels of 'being'.

If not specifically 'spirit beings', then at least something resembling a hierarchy (either within us or without) which either assists us, or helps us aspire to become God-like.

It could be angelic beings, devas, or even our own internal system of chakras whose activation leads us upwards on a path of spiritual ascension.

But chakra activation seems awfully complicated to me.

And I really suck at meditating.

God knows I've tried.

And I'll bet my crystal rosary the Big Guy spent all his time either laughing at me or shaking his head in disbelief at how easily I give up, (or how every time I try, all I can think about are grocery lists, how I should be going to the gym more regularly or how wish I was having sex instead).

Yeah, it's BAD.

But that's okay, cuz I have my own Angel, and nobody can take that away from me.

The thing is, I'm not psssss-ychic. I don't see shit.

Nor do I hear things. Or know things. I have an intuition like everybody else, (which I've frequently ignored and suffered because of it) but that's not the point.

I like to think of angels as valid and real because it makes me happy to do so.

And the fact that the Kabbalah has this down to a science, pleases someone like me to no end.

All I had to do was plug in my D.O.B. and WALLA!!! Angel city!

Suddenly, I had someone (or something - I hear they're adrongynous), that I could put a name to and address when I have a question (or when I'm pissed, or happy or depressed, or need to beg for a favor).

It was perfect.

So I wrote Damabiah a letter on my birthday.

In my next post, I'm going to share a little bit of that letter with you and the simple process that was my b-day ritual (which I promise does not involve any five-pointed stars on my living room floor surrounded by thousands of burning candles or the blood of defenseless animals).

Until next time...
Happy Angel hunting!

The importance of rituals - Part I - the general idea

Rituals are the cornerstone of our civilization.

And what's more, we are surrounded by evidence of ritualistic functions all around us. They appear constantly in our day-to-day lives and their importance cannot be overstated.

Whether we are aware of them or not however, is another matter. We partake in most rituals because it's a social expectation.

In other words, we do it, because that's what people do.

We all know the big ones - birthdays, anniversaries, weddings, funerals...

These 'official' proceedings mark beginnings, endings, and offer signposts when dates pertaining to other memories fail us - a practicality more valuable with each passing year.

Unrelated events surrounding the date of someone's birth, death, marriage or even divorce are remembered with greater clarity because of them.

They're like the markers of our lives.

But those are just some of the ones that denote us as a civilized species.

There are other rituals that bind us even closer and serve a multitude of functions from acknowledging our interdependence to expressing milestones of personal growth.

These rituals are void of pomp and circumstance yet are no less vital in the grand scheme of things...like;

Going for coffee.

Funny as it sounds, I learned this from a brilliant English prof I once had. And to prove his point, he simply said:

"Think about it. Nobody says, 'Do you want to go for a soft drink?', they say, 'Let's go for coffee' because it's one of our rituals. It doesn't matter if you go for beer or if one of you has tea instead. That's not the point."

Suddenly, I knew what he meant. And it was one of the most significant learning experiences of my life.

In that moment, I realized the true significance of rituals and their importance in our society.

I understood that rituals are a collective standard by which we connect with one another. It means far more than its outer shell reveals.

For instance,'Going for coffee' really means:

'Let's catch up', 'I want to talk with you', 'I need to see you', 'I miss you' and 'I care'...

ie: 'Let's connect.'

Our lives are filled with these.

We have 'movie night', 'date night' - specific times we set aside regularly for doing things with certain people that give our lives meaning, yet don't actually have any impact on our careers or finances.

But they impact us on a personal one.

And then there are things we do, just for us...

These rituals are all about us honoring the relationship we have with ourselves - and perhaps even the Universe...

When we have a birthday, or graduate from a course we might get a haircut or a 'new look' to mark the beginning of a new era. Why not stay with an old look? Or wear that gorgeous dress we already own?

Because we honor the new. We are making a statement with our choices about where we've come from and where we're going.

And sometimes it works both ways - to mark the good things, and to put the past behind us.

We'll get a new look after we've dealt with a bad break-up as a sign that we are ready to begin anew...

We get new shoes for a hot date (or to forget the old one), find a new outfit for that important party (where someone we want will be there or perhaps someone we don't want to see), get a manicure, or buy a new shade of lipstick.

When we decide to quit smoking or join a gym, we don't do it randomly.

We pick a date, mark the upcoming event and count down the days.

Who quits smoking on a Friday?

Nobody.

Chances are, they picked a more significant date like:

... the first of January... at the beginning of next month... on my birthday... as soon as the holidays are over... when I'm finished this project... after my last exam... or even... on Monday - the start of the week...

