The Eternal Elixir

clouds with sun breaks

Mary: (Running through the house, lifting up cushions, checking the floor, all the bedrooms…) “Goddamn it to hell, where is it? Where did I leave it? I just had it yesterday, what did I do with it?” She checks all of her pockets, looks in the laundry hamper, even in the refrigerator. But it’s not there.

Voiceover: Mary has somehow misplaced her Faith. While she had a firm hold of it the day before, in a mere 24 hours she has managed to completely lose sight of it.

Mary at her kitchen sink: (Looking up to God): Alright you, now you listen to me. I’m doing everything you’ve asked. I’m doing everything right. Now I’m telling you, I want a sign. And not a subtle sign, like something in a song, or a sign in front of a church, or a text from an old friend. I want an overt sign. Something that tells me I’m on the right track. You hear me? I want a sign, and I want it today. I want it to bash me in the face with obviousness. I don’t want there to be any question in my mind that I am pleasing you. That I am living my life correctly. That I am destined for greatness. You told me I am, now it’s time for you to prove it. Send me a sign, goddamnit, and send it by the end of the day.”

Mary goes about her day, forgetting the demand she sent up to heaven. On the way to the beach she stops at the local convenience store for a bottle of water, and before pulling away, casually checks her email. She reads.

Holy shit.

She looks up and smiles.

Holy shit. Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit.

Mary has received news so big, so stupendous, that she knows there is no other explanation other than the fact that she has been holding onto Faith and Positivity for dear life. It is news she can’t quite wrap her mind around, and even when on the beach, keeps saying over and over to herself.

HOLY SHIT. HOLY SHIT. HOLY SHIT.

Mary to Faith: I’m sorry I lost you.

Faith: You didn’t. It was a minor lapse, a mere 24 hours. It happens all the time. Don’t give it another thought.

Mary: How did you do this for me?

Faith: Easy. If you emotionalize your thoughts and mix it with Me, events in your life immediately begin to manifest themselves physically.

Mary: But THIS, this was, this was…HUGE. I mean, it’s like a miracle, how can I ever thank you?

Faith: Thank yourself. You have recognized that I am the basis of all miracles. The element that transforms thought into the physical equivalent. You’ve worked hard, you deserve to be rewarded.

Mary: Yes. I do.

Faith: Congratulations. Shall I leave you with a verse?

Mary: Please do.

If you think you are beaten, you are,

If you think you dare not, you don’t

If you like to win, but you think you can’t,

It is almost certain you won’t.

If you think you’ll lose, you’re lost

For out of the world we find,

Success begins with a person’s will-

It’s all in the state of mind.

If you think you are outclassed, you are,

You’ve got to think high to rise.

You’ve got to be sure of yourself before

You can ever win a prize.

Life’s battles don’t always go

To the stronger or faster man

But soon or later the one who wins

Is the one WHO THINKS HE CAN!

Suck on that, doubters. More to come.

Ding Dong

beachside

Ding Dong

The weather yesterday was like rolling around inside a big, blue ball of cotton candy. I honestly can’t remember the last time I went to the beach two days in a row. I got some sun and took a swim, just happy to be alive, and grateful for the quiet beach. Then my brain alarm went off:

Mary! Mary! Mary! Mary! Mary! Mary!

Ugh. But my brain was right. Time to get back to work.

As I headed off the beach, I came off the walkway and gazed down at the single-file line of parked cars. It seemed analogous to general automotive universal supply and demand how many white cars there were in a row.

Ever do that? Drive or sit in traffic and start counting Jeeps, or Silverados, or white cars?

“Wow,” you say to your ungrateful uninterested brethren, “that’s the twelfth white car in a row.”

I was distracted coming off the beach, thinking about faith. Holding onto faith. Keeping the faith. Not losing faith. My head was down as I was writing the blog post in my mind (you can read it tomorrow), and I forgot where I was. Forgot where I was walking, just completely lost my sense of direction. I wheeled around, trying to remember where I parked, and my beach chair caught a gust of wind and slammed hard against the car I was passing.

