Narcissism and Therabra

I love answers. No, I am in love with answers. Okay, I am obsessed with them. My obsession with answers has led to many a long night and several unpleasant conversations with those who refuse to supply them. Mothers. Boyfriends. Teachers. Rabbis. Sadists. You name it – they have all pissed me off at one time or another for not giving me an answer. This insatiable need for answers fuels my passion for puzzles (provided there is an answer key), and is the source of the joy I feel when I fantasize about being a detective or a spy and talk into my shoe when no one’s looking. I also think this may be why I truly like to do research, family therapy, and math. Ah, math!! Can you say, “Algebra”? Algebra is the most beautiful math ever. Every problem is like a game that not only has one definite answer but one that can be double-checked! So, if you take the time to check an answer and you discover, as I usually do, that you are right, then hold on to your nasal lobes because you get to experience the discovery of the answer twice! Twice! That kind of joy doesn’t come along every day, you know (even an algebra instructor has weekends off). And we all know, if we think at all, that kind of certainty is not easy to come by. But with algebra, you actually know you found the right answer every time. As you can see, for me, finding answers like that is rather therapeutic in and of itself. In fact, I think we should give this scintillating process a name: Therabra.

With what you now know about me, you can imagine the intensity of my climax when, after five months of beating myself over the head with grief and just about to give up on sanity altogether, I had a synchronistic moment in this holographic universe that was nothing short of brilliant. Are you still with me? I have wracked my brain over what transpired with Stephen in Korea, trying to put the pieces together. Each time I made some headway, but I kept getting swept back up into the emotion of it all because, well, it just didn’t come together in a way that I felt able to accept. Lots of things just didn’t add up, and after five months of going over this with a fine-toothed object with fine teeth, all I had were scattered pieces of the puzzle and severely overused tear ducts. And why… couldn’t… I… just…let it go? Because -stay with me people -I need answers! [If you didn’t get the right answer to the question, then you need to go back and reread the first paragraph about– oh, uh – now.] For those of you who are up to speed, or on speed, picture this: I am feeling ever so down – weeping incessantly into my pillow, armpit, or random scraps of toilet paper and unused paper towels. I try to sleep, but I can’t. I don’t know what to do with myself. I can’t seem to wrap my brain around the relationship that officially ended nearly SIX FRIGGING MONTHS AGO. I am at the end of my rope. So, I go where I always go when I am depressed – good old B & N – and get myself a soy tea latte and head for the psychology section to figure out what the hell is wrong with me. There I am. Looking like Droopy Dog standing in front of the shelf, and I can barely focus well enough to even make out one of the titles of the hundreds of books in front of me. I am exhausted. Hopeless. I force myself to look up – because I have to at least pretend to be looking for a book -and, viola, there it is! One lone, single copy of a little paperback book that asks, “Why is it always about you?”

Now, you might think that I thought it was about me, but you’re wrong. While I am definitely guilty of narcissistic tendencies, this book was in my hand in seconds because that question was the one that I asked my ex-boyfriend, former title holder of "love of my life", repeatedly during our relationship. That’s why I grabbed it. I seriously only meant to give it the once over and move on, but I was immediately taken in by it. And hour later I found myself seated in a wooden chair, agape, my cold tea on the floor next to me, the book in my lap, and my eyes glazed over. Yes, it was an easy read, but more to the point, it was a mind-blowing read. It was as though someone had been there with me through the relationship from the beginning to the end. There were some things in there I had literally said or written to him and to others about him. All the questions I had about his behavior were all answered in this book. Yes, it felt good to know that I was not alone and that I was not crazy and that other people had suffered the same kind of confusion, heartache, and grief that I did by giving their heart to someone grossly narcissistic. But more importantly, every singe question that had once kept me up at night now had an answer. Case closed. By the time I finished the book, I could cry no more. I felt this strange calm come over me and all the emotional distress dissipate Praise Jesus, Mohammed, Moses, Dean Martin, and whomever Mormons dig!! I had been given my answers. It all fit together perfectly.

Am I saying that he is incurable? I don’t know. That’s up to him. Maybe he’s just growing up and it’s a natural part of his adolescence. I don’t know. But I do know that it was very painful to be in love with him and to be betrayed by him, especially when he doesn’t get it – and never did. But I do. Especially now. And do I think that something greater than my conscious self led me to that spot to see that one book at that particular time? Absolutely. And do I still love him? Completely. But does it hurt anymore? Not at all. And would I allow myself to fall in love with him ever again? Never. More importantly, have I figured out why I had to go through it at all? I think so. After all, I have my own narcissistic tendencies. Ah, but it’s probably nothing that a little Therabra can’t fix.

But truly, the best part of finding this book was that I now feel forgiveness. At least, I think it’s forgiveness. But, what is forgiveness? If it isn’t excusing someone, then what is it? Is it about not taking things personally so that you can detach from it emotionally? Because that’s what happened here. I mean, how can I take anything that happened personally when it was never about me to begin with? Well, whatever it is, it feels good. It feels good to be able to love someone without carrying anger in my heart any more. So whatever F-word that is, I’ll take it.

BTW-Doggy Diapers and Solar Powered Christmas Lights -the next big things to hit your local Shopping Channel! You heard it here first.

Love and Light.

Ima B. Yootifull

Re: Librans

Heather can stay (and not just because she is the only one who reads my blog)...but because she is a darn nice person, damn it!

Ima D. Sturbed

Same-Sign Dating (for Librans Only)

While reading a lecture about the paradox of choice and thinking about how too much variety actually leaves many of us feeling anxious both during and after the choice-making process, it made me realize that you should never date a Libra. They will always wonder if they made the right choice, so unless you have a really strong sense of your own self-worth and don't really give a crap what your partner thinks, you're going to be left feeling tres unappreciated for all your wonderfulness. And that's bad. Therefore, my solution is to only allow Librans to date other Librans. It's only fair - to the rest of us. In fact, to ensure that the new system be kept into place, I think we should move all Librans to an island somewhere and make them live separately from the rest of society. They're annoying anyways. Now, if you're a Libra and you're wondering if I am including you in this, just ask yourself, "Did I get a present for my birthday? Did I even get a card?" See, if I know you're a Libra, then I know that I most certainly did NOT give you a present because I find nothing celebratory about your existence. Now, you might think that's a little harsh, but that's what prejudice is, now isn't it? Librans go home!!

I was also thinking about how much I hate making choices...so much so that by the time I actually decide to make one, I don't have any more options left. Like now. I am at an all-time low, people. My money magnet is malfunctioning and, by 2008, the prediction is that the Lending Tree will need to find me a hefty personal loan to get me through the bleak winter days ahead. I have an interest-free credit card to get me through the current bleak winter days, but I have to start planning for the future now. It isn't being broke that makes this an all-time low; I mean, I have been in debt since two masters degrees ago. I think, however, that I may have to move in with my mother. That's right. Move back home and have my maternal creator help me out. This is bad for my self-esteem, people. Very, very bad. Now, I would have asked a friend for the money, but then I realized that all my friends are just as broke as I am and so it made me realize that I am definitely hanging out with the wrong people. I hate to say this, but you're all going to have to go now. I need wealthier friends. Pleeeease don't take it personally, it's just that like attracts like in these kinds of situations. So, unless one of you is going to strike it rich sometime in the very near future, I think we need to say our good-byes, choose our memories wisely, and then scatter like roaches caught by a beam of light at night. And hey, I promise that when I get my magnet working properly, I'll come back for you. I really will. I love you. [That last comment was not intended for Librans.]

You know, I was also reading a lecture about how plants attract friendly insects to protect them from harmful plant-eating insects. Okay, look, I read a lot of lectures because that's part of my job, okay? Anyhow, the lecturer was saying how grapevines, when being attacked by spider mites, emit a chemical compound that attracts ladybugs who come and eat the mites thereby protecting the plant. The lecturer was saying how great this was, in effect, because it's such a mutually beneficial system for plants and insects. My question is this, "How do you think the spider mites feel about this little system of theirs?" I bet they don't find it mutually beneficial. See, people? I am not the only one that's prejudiced. Spider mites deserve to eat, too!
[I think that's a bumper sticker waiting to happen.] Ah, maybe it's just Karma. The spider mites were probably born in late September or early October.

Do you know what's odd? I have become terrified. Something happened to me in Korea that I had never experienced before -a feeling of being alone that was unbearable. Never before in my life had I experienced that depth of loneliness. I felt completely disconnected to who and what was around me. It was like being dead. Can you be a functional dead person? You know, like a functional alcoholic? I mean, I know that I was sick. I have never been sicker in my life. And I know it was Asia. And I know that I was surrounded by Libras. And I know that I had jobs that were unhealthy. But even now, Libra-free, back in the familiar Western world, working in my Pj's from home, and gradually regaining my health, I am butt terrified. Shaking most days, in fact. All the trust I had in myself and in others has truly been put to the test. And, to be honest with you, I don't know if I am going to pass.

Oh a happier note: laaaaaaaaaaa!!!

Talk to you later,

Ima D. Pu

I'm Getting Published - Are You?

Just a note to let you all know that I am making some progress in my life. In fact, I now have five songs on the market and I just got word that I am getting a short nonfictional piece published online with Common Ties on December 3rd. It is entitled, "Doors, Windows, Fathers". They named it - not me. So, if you have a problem with that - you can tell them about it. Me? I am just taking the money...and the glory. Not bad for the first and only thing I ever submitted for publication. Then again, I have my perverted step-father to thank for the material, so...thank you.

It gets me to thinking, too. I mean, I have had such a traumatic childhood/life that I have a ton of stories I could tell - or better yet - write about. I could cash in on all this heartache once and for all! Besides, I have promised myself to only write happy songs from now on, so I will totally need a new outlet for all my self-pity!

Damn Skippy! I am going to jump right on it.

Ima N. Fant

Ar-kansas and Costa Reecker

If you've read any prior blog entries, then you know that "I am a money magnet!" right? Well, someone needs to tell that to the fine State of Arkansas! And you might tell it to the other university I applied to, too - (apparently they never got my resume).