Whether we are aware of it or not, we turn the things that mean something to us into a ritual.

Today, I cut my hair and colored it. Normally I would have done it in time for my birthday but I was too sick to bother. And I did it myself... as I always do.

It's part of my ritual...

But for all the rituals we participate in - every single one of us - we often neglect the introspective ones that count the most.

While we're busy with our new looks, our obsession with dates, and our long-term plans, sometimes, we forget that our own birthdays and the end of each year are also a time for personal reflection... one done without the fanfare of cakes and candles, parties and alcohol...

(Not that I'm against a good party or consuming alcohol)

All I'm saying is it's important to implement personal rituals that are specifically designed to help us grow in awareness of who we are.

And that means formally acknowledging where we've been, where we are, and where we want to go in life...

and next time, I'll share what it is I did for twenty minutes on my birthday and what I plan to do on New Year's Eve.

And just remember, there are no rules...

It's whatever floats your boat...

Kingsman Jackpot Bingo, Bernard Callebaut and random thoughts...

Some people go shopping on Boxing Day.

Others, well, they have more 'family' to visit, more turkey to gobble up, and more bevvies to consume.

And if you're Ukrainian, the party's only just beginning.

But me?

I played Kinsman Jackpot Bingo.

Yep. You heard right.

I think it might be the oldest Bingo game in Manitoba. Maybe THE WORLD, because as y'all know, I had a birthday just yesterday and that officially makes me old as dirt so I know these things.

(Unless dirt is new, then that just makes me a liar.)

In any case, I was four numbers away from a full house and a two thousand dollar jackpot. That is, until some jackass called in and claimed the prize.

(Cheater)

But then again, I hear that happens all the time. (Being four numbers away that is, not the cheating part).

That would drive me crazy week after week. I would develop a tick.

And although it was fun watching my Dad find and stamp his numbers like a bingo sharp-shooting champ while yelling "WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT LAST NUMBER AGAIN"??? every single time, I was worried.

Not for him. He's got life down pat.

But for me.

Yep it was fun.

But it's also Saturday night.

I should be out. But I'm playing bingo.

I am however, still recovering physically from something in my chest that's acting like a recently divorced relative pretending to visit for the weekend while they're dragging 3 suitcases and two trunks through your front door.

It feels like it's never leaving. And it's wiped me out. So Bingo was right up my alley.

Don't get me wrong. Being sick doesn't bother me. Not going out doesn't bother me. Oh no, it's far worse than that when you're a control freak.

It's not having the choice that's irritating me.

I feel the way a shopaholic might feel following a nightmare that all the stores are closed on Boxing day.

I'm not well enough to leave my place for a couple of days. It's in my best interest to stay put. And really, I like staying put... when it's self-imposed and not externally, like from some stupid bronchitis.

pshaw.

But yesteray was grand...

Dinner was fab... French Seafood boullabaise... enough shrimp preceding to satisfy a beluga whale, and Mexican Payaya which is a combination of seafood, meats and saffron rice.

I always want to call it Mexican peyote, but that's a drug and we don't do that in my family.

Although it might spice things up during Kingsman Jackpot Bingo. But I digress.

I confess I have this tendency to call things by wrong names. It's becoming a problem...

Like... I call Bernard Callebaut chocolates Maurice Chevalier chocolates as if the terms are interchangeable, which somehow makes me think I should be reading mentally stimulating material more often as I think my brain is getting lazy.

And I refuse to say the name properly because I like the one I chose better.

Like I said, I'm a control freak.

And for those of you unfamiliar with Bernard's chocolaterie (as I was until about two months ago), here's their website:

http://www.bernardcallebaut.com/

Worth trying to be sure, but frankly, if I had to pick, I'd rather buy shoes at Winner's for fifty bucks than spend it on something that's going to make me gain the weight I'm constantly trying to lose.

That's just cruel.

The truth of the matter is, when I get a box of them they don't last the day.

On top of being a control freak, I have no self-control...

And I'm whiny.
And i'm down on myself today.

But it's all good because tomorrow is a new day and I'm going to talk about the importance of ritual. I always do something on my birthday and again on New Year's. Similar stuff... most people don't understand the significance of ritual.

It's the mark of a civilized society... and I'm going to explain why...

A demain...
for now, I'm going to dream about Maurice Chevalier and the wonderful chocolates he makes.

xox

Happy EX-mas Eve! and other things we are grateful for

This can be an intense time of year for some...

And as much as I can come off sounding like hard-core Xmas Beatch, (making fun of the whole do it like the Jones's shopping frenzy), I'm also part n' parcel with the whole drink like you love Jesus crowd.

