Wednesday, May 20, 2009

I Curse You, Star Magazine

OK, so maybe I'm a bit overly sensitive right now -- Blame it on Flo's impending arrival -- but what the hell is the world coming to when Uma Friggin' Thurman is awarded the WORST BEACH BODY?!

Uma, for God's sake! What normal, non-famous woman wouldn't give her left nut to look like Uma Thurman? Yet, there was Uma in all her gorgeous glory on the cover of Star Magazine with "WORST SAGGY!" plastered next to her picture. What message is that sending to the rest of us mere mortals? Do we really need to be perfectly primped, pumped, and perky in order to be considered beautiful? That's craziness! Life happens, folks. Gravity is a law of nature. Big boobs will eventually droop. Especially natural ones. Uma is nothing short of Goddess level in my mind, yet she is relegated to the frumpy background while young, nubile hotties like Rihanna and Pink move into center stage. Rihanna and Pink, your time is comin'; enjoy the "BEST!" category when you still can.

Of course, while firmly planted in my self-righteous superiority, I would never dream of purchasing one of those nasty, hateful rags at the grocery store checkout counter. However, I must admit my own secret culpability in the vicious cycle of celebrity worship/vilification. Every month I go to Lemon Blossom Salon and Spa to get my grays covered and my hair tamed. Every time, I vow that I will use those two hours to do something useful, like write something on MacDaddy, or at the very least jot down my to-do list in my daughter's trusty Girls Rock! notebook. I'll even bring a book just in case Lady Muse decides not to visit me. But, guess what? I NEVER end up working at the salon. Instead, I do what all of the other women in the place do: I read those wretched magazines, cover to cover. When I am sitting there with brown goop dripping down my forehead and foil twisted on my tendrils, I'll guiltily devour every page of every available tabloid. I can't say I actually read them, because I don't. I view them, as one would view porn. I'll eye the latest US, People, and Star for every instance of posed red carpet photos, candid beach naughties, and even the benign celeb walk to the local coffee shop (OMG, Robert Pattinson bought a Venti Caramel Macchiato from the Vancouver Starbucks! He's SOOOOO hot!!!) I don't know what it is, but there is something comforting about seeing Jennifer Aniston pick out a wedgie while vacationing in Fiji. Call me crazy.

You can imagine what two hours of celebrity scrutinizing does to my already-fragile self-esteem. After bathing in the imagery of the Rich, Famous and Freakishly Beautiful, I'll steal a quick glance in the mirror and see Frankenstein's wife staring back at me. Today's tortuous session at Lemon Blossom will be particularly heinous, as I am sporting a dazzling case of pre-period, pizza-face breakouts and a poochy mid-section (I'm still endeavoring to release the excess poundage acquired during our recent vacation). Oh joy.

Maybe this time will be different. Maybe this time I'll fight the unquenchable desire to participate in the Celebrity JudgeFest. As I head to the salon for my monthly emotional drubbing, I am armed with Stephanie Meyers' Eclipse and my Girls Rock! notebook.

A girl can dream, can't she?


For your consideration and/or comment:

Do you ever look at tabloid magazines? How do they make you feel?


Visit to take a peek inside the award-winning Opening the Kimono!


Monday, May 18, 2009

Silky Anniversary

Today is my 12th wedding anniversary, and it is indeed cause for celebration.

I am happy to report that I continue to fall more passionately in love with my husband Michael over each passing year. The guy friggin' rocks! He unconditionally loves me, whether I'm fat or thin, pimply or pretty. He has unwavering belief in my ability to actually make it as an Author, Speaker, and Bringer of the Mojo. He puts up with my whiny PMS tirades with nary a complaint. He gives me a quality boning whenever I need it. He is, quite simply, THE SHIT.

Twelve year anniversaries are symbolized by silk, and I find that it appropriately represents my latest marital milestone. Silk is beautiful, comforting, luxurious, and eminently touchable, just like my hubby. Silk makes me feel good when it's rubs against me, just like my hubby. Silk makes me feel special and worthy of great things, just like my hubby. As a child, my favorite dessert to have was a piece of French Silk Pie from Bakers Square, and not coincidentally, French Silk is an accurate description of the man I married. On this special day, I honor the silky goodness of one mister Michael Andre Rose, and the way that handsome devil continues to make me all school-girl giddy inside.

