What's in the gallery?

We dissolve stuck and rewrite patterns. We apply radical playfulness to life (when we feel like it!), embarking on internal adventures (credo of Safety First). We have a fake band called Solved By Cake. We build invisible sanctuaries, invent words and worlds, breathe awe and wonder.

We are not impressed by monsters. Except when we are. We explore the connections between internal territories and surrounding environment to learn what marvelously supportive delicious space feels like, and how to take exquisite care of ourselves. We transform things.* We glow wild.**

* For example: Desire, fear, worry, pain-and-trauma, boundaries, that problematic word which rhymes with flaweductivity.

** Fair warning: Self-fluency has been known to lead to extremely subversive behavior, including treasuring yourself unconditionally, unapologetically taking up space, experiencing outrageously improbable levels of self-acceptance, and general rejoicing in aliveness.

What's in the gallery?

We dissolve stuck and rewrite patterns. We apply radical playfulness to life (when we feel like it!), embarking on internal adventures (credo of Safety First). We have a fake band called Solved By Cake. We build invisible sanctuaries, invent words and worlds, breathe awe and wonder.

We are not impressed by monsters. Except when we are. We explore the connections between internal territories and surrounding environment to learn what marvelously supportive delicious space feels like, and how to take exquisite care of ourselves. We transform things.* We glow wild.**

* For example: Desire, fear, worry, pain-and-trauma, boundaries, that problematic word which rhymes with flaweductivity.

** Fair warning: Self-fluency has been known to lead to extremely subversive behavior, including treasuring yourself unconditionally, unapologetically taking up space, experiencing outrageously improbable levels of self-acceptance, and general rejoicing in aliveness.

Talking to the Time Gremlins

It kind of seemed like the right time to stop avoiding that conversation with the stuckified stuckness of stuckery-stuck.

But I still didn’t want to actually talk to the stuck.

Oh, and the stuck definitely did not want to talk to me.

So I decided to go on a reconnaissance mission: just to collect some basic information, in case we ever should get around to talking. You know, eventually.

The plan was to do this without the help of a negotiator or any other form of mediation, but to have Selma tag along as back-up. I may have also brought a sock monkey.

In which I try to establish contact with a stuck.

In case you don’t remember from last week, this particular stuck is the one that doesn’t let me take time off because ohmygod the guilt. And the shame.

And the fear that everything will fall apart.

Me: Hey, stuckified resistance that lives inside of me. I would like to get some information from you.
My stucknesses: We’re not talking! We’re not talking! You can’t make us! You can’t make us!
Me: Oh, crap. There’s a bunch of you? And you’re what, six years old?
My stucknesses: We’re not talking!
Me: Are you not talking because you’re afraid I’m going to talk you out of your position?
My stucknesses: Maybe.
Me: Aw, come on. You know I’m all about meeting people where they are. I won’t try to convince you to not exist. I just want to know what you think.
My stucknesses: Pthffthlphthlphth!

Me: Fine, I might logic with you the teensiest bit. It seems to me, though, that when you say things that scare me, you also use logic. So it’s only fair that I can logic back sometimes, right?
My stucknesses: Oooooooooooh. Look who’s not afraid to be all confrontational. You think you can logic us? Ha! Think again!
Me: Wow. Okay. Nobody’s confronting anything. You know that’s not what this is about. All I want is some information about what your arguments are.
My stucknesses: No you don’t.
Me: Try me.

In which I catch my stuck in a bald-faced contradiction.

Me: Just so I know where you stand, tell me again why it’s bad for me to take time off. Because my experience is that I work much better when I let myself have restorative time.
My stucknesses: Everyone will hate you! They’ll resent you! They’ll say mean things! They’ll throw shoes!
Me: And why is that?
My stucknesses: Come on! You didn’t take a vacation for ten years! You couldn’t afford to take time off. Now you can (or you think you can)? Everyone will hate you!
Me: Oh?