Which I do. Drink and love, that is. (Drink in moderation, Love in excess)

I love Jesus, Buddha, Krishnamurti, and all the rest who advocated a philosophy of peace in this crazy world. I'm not biased.

But, the Messiah and I do share a birthday. So we're like... twins.

Oh yeah, it wasn't easy growing up Catholic with a bday on the 25th of December. I felt guilty for EVERYTHING.

I'll never forget using the F word for the first time...

...that was bad enough, but it took me years before I could expropriate the phrase Jesus Christ! for a really effective vent and not squeeze my eyes closed and cringe in preparation for the worst - like being whisked away to hell at any moment for my blasphemy.

But just like those Virgnia Slims ads used to say: "You've come a long way Baby".

Now, when something really ridiculous happens in my life and it suddenly dawns upon me that I've been "blessed" with yet another lesson (lucky me), I can now look up to the sky and declare:

What the fuck? AGAIN? Jesus Christ, haven't you guys had enough fun at my expense yet??? ...

...without so much as flinching.

But it's all good.

Because ironically, my relationship with the Divine has increased exponentially with every lesson learned, and so the intent behind my blasphemy is infused with humor, knowing it's all going to turn out alright in the end.

I talk to the Divine the way you'd talk to your sister when she calls you out on something you did that was really stupid and although you want to be mad as hell at her for it, (because you're so busted), you know she's right so it lacks that "I'm gonna kick your ass for saying that" factor.

So as I enter the eve of my birthday, I begin to reflect on Christmases past, present and future, knowing like me, they only get better with every passing year.

Like my swearing factor, I've become more relaxed about the process of life in general.

So prepping for the holidays?

Well, that's a piece o' birthday cake.

I'm surrounded by people I love - gone are the days when I didn't think I'd make it through the holiday season alive, (and I mean literally) because tensions were so high with an ex who simply could not fathom what a normal life was, he would violently wreck anything good that existed around him.

Festivities were the worst.

He couldn't help it. He simply had insecurities so deep buffered by a mental illness so twisted that anything resembling normal or fun set him off on a rampage and I was often the target.

Like I said, I'm lucky to be alive.

So with each passing year, instead of worrying that I'm one year older, with one wrinkle more, I look up to the sky and say:

"Holy Fuck. Am I one lucky son-of-a-bitch or what?... Christ Almighty, but it's been a good year! Thanks for keeping me alive way back when..."

...and toast to the Divine...

-----

May your celebrations be immersed in love, kindness, a kick back attitude and rockin' good times

Home Remedies and how to have fun with an adverse reaction

I'm sick.

Feels like bronchitis. I don't mind the timing frankly, as it's making me less inclined to shop at the last minute.

Wait. That's not true. I go anyway and just make bad wheezing noises when I stand in line for an hour.

However, it's a great tool for remembering how much the people around me care.

Sometimes too much.

I will get great recipes from all sorts of people (or hear about remedies and cure-alls) and will try them ALL in the hopes that one or another (or a combination thereof) will be miraculously beneficial for my health.

And I do. (Try them ALL that is).

I've never been one to shrink at experimenting with natural remedies on myself regardless of how bad they taste or how little I understand the possible effects.

I'll give you an example...

About two months ago, I watched a great independent film called Food Matters.

It's about the drug industry, natural remedies, and the truth about what goes on behind closed doors and how if we aren't careful, we'll end up worse than before we got sick, and that the food we choose is more important than we know...

(Sort of a Michael Moore meets Super-Size Me on the pharmaceutical industry).

Anyway, in the movie they talked about the benefits of niacin.

For those of you whose only familiarity with niacin rivals mine - ie; it's one of the essential vitamins in Corn Flakes - nicain is a B vitamin that aids in lowering cholesterol (among other things) and has proved itself useful in alleviating depression, improving memory, circulation, blah blah blah.

And its benefits haven't fully been explored.

I'm thinking, 'great! I'm getting older, I should be taking this for my brain'!

So off I went to the vitamin section of my local store and got me some.

(I know that's not proper English but given what I am about to tell you, I deserve to sound like a hick.)

Where was I? Oh yeah... I get home, and without even reading the directions, down TWO on an empty stomach.

(You'd think it was going to cure me of bad dates or something).

But I thought, it's a VITAMIN - how bad could it be? I take chinese herbs that are so mild you can take between like, 6 and 30 pills a day and it hardly makes a difference.

(At least the ones I take).

Anywho, I forget about it and pop into the shower, and contemplate what I'm going to make for dinner as a friend of mine is dropping over.

