Some people like to call a certain personality trait, Type A. Others like to use the phrase, “a real go-getter.” I like to use an old Native American saying: One who has panties in a wad.

Like many others, I used to be loosey-goosey. I could go with the flow, I was adventuresome, spontaneous. Nope. Not anymore.

Nowadays, if something is not on my to do list, well it’s just not going to happen. Do not deviate from the plan, cram in as many activities as possible, and multitask, multitask, multitask.

This causes a slight amount of stress.

Being Mr. Observant, my husband has noticed this slow decline into tight-assedness. He likes to say things to me such as: “You need to relax,” “Calm down,” “You’re always tired,” and my personal favorite, which I am thinking about making my ring tone, “You used to be fun.”

Sigh, he is kind of right on the last one.

Where is that girl who had not one, not two, but three jobs, went out every night until two a.m. and then got up and went to work? What happened to that broad who woke up in the middle of someone’s living room wearing a strange Bart Simpson t-shirt (don’t ask, that is a whole other blog). Where did she go?

Oh I know – I had a child. Looks like I bequeathed all my relaxed spontaneity to her. That and massive amounts of brown wavy hair.  She is a complete free-bird, opting to wear underpants only some of the time.

But it has to be something else.

Could it be that I have become – gulp – responsible?

I wish I could say that this growth into conscientiousness has come with age, but I’ve seen a lot of jackasses out there in their fifties. Nope, I think it has to do with life changes.

Here are some thoughts:

Look Mom, I got a job! This also means you need to get your can up and out of bed and wear clothes that are actually hanging on a rack – not ones you pull up off the floor to see if they pass the “smell” test. Reality Smack in the Face #1.

First Comes Marriage… Oh crap. Now you are accountable to someone else. Somehow this means different things for men and women. Men – now you have to nod and smile to please your mate. You must also eat things that most likely taste like crap, like a runny meat-loaf …but I digress.  Women – this means you get to pick up dirty sock and other sundries off the floor, because seriously, they never make it into the laundry basket; maybe around it, but never in it.

Pet owners live longer.  For those of you whom have decided to bring a furry friend into your home, you know the joys of this experience. We got our dog before we had our daughter, so she was my first baby. This was also about the time my neuroticism started creeping in. “She did not eat much today,” “I think her poop looks weird,” and the one that makes my husband roll his eyes and walk into the other room, “She looks sad, do you think she is depressed?” I love my dog, and much like children, pets are a responsibility. You can’t go out on an all night binger because you need to come home from work and let the dog out to pee. Then you can do your keg stands.

Then comes the baby in the baby carriage.  Hold the phone. Now I am responsible for a human life? This is when a few worries turned into a full-blown DEFCON 3 panic attack. I started noticing all the atrocities of the world: car accidents, airborne illnesses, and after a late night of watching Planet of the Apes, monkey attacks. Please God, don’t let the apes take my baby! Of course there were (and still are) the day to day concerns:  “She did not eat much today,”” I think her poop looks weird.” Notice the pattern?

Luckily for us, we have not been plagued by primate attacks, so many of my worries have been less than fruitful.  In the words of Deepak Chopra, Worrying gets you nowhere, or something like that. It is wasted energy that can be spent elsewhere, like sleeping or washing your face.

So in 2012, one of my goals is to chill out, maybe take some yoga (can you nap there?), and smell the flowers. Actually, my husband made me promise that I would try to stop freaking out about every little thing – but come on, mosquito bites can cause West Nile Virus!

To all you lovelies out there who are popping Tums to quite nervous stomachs, let’s take in a deep breath together and exhale while letting go of some of the franticness.

Oh who am I kidding? Let’s just pour another glass of pinot and fall asleep on the couch while watching Wife Swap.

Namaste.  

It’s like that children’s book, Everyone Poops. Seriously, it’s a natural thing. So where have these people been going?

Okay, so let me preface that this post is NOT one of an activist agenda. I am not here to sway anyone or vote “yea” or “nay” on the issue at hand. In fact, if you try to talk to me about “hot button” public and private sector issues my eyes will most likely glaze over and I will start asking for peanut M&Ms. I am here to talk about making your voice heard, from the comforts of your own home, with a toilette.

I am clearly an old fart before my time. While watching the Occupy happenings across the country (and world for that matter), the only things occupying my mind were: “Where do these people shower?” “God, it looks cold out there, they must be staying warm from the smoke coming out of that tent. Oh wait, that’s not from a campfire, nevermind.” And, “Are those trombone players out there? Do they have a band now?”