Now, in AR-KANSAS, these fine people know a gem (or sucker) when they see one. In fact, they were so impressed with my resume and experience as a teacher that they called me right up and started quizzing me on grammar (at 9 am EST). I passed the test by the way (although I was tempted to turn on the computer and Google a few of them just to make sure). Apparently, not everyone does pass this test, so they were tres impressed. So impressed, in fact, that they wanted to fly me out there next week for a potluck. It seemed like I was i-t-it there for a minute and then it happened. The mention of a (cough, cough, removal of phlegm) "salary", which they referred to as "lean". Now, I am all for lean, but not when it comes to my salary! These people tried to convince me that, although the salary is quite low, I mean, "lean", for a twelve-month, full-time position at a university, that it is, indeed, possible to live on it. Really? I suppose I could live on $28,000 dollars a year, before taxes, if I put it under my house, but why should I have to? If I had a two-year degree I would make more money than that. I know this because most people around me have two-year degrees and they make more money than that. I could see it if I were starting out in the field, as well, but I ain't! I have paid my dues and I have a ton o' skills to offer - all of which they need! Sadly enough, I had to decline. First of all, I can't live on that and, second of all, it undervalues what I do. Now you may wonder why I even bothered applying for the position in Arkansas, especially when Kansas isn't that far away, and so they should know by now how to pronounce it, but the area seems nice and the program is pretty dynamic, so...? Who knew? But, I do have to say, generally speaking, if employers don't post a salary on a job site, then you probably aren't getting one.

Speaking of spelling and two-year degrees, I should tell you that I stopped to get gas the other day and the manager of the station had put signs up on all the gas tanks that read: "Please knowt your pump number before you come into the store to pay. " What's funny is that I am not sure if they just accidentally put a "t" on the printouts or they meant to write "note". What do you think? In either case, they're wrong. Or from Arkansaw.

With waning funds and an upcoming trip to Mexico, I am getting a little nervous. I am starting to consider buying a two-room house on an acre of land in Costa Rica for less then $5,000 dollars. I could move my butt down there and teach English, play music, date pot-smoking hippies and alcoholics, work on my Spanish, and eat fruit from my fruit trees. The land actually borders an agricultural preserve filled with waterfalls and swimming holes AND it's 15 miles from the ocean. I am getting mighty tempted. The bank might get upset because they won't be getting anymore money out of me - EVER - but, I am sure that I have paid off most of what I borrowed originally - the other $40, 000 is mostly interest. And it's interesting that they call it interest because it's really of no interest to me whatsoever. I could care less about it. I am trying to get the land for Christmas. And if I do - see ya'!

Please don't take any of my quick departure fantasies personally - it's just that I don't like you enough to stay.

But really, I am trying to put down some roots; it's just that it's one step forward and two steps back with my health still. I am grateful for where I am today compared to where I was four months ago, but it's still a struggle. It's one organ at a time and people are still playing around with medications - natural and not so natural - to get me to a point where I can stand on my own two feet again. DING DONG (thought coming in). Ohhhh, so that's why they say the 40s are the new 20s!! Because at forty, you can still find yourself single, getting offered shit salaries, living without health insurance, and unable to live on your own. I get it now. So, it's not just me, right? Right? You aren't answering me. Right? Where are you going? Hey, come back here.

Whatever.

I leave you now to dream a little dream about mango trees and tasty weed.

Ima P. Ode

Manifesting Money and Bad Job Offers

Do you remember when I was talking about getting what you focus on-whether it be sickness, poverty, success, a man that brushes his teeth, etc...? 'Member? I told you and the universe I was a money magnet. Ring any bells? Well, I haven't had any hundreds flying out of nowhere and planting themselves onto my well fit body...yet. However, I have not given up hope. In fact, according to Doreen Banaszak, the author of Excuse Me, Your Life is Now: Mastering the Law of Attraction, I need to live as if I have a ton o' money. When I make purchases and pay bills, I must follow it up with telling myself, the universe, and possibly the people in line behind me at the checkout counter and/or the poor sap working in the bill collection department, that I am grateful to have more than enough money to pay for my purchase and my bills. So, without bothering the people in line and the poor sap, I do this.

In fact, I did this just yesterday when I decided that I was going to go to Cancun with my friend, E., in December, a week before Christmas. High season, people! At first, I panicked about the fact that I was living on borrowed time - financially speaking - and that I was, in fact, mostly unemployed and have some hefty school loans to pay off each month (as well as rent for my shed). But then, I thought about Doreen and her brilliant advice and I bought those tickets, damn it! Screw sensibility and practicality. I am alive now and while I can still move around without a walker, I am going to make the best of it - I am going to live!! Praise the Dali Lama, I am going to live, people! Besides, I am grateful to have more than enough money to pay for my purchase and my bills. You must remember, people, that Ima money magnet!!

In addition to this, I keep telling the universe that I have a creative and playful job, blah, blah, blah. And so, what happens? This job, where I would be working with KIDS, tries to get me to come in for an interview. They already tried this a couple of months back and I didn't go then, so why would I go now? KIDS! Don't they drool and have germs? Cooties? Bad manners? Oh, no, that's right, those are the people at my gym. In any case, I try to get out of it. I tell them I have no certification (and I know for a fact that the job requires certification). "No problem," they say. Then, they want me to bring a portfolio of my work. Ha ha ha. I don't have a portfolio - give me a break - portfolios are for people that went to school to teach KIDS. [Don't look at me!!!? I don't know what they're thinking.] So, I tell them that I don't have a portfolio because I never needed one to work with adults. "No problem," they tell me again. Apparently, I don't need one. So, then I ask when the start date is. They tell me it starts A.S.A.P. Ha. I tell them that I can't possibly start right away. And what did they say? Yep, you guessed it. "No problem." They can wait. Aren't they just so accommodating? Now, I just can't get them off my back, so I say, "I can't make the interview date - it's too soon and I have to work (online)." They beg me, people. They tell me that I am a very strong candidate in such a way that I can hear them winking at me over the phone. Whyyyyyy oh whyyyy? I am not qualified, I am not eager, and it's obvious by now that I am not even trying. So, what happens next? I give in and agree to make the nearly two-hour drive north (a.k.a snow boots and electric blanket territory) for an interview for a job I don't even want. Why? For the same reason I went on my non-date date when I had the squirts. Because I feel like it's a symbolic move more than anything else. Any move in any direction is better than not moving at all, right? And, we all know, that I have to move on now. This grieving and healing period is getting old. I am getting old (as evidenced by the whiskers on my chin). But don't be fooled, people. It is only symbolic - in both cases. Unless either one of them - the non-date date - or the job I don't want - offers me a ton o' money, I ain't biting. It isn't my dream and I am tired of - no - not tired of, but tired from - not following my dreams. Didn't you ever read, The Alchemist?

So what is my dream? To sell music, sing, and make a children's album. That's right, I want to make music for drooling, cootie carriers. Got a problem with that? I also want to write a best selling novel and sell several written pieces - [my latest submission is about growing up with a voyeuristic parent. A bit of nonfiction, actually. I will let you know when it gets published. And I get paid. Don't worry about the parent - he's dead].

Are you tired of me yet? Me too.

I am rubbered out.

I'll see you around in the square.

Ima B. Cupp

Have a Nice Day a.k.a. Hoodilyhoodydoo

Today as I was running around, I came across a wide spectrum of folks that greeted (or didn't greet) me or who responded (or didn't respond) to my greeting. It's interesting TO ME because I think it's silly to say something that you don't really mean. When I say "mean" I am talking about standing behind your words 90-100%. I want honesty, people! For example, when checkout girl #1 says, "Have a nice day," to me as she looks away and starts to ring up the customer behind me, I find it difficult to believe that she falls anywhere near the aforementioned range. I am guessing that she doesn't give half a buttock whether or not I have a nice day or not - she just has to say it. For me, personally, it's insulting. I would rather she didn't. Now checkout girl #2 says, "Have a nice day," while looking at me and with a smile on her face. And you know what? I think she wouldn't mind at all if I did actually have one. She might not care as much as I would like her to care, but she is making an effort. At least she has a percentage.

This has become an issue on my new jogging trail, as well. There are several people I come across on this trail, daily (Yes, that's right, people, I exercise every day - do you? Well, why don't you get off your fat ass and quit your job like I did then? Jeesh.). It's generally polite to say something when you pass someone on a trail, right? You acknowledge that you aren't the only person on the face of the earth, regardless of how self-centered you may actually be. You also have this bond with strangers in that you are both outside in this beautiful place. It's almost celebratory to greet someone under these circumstances. And I don't care if it's, "Hoodilyhoodyhoo," or "I like Pepsi." Personally, I just stick with with, "Hi". It's quick and to the point. But, today, as I was running, I passed a woman and I said, well, you know what I said, and she curtly pushed out a "Hi" of her own. It was clear, however, that she only said it because I said it, and it was obvious by her down turned lips that she didn't have her heart in it. So, what a dilemma. I mean, if she hadn't said, "Hi" then I would have felt totally slighted for a moment. I would have bounced back eventually, but I would have felt a trifle sad for a bit. But, her, "Hi" was only perfunctory. She was NOT behind her, "Hi". So, which is worse? The mostly false greeting with about 3.4 % sincerity behind it or the more honest absence of a greeting altogether? I just don't know.

Sometimes when I am running, people don't say hello to me. It really doesn't bother me. I just figure that they probably don't speak English, because only a small percentage of people around here do (even though they are American). Or, I think, maybe they're deaf and can't hear me when I say, "I like Pepsi." Most of the time, I am convinced that they are either sad, angry, or just hate my guts.

Then there's the people that pass me with such glee and excitement that they greet me with their own personal monologue. Their faces are all lit up with such affirming life energy that I have to move away from them for fear they will explode all over my new sneakers. But let me tell you something about these creatures. They make me feel goooood. They make me feel riiiight. They make me feel loooooved. And at the same time, they make me feel inferiooooor because by the time my high has worn off, I am berating myself for not being more...like them. Why aren't I more cheerful? Why don't I have a halo, damn it? I only dropped acid like four or five times in my life. Do I need to be punished one more day? I think not. I want my damn halo!

So, what's the conclusion? No, really, what's the conclusion? I am still working on this, myself. In fact, I am probably talking to myself about it right now, aren't I? Oh, the life of a lonely blogger.

Well, hoodilyhoodydoo to you, too.

Ima D. Oderint

Hershey Squirts and the Art of Not Forgiving

I didn't get to the studio.

I almost missed my non-date date.

I had to put Project Hot Body on hold for a few days.

"Why?" you ask. Because I had an intestinal/stomach virus that was so fierce that it caused me to rid myself of food that I hadn't even eaten yet. It also made me so sleepy and depressed - damn, people, damn! I experienced an outburst of rage that almost knocked the house down. I think it was spending so much of my free time on the toilet that did it. It just pushed me over the edge! And I was flipping pissed off, people! I wasn't irrational. I was angry. And I had an epiphany. Are you ready?