About 20 minutes go by and my scalp starts to get itchy.

Followed by EVERY part of my body.

And then it starts to burn. And I mean, like someone lit 10,000 matches and held them all one millimeter above my skin.

I look at my arms and they are changing shades into a crimson red before my very eyes.

Think BEET RED. BLOOD RED. LOBSTER RED. CORVETTE RED.

TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE RED.

I look Like I'd been at Grand Beach on a hot summer day when it was 35 celsius out (that's 90 plus for you non-metric folks) without a drop of suntan oil and no shade as far as the eyes could see.

Ever see what happened to Clint Eastwood in the movie, The Good, the Bad and the Ugly when Ugly forced him to walk through the desert and then left him for dead?

Yeah, that's where I thought I was headed.

I rushed to the bathroom mirror and looked.

Not good.

I went to my bedroom mirror - and got the full length effect.

By now I had stripped down to nothing, turned around, looked at my ass and realized, I HAD NO TAN LINES!

I was a tomato. A VERY RIPE TOMATO that was ON FIRE.

So I headed straight to the shower, turned on the cold water and let it run over my body which was not only itchy, but so hot there was steam coming off it, while I tried in vain to think over and over again:

'What the hell did I eat that caused such an allergic reaction'???

Dumbass.

But that's not the weird part.

While all this was going on, I discovered something interesting about myself...

I am a sick scientific type beneath it all.

Because at one point, I actually looked in the mirror and thought:

'WOW. This is AMAZING! I can't believe how bloody red I am! And it's so EVENLY DISTRIBUTED!

and...

'I wonder if this is what happens to people just before they internally combust'?

... because I had read somewhere in my youth about cases of spontaneous internal combustion that were a medical mystery - these people just kind of burned up from the inside out until they blew up and that's what I thought was going to happen to me...

'If I wasn't so freaked out, this would be really cool!'

And then I made my peace with God.

Then I picked up the phone and called my friend who was due to arrive in about an hour and said (while standing there stark naked looking at my Ripley's Believe it or Not body:

"Hey, would you uh... mind coming over a little sooner? I think... well... I've had this bad reaction to something, and... if it gets any worse, you might have to take me to emerg... unless you're busy of course..."

And that's when it hit me.

It was the NIACIN!

(Move over Nancy Drew)

"I gotta go. Call you right back!"

"Wait! What...?"

CLICK

The Internet is a beautiful thing.

What I had was a niacin flush.

Only then, did I read the directions on my bottle.

Take one tablet maximum per day and only on a full stomach.

I had taken two, on an empty one.

A medical advice column on the internet even suggested starting with just half.

I breathed a sigh of relief.

But knowing I was not going to die only heightened my curiosity.

Knowing I had between 20 minutes and an hour or more to endure of this condition, gave me lots of time to revel in the anomaly I had suddenly become and research what was going on inside of my body.

All of my capilaries had expanded at the same time. So my blood vessels were bigger and better than ever! I was a super hero!

No wonder it's good for your circulation.

So I called my friend back:

"You should really come over now. You've just gotta see this before it fades. It's the damndest thing!"

Yeah, I'm a sick puppy.

-----
So when my lovely friend and building manager tells me a shot of his famous Brazilian tequila will kill whatever infection I have, I take it.

Hell, I take TWO!

When my stepmom makes me a concoction of finely chopped red onions doused in sugar and left on the window sill to ferment for a few hours, I drink it.

When my American Monk friend sends me a flu recipe made of basil, ginger root, cloves, cinnamon bark, peppermint, cardamon, turmeric and rock salt, I make it n' take it.

When I read that you can think whatever ills you have away if you just try hard enough, I try that too.

And I try to figure out what wrong thinking caused me to get sick in the first place.

But I'll leave that one for another time...

Now if you'll excuse me, I've got onion breath to wash out of my mouth...

(p.s. - the monk recipe works)

I AM NOT A GIANT NIPPLE and other mantras to get you through the holidays

I love this time of year.

Once I learn how to distinguish my true feelings from everyone else's panic, frustration, guilt, misguided sense of obligation and debt-conscious gift-giving, I'm downright giddy.

Once everyone sits down and finally eats, then plays cards (or Wii), it's actually fun. (I can't wait to kick some kanassta ASS again this year). But the build up (or as I like to call it, the 'guilt-up') is not.

I don't know what's worse...

Having the money to do Xmas like you've actually got the income to pay off your credit card bill in less than a year (only to do it all over again), or not having any and wishing you could give the people you love everything because they deserve it?

hmmm.

