Magazine - it's for your shitter

I just read a "neener, neener" one page pseduo-ad in Rolling Stone about the fact that magazines have not diminished in popularity as predicted when the Internet took hold of media train.

It touts:

Young people do everything online. Like order millions of magazines.... Contrary to popular misconception, the phenominal popularity of the Internet has not come at the expense of magazines.... What's changed isn't people's affinity for magazines but the means by which they acquire them. Last year, nearly 22 percent of all new paid subscriptions were ordered online...

(Rolling Stone - Issue 1110, p7)

Why are magazines not falling by the wayside? Because you need to read in the shitter!

I'm not hauling my laptop into the bathroom. I'm not leaving a Kindle beside the john to pick up during a twosie. I'm going to flip through a magazine. Light, disposable reading.

Rolling Stone, I congratulate you on your survival skills in a world where the medium upon which you present your information is more important than your content. I am disappointed that you've reduced your size and turned from a music base to almost solely politics and pop culture.

In my opinion, there is no reason why the True Blood stars should be on your cover -- sizzlin' hot as they may be.

Call me a prude, but that cover is not going in the bathroom where my 10 year old stepson is spending his time - nor where my Grandmother will be if she drops by.

It is HOT AS SIN and going in MY bathroom!

(I don't even have HBO, so I can't watch the show)

Picture courtesy of Rolling Stone.com (http://www.rollingstone.com/music/photos/28431/191807)

Like nailing jello to a wall

I am failing to comply with Angel Believes’ 30 Day Challenge.

Day 07 → Someone who has made your life worth living for.

I'm not feeling it. So I'm not writing about it.

It is 2:42 in the morning. My mind is whirring at top speed. It is stupid humid - (think fog cloud wrapped in rain forest). I am on an air conditioning strike. It is not hot outside, just humid.

I'm awake because I'm an ass and drank a Diet Coke at 10:30.

I went to my new counselor today. This is my second week with her.

Last week, she started my first visit with a big, long scantron test.

Yesterday, I got some of my results.

Apparently, I am passive aggressive (no, you are), expect perfection of myself (but I'll never get it), seek approval of others (please leave a comment), and I have an attachment disorder (don't unfriend me on Facebook or Twitter or I'll be so, so sad).

This evaluation didn't tell me anything I didn't already know, but it was interesting to have a booklet list my personality quirks without so much more than me answering a hundred true/false questions that I thought were fairly mundane.

I enjoy tests like this that give me an outside perspective.

The Myers Briggs test is one that really has me pegged. Prior to taking that test, I thought I was unique in the way I saw the world. That I had my own shade of rose colored glasses through which I gained perspective. Then I took the test and found that about 17% of the world's population have the same take on things.

I was also 22 years old when I took the test...so that explains a lot right there.

If you are interested in having your personality pegged to gain a little perspective on how you react to things, I suggest finding a certified Myers Briggs test (you'll pay a couple bucks - the free ones don't use the full design).

Moreover, I suggest you ask your better half to take the test. Compare and contrast your personality descriptions to learn more about how each other views the world, how they tend to form opinions and make decisions.

It's a growing experience that I highly recommend.

Lesson Learned - Listen to Your Coach

I am hokey pokeying my way through Angel Believes’ 30 Day Challenge

Day 06 → Something you hope you never have to do.

Eek.

Thinkaboutsomethingthatwon'tmakeyoucry....Thinkaboutsomethingthatwon'tmakeyoucry....

I am 29 and 5/6ths, going on 64. My bones and joints are bad. Not arthritic bad - nothing that anyone has diagnosed bad - just bad.

Like - Woah, we need to stop sex for a second because my hip just dislocated. Bad.

Or - Yep, I hiked 3 days ago, so maybe I'll be able to move my knees tomorrow. Bad.

Or - I had to hold Babygirl extra long last night so I'm not able to clasp my bra this morning. Bad.

I blame gymnastics. I was in gymnastics - and was half-way decent. Like anything, I dug the mechanics of it. Flip, turn, step, run, flip, stick the landing, hands up.

No flare. No expression.

I didn't get that part of it. I remember my mom talking about my fingers when I stuck a landing. Something about making them pretty. They weren't doing anything, so they were flat as paddles, and I didn't understand the flow. The beauty. I thought that was in the flip. I didn't see the arched back, the flared fingers, the curves. I tried, but no frill.

Beam was my favorite part of gymnastics - until I graduated to the beam that was high enough to fall off. Like straddle. I would skin the insides of my thighs on that bastard. Or do a back flip with my hands too far apart and bust my head. It quickly became my least favorite. I feared the beam. Still do. I will do anything to not have to cross a creek on a log - no matter the size of the creek (or the log).

