Maneater, cha-cha-cha!

It isn't what I do, but how I do it. It isn't what I say, but how I say it, and how I look when I do it and say it. Mae West


I don't mind living in a man's world as long as I can be a woman in it. Marilyn Monroe


Ok, it's Shallow Gal time. Tonight is round 2 for Dancing With the Starts--primo guilty pleasure and I must talk about Pamela Anderson. I was absolutely mesmorized watching her last night: not because of her boobs' ability to defy all movement, NOT because of outstanding dance skills and not because her mannerisms were a little left of sober. I could not take my eyes of her for the same reason that men everywhere cannot take their eyes off of her. She is a predator.
As naive as it sounds, I have always assumed that the role of femme fatale was exactly that--a role, a persona that the confident slip on, like a negligee, to lure the sloppier sex. I had no idea it was a personality trait, but after watching Pammy, it must be. When she gave men hugs, her body wrapped around them like a blanket. When she smiled, she tilted her chin down and her eyes up. Because of her proportions, her partner's hands could barely be placed in an appropriate spot on her body during the dance (although, I do get the distinct impression that even her armpit is probably so brazen it alone could make a man...well, you know). She even BIT her partner out of--sheer excitement???--after the performance. Who does that?! Every inhale, every movement, every smile was like watching her have sex. She even licked her lips constantly, something I try not to do ever in public because I am sure I would look like an affectionate buffalo.
I was mesmerized. I was jealous. I was scared.
I couldn't help but think that there must be something a little broken there, and my heart goes out to her. But another part of me wondered at her total ownership of the female power. Couldn't there be something to learn from that.
--Pause please to let that sink in, or to just breathe heavy for a minute--
Marilyn, Mae, Cleopatra...I have a new appreciation for their legacy.
So Ocho Cinco move over, I am tuned in to watch America be turned on.
Kyle just laughed at me and asked, "You didn't know there was something else going on besides what she looked like? How do you think she got picked out of the crowd at a baseball game?"
Duh...
Check Pamela Anderson's 1st dance here ;) Dance Pammy Dance!

Best First Words

When the song "Invisible Hand" came out, I truly thought it was the best beginning of a song I had ever heard
I found god
On the corner of 1st and Amistad
Where the west was all but won
All alone, smoking his last cigarette

But tonight I had a welcome blast from the past when Counting Crows' "Round Here" came on my ipod.

Step out the front door like a ghost
Into the fog where no one notices
the contrast of white on white.
In between the moon and you
The angels get a better view of
The crumbling difference between wrong and right.
I walk in the air between the rain
Through myself and back again...

Those type of lyrics are 'soul yummy'.
Great way to start a Friday night.
I'd love to hear any others that you can think of....

Drove My Chevy to the Levee but the Levee Was Dry...

I am mourning another death--that of our freedoms, liberties and choices. It seems all the more painful that these are small little deaths that most people don't understand, except to continually wake up in an Alice in Wonderland type fog asking, "How did we get here?"
Of course I am referring to the disgusting passage in the House of the Health Care Reform Bill.
From here on out, I will be doing my best to vote against any and all incumbents--including my impotent conservative "representatives". Do you know how many votes the Dems just bought with their little "Yes we can" popularity contest? 32 million.
The only positive thing that could possibly come out of this would be to see a voter revolution, one that has we the people chanting "Yes We Can kick your sorry, self-serving, pompous asses out of office."
But the lazy will prevail. It is easier to stick our heads in the sand then to actually learn about the effects this will have on our system (not to mention our individual paychecks.) Did you know that congress can opt out of this insurance? Hmm, so what's good for the voting goose is not good for the representing gander. When asked directly, Obama would not could not say that he would choose this for his family.
People cry, "But something needs to be done about today's healthcare and insurance fiasco!" And I totally agree, but this is not it. There are many well-thought out options that could unravel insurance companies' stranglehold on us and our doctors, while helping those less fortunate, but those options don't buy votes because they would retain a bit of private autonomy.
Make no mistake, our public officials' job description is to get re-elected, not to look out for our best interests.
I could go on and on, but why. The one last thing I will add is simply this: this is another brick in the wall for why the Baby Boomers will not be looked upon kindly by history.

