ouch

So my babe and I are at yoga last Saturday morning, and I'm admittedly feeling pretty damn good about my progress...not so fast.

We are leaving and our yoga pal (who shall remain nameless) says the following:

"Wow Leslie you are really losing weight, you look great!" Looks at me and says "And you're TRYIN'!"

Ouch...

A. Leslie is already trim and fit.

B. Compliment all or shut the F up!

compelled to compare

This is the thing I do...compare my life to everyone else's life in an attempt to fully justify my low self-esteem. so, yep...I've done it again. I've compared my life and accomplishments to someone else and now feel like a loser.

In my mind I know this is false. I know that I have fashioned quite a nice and rewarding life for myself...complete with fabulous canines, a few unmentionable felines, some chicks and the master chick that has made my life soooo great. So, why do I feel like it should be more? Will more money mean more success on a personal level? I'm living my life in a way that is truly satisfying...here is where I allow this to be OK...

Just something I've been pondering. I'm pondering this because I can sense that just about the time I'm on my death bed will be about the time I finally accept myself and my life for who and what it is.

Does everyone feel this way to some degree? I wonder....

Nothing worse

I have often had to survive total humiliation. However, this most recent scene in the mortification play in which I often star, surpasses most on the richter scale. I'll get specific: my girlfriend's mom came for a visit, a long one. This is just dandy, except her stay was through Sunday eve...the L Word finale. My babe asked her mom how she felt about watching the L Word, she said "absolutely not". Understood. Well, my GF was a bit miffed by this extreme HELL NO reaction to a little girl/girl love plot, so she took hold of the ol' remote and decided to do a quick switch over to see what the ladies were up to...as usual, they were up to no good. Up to their elbows in Shane's boobs and Molly's nether region! Oh lord....way more than GF anticipated...and low and behold, the remote suspiciously would not respond to repeated attempts to change the channel! L's mom was horrified...in fact, I think viewing the innocent slaughter of baby kittens would have been easier for her to stomach. Needless to say, I slunk off to bed, eight shades of red-wanting to disclaim as I passed by "we don't really do that, ya know".

What is truly amazing is that when we watched the entire show the next day, we found that scene to be the only racy scene in the entire hour...what timing, what luck! Wow...what are the odds?

When you just can't go on

I've had a real battle on my hands...a battle to complete the book I raved about before reading--which is always a big mistake. An equally large mistake is buying the fucker in duplicate twice over and giving it to friends and family as a little gifty. Sorry to all whom I gave this whiny piece of anti-literary babble. I'm speaking of the boring and tedious Eat, Pray, Love. A better and more accurate title would have been Bitch, Piss, Moan and Eat. God. I had to quit.

An actual excellent and worthwhile read is Left To Tell. Real Good.

No words

I am compelled to write about the sad and increasingly scary Paula Abdul. I am wondering why there has been no formal intervention for this poor soul who continuously shows up to work clearly high and/or ripped. This sad sack cannot even manage a simple declarative sentence, and yet the room hushes in anticipation of her strange and convoluted responses! I mean, I wanted to bury my head and skulk out of my own living room just to avoid being my own witness to this disastrous gal. Then I asked myself the question..."why". Why is she employed? Who made that executive decision? Is it because of her extreme talent and the huge success of that one song she sang once? Is this evidence of her capacity to find the next "big" thing? I think not. I feel for these poor little Idols who just want to hear..."good job" or "you suck" rather than PA's dribbling diatribe bordering insanity.

Paula, please go home and get help.

Perhaps I could cease watching this train-wreck and read one of the 15 books I have stacked up waiting for me. I don't know why I'm so resistant to doing things I actually enjoy instead of opting for the cringe-factor, which stresses me out...not sure about this one. I think I'll google it and see if I can diagnose.

Be back with an answer soon....

A Gemini thing

I've been beating myself up lately...irritated that I have no attention span, cannot actually finish a task, a book, a project or a thought. I was starting to research my "pathology" using my favorite and most steadfast source-Google.

