I Don’t Want to Write Anything

Let’s make a list:

  • This sucks
  • I don’t want to do this
  • I don’t want to be here
  • My brain is full of woe and when I try to pull an idea– any idea– out of it, my brain screeches at me.
  • Which seems unnecessarily dramatic
  • But I don’t know what to do about it.
  • This post will be a free flow and therefore mostly gibberish.
  • Edited to add this warning: there is a rather long run-on sentence at the end. Brace yourself.

I’m supposed to be writing a monologue, a short scene, and a longer but still short scene and for some reason the thoughts I have while typing this have a British accent. Why, dear mind, does our internal dialogue now have a British accent? Perhaps because then the internal ramblings are slightly more interesting? Yes, that does indeed seem to be the case.

See, the thing is that my dog died. Three weeks ago on June 15th, after battling pancreatitis for 2 weeks and then her liver failing, we decided the best thing we could do for her at that moment was to let her go. It is what I would have wanted her to do for me if the roles were reversed. Her tiny head was in my hand as the vet stopped her heart and I barely made it back to the car, carrying her pink blanket, before collapsing under the significant weight of her absence.

Three weeks and not a day goes by where I don’t cry at least once, don’t expect to see her wagging her tail and carrying a toy when I walk in the door, wish like hell her 15lb self was taking up the majority of the bed again, and the worst part of all is that every other person in the world has gone on with their lives. I carry this grief alone and that’s okay, expected really, because nobody loved her like I did. She was bonded to me and me alone, and I to her alone, and now she has been set free while I remain and I don’t want to write scenes or monologues or even blog posts because my brain just wants to sit in emptiness and despair and maybe if I’m very, very lucky I will just fade away…

She took my scarred heart with her.

Steamed Pudding– Embracing my Britishness

Steamed Pudding– Embracing my Britishness

DNA confirms what I have long suspected: I’m British.

Well…technically I’m a British person born in America, and whose parents, grandparents, great-grandparents were all born in America as well.

But still. DNA.

DNA A

My actual results, in case you were skeptical.

 

Anywhoo– like so many others, I have been inspired by The Great British Baking Show, and like more than one American, I have been confused by some of the language, the biggest example of this is pudding. British pudding is vastly different than American pudding and my roommate and I watched in amazement as highly skilled bakers on T.V. made a pudding that strangely resembled cake. Not only that, they made this cake-looking pudding by steaming it. Whoa!

But a rose is a rose, and their roses, er, puddings, looked delicious. So delicious, I knew what I needed to do– embrace my British ancestry and make a lovely steamed pudding.

To Google I went and found a recipe that looked easy enough for a beginner, then it was off to Amazon to find all the stuff in that recipe that isn’t readily available in Utah, USA. Namely ‘treacle’ and a golden syrup, both of which come in tins. And of course, a pudding basin.

Step One: Shop

basin and tins

Thanks be to Amazon for having British baking goods in stock.

 

Basin CU

It’s SO cute

 

tins CU

For my fellow Americans, treacle is molasses and golden syrup is thick pour-able sugar (basically)

 

Step Two: Prepare the Steamer

aluminum foil steaming pot

I felt a little like Macgyver, a little like a scientist. The aluminum foil balls were to set the basin on, so that the basin never touched the bottom of the pan. 

 

Step Three: Mix Ingredients. 

black and golden mix

This is the treacle and golden syrup coming together to make art and possibly a new virus strand. 

Face in treacle

I’m never not serious. 

I forgot to take a picture of the pudding batter so let’s just skip ahead.

 

Step Four: Steam the Crap Out of Your Pudding

boiling and steaming basin in pot

Set the basin down on the aluminum balls, cover the pot and walk away.

 

Step 5: For the Next Two Hours Play Video Games and Coo at the Dog for Being Extra Adorable

img_20190413_235654

Oops, I meant SUPER extra adorable. 

