Monthly Archives: February 2012

The process of feeling normal again…

I was just going over the last three years of posts and I realized that I’ve been writing a lot of fluff pieces lately, nothing really to do with the guts of post-marital recovery.

I’m still pushing forward.  Like the Sophomore theme song says, “We keep marching on…”

Today, I had the honor of meeting the newest character to The Sophomore, a wordsmith who just happens to be a professional writer and editor. And since he is armed like Hephaestus himself with his literary hammer and anvil striking blows on his red-hot keyboard, he gets the pseudonym “Smith.”  Welcome aboard!

Smith has done me the honor of going over the last three years of posts, from beginning to end, bad punctuation and all…and he says that my writing shows fortitude.  I’ve heard the comment “long-winded” before but never had I experienced a professional writer (with distinguished professional credits to his name out the wazoo) tell me I had a gift for writing and The Sophomore has the potential to be a book because I “write with fortitude.”  Don’t worry friends, I’m not letting it go to my head, we all know that this blog is a severe catch-all, so I’m just going to roll with the flow.  But, I am hoping if I beg hard enough, I’ll have an editor, which is pretty exciting stuff.

But Smith and I had a nice visit today and we talked about the last three years of me writing about recovering from the institution of marriage.  He looked at me and said, “When I read it [the blog] I thought to myself, been there, yep, been there, and been over there too.”  Like me, Smith has watched as his marriage disintegrated too.

We talked for a while about what we all go through when you are faced with watching what you thought would be a lifetime commitment crumble down around your ankles.  It’s not fun.  It’s not anything you ever thought it would be, but Smith told me how I’ve handled what’s happened to me, with the sense of humor I’ve tackled it with, is pretty unique.  I thought to myself, “What other way is there to do it?”  We also talked about how men can relate with everything I’ve written about over the last three years as well…hey look y’all, I might have universal appeal!  (To which I thought, “No way!!!!  Cool!”)

We talked at length about how when marriage ends, what happens to you directly afterwards depends entirely on where you take it mentally.  If you take your situation to a dark place, being depressed and wallowing in it, what do you think will happen?  You’ll be isolated in a very dark place that will ensure that the hill you have to climb, to get over what’s happened to you, will be that much higher.  Ok, I’ll admit it, sometimes it doesn’t look like a hill, it looks like a mountain the size of Everest.  But, you wake up every morning, you remember to breathe in and out and you take care of business no matter how stressed out you are or how much you hurt because you finally figure out what Marcus Aurelius meant when he said, “It’s up to you!”

As much as I hate to say it, when your marriage comes crumbling down and you’re sitting in the earthquake damaged house, the only person that can rebuild it is you.  You are the one who has to believe that tomorrow will be better than today, the day after that will be better than the day before and so on.  To be blunt, you have to believe in YOU.  No one is going to come along and rebuild your life for you.  Do not let anyone come and sell you a bill of goods that says that recovery will be an easy process because it’s not!

Last year, my sister said that when you hit year four after your marriage goes south, you start to feel normal again.  I hate to say it, but she’s right.  Lordy, I did not want my recovery to take four years, but coming up on the year three mark, I have to agree with her.

In year one, what did we find me doing?  A lot of lamenting.  Then there was more lamenting and whole lot of swearing.  Those were the days when f-bombs flew from my fingers like a squadron of B-17 bombers on a  carpet bombing mission during World War II, it didn’t matter if you were a soldier or a civilian in the war of my marriage, you got hit with an f-bomb.  But you know what?  That’s just fine.  If you’re in year one, as Michael J. Fox said as Marty McFly in Back to the Future “God damn it George, swear!”  Let it out.  Don’t hold it in.  If you hold it in, you’re just going to blow up later anyway, and last time I checked, each of us have an unlimited amount of swear words we can use in our lifetimes, so if you’re going to develop a temporary case of Tourette’s, damn it, let it be in year one.

