Tag Archives: NaBloPoMo

YOGA SUCKS!

I will probably delete this tomorrow.

But first: OMG! You guys are totally RAD!

We’ve hit the 1000 mark for BOTH Faces of ALI stories. Most of the traffic continues to be from Facebook. This is incredible. NEVER, did I ever think this would happen. You did this. THANK YOU!!

OK. I promised. Let me set the mood.

It’s the year 2000. I haven’t moved to London yet. A sincere and nice person, who knows my history with exercise classes and yet genuinely wants to help me find peace and serenity, suggests something. I am redacting her name to protect the innocent.

THAT’S RIGHT Esperanza and Lori. She suggested YOGA.

How could yoga go bad? Yoga is peaceful. Yoginis are gentle non-judgemental souls.

Well…

My friend Ji X is an incredibly kind person. But she is very prim and proper. She’s also super athletic. Northern California is a terrible place to live when you can’t exercise without falling down or humiliating yourself.

So she suggested a hot yoga class. I’m sure you all know what that is, but just in case: here.

I should mention that I was under a lot of stress with work at the time. In my world, stress goes right to my stomach. It makes it burble and be very unhappy.

Right.

So I get to the class, and expect it will be a nurturing, welcome environment. Not so much.

There are more men than women there. Ugh. I hate exercising with men. I really do.

The instructor looks unkind. Which, it’s fucking YOGA! Be nice!

He tells us “This ain’t your mother’s yoga.” I instantly know I’m in trouble.

Anyway, I can’t do any of the poses well. I’m very unflexible. It was my biggest problem as a ballerina. Luckily, no one seems to care. Until:

We get to a pose that “relaxes the hip flexors”.

Yeah, that pose relaxed something else somewhere else than my hips. Fucking loudly.

You can guess what the class’s reaction was. LAUGHTER. LOTS OF IT.

And the jerk instructor? “SOMEONE RELAXED A BIT TOO MUCH!”

Anyway, I am sure that you are the kind of person who can get through an exercise classes without farting loudly.

So, feel free to delete me from your Google reader ;)

Point is, you rule people. THANK YOU!

12 Comments

Filed under Dumb

Ask And Ye Shall Receive

Can I just stand on my chair and applaud you all? You are RAD!

I asked for links: you made them. I asked for tweets: you, er, tweeted. You even pinned the post!

So far, Sarah’s post has been read by almost 800 people. Courtney’s post has now surpassed a thousand hits.

You also posted this story on your Facebook pages. I know this because most of the traffic is coming from Facebook. I’m pretty sure that means our non-ALI friends and family are reading?

So here’s the deal: IF Sarah’s post gets viewed 1,000 times, I WILL TELL YOU MY MOST EMBARRASSING EXERCISE CLASS STORY EVER! Click here and here for my other experiences. The worst one of all is seriously a doozy and I would NEVER tell anyone and be happy with the rest of my life. But this series means that much.

Also, I think that this quote, from The Hardest Quest, sums up better than anything what Faces of ALI is trying to combat:

“Infertility is a terrible disease. It is one that is often nameless. Faceless. The names are unknown. The faces are featureless. It becomes a mere entity. Something to deal with. Infertility is a disease that so many people cannot understand or relate to, and that does not work in our favour.”

So please keep linking and Facebooking and tweeting and pinning! And thank you. Seriously. I am humbled and honored by you.

PS: Here is a smart comment, from Brenda:

“What would be great for Pinterest would be to make a blog button for it. For example, make a blog button that says: “Faces and Stories of Adoption/Loss/Infertility” and include that in the articles. When someone pins your article, they can use the blog button so others looking through pinterest photos will know what is behind the photo. Using regular photos like those in your articles (as beautiful as they are) may not draw people in because they won’t know what is behind the photo.”

Can anyone help me take this on? Um, like say, Illustrator Queens?

3 Comments

Filed under Faces of ALI, Infertility

Please Help Me Spread the Word About Adoption/Loss/Infertility

Since I have published my profile of Sarah (and this happened too after Courtney’s story ran) a couple of my friends who haven’t gone through infertility emailed me saying that they read the story with tears rolling down their faces. One said, “I had no idea. No idea.”

