Life

*this is a little trip down memory lane from last July. In honor of Dita, but also reminds me what a handful they were together!

This weekend, in a heroic act of immense bravery we took BOTH dogs, the boxer shark puppy, Ruby and the old girl, Dita, on a road trip up north to the Mountains of Santa Cruz.

Seems we were spurred on by a false sense of confidence, fueled by hope (and the need to get away, eat and drink too much and the lure of a good party) and by the fact that the couple who’s twenty-fifth wedding anniversary we were road tripping to see, are dog lovers and had recently lost their old girl, and needed a dog fix.

Our friends usually have a room in their home with our name on it, except this time, since so many family members were coming into town and they had a full house.

No biggie, we’ve stayed at the local dog friendly hotels in the past, easy peasy – with one dog.

Now one mature dog and a seven month old boxer shark puppy isn’t two dogs; the number multiplies exponentially by the misbehaving, excess energy factor and the general havoc wreaked; making it seem in stress and aggravation as if there are nine wild, howling hounds.

I’d like to file a grievance right here and now with the Canine Powers that be.

I was misled to believe that the old dog would co-parent the puppy; giving us a helping paw with the potty training and pass along all the amazing traits that had made her such a well-behaved joy, and our home such a well oiled machine.

What a fucking lie.
The exact opposite has occurred.

The older girl now eyes with intrigue, all the raucous misbehavior that had never even occurred to her, like jumping up to the kitchen island to eat our dinner while our backs are turned.

She hits her forehead with her paw, like “Doh” and feels she has a lot of catching up to do.

Dita had the training of a service dog…..not anymore.

The puppy’s bad behavior has begun to rub off on her.
Ruby has cajoled my sweet old girl into barking (unheard of) ignoring orders to sit and stay, flipping us off and sticking out her tongue at us behind our backs, making long distance phone calls and smoking behind the garage.
They are both behaving like thirteen year old teenage bitches.

If this trip had a title, it would be called the “what’s the worst case scenario dog and pony show?”

“Well, what’s the worst thing that could happen?” was our default expectation.

Those two could assume the roles of furry terrorists. They could trash the room like a couple of drugged out, over sexed eighties rock stars, they could jump on party guests, muddying white pants, overturning lavishly decked out buffet tables and leave two big poops in the middle of the lawn. That was our worst case scenario  speculation. We wanted to steal ourselves for the worst, like soldiers preparing for battle, so we could be prepared.

We have a doggie door at home, which in my opinion is the best invention since sliced bread.
It is better than sliced bread. I will happily slice my own bread, if my dogs can take themselves out to shit in the middle of the night.

When we go away, we are privy to our dog’s bathroom habits, of which we are blissfully otherwise unaware.

In other words, we have to wake up, get dressed, get a leash, walk down a long corridor, traverse stairs, find a patch of grass, and indulge Ruby’s urge to go star-gazing and maybe relieve herself of a thimble full of pee at 3am.

Then, back at the room, the minute you get everyone settled, get undressed and climb back in bed, Dita, who had been feigning coma sleep, yawns loudly, shakes and lets you know in no uncertain terms: now she has to go out.

I know they hatched this plan when we left them alone in the car while we ate lunch on the way up. They are now laughing the uproarious laughter that only the naughtiest of dogs can hear.

I’m certain of it.

I’m telling you, Mean Girls.

The Worst Case Scenario Dog and Pony Show.

I knew I had to stop this madness.
I had to nip this thinking in the bud, or it would become a self-fulfilling prophesy.

As I always say, it’s all in the energy of our expectations.

Why couldn’t we hope for the best instead of expecting the worst?
We had to.

I decided to rename the trip to the BEST Case Scenario Tour, where every thing turns out BETTER than expected, where the girls are well-behaved, everyone sleeps through the night, there’s no crying (Raphael) and everyone has fun.

Once I suggested we change our expectations, the vibe shifted.
Although we were still hyper vigilant at the party, we let them run free without leashes, playing with the kids and even ended up abandoning our plan to put them in the van once the food was served.

Truth be told, they played so hard with all the kids and the other dogs, smiling their big toothy dog smiles, (including a one hundred pound, big lug of a Great Dane puppy) that they were far too exhausted by the time the food was served to cause any trouble.
They fell asleep in the car two seconds after we left to go back to the hotel, slept through the night without a whimper and had sweet dreams of the best dog day EVER.

Did they suddenly become the best behaved dogs in the world? Or did we just chill out and stop expecting mayhem?

