lists

I should be ashamed I love these things. But I’m not.

Not really. I suppose I should be because they’re not the usual suspects like spring in Paris, babies and puppies but hey, how boring would that be? We all love those things.

No, these are specific to my twisted brain. What I feel the least bit of a tinge of shame over is the ferocity with which I love these things. It’s the way I love them. The love is mad and runs deep. So, even though I know you weren’t wondering, without further ado, here they are:

1. Grilled cheese sandwiches. And not just any grilled cheese sandwich. It has to be just so. The trick is to use nice, thick bread and then butter and grill both sides. If that much butter bothers you order a salad instead and by-the-way, I don’t think we can be friends.
2. Words. Well, certain words like, pomplemousse, inert, tiddlywinks and hippopotamuses. I like the way they make my mouth feel when I say them.
3. Homemade croutons. Made from stale sourdough or better yet, brioche bread.
4. False eyelashes. (No secret there.)
5. The very rare natural redhead with brown eyes. My niece is one and people literally fall all over themselves staring at her hair. I had blue eyes (still do) when my hair was dyed red—so yeah, I was batting zero for two.
6. Pink champagne. Does this need an explanation? It shouldn’t. It’s magic.
7. Straws in my drinks. No umbrellas and please, no plastic monkeys (okay, just one).
8. Hikes with trees. Like a forest hike, not those dirt trails where there’s no shade and the terrain resembles Death Valley.
9. Science Fiction ANYTHING. Movie, book, TV show, it doesn’t matter.  I repeatedly tell my husband that in my next life I’m coming back as an astronaut/archeologist/deep space explorer. I’m pretty sure that won’t be for a while since I don’t want anything to do with our current space program. I want to be on a ship with gravity. Where I can run around, not need money and replicate whatever my little space exploring heart desires. So, see ya in 3033.
10. The chinese chicken salad at Joan’s on Third. There is only one that is better. My mom’s. Hi mom.
11. Jeans. Don’t you love jeans? I just love that I live in a day and age where pantyhose are no longer required and if they’re not faded and you wear them with a black jacket and nice shoes, you can get away with jeans almost anywhere. Except maybe a funeral. Wear a black dress or real pants to a funeral. Show some respect.
12. The chocolate pie my friend Ginger made for my birthday. ( Are you sensing my love affair with food?) She made two and we had a least one piece a day for my entire stay. I didn’t ask for the recipe because I’d like to fit in one airline seat the next time I fly.
13. Flashmobs. I will scream and cry if I ever see one in person. They make me crazy! You can surprise me with one anytime.
14. Nora Ephron movies. My favorite is You’ve Got Mail, but I also adore Sleepless In Seattle, When Harry Met Sally, Michael, Silkwood, Julie And Julia and…

So…what do you love with a fiery intensity that you might never admit except here, as an anonymous reader in front of tens of  my other readers?

Carry on,
xox

I was thinking about this the other day. Like why are there so many Chumps and so few Champions?
So I made a list-ishy thing. Do you have anything to add?

Chump or Champion?

When you know it’s not right…and you do it anyway.

Chump is a choice.

So is Champion, but for some at least—Chump is the easier path.

It’s a careless choice of words.
It’s a tone of voice.
A turn of a phrase.

Being patently insensitive

A certain indifference.
A definite intolerance.
A lack of empathy.
A need for attention.

It’s taking the low road because the low road can be crowded and they have better snacks.

Chump is a choice.

Chumpy behavior goes viral. It gets its own hashtag and reality show.

Champion’s victories are short-lived.

Chump is a choice.

Chump is loud, unscripted, unfiltered and raw. It gets yips and catcalls. It can be uncomfortably humorous—mostly at the expense of others.

Champs set the bar high for excellence. Funny? Maybe. But it’s inclusive, and it NEVER elicits a groan.

Chumps drink the Kool-aid. What am I saying? They MAKE the Kool-aid and put up a stand on the busiest corner—where they SELL OUT.

Champs quietly drink champagne out of silver awards cups…or Dixie cups.

Champ isn’t easy. It’s about beating the odds.

Chump is a choice.

Chumps a piece of cake. It’s about taking advantage of the odds. Leveraging fear and rage.

I’ve known some people who have chosen to go the way of the Chump. I watched it. It was very quick and very concise. I won’t name names because that would be Chumpy.

