Stepping Into the Circle of Fear

In just a few hours, I will be attending an intensive hula hooping weekend workshop. Yes, you read it correctly: a hula hooping workshop.



The hoop is a glorious thing. It helps me to loosen up the ol' bod, burn some cals, and make me feel all sex kitten-y. Moreover, I have found it to be a moving meditation that is like none other I have experienced. Unfortunately, I have not been hooping as much as I would like; illness, tasks, strategic planning, public appearances, and other busybusybusy work has gotten in the way of it (hence the newest roll of backfat I discovered several days ago).

I signed up for this kick-@ss workshop many moons ago after receiving an email from the local hoop group called HoolaMonsters. It seems that the King of the Hoop, Jonathan Baxter, will be in Sarasota to conduct one of this famous HoopPath weekend workshops. (Shout-out to the ladies: He's gorgeous!!!) In a delusional fit of confidence, I signed up for the sucker. Flash forward months later, and I'm getting ready to hoop with girls half my age and size that possess at least five times the talent and sex appeal. Yippyf#ckingskippy. This should do wonders for my tender self-esteem.

Actually, this is good for me right now. I am in need of a healthy dose of surrender. There are other areas of my life that aren't being executed according to the mental choreography I painstakingly developed. There is a fair amount of wringing of hands and gnashing of teeth that has taken place in my world lately. I think that sweating my nards off in a weekend-long hula hoop class is exactly what the alternative healing physician ordered. It will help me to forget about the piddly little things that I have allowed to occupy my noggin rent-free; it will put me in my fears and other assorted gunk; and it will most certainly put me back in my body once again.

I know I love the hoop. Now I need to remind myself that I love myself too.

After all, it's not every voluptuous, well-seasoned 39-year old woman who has the cajones to attend a hooping retreat with a roomful of serpentine, drop-dead gorgeous girlie-girls.

Please wish me, my abdomen, and my self-worth luck.

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For your consideration and/or comment:

What have you done lately that has made you step out of your comfort zone?

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Happiness is the Hogwarts Express

Tonight I get to do one of the most exciting things imaginable: I get to read.

I have been absent from the Rose household every night this week. Monday night was my opportunity to watch the Oscar telecast courtesy of my friend Jamie and her TiVo, Tuesday night I did a speaking engagement at Eckerd College, and last night was another installment of Club Kimono, the righteous women's group that I am blessed to host. While all of these activities were a lot of fun, I really missed spending time with my fam. Hubby and Daughter did just fine without me, but all three of us yearned for our nightly read of Harry Potter.

We are now a third of the way through reading Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, and Emma is totally hooked on the literary heroin J.K. Rowling so adeptly administers. Tonight's chapter is where Harry, Ron, Hermione, and the rest of the kiddies jump aboard the magical Hogwarts Express train to begin their fourth year at Hogwarts. Since I am the only one who has already read the book and seen the movie, I get all squirmy when I know what's about to happen! Harry has turned 14 and I've started to develop a wee bit of a crush on him and his Quidditch pals. Cedric Diggory...Victor Krum...The Weasley Twins...

However, the best part of our wizardry readings isn't what is found within the pages; it's what happens in our living room chair. When one of us declares that it is "Time for HP", Emma immediately calls dibs on me. "I call sitting next to Mom the whole time!" She and I squeeze ourselves into our favorite chair and wrap our arms around each other. When we listen to Michael read his portion, we unconsciously twiddle each other's fingers and rub each other's tootsies. When we laugh or get scared, we immediately look at each other for nonverbal confirmation. The HP Time with EmmaBean is truly one of the most precious things in my life.



When it's my turn to read, I pull out all of the stops. I use different dramatic British accents for each character, use sweeping hand gestures, speak in a near-whisper for the super-tense parts, and occasionally accentuate the action with appropriate sound effects. WHAM!!! SLAM!!!! POW!!!! EEEKK!!!! My daughter is mesmerized by my enthusiastic performance, and I eat up her praise like fine dark chocolate. I have read about Griffindor, Quidditch, Privet Drive, and You-Know-Who countless times, but it never gets old. Each time I am handed the book to read, my little Hermione-in-training firmly instructs me to "Make it really dramatic, Mama!"

I will, Em. I promise.

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For your consideration and/or comment:

What is your favorite Harry Potter character and why?

