Flip it

Tell me something about you. Anything. Big. Small. Silly. Serious.

Tell me something about you.

A little fancy

One time, my Mama sent me an email all about living for today. I think it was when she was in the middle of chemotherapy. They were pumping gallons of poison into her body, patting her head, saying "There, there little lamb. This will kill all those bad cancer cells." And she would swell with the fluid. And say it felt like her bones were hollow. I'll never forget that. Anyway, I think it was in the middle of all that she sent me an email. Somewhere along the way I lost it. But I remember one part of it, and I think about it all the time.

There was a woman, and she had a very special, very expensive bottle of perfume. She never used it. It just sat in her bathroom. Something happened, maybe her husband died. And she realized how little it all matters, and how much it all matters at the same time. And the woman mused, "Why am I saving this perfume for a special occasion? Isn't every day a special occasion. I could wear this when the plumber comes over. Wouldn't he appreciate it the same as anyone?" And so, from that day on she would wear a little of the special perfume whenever the mood hit her.

Yesterday pushed the limits for me. Normally I'm a really happy, positive person. I'm usually able to maintain that through just about anything. But yesterday I stood on the edge of a cliff and I just looked down. And then I told the cliff to shut the hell up. Stop telling me to jump into that great canyon of negativity. And I walked away.

So I woke up today the old me. And boy was I happy to see me! We can survive anything but our own death. Listen more. Laugh whenever you can. Be nice to people, they may not be nice to you but they'll remember your kindness. Be honest.

And wear a little fancy everyday.

It's been one of those days

I'm not done yet. I thought I was. I typed my post. Hit Publish. And went off to work on my daily To-Do List. But I'm not done yet. I'm smoldering. So before I self-combust:

I don't like Michael Vick. The torturing and killing of animals for any reason is despicable, lowly, and should be punishable by more than jail time. In my opinion? He shouldn't be allowed to play football. Ex-convicts of much lesser crimes have an incredibly hard time securing employment post-incarceration. Why should Michael Vick be welcomed back into the NFL? Why? He is ruthless, disgusting, heartless, and it makes sick to think of how the animals suffered.

To say that dog fighting is cultural. That it's been around for so long. That the animals are doing what is instinctual. Well I say bullshit. Just because it's been around a long time doesn't mean it's right. I'm going to go way out now, to what may be an unpopular place, but hear me out. Someone, years ago could have said that slavery was cultural. That it had been around since the beginning of time. Man has always enslaved the poor, the oppressed.

But that isn't a reason to continue the cruelty.

The same with dog fighting. Just because people used it as entertainment years ago, doesn't make it right. It was wrong then, and it's wrong now. Entertain yourself another way. For God's sake, we have ti-vo, dvd's, video games, millions of acres of nature to explore, and so much more. Go do charity work, drink a fifth of Jack. I don't care. Can we please just stop hurting each other, and the animals?

And really, did he need to dogfight? Was he struggling to feed a family? Was it his last resort to take care of an ailing mother?

NO.

Garbage day, and why I don't like Oprah

Have you ever had a day, a moment where all of your emotions meet at an intersection. They look around. Sadness tips his hat to Joy. Fear wonders why Gratitude is looking at him with that big smile on her face. Anger crosses her arms, and glares at Regret. And way over there, in the East, is Love; taking it all in.

That's my today. All of my emotions bubbled to the surface and met. They are battling one another for supreme victory. And here I am, their vessel. And I'm letting them talk it out. Oh Stubbornness is taking his good old time. And Hope makes a good case. But I'm being Patient, and Quiet. I know they'll work this out.

I call this Garbage Day. When all the emotional refuse comes to the surface, and we skim the yucky stuff out. And we bag up what we're done with and put it on the curb. We clean up, and clear out. So it's Garbage Day, and I'm cleaning house.

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I don't like Oprah. I know she has done so much for charity, and the underprivileged. I know that she tells you all the time how much good she does. That's one of the reasons I don't like her. She's a shameless self-promoter. But the real reason I don't like her?

She doesn't really hug.

Have you ever noticed this? How she'll either hold up her hands, and create some sort of awkward arm pyramid with the guest in lieu of a hug. Or, if someone manages to get close enough for an embrace, she barely touches them and releases as soon as possible.

Where I come from, a hug is a two-arm, squeeze me tight kinda deal. A hug says, there you are, I've missed you. I want to bring you into my world and now you're here, and you're safe.