In year two, you get to discover who you are again.  That’s right…it’s no more Mr. and Mrs., it’s just you.  Remember when you got married?  It was the “three entities living under the same roof” paradigm.  And no, I’m not talking about anything supernatural either.  The three entities of marriage are the “you”, the “me”, and the “us.”  Not a lot of couples really realize that there are three entities that live under the same roof while you’re married, but the kicker is that yes, while you’re bound by whatever covenant your belief system says, it’s also the fact that two unique individuals have decided to become known as a singular entity, “The Us.”  So, it’s three unique individuals in the living space because any married person will tell you, “I love my spouse, but I’m still me.”   It’s the old, “I might be married, but I’m not dead” paradigm when you see an attractive person pass by.

But now that the marriage is over and your ex-spouse and “The Us” have gone on their merry way, you feel it full force.  Your life has been turned upside down, and you’ve incurred more damage than an empty side of the closet and the vacancy on the other side of the bed: you’ve lost the “Us”, and your companion.  Now here is where I would usually put my cynical “and your companion that you stupidly trusted all those years.”  But you’re not the stupid one unless you were the one who single-handedly destroyed your marriage.  Here’s where I remind you, “Hey, it’s not all your fault, it takes two to tango, accept what’s happened, find the pieces of you that need work, work on them and above all, find the bright side.  Listen to me and KP when we say, ‘Put down the shoulder yoke and heavy buckets, accept your part in what happened then build a bridge and get over it.'”

Year two is when you look around, realize that you’re finally sleeping in the middle of the bed, the closet is just filled with your clothes and you’re doing just fine, thank you very much.  It’s the point where the bathroom vanity doesn’t look like it’s missing anything because your stuff is just where you like it and no one is coming in and moving stuff around.  Year two is when you get to look in the mirror and say, “I’m still sexy” if you haven’t had that confidence boost hit you in year one…by year two, you should be feeling it.  However, here is where I’m going to tell you that you’re still going to have apprehension about getting back out there, the flesh will be willing to get some attention, but the spirit is still a little tattered and torn.  Year two is also known as “getting back up onto the horse and finding your own innate nutritional value.”

So, here we are, closing in on year three.  It’s like Smith told me today, “It’s all about fortitude” and he’s right. Yeah, (excuse the expression) your marriage or long-term relationship went to shit.  It happens!  Hate to break it to you, but even if it’s just now happening to you, you’re not alone.  Don’t be bitter, take solace in the fact that lots of us have been through it and if you reach out to your friends, decide to author a blog or just go out and get hammered, you’ve started your recovery process and you’re going to make it!  (Just don’t let getting hammered all the time become the norm.)  What happens next is up to you and where you decide to take it.  I have a strong suspicion that year three is all about guts.  Yeah, you’ve had to use up a lot of that intestinal fortitude to get this far, but what are you waiting for?  As Patrick Dennis said in the book (later made into the great film starring Rosalind Russell) Auntie Mame, “Live, live, LIVE!  Live is a banquet and most poor suckers are starving to death.”  So, the question goes to you (and to me for all that goes):

What are you waiting for?  Step up to the table and eat your fill!

For those of you who have just begun your recovery, pick yourself up by your bootstraps and believe in yourself, you can do it!  Even though the world feels like it has come to an end, it hasn’t, you’ve just embarked on the beginning of a whole new chapter and adventure in your life.  You are free to write your own story…what will it contain?  From me to you, I hope it’s filled with nothing but incredible, uplifting nutritional value.

For those of you who have been in on the journey from the beginning, or in the middle of years one or two and know where I’m coming from, clap and sing along at the top of your lungs…

We’re marching on!

Billy, the Oscars, Twitter and…

Ok, the show is over and everyone has been thanked, even the dog.

I’d like to thank Lucky and the Academy….

Classiest moment:  Christopher Plummer getting an Oscar at age 82, looking at it and saying, “You’re only 2 years older than me.  Where have you been all my life.”  Very sweet and if you doubted for a moment that he’s Canadian, just his small nod to his Corps d’Esprit au Francais and you knew he was bilingual in a heartbeat.

This year’s Oscars were my first time out as a member of the Twitterati…and I have to say, I might have tweeted too much, but I seriously doubt it, since I have only 5 followers.  LOL.