I honestly think that sharing these profiles is a real tool in educating the public what infertility is, and what it feels like. How difficult it can be for us to build our families. Because the public isn’t seeing the real story in the mainstream media.

So, I’m going to ask for your help. I told Mel that I would be very happy if this post was viewed 1,000 times. In disease studies, what’s important is the “reproduction number”, or RO, which is the amount of people who come into contact with the disease who get it.

In this case, I’m hoping that 1,000 people come into contact with this story, and then spread the truth about ALI with four others and four others, etc, etc.

Many of you (including Mel) have already shared the story:

- On Twitter
- On Facebook
- On StumbleUpon

Thank you, thank you, thank you!

So far, “Sarah in Three Acts” has been read 157 times. Can you help me share the message further?

Here’s how:

– Link to the story on your blog.
– If you have a Twitter account, tweet it by clicking on the share button before the comments at the bottom of Sarah’s post. Click the twitter button.
– If you have a Facebook account that you would feel comfortable sharing this story from (I know some of you don’t talk to friends and family about what you’re going through, and I totally respect that!), share it on Facebook by clicking on the share button before the comments at the bottom of Sarah’s post. Click the Facebook button.
– If you have a StumbleUpon account, click on the share button before the comments at the bottom of Sarah’s post. Click the StumbleUpon button.
– If you want to email the link to this story to family and friends, please feel free to do so.
– Uh, I know Pinterest is the new big thing and I haven’t figured it out yet. If you know how to “pin” this story over there, PLEASE FEEL FREE :)

Together we have the chance to change hearts and minds. And this is coming from a total cynic!

Thank you for listening. I really, really appreciate it. And I will remember your help :)

7 Comments

Filed under Faces of ALI, Infertility

Faces of Adoption/Loss/Infertility: S in Three Acts

One in eight people of child-bearing age in the United States is infertile. (Resolve) Adoption is far, far more complicated than the average citizen comprehends. There are many emotional issues around adoption. First: if you are going through infertility and choose adoption, there can be a grieving process for the loss of a genetic child. Second: there is the potential for fallout among the people involved in adoption. (birth mothers, adoptees and adoptive parents.) The adoption system has been reformed to favor adoptees more: the “open adoption model” is now the most common way to adopt. This method keeps adoptees in touch with their birth parents as much as possible.

Another public misconception is that adoption is easy and inexpensive, that there are many “unwanted children” out there, but that’s not the case. Adoption demands a tremendous amount of vetting of adoptive parents by officials: blood tests, home inspections, home studies, police background checks, pet inspections and vaccinations. Extensive physicals determine the well-being of a prospective parent: one must be healthy and disease-free. Friends and neighbors are talked to, finances are inspected. These processes, put into place with good intentions to ensure couples will make the best possible adoptive parents, are lengthy and expensive. The paperwork and the contracts and the lawyers involved can cost at least $20,000. The onus is on the adoptive parents to prove they are going to be the best possible caretakers to a child and help him or her develop to the best of his or her abilities, and give him or her what he or she needs emotionally and developmentally.

I hope by telling S’s story I can demonstrate the complicated emotions, the toll infertility takes on humans and how truly difficult it is to “just adopt.”

ACT 1: The Hell of Endometriosis

In May 2000, a lovely twenty year old member of the Army National Guard stepped off a bus in front of a barracks in Georgia. This would be her new home for a two-week training exercise.

I had no idea that my future husband saw me, thought I was beautiful, and decided to meet me. No clue at all.

Act One: Love and Marriage…and Endo

The two soldiers quickly fell in love and married in November of 2002. Two years later, they decided to Try To Conceive (TTC). By this time they were stationed abroad, and S’s husband traveled a lot. S’s cycles were also unpredictable, anywhere from 40-60 days apart. In early 2006, after two years of trying to conceive naturally, S was rushed to the ER in tremendous pain. The diagnosis was a ruptured ovarian cyst. Unfortunately her ER visits continued: in May she was diagnosed with Stage IV endometriosis and endometrioma on her right ovary. She was in tremendous pain almost all the time.

What is endometriosis? According to the US National Library of Medicine: “Endometriosis is a female health disorder that occurs when cells from the lining of the womb (uterus) grow in other areas of the body. This can lead to pain, irregular bleeding, and problems getting pregnant (infertility). Removal of the womb (uterus), fallopian tubes, and both ovaries (a hysterectomy) gives you the best chance for a cure.”