 

Step 6: Brag About How I NAILED IT!

steamed pudding

Sticky deliciousness

img_20190421_181752

Looks great and tastes divine

I’m not saying it was my British DNA that allowed my first steamed pudding to come out so deliciously, but, yeah, that’s probably what it was. 🙂

 

Psychic Reading with River and Karen

Psychic Reading with River and Karen

IMG_20180812_105354

 

My dog, River, and I have been together seven years and communicate with each other pretty well. She knows several English words and phrases, and I know what she is trying to tell me through her body language. We also sense what the other is feeling. One time she climbed into my roommate’s lap, which she very rarely does with anyone, and I got jealous. We made eye contact for a moment before I looked away, sad that she hadn’t come to me for cuddles (yeah, I’m needy). River then jumped up from my roommate, laid down in my lap, and went to sleep. I’ve got dozens of stories like this, but there are still things I can’t communicate with her, questions I’d like answers to:

  • Why are car rides so stressful? I’ve read all the articles and tried all the things (Thundershirts, aromatherapy, taking her for small rides, switching from a doggie seat belt to a kennel to a car seat, music…I’ve tried it all)
  • Does she have any sense of what happened to her human dad? If so, how can I help navigate her through those feelings?
  • What can I do better as her mom?
  • Does she know how much she means to me? More than once in my life, depression has taken the reigns, and my heart was so broken I was convinced there weren’t enough pieces to mend, and each time River has been the glue that put my heart back together again. She’s been the excuse I’ve used to keep going and I really want her to know how much she is appreciated.
  • Why the crap does she insist on getting into the garbage even though I’ve made it oh so clear that is a HUGE bad no no?? *eye twitch*

 

I booked a 30 minute session with animal communicator, Karen Miura (https://www.whispersfromanimals.com/). She’s on the east coast and I’m in Utah, so following the instructions on her site, I sent in a photo of River and we set up a time to talk on the phone. I was excited to be able to talk with River on a different level, in a way that we could both understand each other without words or barks or body language. Scared though, that she’d have a laundry list of all the stuff I’m doing wrong as her mom, or that she’d reveal secrets like the time I blamed the fart on her and maybe kinda that was a lie.

 

Karen from website

Karen. Picture from her website and used with permission. 

My feelings towards psychics and “psychics” is summed up as such: We are all psychic to a certain degree, but I don’t believe everyone who claims to have a special–and dare I say marketable– amount of ‘the gift’ really does. Certainly, charlatans are out there who make it their business taking money for nothing but cold readings, and I know how cold readings work (I’m an amateur magician, my brother and friends are professional magicians…we study this stuff) so I like to think I’m an educated consumer in this department. Of course there are those who poo-poo psychic abilities all together and good for them; I don’t have any desire to change their minds.

So I perused Karen’s Instagram page and watched a group session via Twitter, and paid attention to my own senses. I felt a legitimacy in her gifts, and sensed a positive flow between her, River, and I right away on the phone.

Karen packs a lot into 30 minutes. I held off asking any questions at first, just wanting to see what she could pick up. Here’s what she got:

  • River has a strong personality and a toughness about her (true)
  • She struts around, knowing she is pretty (true)
  • There is a positiveness about her (true)
  • She works me like a fiddle and uses her cuteness to get out of trouble or get what she wants (pfffttttt NO!…..jk totally true)
  • She and I have a strong bond
  • We are connected souls
  • She’s the boss but I’m “her world”
  • We have a very sweet relationship
  • She prefers to have a clean face and will often drag her face along the couch or carpet to get clean after eating. Okay, so everything has been true so far in the reading but this was pretty specific. She’s done this all her life, and always right after eating. We’ve often called it her ‘after dinner ritual’ but we never knew why she did it.
  • Karen asked if River has an allergy affecting her paws. I’ve brought the fact that she licks her paws a lot to her vet, but no reason has ever been given, so to me, allergies make sense.
  • Karen said to make sure I get her teeth clean and checked often, as they appear to be a potential problem for her in the future.
  • River misses soft food and prefers that over the hard food I’ve been feeding her. (yep, after being told by the vet that her stomach had become too sensitive for soft food because of the high fat content, I’ve had to change her diet)
  • She likes to look out into the world from a window.
  • She loves when we are with my mom. This was especially interesting because Karen said not only did River love my mom, but River really loves how I am when my mom is around. Awwwww ❤

IMG_20180730_084828

Who could say ‘no’ to this face?