My tweets for the night can be found at:!/etrnl_sophomore.  But, if you’re not into digging through all that, here’s my faves of the night…

6:43 pm – Tony Stark & Pepper Potts present an #Oscars. No, not a promo for#IronMan3. Lol
6:58 pm – I hope someone has their finger on the bleep button for Melissa Leo.#Oscars
7:54 pm  Note: the dog has been thanked. #Oscars

Directly after tweeting about the dog, I thought to myself, I guess everyone and their dog has been thanked…but isn’t it a little early to tweet that?  The show wasn’t even over yet!

Oy veh, the news is playing behind me, Sasha Baron Cohen did something idiotic, enough to be mentioned on the news…which makes me want to look at my Ethics Professor and ask, “Was that really newsworthy?”

Back to the show though…




We remember me going through “It’s Complicated.”  From writhing in my seat in the theater because it was too soon after my ex left, to three years later when I can now heartily laugh and get all the way through it without an issue.  On the stage at the Oscars tonight, Meryl got out her glasses to present an award and to my complete surprise and joy, they were the exact same glasses that she wore in “It’s Complicated.”

7:57 pm – Omg! Meryl is wearing her glasses…the same glasses she wore in “It’s Complicated” #Oscars

Not but a few minutes later:  8:29 pm – Go #Meryl!!!! Yaaaaaaay! #Oscars  when she won for best actress.  

Let’s be clear, the fact she’s been nominated 17 times is a sign – she’s that great.  I’m glad she won!  However, the Twitterati weren’t as convinced as I was.  I saw Tweets that said Viola Davis (loved her in Eat Pray Love) should have won for her role in The Help.  Others were upset about Michelle Williams not getting the nod for My Week with Marilyn.  I didn’t see anyone get upset over Rooney Mara’s loss, nor did we see anyone get upset over anyone else…

Hold it, we have to stop for a moment on Rooney Mara.  Now, that is a very young girl.  She’s 26.  Since she is 26, I want to slap the head off of the moron who picked her dress.  As I was watching the red carpet coverage before the show, I was on a voice chat with RJ.  I stopped everything I was doing when I saw her dress, keyed the mic and RJ heard:

“Oh.  My.  God.  No.  They couldn’t be so cruel to that young woman.  You should see her dress.  You know, my bust is something that I can’t get around or hide so I like for it to sit up high, a shelf if you will.  The dress they put on that poor girl looks like her boobs are sagging down to her whatevers.  Really?”

Sufficed to say, Rooney Mara’s dress was a disaster, probably the worst dress coupled with the worst hairdo… Asian bangs with a bun?  Um, sorry Rooney, but no, don’t ever do that again.  Between the saggy boobs on such a young body and a hairdo that was just repulsive, I hope she comes back next year with something a bit more stunning.

Three way tie for favorite red carpet look:

Jessica Chastain (The Help)
Penelope Cruz
Sandra Bullock

Now that’s some serious elegance.  Far and away Penelope Cruz stood out and I’m thrilled to see Pedro Amaldovar’s “It” girl glisten in the early spring sun.

Tonight on the Oscars, I heard a lot of French.  Oui!  J’ai fait! (I did.)  From Monsieur Plummer to Monsieur Dujardin…which probably have both gone “eh tabarnac!  J’ai gagné!” which translates roughly to mean “holy crap I won!”  Yeah!  Lots of French, but since we’ve ventured into the rest of the world outside of Hollywood, you know I gotta do it, the list of “why in heavens did you do that?”