A pretty grim statement. But S is an extremely determined and proactive personality. She dealt with this blow by getting her hands on all the research she could about endometriosis and by engaging in as much natural treatment as possible. She began acupuncture and dramatically changed her diet to include mostly healthy, fresh organic food.

Unfortunately, these natural cures didn’t work and she was forced to remove her right ovary and tube. The endometriosis had caused scarring and twisting beyond what her body could take. Her doctor tried to assure her that now there was hope that she would not suffer anymore from the debilitating pain. Unfortunately, the pain returned, in full force:

“The pain is still here, and getting worse. Ovulation was day before yesterday, so the pain should have gone away by now. It’s hard to walk, hard to stand up, hard to sit down. I’m getting more and more upset as I type this. Forget trying to find a better doctor – I just need someone to do an ultrasound to put my mind at ease that my remaining ovary isn’t being destroyed by the endo.”

In 2009, after experiencing even more terrible pain in her abdomen and her remaining ovary, S tracked down the most renowned expert in preserving fertility in endo patients, a doctor who was at the CEC (Center for Endometriosis Care), in a far away city. She paid $3,000 out of pocket to fly to Atlanta and have a surgery to help rid her of the terrible agony she was in, without removing her final ovary. Instead of a vacation to a restful place, she took precious time off from her job for the prep, the surgery itself, and the recovery. The surgery went successfully and her doctor gave her a 75-80% chance of conceiving on her own. He warned that there would be a lot of pain as she recovered, but that should subside in time.

Act Two: Cleared for TTC!

The period after her surgery was a painful but hopeful time for S. She was hopeful that the issue that had caused extreme physical pain for the last three years had been resolved. Slowly, she became mostly pain-free. She was also hopeful that she would be able to conceive naturally, finally. She continued acupuncture, continued to eat mostly organic vegetables and fruits with healthy proteins. But as the months passed and she continued to get her period each month, she struggled with feelings of sadness. Making matters worse was that she was surrounded by pregnant co-workers and friends. Then, her sister got pregnant.

“I’m a nice person generally. I’m a good sister, really. And I love kids. But I can’t handle the constant yearning for something that goes unfulfilled year after year. I’m trying to protect my heart, but it gets torn to shreds anyway. Life happens despite my infertility and there’s nothing I can do about it. I can’t shelter myself from everything painful – there would be nothing left. Infertility touches every second of my life. There isn’t anything unaffected.”

S and her husband considered doing infertility treatments, but when someone has advanced endo like S, those treatments come at a very large risk.

“I’m not saying that going straight to IVF is wrong for other people. But for us it is. I only have one ovary. As much as I want to get pregnant, I don’t want to destroy my ovary in the process. (And a process that by the way that doesn’t even guarantee a pregnancy anyway.)”

Slowly, the idea of adoption took root. By opening their hearts to adoption, S and her husband must start to say goodbye to the dream of having a genetic child. It was particularly hard for S when she thought of her husband, whose parents had both passed away. This was a loss, and one they both need to grieve.

“Yet, there are those moments of overwhelming grief knowing that this could be the end of his genetic legacy. Obviously we are more than our genetic material, but some things are hard to let go.”

Finally in December of 2009, S and her husband attended a meeting about Domestic Open Adoption. They learned that 47% of children available for adoption are African American. They agreed to move forward, knowing that a trans-racial adoption was very likely.

In the end, S decided she wanted to parent a child, not just give birth to a baby.

“I want the responsibility, the pain, the joy, the frustrations, all of it.”

Act III: Hail Mary Pass

Once a couple decides they want to adopt, there are many, many hurdles to jump. There is no such thing as “just adopt.” In fact, as S goes through the process of adopting, she’s infuriated to see a friend on Facebook comparing buying a house to adopting a child.

“(When you buy a house) Does anyone do background checks, inspect your current house, ask you about your childhood, ask you about the stability of your marriage, make you write an autobiography about yourself, question your discipline techniques, get references from friends? No? Didn’t think so. And I’m pretty sure it doesn’t take a couple of years either. Does the average person really think you just fill out an application, they assign you a kid and then you live happily ever after?”

