Happy Dance!

I am all warm 'n fuzzy inside!!!

Last night I went to a networking function for West Coast Woman magazine. My alma mater, Eckerd College, was giving away a signed copy of Opening the Kimono in a raffle drawing, and I was asked to be there in support. Never turning away an opportunity to blah-blah-blah with some cool chickadees, I immediately said yes. When I walked up to the booth, a woman was reading the book. I sidled up next to her, waiting to chat her up. She looked up with wide eyes and enthusiastically proclaimed, "This is an EXCELLENT book! You gotta read it!" I blushingly responded by saying, "I already have read it. I wrote it!" While not exactly acting as if she had an Elvis encounter, she was definitely impressed to be talking to the woman who wrote the words with which she was smitten. Like the Grinch whose heart grew 2 times on Christmas Day, my head grew two sizes -- temporarily. (It was deflated when I saw the ballroom dancing demonstration across the room with a drop-dead gorgeous diva dolled up in sequins and 4 inch heels. I felt like Charlie Brown watching the Little Red Haired Girl.)

Still high from my brush with mini-fame, I popped onto my Amazon page this morning, wishing, hoping, praying, that there were a few more Customer Reviews. (I have a goal to reach 50; I'm at 29.) I'm happy to report that there were two new glowing reviews, one of which was from someone in Alabama I didn't know. This anonymous Divine being has made my day by penning a few simple words:

"This book is headed for Oprah's book club and the author, Theresa Rose, for Oprah's couch. We'll be hearing lots more from this author. Can't wait!"

From your fingertips to God's ears, sister. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

PS. I'm now feeling a lot more like Peppermint Patty than Charlie Brown. After all, I love a ballsy chick with a high degree of sass, and my hair is freaky-deaky like hers.

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For your consideration and/or comment:

Which Charlie Brown character do you relate to the most and why?

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Visit TheresaRose.net to receive your Daily Dose of Mojo!

The Lone Pubber

I used my new credit card processing machine for the first time. Yippeee!!!

Last night, I hosted another wonderful installment of Club Kimono, the monthly women's discussion group dedicated to All Things Juicy. I chose yesterday's topic from the Career section of my book and read aloud an excerpt called "Failing Forward". This story illustrates that no matter how crappy our circumstances seem to be -- lost jobs, failed businesses, unknown direction -- that everything is in alignment with a Divine Plan that we simply don't know about yet. The resulting discussions were lively, emotional, and as always, empowering. At the end of our sharing session, over half of the attendees bought copies of the book, and a few bought additional copies to give to their peeps back home. I'm so blessed! Kimono Clubbers are the coolest chicks in the henhouse.

When I came home, Michael showed me the front page of yesterday's New York Times. One of the articles (above the fold no less!) was "Bright Passage in Publishing: Authors Who Pay Their Way" by Motoko Rich. It talks about how the traditional publishing industry is dramatically cutting back, while self-pubbers are popping up all over the place. Yes, most of us will never have more than our beleaguered family and friends read our masterpieces. However, there are a few of us lucky writers (me included, I hope!) that see success beyond our initial circle of supporters. I believe with all of my heart that lots of people will find their way to Opening the Kimono, and a few of those readers will know somebody who knows somebody who knows somebody who knows Oprah. :) Short of that, I'm at least hoping to get a decent agent out of the deal.



I admit that it's great to see my book getting noticed, and I am starting to get paid for my efforts. Who doesn't want to make a living? Let me tell ya, it costs a butt-load of money to make Opening the Kimono and all of its marketing stuff look so darn purdy. There is no doubt that I'm ready for some green energy to start flowing my way. I warmly welcome the revenue (since I have that pesky credit card debt), but more importantly, I love the thought of people all over the country diggin' it's vibe of love, self-acceptance, and trust. Each one of us is amazing and beautiful and powerful and delightful beyond measure, and my little book of stories helps people to see that.

It is, after all, why I write. It isn't about the money; it's about the Mojo.

Suck on THAT, Stephanie Meyer!