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Rallying

I just finished an hour-and-a-half enhanced interrogation session performed by our tax accountant. In one hour, I need to be ready to do a speaking presentation. Eeesh...I'm playing Emotional Pong again.

To all those CPAs out there, I apologize, but your ilk drives me loco. No matter how I do things, it never seems to be accurate or sufficient. I always end up getting a lecture on proper ledger entry, chart of accounts, expenses vs. capitalization, and other mind-numbingly boring topics that I couldn't give two rabbit turds about. Our CPA is a perfectly charming woman who only tries to help, but I can't help but act like a petulant child when I am in her midst. Like a grown-up Bart Simpson writing "I promise to dutifully manage my books" a hundred times before the dismissal bell rang, I squirmed in my seat, waiting not-so-patiently to be released from the mahogany-appointed Hades as quickly as freakin' possible.

I am now slurping down a Decaf Mocha from Whole Foods after inhaling some combo of taboulleh, bulghar, and some other ethnic goop that I would undoubtedly misspell. Somehow in the next hour I need to release the tax albatross from my neck and tap into my currently-AWOL juju. There will soon be people in front of me wanting to hear from a powerful, successful, enthusiastic, and articulate woman who will share her inspiring story of creating Opening the Kimono. Since she is nowhere to be found at this moment, I guess they'll be stuck with me.

Of course, it's not as bad as all that. With every passing minute (and every typed word) I can feel myself releasing more and more of my odious, noxious attitude in favor of Little Miss Mojo. I am letting go of my whiny baby attitude and embracing the fact that I have chosen this life, and what a wonderful one I have! Eating some food helps. Drinking some chocolate coffee really helps. Blogging through my annoyance really, really helps. Most importantly, realizing that I am so very blessed to be given another day on this big, blue, beautiful planet really, really, really helps.

Pish posh on my taxes, ledgers, and chart of accounts! Ain't none of it bigger and badder than my own bad ass.

I daresay that the audience who is about to see me won't be disappointed after all. I think I've all but released my WhinyGirl pissiness in favor of some good ol' fashioned Theresa Rose sassiness.

Whew! That was close. And I've even got 40 minutes to spare...



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For your consideration and/or comment:

How do you handle the yearly tax nightmare, er, process?

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

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Let's Do the Time Warp Again

I'm so excited! I get to watch the Oscars tonight!

Yeah, I know; they happened last night. Since I don't have TV, I was not able to watch it live. However, a friend of mine generously offered to Tivo it and open her home to me this evening (Thx, Jamie!). I will be bringing wine, cheese, and an insatiable desire to drool over All Things Hollywood. The evening dedicated to the art of cinema touches the past Drama Club President in me that not-so-secretly wished I would have pursued a career in acting.

Today I have purposely avoided all forms of media so as not to ruin the surprise. No Facebook, no radio, no Google news, and no Twitter. Unfortunately, I inadvertently caught a headline at the newspaper stand at Starbucks that read, "Top Dog: Slumdog", so I know that Slumdog Millionaire won Best Picture. YAY!!!! I love that movie, and it makes me happy to see that it won. Luckily, there's a bunch of other awards that are still surprises to me.

At the risk of looking like a total a-hole and/or goofball, here are my predictions for last night's winners:

* Mickey Roarke will perform the biggest comeback of the decade and win Best Actor, tearfully thanking the WWE and his recently-deceased dog

* Kate Winslet will finally win her much-deserved Oscar for The Reader. Ah, Kate. You are on my Short List, Gorgeous.

* Wall-E will win Best Animated Picture, which it totally deserves. It also deserved to be nominated for Best Picture, but that's another story.

* Penelope Cruz will not win Best Supporting Actress, but I wanted to mention her anyway. She too is on my Short List. Que bonita!

* The cameraman will show Johnny Depp as many times as possible, but not nearly as many as I would prefer. Johnny sightings have replaced Jack sightings at the recent Oscar telecasts. (I would like to put a request in for next year's broadcast. How about a JohnnyCam that is permanently placed in the lower left-hand corner of the screen?)

* The musical numbers will still have a serious amount of cheese factor attached to them, but watching Zac Efron in a tux will make the medicine go down muuuuuuuuuch easier.

* Hugh Jackman will be charming, but I'll still miss Billy.

* The whole show will make me miss my mom. (I'll think of you from the Red Carpet to the credits, Ma.)

So, there's my Oscar predictions. Tomorrow, I'll let you know how I did!

