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Does 50 Ever Become Nifty?
About a month ago, I reached a new milestone – I turned 50. I fully embraced my inner Sally O’Malley and was ready to take on the second part of my century. Heck, after celebrating my 40th birthday, and the entire decade, I expected 50 to have a similar effect on me.
It did not.
It has, in fact, had the opposite effect. 50 has only served to highlight my lack of youth and inevitable aging. Updating my blog to reflect my new “status” made me reflect on where I am.
While I have continued to age disgracefully, there is a profound sense of loss. I just cannot pinpoint what I have lost.
I have not changed the world or even traveled as much as I had hoped. I have not made my mark in society, as I continue to be one of the millions of drones who go about their lives every day.
All I know is that I am scared.
Scared that I, like so many others before me, will simply disappear into the obscurity of the aging process. Scared that as an “older” woman, who is well into menopause, I have become obsolete. Scared that my days as a sensual, sexual being are numbered, and the clock is not on my side.
So 50, we have reached an impasse. Will you help me reframe my pessimistic view of my immediate future? Or will I continue to morph into one “those women,” the ones we see, but look right through?
Only time, as limited as it is, will tell. But, it is not on my side.
Leadership, as Demonstrated by Bernie Sanders -#ImWithHer @HillaryClinton
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Today, Senator Bernie Sanders further doubled down on his support of Hillary Clinton for the Presidency of the United States. He eloquently and explicitly stated why, in an opinion piece entitled “I Support Hillary Clinton. So Should Everyone Who Voted for Me” for the LA Times.
Most of Sen. Sanders’ supporters transitioned to Sec. Clinton during, and immediately following the Democratic Party’s Convention. However, there were a small group of holdouts, who were being called the “tea party of the left.” This vocal minority, many of whom have aligned themselves with the Green Party, were threatening to vote for Donald Trump, in protest.
Sen. Sanders did not mince any words when he said, “During the primaries, my supporters and I began a political revolution to transform America. That revolution continues as Hillary Clinton seeks the White House. It will continue after the election. It will continue until we create a government which represents all of us and not just the 1 percent – a government based on the principle of economic, social, racial and environmental justice.”
“I understand that many of my supporters are disappointed by the final results of the nominating process, but being despondent and inactive is not going to improve anything. Going forward and continuing the struggle is what matters. And, in that struggle, the most immediate task we face is to defeat Donald Trump,” He further stated. Sen. Sanders understands that in order to enact progressive legislation, Democrats and other left-leaning and centrist groups, must unite against the propsed tyranny of trump, and his ilk. Bernie or Bust bros please take note, as Sen. Sanders is demonstrating how consensus and coalition building works.
As for me, I got my “Woman Card,” so deal me in, because I’m with Hillary Clinton!
Revisiting My Jealous Bitchfriend, Depression
In April 2015, my self-exorcism post went live. It was, by far, the most difficult and soul-consuming blog post I had ever written. Yet, as cleansing as it was to post, I had unfinished business with it. A few days ago, I saw August McLaughlin, talking excitedly about her Beauty of a Woman Blogfest V, on Facebook. Knowing the type of exposure and scrutiny my blog would receive, it was the sign I needed to revisit this post. Here it is, in its entirety – still unedited – followed by an update, of sorts.
[April 15, 2016] This post has been a long time coming, as it has been dwelling and languishing in my house of avoidance. Typically, I composed blog posts, edited and posted them. This one was minimally edited, against my better judgment as a wordsmith. It needed to remain in its raw, almost draft state, in order to convey the events accurately.
I am Clinically Depressed.
No, I am not “sad” or “melancholy,” as those terms lack the depth to describe what I have felt. Or in my case, haven’t felt.
According to Web, MD., “clinical depression is marked by a depressed mood most of the day, particularly in the morning, and a loss of interest in normal activities and relationships — symptoms that are present every day for at least 2 weeks.” Signs and symptoms include, but are not limited to:
- Fatigue or loss of energy almost every day
- Feelings of worthlessness or guilt almost every day
- Impaired concentration, indecisiveness
- Insomnia or hypersomnia (excessive sleeping) almost every day
- Markedly diminished interest or pleasure in almost all activities nearly every day (called anhedonia, this symptom can be indicated by reports from significant others)
- Restlessness or feeling slowed down
- Recurring thoughts of death or suicide
- Significant weight loss or gain (a change of more than 5% of body weight in a month) [Yes, there should be a proper citation here, but I need to exorcise this post from my psyche before I chicken out and retreat into my fortress of solitude. So, fellow wordsmiths and scribes, bear with me.]
I started this blog when I returned to undergraduate studies to complete prerequisites to apply for nursing school. After attaining a 3.8 GPA, being wait-listed, then accepted, I began the RN Level I course in the Fall of 2011. The material was challenging, in ways I never expected. To say that I was ill-prepared would be a gross understatement of epic proportions.
