Life thru the haze of cat hair.

Tag Archives: wondering

Hello! I’m serving up pizza tonight. Eat up.

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Today marks the end of the first half of 2012. 

I want you to take a moment and think back to December 31, 2011, when you were reflecting on the year past. Think of what you hoped 2012 would bring for you. Think of the goals you set and the vision board you created. Are you there? Can you see it clearly?

Great.

Now. Fast forward to today. Take a moment to look at that vision board. Look at your list of goals and intentions. Have you met any of the goals you set? All of them? Is the vision you set for the year still relevant to where you are now? 

6 months doesn’t seem that long, but it’s enough time for your life to have had a few realignments. 

Perhaps it might behoove you, us, to review what we wanted and what we have accomplished and to see if these things line up. Or is it time to modify things? Re-evaluate? 

We all want to live our best lives. I’ve written here before that we should treat every day as the start of a new year. Sometimes we need to have milestones that remind us.

Is it time to update your goals?


Apparently, I am supposed to be a writer, will be published in the next year, and will become a motivational speaker.

Huh.

Where did that come from?

I have over-documented love-mostly hate position I currently hold at the Gas ‘n Sip. So I won’t rehash that here. Again. For the billionth time. Last week, I was finally on vacation – first one since the end of 2011. Coworkers were literally begging me to go. True story.

I was done on Friday. Saturday, I went to get my hair did. (It’s lovely, BTW). After that, I wandered around the Port and headed to one of my favorite shops – Leaping Lizards. It is a cute little boutique-y type store that sells crystals and incense and metaphysical books…stuff like that. Even if I don’t buy anything, I feel better going in and playing with stuff.

Anyhoo, I went in, and yadda yadda yadda, I had a reading done with an Angel Reader. I’ve never had an Angel reading before. It’s sort of like Tarot, but she reads your ArchAngels and Goddesses. It was kind of cool. I don’t know how deeply I believe in all that, but I do think there is something to it. She said that I need to find a more creative job (true) and that I need to find something that I love to do that is creative in nature. Okay. I can do that. I asked her if she meant painting or knitting or writing. She said the goddesses were telling her writing – I should take my laptop, go to the beach, and just write.

(Side note: Um… no. If I’m going to write at the beach, it’s going to be with a pen and paper. I don’t need sand all through my laptop. Sure, I know people do it all the time, but with my short-attention span, I would put the computer down, pick it up, put it down, etc. So, no.)

Right before Lois was done, she pulled out her “Ascended Masters” cards. She felt there was one last thing she was being led to tell me. She shuffled, I set the intention, and she drew a card. The card was “WRITE”.

Oh Em Gee, right??

Fast forward to this past weekend. It was my annual Girl Camp weekend. (More about that another time).

A psychic came in on Saturday and for giggles, I went to her too. Bonnie talks with her spirit guide, Henry. I didn’t tell Bonnie anything about my reading from the previous week.  She told me that my grandmother is watching over me and is very proud of me. (This is my mother’s mother – whom I have never met because she died when my mom was 13). But that was cool to hear. She knew my mom has cancer, but said she was going to be okay.

Then Henry, out of the blue, said that I am going to be writing a book and that I will be showing it to Bonnie at next years Girl Camp. I told here I’d be charging her full retail.

(Side note: Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m betting that it takes longer than 12 months to write, edit, find a publisher, convince them your book rocks, then get it out to the shelves. But, hey, who am I to argue with Henry?)

 

I just found it interesting that 2 independent parties each told me that I need to write. I would like to think that I have a book in me, but here’s the thing…I don’t have a plot, characters, story line, outline… minor details, I know. And as self-absorbed as I can be, I don’t think I have a memoire-type book in me. There are a few stories, but not a book’s worth.

 

So, if anyone wants to help me out with ideas, or even get me started as a book reviewer, I will take the help. I have been trying to find book-reviewing gigs, but they are sparse in this area. And unless the Wonder Twins decide to start contributing to the household expenses, I cannot afford to move to a larger city without a stable job.