My stucknesses: You used to hate it too when those biggifiers would write noozletters about how much fun they were having in Paris or whatever.
Me: That’s a little different, though. I’m not interested in bragging about being able to take time off. I just want to take it.
My stucknesses: Everyone will hate you. All of them!

Me: Tell me more about why you think everyone (everyone!) will hate me.
My stucknesses: Everyone will hate you.
Me: What if I don’t ever take time off? You’re saying that would be better?
My stucknesses: No, they’ll still hate you.

In which I get closer to something tiny and true about fear.

Me: This isn’t even about me taking time off, is it? It’s about your fear of people being mean to me.
My stucknesses: Get used to it. Everyone will hate you no matter what.
Me: Interesting. What does that mean?
My stucknesses: If you don’t take time off, they’ll also hate you because then you aren’t practicing what you preach and they’ll think you’re a total fraud.

Me: So you’re trying to protect me from other people’s stuff.
My stucknesses: Yes.
M: And you also think that people are going to be mean and throw shoes no matter what?
My stucknesses: Yes.
Me: So really, I could still take time off and it doesn’t matter.
My stucknesses: Well, kind of.
Me: And either way, you’re going to worry about me.
My stucknesses: Yes.
Me: Because you love me?
My stucknesses: Yes.

Me: That’s really screwed up.
My stucknesses: Well, we are Jewish, you know.
Me: Yes. Believe me. I know.

In which I remember the thing I already knew.

Me: Wow. That’s kind of a relief.
My stucknesses: It is?
Me: You throw shoes at me so that I won’t get hit by other people’s shoes.
My stucknesses: Yes.
Me: That’s kind of sweet. Still screwed up. But it’s sweet.
My stucknesses: Yes.
Me: Everything you do is intended to keep me safe. And yet everything you do results in me being paralyzed, exhausted and unable to do any of the things I need to do to stay grounded.
My stucknesses: Oh.

In which I recognize what this is really about.

Me: So this is really about the sovereignty thing again.
My stucknesses: That’s bullshit hippie talk.
Me: Listen. You believe that everyone is going to hate me no matter what. Maybe that’s true and maybe it isn’t. But either way, I need to be able to not care so much about their judgments, which they might or might not be experiencing.

My stucknesses: What do you mean?
Me: If they don’t hate me and it’s all in my head, then it’s not helpful for me to constantly be worrying about it. If they do hate me, they’re not my right people. And anyway, it’s not useful for me to avoid taking care of myself because someone else might feel resentful about that.

My stucknesses: Stop logic-ing us! We don’t like it!

In which we come to a temporary agreement.

Me: What if we talk again in a while? That will give you some time to prepare some better arguments for why I’m supposedly not allowed to take time off?
My stucknesses: What’s the catch?
Me: I want to be able to experiment with time off in tiny little doses just to see what happens. It’ll be all scientific method-ey and I’ll take notes and stuff.

My stucknesses: Okay. But don’t tell anyone who might throw shoes.
Me: I will surround myself with people who are supportive and appreciative of my choices.
My stucknesses: Good!

Me: Does that mean that you’re going to start being supportive and appreciative too?
My stucknesses: Don’t push it.
Me: Okay. We’ll stop here for now. I’ll be back.
My stucknesses: Next time bring something to eat.
Me: I love how this gets weirder every time.

Comment zen for today.

No advices, please. Support and appreciation welcome, as are thoughts and wonderings and stories about your own gremlins.

Very Personal Ads #24: What’s official, anyway?

very personal adsPersonal ads! They’re … personal! Very.

So my itty bitty personal ads made me realize that it’s time to make a regular practice of trying to feel okay asking for stuff.

Even when the asking thing feels weird and conflicted.

Ever since I posted the first one asking my perfect house to find me, which united me with Hoppy House, I have been a fan of the madness that is personal ads.

And now it’s my Sunday ritual. Yay, ritual!

Let’s do this thing.

Thing 1: To walk more.

Here’s what I want:

One of the member mice in my Kitchen Table program has started this thing where she committed to spending as much time walking outdoors as she does doing stuff online.