It feels good to have this kind of love in my life and in my heart. Believe me, it wasn't always this way. In fact, I had many lonely years and troubling fears before Monsieur Rose happened into my world. (I could have easily won First Place in a Frog Kissing/F@#king Contest.) True love wasn't something I felt I deserved much less was able to acquire. I would see happy couples and think, "That will never in a million years be me." Yet somehow, through luck, healing, moxie, Divine Intervention, and some good ol' fashioned ballsiness, I found my way into Michael's heart and he into mine.

Today I am bursting with love, joy, and gratitude for my own personal Prince Charming. There isn't a day that goes by where I am not grateful for him. (Even though there are some days when I want to thunk him with a 2x4 when he forgets to take the garbage out. Again.)

Not bad after twelve years of marriage...

Friday, May 15, 2009

Beaner Medicine

I had a TERRIBLE day yesterday. It was one of those horrible, icky, I-want-to-crawl-in-front-of-a-bus-because-that-would-undoubtedly-feel-better sort of days.

It all started in the morning when I bid a tearful adieu to a very dear friend of mine. The heartache I felt permeated my body, layer after layer. My colon reacted to my emotional upset by deciding it would eliminate everything contained within it, courtesy of a dozen or more unpleasant trips to the loo. Soon thereafter, the nausea began. The sight, smell, and thought of food made me want to hurl. My stomach felt like I had just stepped off the Top Thrill Dragster. At mid-day, the bone-numbing fatigue set in. I could barely keep my eyes open as I crumpled into bed for an afternoon nap. Around 7:00pm, the fever started. My temperature inched up up up, peaking at 101.5 before I fell into a fitful night of shivers, cramps, and moans.

Not surprisingly, my seven-year old daughter was the key to my healing. Right before my fever spike, Emma did something totally out of character: she fell out of bed and slammed her right rib onto her bed frame. This was a highly unusual event for Emma Rose. As a martial artist, she is sure on her feet and aware of her surroundings. Ever since Emma was a baby, she has been IN her body and in control of it. Blessedly, I have been spared trips to the Emergency Room and calls from the school nurse.

But that wasn't the case last night.

Around 6:00pm, Michael and I heard a loud THUD! with a follow-on heart-wrenching cry coming from the wee one's room. As I ran to her, I saw her on the floor grabbing her right side in obvious pain. She tearfully explained how she fell out of bed and onto the metal bed-rail. The bruise was huge, nasty, and already starting to turn purple. I was afraid she hit it so hard that maybe she could have caused some internal damage.

That's all it took for me to let go of my own pain. It was time to heal my child.

I spent the next several hours giving her Reiki. For the first hour, Emma's body greedily sucked up the energy, making my hands raging hot from the transfer of healing energy. Eventually, I could feel the injured place soften and become more balanced. Once I felt the energy flowing gently, I stopped fearing that she had poked a hole in her liver or punctured her lung (I have a flair for the dramatic when it comes to the safety of my kid). I knew she would be OK.

Just to be safe, I fell asleep giving her Reiki. While my focus was on healing my daughter, I knew the energy that flowed through me would help me too. Flash forward eight hours, and I woke up feeling like a million bucks. The fever was gone, the skittish tummy was calm once again, and my vitality had returned. I felt like myself again! Just as importantly, Emma felt great too; her bruise was significantly smaller and less painful than it had been the night before.

I don't believe it was an accident that my daughter had an accident yesterday. EmmaBean and I are connected on a deep level, and I wouldn't put it past her Higher Self to orchestrate the unusual bed-dive to give me a mechanism for my healing. That's just the way that li'l squirt works. She knows what Mama needs when she needs it.

Thanks, Beaner, for the medicine.


For your consideration and/or comment:

Have you ever found yourself healing yourself because of another?


Visit to take a peek inside the award-winning Opening the Kimono!

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

I Wouldn't Miss Miss USA

Is it just me, or does it seem that most of the country have taken a stupid pill? How is it that one of the top "News" items on Google News is the so-called controversy about the latest, almost-famous bimbo known as Miss USA?

I know that my views may brand me as a feminist pig, but honestly, I'm comfortable with that. At least pigs exist in nature, for goodness sake. Miss USA's don't exist in nature; they are freaks of it!!! These plasticized chicks parade around with their perfect, expensive, surgically-enhanced bodies in skin-tight sequined gowns and string bikinis in order to be judged by a panel of C-list celebs and the American viewing public. In order to justify the meatfest, the contest organizers plop in a brief - but often hilarious - Q&A portion of the program to convince us that we aren't just looking at a 3-D version of Playboy magazine. This segment is where we are led to believe that these women not only have unnaturally gorgeous bodies, but also have cerebral superiority and problem-solving skills that would rival anything found on the floor of the United Nations.