What say you, my Goddesses and Grandmother? Help a sister out?

 


About a week or so ago, a friend confided in the privacy of a chat, that she had slapped her daughter during an argument. Slapped her “a few times”. (Her words). Slapped. Her. Daughter.

Background:

No. I just wrote out what I know about Louise* and her story, but A) it isn’t my story to tell; B) I only know about her story that which she has shared; and C) this post is only about the slap and my reaction. So I deleted it.

Suffice it to say that Louise is making a huge change in several areas in her life. One of her daughters has been acting up – lying, promiscuity, possibly drugs – and this is all completely out of character for the daughter. So they have been fighting a lot.

Last week, Louise joined the chat and said “XXX and I has a HUGE fight last night. Everything came to a head. We were yelling at each other and I slapped her. A few times…. but the result was XXX”. Again, that’s the big part of what you need to know.

All the other women in our chat were “Oh, I’m sorry you have to deal with that.” “Teenagers are hard.” “You did the right thing – she needed a wake up call and you got her attention.”

I? Remained observant in stunned silence.

Disclaimers:

  • I was never slapped by my parents, as a child. I was spanked, but rarely.
  • I don’t have any children (that I know about), so I cannot put myself fairly in her shoes.
  • The magnitude of the changes Louise is making would make anyone crazy, I would imagine.

I was going to write this post the day it happened, but I couldn’t. I wanted to marinate in her actions, and more importantly, my REACTION to her actions before I wrote anything.

My response to Louise at the time was something like: “I have to be honest. I’m struggling with the slapping portion of your story. I AM NOT JUDGING YOU, but I’m having a hard time with it. I’m glad you got XXX to open up and talk though.”

But who am I kidding. I did judge her. I think I still am. I haven’t been able to pinpoint exactly what it is about “the slap” that has affected me so profoundly. I’m not a mother. I don’t know how bad the argument was. I don’t know the degree to which XXX was acting up.

I mean, I know how frustrated I get with my cats. But really? They’re cats. I know it’s not the same thing, by any stretch of the imagination.

I reached out to my friends at The Band to get their perspectives. They seemed to be as shocked/horrified/disturbed about it as I was. Not that that makes my reaction right.  (BTW, are you with The Band? You should be.)

So, your turn.

If someone told you this, how would you react? What do you say? Am I blowing this out of proportion because I don’t have the parental-perspective?

 

*Names changed


“You shouldn’t go in there.”

“I should lose weight.”

“I should be able to do that.”

“You should be able to fit.”

You get the idea.

The Merriam-Webster Dictionary that I keep on my desk at work (don’t judge) defines  “should” as:

past of SHALL; used as an auxilliary to express condition, obligation or propriety, probability, or futurity from a point of view in the past

I have developed a real hatred of this word, should.

Why “should” I do anything? Who is the supreme ruler of my life that dictates whether I “should” do this or that?

I don’t like to think of “shall” being sullied with an association with “should”. “Shall” is a perfectly lovely word – I shall go meet you for tea. I shall enjoy this meal without guilt. Yes, I shall have that walk with you.

“Should”, on the other hand, just sounds like judgement. Almost as if when you don’t do what you “should” you are a big failure.

“They should get married.”

“You should move to a bigger/smaller/less expensive house.”

“You shouldn’t have paid so much.”

Can we stop with “should”? Even “ought” seems to be a better option. It feels more affirming to me. “They ought to get married.”

See?

Since you are the only one who can decide your state of mind and level of joy, how about you stop “should-ing” on yourself. “I should get up and put that laundry away (because if I don’t, I’ll look like a lazy slob).”  Try to “ought” yourself instead. “I ought to get up and put that laundry away, (but I’m so cozy here in this bed/chair/embrace that I will savor this moment a while longer).”

See?

I’m going to stop letting outside influences “should” on me. They don’t know what’s best for me or what’s in my heart or why I am doing/moving/acting the way I am. Mostly, I’m happy. When I let “should” in, that’s when the doubts start. That’s when I question myself.