I graduated with my BA in Criminology in 1991, so my expectations were completely inconsistent to the new way of work of higher education. For example, I went to class with a course syllabus, notebook and pen, took notes, read my textbooks and supplementary materials, studied both and took written exams. In 2011, there were syllabi, textbooks, e-textbooks, videos from the textbook manufacturer, YouTube videos, Power Point slides, sample tests from an outside company used as predictors for the NCLEX Board Examinations, digital records of lectures and my own personal notes. This was for the lecture portion of the course, only. The practical/hands-on Clinical portion had it’s own syllabus, notes, “check-off” preliminary skills practice and finally, the formal hospital rotations working directing with RNs and their patients. I received a “B” in this class. I was 43 years old.
Spring of 2012 brought Level II (Medical Surgical Nursing and Labor and Delivery) and Pharmacology. I received a “B” in Pharmacology and a “D” in Level II. My instructors revisited and regraded each of my tests and quizzes because they could not understand the disconnect between the student they saw explaining concepts to classmates and practicing safely on the hospital floor, with the final grade of 79% (D in my RN school). My Clinical Instructor, who has sense become a good and trusted friend, asked me if I had ever been tested for Learning Disabilities. Having gone to a major university in the 1980s/1990s, before Learning Specialists were on staff, and performing well in my classes, I never considered it. I visited our college’s Learning Specialist who referred me to a Licensed Mental Health Therapist, specializing in Adults with Learning Disabilities.
At my first visit with the LMHT, he tested me for Learning Disabilities and determined that I had Adult Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD), with an emphasis on Distractions. He described my brain as being a shelf with cubbieholes. Each cubbiehole was a part of my brain and as long as each cubbie was filled, I was able to function well. My challenges were when I had to concentrate on only one item and leave all the rest of the cubbies “empty.” My brain would naturally want to fill them up. In layman’s terms, I was/am fantastic at multitasking, but terrible at concentrating on one project alone. This served me well when I was working professionally, but was my kiss of death in Nursing school, where any tiny distractions would pull my attention away from the material I was supposed to be learning.
The college allowed me to re-slot back into a Level II course in Fall 2012, while my classmates moved on to Level III. Along with swallowing my pride, ignoring the growing guilt about “wasting” money again, trying to ignore my feelings of inadequacy and embarrassment at having to repeat a course for the first time in my life, I retook Level II, this time with appropriate accommodations for tests, which included a quiet, private room and extra time to take the test to allow for mental “refocusing” breaks. I don’t think I ever fully processed my personal biases against needing ADA accommodations, because I expected I would “snap out of it,” as my father suggested. Of all the courses to repeat, the irony and agony of retaking Level II, with its emphasis on Labor and Delivery, was not lost on me – a childless middle-aged woman. I made it through with a “C.”
Spring of 2013, brought with it Level III (Medical Surgical Nursing, Pediatrics and Hospice Care) and Psychosocial Nursing. I received a “B” in Psychosocial Nursing was the only person in my class of 30 students who actually looked forward to our clinical rotation with Mental Health patients, or “my people, as I began to think of them, almost immediately. I passed Level III with a “C” and thought it was the most rewarding Medical Surgical Nursing rotation, because I had so many hands-on experiences, it re-energized me for the final semester and was working with a population very precious to me – Veterans.
Summer passed quickly and I looked forward to completing Level IV, Role Transition in Nursing and the Nursing Care Management Practicum (aka. Management rotation). I received an “A” in Role Transition in Nursing, because it was not academically challenging, but took precious time away from my Level IV study time. Level IV and Management ran consecutively, and in order to qualify to take Management you had to successfully complete Level IV with a “C” or better. Adding to the pressure was the knowledge that at the end of Level IV were two exams, the Level (or class final) exam and the ATI comprehensive test. Students who did not pass the ATI test – a predictor for success on the NCLEX – were ineligible to proceed to the Management rotation. Consequently, the amount of stress we were under was tripled. Needless to say, I cracked under the pressure and finished Level IV with a 78%, another “D.” Ironically, once my grade was posted I felt an immediate sense of relief. Unfortunately, I had to share the news with everyone I knew, including my parents who had changed their travel plans to ensure they could attend my RN Pinning Ceremony and Graduation. That was probably one of the hardest phone calls I’ve ever had to make.
Additionally, at a time they should have been celebrating, my classmates were stunned, sad, and angry….very, very angry. Out of 112 students in our Level, 27 of us failed to make the Management rotation. As competitive as we were with each other, the nature of Nursing school (and the Nursing profession) was infinitely more congenial, team-oriented and we became a “family.” They wanted to know why their teammates would not finish the program with them. And they vocalized this, loudly. It was just before Thanksgiving 2013 and I was 44 years old.