I am not here to rain on anyone’s parade. It is quite admirable to take a stand for one’s beliefs, or shake up the system (safely of course) to make positive changes in society. [Side bar – I would also like to commend our police men and women who really did an admirable job trying to keep things as non-violent at possible. Unfortunately, both sides had negative incidents such as the carting off of protesters and vinegar thrown in the faces of officers – that one really gets me!]. It just seems like there is a more comfortable way to get one’s message out.

As an objective observer from home, I noticed a common demographic among the population of the protesters. They were all mainly:

1)      Twenty-somethings – Aside from a few older folks who looked like they accidentally stumbled into the campsite and stumbled out with a sweet hemp braid – they were all pretty young. Young people can take the elements. They haven’t realized yet that they just can’t survive without warmth, running water, and TiVo.

2)      Caucasian – Not sure what this has to do with anything, just an observation – at least with the Occupy Boston movement.

3)      When evicted from Dewey Square, these folks sent a message by making a small tent crowd surf, a la indie rock concert style.

Based on the above observations, it seems that police departments could have saved themselves some trouble of trying to forcefully remove these picketers. All they had to say was, “Hey, you guys need to vamoose. If you promise to leave, we promise a concert by Phish and free hacky sacks for all!” Done. No horrible back and forth between the movement and the men and women in blue. The physical pains on both sides may have been avoided.

So what now?

Well, I’m not sure if anything came of this sit-in. It seems that so much frost-bite and unnecessary sod (to the tax payers of Boston somewhere in the department of a million $$ to clean up after the movement) could have been avoided.  Because I am 99% sure (see what I did there?) the individuals the movement were trying to target were slipping out the back door, hopping into their leather interior seat-heated cars, and driving home while texting and eating chicken wings. They could have cared less.

Once again, there has to be an easier way.

Below are some suggestions:

1)      Mormons and Girl Scouts Do It Better – Go door to door Jehovah Witness-style. Camp out in front of your local grocer. Obtain signatures to get a bill going. When we lived in Texas, petitions were going around so that the people could vote on the sale of beer and wine at local grocery stores. Guess what? They got enough signatures, got it into the next election, and it passed. This has happened numerous times with other issues; however, I can only remember the one that allowed me to buy Pinot Noir at my Albertson’s.

2)      Get ‘em where it hurts – in the Paper! – The government seems to be like one big paper party. I often wonder if our officials throw it up into the air and roll around in it Indecent Proposal style. Our nation has been conditioned to respond to the written word. If I may be so bold as to quote Public Enemy here, “When I get mad, I put it down on a pad.” Might I suggest doing the same.

3)      Saddle up to drunk Uncle Larry at the next family Birthday/Bah Mitzvah/Thanksgiving – Chances are you know somebody, who knows somebody, who works with somebody who has a crazy Uncle Larry who works in government. Hand him some egg nog and your petition and see it off to the races…er…congressmen/women or voting booths.

Let me reiterate here, I am not here to start a movement. I am not a supporter of the Occupy Movement, but I respect their passion and why they feel things need to change. I am also somewhat of a political dullard.

With that said, if individuals feel things need to change in their communities, government, society, then so be it. But let’s do it peacefully and gently. That officer you’re spitting at, he is somebody’s father, brother, and son. That kid you need to handcuff, he’s someone’s son too.

So go ahead, stand up for what you believe in. And maybe grab a shower too.

P.S. – I’d like to give a shout out to my husband on this one. He often goes around the house spouting Public Enemy lyrics…maybe too often.

Stop the Madness!!! For those of you who know Susan Powter, you know what I am talking about. For those of you who don’t, well, now you know my age.

My husband and I have coined Christmas 2011 the, “Open up your wallet and dump it out,” holiday. Joke’s on your Papa Noel, there ain’t nothing in that wallet but some change and growing debt. Yes, this year is a jolly plastic celebration.

What the hell man? Where did these organizations come from? Where were you people in June when we actually HAD money? I am not a Grinch, quite the opposite. I am dying to help everyone out, but the reality of the situation is that it is just not humanly possible. I have given time and money where I can, but somehow, it just doesn’t seem like enough. What about the Help the Orphaned Chimps Foundation (it is real!!), don’t they need some love too?