I am in awe.

Not quite ready for as big a commitment as that, but yes. More Walking!

Ways this could work:

I can remember to keep extra socks by the door. And boots! And leg warmers! It’s cold in Portland.

My gentleman friend can drag me out for walks and I can let him.

Selma can wear one of her winter scarves as a reminder that it’s time to take my duck for a walk.

Some Shiva Nata can get me ready to move. Or can help me figure out why I’m resisting it, since walking is normally one of my favorite things.

I can set alarms and reminders so I can do this during the day and not when it’s dark, which seems to be pretty much all the time lately. Oof. Winter.

Twitter-accountability partners. Or checking in on the Deguiltified Chicken Board forum at the Kitchen Table.

My commitment.

I can be patient with this practice, and give it time to start slowly and grow at its own speed. I can be okay with the fact that I’m not very good at being patient.

Or to not be okay with that, but to notice the pattern of not-being-okay-with-it.

Thing 2: to announce something without announcing it.

Here’s what I want:

There are two new openings for someone to join my fabulous hard-to-get-into Destuckification Retreat. You know, the one I never really announced.

Though I did mention it in a sentence on my Item! post, which for me is hard-core promotional since I don’t promote stuff at all, as a rule.

So. I need a way to announce these two spots (one single room, one shared room). But without sending the people who have already applied into Massive Freakouts In My Inbox about oh no what if they didn’t get in.*

*You’d be surprised, but Massive Freakouts is just one guy. Also? If you’ve applied and haven’t gotten a no, this isn’t the no. You’re probably fine for now, we’ll talk VERY soon, no worries.

How I want this to work:

With ease.

I want a couple more Right People to go take a look at the page, to ignore the part where it says it’s full (it was) and apply anyway.

People who have already done stuff with me and Selma in person (in duck?) know what an enormous everything-is-better-now experience it is. They know what it’s like to spend say, an afternoon destuckifying with me and then go home knowing that hey, they can do the thing, and then watching things just happen.

So they can imagine what it’s like to have an entire week of that, only amplified. Because the hilarity and wonder are huge. And this one will actually have rest and recovery too.

And brain-zapping. Oh, the zappy. It will be like fireworks. Only less scary.

People who haven’t done stuff with me will realize that whatever amazingness they’re imagining, it’s so much cooler than that, even though that might be kind of hard to believe.

They will look at the schedule. They will get a brief but tingly sense of what is possible when your stuff isn’t getting in the way. And when you know exactly what to do when things aren’t working.

And you know what needs to happen — plus how to access the part of you that knows it can happen, which is even more crazy and great.

My commitment.

There won’t be promotional stuff. I am not going to write a post about the retreat. I’m not going to send out an email to anyone.

Even though — “officially” — the early bird thing ends tonight, if these two right people show up, I will give them the early price even if it is past the deadline. Because what the hell, I didn’t even announce it. So it’s only fair.

I’m going to remember that if this program almost-filled without me making a big tzimmes about its existence, the Very Personal Ad can take care of the rest.

As soon as these two newly available spots are taken, I will close enrollment.

I will go through the new applications as quickly as I can. And set up phone interviews as necessary.

And I will continue be hugely appreciative of everyone in my world, as I always am: those people who love my work but can’t take classes and programs right now, those who participate in bloggishness with me, and my beloved lurkers.

They’re all marvelous.

One more thing: I will try to remember to provide links when I use Yiddishisms. And I will give one more link to the Seven Days of Destuckification Retreat.

Thing 3: Patience! More of it, please. In all forms.

Here’s what I want:

There are all these people on the waiting list for my Kitchen Table program.

And it takes huge chunks of time to process applications and figure out how many more spaces we can open.

So we’ve been doing it in sections, one small group at a time. As fast as we can. But we’re also dealing with applications for two other programs. It’s been busy. Insanely so. We’re trying.

And people have been having even more freakouts in my inbox. Are we sensing a theme? There is a theme.

Here’s how this could work:

I don’t know. Asking.

