Mushrooms Have it Better

Mushrooms have it better I believe.  They used to have this bad reputation, being a fungus.  Nobody used to like them, not the people I grew up with anyway.  I couldn't order pizza with mushrooms because back in the day, people just didn't like them.  Mushrooms are my daughter's favorite vegetable. Ironic isn't it?  She will eat them in any form, raw, fried, baked or grilled.  Smart daughter.  I've had friends say mushrooms have no nutritional value. Now mushrooms are trendy and you find them in foods everywhere.  From lotions, to soup they've grown in popularity.  Now everyone's a gourmet.

What's my point, humm?  I guess maybe I wanna make a comeback like that.  Like mushrooms.  Ever considered the thought?  Only thrive in the worst conditions and get nutrients from detritus?

What do you know about mushrooms?  Most top answers would be: Some are dangerous.  Some are good to eat.  Others take you on a trip that could make you see things from a different perspective.  That about sums up public thoughts on mushrooms.

Mushrooms fascinate me because they only grow under certain conditions.  They only thrive when the environment becomes optimal for them to grow.  Until then, they just stay in spore form, waiting.

Then they just pop out of the ground, in all shapes and sizes. They grow everywhere mysterious ... practically overnight.

I found a great article on mushrooms, which puts them in a great light. How they can save the world.  Pretty deep shit, no pun intended.

How Mushrooms Could Save the World

So why do I think they have it better?  Mushrooms are survivors.  They are unique and beautiful, and even if sometimes deadly, well they get that respect.

So I believe I'm going to change my perspective on that old saying about them. Maybe its not so bad comparing my knowledge of things on that level.  I know I've said how I hated being a mushroom; being in the dark and fed bullshit.

You know, it takes the right conditions for mushrooms to thrive.  No matter what kind of mushroom it/we/I/us are, we thrive.  I like that. 

All the pictures of mushrooms on this page were pictures I took in my yard in one day.  Pretty amazing the variety, huh?  They were so pretty, I had to photograph them.  I don't know the names, so nope, they weren't eaten or picked.  I ran across them in my many photos and they inspired me to write, as I am wrestling with inner thoughts late at night.

So in between, I am attempting to see the beauty in fungus; and applying that notion to family.  They can be dangerous, but beautiful, ugly but edible, even seem to have no intrinsic value, and yet they do.

I suppose to think one is a mushroom is not a bad thought.

I Called Romania

The title definitely reels a person in, huh?  I called Romania.  Actually I called my cell phone provider and BAM, I found personality on the other end of the phone.  I had an amazing conversation that encompassed everything from family, society, beliefs and of course, cell phones.

This picture was clipped from Google Maps.

This person really did make me realize how crucial one conversation can be, no matter how the chance arises.  Crucial?  I know it sounds weird, but I needed something that made the world shiny in terms of good people. This person exceptionally was exactly that: a good person.  I have a happy heart with a better outlook than I did yesterday.  As incredulous as it seems, I am a believer in everyday happiness being a choice, but people Do and Can enhance the experience.

For a little while, the concept of global networking came together and didn't seem so damnable or nefarious in purpose.  Experiencing the bright and shiny and knowing it wasn't a veneer gives me hope.  I'm not some strange bug.  I'm not the normal, but not the strange either.  That felt very nice and comfortable.  It felt Happy.

It doesn't take much to turn the mundane into profound.  I hope I hear from Romania again, but if I don't, I'm still grateful for the soul food.

Readers, if you're wondering about the small points, I chose to leave out which cell phone carrier, whether the person was male/female and conversation snippets.  The point isn't about those things.

Googling Romania at 3:00 am with a big smile is the point.  

Parenting Picky: A Nose Story

One of my Google Plus Friends, Bobo Uzala, have been laughingly talking about a picky subject.  I have a couple of photos of my daughter and I with our fingers in our nose... and he commented on them.  Which led to some laughing and sharing one of my house rules/parenting strategies.  I decided to include this entry in my blog because its just good fun and the stories that lead up to why I parent this way might make a person just laugh.

