Debunking More Myths

There are, in the nutritional arena, things that have thrilled me to the core... finding pizza I can order and have delivered like a "normal person"... (there is something magic in eating pizza out of a greasy cardboard box. I have yet to overcome the fascination.)... and, unlike some of the pizzas I've found that hit the "I can't believe it's not cardboard!" button with my tastebuds... (I am a picky sort... until I test it, I don't recommend it.)
Davinci's Pizza of Orchard Park is freaking awesome. Pimp. Pimp.

Then there are those little itty bitty things that grind my gears:

• Everything in moderation. And yes, this does include moderation. It's a vicious cycle, though
• "You don't eat that? Is it because it looks phallic?" For heaven's sake. First of all, I think we all have a Freudian response to things that are "sex organs". Our first foods are either breast milk or from containers designed explicitly to look like breasts. The standard latex Playtex nurser is pretty much a boob on a cylinder. And please... this would mean I'd have to give up whole cucumbers and dill pickles. Which, only really looks dirty, provided you find it sexy to watch someone who looks like they're doing obscene and awful things to Shrek. Hot dogs? They're tubular burgers! (Actually, if I find all-beef, and I trust Hebrew National precisely because they have high standards... I'm all for it.) the issue is generally store brands and cheap-o brands... and well-known companies dealing with inflation. Then, you're likely to find an intestine stuffed with cheap meat, and to save money and make profit, filled out with "cereal". Everything looks like something, and anything can be dirty. 
• The Sugar Nazi... Oh, good. You're taking care of yourself. Awesome. Don't be a total tool about it, and please, don't preach while bribing a kid with candy to shut them up. 
• "Isn't all sugar the same?" Ask someone who has lactose intolerance. (Coincidentally, the money I spent on Lactaid pills and bad lactose-free milk pisses me off.)
  
• "Don't eat wheat, rye, barley, spelt or oats"... Stop! Oats aren't a problem...actually, they're naturally gluten free. The issue is that you have to look good and hard to find oat products from a company that doesn't store oats in bins that once stored wheat. It's not the gluten content... it's the contamination
• "Are you doing this to lose weight?" No, I do that just fine, thank you. 
• You're trying to be skinny: Ask my mother. When I was a kid, my parents occasionally got called in... an essay for a class that I did on anorexia was apparently too good. I ate lunch with the principal for the rest of the semester. Nope. Bro and I acquired a "Bony" gene somewhere. 

Well, that was depressing.
How about I tell you about a date? I went out for ice cream with a nice Italian boy. It didn't go so well. Shame. I've always wanted to lick the nuts off a large Neapolitan.

Startling True* Story: My Boyfriend Tried to Turn Me Into a Love Zombie!

One woman's startling story will change how you look at men forever! Today, Fussy Von Fusspot is going to school, and getting her life back. But it almost never happened... because Fussy, 33, ran into a smooth-talking doctor who removed half of her brain as part of a ritual!


Fussy Von Fusspot, 33, was an exotic dancer at a local club called Shakey's. She worked hard to support herself and keep her Persian cat, Mr. Whiskers, in Friskies. 
Then one night, she met Bret** a handsome doctor, who was new in town. 
Bret was charmed by the beautiful exotic dancer with rainbow-colored pigtails, and soon, Fussy and Bret were inseparable. He bought her diamonds, all the Wonderbras and feather boas (from real emu raised in Australia!) Fussy could desire. And Mr. Whiskers dined on caviar any time he wished.


Then Bret began acting strangely, asking Fussy to lay perfectly still in his walk-in freezer, bought, he explained, because he was an avid hunter; and not make a sound during sex. Fussy complied with trepidation, after Bret explained that it was just "something new he wanted to try." Soon, Bret was asking the lithe, double-D bosomed stripper for more "death-like" behavior whenever they were intimate. 