Asking for more patience from people who are waiting. Asking for some for myself.

Improving my systems. Sing ho for systems! Systems, ho! More on that next week.

My commitment.

To breathe. To communicate. To breathe some more.

Progress report on past Very Personal Ads.

Just to update you on what’s happened since last week.

The funny thing is realizing now that I did create an ask around the Destuckification Retreat last week. And then forgot about it.

But the ask wasn’t for Right People.

The ask was for me to do a bunch of administrative stuff. Which I didn’t do. Because I was teaching all week in California and things were crazy.

But maybe I didn’t do it because that wasn’t the way I wanted to do things. Maybe what I really wanted was this week’s ask for things to happen with ease and grace. And for me not to have to do a bunch of administrative stuff.

Whew. That feels better. Looser. The breathing thing. Totally working better.

I also asked for time off (you know, for me to give it to myself), which hasn’t happened yet.

Ironically, Wednesday took me off instead of the other way around, because I was recovering from some hard and couldn’t do much even if I’d wanted to.

Movement. Small. Working on it.

Also, the past few weeks have had a lot of asks related to difficult interpersonal situations, all but one of which have been quietly working themselves out.

And who knows? Maybe we’ll get some movement on that one too.

Comments. Since I’m already asking …

I am adding to my practice of asking for stuff by being more specific about what I would like to receive in the comments. And that way, if you feel like leaving one (you totally don’t have to), you get to be part of this experiment too. 🙂

Here’s what I want (just leave them in the comments):

  • Your own personal ads, small or large. Things you’ve asked for. Or are asking for. Or would like to ask for. Or updates on last time!

What I would rather not have:

  • Reality theories.
  • Shoulds. As in, “You should be doing it like this” or “That’s not the right way to ask for things — instead it should be like x, y and z”
  • To be judged or psychoanalyzed.

My commitment.

I am committing to getting better at asking for things even when asking feels weird. Thanks for doing this with me!

Friday Chicken #71: frozen pipes are not a euphemism, dammit

Friday chickenBecause it’s Friday AGAIN. And because traditions are important. In which I cover the good stuff and the hard stuff in my week, trying for the non-preachy, non-annoying side of self-reflection.

And you get to join in if you feel like it.

That was one helluva week, is all I’m saying.

Well, that and the other sixty five thousand things that I’m saying.

Onward. The week must be Chickened.

The hard stuff

Ow. Tired. Ow.

Over-doing. Lots of doing.

Basically, stuff related to doing.

Things-going-wrong in weird and stupid ways.

All somehow related to coldness? And discomfort.

The heating in our hotel didn’t work. Or, not without smelling like burning hotel room.

We had to move rooms. After a couple days, so all of our stuff was unpacked and I had to teach a class and gaaaaaaaaaaaaah.

Then we got back from California and the pipes were frozen.

That was Tuesday and there’s still no water in the kitchen. Lovely.

This has to stop.

I get that people say hard things because they’re feeling hurt. Sometimes it’s a question. Sometimes it’s more of a hurled shoe. Or it feels like one.

And I’m really, really ready to have more people in my life who can take responsibility for their stuff instead of projecting it on me.

This happened in about six different ways this week, so clearly this is a thing to work with.

Sleeplessness + excruciating high-pitch noise = migraine + misery.

Being woken up at 6 a.m. on a Saturday because of Asshat With Leafblower outside the window of our hotel.

After having taught all day Friday and being about to teach all day Sunday, being completely wiped out and in need of rest.

And then complaining bitterly at the local bar (yes, Twitter) and having people be unsympathetic. I mean, sympathy when things suck: it’s what the bar is for.

I’d already had a rude awakening, thank you very much. Two seems a bit much.

And then I avoided the bar for a while, which also wasn’t fun.

Speaking of migraines…

I like my un-laws.* A lot. They are sweet people, and they have really made a point of welcoming me into their thing. And the kids are super cute.

