Rock, Paper, Scissors.
A game invented by the caveman for their amusement, in order to distract you long enough to forget what you were arguing about.
This handy, dandy trio is has been used since then to resolve conflict for the decision impaired among us.
But for me, this has become an insightful, personality revealing exercise.
I’ve discovered, through years of extensive research and observation, that we all know someone who always picks rock.
And doesn’t their behavior resemble that of a rock?
The good qualities: solid, immovable, and grounded.
The not so good qualities: solid, immovable and stubborn, with their hand in a fist.
They are rock.
They pick it every time.
Your scissors can’t cut it.
In theory, paper wins over rock.
Paper can wrap around it, but rock will argue that it can go through paper or sit on top of it, causing paper to rethink its strategy.
That is just so rock.
The people who pick paper are the writers, litagators and diplomats among us.
You can rest assured their paper is covered with notes, talking points for their long winded arguments.
They are also the embracers among us.
They think any conflict can be solved with a hug.
They are also crazy strong and amazingly fragile.
Just know that once they are cut or torn, no amount of scotch tape can fix them.
I fall into this category for every reason listed, but mostly because I’ve hugged my way out of some really contentious battles.
Ask my sister.
When she and I lived together with a roommate, (back in the day when we all had Flock of Seagulls hair, and wore our underwear on the outside of our clothes) said roommate had a total meltdown, complete with the ugly cry face and actual screaming. She lost her shit so completely, I could only think of one way to make it stop…I hugged her. I became a human straightjacket. The look on my sister’s face still makes me laugh, I’m LoL-ing right now!
Paper people are vulnerable to the scissor…and fire.
I have a friend who added standing, waving fingers as “fire” into the game many years ago. He’s a character for another day… and a cheater!
The folks that pick /scissor/ can be sharp.
By that I mean smart and funny, and they always have a fabulous haircut…hmmmm.
They are unique, super creative and crafty; the Edward Scissorhands among us.
They can also cut you with one word or a look.
They don’t even need their /scissors/.
One stern, guilt inducing glance can crumple paper into tears, and even intimidate rock.
/Scissor/ people can be back stabbers, so beware.
I’m not kidding. My study is very precise and has been done through the years with tens of people!
I think every first date, job interview, and assembly at the UN, should start with a game of rock, paper, scissor, just so you get an idea of who you’re dealing with.
Next time you play, pay attention. What’s your “go to” symbol?
*And if someone pulls out waving fingers and yells fire melts rock, paper and scissors! that’s my friend, he’s a rascal and a sore loser…good luck with that…and tell him I said Hey!
Xox
The last few days I’ve witnessed something really interesting with the Boxer-shark puppy, that feels like a metaphor for life.
I have to preface that by saying that my powers of observation have become incredibly keen. I’m not kidding…maybe just exaggerating….Bear with me here.
The human body is a miracle in regards to perpetuating our survival. It replaces the senses that have shut down due to lack of respect, with others that are freakishly heightened.
I have no business out driving the streets, running errands, aka living my life, with the puppy screaming in her crate in the back, but somehow I am. My guardian angel will be getting her hearing checked and going into seclusion after this, leaving no forwarding address.
I have no sense of humor, can’t remember where anything is and could cry at the drop of a hat, but damnit if I can’t smell puppy poop that’s two days old, under the couch, in a room that’s had the door shut the whole time. WTH?
I can hear the tiniest whimper in a dead sleep at 3am.
My husband, he can sleep through her wailing as if her foot is caught in a bear trap! How does he DO that?
Sleep deprivation has left me bleary minded and craving carbs…for survival, people!
Really?…I can hear you!
Anyway… We have a 6 inch step from the bedroom up into the bathroom.
If the Boxer-shark stands in front of it, she is the same height.
She struggles with the step.
Especially going down.
It’s from stone to a hard wood floor and she’s been launched, catapulted, flung and just plain rolled off of it this past week, many, many times, so I get the trepidation.
But she’s only cautious when she’s just sniffing and exploring and silently looking for havoc to wreak.
When the other dog is home and they’re running and growling and fighting/playing (I’m using the word playing when I really mean taunting.) She FLYS off that step with the grace and ease of one of the gymnasts from Cirque du Soleil. She doesn’t even look down, she’s a freakin’ professional, (she’s clearly gifted) Not a second’s hesitation!
If she STEPS off after much careful deliberation, when she’s alone, one paw timidly feeling for the floor, she inevitably falls, and then rolls…so it looks like she meant to do that.
Don’t we all do that? I do!
If I over think an obstacle, I can make it so scary that I inevitably falter.
Better to do a quick evaluation and sail right over it! Run then jump!
…Or follow the big dog.
I’m still deciding which metaphor I like better.
“She took a leap, and built her wings on the way down.”
– Anon
Another week and the step will be a non-issue, she will have outgrown her fear.
What’s your bathroom step fear, and are YOU ready to follow the big dog and outgrow it?
XoxJanet
Dear Money,
I know our relationship has felt strained these last few years,
but we’ve always been so close and…..I miss you.
My darling Money…I think we should reconcile.