Hmmmmmmm, hard to tell.

What was the Best case scenario?
Exactly what happened.

*You can substitute the word dogs with children, co-workers or in-laws, it’s all the same.

Tell me about your dog/kids road trips. I’m sure you’ve got some stories to share.
Remember when you share it helps the tribe!

Sending big, wet, dog kisses,
Xox

So I woke up this morning feeling so much better. I’ll write about why tomorrow.

Needless to say it’s been a rough three days and when I looked in the mirror this morning, while I was brushing my teeth, the reflection that looked back at me was that of a puffer fish. My eyes swollen from crying, nose chapped and red and basically just a hot mess on toast.

It actually shocked me, it was so…NOT attractive.

Then I heard a voice in my head and it was that of my late friend Scott from my days in jewelry. Scott was a gentleman jewelry dealer in his seventies, with a head of white hair, bespoke suits and gorgeous antique rings and watches, he was someone out of another era… Let’s face it, Scott was a dandy.

He was also a shrewd judge of character and noticed everything down to the most minute detail.
This man had impeccable taste with the manners to match and although he spoke very little, what he said always hit the mark.

Scott could be a pompous ass, but who cares! — I thought he was divine.

Anyway, one afternoon while he was perusing the jewelry trays and entertaining me with one of the stories from his fabulous life, a customer entered. She gave us both a nod when we looked up but I noticed when Scott directed his gazed back down at his pile of treasures, he had one very raised eyebrow.

After another few minutes passed, I asked her if she needed any help and she very cheerfully answered back that she was “just looking”.

When I directed my attention back to Scott the eyebrow was still arched to high heaven.

Soon after she thanked me and left the store. A minute later without looking up, Scott said in his best faux British accent, “She had a face made for radio” which was his 1950’s gentlemanly way of acknowledging the obvious.

The woman was polite and nice but unfortunately, she was coyote ugly.

I gasped when he said it, but without missing a beat he looked up and winked at me with one of his twinkling, crystal blue eyes.

This morning I heard Scott’s dry, sarcastic voice as I looked in the mirror, “Sweetheart, you have a face made for radio.”

And I started to laugh. And not just a giggle, no it was from my big toe, into my belly, giant knee slapping peals of laughter –– long and deep and after the last few days I’ve gotta tell you –– it felt really good.

I’m sure my husband thought I’d lost my mind.

You guys, I do!
Today, I have a puffer fish face made for radio!

Love you Scott!

I just had to share.

Xox

I saw this the other day.
Underneath Cheryl wrote: I need to tattoo this on the inside of my eyelids.

And that made me laugh –– Me too!

Because guys, honest to God that’s life’s greatest challenge, isn’t it?

To have the knowledge that you make your life happen, but that you do it together with Universal assistance?

It is such a fine line, a tight rope walk of knowing when to just quit asking, surrender, stop micro managing, stop yearning and pushing and striving, to get down off our high horses, thinking WE know best (because we do –– hey, its our life) and let something greater than ourselves…
Take. The. Wheel.

It takes a lifetime of practice.

I fuck up. A lot.
I zig when I should have zagged,
Talk when I should be quiet,
Make decisions based on fear,
Freeze when action is required,
And sit stewing in self-doubt-soup for much longer than is healthy.

It is always when I’m going it alone…

Then I read something like the saying that Cheryl posted –– and I’m once again reminded to give up the fight!

I do so much better when I listen for directions instead of making up my own.

Divine Intervention…ahhhhhh. What a relief, you can drive this weekend.

I’m gonna put my feet up y’all, how about you?

love you,
carry on,
xox

*This is a Flashback Friday piece written a while ago, about some questionable behavior on my part.

I watched several people walk right by it. I did too. Twice.
Obviously some trash had found its way onto the path and into the planters in front of the door to the Y.

It looked like as if it had made a break for it on the way to the dumpster that lived around the side of the building. It consisted of a few pieces of shredded paper, a power bar wrapper and parts of a banana peel. As I walked around it on my way in, I thought: Gee, someone needs to pick that up.

I’m sure the guy in the way too tight and shiny bike shorts, holding the door for me, thought the same thing.

After my 45 mins of extremely rigorous and effective circuit training (15 mins on the elliptical, 15 mins on the arm machines and 15 mins gossiping with Tina at the front desk)
I sprinted (walked slowly), with Bruno Mars still blaring in my ears, to my car.
When I saw that the trash was still by the doorway, I was annoyed, Jeez, that’s still there? I’d better go tell Tina to send someone to pick it up. And I walked right by.