P.S. On the off-chance that the hottest bestselling author in the world would happen upon my little bloggie, I have one thing to say to her: "I humbly apologize, Ms. Meyer. My sarcasm is purely for entertainment purposes. I'm a huge fan. Would you like to receive a free review copy of Opening the Kimono? Maybe you'd like to introduce me to your agent afterward?"

Cosmic, Dude!

As I was fretting about what to write this morning, I found inspiration on my screen saver.

While I have a few things on my mind that are reasonably blog-worthy -- the righteousness of a Good Hair Day, connecting with old friends on Facebook, and embracing our Divine Purpose, you know, standard Serious Mojo fare -- I felt preoccupied by my Bank of America credit card statement I stupidly opened earlier this morning. I couldn't find the juju to write about the good stuff, because the specter of Not Enough punched me across the face with a killer 'Balance Total, Available Balance' one-two punch.

So, instead of writing, I began to stare out into space. Literally. A few days ago I added the "Cosmos" screen saver to my trusty MacDaddy, but since I've been click-click-clicking nonstop, I hadn't yet seen it in action. This morning, my literary constipation prompted it to present itself. It's incredible! Those crazy kids at Apple really know technology.



For minutes on end, I stared at picture after stunning picture of the endless stars, planets and galaxies we take for granted. The Universe was presenting itself to me in gorgeous technicolor. As I lost myself in the beauty and wondered what it would be like to see Mars, Saturn, or Mercury close-up, I got a greater appreciation for the vastness of All That Is. There is sooooooo much majesty around us, from the furthest galaxies to the smallest shell on Sarasota's Lido Beach. Spirit has created an interconnected system of spirals and vortices that defy full comprehension. Humans are infinitesimal in the greatest scheme of things, yet we are constructed of the same quantum building blocks as the greatest cosmic treasures. Whoa. Heavy.

When I look at the Milky Way courtesy of the fine folks at Apple, I forget about the silly BofA bill sitting atop my Inbox (at least for now). There will be plenty of time for me to freak out about how I am going to pay down my debt. At this moment, I am just happy to play a bit part in this incredible play.

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For your consideration and/or comment:

If you could travel anywhere in the Universe, where would it be? (And don't say Uranus.)


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Visit www.TheresaRose.net to receive your Daily Dose of Mojo!

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The Tao of Granola

There are profound lessons to be found in our cereal bowls.



My seven-and-a-half year old doesn't like raisins. In fact, she abhors them. Yet, ironically, when the Rose clan goes to Richard's Whole Foods to pick up our edible necessaries, Li'l Miss EmmaBean picks out a variety of granola (Ultra Natural Country Pumpkin Spice or something like that) that is peppered with the wrinkly objects of her derision. I've had numerous discussions with her about it, but she simply refuses to select a different granola. Whenever I surreptitiously pick out a different kind and sneak it into our cereal container, she sternly admonishes me. She is the Princess and the Raisin.

This morning, we all broke our fasts with the aforementioned granola. Emma ate hers with almond milk, while Michael and I had fruit and yogurt with ours. (Emma is still boycotting the fruit-as-breakfast option; she prefers to slurp her first meal of the day.) When she finished, a pile of neglected raisins sat at the soggy bottom of her bowl. She briefly reflected on her raisin remnants and cheerfully said, "Isn't it cool how you can eat around the stuff you don't like?" She looked so proud of her accomplishment.

Aha! THAT'S why she chooses to eat granola with raisins, even though she hates raisins. She has made eating her breakfast a meal, a test of skill, and a game all rolled into one yummy, humming delight.

I can take a cue from this grain game of hers. Life inevitably has raisins mixed in with the granola; my raisins are fear, doubt, and insecurity. The trick is to know how to get around the bad stuff, delight in the good stuff, and celebrate our victories no matter how small.

Thanks to the wisdom of The Bean, I'm gonna do my best today to joyfully leave my raisins at the bottom of the bowl.