I digress.

Anyway, against my coaches warning - I did back flips in my backyard. All. the. time.

The hard as concrete clay soil didn't give like the spring loaded mat in the gym. That didn't stop me.

Flip. Flip. Flip. Flip. Flip.

I don't remember how long I was in gymnastics. It was years and years. I remember quitting so that I could do Pop Warner cheer leading. I was in that for a year, and then didn't make the school team the following year.

(It probably was my obvious lack of spirit in my fingers.)

I never looked back. By then, I was developing breasts - and the mere thought of hefting myself onto the uneven bars made my booblettes sore.

Now, years later, I hurt. A lot. Before it rains, when it's cold, when it's hot, when the moon is out...

So, unless someone has a gun to my head AND I feel like breaking my neck AND my back AND have a hip dislocate AND fracture my skull AND break a boob AND skin my thighs AND stress fracture my radius AND jamb a finger....

I really hope to never have to do gymnastics ever again.

She turns me into a cheesy pile of goo...

I am fumblefucking my way through Angel Believes’ 30 Day Challenge

Day 05 → Something you hope to do in your life.

Bungee jump. Skydive. Climb mountains. Raft rivers. Make millions.

That's what I'm supposed to say, right?

My day today has been ok. Normal, by most people's standards. I accomplished goals for work, and got a little blog side job started. Sweet. Hubs took Babygirl and I out to dinner tonight. We visited a fountain afterword. Babygirl and I crawled around on the floor and read The Lorax (one of my all time favs). We tickled. We laughed.

She's my dream. She is what I want to do for the rest of my life.

Does this sound corny? Yes? Fuck off.

I read a sweet blog this morning about a woman who is having a difficult time getting pregnant. As I read it, I teared up. That was me 2 years ago. Body all fucked up on Clomid and hormones. Pissing on a stick, praying for 2 lines and only getting one. Being told that IVF is the next step. Ever living hell.

Now, I'm working on cutting out construction paper for Babygirl's first birthday.

(And one hell of a job I did - *pats self on back*)

She is my gravity.

Before her, I flitted around - not knowing what I wanted, who I was.

I met my husband, and fell for him. HARD. I love him more than words can say - but this baby is why my heart beats. I don't make a single decision in a day without thinking how she could be impacted.

Yes, over time, I will recenter and have gravity of other people pull stronger on my will.

But right now, it's all about her.

And that's fine.

Now I need to go hover over her in her crib...

Forgiveness - the greatest gift you can give yourself

I am hoola-dancing through Angel Believes' 30 day challenge ...

Day 04 → Something you have to forgive someone for.

(again with the preposition?? yikes...)

Forgiveness is a special thing. It takes a big person, a helluva lot of time, and several perfectly-timed events after the offense to really forgive someone all-the-way.

Especially in matters of the heart.

If you've never had your heart broken - you were the breaker of hearts (for shame!). This post might help you realize why someone 10 years out still wants your head on a stick.

I was the heart breaker through high school and part of college. I was a bitch, frankly. I am very sorry to those who I hurt - and only fully understood what I had done when it happened to me.

Without going into major detail - I fell head over heals over head over heals for this guy. And him me. It was crazy. It was real. We were 20.

Dating...blah blah blah...Love...blah blah blah...Engagement...blah blah blah.

Then cheating. Then DEVASTATION. Then 6 months. Then man on knees asking for forgiveness. Then edgy-love. Then cheating.

Then done. The end.

Burn me twice, I'm the ass.

The way everything happened - the fact that I was left with a job and no home for the summer - the fact that I was left no option but to hang out with work people - the fact that my future husband was working at the desk beside me through it all --- got me where I am today.

And I was grateful.

7 years after the end of my previous relationship - I held onto the hate. The pain. I had suffered - and to some extent, still did.

I was 13 months pregnant and preparing to go to the wedding of a mutual friend of my ex and I. It was going to be the first encounter after all of these years. Of course, I was a sow and my self-esteem was in the negative numbers. I went anyway, and my husband stayed behind.

His wife stayed behind.

Neither of us knew anyone else at the wedding, so we were forced together in that manner. After so many years, we talked.

My being secure in my life (happy marriage, expecting a child, own my home, etc etc etc) made this encounter MUCH easier.

That night, I released that pain. I let it die.

I wanted for so long to be so much better than hate - and on that night, I was. I knew that no matter how shitty the events were that unfolded, they had given me so much more than I would have had otherwise.

I am happy not being followed by the specter of negativity and self-loathing.

I had forgiven. Wholly and completely. Finally.