As this was occurring, I took to my bed.
For the next two and a half months.
I dragged myself out of bed, showered and participated in holiday activities, or what I labeled, resentfully as “mandatory family fun.” When December ended and January began, my husband, who had been my rock during this entire episode, suggested I speak to my Primary Care Physician about my “lack of moods and tired feelings” at my annual physical. I will forever be grateful to him for this, but at the time, I simply wanted to be left alone to be in my room, pretending to read, sleep or watch funny animal videos online.
My Primary Care Physician was a Puerto Rican woman, whom I adored, admired and respected. She was the right person to discuss my condition with me. All of it. The comforting numbness, the security blanket of obesity that I had started weaving around myself, the lack of interest in anything and the heart-stopping pain of knowing I had disappointed everyone…including myself. In our typical Spanglish, we went through issues I had never discussed with a doctor. Ironically, Nursing school deserved a great deal of the credit. One of the skills we practiced from our first day on the floor with patients, was teaching. I was a natural teacher and I enjoyed it. So, if I was able to ask men in their 60s, 70s and 80s about their current sex lives, and ensure they were using condoms correctly, answering similar questions about myself should not have been a barrier. It wasn’t. In fact, it was the first time in my life that I had been asked many of the questions.
My doctor became concerned when we discussed my mental health. and she asked me to describe how I felt.
I never felt sad.
I never felt happy.
I felt mildly to severely inconvenienced and numb.
Numb.
Devoid of all emotions, feelings and sensations, as if I moved into
a fluffy, shock-absorbing, grey Cloud where all lights and sounds were muffled.
Waking up and engaging the world required more energy than I could, or cared to, muster. Showering, washing clothes and spending time with people entailed bracing myself for questions I had no answers to, conversations I had no desire to participate in, and were physically and mentally draining.
I had become comfortably numb, just as described by Pink Floyd.
The truth was…I liked it. It worked for me. On every level.
Numbness required little or no time away from wallowing in my own self-pitying disappointment. Unfortunately, as a “responsible adult,” numbness is frowned upon as a way of life. It prevented me from engaging in life. I was a failure in school, unemployed and rudderless. My security blanket of obesity had taken me past the point of being an unattractive “fat person,” and into the realm of “the invisible people” quite effectively.
To my doctor’s credit she listened. Carefully. She referred me to a therapist and prescribed an SSRI (Selective Serotonin Reutake Inhibitor), that I immediately researched in my Nursing Drug Guide. Simply explained, serotonin, a neurotransmitter, is responsible for sparking the body’s natural chemicals that control feelings of happiness and well-being. The body distributes it when needed, and then collects it, when not. People with depression, tend to lack enough naturally-occurring serotonin, or too much is recollected at the end of emotionally difficult or sad moments – resulting in the “numbness.” Additionally, the SSRI prescribed me would help my lack of focus, related to my ADHD.
I resentfully, took the loading dose (30-90 days), and noticed a gradual change in my moods and energy levels. Not a “magic pill,” by any means, as all it did for me was begin to dissipate my Cloud. But, I resisted. Dissipating the Cloud would allow the sunlight of self-exploration to take place. It would require me to notice and acknowledge my obesity blanket and begin to reconnect with others. I wasn’t sure I wanted to do any of that.
I really loved my Cloud, dammit. Cloud understood me without judgment. She was my mistress and best friend. She was also my greatest enemy, and a jealous one at that. That was February 2014 and I was 46.
For the next few months, I struggled to find myself. Every day Cloud waited patiently for my return, letting me I know she loved me more than anyone, just as I was. I am disgusted to admit that more often than not, I would let myself float into her beautiful numbness, as my medication would begin the arduous process of pulling me back out. As I was experiencing the allure of numbness and the frightening thought of leaving Cloud behind, I stopped being a wife. I simply was not interested in any of it. For months, my husband would come home from work, only to find me lying in the same position I had been in when he left for work at 5:30 every morning. Dishes went unwashed, dogs were not walked, dinner was not cooked. His patience, already worn thin from dealing with my stress during Nursing school, disappeared. For weeks, then months, we lived an existence of cohabiting strangers.
In October 2014, a dear friend whom I met working on political campaigns sent me a Facebook message. He recommended me for a job as a Regional Field Canvass Director for a political action committee. After all, I had done community organizing work for years and had the necessary networking and human resources experience to successfully do the work. Thinking this would be a great transition, from unemployed to temporary employment, I accepted the position. Then lasted two days. My husband saw me for my dinner “break” on the first day and grew concerned, as he said I was simply staring into space and speaking in tongues. On the second day, he visited my office, helped me out of my chair, waited until I had sent my resignation email, and escorted me home. The only word out of his mouth when he saw my work environment, was, “no.” In fact, he called my parents and in-laws to give them his impressions of the “cold, ugly, white box” I would have to work in. He told them, “I just got glimpses of my wife back. I am not willing to knowingly send her into an environment that will only make her worse.” Like I said, this man was my rock. He knew and supported me like no other.