As the year progresses, S and her husband tried to sell their house to raise some of the estimated $25,000 in fees they’ll need to complete the adoption. Unfortunately, the poor real estate market put a damper on those plans. They slowly save money and complete their paperwork and inspections. A year passes.

Then suddenly, a game changing event occurs: on December 2, 2010, in a post called “Maybe I Could Sell a Kidney,” S announces that an expectant mother who is due in April would like them to adopt her child.

S throws her considerable powers of organization and determination into play. She feels this child is “the one” and decides to move heaven and earth to complete its adoption. (The sex of the baby is unknown.) S’s many friends and readers around the world ask how they can help, and two online auctions are promised. Friends donate many items for auction, including jewelry, six months of dessert, a lobster seafood package, an interior design consultation, handmade blankets, aprons, burp cloths, paintings and prints. S and her husband research and desperately try to track down information on their tax refund, which should be significant.

The first auction, held on February 2011, raises about $3,000. There are continued questions about when the tax refund will be coming through and how much it will be. S’s mother holds a dinner, charging $50 a person, to contribute to S’s adoption fund. The April due date is fast approaching.

The second auction, held in March 2011, garners almost $2,000. The onus is now upon the tax refund. Slowly April is upon them and the outstanding question of the tax rebate is answered when they receive $17,000.

With that uncertainty lifted, S puts her energy into breastfeeding. Adoptive mothers CAN breastfeed, if they respond to a pumping machine. S spends a lot of time and some uncomfortable moments pumping in preparation. She also goes on medication to help increase her prolactin levels.

Now the only uncertainty is the arrival of the child.

On April 23, 2011, a nine pound one ounce boy is born. S and her husband rush to the hospital to meet him. On April 28th, S’s 31st birthday, she finally met her son, after he was released from the hospital into interim care.

“I was in heaven the moment I laid eyes on him. The nanny had him swaddled and hungry, ready for me to feed when I walked in the door. I sat right down, popped the boob in his mouth, and he latched on like a champ!

It was kinda funny – he looked at me at first like, what the heck is this? Then he realized milk came out and he was a champion sucker all of a sudden . It was the most amazing feeling, I can’t even describe, finally feeding my son. He kept grasping the strap of my nursing cami with his fat little hand and pulling. It was the cutest thing ever!

After he nursed (he took about 1 1/2 oz from the supplemental bottle of breastmilk through a tube, so not sure how much milk he got from me – maybe an ounce? no way to know for sure without a baby scale), he grasped onto my finger hard and fell right asleep.”

On May 2, 2011, S’s son’s birth mother signed the official document surrendering him.

“Tuesday, the birth mother signed the surrender. There was no giant feeling of relief when we got the phone call…but I did feel an immense sense of sadness for what she must be going through.”

Now, eight months later, S is still nursing her son. At the latest doctor’s appointment he was declared ahead in every developmental category. S was immensely glad. She now says at the beginning of 2012:

“It’s quite a privilege to be entrusted with this tiny human, watching him and guiding him as he grows and learns. For the first time in seven years, I can look back on a year with something more than pain and regret.”

Postscript: S notes, “The total cost of the adoption ended up being just over $30k with all the home study, legal fees, etc. And that doesn’t even count the travel costs! We were able to scrape together that much money between the tax refund, the money we saved on our monthly mortgage payment from our house refinancing, savings, etc. (We’re) lucky too that the lawyer didn’t require any money up front – other wise it would have been a no-go.”

45 Comments

Filed under Faces of ALI, Infertility

Living As an Ex-Pat in ParentLand

There have been some tremendous responses from people who read yesterday’s post.

And if you haven’t read Esperanza’s post, trying to answer the questions I raised, please do.

Because I think she has really uncovered how so many of us feel as parents after going through infertility.

I lived in London for two and a half years. I was never truly an English person, even though I paid taxes there and used the NHS and ate crisps and wine gums and went to pubs and tried to pick up the slang. My skin had the marks of skin damage after living my whole life in California: native British people of all races have the most beautiful, luminous skin. On the other hand, I have pretty straight teeth after years of braces. That cliche is so true that a client once said he could suss out who the American was (he had never met me) by having my whole team smile. He pointed to me immediately and said: “Her!” But the obvious marker was, of course, my accent. And that I couldn’t decipher a lot of what people were saying. Especially Scots! Toughest accent to crack, ever.