It doesn’t matter what your religious beliefs are, it seems like every year more hands are sticking out asking for donations (I think even atheists will agree that things are getting out of control). I used to have my go-to charities that I could budget for; along with all the gifts for families, friends, teachers, neighbors, mailperson, and the “just in case I get invited to a party” goody bag. And I would love doing all of these things. What a humbling and exhilarating feeling knowing that you did your part and helped out. Involving your child in the donating process is such a great thing as well.

So why do I feel like crap?

One word – Guilt.

I was born Catholic, so basically I am hard-wired to feel guilty about any and everything. Even if I did not do anything wrong.

So when I say “no thank you” to a salesperson when they ask if I want to buy a book for a child and they give me that “heartless bitch” look, it blows. I drag my can out of the store feeling like a horrible person whom the townspeople should stone in the parking lot.

“I’m sorry!” I want to yell, “But my credit card was cowering in fear because it is about $20 away from its limit and I still have to buy the damn ingredients for the Kindergarten’s gingerbread house kits!”

What to do? Should charities stop asking for help during the holidays? Absolutely not! People (and monkeys) need help, and we should help them (but maybe some organizations can ask for money in May, not too much going on in May!).

What about us? How do we make peace with not being able to help every single living and non-living thing? I don’t know if we ever do. But maybe we can be easier on ourselves. Volunteer when we can; donate money when we have it (or sock some away so we can donate); and be courteous to all stressed out shoppers.

So this season, I am going to chill-ax with my family and deliver some Christmas cheer to the best of my abilities.

Because that cheer is probably going down the toilette when January hits with a massive financial hangover!

Happy Holidays!

Jing jing a ling, ring ding a ding….ooooooooh yeaaaaaaaaa…so those sweet little red cups with the winter motif are back and in effect at Starbucks. So are those delightful flavors of peppermint mocha and gingerbread latte. They have added a few new ones to their repertoire of dinks, such as salted caramel mocha and caramel crème brule.

But I am not here to discuss the delightful diabetic shock I enter when I suck down these drinks. I am here to talk about the cups.

Those red cylinder vats magically transform any drink into a libation. I’m serious; I would drink an old shoe if it came in that cup.

I make coffee everyday in my home. At night I scoop aromatic grounds into the filter so that I can wake to freshly brewed coffee.

Then I drive through Starbucks later that day.

Why? Why? Why does coffee taste better when it comes in a festive cup?

I’ll tell you why – because it is a symbol of the excitement that fills the air during the holidays. That and someone else is making it. But mainly the spirit of the season.

Even Dunkin Donuts has gotten hip to the jive and created a winter wonderland on their Styrofoam cups. They know suckers like me will gladly drink out of anything that remotely looks seasonal.

But I don’t care, I will keep doing it because it makes me happy. Isn’t that what this season is about, making people happy? And if you’re happy, then you are able to make others happy.

So I say, if a jolly old coffee drink is what it takes to get you through Christmas shopping at Toys R Us so that you don’t bitch slap the check out lady who won’t accept your coupon (“C’mon – it only expired yesterday!”), so be it!

And to all a good night!!!!

You know the movie.  Maybe you’ve even read the book: “I Don’t Know How She Does It!” And there she is, perky Sara Jessica Parker bouncing across the screen with her kids in tow, making cookies and going to work in sassy high heels.  She can whip up a kiddie birthday party that would make Martha Stewart green with envy; all the while doing it with lovely long locks, six-pack abs, and a super cute husband.

Excuse me while I throw up in my mouth a bit.

But these women do exist. You see them soccer game bringing Capris Suns and the “good” snacks. They’re lurking around the school’s holiday cake walk with their famous apple crisp that is “just to die for.”  They throw killer Fourth of July parties, their kids are in twenty-some-odd sports and on the honor roll, and their house always gives out the best candy at Halloween.

But who are these women? Were they born this way? Did they attend some type of Superwoman training program (and did that program come with a stylish wardrobe?)? Did they fall into a hole in the ground and land in a nuclear pool which made them stronger, faster, better?

I do not have the answer to this life question.

So I asked one of them. How do you do it?

The response:  “I like to stay busy.”

This is not only complete B.S., it is also not very helpful information.

I have a friend who is a-freakin-mazing. She makes SJP’s character look like Jabba the Hut on muscle relaxants. She works, has kids (who have a bazillion activities themselves), she heads up not one, not two, but three major organizations, her house is always perfectly decorated for every holiday, and still volunteers at the school. Also, she is s kick ass correspondent. Oh, and did I mention she is running a marathon.