But, Cloud was already there. Soothing me, reminding me how much better I was wrapped up in my blankets at home. She was right.
This proved to be but a minor setback and the climb out of Cloud was easier.
In December, my Father arrived for a Christmas visit, and repeated his “my daughter was confident and fearless, this is only a phase, just snap out of it,” mantra. I heard similar versions, in various levels of resentment from my mother, mother-in-law, and several friends – dissonance. I have always been able to tune people out so well and quickly, that it makes my own head spin, sometimes. Frankly, I have never cared if they knew it.
2015 arrived with a renewed, albeit cautious, sense of purpose. And Cloud. Always waiting patiently to embrace me in her soothing emotionless depths and play my new theme song, Bad Day by Fuel.
Before I flunked out of Nursing school a dear friend I met in Level I and I found very inexpensive tickets to New York City and planned a girls’ weekend to celebrate my graduation and Pinning. Needless to say, I neither graduated nor received my RN pin, and now had nonrefundable tickets to New York for the four days before St. Patrick’s Day. I asked my family to help me take the trip, and they agreed. By now, my parents were fully paying my mortgage, so I was asking two retirees for money to take a leisure trip. The ugliness and lack of fairness was not lost on me, but I was learning my new normal. I had a wonderful time in New York and was reminded of when I would travel there for business, years ago. Suddenly, I began to see, and miss, the old me. And Cloud knew. She always knew.
Cloud reminded me that my “new” life was online – a mixture of reality and fantasy. Interactions with strangers who now knew more about me than my own family. Sharing myself in depression-themed and other chat rooms, finding kindred spirits who never asked me to change or leave the house. Cloud approved of my new friends and generously created more space for me to experience these relationships within her numbing comfort.
Which brings me to the present, and the impetus for finally writing this post: a new friend. A new friend who sees more of me than I am comfortable showing, and yet, accepts me as a I am. A friend who asked me, rather audaciously, to share how I got here. The boldness of this request both surprised and frightened me, as it would require tracing my steps back to my bottom: the end of Nursing school. It would mean taking responsibility for my own selfish behavior, regardless of whether or not, it was related to my Depression. But most of all, it would necessitate a level of introspection that I had avoided. That I have always avoided. I would have to see my own beauty and worth and begin to tear down walls erected in my late teens and college years. SCARY STUFF, as I preferred to see the beauty in others. Never myself.
So, to my friend, I say, challenge accepted. And to Cloud…bitch, you need to find another mistress. I am 47 years old and Clinically Depressed, battered, bruised, incomplete, but not defeated. May soothing rain fall on me and help me chase Cloud away.
Thank you Ed Sheeran for sharing Foy Vance’s angst-filled lyrics, that moved me beyond words and allowing me to cry real tears of pain for the first time in over eight, or more, years. “Make it Rain,” indeed.
UPDATE – April 30, 2016:
I am still here.
No. Scratch that.
I am more than simply “still here.”
I am a a better version of myself. Still sassy, snarky, loud and opinionated, but also a little wiser and more gentle on myself. Still obese, but 30 pounds lighter than I was at Christmas time. Listening to my body and working out with that tiny English dynamo, Gemma Fountain, while embarking on a journey as a Plexus Ambassador with my Sister-in-Law. While still high, my “bad” cholesterol (LDL) and liver enzymes (indicators of possible inflammation and impaired function), are only one number out of “normal” range. I have more energy, my libido is back and I feel like participating in life, for the first time, in a very long time. I am still an extroverted introvert, who loves to socialize, then regroups by spending quiet time at home with her dogs, working, reading or chatting online. And, at 48, I KNOW I look good and can still rock a side ponytail, like it’s the 80s or 90s.
Thanks to Paxil, mental health therapy, a primary care doctor who is not afraid to say, “lose weight and clean up your eating habits,” my very own Drill Instructor/US Army Veteran #10 Can ‘o Whoopass Facilitator/Husband, family, friends, classmates and K9 kids. It has taken a village.
I Live in the “New Loneliness”
Aside Posted on Updated on
In her article This is the New Loneliness Jamie Varon focuses on the Millennial Generation. She categorizes them as both the most and least connected generation, due to their inherent, almost organic, use of social media.
I believe millennials have a arrested interpersonal communication skills, simply as a result of being born into a technology-dependent culture. Communication requires “doing.” As children, millenials were not encouraged to physically be present. Most of their play needs were met by technology. So, it is unfair to paint them as disconnected. They connect differently. Social media, rather than face-to-face interactions, is their preferred vehicle.
