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I know it’s been a while…

August 12, 2012

Just in case anyone is still reading this–I’ve started a new blog. I’m sorry to have abandoned this one, but I decided a blog more focused on the real-life stuff I’ve been dealing with–namely a bipolar diagnosis–was needed.

If you have any interest at all in checking that out, visit:



…and the hippo was allergic to magic

February 18, 2011




February 17, 2011

Sometimes there are days when a person is just too tired to cook a healthy and delicious meal, and despite recent success at “Fat Camp”, decides to hunker down for the evening with a glass (or three) of wine, and a wheel of smoked Gouda.

For dinner.

Do not judge these people.

They probably have very good intentions.

But sometimes life throws tiny heart-shaped wrenches at those good intentions, and these people wind up getting maybe four or five hours of sleep a night because they are busy enjoying sexy rumpus adventures with someone new and delightful who is about to go on a week-long work trip, so, you know, a person has to pack in as much sexy rumpus as possible in the days leading up to this.

And sexy rumpus adventures are exhausting.

So, sometimes a person doesn’t have the energy to cook healthy and delicious meals for herself.

Or to formulate complete sentences.

Or to even bother speaking out loud.

So, sometimes a person just wants to make a list of things she would have said this week, if she was well rested. And not full of cheese.

Things like:

“Do you know how much I care about your [insert First World Problem here]? Zero. Zero much.”

“Ultimate Fighting Championship? Mixed Martial Arts? I do not understand these words that you are saying. Please stop talking.”

“I would like to be able to tell you that I came to this event because I am super into social media and learning about branding that boosts donations, but really, I’m here because I was promised ‘artisanal foods’.”

“Because it actually is your job.”

“No thank you, Mr. Beardy Homeless Man. I do not want a sip of your Mickey’s Big Mouth.”


“Because it’s easier to ignore you.”

“Fellow humans: why do you continue to disappoint me?”

“Have you ever actually seen a vagina? You should not expect one to look like a Bloomin’ Onion from Outback Steakhouse. You will be disappointed if you do, my friend.”

“Still ignoring you…”

“Yeah, STILL ignoring you…”

“Maybe you need a nap.”

“No, I don’t think you actually understand the concept of irony.”

“Oh, expletive.”


January 30, 2011

Did that get your attention?


I thought it might.

Volunteer training started today.

I’m going to provide crisis intervention on RAINN’s Online Hotline.

The trainer is fantastic. She’s knowledgable and a bit wry, and altogether engaging.

The group is great, too. I didn’t do a head count, but I’m guessing there were about 30 of us. Five men. Maybe a fifth of us identified as survivors of sexual violence of some kind. A lot of people indicated that they were there because someone they cared about had been raped or abused.

Not surprising, according to the statistics:

  • 1 out of 6 women in America will be the victim of an attempted or completed rape in their lifetime.
  • 1 out of 33 men in America will be victims.
  • 44% of all rape and sexual assault victims each year are children under the age of 18.
  • 15% of them are under the age of 12.

RAINN’s Online Hotline served over 100,000 visitors last year. They’ve gone 24/7 and have reached every English-speaking country in the world.

The trainer told us that the visitors to the Online Hotline are generally the ones who are facing the most stigma. This makes sense. I imagine it would be much easier to IM someone the details of your trauma, than actually say it out loud, over the telephone. She gave us a lot of worst case scenarios today.  She told us about teenage girls being gang raped, and then being slut-shamed into not reporting it. We talked about incest and child prostitution, and victims being so isolated that they cannot identify a “safe” person to talk to about their abuse.

Pretty heavy stuff.

Pretty heartbreaking.

A lot to process.

I decided to walk home, from G.W., to clear my head, which was swimming in verbal pressure lines, and power balance manipulation, and conditioning.

The weather was nice.

And it was a good walk.

I thought a lot about the labels we assign to things that make us uncomfortable.

We tend to make assumptions about people. We look for things we have in common, and then make assumptions based on that. We all do it.

Some people do arts and crafts…we judge. It’s what we do.

Some 40 years after the Sexual Revolution, women are still not encouraged to explore their sexuality the way men are. There is still a pervasive sexual double standard. And it drives me nuts!

And women who are promiscuous–personally, I prefer the term “sexual enthusiasts”–are judged for it. They are dismissed as sluts. I realize this is not new information. But I hadn’t considered how this carries over into the way law enforcement responds to sexual violence claims. Each state has their own legal definition for rape–did you know that in Maryland, apparently only women can be (legally) raped?! And spousal rape didn’t even exist in law books until 20 or so years ago. Even now, the conviction rate on these cases is super, super low. Can you imagine how difficult it would be for a prosecutor to meet the burden of proof?

No one’s on the same page. No one seems to be able to agree on what actually constitutes consent.

I don’t know why it’s so difficult. Consent, like anything else in life, has parameters. Just because someone consents to something once, doesn’t mean they are giving the other person carte blanche moving forward. Even in relationships involving consensual non-consent, the terms are continually negotiated. Seems pretty logical to me.


This is making my head spin.

Tomorrow’s another full day of training.

I suppose I should try to turn my brain off and get some sleep.

More on this later.