I’ve also known those who have chosen to be a Champion. It was quiet. It was solitary. It took time. It was a slog. Like losing that last five pounds, or turning the Titanic.

What I’ve learned is that EVERYTHING in life comes down to a choice. Which one will it be?

Carry on,
xox

I don’t want to harp on it, but hey, after the atrocities of this past weekend, I was reminded of the brevity of life and how many things still linger on my To Do List.
So, if I knew the world (or my life) were to end tomorrow, what would I regret not having done?

Walking the 500-mile pilgrimage of The Camino to Santiago de Compostela, through France and Spain. (My guess is that the success or failure of this undertaking rests solely in the choice of shoes).

Cleaning out my closet and giving away everything I haven’t worn in a year—which will leave me five pairs of black yoga pants and a tattered Oprah t-shirt.

Go somewhere remote and take a two-week vow of silence. Seriously. (Not the Camino, I may need to ask for directions).

Write everyone that I love a letter expressing my deepest, most heartfelt feelings and use the nice stationery that’s still wrapped in tissue paper in a sealed box.

Write one New York Times Bestselling book—or five.

Order dessert.

Take dance lessons.

Learn Italian.

Cut my hair short and spiky.

See Pompeii.

Speak at a TED TALK.

Sing Karaoke in a foreign country.

Wear the gorgeous gown I wore at my wedding again (which by-the-way was not a traditional bridal gown).

Along those lines: Stop saving anything for a special occasion.
Open that bottle of wine, use the good dishes, wear those diamond earrings, dance in those insanely expensive shoes with the three inch Swarovski crystal heels.

Eat my favorite meal, Thanksgiving dinner, more than just once a year.

Bake more pies.

Start telling stories onstage.

Disclose all of my secrets. Then make sure I die. Immediately.

Sell a screenplay.

Spend more money. Yes, you read that correctly!

Walk among pine trees more often.
A pine forest is my favorite smell on the planet, followed by melted chocolate, puppy breath, and onions and garlic sautéing in butter.

Smile more at strangers.

Hug my dog and my husband more often. I can’t imagine how that is possible, but I’m going to try.

What’s on your list? Care to share?

Carry on,
xox

The house is still. It’s the middle of the night so…that’s appropriate.

The only sound I can hear is the soft whrrrrr of the refrigerator, which spends its nights keeping my kale and green drink ingredients cool and fresh.

Damn you stainless steel box of cold air! (yelled dramatically while waving a fist).

Rant Alert:
Why can’t my protein, vegetable laden juices taste like a chocolate malt?
WHHHYYYYYY??
Is that too much to ask?

I’m submitting a formal complaint right here and now. Things that are good for you have GOT to start tasting better…or else…

Anyway…
My refrigerator has undergone a recent renaissance.
It seems to follow my life’s trajectory. Right now it’s all cleanses, bitter greens and shit like that.

I’m home most days writing, so I give myself very few options. It keeps me from cheating with fat infused deliciousness.

Like a fat deli sandwich. Or a patty melt.

As a matter of fact there is nothing delicious within a three-mile radius. I’d have to get in my car and drive to go get it, and my laziness overrules my cravings for gooey goodness every time.

That means technically, I’m not an addict, which gives me some solace.

What I am is: a vessel seeking clarity…with a bad attitude…in dire need of a cheeseburger.

For about two decades the freezer in my apartment contained two things: vodka and cigarettes (if you’re just a casual smoker, keeping cigs in the freezer keeps them fresh) not even an ice-cube dared show its face. Later, ground coffee replaced the cigarettes.

Quick story about how THAT happened.
Back in ’93 when I had my first “energy work” done, a friend came by the apartment to get the dirt. Remember, I had been violently ill for three days.

She was one of my gossip girls, so she knew about the cigcicles, and since she could tell my story was going be juicy and warrant a smoke, she walked over to the kitchen, which was just to the left of where I was sitting, and opened the freezer.

Suddenly, she jumped back, as if she’d seen a ghost, dramatically slamming the thing shut. I watched it all happen, puzzled.

“What’s wrong?” I asked her, with my head tilted sideways like a dog hearing a high-pitched whistle.

My friend still standing in front of the closed freezer door replied, “A voice just said DONT SMOKE AROUND HER!”
“What?”
“Shit, I’d better go”

Man, the disembodied voices in my apartment in those days were bossy!

“Sit your ass down, I’ve got a story to tell.” I barked, taking a page out of their book.