The foreign language film that won this year is from Iran.  When the director of the film went on stage to accept, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up.  In the back of my mind, the PR practitioner in me said, “Oh God, don’t do it, please, please, let me be wrong…” I wasn’t.  You guessed it, out of the film maker’s mouth came a political mini-treatise.   I did, I facepalmed right then and there.  I figure that when you’re honored for your work, let it be about the work, not about the political BS that goes on around it.  All he needed to say was “Thank you Academy.  Thanks to my kids, wife, etc, etc, even the dog…” but to include international politics?   Politics in acceptance speeches went out with Susan Sarandon’s and Tim Robbins marriage and Michael Moore mouthing off about Bush II.   
I really wanted to go around this, but since I did it last year, I have to do it again. instead of the James Franco fiasco I wrote about last year, we have Will Ferrell and Zach Galifianakis, probably the worst two offenders to my delicate sensibilities since Chris Farley.  Just having to write about them make me want to soak my entire person in bleach to get the filth off.  A million scrub brushes could not get the stank of their performance out of Oscar history and for that I’m just mortified.  I tweeted:  “Sweet lordy, I’ve found a bathroom break, it’s called Will Ferrell and Zach G.”  I couldn’t watch.  When I saw Will Ferrell step over the orchestra barrier in that blinding white tuxedo, I said, “Oh HELL no” and took myself to the bathroom.  But let’s add insult to injury because those two can’t help but insult intelligence and good taste… Zach Galifianakis decided that he was going to close cut his beard (which he already looks like human filth) and leave his mustache long.  Ok kids, let’s break it down and I’m not going to be nice because I don’t have to…the man looks like white trash and he had the audacity to show up at the Oscars, THE OSCARS mind you, looking just like he stepped out of The Hangover.  Really?  I ask you…what person in their right mind does something like that?  Oh, nevermind, to quote the great Shirley MacLaine in the film Steel Magnolias: I doubt he takes the dishes out of the sink before he pees in it.  The Academy Awards = Venerated Institution (politically swayed or not).  The Academy has been in existence since the 1920’s, that’s 84 years of Oscar and that piece of trash shows up looking like that!  How dare he!

But speaking of obnoxious mustaches…Bradley Cooper, 2011’s Sexiest Man Alive on the cover of People Magazine sporting what the Twitterati called “His Porn-stash”.  I told RJ when I saw it, “Holy lordy his mouth is so wide when he smiles, it looks like a black bar across his mouth.  Why in hell he feels the need to channel Tom Selleck is beyond me.”  No Bradley, you are NOT Tom Selleck.  Get out the Barbasol and get shavin’ and take your pal, that excuse for a human being called Zach Galifianakis with you.  Lather face, use a SHARP razor, shave closely, then rinse.  Like Bill Cosby in Himself reminding his children, please don’t forget to dry your face afterward.
Then there was Angelina’s pose with the dress that showed a lot…I mean a lot of leg.  But, as fate would have it, the gentlemen who won the award she presented (I can’t remember what it was) wait, let me look it up…it was for the writers…hahahahahaha!  I’m sorry, just the thought of her giving the writers something to write about strikes me as something very ironic…oy veh.  But, you can’t keep a good writer down, the Original Screenplay trio that won the award she presented mocked her vampish posing with the dress.  Way to go guys!

I forgot one thing…The Artist.  It won best picture, but as I watched the producer high-five Harvey Weinstein, well, I knew what happened, like Chicago before it, it made me realize that money does buy Oscars, whether it be promotional team behind it to the people “coercing” others to vote for the film with the most money behind it.  The thing about The Artist –  it’s a film I don’t even want to see, but they do that every year, don’t they?

But then, there was Billy.  Thank the Gods and creative forces in the universe because Billy Crystal brought the Oscars back up to par.  His opening with Justin Bieber just to make sure the 18-24’s got their fix was just hysterical.  George Clooney kissing him was funny, but then it’s Billy, what more can you ask for?  Thank you Billy, thank you, thank you, thank you. The cracks about the Kodak company filing for bankruptcy so therefore the theater was nameless “Chapter 13 Theater”, “Nameless Theater” were absolutely priceless.  You are what an Oscar host always should be. 
In all, 33 tweets, two eyerolls and a lot of fun watching and Tweeting about the biggest night in Hollywood.
Have fun surfing all of the coverage of the 84th Annual Academy Awards from the Chapter 11 Theater.
As for me, I’ve got to read for my Media Law class.  Have a good night everyone!
Song of the day…you know I have to do it… Billy’s opening monologue…nine is the new five.

Taking time for me…

Have you ever noticed how sometimes life likes to go so fast that you forget the most important person in your life?  That’s right, I’m talking about you.  Yourself.  The body, mind and spirit you wake up in every morning.