I am just happy that at school drop off in the morning I am not wearing my pjs. Yet, there she is looking fantabulous, showered and ready for work. And oddly, I don’t want to punch her.

I want to make a trophy and have an awards ceremony in her honor, or at least send her an Edible Arrangement for all she does.

Now, I am not a lazy person, I am active and definitely help out at the school and contribute to society, but man, am I really not doing enough? Just thinking about what other women do makes my heart constrict and scream for an angioplasty – stressful!

So where does the need, the drive really to do so much come from? Does society demand it? Are there more things to do? Did everyone take the phrase “carpe diem” to the extreme?

My mom always like to weigh in on this busy bee syndrome. It goes something like this:

“You girls just do too much. Jezem Crow! We never did as much as you girls do nowadays.”

That is also a lie.

My mother cleaned the house, took care of three kids and carted us to all of our activities, was in a book club, did stuff at school, worked as a nurse, hosted Tupperware parties and those ridiculous candle parties, and did it all without her frosted hair losing its gleam.

Aha, women have been doing this crap since the beginning of time. It just takes on different forms. Back in “the day” there was less variation.  You worked on a farm. All farms needed to be tilled, etc. All rugs needed to be beaten and hens fed and, well you get the idea. Now, we have different jobs, different activities, more social clubs, more volunteer opportunities.

I can guarantee in the 1600s nobody volunteered. It was called, “If you want to eat you had better get your fanny outside and shear the wheat.”

So here is a theory of why we feel we need to do more and more:

1)      We were born this way – There are few women I have seen that lay around like college stoners. And the lazy women I do know are complete bitches who hate themselves.

2)      We compare ourselves to others – The “Keeping up with the Jones’s” effect still applies here.

3)      We’ve been tricked – Committees guilt us into doing things (“We need to sell 100 more rolls of wrapping paper, or the band will not be able to compete in Tuscaloosa.”) or no one else will do the damn job (“We just need one more volunteer to head up the committee to de-trash out city’s ravines so our girls can get their badges”).

I say enough already.  It is good to get involved in our communities and in our children’s lives, but let’s all take a breath and sit DOWN for once. That Abe Lincoln costume will be there tomorrow for you to sew. Have a glass of wine and raise a toast for all you do.

Then go fold some laundry, bake those cookies, and organize your coupons; because that is a light day for you.

Yep.

A big fat yes in fact. Am I proud of this fact? Not really, but it is the truth.

Case and point: A couple of months ago I scratched my cornea. How? I have no idea. Most likely by doing something rather strenuous, like breathing. At any rate, I trotted over to the ophthalmologist with my good eye to see what could be done.

Here is a re-cap:

Doctor: You have an abrasion on your cornea.

Me: Really?

Doctor: You need to take these eye drops for two weeks and not wear your contacts.

Me: Uh, it’s summer.

Doctor:  Yes, it is.

Me:  Well, I am going to the beach next week and I don’t have any prescription sunglasses.

Doctor:

Me: And the sun hurts my eyes, I really need my sunglasses. (My Thoughts: Plus, I got them from Target for $5.00 and they are super cool, like something I saw JLo wearing in US magazine.)

Doctor: Well…you could just wear one contact.

Me: Oh, I can’t do that. It will drive me nuts.

I began to look sad and forlorn for effect at this point.

Doctor: Well… use your best judgment. You can wear your contacts for just a couple of hours at a time when you finish your medicine.

Me: Oh, thank you, I will!

And I paid the bill, filled the prescription, and started wearing my contacts three days later.  Apparently my “best judgment” was to pop in my faux eyeballs, even if one eye was a bit blurry.

Here is where that act of genius got me (Doctor’s office two weeks later):

Doctor: Well, the abrasion is better, but still there.

Me: (shocked) You’re kidding me!

Doctor: You should wear your glasses for another month and then come back and we’ll see how it is.

Me:                                (My Thoughts: Silently crying to myself as I have sixth grade flashbacks of a little girl in her Coke-bottle glasses and an unfortunate bob haircut.)

So why did I let vanity get in the way of my “health.” It was only for a short time and really, who cares what other people think of my lame frames?

Uh, apparently I do.

I am sure many others have their vain points. Some people will only be photographed on their right side; others won’t be caught dead outside the house without their Coral Gables lipstick (my dear mother); and others didn’t enter society until Spanx were invented.