And THAT was the end of my casual smoking.

I tried one occasionally in the years that followed but they made me feel awful, and when something stops being fun, I quit doing it. Think Jane Fonda Workouts.

So, back to the middle of the night as I tossed and turned and awfulized—mulling over all of life’s ginormous decisions.

I finally made the first one and that was to switch my brain from F*U mode to productive mode, remembering all the recent things I’ve heard and read on making life altering choices when you’re at a crossroads.

So, to save you the obsessing and the time and trouble, here is a list of the things you should ask yourself:

1) Will I regret not making this change? (Regrets are like walking around with a wet coat on. They are killjoys.)

2) Why exactly am I hesitant/ indecisive? Make a list. (The list that you make in the light of day will always be shorter than the phone book sized one you make at three AM…just sayin’).

3) What doors will close if I make this change? Do I care? (That one makes my butt clench. Here’s a great quote from Mark Nepo for the people pleasers among us: “I tried so hard to please that I never realized; No one was watching.”
Right!? Did the top of your head just blow off? Mine too)

4) Which choice will make the better story? (kinda like the movie viewing analogy from Saturday’s post.)

5) How does the choice or change FEEL? (that really should be number one. Check your kishke).

6) What’s the worst thing that can happen? (consult your three AM list, believe me, they’re ALL there).

7) Whats the BEST thing that can happen? (usually written on a Post It)

8) What would I tell my best friend to do? (sans snarkiness, jealousy, competitiveness and ego).

9) What’s the “next right thing” to do to stay free of ego? (In other words, check your motivation. Is it pure? Not really? THERE’S your answer.)

10) What choice or change would make me the proudest in five years? (That’s often the clincher for me. Can’t say I’m too proud of myself when I can’t be brave and I play it safe.)

There you have it. I hopes this helps. Clarity is key to making the best choices. That and chocolate.
Love you all,

Xox

“If you build the guts to do something, anything, then you better save enough to face the consequences.”
― Criss Jami

Things that never happened because I didn’t have the guts.
The list is long. Like longer than Taylor Swift’s legs long.

How do I know for sure what could have happened?
I don’t. But my regret does.
I’m sure you know what I mean.

My regret is an artist who paints with broad strokes. Large, majestic scenery, filled with full-color landscapes of stories that never happened.

It also is a master in the art of persuasion.

Those stories look spectacular.
They seem amazing.
They are fucking fairy tales.

In these scenarios, my gutless self is replaced by another person. Someone who is risk averse; the acrobatic chance taker/failure dodger. For instance:

I’m a Broadway actress with a shelf crowded with Tony awards.

I’m a rock star, or the wife of a rock star (take your pick), who continues to tour and performs to sold-out crowds.

I’m a mother. Twin boys and a girl.

I’m an entrepreneur who shattered the glass ceiling and owns six companies that are all publicly traded.

I’m a seasoned lecturer and public speaker.

I’m someone who looks refreshed and rested, at least ten years younger (but whose wallet is twenty-five thousand dollars lighter.)

I’m the winner of Dancing With The Stars, The Voice, the Apprentice, and Jeopardy (the celebrity edition).

I’m a mentor on America’s Top Model after having my face grace more magazine covers than any other living human being.

I am resting on my laurels.

~OR HOW ABOUT~

I’m an aging hippie who lives off the land up in Oregon.

I’m an aging New Ager who lives off tips in Hawaii.

I’m the aging owner of a brothel somewhere tolerant of that sort of thing.

I’m busking on the corners of Santa Cruz.

I’m the ex-wife of seven men.

I’m someone who never married, looks thirty-five and owns dozens of Siamese cats.

I’m living in a Villa in Italy after cashing out, buying a one-way ticket, and hooking up with a guy named Paulo.

I have photo albums filled with pictures of me bungee jumping, sky diving and formula one racing, climbing Mt. Everest, Deep sea diving and waving my certificate that states I am the top of my class in NASA astronaut training school.

I’ve changed my name to Solange.

After surveying this list. The list that was supposed to summon that pit in my stomach. You know, the one that makes you feel bad about yourself and feeds regret?

Instead I had an epiphany.

What if those things didn’t happen not so much because of a guts deficit — but due to a keen sense of the obvious as far as knowing what I was capable of — an inkling of my life’s trajectory — a ginormous helping of common sense?

Ha! Take that regret!