But I'm a practical person. And a dreamer.

I'll take option two over the process of gift-giving then resenting your payments. They're just gonna have to live with that bubble bath package from dollarama.

Besides, once this six month experiment goes the way I want, I'll be paying CASH ONLY for my purchases thank-you-very-much.

In the meantime, I will manage beautifully.

And I am not - I repeat NOT - letting the stresses or "Woe is me and all the work I have to do to get ready for Christmas" brigade ruin my fun and frolic this holiday season.

And FYI, I'm not talking about my family (though I've heard bah humbug grumblings ripple through the ranks of my hard-core sons and their look-how-they-suck-us-in-those-commericalized-economy-driven-bastards attitudes).

Thank God they have Xmas Nazi girlfriends to balance them out.

But I've heard stories...

The kind that ripple through the grapevine of love and work and family and extended family and neighbors and buildings and come out of the mouths of the person standing next to you in line at Walmart confiding to their best friend about how much they secretly 'hate Christmas' and all the sordid details recounting exactly why.

It's the stress.

Not just the gift-giving part, but who's house you have to go to and when, and who really wants you there and if you don't drop by, you'll get an icy stare so deadly the next time you go over, you'll believe what quantum physics says about thoughts being real because you'll break out into a rash right then and there.

Gift-giving is one type of stress. The other, is pleasing EVERYONE.

So, in the true spirit of someone who is drinking wine at 3 pm on a Tuesday for no reason at all, (except that she can), here are a few lines you can use on your family and friends when their guilt or expectations exceed your ability to tolerate your very existence and find you begging for an end to the holidays (and wishing for a New Year's party so raucous that you will forget what transpired in the weeks before).

Here goes nothin'...

1. For the people who tell you all their family troubles and about all the unwanted but obligatory invitees they must tolerate during dinner just because it's xmas:

I AM NOT A GIANT NIPPLE. STOP SUCKIN THE LIFE OUT OF ME.

2. For family who wants you there not one, not two, but THREE days in a row:

"I AM NOT COMING TO YOUR HOUSE THREE DAYS IN A ROW. Was Mary in labor for 3 days? I THINK NOT. Otherwise Jesus's birthday would be on THE 24TH, THE 25TH AND BOXING DAY. AND IT ISN'T! Capice?"

3. For people who actually don't like their gift, tell you and want to know if you have a 'gift receipt':

No. But don't worry about it - I LOVE what I got you! while you rip it out of their hands with a big smile on your face.

4. For people who guilt you because you weren't around to 'decorate the tree':

So undecorate it. I'll do it. Just let me get grab a bottle of Jaegermeister from the liquor store first. brb. And NEVER RETURN.

5. For people who complain about all the cooking they have to do and how tired they will be:

Don't say anything. Just start making martinis, crank up some spicy dance music and get them roaring drunk. By the time dinner's over they'll be passed out from the tryptophan in the turkey and won't remember a damn thing.

6. For people who can't have Xmas without their cinnamon buns (because apparently they there IS no Xmas without cinnamon buns")

Get some gum. Or Cinnamon schnapps. That's WAY better than sticky buns. (And probably more calories - trust me, I know).

-----

and that's just for starters...

over the next few days, don't worry... I'll give you so much ammo to defend yourself over the holidays, you'll be dying to mix it up with anyone and everyone! :)

CHEERS!

I know I know... and yet... ah ye of little faith

I get it. At least in theory.

I get what Canfield says about being constructive with your plans, being well-rounded and hitting all the areas of your life with the same dedication that you would a new 'crush'.

I get what Tim Ferriss says in the '4 hour workweek' about disciplining yourself out of an unproductive information diet and giving it your all.

I understand the manifesting principles and I wholeheartedly buy into the notion that as soon as we take full responsibility for our actions, embrace a spirit of all-encompassing love and compassion that things will flow our way.

Oh yeah...

I hear all the talk inside my own head (and my higher self) - do this, do that, think this way, walk that way... I KNOW THE RULES like the back of my hand...

Nobody knows them better.

And what's more, I am CONSCIOUSLY aware of all that I do, even when it's wrong, every moment of every day.

and yet, moving through this quagmire of physical mass using the principles I've learned is more difficult to transcend than I care to admit.

Mostly, I have a mistrust about the process itself.

I WANT TO SEE it in action. I WANT TO KNOW without a shadow of a doubt.

And like a typical Westerner, Faith is just another popular girl's name, like Hope or Charity.

And although I've come a long way, I still get stuck in some old patterns.

If I sweat over my work or my writing, I think I'm getting something done.