Otherwise you stick out your hand for a handshake to create the polite, and necessary difference when it is appropriate.

And that's why I don't like Oprah.

A girl and her quirks walk into a bar...

If I'm home alone or in a new place, I sleep with a light on.

I must be within one foot of a chapstick at all times.

I check, check, and triple check my alarm clock. I have such a fear of oversleeping.

I lift my feet off the floor, and make a wish when I drive over train tracks.

I can't look at spiders, scorpions, roaches or hoards of insects, even on t.v.

I absolutely LOVE horror movies but cover my eyes during the scary parts.

I don't send food back because I have a fear they will spit in it.

I have a fear of bugs in cereal boxes.

I have a fear of bugs in general.

Rootbeer makes me nauseous.

I only pick up pennies that are heads up. I NEVER break this rule.

I can find 4 leaf clovers anywhere. I don't even have to be looking. (My Great Grandfather Mike was the same way. He would be sitting up on the old John Deere tractor and spot them in the grass below)

And those a just a FEW of my quirks.

So tell me, what makes you, YOU?

Weekend.

Self portrait: Us.

Red Eye dock bar on the shore. After the monsoon.

Cute bf & Josh!

The aftermath. Many crabs were hurt during filming. And they were delicious.

Kiddos at Avery's 3rd birthday party

Early morning mist

Dinner with Mom was a success. Fresh sushi. Plum wine. Good conversation. Hmmm, better than most first dates I've been on.

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Went to two hockey games yesterday. Cute bf is quite the athlete. What a dreamboat. *sigh* I love hockey rinks. It's in my blood. It's 90 degrees outside but push open two sets of double doors and you're instantly transported to winter. I pulled on a heavy sweatshirt over my tank top and glanced down at my flip-flop feet hoping I'd leave the rink the same way I arrived, with ten toes.

Hockey rinks are otherworldly. There's a camaraderie unlike other sports. There's a barbarism, and a brotherhood. There's beer drinking in the halls, the stands, the parking lots. Wounds are compared, tales of heroism on the ice are embellished, and when a fight breaks out, well there's this inner cave woman that comes alive in me. Secretly I like a good 15 second brawl. No one really gets hurt and I marvel every time at how at the end of the game all of the guys shake hands, laugh it off, and move on. What a gift to be a man at times. To let emotional wounds heal as fast as the physical.

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On the way to hockey we were merging onto 95, it's an odd left side merge and causes trouble for those not used to high speeds and sharing. So there we were behind an incredibly slow car, hesitant to merge, causing our car to seemingly block traffic in the fast lane. I turned to wave at the minivan behind us as if to say, "Sorry!" when they pull up frantically next to us and an irate woman in the passenger seat screams "BITCH!!!" at me all the while slapping the dashboard. I wasn't even driving. I must have looked perplexed because the man with her winced, hunched his shoulders and went past us. I said a silent prayer that she find some kindness within her, and he? A new woman.

Miss Maybelle made me do it

A challenge has been issued; the gauntlet thrown down.

"Here's a challenge to all who wish to accept: Try to bring sexy back. Report. 500 words or less. Good Luck! (Successes and failures welcomed equally. Roll Up The Rugs is not responsible for any injury due to attempts to bring sexy back. Pictures appreciated.)" (visit: Roll Up The Rugs for more info)

How I am bringing sexy back (in 500 word or less)

1. I wake up everyday. Dead isn't sexy.
2. I shower nearly daily. Sometimes twice a day to make up for those Wednesdays when I just don't wanna put out all that effort. Smelly isn't sexy.
3. I smiled at a homeless man, and then he threw a bagel at my car. Mean isn't sexy.
4. I eat ice cream when cute boyfriend says at 8pm, "I think we deserve it." Depriving yourself isn't sexy.
5. I don't hold grudges. Bitter isn't sexy.
6. I laugh like I really mean it. Fake isn't sexy.
7. I let people merge, and try to consider slow drivers my speeding ticket saviors. Impatience isn't sexy.
8. I do stuff like this cause it makes me happy. Unhappy isn't sexy.

But ya know what is sexy? Unbridled joy. Kindness. Love. Confidence. Tolerance. And a great pair of heels.

Unconditional Love: Thy name is Mother.

Yesterday was my Mom's birthday. I'm late. I know. I have had sporadic internet access and it seems to have mended itself. The storms that rolled through here recently did a number on some of the servers. But I digress.

Yesterday was my Mom's birthday. She's like 29 or somethin'. Do you want to know some stuff about her? Oh sure ya do.