The next time someone tells me “You should….”, I will look them straight in the eye and ask “Why? Why should I?”

I might try to bring back “shall”, while I’m at it.

 


So the name of this one is called “It’s a Brand New Day”.

I thought it would be good for the new year.

Whatcha think?


For as long as I can remember, I have always felt like an outsider. One of those sad little wall-flower people, looking in through the window at the cool kids, hanging out, laughing and sharing inside jokes. It’s a cold and lonely place to be.

I remember being on the outside during high school. I was friends with some of the “in-crowd” but never fully accepted. Same thing happened in college. Again, at my jobs.

And OMG, don’t even get me started on the book clubs I have tried!

The common denominator in all of these situations? Me.

Maybe my insecurities have stopped me. Maybe my shyness. Maybe my self-esteem (or lack thereof).

But I know I have something to contribute. I *know* I do. I’m smart. I’m funny. I’m creative. And yet, I still hover around the edges, hoping someone will smile or say hi or take me under their wing, and help me be more comfortable. Am I just having flashbacks to the mean girls in high school?

I recently joined a group, ever the optimist. They have been together for a good amount of time and are well established with each other. I joined because I support what they do for the community and people in need. But at times, I feel like I’m stepping into a rushing crowd with no idea what’s going on. So I either get out-of-the-way or I get trampled. And, there I am, on the sidelines again.

How do I get over this? Give me some tips, please! I have been thinking about leaving the group already (it’s been a few months now). They will go on and continue to do good things. And I will feel like I have failed. Again.

So I ask you: Does it ever get easier to fit in with an established group?

 


How do you know when your tastes have changed? How do you differentiate between a new interest or lack thereof and a mood swing?

I’m not one of those people who can say “I don’t watch TV” and look down my nose at others while I say it. I watch TV. And most of the time, I like it. I find it a good way to relax and to just chill out with something mindless. After 8+ hours at the Gas ‘n Sip, I just want to let someone else do the thinking for a while. And while I would love to come home and turn over all responsibility to someone else, I can’t do that. The Wonder Twins *insist* that since they don’t have opposable thumbs, they can’t *possibly* help out. What they can do? Look adorable and prance in front of me looking adorable. Le sigh.

I have a bunch of shows that I record regularly. The problem? Lately, I find myself less interested in the “standards”. I loved NCIS, L&O SVU, CSI, Burn Notice. But lately, I just cannot take the violence and blood and gore. The inane ability for the main characters to come across all the C4, explosives, guns, etc at *just* the second they need them? Or that OF COURSE there is a car, unlocked, with the keys in the ignition just there. It makes me seven kinds of stabby. Come on.

But, what is it? Is it because my tastes have change? Or is it because I am feeling the need to change EVERYTHING in my life? Should I make that commitment? Or should I change things more slowly so as to not freak out?

How do you know if you are changing or just being impetuous?


This morning, I was skulking around on the Interwebz, looking for new and lovely blogs to add to my readers. I have several now, but as my tastes change, as my interests change, as *I* change, the blogs I like change too.

Anyhoo, when I looked at the “suggested sites” that were listed on my reader, I noticed that there were several “bundles” available. A bundle is sort of a folder of blogs, grouped together by theme or category. Well, now, that is wonderful! So much easier for me!! There seems to be a bundle for every interest – news, sports, computers, gaming, writing – you name it. How cool is that?

Then I see a bundle called “Beauty”. Awesome!!

Only…no.

The blogs in this bundle included references to high-end clothing stores, expensive make-up brands, how to find the best shade lipstick, etc.  So, that means that only by making the packaging “pretty” can one be considered beautiful, right?

I am not so enlightened that I eschew make-up or nice clothes. I like how mascara makes my eye-lashes look. And I would be delighted to find that one perfect shade of lipstick. Maybe it’s societal pressure; maybe I’m just crazy vain.

However.