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For your consideration and/or comment:

What are the life raisins you want to leave behind?

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Visit www.TheresaRose.net to receive your Daily Dose of Mojo!

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Bye Bye Burnie

I am happy to report that my recent cheek-branding from the vicious barrel of my curling iron is nearly gone.

Last week, however, was a totally different story. I was a disaster, both physically and emotionally. My hot-dog sized burn had morphed from a beet-red color to dark purple-scabby. In my hyper-sensitive, ego-fractured state, I felt like I resembled a burn patient on E/R. The look of the wound was getting worse, and my emotional state was in perfect sync with it. The creepier, darker, and flakier my wound became, the creepier, darker, and flakier I became.

The extent of my breakdown reached a crescendo on Friday afternoon. I had a subtle crying fit while dining with Michael at Tandoori, obsessively avoided all human interactions, and felt unbridled panic that I would forever be scarred by my stupidity and carelessness. In fact, I was so distraught that I didn't even want to have sex. THAT'S F@#KED UP!

During my dermal drama, Michael adopted his classic Prince Charming role. He listened to my whines, complaints, and fears without hesitation. He cuddled with me, assured me I was the most beautiful woman in the world to him, and lovingly stroked my four-alarm face. I cried and cried, wishing he wouldn't lavish me with so much tenderness; I felt unworthy of it. Eventually, his gentle words and touches broke through my wall of fear, and I surrendered to our love.

After receiving the World's Best Medicine (nudge, nudge, wink, wink), I was on the path towards recovery. Before I went to sleep, I washed my face with my friend Bev's "Aroma Borealis" natural facial cleanser and tonic, and gingerly covered my wound with my friend Elizabeth's primo grade lavender oil. My last step was to gaze at my reflection, trying my very best to see the beauty that my husband did.

When I woke up on Saturday morning, I was delighted to see that my burn had gotten significantly better. Instead of obsessing over it all weekend, I decided to focus on having fun. When I gave myself permission to be happy instead of pretty, I had a glorious weekend full of cuddles, conversation, and connection.

Over the next forty-two hours, I made a miraculous recovery after receiving continuous doses of lavender oil and love. Lo and behold, I woke up this morning with a fresh, new face. The scary hot-dog purple burn is completely gone and has been replaced with a tender, new pink patch of skin. My face seems to be a reflection of my current outlook. This morning I feel renewed, refreshed, and back in my power. Thankfully, I am no longer seeing myself as teeny, tiny, Victimgirl.

Here's a big shout-out to Michael for the love, Emma for the positive attitude, Bev and Elizabeth for the healing products, and Spirit for everything else. Thanks for helping me to rediscover my missing Mojo.

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For your consideration and/or comment:

What or who makes you feel better when you are down in the dumps?

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Visit www.TheresaRose.net to receive your Daily Dose of Mojo!

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Acquiring Writing Material the Hard Way

Yesterday I came up with material for my next book. Drats!

I will most likely break ground on mi libro numero dos in the next few months. I have already received downloads on the title, high-level content, and structure. I have also been given assurances from Spirit that I will be living some of the featured stories in the coming months. Oh joy. More pain.

In the last forty-eight hours, a confluence of circumstances have prompted me to begin noodling one of the first chapters, tentatively titled, "The World's Ugliest Person". Who is this hideous creature that I'll be exposing in Opening the Kimono-like raw detail? Me, of course.

I woke up yesterday morning with one overriding thought: I am officially the World's Ugliest Person, at least at that moment. Bleary-eyed from a disastrous night's sleep in which I had nightmares about running into the most foul of creatures from middle school, I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror. In the cold, harshness of the early morning light, I did NOT like what blankly stared back at me.