It’s just that I don’t do well with background noise. Or anything squeaky. And an entire day of high-pitched kid-squealing as the default background sets off my HSP-ism.

So I went into hardcore Highly Sensitive Person mode and the inside of my head may have exploded. Or something.

It felt like there wasn’t any me in there anymore. Working on it.

*Unlawful in-laws, yes?

Enormous piles of work stuff.

Obviously this was made more crazy by all the traveling.

Even the fun parts of it (like reviewing seventy-jillion applications for the Kitchen Table and Biggification 2010 and the Destuckification Retreat) just take a crazy long time.

The good stuff

My right people!

The Sacramento Biggification Day workshop. I kind of talked about this in my Very Personal Ad, but man.

The people who came were so cool. The day was so intense. I had so much fun. And my people are having breakthroughs. Whoo. Breakthroughs!

*dances jig*

My people are amazing. And they came from everywhere (London, New York, Chicago, Seattle, Tucson) just to spend a day with me . And working with them is a huge high.

I feel inspired just thinking about them.

Getting to teach in a new environment.

The reason I was in Sacramento was that I was flown out to spend a day teaching at a yoga teacher training.

The theme was … “how to be a yoga teacher and still make money doing it, without becoming some horribly cheesy, sleazy person or having to go back to an office job”.

Or something like that.

So I got to hang out with twenty bright, fun, yoga-teachers-to-be, talking about biggification, right people and all that stuff that we love.

I didn’t know what it would be like, since these aren’t my people. But it turned out they totally were. And we had a blast.

And they asked smart questions. And we did some Shiva Nata. And had some epiphanies. It was awesome.

Sacramento.

Selma and my gentleman friend and I did everything we like!

We had sandwiches at Dad’s. And pizza at Zelda’s. And a spicy breakfast at some greasy spoon whose name escapes me.

Visit with the un-laws.

My gentleman friend’s parents and sisters really love him. And they love me because he does. I appreciate both of those things.

And I made it!

Jew-ey tree-hugging vegetarian urban me spent an entire day in conservative, small town, evangelical America (what I believe is now known as “real America”) and … it was fine. It was fun.

And I’m pretty sure I didn’t accidentally blurt out anything related to potentially dangerous topics (climate change, queer culture, songs we used to sing at socialist summer camp, our dreamboat president), so phew.

Quote of the day (care of my gentleman friend’s seven year old nephew):

“Look at me! I’m kicking a rock!”

Policy updates. Finally.

Got around to doing a bunch of tiny but not unimportant edits to my Official Boring Policy page. Since, apparently, there were bits that were confusing.

Normally I dislike doing policy-related things, but this time I documented my Steps In The Process (it’s just one guy) and turned what I learned into a teaching tool for my Kitchen Table people.

So that was good.

Reading the Kitchen Table applications.

I have smart, interesting, lovely, schweet people who get it. They say things like this:

“Let me just say that even if I don’t make it to the Kitchen Table this time around, and no matter what else, THANK YOU. Thank you so much for everything you do here. For everything you’ve done, even though you might not have realized you were doing it, for me.”

“Writing my answers to these questions has been such a useful exercise that even if I don’t get in, I still feel grateful.”

Man, I feel so lucky to have people like this wanting to be a part of what I do.

First candle. Tonight!

It’s Hannukah in 3, 2, 1 … well, tonight it will be.

Yup. Chag urim sameach, y’all.

I know the candles will make everything cheerier. Looking forward to a week of it.

And … playing live at the meme beach house!

Yes, that’s a Stuism too.

My brother and I have this thing where we come up with ridiculous band names and then say in this really pretentious, knowing tone, “Oh, well, you know, it’s just one guy.”

This week it’s all about:

Mangled Syntax

Me: “Sorry about the mangled syntax.”
My gentleman friend: “Mangled Syntax? You know it’s just one guy, right?”

And … STUISMS of the week.

Stu is my paranoid McCarthy-ist voice-to-text software who delights in torturing me misunderstanding me. I can’t stand him.