Finally, Fussy had enough. She had no desire to be the "living dead girl" in Bret's ever-more sickening fantasies.
Bret listened very nicely as she confronted him, and offered her a glass of wine, explaining that he needed to get help with his sickening fantasies.
After finishing off half a bottle of Cristal, Fussy fell to the ground. Hours later she awoke with a pounding headache, and was disoriented. 
Soon, Bret appeared with a maternal looking nurse, and cheerily asked "How's my patient?"
"Whaaaaaaaa...." Fussy asked.
"My dear! You're an accomplishment! I finally have the zombie love slave I always wanted!"

Luckily, for Fussy, her bosses and friends at Shakey's had become concerned. After fighting with police who could care less about one last stripper having a "Fancy Meets the Senator" moment, the law intervened. Fussy was strapped to a Striker frame, face ashen, an infected scar running across the top of her head, hair matted, with two straggly little ponytails.

Fussy spent months recovering, while Bret and his nurse accomplice were never found. Today, Fussy is a college student, and with plastic surgery, almost no sign exists of the horrible scarring. She does have some left over problems...as I interviewed her, she stared longingly at me, chomping a bit of raw meat meaningfully. Drool escapes down her chin. But Fussy lives.

So remember, girls! If he seems too good to be true and likes your cat, and showers you with diamonds, expensive champagne, he is not to be trusted! He just wants a zombie slave!***

*I am responsible, and I alone, for this truly smart-assed look at Cosmo.
**Names changed.
***Or, he could have more money than he knows what to do with, and happens to like your pet, which is part of you.

At the Edge of the Cliff...

We all have that looking from the top of a cliff getting ready to jump phase to deal with. Where have I been? What do I want? Who needs to go, who needs to be kept?

Dear Beth,
We haven't really looked each other in the eye lately, but I think we've passed and said hi here and there. Hey, listen... you have work to do... lots of it. More questions than answers, and things you're finally facing. There's things to let go of, too. And things you damn well better never let go.
Sure, you've loved, and lost, and still, somewhere, hold love for someone you've let go... "I can't be in your life, but I hope it's blessed, and fabulous. I pray you find peace, and what you're looking for. But I know, I have to go my way too." And that hurt. Like hell. That was a lot to take in, and way too much to bear all at once. But it needed to be said.
It's ok to show emotion, here and there... those who truly care will understand... we all break sometimes. And we all can use bearing up. There are those things you can't talk about, yet, and those you're trying to leave behind, so you can face the sunrise tomorrow, and the uncertainty. Remember that we aren't given a spirit of fear... and we can overcome it. Hold close to those who've been there, without judgment, and help them too. We all have a battle, be genuinely kind, be a joy, for those who have brought you joy. Don't beat yourself up over the past... let the emotional scars fade, and the physical ones heal...although the itching is hell and it's hard to reach. Keep working on your projects. In time, you'll surprise yourself. Remember to love the sweet and simple things, and the sweet and simple people. Those you can watch films with, in the quiet, those who you've let yourself be silly and actually smile in front of, with no shame. Rebel a bit... don't let fear push you to surviving rather than living.
More simply, look at the past, and remember to laugh. Heartily.

• You can't save them all. And seriously...red hair is not for you. Never let your mother talk you into a short cut, and if you feel wrong about something, or you feel more like you have to, then that it's marvelous, and it makes you feel bad rather than lifting you up, it's not for you. Walk away. If you know in every part of you that it feels bad, it usually is.

Take time for you, and never feel guilty that you did so. Don't survive... LIVE! 
Love, Me.
PS: GERONIMO! 

Never Say Goodbye, Jackie Paper

May I learn to say no without guilt
Enjoy both the dry, baking heat and the sweet, soft coolness evening brings
Learn to enjoy, to smile, to laugh
To not forever need to be in motion
To be able to rest

May I learn how to handle sadness, anger... without guilt, without shame
To simply smile without fear

Dear God... I'm tired
I've had to say no,
Have had to say "Yes, I'm scared"... and hated it.
I hate knowing that right now, I am caught between needing to be good for, and strong for, and needing those for me.