So thanks Bobo!  You picked this one for me~

Parenting gives me complexes.  Watching other children absolutely makes this paramount.  Have you ever been in public and watched a kid really gross you out?  I see kids do some gross things.  That's what kids do.  They horrify us into action.  Bad habits are so easily looked over as a phase.  However, one can say that when its somebody else's gross kid.  One thing that I find incredibly gross happens to be booger picking.  Nothing disgusts me more than seeing a kid knuckle deep in their nose and then eating a plucked out prize.  *shudder*  Then there's the multi-taskers... kids with a thumb in their mouth and a finger in their nostril.  *ooh how disgusting*  The thing is, you just can't avoid boogers.  Everybody has them.  We've all had that epic thing inside our nose that must come out.  My grievance with boogers is not the existence, but the disposal.  I've never told my child not to get rid of a booger, I've merely helped her avoid a terrible habit that other people tease kids mercilessly about.  A habit parents get bent out of shape over.  PDBP.  Public displays of Booger picking.  Take that to the bathroom!  Get a tissue!  Blow!  Anything, but do that in front of me!!

This was a picking lesson gone funny!

So when I first saw my daughter start with the booger thing, I came up with this house rule:  You cannot pick your own nose, however, you can pick someone else's.  WHAT?  By doing this, I pounced on my daughter with my finger whenever I caught her trying to pick her nose and offered my deluxe help.  Then I would offer up my nose for her to 'help' excavate since I couldn't pick mine.  All this horrified my daughter and she would run away into the bathroom or somewhere else privately to get rid of whatever what tickling her nose.  It was a way to point out I could see what she was doing and to remind her how yucky it was.  This plan worked and the result is much laughter and I don't catch my kid digging her nose in public.  She is a staunch believer in tissue.

That does not mean I haven't had to be there for nosebleeds and other fun things we encounter as parents, but it has definitely made my daughter more aware of what she's doing.

She loves my retelling of C's comet.  An unforgettable booger that should go down in history.  It all happened when when C spent the night with her Mom.  It's one of those things you find and think to yourself:  Wow!  That's something I'd show off, but not really.  I found my niece's booger the next day and it was like a bloody comet.  The huge bloody thing was crusted on a blanket and was so big I still laugh.  The trail was at least a good foot.  However, the story is better.

So anyway, I hear pacing in the night and it's my cousin with her daughter.  She's freaking out in the middle of the night because her child had a nosebleed and she had no idea of how to handle it and her daughter was freaking out because she was.  I come up my basement stairs to find the panic and blood everywhere.  I simply take C away from her Mom and open my bedroom door and tell John to get up.  Wow!  In the bright lights of my bathroom I have C, my niece in my arms.  Her face is coated in blood and she has white blond hair with bloody streaks in it.  To get her to stop crying, I just ask:  C?  Did you bite your Mommy's head off?  C looks at me and grins with the biggest bloodiest smile ever and croaks:  YEAH!  I laugh and John hands me the boo-boo bunny.  The boo-boo bunny is an icepack with rabbit ears and I start hopping the bunny around her nose and it stops bleeding.  The whole time her Mom is just in the hallway helplessly watching the old pros handle her child and laugh it all away.  I told C:  Well look, that Mommy's head grew right back!  Be careful next time!