Anyway, the gems from this week, including Stu’s acetyl Freudian slips.

  • “Misstep is not as good anymore” instead of the stuck that’s not supposed to be there anymore
  • “for that stronger standing moral abuse experienced hit” instead of for that visceral understanding where all of you has experienced it
  • “sorry but the mangled sin tax” instead of sorry about all the mangled syntax
  • “how many more years a pooper processing this to the ugliness” instead of how many more years of over-processing this to death
  • “Hubby chooses to raw fest some punk” instead of Havi chooses to process some gunk
  • “closeted guys” instead of also, guys?

That’s it for me …

And yes yes yes, of course you can join in my Friday ritual right here in the comments bit if you feel like it.

Yeah? Anything hard and/or good happen in your week?

And, as always, have a glorrrrrrrrrrrrious weekend. And a happy week to come.

The stuck that’s not supposed to be there anymore

There’s this moment where you look at a stuck and shake your head because you absolutely cannot believe it’s still there.

Blink. Blink. Nope. Still there.

And then you say things like this:

“But I’ve worked on this sooooooo much!”

“No, really. I have learned this lesson seventeen thousand times. There is no reason to have to learn it again.”

“Okay. How many more years of over-processing this to death is really necessary? Because I think I’m supposed to be done with this one.”

“Ow. Enough.”

You’re right. Completely frustrating.

Permission to feel hugely annoyed: granted.

Oh goodness. There are all sorts of legitimate reasons for why this situation comes up in its annoyingly familiar way.

And it’s still hard, even when you know those reasons.

What’s actually going on, not that this helps.

Well, a couple of possibilities.

You’re waiting for the last penny. You know, to drop. Or maybe the next-to-last penny.

The point is, you’re close to whatever it is that will finish rewriting the pattern.

Or it could be that you’ve downloaded whatever understanding or realization that you needed, and your mind gets it. Completely.

But for whatever reason, that sense of knowing hasn’t fully made its way to your body yet, and you’re still waiting for that visceral understanding where all of you has experienced it.

Or it could be that a current situation is reminding you so much of a past thing that it’s just kind of knocked you out of right now, and you’re reliving old patterns.

Either way, it’s still a horribly uncomfortable sensation and I’m sorry.

Ugh.

I know that when this happens to me*, I feel vulnerable and confused and irritated.

And disoriented, because I need to know that this stuff makes sense on some level, even if I can’t figure out all the details yet.

* That would be right now, since yeah, I’m writing about it.

Looking at my stuck. Hello stuck. I have a stuck.

Oh, the stucknesses, they are many. But this particular one is about not being able to practice something I know to be true.

What I know is that the less I work, the better I work. Or: the more time that gets built-in for rest and recovery, the more I get accomplished.

And there’s significantly more flow, ease and general fabulousness in my business. And in the rest of my life too, obviously.

I have seen other biggified people go through this process.

Better still, I’ve experienced it myself. I have written about the magic of emergency vacation, about taking time to make time, about practicing this, and how when you’re working on your stuff, there’s time, period.

And yet … I know it and I can’t live it. That’s where I am.

What I know about my stuck.

The thing I know to be true — that doing less creates more — is ridiculously counter-intuitive.

So it doesn’t really matter that I’ve experienced the truth of it or that I believe it in my mind. My body rebels.

I have pain around past experiences of not-doing that were unstructured and didn’t involve any kind of personal intention or whatever.

If I am going to create an environment where there is safety in doing less, we’re going to need structures that support me.

Some of these structures are going to exist in theory or in spirit or in energy, like my canopy of peace. And some of them are going to have to be very grounded in reality and have tangible elements that I can tug on.

What I know about stuck in general.

It always helps to give it legitimacy.

“Even though I’m not sure why this insists on staying stuckified, there’s probably a reason for it still being around.”

It always helps to give it permission to exist.

“You are my stuck. You’re allowed to be here. For now. Even though I don’t know how to be done with you yet, at least I’m interacting with you in some sort of semi-aware way, so hey, progress.”

