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short bus enlightenment

the brain is the only organ that can think about itself.  how fucking weird is that to...think about?

i admit i think too much.  i know this because there's a book about it.  wanna guess the title...?  here's a clue: "vaginas who contemplate excessively."  

apparently this is not the lovely gift i believed was bestowed upon me at conception then bragged about from the moment i could talk.  sadly, according to my latest favorite mentor, none other than the cute and groovy deepak chopra, my disneyland of a brain not only not a blessing, it's a damn curse. 

so how, i ask, does one stop thinking?  and please correct me if i'm wrong (anyone, that is, who is not currently living in a cave at the top of a mountain in or around the vicinity of tibet, india or any other place one would deem "extra-spiritual.") but isn't the first thing that occurs to your average, non-yogi master, even if said seeker has pink pony sinshine (oops! i meant sunshine) daydream goals of self-awakening....to think about it....??!!! 

how many times do people say things we think we understand, only to have a "bathroom revelation" later that day or week or month which causes us to re-contemplate the entire scenario?  do they know we may have completely misinterpreted their meaning?  do we go back and ask them if they thought we understood the thing they believed they were conveying to us with razor-sharp accuracy?  how do we ever even know if what we say to someone gets into their head and does its pin-ball bouncy-dance then somehow, magically, is assimilated into their psyche in a form that resembles anything close to its original meaning?  might we know by their response?  their lack thereof?  do we care and does it even matter?  are we spewing our all-important opinion for their benefit or for ours? what the hell is communication anyway?  what's this bulllshit known as "active listening?"  what exactly is "mirroring?"  how can we know if someone is paying us a true compliment and when they just want to get laid/off work early or paid?

here i go again.  females who ponder wildly.

why did our all knowing creator give us this brain only to have it decide that over-using it is detrimental?  do we create our reality or does it create us?

i must stop. 

thank god for red red wine.

purple haze

though the temptation to watch oprah's episode featuring the pregnant man is very strong, my desire to sit out on the back porch in my wife beater and panties while listening to the awesome pounding of thunder and occassionally catch a glipse of a hot white lightening bolt slam to the ground (hopefully not too close to where i sit happily sipping an abita purple haze, "a crisp, american style wheat beer with a fresh raspberry puree added after filtration") and write, is stronger.  for that i am so happy. 

this morning in the bath, i finished a book called, "hypocrite in a poufy white dress."  as is typical for me, immediately upon the completion of a book i found not just enjoyable but actually good enough to cause the contemplation of my own life and imminent death; possibly even a fleeting moment of that "one-ness" bob marley spoke of, sans pot. and of course, i'm instantly depressed because it's over and now i need to find a new book.

ahhh.....the sweetest most perfect wind just blew through my unbrushed hair and my puple haze is just about gone, as are my children and husband, so rather than sit here and write more like i "should" i believe i'm going to do something completely irrational like....hold on....it's coming....oh shit, i had temporary amnesia and forgot that i live in boone, nc where the most exciting thing to do is/was to drink at the bar known as the "boone saloon" owned by our lovely friends whose names i won't mention due to the female half of said bar requesting i keep her identity annonymous....(love you, K...Y!)

so i believe i will venture out to one of the two bookstores here to giddly peruse the shiny happy covers holding hands. 

because honestly, i'm in a bit of a funk. i truly have so much to be happy for AND my kids are gone and i have all this TIME to lounge, debauch, sleep, read, eat, drink and be merry and i actually, kind of, sort of....really miss them a lot. they're my buddies and i don't give a shit what those self-help books say about that. i have a couple boundaries...don't hit, don't steal, don't wake me up from my nap and fireworks are o.k. until you lose body parts (or some recent vet comes knocking on my door on new year's eve telling me you need to get a clue about the danger of explosives). love is the answer, really, it is. 

the quality of the maharashi for today is "ultimate creativity" and i had such grandiose plans earlier on to paint some sort of "cystine chapel meets dali" masterpiece but now all i wanna do is go to wal-marx and try on ridiculous clothes and take self-portraits in the dressing room. 