I closed my eyes. Oh fuck, I thought. I can’t look. I’m not in the mood for this. I’m too busy, I have to get home, I can’t deal with finding this person on the beach, writing a note, calling my insurance company. SHIT FUCK GODDAMN IT TO HELL…..

I knew there would be a ding. There was no question in my mind. I flashed back to the day I was at the grocery store, a day after my return from Alaska, and still jet-lagged, I forgot to turn my shopping cart safely to the side after unloading it. The wind took it, and I watched the cart, like you watch a slow-motion bludgeoning in a horror movie, bash into a car two rows down.

And the owner was sitting in her car.

It was a miracle that there was no mark, and even more of a miracle that even though she initially looked cranky, was so gracious when I apologized profusely.

I wasn’t getting out of it this time, though. I knew it. I forced myself to look down, like when I was little and hurt myself, and could feel the blood running down my leg or arm, but still didn’t know how bad it was.

Loooook! I screamed mentally at myself. I forced myself to look in the direction of impact.

Yep. Fuck. A nice ding across the driver’s door. I looked around, considering my options, still mulling over my blog post about holding faith in life when it is most necessary, and decided to leave a note on the windshield. I figured the owner of the car could be anywhere, so a note would be easier. I carry a small Moleskin with me everywhere I go, so I ripped a page out and wrote:

I’m so sorry about the ding. Please call me at this phone number so I can give you my insurance information.

I placed it under the windshield wiper, and gathered my stuff to find my car. I made that impatient Huuuffffffff noise I make when I’ve had enough, looking down the line of white cars and trying to figure out which one was mine.

Wait. I looked forward and backward. Yep. I was standing in front of my car. I had dinged my own car. I took the note I wrote to myself from under my windshield wiper, and thought how nice it was of me to write myself such a nice note when I could have just left the scene of the crime.

I’m a fine individual, I thought to myself superiorly, as I packed my things in my trunk. I’ll call this insurance company later.

Reader: Is she really that ditzy?

Me: Sadly, yes.

Rose, Thorn, Bud

rose on book pages

Did an early beach morning after mass yesterday with a friend. Glorious.

Sunday beach mornings. Coffee, a scone and the paper, the acquisition of all three no problemo because stores are still quiet. The beaches like empty wind-swept plains, and all the space in the world to sit. I plunk down in my chair to listen to soft country music on my grasshopper-green transistor radio, and watch the lifeguards set up their stations. By the time families arrive, plodding through the sand with their wagons and assorted accoutrement, I am ready to head home.

But yesterday morning we didn’t want to head home. Even after three hours (my beach-sitting max), we didn’t want to leave. It was THAT de-lovely.

But head back we did. I had skipped breakfast, and for some reason, I couldn’t stop thinking about steak tacos. And oddly enough, when I looked in my beach bag for steak tacos, there were none in there. Which made perfect sense, because it’s quite common for me to NOT have steak tacos in my beach bag. So we left to go to a place where there would be a better chance of finding steak tacos.

Anyway, my friend sent me a link that asked me to provide my Rose, my Thorn and my Bud from Saturday. This is just a poetically-refined way of saying, “How was your day?” The Rose is a positive thing that happened, the Thorn is a negative, and the Bud is something you’re looking forward to. After I filled it out, I looked at it.

Dang, I thought, my Saturday looks boring AF.

But while it may have looked boring, it wasn’t boring to me. Chaotic summer Saturdays here at the shore are so invasive, so completely SOCIALLY INFILTRATING, that if I can’t escape the island on Saturday check-in days, I lie low and use them as an opportunity to attend to clerical and housekeeping stuff.

Saturday Roses:

Made banana bread with overripe bananas.

Washed and replaced all the household bedding.

Caught up with some of my sons’ friends before they all left for the city.

Made dinner for my youngest, who is NEVER home but for some reason that night, was.

Thorns:

Nowhere to sit at the local library. Did they miss the memo that the planet is reopened? I would really appreciate it if someone could tell me why the tables and study carrels have not been replaced. I got politely kicked out of the COMPUTER ROOM for using my personal computer at a computer lab table, no kidding. I left quietly and agreeably, but not before I quietly reminded the kind lab attendant that it is a “public library,” with nowhere to sit. I honestly think they’re trying to milk it until fall, so that they don’t have to deal with people using it as a hangout. If I’m wrong, feel free to change my mind.