It always helps to remember that it isn’t me.

“Even though this particular piece of stuck feels so familiar, and I’m positive that it’s this integral part of who I am as a person, I’m trying to remember that it’s not.

“It’s a temporary part of what I’m going through right now.”

It always helps to give it time.

“I do not have to resolve this thing right this second. I get to take whatever steps I need, at whatever pace feels right.

“Oh, and I don’t have to like this part.”

It always helps to have next steps.

“What are my next steps? Is there a way I can build in tiny pieces of what I want? Can I create small experiences (ten and fifteen minute chunks) of restorative time?

If “isolation is the dream-killer”, who are my helper mice?*

“Can I use the Deguiltified Chicken Board at the Kitchen Table?

“Is there someone at the Twitter Bar for me to check in with as I experiment?”

* “Isolation is the dream-killer” is a Barbara Sher-ism. And helper mice are people who like helping. I can’t believe I didn’t put that in the glossary.

How I’m trying to reassure myself.

By meeting myself where I am. This is where I am right now. Talking to a stuck.

By being all whooooooo scientific method about it. Obviously we’ve tried it the old way in a million different iterations. Can we try it this new way? Is there a structure for experimentation? Can we track this thing as we try new stuff?

By spending some time with my duck.

By using a negotiator to help me talk to walls. And the fog.

That’s what I’ve got for now.

For me, the most useful aspect of all of this is just remembering that the stuck is something I can interact with.

I might not be done with it today — or even for a while — but at least I have things I can experiment with. Me and my stuck. Not me being stuck.

We’re in some sort of relationship with each other, instead of me just tripping over being me all the time. Which I find weirdly reassuring, at least some of the time.

Comment zen for today …

We all have our stuff. We’re all working on our stuff.

And, operating under that assumption, we try to give other people room to have their stuff, without thinking that it says anything about us. If we can. Or rephrase that in whatever way works for you (you don’t have to sound like a yoga teacher). See you in the comments. Or tomorrow for the Chicken!

Item! Gee whiz!

Fluent Self Item!A somewhat goofy mini-collection of stuff I’ve been reading, stuff I’ve been thinking about and oh, some completely random crap.

Basically the stuff that never gets mentioned here because I’m not the kind of person who can just make some teeny little point. Not into the whole brevity thing, as the Dude would say.

Actually, I’m under the strict compulsion to write ten pages about anything on my mind. So this is me. Practicing brevity.

Tee hee! Brevity is funny.

Or, as my gentleman friend’s seven year old nephew says, Gee Whiz! That might be even better than Item!

Item! Post No. 44 in a once-a-week series that is partly responsible for my post-it note dilemma, but also solves part of it at the same time.

Item! Victorian legwarmers!

I know.

This obsession with things sock-related (and fansocks-related) must cease.

But really, how can you not buy stuff from someone called Mademoiselle Mermaid?

Victorian legwarmers: red and lacy. Love.

She’s @MissMermaid on Twitter. Found via my favorite Portland shop — Sock Dreams who are on the Twitters too as @sockdreams.

Item! One helluva wedding vow.

You remember Pace and Kyeli from the milk song, right?

Also from the taxi debacle in Austin.

The girls just got married (I couldn’t make it but the wedding invitations were the most wonderful ever). Plus they live-blogged it, which rocks.

And they’ve been posting about their very non-standard vows.

This one knocked me out.

“… to put my best effort and highest priority toward solving major problems in our relationship, and, if those problems remain unsolvable after a year and a day, to let you go.”

You have to read the rest because it’s fascinating. And brave. And beautiful.

They’re @kyeli and @pacesmith on Twitter.

Item! Thinking about audiences.

A nice piece from Maryann about some of the things people go through when not loving a play (best line ever: My husband is angry at music.)

She looks at it from the perspective of the place giving the cultural experience, at the variety of people experiencing it, and asks smart questions.

“I also expect that sometimes cultural experiences will disappoint, and it doesn’t bother me when that happens.