P.S. I HAVE done many things in my life that required a shit-ton of guts, and so have YOU—but THAT my friends, is a list for another day.

Got any regrets?

Carry On,
xox

This is an essay by my friend and fellow Carmel Writing Retreat attendee Denise Damron. Let me just tell you a little bit about her. First of all she missed the first night of introductions at the retreat because she was at a ROCK CONCERT. Don’t you love that!

This woman has her priorities straight.

She is quiet,(meaning she couldn’t get a word in edgewise)but when she did interject something into the conversation it was genuine, wry, dry…and smart. She is wicked smart.

So once I realized she was totally out of my league, I fell in love, like I do, with her and her writing.

Denise is finishing a fiction book about a young girl who realizes she’s descended from a long line of extremely unusual woman with very special magical powers. As I sat that week listening to her read various excerpts from the story, I was amazed at how well she captured a teenage girl’s hopes, dreams and oftentimes snarky personality. After reading this I am almost certain she patterned her heroine after her niece Penelope.

Geesh, these young girls are so much more self-aware and dialed in that I ever was then…or am now for that matter!

I know a lot of you guys have kids and the rest of us are going through huge transitions so I think you’ll be able to relate and even smile.

Take it away Denise:

“In my family we are birthday list-makers. I got the list below from my now nine-year-old soon-to-be ten-year-old niece last night. A sign she is growing up – NO DRESSES PLEASE!!!

It made me think back to when I was 10.

Was I so well-evolved at that age? I mean, look at this list.
This is the list of a girl who knows who she is and is not afraid to list it. She is girly and tough at the same time – note the warrior in her with her Minecraft sword and axe and the feminine in her with the vanilla perfume scent and O-P-I nail polish. She is Xena Warrior Princess in a pair of Louboutins.

I like to think the dark red lipstick is a nod to me, her aunt, since I will not take out the trash without wearing my red lipstick.

At that age I was just beginning to dream of being a famous writer-singer-actress-world traveler. I felt invincible. I was going to break the glass ceiling. I was going to be President of the United States or make sure a woman became president (I was an early feminist).

So what happened to me in the years that transpired since I was 10? Middle school nasty girls, too-much-partying high school, sorority girl Pappagallo shoes and pink Izods in college , first job-first apartment independence, bloom-off-the-rose second, third, fourth, and more, until finally my last job as a director in a Fortune 100 company. Throughout many of those years I wish I would have had a Haters Back Off Miranda Sings shirt to warn away the soul sucking crazies I ran across in my work.

I just had my 54th birthday in April and one year after leaving my corporate job to start my own business and write my novel (both of which I accomplished) I feel like I’ve come full circle back to the girl I once was. Older, yes. Wiser, hope so. But still full of dreams and hopes and wishes for the future. Now, instead of making a list of stuff I want (although I can always use more red lip stick) I take the opportunity to list the things I want to accomplish in the next year.

Here’s my list in no particular order:
• Find an agent to publish my young adult novel
• Finish my PhD dissertation
• Stay close to nature and take more walks with my Siberian Husky Gracie
• Keep my life filled with music by going to more concerts
• Let the voices and pictures in my head out by starting my next novel
• Channel Miranda Sings’ Haters Back Off mantra by being true to myself
• Connect more with positive friends
• Meditate and keep my chakras cleared
• Generate positive, productive, awe-inspiring energy
• Political comment alert: Work on getting Hilary elected
• Stay tuned in/check in on a regular basis with my body, mind, and spirit

Here is my niece’s birthday list:

PENELOPE’S 10TH BIRTHDAY WISHLIST BY:PENELOPE GRACE

• T-Mobile Sim Card
• Justice Dance Bow Graphic Tee
• Justice Zebra Cross Back Leotard
• Nerf Rebelle Agent Bow
• Haters Back Off Miranda Sings Pants
• Haters Back Off Miranda Sings Shirt
• Emoji Pillows
• Bright Red Lipstick
• NO DRESSES PLEASE!!!
• Minecraft Sword
• Minecraft Axe
• Justice Gift Card
• Coconut Perfume Scent
• Vanilla Perfume Scent
• O-P-I Nail Polish
• Crackle Nail Polish
• Dark Red Lipstick”

Carry on my friends,
xox

Here is the link for Denise’s new company:
themarketingimagination.com

Here is the link for the Carmel Retreats:
bookmama.com