Oh, right. You already know.

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For your consideration and/or comment:

What was your favorite Oscar moment?


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Pink & Black

I just noticed a curious thing: I have surrounded myself with pink and black.

I immediately notice the following items within five feet of me:



* My new iPhone sleeve is hot pink, with the space-agey screen itself being jet black.

* My daughter's old journal is black with pink butterflies. I have absconded with it, utilizing it as one of a dozen running To-Do list capturers. Don't feel too badly for the kid; she has a cabinet full of notebooks, pads, and diaries, each one having approximately a page-and-a-half of scribbles in them. She hasn't even noticed it's gone.

* My laptop bag is pink and black plaid. I sprung for this Staples special a few months ago when I found myself going out of the house quite often to write. For some reason, I felt the need to strike a little bit more of a stylish pose to my anonymous Panera Bread and/or Whole Foods posse than my fifteen-year old clunky laptop bag was giving me. A girl's gotta have the proper accessories.

* My flowy pink and black, post-hippie blouse that I bought for a song at Opitz, the single coolest shop in the world. Opitz is a discount store in Minneapolis that has deals on designer clothes to die for. It has fashions you can't buy in Florida and normally couldn't possibly afford at list price. For example, I bought the fancy little frock I'm wearing for $12. Yes, $12. I love you, sweet Opitz.

* The countless pink stickies I have plastered on my vision board, modem, printer, and anywhere else I randomly look throughout the day. The two that are catching my eye right now is the working title of not the next book I am going to write, but the one after (It's gonna be sooooo good!), and a note from my daughter from a long time ago that says, "I love you very much Mommy and Mim and God." (Translation provided by Mommy.)

Obviously, with the predominance of pink and black objects I choose to have around me, they must make me happy. There's just somethin' about the whimsy of hot pink and black as opposed to the humdrum of charcoal gray and muted pastels. Somehow they strike me as sassy, feminine, and powerful. Unusual.

Just like me.

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For your consideration and/or comment:

What are your favorite colors lately and why?

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

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The Cruel Arrival of Backfat

I have been sick for over a week (hence, no blogging). Thankfully, I am nearly back to health, save for one nasty offshoot: I swear I've gained at least 10 friggin' pounds.

It's not that I've gone overboard on the food consumption front (I've certainly done much more damage over my lifetime of binge eating). Yes, I've eaten slightly worse than I normally do -- I admit to a Haagen-Daaz single scoop cone of Chocolate Peanut Butter, two slices of Filippo's delish Pizza Margherita and a glass of wine, more than one of those evil Decaf Mochas from Starbucks that I just can't seem to kick, and a few extra handfuls of my tasty home-roasted cashews and almonds. I ate and/or drank these delectable extras because I was sick, dammit, and I deserved it. (Oh yeah. I also pilfered my daughter's Valentine's Day box of goodies, unbeknownst to her.)

Combine my diet wagon-diving with a total absence of physical movement, and what did I get? A nearly instantaneous arrival of BACKFAT. This morning, I was greeted by a larger-than-usual roll at my backside that wasn't there two weeks ago. WTF???? Can I not have a moderate therapeutic slide down JunkFood Lane without my body immediately responding with the unpleasantness of a bloated bellly and tight jeans? Criminy! Life isn't fair sometimes.

I guess that's what I get for getting older and getting more in touch with my body. Somehow I have arrived at a point where my body is now used to eating healthy and being moved on a regular basis (Who'da thunk it?). So when I shuck the healthy lifestyle thing in favor of comfort food and growing roots on furniture, it responds with physical reminders of its displeasure, a la Backfat.

I'm in the middle of the "Boo-hoo, poor-poor-pitiful-me, this-sucks-ass" phase of weight gain. However, I have also decided to eat a healthy lunch today, avoid the beckoning call of Haagen-Daaz and do a little booty-shakin' in the hula hoop later. My deepest wish is that my body will be so happy to be back in the groove of health, that it will remove my Backfat roll just as quickly as it took putting it there.

Do you hear me, my beautiful body? I promise I'll be nicer to you...

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For your consideration and/or comment:

What is the first change you notice on your body when you gain a little weight?

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Getting Schooled

I am immersing myself in the promotion of my book and speaking engagements. My swirling, twirling eyeballs are pretty accurate indicators of how I am faring.