If I worry, I know what I'm worrying over must be TERRIBLY important. And if it gives me a headache, well then... look at how HARD I must be working.

But worrying is never terribly important because it accomplishes nothing. As a matter of fact, it is a hindrance.

I am ridiculous.

Most of us are... with our own self-subscribed set of behaviors that don't mean anything, don't do us any good, and aren't logical in the least.

Yet we are attached to them like dogs in heat.

Have you ever seen dogs copulate? They're stuck together - sometimes for hours (even beyond impregnation) - just so nature can ensure propagation of their species.

That's what we're like with our old, outdated modes of worry, concerns over nothing, and habits of stress that give us heart attacks, migraines and an assortment of other ailments that are, according to modern medicine, responsible for 80% of the deaths and diseases in the western world.

And those of us who know better, do it anyway.

But that's not the way it works.

I bet even Joan of Arc had her doubts like the rest of us.

"Did I hear a voice? Did God really just tell me to get an army together and lead the way wearing chain mail and brandishing a sword?

And what's with this whole cutting my hair business? Is he out of his frakkin' mind? I'm suppose to be looking for a husband, not an army.

Sheesh.... (pause)...

I'm hearing voices. Am I nuts? If I tell anyone, they're going to lock me up...

(contemplation)...

Alright, fuck. I'll do it. But it's not because I want to, but from everything I've read the wrath of God would suck ass worse than being burned at the stake.

I hate this lesser of two evils bullshit."

But Joan of Arc, did it anyway. Even though you know she had some serious doubt-ridden dialogue in her head.

And that's what it's all about.

Because what invariably happens is that after the fact, (you know, whatever little things we were sweating over passes and we realized we panicked and worried for nothing), we tell ourselves, next time, I'll remember this. Because I know better.

So I'm going to try harder (or maybe less hard) to do things right. And instead of worrying so much, I'm going to get to that point that exists after the fact, and transplant it to the 'before' place so I can avoid the waste of time better known as worry.

It's only a mental addiction... how hard could it be?

Falling off the blog wagon and getting back on: Things that really matter

I fell off the blog wagon.

I've had an interesting, reaffirming, disaffirming, confusing, pondersome (is that even a word?), and altogether smorgasbord-laden field of experiences, feelings and reactions over the last couple of weeks over a number of things - some silly, some not so much and others, warranted.

Frankly, it's been difficult to blog.

Sometimes I shudder at my own weakness. (Being human has that effect on me).

Then to make matters worse, I watched Julie & Julia last night and shrank at my own inadequacies, let alone lack of discipline.

For those unfamiliar with the tale, it's about a writer who works full-time at a shitty job, blogs EVERY DAY for a year AND ON TOP OF IT prepares not 365, but 524 of Julia Child's impossible French dishes as part of the process.

And she doesn't miss a single day.

Not one.

(Bah humbug)

I on the other hand, have been 'waiting' for a slower schedule... The Xmas holidays will bring a reprieve of sorts from calls that come in at 6 a.m. for subbing jobs, along with other obligations that make time management an obsolete term (or perhaps one used by those with better skills at managing life).

"But screw those people. I'm not superhuman. I just want my mornings back" she says with upturned nose and the tone of a spoiled child.

(Every writer has a stubborn streak).

For me, mornings are creative while late night writing frenzies embraced by college students as the norm are rather...moronic.

I can think of better things to do at 2 a.m. (Not that I've had the opportunity).

"I should be more flexible than this"! she pretends to say with disdain at herself while secretly feeling justified given the suffering she thinks she has endured in life.

(Sigh). So. This poses a problem as the work that pays my bills has me heading out the door by 8 am.

But I'm not budging either as this self-imposed 'requirement' provides me with a great excuse not to get more writing done.

Ah yes, I know myself well.

I wrote most of my book during the mornings over the summer. My schedule was divine.

I'd have some tea, write a little, watch Cesar Millan and then write some more. Then go out for a brisk walk, weather permitting. Maybe lunch with a friend.

My apartment faces East so the sun would invariably make its way warmly into my living space like a welcome guest whose arrival you anticipate and who's departure you want to delay.

And I loved that schedule goddammit...!

But that's not how it works... and while i've been 'waiting' for things to return to that better schedule, I've had some wake-up calls.

You could say life has taken an interest in me, rather than the other way around.

Just when I think I'm in control again,with my ne'er do well, laissez-faire, flippant, rebel-without-a-cause attitude, I'm reminded of who's really in charge.

The Universe, God, our Higher Selves, Purpose, Destiny... call it what you will...