What I have gleaned from the multitude of news stories on the web is that the most recently crowned Miss USA from California has gotten a lot of flak for three things (well, really four things): 1) she opposes gay marriage and publicly said so in response to a question posed by the very powerful, openly-gay superblogger Perez Hilton, 2) she modeled for some naughty pics a few years ago, and 3 & 4) she received a new set of knockers purchased by the pageant muckety-mucks. Suddenly, everyone is in a uproar about these serious transgressions committed by the beauty queen. Uhmmm...she's a beauty queen! Who the f@ck is surprised by any of this?

What's even more ridiculous is the number of people calling for her resignation. (Not that I agree with her numbskull comments, including her support of the sanctity of "opposite marriage", whatever the hell that is.) Reality check, folks! Miss USA is nothing more than a marketing device for Donald Trump to make a shitload of money. In case you doubt my premise, I defy to you give me the name of one other previous Miss USA and a corresponding important accomplishment she has done. Yeah, I couldn't think of one either. Yet, everyone is acting as if this role means something! A recent op-ed piece, from FOX News no less, called for The Brainiac from California to resign or be fired because she doesn't represent the "two core brand features" of the pageant (no, it's not the two you are thinking of). Fox's John Tantillo writes, "A Miss USA represents an organization and an ideal and as such any candidate for the job needs to be both a diplomat and a leader." A DIPLOMAT AND A LEADER??? WTF?? I can't think of anything further from the truth. Miss USA is neither a diplomat nor a leader. She's a hot chick with long legs, big titties, a beautiful face, and sparkly teeth. Having a brain is not a requirement, and it is disingenuous in the extreme to give these women the title and responsibility of a diplomat and a leader. Maybe it's time for people to look up those words in a dictionary to understand the huge gulf between their definition and what a Miss USA actually does. (What DOES she do anyway?) Even better, let's revisit one of the most popular YouTube videos to demonstrate the intellectual titans that make up the pool of beauty pageant contestants. Here is the famous clip of Miss South Carolina at the Miss Teen USA 2007 contest. I'm gonna shoot myself in the head if this is what I can expect from our future diplomats and leaders.

Let's be honest about what these neanderthal events really are: they are unseemly, socially-sanctioned opportunities for men to ogle pretty young women and for women to quietly judge them (and themselves even more). Why in God's name, in the year 2009, are we still celebrating these parades of superficiality? Even more distressing, why in God's name is this lame excuse for a news story dominating the airwaves? There are so many more relevant stories that people should be informed of, discuss, and act upon. Things like headless bodies found in Pakistan. Let's get our priorities straight, shall we?

Instead, we get to see the Pimp King, Donald Trump, talk about how the Carrie Prejean controversy is "a good thing". In regards to Miss Prejean's adolescent photo faux-pas, Mister Mushroom Head even said, "I'm going to be looking at these photos" to make sure that they didn't cross his line of good taste. you have the same image in your head as I have in mine? Needless to say, it involves crumpled Kleenex.

You may think Donald Trump is a nothing more than a skeezy, rich slimeball. But guess what, folks? That slimeball is laughing at us while he laughs all the way to the bank.


For your consideration and/or comment:

What do you think of beauty pageants like the Miss USA contest?


Visit to take a peek in the award-winning Opening the Kimono!

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

The Art of Downshifting

I am a woman of extremes. Sometimes I find myself on top of a mountain completely disconnected from the modern world and basking in the light of Spirit; other times I fly around my house like a headless chicken, maniacally seeking the never-ending end of the to-do list. I think it's time for me to learn the middle way.

Two weeks ago, I was literally on top of a mountain in Northern California. Many wonderful things transpired for me -- some personal, some communal, some marital, and all spiritual. It was my time to remember who I was: a Divine being worthy of joy and love. I am so grateful for the transformational journey I took, and it's experiences will stay with me always.

So what did I do upon returning from this Zen-like state of absolute bliss?

I stressed out, of course!

First of all, going for more than a week without writing is NOT good for me. I missed my creative outlet and I longed to receive my regular treatments from the King of All Healers, MacDaddy. When I did re-enter my so-called-normal life, I was inundated with the heavy tolls one pays when going out of town: laundry, mail, laundry, putting away stuff, laundry, catching up on email, and laundry. Each day I promised myself that I would sit down to write, and each day I filled it with other tasks deemed "more important" than my creative expression and primary vocation. I had excuse upon excuse that kept me from MacDaddy. My need for literary release became stronger and the gulf between the written word and me became larger.