All of this rings true to me, and these are the highlights of what was said. I was writing, talking, and listening so didn’t catch everything, but I got the major stuff. There were a few things Karen said that made me think she was reading me at times, and not River. This is extremely common during readings, which are very much like tuning a radio where the signals get mixed from time to time, but I felt she was picking up on River’s ‘signals’ the majority of the time.

All right, question time. This is what Karen got:

  • River hates car rides because of the vibrations and movement. They make her feel uncomfortable and out of control. Her car seat has slippery sides, which only makes matters worse for her.
  • She was confused at first when we left her human dad, but she knows he won’t be back and she is at peace with it, healed.
  • I forgot to ask about the trash can. I was feeling a lot during this reading, most of it positive, and it just slipped my mind.

The last few things Karen picked up on are that River often plays the role of strength in my life, and that she is “a gift” to me from the universe (or God, or Goddess, or whatever one chooses to use here). I have often felt this. My human babies died, and being a mom without children is complete hell. That is where River came into my life and facilitated a great wave of healing, and an outlet of maternal energy.

Perhaps it was just a coincidence, but River seemed a lot calmer just before and during the phone call. I’m very happy that I had this reading done. For me, there was a lot of validation about our bond and the roles we play in each other’s lives. It was affirming to learn that as broken and lost as I am, I’m getting this part of my life right, and two different species can coexist without speaking the same language because we have love.

IMG_20180812_104226

Beauty from Clay

Beauty from Clay

My quest for clean, tight pores continues, and I was led down this particular path by an ad on Instagram for some new, powerful, miracle face mask that was guaranteed to clean my skin, tighten my pores, and reverse aging, making my face look like it did when I was ten years old (or some promise to that effect). The product looked propitious so I clicked on the “learn more” link and promptly hit the back button when I saw the price. I don’t recall the ad or the product or even the price (I may have fainted from sticker shock) but I went into the comments to bitch about how expensive it is, because I’m a mean ol’ hag like that, where I saw one of the commentators mentioned using “Indian Clay” instead. She raved at how well it works and how cheap it is so I sprinted to Amazon to see what the heck she was talking about.

Lo and behold:

Aztec clay ad

 

I continued to live with enlarged and dirty pores until this little baby arrived. The container is actually bigger than I thought it was be (about grapefruit size-ish) and heavier than I imagined.

IMG_20180726_184453

HELLLOOOOOOO health and beauty! Come to mama!

 

IMG_20180726_184458

Nobody mentioned I’d be feeling my face pulsate. I was both frightened and intrigued. This stuff is a powder, and as one can see by the instructions here, I’m supposed to mix the powder with “raw apple cider vinegar”. Well dang, I don’t have “raw” apple cider vinegar (as opposed to cooked, I guess?), I just have regular stuff so I throw caution to the wind and use plain apple cider vinegar instead and hoped it all still turned out all right.

Not knowing what I was doing, I mixed about a 1/4 cup of the powder clay and a 1/4 cup of the vinegar which ended up being too much, so learn from my example and start with small portions and add as needed. Anyway, I added this to that and SURPRISE! the mixture bubbled and fizzed and I got nervous. Had I created some sort of bubbling acid? Had I made one or both ingredients angry? Had I created a volatile concoction of beastly rage that would bring about a deadly doom of suffering and angst?

IMG_20180726_184545

I’m not dramatic. You’re dramatic.

Deathly doom avoided. The fizzing and bubbling stopped when I stirred the mixture.

IMG_20180726_184637

The clay is soft and cool, and felt lightweight. There wasn’t much of an odor, which I like, except for a faint whiff of apple cider vinegar. Nothing obnoxious. Several of the reviews on Amazon mentioned that the clay is great in your hair, too, so I divided my hair into sections and added some of the clay to my scalp and hair around the crown.

The too-close before picture:

IMG_20180726_185113

This picture doesn’t properly show my lovely rosacea 😛

IMG_20180726_185742

Clay Creature of Salt Lake!