I hate living in fear. We aren't given a spirit of fear
And I can do so much better than to let myself quake.

May I find,
One day, the clean, cold, salty waters
And warm up while tugging on a bit of salt water taffy.
May I learn to just be.

Let me not worry so much
Analyze so much
I forget to live.

Starlight, starbright, first star I see tonight
I wish I may
I wish I might
Have the first wish I wish tonight...

Let me never lose some wonder.

Always the hippie, I had a dragon much like this as my first toy. Named Puff, of course. Ah, Puff, how I miss you.

Jackie Paper never needs to stop believing.

A Return to B-Movie Sundays

Sometimes, it's good to take some time off... so I'm re-instituting my favorite tradition, the "B-Movie Sunday". However, I must say, anything in the "Ilsa" category will be strictly off-limits to me now. Never in my life would I think of a "Love Machine" in that particular context, (Yes, a dildo used to inflict pain... I have no idea why my "Gee, I'm curious... Ilsa Keeper of the Harem of the Oil Barons sounds like fun!" guided me towards that decision) and the Sleepaway Camp films, particularly the original and Angela's startling reveal, were perhaps bad ideas. Pandemonium, however, was kind of adorable... and the Paul Reubens in the mausoleum, finding one of the films' killers and one of his victims (The killer tended to turn his victims into furniture. In one case, a former looker became a dresser. He (Reubens' character) opens the drawer, sticks his hand in. What are you doing? he's asked. "Oh, nothing," he dithers. Finally "I'm finally getting my hand in her drawers." "You pervert!" And Carol Cane was adorable.
(Also: Nice reference with the Susan Hayward moment. A warden is shoved into a gas chamber, to be overwhelmed not with cyanide, but with the results of a fat man and too many baked beans. I couldn't help but laugh at the melodramatic "I want to live!" moment, originalized in 1958, when a cause-celebre prisoner dies at last in California's gas chamber. Perfection.) So, I guess I need to find campy, not freaky that I'm not ready for... or thinly veiled porn with a vague plot. (Ilsa also struck me odd, as the character has the poufy platinum hair, skimpy clothes, and I Dream of Jeanie lashes. For a second I thought it was Barbara Eden with a bad German accent and said "Well, there goes MY childhood.") Yeah, like my reading material of late, it's time to find fun, silly, sweetly horrible, and perhaps smartly sarcastic. And save revenge tales and "Beautiful bitches turned into "Chicken Ladies" for another day.

Monsieur Sartre: Challenge Accepted!

Everything has been figured out, except how to live _Jean Paul Sartre.

Ok, Monsieur Sartre, I will take you up on that. Maybe I'll never figure it out, but I'm sure as hell going to try. I am not entirely sure if there can ever be a set of black and white instructions to living. Some people do so easily, flitting, flirting, dancing over the thin ice that is the social realm. Others trip, fall, and end up being "Oh so silly and adorable" when they're actually attempting to add a more mature outlook.

I have to learn, as I go, that I cannot analyze everything. Indeed, I am thinking of hanging a sign where I can see it that says something like, "Don't analyze, just smile". I have to learn that I cannot, try as I might, save them all.