While looking at my reflection, I discovered:

* A three-inch, beet-red blotchy burn the size of a small hot dog emblazoned on my left cheek, courtesy of an altercation with my curling iron

* A massive pimple explosion thanks to my upcoming period and consuming far too many mochas from Starbucks. My facial eruptions included several painful, unpinchable lip-zits which spontaneously appeared on the ultra-tender spot where my lower lip meets my chin

* A patch of unsightly grey roots nestled in my previously-blogged-about lion mane that my hairdresser inadvertently missed during last week's touch-up

* Deep pillow creases all over my face, including over the 3-inch hot dog on my cheek

* Pesky extra padding around my mid-section that quietly mocks me

* Scant remnants of the previous day's eyeliner which gave me a Marilyn Manson-as-linebacker look

I admit that I couldn't summon the balls to take a picture of myself at my most heinous, but I somehow found the nerve this morning. While not as super-scary as yesterday morning, I could still vie for Miss Ugly USA.

WARNING! View the following picture at your own risk!



So there it is. The World's Ugliest Person. A Glamour 'Don't'. The love child of Quasimodo and the Joker. I wondered how the hell I was going to have enough confidence to solicit speaking events to organizations in this ghastly frame of mind. I could just imagine it..."Mr. Event Planner, would you like to hire me to speak in front of 500 professionals so I can be stared at in horror and mocked en masse?"

Thankfully, with the help of my friend Shellie I was able to talk through my bilious self-judgment and realize that we ALL have the World's Ugliest Person days. There are some days where we convince ourselves that we too fat, too skinny, too pasty, too sunburned, too unkempt, too boring, or too damaged to be attractive to anyone, much less ourselves. It is the universal truth born out of our modern Western culture: I think therefore I think I am ugly.

Then I realize the glorious gift contained in my gruesomeness: I'm gonna write about this! It's funny! It's perfect for the book! People will relate to it! Hallelujah!

Even though I still resemble a troll-woman who got into a back-alley fight with a cat brandishing a branding iron, I am reveling in the fact that I received some juicy new material to write. I got a tasty shot of literary adrenaline that will propel me to tackle that most daunting of tasks: staring at a blank screen, waiting for my pain to turn into words which will eventually turn into inspiration.

How interesting it is that I chose a career where insecurity and vulnerability are its building blocks.

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For your consideration and/or comment:

Do you have World's Ugliest Person days, and what makes them so?

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Visit www.TheresaRose.net to receive your Daily Dose of Mojo!

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Ch..Ch..Changes

Change. Hope. A Fresh Beginning. Yes we can.

These are the words that dominate our airwaves, and justifiably so. Our country is just starting its dramatic shift from Bush to Obama, from crisis to confidence, from anger to acceptance, and from fear to hope. Regardless of what political party to which you belong, chances are that you are ready for some change. All of us want to hear happy news again. We want our family and friends to find or keep good jobs. We want to feel safe while still preserving our national integrity. We want leaders we can believe in.

Yesterday, my family and I drove three hours to my BFF's house to watch the Inauguration festivities. Since we don't have television, yesterday was one of the handful of days when it's a total bummer to be unplugged from The Machine (Golden Globes and Oscars being the other major miss-outs.) Jean and Kris graciously hosted us as the three Roses plopped in front of their glorious, gargantuan high-def box and devoured All Things Obama.

I ate it all up: the pomp and circumstance of the event, the preciousness of Malia and Sasha, the hotness of the First Couple, the stirring and passionate speech from our 44th President, and the multi-hued, multi-generational throngs of supporters who braved the DC winter to celebrate the historic moment of one man breaking through the very ancient and imposing ceiling of prejudice. I was not only in awe of the Obamas, but I was equally in awe of every American who recognized the magnificence of the moment.

Now, after the parade has ended, the dancing has stopped, and the TV coverage is over, real life begins anew. We are tasked with helping the Obama administration and Congress to dig us out of a very deep hole. There are many ways we can serve, whether it's volunteering, donating to charity, or simply showing more generosity of spirit to our fellow man and the big, blue, beautiful rock we are blessed to occupy.