I don’t remember how long I left this stuff on for, though I’m sure it was longer than the 15-20 minutes. I just sat down and watched television, waiting for the mask to feel dry. As with most masks my face did tighten and…AND…it pulsated! It’s an interesting sensation that mostly happened on my nose, chin, and forehead.

Once the mask began crackling off, I got into the shower and washed it all off.

IMG_20180726_192501

Boogety boogety BOO!

The “after” picture doesn’t really do this justice. I LOVE how my face looked: cleaner, softer, smoother.

IMG_20180726_194323

A choir of angels sang as heavenly light shown down upon this clean face

So I’d like to give thanks to the commentator who led me down this path and introduced me to Indian Clay. You, random stranger, are AWESOME. 🙂

 

Some Assembly Required: Another Episode in the Post Divorce Sitcom

Some Assembly Required: Another Episode in the Post Divorce Sitcom

When I was married, my go-to method of dealing with anything that came with the notice, “some assembly required” was to ask my husband what kind of sandwich he wanted while he built. It’s not that I can’t put stuff together, it’s that I hate the process. I don’t know what it is about my brain reading instructions, but they always morph into a foreign language, and I get incredibly frustrated. Things get thrown, there are tears, and I hate myself for the rest of the day.

In this post-divorce world, I’m left to conquer my “some assembly required” foe by myself. In truth, I try to avoid stuff that needs to be built by me, but that can’t always be avoided. Take for instance, the bed ramp I purchased from Chewy for my beloved dog, River. The thing is huge! And came neatly folded in a box that looked like this:

IMG_20180127_222030.jpg

Damn it.

“I will not be deterred!” I declare, fist thrust into the air, hair tied back, war paint streaked across my face. “This bed ramp will be assembled!” Somehow I have a British accent now and am wearing a wizard cloak when I say this.

IMG_20180128_091607.jpg

And so it begins. The supervisor must first inspect the box. Sniffing is the greatest inspection method of all time, and she’ll pee on anyone who argues.

IMG_20180128_091742.jpg

This doesn’t look too bad.

IMG_20180128_092130.jpg

This, however, looks frightening. A bag of dread. Necessary dread, but still.

IMG_20180128_092320.jpg

With all big projects, it’s important to have the supervisor oversee each task. Rope toy was given as a sacrifice to the assembling gods.

IMG_20180128_092604.jpg

Go forth into the world with confidence, knowing you have the only two tools you’ll ever need to build things.

Fun fact: I owned zero amount of tools before this, and now I have two. So, yay! Progress.

IMG_20180128_092710.jpg

A good supervisor sits on the pieces needed to complete the project.

IMG_20180128_093302.jpg

Success! First pieces are now assembled, confidence is high as I go forth.

IMG_20180128_093930.jpg

BEHOLD! Step #1 of the assembly is complete! I am woman, hear me roar! Note: Supervisor has turned her back on the project as a safety precaution; there is a cat lurking about. The project must be protected at all costs!

IMG_20180128_094050.jpg

Step #2 has a grammatical error that causes step #2 not to make any damn sense. Plus, something is wrong because the pieces aren’t fitting together they way they should. Frustration mounts, confidence plummets, and I kinda want to punch something.

IMG_20180128_094916.jpg

Why are there SO MANY pieces?!? Side note: I’m not crying, you’re crying. Why is nothing fitting? These instructions are stupid. This ramp is stupid, washers and caps and screws are super stupid.

IMG_20180128_095940.jpg

Brother to the rescue. Someone assembled step #1 backwards. Weird. But everything has been taken apart and put back together correctly now.

 

IMG_20180128_100439.jpg

Supervisor inspects my work for flaws, ensuring the legs are going the correct direction this time.

IMG_20180128_100832.jpg

A truly professional supervisor will start licking the workers’ faces while they are in the middle of a task.

IMG_20180128_102136.jpg

The pieces are not marked or labeled. The instructions read “place the piece that is 31″ long onto…” WTF? My brother takes mercy on me and realizes helping will greatly reduce the amount of curse words flying from my mouth.