One time, when she was a teenager she got kicked out of church for laughing. (this is where I get my inappropriate laughing gene from)

One time, she had a frozen pea war with my brother in the grocery store (she routinely tossed us things in the store, but after the great mustard debacle, we vowed only paper and plastic would be thrown)

One time, she showed us how to slurp M&M's off our place mats until we laughed so hard my Dad had to excuse himself from the table. (that's the ultimate in fun, if Dad couldn't take it and was completely embarrassed we were on the right track)

One time, she had to get a spinal tap. And instead of sobbing into the sterile gauze, she put on a hospital gown fashion show and we took pictures. (Meanwhile, my Uncles in Connecticut were texting asking if we'd started drinking so early in the day. No, that comes AFTER the spinal tap silly)

And that, in a nutshell, is my crazy Mom.

Happy Birthday Mama!!! See you for sushi and plum wine tomorrow night!

When Sunday comes a callin'

I'm the type of girl who picks up frogs.
And my real love looks at me like I hung the moon upside down.
And he likes it, just that way.
So I let the frog go, and he croaks a happy "goodnight",
the pond only a few hops away.

Then there is ice cream, and I try a little of his
and he a little of mine, then a little more.
And air blows warm and late summer fragrant.
He was going to wear his pajama pants to Dairy Queen
I was ok with that. He changed into jeans.
I'm ok with that too.

The couch sits waiting. We take our spots.
He always reaches for my hand.
There is never not contact.
And more than once a day or night
I catch him looking at me
and I say, "What?"
Because it unnerves me.
His bright, blue eyes focused only on me.

And we love to watch History, or Discovery,
or anything that causes us to learn, and then
debate.

I'm the type of girl who believes in ghosts
and he's the type of guy who asks me, "why?"

Hi! I'm here! Where are you?

I've been busy. And lazy. Haven't posted. Won't today either (unless this counts?) Have had so much to do, and it's one of those things where I could tell you all the wonderfulness, but maybe I want to keep it to myself a little bit. I have an imaginary jewelry box filled with treasured trinkets, memorable moments. So I'll store this weekend there. And I'll talk to you tomorrow.

Once upon a cherry tree

When I was a little girl, I climbed a cherry tree. I skinned my summer sunned knees on rough bark, and reaching branches. I climbed until the Earth below fell away, until the light snuck through leaf mazes, and lay gently on my face. I wore the scent of new cherries on my skin. Unripe, I spit them to the ground, listening for the gentle tap as they hit the grass. Squirrels ran up to steal them. Hind leg sitting, they peeked left to right, then spun the cherry expertly in their tiny paws and snacked on the buffet I'd given them.

Inside the house I imagined my mama getting food ready for lunch. Oh she'd be opening up peanut butter jars, spooning red and grape jelly, maybe cutting off crusts. There would be milk pouring, and chips crunching.

Surely she'll notice I'm missing.

Even with the hum of a house full of kids (in those days Mama ran a daycare out of our home).

So I sat. Dragonflies buzzed, a tractor whirred, birds argued, and still, I sat.

But she didn't come. The sun slipped lower in the sky. I rubbed my arms to ward off the sadness creeping up my skin.

I was so hungry. Hours must have passed. And no one noticed I was gone. Infuriated, incensed, angry, I scurried down the tree and marched up, pressing my face against the window. I could see kids milling about, some sitting down eating, some waiting. And there, on the wall, the clock read 12:20.

I had only been outside for twenty minutes. Slinking into the kitchen Mama peered over her shoulder at me, "Peanut butter and jelly alright?"

Stumbled upon this...

"This simple event-reaction-outcome chain governs most of our spontaneous action. Something or someone hooks us and we react. Someone yells at us, we yell back and create the outcome of a damaged relationship. It's not that we want a damaged relationship, it's just what happens when we yell back.

And that's the problem. The most important part of the chain, arguably the only part that really matters, the outcome, is collateral damage from our reaction. It's not intentional. We're reacting to the event. The outcome is simply fallout.

But, this time, before making that mistake, I paused; which gave my rational self time to negotiate with my emotional self. And, lucky for me, during that negotiation they must have agreed to call Guy for advice.

Guy offered an alternate chain. Focus on the outcome, then choose your reaction.

Rather than focus on my personal reaction to Hunter, Guy suggested that I focus on what I wanted, which was to grow the business.

When an unsettling event occurs, pause before reacting. In that pause, ask yourself a single question: what is the outcome I want? Then, instead of reacting to the event, react to the outcome.