I know of another way we can help too. We can take these words -- change, hope, a fresh beginning, and 'Yes we can' to heart, and put them to work within ourselves. The next time we find ourselves having a miserable day, fretting that we'll never succeed, allowing ourselves to remain victims of our circumstance, blaming others for our pain, or harshly judging ourselves or others, let's remember that all of that negativity contributes to the whole of humanity. Let's remember that we are better than the poor choices we have made in the past. Let's remember that we can change our lives simply by changing our attitudes. Let's remember that hope is so much more powerful than fear. Let's remember that every day marks a new beginning for us to live juicy, joyful lives.

Let's remember that it isn't up to Obama to change the fate of our country; it's up to each and every one of us.

Yes we can.

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For your consideration and/or comment:

What have you been called to do in support of our country?


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Visit www.TheresaRose.net to receive your Daily Dose of Mojo!

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Basking in the Moment

Yesterday, Michael, Emma and I took an afternoon stroll around Island Park along the beautiful bayfront of downtown Sarasota. I snapped this pic of my little EmmaBean basking in the glorious moment.

I can learn so much from her.

A Visit From Big Me

I am a little bummed this morning; I think I am in need of a session with the Big Me. Big Me is the grounded, centered, balanced woman within who knows that life is wonderful and perfect, exactly as it is.

Big Me: How are you doing today, Little Me?

Li'l Me: Um, pretty good, I suppose. I don't have much to complain about.

Big Me: Then why do you want a session with me?

Li'l Me: Well, I guess I'm just a little 'off' today. I feel good physically and emotionally, but things are just kind of flat.

Big Me: OK. Is there anything big going on in your life that would cause you to have a case of the funks?

Li'l Me: I've had a mild case of envy and anxiety this week. I got tweaked by a high school friend who has a hugely popular blog and an upcoming book coming out through a fancy-schmancy agent and publisher. I'm also getting squirrelly about getting my book trailer edited, nailing down the details of the Serious Mojo Radio Show, and writing next month's Daily Doses and newsletter. Yes, Big Me, I am already obsessing over February's mailings. Can we focus on my current malaise and not delve into my hyper-obsessiveness during this session, please?

Big Me: Those things all sound completely normal -- for you. It's natural to get a little tweaked when you see someone having what you want. As long as you recognize that you, too, will have that soon, you can celebrate her successes with her instead of reacting negatively either towards her or yourself. Remember, there is enough success, joy, and abundance to go around.

Li'l Me: Yeah, yeah, yeah. Whatever. I'm still in a funk.

Big Me (sighs): All right. How about if we do the exercise that you know will get you out of it? Are you up for it? Do you want to feel better, or do you want to wallow a bit more (not that there's anything wrong with that).

Li'l Me: Give me a minute, will you Biggie? Sometimes I like holding on to my funk. Let me take a few deep breaths and see if I am really ready to be happy today. (Inhaling...Exhaling...Inhaling...Exhaling...). OK. I think I'm ready to be happy.

Big Me: Great! I'm glad to hear it. OK. You know what to do. Simply start rattling off everything for which you are grateful. Don't stop until you start feeling that warm fuzzy feeling inside. Ready? Begin!

Li'l Me: Here it goes...

* Listening to Van Morrison's "And the Healing Has Begun"
* Receiving Emma's hugs first thing in the morning
* Looking at an empty laundry hamper
* Connecting with Spirit through meditation
* Seeing my book in a bookstore
* Wearing cute jeans that fit
* Having newly-colored, touchable hair
* Taking Walk 'n Talks with Michael around Bird Island
* Receiving blissful massages from Rob
* Meeting new friends
* Learning to let go of other people's opinions of me
* Finding $5 in a side pocket of a purse
* Getting heartfelt thank-you emails from readers
* Having my BFF live driving-distance away
* Sunday nights!!!
* Watching "The Daily Show"
* Receiving checks in the mail
* Belly-laughing to Tina Fey
* Drinking cafe mochas with smart, funny, beautiful women
* Hearing my daughter sing in the bathtub
* Drooling over Johnny, Daniel (both of them), George, Edward, Bono, Bruce, Paolo, Jason, and Kate
* Loving what I do
* Being in love
* Being alive

Big Me: Is that it?