I know it looks like my life’s been all topsy turvy for a while now, and I seem like a bad risk, but I can assure you, I’ve worked really hard on myself and I’ve grown so much.
I feel like I can meet you half way.
You must admit, you’ve been very elusive, really playing hard to get.
You barely even show your face, and when you do, I turn around and you’re gone.
That hurts, because I can still remember all the good times we had.
All that crazy spontaneous traveling we did together, remember Italy, with the shopping, and long lunches?
You were always so there for me. I want to make more of those memories!
We even bought a house together for cryin’ out loud!
I think I showed my commitment to the long haul, what about you?
Sure, I made a few mistakes, but who hasn’t!
We had “it” once and I think we can have “it” again.
That kind of friendship doesn’t just disappear.
My choices may have seemed questionable, but now, if you could just stick around for a while, you’d see how they’re all working out for me.
You’ve said in the past that I’m overly sensitive, but you’re the one who’s stayed away for so long…and without even a goodbye.
I’m willing to forgive, forget and move on…together, hand in hand…like the old days.
Take a few days to think about it…I know how you are about change.
XoxJanet
Have you been noticing lately, like I have, that the happy place you go to in meditation has picked up its tent and moved, without leaving a forwarding address?
It feels just like when you get all cozy to sit down and watch your favorite show on cable, and the screen says: This channel is currently unavailable.
Damn you Time Warner!
Five days later you finally receive the notice that the cable company is changing the channel line up. Shouldn’t that be sent out BEFORE they rock your world?
When you examine the postmark, the date is like ten days previous!
WTF? Did they mail it from Antartica?
NASA can get mail to the International Space Station faster!
Suddenly, I’m not certain who to be madder at, the postal service, or cable??!!
Okay, so it’s like that.
The station we normally tune into has been changed, and it doesn’t feel right.
The connection is weak, we can’t land into it, so to speak.
Until we get the notice from the Universe, as to where they moved their tent,
I’m just sitting and trying to feel my way there.
“A little to the right, no, no, to the left now….that’s better!”
Like having your little brother adjust the rabbit ear antenna on the TV when you were kids, to get better reception.
The Universe has done this before, so I know it WILL become clear again.
It will be better, with more features after this latest update, but now it’s kinda offline.
It just irritates me when it changes without warning.
I’m intuitive and I didn’t even get the memo!
It feels to me like the end of these changes…giving us time to assimilate.
At least for a few months.
Until we get all cozy again.
Then: This channel is currently unavailable.
What?! Come on!!
Xox Janet
What sound does your heart make when you enter a room?
Is it pinched tight like a bud, or ready to bloom?
Is it a singular sound, high pitched and shrill,
that transmits stress against your will?
Is it a layered tapestry of sound,
where an abundance of different notes abound?
Is it buried too deep and low to hear?
Beneath the surface of a hard veneer?
We enter a room to find a match,
A heart to which we may attach.
So pay close attention to your heart’s broadcast,
If the notes feel old, you’ll repeat the past.
The song of your heart will synchronize,
To the beat of another’s,
Don’t compromise.
Pay attention, be diligent, delightful and wise,
Listen to the hearts of others,
You will be surprised.
What the hell!? I’ve gone and committed another act of treason on my sane and reasonable life. Seems that’s just the way I roll these days!
We picked up our 8 week old Boxer puppy on Sunday, and I haven’t slept more than an hour at a time since. What was I thinking?!?!
This blog is about to get very raw and real for the next few days, because my self editing faculties left me somewhere around Tuesday at 3am, and I have helicopter hair, meaning it looks like it was styled by a helicopter at full throttle up.
Good thing you don’t have SmellPad.
I think I showered this week…all I remember is our senior dog literally walking into the running shower with me to escape the madness.
Desperate times, require desperate measures!
Puppy madness is different than your garden variety madness. It comes in the form of a small furry demon, with tiny needle teeth and nails that can slice a tomatoe. It leave your hands bloody stumps, your neck look like Freddy Kruger gave you a massage, and all the while your heart is breaking from cuteness overload.
Yet, it’s hard to believe, that madness has left my life in a shambles.
It’s all I can do to write a blog post, but I treat this commitment like a job I actually love.
That being said, I have fallen asleep at this table, twice.
My feet are now torn to shreds, I’ve drunk more coffee than an Italian model consumes in a month, and I have written more about sex and chocolate than one woman has any right to.
I’m finding out that’s just where my mind goes when the going gets tough.
Good to know…not really.
Delete….delete…delete.
It’s been a seasonal 80 degrees this January here in LA.
That’s seasonal if you live south of the equator, which makes it all the more horrifying that I’ve taken to wearing Uggs, a thick scarf and gardening gloves for protection from the boxer-shark.
I can hear you haters on the East coast…wanna trade lives?
All this to pose a question: Why do we have babies, raise puppies, get bad break-up haircuts?? Why do we f**k up our lives like that? I’ll tell you why!
Because we forget the pain AND they grow and change faster than you can say “Shit, I’ll never do THAT again”!