life is good. god it's good.

to hell on a harley

it's happening again. somewhere around 3-4 a.m. i am awakened by thoughts of blogging and the unmistakable feeling of hunger pangs.  i begin silently reciting actual sentences which are surprisingly pre-edited and somewhat literate for someone who was only moments earlier passed out in a deep and drooling sleep.  but this time i don't resist. i crawl quiet as a mouse out of bed, snatch my mc laptop and find, amazingly enough, that there is one generous serving of peanut butter puffins left in the box.  call it divine intervention if you must, it is the middle of the night and i am awake and writing.  I don't fancy myself a superstitious woman per se but as i peel off layer after layer of the onion that is me, i tend to be more accepting of the obviously deep, spiritual meanings masked in rather mundane packages.  i was trying to recall the first book i ever read that could be classified as self-help, not counting the numerous christian, bible-based, fundamentalist ones i was allowed to read.  this particular thought sent me careening off the main thought highway onto a bumpy dirt side-road where i was compelled to dwell on these books for awhile. as far as i can remember they all said basically the same thing; "i was born a sinner, jesus was crucified because of me, even thought he made me and knew what  i was going to do my whole life." and if i was lucky enough to hear "the message," and drop to my knees to recite the magic prayer which  i'm a filthy sinner who needs forgiveness, please come live in my heart forever and ever, amen.  suddenly BAM! my access to heaven is granted.  i really can't recall the first time i said, "the prayer" but i can tell you that i soon thereafter hopped on the "re commitment train" by saying "the prayer" again and again for many years to come.  these re commitments usually took place in a tent or a fairground and you can be sure that the choir was always belting out the sappiest, weepiest songs, pleading for sinners to come home.  the girls in the choir were draped in chiffon dresses of various heavenly colors with names such as "pepto-bismol pink" and "lemon-meringue yellow." their hair was lacquered to the point of fossilization in angelic waves and often times there were actual tears slipping down their cherubic faces, creating small, thin troughs which parted the thick beige foundation, much like the way moses parted the red sea. there was no doubt that i was saved. i was saved, re-saved and forgiven for all my sins. i believed, oh lord did i believe.  the problem was that i was was shy and shyness didn't help me accomplish the mandatory task of spreading the message of the gospel to as many sinners as i could in a holy effort to save them from a quick trip to hell.  hell, as i interpreted it, was a place where you answered to the king of darkness and his peons, separated for all of eternity from those who managed to say "the prayer."  but i must reiterate and say that i was truly a shy child who would rather slice my own eyeballs into thin julienne slices than to have to "share the message."  which made me just one teensy-tincey bit above those darned sinners who failed to say "the prayer".  the guilt and shame i felt from my inability to do my job as a disciple of Him made me feel as if i were. personally driving them all straight to hell on my shiny red harley. 

peanut butter angels

i just read this cool book called, "Your Psychic Self," and the author said that sometimes her angels wake her up in the middle of the night to tell her important things. Apparently my angels woke me up this morning to tell me to eat a bowl of Peanut Butter Puffins and finally start blogging.  I'm somewhat of a virgin blogger but have been journaling since i was eight. my very first journal, a small, fake denim  book, once had a tiny gold lock, whose whereabouts are unknown. not a problem, since the plastic strip holding the thing together has since been cut, making my deepest childhood thoughts a veritable public free-for-all. page one begins with this literary masterpiece, "mommy was being very mean today." mom, if you're reading this it probably had something to do with adam.  adam, if you're reading this you probably took something that was a. mine or b. perceived by me to be mine. just remember that i was, and always will be the oldest child and therefore, the "boss of you."  shelby, leslie and sarah, you can all calm down as none of you were even born yet, but thanks for reading this and for all your love and support. i love you all to death :) dad, i love you too, you just weren't involved in this particular crisis.