Buds:

My new job, my new website, my son’s upcoming birthday dinner, and escaping island chaos this coming weekend for a special July Fourth celebration (more on this).

Here’s to a week filled with roses and buds!

More Cowbell

Will Ferrell snl playing cowbell

I shan’t be posting about gender roles today. I wrote it, but it turned out boring, and sounded bitchy and pretentious. I kept thinking it was missing something. And then it hit me.

Cowbell. It needed more cowbell.

It’s too nice out for such boorish drivel, and I want to play nine holes. So let’s have some fun, and do a:

June List of Five Things I Am Loving Right Now:

  • My Tuner. Eckhardt Tolle told me to buy one from his website to improve my mindfulness and alert my chakras. I’m wearing it right now, a small green and silver whistle attached to a silver chain around my neck. It’s just a tuner that I can blow whenever I get a negative thought, or when I want to come back to my center when I meditate. I only blew the tuner a few times today. Once behind a slow driver (tweeeet), once walking back to my car after waiting in a long grocery store line of tourists (tweeeet), and all the way home after I was stuck behind a guy at the toll booth who did not have an EZ Pass transponder, therefore the EZ Pass turnstile would not go up for him. Funny how those things work. We were all stuck behind him for ten minutes until an operator came and lifted the turnstile manually (tweeeeeeeeeeeeeet).
  • My New Website. My friend Jennifer is probably not reading this right now, as she tends to read my blogs in bulk, rather than daily. But just the other day, as we were discussing the reunion we are planning in the fall (along with our third Musketeer Katherine), she revealed that she now specializes in website design. “What a coincidence,” I said to her, “because I currently specialize in having a shitty website!” Yeah, so I’m thinking I will have this beautiful new user-friendly website by the end of the year or not soon after, one in which my sponsors can actually see their products being advertised. I want it to look polished and pretty like my favorite blogger’s website, who shall remain unidentified here because I am petty and immature, and I don’t want you to like her blog more than mine. So nanny nanny boo boo.
  • The “Colette” movie. Colette is one of my favorite authors, and Keira Knightly brought her to life for me. Even by today’s standards Colette was scandalous, and her Claudine books were even more so. My favorite part of the movie was when Colette confronted her domineering husband Willy about the fact that he sold the rights to the Claudine books without her permission. She stormed out, and demanded that her lawyers and book publishers identify her as the true Claudine author. She won that victory, and never spoke to Willy again. A racy, provocative flick, somewhere in and around HBO.
  • This DM on Instagram: “Hi Mary had a look over your profile seems like you are a great fit for @smoothmyballs. We are interested in working with you. Can you please drop them a message here: @smoothmyballs, and they will get back to you as soon as possible.” Oh, yes, indeed, you bet I will be sending them a message. I have to know what kind of job opportunity @smoothmyballs is offering me.
  • “Seinfeld” coming to Netflix.
  • BONUS: Here’s wishing you a weekend filled with more cowbell. Baby.
I gotta fevah. And the only prescription…is more cowbell.

Lunatic Fringe

It’s Cheat Day, fam.

Embedded here is the last scene in the movie “Vision Quest,” one of the most underrated sports movies on the planet along with “Win Win,” another classic wrestling movie. As a wrestling family, the song “Lunatic Fringe” by Red Rider echoed through our house, wrestling practices, warm-ups, and earbuds throughout three wrestling careers, hundreds of weigh-ins and fifteen years.

There’s no sport like wrestling. None. No sport even comes close. Once it’s in your blood, even as a parent, it’s there to stay.

This goosebump-inducing scene is right before Louden Swain finally gets his dream shot at wrestling Shute. One of our favorite family movies, and one of the best hype songs to warm-up to for anything from the gym, a contest, an interview or a presentation.