Yes, we all know there is a huge market out there to help us de-wrinkle, sparkle, and look ten pounds lighter, blah blah blah.  There are books written, fables told, and movies made about the perils on vanity. It is even one of the seven deadly sins.

Yet, here we are, slathering, injecting, and running around with a scratched cornea, all in the name of beauty.

I am not here to shake my finger at vanity and figure out a solution. Instead, let us flip the script, if you will, and look at vanity in a positive light.

1.)    A little vanity is a good thing. If none of us cared about how we looked the world would be overrun by split-ends and body odor. Taking pride in our looks (not to an extreme level) helps us take pride in ourselves. Or so they say.

2.)    Vanity is keeping people in jobs. I am not sure of the numbers, but people spend a crap ton of money on personal trainers, Botox, make up, and old lady face creams to keep themselves younger and brighter. If we as a society did a 180 and stopped this spending, our economy would flop faster than a woman’s unsupported breast. Seriously, it would be way worse than the housing market issue.

3.)    If people weren’t just a little vain, we would vote even crazier people into office. Think Jimmy McMillan, Ruth Bader Ginsberg. Enough said.

So let us raise our jars of night time firming cream to vanity. Take pride in knowing you are helping society with your spray on tan.  Let us walk hand and hand as friends with our minor narcissism.

As long as we can see out of both eyes.

I don’t fancy myself a chef (right now my husband is shouting, “Can I get an Amen?!). Oddly, I really enjoy food, going out to various restaurants, and I think that Curtis Stone is hot. Yet, when it comes to being creative in the kitchen, or using a recipe that requires arugula, I just shrug my shoulders and say, “eh.”

If you are like me in this department, then I assume you’ve given it the ole’ college try. Perhaps you have switched out one ingredient for another: “I used Bar-B-Q sauce today.”  Or maybe you have impulse bought a Real Simple or other cooking magazine in the check out like because of promises of “Dinners in Under 30 Minutes the Whole Family Will Love!” [Side Bar: I often wonder how these article writers know that my family will love these said dinners. What if I have a child with a dairy allergy or a husband who thinks that peas are a waste of time?  What then Cooking Light?]

I always feel exhilarated after these purchases, vowing that I will make interesting and healthy meals with delectable aromas filling the house.  “Yes I can!” I say to myself, vowing that on the next shopping trip I will buy new and exciting ingredients.

Here is what really happens:

A month later I find the magazine under the coffee table caked in dust and grape jelly (don’t ask how the jelly got there, I still don’t know). I look at the pictures of delectable meals and think, “That’s nice.” I ear-mark a few pages and put the magazine next to the grocery list.

Six months later I find the magazine buried under a staggering pile of Target receipts, four old To Do lists, two pamphlets of yoga classes I still have yet to try out, an overdue bill for the Sunday paper (crap!), a bunch of old Halloween stickers, and  three solicitations for clothing donations – all past due. As I brush off the magazine I think, “What a waste of $4.95.” I then toss it into the recycle bin (I do care about the earth) and proceed to make spaghetti and meatballs…yet again.

Ah, the boring supper dilemma: Wanting new and exciting meals, yet buying the same crap at the grocery store. The cycle must end.

So I have devised a cheat sheet, if you will, as to how to somewhat achieve dinner excellence:

1)      Have my husband make dinner at least 1 time a week.  He is an excellent cook and super creative (He once made fancy sautéed shrimp served in a coconut. A coconut people!).

2)      Add 2 new ingredients to the same old chicken dish. This usually involves cheddar cheese or Campbell’s soup.

3)      Add dinner rolls. I could serve a brick to my family for dinner and they would eat it if it came with a Pillsbury crescent roll.

4)      Promise dessert if the meal is eaten. A good fall back plan if numbers 1 through 3 did not occur.

In reality, I have decided to be kind to myself and say, “Hey, it’s O.K. you suck at dinner making. You’re busy lady with shuttling your child to school, dance, and swim classes, volunteering out the ying yang, and watching the new NBC line up. Chin up. Don’t forget, you’re good at folding.”

I hope you all will be kind to yourselves as well. Yes, we can all try a new creation when we are able to, but that is not the real reason to have dinner. It is to be together. Catch up on the day, laugh, and be thankful that we can have dinner. I hope that tonight you enjoy yours with family or friends.

Even if it is cream of mushroom chicken…again.