Li'l Me (smiling): Yup. For now. I feel soooooo much better. I am so blessed! Thanks, Big Me.

Big Me: Anytime.

Anytime.

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For your consideration and/or comment:

What are you grateful for?

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Visit www.TheresaRose.net to receive your Daily Dose of Mojo!

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Lights, Camera, Action

I've decided to make a movie. A five minute one.

I am currently in the production phase of creating the Opening the Kimono book trailer. Several nights ago, I received the storyboard while dreaming, and yesterday I filmed the two live action shots (Shout-out to my tough-as-nails director, Jean, a.k.a. Sophia!). I now have to gather the still photos, choose the soundtrack, write the titles, and put the whole thing together in iMovie. Since I have made my YouTube videoblogs for the last year or so, making the movie isn't the daunting part.

It's putting my "fat" pictures in it.

In the film I will be providing a brief description of Kimono, showing personal pics that coordinate with each section. For example, in the "Love & Sex" section, there will be the wedding photo of Michael and me. In the "Raising Kids" section, a precious one of The Bean and me will be included. In the "Death" section, there will be a very touching picture (and the last one we took together) of Mom and me. And since I discuss my lifelong struggle with weight in the "My Body" section, I'm gonna use a pic where I am a porker.

If I can find one.

Unfortunately, during the height (or width) of my obesity -- when I tipped the scales at over a deuce -- I went on several rampages and ripped up any pictures that made me look like a house, which were most of them. Sadly, I have very few pictures of me growing up, because most of them got angrily destroyed in multiple fits of bubbling self-hatred. The scant snapshots that remain are of me when I am at a somewhat "normal" weight (like I am now), or slightly heavy (like I am now!). The real Dumbo pics are nowhere to be found.

Still, I have not given up hope. I am confident that there are a few cringe-worthy photos buried in a neglected photo album somewhere. I think Emma has one or two in her baby book. (Eeesh! Post-baby flab. That'll be pretty.)

I find it ironic that, after twenty-five years of artfully dodging the camera, I am now frantically trying to find those same photos that caused me so much pain. Not only am I trying to find them, but I am going to include them in my book trailer for all to see.

Yes, Virginia, I've come a long way, baby.

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For your consideration and/or comment:

What kind of reaction do you have when you see photographs of yourself?

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Visit www.TheresaRose.net to receive your Daily Dose of Mojo!

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Online Rejection Slips

This morning I read the latest entry on a blog I recently started following on Blogger. In her post, the author was gently yet tactfully asking me who the hell I was.

At first, I got my knickers in a twist when I read her piece. I thought, "Hey, honey, you've got 40 Blogger followers, and I've got one. Stop your bitching already!" The question she posed on her blog was "Are you using it as free advertising space?" Hmmm. That's a good question. I must admit that part of my desire to follow blogs is to get connected to others. I like to read the musings of other writers, see what everyone else is obsessing over, and generally get simpatico with other happy humans. And in the midst of all of that goodness, if a person or two finds my Serious Mojo blog and likes what they see, then all the better. If you want to call that "using it as free advertising space", then I guess I'm guilty as charged. Although one would wonder what the point of utilizing a social networking tool like Blogger is if you aren't intending to, um, network. Oh well. Different strokes for different folks.

After stewing in my own self-righteous juices for a few minutes, I realized how similar Li'l Miss FancyPants is to me. I must admit that I get a little miffed when people on Twitter suddenly start "following" me, only to find that they don't tweet at all, but merely have a single page advertisement that they want to hornswoggle unsuspecting readers like myself into viewing for those first critical decision-making seconds. That is guerrilla marketing at it's worst (or should I say Gorilla Marketing, as most of those unscrupulous hacks pound their chests, drag their knuckles on the ground, and generally make a stinky mess of the online world.) Just yesterday I had to send another flame-gram email to "R&P" (I'll be magnanimous and protect their vile reputations) to demand that they remove me from their email lists. I get stupid, silly promotional emails from them every day, all from new email addresses, so I haven't been able to block them (which I have tried multiple times to do). It's a violation, pure and simple, and there is an especially putrid room in Hades just for Spammers like them. Tsk, tsk, tsk!!