"Some things just can't be forgiven." Period. [Well, I guess I already put the period in, but I am trying to be more dramatic. I hope you don't mind. Like I care, huh?]

It doesn't mean that you carry around anger for the rest of your life - you let it out- as I did, trying not to hurt any plants or animals in the process, and then you move on. But you do not have to forgive. You just don't. You can let it go and rid your mind and heart of it, you can push yourself to the point where you just don't give a sh*# about it anymore, but you don't have to forgive. At least I don't. And I feel better accepting the fact that I am not going to forgive than I did when I was forcing myself to try. I couldn't cross the finish line. So what? It feels better on the bench where I can pretend that I can eat hot sausage sandwiches and drink beer. Seriously, kids, I really feel freed by this emotionally incorrect realization. Dead self-help writers are rolling over in their graves, I suppose, but all I can say is, "Woohwee!"

And if you have been struggling with not being able to forgive and you have made yourself sick with guilt over it - then come join me in my freedom. Say, "I don't forgive you and I am okay with that." That's right. Come on now, everyone. "I don't forgive you and I am okay with that!" Think of that one person you just can't forgive because, let's face it, he or she is probably an ass. But, whether sweet or sour, the fact is, you probably can't trust that person now and that is enough reason, moooooore than enough reason, actually, to not forgive them. Why should you? "Should"s need to be stuffed down the garbage disposal along with anyone over the age of six that still uses baby talk [It's right up there with fingernails being scraped down a chalkboard, people!].

Look, I am not saying that you shouldn't forgive if you can. It would be nice. But, it would also be nice to give yourself a break and let it be. If you keep trying to forgive, then you are continually focusing on it, right? And if you are going to focus on being hurt repeatedly, then you are just hurting yourself. You don't deserve that. So, if you feel better once you allow yourself to feel what you feel [aka not forgive at this time], then you are more likely to really be able to let go of it. It makes some sense, doesn't it? Well, I feel better, anyways.

You know, I was watching a movie with my aunt and uncle last night and this little girl was upset with her father for lying to her and getting a divorce from her mother. She was saying all the things I had just said in my last email to Stephen (yes, in my rage I cheated and made contact and told him that I was not going to forgive him and that I didn't care if I ever spoke to him again - which is, believe it or not, true). Now, this little girl was going on and on and saying that her father was a liar because he told her, and it wasn't wise to do so, that her parents would never get a divorce. She said he was a liar because he told her everything would get better, but it didn't. She told him that she hated him. Blah blah blah. I am telling you people, it was almost word for word my own script. I informed my aunt that this girl was practically reading my last email. She looked at me and then the television set and said, "Yeah, but, she's nine years old." Hmmm...point well taken. And yet, I feel incredibly good now. Go figure?

So, to all my homefries out there, do you what you can to forgive, but if you can't, that's okay, too. Whether you choose to forgive or not to forgive please don't use baby talk when you do it, okay? Thanks.

Stay healthy,

Ima B. Emm

The Cost of Snoring? About $32.50

I went to a Reiki practitioner today. I didn't really know what to expect, but I shelled out some cash for it. I thought, "It couldn't hurt". And it didn't. All that really happened was that, as he passed his hands over my body, his hands got extremely hot when he was over my heart and my stomach! The heat penetrated my jeans and my sweatshirt. I supposed that I paid to be energetically violated.

There was only one point where I felt uncomfortable. He was seated behind me while I was lying on the massage table and he put his hands on my clavicle and under my neck. I could hear him breathing. At first he took a couple of deep semi-quiet breaths. Then he began to breath even more loudly with each breath. Then he began SNORING, people!! My practitioner fell asleep on me! Apparently, he had done more people than usual in one day. Great. He wasn't your typical energy worker, either. I mean, he looks like his tattooed body, bald head, and goatee came riding in on a Harley singing "YMCA". Maybe he did. I don't really know. All I do know is that HE FELL ASLEEP on me.

When it was over he mentioned that he felt that I got a lot of healing after he woke up and got his second wind. I reminded him that I paid for the first wind, too. He tried to make up for it by claiming that I had gotten a great deal of healing today. This was supposedly demonstrated by the large amount of heat that I sucked out of his body. I suppose he thinks it's my fault he fell asleep then - being all greedy and hogging all his fire. I guess I am just lucky that he didn't charge me extra.

Will I go back? I doubt it. I can probably find someone else's energy to suck for free. Do I feel better? Well, due to the recent launching of Project Hot Body, I couldn't walk straight or lift my arms when I entered the office, but now I can. Does that mean anything? How the heck should I know? I am just glad that I walk like a virgin, again.

Tomorrow is my first post break-up date. Wow. Scary.

Oh, and I finally faced some of my fears and, on Thursday, I am going into the studio to record some of my songs. Wish me luck. Or don't. I don't care. I don't really need you anyways. I just want you. I want every last piece of you!

Yours,

Ima Q. Minn

C'mon, You, Get Happy!

This is what I heard in my head this morning on the way to the gym:

Hello, world, here's the song that we’re singin’
C’mon get happeee!
A whole lot of lovin’ is what we’ll be bringin’
We’ll make you happeee!
We had a dream, we’d go travelin’ together,
We’d spread a little lovin’ then we’d keep movin’ on.
Somethin’ always happens whenever we’re together
We get a happy feelin’ when we’re singing a song.
Trav’lin’ along there’s a song that we’re singin’
C’mon get happeee!
A Whole lot of lovin’ is what we’ll be bringin’
We’ll make you happeee!

The Partridge Family!!! Ooohwee, that Keith was HOT, was he not?

And what's all this stuff about being happy? What happened to waking up with Kurt Cobain in my head? Could it be true? Am I finally ready to handle moving on? And is the Partridge Family theme song from seasons 2-4 the typical welcoming song for such an occasion? Wow! Who knew? You? Well, why didn't you tell me?

I think I may finally have my body back - no longer possessed by overdoses of hormones and gut wrenching heartache. I think...dare I say it? Well, I think, just maybe, the storm has passed. Mmhmm. I think that it's time to rebuild the barn, people. I may need some help from the universe and handful of narcotics, but it will get done! Oh yes, it will get done.

It's kind of funny that I feel better today (I only cried two times over "he who shall not be mentioned" and each episode only lasted one minute - hey, hey, who's moving on??? That's right! Pretty soon, I will only be shedding a half tear once a week). You see, yesterday was a complete disaster! I was really off my game. It's a miracle that I didn't burn the house down. I actually burned a hole in my aunt's feather bed comforter. Don't ask! Really, don't ask! I mean, in college, Geri always dried her socks in the microwave and she never set anything on fire! But anyways, after that debacle, I called my aunt to confess and to find out where to order a new one. Feeling tres stupid and guilty, I started to clean the house. I vacuumed, washed their dishes, picked the fleas off the dog, and then started to dust. It only took seconds for me and my Pledge dust cloth to knock over and break a gift ceramic coaster. I called my aunt again to let her know that I was slowly destroying her home. She told me to stop dusting and thought it best if I didn't do any cooking. I decided to leave the house so that I could do no more harm. I thought I was safe once I returned home, sleepy and ready for bed. But, unfortunately, despite my fatigue, I couldn't sleep, so at about 1:30 am, I got up and went to the fridge for some almond butter and honey. This morning, when I got up, I found that the refrigerator door had been left open BY ME and the light inside warmed the food to the point where all of their perishables perished. On the upside, nobody noticed that I had left the heating pad on all day and the fridge is really clean now.

Toot Toot... Ahhh... Beep Beep...non sequitur approaching!!

Question: Which is more annoying - dogs barking or people yelling at the dogs who are barking? If they don't want them to bark (and I don't), then why don't they remove their voice boxes? People with skunks get their stinky old glands removed or something, don't they? Skunks rock, BTW. I think they're beautiful and I like the faint smell of their spray. I do!! It's right up there two-day old urine. A good whiff of either one brings back so many positive childhood memories. Soooo many.

Well, I am on a Pollyanna journey, my friends. I am going to manifest my destiny. According to several authors who have made money off of me and people like me, it is time to only speak positively. There is no more talk of things of which I do not wish to receive. I only speak of that which I do wish to receive. Oh, no, not wish to receive, but intend to receive. That's right. It's my turn now, people. I intend to create it all - the job, the man, the home, the success, the health, and oh - ho, ho, you can bet that project hot body is back on the agenda as well!! Let's do this together, shall we? Let's just say what we want, I mean, intend to create for our lives, and pretend it's true now. I'll go first:

I am a money magnet!

Your turn.

Speaking of which, I have to work on my positive life scripts. You see, it makes sense. If we say what we don't want or we focus on something negative, we bring it into our lives. I said that I did NOT want to work in TESOL, live in Upstate NY, and/or work 40 hours inside a building...and what happened? A 40-hour a week TESOL job in Upstate, NY appeared that very night on my job posting site. I focused on it and it appeared. So, don't think about what you don't like in your life or you don't want in your life. That will only make it happen. Also, if you say you need something, you are focusing on that need and so you never get it. Take starving people, for example, if they keep saying that they need food, then they are creating that constant need for food. See? If they had read the books I read, then they would know that they should stop scrounging for food and start saying, "I have an abundance of food," and then let the universe bring it to them. If they only understood this, they would be fine. So, we don't need to send starving children food, we need to send them these books so that they can manifest their destiny, people! Now who's with me?

No? No one? Not happening?

Well, so be it. I am off to bed then.

Yours truly,

Ima Shell Fisch

Magilla and Jesus - Two Officially Cool Dudes!!

Sorry it’s been so long. I have been dealing with a lot of other, less serious health issues lately. Now that I have passed the biggest hurdle, I still have a few more to climb over before I get to the finish line. Of course, as aging beings, we never really get to the finish line, do we? At least, not until we are truly finished, if you know what I mean. Dead, that is. D-E-A-D. Like Jesus. [And if you feel the need to spit up some sputum about how Jews are evil because they killed Jesus, then please do so in order that I may identify your approximate IQ]. The only reason I mention Jesus now is because, in addition to being slightly hallucinogenic at the moment, I just can’t shake the image of a very large painting of Magilla Gorilla that is located on the outside wall of a nearby church. Now, these church goers are purporting that the picture I am referring to is Jesus and not Magilla. I said to them, “Oh ye of much faith, cast your eyes upward onto the wall. That’s right. Now since when does Jesus have arms that are twice the length of his legs?” They really couldn’t answer. And we all know he is kind of hairy, so when I burst from my fairytale-like running path back into the real world and came face-to-face with that huge, hirsute, long-armed being reaching out to me, I thought about bananas, people, not saviors! I just recommended that they shorten his arms a bit. What do you think they meant by, “Humpf”? Is it even a word? Or is it church language for, “My uncle painted that, you ass!” In either case, Magilla and Jesus were both very cool dudes, and my recommendation is if you are going to bring back one, why not bring back the other!? I didn’t know Jesus, personally, but I really do miss Magilla [please insert the Magilla Gorilla theme song here].