This morning, I became acutely aware of how I had inadvertently micromanaged my schedule such that writing time was not even considered. I would get up early to make The Bean her breakfast and lunch, go to an appointment, follow up on a proposal, send some important emails, have a working lunch with Michael, update my web site, pick up The Bean from the bus stop and get her hair cut, go to Publix for milk and other necessaries, and finish the day by primping myself for a fancy shindig I will attend later this evening. In my mind, I had accounted for every minute of the day, leaving absolutely no room for one teensy little thing: ME.

Thankfully, a little while ago I forced myself to step away from the computer so I could finally, truly return to it. For the first time since returning from my spiritual retreat, I put on Jai Uttal's "Music For Yoga and Other Joys", did some much-needed movement, and had a fantastic, relaxing, restorative meditation practice. How ridiculous it was to respond to my spiritual retreat by totally ignoring Spirit. Duh. Double Duh.

It was glorious to move my body again! I had grown tired of being one big head, unconsciously flitting from task to task, wishing hoping begging that I could get it all done and knowing that I never would. This afternoon in our meditation room, I did what is foreign to me: I downshifted. I slowed down and allowed my spirit, head, heart, and body to occupy the same space. It was nothing less than Divine.

After only 15 minutes of quiet reflection, my muse returned to me in all her splendor. I knew what I would write about and how I would return to my rightful role as Author, Speaker, and Bringer of the Mojo. I would simply share with you how difficult it is to jump from total release to total responsibility in the blink of an eye. The guilt for having gone away propels us forward and pushes us to accomplish just one more item on the list. Why do we think we don't deserve to slow down, even after a period of rest? Is it some sort of emotional masochism that yells, "You can enjoy your vacation, but you better damn well know you'll pay the price for it when you return!"

That's total bullshit.

I want to live in the groove where it's OK to slow down, even if it is for just 15 minutes a day. I want to give myself permission to write as often as possible. I want to bask in the moment instead of automatically jumping to the next one. I want to remember that I am more than a mom and a wife. In the end, I want to put into practice what I learned on the mountain.

Thank you for waiting for me, dear reader. I know that I have been absent for a while, and I know that it is annoying when you are used to seeing new installments of my Serious Mojo blog on a regular basis. I appreciate your patience and will do my best to deliver the goods from this point forward. We are in a relationship together, you and I. And I am ready to do my part again. feels SO GOOD to be back.


For your consideration and/or comment:

Do you ever go crazy right after vacation?


Visit to take a peek inside the award-winning Opening the Kimono!

Monday, May 11, 2009

My Mother's Day Card

Here is the card my lovely daughter made me for Mother's Day. I love when my second grader uses a benign Hallmark holiday to further her anti-war, feminist agenda. Young Skywalker has learned her lessons well. :)

For those of you who can't decipher the message of a seven year-old who writes in yellow Crayola marker, here is a transcript:

Our moms should be the Presidents of the U.S.A.

Reasons Why.

1. Moms are specail (special)
2. Moms rock the world
3. Moms rule the world
4. Moms would run the world well
5. It would be peaceful
6. Moms would make it a better world
7. Moms would stop war!

Wednesday, May 6, 2009

Almost Ready to Blog

I have been on vacation and away from the blogosphere for over two weeks, and I can't figure out how to re-enter.

There is so much to say, yet the words aren't coming to me...yet. My house is a chi nightmare with piles of dirty clothes, hampers of clean ones, stacks of paper, and towers of post-travel clutter. Almost 300 emails awaited me upon my return, and important proposals are in the hopper. Big stuff happened while I was on the mountains of Northern California and Sedona, yet my journey is staying within me, unable to find a public witness.

I want to share with you about my spiritual quest. I want to inspire you with stories of Truth and Beauty. I want to rant and rave about my last two weeks.

But, somehow, I'm not quite ready.

Maybe I need another day to have my house settle down so I can settle in. Or maybe I need to get my much-anticipated bodywork session tomorrow before I dive into the juicy stories. Whatever the case may be, I am not ready to share my West Coast dramas, traumas, fears, hopes, dreams, realizations, anecdotes, or a-has on the keys of MacDaddy. Maybe I never will... I'll have to search inside to see if my stories are meant to stay private or not. I sure hope they want to come out!

However, I want to take baby steps back to you. I thought a perfect way to do so would be to share with you an inspiring video of one of my most talented and adorable teachers, Jonathan Baxter. Bax is the King of the Hoop, and his circular dance with the Divine never ceases to put a smile on my face, a sparkle in my heart and a tingle in my loins. Enjoy!