IMG_20180128_104623.jpg

Small snag, the last hole in this piece didn’t match with the hole in the bottom piece. Ah well, I’m just happy to have gotten the majority of it together.

IMG_20180128_104810.jpg

Success! The Ramp is built and the supervisor approves.

 

 

If you need assistance with assembling doggy bed ramps, or would like to book a show with an award winning magician (or both) I can hook you up! Give the brother featured in this blog for saving the day a call: http://www.eliascaress.com/ 

.

.

Here is a link to the ramp  I purchased from Chewy. I’m not associated with the company, but I’ve included the link to their site because I really dig their company and customer service. ❤

.

.

.

.

.

.

 

Krav Maga Boot Camp– Day 2

Krav Maga Boot Camp– Day 2

10 minutes on a jump rope = harsh reminder how long its been since I’ve used a jump rope and just how much coordination it takes vs. how much coordination I have.

50 sit-ups

50 walking lunges

50 sit-ups

100 jump-ropes (the instructor called them something else)

50 sit-ups

50 burpees

50 sit-ups

 

This series of exercises was timed, and let’s get something very clear: burpees are straight from the devil. After the first ten of the first set of sit-ups I began to fear the hour-long class wasn’t going to be long enough for me to get through all of this. After the sixteenth walking lunge I feared the time it took for an ambulance to come get me would count against my score. And after the second burpee I looked more like a drunk, fat octopus trying to jump up, jump down, kick my feet back, jump up and repeat. I did about 10 wildly modified versions of those before resorting to some weird jump up, flop around, dry heave, repeat maneuver.

One lady in class cried and surprisingly it wasn’t me. I hated it all, though, and with each movement of my body I had more and more shame to silence before I could move on to the next thing. And that’s been the biggest challenge so far– not letting embarrassment win. To keep going, keep showing up, keep trying no matter how strong the shame gets.

I keep telling myself that the more I do it, the harder I work, the less shame will have on me and it will eventually have to shut the fuck up. Or at least pipe down.

…looking forward to that day.

One lady cried and it wasn’t me HOWEVER there have been several times when it almost was because punching and kicking stuff brings up a lot of emotions. I wasn’t prepared for that. I find myself punching the bag and in my head that bag becomes a person. Together we have one more argument, only this time I say all the things I need to say,

and this time I’m not afraid,

and this time I win.

Punching stuff brings me into a zone where I get my power back.

Shame has no voice when I’m in that zone, it’s only strength I hear, so Krav Maga Day 2 will become Krav Maga Day 3.

Krav Maga Day 2.jpg

You can’t tell how sweaty and shaky I am from this picture so you’ll just have to take my word for it.

Me vs. Shame: The Epic Never-ending Battle

Source: Me vs. Shame: The Epic Never-ending Battle

Weekly Airing

Once a week my brother airs out his introvert sister under the guise of geocaching. This week we found ourselves on two different hiking trails. One above the city, and one in Sugar House.

 

img_20170426_145401.jpg

ge·o·cach·ing
ˈjēōˌkaSHiNG/
noun
 
  1. the recreational activity of hunting for and finding a hidden object by means of GPS coordinates posted on a website.

     

    This slideshow requires JavaScript.

    Lunch break! 

     

The Short & Long Versions of Blood’s Trailer

Short Version:

This interview was recorded approximately 16 hours before the actor’s body was found.

Taboo Dreams

Woke up at 2:30 this morning. Stared at wall until 3. Got up, let the dogs out, opened computer, opened unfinished story, let the dogs back in, stared at unfinished story, turned the tv on, kissed husband goodbye, stared at computer screen.

Fell asleep. Computer in front of me, tv in front of computer. Apparently the television was set to a program about taboo practices and naturally the narrative of the program tangled itself with my sleeping mind. This created an hour long mind fuck that was interesting, entertaining, uncomfortable, and disturbing. I woke up convinced that I had a braided growth growing out of my chest and various other ailments that I won’t mention.

You know that I vent these experiences and no matter how disturbed I feel afterwards, I love it.

Dreams, the astral plane, and that state between awake and sleep are my favorite places to be.