Do you want to hear about my travels through Western and Eastern medicine? No? Fair enough. But let me say one thing – okay, more than one thing – I met the cooler, rulerest naturopathic physical today. He is my dream man – scientifically nerdy and yet into holistic, alternative medicine. He was kind enough to give me an EXTRA hour of his time to help me free of charge! He saw how pathetic I was and he couldn’t resist the urge to help. He was kind, funny, modest, and bright as direct sunlight, people. This man gave me H-O-P-E. That’s “hope” for those of you who think Jews are evil for killing Magilla Gorilla. He was right on target. The down side of our little rendezvous is that my list of food and environmental allergens has increased. If I could indulge you for a minute, let me share with you my current list. I appear to be allergic to:

soy, rye, wheat, people that drive like the hole between my buttocks, spelt, oranges, grapefruit, food dyes, all cow products, pork, peanuts, corn, men under 35, chocolate, alcohol, house dust, fructose, artificial sweeteners, methamphetamines, benzoic acid, sodium nitrate, British men, tobacco smoke (and what other smoke is there, pray tell?), chlorine, babies with voice boxes, and SHUGERR!

Sugar? Can you imagine? I can’t. I can’t imagine my life without sugar. Is it possible? Do they make sugarless sugar? I know they have sugarless candy, but have you ever eaten it? No, it’s not bad tasting, but you have to eat it while sitting on the toilet, a bucket, or least over a hole in the sand. Trust me. Experience is what makes us wise, my friends. So, listen to the words of wisdom. Unless you like Hershey squirts in your trousers, ladies and gentlemen, you will NOT eat sugarless peanut butter cups while riding a Ferris wheel or in a car while driving through the desert.

So, what did I gain from my visit? Well, I now have stuff to put in my nose, under my tongue, on my abdomen, and in my stomach (unfortunately, there is nothing to put up my butt). From my Western doctor, however, I got narcotics and mood stabilizers. Allllllright!! Do I seem more stable?

Well, I have divulged enough personal information for now. Oh, well, I guess I do have one more thing to tell you. I decided to go out with the guy from my mother’s office. What can I say? Someone has to be first in line, right? It might as well be him. (Besides, I hear he stands to inherit a diaper full of money!!!)

Oh, and I found someone who is going to let me use his studio to record my songs. Wish me luck!

Gators,

Ima G. Raff

SYR-NYC Commuter Flights Daily!

Are you holding anything in your hand? Could it put it down please? Okay, could you step back a little? Okay, fine. I just wanted to say that after everything I just wrote about TESOL, a job was posted TODAY at the last minute for a job in TESOL at Syracuse University. I applied. Look, I feel sick to my stomach, too. But, I have to be practical, don't I? I don't have a job. I don't have a home. I have family there. Okay, that might not be so good, but they are pretty understanding people. They know that I am not into hanging out and having sleepover parties. I can actually get out and perform some songs and get some recording done up there, too. Plus, there are lakes. In fact, my mother and brother both live on a lake up there. I could, well, would, live on a lake, too. I would try to find a different one, but...More importantly, there are commuter flights to NYC that leave several times a day and we all know that it is very, very, cherry berry important to me as I want to, need to, have to spend more time with the amazing souls that inhabit that part of the world. Oh, is that you, too? Well, aren't you special. Look, no one's offering me a job yet, but if they do...well, I will just might have to say yes and hope that I get some rocking colleagues to work with. It's possible, people. It's possible. I will say this, too - if I do get offered that job, then it was meant to be. If not, then all is well. In either case, I think I need some intense hypnosis to discover why I am so nauseous at the thought of living in Upstate NY. It would be nice to get to the core of it and then get rid of it so that I am not always in such a hurry to run off and get myself into trouble. Oh, ghod, I am rationalizing aren't I? Look what fear can do to a perfectly healthy (I am now, aren't I?) adult female!!! Just look at it...and weep.

Well, look on the bright side, I could continue to date that 70-year-old dude I met at Barnes and Noble.

Ima O. Leo

Now What's My Problem?

Well, now that I have permission to leave and I think I know where I'm going, it still leaves open a few questions about what the h-e-double hockey stick I am going to do with myself. To be honest, the friendly recommendation to stay away from TESOL for 30 days sounds pretty good to me. And the idea of staying away from 30-year-olds is an absolute MUST. In fact, a 70-year-old man got my number at the bookstore just last night. So, the 35 and up policy is in full-effect, but the TESOL issue is quite different. I am good at teaching and I am good at training teachers. It's creative and spontaneous and meaningful to me for the most part. However, it's losing its appeal. Maybe it's because I don't give a rats ass whether it's a relative clause or not or maybe it's because after teaching ESL for long periods of time, I start to talk, aloud and to myself, like a foreigner. Or maybe it's because once I got the master's degree, they all seemed to want Phd.s? I dunno'. I only know that I am not going to some superficial, shallow, dog-eating country just to make a buck again. At least not for a while.

I do have an MSW, but the thought of working with poor nutbags makes me feel very low indeed. I'm going snob!! I can only fathom tolerating rich nutbags at this point.

The bottom line is that I can't stand being indoors stuck between four walls for 40 hours a week unless it's going to be a party. My need to be creative is like my need for frozen snickers - INTENSE! I should be in advertising - finding new and creative ways to get you to eat processed shoestrings or to wear clothing made my newborn babies in Jaklazistan. I should be writing personalized songs for barmitzvahs, weddings, and divorce hearings. Maybe I can start my own advice column in a local newspaper that allows you to swear at people when needed. Wait! I can design crossword puzzles. Look! One across - the clue: "tired hiny". The answer: "dead end". Oh, I am exhausted just writing this much about it, so you can imagine how I feel after spending hours each day online trying to figure it all out. Ahhhhhh! Where's my snickers?

It's all part of the transition from here to there, but I feel like I am crossing that bridge in my underwear during a blizzard with a flying gojii berry stuck in my eye.

On a bright, yet somewhat sad, note, I made the decision to not have any more written contact with my ex for at least three months. Awwww... I know, you care...not. Yeah, and I know that I was supposed to do this three months ago, but I couldn't. I just couldn't. I couldn't, I tell you!!! Ah, so, I am three months late. At least I am here...and ready. That means that when I want to contact him, I will be contacting you instead. You don't mind, do ya'? That's what friends are for, eh? Maybe Santa will bring me a nice non practicing Judeo-Christian boy, ahem, I mean, man this year for Christmakah. Let's cross our legs and hope.

I really wish I could donate all the leftover chocolate that's stuck to my candy wrappers.

BTW, thanks for all your good thoughts - I think they made a difference. I really do.

Yours,

Ima R. Ite

Can I Go Now?

[insert arm shooting straight up into the air]
The Universal Representative: Yes, Ima.
Ima: Ummm...can I go now?
TUR: Well, I don't know. Let's see....(she checks her clipboard). Are you over Stephen?
Ima: Nope.
TUR: Duuude. It's been like three mo--
Ima: I know. I know. I am a big fat fool. Woohoo. I get it. Anyway, is that a prerequisite to being granted departure rights?
TUR: No, not really. In fact, a change of scenery would be good for you.
Ima: So? Can I go?
TUR: (checks clipboard again). Well, do you have a job?
Ima: No.
TUR: (scribbles on the clipboard).
Ima: Look, I thought getting healthy was my job.
TUR: Fair enough. But did you? Did you get healthy?
Ima: Well, I talked with the nurse just fifteen minutes ago and she said that my final lab results show that I am absolutely and completely NORMAL - uterinely speaking, of course.
TUR: So, you have a clean bill of health then?
Ima: (Beaming.) Yes, yes I do.
TUR: Happy to hear it. And now, about your mental health...
Ima: That's an ongoing project, I am afraid.
TUR: Well, nothing to be afraid of. I have faith in you. But really, you have got to let go of Cap'n Britain once and for all.
Ima: I know. I know. It's just that, well, I wanted to marry him - and that's deep!! That takes time, sister! I am talking really deep - like middle of the ocean deep. Like the opposite of ---
TUR: Okay, I get it. It's deep and you need more time. (She writes Ghod know's what - no, Ghod really does know what.)
Ima: So? Can I blow this cow town?
TUR: Oh, yeah, definitely! (Smile - Salute.) Bon Voyage!
Ima: Rock on, Rep. of the Uni.!!
TUR: (wink) Take it easy...and if it's nice take it twice! Ha ha.
Ima: Okay, yeah, that's enough now.
TUR: Yeah, you're right. Talk to you later then.
Ima: Okay, talk to you later... tonight, probably.
TUR: Yeah, alright. See you tonight then.
Ima: Okay. Later.
TUR: Later
[insert vision of Ima skipping away]

Osashiburi mina-san/Long time no see everybody

Wow. Where was I? Running? Wanting to run? That's me. Every day, all day, all I wanted to do was run far, far away. I am, however, as indecisive as a Libran at the moment and so I haven't been able to figure out just where to go. That paralysis, as well as a few commitments here and there, has stopped me from going anywhere except to the Mall and back.

As warned, I saw Deepak - sixth row, front and center. He had red rimmed glasses and red sneakers on and the first half of his talk was riveting. He spoke of new discoveries in science and medicine that had made everyone think about everything from whole new perspective once again. Ahh, the ongoing discovery of discoveries...isn't it wonderful? Much of what he spoke of I had already read about in his Book of Secrets, but what really meant the most to me was what he said about the intelligence of the cells that we have in our bodies beyond our brains. This knowing and knowledge of things that we call "gut reactions" are full of knowledge. Although it is already known to many of us who live by following our instincts, it was extremely helpful for me to be reminded of the fact that the gut knows better than the brain as the brain can talk itself out of what the gut instinctively already knows. Right?