What.  an.  assbite.

The sheer audacity of my own entitled ass-bite-ish-ness stopped me in my tracks.I looked around. Someone WAS sent to pick up the trash. Me.

I bent down, made sure I got all the pieces, walked back inside and threw it in the can that was next to the door. With my own, two, manicured hands. It took me less than a minute. Probably less than 30 seconds.
Sometimes I just shake my head in amazement…at my own behavior.

Who are we, when no one is watching? Are we assbites that walk by trash, or people in need? Do we turn our heads or pretend we’re on the phone?
Or are we people with some character? I think we can be both.

Back in the day, right after I bought my house, I LIVED at the 24 hour Hollywood Home Depot. I would walk down EVERY aisle like it was a gourmet market. Even the lumber department.

It was dependable, free entertainment, by the fact that it was consistently crowded with a cross-section  of the most unique examples of humanity on the planet. It was the bar scene from Star Wars. AND, they played KROQ, an alternative rock radio station on the store PA after 6pm.

One night (It seemed I always needed a plunger or a dimmer switch at 11pm) in the aisle between electrical supplies and sprockets, was a sharp something or other that hadn’t been put back properly. As I absent mindedly strolled by, rocking out to The Clash, it jumped out and sliced my leg. Bad. Blood was suddenly EVERWHERE. It started to resemble a crime scene and as I looked around for help…crickets. There had easily been ten people on that aisle seconds before, and now it was deserted. Not a single soul.

People freak when they see blood. And a girl in denim overall shorts and Doc Martins hopping on one leg, howling OWWWWWWEEEEE loudly is certainly terrifying, I get it.

They don’t want to get involved.

I’ll never understand that. When you see someone fall, find a crying, lost child, or stumble upon a bleeding new homeowner –– see if you can help.
Be a person of some character. Even if no one else is watching.

Someone must have hunted down an employee, because a guy that looked like my brother, if my brother was COVERED in tattoos and wearing a Home Depot shirt, came to my rescue.
He quickly wrangled the guilty object that cut me back into its cubby, tied a tattered bandana around my ankle and told me to go get stitches and a tetanus shot.
In that order.
He also alerted me to the fact that I roamed those aisles “at my own risk.” Regardless, he was kind as he smiled and helped me back up on my feet.

It was then that my hero appeared. I heard angels singing.

He showed up with one of those flatbed wheelie things, and asked if I needed transport to my car. How chivalrous.

See…now this guy has some character.

Problem was, he resembled a biker/vampire, and I was sure the smell of my blood had beckoned him to my side. I declined his kind offer, and hobbled alone in the dark to my car, looking over my shoulder for a bat, or my scary pale, blood thirsty, knight in shining armor.

With all the cameras everywhere and YouTube video postings, we will all eventually  get caught in the act. But we have a choice. Will it capture us in a random act of helping or hiding? 

Tell me, are you the person that springs to action when someone falls or drops trash? Or have you caught yourself not wanting to get involved? Also, has something happened to you, and no one helped out? I’d love to hear your escapades?

Carry on, 

Xox

I Resist Nothing

Not the traffic,
Not the weather,
Not the donut left on my desk.

Not the automated email reply,
Not the snarky parking guy,
Not the dog/child underfoot who’s a pest.

I Resist Nothing

Not pushing a door that says pull,
Not my itchy sweater made of wool,
Not taking that f*cking DMV test.
.
Not the annoying voice of the lady in line,
Not letting the guy with one item take his turn before mine,
Not that second glass of wine.

I Resist Nothing

Not the desire to take a nap,
Not the last-minute changes to my schedule,
Not taking an extra minute to linger in the rays of the warm sun.

Not the urge to cry when the movie ends,
Not the advise,
Not the compliment,
Not taking the time to have coffee with a friend.

I Resist Nothing

I can be the Queen of resistance. I’m an equal opportunity resistor.
The good AND the bad, so I’m just asking myself, who wins when I do that?

What are you resisting and why?
Carry on,
xox

Thank you little person who goes through my recycling bin on trash day.

I say person because I can’t tell if you’re a man or a woman…and it really doesn’t matter.

It’s that smile of yours that stops me in my tracks every time, reminding me just how good life really is.

Even though you are barely taller than the large blue bin, you manage to get to the bottom of things, underneath the highly top-secret, shredded documents that leave my husband’s office every week, without making a mess. You can even navigate styrofoam popcorn at the holidays without one escaping into the gutter.
That’s a talent.