The last 24 hours have been an exercise in figuring out how badly PMS likes to tear me up.  Oh, I’m not easy when it happens.  My fuse becomes short, I become extremely irritable and if my cell phone goes off with even something as mundane as a text message, there is a large probability that my mind will envision it flying across the room.  Not good.

Doc Cat taught me last spring that when something like that happens, you have to sit back and breathe.  Take a nice long deep breath, hold it in for a few seconds then let it out, imagining all of your stress exiting your body through the air exiting your lungs.  I did that, then I realized that even with all of the school, work, and every little other thing that seems to eat my time like a hungry animal, I needed to take time for me.

Even further than that, I realized something else: How often do we really take time for ourselves?  To pamper ourselves a little bit, whether it’s a mani/pedi or a massage or even down to just turning everything off and enjoying the silence and breathing in a little bit of peace.

How often do we really do that?

For me, it’s not often enough.  For some unknown reason, I always thought taking time for myself meant that I could have a couple of hours of play time with a video game, but I soon realized that’s not really taking time for myself, that’s enslaving myself to the computer.

I realized that I need to truly undertake an effort to find out what it means to take time for myself.

So I’ll lob the question to the gallery, what does taking time for yourself mean to you?

Billy is BACK!

That’s right my ladyfish and jellyspoons!  With a great sigh of relief I saw tonight that the one and only Billy Crystal will be hosting this year’s 84th Annual Academy Awards.  WOOOHOOOO!

If you remember my posts from last year, you know that I screamed from my balcony, “Where’s Billy?”  Well, this year he’s back.  Thank the gods.  No more James Franco.

I’ve joined the Twitterati for this year’s fun and games, so I’ll be tweeting sophomore-style live from my couch during the telecast.  Want to follow along?  Just find @etrnl_sophomore on Twitter.  That’s me!  Hey, you should follow along just to watch me do my style of humor in only 140 characters!  Take that you “oh she’s long-winded” critics!

By the way, great article this month on Twitter in Vogue, it sold me on joining up.

So, raise your glass and cheer, Billy is back!

By the way, two new things:  I’ve updated the Soundtrack page, so if you had a tune you heard here but can’t remember the name, the list is up to date.  Second, I’ve got a brand new Twitter widget that will let you follow my tweets if you so choose.

Today’s song of the day goes out to the host with the most’s and his ninth appearance with the big golden guy…The Boys Are Back by Thin Lizzy.

Watching the Dog Show…

Since it was Valentine’s Day, I wanted to snuggle up with something I really love.  On television last night was the Westminster Kennel Club Show and you all know how crazy I am about a very special dog…Ace’s Dalmatian, Lucky.

Now we’ve all gone over how much I love that dog and I always miss him.  As I watched the show, happily trotting across my screen came a Dalmatian named “Spotlight’s Ruffian” or “Ian” for short.  I sat there thinking of Lucky and just cried.

We all know how Lucky’s life has gone.  He’s a darling dog with so much spirit, to know he came from such a horrid past (for those of you who don’t know, he was rescued from a dog fighting ring, severely emaciated with a savagely broken leg) to being a loving pal, well, watching Ian trot across the screen, I thought of Lucky and how much that dog means to me.

I sat with pride watching Ian participate in the Best-In-Show since he had won the Non-Sporting Group the night before.  To be honest, I was looking forward to watching a member of Lucky’s breed beat the snot out of those other pretentious, snobby dogs. Because I know how wonderful a dog a Dalmatian can be, I sat still with my fingers crossed thinking that this could be the year that the Dalmatian wins it’s first ever Best-In-Show.  I thought to myself, “Come on Ian, don’t let Lucky down…”

Now remember, I’m not a big dog fancier.  I’ve been around the large Doberman’s that call my sister’s house home, even the little half-pint Fox Terrier mix Zoe.  I’ve been around all of my sister’s dogs from Stosha the Alaskan Malamute to Bo, a Heinz 57 mutt that had more personality than a carload of starlets.  Then there’s Smash, my nephew’s Boxer and a few other dogs like a friend of mine’s Neapolitan Mastiff named Uzi (which by the way, I don’t care what anyone says, the Neo isn’t a dog, that’s a horse).  But not a single one of those dogs has stolen my heart like Lucky.