And no matter what your vision quest is, whether it’s that college degree, an entry-level position with that fancy company, award-winning roses or even just whiter teeth, here’s hoping you do something every day that chips away at the obstacles separating you from victory.

And I hope your Thursday lies somewhere between above average and the lunatic fringe. Because only by moving towards the lunatic fringe can one even hope to find anything nearing excellence.

Updates and Plug-Ins

logo of bluest

Welcome to Bluehost Chat!

Customer name: Mary Oves

Domain name: the-not-it-girl.com

Issue: Technical support

Issue Detail: There’s a big black solid rectangle at the top of my website.

Time: 5:00 a.m. EST

Bluehost Technical Headquarters:

(Reader note: These are actual , not made-up or parodied, names from past chats, documented from my customer service emails).

Sanjay: Fuck, Mary’s on.

Gupta: Shit. Is she even aware of what time it is here?

Rudra: She doesn’t care. I mean, does she ever sleep?

Sanjay: So, who wants her?

Gupta: I got her last time.

Rudra: Please, not me.

Dhruv: I’ll do it.

(All break out into laughter)

Sanjay: Have fun.

Dhruv: What’s wrong with her?

Sanjay: She’s the dumbest, most impatient person I’ve ever talked to on Chat.

Gupta: She doesn’t do her updates. Every time she calls in, it’s always because she hasn’t done her updates.

Rudra: Or her plug-ins.

Sanjay: Right, her plug-ins. How hard is it to check a little box and then click on “Update”?

Gupta: She spends twenty minutes being a total bitch, and then when she realizes it’s her own fault, she gets all nice.

Sanjay: Every time.

Rudra: Yo, you’d better greet her, before she gets her panties in a wad.

Begin Chat:

Dhruv: Good morning, Mary, please authenticate by supplying us with the token that has been sent to your email on record.

Mary: 344899.

Dhruv: You’re authenticated, thank you. So I read that there’s a rectangle at the top of your website. Could you provide me with extra detail?

Mary: Sure. There’s a big, black, solid rectangle at the top of my website. How’s that?

Dhruv: I see. I’m sorry to hear that. Let me try and help you with this. Can you send me the URL?

Mary: (Pastes link).

Dhruv: Thank you. Unfortunately, there’s a firewall blocking me from entering your website. Can you send me a screenshot of the rectangle?

Mary: Send you a screenshot of the rectangle? It’s a black rectangle, you can’t use your imagination?

Dhruv: Well, no, not really. I could really use the visual to diagnose your problem.

Mary: How is there a firewall blocking you from entering my website? You own my website. That’s like a CEO of a company not being able to enter his own building.

Dhruv: Yes, well, that may be true. Here is the link to send me a screenshot of your website page.

Mary: I don’t know how to take a screenshot of my Mac screen.

Dhruv: I see. Can you do it on your phone?

Mary: Yes, but then I would have to end this chat, and start over. I have a day today, I need to get this taken care of now.

Dhruv: I’m sorry to hear that, let me help you work on this.

Mary: Thanks.

Dhruv: Here is the link to switch our chat from your computer to your phone.

Mary: (Clicks, and finds the link in email and Dhruv pops up)

Dhruv: Great. Now can you take a screenshot of the rectangle and paste it into this link?

Mary: (Does it)

Dhruv: Thank you. Let me work on this.

Mary: (Waits)

Dhruv: Mary, I see the big black rectangle at the top of your website.

Mary: Yeah, so does everyone else. If I were writing a geometry blog, we’d be set. Now what?

Dhruv: I’m sorry, but this is a website design issue, not something for tech support. Have you tried updating all of your plug-ins?

Mary: Can’t you just do it for me?

Dhruv: Well, no, because as I said, one of your updates is creating a firewall that blocks us from accessing the website.

Mary: (Annoyed exhalation of breath)

Dhruv: Have you updated all of your plug-ins?

Mary: Yes, yesterday.

Dhruv: Maybe you can check again to see if something has been added.

Mary: Fine. (Checks) No, they are all checked off.

Dhruv: But did you hit the “Update” button at the bottom?

Mary: I’m pretty sure I did.