I never quite bonded with any native Brits. They were just at a natural advantage in their homeland: they had lifelong friends already who knew habits, history, remembered the Falklands War and spoke in a shorthand version of English. I liked them and respected them (what they thought of me I’ll never know, you Brits are SOOO reserved!) but I wasn’t one of them. I couldn’t PASS.

So, I bonded with ex-pats. These were ex-pats from many countries: the US, Canada, Nigeria, India, Bulgaria and France. We had quadrants: we were probably most tight with our fellow Americans, and likewise for others of other nationalities. But we all loved to hang out together and we were essentially each others’ family. Because we knew. We knew we didn’t pass, that we never would, that there were differences between us and Brits. Differences we would never be able to overcome.

Likewise, when I had my twins, I thought I could safely make passage to ParentlLand. For two years, I tried like hell to “pass”, to fit into the culture of the other parents. But there were things that were different: these mothers had not struggled to get to ParentLand: they were natives who were born being able to plan their exact entry. They had very little fear, they didn’t have preemies who had to be fed every two hours, there were deliberate gaps between each of their children. They breastfed for years. Like my American accent, my twins marked me as different right away. Every parent in ParentLand asked if they were “infertility” babies. If I said yes, they would either quickly change the conversation or would ask questions that they did not enjoy hearing the answers to. And they would categorize me as “different”, not as easy to be around as other natives. And one naturally prefers to hang out with others who are familiar.

I felt like that ungainly American in the office of smooth Brit talkers and jokers again. I didn’t understand the patois, the stories of weaning, the talk of trying to prevent an “Oops!” baby, the complaints about how awful it was to be pregnant.

It wasn’t until my second miscarriage, when ParentLand finally rejected me fully, that I realized I needed to find some kind of other support.

Which is when I found Mel, then Lori, then local ex-pats Bodega and Esperanza. And now, all of you reading.

Darcy often worries about me: why didn’t having twins make me happy and shinny and, well, normal? I think the truth is, I got culture shock. I was back in London again, but this time without the amazing friends I had there to back me up and make me feel at home.

I took way too long to find “my people.”

But I am so happy I did.

14 Comments

Filed under Parenting After IF

Facing Fear, Courtesy of Gwyneth Paltrow

We’ve had the NetFlix envelope with Contagion in it sitting around like a big, unexploded bomb for a while.

Because, pandemic. Like I don’t have enough worrying to do. I’m too busy with Super Volcanos to add something to my list.

But boy, viruses are scary. I’m watching Downton Abbey and am dreading the influx of the Spanish Flu. Can they just skip that part of 1918, please?

But there’s lots of things that are freaky as heck and we have no control over them. I wanted to expose myself to a movie based on pure fear to remind myself that I need to let go. Exposure to a realistic doomsday scenario was the best way I could think to do so.

So I watched Contagion. I have notes.

First of all, I am one of those people who reluctantly love Gwyneth Paltrow. I don’t know why. I know she should bug me with the silly quotes and the three hour workouts, and the advice about the $500 sea salt. I guess maybe I admire her self-esteem. How rad would it be to feel as awesome about myself as she clearly does about herself? Also, she’s a rare visible woman who is around 40. Gwyneth is the best thing in this movie: as the mysterious, glamorous woman who maybe sets off the virus. Who else but Gwyneth, in her super-cute Chinoiserie outfit, drinking cocktails with orchids on them in a casino in Macau, could bring along the end of the world so fetchingly and annoyingly? It reminded me that I have always wanted to go to Macau and look glamourous at the casino too! Bucket List item.

SPOILER

For those who hate Gwyneth, you get to see her die an ugly death.

I mean, I learned stuff. When a virus breaks out, buy enough canned goods and bottled water to last about a year. Load up on Purell. Work from home. Homeschool. Also, you might want to get yerself a firearm.

Whatever. What I mostly did by watching the film was expose myself to fear and let go. Control is an illusion. We could all die tomorrow. But it’s fun to laugh about the bugaboos that makes us afraid. That may be the best answer to fear: laugh at it. Wasn’t that what Professor Lupin taught us?

Do you find it helps to laugh at what you’re afraid of?