I don’t consider the wrapping an indicator of beauty. To me, beauty goes beyond me and what label is on my clothing. It goes to helping clean up the environment. Or to helping other people. Or smiling at someone. Or lending a hand/ear/shoulder to a friend in need. Or even saying “Good morning” on Twitter everyday without getting a response.

Beauty is teaching others how to live a more peaceful life, or to eliminate clutter, or to walk through this life gently, or making people laugh, by pointing out life’s absurdity.

Maybe this is a function of my getting older. Or more cynical. I know that I bought into advertisers’ ideas for fashion and beauty back in the day. How can a young person NOT succumb to the constant mental and visual barrage?

I like my idea of beauty better. I like to see a smile. Or to see the silver lining in a bad situation.

My idea of beauty doesn’t match up with Google Reader bundles. And maybe not yours either.

When  you think “beauty”, what comes to your mind?

(Also, if you have any recommendations for yummy blogs, please let me know.)


So, after such a horrible post yesterday, I thought I would post something mindless and superfluous.

These are just questions that rattle around my brain, in regards to fashion dos and don’ts.

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Why are scrunchies so vilified? I missed the memo about why we hate these. Can someone enlighten me, please? I don’t find them offensive. And I’d let to get on board with the hate.

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If horizontal stripes are such a huge issue, why do designers still use them? (I was going to write more, but really? That says it all.)

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Why, in the name all kittens, are designers making t-shirts sheer? I know I have complained about this before, but jeepers! I don’t want to look at others’ bras, not do I expect they want to see mine. I like to wear them to work under a jacket or sweater, with the knowledge that if it gets hot, I can take the top layer off behind the slurpee machine and not be scandalous. No more, it seems.

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Crocs. Really?

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I don’t understand the people who stretch their ear lobes with those big pipe-like things, where there used to be an earring. And they keep increasing the size of said pipe-like thing. I’ve seen people who, evidently, went too big and the lobe ripped. *hork*

I am all for piercings. Go crazy. I wouldn’t do it personally, but eyebrow, nose, lip, whatev…if it makes you happy, do it. But that stretching thing? Nope. I don’t get it.

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Pantyhose. I *know* many women look better with them. I *know* that many workplaces require them. But, they are SO. PHUCKING. UNCOMFORTABLE. The nylon does not keep it’s shape. They sag. They pull. They snag. They start making your feet burn if you have to walk any distance. The crotch sags. Le sigh. Who made up the rule about hose?

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Short shorts.

Belly shirts.

Micro-minis.

I hate all these trends.

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I very likely have NO business with this query, but WHAT is up with dressing little girls like slutty, 25 year old women?? When I go to Target (a magical place where nothing bad ever happens) and walk by the “Girls” department and glance at what is currently being offered to young girls as fashion?? Oh Em Gee. Mothers? I’m so sorry for you. My mother would not more allow me to wear some of that garb *in* the house, let alone out in public. And I mean NOW. When I was a kid? (Back in my day…). Pants. Turtlenecks. T-shirts – long, NOT belly shirts. Skirts – knee-length or longer.

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That’s all for now. I’m sure I’ll come up with more. (Oh, and an update about my post yesterday. I am seeing my doctor Tuesday.)


How old are you?

Do you feel that age?

I don’t. I’m 44 and most of the time I don’t *feel* 44. Not that I really know what I’m *supposed* to feel like. But I usually feel younger, in the sense that I imagine I have so much more time to get where other 44 year olds are. Does that make any sense?

And granted, there are many times that I feel WAY older than 44.

I don’t know, but lately, I’ve been looking around at where others are in their lives, and think: I’m 44. Shouldn’t I be married? And in a job that I don’t hate? And with money in the bank? And booking at least 1 foreign trip a year? Shouldn’t I feel more settled?

I don’t know if this is a function of my recent “search” for peace, or if I am just restless, or if I am just in vacation-mode (2 weeks vacation after Friday! YAY!)

I think I am young in mind and attitude. I think I have a childlike naivete about some things. I still make rookie mistakes in life.

But is this normal? What is normal? What should 44 feel like?