I have to quit being afraid of people. It doesn't help worth a damn. Oh, sure, I could head out right now and probably acquire a stack of numbers that would rival the thickness of War & Peace. But I'm not there...yet. Frankly, like my allergy to bee venom, as I avoid bees and wasps due to the fact that I know what anaphilactic  shock and major swelling is (However, when I have gotten stung on the arm, I find the permanent middle finger in its' ruddy glory to be most effective.) I look at people I don't know getting too close, or touching me, or flirting with me, and, well, the bees fly around the honey all right, but then Honey gets stung and Honey has to go to the ER. So very sexy. I have to quit sending myself these negative messages (I might accidentally quote a psych 101 class)... between coffee and fries, part of me has a habit of asking, inwardly, "Are you going to hurt me, too? Are you going to take everything away from me?" and my outward behavior, from a nervousness to suddenly wringing my hands or speaking inaudibly (Oh, mouse!  I've heard, Where did you go?) Well, Mouse needs to roar, to be naughty, to let things out. Mouse needs to remember that she has to trust herself. That second guessing, and self-punishment go nowhere. It's time to work, to fight, to scrimp, to hang up photos, to shock myself with improvement, with process, with progress. It's time I learn to step way back when someone is in pain, but I am hurting worse because somehow, my ears prick up, and all my senses get bombarded. I need to know to say when (Actually, have you noticed... you can tell someone to say when... 9/10 of the time, they say anything but, "when!") Ok, it's been shit. So, I can sit in my old Pampers and be sad that nothing works... or I can pick myself up and exchange the Pampers for pretty panties.
Sure, I'll forever be sad when someone else is, sure, I analyze... EVERYTHING. I wake myself up doing it... but it does, and is getting better. See me grow, see me learn. See Beth. See Beth grow. Grow, Beth, grow!
(Meow! :-P)

Baggage? Heck! I'm better than that! 

Happy Sixth Birthday, Lorelei Sarah!

Dear Lorelei,
6 years ago, on a rainy Tuesday, after 14 hours of labor, and Mommy finally undergoing a C-section, you came out at 10:48AM... spiky black hair, navy blue eyes (that have now become big, royal blue orbs that look purple in some lights)... 4 lbs 7 oz---with a cry that could shake window panes...  and the most gorgeous eyelashes I've ever seen. You'll never need Maybelline, darling!

Times have gotten strange, and I know there is darkness, but there is light and beauty too. Keep wondering, keep that sparkle in your eye. Don't stop asking "why?"

Among the favorite things that I'll cherish forever: when something was wonderful to you, your eyes got huge and you'd breathlessly say "Oooh, pretty!" or "Big, Big!" You were entranced for hours watching birds out the window, a mother deer and her fawn...even Dora the Explorer or Sesame Street could not have dragged you away!

Happy Birthday, my big marvelous 6 year old! I love you, I always have, I always will.
Bless.

Happy Mother's Day

Dear Mom,
We've argued, we've loved... we've been through a lot together. And even all these miles apart, I do love, and do appreciate you.
Here's a gift for you, Mom.
I love you. I can't think of something clever- a little heart-heavy, a little sad... and sometimes, I do feel a bit like Atlas... and shrugging is the tough part! So... I love you. No matter what.
I'll see you Wednesday. :)


glitter-graphics.com

A Man, A Pig, and a Donkey Walk Into a Bar...

There's a scriptural law in Leviticus (The same book that can puzzle numerous literalists as regards eating shellfish and wearing mixed fibers--they don't mean cotton/poly, they mean wool and linen.) that precludes bestiality. Which of course, is a good thing, but led to rather bizarre trials.

The first, which is amusing, but really very awful, is that of a man with a rather unfortunate appearance. Stub-nosed, odd features, bald pate, one-eyed. Think of Billy Barty with a slightly melted face and piggy nose. 

One day, a sow gave birth to some piglets in said unfortunate's neighborhood. One piglet showed as having a curiously messed up little face, and one eye. The man was brought into court immediately, and strenuously denied having known that pig. "I have never had intercourse with that pig!" The court offered him mercy if he'd simply tell the truth. Expecting mercy, the man broke and confessed. Needing two witnesses, Miss Piggy is brought in, and apparently she gave the man a "come hither" look. Both man and pig were executed. But what of the mercy? God was going to have to give the man the promised justice and mercy.

But, in the case of a man caught in flagrante with a donkey, while he too was brought to court, witnesses for the lady donkey insisted that she was a virtuous, hard-working little donkey. She was able to walk out free, but the man who had been caught with her was executed.

It's terrible to laugh, but then, sometimes it's better to laugh at the terrible.

I Can See Clearly Now The Rain Is Gone...