This reminder was helpful to me as I found myself wanting to run harder and faster at each tempting offer to stay. Here. A job offer - music connections - male companionship -unconditional love and support...why would I ever say no to any of those things? Because my gut said so. My gut reaction to the job was, "Oh ghod, I don't want to do that and I certainly don't want to live there!" There being in a college town in western, New York where the average age is 22. Twenty - fu@#ing - two, people. I told you - I am over that noise! Then, I am being told that I can get hooked up with local musicians left and right if I stay in or near Syracuse and what happens? Instead of feeling excited and thankful, I feel sick to my stomach and start to sweat profusely. Now this sweating is quite unusual for someone who is on medication that makes her so incredibly cold that she's been sleeping under an electric blanket (situated under six regular blankets) all summer long. In fact, I was cold in the theatre until this particular conversation began. My gut was yelling, "Noooooooooooooooooooo." Why? I don't know. Ask my gut! It's the universe guiding me, people; that's all I know. I am relieved now, so I know that it was the right decision.

So, where am I going to work and live and do music? I don't know. I keep going back and forth between Connecticut and Colorado. Sperling and some other online site concluded, after the completion of a survey, that these were the best two places for me. They both had Stamford - Norwalk, CT as the number one choice and Boulder/Colorado Springs as the number two choice. Ironically, when I consulted a psychic on this upon my return to the U.S. she came up with Colorado and Seattle as being places where I would be very happy. So, you can see my dilemma.

So, does this mean I am free and clear health-wise? I dunno. See, I went to the doctor and had a biopsy (instead of the dreaded D&C) right then and there. Yeahhh!! This saved me a lot of time and money as it required no hospital stay. Also, this wonderful place of places has offered me a 60% discount on all medical care from this particular clinic until the end of October. Yeah!!!! This saved me even more money. The last thing the doctor said was, "I'd be surprised if we find anything at this point." You would think that I feel positive and happy and relieved, right? Well, being me - that isn't the case. See, they told me the same thing in Korea and the lab results showed something quite different. I am not going to believe it until I see it - or the lab technician sees it. So, off to the lab went a juicy, full cup of blood and tissue and now I am waiting for the results to come in. Hopefully, my team wins. I will know before the end of the week. I am leaving it up to the universe at this point. I have done all I can do to heal myself and more. I have gone alternative (drinking garlic tea, taking rice germ pills six times a day, visualizing...) and mainstream (taking the medication). I have worked hard to let go of the ugliness inside - most of it has been unleashed on you and behind the backs of innocent Americans, but as long as I become a healthier person in the long run, then I would have to say it's been worth it. So, now it's really up to the powers that be, and I sure hope they like me.

What this means y'all is that if I need another procedure, then I am just going to watch a lot of movies and read a lot of books and pretend that I live in a bubble. It's for your own safety, really. If, however, I am healthy and ready to move on, then I am most in need of dealing with the fact that I have to decide where to go. So, the votes are out - CT or CO? Connecticut has a million pros to it - the ocean, proximity to NYC and old friends, affluence, and an East Coast mentality. Colorado's pros are that it has dry summers, it's far from home, it's stunningly beautiful and I think of it as being quite spiritual. There really isn't a bad choice here. There is just a choice that has to be made...that's the problem. I am trying really hard not to consult a psychic on this one as the last three all said - oh, wait, did I just admit that I talked with three of them? Well, I did. Deal with it.

Now, I know that some of you are concerned about my mental health and think that maybe I should stay away from psychics and dating men, for their sake as well as mine, but you have to remember that I didn't date men, I dated boys. And herein lay the lessons I had to learn. I have, over the years, given my heart to males who were emotionally and psychologically still boys and then demanded that they act and love like grown up men. In my attempts to make that happen, I have chosen and reacted like a girl instead of acting like a woman. The results have been nuclear!! Thankfully, through this last attempt at the same impossible feat, it has come to my attention that it is time for me to stop blaming these boys and to take responsibility for my choices and be honest about the reasons for those choices. As a result, I have promised to behave like a grown up and only date men from now on. I think this will make a huuuuuge difference - you'll see. And let's face it, there is no where to go but up... or Connecticut, or Colorado.

OOOOOh, which way to I go? Which way do I go? Isn't the universe supposed to send me a message and guide me somewhere? Hullooooo!! Over here!!! That's right - me - the girl with the healthy, happy uterus...standing by the cow. Yeah, it's a cow. I don't know. It was just standing here tied to the tree. No, I don't know how to milk a cow. Look, are you going to help me or what?

I have some fudge to eat, so I have to go 'cuz I said I'd share it with my aunt, but what I meant was that she could have a little piece of the corner of it and I hear her heading for the kitchen.

Ima L. Durr

Running Away

I thinks it's time to go. People are starting to talk to me around the neighborhood. At first, when I would go for my run, everyone would just ignore me - I was, after all, exercising. Then, they started to stare - not because exercising was foreign to them; they'd seen it on TV before - but because I was becoming a regular sight and they thought they should know me. Although they didn't know whence I came, it was obvious that I wasn't going away, so they began to wave. Now they wave to me from their front porches, their sit down lawnmowers, and their automobiles. As part of what appeared to be a natural progression, they added the greeting. Even children say "hello" to me as I pass by. The age range of official greeters now spans from about age seven to 80-something. Now this is all fine and good. Really. It is. But, unfortunately, they have recently begun to overstep their boundaries and moved beyond greetings to actually conversing with me. Their curiosity has gotten the best of them, I'm afraid. And so, the questions have started -some quite innocent, others more probing. How much do you run? Where do you live? What's your name? What do you think about gun control? While I understand that this is all part of my initiation into the neighborhood and a very sensible part of the neighborhood watch program, I don't want to talk to them. As far as I am concerned, they already know way too much and it's time to move on.

In order to really move on with my life, however, I thought it important to address a little known emotion called ANGER. I don't want anger to hurt me, my uti, or those I love, so I bought a book called The Anger Diet. I started reading it this morning, and I am sorry to say that it doesn't offer one recipe for maintaining anger. It has, instead, made me feel quite guilty about calling Wal*Mart shoppers "mutants", saying that Upstate men look pregnant, and just about everything else I have written on this blog so far. Jeesh. So, now I have to run out and find a book called The Guilt Diet. Like I am made of money, people. Besides, isn't it everything in moderation? What is it that you are supposed to have each day to keep the doctor away? Isn't it an angry outburst? I still have a lot to read yet, so, hopefully, the answer will be forthcoming. Or maybe I can ask Deepak about this tomorrow night when I follow him into the men's bathroom.

Until then, I will continue to be imperfectly and honestly a little angry.

Always thinking of you,

Ima E. Resistible

Snow White Commits Hairy-Scary

You know, the more I thought about how distraught I was in Korea, the more I realized that poor Stephen - my ex - did the best he could. I mean, he fell in love with Snow White and ended up with the Tasmanian Devil. I am sure it was something not unlike dating Dr. Jekyll and Dr. Hyde by the end. But who was whom and when? One minute I looked at him with love and the next minute I was trying to eat him. It must have been confusing! What resources did he have to deal with something like that? He hadn't been a trainer of wild animals...or a woman, so how could he have known what was happening or how to deal with it? At this point in the process, he is absolved from any wrongdoing. Ahhh....forgiven. It feels so good. I mean, let's face it, he did what any sane person would have done - he kicked me to the curb. Yeah, of course it still hurts, but, in all reality, it wasn't what he signed on for. He didn't want to date the Taz anymore and Snow White was just buried somewhere under all that hair with no depilator or epilator in sight. There was no more joking and singing in the forest with birds and squirrels flitting about...now there were sharp teeth and hair balls to deal with. I am guessing that's not hot. And if he had fallen in love with that, then it probably wouldn't have lasted anyways because that's not the person I have chosen, and worked so hard, to become. So, all in all, no matter how many ways you slice it, it's still the same hunk of cheese, and I'm still lactose intolerant.

Humbly yours,

Ima V. Nekk

Bifocals and Body Hair

Oh my ghod, people! As if depression and self-pity weren't enough to deal with, I just came back from the eye doctor's. All I wanted was a new pair of glasses so that I wouldn't run over any deer or people at night (the former because it would make me sad and the latter because it could hurt my car). Instead, I get told, "Well, at 40- you're 40? -oh, wow, well, at 40, people start to need bifocals, so...." AHEM! WHAT? WHO? ME? AGE IS JUST A NUMBER, ISN'T IT? I mean, that's what Jill Dahne 'the love psychic' told me...that's the only reason I was going through the Demi Moore dating process to begin with. Okay, well, that, and the fact that I'd been emotionally stunted. But, age isn't just a number, is it JILL? I mean, at 40, people start to need bbbbb...bi....ffff.....ocals. Bi-friggin'-focals. I covered my ears (I really did), but it didn't stop them from writing it down. Putting it in print - on paper - for all to see. Worse yet, for ME to see. What am I supposed to do? I can't get in to see a therapist now - not on a Friday - not on such short notice. I am not ready. I am not ready to age. This has to be on par with the day that Samantha found her first gray public hair on Sex in the City. Of course, you can only find that if you have pubic hair to begin with. Which brings me to my next topic.

Hair. Body hair. What is the problem, people? Why are we so opposed to hair? We are born with hair on our bodies - there is nothing dirty or wrong with it as long as you keep it clean. Both men and women are born with hair on their bodies, so what is the problem? I mean, men can't have beards without people thinking they are pedophiles and women can't have beards without people thinking they're freaks or lesbians. Hell, women can't have hair anywhere except for their heads without people thinking the same thing. And what is that? Hair on the head is imperative for men and women, but hair anywhere else for women is a no-no and on certain other areas like the back or the face is often looked down upon on men. And what about our asses? Can't we have hair there, either? Why not? Damn it all, people, I actually have better things to do with my time than spend it removing hair from my body - hair that doesn't hurt anyone - not me - and not you. Is it the 'monkey-human' connection that bothers everyone so much? Because, I know I am not a monkey. And if you don't, then you need help. My aunt once said that she had to shave her legs and armpits because she didn't want to be a man. Now, forgive me if I am wrong, but I thought that having a penis - not body hair-made you a man. And even then, let's face it, you still need certain hormones and brain chemicals to make you feel like a man - or a woman. But, I don't think anywhere down the line has body hair had anything to do with someone being male or female.

It's natural and most people are born with it-male or female, homosexual or heterosexual, transgendered or not - period. I am sure there is a condition where some are born without body hair - but even then, that is probably a problem for some of you hair-obsessed types. I just want to know WHO decided one day who and where we should or should not have hair!!! Are these the same people that tell us what jeans to buy and what shirts are "in"? Because I am pretty sure that there are people being raped and tortured and starving to death right now that would appreciate it if you could spend a little more time thinking about helping them rather than wasting your time worrying about what you should or should not have on your body. And what I need to have on my body right now is a pair of bifocals. So, I have to get my hairy ass back up to the eye glasses center and pick a pair out.