But here’s the problem with the first problem, the problem of expectation: it would be ridiculous to require that people study up before going to a concert.”

She’s @maryanndevine on Twitter and I adore her.

Item! Aardvarks!

I’ll read pretty much anything Heidi writes because she’s highly entertaining.

But now she’s biggifying up a storm and I could not be more proud and happy.

You need to read this because it’s about aardvarks.

I could tell you that this aardvark was sensitive to cues and respectful of personal space, but that would be, as my Grandpa used to say, a fib. Because, oh no! This was one ballsy and persistent little bastard. (And no, my Grandpa would never have said that, being a preacher and all).

And he’s all, “Oh yeah? Who died and made you the queen of dreamland?”

And I’m like, “Wha –? Excuse me? It’s my mind, you know.”

And he’s all, “Um, it’s my Africa.”

And I’m like, “That doesn’t even make sense. This discussion is over.”

p.s. If you’re going to buy one of her lotions and potions (“for mixed up emotions”), the Chai and the Ease are yum. Selma and I got to sample her wares early.

But I didn’t tell Selma. They were too good to share.

She’s @curiousheidihi on Twitter.

Item! Char wrote a manifesto

Sweet post from Char where she uses my dammit list as inspiration to come up with her own manifesto for her relationship with being a patient and caregiver.

What I really like is how she gives a great mix of “here are super practical things I need to take care of” and items that are more about emotional safety and sovereignty.

I also like the idea of having a specialty dammit list to deal with specific situations that can be trigger-ey. (Note to self: this would be a great exercise).

Anyway, read Char’s post and maybe you’ll end up writing your own.

“I will not leave an appointment without being sure all of my questions are completely answered. If more issues come up than can be answered in the one appointment, I will make a second appointment before leaving the office.”

Yay, Char.

Item! Love letter to a knife.

You have to love Denise.

Her Twitter bio?

Anthropromorphising edibles for over 40 years.

She’s more into food (and more interesting about food) than anyone I know.

And this love letter to her new knife is a perfect little thing.

“Keith, who gave me this weapon of delicious destruction is pretty great too, but he’ll have to wait for a Hallmark-sanctioned holiday to get his love letter.

He loves tools. I’m notoriously cheap. You can see the collision course.

My former nemisis, the carrot? We’re having an affair. I relish the mire poix. I melted carrots into stroganoff last night (Tzar Nicholas is spinning in his grave-y) just so I could fine-dice a carrot.”

Love.

She’s @deniseds on Twitter.

Item! Accidental baking soda volcanoes. They’re big in Japan.

Actually, I just really like saying “big in Japan” and then going onto an Alphaville kick for the rest of the day.

This is the post.

“Vinegar and milk evokes for me not sunny Italia, but elementary school science class. In which we learned that adding vinegar or citrus to milk makes a clumpy, sour mess. It might be turned into some kind of cheese, but it’s not something you’d want (or be allowed) to drink.

They release new flavors regularly. I’m keeping an eye out for baking soda volcano.”

She’s @japandra on Twitter.

Item! Update from the land of the Peculiar & Hilarious Shivanauts!

The “peculiar and hilarious” thing comes from Melynda’s sweet bit about Butterfly Wishes.

The latest shivanautical realizations and epiphanies, including some destuckifying (mine) and a sweet bit about a hedgehog (not mine).

Also, Elizabeth talks about how doing Shiva Nata helped her see energy.

It’s neat, because she’s smart, creative and reassuringly skeptical about things woo and woo-ish. Which makes it that much more fun.

Item! Comments! Here’s what I want this time:

  • Things you’re thinking about.
  • A permission slip (if it’s for me, I’d like one for a nap, please) for someone you like. That person can totally be you. In fact, if you want, you can do both.

My commitment.
I am committed to giving time and thought to the things that people say. Even though asking for what I want still feels awkward for me, I’m just going to remind myself that this is a thing I’m practicing.

That is all.

Happy reading.

And happy Blustery Windsday. See you tomorrow.

The Fluent Self