Ms. Varon overlooked the original disconnected generation – Generation X.
We were latchkey kids. Loneliness was ingrained in our lives. Sure we participated in every activity we wanted to, but most of us held a piece of ourselves back – a self-preservation piece.
These early experiences served us well as we entered an unpredictable, and sometimes volatile work environment, vastly different from the generations that preceded us. The days of a life-long career with one company ended, just as we came of age. So we became latchkey adults.
Social media paired nicely with Generation X, because it allowed us that “separation” we learned in childhood. Technology offered the buffer against anonymity. We were still communicating, just indirectly.
I work primarily from home, so I have limited contact with others. And, even though I prefer to work alone, I genuinely miss the everyday interactions among coworkers in an office.
Sometimes, I force…no…motivate myself to physically interact with other people. As a natural “loner” and “homebody,” this is as unnatural and outside my comfort zone, as it gets.
Additionally, I am an extroverted introvert, suffering from clinical depression. Not only do I have to psych myself up to “participate,” I then need several days within my soul cave to regroup and recharge.
The paradox for me has been that even though social media is “artificial” (as in manmade, rather than preexisting) I am still myself when I am online. Some people create entirely new personas and lives. I did not and have not. Regardless of the clever nicknames I take on, given the site, my personality remains intact. Acting as someone else, is just not in my skill set.
Missing in technology-based interactions are the subtleties of speech, inflection and body language. For someone who joyfully wields sarcasm and dark humor, this is a slippery slope. Not only have I written/said things that were not understood as I had intended, I too have felt the string of a poorly worded online barb.
And, those words that are carelessly hurled around under the guise of anonymity? Those words injure, sometimes fatally. They bring the loneliness to a level that surpasses having a “dark/gloomy” or even “sad” day. Social media gives us the liberty to erect invisible walls to hide safely behind.
The key is to peek over the wall, open the gate and talk to our neighbors…but it’s easier and quicker to just text them, isn’t it?
Top Ten Reasons “Secretary” Beats “50 Shades of Grey” – SundanceTV
Aside Posted on
I mentioned how poorly 50 Shades of Grey, tries to depict a D/s or BDSM relationship, in a few earlier posts. This article illustrated it more concisely than I could.
Top Ten Reasons “Secretary” Beats “50 Shades of Grey” – SundanceTV.
Happy Thanksgiving!
Today, I reflect back on a difficult year of discovery. Several new people who have come into, and out of, my life have taught me to remain true to my convictions. Those who passed through, temporarily, served to remind me that words must be congruent with actions, in order to be true. The others have been added to my list of friends.
I am thankful for my family, friends and health. Hubby and our four K9 kids are
my touchstones to God. They keep me grounded in the present and love.
May today, and the next year be filled with blessing to you and yours. Happy Thanksgiving!
Exploring New Things and the Joy of Finding Like-minded People
Over the past month, I have been learning more about myself and focusing time on things that interest me. I have met several people who are similar situations, and equally committed to understanding and working within their circumstances.
What I was not expecting were the friendships that have evolved along this journey. I believed I was alone in my quest, but I was not, and will not be, at least in the near future. So, thank you for bearing with me, readers, as I promise to return. I do have several book reviews to share with you, once I have deciphered my almost unreadable notes.
In the meantime, I leave you with the words immortalized by the great Casey Kasem, whom I grew up listening to and set the bar incredibly high for radio DJs. He passed away last month, entirely too soon. “America’s Top 40” will never be the same.
A-Z Challenge: “B” is for Blogging
Aside Posted on Updated on
When I started this blog, it had no real direction or theme. In fact, I did not expect anyone to read it because it was going to be a place to synthesize my thoughts. I never expected to “meet” other bloggers and be moved by their words, laugh with them or feel badly when they were experiencing the tough side of life.
I also did not expect to post my thoughts on books in a public forum for others to read. I was content with posting my thoughts on Amazon or Goodreads, but the blog gave me the opportunity to add more personal comments that I did not feel were appropriate on Amazon or Goodreads. Ultimately, this led to the reorganization of the blog.
My life has been in a state of transition for the past four years and some things are still unsettled. I feel that everyone that has flowed in and out of my life, has helped me move in the right direction. Some have moved into my life for a brief period to demonstrate what I want or do not want out of friendships and some have helped me along my blogging journey. So today, I am recognizing Michelle from Ms. Romantic Reads, Anna from Herding Cats & Burning Soup, Becca from Lady or Not…Here I Come, The Chicks from Chick Swagger and Suzie from Suzie81 Speaks. All of these bloggers have encouraged me, stopped by to chat and inspired me with their words. May you all continue to brighten other people’s days with your wit, snark and spirited discussions.