But before I go, let me say that I truly believe that you should have hair wherever you want to have it and if you don't want to have it, you should be allowed to remove it by any means possible, be that threading, waxing, shaving, plucking, or sawing. I just want everyone to really think about how unimportant it really is and accept each other with or without body hair - wherever that may be. Look, I have accidentally shaved off parts of my eyebrows before and my little sister once shaved off all of her left eyebrow...it happens. But is it really that important? Did it change us as people? No. It didn't. With or without eyebrows we were still the same people with the same morals and values and a love for real ginger ale (the kind with ginger root in it). So, let's just stop caring one way or the other, shall we?

p.s. Did I ever tell you about the dream I had where I had a goatee? I looked really good. It brought out my eyes!!

Until later comes sooner,

Ima I. Glass

Myterus Uterus

I was debating on whether to post this or not, but I have to. It’s real. It’s where I am at right now. It’s about hormones, depression, and my uterus, so you may not want to read any further. If you are male, however, you might find it informative. Most of us are older now and have learned a lot about our bodies and those of the people we love, so maybe this is old and useless, like my tail, but I think it needs to be said.

First of all, it is no mystery that I was very unhappy in Korea. But I want to explain a further. So, here goes. To start, you have to know severe depression. If you don’t, then let me tell you that you have no control over it. Anyone who says that you do has not experienced severe depression before. You are not your usual self. You don’t think like your usual self, you don’t feel like your usual self, you don’t emote like your usual self, you don’t even move or sit like your usual self. And spiritually? Yeah, right!! That’s the depression I am talking about. If it lasts too long or it gets too weird, then you start to forget ever feeling any differently and you start to believe with all your heart that you will never feel any differently again. That leads you to completely giving up – and for some, suicide. If you haven’t experienced that, then you have not experienced the kind of depression I am talking about. It hurts and it kills your self-esteem, your sense of safety, and any hope for the future is gone. You are dead and, if you aren’t dead, you are suffering. It's the kind of illness where trite comments like, "Thirty minutes of exercise will make you feel better," "Think positively," "Just smile," or "Man it out," offend you so deeply that you consider, for the first time in your life, committing a double homicide just for the fun of it. Do you people really think that we are trying NOT to think positively, NOT exercising, NOT trying to push the sides of our mouths up into a smile, and that we aren't trying desperately to man the f&%$ing thing out? Really? Do you really think so? Because if you do, let me show my new set of Ginsu steak knives!

And why does the body torture itself so? I don’t know, people. Sigh. Google it, skim the million and one articles on it and then get back to me, could you?

But for women like me, we often wake up one morning and our hormones seem to be fluctuating. As a result, we are tense to the point of pain – a tenseness that cannot be alleviated, not even by professionals. We wake up, yet we are half asleep and can’t seem to shake it. We can’t think straight. We wake up and the entire world is wrong. Everything is wrong and, for me, disgustingly so. We feel disgusted with our bodies, our partners, our neighbors, our pets; I will even go so far as to say we are bloated, achy, and greasy. This isn’t sexy, people. I know that! But believe me, no one wants to wake up and feel like this. No one wants to spend the day scowling at people and crying every time they see the color green. But, tell my hormones this. Tell them that I am not this person. Tell them that I refuse to be treated this way. They won’t listen! Believe me, I have tried. So far I am just talking about some of the symptoms of PMS, or just stress, that I and lots of other women – although not all women, I’m sure– have experienced throughout their lives on a regular basis.

Now imagine having those symptoms for several months with no relief… and then, after about a year, throw in having self-flagellating obsessive compulsive thoughts that keep you up most of the night every night just to prolong and intensify the torture you are already enduring. Now, just for kicks, let's also throw in regular migraine headaches, complete physical exhaustion, occasional stomach pain that causes you to double over on the floor and pray to Ghod for help, extreme coldness, constant cramping, a job from hell, a pathetic dorm room for a home, and a boyfriend (and supposed best friend) that just wants to spend less and less time with you because you are, well, let’s face it, becoming more and more of a drag. Oh, now put yourself in a foreign country - in a noisy, polluted city where you can’t communicate with the people around you and all the ex-pats are freaks, geeks, and/or alcoholics. Now, tell me how much joy you could squeeze out of each day? How much happy juice could you make? Needless to say, I was very sick. Very, very sick. I lost control of my emotions and my thoughts and I had no resources to help me deal with the stress of my jobs, my living situation, and being in Seoul by myself. My boyfriend, you ask? Oh, he lived forty minutes away by subway where he could spend time with friends every day and work a very simple job at a Hogwan – no graduate degree required. He was fine, so what was my problem? When I couldn’t get out of bed for a week, he sent me to the doctor – he didn’t offer to go with me. When I was crying because I hated living alone and where I lived, he told me he didn’t want me to live with him and “spread the misery”. When I said that I couldn’t drink anymore because it was making me worse, he would make me drinks at home or want to go to a pub before dinner. I never felt more betrayed and alone in my life than I did in Korea. Now that’s depressing in the regular sense of the word!

In all fairness, I was out of my mind and my entire body was betraying me and those I loved. There were other symptoms that I won’t go into for your sake. Trust me on this, though, I was a mess. I was severely hormonally imbalanced. Why didn’t I just take anti-depressants, you ask? I did. It didn’t help. I was too far gone. I was the girl who ended up sitting on the floor in front of a bunch of naked Korean women crying for hours by myself while my boyfriend enjoyed his saunas without a care in the world – except for maybe how he was going to cut his losses. Do I sound angry? Well, I know he didn’t have the resources to handle this – neither did I. But he didn’t have to tell me that he was committed to me and then take the easy way out. He didn’t have to tell me we could leave Korea and move to Chile together and then back down from it. He didn’t have to tell me he would come to NY with me and then dump me a couple weeks later. It was impossible not to notice that there was something seriously wrong with me – yet, he just looked the other way until I got angrier and angrier which just gave him an excuse to run away. The message I was left with was: I wasn’t worth it. And that hurt. Mostly because I am worth it and I am more than the sickness that I endured during my time in Korea. It’s not fair. So they say. And yet, I was able to see clearly just how committed and capable this person really wasn’t, after all. So, in the long run, it will have saved me from many more months or years of heartache. And for that, I am deeply grateful. Besides, before I got super sick and needed surgery, we had a lot of fun together. Fun, fun, fun. And isn't that what true love is all about?

So now, I am on medication that, up until a couple of weeks ago, made me feel great. My hormones were finally balanced and I was myself again – although still very hurt and angry and dealing with a cancer scare, I was real again. Now, however, there is a new imbalance created by the medication and the side effects are kicking in. Enter the symptoms I mentioned in earlier paragraphs that described the joys of womanhood. Next week, however, I get to see my doctor again and I will find out how soon I can get off this medication and what needs to be done with my uterus. Now, I don’t know why, but I’d like to keep it. I don’t mean in a jar, but in my body. I know that I don’t need it in the traditional sense, but there are alternative uses for things, people. I mean, look at a large coffee mug – yes, it was designed to hold coffee. Fine, but it can also be used for potting a small plant. Now, I am not saying that I want to fill my uterus with dirt and seedlings, but there may be other uses for it that I am just not aware of. All I am saying is that you never know. Besides, my doctor said that it was rather small, so if I really did need it removed, a pair of pliers, a quick trip to Mexico, and a bottle of mescal should do the trick.

And Deepak Chopra is coming to town – to Syracuse. I am going. I don’t expect any profound changes to occur in my aura or anything, but I am curious to see him in person. The last book of his that I read, okay, the only book of his that I read, had some interesting ideas in it - some of which were totally worthless to me, some of which depressed me further, and others which were useful. So, as not to depress any of us further, let me tell you the useful information I gathered. It is a cute little exercise that can help you get out of your emotional rut at any time. See, you let yourself feel the emotion, let’s say it’s rage (just for fun), you then imagine that this rage gets bigger and bigger until the entire world and beyond feels it with you. Birds, bees, Gods, trees, whatever… they all feel your rage with you. Now this should make you feel less alone, possibly rather silly, and/or at least get you to lighten up a bit. I did it when I was missing British boy, terribly. I would sit and say aloud, “I miss S--,” and cry. Then I would imagine all the people around me – known and unknown to me - crying that they too missed S— as well. Then the birds in the tress would cry and say it…etc…on up to the mythical gods and goddesses of ancient Greece and Rome. Everyone was upset along with me and missed S--. It was so comical that I couldn’t help but laugh. I found this exercise to be quite worth the price of the book alone. Try it – you might like it :). If not, don’t tell me about it, tell Deepak – he’ll be here on Monday night.

No more talk of hormones, uteri, and depression, okay? You can open your eyes now. It's over.

Besides, I have to go and get another massage. I can't help it people!!!

Ima N. Payne - for reals!!
xxoo

Who Cuts Your Hair?

Why do I ask about your hair? Because I had to go to Wal*Mart tonight to get my prescription filled and it was - oh, how can I say this politely - somewhat of a mutant fest. And the hair cuts???? It looked like the same kid's mom cut everyone's hair on the same night in the same crack house. Now, I am not sure if it's local, statewide, national, international, universal, or what, but I was scared, people. I tried not to look, but then I ran into things.

Speaking of hair cuts, my mom used to cut my hair. She was always cutting my bangs too short because she would cut and then say, "Oh, they aren't even," and then cut some more. Then, "Oh, now they aren't even on the other side, " and cut some more. Then we'd move on to , "Whoops. Almost, " and then she'd cut some more. This went on until the bangs were just about gone. It lasted years, too, mind you. I didn't even know there was a place you could go to get your hair cut professionally. I really didn't. I didn't even get to a hair salon until high school when my mother didn't really have time to cut my hair anymore. When I learned that other kids had been going to them for years and getting cool haircuts while I went through life unintentionally bangless (or "fringeless" for our European readers), I felt cheated. It made me wonder what else I had been denied all those years. Hmmm...what else was I denied all those years? Let me start a list and get back to you.

I have to admit I am trying to write this and watch TV at the same time. Don't be insulted. If anything, it should be the TV that's insulted. I am exhausted and ready for bed, but I am writing to you because I miss you. I am also doing this during my favorite show!! That's right. It was between you and them - them being Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert. You were running a close second. I mean, I can't give up my time with the boys just like that. It's not that easy. I mean, these guys have been here for me every day, letting me know what's going on in the world and making me laugh and nod approvingly. In fact, I would have to say that they really have been the biggest help to me during this time of transition and healing in my life. You guys are nice and all, but where are you at night when I eat my organic salad and flourless bread? Yeah, that's right. You are with your partners and/or your kids, pets, clients, blowup companions (you know who you are!), or AA buddies...but you aren't here, are you? You aren't here wiping the tears from my eyes, are you? No. You aren't. Jon is. And when I am thinking that all my dreams are just nightmares and that the present isn't much of a present anymore, you aren't here to make me laugh at the insignificance of my problems or the mere cheesiness of my words, are you? No. You aren't. It's Stephen Colbert that's doing that - reminding me that he is the center of the universe, not me. And I love him for it!