So after watching Ian the Dalmatian take the best in the Non-Sporting group, I was rooting for him hard-core.   When I heard that no Dalmatian had ever taken Best-In-Show, I kept my fingers crossed hoping that Ian would break the glass ceiling for all spotted dogs everywhere.  But, Ian had some stiff competition going on.  There was Fifi or “The Fifinator”, a beautiful female Doberman that I know Nan and Carl’s Dobbie Wrecks would have fallen head over heels for.  Then there was a gorgeous German Shepherd who had a fabulous gait and even a wire-haired Dachshund was sandwiched in between the Irish Setter and a Kerry Blue Terrier.  Then came the bane of my existence, like some large cat coughed up a hairball, out waddled a Pekingese.  (At that point I was grateful that the Toy Group didn’t barf up a rat-like (bane of my existence) Chihuahua.)  No offense to the Chihuahua lovers out there, but I can’t stand them, so don’t ask me to change my mind now.

When I saw the Pekingese waddle out, my heart flew up into my throat.  “Oy veh,” I thought, “There goes another year without the Dalmatian sitting on top of the heap…they always pick the Pekingese.”  I honestly don’t get it.  Now I will give a large caveat, I hate, despise and otherwise have nothing but disdain for small dogs.  Zoe is the one exception because she’s family, otherwise the rest of those over-fluffed fleabags can go hide in some rich chick’s purse because I have zero use for them.

I like dogs with some size, a true companion that will give a hearty bark that sounds like it comes up from the pads on their feet, a thunderous warning to all non-friendlies that come into the vicinity.  THAT is what I call a dog.  Ok, Bo never barked, but he could if he really needed to and it wasn’t some wimpy sound either.   Even though he was relatively small, he still let you know he was there.  But the point is, I’m a big fan of dogs with foxy faces (no jowls or faces that look like they’ve been squarely hit with a frying pan).  I like a beautiful face on a dog, like a Shiba Inu (who, by the way, looks very similar but not as fluffy as Bo):

How can you tell that face “No”?

Then of course is Lucky and the wonderful Dalmatian face:

This isn’t Lucky, but I just wanted to give you a great Dalmatian pic.

See?  No jowls!  Just a great looking what I consider a “face” dog.  I liked the German Shepherd, he was a handsome animal and the Irish Setter wasn’t bad, I mean the dog is a little too skinny for my taste, not enough meat on the bones and a little to stick figurish from the front.  Besides, think about it, the Westminster Kennel Club show is like the Super Bowl for dogs, but when they’re not being shown, they’re regular dogs, so upon checking out the Irish Setter with its’ long coat, I thought to myself, “That’s a high maintenance dog…no thank you!”  On top of all that, I like a dog that just looks good 24/7 without having to brush it constantly.  I’m a wash and wear kind of dog person.  I like it when you can get out the hose on a summer day and have a good time washing your pup of choice without having to go through hours of drying, combing and frou-frouing.  I’m a hose ’em down, scrub ’em up and let ’em shake the water off kind of gal.  If they don’t look good after that, it’s not a dog I want around.  Besides, all that fur holds in foul odors and I like a good smelling dog, not a stank factory.

So, back to the show.  I held my breath as a couple of dogs went around the ring before Ian.  They did look really nice and I worried for the only spotted contestant in the group.  But then it came time for Ian to be judged.  I held my breath as the judge looked him over and I giggled as Ian’s tail was just a-wagging!  I sat back at that moment pondering whether or not the judge was going to take points off for the wagging because none of the other dogs did it.  But, if you know anything about a Dalmatian, they’re very animated and love to wag their tails because they really love pleasing the humans around them, so if that judge really knew Dalmatians, she’d know that was very normal for a happy dog of his breed.  After the judge looked him over, he was taken around the ring and the other dogs stepped up and had their turn.

At the end of the day, I was right…that *bleepity* *bleep* *bleep* *bleeping* Pekingese won the day.  As I looked at the judge next to the dog, I thought about something peculiar…Have you ever heard how some people look like their dogs?  Well, the lady judge that did Best-In-Show had hair that looked like guess who?  The Pekingese.  Go figure, she probably has one at home.