Surprisingly, Google could not identify my problem...oh wait, I mean I did not accept the explanation--I think it was Schizophrenia with Multiple Personality tendencies. So I moved on to interviewing my successful friends and family to see what their diagnosis would be. alas...it is a Gemini thing. I've always known this to some degree, but never wanted to accept that this is a part of my personality, my make-up that I just may NOT be able to fix...therapize out of or medicate to make better.

So now I'm left with accepting and embracing my total lack of organization, lack of organized thought and total submergence in chaos! This is me. My desk will always be a terrifying place for those who live ordered or happen to be a Virgo.

Typical me

This is what I do. I decide I'm going to do something, and then without forethought or logic, I sign up.

I've done this again. I have decided I want to sea kayak...in the Sea of Cortez for nine days straight. Now, one might presume I was indeed a "kayaker" perhaps have taken a lesson or 10, or maybe even sat in a kayak. This is not the case. I just like to assume that because I want to do these things, and have full use of my limbs, these "things" are within my scope. So I signed up. Then I read the small print which said.."16 miles a day..." this did not deter me...then I read "must pass Dunk Test or Wet Exit". This did its job...I am deterred. I immediately googled these terms and was horrified. Apparently, one needs to know what to do in the event one of these streamline little suckers flips over leaving you strapped in and under water. None of this occured to me. I have witnessed countless kayakers swooshing aimlessly and effortlessly through the still waters of wherever....but never have I seen the bottom of the kayak with some poor soul stuck under it!

I am now in a bit of a panic. This dunk thing sounds a little too "athletic" for my current state of physical prowess...it may end in disaster...so I have to cancel. I think I will have be realistic and maybe sign up for a lesson before spending $2k on a kayaking vacation. But I hate to do this. After all it is on my vision board.

PMS

I know it is that time when the love song from Pretty Woman brings tears to my eyes...what the F...ok, this is a conspiracy...nonono James Blunt...now I'm really a wreck.

I've been really attached to all things Oprah right now. Girl has really turned it around...was disenchanted by the sad slit your wrists stories. Am now enchanted by the you can do anything and be really rich when your done stories...ahh yes, this is what I need to hear or see.

On that note...her recent show about donor kids as adults was fascinating. I have grappled with this for some time. When it became obvious I would not "accidentally" conceive the old fashioned way, (missing sperm and parts) I began really thinking about the alternative....

The bank.

I love the bank. I am so glad we have the bank. But I also wondered what the long-term identity issues would be in kids created...yes, created...in this way. I say created, because insemination does remove the fate component...it is choice -total well thought out, pre-meditated choice. As an adult wanting a baby, I can make that choice, but what does that mean to the offspring brought about in this way? Potentially NEVER knowing where half their DNA, history, family comes from or who they are. This plagued me. Then Oprah had a show about this very thing, and there were adult women on the show who were the product of sperm donation and they were not pleased. They felt lost in their identity and pulled toward a "father" that essentially does not exist for them. I was in such pain for them, that it solidified my decision to either adopt at some point, or not have children.

This is not a judgement towards people who use sperm donation, nor is this a decision come upon lightly, but the chance that my child would feel this way, and the fact that there would be no way for me to relieve that longing, is too much to bear. I know the old argument: deadbeat dad's or rape victims. But, again you have fate involved there...not too many women choose either of those scenarios, they are forced to make the best of the situation.

I'm just not convinced my desire to see my baby and have that experience is necessarily in the best interest of the future adolescent or young adult trying to find themselves in a world that is already chalk full of difficulty; under the best of circumstances...

argghhhh

I hate all forms of exercise. I’ve been lying to myself in an attempt to recondition myself into believing otherwise. I am also very angry that I have been created in such a way that exercise is the ONLY way I can hope to look hot in my cute new jeans....which of course is not the case today....or yesterday for that matter.