The Universe, in all it’s wisdom, or as a cruel joke, I haven’t decided yet, gives us amnesia to perpetuate the species and keep us from sending the piranha-puppy packing. Say that fast three times!
Plus they’re just so damn cute!
So I guess after the whisk of sleepless nights stops scrambling my days and everything settles, I’ll actually miss these times.
But if you see me on the street in a few years and I talk about wanting another puppy…run me over with your car!
You have my permission!
XoxJanet
When swimming in shark infested waters
the best strategy is: Mind your own business, and don’t show fear,
You may ask yourself how you got into these dangerous waters in the first place.
Sharks are found in a few different places:
At the periphery of places teaming with joy and life, such as the stunning coral reefs,
or in deep dark waters where they never sleep.
They are opportunists, they seek those who have lost their way, who have strayed from the safety of the reef, or are all alone, out of their depth, swimming in places they don’t belong.
Throughout a life, that can happen from time to time.
It is always better to make a course correction before the encounter,
but inevitably along the way of exploration, you will find yourself swimming with sharks.
You can become mesmerized when you look into the cold eyes,
since you get no feeling reflected back from them.
They are not a mirror, but a black hole that absorbs your light, and your fear.
It’s okay, just look away, and keep on swimming.
When you encounter them, they are a sign you are out of your league,
you have a correction to make in the direction you are headed.
Mind your own business, don’t try to engage, or cajole.
They are impervious to any feelings other than fear.
Fear they smell, fear they recognize, and with fear they
will become a danger.
Stay out of the deep end, although it may have a pull, the allure of waters unexplored.
But if you must go, remember what we’ve said, about how to swim with the sharks.
Are you spiritually superstitious?
I’m pretty sure I am.
No, in the spirit of full disclosure, I KNOW I am.
I’ve taken to practicing all these little rituals to maintain a semblance of spiritual order.
It’s like I just keep catching myself repeating certain actions, or developing habits
that are starting to make me feel like Dustin Hoffman in Rain Man.
Do you do that?
Sure you do.
You don’t?
Shit.
So.. I write this blog…everyday.
Unless I don’t, which is seldom, but I’ll still post an inspirational saying or photo.
The pressure is immense! (not really, I actually love it)!
But somewhere between my devotion to this blog, and my amazement that something actually comes to me to write every day, I’ve become spiritually superstitious, I guess to keep things flowing in an orderly manner.
Until recently, I didn’t get out of bed until my little ritual was complete,
And it went like this:
1) Wake up, say “thank you” (in my head).
If I say it out loud, my husband will think something amazing happened last night, another thing he can’t remember, and it’ll just piss him off.
So the “thank you” is always silent. And must not be skipped!
See, there it starts!
Because…step two is:
2) Sit up and meditate.
But if I’ve forgotten the “thank you” part that comes before, then it kinda turns into my mantra, so the Universe can be clear how much I appreciate another shot at this life.
Then my mind isn’t empty enough for it to count as a REAL meditation,
so I have to sit longer until it does.
I can feel you judging!
3) Then I write.
Really what I do is I just get out of the way, and let the Universe/Muse write.
Then I get out of bed and pee.
Always in that order.
If I change it up, it just doesn’t flow. I’m just not on my game.
Like the major league pitcher who wears the same socks and underwear to
every game he pitches, to ensure his good luck, I’ve developed these crazy superstitions.
( Hmmmm…same socks and underwear, food for thought).
I’m sure I do it also to maintain my good standing with the Universe.
It’s never too late to start, right?
Because…
Do you curse?
I do.
I have a mouth like a sailor, and I fear that may be the end of enlightenment for me.
Do monks cuss? I don’t think they do.
Nuns do, this I know for sure!
I remember a nun in third grade called us “damn kids”.
She may then have spontaneously combusted…I can’t remember.
I can just see it, I’ll be on the top step of the ladder to Heaven/Nirvana,
and I’ll realize I left the secret password to the Pearly Gates on the kitchen table,
or in my other purse!
“Are you f* ing kidding me, Shit!”
“You can’t say that!
God doesn’t like a potty mouth!
No wings for you”!
So, I feel like if I say thank you, and meditate and then write, in the proper order every day, and I mean EVERY day, it offsets the cursing, and all the other stuff.
Like I have earned the “Grace” every author requires to create.
See what I’m talking about?
Are you with me?
But… last time I checked we were all human.
We curse and we cut in line at the cleaners, (well, I guess I should just speak for myself) and we sleep in and forget to meditate (gasp).
We can shake things up and still enlighten, right?
Perfectly imperfect?
If my desire and intention are pure, no need for ritual or luck.
None of that “same socks and underwear” stuff needed to ensure my success, because I’m learning it really isn’t a matter of luck at all!
It’s all about trust.
I can pee first and then write! No harm, no foul!
I try to write three hours a day now, (the operative word being “try”), so it doesn’t have to be first thing anymore, and as far as I can tell, the earth is still spinning on its axis.
So now it’s:
1) “Thank you”
2) Meditate,
3) Then get up… To maintain world order for now, and to keep the “Grace” coming.
But, if you start to notice things have gone a bit awry,…
I may have slept in.
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