There is so much to understand. I had a two-hour consultation with a speaking coach today, and I scribbled every last bit of info that was hurled toward me in rapid-fire fashion. I learned about angles, hooks, pitches, segments, discounts, contracts, press kits, show producers, and other critical elements to a successful brand launch. (That's what I am now -- a brand. Eeesh.) Of course, I am hugely grateful for the opportunity to learn from someone who knows the ins and outs of my industry, enabling me to hone my message and save a bunch of time and energy. I knew meeting her was a good thing even as I felt my guts churn and my hair fall out from the stress. There is SO MUCH TO DO! I am having a serious "Calgon, Take Me Away!" moment.

Here is a sample of the chatter in my brain: What non-profit organizations will I contact about speaking engagements and will I remember everything I need to negotiate? How can I morph the teachings of Opening the Kimono into acceptable and desirable corporate-speak? How will I get all of the pieces together for my Press Kit? What are the dozens of 30-second pitches I need to create in order to call TV producers? (Uff da...that last one makes me want to urp my healthy Whole Foods lunch.)

Such is the life of getting big. We run into our crap that keeps us small. Our fears. Our doubts. Our negative self-talk. Our deeply-held beliefs that we can't possibly pull this thing off. ("Who the hell do I think I am?" is not-so-silently running in the background.)

Just when I feel like I want to hurl myself in front of a bumper-stickered hybrid car in the Whole Foods Parking Lot, I get an email from a long-lost friend who just finished reading Opening the Kimono. My buddy reminded me of what was truly important. Here is a portion of what she wrote:

"Wow. I mean, some people have funny, and even poignant tales to tell, but it takes a real talent to put the words together to make a meaningful and interesting story. You have a gift. I think you’ve found your calling girl! Your book arrived in my mailbox last week. I was busy that day (Wednesday I think??), so the book sat on my kitchen counter screaming “read me, read me, read me damnit!” So the next afternoon, I took the book out onto my sunny deck and started reading. During the course of my read fest, the kids came home from school, the sun sank behind the trees (creating a chill that I was oblivious to), and dinner time was approaching. I finished the book in one sitting. It really touched me. I was literally laughing out loud through tears in my eyes...I’ve loaned your book to a good friend of mine who I know will love it. Hope you are well, please take care, and hurry up and write another book. The world needs to hear more from Theresa Rose."

I'm workin' on it, girl, I'm workin' on it.

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For our consideration and/or comment:

Do you ever freak-out when you start going after your dreams?

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

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Not So Bad, Really

Just when I think I'm a terrible mother, I get validation that I'm not so bad after all.

No doubt about it, there are nincompoops out there that never should have spawned. A case in point is a total friggin' goober who got high off Xanax and decided to let his eight-year old drive the family roadster. As you can imagine, this didn't end well for anyone. His little guy almost ran over two people before he plowed into a tree, wrecking the car and his father's future chances to win Dad of the Year. All of this happened in my quiet little hamlet, just a few miles from my house! What a moron.

Then there's the goofball unemployed mother of six in California who decides that she can easily handle another eight children by herself while collecting government disability checks. I'm sure each and every one of her fourteen children will get all of the love and nurturing they need to become healthy, vibrant, confident, successful men and women. Yeah. Right. Oh, by the by, she has set up her own web site to collect "donations", citing that no one person can raise fourteen children on her own. No shit, Sherlock.

Finally, there's the story of yet another sad sack of characters who allowed a five-year old to be abducted from their mobile home. The little girl and her three year old brother were being "watched" by the father's 17-year old girlfriend at the time. The girl who was "watching" the girl said, "She was sleeping right next to me. I can't believe I didn't hear anything." (Cue the banjo music.) Come on! Either something fishy is going on, or this dolt of a teenager should never be responsible for taking care of anyone other than herself and possibly a very hearty goldfish. Also, here's a quick piece of advice to the teenage girl: Don't Date Dads.

So, as you can read, I have my knickers in a twist today. It pisses me off to see people acting so casually with the lives of children, as if they are something with which to be trifled. Children are glorious little people -- people who look up to us big people for guidance, comfort, safety, encouragement, support, and love. Hey Doofuses, don't bring the little ones into your own personal nightmares. They didn't do anything to deserve it.

(Theresa officially steps off of her soapbox.)

That being said, I feel pretty good that the only numbskull parenting thing I did today was spill orange juice on Emma's beautifully decorated Secret Valentine's box. I know; I'm such a shit.