We do nothing, and I mean, NOTHING without a hand that guides us - IF, we choose to see it that way.

And it all happened because I had become impatient. I was in a hurry because the world owed me.

I want things to happen NOW. I figure after all this time, I've earned it. But nobody's earned it because nobody owes you anything.

It'll happen when it happens.

As it stands, my book won't be sent to publishers until January for consideration because the timing is better.

As it stands, I'll change careers only when the transition is complete.

As it stands, I'll meet the right man (maybe) at the right time (maybe - the jury's out on that one), when I'm good and ready. And not a moment sooner.

In the meantime... what happens?

I used to think the time inbetween was waiting... but it isn't.

All the time in between is life happening now. And it's the only thing that counts.

Life still happens while we're waiting for something to come our way.

While we wait for 'the big stuff' (our payday, our comeuppance) sometimes what we are really doing is ignoring the things we have and take for granted.

And what better time to be reminded than the holidays?

And if we're lucky, in those moments of 'life happening', we are reminded that we already have what we are looking for in messages of blessings intended as wake-up calls from the universe.

We get sick. We appreciate our health.

Our car breaks down. We appreciate those that come to our rescue.

I meet someone I think might be 'the one', (who as it turns out doesn't get me at all) and I find myself appreciating those who do, even more.

I worry to no end about car repairs, bills, doing errands on time, writing the blog, working on a website, worrying about the boys, and will I have enough to go around for Xmas...?

And then...

I find out that a lovely man named George from my building, suddenly died of a massive heart attack at work. He was 46. That happened yesterday.

Suddenly, all those worries, don't seem so big.

And the fact that I didn't blog for a week?

I can live with that.

So... over the holidays, I will attempt to blog every day with a small, new lesson learned, some from the past few weeks, and others I have only begun to digest...

Please bear with me...

The Lost Art of the Conversation - sharing thoughts, opinions, and feelings - Part I

Most people think a conversation is two people talking (and that includes about nothing in particular).

(Let me tell you what I heard on the weather station and you can respond with a prediction from the Farmer's Almanac). eg)...

me: It was thirty below today! -34 with the windchill.

you: I hear it's going to be a long, cold winter that's going to last for the rest of our lives.

me: So much for global warming.

you: That's what I say!

If I were to ask most people to define a conversation, they'd probably go with something that would match the above example.

But it's not. Not really... or if it is, it's only partially true.

con·ver·sa·tion (kŏn'vər-sā'shən)n.

1. a) The spoken exchange of thoughts, opinions, and feelings; talk.

b) An instance of this: held a long conversation on the subject.

2. An informal discussion of a matter by representatives of governments, institutions, or organizations.

For our purposes we're going to ignore definition 2, as it pertains to governments (who rarely have any real conversations but rather spend an inordinate amount of time as talking heads). 'nuf said.

Conversation is also defined in the dictionary as an 'intimate acquaintance'.

Ah, now we're getting somewhere.

So the purpose of conversation is to use language to exchange (ie; with others), information, our thoughts, opinions and feelings in order to become more intimately acquainted with them.

And in the process, ourselves.

Because really, it's all about us.

We are the center of our own universe. And the only way we can figure out who we are, what our belief systems are, where we stand, where we went wrong, and how to grow, is if we give it up by sharing our opinions, (no matter how intimidating or scary it may be), with another human being who then acts as our mirror.

That's some scary shit.

You wouldn't think so, but the next time you talk to someone who looks like they have all their you-know-what together, try asking them a question that doesn't relate to their work, or the weather, or their portfolio, or even their families and watch for that deer-in-headlights look that will tell you if they have spent any time whatsoever on trying to figure out who they are and what their place is in this universe.

You might not like what you hear.

Then again, you might be pleasantly surprised.

I once asked a senator, (who was divorced) who it was that gave her the moral support she needed to pursue this career of hers and her upcoming campaign.

For a moment she stood there stunned at what I could only assume was her shock at the impertinence of the question. And yet, it was very human and I thought, legitimate.

And she was after all, human.

The thing is, I wanted to know.

I mean, I REALLY wanted to know.

I wanted to know if there was some secret superhuman gene you had to have to get through something with your marbles intact when there was no one home to listen to you at the end of the day or share your burden.

I was in the process of losing my mind, in the middle of first year law school, broke, far away from home, with kids who needed me but who I couldn't be there for.

I felt the deadly combination of guilt, dwindling emotional resources, and poverty - which amounted to overwhelming stress.

On top of it, I was lonely.

Here was a woman on the verge of making it (again). And yet she was going it alone. I didn't care if I made her uncomfortable with my question. I wanted to know. And I wasn't going to let up.