A Toast to Transforming the Blog
Aside Posted on Updated on
I began this blog when I returned to undergraduate studies and believed it would document my experiences through Nursing School. During the process, I found myself wanting to talk about any topic, except Nursing school and it became a place to recharge my soul batteries. I also enjoyed posting book reviews and discussing different literary genres with readers. The blog’s transformation was gradual, and I was happy to let it happen, organically.
Yesterday, “Chronicles of a 40-Something Nurse Wannabe” evolved into “Reading, Drinking and Dancing with a Chaser of Snark.” The name and layout makeover reflected my blogging persona and recurring themes of this blog. It bids fond farewell to a name that served me well, but no longer represents where I am in my life. Hubby helped synthesize the name. He does not know it yet, but I hope to interview him for future posts, to get “The Former Sergeant’s Perspective.”
Over the next weeks, you will see specific posts on designated days, especially featured book reviews. There may even be a “Grand Opening.” I will continue to discuss current events, reality television and topics that move me. All previous posts were saved and may be read by searching by topic.
Thank you for being on this journey with me. Stay tuned for more!
“Portal to Hell’s” New Owner: Zak Bagans
I have mixed feelings about Zak Bagans’ Travel Channel show “Ghost Adventurers,” even though I am a fan. They seem to have a knack for disrespecting spirits and taunting demons. However, their show is a nice contrast to the more serious “The Dead Files,” which takes a methodical, more global approach to examining places with possible paranormal activity. “The Dead Files,” pairs Amy Allan a medium with Steve Di Shavi on each case. Amy and Steve disseminate evidence separately, then provide the families a comprehensive report, with historical data, about events that may have lead to hauntings. They also provide suggestions on how to deal with any paranormal activity. Zak and his crew have a more of a “bull in a china shop” approach.
As The Haunted Librarian notes, Zak recently purchased a property in Indiana, known as the “portal to hell.” He plans to live there, while his team investigates any activity. What could possibly happen? Oh boy. Dangerous, does not begin to describe the world of hurt they may be unleashing, if they go into that situation ill-prepared and full of piss and vinegar. In other words, the way they walk into all of their investigations.
API will be discussing this case and possible repercussions on their show, Thursday and I am curious to hear their take. Tune in, folks.
Supposed “Portal to Hell” House
“Portal to Hell’s” New Owner: Zak Bagans
Granted I’m a tad tardy to the discussion, but I’ve decided to jump into to fray. Ghost Adventurer’s Lead Investigator Zak Bagans has purchased the “haunted” house on Carolina Street in Gary, Indiana. He paid $35,000 for the “modest” property. Bagans is quoted as saying: “I really [have] a passion for this stuff… .” This smacks as a publicity stunt!
Charles Reed, the former owner, sold the property days after a local newspaper published a story whereby calling the house the “Portal to Hell.” Former renter Latoya Ammons, along with her three children and mother, moved into the house in 2011. During the following year, Ms. Ammons claims that one child levitated over a bed, another child walked backwards up a wall, ominous footsteps were heard, and the animal elicited strange behavior. Catholic priest Rev. Michael Maginot exorcised…
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El Bachelor es un Gran Pendejo and We Can’t Stop Watching
SPOILER ALERT: If you have not watched this week’s episodes of The Bachelor stop reading, immediately.
I have watched ABC’s The Bachelor and The Bachelorette on and off since the first season. I usually watched the first few shows, dropped off in the middle and picked it back up when the contestants had been narrowed down to four or five. Of all the reality TV dating shows, The Bachelor/Bachelorette franchise had the best track record of lasting relationships. Two Bachelorettes and one Bachelor reached the altar with their chosen “Final Rose” recipient. The majority of the couples dated then broke up.
I questioned the motives of the male contestants and Bachelors, because it could be a meat market for unscrupulous men. Fortunately, most of the men have taken the process seriously, whether they have found Ms. Right, or not. Moreover, most of the female contestants were truly looking for love – in the worst possible scenario and under international television scrutiny – but, once all the hype was stripped away, they wanted to make a love connection. This show was for folks with brass cojones, as they were willingly subjecting themselves to an artificial dating environment and giving up their privacy. In fact, the group dynamics were fascinating (cringe-worthy) to watch from a sociological perspective. (I hope there were mental health professionals available to assist them as they transitioned back to the “real” world.)
On Desiree’s season of The Bachelorette, there was a contestant who stood out as special. His name was Juan Pablo Galavis and along with so many women (and men) I fell under his mesmerizing spell. I was thrilled when he was named the next Bachelor. Finally, a Bachelor I could root for! Juan Pablo was an attractive, Latino, single dad, completely devoted to his daughter, who carried himself as a charming gentleman. Desiree eliminated him relatively early, but his loyal fans ensured ABC knew how popular he was, and he was selected to be the next Bachelor.