I finally got my happy butt to an optometrist. It was a good thing...the last time I had been checked, my vision was 20/80... this time around, 20/200, with, as I already knew, my near-sighted eye also being astigmatic. (With any medical procedure, I've come to accept that my body is built backwards, or upside down, or that something will confuse my doctors. My closest friends call me a freak of nature.) I usually wear contacts, but here and there, I use my emergency glasses (A habit so little practiced, that people are surprised I wear glasses.) I like the new ones, and needed to rest... (plus, it was time to change out the contacts... so, I'll let the eyes breathe until I'm ready to doze.) I did have to ask a friend who wears glasses all the time: "Are things supposed to look this weird?" Answer: it's normal when you don't often wear glasses.
Since I had so many  people who (A) vaguely remember my Coke bottle glasses as a gawky child (All elbows, knees, and gigantic glasses... lovely! ---photos are hidden or I gazed blindly at cameras. Vanity, vanity!  I usually completed said look with ill fitting clothes and pigtails.) or my Buddy Holly frames when I went off for my freshman year at Cobleskill... and remember me playing with contacts until finally, I got Acuvues-- which don't irritate as so many others do. Sure, each eye is a separate prescription, but I'm not surprised... Another step in the improvement plan. Also, the glasses best called Birth Control Glasses? If you should come across a photo of me in them, you are one lucky sucker. I actually kept the frames after use... but frankly, would not have worn them if I had not had to.

what might be the only photo of me in glasses:

Breaking Out

Breaking habits is tough, (Hello, McFly!) but at times, is vitally important.

Habits I need to break:
*My tendency to apologize for everything, stemming from a punishment acquired after an unfortunate misunderstanding of what word I was trying to use.
*Worrying... I've always said that if worrying were an Olympic sport, I'd have won the gold medal in the Worriers' Decathlon.
*Lack of confidence. I look back at where I have been (preferably, I look away before I become a human salt cellar.) and I've grown. So why worry about things I'm not capable of just yet, when there are far more important things? I also need to remember that there are things I cannot change. May I have to wisdom to "offer it up", let it go...
*Smoking. We'll get there.
*Arguing with myself. It does me no good and I am a pro at sending myself demeaning, and brutal arguments.
*Not sending myself these sudden negative arguments at inopportune moments. Between coffee & main course is no time to suddenly have the devil on your shoulder (To use a stock cartoon image, or perhaps I should simply switch to Fred Flinstone's little alien pal, the Great Gazoo.) pipe up, "Are you going to hurt me too?" Oh, my yes, I find a quivering, jumpy person sexy, don't you?
*Taking shit and not piping up with a simple "Ok, fuck you". (On occasion...and only if a polite smile doesn't work.) I need to quit internalizing it... it ends up becoming part of that internal dialogue psychologists and life coaches like to talk about. If it keeps up, eventually I explode and say something that I find despicable, (Someone had the gall to tell me "Your ex husband almost raped me..." in a fit of pique, rather than simply nodding or sending a death glare... it was during a "You're to blame because you refuse to discuss this, and don't you know, you weren't the only one hurt." argument... I shouted "Come back to me when he succeeds!" Immediately, I needed to vomit.)
*Letting the lack of medical answers/ solutions turn me into a nervous wreck.
*I need to start being there for others.

Habits I refuse to break:
*The "Everybody does this, nobody does that" argument has never worked for me. I think it's partially from my father repeating "If everyone paints their bums blue and goes dancing off a cliff to worship Bugzilla, will you go too?" (He had a way with interesting phrases.)
*The  stuffed skunk. Somehow, I will always have that danged skunk near by.
*More? Let's go with "To Be Announced"
*TBA: I will not allow myself to grow dark. Crappy day? Look at the brightside. (Yup). Among other things, if it irritates me, I'm sure I can flip it... or wax sarcastic and hope that it's understood.

(I suppose that if I make this a series, I'll have to call it "Electric Buggaloo" or something!)