After the Peke was announced the winner, my heart broke into pieces.  Lucky and his breed had been snubbed once again for a little rat dog.  I thought to myself, “After all Lucky has been through, they dis his breed!  How could they!”  But then I realized they weren’t judging Lucky, they were judging Ian and the rest of the Dalmatian breed.  I couldn’t help but think that the judge had no love for the spots.  But I do!  Tons!

I might just have to call up Ace just to make an appointment to see Lucky.  Hey, he might be blind in one eye, have hip dysplasia and a limp, but he’s still my sweet canine boy!

A Pekingese may have won Best-In-Show this year at Westminster, but Lucky the Dalmatian is still Best-In-The-World to me.  Hats off to Ian for a great show and the rest of the Dalmatians that competed this year.  Don’t worry my spotted friends, we’ll get ’em next year.

To all of my fellow canine enthusiasts, hug your pal today, they deserve it.  There is no better friend to a human being than a dog.

So for Valentine’s Day I’m sending love to Lucky, Wrecks, Zoe, Bo (who is in Puppy Heaven), Daphne and to all of your dogs too.  A heart shaped box of dog treats is the order of the day.

To see the judging for this year’s show, go to

Fun Week

Lately, I’ve been in a full-on fight with my depression and thanks to a friend, she reminded me that things are never as bad as we think they are.  She reminded me that even though we strive to keep the big picture in mind, sometimes we get mired in our own little worlds.  She looked at me with a very concerned look and said, “There is no problem that you can’t face, the problem is that you run the risk of stressing yourself out to the point you make yourself sick.  You have to take care of your mind and body before you can do anything else, so get cracking on that.”  She also noted to me that I’m falling back into old destructive cycles and that I needed to remedy that because as she said, “We all know where that leads…”

I think she had a very valid point.

So instead of worrying about all the stresses in my life I’ve done everything in my power to alleviate, I decided to not take it so very seriously and instead woke myself up, making an effort to have a fun week this week.

Of course I can’t tell about everything because some of it has to do with school and the very hush hush happenings in one of my classes (that I’ll be more than happy to write about after April), but I will say I’m having a blast doing all of the neat pieces that is my campaigns class.  Lots of fun things going on.  I’m having fun with music and fresh ideas.

What’s bizarre is that it is filling me with energy I thought was all but gone.

I was reminded of something fun when I considered the movie Flashback with Kiefer Sutherland and Dennis Hopper, where Dennis Hopper as the film’s 60’s icon “Huey Walker” said, “The 90’s are going to make the 60’s look like the 50’s.”  You know, he was right, which makes my classmates laugh when I call the crowd I ran with at their age “The Hippie Revivalists.”  *looks around*  We were!  LOL!  The scary part is that I think a few of them think it’s really cool to be a hippie revivalist to which I go, “No no no no, back to the books you, you don’t get to do that…”  LOL.  I want them safe, not doing anything near the craziness that was the 90’s, much less the 60’s that I adore so but only know by movies, rumor and hearsay.

But, in all things, it’s fun to look back, but like a wrecking ball coming at our heads at 100 miles an hour, the future is dead ahead and we can’t avoid it, no matter how much fun it is to walk down memory lane.

Speaking of breaking cycles, I actually went to a movie theater to watch a movie last week, seeing Underworld: Awakening.  It was in 3D, so the special effects were cool and I enjoyed watching Kate Beckinsdale kick butt against Stephen Rea’s really creepy bad guy.  The downside? I was bummed to watch it without popcorn.  While the film really wasn’t heavy and I just viewed it as a special effects film, it really is a great popcorn movie.  Note to self, make sure to pop your popcorn at home, put it in a ziploc bag and carry it into the theater in your purse with a small travel-size bottle of water.

So today I’m spending my day cleaning up, try to break a few more destructive cycles, study for a quiz tonight and making sure I’ve at least gotten 30 minutes of exercise today.

The song of the day is for my fellow hippie revivalists…from the film “Flashback,” Big Audio Dynamite’s “Free.”