All of us who expected to see the same man who enchanted us, were duped! Juan Pablo started off charming enough, but quickly became quite the megadouchetart. As the weeks progressed and he narrowed down his selection of contestants, we saw sides of his personality that sent up puzzling red flags. Was he plagued by a language barrier or simply a “guy,” versus a “man” as eloquently expressed in Cameron Crowe’s 1989 movie Say Anything? Long story, short…..he was a guy…the lowest version thereof.
Not one, but two women walked off the show, effectively eliminating themselves. The first, Sharleen, was ambivalent about the entire process and I am still confused as to how she was selected to participate. The woman was never engaged in the process, but was likely seeking publicity for her opera career. More power to her. On Monday night, however, Juan Pablo went on the “hometown” dates, where met the final three contestants’ families. Each family expressed concerns over the situation the women found themselves in and questioned whether or not, Juan Pablo was seriously committed to each one.
Tuesday night, Andi, the bright, bubbly District Attorney from Atlanta, with the best dad in Bachelor history, left the show. She and Juan Pablo had a disastrous fantasy suite date, where he shared (bragged?) about his “conquests.” After trying unsuccessfully to make Juan Pablo understand, react or reach out to her, she put him in his place, called him out as an arrogant asshole and left. I cheered her on all the way. As I live tweeted through tvtag, the overwhelming consensus was that all the women, who had either left or been eliminated, were better off without Juan Pablo, aka. El Pendejo. His final tweet of the show was “I’de Rather Not Be Appreciated Being Honest, Than Be Appreciated And Not Being Honest…” No te preocupes, querido. Las pocas fanáticas que te quedaban ya no existen, mal criado.
Must see TV indeed. Telenovela writers wished they had this material! I felt badly for the women on the show, but as a viewer, this was reality TV gold. Oh, and I expect to see Andi again. Very soon.
Next week is the Final Rose Ceremony and the rumors abound as to whether Juan Pablo will choose Clare or Nikki. Reality Steve provided spoilers when the season started, but nothing is as entertaining as the teasers for the Reunion Show. It promises to be a skewer-fest as the women have their “day in court.” I will be watching and live tweeting. Pour yourself a lovely glass of Malbec and join me.
In the meantime, here is a toast to Lloyd Dobler , who proved to a man, not a guy. Sigh.
Happy Valentine’s Day
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Hope you have a wonderful day, everyone. Whether you “celebrate” Valentine’s Day or not, it is a great reminder to practice self-care and be kind to ourselves and each other.
“If your compassion does not include yourself, it is incomplete” ~ Buddha
Here is my favorite Valentine’s Day memory:
“Battle Flag” by Lo Fidelity Allstars featuring Pigeonhed is the Song of the Day
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I first heard “Battle Flag” in the late 1990s as a club mix. It was originally written as an homage to Prince by Pigeonhed and remixed and recorded by Lo Fidelity Allstars. The beat and a few of the lyrics stuck with me. However, it was not until I heard it on the episode of “ER” where Dr. Carter (Noah Wylie) meets, and is stabbed by, a Schizophrenic patient that it grabbed me.
Then, I heard it on an episode of The Sopranos and was thrilled when they included on one of their show soundtracks. It has become one of my get-up-and-MOVE jams.
The song starts off with a bang and just keeps going. Here are the first few lines:
Your construction
Smells of corruption
I manipulate to recreate
This air to ground saga
Gotta launder my karma
Gotta launder my karma, indeed. Great advice for all of us. Wave your own battle flag!
Happy World Nutella Day – February 5, 2014
Nutella has always been a part of my food vocabulary. Growing up overseas, we were exposed to international foods from an early age and items that might have seemed “exotic” to some, were commonplace to us. Nutella, was one of those treats. My great-grandmother would spread it on toast, as a dessert with tea. Since it was a memory I associated with childhood, I always assumed it was tastier than it actually was. The same way camp cabins seemed so enormous, when we were younger, but grew smaller as we aged.
I was wrong. Nutella was not only as delicious I remembered, it was even better incorporated into “adult” desserts.
Imagine my surprise when I moved to the U.S. and there was NO NUTELLA, anywhere. Some Italian specialty markets carried Nutella, but it was expensive and would fly off the shelves as soon as they were stocked. In some cases, it was like watching a small version of Black Friday sales crowds, before the mayhem and murder.
Fortunately, American fans demanded that Nutella be available and we prevailed! Now, Nutella is available in our local grocery store and a few American food corporations have created their very own versions, of the luscious hazelnut spread. I wish them luck, but I am a loyal Nuella woman.
Eight years ago, blogger Sara Rosso created World Nutella Day to extol its wonders. Other food bloggers soon caught the bug and World Nutella Day became a grassroots success. Unfortunately, the “holiday” met with some early legal challenges from Ferrero, the Italian company that produced Nutella. Once they realized that World Nutella Day was not only a celebration of the product, but an opportunity to gain new fans, they relented and joined the fun. Today, Ms. Rosso and Michelle Fabio are the coordinators of the festivities, with the blessings of Ferrero.