"No really. I want to know. You can't take on the task you're taking on without having someone there who's got your back."

"I don't have anybody." She replied, her guard suddenly down because I actually wanted to know something about her as opposed to just her political platform.

She was after all, human.

"Then how do you do it?"

She smiled and paused again for a moment.

"I've got a good person working in my office. That, and a little wine at the end of the day."

I nodded like I knew she was bullshitting. That wasn't enough and she knew it. There was no balance in her life.

"It's not easy." She admitted, relieved somehow that she was having a real conversation for once that had nothing to do with her political agenda.

"I know" I replied, "You might have to do something about that."

She smiled.

"How long until you graduate"?

"Two more years" I said.

"You should stay in touch."

I had no intention of getting involved in any sort of political arena. I didn't want anything except to know what made her tick because I thought it would help me.

But that silly little conversation that arose out of my desperation to understand how to better deal with my own predicament, for just a moment, separated the wheat from the chaff and left an indelible impression on the both of us.

For a brief moment, we were not separated by some socially imposed hierarchy, or achievements (or lack thereof).

For a brief moment, (for that's all it was), the gap between us disappeared and we both stood there with a knowing that there was far more to life, than this collective paradigm.

I realized that I wasn't alone in my suffering and she realized that neither was she.

The result?

Calm.

A calm settled over both of us.

Long enough to take a deep breath before falling back into our respective roles once again.

Long enough to take a break from the stress by connecting with someone who just for a moment, 'got' what was important.

And in that moment, a connection was made.

Never underestimate the importance of language and conversation.

Next - relating to a prospective mate: the lost art of the conversation.

It's all about taking responsibility - from cycles to spirals

Some of you may be wondering why I've taken the liberty of exploring different aspects of life and going off on tangents - most recently the nature of love - when this blog is suppose to be about forging forward in an experiment to turn my life around 180 degrees and claiming 'authorship' as the nucleus of that quest.

Here's why...

Nothing we do in life can be extricated from anything else. And if you try to, you will surely suffer the consequences of neglecting the elements that make up a balanced life.

If you want to excel in one aspect of your life, you must create balance by working on the other aspects simultaneously.

While some areas of your life will take precedence, it's still only part of the whole and always will be.

If you work on one thing like your career, but ignore the others (relationships, health, mental, emotional and spiritual well-being), then at some point even the thing you have worked so hard to achieve will fall to pieces.

Who wants to be successful and sick? Rich and alone? Famous but mentally ill? A high achiever with no friends?

And for those of us who may never have experienced a real, healthy partner-type love relationship, not only must we, uh... I mean, you... be open to it, you must work on the shadowy aspects of yourself that have prevented a fruitful experience in that aspect of your life.

But you know all this. I've written about it before.

It's all about taking responsibility.

You want love? Get in there and get messy. Love is messy. Screw Biden and his motto that "Life is short. Have an affair." What he's really selling is:

"Why work on yourself or your relationship when escapism is way more fun?"

And of course his 'marital affairs' dating site is busy because people buy into it just the way they buy into movies that worship unrequited love.

If it never goes further than an 'illicit encounter' then you never have to deal with the realities associated with a real person - or the challenges.

But just ask most European, mistress-supporting men if they would leave their wives for their lustful companions and the answer will be a resounding no.

If that were to happen, then suddenly the mistress becomes the wife and will have to be replaced by yet another escape artiste.

And the cycle begins again.

The problem is - it's a cycle, not a spiral.

A spiral moves you forward - sometimes two steps forward, one step back - but it's forward just the same.

A cycle just brings you right back to where you started. And most people are stuck in cycles.

That's why they repeat the same bad relationship patterns over and over and over again.

You want to know the truth? I wrote that damn book because I was stuck in one of those cycles.

And I don't want to be in one anymore.

I'm writing this damn blog because I don't want to be stuck in a repetitive struggling career pattern because I can't make the leap of faith required to really make it work.

Nope. I don't want to be stuck ANY-MORE.

Not in love, not in my career, not anywhere in life.

It was time I moved out of the cycle and into the spiral.

And if I am convinced we are here to grow and learn about ourselves (and I am), then we can't do it in a vaccuum.

We can't do it alone. Nobody can.

We can't do it by ignoring a career we really want because it's not safe, not logical, nor fulfills the social expectations that surround us.

We can't do it by ditching, running away, or justifying, ie; not engaging fully, in yet another relationship because it bears the potential for heartache.

That's where I'm at.

And that's why I write about it.

Two months left in the experiment - so far, so good.