I'm not trying to use anyone by starting to follow them; I'm merely trying to get plugged into the community. I want to find funny, interesting people, enjoy their words, and hope that people cool enough to follow funny, interesting people may get a chance to see that I'm (sometimes) funny and interesting too. This latest digital dis' that I experienced is not unlike the social scene of the seventh grade. Either you were part of the "In" crowd or you were sooooooo "out". This morning, I felt like I knocked on the front door of a more popular girl's house for her birthday party, and she answered by snarling, "What are YOU doing here?" It didn't feel good back then, and it sure doesn't feel good today.

The good news is that I don't have to see FancyPants at school the next day, secretly wishing I could disappear into my locker so I don't have to endure any more gut-wrenching humiliation. Instead, I can do what I just did ten minutes ago: I can stop following that stuck-up bitch.

Blog this, sweetie! :)

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For your consideration and/or comment:

Do you add friends on MySpace, Facebook, Blogger, or other networking sites that you don't know? Why did you choose to?

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Visit www.TheresaRose.net to receive your Daily Dose of Mojo!

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The Price of Beauty

As I write this, I have a plastic shopping bag from Publix on my head. Why, you ask? To hold in the mayonnaise, silly!




I am in the middle of one of those kooky at-home beauty recipes that you read about in Cosmo or Glamour but never actually have the balls to do. Trust me; I am SO not the mayo-on-the-hair type. I have never put cucumbers on my eyes, spread yogurt on my face, or soaked my feet in olive oil. However, after spending $40 at the salon two weeks ago on an unsuccessful deep conditioning treatment, I decided to take the goop into my own hands.

What prompted this radical use of condiments? If you saw my hair, you'd know. I currently look like a cross between the Cowardly Lion and Rosanne Rosanneadanna. Yesterday morning, my daughter entered our bedroom, looked at my disheveled mane and yelled, "Whoa! That is some fluffy hair!" Yeah, Em. That is some fluffy hair.

It turns out that the "subtle highlights" I had done a few weeks ago completely fried my already parboiled queen-size coiffure. Sure, the highlights turned out pretty, but it exacted some serious collateral damage. To describe my hair as frizzy is like saying the ocean is wet. It is every color, shade, texture, and flavor of frizzy that one can imagine. In a word, it is scaryfrizzy. Since I don't want to be known as the crazy chick with the frightening hair, I thought it time to give my 'do some much-needed TLC.

While my head was immersed in the oh-so-comfy salon washtub a few weeks ago, my dearest hairdresser, Julieta, quietly whispered to me the secret home remedy: put gobs of mayo on my hair, wrap plastic around my head, and wait. After a sufficient period of heat-up time, wash the sandwich spread out and watch my luscious locks return.

Hence, the mayo on my mop. I feel like a flaming dork.

One part of me knows I look like a freakin' goofball, and another part of me thinks I am being a narcissistic ass. Most likely, I am a combination of the two. I can't help it! I admit it; I want to have pretty hair. I don't have to have perfect hair like Angelina's, Kate's, or Jennifer's; I just don't want Roseanne Roseannadanna's. It's not too much to ask.

So, this morning I will be Little Miss Professional, sending important email interviews to national magazines, updating my website with articles and reviews, planning speaking engagements, and otherwise living with some Serious Mojo.

And I'll do all of this with a plastic Publix bag on my head.

Scary.

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For your consideration and/or comments:

What silly thing have you done before, all in the name of beauty?

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Visit www.TheresaRose.net to receive your Daily Dose of Mojo!

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Never Too Old

Is it wrong for a 39-year old wife and mother to wear metallic green nail polish on her toe nails?