3 Comments

Filed under Fear

The Most Boring Blog Post Ever

Day four of NAPOLTHINGAMAJIG and I am already resorting to a post about my hair.

I promised Bodega Bliss I would get my hair cut. It’s…been awhile.

Why is it that the day you have an appointment at the salon, your hair is full of body and generally cooperates for the first time EVER? And you’re like, eh? I could deal with this a while longer?

This is the before shot of my hair and it DIDN’T EVEN LOOK THAT BAD.

This is not a representational photo. I have Judas hair. Right before it gets cut, it betrays me and looks good. IT KNOWS.

Now, my hair is cut. And, er, enhanced. SEE BODEGA!!!

I do feel much better. And, yes that’s a fire extinguisher on my bathroom counter. What, you don’t keep yours there? You don’t worry about the wiring in your bathroom fixtures short-circuiting because of some off-the-cuff remark an electrician made five years ago?

(Off-Topic: I usually am totally annoyed by the sailing stickers on people’s Range Rovers and such. You might as well say, I OWN A BOAT! But since I read this post again, I’ve been thinking, huh. Maybe I should befriend that family. You know, in case the super volcano explodes and I need to hijack a boat and sail to an island with seeds, vitamins and MUSHROOMS.)

Because this post was breathtakingly shallow, I’d like to direct your attention to something we all need to read.

And thank you everyone for your remarks on yesterday’s post about The Vikings. Every comment made me smile and think and I keep going back to them and rereading them. I think I might use post-its of what you said as daily affirmations.

7 Comments

Filed under Dumb

When You Are Not a Viking, What Do You Do?

I’ve talked before about the fact that my constitution is generally that of a Victorian missus whose smelling salts are always near.

I get viruses often, I get strange exotic ailments that take 20+ doctors to diagnose. I am tired, a lot. Normal events, like a playdate or afternoon at the zoo or a morning at the Discovery Museum make me feel like I need a nap.

I see a doctor regularly. I take supplements. I take medications. I work out. I have been eating pretty healthy for a while now. I drink a lot of water. I’m being proactive.

And raising four year old twins, who get super exotic evil viruses every two weeks, who have the energy of 10 whirling dervishes EACH and who no longer take naps, is a challenge for me.

In the past, I’ve been the one thinking that I’m a failure for not living up to higher standards.

Then I had the epiphany that I need to stop comparing myself to others.

The problem is, the comparing doesn’t just come from within. Those I see most often, other than my blogger friends, judge me.

You see, they come from Viking stock. They have an immune system that really should be studied by the CDC. They never get ill, or if they do, it’s just a minor annoyance. They get up at 5 AM, build the world, come home, look down their nose at tired me, while they work. Some more. They are embarrassed and annoyed by me.

I know that despite my ailments I have accomplished a lot.

I overcame a strange mystery illness. It took a year and a lot of inner fortitude.

I went through 3 IUIs, an injectibles cycle, three IVF cycles and a chemical pregnancy.

I carried an incredibly difficult twins pregnancy to 35 weeks, 5 days. (Luck was obviously involved here.)

I took care of, by myself 20 hours a day, infant twins who suffered from reflux and needed to be fed around the clock every two hours until they were five months old.

I dealt with a daughter who had scary pre-asthmatic symptoms and a febrile seizure while dealing with my own pneumonia.

I had a miscarriage at 8 weeks.

I have raised two children who are remarkably confident, happy, verbal, curious and sweet. And it’s not just me who thinks this. I do this by myself, except on the weekends. When I have help. And I really, really, want to sleep in on Saturdays. It is thought if I do that, I am lazy. But I am honestly just so tired.

I know I’m no longer cheerful or fun. I’m crabby and frazzled and negative. This has been remarked upon at length. But I know it’s true.

Also, my blogging is not appreciated in some quarters.

I don’t want to sound like a victim. I’d rather think of myself as a survivor.

How can I be an energetic, friendly, happy survivor? I’d really like to know. Any suggestions?

21 Comments

Filed under Infertility, Parenting After IF

SUPER Volcanoes And Why I Hate Them (UPDATED! SEE BELOW)

People are often amused when I tell them what scares me.

1. SUPER VOLCANOES
2. Meteors

We live in earthquake country out here. I’ve even been in a big one (Loma Prieta) that knocked me down a flight of stairs. It was scary.