In other words, stop reacting to the past and start reacting to the future.

If someone yells at you, pause before yelling back. Then ask yourself what outcome you want. If the answer is "an improved relationship," don't yell back. Instead, in a normal voice, empathize with their anger and ask some questions about the concerns raised in the midst of the screaming. That's a reaction that will achieve a better relationship.

Here's the hard part: You react to the event because it's asking you to react to it. But just because the event catalyzed your action, doesn't mean it should determine it. How you react can and should be determined by the outcome; by the future you want to create."

-Peter Bregman: Harvard Business Publishing (full article here)

Coulda. Shoulda. Woulda.

I could write about the heat: but it's summer people, and it's supposed to be hot. (A local news channel used the word "heat" 16 times in a 30 minute broadcast. Nooo, they don't drive public hysteria. That's crazy talk!)

I could write about health care reform: but have you seen the fervor, the anger, the protests being stirred up at town hall meetings daily? I don't have that kind of energy.

I could write about the two "friends" that I have cut out of my life because they were never really friends to begin with. But why? They don't care, and they don't see anything wrong with the way they are.

I could write about my happiness, my at peace at all times feeling: but I don't have the right words just yet.

I could write about the absolute beauty of an open field at twilight, or how the fog glitters low in the sunrise light: but, I'd rather take a picture for you. (and I will)

I could write about a lot of things. But I won't.

Where I'm from. Where I am. And where a part of me will always be..

Words for thought

"There are many forms of Grace-physical, intellectual, social, spiritual- each of them amazing in its own way. But to cope with inevitable loss, to face life in all its confusion and absurdity and still retain the capacity for joy, laughter, and a belief that our struggles have meaning- this is to prevail."
-Gordon Livingston, M.D.

Because I love "Inside the Actor's Studio"

1) What turns you on?

Confidence & kindness

2) What turns you off?

Lying. Cruelty of people towards one another. People who are cowards and don't say to your face what they say behind your back. Despicable.

3) What is your favorite word?

Love

4) What is your least favorite word?

Moist

5) What sound or noise do you love?

Kids laughing. Cute bf calling me "honey". And thunderstorms.

6) What sound or noise do you hate?

That noise right before an alarm clock goes off. I can't even describe it. And then of course the traditional alarm clock sound. I don't wake up to that. What a terrible way to start your day.

7) What profession other than yours would you like to attempt?

Well, considering I'm a nanny right now....teacher, and/or writer.

8) What profession other than yours would you not want to attempt?

Garbage collector. Spider wrangler.

9) What is your favorite swear word?

Fuck.

10) If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say to you as you enter the Pearly Gates?

Brad Pitt is serving calorie-free ice cream in the Unicorn room. Don't forget your glass of wine and wings.

My weekend? How kind of you to ask!

I'm not gonna lie, I'm looking forward to this weekend like the elves look forward to Dec 26th.

Tonight?

Dinner with my best friend @ a local watering hole. (she's always good for about 1,000 laughs, and I truly enjoy watching her man-voodoo at work. They flock to her. She's the Man Whisperer)

Tomorrow?

Yard Sale @ Mama's (Doesn't sound like much, but the crowds don't disappoint. I'm too much of a people person not to chat, and gawk, and enjoy) After that it's cute bf's hockey game, and date night. Always silly, and fun. Last night's date was a little something like this: Feed me. More. Now ice cream. Discovery channel. Happy.

Sunday?

Brunch (finally) with the one and only Tara. Mimosas? Rooftop deck? Pool? Oh I'm sorry, I didn't realize she lives in HEAVEN. (She IS an angel though....)

All in all, I'm content to say goodbye to this workweek and hello this weekend. Actually, I'm gonna give this weekend a big, fat, sloppy kiss.

XOXO

Tiff

Yup, she's my Mama

Text convo:

Tiff: Change o'plans. Will stay @ Dad's and see u tmrw. what time?
Mom: We need to be ready by 8
Tiff: sooo i see you round 7?
Mom: Good. thanks.
Tiff: ok
Mom: Peace

"We stand here home, and free." - Laura Ling

Did you see this? Freed journalists arrive in U.S. from North Korea

I watched in awe as they climbed down those stairs from the airplane, wondering how they didn't explode with the sheer joy of being on U.S. soil, and being able to embrace their families for the first time in four and a half months.

And it made me think..