If you have not tried Nutella, today is the perfect day for your first taste! To all the other Nutella fans out there, I high-five you with my spoon!
Breaking Up With Friends
The Drift: A Guide to Surviving a Friendship Breakup, by Lauren Foster, prompted me to look back at former friendships. Her tips for working through the process included: allowing oneself room to mourn, letting go, giving thanks, and finally, forming new friendships. It struck a chord with me, and I wondered if breaking up with friends was as difficult as breaking up with a significant other.
Social media allowed me to reconnect with many old friends, meet the man who became Hubby, and find new sets of like-minded people who shared my interests in Zumba, health and weight loss, Nursing and reading. I met my Zumba instructor friends in 2008, at the ZIN (Zumba Instructors Network) Convention, after “speaking” with them on an everyday basis through a networking message board. When we met in person for the first time, it felt like a reunion of long-time friends. We had a wonderful time together and remained connected, through Facebook, even though we are scattered throughout the country. Similarly, I remained connected with new Nursing school friends and old high school and college friends.
Facebook also brought new people into my life and several acquaintances became friends. Because I craved the one-on-one interaction of looking someone in the eye when speaking with them, I wanted to meet online friends in person. Logistically, that was impossible. Additionally, there was a layer of anonymity and artifice as we could create an online persona different from our own. There was a chance that we were getting a “sanitized for the internet” version of someone’s personality, but I think people’s true colors eventually surfaced the more we got to know each other.
Recently, a couple of my online friendships reached a logical end. One was easily dismissed, as she was not someone I felt comfortable confiding in. She was an oversensitive, passive/aggressive person whose feelings were easily hurt. Moreover, her definition of confidentiality and mine were incompatible. Communicating with her was simply tiresome and reminiscent of volatile, hormone-driven Middle School friendships. Peace. Out.
The other break up hurt. She and I bonded over mutual experiences and beliefs. Unfortunately, her image of me was influenced by others and she accused me of speaking ill of her behind her back. At the same time she was speaking ill of me. I freely admitted to speaking (er, gossiping…gulp) about her, but my “error” was calling her out for doing the same thing.
I developed my own thick skin, but that did not mean that I had not suffered at the hands of Regina George and her ostracizing band of Mean Girls. After reaching out to her a couple of times, it became abundantly clear that she no longer wanted my friendship. I took a relationship break, as it became obvious that I was a”fan friend” there to build her up, rather than a partner in the relationship. I said goodbye privately to the friendship, and mentally moved her to my “cordial acquaintances” list.
The pain of losing the connections was similar to breakups I had with men. The drama associated with them, however, was decidedly female. While I didn’t have physical relationships with my female friends, I was still sad to see them leave. Once these friendships ended I immediately felt lighter, as if a weight had been removed from my chest. As I realized I would not be speaking with these people everyday as I had grown accustomed to, I embraced a short grieving period.
Then, something astounding happened.
I found TIME. Time to speak with other online friends, time to spend cleaning up my house, time to read other books, time to watch television, time to work and most importantly, time to spend with my family! It was not only liberating, but empowering and humbling. As those doors closed, others opened. I just needed to allow them the space, take a deep breath and plunge back in.
Tell me about your experience breaking up with friends. Was it an ugly breakup or did you just drift away from each other? Did you ever reconnect with the old friends?
Reading, Drinking and Dancing with a Chaser of Snark 
My favorite Valentine’s Day memory didn’t actually happen on Valentine’s Day. Hubby and I had been living together for about six months and talked about getting married. He met my parents, and unbeknownst to me, asked my Dad for my hand in marriage, at Christmas. For a while I thought he was going to propose at Thanksgiving…then at Christmas…then on New Year’s Eve. But, nothing happened.
I thought “ah, he’s waiting for Valentine’s Day,” and all the when-is-he-going-to-ask-me-to-marry-him stress left my body. It was briefly replaced with maybe-he’s-not-going-to-propose panic, but I figured it would happen eventually, otherwise we would not have talked about it. He also said, “leave Valentine’s Day open.”
Around the middle of January, my washing machine broke. Hubby said, “you need to be home because I’m calling a guy to come fix it.” Ok, cool. It never occurred to me that a repairman coming out to our apartment on a Friday afternoon was odd. So, when the “washing machine repairman” knocked on my door, I opened it.
It was Hubby, fortified by a few beers at Hooters (the waitress ended up comping all of them, when he told them was he was getting ready to do), and dressed in his suit dropped to one knee and proposed.
We still celebrate our un-Valentine’s Day date, almost 17 years later.
Tell me about your favorite Valentine’s Day.