My cousin simply was grateful we were there to calm C down and let her calm down too.  It doesn't sound as funny as being there, but WOW! it was hilarious.  Then there was finding that booger the next day.  It made me understand how hard that kid worked to get so bloody.  And I'll never forget that smile she had with all her bloody teeth.  She looked pleased that it wasn't serious, only Mommy's head.  *FULL BELLY LAUGH*

Picking Those Moments

The Tediousness of an Enormous Life

I have so many things that I need to be doing and I find myself at 4 am wishing to find some way to blot out the enormity of it all.  Sometimes I feel as if my life is strangling all the creativity and goodness out of me.  I would like to say that I am more the optimist and look at life as if the glass were half full, but lately I don't think that would be the direction my thoughts take.  What I mean to say is that I am more on the offense than I have ever been in my life.  I feel most anxiety bases itself around the assumption that for every good thing I accomplish, there is an epic failure waiting patiently to manifest itself directly in the path of my self proclaimed happiness.  I resent this.  I feel so much pressure of this enormous responsibility I willingly embrace as my day to day life.  I want to do so many good things.  I have miles of ideas that seem to be swallowed up by the dutifulness of responsibility.  I wish I could just tell the entire world to go fuck off for just a few days and turn itself without me.  Which means, why must I be responsible for everything and why do I give a damn about things that WILL NOT HAPPEN unless I do them?  Where is the happiness in that?  I don't know and I'm losing patience with myself because multitasking has redefined itself for me.  All it means is doing ten things half-assed until I get time to do it right and that is redundant and idiotic.  Something has got to give and I am feeling as if I should hold out a cup and stand on corners and shake it.  Alas pride and duty doesn't allow for such paltry sacrifices of dignity, but occasionally at 4 am, I wish I were that shameless.

So I will leave now because I must get back to answering emails, paying bills, sorting out my computer issues and praying I won't fold under pressure of dance tomorrow.  I've been asked to choose music that defines me and the disco ball that is me feels this task is impossible.  Ask for the moon instead.  I might be able to achieve that.  It feels more attainable than finding my alter ego.  I want to ask the dance teacher.... which one do you want?  

Halloween and What I want to Bee

Halloween has always been magical and so much fun around my house.  My daughter has always accepted my costume choice with enthusiasm and even at seven almost eight no complaints.  I always went overboard because she has always made the costume just come alive in gymnastics and dance and of course, out to trick-or-treat was the icing on the cake with thee oooohs and ahhhs of adults cooing over my child that never appears to be preening and voguing, but I know full well she knows how to work over admirers.

Now I find myself ranting at the computer and realizing the month has flown by and I have yet to go teach Character Education for the month.  I have mirrors decorated for each child stating:  Respect Begins with Me! and then there are my worksheets, and my favorite tattooed picture to rouse up conversation, along with Shel Silverstein's Rotten Convention to read.  The ranting came over having to hobnail my printers together to print off all the sheets for the kids with color.  Now I'm sending it off to a new teacher, praying she likes them and being irritated at myself for doubting my teaching abilities.

Then there is the computer guy that is coming to my house today, supposedly.  Just talking to him on the phone makes my mind swirl with all the possibilities.  I can't help it.  Magic is thinking big again, and my expectations come with a red sticker.  Said sticker inspires people to think to the track 'Do the Hustle'.  I need to stop.  The conflict of what I feel and past experience doesn't rate judgement before I meet him.  Sad thing is, I was more excited in the beginning, because meeting DD DJ was a shiny new experience and how fun was that!?  So he reeled me in like a mackerel just because of common interests, singing with him was cool (he actually isn't bad when he's not crooning country) and he didn't see my knife by invading my personal dance space.  Then, after not enough sleep and realizing I about know his entire life story in less than a month....ooooh Faye.... DJ said Computer Guy was his 'friend'... SHIT BRAIN... stay here....but your body just left for help!!  This inner dialogue reached tantamount heights with DJ being middle man.  Again.  Brain thinks:  THIS IS NOT A DOPE  DEAL... it's my computers.  EJECT! EJECT!  Then I met his daughter.  Oh how I wanted to like this child that was trying to be more than a kid.  But no, gut said:  good with daughter, but she will probably find Shrubbery on first night and have the gall to hang out in your room and breathe.  THUD!  Damn, I know what feeling she gave me!  ITT.  Intent to touch.  I never make snap decisions on kids, because that's what they are, even if they are so ego inflated that high speed thought processing can only be achieved during REM cycle.  Boy do I let my mind just take off running.  Anyway, I prepared myself for disenchantment ... only to find myself putting DJ on cruise, so I can downshift and test this man's injectors.  *sigh*  Listening to him speak was so mysterious and fun ... I finally know a Bruce.  A person.  I have always secretly thought Bruce was just a sexy man name which was pinned on faceless pinnacle moments (There are people that do, and people that lie about it)