BUT NOT AS SCARY AS A SUPER VOLCANO!

Let me ‘splain.

Anyone who’s been to Yellowstone has probably seen this stuff.

So pretty! Look at Old Faithful burst! Wow!

(Photos copyrighted: The Nation Weblog)

No.

Those geysers and pretty rings are the very surface of a super volcano. Not a regular volcano like Mount St. Helens. Oh, no.

A SUPER VOLCANO!!

What is a super volcano, you are wondering.

It’s a CATASTROPHE.

“Is the world’s largest super-volcano set to erupt for the first time in 600,000 years, wiping out two-thirds of the U.S.?”

SEE? Granted, that’s from The Daily Mail. BUT STILL!

What can we do?

Nothing, really. I mean, granted, the coupon collectors and people with the storerooms full of Diet Mountain Dew and off-brand anti-perspirants and discontinued mascara are PROBABLY AT AN ADVANTAGE. Right? The first thing CVS will be out of is Cover Girl’s Longest Lasting Lashes. I mean, people have priorities!

Image copyrighted by TLC.

What are you afraid of?

UPDATED: I once bookmarked this page because it was hilarious. Also, because it told me how to survive a super volcano eruption: “Head to coast, hijack ship to island in the middle of nowhere with seeds, vitamins and mushrooms.”

13 Comments

Filed under Dumb, Fear

NaBloMoWTFRAD: Day One

I’m going to lose any cred I have here (read: I have none) by saying that I read “Eat Pray Love” and liked it. Sorry, Esperanza.

The best line in the whole book was this: Elizabeth Gilbert was going through a hard time, and someone noticed she had put on lipstick.

She responded: “Project Self Esteem: Day Fucking One.”

I have to admit that there are hopes that this writing project will help me out of a personal rut. I’m not feeling super duper great about myself. I really don’t think any woman does. I hung out with a mom today who looks like a supermodel. She didn’t seem super confident, either.

So.

What do I talk about when I don’t have an Athena post bursting out of my brain? (Which is why I always write.) TM AprilV

What do you guys think about Lana Del Rey? Poseur? Savant? Daddy’s money buys fame and plastic surgery? I actually kinda like her. “Video Games” is haunting my brain. But I love that noir/LA Confidential/Old Hollywood crap. I used to be obsessed with Hollywood. I used to drive down there on occasion when I went to school nearby. I went to a super fancy party in Pacific Palisades with my super fancy journalist dad. Dean Cain was there. Sherry Lansing was there. This guy hosted. Some moviemaker I’d never heard of told me if got implants, I’d be a star. *Eyeroll*

Why does Joan Didion live there?

Also, why is there a no man’s land in the importance of women between the ages of 40 – 80? When you are 80, you can be saucy and important and be the Dowager Countess and wear lace jackets and Chanel suits and say, “Darling, where IS my cocktail ring?” Like my husband’s grandmother. She was romanced by the scion of a famous Hollywood empire builder HER ENTIRE LIFE. Even after she was married and had kids he never married and remembered her until he died and sent her letters. Maybe he was secretly gay.

But it’s hard to explain how really RAD Darcy’s grandmother was.

She also did this. Third story down. That was my first real writing gig on the Internet. The typos are ALL MINE.

So when I turn 40 and become invisible, I imagine I need to develop some sort of skill.

I have been attempting to cook.

Tonight I poached Salmon in white wine with fennel from our garden and Kosher salt. It was good.

I also made KALE. Yes, Kale is RAD. I love it. It tastes good and it is good for you! How could this be?

Heidi Swanson’s a genius. My husband knows her and brought me her cookbook. I WAS HIGHLY SKEPTICAL! But her healthy recipes don’t taste like sprouts and gross “food” I used to eat with this one friend who went to Humboldt State AND NOT TO ENJOY THE EXPORTS OF THAT AREA, but to make the world a better place. By eating her bean sprout and lentil soup that she MADE in her Thermos and listening to Tracy Chapman. She was embarrassed to be associated with me eventually (college should be FUN?!) and dumped me as a friend. Rightfully so. I am sure.

Anyway, I made this.

Yay, me.

PROJECT SELF-ESTEEM. Day FUCKING one.

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