G’night, friends.

Authentic Happiness

January 26, 2011

Bunny and I were discussing Authentic Happiness today.

And Positive Psychology.

She’s become a bit of a devotee of Dr. Martin Seligman, from UPenn.

His goal is, basically, to make the world a happier place.

Hard to argue with that.

Bunny had me take a Happiness Inventory questionnaire today.

It seems, I’m generally happier than 76% of the people my age/education level/region.

Sounds about right to me.

I am pretty happy, overall.

I like my life.

And I do tend to be grateful for the joy within it.

I’m not exactly a cockeyed optimist, but I can usually find value in each situation.

And have finally reached a point in my life where I can give myself kudos, when I deserve ’em.

Good job!

Of course, Bunny gets some credit for that.

And so does my dear friend Lexapro.


But I’ll give myself a little of that credit, too.

Life can be a real suckfest, sometimes, right?

We all experience things like loss, and rejection, and setbacks, and pain.

Every one of us.

There’s a strange comfort in knowing that.

It makes me feel a little more connected to everyone.

Is that weird?

Maybe it normalizes it a bit.

And maybe that’s what makes the joy seem a little sweeter.

Or maybe that’s just the Lexapro talking.


I kid, I kid.


I’m generally quite pleased with my life.

Especially right now.

I’m not nearly evolved enough to claim that my happiness is completely independent of my circumstances.

(But I’m working on it!)

Right now, there is much to be grateful for:

1.  I’ve met someone who is rocking my world in a way that has needed rocking for quite some time.

2.  I’m loving my job.

3.  And my new home.

4.  And I’m finally seeing some results with “fat camp”.

My goal, as I’ve mentioned, is to lose 25 pounds.

Since beginning the program, November 29th, I’ve lost a total of 10 pounds.

And I’ve lost 2″ off my waist.

And once I’ve lost the final 15 pounds, I’ve decided to reward myself with…

(are you ready for it?)

Cheesecake photos!

Can you think of a better treat?

Me, neither.

Life is good.


Can’t Want To: A Rant

January 22, 2011

My friend Carolyn has a family story that involves her brother, as a finicky and stubborn little boy, informing their mother that she could make him sit at the dinner table until the cows came home, but that he was simply incapable of making himself want to finish eating whatever offensive vegetable was being pushed on him.  “I can’t want to,” he told her.

Can’t want to.

I suppose we all have ours.

I can’t want to stick to a budget.

I can’t want to run a marathon.

I can’t want to do a lot of things.

Can't want to! You can't make me!

I have my bêtes noires, just like everybody else.

But I’m a grown up.

And I have grown up responsibilities.

And sometimes, I just have to suck it up and get over myself.

And if I have to suck it up and get over myself, then so does everybody else.


I don’t have a lot of patience for people who feel like they are somehow exempt from this.

I guess it’s a trigger for me.

And I do my best to avoid these people, lest my head explode or I accidentally punch them in the face.

I'm sorry, it couldn't be helped.

In my personal life, I’m successful in avoiding them.

But what happens when the Can’t Want To person is someone you work or volunteer with?

And this person can’t want to do huge parts of what is expected of her?

And her unwillingness to suck it up and get over herself impacts your ability to do parts of your job in a timely manner?

She can’t want to, so she simply doesn’t do them.


It makes me a little crazy.

It makes me want to scream at her, “What?! Are you five?!”

It makes me want to scream at her, “I can’t want to not punch you in the face right now!”

But I realize that neither of these approaches will accomplish much.

I’m really not sure what can be done.

Is there a teachable moment here, that I’m missing?

Or perhaps an opportunity for me to learn something?


What to do? What to do?

If anyone has any non-violent suggestions, I’d love to hear them.

Or, even some creative violent ones!

Merci, beaucoup.


I broke my dog

January 17, 2011

I broke my dog.


I’m a horrible human being.

Last night, about five minutes before my date arrived, I accidentally knocked the closet door off its track and it tumbled down upon the sleeping Ruby Dog.  Caught her right on the tail.

What a way to wake up?

The poor thing yelped and then sprayed blood all over the walls and furniture as she waggled her injured tail all around.

I was trying to comfort her, and clean up the mess when I got his text, “I’m downstairs.”


Welcome to my crime scene home.

Ruby seemed fine.

She just sort of walked it off.  Like doors fall on her all the time.  No biggie.

Maybe I was more traumatized than she was.

But she’s got such a good tail.

And she’s proud of it.

Tails are important!

Tails are fun to chase, and fun to wag, and fun to, apparently, chew on…

And I feel terrible that I injured hers.

She received a fair amount of codling.

Met a new person to fawn all over.

Even got a new toy.

I was feeling less guilty about the tail breakage today.

Maybe I wasn’t paying close enough attention.

Maybe Ruby Dog was practicing her ninja like powers of concealment.

I didn’t see her in the kitchen with me.

I wasn’t aware of her presence until the bottle of olive oil slipped out of my hand and landed square on the Ruby Dog’s tail.


I’m a horrible human being.

If Ruby had opposable thumbs, she would call the authorities and report me for abuse.

Maybe somebody should.


A Tail of Abuse: The Ruby Dog Story