Oh, lookie, it's a commercial for male enhancement products. Ghoddammit, people. I am so sick of this obsession with male enhancement products. Is that really what this country is all about now? Bigger penises and larger breasts? Is this really where we are at? Is this what love is all about now? Yeah, I understand that if you are a guy and you have a small penile projection you may feel that having a larger one is better for your partner and more satisfying and that's nice. Who am I to deny you the extra millimeter? I want what's best for you; I really do. I am just sick of the advertisements focusing so much on it these days. It just reminds me of how primitive we still are - focusing so much of ourselves on sex - on the physical realm. Why don't we care more about intellectual and emotional enhancement? That's sexy. I mean, you could have a huge penis, but if you are dumb and/or emotionally retarded, you aren't hot. Plain and simple. But, seriously, if they work for you and they make you and your loved one more satisfied, then more power to you. I just hope you also try to think for yourself and work on your ability to connect emotionally, too. I think it's really important if you want to satisfy a woman - unless she's dumb and/or emotionally retarded, in which case, nevermind.

I will close with a comment about my Disneyesque jog this evening where I felt a lot like Snow White in sneakers and sweat pants. Where I am stationed - not far from my very real $50.00 a month shed, btw - there are a lot of creatures - opposums (don't forget that the second "p" is silent), woodchucks, squirrels, chipmunks, deer, birds from hell (except the heavenly humming birds), and all sorts of flying insects. And for some reason, they were all out this evening. I passed a family of deer, which I thought were lawn orniments until I realized that their eyes really were following me. A squirrel cut in front of me and then stayed about one foot ahead for an entire block, so it looked like I was chasing him. And squirrels don't run in a straight line, right? So, his little butt was going left and then right and then left again and it looked like he was playing soccer (or "football" for our European friends). And the gnats! Wow. They ruled the skies this evening. Did you ever notice how they look and taste a lot like flying gojii berries? Oh, you did? Nevermind then. And then, the cutest thing of all was that a humming bird flew next to me as I jogged. I felt a little strange. I mean, he was violating my space, you know? I didn't say anything at first, but then, after a while, I got kind of freaked out and said, "Ummm....can I help you?" ( I hope no one was watching me). Then he flew away. He was perdy. He was my friend. All the creatures of Big Flats are my friends. Well, not all of them. Not the ones that shop at Wal*Mart.

Hoo boy, with all that said and nothing said at all, I am off to bed.

I leave you with thoughts of all my leftover organic vegetarian refried beans (and jalepeno ranch dressing)...

Yours,

Ima C. Clampp

Gay is Good

Well, I went to a new doctor. A gynecologist. Since I needed a reputable practitioner, I had to take what I could get as soon as I could get it. I got a man. I was dreading the experience because I don’t normally accept male gynecologists because, well, what the F#$@? By the way, how can anyone be married to a gynecologist? What do you tell your friends and family? I was pondering this – aloud – in the waiting room at the clinic when I was called in. I didn’t get to see the doctor right away; instead, I had to give a ton of personal information to some kind woman that was trying her best to use a new computer program. At one point, the woman asked me how many sexual partners I had had. “Oooh, a lot,” I told her. Then I asked her what the largest number was that you could add to the computer. She said it was left blank so that she could enter any number. “Hmmmm…” I thought to myself. “Well, you see, the thing is, I don’t know the exact number…” She told me to just give her an estimate. I gave her an (under)estimate to which her response was, “Oh, well, yes, that certainly is a lot.” I tried to explain to her that I grew up in a very incestuous small town and that I was very messed up in my twenties, looking for love in all the wrong places, trying to assert my independence…but she didn’t seem to really care. I wonder why not? Then it was time to pee in a cup and get undressed and all that. I peed all over the cup, as usual, and then got undressed. The doctor finally came in and…yes….birds starting chirping in the background and I could hear Julie Andrews singing about some hills being alive somewhere. Why? He was gay. Gay as a sunny day! I was overjoyed and wanted to French kiss him right then and there to show my appreciation. I showed him my chichi instead. “Go ahead,” I told him, “Have a look around – do whatever you need to do up there. I am just soooo glad you aren’t an old hetero.”

Also, for those of you who are wondering. I did meet my mother’s “friend”, too. For a moment. He is good looking. He’s nice. Yeah, okay, whatever. Leave me alone. He emailed me. I’ll email back. I am not rude. Besides, I can use all the friends I can get right now. That’s right, you aren’t cutting it!! I need more. I need a lot more attention and adulation than I am getting from the lot of you!

Oh, and my very expensive psychic told me that my long-term true love (because my last boyfriend was a true love – just not a long-term true love) lives on/near the Pacific Ocean and his name starts with the letter T. ???? I don’t know, people; that’s what she said. She said that I need to be willing to go online. Is she talking about online dating? ‘Cuz I started to fill out the information on several sites and then deleted each one as soon as I completed all the tests and forms. I did this five times, at least. I eventually ended up in tears as I realized that I just wasn’t ready. I am not holding on to hope for reconciliation because, at this point, as much as I loved my British boy, I could never trust him with my heart again. So, why couldn’t I do the online dating thing? I got scared. I realized that my heart isn’t ready to have hope again – to fall in love again – and to risk being let down again. This heart needs a little R & R. And so do I. Or rather, since I am in Upstate, NY, perhaps I should say, “So, don’t I.” I like it, actually. I like being a nonconformist – a linguistic rebel – a verbal attacker of the English language!! I hope my friend, Patty Pooh, isn’t reading this because she is a grammar tsar and would not approve.

Speaking of Upstate, NY and language usage, I consider myself to be politically correct when speaking and using language because I think it’s friggin’ important and powerful how we use language. For example, I don’t think it’s okay to call a guy a “girl” as an insult. I am a girl – why are you using my gender to put someone else down? I don’t think it’s okay to call someone or something “gay” as an insult. If I were gay (okay, the 21 days of my, “I am a lesbian” affirmation didn’t work), I would find it pretty demeaning to have people using my sexual orientation as a way to negatively describe things. Get my drift? But why then do I find it okay to call myself and others “retarded”? Well, I figure that if someone is retarded, then they won’t actually understand that I am using that word in a less than positive light, so who’s getting hurt here? Plus, it does have more than one meaning. I would never call someone who is developmentally delayed a retard. Why? Because that would be considered offensive and hurtful. I would only call myself and loved ones retarded because I, and my loved ones, truly are, and we are developmentally advanced enough to realize and understand this about ourselves and each other. And, actually, the term doesn’t always mean something awful…I, we, the peoples of New York (and NJ), use it often in the same way we say, “loser”. What I mean is that it can sometimes be used as a compliment. For example, when I was getting my facial done a few weeks back, I was talking to the woman about plastic surgery and what I wanted to get if I ever got it (which, let’s face it, I probably won’t ever really do). Then I mentioned my younger sister and how she looked 16 but had three kids and was 38. “Younger sister?” she cried out. “Wait. How old are YOU then?” I told her I was 40. She freaked. Her hands moved off of my face (which really wasn’t right since I was paying for them to be ON my face) and she started flailing them about. “Forty? Ohmyhod!” Then she said it…. “You are soooo retarded!” I laughed. I loved that she said that. “I AM retarded, aren’t I?” “No,” she assured me, “you really are.” If felt so good – a) to be getting a facial, b) to be 40 and look 30 and c) to be home where I can be called “retarded” by a perfect stranger.

Well, I suppose I should get off the ‘puter and go out and look for a job. Why? I dunno. Health insurance? Distraction? Or maybe because I can’t keep mooching off my aunt and uncle, where I have free 1) Internet service, 2) laundry facilities (and sometimes unsolicited service), 3) cable TV, 4) access to numerous diet sodas and varieties of Pringles, 5) use of a digital telephone to call anywhere in the United States and Canada, 6) love and support, 7) rent and 8) use of my own shower when the dog isn’t using it. Wait, why should I get a job? Oh yeah, pride and self-sufficiency. What a drag!

Well, I really should get a move on. Poop on a stick, people (I mean that in the Buddhist sense). And all my love.

Sincerely yours,

Ima U. Terrace

Homicide Recall

Hey.

I just brought in the paper and the title is "Homicide Recall". Ghod, I hope it isn't anything like Product Recall. Speaking of which, have you see that UK Lisa (Williams?) lady that talks to dead people? Does she know that you don't have to look dead to talk to them? That chick looks embalmed. It reminds me of a book I read once that stated you should look similar to the person you are trying to attract. It seems to have worked for her. That's probably why I attracted my last boyfriend so easily. I looked drunk.

Okay, truth be told, I have officially lost another two pounds. Yep! So, the total now is 12 pounds of 'hate weight' gone forever. Yeahhh!!! I do have to admit, though, that I think I lost a couple of those pounds in my boo-bays! At the least the right one. No, that's good, people, 'cuz that was the Mama breast! Now, they're twins again- yeahh!!! What? You didn't need to know that? Well, get some therapy and move on. I am.

I have to tell you that I am on my way to Syracuse now to spend the night with my mother. It's nice because my mother has a connection with someone there that has a connection with someone that writes songs for famous movies and TV shows and she wants to play him my music. Cool. Connections rock! On the down side of her connections, however, my mother has begged me once again with, "I don't ask for much from you..." to meet her male "friend" from the office AGAIN. FINE! FINE! FINE! If it will keep my mother working as my manager, then FINE! But only once. Unless, of course, he is a Warrior.

Oh yeah, I took that Jungian personality test and I am a Lover - of course - you all knew that -Hey, I said a LO-VER, not a S-LUT. There is a difference. Take the test if you don't believe me. Anyhow, a Lover needs a Warrior. It is absolutely friggin' true in my case, folks. I want to add WARRIOR to the list of my future mate's characteristics. Oh, and can you also throw in - "brushes his teeth at night"? Yeah, I know it's scary that I HAVE to add that on, but, experience has shown me this past year and half, that I DO. I am afraid to even ask for a flosser at this point. I am afraid, people. Afraid. I know, you are asking, "What the #@!# happened to her out there?" I wish I could tell you in a linear, logical way how I came to be with men that didn't brush their teeth at night or even own tooth floss, but... there is no logical explanation. I just....it was....if you had...well, I...when I try to...let's just say that some things happen to you out there on the battlefield (a.k.a. in Korea) that can't be explained PERIOD. If you weren't there, I can't help you understand. And if YOU aren't brushing your teeth at night or flossing, then maybe you can help ME understand??