(Everyone in the room begins snickering behind Dhruv’s back, whispering, “Told you…”)

Dhruv: Could you check for me, please, Mary?

Mary: Fine.

Dhruv:

Mary:

Dhruv:

Mary:

Dhruv: Mary? How did it go?

Mary: Um, I think that was the problem. The black rectangle is gone. Um, thanks, I’m sorry I was rude. Technological stuff makes me nuts.

Dhruv: Great, Mary, I was so glad I was able to assist you today. Will there be anything else?

Mary: No, thanks so much.

Dhruv: If you wouldn’t mind taking a brief survey at the end of our chat about your customer service experience today.

Mary: I always try to, but it never sends.

Dhruv: Do you remember to hit the “Send” button?

Mary: Oh. No, sorry, now I see it.

Dhruv: My pleasure. Have a great day.

Mary: You too.

Dhruv (turns to colleagues, who are all laughing): Never again.

I Can Make That

image of AARP membership card

I Can Make That

I can’t speak for other women my age, but I’m super-excited to be 55 in August. I’m thinking of having my birthday announcement printed in the local newspaper next to a picture of me grinning and holding up my AARP card next to a sign for “Early Bird Half-Off Tuesdays for Seniors,” the way 21-year olds post pictures of themselves doing their first shot of Cuervo at a bar.

“I MADE IT BITCHES!” the caption will say.

As a former teacher who was always being mistaken for a student in the hallway for the first half of her teaching career, I can tell you that it was not as cute as it sounds. Not at all. Ask any baby-faced 35-year old man if he thinks it’s cute when he gets carded when he’s out with his friends.

Yeah, no.

Try being taken seriously as a teacher when a hall duty monitor who doesn’t know you asks you for your hall pass. When you show up to cover an unfamiliar class, and the class hoots and hollers because they think you are a young substitute. When you bring your sons to “Bring Your Kids to Work Day,” and everyone thinks you borrowed them.

I think it’s a total kick being older. Other women who are still trying to dress, talk and act 20, or 26, or 35 can have it. I did 20, 26, and 35, to great acclaim.

Time to enjoy 55.

I can’t wait to pull out my AARP card for that senior citizen discount. I’m laminating it and wearing it around my neck off a lanyard. Being 55 means that I’ll officially be old enough to finally stay at the super-exclusive 55+ communities in Scottsdale that I’ve been pining to patronize for 15 years. I’ll fit right in, because I already wake up at 5:00 a.m. and eat dinner at 4 p.m., so there will be nothing I’ll have to adjust to except those strange shoes the women seem to wear to the shuffleboard courts.

Old(er) age sneaks up on you. It sounds like a cliché, but it’s true.

One minute you’re 25 and speeding on the expressway headed to a party and listening to loud music, the next minute you’re 55, listening to Barry Manilow on Sirius and veering around small potholes on your suburban streets.

Mary slowing down: Whoa, whoa, whoa, Nellie, look at this pothole coming up! Gotta go around it (veers gently at a modest 12 m.p.h.), gotta save the tires. Man, the city needs to fix tha…COULD THIS BE MAGIC COME COME ON COME ON COME OH COME INTO MY ARMS…….!!!

One minute you’re 30 and tearing into a gift basket and throwing the trash on the ground to get to the wine, the next minute you’re 55 and drooling over the packaging.

ME: This ribbon is so pretty, I can save it and use it to tie up a Christmas present or tie around my perfume bottles! And this grass stuffing is good for the boys’ Easter baskets! And what a pretty basket, I can put hand wash inside the basket and put it on the back of the toilet, won’t that look cute?! And these packaging peanuts, I can paint them red and green and dangle them from the Christmas tree! And this box, this box is perfectly fine, there is nothing wrong with it, I can store pens and office supplies in it!

The Boys text me: “Hey, Mom, how’d you like the gift basket we sent you?”

Me: “It’s so beautiful, look at how I decorated it for the bathroom! (I take a pic and send it to them).

Boys: “Um, ok, that’s nice, but where is the stuff that was inside, the cookies and coffees and teas and wine and candies? Did you like the treats?”