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For your consideration and/or comment:

What do you think makes parents do crazy things?

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The Sick Day

Last night I could feel it starting -- that familiar scratchiness and subsequent closing of the throat. Argh.

Ironically, I had a medical appointment just yesterday where our family doctor informed me of the results from my recent diagnostic lab work. It turns out that, contrary to my hypochondriac tendencies, I am a picture of health: low blood pressure, low glucose, low cholesterol, healthy liver and kidney function, no lifestyle risk factors, sufficient exercise, and normal weight. (Did he just say I possessed a normal weight?? Yippeee!!!)

Despite my stamp of physician approval, I started feeling icky around 8:00pm. It all started while I was waiting for my daughter to finish her Karate class. A little snotty munchkin about four years old (I'm not being mean; the kid was literally snotty) was hovering over me, watching me fiddle with my new Scrabble iPhone game designed exclusively for nerds like me. Little Snotty Scotty was within a foot of my face, captivated by the colorful squares and alphabet tiles displayed on the tiny screen. He would stick his goobery face between my phone and me, saying, "Whatcha doin'?" over and over again. I lightly told him that he was crowding me and that I couldn't play with his head stuck in my face. He thought my comments were cute; I knew I was breathing in his sick-little-boy-who-never-should-have-been-let-out-in-public germs. Sure enough, an hour or so later, I started to feel horrible.

Last night's sleep -- which is a generous way of describing the fitful tosses and turns I endured between the hours of ten and six -- had me resting my hands around my achy, inflamed throat in a brave attempt to thwart impending illness through some good ol' fashioned energy healing. Thankfully, my juju worked and I am feeling better than I did in the middle of the night. However, I still need to be diligent in knocking this bug out of me before it takes hold. Here is the day I envision:

* Gargle/gag/gargle with a God-awful salt water cocktail a few times
* Regularly check email even though I promised myself I was taking the day off
* Try to nap, but eventually get up and watch The Daily Show instead
* Lay in the sun and try to cook this nasty thing out of me
* Feel guilty for not having worked
* Write out tomorrow's extra-unrealistic To-Do list to make up for the "lost" day

That's it. That's what a Sick Day looks like in my world. Thank goodness I don't have these very often; I don't do sick very well.

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For your consideration and/or comment:

What do you like to do when you are taking a sick day?

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Visit www.TheresaRose.net for your Daily Dose of Mojo!

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Blissful Monday Morning

It isn't often that I can claim to be having a blissful Monday morning, but this is one of those rare moments.

Early on in the weekend, I got all of the laundry done. All critical domestic chores have been completed. Last night, I prepared hubby's and daughter's lunches in advance. I slept like an angel, having wonderful dreams of standing-room only speaking engagements, runaway book sales, and cute man-boys. This morning, I was awakened by my beloved in the most delicious of ways...twice. :) WOO HOO! I'm ready to kick off a glorious day.

Yes, there is a lot of work to be done. There's always a lot of work to be done. I have serious work to do with Serious Mojo Publications. But I am happy to say that I have love in my heart, wind beneath my wings, and a righteous circle of family and friends that make this journey so damn joyful.

What a great way to start a week.

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For your consideration and/or comment:

What is one amazing thing you have in your life?

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Visit www.TheresaRose.net for your Daily Dose of Mojo!

Blissful Monday Morning

It isn't often that I can claim to be having a blissful Monday morning, but this is one of those rare moments.

Early on in the weekend, I got all of the laundry done. All critical domestic chores have been completed. Last night, I prepared hubby's and daughter's lunches in advance. I slept like an angel, having wonderful dreams of standing-room only speaking engagements, runaway book sales, and cute man-boys. This morning, I was awakened by my beloved in the most delicious of ways...twice. :) WOO HOO! I'm ready to kick off a glorious day.

Yes, there is a lot of work to be done. There's always a lot of work to be done. I have serious work to do with Serious Mojo Publications. But I am happy to say that I have love in my heart, wind beneath my wings, and a righteous circle of family and friends that make this journey so damn joyful.

What a great way to start a week.

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For your consideration and/or comment:

What is one amazing thing you have in your life?

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Visit www.TheresaRose.net for your Daily Dose of Mojo!

Livin' on EmmaTime

My li'l punkin' has finagled her way into staying home from school today, citing a bad case of the sniffles. What does that mean for my work day? HA! What work day?