OK, new paragraph because that one is on the line of TMI.  Anyway, this voice with this name sounded so 'in season' and I really couldn't divine too much on the phone .. which also means this thing is a bit long and I didn't even reach the part where I dressed up as the Bee Girl from Blind Melon's music video: No Rain. 

 

    

I will dedicate myself to blogging another entry about Halloween, because there is too much for one entry, so.....

Gotta run.  LATER today, I will talk about Bruce again because I'm being weird, and for me to actually see it.. hum.  I wanted to add this man to my bucket list the moment I clapped eyes on him!  WTF?  I'm not used to exertion of composure skills   The crazy part was me wanting to tell him.  Then calling up DJ friend and telling him that he should stop TRYING to ever explain his friends when he has overcompensation issues.  Anyway, I'm digressing.  I do want to twist his ear though.  He's worse than my BFF for gossip that is sideways bad.

So I want to discuss shadows.  Holding hands with Nattie.  I believe that was the best part of trick or treating.  Running with her hand in mine.. our shadows cast stark against the night... happiness..

John observing a bee lover come out of his home to watch Nattie and I get into his truck .. and how I blushed when John told me.  It felt weird to be worried about what impression I left.  I merely wanted to be that Bee Girl.. out loud ... because I always have been. 

 

 

Boredom versus Having a Life: I wish for the Grey Area

Things that may cause the world to shift magnetic poles seem to crop up around my universe and its clogging my Feng Shui.  I thought I really needed to get a life when the fact of the matter is I have an extensive one with all the options.  I find myself wishing for a daily set that includes less.  Call it downsizing if you will. 

 

No longer shall I wish to pull vocal cords out of the people that exclaim how happy they are to see me out and about.  Too messy.  Let them think I'm a loser hermit.  Then they won't ask for anything all the while saying they are the type of person that doesn't.

 

Next, rebellion.  I pass on that.  Rebellion is for those wishing to fuck everything they know up.  I am not that type.  Shake things up.  Sure.  Rebel.  After thinking it through and giving it a test run, forget it.  Rebellion happens to belong to the mind set of do first and think later.  Never works for me.  I'm going to add rebellion to the list of things that happen to other people.

 

More Grey stuff.  So I had some new sign ins for my cave.  I then labeled my Grey Goose bottle:  Dear Maverick (me), You did not kill this goose.  Stop sharing.  Then on another bottle I put in white out:  Dear Bitches (not me), Don't ask where the other bottle is, the answer is NO.  For emphasis I wrote a HUGE 'NO' on the neck of the bottle in white out.  This would be the Captain Morgan.  Top shelf bottle location will not be revealed in this blog.  No is no is NO.

 

I had to do all that note writing because my flask system failed on me.  They drink all that too.  I'll quote one of my lush friends with her own words:  "Mr. Snake, would you babysit my pet rat for me?"  The thing is when the snakes have been in your cave, they know you have bottles somewhere.  Dammit.  Thus we've moved bottles and left kind words on others.