I’m intrigued with you.
It can be one hundred degrees or fifty, doesn’t matter –– there you are, rain or shine, dressed like a beekeeper, covered from head to toe, with only your tanned face exposed.

Yet, you have eyes that dance with mischief and dare I say…joy?
And inside that smile of yours I’ve noticed, at the most, maybe five teeth.

You are unabashedly happy as you gather our neighborhood’s valuable plastic, cans and glass bottles, and unapologetic, I can tell.
You take great pride in your work as you sift and sort, making sense out of chaos. You find the treasure amid the trash. I admire you for that.

I can be in the worst mood, convinced that my life sucks ass, walk up, see your big toothless smile and it can change my day. You have changed my day — many times.
Because how bad can my life be? You’re happy and I’m not?
That’s a reality check.
That’s a game changer.
That’s a Universal kick in the pants.

There’s big money to be made here, I know that.
I’ve joked a couple of times that judging from the number of wire baskets you fill with the valuable stuff that we can’t be bothered with, you probably have a Mercedes parked a few blocks away, and are wearing couture under your beekeepers outfit, like the Saudi woman do under their burka.

Good for you.

You provide a service and you do it with a smile filled with joy.

Or you’re medicated out of your mind. I have a cynical friend that swears you’re blissed out on some really great shit. “I’ll have what he/she’s having.”

Doesn’t matter.
Thank you for making me happy every damn Tuesday.

Carry on,
xox

“You can’t ride two horses with one ass.”

While I was growing up I used to hear that phrase all the time from my dad.

What? What does that even mean?

This was his reaction to my teenage stress. After he’d watch me fumble and stumble, struggle and juggle; fitting in play rehearsal, singing practice, homework, and my part-time job, he’d admonish me, “Janet, you can’t ride two horses with one ass.”

My reaction was to roll my eyes, snap my gum, turn my head toward the heavens, and exhale the long, deep exhalation of the exasperated teenager. “Okaaaay, daAAAAaad, I get it, make a decision. Do one thing at a time. Gawd.”

I always knew the one thing he thought I should choose to focus on was my job at the supermarket. It could end up being my security, after all, my future, just like it had become his. But truth be told, that was NEVER gonna happen.

He had little patience for my “extracurricular” pursuits. He, as the father figure, the patriarch, the breadwinner, just couldn’t understand what he considered frivolous time wasting.

And I, cast as the dutiful daughter, continued to struggle with not enough asses.

Those extra things were far from superfluous to me, hardly! They were actually my life’s blood –– my passions.

He was unable to wrap his brain around multi-passionate people, and that never changed.
I can’t say that I blame him. Us multi-passionate sorts are hard to figure out.

He’s not alone, there are many out in this world that can’t stand those of us who won’t seem to commit to just one pursuit. “Jack of all trades, master of none” was another of his old school, paternal pontifications.

After a while (years), I understood. I didn’t like it and I was incapable of abiding by it –– but I understood his confusion.

He was from the school of one horse, one ass.

Pick one thing, focus on it, and do it — for the rest of your life.
Then, and only after you’ve collected your retirement, are you allowed to entertain frivolous pursuits. Hopefully, you still have your health, vitality, and a little sass to keep things interesting.

Many in our family died soon after they retired, without enjoying much of life’s extras.

Here’s what I’ve come to realize as I’ve gotten older and hopefully a little wiser.
The things that hold passion for us in life are hardly extras. To me, they are the makings of a life well lived.

Jobs can be had, money made, the focus narrowed, and direction figured out, but it’s the multiple horses that we have the audacity to ride with our one crazy, creative, freedom-seeking-ass, that make us who we are!

Singularly Focused Exemplary Employee is not what I’ve ever wanted written on my headstone.

Badass, multi-passionate, creative, who can’t stay in the saddle; sloppy rider of an entire herd of horses, who you may hear whooping and hollering and having one hell of a ride –– and the time of her life.  Now that’s more like it.

Ride all those horses with your one wild ass.

Own it.

Sorry dad.

Carry on,
Xox

*Below is a recent post from Seth Godin. Man, I can relate, can’t you? What’s your soft spot?

I’ve been in the process of realizing recently that I lived almost two decades avoiding that “uh oh” feeling, too scared to attempt my best work, to be my best self.
My triggers are security and stability, but those are myths, right? They can only be found on the INSIDE.
Anyhow…Have a beautiful Sunday, take it away Seth!
xox

Here comes ‘uh oh’

Working to avoid a feeling merely reminds us of the feeling. And undercuts our work as well.