That terrible traffic yesterday? Doesn't matter.
The bills I have to pay? Get over it.
The suffocating humidity? Big deal.
The frustration with small people, with small minds? Let it go.

Because when I woke up today, I could hug the person I love the most. And I could go to work, and earn a living. And I could eat whatever I wanted. And I could feel, and think, and say anything I desired. And well, I'm just glad they're back.

“Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in.” Frost

I did it. I moved home. Dear God, help me.

It was a move that I thought about for months. Could I live with it? Pros? Cons? And so on. But in the end decided that it would be in my best financial interest to move home temporarily. The sheer amount of money I will save (think, no rent, no electric bill, no water bill, and so much more) is intoxicating. I'm hoping to save like crazy and make a large dent in my student loan bills.

It will be fine. I'm living with my Dad in the house I grew up in. It's very different than when I was growing up of course. I come and go as I please. I buy my own food (I'm a pretty picky eater). I have a boyfriend, and I'm at his house sometimes 4-5 nights a week. So, all in all, it's still a situation that allows 100% freedom.

But still, I'm 26. And I moved home.

Crap.

Huh?

I don't know if the Earth slipped off its axis, or there was some sort of meteor shower, or if maybe this is the Matrix...buuuuuuuut....

Last night I slept one hour. Yup. One whole hour. Not eight. Just one.

and then...

this morning when I got my coffee from the Dunkin Donuts drive through, some of it spilled down the sides, so I pulled into a parking space to wipe it off when suddenly I look up and there is an angry, old man gesturing wildly at me and screaming at me to, "GET THE HELL OUT OF THE SPACE. YOU CAN'T JUST SIT THERE. PEOPLE NEED TO PARK!!!!!" Meanwhile there are spaces on either side of me and I'm not in a handicapped or otherwise reserved space. He just kept hooking his thumb towards the road and nodding his head in an odd seizure like motion. And then? Oh then he went inside Dunkin Donuts and I saw him pointing at my car and waving his hands in the air, clearly telling them that I was *gasp* parked, in a parking space! Will wonders never cease.

So I drove away, utterly confused.

And then a bird flew into my winshield.

A little bit of magic

I want to walk through a Lavender field in Sutton with you.

I want to paint our faces in colored mud, and dance to dry under the sun.

I want to shout in a library that its only you for me.

I want to light up a fourth of July sky with the fireworks from our touch.

I want to sit at the top of a Hindu temple and taste the raindrops of the gods.

I want to wear your too big shirt to bed, and wake up in Tahiti.

I want to watch the bulls run, and drink tequila straight from the bottle.

I want you to show me that place where caterpillars blossom into butterflies.

I want to let you let me be the light and dark and easy and crazy and filled with joy body and soul that I can't help but be.

and most of all...

I want you to know that if I had one breath left, I'd use it to laugh with you.

I do awkward very well

I haven't bought stamps in a while. I keep borrowing one here and there. I have lived in this house for a year and I don't even know how to mail things from here (there's some weird cluster mailbox with all these slots, and one of them is for outgoing mail but I don't know which one, so when I approach it I get all scared that someone is watching me and thinking, "Oh look at the dumb girl, she just put her letter in the Dear Santa slot." So then I run away and have someone else mail my letter for me)

So today I went by CVS to pick up a few things, and in my overtired, coffee jittered state, I think I may have caused a nice young man to rethink his job choice. I walked up to the counter with neosporin, envelopes, and shampoo. Then I dropped it all. And yelled, "shit". And then picked it up and laughed like a hyena to myself. And then? Well then I said, "Hey Dave!" Because according to his nametag, he's Dave. But he didn't like that.

While ringing me up, I said, "Do you all sell stamps?"
"Yes," said Dave, noticibly grumpy.
"Well I need 2."
"I can't sell you just 2."
"But Dave, I only need 2, not the whole bucket."
(Yes, I said bucket. I don't know why I was thinking about a bucket. But it was out there. Hanging...in the air...between me and Dave)
Rolling his eyes and sighing deeply Dave said, "Do you want a roll of stamps?"
And I, leaning in (realizing I'd yet to brush my teeth) said, " Nope, I want the other thing. The flat thing. Ya know?"
"A book?"
"Yes! That's it. A book of stamps!"
"All we have are Liberty Bells."
"Bollocks!"
(all was lost at this point, so I threw in an English accent for good measure)
"Your total is $18.78."
"Oookey Doke. Thanks Dave!!"

As I left, all I heard was..

"I'm goin' on break."