 

Then there is a new sentence I believe I am beginning to dislike.  Formerly I thought it was kind of cool.  After hearing it frequently, nope, it sucks.  Ready for it?  It's a shame you are married.  Another version:  I wish you weren't married.  Be thrilled right?  Wrong.  If you happen to be hanging out this line is fishing for whether or not I'm some cheating skank.  That's in extreme cases.  It can also be the opening statement for finding out if my life sucks so bad I'm willing to their entire life story since I don't have one.  Blah.  Now don't sit there and think I'm some kind of Grinch.  Not every person that says this makes my hackles rise or makes me throw up in my own mouth.  There are very few though.  OK, yeah, if a woman said this to me, I'd probably piss myself with laughter.

 

So then there's women.  I have two girlfriends.  And that is a shaky number.  The rest pretty much hate me.  I'm working on a synopsis as to why I believe I should use the word hate emphatically.  But its hate.  If this were the Matrix and I were Neo, I would want the DAMNED blue pill.  I want to wake up in my bed and believe whatever I want to believe.  But no.  Somewhere along the line I ate that red one.  Therefore, I know its hate.

 

Expanding.  So some people I haven't spoken to in ages send me facebook messages trying to sell the fact they don't talk to my starter husband.  First rule of thumb, if you swear something to me, I believe its a lie.  This person checks in from time to time to see if my life sucks enough to be destitute, which means he can check me off his bucket list.  One of these days when I'm mad enough I'll ask him if my theory on this is true.  He asked why I unfriended him.  I want to write back and ask if he wants the truth or a good lie.  I've hung out with him, he ate the blue pill, or he wouldn't ask.

 

More on Facebook.  A family member I don't speak to asked me to call because he had a question.  Then the next day a cousin leaves me a voicemail.  I hear Twilight Zone music in my head and wonder what nefarious plot is being hatched to fuck up the fact I am seeing my parents and sisters.

 

Holy shit right?  My parents?  I know.  They built a deck on their house and I didn't know it until about a month ago.  I'll be damned if a few cousins and an Uncle are screwing this up for me.  I called the Uncle anyway.  He wanted my help to get his GED.  I cried.  It's true. 

 

However, I'm not calling the cousin.  After the couple of sideways posts on my page that even my husband caught and laughed about, I refuse.  Sideways means:  I have an Aunt that sees me and says wow, I'm not as fat as I was last time she saw me.  I have another family member to comment on my hair.. and now I have a cousin concerned about my tired eyes.  All this is meant to be complimentary.  Complimentary bullshit that came with the side pack o' lies I endured because I love my mother.  I DON'T THINK SO. 

 

Well fingers hurt, and there is so much more to talk about.  I guess I'd better start posting again.   

Banjos, Strange Calls and Wait There's More!

So today I went with my daughter and picked up her new Deering Goodtime 2 Banjo.  We are going to be starting banjo lessons and are fully committed.  The banjo was incredible and sounded amazing.  My daughter's face was priceless.

 

Before we get to the music store my OnStar car phone rings.  I only give this number out to few people so I answered it.  Wow, I talked to a person I had pretty much figured I sucked since I didn't answer several calls.  It was nice to be honest and tell her I didn't call her because I simply couldn't handle that kind of drama sequence psychologically, and she was OK with that.

Sharing Deep Thoughts and Words

I have a dear friend, who shared a piece of reality in the horrors of 'US Drone Terrorism', and I was moved me to write him a letter.  I am sharing this letter in my blog because I passionately believe in the goodness of others and the intentions of what he shared with me were meant to open my eyes and heart.  I rejoice in knowing this man, because in doing so ... we share the small victory of overcoming world statistics and stereotypical narrow-mindedness.

I have no words that convey all the different emotions that bombarded me as I looked into a waking nightmare.  You see, my nightmares are never about monsters.  My nightmares are people, and what they can do.  I could not stop watching that video... but I shook.. and cried... and felt helpless.. and angry... and hopeless.

Then putting myself into the shoes of the person who sent me this glimpse .. I have remained wondering how he feels.  I wanted to comfort my friend, whom to me, is just that, my friend.  How could he want to even talk to me?  Even be my friend?  I come from NC... I'm an American.