Well, I think that's enough ranting for now. I am going to hit the road.

Have a nice Thanksgiving --- when the time comes.

Always yours,

Ima T. Uthbrusherluver

Just Say 'No' to Emotional Retardation

I hate to write about a whole culture, so I won't. I can't even write about my own. I do have to let you in on a crazy "realization", though. You see, yesterday I went to the store to purchase a slew of magazines to make a poster board collage (don't you worry you're pretty little head over what for, now, okay?). I didn't realize it at the time, but I picked up one mag that was published in England. If I had known that, I would NOT have bought it. It's a good thing that I am not too quick with the brain waves these days, though, as I discovered something very very interesting. I figured out that it wasn't published in North America fairly quickly as the articles had phrases in them such as"taking the piss", "can't be bothered", and "losing stones" instead of "losing pounds". (Ooh, ooh, ooh, and let me tell you, I got on the scale this morning and I have officially lost 10 POUNDS - not stones - since leaving Korea. It's good, people, it very very very good! The weight I had gained over there was not healthy; in fact, let's just call it "HATE WEIGHT". So, my new diet book will be about how love leads to weight loss and how Korea makes you fat. Oh yeah, and the nausea that accompanies heartbreak and realizing that you had been living a lie helps, too).

Oh, I'm sorry, did I get off topic? No, not really. Just hold on. It ties itself together. Probably. So, where was I? Oh yeah, I was going through the magazine and there was an article about how American movie stars are marrying/dating/dogging/ and all out digging British guys. Why? Well, because, they are quick witted, light hearted, well-read, have nice manners, and don't jump in to bed too quickly. THAT'S WHAT I LOVED ABOUT MY EX!! What is shocking about that is that I realized that I was in love with the fact that he was British and I gave him more credit for being unique then he actually was. I didn't realize all British men were so. If I had, I wouldn't have been so impressed with him as much as his cultural identity and upbringing. I wasn't completely in love with my ex- as an individual; I was in love, in large part, with his British-ness. Here, I thought he was different from other guys when, in fact, he was just BRITISH for ghod's sake. So, if I want those qualities, I can just date other British guys. It's an easy thing to remedy, really. I mean, I just need to be in England (and have you seen the women over there? I might look steamin' hot to some of those Brits). But I am not anywhere near the United Kingdom. And, I have no plans to go there. So, maybe it isn't that easy, after all. Hmmmm...maybe my ex- can introduce me to....no, from what I remember of his "friends", I don't think so. In any case, there are also North American men who have manners, aren't sluts, are funny, and read beyond an 8th grade level. I just have to find them. Hellooooooooo!!! Ding Dong! Knock Knock!!

The article also stated that British men tend to be emotionally retarded, live at home longer, and aren't too physically fit. I feel bad because I really thought that was about the character of my ex-, as well. Oops. With that said, however, I am not so sure I want a British boy, afterall. Emotional retardation is something that I am personally trying to overcome and is not something I want my man to aspire to and/or practice. I also want a man who, by the time he is thirty, has actually lived alone and paid his own rent. The physically fit part? I don't care if he has a little beer belly as long as he doesn't think that alcohol and air are of equal importance for the daily survival of mankind. Hmm... well...it's looking pretty grim for the British men, now. And, actually, that last one might knock out a few North American men who were in the running, as well. Sorry, boys, no heavy drinkers! They bore me!

Overall, I think I'll stick with my North American brothers who tend to be more progressive, emotionally available, physically active, and take things a little more seriously.

Note: If there is a British guy that is not a big drinker, is single, has lived alone and paid his own rent, has a job he loves, is capable of and willing to be emotionally intimate, is profeminist and over 35, comes without fetishes or major boyhood hangups, and does not think a woman is supposed to make babies for him or be second to him in any way, shape, or form, then, okay, yes, I will consider it.

In general, if anyone knows of a man that fits the above description who is not too selfish for a serious relationship, happens to be hot, and loves the outdoors, then let me know. I will most likely reject them before meeting them, but, hey, it's worth a shot.

That's all for now...Ima not feeling well, today.

Love,

Ima Q. Ponn

Don't Eat the Crab Cakes!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So, some of you seem to be a little upset that you haven’t had a little of the Ima mojo to keep you going the past few days. Well, let me tell you, Ima has been busy keeping people alive the past few days – first and foremost, herself.

As I said, I went to Lake G. with my mother and grandmother. Three generations of WILD, people – whoohooo! It all started on the car ride up to Lake G. where my grandmother found it necessary to read aloud every road sign, billboard, and license plate. It was an hour long trip, folks! That pretty much set the tone. Once we were there, she read the name of every hotel and restaurant we passed – and it was an entire street of hotels and restaurants! The funny thing about vacationing in Lake George is that we never actually went into the lake. You see, for me, it’s just a lake. I mean, I live in the Finger Lakes Region of N.Y., so I got lakes coming out of the wazoo!!! So, it wasn’t so different from being home except that everything that cost more money and my mother and grandmother were in my bedroom! And, I would like to state for the record that these women do not sleep! I tried to exhaust them in every which way possible, but if there is a television set in the room – and there was – they WILL NOT SLEEP! Now, Ima not trying to complain too much here, but Ima in need of sleep, people. You KNOW this! It affects Ima’s estrogen levels– so show some respect for the hormones. Because, after all, we know that HORMONES RULE (and not in the good way).

The first night there was a disaster. I was freezing and sleeping in sweatpants and a coat while my grandmother was sweating and turning up the air conditioning every hour. My earplugs were not working too well, either, as I could hear them talking until all hours of the night. The next day, I decided to take a hike up a nearby summit. My mother wanted to go. She had no hiking shoes, sneakers, or really, any shoes at all. She had sandals – a.k.a. flip flops. Flip flops! Now, what do you suppose happens to a woman, aged 60, going up a steep, rocky, incline for three miles in flip flops? To be fair, by the way, I did go for a run first and then put my own flip flops on so that I would be tired out and more at her pace. This mattered not, my friends. We got about an hour of the way up the hill (it was about two hours to get up) and BAM, she’s convinced she’s having a heart attack. Granted she was having trouble breathing and holding her chest, but she wasn’t having a heart attack – it was more like a Big Mac attack – she was just not in shape for the hike! I don’t mean to be cold here, but she was holding the RIGHT side of her chest, her skin color looked fine, and there was no unusual sweating. Plus, I had been JUST LIKE HER a month ago when I started jogging. It’s simply called, “Being Out of Shape”. It was like looking in a mirror, folks. Needless to say, she recovered and then we made the hike up and back in less than four hours time. I thought FOR SURE she would go to sleep early after that. Did she? No! I mean, she couldn't walk, but she could watch TV! And my G-ma got stuck in the hot tub and couldn’t get out, so I thought that trauma would have knocked her out, too, but NO! I remember at 1:15 am, I finally sat up, ripped my ear plugs out and the eye patch off and cried out in frustration, “You’re still up??!!!” There were some grumbles, but eventually the TV got reluctantly turned off and I got some sleep! Jeesh!.

The next day I planned a tubing trip for us down the Hudson. I thought that it would be something that people of all ages could enjoy. I thought wrong. As we got into our tubes, I was quickly carried down the river and lost track of the Ma and G-ma. I thought they would be okay, though, as all you had to do was stay seated in the inner tube and make sure your butt didn’t hit any rocks (I didn’t pass that test, by the way). I kept trying to catch sight of them, but every time I turned around to find them I got carried further down the river. Eventually I became known as, “girl in front” and a sort of pseudo leader. The trip leaders would yell out, “Hey, girl in front, head to the right after the rock” and, “Hey, girl in front, try not to hit the log,” and, “Girl in front, where the hell are you going?” Stuff like that. Finally, toward the end of the trip, we reached a swimming hole and I could hang out in an eddy (what’s an eddy?), and wait for them to catch up. All the other tubers (ha ha, “tubers”) showed up, but where was my lineage? Could it have floated away? Could they have been grounded and left to brave the wilderness on their own? I couldn’t see them anywhere! I need glasses, so that didn’t help.

Eventually, they showed up. Things didn’t look too good, though. G-ma was on her stomach with the Tubby Tubing visor covering her face. However, my mother didn’t seem overly distraught and then I realized that G-ma actually had a hand on the rope of the kayak that was pulling them along. My poor ancestors – G-ma thought she was heading toward the light and my poor mom had to stay with her to make sure she didn’t. It didn’t seem fair. I was left feeling ashamed of my success at becoming “girl in front” while they were literally struggling with life and death issues. I should have been with them. I never should have allowed the river to carry me so far away. I should have…I should have…Oh, screw it. I wore flip flops up the mountain! Besides, I bought that Tubby Tubing visor for her! I am a good person, damn it! I am!!

Or am I? [insert raised eyebrows here]

That night we went to dinner and all I can say is: DON’T EAT THE “CRAP” CAKES AT THE LOBSTER POT! In fact, don’t eat anything there! And by the way, why do they sell Salt Water Taffy as a souvenir at freshwater locations? Can’t they just sell “Water Taffy” or how about “Lake Water Taffy”? Is that bad? I just don’t get it! Help, help me, Rhonda! Then help me help you! After you help me, of course. And as long as it won’t take all day. Well, I have things to do, people!

I have a dream of becoming a published songwriter, and it is time, after 20(cough)+ years of songwriting, to DO something with all this Ghod-given talent! I mean, what kind of person would I be to deny the world the pleasure of Ghod’s music? Yeah, whatever. The point is that I am going to make something of myself, people. I am not going to allow my grandmother to be humiliated for one day longer by being “sickly, single, and a waste of musical talent”! This woman deserves better. By the way, do you know that she is officially the oldest woman to have gone on that Tubby Tubing trip? It’s true. We found this out as they were literally carrying her back to the bus. So, you can say what you will about my dream and my talent (or lack there of), but I am doing this for the G-ma!! It’s her dream, as well, and I am not going to let her down.

So, I hope this rather overdue entry will keep you from sending me anymore hateful emails and phone messages. I don’t do well under pressure, kids. But, I want you to know, that because you have been loyal readers, I will do my very best to check in nightly once again. Really, I will. I owe you that… and more.

All my Cliff Bars and Used Ear Plugs,

Ima G. Dawder