I had originally scheduled two important appointments and planned on attacking several big To-Dos. However, when I got "The Call" from Emma's teacher yesterday afternoon informing me that Em seemed under the weather, I knew it meant only one thing. My Friday magically morphed into Her Friday.

Needless to say, a list revision was required. I rescheduled the two appointments -- yet again -- and pared down my To-Dos to include only the essentials. There are now four things on the list, two of which are a phone call and an email. God willing, I'll get one of them done.

It is nearly impossible to work when Emma is home, because she thinks it's FREE day! It's time to spend with Mom talking or playing!! When I push back on her, gently telling her that Mommy still needs to work, she looks at me like Christina Crawford must have looked at her Mommie Dearest after the wire hanger "incident".

As I write this blog, Emma is laying right behind me, reading her Rosa Parks biography for her upcoming book report. She is somewhat appeased since she can still be in Mom's vicinity. If I'm lucky, I'll finish my tasks before she finishes her book, and everyone will be peaceful and happy. (Although it's difficult to concentrate when she informs me of her progress by announcing, "Look, Mama! I'm on page 166 out of 188!" after every friggin' page.)



Actually, I don't mind having to forego my workday in favor of a Momday. This week has been a very productive one for me, and, frankly, I deserve to chillax a little bit. Once we both finish our respective duties, there's a very good chance that we'll be watching Scooby Doo and the Witch's Ghost or Willa Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. I think the best medicine my daughter needs right now is a heaping dose of of movies and Mom-cuddles.

It will do me some good too.

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For your consideration and/or comment:

What was your favorite thing to do when you were home sick?

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Visit www.TheresaRose.net to receive your Daily Dose of Mojo!
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Running Up That Hill...Again

I'm about to do what I promised myself I wasn't going to ever do again: I'm gonna mail query letters to literary agents again. Ugh. Double Ugh.

It's not that I have anything against literary agents; I'm sure they are wonderful people. They certainly have a way with words, as evidenced by the stack of rejection letters I have received so far. Last year around this time, I started the painful, laborious process of sending out query letters. I researched, wordsmithed, polished, and otherwise blew kisses on my perfectly-crafted queries in the hopes of acquiring someone who would recognize my literary diamond. I had visions of the perfect agent shepherding me as I navigated the treacherous terrain known as the publishing industry. Alas, all I received for my efforts was a steady stream of "Dear Author" letters. (sniff sniff)

Instead of pounding my head against the wall month after month, year after year, I felt driven to get Opening the Kimono out into the world ASAFP. As such, I manned-up and ponied-up the dough to publish the damn thing myself. I hired the cover photog, the interior page designer, the cover designer, and all other manner of services to make my book Barnes & Noble-worthy. After a few short months, I was blessed to hold my book in hand. Very soon thereafter, many others started holding the book in theirs. People are digging it, and I'm digging life. Happy Dance!

With everything going so well, why in the hell would I want to subject myself to more agony, more rejection, and more heartache? I don't honestly know, other than I have been receiving information from Spirit about it. I am having dreams about it; agent names are finding their way to me; I have seen what the new query letters will look like. Believe me, I'm not overly jazzed about reopening this can of worms again. I'd much rather go on my merry way without having to deal with the body-blow known as the rejection letter. However, when Spirit compels me to move forward, there's no amount of wishing, tantrum-throwing, or ignoring that will make it go away. I need to run up that hill, dammit.

Time will tell if my agent querying will net me anything other than another valuable life lesson. Maybe it is the perfect time for the perfect agent to see the glorious manifestation of Opening the Kimono and want to take it to the next level. Or maybe not. Maybe I'll be schooled again in the act of surrender. This time, my goal isn't to put my faith in the timing of literary agents; it's to put it in Divine Timing.

That's all the Time I need.

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For your consideration and/or comment:

What gentle nudge are you receiving that you need to act upon?

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Visit www.TheresaRose.net for your Daily Dose of Mojo!

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God Bless Nitrous Oxide

I had my first Laughing Gas high this morning at the dentist. :) 'Twas good.

The dentist's office and I have a love/hate relationship; they love to take my money, and I hate them with a bloody passion. I had dental trauma several years ago after getting into a serious car accident, and I've never been able to get over it. Every time I set foot in that wretched office, my palms start to sweat, my jaw clenches, and my shoulders hike up around my ears. Every second is torture. Even with my trusty iPod playing my favorite tunes in my earbuds, I still can't shake the near-paralyzing anxiety. By the time the plastic sucky-thing is put into my mouth and I'm told to open wide, I morph into a certifiable raving ninny.