Off We Go into the Great Girl-yonder...

So all of this thinking about change and about what is my calling has me relating it to my boys. At 6 & 8, they have all the time in the world to be so wonderfully un-formed and unencumbered, but it doesn't let me off the hook as their mom.
My girlfriends have heard me say a million times it is hillarious that I didn't have a daughter. Now don't get me wrong, I am the quintessential Boys' Mom. Boys are meant to be boys and should be raised to be good men. My discipline style is very narrow and immediate. I am absolutely crazy about boys and their God-given maleness, which has blessed me with a whole new appreciation for my hubbie, my dad and all the other great men I am lucky to know.
But back in the day, I just knew exactly what to say to a girl. I wanted to give her the gift of confidence with a touch of pride so that she would know not to give up her power (sexually and socially) so easily. I wanted her to have a passion for for passion--to be bold without apologizing for her femininity and to follow her heart whether it was to her babies or to the White House.
So that brings me to my boys. If I am trying to live an authentic, female life, how is that supposed to translate to my mothering job? I know that I want the boys to live character-filled lives and we have conversations quite often about this. (I am known to tell them that there are only two types of rules in our house: the first kind helps them to stay alive and the second is to teach them to be good men). But I think there is more that I can give them and I am trying to frame this big picture. I am starting with the idea that girls are Wonderful. I want to plant a seed in their hearts that lets them know that the right girl will inspire them, challenge them and help them to be more than they could be on their own, and in turn should be cherished for this and supported in her turn. I hope one day they will choose someone they have to earn. But I think there is more and I would love to hear from other moms--of boys and girls-- what thet hope the men of tomorrow will know and believe.
Cole told me a couple months ago about a girl in his class that he thought about alot. He would bring her pictures of puppies and hold his breath when she sat down near him, but told me she didn't talk to him very much.
"Do you talk to her first?" I asked.
"No."
"Well, you know it's hard for girls to talk to boys too if they don't have brothers or don't know you very well," I answer. "Girls get shy, too."
He thought for a moment and asked, "Well how do I get her to talk?"
"Always start with your manners and then just get to know her--what does she like, what is her family like, what makes her smile? After that is should get easier," and I gave him a quick hug. "Girls will always appreciate being listened to." I add.
"OK," and he runs off to be with his brothers as if we never had a conversation at all.
But I saw him in school recently with this girl and her best friend, and they were all laughing and talking. He just looked at me with a devilish smile.
Later I query, "Looks like you figured out how to talk to girls. I told you they aren't scary."
"I know. And they like it when I tease them too."
Oh boy, here we go...

Brownies

Not too long ago, a blast from my elementary school past tagged me in a photo on facebook, because she had come across an oldie but goody of our girl scout troup. It spawned a discussion amongst half of the sweet little things in that picture about which set of stairs we were sitting on, and it was the first time I have spoken with many of them since middle school. (In Atlanta, outside the Cyclorama near the zoo if you must know.) One, wild, reckless darling is still a very dear friend, but almost all the others are honeysuckle whispers in my memories. While I don't know all of the updates on them, one is a published author, many are moms, there is a teacher or two, a Chic-fil-A owner's wife and a musician, which makes me wonder what our small selves would have thought about that. I actually think we would have been kind to our adult selves. Because while we were making backpacks out of old jeans and cooking campers' pies over the fire, we were mostly learning about the bonds that are possible between women and all the things we could accomplish if we wanted to. Oddly, with all the time we spent together, my memories of girl scouts and those old friends I have such a soft spot for are thin and difficult to piece together. Lisa gave me a bit of insight into who I was back then, via her mom who was our troop leader, when she recalled how I was always so independent--always did my own thing. I wish so much I could go back and see. I guess hindsight isn't really 20/20 and besides what would I be expecting to learn about my own self? The fond memories and the occasional re-connect are all I need to know about who I was back then and the lessons I have chosen to hold dear.

Hi-ho-hi-ho, Here comes the work discussion, oh-no...