But I never think of myself that way when I make friends.  I'm just Faye.  Just me.  And my friend is from Pakistan.  And he is just Himself.  What I'm trying to say is that where he lives has never been who he was to me.  A few weeks ago, I was sharing how wonderful he was with another online friend from Georgia.  My friend from GA gave me a huge lecture on foreign people.  I was pretty livid with my GA friend, who had no business telling me how to pick friends.  I defended my friend from Pakistan and cut Mr. GA off from further lecture on things he may be out of touch with.

This is what I believe many people are out of touch with.  People are out of touch with what is good and what is bad.  Evil is evil, no matter who commits the act.  Race, ethnicity, nationality nor religion are not on the resume of EVIL.  Evil is committed every single day, by people everywhere.  The problem is owning up to EVIL and admitting its existence.  Loyalty has no place in seeing truth, and omission of guilt makes a person part of the act.  What I wanted to tell my friend from Pakistan is the truth that is so ugly.  Although I am far removed from the act, I am part responsible because I vote, and my vote helped put people in power in my government.. and those people are committing acts of EVIL.  I feel ashamed and ugly.  All I can do is say that I see it and acknowledge part of it is my fault.

Feeling Compelled to type this opened me up to new resolve.  That resolve is to research and choose wisely.  However, I want to say I will still look at the world the way I do, and see people and differences for what they are .. beautiful enigmas.  Wonderful conversations.  The start of great learning milestones.  I will never lose my curiosity and love for other people and desire to know how they live and how they relate to me.  I find the subject fascinating.  I will keep on being fearless and being myself.  I will also keep my sense of dignity and respect for others.  I want to learn, so that I may raise my daughter to be more than the sum of her parts. 

I wish NC, USA were just a geographical location and that Pakistan was simply another.  That's what it should be.  We are all people.  We live.  We love.  We want happiness and success.  We dream big dreams.  We all worry and cry.  We all have parents and family.

 

This is what I wanted to say to my friend in Pakistan honestly and openly.  And remark joyously about our friendship. And say how people should make note of us because we are a good example of many things the world stereotypes and labels. We prove them wrong.  No one is going to tell me he is bad, based on thoughts and acts he had no part in... which to further the point... means there are a million other good people like him in Pakistan too.  And I hope he looks at NC that way because NE person heard, and agrees with what is right and sees the wrong.

 

I wish more people took the time to know what they judge.  They say one person can't change the world.. I have news for them.  That is not true.  This media changed my world.  My eyes are a little wider.  And that I will pass on to my child, who is the world to me.

 

May this letter comfort light a small candle of hope in Pakistan for my friend..

This is paraphrase.. but worth sharing in the light of opening doors..

But even I admit I'm afraid of getting fingers slammed... truth hurts.  I'd rather hurt than be numb. 
*sigh**wave*
World Peace
One person at a time...

Mind Bomb: Its not that Musical on the Hill

I have spent the day talking emotional subjects with a dear friend who is close to me.  And strangely that statement in itself is a trainwreck.  He lives in Georgia.  I've known him for a long time, I met him blogging.  Funny thing is, we became friends over words.  His exact message to me:  'You spelled paraphrenalia correctly.  I think I love you.'  And we ruled chatting for a long time.  Then we called each other.  Praise everything I met GiGi.  He saved my husband's life and quite possibly my marriage.  How cool a person is that?  One that I have never met, know all his family's history and its never boring.  Parenting, Books, Philosphy, Trivia, Aging... all on conversations that just galvanize me still.  All my friends have said Hi to my GiGi.  John, Nattie..sisters, cousins, friends... because that's how I am.  It takes a strange person to be friends with a bug like me.  Being Big Magic has  become a journey for me.. I draw lines.  I don't accept.  I do tell.  I say NO.  Firmly.  Up front, and well Gigi is the only person to brave it all.  I count on Gigi.  He matters.  He's been married for over 30 years.  That is so incredible.  *the hills are alive with the sound of music* I can't help if you cringe in disgust because I believe in *Doe, a Deer?*  Gigi please absorb the awe and let me ignore the whole disclaimer of what there is and what I imagine not existing somehow! *bright paper packages tied up with strings*  ~I suddenly stop clutching drapes~ 

THAT was some revelry.  Not just make believe.  [My mother bought me the Bradford Exchange plate of Julie Andrews]

I stomp around huffing.  Typing this in a huff happens to make quite the empathic clatter.