Me: (Pause. Oops). “Wait, what treats?”

Boys: “The stuff inside, did you like it?”

Me: “Oh, the stuff. Um, hold on, I’ll go look now.”

Saving bags, saving string, saving boxes, because “you never know.” It’s like I lived through the Great Depression. My most recent thing is the phrase, “I can make that.”

You know this one. You’re at the supermarket, or passing by a great takeout restaurant, or craving something especially wicked, and instead of dialing a phone number, going through a drive-through, or heading to the frozen section, you stand there and think,

Wait. I can make that.

Takeout chicken enchiladas? No way. I can make that.

Boxed apple pie? Wait, I have the crust and the apples, I can make that.

$30.00 FOR A FILET AND A BAKED POTATO? Hell naw, I can make that.

Penne ala vodka and capellini with tomato and basil, garlic bread and chocolate lava cake? Yeah, no. Hold my beer. I can make that.

I will be celebrating my 55th birthday week in Scottsdale with friends this coming August. I’ve decided it’s time I experience the famed 112-degree Scottsdale summer for myself. I’ve heard so much about it. Something tells me it’s going to be hot.

But it’s a dry heat.

Huswifery

Huswifery

Just some housekeeping today:

I. Congratulations to Bryson DeChambeau and Brooks Koepka, who tied yesterday at the U.S. Open and must play a tie-breaking round today!

Ok, fine, that scenario did not come to fruition, but it’s what I wanted to happen. They were nipping at victory’s heels, then they both folded like two plastic lawn chairs. Wah. Bogeys don’t win the U.S. Open. Maybe they were too preoccupied with their media-fueled adolescent rivalry? Anyway, congrats to John Rahm, who won at -4. I’m pretty sure he deserves it, after getting pulled out of the Memorial Tournament so ignominiously while in the lead by six strokes for testing positive for COVID. Revenge is a dish best eaten cold, huh John? More of my thoughts on Bryson and Brooksie at a later time.

II. Here’s my “Revenge of the Fallen,” the newest post on the Erma Bombeck website, if you have never read it:

https://udayton.edu/blogs/erma/2021/06/revenge_of_the_fallen.php

III. I recently read an article entitled, “How to Make Mondays Less Heinous.” I taught for thirty years, and while I never dreaded Mondays, I did mourn my Sundays. I’m a perfectionist, so I wasted hours in the library on beautiful Sundays in preparation for my lessons. You could have poured water through my lesson plans while dangling them over a gremlin and he wouldn’t have gotten wet, they were that tightly researched.

Ways to make work Mondays less heinous:

  • Sleep through it
  • Quit
  • Call it Tuesday

Those were the funny ones. More:

  • Save something you enjoy wearing for Mondays only.
  • Wear a favorite perfume or cologne only on Mondays.
  • Plan to have a drink with a friend or spouse after work.
  • Get up early, light a scented candle, and meditate before work.
  • Leave a little early and treat yourself to a delicious coffee confection.
  • Get a cozy spot set up on your couch with Netflix and a bottle of wine ready to jump into as soon as you walk in the door.
  • Place a delicious dinner order to pick up on the way home.

Those ideas are all cute, but is it necessary to expend so much energy to convince yourself that you don’t hate one particular day of the week? I have a better idea:

How about just showing up to work, grateful that you live in a country where you can work unfettered, get a paycheck and pay your bills? Grateful that you’re strong and healthy? Grateful that someone hired you based on skills you have that they needed? Grateful that if you don’t like your current job, you have the opportunity, as does every human being on Earth, to change to a different one?

Just saying.

IV: I’m so flattered to receive inquiries about my impending life coaching. Here’s some Q&A:

Q: Are you life-coaching yet?

A: Not yet. I will be certified in February.

Q: What are your niches?

A: Transitions and Personal Manifestation. So far. I may expand beyond those.

Q: What do those two niches mean?

A: When I’m certified, I’ll post everything about it.

Q: What will you charge?

A: Package prices will be posted in 2022.

Q: Do you have clients yet?

A: I have a few ready to go late in 2022.

Q: Will you coach around here?