I am reading a book called "Dancing Naked at the Edge of Dawn" by Kris Radish. A really wonderful, poetic chic-read abut a woman who is launched into a new phase of her life when she catches her husband in bed with another woman. She travels to Mexico, she travels into her past and she travels into her own soul to discover why she has never embraced her real dreams. It's all about female friendships and turning away from fear. Yummy.
Well, K and I have had yet another come-to-Jesus conversation about how we live our lives. Three weeks ago, he worked 82 hours in seven days, but we stay locked to this ridiculous scenario.
I say "we", but to be fair and not falsely make myself sound like a cross between June Cleaver and Mother Teresa, I very much feel like its his choice that I am locked into. Our agreement was and is, he brings home the bacon and I cook it. But then maybe I am just abdicating my part in this insanity, just like he does. Aren't we both saying, "I don't have a choice."
His solution, which I resent, is that I go "back to work". Work being loosely defined by being slightly miserable when you leave the house and having insurance. But he is right that my writing won't save us, unless I finish my novel and appear on Oprah before her last show OR really get my butt in gear to find a way to break into more profitable freelance markets.
So at the end of another circular conversation, I realize that in order for me to GO BACK TO WORK, he will have to agree to GO BACK TO SCHOOL. I feel we might be on the edge of a breakthrough. I need a higher cause to work for and he needs to re-dream some lost dreams. So I have been re-imagining myself WORKING. (I know I am being dramatic, but emphasizing with capital letters has cracked me up ever since I read this network marketing book about a sure fire way to get rich quick. At least 40% of the book was writen in capitals letters and it makes me laugh to this day, which I need during this discussion...)
Could I sneak my way into a media job? What about being a college professor? What could I do that would allow me to engage in public speaking? It appears that with the right mindset, I am re-dreaming some dreams as well. But whatever happens, one thing is for certain--thangs gonna change 'roun heeyah.
Thirty-five years old and still no idea where my life will lead...honestly? Thank God.

Getting Stuck in the Tracks of My Tears

I don't know whether it is coming through my posts or not, but I have been struggling lately and as it goes, I don't always know immediately what is at the root of it, since there are several obvious issues we plod through everyday (namely Kyle's insane workload).
Well, yoga has provide a quasi-consistent way for my inn(h)er to work it's way out(h)er and today somethings really hit home--so much so that I began to cry once I entered Sivasana at the end of class. When the damn breaks...
At the root of it is expectations and disappointment, and the sad part about this is that it is all self inflicted. I am disappointed in me. I feel like I should be working on my novel with more fervor, like I should be searching for new venues to publish my work, that I should be at least bringing in more money if the other two aren't being accomplished and if all three of those are going the way of most good intentions, then what the hell do I have to show for my time? (Certainly not a clean house or a zen-filled parenting approach.)
Why is it not enough to just be happy with me--as is--right now? Goals are good. I am a huge believer in their power to keep you moving onward and upward, but I am somehow getting stuck in their trap of not enough...writing, exercising, earning, cleaning, listening.
Is it guilt? Maybe. I do feel guilty that Kyle works so hard and that I now have space in my life thanks to full-day kindergarten.
I do feel guilty that others have it more difficult than we do and that I still get sad. I mean, really, what do I actually have to be sad about? I have a beautiful family. I am allowed to pursue my passion. We are healthy.
I have tried to structure my days and calendar more effectively to become more productive. (This is a favorite band-aid of mine I use to convince myself that if everything is orderly then the magical, yellow brick road leading to the land of Perfect will appear before my every step.) But, it is not in my personality to fold my underwear or keep the pencil drawer from turning into the junk drawer for more than 2 days.
Where is the peace? I pray and I know that there is a lesson to be learned, but I can't find it yet. Give it to God vs. Pull Yourself Up by Your Bootstraps?
I actually don't think there is anything wrong with a little melancholy now and again. If short lived it can make you uncomfortable enough to do things differently. I don't believe every second of every day is supposed to be sunshine and bunnies, but I don't have to like it when I'm in it.
I do wonder if other people do this? Without naming it DEPRESSION, do other people get sad?