as i begin to fade, i realize that early morning blogging may not be the best idea for a non-morning person and therefore may not produce the best material. but i (with the help of my angels, thank you very much) am committed to writing every day.  a writer i was once in love with put it quite succinctly; "if you want to do something well, do it every day." somehow the simplicity masking the profundity of that statement makes it hard for many would-be writers to digest. it's not enough to read about writing or talk about writing. writers must actually, by definition, write.

so while i admit whole-heartedly that late night/early morning blogging is a rather humble start, it's a start nonetheless. and you know that cool thing that famous guy said about the first step, right? good, 'cuz i can't remember.  but as soon as my peanut-butter angel gets cozy on my left shoulder (isn't the angel on the left? and when we view them on t.v. it's "my right, your left?") the devil on my other shoulder thinks he's funny and causes the battery symbol on my mc laptop to flash the scary red color.  to a person less lazy than myself,  this may mean it's time to get off their ass and find the damn power cord. but to yours truly, an obviously more enlightened being, it merely means it's nigh-night time.  and besides, my puppy chewed the cord and it's currently being held together by black electrical tape.  ok, so i've been mildly electrocuted a handful of times but hey, i'm quite the dedicated writer and the show, as they say, must go on.  more on electrocution and dedication to a cause tomorrow.  from me and my angels, goodnight :)

dog vomit work-out

thank god for yahoo-answers! as i sit here watching mad t.v. as a "warm-up" for the work out i'm thinking about maybe doing later my nose is being assaulted by the unmistakable odor of dog vomit. at least i'm assuming  it's vomit judging by the chunks of what looks like regurgitated pork along with sticks, string and some little white air-soft gun pellets (damn it kids! i told you not to shoot the dogs! ) i suppose it could also be some form of doggie-diarrhea as there is a distinctly brown color to it.  i happened upon it just before  i unrolled my yoga mat(proof that mad t.v. was not my first choice for a warm-up). i must be learning something about the fine art of acceptance because rather than immediately crying or swearing i laughed, then got down on my hands and knees in order to inspect the damage (don't worry, i breathed through my mouth). upon recognizing that the spot was nearly the size of an extra large pizza, i opted for some research regarding the correct way to deal with it, being as i had just spent the last two days laboriously dragging around a steam cleaner in order to remove all the dirt and smells accumulated from the sins of the past 3 years, 7 pets, 3 children and a myriad of visitors and situations.  

great! now i can't figure out how to stop writing in italics but in a valiant attempt to keep on bloggin' i will continue my story regardless, realizing that the remainder will have a sort of "more important than it really is" feel. oh well.

so i sit here waiting the recommended 30 minutes for the cool water and salt mixture to do its magic and permeate deeply into the tight weave of the pale blue carpet and eat up the stain, i once again thank my lucky stars (and bill gates and all the other techni-genius') for giving us google, yahoo-answers and all those other sites where we can learn how to clean up dog vomit, make home-made bombs, even enlarge our penis' in a few easy clicks! in fact, when it comes to penis enlargement we don't even have to search, the perfect answers and products are right there waiting patiently for us in our spam box! sometimes a few even sneak into our actual inbox under the pretense that the sender is that special, long lost high-school friend, "hi whitney!" reads the subject line..."i've missed you!"  ha-ha sucker! it's me, viagra/cialis/generic "penis-growth oil" straight from mexico. 

but i regress. 

the timer just rang, alerting me that i must go on to steps two and three, gently blot up excess liquid with plain white paper towels (apparently sponge bob prints don't work so well) then make slow circular motions with a sponge drizzled lightly with mild dish detergent (or bleach, i can't quite remember).

i'm thinking that all this scrubbing and fetching of pertinent supplies for said project will probably count as my actual work-out and since the pungent smell doesn't seem to be going away it may be in my best interest to inhale, then imbibe the sweet scent and taste of an abita strawberry beer (a.k.a. my"cool-down"). 

wow, i think it might behoove my public by adding my own yahoo-answer to the mix.  i'm guessing you can find it under with key words, "dog-vomit/work-out" 'cuz who, i ask you, doesn't love the satisfying taste of a crisp and fruity beer after a job well done?