A: Doubtful. Too much personal history.

Q: Speaking engagements?

A: Yes, in 2022. I’ll post them as they get closer.

Q: Where are you getting certified?

A: I’m not sharing all of my secrets, some stuff is just my stuff. But it’s a very prestigious company.

Q: What does life coaching have to do with your brand “The (Not) It Girl?”

A: It’s all-inclusive. Writing, blogging, speaking, coaching, consulting.

Q: Will your coaching, consulting, etc., all be on this website?

A: No. My prediction is that all facets will eventually be encapsulated into one fancier, more user-friendly website that I will pay someone to design.

Q: What will be the title of your book?

A: It changes every day, but we’re getting closer to narrowing it down.

Q: When will your book come out?

A: Earliest 2023. It’s an incredibly time-consuming process.

Q: Do you feel ready to be a coach?

A: No. I wouldn’t even hire me right now. I still have much work to do. But I’m getting there.

V. I received this question in email:

Were you the woman in the scenario in Thursday’s blog in which the man and woman were out to dinner, and the woman rudely rejected the guy for implying she take the check?

Answer: Yes and no.

That exact scenario did not happen. I would never talk to a man that way. I love and respect men.

However, yes, I am an old-fashioned romantic. I think oftentimes men misunderstand female sexual appetite and accompanying vocalization of that appetite as a woman wanting to be dominant in the relationship.

(Oh, Bubba, nooooooo)

That’s not me. If a man doesn’t want to pay for dinner, or gas, or a show, or a room, or a weekend, then he shouldn’t ask me out. I mean, cheapskates need not apply. I’m a generous person, I expect the same in return. I honestly don’t know how else to word it.

I’ve been skirting around it, but I think it’s time I address this topic in more detail. Look for it later this week.

Gulp.

The Warrior’s Goal

Remember that great night’s sleep I recently bragged about?

Well, today for your viewing pleasure, I have a little compilation clip of the Sandman’s response to that blog. “How dare that arrogant little bitch,” he must have thought, “suggest to thousands of readers that she can manifest the perfect night’s sleep? Only the Sandman can manifest the perfect night’s sleep!” The following is how he responded to me on Tuesday night:

Lah-HOO. Sah-HER.

Thanks, Sandy.

If Saturday night was in the top ten best night’s sleep I have ever gotten, Tuesday night was in the top ten WORST. No exaggeration. I’ve gotten better sleep on airplanes. And just like Saturday night, the sleep experience seemed arbitrary and capricious, based on, well, NOTHING.

The first hour of tossing and turning: “Ha ha, wow, I can’t get comfortable.”

Second hour: “I don’t remember drinking coffee late in the day. Did I drink coffee late in the day?”

Third hour: “This is fucking ridiculous.”

Fourth hour: “If I fall asleep now, I’ll get a solid four hours.”

Fifth hour: “Fuck, I need to be SHARP for tomorrow. Wait, it is tomorrow.”

Sixth hour: “Maybe I should just get up for the day.”

Seventh hour: “Oh God, why did I say that to Jimmy Tompkins in the eighth grade?”

Eighth hour: “My recliner looks like a prancing capybara in this light.“

I DID need to be sharp for Wednesday. I had an interview for a consulting job I really really really really wanted, a conference call with a marketing firm, and of course I didn’t want to skip the gym. I hate skipping the gym. I mean it, I was distraught.

How in the world, I thought, as I dragged myself to the bathroom at 5:00 a.m., am I going to do all of that on no sleep?

I felt like shit, but I stayed on schedule, and did my best. There was no other solution. I showed up at the gym, and did my best. I had my interview, and I did my best. I took the conference call, and I did my best. It wasn’t my usual best. But it was the best I could do on Wednesday, June 16th, 2021.

I was offered that consulting job. And I had vowed to myself that if I was offered that job, I would GO BIG and hire that company to market my brand. When Joe called me an hour early, I was still on the beach, and didn’t have notes in front of me. Luckily I had the terms memorized, and I was able to say “Yes, let’s work together.”