GIGI*  how can you not see your greatest adventure is sitting in his very home waiting to be rediscovered... his wife.

I ask him when was the last time he kissed his wife with tongues.  Or when was the last time he fondled anything?  Or Ogled her?

I made my friend blush and stammer and I was not trying to embarrass him.  I was serious.

I told him I would hound him until he did so, because I could not and would not believe he was dead, based on factual knowledge of who he was and of men in general..

May my husband kiss me with tongue in his late 60s, may he ogle and fondle.

Because I didn't think men had just as many mid life crisis as women did, but apparently, they do.

I refuse to think I'm going to shrivel up and die and give in to the fact I'm going to be an old shoe.  Being an old shoe is a state of mind, and I will not let my husband become something in my way.

I'm in love.

And intend to stay that way.

with Tongues.

Showing Less can Actually Be More

I proved to my seven year old daughter who has an obsession with two piece bathing suits that a one piece can turn just as many heads, if not more when the person in the bathing suit is a lady.

I am kinda giddy from the high my daughter just gave me.  She remembered the talk when we bought bathing suits, and actually counted the people that stared at her mom when she came down to the swimming pool.  The actual count was men.  She said all the women that looked hated me on sight and didn't count. (What mom would not love this kid?)

The point of this blog is that my daughter understood that my one piece bathing suit made me more attractive and was flattering, and in a world of high class sluts in Hilton Head, I stood out.  I didn't look like an old lady, nor a prude.  I just looked good.  Without showing my stomach or tits to the world.  And my kid got it.

In your face statistics and Cosmo.

My kid trumped you all.

In her one piece bathing suit.

She's proud of.

Branching Out

I ran across a forum for depression and late night meandering found me reading through posts of people telling life stories that simply squeezed my insides.  The ones that simply plumbed my soul were posts by kids.  Teens talking about being kicked out of their homes.  Thoughts of suicide and worthlessness.  Worries of where they were going to live and not many choices.  Replies from people asking if they talked to the school and the school brushing them off.  Families torn apart and a parent's new boyfriend taking precedence.  In my mind I'm sure there's more to be said from the parent's point of view, because a troubled teen is not a picnic, but these are their kids!  It bothers me to my very core to see everywhere a society that boasts of excess and advancement of the self... and then reading that means at the expense of one's own child.  Where is the dedication to parenting plastered on magazine covers, seasonal marketing signage and Mission statements of Nonprofits?  We hear so much about how important toddlers are and the problems of bullies.  You know, when it comes to teens and the media, all that comes to mind is bad press.  Teen pregnancies.  Gangs and the decline of values.  The press I hear drops the burdens of what society deems teen problems to be just that:  them.  What?  It translates to me that a bunch of parents just drop the ball and blame someone else.  Blame the schools.  Blame the media.  How about dropping that smart phone and realizing that the ball of hormones that happens to be your child isn't a problem unless you tell them they are.  Surround a kid with negativity and what are they supposed to believe.  My friend and I were talking on the phone and she said she could not believe all the mothers in prison for harming their kids... it takes my breath away.  These are people that got caught.  Then I read this forum and hear these kids with no answers and no parents, and to them, its normal.  They think they are the problem.  How ludicrous.