Why can’t we just FEEL cute and have it be? Why can’t we just WANT thinness and have it be? I mean, is that not what the f-ing Secret is all about?? See it, feel it,VISUALIZE it and it will be! Well I’ve spent numerous hours visualizing I am all that and 1 chip–in my minds eye (clearly a one dimensional view) I look HOT... all I want is for the camera to support my visual hypothesis.

Yes, this rant is in response to the recent photo I unfortunately saw of me next to 90lb Denise at the reunion.

Note to self: Only have photo taken w/ obese strangers to preserve fantastical sense of self.

20 Years Gone...

Just when I was convinced the world is only nice to the smug nasty asses, I attended my 20 year high school reunion and was reminded there is a god. While I am far from perfect, OMG it could be worse! Clearly, wrinkles form freely on those who considered themselves unbeatably pretty and too good for the masses in high school. This is god’s, (yes, I say god because I now believe there is a score keeper) wonderful and fulfilling way of letting those of us who may not have "varsity cheerleader" on our resume, feel pretty damn good about how it all turned out! I know, I know, how caddy and shallow, but fuck it, it is true and we all feel it at the old reunion...I mean really, why else attend? To reconnect with long lost friends? Hell no! Those lost friends are lost for a reason!
On a positive nice girl note..there was one girl there I was happy to see–she was really cool in HS and was a barn friend of mine. She was still awesome, has a wife of 12 years (wha was also really cool) and is an actual quality girl...plus she shared this great memory she had of me and Risky which really made my night...after all his name is tattooed on me arse, I think I loved him!

Some other high-lights of the night included Denise’s husband being voted by the crew to be the "hottest husband" there...heh...OJ being relentlessly clung to by "Gluby"( aka, the heinous drunken mistake on the senior trip to Hawaii...) And me driving into the valet (feeling real special in my sporty lil’ car) THE WRONG DIRECTION! Yep...

I also hear the food was good...all I know is the cocktails were tasty...

It's Cruel

The little Mexican (as my babe calls him) has had the snip job. Testy's are a memory now...gone baby gone!! In order to deal with the loss he has taken up drinking...

I, however, can't wait for the transformation...the lack of humping everyone and everything, the absence of the incessant leg lifting and the constant testosterone driven busy work this little canine does with glee. I know it seems cruel...but he is at peace now.

Fantasy V. Reality

This is not a new phenomenon... the idea of a puppy is far more enjoyable than the down and dirty reality of a puppy. Puppies NEED stuff; like a place to potty every two minutes.

Life was really easy with Bill. Bill holds his bladder. Bill does not crap in the house. Bill sleeps endlessly; if need be. Roger likes to get up at the crack-ass of dawn needing to pee and play. As I’ve already shared, Roger has his balls until Thursday which means he is really attached to lifting his leg. Luckily, he weighs 9 pounds so it is dribble which is mostly undetectable....until a visiting dog comes over and sprays our house in an attempt to eradicate Roger’s scent.

What have I done? And why do we do this? Why turn simplicity into complication by choice? It’s as if there is some subconscious pull whispering in your ear..."life is too easy right now Stace...muck it up...create some drama...go ahead...you really want to start looking for dropped tootsie rolls all over your house, hidden just so
you don't see'em until it's stuck to your foot..." Yes, by choice. My GF tried to say from the beginning..."babe, we don't really NEED a puppy" So I agreed we would try it for the weekend, a temporary puppy--yes, that's a good solution. Except puppies are armed with puppy squeaks and scents and behaviours that make giving the little rascal back an impossibility.

Long story short, even though I came to my senses Sunday and agreed with mama L that the NEED for a puppy was indeed non-existent...it was too late. Damage done. Roger is here to stay, and in true puppy form, he slept above my head on my pillow where I would accidentally graze his puppy package in the night and be horrified.

Roger

Roger is the name of our new four-legged family memeber. His IQ is off the charts fo sho. He is exceptional in many ways...not to overshadow the original star dog, Bill, but really quite special.