(This educational consulting job was important to me. I’ve been interviewing for positions like this one for three years, either never even scoring an interview or just falling short of a final offer. I have turned down countless positions as well because I wanted to be available when the perfect position and company appeared).

So Wednesday, instead of being a horror of a day, was a victory. Oh, and Wednesday night I slept great AGAIN.

Sandman be bein’ funny.

So as you slide into your weekend, I will leave you with one more quote by Don MIguel Ruiz:

The warrior’s goal is to transcend this world, to escape from the hell, and never come back. If you fall do not judge. Be tough. Start over. Don’t be concerned with the future. Stay in the present. ONE DAY AT A TIME.

Mitotes

(mitotes: a thousand parts of your mind all speaking at the same time)

Is there anyone that doesn’t have a school cafeteria anxiety story? You know, walking through the cafeteria cacophony with a Sloppy Joe sandwich on your tray, feeling embarrassed you might trip and spill your tater tots, wondering if your outfit is as cute as it looked in the morning, nervous you might not find a seat at a table with your friends?

-How about when you’re standing at a party with no one to talk to, and you feign interest in the potted plant, because you’re sure you look like a pathetic loser? (You asking a stranger next to you: “Hey this is a healthy ficus, I wonder what they’re feeding it.” Him: “I’m pretty sure that’s plastic.”)

-Or when you’re at a work function, and you pretend to have important work so no one notices you’re not dancing?

-Or when you ARE dancing, and you’re absolutely positive that people think your dancing looks more like a full-body heave set to music? (Seinfeld ref)

Hopefully you know differently now, but maybe you were today years old when you found out the truth:

No one was looking at you. No one cared. You wasted all of that anxiety for nothing.

Don Miguel Ruiz:

“All the sadness and drama you have lived in your life was rooted in making assumptions and taking things personally. Assumptions set us up for suffering.”

Let me take this away from the school cafeteria and take it to something more adult, like the #1 American fear: public speaking. In 2018 I worked with a very well-known public speaking company, and over and over again, the issue of nervousness and fear was raised in every breakout session.

“Nervousness and fear of public speaking is easily solved with three words,” said our moderator.

By the end of the session, he had proven his point. The three words not only solved any lingering nervousness I had about presenting, but it solved all lingering assumptions I had in any situation. The words?

Get over yourself.

Forget yourself. You don’t matter. Your magic happens when you focus on your audience. When you stop thinking that it’s about you, that is when your greatness begins to emerge. Here’s a quote from that public speaking book:

“When we focus on ourselves, we create a barrier- a filter- between ourselves and others. Because we are trying to avoid making mistakes, we have put up our guard to protect ourselves. Our guard is our own filter. You know what happens when we put up our filter? Others mirror us and put up their filter. Now we have double-blocked ourselves from others.”

The greatest lesson I learned during training is that I DON’T MATTER. Stop caring how people perceive you, and do your job, because guess what? The audience doesn’t care about you.

Assumptions can be applied to relationships. Say a man and a woman meet on Hinge, and agree to have dinner. The woman is a real romantic, and believes the man, at least initially, should pay for dinner, drinks, the room, etc. She is very sensitive about this issue, and while she has never communicated this to this new man in exact words, she assumes he should have gathered this from their many conversations.

Ruh-roh.

Now the man is a good guy, but he also knows from past experience that some women get insulted when a man insists on paying. So on this evening, instead of grabbing the bill, he defers to her by leaving it in the middle of the table, to see what she wants him to do.

You can imagine how well this goes. She, being old-fashioned, thinks that he is suggesting she pay, and she demurs, pushing the bill toward him. He tries to explain, but it is too late. She tells him that she’s sorry, but she’s old-fashioned, and couldn’t possibly date a man who believes a woman should pay for dinner on the first date. There is no second date.

To finish with Ruiz:

We only see what we want to see and hear what we want to hear. We don’t perceive things the way they are, and create dreams in our imagination. We make assumptions and when the truth comes out, the bubble of our dream pops and we find out it was not what we thought at all.

Tomorrow I finish the week with a discussion about the benefits of doing your best, no matter what that “best” looks like.