Use of the word Status feels Applicable

My perception of the word STATUS and how I absorb the cultural delivery occasionally takes my breath away *when I'm paying attention* The brick wall built by our own hands .. that we the people allow social websites to control the few doors windows, vents and fresh air...How?  With a single question to satisfy.  You know it, we all know the MAGIC of:  "What's your Status?"  People subconsciously fall for the misuse of the word Status employed by overpaid marketing weasels.  How you might ask?  The corporate weasels whet America's Ego Obsession by loosening our subconscious to the point of obscenity utilizing ONE WORD... and magically this one word implies how terribly intelligent, important and essential to world function we ALL are.  Status?  Oh Yes, and since we are all egotists, we fall for it and do what they want, talk about ourselves.  What an ingenious way to stroke an ego into an almost Pavlovian response.  Because everyone must know everyone else's status and coveting begins.  From kids to stories to dogs to causes... Duped.

I ask people to ponder this perverse perspective.  I need to desist at the moment, as I'm tired but the implications of marketing and unconscious suggestion is staggering.

Getting back to me (Where did I say I escaped by chewing off a leg?)

I feel the word status fits in the summary of today.  It's about time I admit all the 'gripes and moans' I point out are band-aid descriptions for Depression.  I am writing enough to be the armchair anthropologist again.  I hope to make thing click with this admission, as this is where I choose to express / interpret / digest how to manage my life with another clunky word that is too vague to describe me.

However, the past weeks have been very motivating and positive, and events in the past year threaten the fabric of motivation and positivist potential from becoming kinetic.  I want to NOT use words like COPE, DEAL, GET OVER because I refuse to allow those words to dictate how I should feel. No STATUS. No service. No Ego. BAH!

Anyway, my STATUS:  I am so tired (but I still fell for it).  Physically and emotionally.. These feelings of tired are so welcome because they feel healthy... and I have struggled to find peace of mind to feel tired.

How did I do this today?  I entered my daughter's wormhole ... where time stops as I hung a mountain of clothes ... I emerged triumphantly hours later dazed that her room was clean...

I also visited a friend and we talked about things to make the eyebrows wriggle. I came home and the idea of "*knitting a sweater" lost some of its pissed off luster.

So my STATUS:  I think I am putting me first, which amazingly leads to smiling and happiness. I'm case in point.  Me first.  Ego stroked.

I also believe this blog and research is filling a draft I forgot my psyche had.

Sweet Dreams Everyone.  May they be squishy ones. *giggle*

STATUS:  Let go my Ego...

*Knit a Sweater Phase:  Urban Dictionary

Upon Opening the Table of Contents

I almost slammed the book shut because table of contents was the metaphysical 'Fast Times at Ridgemont High' brought to life live and updated with the minions I associate with.  I just paused to read my opening statement and I realize that most of my entries are rant sessions.  I must brush up on my presentation skills because i am sure there are more ways to talk about issues I find relevant than to begin with a session of either bitching or whining. 

The more I get int this self critique, more point of simply being a social product pour out and I KNOW I don't have made in China tattooed on me.  (I will say that I have under duress spun the tale that I really am Chinese and was adopted by cruel parents who made me undergo plastic surgery to appear American ... in an effort to say I'd like to be anybody's Kid but CJs.

But I'm rambling because it is three am and I have some records to listen to in the background.. I found a treasure trove at a thrift store yesterday.  I am currently in my LAIR because I will fiddle with the fish tank if I am in the same room.

I should be sleeping.  Miraculously, I am tired, and I think I'll crawl into my nest under the stairs in a little bit.

Oh to really confuse people, I think the acupuncture is working, but I need osmosis to reinvent its rules to include bi proxy sink in for my husband.

And to make that statement clear:  John is an amazing person. A good father and provider.  I am so lucky to have such  wonderful life and to have my little corner in the world. I am very spoiled.  You know that I'd do most anything for my family and to assure they have every need met.  Wherein lies my problem.  Sometimes we forget to take the chances we did dating.

I miss my boyfriend. LOL*