Unfortunatley, Roger was abandoned at a barn where he was abused and tossed into the goat pen. The goats attacked him (I know, is this possible?) and somehow he lost his middle toe nail...in addition his left foot is askew and he appears to have no voice. You can see why it is imperative he be so smart...these are some serious obstacles to overcome! I'm sure the constant marking and sprinting down the middle of the road will cease once his ginormous balls are removed. Of course, i wonder how he will feel being named Roger and getting his testy's whacked all in the same week. To make things worse, I think he may suffer from a "small dog" complex that is kept at bay by the existence of the pronounced and impressive package he has been able to keep in this cut-balls world we live in!

Abject Toadies in the workplace

As is undoubtedly obvious from the title, I work with a couple of real winners. Nicknames include Nasty Ass and Camel Toe...with good reason. These two are among the most inept of our species and it never ceases to amaze me that they are employed at all, much less employed in a law office.

A little background...NA (Nasty Ass) has "worked" here for 15 years. Knows nothing about any of the types of law we practice and refuses to learn any of the computer programs which have emerged over the past 5 years. Pretty picture. CT (Camel Toe) has "worked" here for 10 years and fashions herself an administrative assistant, although she is not capable of stringing together 2 sentences...wait, I take that back, one sentence. She also has no desire or capacity to learn how to use the computer. It is 2008. How can this be? These people are paid really well and yet they actually complain about their jobs (which I have yet to identify)...it is a stunning set up and one I would be anxious to leave behind, however, I actually do like (like and respect are two different things) my boss and have a vast appreciation for the flexibility I'm afforded. So, what's the bitch?? The bitch is that it is increasingly difficult to maintain that elusive day to day grinding work ethic (so necessary to keep one going) in the face of such blatant disregard for the job, the product we are supposed to stand behind, not to mention our firm's reputation.

Now, out of my own frustration, I have stooped to being the pot-stirer...like today when they electively took off for the mid-day 2 hour shopping trip (on the clock) while the "boss" is away, I decided to greet them with a little white lie--""boss" called and was wondering where you two ladies were..." see, they thought him in a long dental appt...I let the explosion of defensive, guilty, strangely angry banter ensue for at least 5 minutes before saying..."just kiddin"...hehe...this pleases me as I just can't stand either one of these crotchety old bitches...

Why do we do this?

As I was lying nauseated and sweating on my yoga mat last night I kept asking myself why am i here? Why do I PAY to torture myself and be miserable? For free, I could be happily lounging upon my couch enjoying my evening readying myself for American Idol. But then again, that is never really the case once we have the knowledge that we should be active, we should release stress in the form of a heinously hot yoga room in order to thwart disease, the days of blissful, ignorant lounging come to an end. I've decided knowing too much is detrimental to one's ability to have real fun; to have down and dirty laziness accompanied by mass amounts of comfort food. The truth is if I could suffer and immediately walk out of the room looking like Heidi Klum's body double, I'd be happy to torture myself in the name of pure beauty. Instead the payoff looks something more like maybe I'll live to 80....without a humpback....without an extra 50 pounds....without pain. And there is the fact that I just lost my father to cancer. And the fact that my mother is scheduled for surgery tomorrow to remove a potentially malignant tumor. And the fact is...this runs in my family and I better do what I can now to avoid this outcome...so I will continue to suffer in the short run...hopefully purging my body of all things toxic...because I know it works and I know the alternative is not an option.

The committment

Funny how it is soo easy to commit to the afternoon hell bikram class at 8 am in the morning. Now it's time to go and all i want to do is go directly to the couch for the marathon tivo session catching me up on all things mindless and entertaining. hmm...skinnier ass, happier ass...what will it be!

so I started this thing

This first little paragragh should be quite interesting as i'm simply trying to post in an attempt to confirm that I can actually navigate my way around this new and exciting form of communication...I feel so 90's...