NOT ANYMORE!

Hey guys,
So…Going out on a limb here.
This is going to be an interesting post. More Woo-woo than most.
If you’re like me, I think most of you will find it interesting at the least, and take it with a grain of salt (and some dark chocolate) if it doesn’t resonate with you.

Here’s the deal. I get emails and follow a few very esoteric “teachers” you might say. Their information comes in the form of channeling or meditations, or just being kick-ass energy interpreters.

Believe it or not, I’m actually pretty discerning; so I read what they have to say, and then I sit with it –– to see how it feels. I like to think I have a finely tuned BS meter.

For the last few months they’ve all been saying the same thing, more or less, and I LOVE when that happens, so for me that’s confirmation.

There are a handful that I have followed since the early 1980’s and pretty much everything they’ve written about has come to pass, so they’ve earned their credibility with me.
Their information is always positive. Without exception.
I can watch CNN if I want to hear otherwise, right?

I remember way back when, hearing them talk about things like yoga, meditation and esoteric teachings becoming mainstream. Things that at the time were very fringe, they felt would be everywhere, even on TV! They predicted it over and over again and each time I scoffed, knowing that it was bullshit, and would never come to pass…Hello, Eckart Tolle, Deepak Chopra, Byron Katie, Abraham Hicks, Hay House, Oprah and Super Soul Sunday!

They also used to talk about technology “downloads” where the influx of energy with regard to triggering certain advances in technology, say like personal computers, (one in every household, like a television –– even handheld computers) was happening at the time. This also sounded like so much bullshit to me back in 1988.
If they’d only been more specific and told me to buy Apple stock!

So now here they go again, and now I have a blog with which to share it.

I think it’s fascinating information and it’s been going around since the end of 2014, and looks to still be on track to come in around March.

So here’s the scuttlebutt on the spiritual streets these days:

There is an influx of energy that is expected to come in, starting in March, that will begin to help us out –– and here’s how:
The human brain only uses a percentage of it’s potential. That’s been agreed upon, right? Some say ten percent and other studies have determined that it’s more like 30-ish percent.

What if the rest of it was storage? Ideas, thoughts, languages, great works and skills we’ve mastered over lifetimes lived on this planet. We’ve all heard about the guy who suffers a traumatic brain injury who then wakes up speaking a foreign language he never knew – fluently. Or the hit on the head that unleashes a previously unknown mathematical genius, or a prolific writer. What if it caused a person to begin to paint – masterpieces. Its happened.

How about children who are born knowing how to read? Or others that play piano or the violin like a virtuoso by the age of three, solve complicated math theories, or remember who they were before they were born?
How could they know that stuff? Does that accumulated information and wisdom remain stored in our brains, waiting to be “remembered” at some opportune time? Are these children simply fast tracking, remembering skills in order to bypass the usual eighteen years it takes the rest of us to come online?

So, it’s about timing, right? The time was right for the tech downloads, a few people around the globe picked up on them and UNDERSTOOD them, and within twenty years (which is the blink of an eye in the scheme of things) we all got Smartphones.

Now the timing is right for a “remembering” energy influx or download, tapping into the brain storage, and even upping brain capacity in a few short years into the forty percentile.

So what would that look like you ask? Apparently, it will start off slow and only if you want it (remember, free will, not everyone invented iPhones) and put simply –– you’ll get really good at stuff. Things you already excel at will get so much easier and better, and supposedly, we could all start consciously bringing forward other things we want to excel at.

Remembering feels different from learning. It’s cleaner, faster and easier.

Want to have a facility with foreign language? Want to retain what you read and listen to with ease? Want to write a book when you’ve never written a grocery list? (I can relate to that one.) Want to ace mathematics, cooking and public speaking? It’s probably all in there, in that storage facility called your brain.

I’d love to think that this is true, to believe that all things are possible, that we can begin to tap into that warehouse of knowledge when we need it, that the energy will allow all of use to fast track, not just a special few.

Don’t you? Hey,why not? Because otherwise, really, what’s the point? Are we here to learn something over, and over and over again?

Let’s all wait and see, I’d LOVE for them to prove me wrong…again.

If this made you laugh or upset you in any way, just forget about it –– oppps, too late, you can’t unknow something…

Carry On,
xox

* A Flashback Friday! I wrote this a long time ago but was reminded of it the other day when I played with a friend to determine who was paying for coffee. I won. With Paper.

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, litigators and diplomats among us.

You can rest assured their paper is covered with notes and 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