Today was different, because I saw a different dentist -- a female dentist. After she saw me have a total freak-out in the oh-so-comfy horizontal chair, she looked at me with compassionate eyes and said knowingly, "I think you're a candidate for Nitrous." I didn't know what a candidate for Nitrous looked like, but I was pretty certain that I looked like a petrified cat with its claws stuck in the ceiling tiles. I was ready to try anything to get through this nightmare without having a full-blown panic attack.

Within a few minutes, they had strapped a doo-hickey onto my face and instructed me to breathe through my nose. After a few minutes, my arms and legs started getting heavvvvvvvvvvy and I entered the coveted "Twilight Zone" for which the dentist prepared me. After a couple of quick shots of Novocaine, I was off to HappyTown.

For the next 45 minutes, the dental hygienist pinched, poked, stabbed, scraped, sandblasted, powerwashed, and vac-dried my mouth, and I didn't give a crap. I was off offf offfff into my own fabulous world.

I'll be honest: I had fantasies about boys. Cute boys. Famous boys and local boys. Boys I knew and boys I didn't. Singer boys (i.e. Jason Mraz), and actor boys (Zac Efron). Boys with big shoulders and cute butts. Boys with open hearts and soft lips. Boys. Boys. More boys.

I was blissfully swimming in a sea of testosterone when I heard my iPhone ring, temporarily pausing my Jason Mraz Playlist. The ring tone was "You Sexy Thing" by Hot Chocolate. Only one special person is assigned that ring tone: Mr. Michael Rose, hunky husband to the fantasizing almost-middle-aged woman who was currently hyped-up on Nitrous.

It was then that I got the biggest high of all; I realized that I met and married the boy of my dreams.

Mmmmm...'tis good indeed. I can't wait for my beloved to come home to me!

Maybe I'll feel my lips by then.

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For your consideration and/or comment:

How do you handle visits to the dentist's office?

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

Bruuuuuuuuuuuuce!

Bruce Springsteen & the E Street Band made my heart ache.

I have been blessed to see Bruce & the Best F#@king Band in the Universe live in concert. There is simply nothing like it. I once described it as a 3 1/2 hour orgasm that you share with ten thousand other people. It's THAT good. So, imagine my pain when finding out that Bruce was the featured performer in last night's football game. Why was it so painful? Because I didn't watch it. Instead, I heard the hoots and hollers from my surrounding neighbors as they reveled in drinking of the tasty Bruce Juice.

If you are a frequent reader of my blog, you know that the Rose household is a TV-free one. We don't have television. OK, so we have the box, but we don't have the service. There's no cable, no satellite, no local broadcast, nada. If you turn on the Sony Trinitron in our house, all you see is snow. For 360 days out of each year, that suits us just fine. We use our Sony as a monitor, watching the occasional DVD. Our boycott of the boob tube allows us to have more time to spend on real life instead of reel life. I know, we're freaks.

(Feeling extra sorry for myself last night, I forced my husband to watch Chocolat with me -- there's nothing that a healthy, sultry dose of Johnny Depp can't cure.)

Last night was one of those nights where I missed TV; I really really really really really really missed it. Bruce Springsteen has the nickname of The Boss for a reason. The guy is a friggin' monster! He can charge up a dead man. The pain in my gut grew exponentially when I found out he belted out two of my all-time faves: "Tenth Avenue Freeze-out" and "Born to Run". Oh, the agony!

The first thing I did this morning was visit YouTube on BigMac (the Apple desktop we have) to watch the Must See TV that I didn't see. Thankfully, I quickly found the links of my desire. A big shout-out to YouTuber Spud1200s for the links. Thanks, my online savior! Here they are, for those of you who want to check out the righteousness of Bruce & the E Street Band: Part 1, Part 2.

I turned up the volume as high as it would go (as per The Boss's instructions), and recalled times past when I danced in the stands to my Jersey hero. I feel blessed to have experienced those times, and I am blessed to have watched his performance from last night. I decided to be grateful for the opportunity to have seen the performance instead of bitch about how tiny and fuzzy he appeared on BigMac.

Bruce gave me a great reminder to appreciate what's most important: the music.

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For your consideration and/or comment:

Who is your favorite performer you have seen live?

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

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