Cerebral Bubbles

I can't think of a single coherent theme to write. My thoughts are like champagne bubbles today. Instead of sitting here wasting time, wishing I could harness my thoughts into one logical stream of thought, I thought I'd share a few of the fizzies dancing in my brain, hopefully enabling me to get happy and actually get some quality work done.

Oh, the Irony

Yesterday I wrote a business article on effective time management. Ha! That's rich.

The Holiday Post-Game Report

The holidays are finally over and “normal” life has resumed. I am back on my writing perch, sipping decaf hazelnut from my favorite mug, smelling India Palace incense burning, listening to Ben Harper (”With My Own Two Hands”), and feeling groovy. There is a firestorm of information, emotion, and inspiration I want to share. I missed you guys!

Here is the highlight reel of what happened in the Rose abode over the last two weeks:

* Santa arrived as planned on Christmas Eve, bringing Emma the items she requested on her list: a long, fuzzy purple bathrobe, a fancy, “flowy” dress, and the WALL-E DVD. My inquisitive daughter got up at 2:32am on Christmas Day just to make sure that Saint Nick had arrived, eaten his two Publix sugar cookies, and brought some packages. Thankfully, Santa must have arrived just after Em had gone to sleep (even though, I am sure, he was friggin’ tired from a full day of activity and desperately wanted to get his job done ASAFP so I — oops, I mean he — could finally get to bed.)

* I taught my daughter the art of being a hardcore gamer. As anyone in my family can attest, I am a bit of a psycho competitor when it comes to games. I LOVE GAMES. More importantly, I LOVE WINNING. This Christmas, I decided to teach Li’l Miss how to kick ass and take names in boardgaming. We played backgammon and Monopoly ad infinitum, and as expected, she is a chip off the ol’ block. It pained me to let her win the first few times; soon thereafter, however, the little urchin tasted blood and went after the parental jugulars with glee. I was so proud.

* Michael and I were able to go to not one, not two, but THREE movies over the holidays! They were big people movies too! We saw The Curious Case of Benjamin Button (Brad Pitt has the yummiest tooshie in Hollywood), Slumdog Millionaire (contains a serious emotional POW! factor), and Frost/Nixon (God bless great writing and acting). While we didn’t partake in our normal movie treats of Reese’s Pieces, buttery popcorn and a vat of Sprite, we still enjoyed holding hands in the dark and dissecting the films a la Ebert/Roeper afterward.

* The three of us spent a lot of time outside, enjoying the beauty and bounty of Mother Nature in sunny Florida. Michael and I like to call our forays around the neighborhood lake as “walk ‘n talks”. Em runs ahead of us, singing songs and finding all kinds of interesting treasures, while he and I talk about major life stuff. The holiday walk ‘n talks involved sharing our big dreams and desires for the coming year (and the corresponding panic and fear that accompany them). I revealed several nasty fears over my upcoming corporate speaking engagements, promoting my book nationally, starting my new radio show (stay tuned for more info!) and writing the next book (which is soooooooo ready to get written).

* Countless other juicy things took place — enjoying delicious meals made by my beloved spouse (Risotto!), curling up with several great books (In Defense of Food by Michael Pollan), performing some much-needed decluttering, reading Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban aloud to the fam, and lazily cuddling in the hammock with The Bean.

The holidays were precious! The time off was restorative! The family connection was blissful!

And now I’m ready to get back to work.

There is so much I want to accomplish in 2009. There are books to sell, speeches to make, interviews to conduct, videos to record, newsletters and Daily Doses of Mojos to create, press releases to send and articles to write. However, my most important goal for the next 365 days doesn’t involve tasks on a To-do list: it is to simply wake up each day feeling grateful and joyful, staying in that mindset for as much of the day as possible.

I want to remember that I am rich beyond measure no matter what happens or what I get done. I am so very thankful to Spirit for providing me the life of my dreams.

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(My blogs will now contain a question for your to ponder and hopefully write a reply. Please join me in a dialogue!)

What was the best thing that happened to you over the holidays?

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Visit www.TheresaRose.net to receive your Daily Dose of Mojo!